The Erosia missed the evening meal. Macbeth thought little of her initial absence. Lulubelle occasionally took meals in her private quarters but there was something odd about Nero's behavior. Perhaps if her thoughts weren't constantly skittering back to Lia's empty pallet she might have seen his odd behavior the first night. She gave her evening report on autopilot. It was not in-depth but Nero dismissed her with a curt nod. The second night Julius found her beforehand.

"No report tonight, Mac," He clamped a hand on her shoulder, steering her to their corner table. "The Master is occupied with other duties tonight." His tone pulled her out of her stupor.

"What duties?" She frowned, attempting to read his expression through the goggles. These were new, she wondered when he replaced them.

Her mentor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You are walking a fine line, leave it be."

A chill swept through her. Lulubelle rarely avoided the evening meal twice in a row. So close to the escape attempt, too close.

"Was she caught helping me?" Macbeth whispered, catching the muscle twitch in Julius's arms. He glanced around, ensuring their relative privacy before leaning over.

"She helped you?" His voice was rife with disbelief.

Macbeth swallowed, her throat tight, her skin itched beneath her bandaged fingers. "She locked me in the empty storeroom to keep me from leaving." She hadn't told anyone, uncertain of Lulubelle's motivations, uncertain she still cared about the woman until the hollow clench in her chest at the thought of her being punished. She reached across the table, wrapping her fingers around Julius's wrist. "Please, tell me what's going on?" Finding out after the fact would break her. What if Lulubelle was accused of helping the escapees? Would Nero kill his precious Erosia? Would she ever see Lulubelle's beautiful face again?

"Did you know Pathosians can sense the fertility cycle in other species besides our own?"

Macbeth blinked at him, thrown by the turn in conversation. "What are you talking about?"

"Our women are different, their cycles are sparse, some don't enter their time of fertility for a decade. Their pregnancies are dangerous, lengthy, many die in childbirth despite all our tech. Calliope hasn't had a cycle in twelve years. Nero would settle for a parbreed heir. Our genetics tend to be dominate, most Pathosian parbreeds are hard to identify." Julius removed his goggles, those iridescent yellow eyes filled with sadness. "Lulubelle entered a fertility cycle yesterday."

Macbeth's blood pounded in her ears. Realization churned the bile in her stomach, crawling up her throat. Her eyes flit over Julius's horns, the bone like protrusions at his elbows. She swallowed repeatedly, trying to keep the logistics of a human birthing a Pathosian out of her head. Lulubelle's delicate frame filled her thoughts. She rose from the table, rushing out into the gardens before she retched.

There was nothing in her stomach, Macbeth had little appetite the past few days, but her body didn't care. Dry heaves wracked her until a pair of red tattooed arms closed around her waist and hauled her into Julius's lap. He held a cup against her lips, tipping a cold, sweet, liquid down her throat until her guts stopped twisting in on themselves.

"Easy, pet, settle down, settle down." He rocked her, cradling her shaky limbs against his chest. She was so cold the contact felt like open flame.

"How could Calliope allow this? She's still his wife," Macbeth gasped out, her throat shredded, like she'd swallowed broken glass. She heard a snarl in Julius's chest he tamed into a snort by the time it reached his lips.

"Do you think there is any love between those two? Their entire marriage, they have spent a handful of nights together, none of them recent."

"Why don't they end it?" Her vision clouded, her eyes stinging from unshed tears.

"Marriage among the nobility is a binding contract. It ends when one of them dies." Julius's voice emerged as a growl, betraying how deep his hatred ran for Nero. Macbeth felt the burn in her veins. She hated the man too, but Nero had both the women they loved bound to him. Except the Erosia thought Macbeth hated her. Shame and regret left a bitter taste in her mouth. She spent their last night together cursing the woman's existence through the storeroom door, listening to her sobs, giving her nothing but cold rage.

Why hadn't she forgiven Lulubelle when she realized her true intentions the first time? Instead she spurned her, leaving Lulubelle no avenue but to beg for an audience before Macbeth escaped. She locked her up, despite knowing Macbeth would hate her for it.

"I'm such a fool," Macbeth choked out, tears spilling over. A person would not put themselves at such risk, with no reward, unless motivated by an emotion stronger than fear. The Erosia loved her. Macbeth wanted to scream all over again.

Julius was silent as she sobbed, his chest rising and falling against her wet cheek. He didn't stop her, or mind the tears, letting her cry against him in the cooling night air away from the eyes of the other slaves.

"You know how I really lost Calliope to Nero?" He said softly in the silence after her tears ran out. "I became a soldier, thought it was the only way I could earn enough status and wealth to be worthy of her hand, to support a lady of her standing. She begged me not to go. Said she would leave the planet with me, we could eke out a living among the stars. I believed a life without refinery would drag her down into misery so I left. One campaign bled into another. I was surgically altered for the war on Clymestria, a world of infinite night. I spent years entrenched in combat. By the time I made it home, her family had forced her into a politically advantageous marriage and I was a broken man, fit for no one." Julius brushed his lips over her hair. "We are both fools, pet."

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" Macbeth rasped, the effort of crying further wrecked her raw throat.

"You can ask her in a few days. Nero will keep her locked away until her cycle is over. It is surprising he has not cancelled his social banquets. Guess he does not want to lose face with the nobility." Julius sneered.

"Why would he cancel anyway?"

Her mentor shifted, clearing his throat. "We don't just sense a female's fertility cycle. Males go mad with lust around a female in heat."

"Including you?"

