I stopped at the shallow steps fringing the training ground. Still, nobody had noticed me, too engrossed in the brewing fight. I couldhave fled in that moment, could have run back to the safety of the kitchens and my mother’s waiting arms.
But instead, I called out, “Princess Penelope!”
Every head snapped toward me.
I hesitated, the dusty air crawling down into my lungs, choking my next words. I had never had so many people staring at me at once. But then my gaze found Penelope’s, and the ground suddenly felt steadier beneath me.
“King Icarius sent me to summon you,” I said, racking my brain for a grown-up word, one that might make my lie sound more believable. “He…requires your company.”
Penelope’s eyebrows rose, but it was Clytemnestra who said, “Why would my uncle send a kitchen slave to relay such a message?”
“He probably just finished bedding her,” a woman snorted. “Are children not his type?”
I was unsure what she meant by that or why everyone found her comment so amusing. Everyone except for Penelope, whose cheeks seemed to redden.
“I’m just following orders,” I said.
“If my father has summoned me, I must obey,” Penelope announced, but Clytemnestra did not let go.
“We must finish our training first, cousin.”
“King Icarius says it’s urgent,” I insisted, struggling to meet Clytemnestra’s glare even from a distance. “He sounded…angry.”
Penelope’s lips twitched. “You cannot deny the king, cousin.”
“He is notmyking,” Clytemnestra spat, though she released her cousin’s wrist.
Without hesitating, Penelope turned on her heel and walked toward me. I smiled as she approached, but Penelope’s face was blank as she continued past.
“Come,” she murmured over her shoulder. “Do not speak until we are away from here.”
I stumbled after Penelope as she glided away from the gymnasium,her steady steps quick yet unhurried. When we were finally back in the shadow of the palace, she halted. We were standing at the rear entrance, the one the slaves used, which led through the storage rooms, tucked away out of sight. It was quiet there, save for the chattering cicadas in the nearby olive trees.
I couldn’t help but stare at Penelope. I found it impossible not to. Even though her eyes were a little too far apart and her nose pointy, she was still the prettiest girl I had ever seen.
She absently rubbed her wrist, the one Clytemnestra had grabbed.
“Does it hurt bad?” I asked.
Penelope shook her head, then turned to look at me. “Why did you lie?”
I stiffened. “I didn’t—”
“My father is out hunting today.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Oh.”
Her eyes seemed darker than they had before, and I wondered if she was angry with me.
“You could have landed yourself in a lot of trouble.”
“I know,” I mumbled to the ground.
“So why did you do it?”
“She was hurting you.”
Penelope frowned as if my answer were confusing to her.
