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Chapter 5: The consort
Megara’s head lashed forward when Boukris hooked his arm in hers as she was running by him.
“What happened?”
She sniffled, “Nothing. I’m fine.” She avoided his eyes, and focused on yanking her arm out of his.
“What can I do?”
“Get me a consort and a bath.”
Boukris nodded, and walked away without another word.
Fresh from a bath, Megara was feeling better. Boukris drew her bath ice cold, and the chill had her much improved. She walked from her bathing room, still ringing her hair with a linen cloth. She beheld the consort Boukris picked for her. She smiled. He chose her favorite.
“Megara.” The consort was standing in the middle of her bedroom. He shifted on his feet, and tugged at the leather straps on his chest to release his bronze shoulder guards. His woolen tunic barely hit mid thigh, and Megara had to admire the view of his massive thighs and calves, carved - no doubt - under the weight of his armor. His tunic had a similar meander to her own, only his was a brilliant blue that nearly sparked in contrast to his bronze skin. His dark unruly hair had let loose a few locks which hung deliciously on his brow, the rest he kept tied up in a bun behind his head and left the lower half hanging down his back.
“Drako.”
“That is not my name,” he whispered.
“I like it better,” she sidled up to him, holding his stare until she had to crane her neck to maintain it. Drakomaxos skimmed his rough palms over her shoulders and down her arms. Megara found she didn’t have the patience for his adoring gaze, or his tender touch.
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