Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Aphrodite revealed herself to Antinous, he had two thoughts.

One: Why was there a hot, naked lady sprawled across his bed? And, two: Who was this hot, naked lady sprawled across his bed?

Then again, Antinous thought simply describing this stranger as attractive wasn’t nearly apt enough a description. She wasn’t pretty, or sexy, or beautiful. Her skin seemed to glitter like diamonds in sunlight, despite there being no window or opening in his room for day to shine through. Her hair was long and appeared soft as a thousand swan feathers. The way the milky white strands were strewn about the covers in a mass of waves and curls reminded Antinous of a spool of thread, gradually and poetically coming undone.

She was perfect in a way that was almost eerie. Ethereal. And when her eyes, dark as the darkest of coals locked onto his, a full body shiver overcame him. He could feel his palms begin to sweat at the heavy gaze beneath gently curled lashes.

Antinous wasn’t a complete idiot. Even as a a hormone stricken teenager who tended to think with his lower body at all times, he wasn’t so blinded by her beauty not to be skeptical. The way each subtle rise and fall of her chest caught and refracted light into a glittering rainbow arc across the room could not be accidental. The way she looked at him as though he were so very small.

This was no ordinary beautiful woman. After all, not even Helen of Sparta could compare to the magnitude of her radiance.

This was a goddess.

She smiled. It was a gentle thing, and not overtly sensual, yet Antinous still felt impossibly enticed by it. He felt like an animal that’d wandered straight into a trap and knew it. Only, he didn’t know if he wanted to escape.

Carefully, the goddess sat upwards. Antinous swore he heard birds begin to sing outside as she flipped a long sheet of hair over her shoulder. A mole was exposed, then, just under the curve of her right breast.

He blinked, equally bewildered and enchanted, as she stood from the bed. The goddess walked in long, purposeful strides, crossing the room and meeting him in an instant. She was taller than he, and she looked down at him with an indecipherable expression.

A perfectly manicured finger came to rest on his chin, tilting his face upwards. She examined him closely, humming breathily as she leaned him this way and that for every possible angle. He stood fragile yet unyielding like a statue, barely breathing under her discerning stare.

Her hand raised to his hair, twisting a dark loc around her knuckle. She giggled, then, and it sounded like the fluttering of wings.

He swallowed dryly. “I—“

The goddess tisked, pulling away suddenly as though burned. She held up a dainty palm as though to physically halt his speech, and like a puppet to a string, Antinous went silent. She shook her head, skin glittering.

“Don’t speak.” Her voice was lofty, yet profoundly piercing. It was the sort of voice that could command the attention of an entire room, and then some. “I must say, it’s not very often a mortal manages to catch my attention. And yet, you have.”

She shifted, leaning heavily onto her back leg and causing a sloped hip to jut out toward him. Antinous subtly attempted to shuffle away and very unsubtly averted his eyes from the increasingly exposed flesh between her legs. The goddess didn’t seem to mind, though, as her relaxed expression was only tainted by a brief look of contemplation.

“Do you have any idea why that is, dearest?”

“Uh, no,” he stammered, trying his hardest not to flinch as the warmth of her thigh pressed lightly against his. “I don’t. Sorry.”

She didn’t seem particularly disappointed nor surprised by his answer, only drawing back and gazing thoughtfully at him once again. “Hm. And do you know who I am?”

Antinous licked his sudddnly dry lips uncomfortably. At fourteen years old, he knew very well the dangers of offending a diety. He had his suspicions, of course, regarding the identity of this majestic occurence in his bedroom. However, the gods were notoriously fickle. The last thing he needed was to accidentally offend one by calling her the wrong name.

Still, she was staring into him expectantly. Clearly, the goddess would not accept his silence as satisfactory. He quickly gathered his wits, at least enough to scrape back together the ability to speak.

“Aphrodite,” he murmured. “Aren’t you?”

A unexpected glow emitted from her then, forming an almost-halo around her body. And suddenly, ribbons of glitter were wrapping around her and the goddess’ naked body became one clothed in an elegant, still somewhat sheer robe. Her hair rose from the floor it’d been draped against, hovering a few inches above the ground in organized streams.

Her eyes brightened, shifting from midnight black to a clear silvery tone. She blinked at him, lips pulling into a light smirk.

“Correct,” she said. “I am indeed Aphrodite, goddess of love and war.”

Aphrodite began to circle him like a shark, her steps light and silent against the floorboards. As she strode past the curtains blocking out the light of day, they pulled open, bathing the room in a pinkish-yellow tint. Antinous had to squint his eyes to follow her smooth movements due to the increased reflection of her skin.

“You’re a special case, dearest. Very special indeed.” He found himself unable to look away from her knowing eyes, even as his skin crawled with uncertainty. “So many soulmates in this world. So many perfect matches.”

She stopped walking then, eyelashes fanning out as her eyelids abruptly dropped to a half-lidded state. “So many impeccable works of art… and yet you, dearest, are an anomaly.”

Antinous gulped. He, like all Greek children of his age and time, new much about soulmates. Everyone had one; a tiny voice inside their mind that served as a window to their partner’s soul. Thoughts, emotions, even physical sensations at times.

He’d witnessed these connections firsthand. He’d seen his parents share silent looks that exhibited a level of familiarity only two people linked by fate itself could concieve. He’d watched their emotions build off each other and tear each other apart. He’d had a front row seat to what happened when a soulmate connection went sour, and the heartbreak of when one soulmate was left all alone.

Of course, that wasn’t to say all his experiences with soulmates had been negative. Peers around his age had expressed details of finding their links more and more nowadays. They’d described the feeling of mutual understanding and deep empathy for each other. That, alongside the amazing freedom of being completely known, made life with a connection sound like paradise. One powered by the inherent superiority of having someone, and that someone being your perfect match.

That being said, he couldn’t personally relate to any such stories. He’d never heard so much as a whisper from his soulmate. Not a stray thought, or a passing dream, or even a flash of feeling as they moved throughout their day to day life. He felt nothing.

Unloveable. Soulmate bonds were meant to be fully formed by the age of twelve, and he was two years past that deadline with nothing to show for it. Other kids made fun of him. His own father believed he was so deeply undesirable that he’d never find companionship.

As for what Antinous thought?

He was inclined to agree.

And he wanted to be okay with that. Surely there were others out there like him. There had to be others considered unloveable and doomed to be all alone. Except that he wasn’t okay with it, and he knew that, and there weren’t others like him out there, otherwise he wouldn’t be an “anomaly” in the first place.

The problem was that knowing this didn’t make the truth any easier to accept. Even the mere mention of his predicament was enough to fill his stomach with dread. And through the mouth of the literal love goddess?

Antinous grit his teeth together. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to live like this. Why did he always have to be the odd one out; the one who pulled the short end of the stick?

Between his father, who silently despised and was disappointed by anything and everything he did, his mother, whose love was now buried six feet under, and his nonexistent soulmate? Not to mention his family’s increasingly poverty-afflicted lifestyle?

Gods, at this point, Antinous hardly needed to worry about love. If his father’s blacksmithing didn’t take off soon, and if his own stealing proved not enough, they wouldn’t even make it another year.

Dark bitterness burned like acid in the back of his throat. Why hadn’t he been born into a royal family? Why hadn’t he been made just a little bit luckier? Why was it that everything he’d ever wanted in life was hopelessly and consistently out of reach?

He drew away from Aphrodite’s searching eyes, crossing his arms across his chest and turning ever so slightly away. Perhaps he should watch his attitude when interacting with the divine, but then again, what did it matter? He was just an anomaly who’d go unloved and unappreciated forever. Maybe being struck down right there and then would be a merciful end.

“So I’ve heard,” he grumbled, voice bland with the motion of going through a conversation he’d had a thousand times. “This is about me being loveless, isn’t it?”

The goddess made a small sound from somwehere near the edge of his vision. It was something between a scoff and a sigh. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. Though, I can’t say I agree with your phrasing.”

Antinous stayed silent, focusing on staring down at his feet. His sandals had long since begun to fall apart. He clenched his fists before slowly releasing them, allowing his building frustration to release silently rather than with a bang.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? I don’t have a soulmate. Everyone has one but me.”

He blinked hard, suddenly forced to hold back a rush of overwhelming emotion. He wondered if causing total breakdowns was one of Aphrodite’s special powers, since he was certainly no crier by default.

The goddess made another noise, this time being a clear sigh. She brushed off the sleek fabric of her robe, face still unexpressive and revealing nothing.

“That’s the interesting thing about you, dearest.” She tapped a finger against her chin, a brilliantly pearly tooth digging into a plush bottom lip. “I believe you do have a connection. It is simply… severed. Strained, so to speak.”

Antinous glanced up from his feet to make hopeful eye contact with her. “So, you’re saying I’m not completely messed up?”

“Perhaps.” Aphrodite shrugged noncomittally. “I’d rather not place myself on the same plane of understanding as a human, but I must confess I don’t quite understand it, either. There is a link within you, only it is not fully realized.” Her expression softened slightly at whatever emotion had been painted onto his face. “That being said, where there is existence, there is a foundation for love.”

He shook his head, staring out the window rather than into her hypnotizing image. “With all due respect, Lady Aphrodite, I just don’t understand why you’re telling me all this. Of course, I appreciate your insight, but…”

“But you want a solution, hm?” Aphrodite released that twinkling giggle once again. “Surely you must realize there are different types of love, dearest. Soulmates are not everything in life.”

“Maybe not, but it sure feels that way.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “I understand. It must be difficult to feel so absent of care and connection. I am no miracle worker, Antinous of Ithaca, but I do believe I can turn your life around.”

Antinous looked up at her once again. She’d gotten closer, at some point, and she smelled like roses and seafoam. He barely had half the mind to question how she’d known his name, quickly deciding he didn’t care in lieu of the other information.

“What do you mean, turn my life around?”

“A life unloved is a dangerous path to tread,” she said. Her voice was dry and low, a stark contrast to her floaty and flirty tone that’d been utilized earlier. “You are but a misguided youth. You’re jaded, and your situation is desperate, but not yet beyond saving. So I’d like to have you, now.”

“Have me?” he squeaked.

If the room had been hot before, now it was positively sweltering. He tried to ignore the trickle of sweat travelling down his back and the wave of interest mixed with uncertainty that’d crashed over him. Aphrodite only looked more amused.

“I’ll teach you all the things you ought to know. I’ll build you into a figure no one can call pathetic. And, more than that,” her lips turned up into an almost sinister grin, “I’ll introduce you to the love you’ve never had.”

“Like…” Antinous squinted at her. “Like a matron goddess? You’re offering to be my mentor?”

She nodded, lifting a hand to carefully examine an impeccable nail. “Think of it as a mutual pleasure sort of agreement.”

Antinous shuddered, clenching his legs together slightly. He really didn’t know if he could handle being coached by someone who looked like that for the rest of time. “I’d—I’d rather not, thanks. But… you’re really offering to help me?”

“Make no mistake, dearest.” She propped a hand on her hip, fabric rustling musically as she moved. “This is not a charity. You want love, and more than that, you want influence. I have a set of skills, some knowledge, and power that can help you earn all of the above.”

The goddess shoved a finger in his face then, waggling it as though disciplining a dog. “Of course, I want something from you in return. I’d like to understand just where I went wrong in my creation of you.” Her eyes glinted. “I’d like to study you. Fix you. And then I’ll tie up my last loose end.”

Antinous shivered at the low hum of her voice. He felt soothed when he should be unnerved, eager when he should feel afraid. And it was then he realized perhaps this pressing weight of emotion on his chest wasn’t all his own.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked, taking a hesitant step backward.

Aphrodite sighed, the finger dropping back to her side. “I’m a love goddess. Manipulation is what I do best.”

His eyes widened. “So you’re controlling me? Are you messing with my feelings?”

“Yes and no.” She shrugged once again, returning to her earlier perch on his bed. “Those feelings already exist deep inside you. I just help to draw them out. Nothing wrong with a bit of forced introspection, right?”

Wrong, he thought but didn’t say. Antinous wasn’t about to tell a goddess to her face that her ideology was incorrect, even if it was a truth she perhaps needed to accept. Trying to ignore the grasp of her powers on him, he took a few deep breaths.

Was he about to allow her to guide him? Was he really about to submit to her spell and charms, participate willingly as her lab rat?

Then again. It couldn’t hurt. His life was miserable as it was, and Aphrodite wasn’t wrong about his motivations. He wanted someone to care about and to care for him. He wanted to escape his dump of a home, and he wanted to be someone truly powerful. A person with agency. Someone who could never be slapped around.

His hands balled into fists, and he spoke before he could have second thoughts. “I accept your offer.”

She giggled, flopping back into his bed. Antinous averted his eyes once again as her leg kicked up, flinging a few flower petals into the air from who-knows-where.

“You and I,” she said, voice back to its flighty state, “our interests are perfectly aligned. I may not be your mysterious soulmate, but we are truly in sync. I’m going to make a real man out of you, dearest. And I’m certain by the time I’m done with you, you’ll have no regrets.”

Antinous wasn’t so certain, as he was already beginning to have regrets. What did this mean for him? Just what exactly did the mysterious goddess have in store for him?

Just as he opened his mouth to question her further, there was another flash of light. He flinched back, eyes squeezing shut, and when they reopened, he was all alone. He scrambled over to his bed, searching for any trace of his new mentor, but only found a single rose petal in her place.

The air still smelt faintly of sea salt, and his blood flow was still directed to the entirely wrong area. He groaned, falling back into his bed and burying his face into his pillow. Just what had he gotten himself into, anyway?

Things didn’t end there. Not that Antinous had really expected them to. He had just pledged himself to a goddess, and the gods only knew nothing peaceful could come of a decision like that.

The next time Aphrodite appeared was weeks later. He’d almost begun to suspect their first meeting had been a fluke, or that he’d dreamed up the whole experience.

Aninous was deep into town at that point, wandering around with a satchel stuffed full of things he’d snatched under vendors’ noses. He kept his shoulders and back hunched, drawing the fabric of his worn cloak up to his ears and over his chin. His eyes, a dark brown, flitted across the busy center, searching for his next target.

His father had given him very specific instructions. A grocery list, if you were being generous. Antinous just thought of it as an executive order.

They needed new seeds, more than anything. Their garden, while not completely bare, was fighting for its life against the oppressive dryness of the coming winter and current fall. If they couldn’t find some crops that could weather the storm (or lack thereof), they’d no doubt go hungry for the next few months.

Antinous’ eyes caught on an old farmer. He was speaking to a small gaggle of people, and his gaze was entirely focused on their faces. That meant there was a golden opportunity for a bit of sneaking.

Let there be no mistake. He didn’t necessarily want to steal. Even after so many years of this charade, he still felt traces of guilt after every successful hijacking. But it wasn’t as though he had much of a choice in the matter.

He was only doing what it took to survive. It was a give or take world, and Antinous had nothing to provide in return. If he didn’t do the wrong thing, he would’ve withered away a long time ago. And, besides. The last thing he needed at the moment was his father’s disapproval, because harsh words always turned into harsher hits.

Antinous blew out a slow stream of breath, slipping in between villagers and murmuring apologies as he went. His legs, lean with hunger yet muscular with labor, carried him closer to the stand. The farmer continued talking—something about exotic fruits—and he continued creeping forward.

Once he was sure no one’s eyes were on him, he reached behind the wobbly sales table. There was a crate filled with tiny assorted packets of… seeds. They had to be, which Antinous quickly realized after rolling a small bag between his fingers. Bumpy clumps of something small and lightweight. A picture perfect find.

Carefully and as inconspicuously as he could manage, he shoveled a few of the packets into his satchel. He could only hope that the majority would be somewhat helpful to him. After all, there was no time to double check and make sure he’d gotten what was necessary.

And just as he’d pulled the bag closed and moved to make his escape, a heavy hand smacked onto his shoulder. He flinched hard, accidentally giving the bag a rough jostle.

He whipped around to face his assailant. The old farmer was glaring at him from behind a younger man, the one with an iron grip on him and righteous offense in his eyes.

“Boy,” the man grunted, holding him tighter as Antinous tried and failed fo squirm away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He swallowed dryly. The man had at least a decade on him, with strong arms and hands and a build that towered above his own. Antinous was no weakling; he’d spent his whole life hammering metal alongside his father, after all. And sparring was one of the few activities they’d ever bonded on.

That being said, there was absolutely no way Antinous could match this guy in a fight. And with the amount of disgust flaming in the man’s eyes? It seemed a fight was certainly in order.

“Nothing,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. Unsuspecting, he reminded himself, forcing his eyes wider and his lip to quiver. His voice rose a pitch as he added, “I’m only passing by.”

The farmer scoffed from further back, his arms folding indignantly. “You stole my goods! I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”

The man holding him grabbed at Antinous’ bag then, and in a moment of weakness, he wasn’t swift enough to stop him. He watched in horror and growing fear as the satchel was torn open, releasing all sorts of stolen items.

There were gasps from the growing crowd around him. His eyes darted about, face heating as his desperation and embarassment increased. Nevermind appearances. He just needed to get out of this place before he ended up dead.

Taking advantage of the weakened hold on his shoulder, Antinous wrenched down and away from the older man. He twisted, attempting to make a run for it, but was stopped by another larger body. Now there were two of them?

Antinous barely had time to make sense of his rapidly worsening situation when the heavy palm made contact with his left cheek. He yelped, eyesight going temporarily blurry with the sheer force of the blow. The side of his face burned as he stumbled backwards, falling into the man clutching his satchel.

He was shoved, then, and promptly catapulted into the ground. He just barely managed to catch himself on his arm, and something popped. Tears sprung to his eyes at the agonizing heat radiating from his elbow, which had surely been knocked out of alignment. Or worse, broken.

Still, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d be damned if he let himself be pushed around without so much as fighting back. He rolled from his side back onto his back, kicking out a leg to stop an approaching man from getting any closer. A hand reached down to lift him by the hood of his cloak, and he snapped at it, teeth crunching down on knuckes.

He got a sick sort of satisfaction from the way the man grunted.

And then his satisfaction was quickly eliminated when a foot stomped straight down on his stomach. The air was promptly knocked out of him, and he found himself gasping through the pain and breathlessness. It hurt so damn bad, and there was a whole crowd there, and no one was going to help him.

Then again, they probably thought he deserved it. A liar and a thief. Why would they be opposed to such a monster getting what he deserved? He ground his teeth together so forcefully that he felt a piece of bone chip away and disappear into the cavern of his mouth.

And then suddenly, the foot stopped grinding down. The man above him dropped the satchel, and his face turned to one of rage to one of confusion. Antinous watched dumbly as the fruits and materials and seeds he’d stolen spiraled from the bag onto the ground, rolling every which way.

His eyes seemed slightly glazed over. And when Antinous looked around, he found that the entire crowd had similar expressions. Slowly, he shifted, freeing himself from the sole of his attacker’s shoe and staggering to his feet.

No one moved. It was as though they’d completely forgotten about him, lost in realms of their own.

“What the fuck,” he panted to himself, bracing his hands on his knees to catch what was left of his breath.

A hand scooped under his chin, then, and he stumbled backwards. When he looked up, though, it was not the farmer or one of the angry men. It was Aphrodite, her skin still emitting that same addictive glow.

“What the fuck?” he said again, unsure of what else to say.

The goddess shook her head disapprovingly, eyes roaming unempathetically over the crowd of hypnotized faces. “You sure cause a lot of trouble, don’t you, dearest?”

“I… I guess so?” Antinous blinked up at her, still lost in the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. Her familiar face did serve to calm him somewhat. Not much, but somewhat. “Sorry, I—did you do that?”

She scoffed, tossing her hair. “Who else? Of course I did. Those brutes were getting a little out of line.”

He straightened, staring around at said brutes. His lips twitched into a slight frown. “Well, they weren’t entirely wrong.”

“With that sort of defeatist attitude, you’re never getting anywhere in life.” Aphrodite turned, her long robes gliding behind her with each stride like the sweeping wings of an angel. He supposed that, after saving him like that, such a comparison was fitting. “Collect your things, dearest, and do try and show some urgency. I’ve quite the busy day planned.”

He blinked himself out of his stupor, scrambling to scoop up the river of stolen goods streaming from his satchel. Once everything had been collected, he shut it and broke into a jog to catch up with the goddess.

