The Gifts of Pandora

the sufferance of the King of Olympus who had destroyed their father and, over the years, forced himself on more than half of the seven queens.
But then, the queens were but a few of his victims.
Pandora felt her jaw hardening. The urge to give voice to such a grievance bubbled inside her like a boiling cauldron, almost more than she could contain. It felt she would overflow from the need to speak of what she’d seen, so long suppressed.
Had it suited her, the queen could have simply slain Pandora then and there. No one would question a Titan, least of all one who ostensibly ruled the polis and island, both. In theory, the Pleiades were all equal, but Pandora had long suspected Kelaino held more than her share of the power. Now, with Merope bound for Korinth and Elektra spending so much time in Minos’s court in Knosós, that would only increase. Taygete and Sterope were weak, and Maia, from what Pandora had heard, had never quite been the same once Zeus had finished with her.
Pandora raised her gaze to meet the Titan’s own, offering up a challenge. Despite it all, despite all that had befallen her, Pandora refused to give in. She would not surrender to the ravages of circumstance, and she would not allow the facade she wore with clients to became authentic.
“The World is how it is, Pandora,” Kelaino said after a moment more. “Your best chance at happiness may lie in accepting that. To defy the foundations of society is folly.”
“Which is easy to say when one reigns as queen of the most powerful polis in the World.”
Now those Atlantid eyes—so dark as to seem almost black—hardened further. Yes, Pandora so oft crossed lines. For the very existence of such lines deeply offended. “My sister will wed tomorrow. See to it her betrothed gets other women out of his system tonight.”
Perhaps Pandora’s look of distaste showed plain upon her face. Oh, it wasn’t as if she expected to get through a symposium without servicing a guest or two, nor even minded overmuch. Pandora was twenty-five and had been doing this since her bleeds had started. Shame over such things had become a distant memory, given way to practicality and the realization her choice lay only in how she responded to the throws of Fate. “Shall I point out that the idea that a man who needs to sate himself upon other women on the very eve of his wedding would ever get over such a need is so patently absurd as to offend reason?”
The Titan grabbed her elbow, this time with a grip that felt like it could have torn chunks of the marble fountain clean off. “Vex me, and you may sacrifice more than a night’s pay.” And given that Kelaino tended to offer a half dozen tetradrachmae for these events, it was a hefty sacrifice. “My protection of you may expire as well.”
Protection? As if the queen was an actual patron to her. Pandora had never sought any permanent patron, and she didn’t recall any such offer from Kelaino. She studiously forced her face to neutrality. Titan arrogance always tended to shine through, as if even the smallest of kindnesses shown to mortals deserved obeisance and eternal gratitude in return. “I’d not dream of allowing this to become a dull party.”
“Splendid.” Her voice struck like a whip. “I’m told your cunt sings even more beautifully than your voice.” With that, Kelaino spun on her heel.
Pandora winced. Clearly, she had pushed a little beyond the bounds of wisdom with the queen.
For a moment, she steadied herself, watching the dark play of fish swimming around a stingray. If stepped upon, such creatures could unsheathe spines in their tails laced with oh-so-painful venom. Only a fool tromped among them without a care. How she longed for such a stinger herself, with toxin enough to fell even an Olympian. To fell all the Titans who thought themselves so far above Man, and then, perhaps, no few of the men who thought themselves above women.
When the moment passed, she affected her most sensual sashay, circumnavigating the pool in order to place herself ahead of Sisyphus and his entourage. With an expression of half-lidded eyes—one she had spent much time practicing—she made her way close to the demigod king. “I’m told my king will soon depart these lands and belong to but a single woman?”
“’Belong’ might be a stretch,” the man intoned, eyes roaming over her like he surveyed a newly purchased field.
Oh, she’d known a hundred men like him. More, perhaps. She’d affected arousal by them, played whatever role they needed of her, molded like clay in their hands. Yet this time, the thought of his intrusion inside her felt vile. Perhaps it was Kelaino’s words. Perhaps it was that Pandora had so wanted the queen to sympathize, to share her views, when so few other people even seemed capable of apprehending her meanings. The Nymph might have followed Pandora’s reasoning, but she spurned it, and Pandora remained deserted.
Whatever the case, she found her words for Sisyphus ran dry. The moment stretched on, and she considered walking away, payment and supposed protection be damned. But to do so would earn her a foe upon the acropolis island. Most hetairai had short careers, no matter their talents. Men always wanted young companions, and if she had not acquired enough wealth to live on before her age began to show, Pandora might be forced back into real slavery or a brothel. Kelaino could speed Pandora’s journey in either direction she chose.
Glowering, she slipped to her knees and reached up under the king’s khiton, until she could find his manhood. Some of his followers guffawed, but she ignored them. Why feign romance in such circumstances, when it was so clearly naught save animal lust that drove these brutes. The king ushered the others away as she took him in her mouth, finishing him as quickly as she could.
Without a word, she walked