He crossed the finish line with a lunge, chest heaving, dust sticking to his sweat-drenched skin. The crowd erupted in cheers, chanting his name. But Odysseus didn’t look to them, his eyes immediately found hers. When their eyes locked, for a moment, Penelope forgot how to breathe.
“Lady Penelope,” He called, his voice carrying across the crowds, “Come down from the dais and meet your husband.” The glint in his eye was pure mischief. She stood, bowing her head to her father before stepping down from the place they sat and making her way to Odysseus, her betrothed.
“I must admit,” He said once she was close enough, his breath still coming in gasps. “This was far more thrilling than listening to those boys fight over Helen’s hand.” He said, breathless but grinning. A laugh escaped from his lips. “Child’s play for a pretty girl. A queen deserves the fastest, strongest, most cunning husband she could get.” He boasted, a grin plastered on his face.
“It appears my husband is very humble, too.” She retorted, fighting back her own smile as well. “You have bested men twice your size, King of Ithaca. What trickery did you pull to win?” How had he defied the odds?
His hand found her chin, his touch impossibly gentle for a man who had outrun the world. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His grin was maddening, full of secrets that he had no intention of giving up. Not yet, at least.
“At any rate, come. My father will want to present you with the dowry before you take your leave to return to Ithaca.”
“Dowry be damned,” He growled, hands clutching her hips. The air left her lungs as he pulled her flush against him. His mouth claimed hers with a fire that set her skin alight. Odysseus dipped her backward, grinning against her lips as the crowd erupted into cheers. “Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, has a nice ring to it.”
The crowd continued to roar their approval. The stomping of feet and clapping of hands reverberated across the square. Penelope, flushed and breathless, barely noticed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her father’s scowl. A reminder that all freedom comes at a cost.
12
SHE WAS PULLED FROM HER DREAM, from memories, with the rising of the sun. Little was said after the festival ended, Penelope opting to retire for the night. She didn’t wake when her husband came to bed, if he even did.
Now, Odysseus stood in the balcony window once more, a habit Penelope was still adjusting to after returning. They used to greet the day together, but twenty years away had changed them both.
The light of dawn highlighted the silver in his hair. This man who had once raced for her, claimed her with a kiss in front of her entire kingdom, now seemed carved from stone. She had fallen in love with a man who bent the world to his whim. But this man? This man was unraveling before her eyes.
“Do you remember the race?” She asked him, sitting up in bed. She was grateful that the gods allowed such a memory to come to the forefront of her mind, pushing the rage and the grief from last night's conversations into the recesses of her mind. “That day when you outran every eligible Greek warrior for my hand?”
He didn’t flinch when she spoke, which was progress enough for her. They were both wounded animals, hurt by differentmasters. Fear lingered beneath their skin like a splinter too deep to pull free.
He turned to her slowly, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that both comforted and unnerved her. There was something in his eyes now, something raw.
“Of course I remember,” He said finally, voice gravelly, “I remember your smile, the way you looked at me like I was the only man in the world. But I also remember the weight, Penelope. The weight of being the one to win your hand when so many others were willing to throw their lives into the fire.”
The sound of her name on his lips caused her to pause, like a thread, deeply woven inside of her, was pulling her back to the woman she was. “But you won, Odysseus.” She said, patting the bed beside her. “I only ever wanted you.” She was desperate for connection, for closeness. Desperate to erase the previous night. “You won, and we were happy.” She watched him, a statue in the window. “We were so happy… and you left.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. A heavy silence hung in the air between them. Her breath hitched as she looked away, trying to steel herself, but Odysseus was kneeling in front of her in an instant, tilting her chin to look at him. “I didn’t leave by choice, Penelope.” His voice was thick with something she couldn’t quite place. “The gods took me from you. They took me away from Ithaca. Do you think I wanted to leave? I didn’t want any of it, wife, but I was powerless to them.”
There was a vulnerability in his words that made her heart ache, a vulnerability that she hadn’t heard since he had come back into her life. She’d always known he was a hero, a warrior, and a king. He wore those labels with pride. But this man? Kneeling before her while his eyes searched hers for understanding? She had never seen this man before.
“Why didn’t you come back?” Her voice cracked as she whispered the words. The weight of two decades of unasked and unanswered questions charged the air between them.
“I tried Penelope, gods, did I try.” He said, releasing his gentle hold on her chin and moving to sit next to her. His eyes were fixed on the window, searching the horizon for an answer, seeking the words he had long buried. “But the gods… they have their own plans, their own agendas. And…” his voice trailed off, eyes glossing over.
She was losing him.
“I dreamt of you, you know.” She said, desperate to keep him here, safe in Ithaca, with her. Odysseus was slipping away, back to the war, back to his journeys. “Even when I tried to stop, you would come to me in my dreams. It was like a part of you was always with me.”
He turned back to look at her, and there was something undeniably vulnerable in his eyes. Something that made her feel as though he could see everything she was hiding beneath the surface, every scar that she bore from their time apart.
“I’m here now,” He said, bringing his thumb to brush her cheek. Brush away the tears that had spilled. His touch was gentle, as if he was afraid she might disappear if his touch was too firm, too much.
“I don’t want to lose you again.” She whispered through the thickness in her throat, through the tears she had been holding back. “I can’t lose you again.” And then, without a thought, she surged forward, burying herself in him, clinging as if he were the last breath of warmth in a winter that would never end.
They were both so cautious around each other, tiptoeing around the other one's wounds and trauma. But she needed him, needed to feel his warmth, his heat, his arms. She needed to feel that he was real. He had always melted her stoicism with his gazealone. There was no need for walls of strength when they were together.
“You won’t,” He whispered into her hair, clutching her against him. “Nothing will take me from you again.” He said, solemn as a vow, a promise to her and to the gods.
“Tell me something real, Odysseus. Share your burden with me. Let me carry it for you.” She whispered into the curve of his neck, her fingers twitching against his skin.
He exhaled, the sound as heavy as the sea. “I’ll tell you,” he whispered. “There are some burdens that will never grow lighter, even when shared.” He pulled back from their embrace, meeting her gaze. “But before I share these trials with you, wife, there are things I have been keeping from you.”