“Wait,” he grunted, his former breathlessness swiftly making a return. “Gods above, you… you’re really fast…”

“Time waits for no one,” she retorted noncomittally before veering off down a path leading out of the towncenter. After a moment of hesitation, Antinous followed, fighting to keep his oxygen intake intact.

“What’d you do to them back there?” He craned his neck to look up at her, still panting lightly. “I mean, they all just—it was like they completely forgot I was there! Which is super cool, don’t get me wrong, but… how?”

“Love goddess, if you recall. Manipulating feelings is my domain.”

“So… did you just confuse them? Or make them more forgetful?”

“You’ve got a lot of questions, don’t you?”

The goddess slowed at a wall of bushes blocking the path. Without so much as faltering, she proceeded to phase into thin air. Antinous gawked at the mass of leaves, prying a few aside to peer through. Aphrodite was standing on the other side in a wide clearing, her appearance not one bit ruffled.

She turned, raising one impeccable eyebrow. “Are you coming?”

He stared pointedly at the plants blocking his way. She gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m not a witch. I can’t just make things disappear.”

“But you just teleported!”

“Because I am a goddess and this form doesn’t represent my true being. That means I can use it and abandon it as I please. Now claw your way through here before I abandon you as well.”

Antinous rolled his eyes, choosing to let his irritation be apparent. The goddess didn’t seem to mind, only disappearing further into the grassy area. After several minutes of trying and failing to find a suitable gap between bushes, he found a sliver just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

Sucking in his chest and stomach, he raised his chin to avoid getting poked in the eye by stray branches and inched through. Once he was all the way through, he relaxed as his eyes laid upon his mentor once again.

She was sprawled on the ground lazily. She seemed fond of that pose, he notes absently. Maybe it was her best angle. Did the divine have best angles, or were they all the best by default?

“You’re thinking so loudly,” Aphrodite called from where she lay. “Come here, dearest.”

He obeyed. Antinous carefully crossed the plains and sank down beside her, letting his bag thump to the ground by his leg. He reclined back onto his elbows, allowing his head to rest on his shoulders so he could stare up into the canopy above.

“So.” He drew out the word when the goddess didn’t make a move to speak. “Why’d you bring me here?”

She sat up leisurely, stretching in a manner similar to that of a cat. He had to wonder if she’d actually managed to fall asleep in such a short time or if she was just being dramatic as usual. Should he be calling a goddess dramatic? He thought that might be toeing the line.

Despite the casual position, when her eyes found his, they were as piercing as ever. “I did say I’d help you find your agency, and I don’t intend on going back on my word.”

In a single movement, Aphrodite swept from the ground up into a standing position. Wind blew then, casting her hair gently upwards toward the sun. She reached out a soft hand to him and he accepted it, allowing himself to be pulled into her glow.

She patted his forearm in an almost maternal manner. “Now. Your little display back there? Not bad. Certainly not the worst, but it could be improved upon.”

“My display?” He crinkled his eyebrows. “You mean when I got beat up?”

Her fingertips danced on his skin, leaving a comforting blaze behind with each spot they grazed. “No. From when you tried to talk your way out of it.”

Antinous stared at her blankly. Had he done that? Sure, he’d tried his hand at feigning innocence, but he also hadn’t done the greatest job. And, besides. It clearly hadn’t worked.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You want power, do you not? Sure, you could earn respect through fear and physical intimidation, but that’s not my way.” She glanced at him appraisingly. “And, let’s be real. You’re not going to be any stronger than your average Greek for a long time.”

He winced. “Hey.”

“Only stating what’s true.” The breathy giggle was back. “No, those methods are simply foolish. Bullheaded, even. Do you know the one trait all great leaders posess, from teachers and generals to kings and the gods themselves?”

Antinous shook his head no. She smiled, and he could’ve sworn real sparkles were emitted from the white of her teeth.

“Charisma. Charm. A certain allure.” Aphrodite made a broad flourish with her free arm, causing the sleeve of her gown to flutter. “You see me. I’m not the smartest, nor the strongest of gods, and yet people bow to me. They revere me. They listen, even you.”

He supposed he couldn’t argue with such an assessment. Aphrodite just had a certain aura, a trusting feeling that drew Antinous in. It made him want to listen to her. It inspired respect.

His eyes lit up. She must’ve seen the understanding bloom in him because her smile only widened.

“See what I’m saying?” She nodded approvingly, spinning in a neat little circle as though unable to contain her passion. “My power is all my own, of course. But I draw it from the desire of others. I promise them all they want and all they cannot have, and they fall under my spell.

“Of course, my greatest charms happen to be a bit more physical.” She smirked at her own innuendo. Then her eyes flitted to Antinous, who grinned awkwardly. Her face fell back into one of thoughtfulness. “Though, that may not work for you... Fear not! There are other ways.”

He hugged his waist, cheeks heating from the implications of her words. “So you’re suggesting I seduce my way to a brighter future?”

“Of course not!” She flapped a hand dismissively, then paused. “Well, maybe when you’re older. But for now, I’ll teach you just the basics. How to walk, and talk, and hold yourself so people notice when you walk in a room. And then, I’ll teach you how to use that attention.”

“You’re making this all sound very evil.”

“You’re not the most purehearted person around, are you?” Aphrodite scoffed, though she didn’t sound particularly bothered by her own observation.

Still, he prickled. “It’s not like I’m awful.”

“No.” She shrugged. “You mortals tend to be shades of gray, don’t you? You’re in luck today, dearest. I’m not the most virtuous of gods either.”

There eyes met, and it was that moment that Antinous realized they may make a more likely pair than he’d previously thought.

He broke first, smiling and dipping his head in confirmation. “At least we acknowledge it.”

Aphrodite hummed in approval before clapping her hands together. “Right. Then I trust you’re prepared for lesson one?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. Then, “Wait, no. What about my side of the deal? Aren’t I supposed to be helping you with the soulmate problem?”

The goddess paused, looking at him critically. An unreadable expression graced her features before evening out into something more pleasant. “Are you saying there’s been a breakthrough?”

Antinous shifted back and forth from one foot to the other. Just the thought of the blank spot in his mind where a lover should be instantly harmed his good mood. “Uh, no.”

She sighed. “Then what’s the point in bringing it up? These sort of things happen on their own terms. I’d say you’re honoring the terms just fine.”

Antinous didn’t know if he agreed with that. He felt a little bad about wasting the goddess’ time like this—surely she had something better to do—and his face must’ve betrayed his inner turmoil. Or maybe Aphrodite could just feel it, because her own mouth flattened into a thin line.

All of the sudden, a feeling of tranquility overcame him. It was like, for a moment, the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. No poverty, no dad, no missing soulmate. Just him and the sky.

And then it was over. And despite the absence of that amazing feeling, he still felt much lighter. He stared at his company in awe.

“Did you do that?”

She nodded primly. “Chin up, dearest. It’ll work out in the end. You’ll find them. I swear on the River Styx.”

The moment she finished her sentence, there was another gust of wind. This time, it wasn’t natural. It felt like an unstoppable, oppressive force bearing down on the world around them. It was as though time had stopped and the whole world was watching, despite them being completely alone.

Antinous shivered. “Isn’t that… an unbreakable promise? Should you really be swearing something like that on something so… unlikely?”

Aphrodite’s shoulders pushed back even further, elevating her posture to something beyond elegant or queenly. She looked truly like a deity in that moment, even more than she had before.

“I have total confidence in you, Antinous of Ithaca, as well as myself. I can only hope you find that same assurance one day.”

The words hit him straight in the heart. It’d been a long, long time since someone had said something so kind to him. How many years had it been since he felt this light? How long had it been since he’d last felt…

Not unloveable?

He couldn’t help the smile that split his face. It was a little embarassing how happy her acknowledgement made him feel, but he supposed there was no use fighting it. Especially since she could see right through him anyway.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

Aphrodite patted him on the head. It should’ve felt condescending, but instead, it only felt comforting. “It is nothing. Now. May we start?”

He nodded, standing up a little taller. “I’m ready.”

Her teachings lasted until the sun moved west and the sky began to darken into streaks of pink and orange and blue. Antinous hardly even recognized so much time had passed until his eyes began to droop with tiredness. Aphrodite, of course, noticed.

“You’re losing focus, dearest,” she tutted. “You think a god would slump over like that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, pulling himself back upright.

It brought him a rush of ectasy everytime one of Aphrodite’s lessons rang true. It had to be some sort of magic that a simple change in posture—like pulling his shoulders far from his chin—could do for his confidence. He took up more space when he allowed himself to, and he felt endlessly more empowered by doing so, even if he knew it was all in his mind.

He was beginning to feel like someone.

“It’s late,” she noted, situating her hand on his shoulder. “You should return. Your father must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

“Probably not.” Antinous could feel his body begin to curl in on itsef just at the thought. He had to consciously resist the urge. “He’ll probably have questions about all the new bruises, though.”

As the sky had darkened, so too had the results of his brief squabble in town square. The left side of his face had been marred a purplish-blue, and he was sure his stomach looked seriously fucked up. Luckily for him, whatever he’d done to his elbow seemed to have fixed itself in due time.

Thank the gods. His father would kill him if he came home with a broken limb. It was a bit ironic how he only cared when the injuries came from someplace outside their home.

Antinous forced himself from that headspace. He shouldn’t be worrying about things before they even had the chance to happen. Besides, he’d gotten the damn seeds. That was one less thing for his father to get angry about.

Aphrodite let out a disapproving huff. Her eyes were set in a wrathful glare, and he nearly jumped at the sight. It was so unlike her usual demeanor that it was a bit scary.

“What’s wrong?” he asked tentatively. Had he somehow managed to piss her off without knowing?

The goddess shook her head. “I do not understand how a parent can harm their own child. It’s a blatant insult to me and all that I stand for.” Her teeth pinched her lip with restrained fury. “I ought to strike him down really.”

Antinous’ eyes widened. “What? No! I mean, he’s not—he’s not the best dad, but that doesn’t mean he should get struck down!”

“Doesn’t it?” Her tone was icy and left no room for argument. “I’d say disrespecting a goddess is perfectly sufficient a reason to die.”

“Look, I get that, but… he’s still my father. And I’d have nowhere to go if he wasn’t around. Please?”

Aphrodite just looked at him, once again unreadable. He hoped he seemed convincing enough. Antinous didn’t like his father—he hated him most of the time—but, for better or for worse, he still loved him. It was complicated, and it wasn’t good for either of them, but it couldn’t be helped. And he really, really didn’t need his dad getting struck down, however much he may deserve it.

Finally, the goddess gave in with a heavy breath. “Fine. Have it your way. The father lives, if you can even call him that.”

Antinous felt himself relax against his own best interest. By all means, he should want the awful old man dead. He just can’t bring himself to truly feel that way.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I appreciate it.”

She still looked disapproving, though she didn’t attempt to express it this time. She simply sighed, turning away from him. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Do you even know where we are? Don’t be stubborn, dearest.”

Fair point, he thought begrudgingly. He trailed closely behind her as they walked, and they spent the journey in a stiff silence. Aphrodite seemed lost in her own ruminations, and who was Antinous to disturb her? He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around a goddess guiding him in the first place.

They reached his home far sooner than he would’ve liked. Antinous clutched his bag harder to his side, reminding himself of what the goddess had said. Charisma. Charm. Allure.

He refused to be afraid of his own parent. He shouldn’t have to be afraid of his own parent. He knew how to carry himself and how to talk and, if things went right, how to weaponize the feelings of others. And then he’d be untouchable.

He just had to wait it out a little longer.

“Shall I accompany you inside?” Aphrodite asked, leaning down slightly to peer inside one of the slightly open windows.

Antinous didn’t see his father inside. That meant things should all be fine. He would not be afraid.

“No,” he said. “I’m okay.”

He really didn’t know who he was trying to convince anymore.

Aphrodite could probably sense his uncertainty. She didn’t comment on it. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d wanted her to or not.

There wasn’t much, if any, fanfare when the goddess disappeared. Only a twinkle, a short flurry of lights, and then she was gone. Not willing to stew in his newfound—or rather, familiar—loneliness any longer, be pushed open the front door and sped walked into the kitchen.

As quickly and quietly as possible, Antinous unpacked his satchel and shelved the items where they belonged. His arms moved almost frantically and his fingers shook with each desperate movement. And he almost got away with it, nearly slipped in and out unnoticed, but he’d never been so lucky. With the way things were going, he probably never would.

“Antinous,” his father grunted from the kitchen doorway. “Why are you back so damn late?”

He stiffened immediately, turning with as little movement of his upper body as possible. “I… I got lost.”

“Lost walking to town and back?” His father drew closer, eyes narrowing into dark slits. Antinous just barely flinched as his shadow loomed over him. “You think I’m stupid, boy? Do you think you can lie to me?”

“No!” He was pressed so far away from his father that his back was digging into the wall behind him. “I really did get lost. I’m sorry. But I got everything you asked for, see?”

His father looked emotionlessly at the restocked shelves. He looked back to Antinous. “That’s the least you could do. What, did you think I’d throw you a party for doing the bare minimum when I constantly bend over backwards for your ungrateful ass?”

He laughed. It was a cold sound, almost mechanical, and Antinous had to fight the urge to shrink away further at the sound. “I’m sorry.”

“And these bruises. Where’d they come from, huh?”

His father reached out, touching his hand to the side of his face. It wasn’t gentle, but it also wasn’t rough or meant to hurt. Despite that, Antinous still found himself bracing for impact.

“I fell,” he whispered, and his voice was shaky. “That’s all.”

It was an obvious lie, and simple to disprove, but the truth was far worse. His father simply glared at him.

“Liar.”

“I’m not—“

A familiar palm connected with the bruise. He gasped, head spinning as pain radiated from his cheek down to his neck and shoulder and to the tips of his toes. He felt suddenly nauseous, and he couldn’t tell if it was the impact or who had done it. His father only scoffed, the shadow retreating as he turned and left without another word.

Antinous’ eyes watered pathetically as he gently prodded his blazing cheek. His hand recoiled as he winced. He wanted to cry or scream or hit something, but he did none of the above. He was weak. He knew it. Maybe someday he’d learn to be okay with it.

But he wasn’t, and he didn’t want to be. The first tear fell the second he made it to his bedroom and slammed the door shut. It still smelled like Aphrodite. He flung himself into his bed, trying and failing not to succumb to the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.

He was fourteen years old. Fourteen years old, and he’d accomplished nothing at all. At this rate, he never would. He needed nothing short of a miracle, and if a literal goddess couldn’t fix him at first glance, then that meant nothing could.

“I’m leaving.” He grit out the words through the sour acid of his tears, fighting to keep his gasps and snivelling contained. “First decent reason I get, I’m leaving.”

No response. She must be busy.

He turned back over onto his stomach, which stung and ached at the pressure. The pain provided a decent distraction, so he didn’t try to relieve it. He closed his eyes and buried his face into his pillow, feeling it grow soggy around him. The cool wetness only added to his misery.

He couldn’t help but wonder if his soulmate could feel his agony. That was, if there was anyone to feel it at all.

Chapter Text

His reason came both sooner and later than he would’ve liked. Maybe he should’ve seen it coming. After all, it’d been seven years since the Trojan war had ended, and the old king Odysseus and his troops had yet to return.

Antinous had always thought it was strange. How could you win a war flawlessly, only to fail at the simple task of getting home? It’d been seven years of radio silence, and seven years of him watching with bated breath as the political landscape of Ithaca became more and more rocky.

It was no secret that many a man desired the position of king. Antinous wasn’t going to act like he wasn’t one of them. Maybe it was idiotic to dream so big or allow himself such ambition, but the possibility of ruling a kingdom? Of being the man of the house, the one with all the power?

It was enticing.

Penelope, queen of Ithaca and the name on everybody’s lips, seemed in no hurry to choose a new husband. She insisted time and time again when prompted that her soulmate was alive. That he’d be home soon. That she’d gladly wait for him to return, and then they’d all have their righteous ruler.

Antinous, while he believed her loyalty was admirable, also found it stupid. And more than anything, it was in his way. He wanted to be king. Gods, he’d do anything. If he were to have that magnitude of influence, his soulmate status wouldn’t matter. No one could call him loveless. No one could act as though they didn’t see him even while he was squarely in their sight. He’d no longer be reduced to just an obstacle in their peripheral.

Of course, that wasn’t to say things hadn’t gotten better for him. It’d been six years since he’d first met Aphrodite, and in those six years, much had changed.

Antinous stared himself down in the reflection of a puddle at his feet. He was taller, now, and far broader in the shoulders. His arms and legs had bulked up and evened out since his early teen years, no doubt the direct result of Aphrodite forcing him to run drills and conditioning when he had nothing better to do.

“I will not raise a weakling,” she’d said unsympathetically while he wheezed beside her. For a love goddess, she was pretty fucking handy with a sword. And she had a level of endurance that no human could keep up with, no matter how fit they may be.

He allowed his own weapon to droop toward the ground, groaning at the quick relief. His arm felt like it was about to fall off. Worst of all, she’d been forcing him to switch hands every other round, which meant both sides of his body were equally fatigued.

“A break,” he hissed toward the grass beneath his feet. “Just… the one. It’s been… hours.”

Aphrodite’s sword, which was adorned with lush roses at the hilt, dematerialized in a cloud of glitter. While the world around them seemed to be in a state of constant change, the goddess stayed mostly stagnant. Her antics remained as theatrical as they always had been.

“You’re getting older, dearest,” she rolled her eyes, “and that means staying in shape is more important than ever. People don’t listen to unfortunate faces, you know. They want to look at a handsome, muscular man, not some skinny swamp monster.”

Antinous’ face flushed. As per usual when it came to Aphrodite’s comments, he could never tell whether to feel offended or not.

“I know that, obviously. But if you haven’t noticed—“ he sucked in a large breath of air “—I’m dying here!”

She let out an amused huff. “Fine. Take five, dearest, and no more than that. Then we’re going until I say stop.”

“Must you always phrase things that way?” He corrected his bent position, wiping away the sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Are you doing it on purpose, or what?”

Aphrodite blinked slowly at him. “Phrase things how?”

He sighed, feeling his cheeks begin to tinge with red. There was no point in even opening that particular can of worms. “Nevermind.”

As much as he’d resented their training sessions—and still did, if he was being honest—he couldn’t deny they’d done him well. He felt that applied to pretty much everything Aphrodite pushed him into.

Since they’d met, his presence in the world had certainly improved. People who used to pick on him hadn’t even attempted to make a single comment on a long while. It wasn’t as though he was magically ‘popular’, but he’d certainly begun to veer into the territory of ‘well liked’. He’d even managed to get a gaggle of followers; people who didn’t mind him and who listened intently when he spoke.

Even his father had begun to notice the shift. He’d stopped smacking Antinous around at least, though he’d never commented on it or given a reason why. He never would’ve guessed a simple change in attitude, along with knowing how to utilize his words more carefully and convincingly, could create such a drastic change.

He was grateful, of course, for all she’d done for him. But it seemed even despite all the miracles she’d worked on him, there was one thing she could not so easily change.

He recognized her growing frustration. He still wasn’t entirely certain just who her annoyance was directed at. Each time she appeared before him with no news or development, he saw the fiery passion in her eyes glow a little bit brighter. He could relate to that stubborn, senseless anger, as much as he disliked the feeling.

Antinous pulled himself from his own quickly spiralling thoughts. There was no use dwelling on the one thing he could not change about himself. He continued down the forest path, listening to the birds an breeze and the snapping of twigs beneath his feet, and not his mind which was being entirely too loud.

He found the clearing quickly. It was their pseudo-official meeting spot at that point. Setting down his sword and bag packed tight with food for the day, he called, “Aphrodite?”

She nearly always arrived before him, so her absence struck Antinous as odd. Nevertheless, she was a busy goddess, and he wasn’t about to disturb her. He sat down on the patchy grass, reaching into his satchel and retrieving a smooth, red apple.

It was nice to not find himself scrounging for food inside his house. It turned out that smooth talking wasn’t only useful for getting on people’s good side, but also for advertising business. His father finally had some customers, for a change. Antinous allowed himself to take a defent portion of credit for the heightened sales, as his work had sold just as well as the rest. And while he didn’t particularly care about his father’s livelihood, business meant trade, and trade meant going to sleep with a full stomach.

He bit into the fruit, crunching quietly as he waited. It wasn’t as though he’d wanted to become so conniving. But then again, he was only doing what it took to get by. And if treating people like pawns was what kept him alive, was it really such a terrible thing?

