She straightened and turned her head toward the throne.
A tic in Menelaus’s jaw jumped, and the veins in his temple stood out like rope as he stared down at me. His glare held fury, certainly, but also a disappointment that pulled his features downward, as though I’d stolen something valuable from him. Somethinghis.
The silence stretched, but I didn’t move. And finally, with a grunt that cracked like a gavel, the king gave a single, reluctant nod.
The High Priestess’s eyes flashed victoriously. “Guards,” she called. “Remove her.”
As the guards advanced on me, their sandals striking the stone in a grim rhythm, the High Priestess lunged forward and snatched up the chalice. She thrust it at Anysa.
Anysa’s hand trembled violently as she reached for it.
No.
The guards were nearly upon me, but I didn’t give them the chance to reach me. I turned swiftly and snatched the chalice from the High Priestess’s hands before Anysa could take it. Wine sloshed over the rim, splattering the floor with a hiss as her lips parted in stunned fury.
Anysa gasped. “What are you doing?!”
“I’ll drink it,” I said, loud enough for the room to hear. My voice didn’t shake, not even once. “For her.”
A low rustle moved through the chamber, courtiers leaning toward one another in quick, startled whispers.
“She chooses death?” someone hissed.
“No,” I said, twisting toward the dais. “I choose Sparta and what I want it to become.”
Menelaus rose from his throne, his gaze sweeping the room, devouring every murmur, every flinch. He didn’t look at me at first, only listened. Then, slowly, his eyes found mine. “Let her,” he said calmly.
The whispering stopped at once.
He descended one step from the dais and paused, taking a long, unhurried drink of wine. “This is a Trial of her choice, and she has made her decision,” he said, his gaze sliding to the High Priestess before cutting back to me.
There was challenge in his eyes, bold and taunting, like he was daring me to prove him wrong … knowing full well he didn’t believe I would.
I held his stare, letting him see exactly how little his doubt mattered, letting him feel the weight of my resolve settling into the space between us. If he expected me to break, he’d miscalculated. Badly.
The High Priestess’s jaw tensed, but she dipped her head in deference.
I finally turned to Anysa, who was frozen in a horror so raw it nearly knocked me back. “Helena, no—”
“You will make a great queen …” I told her, trying to smile.
She shook her head frantically, her veil whipping through the air. “Helena …”
“Please remember Amyklai,” I whispered.
I kept my gaze away from Achilles’s stare beating into the side of my face as I lifted the chalice to my mouth. The warmth of the metal kissed my lips, followed by the chill of the liquid sliding down my throat.
It burned and my stomach twisted in protest.
The fire came fast, dragging its heat down my throat in a brutal, scorching pull. My stomach revolted, spasming so hard I nearly collapsed where I stood. The chalice slipped from my hand and clattered against the floor, skittering across the marble.
I thought I heard Anysa scream, but the world was swimming around me. My breaths turned fast and uneven, and I clung to the table’s edge as the room tilted.
Blood gathered at my lip and I wiped it away with a shaking hand.
“Poison master!” Menelaus roared, the words erupting from him in a burst of panic-laced rage. “Now!”
Robes rustled and sandals pounded as shouts filled the chamber, but I barely heard any of it. My entire body was throbbing with heat and pain.
