*authors warning: things get a bit racy and dicey in this chapter*

Slaves in the Chrysostem household usually forgot the length of their captivity. Macbeth knew ten months had passed since she saw her brother's frightened face moments before the transport blew apart. How far she'd come from the prim farmer's daughter, so concerned with the alignment of her shirt clasps, bitter she never got to see the world beyond Pembrook Farm. Would her father recognize her now?

Her appearance had altered to a degree. Her dirty blond hair was shorn off a month ago, a creative punishment from Calliope after Macbeth stumbled during meal service, staining her mistress's dress robe with the dark blue wine. She wondered at Calliope's form of punishment as the woman watched Clio shave her scalp, her fingers caressing her horns in a manner so erotic Macbeth blushed watching her. Afterwards Calliope had rubbed her shaven head with grin before sauntering away.

Aside from the lash scars across her back and shoulders, she now had a scar across her cheek, the result of a noble who thought he could take advantage of the 'dumb' serving girl. Her resistance earned her a slap across the face, his signet ring slicing her skin. Nero's reaction surprised her more than the strike. Her master rose from his seat to a silent room, walked up to the young Pathosian and stabbed him in the gut with the dagger he kept tucked in the sleeve of his robe.

Sometimes, she could still feel the warm splatter of the man's blood across her chest. None of the other guests were bothered or shocked by the act of violence against one of their own, resuming their chatter while Nero cleaned his blade. He ordered the other slaves to 'remove the mess', clasping Macbeth's jaw to examine her.

"Have Clio stitch you up," he murmured, frowning at the cut, "I expect your report as usual this evening." No mention of the blood staining her shift. Julius enlightened her in the safety of the kitchens. He snorted at the sight of her.

"Oh dear, which noble's brat earned the point of Nero's shiv?" he asked with a malicious grin.

The late Pelias was the fifth son of a low ranking noble household. His presence at Nero's table was an invitation of courtesy, the man's father had resources of interest, but the act of striking another noble's slave was a heinous crime, one that warranted severe punishment for a noble of high rank or death for the extraneous son of a minor house.

How very far from home she was.

Her hair slowly grew out, sun bleached, soft, an inch at most, the scar fading to a thin line. Lulubelle said the combination made her look dashing. She was lean now, so many months of physical labor and scant meals lent sharpness to her curves.

Physically she had changed a great deal, but she knew it was the shift in her personality, the loss of her spinster sheltered innocence which deemed her unrecognizable. Multiple sessions in Nero's torture room had thickened her inner walls. Her emotions were encased in a fortress she only opened for one person. Part of her, a twisted shard of herself, enjoyed these sessions. She reveled in the power she had over Nero in this room. He worked himself into a frenzy whipping her, trying to elicit an emotional response from her. Each unsuccessful attempt ended with him embracing her, pressing her against his shaking body. It was their fifth session when he collapsed to his knees before her and took her with his mouth as blood ran down her back. Her body yielded to the mixture of physical sensations, but her emotions stayed locked down. She gave him nothing. It would not be the last time he ended his torture with this method, but he never took her fully.

Her nights in the arms of the Erosia were nirvana by comparison. With Lulubelle her blood burned, skin aflame. Her lover tasted of salt and cream. Macbeth could spend hours tasting her, only coming up for air. Lulubelle drove her to heights of ecstasy, skillfully bringing her to climax with her tongue and nimble fingers. She helped Macbeth forget her sessions with their master, made her new life bearable, but in her heart, she wondered how long their tryst could last.

One night, Calliope bade Macbeth join her in her chambers. It was a long time coming, the Chrysostems eventually invited all their slaves for bed play. It was the nature of their culture. Pathosians knew their appetites weren't easy to accept by some of their slaves, they counted on it. The shock and unease, coupled with the encounter fed both their physical needs and emotional feeding.

She knew entering the room her body would be used for the pleasure of her mistress, locking her emotions away as soon as she set foot across the threshold. Calliope would not get this satisfaction from her either. Macbeth almost lost her resolve when she saw her mistress's male bed mate, not Nero, but her mentor.

Her steps faltered halfway across the room, her breaths shortening as the situation unfurled in her mind. Julius sat beside a fully clothed Calliope, who twirled a glass of cusur wine between her fingers. Her mentor was naked and uncovered, the swirling tattoos on his arms spread across his chest. His pose was casual, legs open, revealing his state of half arousal. Macbeth dragged her eyes off it, catching his gaze. Without his customary goggles, his fluorescent yellow eyes glowed in the shadows of the canopied bed. There was no emotion she could discern in his face, a perfect slate.

Calliope spoke, her honeyed voice pulling Macbeth to attention. "I have it on good authority my dear husband has failed to breach that lovely maidenhead of yours, despite numerous sessions with you." She took a sip of wine, her tongue catching a drip on the side of the glass with a slow lick. She swallowed, a low purr in her throat. "His loss. You have been in our household for many cycles now. If he chooses not to enjoy you, then I will." Her eyes flicked to Julius, whose muscles twitched, all of them.