In a blink, Aphrodite was before him. He jumped slightly, nearly dropping the core of the apple onto himself.

“What took you so long?” He took in the pleased look on her face and the steady upcurve of her mouth. “And why the good mood?”

“Am I not allowed some joy?”

Aphrodite seemed to radiate an even stronger aura, then. It seemed her glow always intensified when she was feeling a strong emotion, and judging by her excited appearance, she must’ve been pretty damn happy.

That wasn’t odd in and of itself. It wasn’t like the goddess was constantly unhappy, but not unhappy and bursting with enthusiasm were two very different things. To see her swing from one side to the other so quickly was a little jarring.

Antinous pulled himself to his feet, leaving the core where it lay on the ground. “Not what I said. Something good happen?”

The goddess grabbed his hands, bouncing their arms between them. He felt a little ridiculous, but her energy was infectious. He truly couldn’t tell if it was the result of her powers or not, but either way, he went along with it.

“What?” He asked again as Aphrodite shook him harder. “You’re giving me whiplash.”

She dropped his hands immediately, taking several steps back into the center of the space. Despite the day being cloudy and gray, sunrays still managed to peek through and illuminate her like a spotlight. She executed a quick graceful spin.

“There’s news,” she chirped. “A breakthrough, you could say. For you, and for me.”

Antinous squinted at her. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t be stupid. Your soulmate!” Seemingly without realizing, she hovered several inches in the air, her hair flaring out behind her. “I’ve a lead, dearest. This is our chance!”

He blinked at her. Despite fully understanding what she meant, he felt like his brain was simply rejecting the information. He was twenty years old. He should’ve found his soulmate link eight years ago. And for six years, there’d been no progress toward such a connection, and now he was supposed to believe there’d been a development?

He wanted to. He really did. He did not.

“Come on? Show some interest, will you? Do you understand how serious this is?” Aphrodite planted her hands on her hips, slowly descending back to earth. “That’s confirmation they really do exist! That they’re real. Tangible.” She grinned. “And that means half the reparations are already done. You’re nearly normal!”

Antinous shook his head hard, fiddling with his hands. “No, I am interested! And grateful, obviously, I just…”

“Don’t believe it? Well, start.” The goddess crossed her arms, looking at him disapprovingly. “Is this you doubting my expertise?”

“Well, no—“

“Then act like it. Must I force you to feel some happiness? You’re going to age yourself twenty years worrying like this. I can practically see the wrinkles forming.”

He unscrunched his brows immediately. “Sorry. I am happy.” He managed a terse smile. “Seriously.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t necessarily the truth, either, but it wasn’t a lie. And Aphrodite could definitely tell his thought process because her own brows were scrunched this time. He briefly wondered if goddesses could wrinkle, and then realized it was probably a dumb question when they didn’t even have real bodies.

She cleared her throat.

He blinked rapidly, refocusing on the present situation rather than his scattered thoughts. “Sorry. Were you saying something?”

“Humans are so odd.” She frowned at him. “This should be the single greatest day of your life. And yet here you are, sulking about it. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

It was a loaded question. Obviously he did want a soulmate, and he did want to be a normal person. Of course he didn’t want to be alone for the rest of his life, and of course he woke up every morning longing for even a tiny whisper from the person meant to love him.

But you could only yearn for so long before driving yourself absolutely crazy. He’d learned how to live without such things, and he could continue living this way. He could. He didn’t necessarily want to, but the act of change seemed almost more terrifying than anything his loneliness had to offer.

“It is,” he said carefully. “It’s just a bit hard to believe, is all.”

“Hm.” Aphrodite shrugged. “Well, you’ll get over it, won’t you? I can’t simply allow you not to take advantage of this opportunity.”

Then again. Even if finding his soulmate wasn’t what he wanted, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. This was his side of their deal. His relationship troubles were a loose end to be tied, and that meant they’d be solved whether he wanted it or not.

That was fine. This was what he’d wanted for a very long time. And he didn’t necessarily resent Aphrodite for her less-than-charitable motivations. Doing so would be hypocritical at best. Prideful as it may seem to compare himself to the likes of a goddess, he did believe they were similar in many ways.

Both a tad selfish. More than a bit resourceful. A common goal, and the willingness to go as far as they needed to go to reach it. Just doing what it took.

So while he knew he and Aphrodite weren’t exactly friends, that was fine by him. Something was better than nothing, after all. And, motivations aside, she had helped him a lot. She was helping him a lot. His life was about to change once again, and the least he could do was hear her out.

“Okay,” he agreed at last, smile slowly shifting into something more real. “I get it. What’s the lead?”

Her smile returned, though the brightness was turned far, far down. “You haven’t heard, have you? The queen is accepting suitors as of today.”

Antinous’ eyebrows raised. “After seventeen years of stalling? How did I not hear about this?”

“Because you’re not the most sociable.” Aphrodite huffed. “And give the woman some grace. She’s waiting on her love of her life lost at sea. Isn’t that just so tragically beautiful?”

He barely held in a sigh. The worst part of spending most of your time beside a goddess of love was being subjected to her sappy tangents. It made sense for her to be a romantic, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

They were quite different in that regard. Whatever the opposite of a lofty idealist was, he was that. And, considering his circumstances, that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. He believed in love—not doing so would be practically spitting in the face of Aphrodite, anyway—he just didn’t believe in waxing poetic about it. And try as she might to convert him to romanticism, he stayed firm in that particular view.

“I guess,” he responded warily. “But what does this have to do with my soulmate?“

“Patience, dearest. As you know, while I cannot say with certainty just who your soulmate is, I can sense connections. I paid a visit to the castle, did some looking around, and I felt another severed link nearby.”

His interest was officially piqued. “So… that’s them? My soulmate is royalty?”

A disbelieving snicker slipped out before he could reign it in. “Maybe my luck isn’t complete and total shit after all. This would make my ascent to the throne way too easy.”

Aphrodite’s smile faltered. “And thus arrives the crux of the issue.”

His good mood died. He did not like the cagey look on her face. This was what he got for getting his hopes up so soon. “Right. Because it’d be way too easy.”

“Like I said,” the goddess heaved out an irritated breath, “she only began accepting suitors today. And so there are hundreds of men eagerly swarming the place.”

Antinous’ face dropped into his hands. Fuck his life. Things really never could just work out the way he wanted them to, could they?

“So any one of the hundred people in the palace could be my soulmate.”

“Precisely.”

He bit back a guttural scream of frustration. Of course his soulmate just had to be lost in a crowd of random men, and staff, and guards, and maids…

How the hell was he supposed to figure out who it was? Normal people could recognize their soulmates by their voices, as they’d likely heard them before through their link. But he’d never heard his soulmate’s thoughts, and so he didn’t know what their voice sounded like.

In other words, he was doomed. They’d found his soulmate, but at what cost? His sanity? How did his fortune in life manage to be so consistently outrageous all the time? Even with a literal goddess on his side, he just couldn’t seem to beat the odds.

Still…

His heart gave a traitorous flip. Even in the midst of so much bad news, there was light. A flame of hope that he felt had died long ago reunited in his chest because he, the loveless anomaly of Ithaca, had a soulmate. And they were real, and existed in real life, and could be touched and spoken to and interacted with in real life. And they were only a brief journey to a castle away.

And of course he was excited to know he truly wasn’t broken in that capacity. He was happy to have a soulmate that he could possibly meet sometime soon. But more than that, his mind reeled at the opportunity so clearly being offered to him.

Courting the queen. And, if all went right, becoming king.

Yeah, it was shallow. Here he was being told that the person supposed to be the love of his life was only a day’s travel away, and he was concerned about diplomacy. But it wasn’t so ridiculous. After all, when he’d been connectionless and all alone, it had been his first love. He was hungry for power, and this? This could be his ticket straight to the top.

Antinous’ scheming must’ve shown in his face and body language because Aphrodite snickered. “Now there’s the excitement I like to see.”

He reached out to her, grabbing onto a silky sleeve as she turned, presumably to leave. “Wait.”

She tilted her head to look at him once more. “Yes?”

“You’ll help me, right?”

Her eyes glinted. “With finding your soulmate, or with clawing your way to the top?”

He shrugged, far beyond the point of shame. “Both would be nice.”

“Ask and you shall recieve, dearest. Yes, I will.” The goddess laughed lightly under her breath. “But I’d be more concerned with how you plan on getting there. Wait around too long, and your spot will be swiftly taken.”

That was true. Despite his father laying off of him as of late, Antinous was certain he’d have something to say about him choosing to run off and participate in a courtship competition. That being said, he’d promised himself long ago not to allow anyone to hold him back anymore. And that included his father, who he’d grown to be completely disconnected from.

He had to wonder, though. If he succeeded in his endeavors, would his dad love him more? Or would becoming king still not be impressive enough? Would he eat his words were Antinous to find his soulmate? Would he ever apologize for what he’d done, or would they continue dancing around the subject and pretend it was all okay?

Antinous supposed it didn’t matter. He’d been searching for a reason to run for so long, and now it was right in front of him. He’d pack his bags and hit the road that night. And he would never, ever look back.

He clenched his fists. Maybe it was never truly about the soulmate or the power. Maybe it was the principle of it all, the fuck you to all the people who’d once made him feel so small. But no more.

After this whole affair was all over, he’d never be made to feel small again.

The sun was still fairly high in the sky. If he really busted his ass, he could probably make it where he was going before the next day arrived. Those were the perks, he supposed, of living on the outskirts of the royal family’s property.

“Thank you,” he said again to Aphrodite’s back as he scooped up his things. “I’ll be seeing you around, then?”

She nodded briskly, skin glittering once more. “Of course, dearest. You need only call for me.”

And with that, she dissipated.

As much as he would’ve liked to savor the afternoon in his own company, there were many a thing that needed to get done. He scrambled from the forest, up the path in record time and back to his home.

It didn’t seem his father was there at the moment. Antinous considered leaving with no explanation, but eventually decided even he was not so cruel. He made his way to his bedroom, grabbing a couple articles of clothing and shoving them deep into his bag.

Just in case, he snatched a dagger from his desk. It was handcrafted by and for himself, and it fit into his left hand perfectly. It was his stronger side, to the chagrin of many of those around him, but he wasn’t about to put himself at a disadvantage in a fight for the sake of shame.

Granted, he wanted to hope that he wouldn’t have to be using the knife for more than some hunting. Still, he prided himself on preparation. And if he had to take out a few people on his way to the throne…?

That sounded bad. It was bad. It also wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for him.

Once his bag was stuffed full of all the essentials, Antinous searched for something to write on. Upon digging into the mess behind his bed, he managed to retrieve a wax tablet and stylus. He didn’t put much effort into his penmanship, simply scrawling his message and tossing it back onto his bed.

I’m leaving. I won’t return for a long time, if ever, so don’t count on it. If you were going to try and find me, which I doubt, then please refrain. I want nothing to do with you.

He bounced the stylus against the smooth surface, debating how to end his note. With a goodbye? An I love you?

He chewed his lip, ultimately deciding against adding anything at all. He chucked the tablet back onto his bed, slinging his satchel back across his shoulder and choosing not to think too hard about it. His father would come across the note eventually, or not. He’d read it, or he wouldn’t. He’d care, or he wouldn’t give a shit.

Whatever. It didn’t matter much to him anymore, and he wasn’t about to stick around and find out.

Just as quietly as he’d arrived, Antinous left his room and then the house entirely. The front door closed gently behind him with a creak. He might end up missing the broken down old place, despite everything that conspired. It was still his home.

He made himself stop thinking about it. Today onwards, he’d have a strictly one track mind. And that track would be the one leading to the throne.

Though he’d never been to the castle, Antinous had a good idea of how to get there. For one thing, the palace was high up on a cliff near Ithaca’s shoreline. Its position allowed it to overlook the town, and so he’d grown up staring up at its majesty often.

It was pretty, and well constructed. Antinous had heard rumors that the king had built it all by himself, and if that was true, he’d have to harbor some begrudging respect for the man. Following the peaks and slopes of the structure, he weaved himself a path through the woods, growing steadily nearer.

He slowed his steps as the palace got clearer. He needed a strategy for this, and he needed some time to construct one. He wasn’t so idiotic as to assume he could just show up, flirt a little, and win over the literal queen of Ithaca. That wasn’t even taking into account the likeliness that she had no real desire to remarry, which was high.

Of course, he couldn’t prove that. He’d never even met the woman, only having gotten to know her through word of mouth. But he could draw a few quick conclusions. She’d waited on Odysseus since he’d left all those years ago, and if her loyalty had stayed strong for nearly two decades already, he found it hard to believe she’d just give in now.

And then there was the issue of the other men. One hundred, according to Aphrodite. He sighed to himself, kicking a rock aside on his makeshift trail. That was a lot of people to compete against. While he was confident in his seduction skills—his matron goddess had drilled them into him pretty much the moment he turned eighteen—the other suitors would definitely prove to be an obstacle.

Finally, his soulmate. He already knew that it couldn’t be the queen; she already had one. It wasn’t surprising, but it was going to be awfully inconvenient for him. Courting a woman whilst actively chasing down someone else was definitely a choice. Then again, he’d hope the universe’s intended match for him would at least do him the courtesy of hearing him out before shit hit the fan.

He sighed once again. This was going to be a lot more complicated than he would’ve liked. First order of business would definitely be forming some alliances, though it’d be far easier said than done. But once he got on enough people’s good side, he could put his true skillset to use.

The thing about people, as he’d quickly learned from Aphrodite, was they were very easily influenced. If they like you, they want to keep liking you, and vice versa. To keep that peace and positive image, they let you toe the line. The more you toe the line, the further it’s pushed, and the more they let you get away with. And, if you play your cards right, you’ll eventually have the power of doing whatever it is you please.

In this case, what he pleased would be getting some suitors to excuse themselves from the competition. A difficult ask, but in the correct circumstances and from the correct mouth, not an unfeasible one.

Naturally, this wasn’t a process that happened overnight. Then again, neither was courting a queen. One problem solved the other, really.

Lost in his own thoughts, it took Antinous several seconds to register the foreign rustling of foliage ahead of him. It was growing rapidly closer, as though something was forging through the bushes.

He whipped out his knife, steadying his hand toward the brambles. It was probably just a woodland creature, but for all he knew, it could be a rival suitor out to eliminate some of their competition. He evened out his stance, and prepared to strike as the bushes before him split and out came…

A cute dog.

It was brown furred with dark eyes and ears perked up in interest. Antinous wished he could provide a better description, but he’d only ever seen a few tamed dogs in his life, and he’d certainly never had one of his own.

Though, as he looked closer at the canine, he could tell one thing for sure. It was old. It’d developed some gray and white hairs around its snout, almost like a mustache, and it had a distinctly elderly gait.

Slowly and carefully, the dog lumbered over to him. It sniffed the air a few times in curiosity before lolling its tongue out the side of its mouth. It drew even closer, nuzzling its nose into Antinous’ thigh.

It was just a dog, and so its approval of him shouldn’t have meant much, but he still allowed himself to feel a tiny bit prideful about it. Most animals didn’t like him, anyway. The last time he’d come in contact with a dog, he’d left with a bite wound and the cold sting of rejection.

“Aw,” he said under his breath before stooping down to scratch under its chin. The dog made an appreciative noise and wagged its tail harder.

It had to be someone’s pet. No way a wild mutt would be this well behaved, especially to a complete stranger. Not to mention what appeared to be a silver collar looped around its neck.

He peered at it. The collar didn’t have a nameplate like most did, which he thought was kind of dumb. He didn’t get to feel hung up on that, though, as the dog began to lick at his hands.

Antinous smiled down at the dog. Downright adorable. He was more than a little jealous of whoever its owner was. Then, it hit him, and he took a second look at the collar. Real silver.

Sure, he was aware that there were likely some nobles amongst the suitors, but he seriously doubted they’d bring their pet along. And no poor man would waste precious metals on the collar of an animal, no matter how cute it may be. That meant this dog could only belong to someone rich, and someone who’d been around the castle long enough to have a pet.

A smile crossed his lips. There was only one feasible conclusion. This dog belonged to a member of the royal family. Lucky, lucky him.

As though on cue, there came another round of crackling in the bushes. The dog’s ears perked up again as he panted happily into Antinous’ hand. He pocketed his knife quickly, reset his expression from one of cunning to innocence, and stayed kneeling in the grass. After all, it was nearly always better to seem unsuspecting.

“Argos!”

It was a young male voice. Not that of a child, but maybe an older teen or young adult.

Antinous was fairly sure the queen had a son, but he couldn’t remember his name or age for the life of him. It’d never really been relevant up until now. He was starting to kick himself for not paying more attention to the village gossip; as it turned out, many people absolutely lovedto run their mouths about any and all drama involving the royal family.

Argos, apparently, craned his head toward the sound. His tail picked up the pace, smacking Antinous lightly with every excited wave.

“Argos, for fuck’s sa—“

The voice cut itself off as its owner finally shoved his way through the last of the bushes. Antinous continued lightly patting the dog, taking in the person before him.

This person did indeed seem to be a young adult. Maybe a few years younger than him, or maybe his meager height just made him seem that way. He had dark, curly hair, eyes a unique combination of greens and blues. They almost reminded him of stained glass, complete with a ring of brown around the pupil.

His skin was fair and looked soft, all the way down to his hands. They were the hands of someone who hadn’t worked a day in their life. His nose was prominent with a small bump, and on every inch of visible skin were smatterings of moles and beauty marks.

He didn’t exactly exude power, not the way you might expect from a prince. Despite his polished appearance and clothes, Antinous didn’t find himself particularly intimidated. If he was being honest with himself, the way the prince carried himself with a constant uncertainty reminded him a little of how he used to be.

In other words, the polar opposite of intimidating.

Their eyes met. The prince’s gaze was sharper than he’d expected it to be. Intelligence, or perhaps a dangerous amount of observance?

Immediately, a strange chill travelled down his spine. Not necessarily in a bad way, but definitely not good. It was an odd sensation, and Antinous found himself resisting the urge to rub his arms at the sudden coolness that’d befallen them.

The weird atmosphere left as soon as it had arrived. Creepy, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

Be that as it may, he had greater things to worry about. For one, he shouldn’t get so ahead of himself. The last thing he needed was to go underestimate the wrong person and shoot himself in the foot day one. This interaction had to be picture perfect.

He was really starting to get a feeling it wasn’t going to be picture perfect, not with the way the prince’s eyes were gradually narrowing. And the fact that Antinous felt oddly uncomfortable—nervous, even—just meeting his gaze.

The prince blinked at last. Had he not been blinking before? His eyes flitted at last from Antinous down to Argos, who was still cuddled up against his leg.

“Come on, boy,” he called, accenting the command with a sharp whistle.

Now that his braincells had begun to work again, Antinous stood up, allowing the dog to trot over to his owner. He cleared his throat discretely, and reminded himself to be normal. After all, his ascent to power depended on it.

“Hey,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Antinous. And who might you be?”

The prince paused, hand scratching slowly at Argos’ ears. Finally, he took a hesitant step forward, grasping Antinous’ hand to shake.

He’d been right. The prince’s hands—or at least the one on his right—were really soft. The contact gave him that weird tingling sensation once again, this time causing the hair on his forearms and neck to stand up. He couldn’t tell if it was more or less creepy than the first time.

“Telemachus,” he stated. His voice was flat and gave absolutely nothing away, as opposed to its earlier ups and downs when he’d yelled for Argos.

“Nice name,” Antinous replied, and it was a (rare) genuine comment. “So I figure this must be your dog?”

It was obviously his fucking dog. A blind old man with dementia could’ve figured that out faster. But he really needed to keep this conversation going while he figured out how best to approach this mysterious Telemachus. It was already looking grim, as it seemed the prince was already skeptical of him to a degree.

Which was fucking ridiculous, by the way. Antinous couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit slighted. He knew he presented a likeable persona at all times. He made sure of it! And it was one thing to have someone be indifferent to him despite that. That was a perfectly normal and acceptable way to feel about someone on first meeting. But to already dislike him? And for what?

He realized the telltale hint of a twitch in his right eye and focused on dispelling it. Showing his frustration would only exacerbate the problem. He was about to blow this operation at the very first hurdle. Talk about playing it smart.

Telemachus retracted his hand, returning to petting the dog. “Yeah.” Still toneless. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.”

