Odysseus did not release Penelope. His eyes did not leave hers. A storm was crashing around “them, and all she could see was him.
“It’s easy for someone simple to fit into a role for a silver tongued king, Helen.” Menelaus jeered, looking down his nose towards where the Ithacan king and queen stood.
He was trying to get a rise out of Odysseus, trying to provoke him to anger.
He succeeded.
Odysseus spun quickly, closing the distance between Menelaus and himself. Grabbing a handful of his tunic, he shoved him backwards. “Don’t,” was all he said, the single word laced with hostility.
Penelope’s stomach twisted in disgust. Her cousin, her own flesh and blood, had played along with the gods. Had thrown herself into their games, into Odysseus’s path, and for what?
“You wanted him to look at you that way?" Her voice came out sharp, cutting. "You wanted to see if it could be you instead?"
Helen’s jaw clenched, but she did not deny it.
Penelope’s fists twitched at her sides. “You should have known better,” she bit out. “The gods are using you.”
Helen lifted her chin. “And if you were in my place? Would you not have taken the chance to have that kind of love?”
“No.” Penelope did not hesitate. “Why would I yearn for something I already have?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, steadying herself, drawing in a breath. As she did, the past crept up on her. Memories of this room… This place.
She faltered for a moment, remembering a lifetime ago when a different Spartan King tried to tell her who she was.
And how an Ithacan King encouraged her, not to fall in line with her father’s expectations, but to cull them. To be her.
“We did not come here for politics. We did not come here to be played against each other. Odysseus and I came here for guidance, and instead-” her voice sharpened, eyes darting between her cousin and the Spartan king, “we have let the gods turn us against our own family.”
Menelaus laughed bitterly. “Oh, Helen. You think that’s love?” He snuffed Penelope out completely, returning to his mockery. “You think devotion makes a man strong?”
His eyes cut to Odysseus. Even as he stood in the man’s grasp, he ridiculed him. “You’ve made yourself weak for her.”
“Don’t,” Odysseus warned, voice low. His jaw was clenched so tight, Penelope was afraid he might shatter.
Menelaus sneered, “All that cunning, all that cleverness, wasted on a woman’s tether-”
Odysseus’ fist connected with the king’s face before he could finish his sentence. The Spartan king staggered, clutching at his face as blood poured from his nose.
“This is what they wanted, Odysseus,” she stepped closer to him, holding her hand outwards to where he stood. “We have enough enemies without making war with our own blood.”
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, shaking off the weight of anger. Taking her hand, he closed the distance between them once more, curling a bloodied finger around her chin. “Then we stop playing their game, wife.”
Penelope’s pulse hammered as Odysseus’s fingers twitched against her chin. His voice dropped so only she could hear.
"We leave. Now."
She should have agreed, should have stepped away gracefully. But she didn’t. She grabbed him, fisting his tunic in both hands, she pulled him to her.
Coming together with the intensity of a storm, she abandoned everything she had learned in these very halls.
And in the middle of political fallout, she kissed him.
Fiercely. Defiantly.
When they pulled apart, he was already leading her toward the doors, fingers woven tightly together, heart pounding.
As Penelope turned, Helen took a step forward. “Pen, wait-”
