I am the illegitimate half-blood daughter of Hermes, god of trickery—forced to become my stepsister Victoria's body double in bed. Every night I endured her husband, the war god Ares, taking me like a beast that knows no satiation. And every morning, I knelt before her and recited his pillow talk back to her, word for word. When our three-year agreement expired, she tried to marry me off to a violent, deranged guard. I begged Ares for some kind of status. He laughed and said: "You're nothing but a gift with purchase." So I turned around and knelt before Geneteira, the Mother Goddess—and volunteered to marry the dying god, Apollo. Everyone thought I was walking into my own grave. But in the end, it was Ares who dragged his broken, stripped body through the dirt, weeping. And my name was already carved at the very top of the divine register. …… …… Ares had come to Victoria's bedchamber again. The two sat entwined in candlelight, temples brushing, murmuring sweet nothings only they could hear. Victoria rose with flushed cheeks to bathe. Before she left, she blew out every candle, as she always did. Half an hour later, I pushed open the door. The chamber was pitch black—only a thin wash of moonlight seeped through the latticed windows. Ares lifted his eyes lazily, amusement lacing his voice. "What took you so long?" He pulled me into his arms in one swift motion, then frowned. "Why are you so cold?" "I was outside watching the stars for a while," I answered, keeping my voice low. The truth was, I'd been standing outside the chamber door in nothing but a thin handmaiden's robe, waiting. I didn't dare stray far—I had to be ready to take Victoria's place at any moment. The whole night was relentless. Ares left countless marks across my body. He was a beast that never knew satiation, and I was prey thrown into his cage. Just before dawn broke, I slipped out of the bedchamber barefoot. Victoria was waiting for me in the side hall. I knelt before her despite the ache in every muscle, reciting every word Ares had spoken during the night—each one repeated exactly as he'd said it. That was her rule. Her gaze settled on the red marks along my neck, and her expression darkened instantly. Then she smoothed her gown and slipped silently into the bedchamber, easing herself into the bed beside Ares. Ares rolled over, half-opening his eyes, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. "Where'd you disappear to in the middle of the night? Sneaking off to meet some other man behind my back?" His tone was teasing. Victoria pouted and swatted his chest playfully, and the two dissolved into laughter. I withdrew from the chamber without a sound and pulled the door shut behind me. Victoria was Hermes' legitimate daughter—pure-blooded divine, noble in every sense. But she'd been gravely injured before, leaving her body too frail to endure anything remotely intense in bed. Because of this, despite her unmatched beauty, no god had been willing to offer her a marriage contract when she came of age. Until a spring banquet, when Ares saw her. The war god was captivated at first sight. He proposed to Hermes on the spot, offering her the position of principal wife. Victoria was equally smitten. The two became inseparable—the most celebrated couple in all the divine realm. As her attendant, I'd once been genuinely happy for her. But on their wedding night, Victoria fainted dead away on the marriage bed. Ares was the god of war. Strength and dominance were etched into his very bones, and nowhere more so than between the sheets. Victoria's body simply couldn't withstand it. For three consecutive nights, the marriage went unconsummated. Word spread fast, and Victoria became the laughingstock of the entire realm. The war god's bride can't even survive the first night—everyone was waiting to see her cast aside, replaced. Desperate, Victoria devised a solution. Each night, she would extinguish every candle and have someone take her place in the dark. And I—as her father's illegitimate daughter, our shared blood giving us similar builds and voices—was her perfect choice. I didn't want to do it. But I had no choice. My mother was mortal. Her affair with my father had been nothing more than one of Hermes' passing amusements in the human world—no one cared whether she lived or died. She was gravely ill, and only the divine realm's spirit medicine could keep her alive. The supply of that medicine was entirely in Victoria's hands. I was forced to become her handmaiden. I knelt and thanked her for the privilege. "Relax—three years at most. Father's already looking for a healing god to restore my body. After that—" She glared at me with undisguised revulsion. "Even if you wanted to stay, I'd never let a half-breed mongrel like you remain." Then, fearing exposure, Victoria used sorcery to seal my voice. She announced to everyone that I was a born mute. Only in Ares' bed was I permitted to speak. And every night thereafter, when the candles died and the chamber doors closed, I ceased to be Nysa. I became Victoria's shadow—bearing everything in the darkness that was never meant to be mine.
