“I would have killed them in their beds before the moon set.”
Her hands, trembling, came up to grab his wrists, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin. His heartbeat, wild and uneven, matched her own. “Odysseus…” she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
"Don’t you dare-" He cut himself off, dragging in a sharp breath. His hands tightened ever so slightly, his eyes burning into hers, searching for something, anything.
“Don’t youdarequestion my love for you, Penelope.” His voice was low, dangerous. She clung to him now, frame shaking. “Iclaimyou, wife, because you are my equal. You are everything I could never be. You are not my prize. You are mysoul, Penelope.” Her breath came in sobs now. She was struggling tosee his face through her tears. “And I will not hide my love for you from the world.”
They collided like a storm built up over hours, days,years, of unspoken and unheard pain. A sob left her lips, but Odysseus swallowed it whole, his mouth crashing down on hers like a wave breaking against the cliffs.
His grip never wavered, holding her steady, anchoring her, like he had been waiting his whole life just to pull her back to him. The kiss was unyielding. He was her rock, never faltering. He steadied her, grounded her.
Without breaking apart from her, his hands moved from her face, one arm circling her waist and securing her against him, and the other grasping the back of her neck, tilting her face upwards.
Penelope wrapped both of her arms around his neck, clinging to the man in front of her for dear life.
He pulled back, only slightly. “We will never doubt this again.” He muttered.
Penelope didn’t answer, not with words. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his grip bruised against her hips. They were lost to it now, to the storm, to the fire, to years of waiting.
“No thrones,” she murmured against his lips. “No gods.”
“No history,” he finished for her. And then he silenced whatever came next the only way they knew how.
By claiming his wife.
32
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Menelaus had insisted that they hold a celebratory banquet in honor of his queen’s cousin, in honor of his wartime companion’s safe arrival home. Both Penelope and Odysseus had assured the king that it wasn’t necessary, but he was off with plans before they could say their piece.
Odysseus was seated at the king’s table, at a spot of honor. A soft smile graced Penelope’s lips as she watched him talk loudly with strangers he had never met before.
Watching his smile, an old sense of familiarity tugged at her heart. He was boisterous where she was soft, loud where she was reserved. He truly was the best parts of her.
The Ithacan queen had been ushered along by old family friends, insisting that she catch up with women and maids that had once tended to her. She wanted nothing more than to sit at her husband’s side, with his constant, gentle touches. His nearness alone could intoxicate her.
As the nursemaids bombarded her with questions of Ithaca, of the suitors, and of Odysseus’ time away, something grabbed her attention out of the corner of her eye. Helen approached the Ithacan King’s chair, carrying two goblets of wine. A lithe grinwas plastered on her cousin’s face as she took the seat next to him.
Curious, Penelope took a few steps closer, leaving the gaggle of women behind. Grip tightening on her own glass of wine. She watched as Helen laughed at something Odysseus said, dragging a finger up his arm.
Confusion surrounded her as she watched her cousin, her oldest friend, lean into her husband, batting her eyelashes and swatting at his arm playfully. As Penelope continued to draw nearer to where her husband sat, she heard her cousin’s voice carrying through the room… “You must be tired of chasing ghosts, Odysseus.”
Fury licked at the back of her throat as she looked upon her cousin’s antics. Penelope had spent decades manipulating the attention of men. Did Helen believe she wouldn’t know an act when she saw one?
He is still a man, Penelope. A voice slithered through her mind.The same voice that invaded her senses that night on the Ithacan shores.
Persephone.
Men have forgotten their vows for far less than Helen of Troy. Do you think Odysseus is worth your unwavering support?
Yes.
She knew he was.
She forced her breath steady, fought against the heat rising in her chest. What lied before her was not the conscious act of her husband. This was not Odysseus. This was the gods, playing their games.
Is your trust in him stronger than your fear, Queen? Your heart was so certain last night.
Penelope was infuriated. Of course,of course, the gods couldn’t have left them well enough alone. Of course, they would continue to meddle.
