We slowed near the servants’ wing, the rush of kitchen scents filling the corridor. “Find a nursemaid for him,” I ordered Alcmene. “Food too. He won’t go without.” I glanced at the boy, his mother’s last plea echoing in my ears like she was with us.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” She studied me for a beat, then added softly, “You should rest, Helena.”
Rest. As if I could.
I forced myself to look at her, to nod again, though the words snagged in my throat. “See to him first. Nothing else matters.”
Alcmene inclined her head and picked up the still crying boy before she slipped into the servants’ wing, her footsteps swallowed by the murmur of voices beyond. I stood in the corridor, alone, the woman’s last words still snagged in my ear like a barb:He’s all I have left.
“What in the gods’ names were you thinking?” Achilles snapped as he suddenly rounded the corner.
I jerked back, surprised. “What?”
His fists were clenched at his sides. “You let her touch you. You knelt beside her. Do you even know what she carried? What she could have passed to you?”
“She was dying,” I shot back. “And she begged me to save her son.”
“You shouldn’t have been anywhere near her.”
I stared at him, anger sparking through my grief. “So I should’ve turned my back? Pretended I didn’t see her?”
His jaw flexed, the tic pulsing. “You’re not just anyone,” he ground out. “You’re the queen. If something happens to you—”
“If something happens to me,” I cut in, my voice shaking with fury, “at least I won’t have been the kind of ruler who let a child die on her doorstep.”
That landed and he flinched, just barely.
Achilles stepped closer, his voice still carrying that rough, frantic edge. “You think I don’t understand? I do. But I can’t—” His throat worked, his eyes bright and fierce. “I can’t lose you. I wouldn’t survive it.”
I thought of the woman’s body crumpled in the dust, her boy’s screams breaking against the palace gates. “And what about them?” I whispered fiercely. “The ones already dying? The ones no one else sees?”
His gaze flicked away, shadows cutting across his face.
I brushed past him and kept moving, not waiting for his answer.
Another day. Another feast.
During the Trials, they’d trained us to prepare such things. But I hadn’t understood how endlessly Menelaus demanded them.
I’d made sure each table had gold platters piled high with roasted pheasant, spiced lamb, and pomegranates, and that servants refilled the pitchers of ruby-colored wine before they ever ran dry. Dancers were performing at the far end of the room, their colorful scarfs floating through the air.
Now I sat beside Menelaus, every inch the dutiful queen, my skin crawling beneath silks that felt like shackles. His arm brushed mine every time he lifted his goblet, and I fought not to flinch.
The doors burst open and a soldier strode in, dragging someone behind him.
Two someones.
Alcmene’s hair was unbound, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes wild with fear. The boy at her side was barefoot and trembling, his face a map of salt-streaked tears. He clung to her hand as if the world would rip him away the moment he let go.
The music faltered, a sour note hanging in the air. A few courtiers glanced over, their brows arched in irritation rather than concern.
I was on my feet before I knew I’d moved.
The soldier shoved the boy forward, his voice carrying across the hall. “Caught this handmaid tending to a stray in the servants’ quarters, my king. Knew you’d want to be made aware.”
Menelaus wiped his fingers on the corner of the tablecloth, then stood. “Alcmene,” he said, stretching her name with slick disappointment. “I’d expect better of someone who serves my queen.”
Alcmene dropped to her knees. “Please, my king. He’s starving. He lost his mother. He’s no threat—”
