I glance back, expecting to see him peeking, but he’s actually facing away from me.

I feel somewhat relieved, but then there’s a definite tinge of disappointment mixed in there as well.

I keep my eyes on him as I wash. On his wide shoulders and muscular back. My eyes drift down to his perfect legs, and when I start to wash between my legs, I finger myself for the briefest of moments. My eyes roll back into my head, but I quickly pull my hand away.

Shame fills my gut. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. It’s obscene. I should be thinking only of getting out of here. Then again, maybe winning Titus over is my way out of here.

“Titus,” I say. “Are you going to, uh, guard me every time I take a bath?”

“I believe so,” he says, not turning to face me.

“The mask keeps you from, uh, being attracted to me?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, his voice short and clipped.

“So you might as well look then,” I say. “If you’re not attracted anyway.”

He doesn’t move at first, but then he turns and faces me. His eyes widen considerably as he looks at my bare-naked body, still covered in soap. I smile and rub the soap along my breasts. They are barely big enough to form any real cleavage, except when I press them together, which I do right now as Titus stares down at them, as if he’d never seen a pair of tits in his life.

I see his mouth drop open, and I bite my lip, pretending to be completely innocent.

“It’s weird,” I say. “That you’re so smell-oriented. Human men aren’t. Humans don’t have much of a sense of smell, I guess. We wear perfume or cologne, which is like a super strong scent, and even then we can only really smell it for a few moments. Then our noses get used to it, and it’s as if the smell weren’t even there.” I laugh nervously. “I mean, I’ve liked the way guys smell before, but it’s usually really subtle. I can’t imagine not being at all turned on if I couldn’t smell a guy. Hell...my allergies get so bad sometimes that I can’t smell at all, though maybe subconsciously I really am attracted to smell, and I just don’t notice at all.”

I notice I’m rambling, but I can’t stop. I’m trying to be this sexy seductress, but I feel like an idiot instead. I’m not hot enough to pull something like this off on Earth, and even though Titus is way more attracted to me than he should be, I don’t have the right mindset to exploit it. Instead of leaving him subtle little hints that I’m attracted to him, I’m spouting off half-remembered chapters about the human olfactory system from pre-reqs I took in college. Once a nerd, always a nerd.

I start talking about the dog I used to have as a little girl, and how she liked to smell the same spot on the lawn for several minutes at a time. “Not that I’m saying you’re a dog, or like a dog.”

“What is a dog?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

I realize I’ve just been rubbing more and more soap onto my body. I’m clean several times over. I dip back into the water, and I lower myself all the way down to my chin. I feel intense relief that Titus can’t see me completely naked anymore. I see a mixture of relief and disappointment on his face when I look back up at him, just my head popping out from the water.

“It’s an animal we keep as pets,” I say.

“To eat?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “Pets.”

“Why keep an animal you will not eat?” he asks.

“Because they are cute?” I say, still chin-deep in the water. “Because they can cuddle with you and keep you warm. Because they love you no matter what.”

“I’ve never seen an animal I will not eat,” he says. “This word. Cute. It was given to me on the ship, and I seem to know its meaning...but still I do not understand.”

“Babies are cute,” I say. “Imagine a baby smiling or laughing. That is cute. When you see a cute baby, you want to pat its head, when you see a cute animal, you want to pet it.”

“I only pet an animal to calm it before I kill it. To eat it. A dull animal like a Chernillion will tense up as you strike it dead, making the meat too tough. If you pet it, and it calms down before you drive your skullspear through its brain, it will yield more tender meat.”

“Okay,” I say, not wanting to ask what a Chernillion or a skullspear is, “But a baby. You’d pat a cute baby on the head, especially if it laughed. Right?”

Please don’t tell me you’d kill a baby, please don’t tell me you’d kill a baby. That would be a bit of a deal breaker, no matter how hot Titus is.

“Only a weak baby would laugh,” Titus says. “It would be a shameful reflection on the father.”

I think he’s joking at first, but then I see the genuine confusion and bewilderment all over his face, and I purse my lips.

“Uh,” I mutter. “I’m going to get out of the water now. Maybe you can actually turn around?”

He turns his back to me, and I get out of the water. It drips down from my body, thickest from my hair.

I look around for a towel, but there’s nothing. I don’t want to ask Titus for help, so I just grab the robe that I was wearing before and wrap it around my body.

