“Then why am I here?”
“Because you’re injured.”
“I can look after myself.”
“I never said you could not.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“I’m not giving it.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you pity me.” The words came out in a heated rush, sharper than I’d intended.
Still, Penelope did not even flinch, just folded her hands neatly in her lap and watched me with that infuriating patience of hers.
“I do not pity you, Melantho,” she said, firmer this time.
I ignored her. She had always been too good at lying.
She is not my friend.
I began dabbing the dozens of little angry cuts mottled across my skin. My frustration made me careless, and a stab of pain lanced through my kneecaps.
“Hades’s helm,” I swore and leaned back in the chair.
“What is it?” Penelope asked, voice pinched with something almost like concern.
“I think…there’s some shards still in there,” I replied through gritted teeth.
“May I take a look?”
I wanted to sayno, leave me alone, but exhaustion skulked between my bones, draining the fight from my body. I dropped the rag into the bowl and turned my face to the fire.
Penelope moved toward me, picking up the rag and rinsing it inthe water. She then took the bowl and knelt in front of me. My eyes drifted away from the hearth, stomach knotting at the sight of the princess on her knees before me. Her gaze flickered up to mine as if sensing my thoughts, preempting my refusal. But I said nothing.
Taking my silence as compliance, Penelope turned her attention back to my knees.
“There are definitely still shards in there,” she murmured. “You must get them out. May I try?”
“Fine,” I grunted, downing the wine she had refilled. “Just get it over with.”
She paused momentarily, drawing in a breath. Her fingers then traced up my right leg, closing gently around my calf. Her touch made everything go still, as if every flame in Sparta had whispered out all at once.
I swallowed the sudden dryness in my mouth as Penelope guided my leg toward her and gently set my foot in her lap. Her fingers remained laced around my calf as her other hand began to gently pry out the shards embedded in my skin. She was so incredibly gentle, touching me with a care that made a strange lump knot in my throat.
I watched her as she worked, studying the way concentration etched itself into those features of hers, every detail accentuated by the flickering light of the fire. She was still the most striking thing I had ever seen.
She glanced up then, catching my gaze before I could look away, pinning it between us, raw and open. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin, the fire too hot, my pulse too fast, the stillness between us too delicate.
“Is this all right?” she whispered.
I nodded, cheeks burning as I turned my face away. I focused on the fire once again, willing myself to cling to the hatred inside me, to keep holding that shield close.
She abandoned you.
