Achilles' chest was not what she had expected. Beneath the smooth, almost otherworldly skin of his abdomen, there was a thin, white cloth bound tightly across his chest. But what truly caught her attention was the unmistakable outline beneath that cloth—soft curves, the unmistakable shape of a woman's chest, hidden beneath the fabric.
Briseis slowly raised her gaze, her eyes tracing the elegant curve of the valley that led down to those appetizing concealed peaks, the delicate rise and fall of Achilles' chest.
"A... A woman?"
"Quite surprised, aren't you?" Achilles laughed, her voice now softening into a tone far more feminine than Briseis had ever heard. There was a light, almost musical quality to it, a stark contrast to the gruff, commanding voice she had used until now, seemingly on purpose to deceive everyone around her.
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Briseis blinked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you really Achilles?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt. The name Achilles of Phthia carried the weight of legends—tales of a warrior without equal, said to be the greatest ever born after Perseus himself, the hero who had slain the dreaded gorgon.
And the Achilles from those stories was undoubtedly a man, or at least, that was what everyone believed.
As Briseis stared at the figure before her, the uncertainty gnawed at her. Could it be someone else entirely masquerading as the famed warrior?
But Achilles merely smiled, a slow, knowing grin that seemed to dismiss Briseis's doubt as if it were a fleeting thought. "Achilleas," she said softly, her lips curling. "That's the name my mother gave me. But only those close to me call me Khillea. They, and they alone, know the truth—that I am, and have always been, a woman."
Briseis found herself at a loss for words.
Achilles—a woman? It seemed impossible. This was the warrior who had felled the greatest foes of Troy, the unstoppable force of the Achaeans' army. And yet, as Briseis stood there in stunned silence, the truth seemed to settle around her like a thick, heavy fog.
Achilles' eyes gleamed as she continued. "In the world of the Achaeans, it is men who are allowed to shine. Any woman who dares to outshine them is not honored, but discredited, mocked, or worse." There was a bitterness that crept into her tone, a bitterness born of years of understanding the harshness of the world. "I learned that lesson early. So, I became what they needed me to be.
I lived as a man, fought as a man, and carried myself as one. Can you imagine if that fool Agamemnon ever discovered the truth?"
Briseis shivered at the thought. Agamemnon—the arrogant king, so full of pride and self-importance—had always despised Achilles for her defiance, for her refusal to bow to him. What might he do if he learned that the warrior he envied and resented was, in fact, a woman?
Briseis could only imagine the lengths to which Agamemnon might go to exert control over Achilles, perhaps even try to claim her as his own, forcing her into submission with the same ruthless tactics he used against his enemies.
In that moment, she realized that any man in the Greek camps would have lost his senses at the sight of Khillea like this. She was, without a doubt, breathtaking—her body as flawless as her battle prowess.
Even though Briseis was a woman, she couldn't help but feel an undeniable pull toward Khillea. She was not only the strongest warrior among the greeks, but also, impossibly, the most beautiful. There was something otherworldly about her, a perfection that made Briseis wonder if she truly had been born from a goddess, as the myths claimed.
Naked and unabashed, Khillea turned her attention to the basin of hot water that had been prepared for her inside the tent. She moved gracefully, dipping her toes in first to test the temperature, then sliding her entire body into the water with a soft, contented sigh.
"So good~," she moaned, her voice rich and sensual as the warmth of the water began to relax the tension from her muscles, worn from the strain of battle. Her moans filled the space between them, each one laced with pleasure as the water were washing away the dirt and blood of the battlefield.
Briseis remained where she was, sitting awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Her mind was still racing, trying to process everything—the revelation of Achilles' true identity, the strangeness of the situation, and the undeniable allure of the woman in front of her.
"What are you doing?" Khillea's voice interrupted her thoughts. The question was casual, but there was an unmistakable command in it. "Come."
Briseis blinked, startled. "F...For?" she stammered, her heart pounding in her chest as she hesitantly approached the bath.
As expected, Briseis' suspicions seemed to be confirmed. Khillea, it appeared, was more interested in women than men.
But Khillea's next words caught her off guard.
"Wash my hair."
Briseis blinked, the tension in her chest easing slightly, though her confusion deepened. That was not the command she had expected.
"You heard me?" Khillea's voice was soft but firm, the hint of amusement lingering in her tone.
Snapped out of her swirling thoughts, Briseis hesitated only for a moment before moving closer. She reached out, her hands trembling slightly as she took hold of Khillea's soft, long red hair, which cascaded down her back in thick waves. The scent of the water was soothing, floral and delicate.
With gentle fingers, Briseis began to wash the strands, her movements slow and deliberate. The warm water ran through Khillea's hair, and with it, the tension in Briseis' body began to loosen as well. She could feel Khillea's muscles relax beneath her touch, the warrior's body sinking deeper into the bath.
"Mmmn~" Khillea moaned, a low, contented sound that sent a faint ripple through the room. Her breasts floated just above the water's surface, barely visible, glistening in the dim light of the tent. The heat from the bath had turned her skin a soft pink, her beauty almost ethereal as the steam rose around her like mist.