Antinous hummed lowly. Play nice. Act normal. “It’s weird. Dogs don’t usually like me, stranger or not. Yours is super well behaved, though.”

That got a small smile out of the prince, though it disappeared as quickly as it’d formed. He changed his stance, folding his arms and tilting his head so they could make direct eye contact for a change.

“He is. But let’s not beat around the bush,” he said stonily. “You’re one of the queen’s suitors, yes?”

Alright. So clearly playing nice was not the way to go with the royal brat. He kept up the friendly smile, though, which he felt was commendable, considering. “I am. And you must be her lovely son, then?”

He was met with an unammused expression. “Stop acting like you didn’t already know that. Look, I don’t know what exactly your game is. But I will say this. My mother is not going to marry you, I am not going to help you win her favor, and you’d be better off heading back where you came.”

He raised his hands to his shoulders, casually defensive. “Woah, there, little prince. Who says there’s a game? Is this the hospitality you show all your guests?”

Telemachus’ eyes narrowed impossibly further. “Hospitality? It’s not like I’m making you leave. I’m just telling you that trying to be all buddy-buddy with me is not the way to go.”

Antinous kept his face perfectly neutral. The prince did the same. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither willing to back down.

It was strange to have met his match. People didn’t usually, if ever, see through him like this. The only person who’d ever gotten such an accurate read on him as of late was Aphrodite, and she wasn’t even a person.

Clearly this prince was not someone he could play to his tastes, and he figured keeping up the act would probably only annoy him more. Fine. If the prince wanted honesty, then it was honesty he’d get.

Well. Sanitized honesty, at least. Antinous didn’t intend on fully giving up at the first sign of slight pushback. He allowed his pleasant exterior to fall away slightly, returning Telemachus’ glower with matching intensity.

“You’re a little high and mighty, aren’t you?” He sighed, finally breaking eye contact. “Obviously I have an agenda. But don’t we all? You have one, your mother has one. I’d say we’re all playing the same game.

“So why not help each other?” He shrugged. “I’m not a bad guy, Telemachus. I want the crown, sure, but who doesn’t?”

The prince simply continued glaring at him. It seemed this angle wasn’t the correct one, either. He wagered he had one more shot until the prince just blew him off entirely, so he had to make it count.

He wasn’t interested in niceties, and clearly Antinous wasn’t going to be able to appeal to his emotional side. He was as closed off as a brick wall. Of course the one person he really needed the help and assistance of was also the one person with zero tolerance for his bullshit.

Antinous could really use Aphrodite’s abilities right now, but he already knew that wouldn’t be possible. Whenever she came down, it took a decent stretch of time to make herself known again. She was probably busy, anyway.

Well, if all else had already failed, he figured it couldn’t hurt to throw in a threat or two. Not insane, violent threats—there was no way that’d work out well for him—but something a little more subtle. A bit of encouragement. He already had low expectations for the outcome of this, so at least he wouldn’t be disappointed.

He stepped a bit closer to the other man, who didn’t make a move to back up. It was difficult to tell, but Telemachus did look a little skeptical at the closeness, even teetering on afraid. Which was… good? Maybe. That depended on just what direction he meant to take things.

He didn’t love inspiring that look in people. He tried harder than he’d like to admit not to. This was partly due to Aphrodite’s disgust at such acts, and mostly because it made him feel a little too much like…

And… he was not pursuing that line of thought. His eyes were going to remain on the prize and nothing else. Nothing.

“Look.” His body cast a shadow over the prince, who’s hand stilled on Argos’ head. “I’m telling you right now that when I want something, I get it. I can get it in a way that benefits the both of us, or I can take it by force. And I guarantee you will not like the results.”

The prince’s brows furrowed. “Well, I’m telling you that it’s not happening.”

“Is that right?” Antinous rolled his eyes. “Stubborn, aren’t you? Fine by me. But if you ever change your mind and want to take the easy road…”

“I’m good.” Telemachus turned his back on him, snapping his fingers at Argos. “C’mon, boy. And you, no-name guy.”

This was unprecedented, especially after their little spat. “Me?”

“No, the dog.” The prince exhaled aggressively. “Yes, you.”

“I have a name.”

“I don’t care.”

“Antinous.”

“Cool. I don’t care.”

The prince began forging his way back through the bushes, disappearing in an instant. Argos looked between them with a look that seemed almost judgemental. Antinous hadn’t thought animals could express such distaste, but it seemed he was wrong once again.

Whatever. He wasn’t going to question it. Either Telemachus was going to lead him straight to the castle, or he was about to get merked in a random forest. Though, he sincerely doubted the prince could do that, even if he wanted to.

He followed him down a trail, and it did seem to be leading to the palace. Sure, his whole plan had gone to shit in record time, but all was not lost. This royal pain in his ass was pretty clever, and had a seemingly observant nature. While getting shut down had annoyed him, it at least made sense. Sort of.

He was still annoyed.

Then again, he doubted everyone in the castle was as discerning as the prince. And he was getting the feeling that he’d been written off the second he’d been identified as a suitor. So it probably wasn’t personal.

He was still annoyed, though.

“So…” he kicked aside a stick. The castle couldn’t be more than a few minutes away now. “Changed your mind yet?”

Telemachus glanced over his shoulder at him. “No. Just displaying my immense hospitality.”

“Right.” Antinous couldn’t help but feel a little amused. “Thanks.”

“Uh-huh.”

They continued in a stiff silence right up until the palace entrance. The prince shoved open the broad door, causing it to slam into a wall and clang violently. When he turned, his face was a mask of barely concealed irritation. He gestured him forward with his free arm, scowling slightly. “Have a time.”

Antinous’ eyebrows raised. “Are you just having a bad day, or…?”

Telemachus let out an exasperated sigh, looking pointedly at him. “Take a guess.”

He stepped into the foyer with a shrug. “Point recieved.”

He supposed that was fair enough. It was reasonable to be a little upset that your home was being raided by strange men who wanted to fuck your mother. But he also didn’t have too much sympathy for the moody little asshole.

He paused once inside. This probably wouldn’t work. It might get him smacked in the face. But who was he if not an opportunist?

“Just to be clear,” he said, “the offer is still on the table.”

No response. The prince simply stalked away in the opposite direction to the bustling main hall. Argos looked at him once more, almost pitying, then turned tail and followed his owner.

Antinous shrugged. Worth a try.

The nagging feeling of frustration in the corner of his brain was a little weird, though. It felt foreign, as though it didn’t truly belong to him. But it was his brain, so it had to belong to him. Maybe he was just tired, and that was why he felt so damn strange.

There was no time for rest, though. He had a queen to meet, and some suitors to mingle with.

Focus.

Chapter Text

Telemachus was having a bad day.

To be fair, that was true of practically every day for him. He couldn’t help but find it a little bit ironic, how picture perfect his life was from the outside as compared to within. He was royalty, for one thing, which already put him a huge step above the majority of people in terms of sheer privilige.

He had a dog who was handsome and well behaved, he lived in a castle near the bright blue sea, and his days were spent freely, save for the few hours of paperwork every week. It was lightwork, anyway; nothing more than senseless political labor. And he didn’t necessarily mind the mindless signing and stamping and sorting. After all, if he couldn’t even file some documents, how was he supposed to rule a kingdom?

Right. That was the last and most immense snippet of perfection in his life. Telemachus was next up to the crown, and if all went well, he’d be king in a couple year’s time.

The key word being if. After all, the way things were going today, it seemed fate had begun to take a dire turn. Not that it’d be the first time life had decided to screw him over, and certainly not the last.

Still. Let him be abundantly clear. It wasn’t like his existence was the worst in the history of all to ever exist. He wasn’t so naive to think his stupid troubles succeeded the plights of others, and he hated to feel ungrateful for all he had. He recognized things could be worse, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t yearn for things to be better.

All that being said, if Telemachus had been given the choice between the life he led and that of an average Ithacan’s at birth? He held in a derisive snort.

He’d choose average every time.

Sometimes, he caught himself wondering where things had gone wrong. Was it when his father left for war? Was it today, when hundreds of suitors came crawling through the palace door?

No. He’d had lots of time to ponder on this question, and the more he thought about it, the more sure he became. There had been no grand mistake in the timeline of his life. It seemed, to Telemachus at least, that the problem began at baby’s first cry.

His first cry, to be exact.

See, the thing about growing up in a world ran by love is that love is to be expected. Mothers hold their children in their arms, singing lullabies about connections and fate and the sweet joy of soulmate links. There were entire celebrations centered around that inevitable day where a soulmate’s bond was solidified.

When whispers of thoughts and feelings became bright splashes of colors, permanent, sentimental things that were impossible to ignore. The moment when everything fell into place and you were loved.

Well. For the great prince of Ithaca, that day never came.

He chose not to be bitter. Or, that wasn’t quite the truth. Really, he just chose not to think about it at all in hopes that one day his mind would stop screaming how useless and lonely he is and always will be twenty-four seven every day of the week, and then it won’t matter to him.

It does. It always will. He chooses not to dwell on it.

His objective lack of appeal wasn’t the only thing wrong with him. Telemachus had a whole laundry list of shit he needed to change, and he added to it practically every night. In his defense, he was bored all alone cooped up in the castle, and self improvement was good, right?

It was for his eyes only, anyway. Things like swordsmanship and math and sailing littered the worn down parchment, accented by things like personality and love and everything, when he was feeling particularly self pitying.

But it hardly even mattered. There were some things in this world you simply could not change no matter what, and that was that. It wasn’t like his lack of a soulmate really affected his day to day life much, anyway. He was alone in the broad halls and corridors, and he was alone in his head, too.

It was fine. He felt worse for his mother than anything. She did have a soulmate, and he was lost at sea, or dead, presumably. Some people claimed that when your soulmate died, it literally broke your heart. Telemachus didn’t know whether or not to believe that, but since his mother was still perfectly alive and breathing, he chose to hold out hope.

The very act of welcoming suitors and attempts at courting went against the core of soulmate bonds. And yet nobles from all across the land had been pushing such an effort on them for years, now. He thought it was hypocritical at best how easily the importance of soulmates slipped away when it was convenient.

To force his mother to choose between a bunch of men with zero connection or real love for her was preposterous. And despite not being able to exactly relate to her struggle, he saw the sadness and irritation in her eyes each time they swept the newly packed hall. Every new face was another straw stacked atop her back.

Telemachus didn’t believe for one second that she would break. This was Penelope of Sparta he was talking about, and if he knew one thing about his mother, it was that she never gave up. She was stubborn and headstrong and unbendable. Not only that, but she was fueled by a love so strong it lasted even after seventeen years of nothingness. In other words, she was a compilation of all he wished he had and all he never would.

He sighed, leaning out over his balcony and staring out into the broad landscape. It was a beautiful day despite the gray skies. The gentle wind and sweet scent that came after a downpour felt good on his skin. It was beautiful, or it would be, if not for the growing line of suitors funnelling through their front doors. Did they ever stop coming? He swore the entire population of Ithaca had to have arrived within the last few hours, and they were still coming.

As much as he hated to do so, it was his duty as prince to play gracious host. Even when the men looked down on him like he was a bug found under the sole of their sandal. Even when it was extremely obvious they only viewed him as an obstacle to the queen and throne. Even when all he wanted to do was send them straight back to the kingdoms from which they’d come.

He grit his teeth, feeling his frustration steadily building at the mere thought of it all.

He ducked back into the room, running his hands through his hair to calm himself. He just had to survive. That was it! Be the bare minimum degree of polite and coexist alongside these greedy strangers and not go absolutely insane. It wasn’t so hard. If his father could fight a war and battle against the seas for all this time, Telemachus could be the perfect politician for a while.

What was a while, anyway? He wanted to believe this whole affair would come and go quickly, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be so simple. The suitors were persistent, not to mention desperate, and it’d take more than a polite decline to make them go home.

He suddenly wished his dad were there. He’d know what to do, and how to make these unruly men obey. And then he banished those thoughts from his mind because there was no point dwelling on something that’d never happen. He was seventeen and practically a man. One day he’d be a king, and what sort of king dreamt of crying to his father?

He had to be independent; strong and wise all on his own. Sure, he was an olive branch with no tree, but even the smallest of branches could grow to be something more. And if all he ended up achieving was withering into dirt, at least he’d served his use.

Just for a while, he reminded himself. Just for however long it takes.

“Argos, boy,” he said, whistling lowly. “Don’t you wanna go on a walk?”

Argos was old and frail with age, but still somehow filled with energy. He trailed the prince around constantly, from the beach and shallow waters of the sea to up stairs and down foreign trails. Sad as it may be, Argos truly was Telemachus’ best friend, no exaggeration required. His dog stood, giving itself a shake and happily trotting to follow him into the hallway.

The pair moved quickly down long, sloping corridors. The palace was a maze if you didn’t know it, but Telemachus could navigate the place with his eyes closed. He knew all the secret rooms and passages and places where no one but he and his family had ever gone.

His intimate knowledge of the place was useful in many circumstances. Both for extensively lazy afternoons and for avoiding suitors and relaying messages. Now he took one such passage, cutting from the third floor down to the first with the aid of a hidden trapdoor.

Argos, equally familiar with the winding paths, followed him dutifully. The dog’s tail thumped incessantly against Telemachus calf as the prince wrenched open a door to the courtyard.

“Go on, boy,” he said, nudging the entryway wider. “You’re free.”

The dog wasted no time sprinting ahead of him, frolicking ahead into the zig zag of gardens filled to the brim with flowers. Telemachus loved the gardens, and though it was the maids’ duty take care of the plants, he found himself tending to them more often than not.

He loved watching them flourish, figuring out the exact ratio of water to sunlight to soil that made them grow just right. He loved the bright colors of the petals and the variety of scents. He loved losing himself in the dirt and debris, shoveling and scooping and picking at the gardens until it all fell into place. The sharp prick of rocks in his skin and under his fingernails made him feel a little more human on his worst days.

He strode into the open area, kneeling down beside a rosebush. The majority looked good, spiralling hues of red and pink into the sky. Still, he thumbed disappointedly at a drooping bud. It certainly wasn’t dehydration, not with the amount of rain they’d been getting for the past few weeks. Maybe disease?

Telemachus sighed, allowing the pads of his fingers to graze the sharp thorns. The ensuing sting felt good. He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was never a good sign when the pain started feeling good.

That was another thing wrong with him. His best kept secret, the one he’d sooner die than admit to his mother’s face. It wasn’t the missing soulmate or absent father that was his problem, it was himself.

It took him an embarassingly long time to realize not everyone scratched at their skin until they bled when they got sad. It took him even longer to realize that not everybody felt sad nearly all of the time, and empty the rest. And when he realized even his mother, who had all the reason in the world to feel the way he did, still remained with positivity and hope in her heart, it occurred to him that he was one hundred percent hopeless.

He’d learned to reign it in, and how to hide his injuries. He’d yet to learn how to rescue himself from the hole he’d dug, but there was always tomorrow. Maybe someday things would change.

Just not today.

He gave the dying rose one last sympathetic pat before rising to his feet. Much as he would’ve loved fooling around in the garden for the rest of time, he had responsibilities he couldn’t neglect. Telemachus turned, searching for Argos to call him to his side.

He squinted across the courtyard. He’d just seen the dog… hadn’t he been just over there? The prince fought the urge to groan aloud as he realized what he’d done. Of course the one day he had somewhere to be, he lost his damn pet.

Telemachus told himself not to panic. Argos was a good dog. He never ran away without the intention of returning, so something or someone must’ve just happened to catch his eye. Then he realized that, considering the only people around to be seen were suitors, that was actually way worse.

It wasn’t that Argos was aggressive to strangers, not really. Protective was more the word he’d use, and for good reason. He had once belonged to a king, and when you’re king, you have lots of enemies. That being said, Telemachus was meant to be acting diplomatic today, and allowing your dog to jump at someone would be the exact opposite of diplomatic. Even if that someone maybe deserved it.

His ears quickly picked up on a rustling coming from a forest path on his left. Now he was going to have to forge through the wild just to bring Argos back, which meant his clothing and appearance would be fucked up for the opening ceremony. He winced to himself. His mother was going to gut him.

Damn it.

As quickly and carefully as he could, Telemachus picked his way down the trail. He kept his eyes and ears peeled for any movements, and was eventually able to zero in on a small clearing. He could hear the telltale sound of Argos’ tail smacking with joy. At least, from what his ears could pick up, the prince didn’t think there was anyone else there. That was one less thing to worry about.

“Argos!”

He nearly tripped on a bramble, shoving the branches of a bush aside to push through. One thing was for sure, and that was that there’d be no extra petting happening this afternoon. This dog was going to be the death of him.

“Argos, for fuck’s sa—“

He stopped abruptly, one leg in the clearing and one still halfway through a bush. There was a man squatted there, petting Argos casually while Argos let himself be pet.

This was fucking strange. And the oddities didn’t end there.

The man was tall. Far taller than Telemachus, which didn’t say much on its own, but the prince knew the way the stranger had to look down to meet his gaze was a combination of him being short and this man just being tall. He had dark skin and dark eyes and dark hair, which was worn in intricate locs pulled up and out of his face.

He had a face. Not that of a supermodel or anything, but also not bad to look at necessarily. An attractively average face, he supposed, but for some reason, he just couldn’t stop looking. There was something in his face or body language or maybe just the air between them that made Telemachus feel as though he literally couldn’t break eye contact.

He felt suddenly very odd and itchy, like he needed to sneeze or something. He resisted the urge to squirm where he stood. There was something about this man and his carefully crafted expressions that struck Telemachus as dangerous. It made him uncomfortable, with an undertone of something else he could not accurately describe.

He was a suitor. That much he gathered as they shook hands, and then as the suitor blabbered to him in a valiant effort at appearing friendly and unknowing.

Telemachus didn’t like him. He didn’t like the subtle manipulation or the glimpses of cold strategy he sometimes caught between blinks of the suitors’ eye. His name was Antinous, apparently, and the prince knew then and there that he did not like this Antinous guy. He was suspicious, scheming, and a suitor.

Enough said.

Telemachus petted Argos, who was still being strangely nice to this strange man, and resisted the urge to strangle said man as Antinous dared question his treatment of guests. The prince held his tongue, fighting the frustration in his chest that’d long since hit full capacity. He wanted to say something snarky and aggressive so badly, or to smack that smug look off the suitor’s smug face. He didn’t, because hospitality was hospitality, and also because he stood exactly zero chance in a fight.

He watched the suitor disappear into the main hall with narrowed eyes and a furrowed gaze. Telemachus scritched gently behind Argos’ ears all the while, trying to quell the odd feeling taking over him. The interaction as a whole had been off, and it left an awful taste in his mouth. That being said, he couldn’t deny the morbid curiosity taking root inside him as he stared at the suitor’s back. He felt weirdly drawn to the man. He didn’t want to be.

Then, realizing the time, Telemachus was jolted from his trance. The ceremony was starting in only a few minutes, and his mother was expecting his timely attendance. And he was definitely about to be late.

“Fuck you, Argos,” he hissed, desperately brushing off his chiton and shaking the leaves from his hair. The dog only panted at him innocently.

He took the backroute of the castle, ducking and weaving between maids as they prepared for the later banquet. He sent polite smiles and hushed greetings to those who stopped to talk to him, but kept it moving all the same. As much as he’d love to stay back and converse with them, his head was already about to be on a pike and he didn’t want to worsen his mother’s wrath.

When the once muffled voices of the suitors were loud and clear, he paused.

“Argos, stay in the back,” he commanded, giving the dog one final affectionate pat. “Go on. Good boy.”

His pet whined, but turned tail and began to trot back down the hall.

Once Argos was safely out of sight, Telemachus continued forward. Quietly as he could, he slipped through the back entrance of the main hall and into the bustling room.

He’d known there were a lot of suitors, but it was a lot different seeing them packed inside one room like sardines. From where the prince stood, elevated above them and peering over an elegantly crafted guard rail, he could hardly make out faces. But that wasn’t what he was concerned about.

He glanced around. His mother wasn’t on the platform with him, and she wasn’t on the lower floor, so…?

Hesitantly, he turned around, and nearly launched himself straight over the railing as he recoiled. The queen’s face was unamused, and she raised a single eyebrow as Telemachus caught his breath. Even though he’d entirely expected her to be standing there, it’d still managed to scare the air from his lungs.

