She pressed her hand to his chest and tried to put some space between them.
Once again, Odysseus was faster. She cursed under her breath as he took her hand in his, moving so that her hand was over his heart, so that she could feel the way his pulse raced underneath her touch. “I am undone, wife.” He whispered, his deep blue eyes piercing hers.
“Mother, Father, what are your thoughts?” Telemachus’ voice cut through the tension that radiated between them. His words were sharp, laced with irritation.
As she met her son’s eyes, she could see a layer of emotions across his face. Annoyance was the most prevalent. It was visible in the downturn of his mouth, and the way he narrowed his eyes. But there was also something deeper, something that might border on reverence that sparkled in his eyes.
She shifted in her seat, putting as much distance as she could between herself and her husband. “Penelope,” a low growl came from beside her. “If you walk away,” his fingers danced gently up her arm, “I will be forced tocrawlto you, my queen.”
She scowled. “I’m sorry, my son,” she spoke with as much dignity as she could muster. As much dignity as anyone could muster with a wild man sitting next to them, slowly undressing her with his eyes. “What do you need our opinion on?”
A rumble of laughter coasted over the room. Telemachus shook his head. “Nothing, mother.” He turned to address the Ithacan people. “It seems my advisers find themselves preoccupied.”
With a mischievous glint in his eye that Penelope knew he inherited from his father, he continued speaking to the people.
“Did our son just attempt to embarrass us in front of our people?” Odysseus asked, ducking close to her.
“That was no attempt, you fool. He succeeded.”
Her husband did not lose his grin when he pulled back, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “I have half a mind to take you right here on this dais.” He murmured under his breath.
“Gods, Odysseus.” Penelope ran a hand down her face. “You are insatiable.”
“Say my name like that again and I will become undone in front of our people, wife. Show them howinsatiabletheir mad king is. Come now, wife, you’ve had your fun.”
Odysseus stood, but not before shifting his weight slightly, his fingers dropping to his tunic in a barely concealed attempt to adjust himself. Her insufferable husband made no effort to be discreet. A muscle in his jaw flexed as he exhaled through his nose, as if steadying himself, but the look he shot Penelope was anything but composed.
Across the room, a few of the older men exchanged glances. Someone cleared their throat.
Penelope clenched her hands in her lap,determinedto keep her own composure. Gods help her. Gods help them all.
She felt, rather than saw, the way Odysseus turned as he strode toward the exit, the way his shoulders squared, how his tunic still didn’t sit right.
A long sigh came from beside her.
“For the love of-” Telemachus dragged a hand through his hair.
A voice from the crowd, struggling not to laugh, hesitantly offered, “Shall we… reconvene whenbothyour advisers are available?”
“No, there’s no need to postpone.” In another situation, one where she wasn’t feeling so wholly empty without her husband by her side, she would feel pride at how her son kept his composure. “It seems that, even in his old age, my father has never stopped following his own whims. While we are used to that being war or wanderlust…” He let out a gentle laugh. “It appears that we have to adjust to his sole whim, being my mother.”
She felt all the eyes in the room on her, felt the stares of over 50 of Ithaca’s men as she waited, as she struggled with what her heart and body wanted, and what etiquette told her to do.
“Fuck it.” She breathed, standing and smoothing out her dress. A murmur rippled through the gathered men. She felt the weight of their eyes, the unspoken understanding of what it meant for the queen to rise and follow her husband so soon after he left.
But she didn’t care. Let them talk. Let themknow.
With a quick nod to her son, Penelope followed in her husband’s footsteps.
She barely made it past the threshold before hands seized her, before her back hit the cool stone of the palace wall, before heat crashed into her in the form of her husband’s body.
Odysseus. Her hands found his jaw, the curls of his beard rough against her fingertips. His lips found hers, desperate and searching.
A rumble started deep in his chest as his grip tightened on her waist. “Took you long enough.”
53
“NOT SO FAST.” She pushed against his shoulders, slipping out of his grasp. She strode past him, towards their chambers. “If you think you can just do whatever you want, wherever you want, you’re sorely mistaken, king.”
