Excerpt: The First SIn

Prologue
July 6, 493 B.C.
Megalopolis, Arcadia, Greece.
Anger coursed through him as sweltering as the heat in which he stood. With his back facing the mountains that surrounded his homeland, the sun baked down upon his olive skin. His raven hair, slick with perspiration, stuck to him like leeches clinging to river rock. To the west ran The Alpheus River. Its water would’ve been a respite from the sweat that trickled down his spine had the river’s water not been so warm and almost dried up from the recent drought. Was there was no relief in sight from this agony, he lamented.
“Witches,” he spat.
“Whores of the gods.”
The whole lot of them made his skin crawl. If not for their birthright, they would be of no more importance than he. Even the stables were more refined than the slave quarters he was forced to endure. He knew he belonged elsewhere and he would never accept the fate the gods handed him. Not ever.
Sneering at the grange that housed the sacrificial animals, he pondered what meat tasted like, of what the crimson liquid that flowed when the high priestess slit the neck of the king’s prized bull would feel like as it trickled down his waiting throat. Blood was so beautiful, so vibrant, so red, so warm. His mouth began to water. He could almost taste the salt-soaked sudor as it trickled into his dry mouth.
Lovely maidens with sunbathed skin danced around excited about the coming feast of the same old things, barley, grapes, wheat, beans and olives. Yet, here he starves while he toils the fields for vegetation when there is perfectly good life-giving meat in the stables and dancing nearby. Hunger ate away at him. His stomach churned then tightened. He was so tempted to pull a grape off of one of the vines. If only the overseer would turn his back for just a moment. Why where the gods the only ones who could partake? The stupidity of those around him thinking their souls would transcend by obeying the gods astounded him. How could they ignore what was right before their eyes? What was good enough for the gods was surely good enough for them, for him. Patience, he thought. He knew his time would come.
Curses flew from his mouth as he picked up the wooden buckets by his side. Splintered wood dug into his fingertips as his hands clasping the pails bunched at his thighs. He kicked the dirt underfoot in her direction. Princess Adara, her ornately braided ebony tresses glistened in the late afternoon sun like the black pearls that hung around her equally beautiful mother’s neck. His gaze fell to the velvety expanse of her heaving breasts; white against the dark curtains she stood before. The red clay around the window that framed her like a beautiful portrait only accentuated the creaminess of her pale milky skin, far too delicate for the sun. Licking his lips, he wondered what a tasty morsel she would make. As their eyes met, she regarded him with stony coldness and yet, he felt a shock run through him. His cock thrummed with pleasure at the thought of taking her, ruining her, devouring her. She was beautiful, for a witch but she was his master’s daughter and he was nothing more than a slave, nothing more than another of master’s belongings.
For a long moment, she looked back at him. The heart fluttered beneath her young breasts as she drank in the sight of the man staring at her from afar. Even in a crowd, his presence was magnetic. His emerald eyes that framed his delicate features pierced the distance between them. Smooth honey-colored skin stretched over high cheekbones. Only his beard, dark and closely shaved, gave his feminine features a more manly appearance. Ah, what a tempting specimen he made. Though she’d never been with a man, she dreamed of being in his arms but knew it was forbidden. In less than a week, she would be handed over to a man she’d never met at the festival of Demeter, goddess of the earth. She felt like she was as much an oblation as the bull in the stable. At least the beast had the pleasure of being oblivious as his world came to an abrupt end she thought. A distant female voice, silky and reassuring, invaded her thoughts.
“Be happy, daughter. For all of this is for you,” said Queen Circe waving her hands at the flurry below.
“How am I supposed to mother?” she said as she looked at the servants below frantically running around as if the world would end if they stopped.
Tears lined the inside of her lids. She squeezed her eyes tighter to keep hidden the sorrow they held before she turned to face her mother.
“You will learn my darling what joy being a queen will grant you and at so young an age,” she said as she stroked her daughter’s cheek.
“You are two years younger than I was when I wed your father. I was but seventeen and thought my world would end but here I stand happier than ever. Love will come in time. I promise. Come Yalena. Let us help prepare your sister for her new husband,” said her mother.
There was a critical tone to her voice. Why couldn’t Yalena be as demure as her sister, she thought.
Princess Yalena, though a year younger than her sister was every bit as lovely and far more womanly in her appearance. Her looks were very deceptive but as soon as she opened her mouth, one knew just how young she was. If she would just learn to be a little refined, she’d make a wonderful bride but her reputation of being so boisterous was beginning to precede her.
“Poor Adara. The world is handed to her and it is still not worthy of her,” murmured Yalena. She made no attempt to disguise the bitterness of her tone.
“Be silent Yalena. Your time will come soon,” said the queen. “The gods willing.”
“But…”
The look in her mother’s gaze stopped her cold.
“Please let me be,” requested Adara. “I would like to be alone with my thoughts.”
Bickering and her sister’s jealous rages were the last thing her fragile nerves needed.
“As you request my daughter. Then I shall send the servants to prepare your bath. Do not take your leisure daughter. The sky grows dark and we have much to do.”
Her mother kissed her gently on the cheek, taking her sputtering youngest daughter with her left Adara in her bedchamber.
