As usual, Eurymachus was seated at the head of the table, like a king among his subjects. He picked at the plate of food before him, his eyes glazed with wine and boredom. When he noticed me approaching, his gaze sharpened, lips coiling into a predatory grin.
“Well, well, well, to what do we owethispleasure?” he asked loudly. “Penelope’s handmaids are usually kept locked away like pretty little trinkets.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps I have grown bored of being treated as such.”
Eurymachus shared a glance with the men around him. “Is that so?”
“Pretty little trinkets are not meant to be hidden away after all. They are meant to be admired, are they not?” I purred, movingcloser.
“Is that what you want? To beadmired?” one of the other suitors asked me.
I smiled vapidly at him. “Doesn’t every woman?”
Eurymachus tossed a chicken bone to one of the hunting dogs skulking in the shadows. “And what would your mistress make of this little visit?”
“Should I care?”
Suspicion sharpened his smile. “Seems like quite the change of heart from Penelope’s most treasured handmaid.”
“Why should I serve a queen who will not serve her kingdom?” I shot back. “Ithaca needs a king. Penelope is standing in the way of that.”
“I will drink to that,” Eurymachus said, taking a slow gulp of wine. His eyes held mine over the rim of his cup, filled with a dark, intimate promise.
When he set the cup down, I dutifully moved to refill it. I then perched myself in his lap as I brought the replenished wine to his lips. He drank deeply, his gaze never leaving my face. When a dribble escaped down his chin, I caught it with a finger and licked the residue. Eurymachus’s eyes heated, and I smiled before downing the rest of his wine myself.
“If I remember correctly, you still owe me,” Eurymachus hissed into my ear.
“Is that so?”
His hands moved to grip my waist, fingers digging greedily into my flesh. It took every ounce of self-control not to cringe at his touch. But I had worn disgust as desire for years in Sparta; it was a mask I knew well.
“You once promised yourself to me, yet you never fulfilled your word.” His breath was unpleasantly hot against my skin. “Three summers I’ve waited.”
“Perhaps it’s time we rectify that,” I mused.
“Perhaps you’ve waited too long. Perhaps I’ve no interest inoldgoods,” he sneered. “You’re what, now? Thirty summers? More?”
“Thirty-six summers. And if you do not valueexperience, then I suppose that is your loss.” I shrugged and began to rise, but Eurymachus’s arm fastened around my waist, holding me against him.
“What of Penelope?”
I ignored the stab in my chest. “What of her?”
“She didn’t want us…meddlingwith her handmaids.”
I raised a brow. “Who says she has to know?”
Eurymachus grinned before pushing us both to our feet. He locked his hand around my wrist, claiming me.
“Come,” he barked.
For the briefest moment, my body stiffened, muscles tightening with instinctive fear.
Be brave.My mother’s voice found me.
I would. For Penelope. For Telemachus. For my friends.
I had to be.
