Penelope felt tears dampen her cheeks.
“That man wasn’t with me though, queen. You held him in your heart, waiting for these weary bones to bring me home. You are the strength that kept me going. You are the reason I walked away from Ogygia.
“And…I wasn’t just walking towardyou, Penelope. I was walking toward the life we were meant to share. Even then, even there, I knew you were still waiting for me.”
23
RETIRING TO HER CHAMBERS AFTER DINNER, Penelope pushed her door closed. She turned, confirming that the door was locked behind her.
She had never felt unsafe in her father’s home before, but with the growing number of men here to vie for her cousin's hand, caution felt like second nature.
Once the door was secured, she turned. Her heart leapt into her throat as she caught sight of a figure lounging on her bed, one leg draped over the side, his arms folded lazily behind his head. She swallowed the fear in her throat, reaching silently for something, anything she could use as a weapon.
Her fingers clasped around a hairpin, she gripped it tightly, stalking forward. All she saw was the man’s shape, tracking her across the room. Her resolve faltered as she got closer, grip tightening on her poor excuse for a weapon.
Fear clouded her thoughts. Any wise woman would have immediately turned and left the room, but she crept closer, fear tethering her to the figure in her bed.
Once she was close enough to strike, she lifted her weapon, but the warrior was too quick, too in tune with her motions. She never stood a chance. A large hand gripped her wrist, causingher to drop her weapon. He moved deftly, practically invisible against the shadow of the night.
Her back was flat against the mattress, breath coming in rapid gasps. But.. as quickly as the fear had taken her, it subsided. A low rumble of laughter came from above her, a voice that, even as new as it was to her, she would recognize anywhere.
“You can't be here,” Penelope hissed, heart stuttering in her chest. She was enveloped in the smell of him. Hints of salt air and sweat clung to his skin.
“Wasn’t difficult,” Odysseus murmured, his grin audible in the darkness. He loomed above her, his weight pressed lightly to her frame, her hands caught fast in his grip. “You ought to scold your guards.”
“I should scold you,” she whispered furiously. “If my father finds-”
He laughed again, the sound soft and wicked as he shifted his grip, his thumb tracing the curve of her palm. “I just wanted to see you,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s a long voyage home, and I couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.”
Her chest heaved as she glared up at him, heat rising in her cheeks. “I would hardly consider this proper,” she muttered, though her lips betrayed the beginning of a smile. “If we’re caught, I’ll be-”
“Married by sunrise.”
She stiffened. “Odysseus.”
He softened, one hand brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “Or gifted to Athena, perhaps?”
“Stop teasing.”
A flicker of mischief crossed Odysseus’ face. He loosened his grip on her wrists, but didn’t release her. “I seem to recall a different version of propriety when I caught you watching me from the terrace this morning.”
Her cheeks burned. “I wasn’t watching-”
“You were,” he interrupted, his voice low and certain. He leaned closer until the heat of his breath ghosted her cheek. “I’d wager you’ve done it before.”
Penelope clenched her jaw. “And if I have? What are you going to do, Odysseus? Lock me away for looking at my betrothed?”
“Lock you away?” His laughter was a soft rumble, almost kind. “No. I would steal you in the night, run away with the woman who has captured my very being.”
Her breath caught. "You mean that?"
"Penelope..." He shifted his weight so that he was no longer pinning her, resting on his elbow instead, his finger curling around a lock of her hair. "I would carry you on my back if I had to."
She let the weight of his words settle, her heart skipping unsteadily in her chest. “You’re a fool,” she whispered, eyes softening despite herself.
“For you, perhaps I am,” he murmured, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth. His gaze drifted, and when his lips finally brushed hers, it was tentative, testing the waters like the skilled navigator he was.
Her lips parted. “We’ll be caught,” she breathed once more against his mouth. He had invaded her every sense. She warred against her sense of decorum, and the way the moonlight shone in his eyes. Her conscience kept telling her to stop, but her body continued on singing a different tune.
