Not Alcmene.
Not Roz.
And certainly not the gods.
I rose unsteadily, my joints creaking like rusted hinges. The balcony doors yielded at my touch, and the night air struck my face, cold and stinging, almost cleansing.
Beyond Menelaus’s gardens, the red sea stretched out under the stars, a wound carved into the earth, close enough to see and yet far beyond reach.
The drop beneath my balcony wasn’t far. Three stories. Maybe more. But there were rocks directly under me that jutted out, angled to break anything that fell, like Menelaus had intended for this to be my end when he’d built the palace.
Perfect.
Tears slipped hot down my cheeks, blurring the stones below until they gleamed like the fangs of some waiting beast.
I climbed the railing, the stone cool beneath my bare feet. My toes curled hard around the edge, gripping, as the breeze lashed at my skin like a warning.
The horizon rolled on forever, endless and pitiless, and I was so very small against it. So small … and yet the pain inside me was bigger than everything.
I didn’t want to be Helena of Sparta.
Didn’t want to be a queen.
Didn’t want to be a bride.
Didn’t want to be a symbol.
I didn’t want to beanything.
The wind howled in my ears, louder, urgent, like it was calling me home. I leaned forward, just a breath, and the world tilted under me. My eyes slipped shut and darkness wrapped around me.
I was ready … willing.
Because anything—anything—was better than this.
My toes lost their grip. The stone vanished beneath me. The wind surged hard at my back, shoving me into the night. I pitched forward, the sea roaring louder, louder, until it was all I could hear.
I could almost believe it was calling my name.
Like the grip of the gods themselves, hands suddenly seized me midair, wrenching me backward before the drop could claim me. My lungs spasmed as strong arms crushed around me, unrelenting. My feet left the stone. The night spun in a blur, the outside vanished, and my world jolted in an instant from release to captivity.
I screamed, a strangled, broken sound that tore my throat. “Let me go!”
Instead, those arms only locked tighter, dragging me against a body that felt as unyielding as the rocks below. My heart still plummeted even as I was held fast, the air burning in my throat with every gasp.
“Let me go!” I thrashed, kicking, twisting, my head snapping back against a shoulder broad enough to withstand it. Panic clawed through me, wild and rabid.
“No.” The word rumbled behind me roughly.
Achilles.
His grip crushed tighter, pinning my flailing arms against my chest, dragging me back into the realm of the living whether I wanted it or not. My body heaved, every nerve screaming, the red paint smearing off my skin and streaking across his arms.
“I don’t want this!” My voice cracked into a sob. “I can’t live like this—I can’t!”
For a moment he said nothing, only held me fast as I writhed, as though his silence itself was a wall I could never break.
“Please,” I whispered at last, the fight draining out of me, my throat hoarse. “Please … let me go.”