“Mother,” he said, smiling and attempting to act somewhat normal. “Always great to see you.”

She rolled her eyes. They were almost the exact same shade as his own, signifying their relation, but that wasn’t where the resemblance ended. They had the same black hair, though his mother’s was sleeker and infinitely better maintained. They also had mirrored smatterings of beauty marks across their faces and bodies. It was obvious to anyone with working eyes that he was his mother’s son.

The queen liked to say that, while she’d been the one to color him in, it was his father who was the blueprint. Same face, same hair, as she liked to claim. Telemachus couldn’t confirm or deny this for himself, so he mostly just nodded along. Otherwise, he stuck with what he knew.

He and his mother had sort of similar personalities—or at least, Telemachus thought so. He wasn’t sure if he’d picked up the dry cleverness by nature or by nurture, but it was there all the same. They certainly had the same temper, at least, which was to say no tolerance for people’s shit. Which was definitely about to bite him in the ass.

“Oh, don’t try and play innocent now.” Penelope propped her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “You had one task. Be here on time. What were you doing?”

“Well,” he said, shifting guiltily. “I mean, it wasn’t my fault! Argos ran away and I had to go get him.”

She looked unconvinced. “Really.”

“Yes! I know he never runs away, but there was this suitor in the forest and I guess he heard him, or smelled him, or whatever.” Seeing the question on her face, he quickly added, “Out of character, I know, but it’s true. And, for your information, nothing happened. The guy was just petting him, and what’s crazy is that Argos let him.”

The queen sighed, turning away from him. “Fine, I understand. Just… I am already very stressed. I do not need my son randomly going missing when I call for him.”

That alone was enough to make him feel infinitely more like shit. Telemachus bowed his head. “Yes, mother. I’m sorry.”

The tension in her face slowly retreated, and she rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “All is forgiven. No need to look so down, my beautiful son. It’ll all work out.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment, but now was not the time to argue. He positioned himself beside his mother as she clapped her hands together, calling the attention of all in the room. Telemachus told himself to focus, but her words quickly blended together as he spaced out. Something about courting, something rules and hospitality, something respect.

He got that weird, itchy feeling again. Telemachus blinked himself out of the pillowy daze, eyes searching the crowd and falling on that suitor from before. Antinous. At his sides were several other men whom he appeared to be somehow associated with. One, it seemed, was murmuring something into his ear, but Antinous hardly had the look of somebody paying much attention.

Well, that wasn’t right. He did seem to he paying attention to something. The suitor was staring intensely at him, his gaze positively stony. Telemachus hated not being able to tell what people were thinking, especially because that wasn’t usually something he struggled with. And the only thing he hated more than that was being stared at.

“What?” he mouthed, narrowing his eyes into suspicious slits.

The suitor barely reacted to him. He shrugged, mouth quirking up slightly in a manner that seemed incredibly indicative of more scheming.

“Nothing,” he mouthed back, “unless you’re taking me up on my offer?”

The prince made a face that he hoped encapsulated his disgust in all its intensity. “Fuck off.”

Antinous only snorted dismissively before breaking the magnetic eye contact and refocusing on the queen.

Telemachus shook his head, determined not to pay it any mind. But how could he not pay it mind? The man planned and strategized with all the cold calculation of a literal supervillain. It made him nervous, more so as it seemed Antinous had managed to get several people on his side already.

The last thing he and his mother needed were the suitors unionizing. It’s be better if they were all against each other; at least that way they’d waste their time infighting rather than making any sort of meaningful progress. But if all the suitors ended up working together?

Now that’d be dangerous.

“Any questions?”

Shit. Penelope must’ve finished her speech and he’d heard exactly none of it. Telemachus was really and truly thrown off his game right now, if there’d been any game to begin with. His mind felt all over the place, and he felt fatigue weighing on him with each blink of his eyes.

Gods, it wasn’t a good sign that he was feeling so burnt out already. This day was actually just the worst. It was like everytime it mattered, his brain decided that he should behave like a depressed vegetable rather than a functional human being. What sort of royal couldn’t even handle standing in fron of a crowd for a few minutes? Even if that crowd looked like they only needed the slightest of pushes to jump him on the spot, there was no excuse for his weakness.

Focus, focus, focus. He could only hope his uncertainty wasn’t carrying to his outside appearance.

“So…” Telemachus’ head snapped back over to Antinous, who had spoken. The crowd hushed in unison. “Just how long is this burial shroud meant to take? I’m certain we’d all be willing to respect your grief, but surely you don’t expect us to wait for you with no timeline?”

Ah. So that was what he’d missed. He knew of this particular plan; they’d just been discussing how she would evade marriage to the suitors only a few days ago. They were both aware that, with the entire kingdom’s eyes on them, she couldn’t simply refuse to remarry. That would only spark anarchy, chaos, and—more than likely—violence.

Typically, courting wasn’t a practice at all. In the rare instances in which it was, the process tended to be made quick and painless for all parties. The shortest of competitions lasted a few days, while the longest were only extended to about half a year’s time.

Given that seven years had passed since the end of the war that’d originally whisked his father away, it seemed obvious that six months was not nearly enough time for him to make a return. Of course, simply rolling over and accepting her fate of being married off to some random man was not the way Penelope was willing to go.

They’d bounced ideas off each other for hours. They needed a convincing enough excuse to put off choosing someone that couldn’t be easily proved invalid. Some sort of task or project that most, if not all, suitors would be unfamiliar with. They didn’t necessarily need to make the men go away, they just needed to keep them at arm’s length.

Eventually, they’d decided upon a burial shroud. Odysseus’ father and Telemachus’ grandfather had recently died, and it was customary for the daughter in law to weave such a fabric to express her grief and respect. It made for reasonable motivation, and one that couldn’t be disputed in its validity.

It really should take only a month or two to weave at most. Telemachus knew this as he’d participated in his fair share of weaving both as a child and at his greater age. However, he knew for certain that boys with fathers didn’t take up such hobbies. They hunted, and sparred, and did practically anything but sit down and weave like a woman. And so, it was basically guaranteed the suitors would be unable to call out his mother for taking far longer than was necessary on the shroud.

In other words, she could stall as long as she needed. Or, she would be able to if not for Antinous opening his big mouth.

He glanced to the side at his mother, awaiting her response. He could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she worked out the best non-answer for such a question. Granted, Telemachus didn’t think the rest of the suitors would be as bright as Antinous as to pick up on her deflection, but he did think that if he pointed it out, they’d follow his lead.

He just had a charismatic energy about him. The way he spoke made you want to listen, even if you knew for certain that he was a snake. It was almost unnatural, in a way. He didn’t think mortals could posess that sort of mystical, all-powerful pull, but he also knew for certain this sly suitor wasn’t a god or anything.

Still, there was something just a little bit off about him. God adjacent, maybe, but it felt blasphemous to even think such a thing. Even then, potential blasphemy wasn’t enough to dissuade the feeling building in his gut with each passing second.

Telemachus was someone who often followed his instincts. Really, his intuition was all he had to rely on most of the time. And, in all fairness, he was rarely ever wrong. On this particular suspicion, he really, really hoped that he was. If not, this could go extremely bad extremely quick.

“I understand your need for assurance,” Penelope replied carefully. “However, my journey of accepting my husband’s passing is not one that can be accurately mapped. I fear I am not yet in a position where I can earnestly accept your love or affections.

“This shroud shall represent not only the burial of my father in law, Laertes, but also of my marriage. When the last stich is completed, I will be prepared to move on into the next phase of my life with one of you.

“Of course, as this shroud is of great significance to both me and my family, I will take my time to dutifully perfect every detail. I suspect this will take a while, around a year or so, but I assure you that in this time I will be observing you all carefully to determine the best husband for when my toiling is done.”

She cleared her throat, nodding briskly at the crowd of skeptical faces. “Does that answer your question sufficiently, suitor?”

That withdrawn look had returned to the suitor’s face. And then it was gone in an instant as Antinous dipped into a low bow, a gentler expression substituting the more guarded one.

“Of course, my queen,” he said, and Telemachus held back the urge to boo him. “I am Antinous, at your service for whatever support you may or may not require.”

The prince fought off his first instinct, which was to share a look with his mother that said As if. Penelope was an excellent judge of character—you didn’t get far in a position of power if you weren’t—and he was certain she could see exactly what the suitor was doing.

While that may’ve been true, any doubts she had were hidden adeptly behind a polite demeanor. The queen smiled relaxedly at him before allowing her gaze to wander across the rest of the crowd. “Would that be all, then?”

When the hall stayed faithfully silent, she nodded once again. “Alright. Your quarters will be down the left corridor right over there, then to the right at the end of the hall. My guards will escort you… and my son, Prince Telemachus, will also assist. Have a good evening.”

Guards moved from the shadows, beginning to guide the crowd which slowly dispersed. It took all Telemachus’ self control not to break his neck turning to glare at his mother. Did she actually despise him or something? Was this his punishment for losing Argos and coming in late?

When he was sure there were so little people around them that no one would hear, he said as much. “Do you hate me?”

The queen huffed. “Don’t be so dramatic, Telemachus. You’re surrounded by guards, and I sincerely doubt any of them would be so stupid as to hurt you on their first day here.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do.” His mother gave him a less than gentle push toward the stairs. “To be in the public eye is to interact and make nice with those whom we do not like. Your enemies should think they are your friends.”

“Yes, but playing maid isn’t going to make them like me—do you see the way they look at me?” Telemachus dug in his heels to prevent being forced down onto the lower level. “They have to respect you because you’re queen and they think they actually have a chance, but me? They have no reason to respect me, much less play nice!”

The queen paused in her shoving, letting out a long stream of air through her lips. “Look, I understand your apprehension. But no harm will come to you so long as these men would like a place in my castle. We have protections and security for a reason, my son. I fully intend on keeping you safe, no matter what.”

He groaned, going slack against her hands. He loved his mother, maybe a little too much, and so he always ended up bending to her will in the end. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Thank you.” Penelope gave him one last reassuring pat on the back before sending him downstairs and into the fray.

Telemachus tried not to look too sulky as he followed the stream of suitors and guards down to their quarters. It was a huge room made up of smaller rooms, packed with beds and the essentials for guests. It was pretty much a megasized guest bedroom. The prince leaned against a wall, observing as suitors hauled their things into the space and chatted amongst themselves. He had no true desire to participate in any of it, so he stayed right where he was.

Just when he began to consider slipping away, someone appeared beside him, grasping his shoulder. All things considered, the touch was lighter than he would’ve anticipated, and his palms immediately began to itch.

Anxiety, or something else?

Slowly, Telemachus craned his neck up and to the right to face the unwelcomed interruption. It was Antinous. He didn’t even have it in him to feel surprised.

“You,” he said blandly.

“Me.” The suitor’s hand pressed down a little harder on his shoulder. “Let’s talk outside, shall we?”

Telemachus felt his heart speed up a bit. This man, while he didn’t seem to have the intention of directly hurting him, was unpredictable. Sometimes, that was worse.

“Why can’t we talk here?” he asked, doing an admirable job of keeping his voice stable and his face unexpressive.

Antinous tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think you want to have this conversation in front of everyone. Just looking out for you, princeling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He glanced around. There were no guards close to them, and he didn’t think calling out for one would be a good idea. He didn’t want to overreact. He also didn’t want to go with this suitor, but it seemed he didn’t have much of a choice.

He told himself it couldn’t hurt. He held onto those words like a lifeline.

“Fine.” Telemachus brushed off the hand, which was large and heavy as compared to his own, taking a step away from him. “Just know I’ll only go as far as the hallway we came through.”

The suitor had the gall to look amused at that. “Are you scared of me, Telemachus?”

He felt his lip curl slightly despite himself. “I am suspicious of you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, but I suppose that’s fair. I’m not going to murder you, by the way. Not my thing.”

Antinous began to make his way toward the door to the hallway, and the prince found himself trailing behind. There was only one way out of this room, after all, so running wasn’t exactly an option. Why had he allowed his mother to send him here, again?

“It’s not my thing, either,” Telemachus muttered under his breath. Nervousness always made his tongue run wild, seemingly against his will. He grit his teeth together to avoid saying something else snarky he might regret.

Antinous didn’t seem angry, though, only further amused. He nudged the door to the suitors’ quarters shut with his foot, leaning casually against the wall opposite to Telemachus. He folded his arms, something in his eyes almost playful. “Are you this rude and uncooperative to everyone, or is it just me?”

“You’re the one who threatened me within minutes of meeting, stared at me like a weirdo, and then forces me to talk to you in a dark corner all alone.” The prince scoffed. “Who wouldn’t be uncooperative?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

“Right, because if you decided to haul me off to who-knows-where I could definitely fight you off. Don’t be stupid. We both know where we stand.” Telemachus stood a little straighter, staring the man right in the eye. The warm, itchy feeling increased tenfold. “Whatever it is you want to say, just spit it out already.”

Antinous sighed, pushing himself off the wall so he could tower over the prince once again. He refused to flinch backwards, instead staying perfectly still as the man pressed steadily closer.

“Look. I don’t know exactly what you and your mother’s little scheme is,” he said, jabbing Telemachus lightly in the chest with his index finger, “but I do know she doesn’t intend on taking any of us as her husband. Now, I came all this way, and I’ve waited my whole life to get to this damn throne. So you see how this could be a bit of a problem for me, yes?”

“Sure,” Telemachus said. His body felt as though it was crawling with heat, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. “That’s not my problem, though, is it? It’s my mother’s choice, and if you have a problem with that, I suggest you find another kingdom to marry into.”

“I wasn’t finished, little wolf,” he snapped, voice increasing in volume.

To his chagrin, the prince felt himself flinch slightly. He wanted to smack himself. For a split second, an expression Telemachus couldn’t quite decipher flickered on Antinous’ face, and the man stepped back, putting greater distance between them.

“I need to be king, so you will convince your mother to take me as her husband, or at the very least not stand in my way.”

“Or what?” Telemachus could feel his rage steadily building. “You don’t tell me what to do. Do you realize who you’re talking to? You’re just some nobody vying for power you know you’d never get otherwise. It’s sad.”

Antinous’ eye twitched. “I am willing to work with you. I am willing to coexist peacefully. But if you are not, then I will not allow you to get in my way.”

“Or what?” He repeated, allowing some growl to seep into his voice.

He was so angry. He was so tired of being bossed around and dismissed and he was tired of these damn suitors after only a day. And he was afraid of what Antinous might do to him, but he was more afraid of what he might do to his mother.

The suitor’s eyes darkened. “Or I will make your life a living hell until you decide to he reasonable and cooperate. I don’t enjoy hurting people and I don’t want to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

He leaned down into Telemachus’ face, condescending. “Do you know what it’s like to be helpless, little wolf? Do you know what it’s like to be nothing, and to know that you will amount to nothing in life no matter what you do or how hard you try? Do you know what it’s like to be invisible? To be despised? To be meaningless and empty and to know that if you disappeared, no one would ever notice? That no one’s ever cared and that they never will?”

His voice sounded slightly rough around the edges, as though the suitor was just barely containing a rage great enough to topple buildings. Telemachus pressed further into the wall, hands shaking slightly.

He did. He felt it every day, when he woke up and looked in the mirror to find someone he didn’t know. When he looked at his nose and eyes and mouth trying to find the vision of his father that Penelope saw, but came up empty. When he realized his father would probably never come home and the kingdom would eventually be ruled by someone who’d no doubt take advantage of him and his mother.

Telemachus didn’t get the chance to reply, not that he knew what he would’ve said. Antinous pulled away suddenly, as though yanked by a rope, and the flicker of vulnerability in his face disappeared like it’d never existed at all.

He scoffed. “Of course you don’t. You’re lucky, Telemachus. You don’t know the lengths people would go for even a tiny fraction of the life you’ve lived. But I do. And I’m telling you right now that if you don’t comply with me?”

He shook his head, stepping back toward the door to the suitors’ quarters. A wry smile flitted across his lips before fading back into a scowl. “That won’t be the life you’re living much longer. So? What’s it gonna be?”

Telemachus clenched his fists. He would not be afraid. He’d rather it be his life made into a hellscape than that of his mother’s. He’d rather she be able to hold out hope of his father’s return than be broken by this man and whatever plans he might have for them both.

“No,” he said, without even the smallest of tremors. “Now get out of my face and disappear.”

Antinous looked at him with something like disappointment. Maybe even sorrow, but Telemachus doubted it. Not that he’d ever know, because his face quickly returned to emotionlessness and he turned around even quicker.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the suitor said, his voice low. “And I suggest you don’t go crying to your mother about this.”

And then he disappeared through the door, leaving Telemachus all alone and practically shivering. He supposed if he had to place a second point where everything went wrong for him, this would be it.

Numbly, he turned and made his way back to his bedroom. He should probably be panicking, but he just felt incredibly tired. There was that familiar sadness lingering in the back of his mind, but now there was a stronger emotion. Guilt.

But Telemachus knew how he felt and that wasn’t it. He had nothing to feel guilty about, and he didn’t feel guilty, but he did because that was the emotion he was experiencing. It was all so strange, and foreign. Like someone else’s feelings were invading his mind.

His head was beginning to ache. He really ought to go get Argos from the back part of the castle, but he didn’t have the energy. All he wanted to do was sleep for a good long while. Maybe forever.

The moment his head hit the pillow, Telemachus drifted off into a restless sleep. He awoke the next morning, stained with sweat and crusty trails of tears on his cheeks, haunted by the cruel words of a father that wasn’t his own, and by the muted pain of closed fists pounding against a fragile chest. The child’s ensuing cries rang in his head long after he crawled out of bed and moved to start the day.

Chapter Text

Antinous slept for a grand total of five minutes. The second he closed his eyes, the flashbacks began, and he couldn’t deal with that tonight. Not after what he’d just said and done.

It was funny in a sad sort of way. It’d been a good couple months since he’d last had a dream like this, but it seemed a singular night in the castle was enough to push him back into the usual swing of things. The nightmares didn’t scare him anymore; he was too familiar with their events by now to be caught off guard. That being said, hearing his own screams and darkest moments played back on repeat wasn’t something he loved experiencing.

He quickly gave up. What was the point of falling asleep if he was just going to be reawoken every few minutes, anyway? Plus, he knew he had a bad habit of making noise and thrashing in his sleep. The last thing he needed was to disturb his fellow suitors, especially as he sought to make a good impression.

It reminded him of how he used to sleep with his face mashed into his pillow back home. It was far from comfortable and made it difficult to breathe, but it also kept him from waking his father with his cries. When he didn’t take such precautions, things tended to end badly. Far worse than some brief suffocation.

Antinous rolled from the cot, brushing off his rumpled bedclothes and squinting through the dark. It proved very difficult to pick through the maze of beds, limbs, and bags while completely blind, but he managed. Badly wishing for a torch or some kind of light but coming up empty, he decided to cut his losses and just go. He had a castle to explore, after all.

The halls were cold and uninviting. He pulled his cloak tighter around him as he fought to keep his teeth from chattering. As he passed the spot where he and Telemachus had had fheir altercation, he averted his eyes.

He didn’t need to think about that right now. He felt shitty enough. But he totally did need to think about it because he needed a plan, for the gods’ sake.

The suitor groaned, pressing his palms against eyes sore with tiredness. He wanted to sleep, and he couldn’t. He didn’t want to think about the prince or the fear in his eyes, but he had to, otherwise he was never accomplishing anything. He wanted to punch something, but even he wasn’t so impulsive not to realize what a dumb idea that’d be.

His mind was truly a prison. Every day, Antinous felt that he got a little crazier. Inched a tiny bit closer to losing it entirely. But he wouldn’t. He had to keep it moving, and he had to get to that fucking throne.

Antinous opened a door. He had absolutely no clue where he was going, but it didn’t really matter. He just needed to get our. Get away from this nonsense, away from the prince he’d just threatened.

Why had he done that? He was a monster. He was worse than that. Irredeemable. And he wondered why his soulmate wanted nothing to do with him. Who would? Who would? Who would?

“Shut up.”

Was that him? He could feel his heart beginning to beat treacherously in his chest, like a hammer pounding against wood. Metal clanging, forging iron into tools and weapons and then that hammer swinging toward him and—

Impact. His breathing was getting shallower. He couldn’t tell if the hall was actually closing in on him or if it was just his traitorous mind, torturing him with the usual delusions. He needed to leave. There was no one to go. The one person he could never run from fast enough from was—

Him. He was losing it. He was going fucking crazy. His chest felt like it was being constricted with a goddamn rubber band and, oh my gods, he was going to die.