Half an hour later, Victoria and Ares finally rose. I returned to my small room for a quick wash, changed into clean clothes, and went to the main hall to set out breakfast. Ares sat behind the table, and his gaze landed on me. He paused. "Why are you dressed like that?" I instinctively tightened my collar, pressing my lips together nervously. Ares never knew restraint in bed. He always left marks on me—bite marks, bruises, finger-shaped imprints. My only option was high-collared garments to hide them, even when they clashed with what I'd normally wear. Victoria gave him a gentle push, her voice sweet and coy. "You forget? Nysa's a mute. She can't speak." I nodded quickly. But Ares raised an eyebrow, studying me with open interest. "This little mute of yours is rather pretty, in that pitiful, waif-like way." Victoria feigned jealousy, chiding him playfully. "And what's that supposed to mean? Don't tell me you've got your eye on her." She shot me a glance—the warmth in her eyes plummeting to nothing, a blade's edge hidden beneath. Ares laughed, unbothered. "I haven't even accused you of anything, and you're already accusing me." He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a clear ring of teeth marks on his forearm, his expression somewhere between amused and challenging. "Come on. Tell me—is this your handiwork from last night?" Those marks hit me like a slap across the face. Last night he'd been too rough, pushing me past my limit. I'd clenched my jaw against the pain but couldn't hold back a cry. In a frenzy of desperation and fury, I'd bitten him. I knelt on the floor, hands ice-cold, body rigid. Sure enough—the instant Ares' footsteps carried him out of the hall, scalding tea came splashing toward me. I jerked my head up and met Victoria's face, twisted with rage. The next second, her palm cracked across my cheek hard enough to fill my mouth with blood. "You worthless mongrel—how dare you leave marks on his body? Are you trying to provoke me?" Before I could utter a single word in my defense, the servants she'd summoned bound my hands and feet and dragged me into the confinement chamber. No water. No food. Nothing but darkness and myself. Ares had departed to inspect the war territories. He wouldn't return for three to five days—which meant Victoria had no use for me, and I could be left to rot here just as long. Victoria also sent people in. Every night, they administered punishments. They were careful about it—nothing that would leave conspicuous scars. But they could make me wish I were dead. By the third day, I was barely clinging to life. A bowl of chicken broth was slid under the door—my sister Phoebe had been worried about me and found a way to send food in. My younger sister. Born to my mother and a mortal man. She was human too, scraping by at the border between the human and divine worlds, unable to even set foot inside the realm proper. She knew nothing about the body-double arrangement—only that I served as Victoria's handmaiden. "Nysa, I heard you were punished. What did you do to upset her?" Phoebe had also sent word through a messenger. I couldn't answer her. All I could do was ask the low-ranking servant who relayed the message: When would Ares return? The servant said, "He should be back tonight. He'll go to the mistress's bedchamber as usual." I let out a breath of relief. Once he returned, Victoria would need me. I also asked about recent happenings in the divine realm. The servant sighed. "Nothing major. Only that Apollo's condition has worsened. Thaniel says there's nothing more he can do. Geneteira wants to find him a wife before he goes, so he might leave behind an heir—but no one's willing." Apollo. Above Ares, there was an elder brother—the one who should have been the most likely heir to Zeus's power and position. But his life had been borrowed. If not for a forbidden art performed by a healing god named Thaniel, barely extending his life by thirty years, he would have been stillborn. Perhaps fate had shown him a sliver of mercy: in his youth, his brilliance was unmatched, his radiance blinding. He was hailed as the most extraordinary genius in ten thousand years. But at eighteen, an "accident" cast him into the abyss. Since then, he'd been confined to the Lake Heart Temple, waiting to die. And marrying a dying god meant a lifetime of confinement. Never mind noble goddesses—even the lowliest handmaiden would flee from such a fate. But it was precisely because of his decline that Ares had been able to seize control of the divine clan.