Her mistress smiled. "In truth, I am a voyeur at heart." She reached over, trailing her fingers down his chest, his belly, straight down, before she withdrew and pressed her fingers to her lips. "I have chosen this one for the task."

Calliope rose from the bed, approaching Macbeth, who was stunned into silence. Her mistress caressed her face with the same hand, taking Macbeth's chin in a bruising grip. "Whatever technique you have learned to shield yourself from my kind, I will still enjoy the pain and pleasure on your face." She came closer, nipping Macbeth's earlobe, sending a shot of warmth between her legs. "I have wanted to see your lust since the day I bought you." Her fingers followed the line of her jaw, down her neck, to tug the shift from Macbeth's shoulders, the garments pooling at her feet. Calliope wrapped an arm around her waist, the silk of her dress cool against Macbeth's fevered skin, guiding her to the bed.

Macbeth had no time to think before Julius was on her, shoving her onto her back, lifting her leg over his shoulder. Calliope settled into a nearby chair, sipping her wine, her free hand casually playing with her breasts. "Prepare her well, pet," she ordered, raising her glass in a mock toast.

Macbeth tried to focus on the canopy above her as his fingers took her and paused. She glanced at him, registering the flash of shock and confusion on his features. A spike of panic threatened to pierce her armor. Was it truly so obvious? Lulubelle took her virginity months ago, giving Macbeth some of the most intense pleasure she'd ever felt. How could she not realize what that would mean for her now?

Calliope frowned, but Julius continued, rough and fast, causing Macbeth to cry out as her body reacted. She sank into herself, pulling her mind back to ride out the sensations as her mentor, her friend, used her body to the whims of their mistress. If she'd doubted Julius was another slave in this house, she didn't anymore. He might not be a slave in the same sense she was, but Calliope owned him. He followed her orders with swift, brutal precision.

At Calliope's command, he took Macbeth hard. Tears ran from her eyes but she swallowed her shame and her anger, staring into Calliope's violet eyes as Julius finished the task, giving the female the same void she gave Nero. She thought it over as he climbed off her, until her mistress tipped her head to the side.

"Now make her body sing."

Julius carried her back to the slave quarters hours later. It was after her mentor forced a physical reaction from her that Calliope joined in, taking pleasure from both before sending them out, satisfied at last. She'd wrung one physical release after another from Macbeth, leaving the woman too wobbly to walk. She leaned against Julius's broad chest, feeling the raised skin of his tattoos beneath her cheek.

"Why did you cover for me?"

Julius sighed, his breath a flare of hot air on her scalp. "Of the many responses I expected, that was not one of them."

Macbeth tucked her head under his chin, relieved to hear her mentor once more. Whatever happened in Calliope's presence, the moment had passed. "I'm not the first, or the last to undergo the experience."

Julius was silent for a moment before his arms tightened around her. "I think she craved my reaction as much as she did yours."

Macbeth thought as much from the neutral face he wore when she entered, the same one he taught to her for entertaining Nero's guests. "So why did you cover for me?"

"If Nero found out you lost your virginity before he or Calliope chose to take it, you would be lucky to end up like Lia."

A shiver went through her, picturing the scars snaking out from the mute's lips. Clio told her Nero removed the woman's tongue when he grew bored during her oral ministrations. She didn't want to contemplate where her scars would be.

"Do you think she felt your surprise?"

She felt his muscles flex. "Yes, I do not know how she will interpret it. She might attribute it to my own hesitation." Julius bypassed the sleeping quarters, bringing her to the bathing room where he set her down, pumping water into one of the washtubs they used to bathe. Macbeth watched him, hugging her knees against the soreness between her legs. There was a weight to his gaze, fixed on the water filling the tub, she wondered how many women he'd done this for. What had he done to earn his position beneath Calliope's heel?

"Are you going to ask who it is?" Those peculiar eyes shifted to her. He was the only Pathosian she knew with eyes like that.

"If you don't tell me, I can't tell the mistress." Something in his expression gave it away.

"How long?" She whispered, hearing his breath hitch.

"You are too perceptive." Julius snapped, holding out a hand for her.

"You taught me." Macbeth countered, letting him ease her into the lukewarm water. She accepted a cloth, wiping the evening's encounter off her skin as her mentor furiously scrubbed himself down. He paused with his back to her, his intricate tattoos covering his shoulders.

"Since before she married Nero," he said softly.

To pine for someone so long, to be nothing more than a plaything in their eyes, she could not imagine such pain. Macbeth kept the pity from her face. She sought to change the subject. "How did she know Nero hadn't taken my virginity?"

Julius smirked at her over his shoulder. "I thought that would be obvious. The Erosia has been her spy for years-" His shoulders tensed, eyes widening. "Macbeth, no."

Lulubelle had hooks deep in her heart. She tried to hide the reaction but the knowledge blindsided her. Her fingers gripped the sides of the tub, the rough metal cutting into her skin as betrayal flushed through her. Her face remained neutral as stone, but inside? Inside, she wailed.