The water soaks straight through, and I look like I’m competing in a wet t-shirt contest.

Another teal, horned man appears from out of nowhere, and I scream and jump back from him. I cover my breasts with my hands.

The man puts his hands up, showing me his palms.

“You have nothing to fear,” he says, and he reaches down and holds up two small oblong spheres dangling from his necklace.

“He’s not wearing a mask,” I say, backing away from him and toward Titus.

I stand behind Titus, as if he’ll protect me from this stranger.

I whisper to Titus. “Is he my master? He’s...not wearing a mask.”

I remember everything he says about how aroused his kind is by scent. I fear what will happen when this man gets a whiff of me.

“These are my balls,” the man says. “You do smell nice...but I fear my spear is forever broken.”

“Spear?” I ask, and when I realize what he means, I blush.

“Wait,” I say, suddenly realizing, “Those are literally your balls? And you’re wearing them like a necklace? That is absolutely disgusting!”

The eunuch shrugs. “The master is waiting. Come.”

* * *

Two more men join us, also not wearing masks. I crane my neck to check for dangling balls around their neck, but find nothing.

“These are females,” Titus says, noticing me checking for their balls on their neck.

The “females” scowl at me. They look more masculine than any man on Earth. Their horns look like little stubs compared to Titus’–and even compared to the eunuch’s–but I see no other hint that they are not men. No breasts. No feminine curves to speak of, and more muscle definition than a female bodybuilder on Earth.

Then they scowl at me. The kind of scowl that brings me right back to the locker room in middle school. I see in their eyes resentment and jealousy that only girls can bring out against each other, and I know only from those glares that they are, in fact, women.

“We will finish her off,” one of the females says to Titus. Her voice is higher pitched than his, but not by much.

Titus narrows his eyes. “She has bathed and is ready to present to the Magistros.”

One of the females holds up a leather pouch, and I hear what sounds like a lot of tiny objects jangle inside. “We were specially trained to do this. Will you dishonor us, Titus?”

Titus shakes his head, but just before they take me away, he leans in toward me. “If they mistreat you, cry out. I will hear.”

I nod, and then one of the women pulls me by the arm down into a side hallway. The other ruffles through the pouch as we walk.

They pull me into a small room with a bench and a large mirror. The woman holding my arm squeezes hard enough that it hurts, and when I wince, she pushes me down onto the bench so I’m facing the mirror.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask nervously.

I think of calling for Titus right now, before they can hurt me.

“Your make up,” one says.

I look up at their faces, intensely masculine, even handsome. There’s not a hint of makeup on their faces, and there’s no kind of jewelry or any other form of decorative element that would separate them from the men.

“She doesn’t believe we can do it,” one says.

The other dumps the leather bag out on the bench beside me. Tubes of lipstick, cases of eyeshadow, and all kinds of makeup from Earth spreads out onto the bench.

“Where did you get this?” I ask.

“The same place they got you,” one of the women says.

“Cassia,” one says, “Give me the photographs.”

Cassia reaches down into her loin cloth and pulls out some crumpled sheets of flimsy magazine paper.

The other snatches the papers from Cassia’s hand.

Cassia growls at her. “Domina thinks she can do this better than I can.”

“I can,” Domina says, scowling at Cassia.

Domina holds up the first torn piece of magazine. The paper is yellowed, but it shows Marilyn Monroe is a tight black sweater. She’s clearly braless from the way her nipples are poking against the sweater, and she’s wearing tight white pants that hug her famous curves. Her face is radiant even in black and white, with full lips, wide eyes, and lustrous hair.

“You’re going to make me look like that?” I ask skeptically.

“Of course not,” Cassia says. “Not that we’d lack the skill, but you simply don’t have the same size mammary glands as this woman.”

My eyes widen in surprise.

“Or the shape,” Domina says, “Tracing her fingers along the jutting curves in Marilyn Monroe’s hips. “And your eyes are dull compared to hers. Even with makeup, it wouldn’t look the same.”

I clear my throat. “She was known as one of the most attractive women of all time. Even over 50 years later people still think of her as a sex symbol.”

Domina waves a hand at me. “Yes, well you are not on her level, clearly. She barely used any makeup, because her natural features were so attractive.”

Barely any makeup? I usually don’t wear makeup unless I’m going out, or for a special occasion. Marilyn Monroe might have looked good without it, but she definitely wore a lot of makeup, by modern standards at least.