Antinous braced himself against a nearby wall, sliding down it and curling his face into his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the way his body trembled without his permission and his stomach filled with nausea. It’d been so long since he last lost control like this. What was he doing?

“Come on,” he hissed. “Come on. You’re not going to die. Come on. You’re fine.”

He just had to ride it out. When his body betrayed him like this, his only choice was to float in the choppy waves of his overwhelming panic. It drowned him, threw him under water and pulled him apart. But it was never fatal. It wasn’t fatal because it wasn’t real. Just adrenaline with no real danger.

Usually when he had attacks like this, Aphrodite was there to help him. She wasn’t here today, but he wasn’t completely helpless. She’d taught him things to make it better, how to make it go away, he just had to not be so stupid and remember.

He clenched his fists. He was useless. He was helpless. He was going to fucking die and people were going to find his corpse the next morning and they’d probably feed him to the sharks or something. Good. Better to just end it yourself while you still can.

“Shut up!”

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t—

Something wet and cold nudged his arm. Then something warm and tickly, the slimy glide of a tongue. Antinous peeked up from where his face was buried between his knees, coming face to face with a dog. He could just barely make out its shape, but what truly clued him in was the frantic waving of its tail.

He sniffed, still feeling woozy and dizzy and awful. But the surprise of seeing Argos there was enough to snap him out of his tailspin for a moment.

“Hi, boy,” he whispered, reaching out a pathetically shaky hand to stroke the dog’s head.

He really didn’t understand why Argos liked him so much. Dogs hated him. Maybe they could tell his true shitty self from behind the layers of lies he’d carefully crafted. And how could this dog like him? Did he know how Antinous was planning to treat his owner?

The guilt crashed on him with a newfound intensity. He always felt terrible when he acted this way. He hated it. And yet he continued, even as it ate away at him, because while he hated who he was now, he despised the person he was before. He’d rather be awful and powerful than kind and transparent. He’d rather be someone than no one, no matter how monstrous that someone may be.

Why were those his only choices? Why did he allow those to be his only choices? Why was he so—

And then he was crying. Which was super, super embarassing, even if he was all by himself. When was he not all by himself? And even that stray, unwanted thought was enough to intensify the stream of wetness down his face.

Wow. He was really reaching new heights of pitiful. At least the shaking had calmed slightly, and at least he could breathe a little better, even as he choked on his own tears.

Argos’ fluffy tail swept a light breeze against him. The dog pawed at his chest, and Antinous laughed despite himself, trying and failing to push him off. Granted, he didn’t try super hard, allowing the dog to climb on top of him and assault him with energetic licks to the face.

“Okay,” he said, gently shoving Argos aside. “Enough, I get it. Why are you here, boy?”

With me, was the unspoken question. He wondered why he even bothered being secretive with a literal animal. It wasn’t like Argos could understand him, anyway. Maybe he just liked the taste of Antinous’ tears.

No response. Not that he’d been expecting one, because this was a dog he was trying to communicate with. He nuzzled his face into the side of Argos, whose rogue tail beat against the side of his head, making him laugh again.

He still felt woozy, and his tiredness had increased tenfold. But the last of his panic had finally seeped from his eyes and to the ground, and he supposed he should take what he could get.

“Thanks,” he murmured, patting the dogs fur affectionately. “You should go back to your owner. Keep him safe, you know?”

Ironic he should say that. Antinous knew that and chose not to think about it or else the tears he’d just dried would come back full force. He wasn’t typically such a damn crybaby, but once he started, it was hard for him to stop. It was like he held back tears so many times for so long that when he allowed them to slip, the dam burst and released everything he’d been bottling up.

Not good. At this rate, he’d be breaking down at breakfast the next morning in front of everyone. He needed to get it together, be colder than ever before. And he needed to strategize.

“Alright.” He stood on shaky legs. “Away you go, boy. To Telemachus.”

Should he even be calling the prince by his name? It only made things more difficult when he got attached. He found the best way to string people along and get his way was to disregard them as people entirely. It was easier, he found, to manipulate and harm when he blocked out names and faces. When it was only him and a sea of bodies, he didn’t have to see the guilt and betrayal on their faces.

Little wolf. It’d been a spur of the moment thing. Something about he and his dog seemed strangely alike, and it just slipped out. He guessed that was fine. Better than his name, at least, which was a nice one. He still thought it was a nice one.

He couldn’t afford to feel anything more than the bitter drive of his ambition. Just him and the throne. No matter what he had to do or who stood in his way, he had to get there. He would do anything. He would.

Argos looked at him for a long moment. Antinous felt incredibly seen, and he was reminded once again why Telemachus—the prince—reminded him of the dog. They had a way of seeing through people.

It was a shame the little wolf would probably never get to see who he really was. No one did. That was, if he even had a self beyond the part he played. Nowadays, it was difficult to tell.

The dog, at last, spared him the scrutiny. He turned, trotting down the hall, leaving only tiny tufts of fur behind. Antinous let out a shallow breath, correcting his posture and reminding himself who he was. Who he was meant to be.

He waited for Argos to be sufficiently far away before wandering further into the darkness of the hallways. The castle really was beautiful and intricate in all senses of the world, but the walls contained a haunting sort of atmosphere. Not necessarily scary, but definitely enough to make him feel uneasy as he travelled alone.

Strangely enough, his nerves allowed him to easier slip back into his colder self. All he needed was to push the prince into a position or mindset where he felt giving in was the only way forward. Antinous just had to pressure him enough to the point where he’d be willing to work with him. That was it. No more, no less.

But how? The prince was a stubborn one, and, as far as he could tell, wasn’t affected by his charms. Which was weird, because they tended to work on even the most jaded of people. Even his father, who—well, he wasn’t going to get into that. The point was that Aphrodite’s training and blessing endeared him to even the most reluctant people.

Antinous wanted to just convince him organically, but he knew it wouldn’t be possible. It almost made him uncomfortable how powerless he felt in the face of the little wolf. He especially despised that he couldn’t tell why it wasn’t working.

And where did that leave him? Without the typical one-up of his charisma, he had only his strength and smarts. Wits alone wouldn’t break the headstrong prince, which meant there was only one real option.

He shuddered, pushing open a door and stepping into cool air. Squinting around into the night, he recognized that he must be in the courtyard. He’d seen it before, briefly, when the prince led him inside. It’d been a lot more pleasing a sight when illuminated by day and not blurred by sheets of rain, but at least the grim ambience matched his mood.

He truly hated to be rained on, but to be trapped within the castle was a far worse fate. Antinous carefully extracted a wet strand of hair from where it was caught on his eyelid, flipping up the hood of his cloak and continuing forwards.

There was a fountain in the middle of the vast gardens, currently overflowing with water. The suitor took a seat on the edge of the structure, gliding his fingertips over the rippling liquid. He was cold and soggy already, but the frigid pricking of rain against his skin kept his mind from drifting away. He stared at the ground beneath his feet.

He could just beat the shit out of him.

Antinous wrapped the cloak tighter around him, teeth chattering. It wasn’t just from the cold. The nausea from before had returned with a vengeance, and he supposed it was deserved.

He stared at the palms of his hands. Calloused by swordplay and the strain of blacksmithing. There were tiny scars on his fingers from when he’d burned himself working on weapons, and more from other altercations he’d long since forgotten. His skin shined with the water steadily beating down on him, and droplets shook as his fingers twitched and tremored. It was disgusting.

He knew intimately the appeal of violence as discipline. He knew that, the more you were hurt again and again, the less you fought back. He knew that, eventually, you stopped fighting it at all. You just let it happen. And then you’d go out of your way to not let it happen, trying to play nice and do whatever you could not to anger your tormentor, and you’d become the perfect pawn.

Pain was easy. It was effective. Antinous was strong, and he knew he could get away with treating the little wolf however he liked. After all, the prince was small and on the scrawnier side. He couldn’t defend himself, not if he wanted to and not if he tried.

It was all too familiar. All too effective.

Before he knew what’d overtaken him, the suitor bent at the waist and puked onto the grass between his feet. He watched, somewhat numbly, as rain slowly diluted the remnants of his stomach and washed it deep into the grass.

His father had once told him that, one day, he’d understand. Antinous didn’t, but he did. He puked again.

He wiped angrily at his mouth, spitting the aftertaste of vomit from his tongue. It was bitter, and sour, and gross. He needed to get himself under control. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t have to be the same. What he was doing wasn’t out of cruelty, or hate, it was just something that had to be done. And so if the prince was caught in the crossfire—

No. He didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that, but the more Antinous thought of is perfect life and his perfect throne and all the opportunities he’d never had and, at this rate, never would, the angrier he got. He hated him. He didn’t even know who he was talking about anymore.

And then, a blanket of calmness fell over him. The tension in his muscles that he hadn’t even noticed relieved, and he slumped forward, bracing his hands on his knees. He knew this feeling, and it comforted him, even if being so blatantly puppeteered perhaps shouldn’t.

The suitor glanced upwards. “Aphrodite?”

“I have arrived, dearest.”

The goddess floated downwards, descending elegantly and glowing as brightly as the moon itself. Her face was fraught with concern, especially as her eyes followed the slowly thinning puddle of vomit beneath him. Her lips puckered slightly, and she deftly dodged the trail as she hovered just above the ground.

“I see you are not doing so well.” Her hands cupped both sides of his face, which he was certain must’ve been a frightful sight. Even in all their feathery daintiness, they didn’t feel as soft as the prince’s. He didn’t know why he was thinking about this. “Please, confide in me. Just what has happened to you?”

The tears welled back up immediately. He knew part of that was Aphrodite’s influence and pull on his emotions, but some of it was definitely just his own instability. The goddess didn’t seem as though she minded that he was literally weeping into her hands, as she only continued thumbing absentmindedly at his cheek.

“Talk,” she commanded. “You do not often cry. This is good. Perhaps you ought to be more in touch with the sadness in your heart.”

“Not if it’ll make me feel like this,” Antinous sniffed.

“It wouldn’t be so intense if you didn’t bottle it all up until you physically can’t anymore.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “I can’t believe my own disciple is so out of touch with his emotions. That is a disappointing oversight on my part. Now spill, or shall I make you?”

“I’m about to do something terrible,” he said dully.

The goddess hummed. “I see that. I can read your thoughts, you know.”

“Then why bother asking?” He shoved her hands away, standing up from the fountain and feeling tiny bits of his earlier anger creep in through the haze of her tranquility. “Aren’t you disgusted by me? I’m going against everything you’ve ever taught me. I’m horrible, and I know you like to believe that deep down I’m just some nice, misunderstood guy, but I’m not! You’d be better off just striking me down and doing the world a favor instead of wasting your time saving someone beyond saving!”

Aphrodite recoiled, her soft features hardening. “You do not speak to me that way, dearest. One and only warning.”

“Or what?” He barked out a laugh. It sounded bitter and maniacal even to his own ears. “You’ll abandon me like everyone else? Oh, right, you can’t, because you’re so self absorbed and almighty that you made an unbreakable oath to fix me when, really, you can’t do anything at all!”

The goddess took a deep breath. He thought, for a split second, there’s been a flicker of hurt on her face. It was gone in an instant, and when she opened her eyes, her face had returned to its neutral state.

“You are hurt,” she said, voice deathly calm, “and you are afraid. And so you take it out on me, though I have done nothing but try my best to guide you. Don’t forget who sculpted you into the man you are today. Don’t forget who gave you the power you so often abuse. You would be nothing without me.”

Antinous winced. Though nothing in her tone indicated anger, he could see the righteous fury blazing behind her eyes. The night seemed to have warmed, heat radiating in waves from her body as Aphrodite floated, deathly still.

She shook her head. “You believe you have changed beyond recognition; I believe you have not. I will not stop you from harming this Prince Telemachus, as I have sworn to help you achieve your goals, in whatever form that may take for you. But I will not tolerate your disrespect as you bite the hand that feeds you.

“I came to tell you your soulmate bond has strengthened,” the goddess stated emotionlessly. “I believe you have met them today. That is one step closer to what you and I have been looking for. That is all.”

Aphrodite turned, her body language and voice still unexpressive. It was a stark contrast in the way she typically carried herself, and Antinous felt sick with regret already.

“Wait,” he said.

“I don’t abandon my projects.” Her voice was cold. “You’re right. I can not. But I do not care for all my projects the way I care for you, dearest. Perhaps soon you will truly know what it’s like to be loveless.”

And then, with no flash or flourish of glitter and light, she disappeared, leaving Antinous all alone. Again. The brief calmness she’d lended him dissipated with her, and he felt the rush of negativity return full force. Though, now there was something else there. Sorrow.

He hadn’t meant it. She must’ve known that. Or maybe it didn’t matter, and not even the goddess of love could work out the mess that made up his heart.

“Sorry,” he whispered into the empty air. The only response he got was the pitter patter of rain against ground, and the steady whistle of wind. He blinked hard to stave off the next round of tears. He was officially done feeling bad for himself. Now was the time for action.

The suitor turned back toward the palace, making his way to the door and pulling it open. He wrung out his hair, which now hung heavy and waterlogged against his neck and shoulders, before turning the same attention to the fabric of his clothes. By the time he was no longer dripping onto the castle floors, he was so freezing cold that his fingers and toes had begun to go numb. Even a little bit blue.

Relying only on his instinct and faint memories of the path he’d taken before, Antinous managed to find his way back to the suitors’ hallway. To his surprise, there was someone else standing outside the quarters.

The man turned. It was impossible to make out any details of his face in the heavy darkness of the corridor, but somehow, Antinous was seemingly and immediately recognized.

“Hey, man,” came a somewhat familiar voice. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Antinous wracked his brain. He was always so good at remembering names and voices and faces—personal connection is an important step in building trust—but he was more than a little out of it at the moment. After a brief moment of headache, it clicked.

“Eurymachus,” he said, smiling cordially even though the other suitor definitely couldn’t see it. Or maybe he could, if he’d managed to identify him so quickly. “What are you doing up?”

They’d had a brief conversation back in the welcoming ceremony, and Antinous had considered it a complete success. Eurymachus seemed to like him, at least, though he suspected the man had an agenda of his own. He was quick to become his self appointed right hand man, which Antinous didn’t necessarily mind. It was useful having someone willing to heed your words, even if that someone may’ve been operating on their own terms.

Eurymachus was sort of like him. He, too, was charismatic and had a way with words. Were Antinous a lesser man, he might’ve fell for the easy back and forth and casual friendliness. He wasn’t, though. And while the other suitor may’ve been two steps ahead of the others, Antinous always took at least three.

Anyways, it was a fine arrangement, for now at least. Him and Eurymachus together could easily make an unstoppable duo, and as Antinous fully intended on becoming leader of the suitors, having someone equally competent beside him would be helpful. Together, they’d already managed to win over most of the other men.

“Waiting on you. I saw you leave.” Eurymachus sidled closer, leaning leisurely against a nearby wall. It was the same one the prince had been pressed against just a few hours earlier.

Antinous really didn’t understand why his brain insisted on bringing him up where he didn’t belong. “Oh, shit. Did I wake you?”

“Nah.” A movement that might’ve been a shrug. The lighting made it hard to tell. “I’ve been up. Those cots suck serious ass to sleep on.”

“Fair enough.” Antinous paused, and when Eurymachus didn’t elaborate, he spoke again. “As much as I’m loving this conversation, it’s already late, and those shitty beds are calling my name. What were you wanting to talk to me about?”

“I overheard your conversation with the prince,” Eurymachus drawled. “Y’know, I’m impressed. Skeptical, but impressed. It’s a bold move to make an enemy of royalty on your very first day here. Especially when that royalty is the son of the woman you’re trying to court.”

Overheard, or eavesdropped on? Antinous blew out a long breath from between his lips. He didn’t even have it in him to care, much less say something about it. He felt so exhausted by the events of the day, and all he wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep forever. Literally. Figuratively. Whatever.

Not to mention how he felt as though part of him was already asleep, which was a really strange sensation and also super unpleasant. It was like a small area of his mind had shut down, but not even in a peaceful manner. Instead, he felt the cold clamminess he typically experienced while having a nightmare or flashback. Except none of those things were occurring, and now he had to wonder if this was just a really odd trip. But he wasn’t on drugs.

To his knowledge, anyway. But now he was starting to question if he actually was on drugs, and his head was really starting to hurt with the strain of all this overthinking. And, gods, he was really fucking tired.

“Hello?” the other suitor asked, and a breeze at the tip of his nose suggested Eurymachus must’ve waved a palm in front of his face. “No comment?”

“Sorry,” Antinous said, fighting the urge to close his eyes and collapse in the middle of the hallway. “It’s been a long day. What was your question, again?”

A hand clapped onto his shoulder. “Yeah, you sound like a wreck. Just wondering what the plan is.”

What even was the plan? Hell if he knew. He liked to consider himself a better strategist than this, but based on the way things were currently going for him, he had to acknowledge that this might not be his greatest scheme. He sighed again.

“Well, he and his motheri are only stalling for time. The way things are as of now, the queen isn’t going to choose any of us. Not in two months, not in two years. Never.”

“Sure.”

“So if any of us plan on getting to the throne, we’re gonna need the boy to convince his mother to give up on Odysseus and carry through with a suit.”

“And so you suggest we bully him into submission.”

Another sigh slipped out by itself. He was doing that entirely too much these days. “Something like that. The queen’s a lost cause, and he’s not going to give up on his own.”

Eurymachus made a thoughtful sound. “I see.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“I think most things in life can be solved with a bit of violence, yeah.” The other suitor huffed a laugh. “That being said, there are guards. And while laws of hospitality may be keeping us from getting put out on the streets, that protection ceases to exist the second we start publically antagonizing the prince.”

That was true. Still, put off as he may be, Antinous knew he was smarter than that. And he was always three steps ahead.

“I thought of that, yeah.” He drummed his fingers against the wall. “But the only people in this castle capable of kicking us out are the guards. The queen and her son can try and order us around, but really, they only have as much power as their staff do.”

“Ah. So you’re saying—?”

“If we get rid of the guards, we get rid of their only leverage against us.” Antinous nodded his head as though the other man could see it. “Now, I don’t know just how many they have. I counted forty or so during the welcoming ceremony, but there could be more. However many guards doesn’t really matter here; they still have the weapons and experience with this castle that we as suitors do not posess. All that considered, launching a full on attack would be unwise. It’d almost certainly lead to a swift defeat, not to mention drawing the attention and scorn of the public as well.”

He began to pace, losing himself in the grand web of tactics. He could almost see every move stretching out before him like a blueprint that only existed in his mind’s eye. He’d always loved strategy games as a child, and as an adult, that experience and appreciation extended into the art of scheming.

This wasn’t a game. This was real life, and the stakes were far higher. People weren’t just pawns for him to push along, and he didn’t have extra lives if things went awry. The danger only added to the addictive rush of seeing things play out just how he wanted them to.

“So while we can’t eliminate the guards physically, we can still get them out of the way. If we can convince them to turn a blind eye to our behavior, then we can still come out on top.”

“But how? It’s not like we can bribe them more than literal royalty can.”

Antinous hummed absentmindedly, shaking his head. “In terms of riches, no, we can’t. That being said, money isn’t the only way to win someone’s favor. Your mistake is viewing the guards as a monolith—which, to a degree, they are. But they’re also individuals, and each of them have different motivations, wants, and needs.

“Everyone desires something in life. Much of the time, the things we wish for the most aren’t things we can accomplish for ourselves. So we find the motivations of each guard, the things they don’t have the power to achieve themselves, and then we exploit them. Give them what they want, and we’ll get what we want: Their silence.

“And once we have the majority behind us, we’re free to do whatever we want. Even if we can’t convince them all, the loyal staff will be outnumbered. And when they’re outnumbered, they’re incapable of doing much. Even if they choose to run to the queen, what can she do? Without her guards, she has no one. And once she has no one, she’ll have to bend to our will eventually, lest her son face the consequences of her indecision. She’ll have no other choice but to quit stalling, and a suitor will be picked at last.

“Of course, this particular route would be a lot more time consuming than just trying to take the guards out here and now. I predict we’d need at least a good couple months to form connections with the guards enough for them to hear us out, and a couple more to actually make do on their requests.

