First impressions usually last a lifetime. Celeste knew that, but she also knew she didn't care. Let these women judge. She hadn't chosen this gilded cage—she was dragged here in chains. Unlike the others, she hadn't accepted slavery as life. She would bide her time until an opportunity presented itself, then run.
The very idea of sharing one man with dozens of women was barbaric. Disgusting. Who in their right mind wanted a man who slept with everything that moved?
She steeled her spine as Natira led her into the bathing quarters. The chamber glowed with tapestries of deep red held back by golden cords. In the center, a pool stretched nearly wall to wall, sunk into marble that gleamed beneath her bare feet.
"This is the bathing hall for the harem," Natira explained. "Most bathe together, unless summoned for a private audience with the Emperor."
Celeste flushed. "You mean he chooses women to bathe with him?"
"The Emperor does as he pleases." Natira's tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp. She motioned Celeste closer. "Now—out of that shirt before the others see you wearing it."
Celeste hesitated, arms crossing her chest as the fabric slipped away.
"The ladies of the harem grow jealous easily," Natira said, circling her with a critical eye.
"Isn't that insane?" Celeste shot back. "They're literally part of a harem."
"And what do you know of harems, child?" Natira's voice hardened. "I rose from nothing to Empress, now Valide Empress. This is survival."
Celeste shrugged. "All I see is one man, many women."
With a snap of Natira's fingers, attendants approached, guiding Celeste into the pool. Flower petals floated on the surface, their fragrance heady.
Natira's expression softened, though her words did not. "Which is precisely why you are in danger. My son has already shown you too much favoritism. The others will want you gone."
"I have no interest in the Emperor," Celeste said firmly.
"That may be, but your interests no longer matter. You are in the harem now, and every woman here fights for the Emperor's attention. The goal is to rise—perhaps even to Empress. They will sabotage without hesitation."
Celeste sank beneath the water until it kissed her lips, cocooned in its warmth. Natira's voice carried through the steam.
"You are an Omega. A virgin. Beautiful. You will rise quickly. But heed my advice—love him as Emperor, not as a man. To confuse the two is dangerous."
Celeste lifted her chin above the water. "And yet you did not confuse them, did you? You loved your husband, though he had countless others."
Natira's eyes softened, distant. "I was raised in the harem. It was all I knew. I gave him my heart, and he gave me a place in his that no other touched. That was enough."
"It would never be enough for me," Celeste whispered fiercely. "I've dreamed of a love that burns down a thousand planets. A devotion so deep that when one dies, the other follows. A union my children could inherit."
Natira regarded her with something like pity. "A beautiful, naïve sentiment. But fate deals cruel hands, child. Dreams rarely survive."
Celeste bit the inside of her cheek as attendants drew her from the pool, toweling her dry and smoothing oils across her skin. She bristled when someone set a pot of black ink on the table.
"What is that for?"
"Royal Vlallasrian markings," Natira explained. "Every virgin in the harem wears them. If even one smudge appears from a man's touch—other than the Emperor's—the guilty party is executed."
Celeste's brows shot up. "What if I smudge them myself?"
"We place them where you cannot easily reach."
What twisted world was this? These women were dressed up like ornaments, told to wait, told to keep clean, told their very skin belonged to a man who could bed whoever he pleased while they were bound to him alone. Rage boiled, but she swallowed it. Natira had been nothing but kind, even if she was steeped in tradition.
"The other concubines will leave you be—for now. But once your virginity is gone, the games begin. That is when they will see you as competition."
Celeste gave a sharp nod. "Got it. Keep my virginity."
Natira laughed, surprising herself. "You are one of a kind. Keep your chin up, tongue sharp, ears open, and trust few. You may survive this yet."
They dressed her in the traditional garb: a sheer band of topaz-blue fabric across her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. Loose pants slit from hip to calf, slippers embroidered in gold. Celeste tugged at the flimsy cloth and muttered, "I feel like a painted whore."
Natira clicked her tongue. "You are every man's dream, and every woman's nightmare." She gestured to the door. "Do not let them scent your fear. I am always near if you need counsel."
Celeste reached out impulsively, taking the Empress's hands. "Thank you for your kindness."
For a moment, genuine surprise flickered across Natira's face. Then she nodded briskly and opened the door to Celeste's new hell.