The tension flowing through her was palpable. Her body ached. Her skin tingled. Throbbing all over—the veins in her head, her neck, her pulse points, her groin, and her fingers, even her toes. Adara waited until she heard the fleeting footsteps of her mother dissipate before she grabbed her cloak, opened the door quickly and crept out of her room. She had to escape the walls that surrounded her, if for only a few moments. She peered left, then right into the hall to make sure no one was near. Then she scurried to the stairwell, grabbed a torch and with her back to the cool stoned wall; she quietly sidestepped down the stairs until she reached the courtyard. There sat her mother with her back to her singing to her twin toddler brothers. Their crystal blue eyes gaped from under black curls with love every time they saw their mother. Now their eyes were peering at her, questioning where she was going. A question for which there was no answer.
Her breath caught in throat. Her chest felt as if it might explode but despite her fears, she felt a warm exhilaration. This would be her last chance at a little freedom. Her stomach churning with angst and discontentment, she flew her finger up to her lips, pleading with her brothers to keep silent as she hurried across the doorway and out of view.
Once she’d cleared the courtyard, it was mere steps to the outside. She wasn’t sure what she’d planned to do but as wave after wave of anxiety passed through her, she knew she needed release. She breathed in quick, shallow gasps, threw her hood over her head and walked swiftly out the front gate.
She had never gone out at night alone. She had been forbidden to ever leave the walls of the compound unless it was to visit other women, neighbors in preparation of their own weddings or for funerals. Men could, for they thought they were gods, she mused. The air was stagnant, humid as it continued to suck the water from the river. The gods must be angry and only her sacrifice, her marriage would quell them, at least that is what had been told to her. The murky depths of her future life surrounded her as she questioned why she had to bear this burden. The more she walked the more she despaired. Enraptured in her own thoughts, she failed to notice his dark figure lurking in the shadows behind her. Blindly using the faltering torch and the silvery moonlight to guide her, she found herself standing before Demeter’s grand altar.
He made no movement, no sound from within the thicket. He studied her unhindered as he watched her slowly circle the altar. Her tiny finger traced the edges where tomorrow’s ritual would take place. The black cloak she wore masked everything but her perfectly oval face. Rose flushed lips; moist and rounded graced her alabaster skin, eerily luminescent from the light of the full moon above. Looking beseechingly to the heavens as if in a silent prayer, she wept aloud, rocking and forth. Someone must save her from this nightmare. He knew he was the one. As he took a step out into the clearing, the dry earth crumpled under foot.
To her dismay, her voice broke slightly.
“Who is there?” she asked.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her heart thundered within.
“I order you to show yourself,” she said with as much authority as she could muster though her body was shaking like an olive branch against the summer breeze.
“Yalena, if that is you. If you are playing some kind of childish game, I shall forbid your attendance at my wedding.”
“Yalena?”
A cold shiver ran down her spine as if someone had drizzled frigid water down the center of her.
He stood ramrod straight. His fingers slid up and down the hilt of the dagger at his side, as hard and slick as the shaft between his thighs. The silhouette of his body looked ethereal against the pale light of the moon. Her eyes froze as his powerful, sinewy form made its way to her as gracefully as if it were one of her father’s treasured stallions running freely against the wind. As he drew closer, she saw that he was.
“Cristos?”
Her breath hissed from her chest like a feather caught in the breeze.
A blush, like a whisper ran across her cheeks while her breath lodged in her throat. Glimpses of his bare chest underneath his tunic made her heart beat more rapidly as a cold, dark silence embraced them.
“Mistress, it is such a late hour. You should not be here alone in this darkness,” he said.
His voice, though soothing held an odd sense of malcontent. Shock and vexation shown in her eyes as she turned her gaze upon him.
“How dare you follow me here? It is I who should be asking the questions, slave,” she spat out the words contemptuously.
“What sadness is here on the night before your wedding?” he said gripping the knife behind him.
How dare she question me, indignant little witch, he thought. His fingers slid up and down the icy hilt of the dagger at his side, as hard and slick as the shaft that hung between his legs.
He gasped in a sharp breath, enduring the searing pain as cool crimson droplets dripped down his fingertip. He closed his eyes against the urge to taste the warm nectar and wrapped his finger behind his back within the cloth of his tunic to stop the bleeding. His dick pulsed against his thigh. Blood—warm, silky, sweet decadence. A shutter passed through him from the very thought.
The mockery in his voice accosted her. Flustered, she crossed her arms against the chill in the air. This could not be for it is so hot, she thought. Her steel eyes lowered and she thought she saw a faint and wavering light shining from beside his hip. He shifted his body and the image faded for as his hand moved behind him, all she saw was his hardness peeking out from beneath his garment.
The gods help her but she could not turn away. He was exquisite. His nearness ignited feelings in her that though frighteningly unfamiliar, were feverishly intoxicating. A hot ache pulsed deep within her loins tingling, twitching, and growing wetter by the second. She cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected as she slowly backed away from him until her backside hit the stone altar. It felt as cold and hard against her spine as her nipples felt against her thin vestment. For each step she took, he seemed to take two. He was so near. The energy from his body prickled across her skin sending ripples of pleasure through her.
“Just what is it you think you are doing slave?” asked Adara.