“He took the throne so young, Penelope. His father abdicated when he was just 19. How can he be a good king?”
She had to bite back the annoyance in her voice. “And since your Menelaus was older when he came to power, he’s better by default?”
The older cousin turned, raising an eyebrow at Penelope. “Protective, aren’t we?”
She spluttered, caught between pride and embarrassment. “That was out of line, Helen. I apolo-”
“Oh stop,” Helen waved her off with a swat of her hand. A grin spread across her face, full of mischief and affection. “You’re the one smitten with the mad king and his kingdom of rocks.”
Penelope rolled her eyes, her flushed cheeks betraying her once more. “It’s not like that,” she muttered, though her gaze strayed once again to the man below.
“Not like that?” Helen leaned back against the balcony rail, arms crossing as she studied her cousin. “Pen, everyone’s talking about him. They say he’s charming you with his clever tongue and promises of grandeur. They don’t see what you see. And that worries me.”
Penelope turned sharply, a frown tugging at her lips. “And what do they see?”
“A king with little to offer but words.” Helen’s voice softened, her teasing dropping away like the last notes of a song. “He’s not Menelaus or Agamemnon, Penelope. He doesn’t have great armies or endless treasures to his name. All he has is his wit, his sharpness... and you.”
Penelope hesitated, Helen’s words tugging at a vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge. “You think I care about gold or soldiers?”
“No, I think you care too much about him,” Helen replied, her voice steady but not unkind. “And that’s what worries me.”
“I can make my own decisions, Helen,” Penelope said, her tone firm but not angry.
Helen sighed, her expression softening further. “I know. And maybe… I envy you.”
Penelope blinked. “Envy me?”
“You had the chance to choose.” Helen nodded toward the courtyard below, where Odysseus now stood laughing with theother men, his voice carrying up to them on the breeze. “You see something in him no one else does.”
“Choose? Helen, he won a race for my hand. I hardly had a say in that,” she retorted quickly, shooting her cousin a sharp glance.
“Didn’t you though? Your little rendezvous wasn’t that secret, cousin.” Helen raised her eyebrow, looking pointedly at Penelope. “I don’t think Zeus himself would have stood a chance against your Ithacan.”
Penelope opened her mouth to respond, but her words caught in her throat. She turned back toward the balcony railing, watching as Odysseus caught her gaze again, his smirk turning into something softer, almost reverent.
Helen placed a hand on her shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I think he’s looking at you like you’re worth more than his entire kingdom.”
Penelope’s chest tightened, her hand pressing lightly over her heart as if she could steady it.
20
THE DAYS PASSED BETWEEN THEM in a manner much the same. Penelope could not stand to be far from the Ithacan king, scheduling her day and her duties around him. Odysseus couldn’t stand to be around many people. He was tense around Telemachus, uncomfortable around their people. The once confident and talkative king preferred the silence of their chambers, the solitude of his wife.
They fell asleep each night, tucked into one another, clinging tightly, as if each night threatened to snatch them away again.
As the sun set on the day, the pair walked on the Ithacan shores, sandals long discarded as the waves lapped at their feet. There was a time where this cove,their cove, was filled with laughter and love. A secret shore where they could hide away from the burdens of gods and man.
With just a glance to the king beside her, she could tell he had withdrawn. She caught him in the otherness more and more as the days crept onward.
She reached over, taking his hand in hers, pulling him from his thoughts. “Where were you?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she watched her husband’s eyes refocus.
“Ogygia,” he said after a beat, hiding his face from Penelope. He opened his mouth, closed it again, searching for his strength. “Calypso…” the name fell from his lips like a curse.
She stretched up, firmly grabbing his chin and turning him back to look at her. “Don’t hide from me.” She whispered, voice almost lost to the waves.
“I sat on those beaches,herbeaches, and prayed that the gods would end my suffering, Penelope.” Odysseus said to her, tension leaking into his features. “There was a time that the sound of the surf eased my aching soul,” he stopped dead in his tracks, dropping Penelope’s hand as she took a few steps further. “The ocean took everything from me. The sea breeze stole my life out from under my feet, Penelope. I rule an island kingdom. I will never be free.”
She bolstered herself, taking in a steadying breath. “My king,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard over the crashing of the tide. “You once told me, a lifetime ago, that the simplest way to reclaim a place or a feeling was to breathe new life into it.”