“Still, if we play our cards wisely, it’s pretty much a guaranteed victory. I’m sure corruption would be the last thing the crown expects, and it’s also very difficult to prove from the outside. That means no public meddling. In other words, a flawless win, and fairly painless, too. For us, at least.”

He looked up suddenly, turning back to where he’d left Eurymachus at the chamber doors. He felt heat rush to his face. “Sorry, was I rambling?”

The other suitor whistled lowly. “Not at all. You’re one cunning guy, Antinous. I like how you think.”

He smiled awkwardly. Subconciously, a part of him still fully expected to be shut down every time he allowed his mouth to run, even if that hadn’t been his reality for a while. “Thanks.”

“Sounds like we’re playing the long game, then.” Eurymachus hummed appreciatively. “I’m down. Are you planning on sharing this with the others?”

A fair question. As much as Antinous wanted to get as many people in on his scheme as possible—the more men the better—he wasn’t sure just how much he could trust them to keep things quiet. And while he’d already built some respect for himself among them, that didn’t mean every suitor would be willing to go along with his plans right off the bat.

After all, only one suitor could he made king. At the end of all this, they were still adversaries, even if they did share a common goal at the moment. Teamwork was great, but losers were still inevitable.

And Antinous knew for certain that loser would not be him.

“In due time,” he said. “I’d like to keep this just between us for now, though, alright? I’ll test the waters with the guards in the next few weeks, and then we’ll see how things play out. If it’s safe to get more people in on it.”

There was a brief silence. Eurymachus was clearly thinking his request over. Finally, the suitor agreed. “Fine by me. I can keep a secret.”

“I appreciate it.”

He did, truly. But while giving his mind the chance to put itself to work had staved off his exhaustion momentarily, his eyelids still drooped. Antinous walked back toward the the suitors’ room, moving to pull the door open. But then a hand landed on his arm, stopping him right before he had the chance to open it.

He turned to the shadowy figure. “Something else?”

“Yeah.” Eurymachus shifted, the hand falling away. “Just how far are you willing to go with this?”

Antinous hesitated. It was a question he asked himself a lot, and one that he still wasn’t sure he had an answer to. Sometimes he would go to the underworld and back and then even further than that. Sometimes he didn’t even want to toe the line. Sometimes, he couldn’t make up his mind at all.

He was meant to be a leader, though. And that wasn’t the type of answer that would win any sort of trust. Somehow, even in total darkness, he could tell their eyes were locked onto each other.

The suitor raised his eyebrows. “Far enough.”

They stood in a brief moment of silence, stewing in the response. Antinous opened the door. Eurymachus didn’t protest, though he didn’t move to follow him, either.

“Goodnight,” he said over his shoulder before slipping into the room.

There was a faint echo of the phrase from the hallway, cut short by the soft click of door shutting. Antinous stumbled his way back to his bed, collapsing into the covers without even bothering to strip from his wet clothes. He was tired. And tomorrow was sure to be another long day.

He closed his eyes. The sadness and shame remained deep in his chest, but slowly gave way to unusually soft dreams. For the rest of the night, he dreamt of lullabies and strong arms, then the tears of a father’s goodbye.

The peace tasted bittersweet.

And when he awoke, saddled once again with the heaviness of who he was, it faded, leaving only darkness behind. He stepped out of bed, restless despite having slept the best he had in months. He focused on changing his clothes and brushing his teeth and nothing else. Not on his soulmate, or Aphrodite, or the little wolf, and certainly not on the strong resemblance he found when looking in the mirror.

He strode out into the hallway, following his fellow suitors down to the banquet hall. Maybe Eurymachus picked up on his dismal mood, because the dark haired man didn’t attempt to make conversation as they walked side by side.

He sat down at a table, picking only slightly at the food that’d somehow made its way onto his plate. He spaced out, the words of suitors around him fading into nothingness. Antinous felt eyes on him, and he looked up to see the prince seated next to his mother, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Their eyes met. That awful coldness returned and, if he hadn’t been hungry before, eating now would make him positively sick. The little wolf quickly looked away, back stiffening slightly.

Antinous returned his own gaze to his food and tried to quell the rapidly increasing pace of his heart. Silence. Peace. Focus.

Day two in the palace, and one thing was for sure. He had a lot of work ahead of him.

Just whose life was being made a living hell here, anyway?

Chapter Text

There was something poisonous brewing in the castle. Call it intuition, or paranoia, or some sort of sign. Whatever it may be, for Telemachus, there’s just no mistaking the scent of trouble.

Literally.

His bad feeling had started—or rather, persisted—since he’d awoken from those disorienting dreams. He’d startled awake, only vaguely aware that he’d let out a agitated shriek beforehand. Telemachus rarely had nightmares, and when he did, they were absolutely nothing like the ones last night had been.

They’d just kept going. A compilation of beatings and cruel words that stung possibly worse than the phantom blows. It was an uncanny experience to feel as though he’d witnessed the events of the dream before while knowing for certain that he had not.

He’d slept all the way through the night, but that turned out to be more of a curse than anything. The nonstop onslaught of horrible visions and sounds had rattled him, and by morning, he felt far worse than he had in a while. That was saying something. Then again, he supposed it made sense. Exhaustion, fear, and confusion weren’t a good mix by any metric.

Telemachus knew by now something was going on. Between the foreign emotions which persisted even as he stripped and bathed himself to clear his mind, to the dreams that certainly did not belong to him, there was something seriously wrong. He had his suspicions, but they were farfetched. He needed to ask someone who would know for certain.

His mother. He had to find her, and…

Gods, this wasn’t even his biggest issue at the moment. His biggest problem was that he was about to be flayed at breakfast by a bunch of suitors far bigger and stronger than he could ever even hope of becoming. He was absolutely fucking screwed, nevermind the recent oddities.

The prince stared blankly at himself in the mirror, absentmindedly massaging oils into his hair. He could at least not look like shit the day he died. Should he be telling his mother about Antinous’ threats?

He parted his hair, pushing the oil deeper into his scalp as his fingernails scraped. It stung. He hadn’t paid much attention to what product he was using; he already had shelves full of different scents. Every time he travelled down into the city—which was very rarely—he bought a few for himself, on his mother’s request.

Penelope insisted he treat himself every once in a while. Telemachus insisted, privately, that gifts and souvenirs weren’t going to turn his life around. He wasn’t about to say that to the queen’s face, though, and so he’d gained quite the collection over the years.

It was something flowery. Laurel, probably, but he wasn’t bothered enough to check. At the very least, the monotone routine of it all was enough to calm his mind enough for him to think a bit more rationally.

He couldn’t tell his mother what Antinous had threatened. If he did that, she’d just freak out, and then it’d be a whole thing. It wasn’t like they could just kick the suitors out, either, at least not without a fight. And it would likely be a bloody one. Telling her would only increase her worry and stress tenfold, and then who knew what she’d get herself into whilst trying to protect him?

No, he wasn’t about to smack his mother right into the face of danger. Better the suitors focus on harassing him than her, right? He was meant to be a king one day. What sort of king would sacrifice the safety of a queen for his own selfish gain?

Telemachus sighed, capping the bottle of oil and shaking his hair back into proper positioning. His eyes looked dead and soulless even from his own perspective, and the dark circles framing them didn’t help. He quickly averted his gaze from his reflection. Looking at himself always made the prince feel uncomfortable, especially when the bright red scratches on his arms were fully in view.

He cringed, turning away and moving to find some suitable clothes. If the suitors wanted to make his life a living hell, they could try. He didn’t know how much worse things could possibly get, anyway.

The moment he was fully dressed and opened his bedroom door, Argos bounded in. Telemachus rubbed his head fondly. “What were you up to last night, hm? Sleep well?”

The dog wagged his tail mischeviously. So that was a no, then. He guessed he couldn’t hold it against Argos this time, given that he’d been the one to lock him out last night.

But there was something weird about his pet, beyond the obvious fact that he’d been up to no good very recently. There was something off, and Telemachus felt it should be extremely obvious, but he couldn’t quite place it.

His nose was beginning to itch. He’d come to associate the scratchy sensation with the other flashes of alien emotion. He knew for certain the itching, the feelings, and the dreams all shared a common link, but he still couldn’t confirm just what that link was. As much as Telemachus wanted to believe in his first instinctive theory, he was all too aware how rooted it was in wishful thinking.

It could be a soulmate bond. But he’d gone seventeen years without one, and why start now? What could’ve triggered its formation, or rather, who?

If it was truly the beginning of a soulmate connection, then the prince had to assume that it’d been brought on by proximity. But he’d really rather not assume that, since the only new additions to his space were the suitors. And he had to assume that the fates themselves, those who decided who ended up with whom, would have enough damn sense not to do that to him.

Plus, why would petting his dog bring on these strange feelings? Unless, of course, this was the world trying to suggest that the only person who loved him deeply enough to forge a connection with him was, in fact, not a person at all.

And how should he know, anyway? He’d never had a soulmate, and he didn’t know if his symptoms even were that. Maybe he was just sick. Or crazy. Or both.

Telemachus groaned, bringing the hand he’d pet Argos with up to scrub at his face. And then he smelled it. The thing that he’d felt had been so wrong this whole time.

He pulled his fingers back from his face. At first, he’d only been able to pick up the faintest whiff of the aroma, but it was undeniably strong now that it’d transferred to his fingers. It was a mixture of multiple things: Rain, the outdoors, and…

He scrunched his brows. Cedar? It was a warm, almost citrusy odor. Like firewood, cozy and cuddly. It smelled good, don’t get him wrong, but Telemachus knew for a fact he didn’t own anything like that. Just to soothe his own doubts, he retreated back into his room with Argos in tow.

He examined his shelf. Lots of flowers and herbs of all different varieties and flavors, but no cedar. He wasn’t completely making things up, at least. But now that begged the question of why his dog smelled of a fragrance neither the prince or his mother owned.

Despite the fact that Argos had certainly been outside last night—that was a whole different mystery as to how that’d happened—Telemachus knew the scent wasn’t organic. Or, it was, just not picked up from nature itself. There were no cedar trees near the castle, and unless the troublesome dog had trekked miles just to rub up against one, he sincerely doubted it.

That left only one option. Argos must’ve been with someone last night. But who? And why?

Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe Argos had just run into a suitor who used cedar as a scent and it’d just so happened to rub off on him. That was feasible, at least. Maybe it didn’t even matter. Maybe Telemachus was getting just a little too paranoid with his abundance of new conspiracy theories. Then again, who could blame him?

He went to wash off the perfume, but paused. Maybe he should keep it. Somehow, he was getting the feeling this cedar scent was an important clue. To what, he didn’t know, but his gut had yet to fail him so far. Why start doubting it now?

That wasn’t necessarily his only motivation. It did smell good, and it also made his body tingle with every inhale. Yet another piece of evidence to add to his mounting collection. And finally, though he couldn’t quite explain why, his stomach fluttered a little at the aroma. It made him feel irrationally safe in the same way smelling his mother’s hair did, just a little bit different. A little bit better.

His stomach fluttered harder as his arms itched.

Alright. He was keeping it… for science. Then, he was going to figure out which suitor’d been gallavanting about with his dog in the middle of the night through a bit of good old fashioned investigation. And, hopefully, Antinous wouldn’t murder him before he could go through with his ambitions.

That part remained to be seen.

He also needed to question his mother, but Telemachus supposed that could wait until after breakfast. This was his one chance to catch the majority of suitors in a safe location today, and the cedar wouldn’t stay on him forever. He needed to move quickly, lest he allow this opportunity to escape him.

Shaking off what remained of his uneasiness, Telemachus whistled at Argos, prompting the dog to trail him downstairs and into the banquet hall. He stopped right outside the doors, taking in a deep breath to soothe his nerves. It wasn’t like he was going to get beat up in broad daylight. That was what guards were for, right? He was being overly dramatic.

If Antinous wanted to assault him, he’d have to get him somewhere remote first. And Telemachus would sooner end things himself than be alone with that man anytime soon. He may have had a death wish, but getting his skull caved in was not his preferred way of exiting the world. He rubbed at his arms, feeling suddenly chilly.

What was this, bad omen number ten? Just the fact that he was losing count was telling enough of his situation.

He sighed. It was fine. He just had to hold out long enough for the suitors to give up on his mother. Then Telemachus could be free of this bullshit once and for all. Then he could tend to his gardens and sleep until two PM in peace. He wasn’t asking for much here.

“You better not run off this time,” Telemachus hissed down to Argos, “so help me gods.”

The dog didn’t look even slightly ashamed, only panting away happily. Sometimes, the prince wished he’d been born a dog. Life must be a lot easier that way.

But when had feeling sorry for himself ever made things better? He was miserable either way, and he’d be miserable until the day he died. Now was the time to deal with it like royalty. Settling his face into its most disinterested expression, he swung open the door, staring straight forward.

His mother was already seated at the throne. He didn’t know if that made things better or worse. Pretending not to feel the hundreds of eyes on him, Telemachus ignored the way his skin prickled with anxiety and continued forward until he reached the front of the room. He had to wonder how his mother was enduring the suitors’ scrutiny so effortlessly.

The way she sat showed no uncertainty, and her face seemed completely relaxed. Granted, he’d inherited her excellent poker face, so he couldn’t be sure that was how she truly felt. At the very least, she was doing a far more convincing job than he was.

The prince turned, seating himself beside her. It seemed the suitors had lost interest in him completely, having returned to their previous conversations amongst themselves. Despite himself, Telemachus’ eyes roamed across the crowd of heads and bodies, quickly finding Antinous among them.

He stared at the suitor’s back. He hadn’t looked up when he’d walked in, which was… good? Really, it could go either way depending on your perspective. Surprisingly, Antinous was a pretty difficult man to get a read on.

He presented himself in a way that would suggest openness. He spoke in a way that was fairly straightforward, and he didn’t seem to be the lying type, either. He was upfront for the most part—or, at least that was how he made an effort to appear.

Telemachus didn’t believe it for a second. It was like every word that came out of his mouth was a half-truth. He chose what he said and didn’t say very carefully, and while that was unnerving enough as it was, there was more.

It just didn’t seem real. Everything from the way he walked to the way he talked to his personality itself seemed dutifully formulated. Like nothing he did was organic. As though he was just acting out a script, hiding behind a character rather than presenting his true self. There were moments where it seemed as though his entire demeanor changed, and then in a blink, the typical asshole was back. And it was really fucking weird.

He understood the benefits of keeping your cards close to your chest. He, too, had a persona he hid behind: that of an unbothered and untouchable royal. But he picked and chose where and when to use it.

Antinous, though? It was a constant thing. And when his facade came down, it appeared an almost involuntary change. He had to wonder just what was so awful about the suitor’s true nature that he felt the need to keep it so well hidden. Did Telemachus even want to know?

Honestly, the prince was mostly speculating at this point. He didn’t know Antinous well enough to really say much, and he didn’t want to, but he still thought his observations rang true.

And then the suitor turned around. His eyes bore into Telemachus’ so forcefully that he felt positively nailed to his seat. He twitched hard as the itchiness started up with stunning intensity, sitting straighter in his chair and averting his eyes.

Way to get caught staring at the guy who wants to rip your guts out and hang you from the rafters. Real smart. He barely held in a self deprecating groan. Perhaps he should tone down the judginess if even his own mind was starting to crack jokes at his expense. Or perhaps this was only confirming what he already knew, which was that he was a idiot and a mess.

Realizing that his mother was right next to him and likely reading his microexpressions like a book, Telemachus swiftly fixed his face. The self deprecation was no good. Weirdly comforting, yes, and difficult to stop, certainly, but still no good.

The queen leaned toward him just slightly. “Something wrong?”

Many things, actually, and he could talk about exactly none of them in the presence of the suitors. He bit hard down on his lip, then promptly released as he tasted hints of crimson. That was yet another bad habit he had, and one of the more pervasive ones. It was also on the more conspicuous side, at least compared to the scratching which he could easily hide for the most part.

He made a noncommital sound. Penelope raised a sharp brow. That look alone was enough to push him into caving.

“Just the usual,” he supplied reluctantly. It was technically true, so he could at least feel a little bit less bad about it. “Later.”

Despite the clear doubt in her face, she seemed to have picked up on his meaning. Her eyes roamed the room, squinting only slightly at the corners. His mother’s mouth twitched as her gaze returned to him.

“There shouldn’t be a usual,” she murmured. “Did everything go well last night?”

She was striking dangerously close to the problem he was desperately trying to conceal. Telemachus made an effort to keep his face perfectly unexpressive. He would not drag his mother into this. And maybe, if he was super lucky, Antinous wouldn’t go through with his threats at all.

He sincerely doubted it, but some level of positivity was in order. Even if it was fueled by delusion.

“It was boring,” he said. “They just ignored me for the most part. I didn’t really do much.”

Ignored him they had not. The back of Telemahus’ neck prickled uncomfortably as he thought back to the night prior. Antinous towering over him, trapping him against the wall and looking at him as though he were but a grain of dust floating aimlessly.

Not to mention his words which had been ringing in the prince’s head since before bed and ever since he’d woken up. At the time, he’d registered them as a threat, but…

Well. He definitely was still taking it has a threat. He had been blatantly threatened that night, but he was beginning to think there’d been more to it. The way the suitor spoke, the look in his eyes. It didn’t seem purely angry, or calculating, or any of the emotions Telemachus would associate with threatening to ruin someone’s life. There was something more.

Antinous was so confusing. He already had enough things going on in his life, and he definitely didn’t need some potentially-violent enigma sweeping in to make everything ten times worse.

And then, a new memory jolted Telemachus like a bolt of lightning. Cedar, in the exact same hallway where everything’d gone instantly to shit. He could almost smell it, as though he were still there.

Involuntarily, his eyes wandered back to Antinous. Thankfully, the man was turned back around, so the only thing he had to make eye contact with was the curl of his hair. So he had been who Argos was with last night. Presumably.

Alright, he was jumping to conclusions, but in all fairness, this was a reasonable one. His dog obviously liked him for reasons beyond Telemachus’ understanding, so he supposed it made sense. And it wasn’t like petting someone’s dog was a crime, he guessed, but it sort of was when you were a suitor. Especially when you were making threats to its owner’s livelihood; that was just disrespectful.

And, anyway, none of that explained his main issue with all of this. It wasn’t the smell itself, it was the feeling he got from it, and he didn’t need to be told that it was odd to feel comforted by the signature scent of someone who hated your guts and wanted to marry your mother for his own selfish agenda. He felt that, subconciously, his brain should be connecting the dots and the weird fuzzy feeling in his stomach should’ve stopped. But it wasn’t.

Telemachus’ stomach turned. He did not like this. Or rather his brain didn’t like it, but it seemed like his body wasn’t feeling to keen on listening to reason at the moment.

This was fucking weird. And when he got that annoying feeling that he needed to sneeze without actually needing to for the second time that morning, he decided that things had officially crossed from “kind of odd” into “creepy and awful and needs to stop at once.”

He needed to ask his mother about this now. Immediately. Yesterday would be best, but he supposed he’d have to shoot for the next best thing.

The prince opened his mouth to ask her to step aside, but paused as Antinous stood from the table he’d been sat at. He said something Telemachus couldn’t hear to the man seated beside him before exiting the dining hall quietly. No irritating fake bravado, like he was trying to fly under the radar. In other words, suspicious.

He didn’t trust the suitor as far as he could throw him, which was to say not even a centimeter. Not even the width of a single hair strand. It just wasn’t happening. And while Telemachus had told himself he wasn’t going to give Antinous a prime window to beat the shit out of him, he also wasn’t just going to allow him to sneak around the castle doing who-knows-what.

Stalking was fine as long as you didn’t get caught, and he had tons of experience in going unnoticed. Besides, Telemachus was fairly certain he could make a successful run for it if it truly came to that. Protecting the castle was at least partly his job as prince, and he’d be damned if he allowed himself to fail at something as simple as this.

“Actually,” he said before Penelope could ask further questions, “can we talk about this later? Maybe in your room? There’s something I need to get from my quarters.”

The queen frowned slightly. “You’re acting weird. Are you hiding something, Telemachus?” She rested a hand on his elbow, which might’ve been comforting if not for the intense look in her eyes. “You know you can’t lie to me.”

He could, he did, and he absolutely was. But in some cases, silence was the optimal response, and this was definitely one of those times. Lightly, Telemachus shook her hand away as he stood.

