Page 124 of Cleopatra

He turned and his stare lingered on my body. “You could never be plain. For it is not the clothes or the jewels that make you striking, it is the woman beneath.”

“Lavish words,” I said with a mocking smile, though my heart quickened with the compliment.

Charmion turned her attention to Antonius. “Triumvir, I think you should remove your belt—it marks you as a Roman. And swap your tunic for a chiton.”

Antonius did as Charmion bade, putting on a Greek-style chiton that would disguise him as one of the Egyptian nobility. I did not look away as he changed, my gaze resting on the sheen of his skin above his loincloth. He caught me staring, and the look he gave me was scalding in its heat.

“I name you Helios,” I said quietly, gifting him the name of his guise: god of the sun.

“Who better to accompany Selene, goddess of the moon?” he replied.

I broke his stare and turned to the plinth that hid the steps to the cistern.

Antonius startled at the ease with which I moved the deceptively hollow pillar, and his eyes widened when the steps were revealed.

The smell of seaweed and dead things drifted in from the tunnel below.

“Selene, what is this?” I felt a thrill of pleasure at his once more addressing me by this name.

“Helios, it is our means of escape.”

—

Antonius could not hide his awe as we rowed across the bay to the city. Every so often he would look at me, laugh and shake his head.

“When I think I know the extent of you, I find there is more to unravel.”

“I am unfathomable.”

His expression turned tender. “You are.”

The little boat nudged the shore, severing the gentleness of the moment as I stumbled forward. Antonius reached for me, his hands circling my waist.

“I am well,” I said stiffly, moving away from his grip.

I saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but I could not find it in myself to regret my actions. After Caesar I was more guarded with my heart.

We walked through the city in silence, each enjoying the novelty of no guards at our backs. When we reached the market, Antonius pointed out a stall selling trinkets and talismans of the gods.

“Look,” he said, picking up a miniature statue of Isis, delighted.

“Blessed by the Pharaoh, it will bring you great prosperity,” the market seller said.

Antonius raised an eyebrow. “Blessed by the Pharaoh, you say? It must be worth its weight in gold, then.”

“Not gold, not silver, not even bronze,” I said.

The market seller took my words as an attempt to bargain and began to haggle, but I waved him away. “I do not want it. Sell your false talismans to someone else.”

“To me,” Antonius said. He reached into his pocket and placed a gold coin in the seller’s hands.

“Your generosity will draw the crowds,” I said, irritated.

“I mean only to impress you,” he admitted, and all of my annoyance fled in the face of his honesty.

The market seller gaped like a fish. “Th-this is too much…” he stuttered. “You must take something more.” He began to scoop up more of the wooden figurines and tried to pass them off to Antonius, who shook his head.

“As you say, these are blessed by the Pharaoh and are too precious to be wasted on me—keep them.”