And I had done that.
The weight of it rose in my chest, not suffocating, simply full. As though something inside me had quietly stitched itself whole. I had fulfilled my purpose.
I smiled, and realized he was looking at me.
Menelaus squeezed the hand he still held and lifted it to his lips, the press of his mouth lingering on my skin. “Helena the Beauty,” he said softly. “A queen with strength that matches my own … Sparta has hungered for you longer than you know. I never believed I’d have a true partner again. My first wife … she wasn’t strong enough for this life. It broke her.”
The sorrow in his voice was so real it stole my breath.
For the first time, I wondered if the whispers about him had been wrong. This version of him was so different from the smug, brutal one I’d seen on the throne. This one didn’t bare its teeth. This one didn’t cut.
This one made me wonder if that other man, the lion draped in red, the one who watched girls die without blinking—if it was only a mask. A mask he wore so well I’d forgotten men could have more than one face.
This one almost made me want to believe him. But had his last queen wrongly believed in this version of him too?
He looked down at our joined hands before carefully letting go and beginning to turn away. I watched him for a heartbeat, suddenly thinking of Thalessa and how she was dying in a cell. If there was ever a moment to try … this was it.
“Wait.”
He pivoted, the movement expectant, as though he’d known I would want more.
“You have given me so much,” I said, surprised by how true it felt on my tongue. “But … I have one more favor to ask.”
A flicker of interest moved through his eyes. “Name it.”
“Amyklai’s town healer has been imprisoned,” I said hesitantly. “She’s older. Sick. She needs medical care, not chains. I wish for her to be released.”
Menelaus didn’t hesitate, he didn’t ask why she’d been imprisoned or give the barest hint of suspicion. “Done.”
Just like that. As though mercy cost him nothing. As though it was normal for him to grant grace so easily. It confused me more than anything he’d said. More than the gentleness or the soft grief I’d heard curled beneath his voice.
“Rest while you can,” he murmured then, stepping back just enough that sunlight caught in the bronze circlet at his brow. “Sparta needs you strong.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, no cape swirling, no bellowed orders, no threat lingering in his shadow.
Just a man … who left me standing there in shock, fingers still warm, unsure which version of him I’d met today. And wondering which one would marry me.
I stayed by the railing, the wind teasing my hair, and I could almost smell the scent of olive oil and straw drifting up from the wagons below. I tried to let the moment engrave itself in my chest.
Amyklai would survive. And I was about to have a crown.
But more than that—I was about to have thepowerto make real changes.
Soft footsteps padded across the stone behind me, and then Anysa appeared at my side. Her gaze followed mine down the hillside.
She froze.
“All of that is for Amyklai,” I whispered.
A gasp tore from her lips as her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes, wide and shining, filled with tears as they swept over the line of wagons, supplies stackedhigh, soldiers organizing crates, wheels already groaning under the weight of grain, medicine, oil, and bread.
“You did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with wonder and disbelief. “Helena—you actually did it.”
I turned to her, and for a moment, I didn’t feel like the girl from Amyklai or the queen they wanted to crown. I just felt human. Tired. Hopeful. Alive.
I reached for her hand, gripping it hard. “This is just the beginning,” I said. “If the version of the king I just met is real—if that wasn’t all performance—then maybe … maybe I can saveallof Sparta.”
Anysa nodded fiercely, more tears slipping free.
