“How long can we keep hiding in shadows, pretending we’re not on the edge of ruin every time you touch me?”
His arms tightened around me. “As long as we have to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” His voice was fierce. “But hear me, Helena—I swear to you, someday, I will get you out of here. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I will take you far from this place. Far from him. From all of this.”
My eyes burned. “Swear it again.”
He cupped my face, holding me like I was already breaking. “I swear it. On every oath I’ve ever kept and every one I never had the chance to.”
Before I could answer, a violent gust slammed through the room. The balcony doors burst open, crashing against the stone with a force that made the torches gutter. Wind swept in, whipping the curtains into frantic spirals, scattering petals from the floor, clawing its way between us like a living thing.
Achilles frowned and tensed, his gaze flicking toward the open balcony as if he expected to see something standing there. When he saw only the night, he crossed the room in two strides and shoved the doors shut. The latch clattered into place.
He didn’t hesitate. He came straight back to me, gathering me against him, his arms a shield around my body and the storm outside. “I promise,” he murmured against my hair. “Whatever comes, whatever he does … I will not let you be alone in it.”
My hands curled into his shoulders. “I can’t keep living like this,” I said achingly. “I feel like I’ve been split in two. Like there’s the version of me that he touches … and the one that’s yours. And I don’t know how much longer I can survive the difference.”
His hand slid to the back of my neck, his forehead pressing against mine again. “You are not his. Not even in pieces.”
My breath trembled as he pulled his face back, clenched his jaw, and stared at me for another long minute, still searching my features.
“He’salso bothering you, isn’t he?” Achilles muttered. “Theron.” The name came out laced with disgust. He shook his head. “He’s in a cell where he belongs.”
A breeze suddenly stirred the edge of my nightgown though the balcony doors were still sealed.
Achilles didn’t seem to notice. “That man walked into the Great Hall, magic humming off him like heat, and offered himself in service like he was a pauper asking forscraps. It was a performance,” he growled, his eyes on the wall like he was reliving the throne room scene all over again. “And Menelaus was too stupid to see it.”
I stayed silent, watching his profile come into clear relief as the moon peeked out from a cloud and light poured in from the window across from us.
“There’s been no power in Sparta for decades, not beyond what Menelaus claims,” Achilles continued. “And now some stranger walks out of the sea glowing like prophecy and turns Menelaus into a panting cur in under a minute?”
His fingers twitched at his sides. “Sparta doesn’t have room for any other gods besides Menelaus. Or anything that looks like one.”
He wasn’t wrong. The palace had no room for a lot of things … no room for love either. And yet here I stood, wanting him like I’d never wanted anything.
My throat burned, but I lifted my hand anyway, steadying myself against the rough plane of his jaw. My fingers trembled, but I forced them gentle, smoothing over the stubble there like touch alone could strip the bitterness from his voice.
His eyes fell shut for the briefest moment, lashes brushing his cheeks, as if my touch had undone him despite himself.
“You will keep us safe,” I whispered, though the words shook, and I wasn’t sure I believed them.
Some of the weight seemed to slide from his shoulders even though his eyes still burned with war and the shadow of a man who had walked out of the sea like an omen.
Before I could speak again, his mouth crashed against mine. Rough. Hungry. His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back as he devoured me like he’d been starved for years. A strangled sound broke in my throat, half sob, half gasp, and I clutched his tunic with both hands, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us.
“Helena,” he groaned against my lips, the words vibrating through me as his tongue slid against mine, desperate and claiming.
The world narrowed to this … his mouth, his heat, the sharp edge of his need.
He found the thin straps of my nightgown, and wrenched them from my shoulders. The silk puddled at my waist, leaving my breasts bare to the cool air … and to him.
Achilles’s breath hitched. Then his head dipped and his mouth closed over the flushed peak of my breast in a hot, claiming pull. He sucked deep, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth until I was trembling, and clutching his shoulders for balance.
“Say my name,” he demanded roughly, his mouth never leaving me.
“Achilles.” I gasped, shuddering when he sucked harder, greedier, like he wanted to pull the sound from my very bones. His hand slid beneath my gown. Calloused fingers ghosted over the inside of my thigh, teasing strokes that made every muscle in me tighten in anticipation.
