Halfway through their race, Thea slowed her horse on purpose. It didn’t take long to realize Diana’s riding skills were far superior—and her steed clearly belonged to a higher class altogether. Competing with her was asking for humiliation; there was no reason to stand out on her first day here.
As Thea eased her pace, Diana reined in as well, falling beside her. She began enthusiastically pointing out landmarks as they rode—temples, training grounds, ceremonial plazas, and clusters of stone dwellings.
The island itself was large, but the inhabited area was surprisingly small and simple. Everywhere Thea looked, won were training—throwing javelins, wrestling, or practicing archery, her own favorite.
“You don’t have anyone who actually produces food or goods?” Thea asked after circling half the island. She hadn’t seen a single person tending fields or livestock—everyone seed to be sparring or shouting battle cries. Even casual greetings here looked more like assaults.
“Production?” Diana tilted her head. “You an agriculture and animal husbandry? I’ve read Doctor Michel’s 1915 paper on poultry breeding and feed optimization—”
Thea crossed her arms and let Diana ramble. The girl’s eyes lit up as she explained the proper spacing of coops, soil balance, and climate conditions for optimal yield. So she’s got the mind of a scholar, Thea thought wryly, but was born into a culture where people communicate by breaking each other’s ribs.
Interrupting would’ve been rude, so she just nodded along. After a long lecture, Diana concluded brightly, “But we don’t actually need to work the land. The gods provide our food!”
Thea’s cheek twitched. Simple-minded or pure-hearted? Hard to tell. Outwardly Diana was statuesque and composed, but inside she was as guileless as a child. No wonder she fell head over heels for Steve Trevor—she’d literally never seen a man before.
Thea had seen the photos—Steve Trevor, the so-called hero who’d landed on Themyscira. Nearly a century later, he still looked like a stern middle-aged man at best. And this is the guy who chard Wonder Woman? Please. He wasn’t half as handso as Tommy or Oliver back ho.
As head of ARGUS, Thea had heard more than her share of gossip about Trevor—Amanda Waller and Lyla Michaels used to mock him constantly: “authoritarian,” “self-righteous,” “not exactly democratic.” Maybe they were right. The thought of that man touching this pure, naïve girl made her blood boil.
Steve Trevor must die! she decided. Okay… maybe not literally. History can’t be changed. But when that ti cos, I’ll make sure they stay far, far apart.
Unaware of Thea’s murderous plotting, Diana mistook her serious face for deep contemplation of poultry farming. Overjoyed to be taken seriously, she continued chatting all the way back to the central quarters.
By sunset, the two won finally returned to the village just in ti for the evening celebration.
To soone used to the dazzling lights and sound of the modern world, this primitive ritual felt strange yet oddly stirring. The entire island had gathered for a grand bonfire ceremony—a festival to prove that the gods still watched over them. As the Amazons danced and sang ancient war songs, their joy and devotion spilled into the night.
But not everyone shared the mood.
“Over there—on that stone chair, the one in red.”
“Artemis, maybe don’t… she’s the queen’s guest.”
The murmurs carried easily to Thea’s ears. In red? She didn’t even have to look—she was the only one on the island wearing that color.
Of course. Idiots exist everywhere. Even in paradise.
She barely had ti to guess which overmuscled fool had decided to make trouble before a tower of a woman stepped into the firelight. Her voice wasn’t loud, but her tone left no room for peace.
“Outsider, don’t think this ceremony is for you! This is our tradition. Understand?” Her volu rose with every word.
And here we go. Thea tilted her head, studying the newcor.
Dear god—what a sight. The firelight flickered, revealing a figure so dark it nearly blended into the shadows. Thea hadn’t even noticed her approach until the voice cut through the crowd. Now, in the dim glow of torches, the woman’s skin glead like polished obsidian, muscles carved and bulging even by male standards.
Not African, Thea noted—just sun-scorched and battle-hardened, a body built for war. Behind her stood four or five won who avoided Thea’s gaze, eyes flicking nervously to the ground.
“And you are?” Thea asked calmly. She wasn’t one to shy from a fight, but she preferred knowing whose ga she was walking into. Whoever sent this brute clearly had an agenda—probably soone unhappy with Hippolyta’s five-thousand-year reign. Stirring up a fight with the queen’s foreign guest was a convenient way to undermine her authority.
Humans, Thea sighed inwardly. Even divine clay can’t fix that political itch.
The muscular woman slamd her fist against her chest, her voice booming. “I am Artemis!”
Thea blinked—then burst out laughing.
“Pfft—ha! Oh, that’s priceless!” she gasped, pounding the stone table beside her.
It wasn’t mockery so much as genuine disbelief. Artemis? The legendary goddess of the hunt and the moon—renowned for her beauty second only to Aphrodite—and they gave that na to this walking mountain of muscle?
Diana had ntioned earlier that they sotis bestowed divine nas on exceptional warriors as honors. Still, Thea hadn’t expected the beautiful Moon Goddess’s na to end up on a hulking, oil-skinned Amazon built like a siege engine.
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