By the evening meal, Victoria had me released. She ordered food prepared and even arranged her features into something resembling remorse. "Nysa, I was too impulsive with that punishment. I got busy and forgot about you. Don't hold it against me." I kept my head down. "I wouldn't dare." After a moment of silence, I mustered the courage to bring up leaving. Victoria's expression shifted instantly. "You want to leave?" I nodded carefully. The three years were up. She'd promised me. Her lips curved into a thin smile, but her tone was that of someone discussing something utterly trivial. "My body hasn't recovered yet. Ares still needs you." I froze. She'd given her word—three years, no more. Victoria lifted her teacup and blew on it idly. "If you absolutely insist on going, I'll have someone fetch Phoebe to replace you. You're blood sisters—your voices and builds are close enough." Every drop of warmth drained from my body, as though I'd been plunged into an ice pit. After a long silence, I heard my own teeth chattering. "Then... could you at least ask Ares to give me some kind of status?" "Climbing the ladder now, are we?" Victoria's smile went glacial. "If I wanted to find Ares a mistress, I'd have my pick of candidates—none of whom would be you. And don't even think about going to Ares yourself. To him, you're nothing but a plaything. Even if you became his personal attendant, I could make you and your decrepit mortal mother disappear with a snap of my fingers." My throat felt as if someone had a hand around it. "I can't stay unmarried forever." "The gate guard's son is willing to take you," she said flatly. "He's a bit rough-tempered, but he's still a minor god. More than good enough for someone like you." That guard's son—I'd seen him. Intellectually impaired. Violent by nature. His favorite solution to everything was his fists. Especially in bed. I understood Victoria's intent immediately: she wanted to weld me permanently into her grip. Married to someone like that, I'd never escape. I'd have no choice but to keep being her shadow—invisible, unspeakable, forever. Ares returned to find me still kneeling on the floor in a daze. Victoria rose with a smile to greet him. "You're back. These past few days must have been exhausting. This handmaiden was clumsy—broke a crystal lamp. I'm having her kneel for a quarter hour." Ares stepped past me without a second glance, hair slightly disheveled, fatigue written across his face. "What's the status on the Apollo situation?" Victoria sighed. "Marrying a god who's practically dead? Everyone thinks it's bad luck. No young goddess will agree." Ares frowned. "Find someone low-born. Get leverage over her family. Offer enough incentives or apply enough pressure—it'll get done. Geneteira's never approved of you. Handle this well, and her opinion will change." Geneteira—the Guardian of Progeny, mother of both Apollo and Ares, and the most revered mother goddess of the entire divine realm. In all matters of bloodline succession and marriage contracts, her verdict was final law. Perhaps out of a mother's guilt and tenderness, she cared about Apollo's situation above all else. She'd even put out word across the entire realm: anyone willing to be Apollo's companion could name one wish, no conditions attached. Clearly, Victoria also craved the approval of the divine mother. She agreed obediently. And I remained rooted where I knelt. Both knees had long since gone numb and swollen, but my mind had drifted far away. A bold idea was taking shape in the depths of my heart.
That night, Ares naturally stayed in Victoria's bedchamber. Every time he returned from inspecting the war territories, he'd go at it all night long. It was how he released his energy—whatever he couldn't kill enough of on the battlefield, he made up for in bed. That night, I gave everything I had to match him. Ares lost control several times, gripping my waist, laughing. "What's gotten into you tonight? Did you miss me?" I said nothing. With great effort, I propped myself up and pressed a trembling kiss to the side of his face. Near dawn, I came back to my senses and tried to push away, to leave. His arms clamped down like iron, locking me against him. "What—still thinking about leaving the realm?" My entire body went rigid. Ares nuzzled the tip of his nose against my cheek, his voice lazy and unhurried. "Don't bother hiding it. I'm extremely sensitive to scent. You and Victoria pulling your little switch—I knew from the very first night." "Besides—" He paused, bringing his breath close to the back of my neck. "Vic doesn't have a mole here." My body turned to stone. No wonder he'd grown more brazen each time, more reckless without limit—he'd known from the very beginning that the woman beneath him wasn't his wife. I was silent for a moment. Then, carrying a hope I couldn't quite name, I spoke softly. "Then... when are you going to give me a proper status?" "Proper status?" Ares laughed—as if he'd just heard the funniest joke. "You're Victoria's handmaiden. Only she gets to decide your status. If I said something, wouldn't that be an insult to her?" "Tell you what—give me your name. I'll have someone send you some dresses and jewelry. Once Victoria's body recovers and she conceives, I'll promote you to my personal attendant." I closed my eyes, bitterness flooding my chest. Victoria had been right. In his eyes, I was nothing but a toy. Why would Ares go out of his way to publicize a scandal and invite trouble upon himself? When I didn't respond, his tone hardened. "Just because I've bedded you for a few years, you think you're the lady of the house now? Personal attendant isn't enough? What else do you want?" He'd always despised greedy women. There was open anger in his words now. I knew perfectly well: with my birth, I didn't even qualify to be his mistress. And Ares would never turn against Victoria for my sake. Hermes valued this daughter, and had helped Ares in countless ways, openly and covertly. He would never create conflict with Victoria over a woman who meant nothing to him. Finally, I spoke quietly. "My station is too low to hope for anything. I only wish you and Victoria a thousand years of happiness together." I knew now. My way out—I'd have to find it myself.
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