At last, I slipped behind the curtain, sinking onto the low pallet. Roz wriggled free from my skirts, its ribbon-tail coiling. I lifted it into my palms, cradling it in the moonlight.
“What are you, my little friend?” I whispered.
Its eyes glimmered softly, and instead of answering, it pressed its tiny nose to my cheek in a gentle nuzzle. The warmth of it lingered against my skin as my fingers curled tighter around it, holding it close.
I bent to the last oil lamp and blew the flame out. Smoke curled in the dim when the curtain stirred.
Alcmene pulled aside the hanging cloth, and Achilles stepped through, still in half armor, the plates dusted with salt and dried blood. His torn tunic revealed a gash across his ribs, crudely stitched in haste.
But it wasn’t the wound I noticed first. It was the look in his eyes—like the battle hadn’t left him yet. Like he hadn’t stopped fighting.
“What’s happened now?” I asked softly.
His gaze tightened. He didn’t answer immediately, just moved fully inside, towering and silent, scanning the shadows of our little alcove as if danger might rise from the very planks. He waited until the curtain fell shut behind him.
“You’re to stay in your quarters,” he said at last, his voice rough. “No wandering the deck. No walks at dawn. If you need something, send for me.”
My brows lifted in dismay. There were still three days left.
Three days until we reached shore, until who knows what happened in Sidon. I wanted the wind on my face, the salt on my tongue. And he would cage me from that?
“Orders,Captain?” I murmured, emphasizing who I thought I was talking to.
He met my gaze then, and I saw his fear.
“I’m not giving them as your captain,” he said quietly. “I’m giving them as the man who watched you nearly die today.”
The words caught between us, suspended like breath in winter air.
I swallowed. “Achilles, I’m fine. You saved me—”
“That thing could’ve taken you.” His voice was suddenly abrupt, too loud against the hush of swaying canvas and the whisper of waves. “It nearly did. And if I hadn’t—if I had been one step slower … just a step … you’d be gone. You don’t understand what that did to me.”
He turned away for a breath, bracing his hands on the low table and his knuckles strained white. “I can’t protect you if you insist on dancing along the edge of every blade.”
My throat ached from holding back the swell rising beneath my breast. “I wasn’t dancing,” I said softly. “I was living.”
That made something flicker behind his eyes. Something collapsing inward, like a lung robbed of air. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said at last in a quieter voice. “I can gut a beast in its sleep. I can face a thousand men with nothing but a sword. But I don’t know how to be calm when you’re in danger. I don’t know how to breathe when I think I might lose you.”
The admission settled between us.
“Do you know,” I whispered, “that since the day I married the king, I haven’t stepped foot outside the palace grounds. I haven’t breathed air that didn’t smell of roses or incense. Today I stood beneath an open sky, and I remembered what it felt like to be alive.”
I stepped closer, until I could smell the blood still on his skin and see the sea salt crusting his lashes. This close, I didn’t see Sparta’s fiercest warrior. I saw a man who loved the sound of my breath. Who watched me like it kept him sane.
“I know you want me to stay in here,” I whispered. “I know I can be a distraction if I’m not careful. I know this ship sails toward war and I’m a complication you don’t want.”
He opened his mouth to object to that, but I softly placed a finger on his lips. His hands curled into fists at his sides at my touch, like he was holding himself back.
“And I—” I drew in a breath, steadying myself. “I can’t promise to stay locked away. I can’t trade this taste of freedom … at least until we get to Sidon.”
His hand lifted, stopping just short of my face. His fingers hovered over my cheek, not quite touching. “You are not a complication,” he said firmly. “You are the only thing I’ve seen in all my years that makes me believe, Helena.” A silence stretched between us until finally he dropped his hand and stepped back, his spine stiffening with the effort it took to pry himself away. “Stay in here tonight,” he said, his eyes now avoiding mine. “At least give me that.”
I didn’t want to promise that. Even now, when I should have been sleeping, I yearned to go out to the deck … to stare at the heavens and make a wish on every star.
But I nodded. “I promise.”
He didn’t ask for more.
