His breath came in ragged gasps, causing Penelope to flush. A gasp escaped her, and she clamped her mouth shut quickly.
But it wasn’t quick enough.
His gaze glanced at her, and she could only imagine what he saw. Her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, cheeks pink with blush and her own breaths coming heavier.
With a wink, the cord snapped into place, releasing a crack that echoed through the hall. The sound vibrated down her spine, pooling in her chest and… lower. Echoing in places she had long locked away. Gods help her. She felt a stirring she thought she had buried, something carnal waking in her blood.
For a heartbeat, she thought she saw a flicker of dark flame curling like smoke at the edge of her vision. But when she blinked, there was only sunlight and stone, pulling her back into this moment with him.
This was the man she fell in love with. This was her husband. All parts of him were hers. His arrogance, his confidence, his maddening wit.
His arms, the way he held her for so many nights when she left everything she knew, everything that was safe.
His back, and how he had supported his family, built ahomefor them with his own two hands.
His heart, the only one she would ever love, no matter how many years he had been gone.
She had fought hard, for years, to harden her heart, and he had undone it with the stringing of a single bow. Watching him now… gods, she was a fool for him, too.
Murmured voices echoed in the agora, no one willing to look their king in the eyes. Penelope stood, folding herself into Odysseus’ side. “Drop your bow, King. You have nothing left to prove.”
Odysseus glanced down at her with a wild grin, his eyes alive with the same untamed fury that had stolen her breath all thoseyears ago, stolen her heart. “Don’t I?” With his free hand, he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes fully, “Step back, wife.” He said, his voice low, demanding.
Penelope retreated a few steps backwards, a puzzled look on her face as her husband untangled himself from the now strung bow. He gripped his weapon firmly in one hand, using his other to pluck the bowstring, testing the tautness.
Penelope’s nerves were on fire, his rumination testing the resolve of herownstrings. His arrogant smirk never left his mouth, even as he demanded an arrow from the audience.
She was enamored, star-struck. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him, even if she wanted to. As he notched the arrow onto the string, delicately drawing back the weapon, Penelope’s heart pounded in her chest, drowning out everything that wasn’thim.
He loosed the arrow, and a shudder slipped down Penelope’s back. She shivered, feeling anything but cold.
Her breath caught as the arrow found its mark… a pomegranate clutched in the hand of a suitor’s father, mid-motion, as he had been about to bite into the fruit.
Odysseus’ chest heaved with exertion, but his eyes never lost their mad spark. She stood there, speechless, as she watched a wave of quiet unease covered the agora.
“If there are no further questions,guests of Ithaca, you’re dismissed,” He said to the congregation of people, eyes never leaving his wife. “Your queen and I have business to attend elsewhere.” The palintonos clattered to the ground, and in one fluid motion, he turned, snatching up his wife and carrying her from the crowds.
She gasped as he swept her up into his arms, her heart leaping into her throat. Before she could protest, her arms curled instinctively around his neck. “Odysseus,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath against his ear.
He didn’t speak, not until he had slammed their bedroom door behind them and placed her firmly on the ground. Penelope felt as though her heart might burst from her chest, fingers trembling with the anticipation of this moment.
“I told you I could still string it.” He said, his voice low. The king took a step towards her. Then another. All thoughts of anything except the man in front of her had been swept away with the wind.
“I don’t recall needing convincing,” she replied, a little more breathless than she would have liked. She grinned at him, quirking an eyebrow. A challenge.
He took another step forward. Penelope stepped backwards, her back flush against the stone wall. Another step. He put his hands on either side of her head, caging her in.
She had never felt more free.
“No? Not even a little?” His voice was raw, dripping with desire. She watched as his eyes flicked down to her mouth and back up, almost asking permission.
She shook her head, “Never, King of Ithaca. I know who I married.” She intended for her voice to be strong, firm. But it was barely a whisper. He captivated her.
“My ego will never recover from this,” He mused, leaning forward to kiss the skin below her ear. His mouth traveled down her neck for a moment, nipping gently at her skin. She gasped, fingers curling into his tunic. “I have you undone, just by stringing my weapon.”
The power he wielded with his hands, whether bow, sword, or tender touch, he hadalwaysundone her.
His breath was hot against her throat as he nuzzled against her. He hummed contentedly before laughing, the sound itself threatening to send the queen over the edge. “I assure you, wife,” he shifted, resting his forehead against hers. His eyes were almost black, his breathing just as labored as hers. “Thoseunworthy suitors of yours could never match your old mad king.”