I glare at her a bit, and Cassia laughs. “Show her the other photo.”

Domina uncurls the magazine, which is not as old as the first. It shows Natalie Portman from the Star Wars prequels. She’s wearing a big red suit, a weird and ridiculously large golden crown that has two side pieces that almost look like the horns of the teal females, and her face is painted entirely white, save for two red dots on her cheeks, and a goofy strip of red on her lower lip.

“Uh,” I stammer.

“See,” Domina says, pointing. “This woman looks more childlike and less attractive, like you do. So she has to use much more makeup, covering her entire face with it. This will suit you.”

“Maybe you can just do the makeup like the first photo,” I say. “And use a bit less...just highlight my natural features?”

They both shake their heads. Domina holds up the photo of Natalie Portman. “See, this woman was a queen of your planet. If it’s good enough for a queen. It’s good enough for you. Besides, the Magistros is of the Emperor’s family, so a queen’s appearance is most suitable.”

I consider telling her that Queen Amidala, the mother of Darth Vader, was not a real queen. Then I realize it’s pointless, and I actually don’t care what I look like. In fact, the worse I look, the more likely the Magistros is to not want me. Domina and Cassia are clearly trying to sabotage my chances, but in this case it’s playing right into what I want.

“Fine,” I say, faking a big sigh. “Do what you think is best.”

They get to work immediately. They cake white makeup all over my face, and then they do my hair up into an intricate updo, which seems a waste, as they cover it all in a weird headdress dangling with jewels and bones. There are other things hanging off the headdress, and when I think of the severed balls the eunuch wore as a necklace, I don’t want to ask what they are.

They finish me off with the red dots on my cheeks, and the ridiculous red streak on my lip. When they are done, I look like a Star Wars cosplayer who actually liked the prequels for some reason.

Domina and Cassia cross their arms against their muscular bodies and look down at me through the mirror.

“We did the best we could,” Domina says.

Cassia snorts. “We weren’t given much to work with, certainly.”

“Thank you,” I say to both of them. “You did a wonderful job.”

They sneer at each other and then give me big fake smiles. They must think I’m some kind of idiot, as if the whole human race–or at least our women–are incompetent or slow. They think I don’t realize that they are being nasty to me, but I figure my best bet is to let them think that. To be nice back to them. If I show that I understand what they are doing, they are likely to just do worse to me. I don’t know what role these two play in the Magistros’ household, but I get the feeling I’ll be seeing more of them if he keeps me here. I doubt I’ll ever make friends with them, but I don’t want to make two enemies if I can help it.

They stand me up, and the jewels and weird things jangle around on my head dress as I take a step forward.

They bring me back toward the hallway we came from, and when we turn the corner I see Titus stiffen to his full height. He looks down at me with wide eyes.

“What did you do to her?” he says in a low growl.

“Make up,” Domina says.

“This looks like war paint!” Titus says, pulling me by the arm away from Domina and Cassia. “Something the ice tribes would wear!”

“It’s what queens of Earth look like,” Cassia says, holding up the photo.

“Is this true?” Titus asks, furrowing his brows at me.

Cassia and Domina glare at me, and I can feel their purple eyes intently watching me for any sign of protest, so I just nod slightly. “Yes, it’s true.”

Titus tears the magazine page from Cassia’s hand and studies it, then me. “Does the Magistros know this? What if he thinks you’ve dressed her like a warrior? I’ve heard Earth women do not fight!”

“We saw footage of their wars,” Cassia says. “This queen fought in many battles, alongside men with laser swords who could move objects with their minds.”

“Impossible,” Titus says, throwing the paper back down. “Earth is too young a world. They cannot do these things there.”

“You’re a hired spear,” Cassia says. “You know nothing, Titus.”

He growls at them, loudly this time. “Away with you!”

He takes a step toward them as if he’ll strike, and the two women scurry away.

“It should be fine,” I whisper.

He looks down at me, and his breath is heavy through the mask. “I think they tried to ruin your beauty. But it still shines brightly through even this thick war paint.”

I feel my cheeks burning red, but I know he won’t be able to see it through the white mask of makeup.

“We don’t have time to fix it,” he says. “Come.”

He pulls on my arm, and we reach a door guarded by two men in metal armor holding large spears. I know they are men only by their large horns poking through their helmets. Then I see they are wearing masks as well, that means they must be men.

