She looked as trapped as he felt.
Leukos rose, and the men fell quiet.
“My prince?” Xanthos asked.
“I’ll be right back,” Leukos said with a tight smile. “Pelagios, don’t stop on my behalf.”
The Silver Shield nodded, diving into an even more vicious description of the Makhai—how the monstrous demons clawed their way from the earth and tore through the Rebel Queen’s lines like living nightmares.
Leukos skirted the table, keeping his distance from the guests. But before he could reach Charis, a robed figure stepped into his path.
Philistos.
The priest smiled, all teeth and false reverence. “My prince. You cannot join the queen.”
So the sly bastard had guessed his intent.
“Why not?” Leukos asked, irritation slipping into his tone.
Philistos folded his hands. “The gods are among us tonight,” he said smoothly, “and they expect tradition to be upheld. You’ll see your bride soon enough—after the feast, when the final rites begin. Until then, the boundaries between man and woman must remain sacred.”
His smug composure was infuriating. Ever since Leukos’ return to Tiryns, Philistos had wormed his way into Charis’ innercircle, cloaking manipulation in piety. He would be the first removed from her council once Leukos wore the crown.
“You do not wish to displease the Sea God,” the priest added.
Leukos’ jaw tightened. If the priest thought invoking Megara’s patron would deter him, he was mistaken. “I don’t care for his wishes,” he replied scathingly, continuing forward.
“The mortal who fights the gods does not live long,” Philistos warned.
The words rang in Leukos’ ears, but he didn’t stop. His bride—his future queen—was upset, and tradition would not keep him from her.
He reached her just as she began to rise from her throne-like chair, struggling under the weight of her ceremonial robes.
“Sit,” he said gently, stepping in front of her, shielding her from curious stares.
She shook her head, fingers digging into the armrests. “No, I need to go. I need to find Danaos.”
“Charis, he’s at the palace gates. I saw him earlier—he’s not leaving.” He hesitated, then added, “You’ll speak to him after the celebrations. I promise.”
Her glistening eyes snapped to his, the fear she’d been hiding rising to the surface. “Leukos… I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, wringing her hands in her lap. “I can’t marry you when my heart belongs to him.”
Leukos tensed. This was what he’d feared.
Charis had gone along with the preparations, following her priest’s counsel to appease the gods. But now that their union was imminent, she couldn’t let Danaos go.
And her hesitation could cost him the alliance between Tiryns and Megara.
If they were to join the Westerners in battle, they needed an army. And only Tiryns could provide that.
“They won’t let you be together, Charis,” he murmured. “The nobles will notice—if they haven’t already. And when they do, they’ll demand his exile. You know this.”
Her expression wavered, and he stepped closer.
“But if we marry,” he continued, softer now, “you can still keep him close. I already told you—he won’t have to leave. You won’t have to lose him.”
Her breath hitched. “And he agreed to that?” She bit her lip, turning towards the open window, searching the horizon as if she might glimpse him through sheer will.
“No,” she whispered. “No, I have to see him. Please, Leukos, I?—”