"If I couldn't control myself, Nero would slit my throat." Julius shifted again. "But I am a seasoned male; he has a pack of youngsters in their prime coming for tomorrow's evening meal, all sons of the nobility. It has to make him nervous. The young are so much more aggressive. He better have her somewhere out of reach."

Macbeth hoped so too. The thought of her Master rutting on Lulubelle like chattel was awful enough, but the idea of a group seeking her out, out of their heads with lust? She shuddered. She would keep watch as well.

She stayed awake when they parted ways, a sharp sense of foreboding swilling around her head, keeping her eyes open long after exhaustion should have claimed her. The pallet felt stiff beneath her, fibers scratching her skin. She rolled over, catching the outline of Lia's empty pallet shoved into a corner. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her, tears pricking her sore eyes, though she had no energy to cry. Lia's only freedom from this life came with her death. Past the guilt she felt for surviving, her anger at Nerot, and her hatred of her situation, there was a shred of jealousy. Dead or not, Lia was free. While the thought colored her face with shame, Macbeth wouldn't dismiss it. Her mortal freedom was a far better fate than watching a loved one destroyed piece by piece.

Clio shook her awake at dawn. She must have slept at some point. Macbeth shuffled through the day, forcing her heavy limbs to perform her normal chores. Julius looked no better, his red skin a shade lighter, his tongue sharp, snapping at the slaves until Clio smacked him.

"Sorry, pet," he winced, rubbing the back of his head. He opted for silence over words after that, glowering at anyone who failed to please him. The lot of them managed to get through the day until Clio came rushing back into the kitchens from evening prep.

"Nero's been called away to a senate meeting. He's so close to claiming a seat he left his guests in Calliope's care."

"Bacchus's horn, is he mad?" Julius grit his teeth hard enough to make his jaw crack. "There are twenty guests tonight, including the four sons of the nobility. She cannot keep an eye on them alone."

Her pulse thundered, drowning out the rest of the conversation. Macbeth's feet carried her into the thrumming dining area, hovering at the edges. Calliope was resplendent, her hair woven into an elegant knot of looping braids. Her dress was pure white, stark against her wine red skin, settling around her like a cloud. Her amethyst eyes flashed as her throaty laughter filled the air. The guests appeared enraptured by their luxurious hostess, but Macbeth only counted eighteen among them.

She moved faster, heading for Lulubelle's room, praying Nero wouldn't leave her so close to the entrance hall. She halted at the Erosia's door, pressing herself against it, listening for signs of struggle. Nothing but silence met her ears. She'd reconciled herself to leaving when a crackle of metal on stone cast a soft echo down the hall.

Macbeth bolted for the sound, catching sight of Nero's chamber door ajar. She slipped inside, recoiling at the scene before her. The Erosia was chained to the wall by her throat, her revealing clothing shredded, a gag tied around her mouth. She struggled against the hold of two males, one pinning her arms, the other prying her legs apart, both naked from the waist down. Lulubelle's muffled screams pierced the haze of her mind, giving rage a pipeline to her system. Her vision focused, everything falling away until the male trying to mount her love stood at the end of a blurred tunnel.

A shriek tore from her throat, drenched in her outrage. Macbeth tackled the monster, leaping onto his back. She grabbed his horns, driving her knees into his spine as he bellowed in pain. The second male was on her in a flash, punching her in the ribs. She shelved the pain for later, using her leverage to reel her captive into his friend with a twist on his horns. The momentum brought him crashing chin first to the ground, where Macbeth kicked off him to head butt the other in the gut. He grabbed her, his claw-like nails gouging into her neck as his fingers squeezed, trying to strangle her. She didn't hesitate, going for the vulnerable spot bobbing in her field of vision. She bit down, coppery blood lashing her tongue. She released as he collapsed with a howl of agony just as the first staggered to his feet, pulling a blade from the free hanging belt at his waist.

Lulubelle screamed as he launched at Macbeth, who grabbed his thrusting wrist and spat blood in his eyes. The male stumbled, helped along by a kick to the knee for his return trip to the floor. Macbeth slammed her heel between his legs. He curled into a quivering ball as she turned to the Erosia. It was over in a couple pulse pounding seconds.

Lulubelle reached for her with violently shaking hands. "Come here, come here, come here," she pulled the chain taunt at her neck, yanking Macbeth against her trembling body as soon as she came into range. The adrenaline drained from her, leaving her in an equally wobbly state. She felt Lulubelle using her torn clothing to clean the blood from her lips, unable to take her eyes from the weeping males until the Erosia's hands framed her face.

"Look at me," she said, her voice cracked. Macbeth glanced down at the gag loose around her neck, damp with her saliva. Her breasts were exposed, rubbed raw, bruises blooming on her skin. Lulubelle forced her eyes up, Macbeth's gaze crawling over the bruise on her cheek before meeting those eyes, chips of emerald. "You saved me, do you understand? You stopped the worst of it."

Macbeth nodded, reality settling on her. She'd attacked two noble Pathosians, her life was forfeit, but when she looked into Lulubelle's gemstone eyes, it was worth the price. She touched her forehead to the Erosia's, unwilling to kiss those abused lips with the bastard's blood lingering in her mouth.

"Oh gods," a voice gasped, forcing them apart. Calliope stood in the doorway, surrounded by guests drawn to the noise. A collective look of horror donned their faces, but Calliope's expression was remote as she stared at them. Lulubelle's arms tightened on Macbeth, as if she could prevent her lover's life slipping from her hold.