Page 16 of This Divine Revelry

‘Alright,’ I relent. ‘That’s the story.’

‘It’s a story they need to hear,’ he says. ‘Make no mistake, in my understanding you are the hero. I could not have escaped without you.’ He caresses from my cheek to my chin, tilting my face towards him. His dark eyes burn – eyes that I could look into every day for the rest of my life. His gaze darts across me in a similar manner, and he makes a pleased noise low in the back of his throat, delighted with whatever he has found in me. ‘You are as remarkable as Harmonia or Atalanta – precisely the sort of woman the heroes of old would have had by their side.’

He leans down and captures my lips with his, firm yet aching, like he has resisted for millennia. My hand stills on his chiton, uncertain. To push him away, or to pull him closer? But something sparks in my chest, the same flickering resolve that urged me to do all that I did, and I wonder that, despite it all, I am safe. Then, more urgently – that I could be safer still. I let my fingers curl into the fabric, drawing him on to the bed with me.

And then it is not any reasonable part of me at all but the itch beneath – the one that dances and braves rooftops and decides that this, too, is something I want. Something worth the consequences. I breathe him in and all other voices quiet – only this touch, this exhilaration.

He draws back and smiles as we part. ‘You taste as sweet as this tale. And what better ending to this epic than to make you my queen?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

WE KISS A WHILE MORE until my fear abates and it begins to sink in that this is truly it: the start of the rest of my life. Theseus. My soon-to-be husband.

Soon – but not yet. So our hands are fumbling and halting, our kisses broken with snatches of conversation. But the desire sparks at his every look and is stoked by his every touch and each kiss lingers a little longer than the last.

My childhood was accompanied by lectures on chastity and virginity. By the time any yearning hit – watching the blacksmith’s bulging muscles every time he raised a hammer, or the maids wringing wet bedsheets as the specks dripped down their chitons – desire felt like an enemy. And then there was Charis. And she was beautiful, yes, but she was safe – safe to explore everything I wanted because no one who mattered would consider any kind of sex that didn’t involve a penis the sort that counted. Women could not claim or conquer; they did not threaten the men who would come after. And suddenly all that lust had an outlet, even as the other aspects of our briefly attempted relationship faltered.

But now it seems that lust is a difficult thing to force back into its cage, and Theseus … oh, Theseus.

There is time, I tell myself. I do not need him believing I’d be a better mistress than a wife. None of my escape plans featured as glorious a life as one as a princess and eventual Queen of Athens.

I cannot let this slip through my fingers.

‘Theseus, this is your bed, isn’t it?’ I ask as the day fades. He’s adjusting his chiton – which I might not have wrestled off but have decidedly crumpled a fair bit.

‘This boat has only two rooms,’ he says. ‘This seemed a better solution than you sharing with those who would accept your blood as a tithe for the sins of your father. But I appreciate it’s far from ideal.’

He might have shared with them! Olympus above, no one will believe we waited until marriage if we share a room.

‘You’re worried,’ he says. ‘Please, don’t be. No one will think anything of it once we’re married, and I swear on the River Styx, we will be wed the same day we arrive in Athens.’

I still. An oath upon the River Styx is unbreakable – more binding than the wedding vows themselves.

He grins, snaking an arm around my waist and kissing my bandaged shoulder. ‘What, did you think me some treacherous cad?’

‘No, I just …’ I can’t be too careful. Easing into his hold, I admit, ‘I’m just scared.’

‘Don’t be. You are mine now. And there is nothing I would not protect you from.’

The next day, Theseus comes with a singular dice clutched in his unfurling palm.

‘I thought you might need entertaining. It was the most I could scavenge from the sailors.’

I arch a brow. ‘I could just join them – rather than have you stealing trinkets.’

His gaze darkens. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that, Ariadne. There’s considerable resentment towards Crete and … well, you, on that deck. You’re safe in here.’

Oh. That makes sense, I suppose. I force a smile in an effort to alleviate this tension. ‘I imagine rolling a single dice will grow dull quickly.’

‘I shall endeavour to make it interesting.’ He tosses the dice, catching it seamlessly and holding it out for me to see the characters marked into the bone. ‘You do not trust me. And we have very little time to get to know one another before we will be wed. So on an even number, you will reveal one of those anxieties churning through your mind so that I can alleviate them. On an odd, I will do the same so that you might know me as the man I am, and not as the man you fear.’

I bite my lip. There is so much running through my mind I would struggle to pluck just one from its depths. The pain of my past: my sister’s betrayal, my father’s order to attack, my brother lying dead beneath the palace … Or the fear of my future and the court of Athens. The very people I saved apparently abhor me, so why would the people of Athens accept Theseus marrying the daughter of the man who has terrorized them for the last eighteen years?

But then that dice is flying through the air and caught once more in his outstretched hand. Four. Even. And nothing feels safe to confess.

So, in panic, I admit: ‘I keep thinking about the people who died. The guard. The Minotaur.’

This isn’t the worst, is it? It lends credence to the idea I am harmless, so desperate to avoid pain and misery I might betray my family desperately and accidentally. Certainly no intense hatred of my father and schemes that took a year to pull together. Collecting the medicinal herbs alone took so many feigned headaches I’m surprised anyone let me out of bed.