“Our king deserves the chance to atone, does he not?” He addressed the crowd, holding his arms wide in a display of mock welcome.
Penelope clutched at Odysseus’ arm, praying he would know that the man before them was a wolf hidden in sheep’s clothing. A serpent hidden behind a smile. He did not bring peace, he did not bring opportunities.
Odysseus did not respond, did not move. He looked the man up and down, expression revealing nothing, saying nothing. “I’ve spoken with the prince, you know.” Eupeithes continued, inching forward towards where the crowned family stood.
Telemachus sputtered beside them, looking towards his parents. “Mother, I didn’t-”
“Now, boy,” the ringleader interrupted him, “Don’t go taking your words back now that your daddy’s home.” He smiled, and it was a frightening sight. He looked ready to strike. “Antinous always said you were a slippery thing, little king.”
His grip on her chin tightened impossibly, forcing her backwards. Her back hit a wall, and she bit back a nasty retort. With his free hand, he ran a finger down the length of her jaw. “Now, queen…” His words washed over like an ashen wave. Penelope repressed a shudder.
“Wouldn’t it be tragic if the little king got hurt, my lady?” He was close enough that she could smell the wine that lingered on his breath. “Just a kiss, Nel. I’m sure your mad king will understand.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. Penelope tried to move, to refuse, but his grip on her chin was secure. “If it means your little king is safe, Nel. It’s just a kiss…”
“Your quarrel is with me,” Odysseus stepped forward, in front of where both his wife and his son stood. “Leave my son out of it.” She watched as his shoulders rose, the muscles in his back coiled, waiting. “Speak your grievance.”
“We’re just concerned, your grace,” the man continued to move closer to where Odysseus towered, defending his family. “You returned after so long, and then… you stole away with our queen? Where have you been?” Eupeithes turned his back on the king, facing the people now.
“Have we not already suffered enough, in your absence, king? Must Ithaca face your recklessness again?” There were several shouts of agreement from the surrounding masses. “Must you corrupt our queen, too?”
His words hung in the air, a shroud covering the room. Penelope’s breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her teeth, refusing to move. Her king stood, still as stone. “First, you kill our sons, ourlegacies, and now you claim our queen?”
Her head spun. Eupeithes was close now. How had he gotten so close? Odysseus still stood between them, still guarding. But he was a bow, strung tight. He would snap. Caught between thehere and now, and the way her memories lingered, she wavered, reaching for him, needing to feel his skin underneath hers.
Eupeithes took the moment, her weakness, and acted. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards him. “I wonder what our queen has to say?” He said, his mouth close to her ear. “I wonder if she’s as warm as Antinous claimed she was.”
Penelope’s heart stopped. His hands were on her, she could feel his breath on her throat. She had taught herself how to swallow her terrors whole, but something about his touch, his sneers, caused panic to rise in her throat.
She was back in that room.
Her breathing hitched
With men that never asked.
Hands trembling at her side.
Before Odysseus returned.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
With hands that only took.
His lips claimed hers with a hunger, a possession that caused her to gasp against his kiss. Her fingers curled tight at her side, willing herself still, willing herself compliant.
Antinous stepped closer still, caging her. The hand that had traced her jaw now came down roughly on her breast, kneading her beneath his touch. “So soft,” he growled into her mouth, “so sweet for me, Queen.”
She heard the sound before she could register what had happened. Odysseus’ fist connected with Eupeithes’ nose, causing him to stumble, releasing her. With his other hand, her king clutched at her, holding her infallibly at his side.
The silence that overtook the room was staggering. No one moved, no one dared breathe.
His eyes scanned her face rapidly, his shoulders rising in tune with the race of her heart. Odysseus gripped her chin between his fingers. She wrapped both hands around his wrist, holding fast to the solace his touch brought her.
Penelope inhaled sharply as his actions mirrored memory. Even paralleled, she would know his touch anywhere, would recognize the safety of him in any life.
He moved his hand to cradle her face in his hand, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. No words were exchanged, there was nothing that needed to be said. He closed his eyes. She could feel the tension rolling off of him. She forced back a sob, forced back the memories ofhishands,hislips.
Odysseus, after a beat of silence, of searching, turned his back to the gathering of people. Offering his queen his arm, they took a step to leave.
Eupeithes gargled a laugh, a sound that would forever haunt Penelope. Looking over her shoulder, she watched him spit blood onto their floor. “Antinous told me what she was like, old king.” He taunted, tunic bloodied. “How she shuddered when he touched her, how sweetly she would gasp for him in the dark.”