“I present a gift,” Titus says. “For Magistros Vesuvius Archinaidus Maxillius.”

He gestures toward me.

Their eyes widen at me, and their breathing grows louder.

“This barbarian is why we have to wear these masks now?” one asks.

Titus nods.

They both glare down at me, then step aside. “Wait inside until you are called in,” one says.

We step inside a room with ornately carved wooden furniture, lit by the same strange floating orbs of light I saw in the room where I bathed. The doors shut behind us, and we’re suddenly alone.

“All the men here have to wear masks now?” I ask. “Because of me?”

Titus nods. “It seems that way.

“Why did they call me a barbarian?” I ask.

“You were given our language,” he says. “As I was given yours. I speak to you in your language, to make you more comfortable, but just now we were all speaking in the language of this world. Not all words will match.”

“Wait,” I say. “I was speaking another language to those women?”

He nods.

“I didn’t even notice!”

He shrugs, as if it were nothing. I struggled for years in high school and college to learn French, with less than impressive results. I assumed I’d never speak another language because it was too much damn work. Now I can do it without even realizing it?

“Barbarian though?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know this word. What does it mean?”

I think of strong men in loincloths, brutally killing each other. I look up at Titus, with his big horns and rippling muscles. He’s a barbarian.

“I’d call you a barbarian,” I say.

“Some words will be wrong,” he says. “This is the only way I can tell I’m speaking another language. You will notice it sometimes, but rarely. Now listen…”

He leans in toward me, close enough that his masculine scent makes my heart pound, and the hairs on my arms stand up.

“You may be thinking you don’t care if you impress the Magistros. You may think it’s good to disappoint him.”

I try not to nod in agreement, but I feel my lips curl up and betray me with a smile.

Titus reaches up and grabs my chin, too forcefully for it to feel intimate. He jerks my head up so I’m looking at him eye-to-eye.

“You must impress him,” he says. “You’ve been in his palace for over a day. If he rejects you and sends you away, no one else in the capital will be allowed to take you, and you’ll be sent away.”

“Isn’t that good?” I ask. He’s clutching my jaw so hard that it’s difficult to talk.

I reach up and pull on his arm. “Titus, let go of me.”

He lets go, and then he looks down at his hand, only seeming to realize just now that he grabbed me like that.

He shakes his head. “I told you our world is dying. Our sun is dying. You’ve seen only inside these palace walls, so you might think that it’s like this everywhere. That these floating lamps light the streets, that we have these fancy baths with clean water, and that everyone has ancient machines greater than anything you know on Earth.”

I nod. “I mean...you guys did have a spaceship that managed to take me from Earth to another star in a few hours. It seems like a logical assumption you’d be more advanced here than we are on Earth.”

He shakes his head. “We are in the capital. All of these impressive things you see are from past eras. This lamp,” he says, pointing, “No one knows how to make it anymore. No one has known for hundreds of generations. The rich find and hoard these things for themselves, and the further from the capital you go, the worse it gets. Far out in the ice, in the Dark Night, we burn the fat of animals for light and warmth. Otherwise we will die in the cold.”

I look down at his loincloth. “Is that where you’re from?”

He doesn’t answer or nod, but I can tell by the way his eyes narrow that he is from ‘far out in the ice.’”

“The best you can hope for,” Titus says. “Is to be kept here. I’ve travelled all over this dying world. The capital–where the sun is always high in the sky–is the only part that still feels even close to what you take for granted on Earth. You do not want to be sent away from here.”

“Will you stay here?” I ask. “And…”

I feel like an idiot for what I’m about to ask him. I feel stupid even for trusting him. I don’t know him, but I somehow feel that I do. At first I thought it was my stupid attraction to him, that his incredible muscles and perfect body had me spellbound. But I’ve seen other men now, the guards, for instance, and while I found them objectively attractive, I’d never trust them.

“Will you keep me safe?” I finally ask. “If I stay here?”

“I’ve been asked to stay,” Titus says. “I am a man who does jobs for whoever pays me. Usually I’d turn down a long-term assignment like this.”

But for me you’ll take it. Is that what he’s going to say?

“But turning down a Magistros is impossible,” he says. “I will stay.”

Good enough.

The door from the opposite side that we entered swings open, and the eunuch from before smiles at us. “He’s ready for you.”