THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT BEHIND THEM, kings and queens standing in the flickering candlelight.
The silence that surrounded them was suffocating. No one spoke, no one moved. Penelope was desperate to reach out to Odysseus, to feel his skin underneath hers, but she refrained. This was not the time, not the place.
Helen stood at the window, shoulders squared, her back to them. She was the picture of poise, except where her hands met the stone, trembling.
The Spartan king poured himself a glass of wine, staring into nothingness. Not looking at his queen, not meeting anyone’s gaze.
He let this happen.
Penelope inhaled sharply as she realized it. He did not care what his wife had been doing, what she had attempted. Not because he wanted it to happen — but because he didn’t care enough about her to put a stop to it.
Noticing it in time with his wife, Odysseus let out a dry, humorless laugh. “By the gods,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
“You,” Menelaus finally spoke, pointing a finger at the Ithacan King. “Not a word.”
“Not a word?” Odysseus snorted. “Forgive me, old friend, but that seems to be the problem, doesn’t it?”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Ithacan?” Menelaus’ voice was low, lethal. “You’ve humiliated me in my own halls, in front of my own people. You’ve humiliated the daughter of Zeus.”
“Your people?” Odysseus asked, sounding astonished as he did. “They’re her people, brother.”
“You bastard,” The Spartan King took a few steps towards him, fingers clenching at his glass.
“How long?” Odysseus questioned, nodding towards where Helen stood. “How long have you let your wife feel alone in her own palace?”
Penelope flinched under the weight of his words. A shudder ran up her spine as she waited for a response, eyes flicking between the men.
Menelaus’ eyes narrowed, setting his glass down on the table. He radiated anger, glowering at his companion.
Penelope stepped forward, squaring her shoulders before speaking. “Did you want him to stop you?” Her question was directed at her cousin, voice calm, steady.
For the first time this evening, perhaps in years, Helen looked at her. Actually looked at her. Not like the wounded widow, not like the woman who waited, but as her flesh and blood. Something flickered across her face, too quick for Penelope to register. Was it shame? Regret?
And then Helen smiled. “No.” It wasn’t a cruel smile, it wasn’t triumphant. It was broken.
Penelope’s stomach twisted, heart lurching into her throat.
“And you, cousin?” She tilts her head, eyes drilling holes through Penelope’s soul. “Would you have stopped him if he was not yours?”
Her words gave Penelope pause. Would she have? Were it not Odysseus under her cousin’s touch, would she have intervened?
Helen’s reality came crashing down around her, head swimming as she considered the alternative. This wasn’t about Odysseus, or even Menelaus. It was about Helen, about the paths the gods had set her on.
“Then why,” Menelaus started, turning to his wife. “Do you look at me now like I’ve betrayed you?”
Helen stared at the man that had once claimed her, the man she called husband, and laughed. It was not a pretty sound. It was short, sharp. “Would you have burned the world for me?” She challenged, stepping closer to where he stood. Penelope’s eyes flicked over to where her husband stood, desperate for him, to find solace in his closeness.
Helen’s words hung in the air, electrifying the space that surrounded them. “Didn’t I do just that, wife?” Was the Spartan’s response, venom in every word.
“I didn’t want to take him from you, Penelope“ Helen said suddenly. For a moment, the indomitable Helen of Sparta broke, her face falling as she looked at her cousin. She swallowed hard, voice breaking. “You don’t know what she promised me.”
“What do you mean ‘she promised’ you?” Odysseus was the first to respond, taking a protective step towards Penelope, as though he could shield her from the oncoming hurt. “Who?”
“Persephone.” Penelope responded, shaking her head. Odysseus turned on her, gently grasping her shoulders. His eyes searched her for a moment, bewildered.
Menelaus let out a cruel laugh. “Ever under the god’s scrutiny, aren’t you, King?” Odysseus didn’t turn, didn’t evenacknowledge the other man. “And yet you still can’t keep your hands off of the woman you just swore yourself to before all of Sparta.”
Helen’s voice cut through the tension in the room, “gods forbid a man love his wife, Menelaus.” Her words dripped with disdain, nose turned up as she spoke. “She promised me love, husband. Freedom from this wretched arrangement, someone to look at me even half the way the Ithacan does his wife.” She spat.
