“Tell me?”
He blinked. “About that one?”
I nodded.
His chest rose slowly. “That was from a harpy’s talon. South of Delos. The thing was nesting in the temple ruins and picking off pilgrims one by one. It took three of us just to bring it down.”
“A harpy?” I repeated, my brow lifting.
His eyes closed, like what he’d just said was nothing. “I was younger then. I thought I could impress a high priestess by climbing her mountain barefoot. I got halfway up before the thing screamed down from the sky and tore straight through my shoulder.”
I traced the edge of the mark again, softer this time. “Did it work? Was she impressed,” I teased, a slight smile across my lips.
He cracked one eye open, a beautiful grin spreading across his face. “She blessed me with eternal protection from pride. Then dumped a jar of sheep’s blood on my head.”
I laughed, moving closer. “Sounds like she knew exactly how reckless you were.”
“I still am,” he said lazily as his fingers traced the curve of my spine. “Lying here with you proves it, and it’s the only tale I’d risk everything to keep.”
Reckless.The word tangled through me. That was what this was … whatwewere. Every stolen breath, every touch in the shadows. Reckless, and yet I clung to it as if it were the only thing that made me feel alive. I let my fingers drift to another scar, just beneath his first rib. “And this one?”
His smile faded, just a little. “That was from the Battle of Therma. An Illyrian commander with a curved blade and nothing to lose. He was fast. But not fast enough.”
My hand stilled. “You were almost—”
“Killed? Yes.” His gaze was unwavering. “It happens, Helena. We bleed. We mend. We go on.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I ran my thumb down a long pale line across his abdomen. “What about this one?”
He exhaled slowly. “Minotaur. Not a true one, mind you. A beast twisted by years of dark magic and pit-fighting. They kept him chained beneath the arena in Kyros. People paid silver to watch him tear men apart. I freed him.”
I blinked. “You freed him?”
“He deserved better than chains.” His voice had turned haunted. “He died anyway. But at least he died outside.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “You’ve seen so much.”
He looked at me like he could see straight through me. “And you haven’t.”
It wasn’t an accusation. It was a truth. And it stung.
I turned my face toward the ceiling. “I’ve never been anywhere,” I admitted, the words slipping out too quietly. “Before all this, the palace, the Trials, I’d only known my father’s house and my village and the hill behind it. I used to climb it just to see where the sky touched the sea. But that’s all I’ve ever seen of the world.”
Achilles was silent for a moment. Then he rolled toward me, one arm bending beneath his head as he studied me with unreadable eyes. “Would you like to?”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“See the world,” he said softly. “I’ve seen its cruelty. But there’s beauty too. More than any priest could describe. Forests that sing at dusk. Rivers that glowwith starlight. Markets where a hundred languages fill the air. There’s a city near the Nile where the walls are painted with stories older than Sparta. And farther east, there’s a temple built atop the bones of a giant.”
I swallowed. “You’ve really seen those things?”
“I have,” he said. “And I would take you. If I could.”
If.
The word slipped between us with the quiet danger of a spark seeking tinder.
“If you could,” I repeated. I smiled sadly, and it felt fragile. “Do you think you can keep any of your promises?”
