“What are you implying?”
“I’m an admirer of the House of Atreus is all, and I’d hate to see the chances of your brother winning Helen dashed.” Penelope shrugged. Even her mannerisms seemed looser, more relaxed. “But…what if I didn’t see this girl in here? What if she was never here at all? Maybe I saw you get in a brawl with a drunken suitor, a brawl you bravely won. A story like that would spread quick as wildfire.”
“I would take the girl’s offer,” came another voice from the hallway, smooth as marble and lit with amusement. I could not see the speaker, but I noted the way Penelope stiffened. The voice continued, “If news spreads that the mighty King Agamemnon was bested by a tiny slave girl, well…maybe the fearsome House of Atreus’s reputation won’t be quite so fearsome anymore.”
“You speak tomeof reputation, Prince of Goats?” Agamemnon snapped.
“By all means, ignore my advice,” the voice replied. “I and the menof Greece will delight in this story.”
I could not see Agamemnon’s face; I could only read the tension in his back, his muscles stiffening, then releasing in a rough exhalation.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he growled. “Leave. All of you. I have far more important matters to attend to.”
Penelope beckoned me forward, and I rushed to her.
“She was never here. Do you understand?” Agamemnon barked.
“Who, sir?” Penelope smiled. “I see nobody in your room.”
The king of Mycenae grunted before slamming the door behind us.
For a moment, all I could do was stare at Penelope, my mind and body utterly numb.
Penelope opened her mouth to speak when a chuckle sounded from down the hallway. Turning, I saw a man lounging against the stone wall. He looked nothing like the other suitors. Whereas they were all tall, sculpted muscle, this man was short and stocky with a thick, barrel chest. His skin was bronzed, his dark hair a little unruly as if he had just wandered in from a stroll across the fields. He was not handsome, yet there was a confident shine to his features that some might have believed charming.
“Well, you’ve certainly made an impression.” His smile was like a cat stretching, lazy and self-assured. “Tell me, what is your name?”
I forced my hammering heart to steady itself as I glared at him.
“Melantho…sir.”
“Melantho,” the stranger repeated, turning the syllables over in his mouth as if assessing them for cracks.
“Are you all right?” Penelope whispered to me.
I balled my wounded hand into a fist, feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment as I tucked it behind my back.
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“Come, let me escort you ladies somewhere safer,” the man interjected, motioning down the hall.
Penelope shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but—”
“I insist.” He cut her off with a smile.
I glanced at Penelope, and she gave a sigh before setting herself between me and the stranger.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she murmured to me.
I forced myself to match her steady pace, praying neither of them noticed how shaky my legs were, how unsteady my steps.
“Melantho?”
“I said I’mfine,” I snapped, refusing to meet her gaze.
The stranger was glancing sidelong at us, smirking. “It is good to see you again, Princess Penelope.”
“Likewise, Prince Odysseus,” she replied, dropping the accent she had used with Agamemnon.
