You think love is enough? Then watch.
Persephone’s voice echoed off of the recesses of her mind.
She had stood before Odysseus last night and chosen trust over fear. And now, the gods had decided to test that vow.
A peal of laughter rang out from her cousin as she pressed a hand to Odysseus’ chest. Penelope willed her feet to stay. She would not be another pawn in the god’s game, never again.
Her husband stiffened under the touch, and even from across the room, Penelope saw the tension coil in his shoulders. His breath came slow, measured. Deliberate.
Then, his gaze flickered, just once. Not to Helen.
To her.
She felt it deep in her ribs, the pull between them like the ocean’s tide. He knew. He knew exactly what was happening.
A knot that had been twisting itself tighter and tighter in her chest suddenly unraveled.
A hundred promises meant nothing if they weren’t followed by action. She had stood by him through war and absence, through the torment of the gods. But this moment,this choice, was his alone.
Helen’s fingers trailed along his chest, a golden siren spinning her spell.
And then…
Odysseus moved.
His hand closed around Helen’s wrist. Even from a distance, she saw his grip - firm, unwavering.
“Helen of Troy,” he mused, his voice deep and carrying, smooth as a blade drawn from its sheath. “You must think me a fool.”
The hall stilled. A wave of silence crashed over them, as though every guest was holding their breath.
He lifted Helen’s hand from his chest; he was unyielding. “I am not Paris.” His voice cut through the air, sharp, merciless. “And, I am not Menelaus.”
Then, without hesitation, he dropped her hand.
The room shifted. Helen stood frozen, her expression unreadable.
Odysseus was already stepping forward toward her.
Straight to Penelope.
The crowd parted.
They always parted for him.
It was as though her entire world had melted away. There was no war. No gods. No past. Only him, striding across the hall, eyes locked onto hers with the intensity of a man who had spent a lifetime fighting his way home.
Penelope’s breath caught.
He stopped in front of her, and for the briefest moment, she thought he might simply take her face in his hands and kiss her then and there.
Instead, his voice rang clear. “Penelope.”
Her name, spoken like an oath.
“I have fought wars for kings. I have conquered lands, sailed seas, outwitted gods.” His voice was steady, filling every inch of the grand hall. “But let it be known,” his eyes never left hers, “the only victory I have ever truly sought is your heart.”
The hush that followed was deafening.
