Four more Amazons

Voices reached him first.

Low. Stern. Close enough that they had entered the tent only recently.

Winston kept his eyes shut. The ache in his body told him at once where he was and what had been done to him. Hippolyta’s arm still lay across his back. The scent of her skin filled every breath. He did not move.

“…the right of rule has passed,” one woman was saying. “We knew it the moment we set foot on this shore. Honour and divine authority leave no room for doubt. He holds it. That much cannot be denied.”

“No one is denying the right of rule,” another answered. Her tone was colder. “We came looking for our queen and found her like this. In a foreigner’s bed. Wearing the look of a consort. That is what we dispute.”

“She is no longer queen,” a third stated. “If the blood of rule has passed, then the title passed with it. What she chooses to give him beyond that is her own concern.”

“It is the island’s concern,” the second voice returned. “We followed Hippolyta through war and peace. To arrive and find her already claimed as some stranger’s wife—”

“Enough.”

Hippolyta’s voice cut across them, quiet and level. She had not raised it. She did not need to.

“You will not speak of my husband as a stranger you may freely insult,” she stated. “You came seeking me. You have found me. The authority that binds you binds me as well. I accepted it. I accepted him. What exists between us is not a matter for argument at the foot of this bed.”

A fourth woman spoke for the first time, slower than the others.

“We recognise him as king. Honour and divine right leave us no other course. But you must understand our caution, Hippolyta. We sought you out and found our former queen already made consort to a man none of us have ever seen. We are loyal. We are not without questions.”

Silence held for a moment.

Slowly Winston opened his eyes.

Four Amazons stood near the entrance of the tent. Hippolyta remained beside him, bare beneath the thin cover she had drawn over them both, her diadem still in place, her expression calm as she met their gazes without shame.

She towered over the others, her silhouette cutting a stark, imposing line against the light. Her skin was the color of polished bronze, gleaming where the sun caught the ridge of her shoulders. Every movement revealed the hard, coiled power beneath her armour; biceps and thighs corded with strength, the scale-mail straining over the swell of her chest and the curve of her hips. A thick fur collar framed a face that was hard, fierce, yet undeniably captivating. Black hair cascaded in heavy waves, sweeping past the sharp line of her jaw.

Her golden eyes locked onto him, unblinking, burning with a predatory intelligence. One hand rested casually on the haft of a war axe, the blade heavy enough to cleave stone, while the other gripped a massive wooden shield rimmed in iron. The metal of her armour dug into the soft flesh of her waist, emphasizing the hourglass tension between her broad shoulders and the red cloth that clung to her lower half, pinned by a heavy gold belt buckle.

“I am Xanthibarqa,” she said, her voice a low contralto that seemed to vibrate in the air. She didn’t lower her weapon. “Of the Queen’s personal guard.”

The second warrior stepped forward, her presence commanding the space as she took a deliberate pace. Her dark hair was pulled back severely from a stern, beautiful face, each strand disciplined and precise. Scale armour clung to her form with predatory intent, dark and shimmering against the stark white of her split skirt. The fabric parted down the middle with each movement, revealing the powerful lines of her thighs and the gold greaves that marched up her calves like armour.

A crimson cape fell from her shoulders, edged in pale fur that caught the light with every shift. Gold discs at her collar caught the sun, casting small beams across her skin. The sword in her hand gleamed with a dangerous promise, the blade drawn and ready, while the round shield in her other arm was a testament to the strength that held it steady.

"Penthascara," she said, her voice carrying the weight of authority and something darker. "The same." Her gaze didn't waver, not even at the edges of her eyes where the shadows of her lashes deepened. There was hunger there, beneath the discipline, a quiet promise that she had been waiting for this moment.

The third stepped into view, her long spear resting easily in her grip like an extension of her own arm. Blonde hair cascaded beneath a simple gold circlet that caught the light, framing a face of sharp, sculpted beauty. Black and gold armour fitted her like a second skin, hugging the curves of her torso and the powerful lines of her arms. The deep red cloak fell from her shoulders like a storm cloud, its heavy fabric pooling around her feet as she moved.

Blue eyes, cool and assessing, swept over the scene with a gaze that promised both protection and danger. Her stance was relaxed but ready, every muscle coiled with the controlled strength of someone who knew exactly where the blade of her weapon could end. The gold trim on her armor caught the sunlight with every subtle shift of her weight, a quiet promise of the power she commanded.

"Aurascyra," she stated, her voice carrying the smooth confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Personal guard as well." The words weren't a question—they were a fact of the world they were about to enter.

The last stepped into the light, her spear held with the casual confidence of someone who had never known defeat. Reddish hair swept up and pinned beneath a golden winged ornament that caught the torchlight with every subtle shift of her head. The sunburst on her breastplate gleamed like captured fire against the dark metal, a symbol that burned brighter than the armour itself.

Red fabric clung to her form, the deep crimson of her skirt parting just enough to reveal the polished gold greaves that marched up her thighs. When she moved, the metal caught the light from the tent flap, shimmering like molten coin. Her stance was relaxed but predatory, hips swayed with the weight of her weapon and the power she commanded.

“Helisparga,” she stated, her voice smooth as polished stone. “We came seeking Queen Hippolyta. We found her here.” Her eyes locked onto his with a steady intensity. “Honour and divine right have already made the rest plain. You hold the right of rule. That makes us your palace guard now.” She didn't just offer herself as protection, she offered herself as possession, her gaze daring him to question the claim.