I nodded. “At the first sign of violence, we run. All right?”
His throat bobbed. “All right.”
At that moment, the king of Sparta strode through the crowd, nodding greetings to his gathered guests while pointedly ignoring the hostility itching between them. His sons followed close behind, and in their wake, the women trundled in single file. Only Leda’s face was bare; the other two were hidden behind rippling veils.
I recognized Penelope instantly.
I knew the cadence of her steps, the proudness of her spine, the elegant yet assured way her body moved, like water slipping over stone. Everything about her felt familiar, and yet she had never seemed more distant to me than in that moment, gliding through a sea of ravenous eyes.
As the Spartan royals ascended the dais, I noticed a shadow stealing into the room. The other suitors seemed oblivious to this late entry, but their kind were unversed in the art of being unnoticed. Peering closer, I caught the smirking eyes of the latecomer. Instead of brushing his attention over me, as everyone else did with us slaves, the prince of Ithaca flashed me a conspiratorial wink. Odysseus then turned his attention to the dais, his lips quirking as if he were enjoying a jokewith himself.
“Guests, friends, I hope you all had a restful slumber and that you will accept my apologies for the delay. I was handling a few…pressing matters in preparation for the impending betrothal,” Tyndareus announced. He appeared lighter this morning, the cloud that had followed him yesterday seemingly dissipated.
My gaze drifted back to Penelope. I found myself flexing my bandaged hand, the remnants of last night’s tension lingering inside me. Looking at her now, so regal and remote, it seemed unfathomable—that closeness we had shared. The girl on the dais was not the same one who had knelt before me, bathing my wounds and whispering her heartbroken apologies.
Did that version of her even truly exist?
My attention then caught on Penelope’s index finger methodically scratching at her thumb’s nail bed, tearing the loose skin. She always did that when she was nervous, and the familiar habit made something loosen inside me. She felt likemyPenelope again.
No,no. Not my Penelope.
She was notmyanything.
I tried to summon my shield of anger, focusing on the princess’s elegant robes, her expensive jewelry, her proud posture, reminding myself how small it made me feel, how meaningless.
She is not like you, and she never will be.
“Before we begin with the proceedings, I must first request something of you all,” Tyndareus continued. His words were like stones cast into a still lake, causing pockets of conversation to ripple outward. He held up a hand to silence his audience. “It has become apparent that certaintensionshave arisen in anticipation of the decision being made today. To avoid any unwanted repercussions, I have taken Prince Odysseus’s wise counsel and decided that any man wishing to be considered for Helen’s hand must first swear an oath. This oath shall state that every hopeful suitor will respect Helen’s marriage and will do everything in their power to protect it. This vow willbe watched over by golden-throned Hera, Goddess of Marriage, and cloud-gatherer Zeus, Guardian of Oaths. Any who break it will face their divine wrath.”
Murmurs ricocheted through the room, eyes cutting to where Odysseus stood a little apart from the crowd with his arms indolently folded.
“How do we know this isn’t one of Odysseus’s ploys to best us?” a voice piped up.
“Because I have no interest in what you seek.”
I could not make out Odysseus’s face among the sea of turned heads, but I could hear his smirk in the curl of his words.
“Then why are you here?” came the thunderous voice of Ajax.
“I have made my desires clear to the king,” Odysseus replied.
Eyes narrowed on Tyndareus, who cleared his throat with a nod. “In return for Odysseus’s counsel, I have agreed to give my niece as his bride.”
I stared at Penelope, but she remained as motionless as a statue.
A strange satisfaction swelled inside me, knowing she had played these men so perfectly without them even realizing she was part of their game. Yet beneath that satisfaction, something tugged, like cords threaded around my ribs, pulling tight.
Men were slapping Odysseus on the back, shaking his hand. On the dais, Penelope still had not moved an inch, though I noticed her thumb was now bleeding, a crimson crescent moon spreading along her nail bed.
“I have a final suggestion if you will hear it, Tyndareus,” Odysseus announced.
“Very well. The floor is yours, prince of Ithaca.”
“I believe we should make Helen choose her husband.” Odysseus smiled at the shocked reactions, forging ahead in the silence he had created. “After all, it is Helen who we are here for, is it not? She is the daughter of mighty Zeus. His divinity runs in her veins. If she chooses her husband freely, then every man in this room shall know the decision is a fair one, and it will not plant any malcontent.”
Tyndareus made a show of considering Odysseus’s words as if this were the first time he was hearing them. I wondered if anyone else bought the act.
“Very well. We shall let Helen choose her fate. As a child of Zeus, I believe she is entitled to do so.” Tyndareus nodded, clearly taking pleasure in painting himself as a fair, benevolent king. “Are there any objections to these conditions?”