“I’ll find you in an hour,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, I’ll be safe. I’m just going to my room.”

They stared each other down for a moment. He could tell the queen didn’t believe him for even a moment, but he could also tell that she wouldn’t try and dispute him, especially in front of an audience like this. Their conversation was already drawing attention just by nature of their status and positioning, even if their words couldn’t be heard above the steady drone of the suitors’ hushed voices.

Finally, Penelope’s jaw set. “I’ll come with you, then. I ought to continue my weaving, anyway.”

He barely restrained himself enough to not roll his eyes. He was losing precious time. Who knew if he’d even be able to find Antinous after entertaining his mother like this?

Still, it wasn’t like he’d been given a choice. He truly hoped his rapidly increasing levels of stress weren’t showing up on his face… or in his hair. At this rate, he was going to be completely gray by the time he turned twenty five. If he even made it to twenty five, he thought dismissively. He couldn’t bring himself to feel more dispassionate about the possibility, which was probably concerning, but also an entirely seperate issue for an entirely different day.

His head was starting to hurt again.

“If that’s what you want,” he replied, because non-answers were his only lifeline at this point.

Argos’ tail beat against his leg, calming him as the room of suitors’ eyes turned toward him in the wake of Penelope standing beside him. She smiled politely, and together, they removed themselves from the room.

The moment they were alone and a decent distance from any prying ears, his mother smacked Telemachus decently hard on the arm. The contact caused his newly closed wounds to ache in protest. In his opinion, he swallowed the ensuing grimace quite well.

“Telemachus,” she snapped, bringing him out of his tangle of thoughts and instantly back to the present. “What’s going on?”

He rubbed at his temples, trying to ignore the building sting behind his eyes. He couldn’t accurately say why he suddenly felt like crying, beyond admitting that he felt like crying approximately half the times when he was conscious. The prince felt all too aware that his mood was only worsening by the day. He’d thought the boring hollowness of his life before was bad, but this was really pushing him to be grateful for boredom. After all, he’d rather stand around doing nothing all day and feel like shit than do… whatever this was, and still feel like shit.

“I can’t say,” he stated miserably, beginning to walk up the stairs toward his room. Finding Antinous after this was going to be nigh impossible. “I’m sorry. I swear I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

That was true. He would tell her once this all died down, if he didn’t wind up dead himself before that day came. But telling her that would only make her feel worse, and that was the last thing he wanted.

She trailed him up the stairs, eerily silent. Telemachus sighed, turning halfway up the steps to face his mother. He grasped her forearms lightly. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, I promise.”

Penelope shook her head slightly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Is it something with the suitors?”

Yes. “No, mom.”

“But if it was, you’d tell me?” Her eyes bore into his. “If it ever got to be too much?”

It wasn’t that Telemachus wanted to lie to her. He didn’t want to keep his mother, his closest confidant and person he loved the most willingly in the dark. But sometimes, people were better off not knowing. Sometimes ignorance truly was bliss, and the only way you could keep your loved ones safe was to keep them out entirely.

He wanted to tell himself that if things got truly horrible, he’d say something. But Telemachus knew who he was, and he knew that likely wasn’t the truth. He knew the honest answer would be no, but he also knew the answer he had to give.

“Yes,” he said as their footsteps halted outside Penelope’s bedroom. “I would.”

She stared at him a couple moments longer, blinking harshly. “I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

Unable to handle the fire in her gaze, Telemachus averted his eyes. They stood in a stiff silence for a few seconds longer, before the queen let out a long stream of breath.

“You said you’d come speak to me, so I expect to see you in an hour.” His mother stepped back, unlocking her door and pushing it open. “Be safe, Telemachus. And don’t think we won’t be returning to this. I’ve already lost a husband, and I refuse to lose my son as well.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Thankfully, she hadn’t seemed to have been expecting a response, as the door clicked shut without further hesitation. Telemachus finally allowed himself to breathe, placing a hand on his chest to steady the heavy pounding of his heart.

He didn’t have time to feel bad. Or, he did, but he preferred to keep his self loathing contained to no more than an hour per day, and that meant he was already pushing it. Not to mention how seriously behind on all his endeavors; between Antinous’ bullshit and the paperwork he’d neglected to finish yesterday, he had no time for wallowing.

He looked down at Argos, who’d remained conveniently quiet for the entirety of the walk. “So now you know how to behave?”

The dog shot him a look that screamed judgement. Telemachus supposed that was fair, but it still hurt his feelings. Even his own pet thought he was an idiot.

Nope. He was not doing this again. One hour, tops.

“Alright.” The prince bit his lip, welcoming the painful pinch as a means to reorient himself. He held out his hand to Argos, who sniffed it eagerly. “I know you’re sneaking around with suitors, you filthy traitor, so you must be pretty good at finding them.”

His dog only licked happily at him, either not understanding his words or not caring to. It was most likely a bit of both. He stifled his smile, because Argos had still totally betrayed him, and Telemachus refused to give the little sneak the satisfaction.

“Go on,” he said, forcing a sterner tone. “Get to tracking, boy.”

No movement. Telemachus sighed. Argos really was a lot smarter than he needed to be.

“Fine,” he groaned. “I’ll sneak you some food from the kitchens afterwards.”

Argos barked cheerfully, turning tail and trotting at full speed back down the stairs. Telemachus had to scramble just to catch up to the freshly motivated animal. At the speed and sureness of which they were travelling, he couldn’t even be too mad at being forced into negotiations with his own pet. At least they were finally getting somewhere.

The pair slowed after several minutes of twists and turns as the sound of muffled voices became increasingly apparent. Telemachus paused at a hallway corner, signalling for Argos to halt as well. The dog obeyed, still sniffing at the air. This was obviously their destination.

Swallowing his nerves and fear, he slowly and carefully shifted so one eye was looking out into the next corridor. There was Antinous and… a guard. For a moment, Telemachus assumes the suitor’d already been apprehended, but that didn’t appear to be the case at all.

They were simply talking. In a friendly manner, too, from the complete lack of tension in either of their postures. They were positioned diagonally from each other, with the guard facing Telemachus’ direction and Antinous faced away.

The suitor wasn’t quite leaning against the wall, though his shoulder pressed against it and his head was tipped in the same direction, exposing a patch of neck beyond the mass of hair.

His legs were crossed, and he must’ve been speaking with the way the guard was looking and listening intently. Praying to any god that cared to hear him that neither of them would look to the hallway corner, Telemachus moved a little bit closer to easier pick up on their words. Sure, a guard and a suitor talking wasn’t inherently questionable, but in this circumstance, with this suitor?

He’d have be absolutely brainless not to be a bit wary.

“… family doesn’t talk to you?”

The guard shrugged, the spear in his hand swaying slightly at the movement. “Not usually, no. We’re staff, not their friends.”

“And yet here you are, bravely putting your life on the line for them. Seems a bit unfair.”

Telemachus was momentarily taken aback by the dulcet tone of his voice. Soft, with an underlying edge of something the prince could identify but not name. He squinted despite the action doing nothing to subdue his confusion. Just when he thought Antinous couldn’t get any more strange, he just had to hear this interaction?

“Well,” the other man said, sounding just a bit pleased, “pay is pay, I suppose. Besides, hasn’t been much danger going on as of late. It’s not so bad.”

“I suppose.” Antinous drew out the word, leaning forward ever so slightly. His next words were spoken in a slightly lower register, and Telemachus had to strain to pick up on them. “But you’re so cute. I think you deserve better than not so bad.”

The prince nearly had to pick his jaw up off the floor from how low it fell. This was… unprecedented. He supposed he took back his earlier assumption of a lack of tension, because clearly there was a lot of tension going on here, and also—

What?!

He was confused on so many levels. He truly had to wonder if his lack of sleep last night was leading to auditory hallucinations or something. There was just no way. He felt as though he was witnessing some sort of ploy, but he couldn’t even begin to figure out the end goal.

They’d been talking about the royal family, and that tracked, but the random flirting? It had to be flirting. There was no way it was anything else. But why? Surely Antinous wasn’t actually pursuing this random guard he’d just met, like, yesterday.

Then again, he was also trying to court the queen, whom he’d also met yesterday, so maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all.

Argos whined quietly and Telemachus swiftly used his hand to push his mouth shut. He shot a glare at the dog, who shifted guiltily under his gaze. Thank the gods, both men seemed too damn preoccupied with themselves to have noticed the noise, as neither reacted.

The guard looked just as flustered as Telemachus felt, though perhaps for different reasons. The return of the itching feeling—this time targetting the back of his neck—really wasn’t helping him, either.

“Uh,” the man stammered, face beginning to go visibly red. He glanced away from the suitor’s face, but Antinous only drew closer, grabbing hold of his spear right above the guard’s own grip.

“What?” Telemachus watched his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “Has no one ever said that to you before? It’s true.”

“I mean.” The guard coughed into his available fist, face still slightly flushed. “No. There’s not really a ton of people here, anyway, so…”

Telemachus’ stomach dipped strangely as Antinous’ hand slid down the hilt of the spear, covering the guard’s fingers with his own. He pushed off the wall, head inclining playfully to the other side, causing his hair to swish almost rhythmically.

“But lots of things are changing as of late, aren’t they?” He could practically hear the smirk in the suitor’s voice. “Say, what’s your name, dear?”

“Uh,” the guard said, seemingly blanking on his own identity for a moment. “Nikolaos.”

“Nikolaos.” His voice was playful. “Nice name. And when’s the last time anyone’s asked you for it? Seems to me as though the queen and her boy are only taking advantage of us lower class folks. Like we’re subhuman.”

Telemachus’ fists clenched. Subhuman? That just wasn’t true. Sure, he and his mother were often busy, but it wasn’t like they completely ignored their staff! And he knew some of the guards’ names, like…

He bit his lip. Okay, he didn’t. But that didn’t mean they were neglecting them! There were fifty or so guards, and many of them took night duty, and was he just meant to be wandering around doing a Q&A with them at one in the morning? It just didn’t seem like a fair expectation. And surely, this guard had to understand that.

Nikolaos blinked several times in a row, clearly attempting to relocate his wits. At last, he was able to piece together a full sentence. “I mean… I guess you’re right. It has been a while.”

The prince frowned. He seriously agreed with Antinous? He felt a bit of shame begin to creep up his spine at the idea that multiple guards held that same opinion. Did they really think he and his mother thought of them as less than?

The suitor only hummed in response, sounding entirely too pleased. Telemachus had to force himself to loosen his hands as he began to feel the flesh of his palm split beneath the force of his nails.

“But, also—“ Nikolaos hesitated, breath catching slightly as Antinous’ fingertips ghosted lightly across his knuckes. Telemachus’ own hand tingled. “You’re lower class? I’d thought…”

“Me, a noble?” Antinous laughed. “I wish. No, I grew up on the outskirts of the city. Y’know, with all the lambs and other livestock. Poorest of the poor.”

“Ah. So did I.” Nikolaos smiled slightly, though it seemed tinged with sadness. “I was on the opposite side, up against the coastline.”

“I could’ve guessed. You look like a strong swimmer.” The suitor at last allowed his hand to slip away, freeing the staff and guard from his grip. “Look, all I’m saying is us poors ought to stick together, yeah? You may be loyal to the royal family, but are they loyal to you?”

Telemachus’ blood ran cold. So this was his angle? Poison the guards against them and sow seeds of doubt so that he could do… what, exactly? The prince swallowed, more than a little nervous. It was times like these where he really wished he could read minds. Being left in the dark was a form of torture in and of itself.

But surely it wouldn’t work. That’s what he wanted to believe, but seeing the conflict in Nikolaos’ expression was enough to convince him otherwise. Was this really how all their staff viewed them?

Finally, the man stepped back, shaking his head slightly. “I… I can’t do that! It’s my job.”

“I’m not trying to get you to commit treason.” Antinous shrugged. “I just don’t want to see you taken advantage of. That goes for all these other guards, too.”

He rested his hand lightly on Nikolaos’ shoulder. “Think about it? For me?”

The guard’s cheeks darkened impossibly more. “Sure. I mean, no problem.”

“Thank you.” Antinous’ voice was fully honeyed, and the smooth sound of it sent a weird shiver down his spine. He told himself it was nerves. He was not even willing to humor the alternative. “But, oh, would you look at the time. Aren’t you supposed to be changing locations right about now?”

Nikolaos, who’d been looking positively hypnotized, startled then. He glanced to the side at what was likely a clock on the wall, and his face contorted in a grimace. “Shit, you’re right.” A pause. “How did you know that?”

“I know lots of things about lots of things.” Antinous patted his shoulder lightly as though spurning him to walk away. “Especially when those things concern the lives of cute guys.”

Telemachus turned around, yanking lightly on the collar of Argos. He’d already heard quite enough of this exchange, and now that he knew what Antinous was up to, his job here was done. He hadn’t been expecting in staff corruption of all things, but he supposed he ought to learn to start expecting the unexpected.

Now he just had to figure out where to go next, which was the more challenging part. His heart sank preemptively as he realized just how much work—and stress, no doubt—was ahead of him. But nevermind that; it could all be figured out later. Preferably never, but later would have to do.

Not only that, but there was a more pressing issue at hand, that being how he felt his head might actually explode if he listened to even one more second of this dialogue. Sure, his actions did technically make him a stalker, but even he wasn’t so creepy as to want to intrude on whatever this was. It did make the prince feel a bit better to know that Antinous was likely only using every trick at his disposal to get this guard on his side, but it still felt wrong to listen to him flirt. Even thinking his name and “flirt” in the same sentence made Telemachus uncomfortable.

Recognizing that the voices had quieted, he sped up his footsteps down tha hall. What he didn’t need was to get caught right now; that practically guaranteed instant death. If he was lucky, that was. And right as he’d nearly reached the end of the hall, heart pounding in his ears and Argos in tow—

His dog yipped. Telemachus slowed to look back at the sound’s source, and immediately regretted his foolhardiness. He could admit he’d been outplayed when a strong hand grasped his wrist from behind, yanking him backwards.

He let out an embarassing squeak, stumbling backwards into the body of his assailant. He recognized the man as Antinous immediately, not only due to the context but also by the faint smell of cedar hanging in the air. He guessed that confirmed his theory once and for all, but where there should’ve been a sense of success, he only felt growing dread.

He did not like the implications of this new discovery.

“Well look who it is,” Antinous hissed into his ear, the warmth of his breath sending waves of tingles from the side of the prince’s face to the tips of his toes.

Telemachus supposed he could say goodbye to that saccharine shit from before, then. He shivered despite himself, gritting his teeth at the awful sensation of phantom hives erupting across his body. The burning itch concentrated in his left wrist under the suitor’s fingers. It was like he was literally allergic to this man.

Argos whined, pawing anxiously at Antinous leg. He truly couldn’t understand why Argos, who certainly had the capability to do more than whimper, refused to act. Telemachus could feel his heart beat faster and faster as he struggled in Antinous’ hold.

“Get off me,” he growled, despising the way his voice shook minutely.

Argos barked. The sound rang throughout the hallway.

“Tell your dog to be quiet, and then we can negotiate.”

Telemachus weighed his options as quickly as possible. He could try and get Argos to bite, but he was getting the feeling his pet wouldn’t cooperate. That, and he didn’t want Antinous hurting him. In all fairness, he didn’t think that’d happen either, but it was still a possibility, and he wasn’t about to risk it.

He could try and take a swing at him. He quickly discarded that idea; he wasn’t so delusional as to think there’d be any way he got out of such a fight alive.

He could scream for help, but there was no one around to hear him. The guards were still switching stations, and that meant there probably weren’t any in position yet. And after hearing how that guard viewed he and his mother?

Now he wasn’t even sure a guard would come help him if they did hear him scream.

He could just go along with it. While he really, really hated to adhere to any command that came out of Antinous’ mouth, it was seeming like the only realistic way out. He ground his teeth together, clenching his free fist and relishing at the sharp sting.

Calm. He could get out of this, but he had to be calm.

“Argos,” he said, trying to sound as coaxing as possible. “Shh. Down, boy. It’s okay.”

Argos whined again, looking between them with pitiful eyes. The dog seemed torn, somehow, or maybe Telemachus was seeing things. Could dogs even feel such complicated emotions?

He whistled to regain his attention. “Kitchens, remember? Lie down, boy.”

His pet whimpered, but slowly sat and sank to the ground. What great help he was. Guard dog his fucking ass.

“Good boy,” Telemachus said instead, because the last thing he needed was for Antinous to get the idea that Argos was like this all the time. He wasn’t. He’d defended him before and without hesitation, and he’d always done so well. So why the minute he actually needed some damn help did his pet choose to be all nice and domestic?

“Don’t run,” the suitor said lowly, voice vibrating against his skin. He felt ill.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Telemachus was slightly surprised when Antinous actually released him, shoving him away. He caught himself faster this time, whirling around and cradling his still burning wrist in his other hand. He hadn’t realized how close they’d been until the suitor’s body heat was no longer intermingling with his own, and he felt suddenly cold.

He rubbed at his arms, anger and fear mixing in his stomach along with something more. He decided that anger was the safest thing to latch onto.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you to keep your hands to yourself?” The words came out with entirely more bite than he’d expected, and he found himself jumping at the coarseness of the sound. He’d be lying if he said the fraction of a second where Antinous looked taken aback didn’t make him feel unbelievably proud.

That pride faded quickly as the suitor scoffed. “Has your mother never taught you not to eavesdrop? Or was that a lesson reserved for your daddy?”

Telemachus felt his temper flare, heat rushing to his cheeks. “Don’t you dare talk about my father!”

“I will talk about whoever I want, whenever I want.” Antinous shoved him not so lightly in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards. Argos was standing now, barking loudly, but the suitor seemed apathetic. He stalked closer still, forcing Telemachus up against a wall.

“Your dog,” he growled.

“Argos!”

His pet whined helplessly at harsh sound of his name, but the barking ceased. Instead, Argos took to pacing back and forth, looking worriedly at them.

“Why,” Antinous said, voice deadly calm, “are you following me around, huh? Do you want to get your head knocked off your shoulders or something?”

He refused to show his fear. Not again. Telemachus lifted his chin, glaring into the other man’s face. “It’s my palace and I will go wherever I please.”

Antinous clicked his tongue condescendingly. “Wrong answer. You get three.”

“Or what?” The prince steadied the shaking of his limbs, focusing only on the profound rage coarsing through his blood and bones. He was so angry. He wanted to smash his face in. He wanted Argos to gnaw off his leg. He blinked back the frustrated tears he could feel aching to form because he’d sooner claw out his own eyes and eat them than cry in front of this man.

“Are you going to kill me?” Now it was his turn to jab a finger into the suitor’s chest. “Great, I’m dead. What’s your plan now, smart guy? Do you think my mother’s grief is going to transform her into a brainless whore who’ll fuck the first man she lays eyes on?”

“Who said anything about murder?” Antinous rolled his eyes. “You seem real adamant on making me into a coldblooded killer, little wolf. That’s two, by the way.”

“And why would I think anything more? You threaten and insult me every time we meet! You’re trying to use my mother’s own guards against her!”

“Is that what you gathered my little conversation earlier? Well done on your investigation, boy, but here’s my question. What are you going to do about it?”

“I—I’ll tell my mother,” he whispered, the burst of confidence and anger that’d been driving him having seeped out completely. He sounded stupid, even to himself. Not to mention weak.

“Oh, yeah? And tell her what? About Nikolaos’ corruption?” Antinous laughed derisively. “Do you really think she’ll believe you? Do you actually believe she’ll even know who that is?”

“Yes,” he lied through his teeth.

The suitor breathed out a long, shaky breath, mouth curving upwards with mockery. “Right. You’re not dumb, little wolf, and neither am I. We both know she doesn’t give a fuck about those guards and neither do you.”

“As though you’re any better,” Telemachus spat. “You’re seducing him like a common slut so you can use him later. In what way, I wonder?”

The prince watched his jaw tick. At least he knew he’d managed to hit a sore spot, and that did bring him some bliss.

The impact of an arm slamming beside his face caused him to flinch hard. Unlike last night, Antinous’ face betrayed nothing at the involuntary movement. Instead, his voice was only cold and uncaring. “Three.”

“I,” Telemachus snarled, “am not afraid of you.”

Yet another lie, but it seemed as though deceit was just built into whatever game they were playing. A delicate dance of who could push the other the furthest, who could win the upper hand, who knew more and who would act first. It was terrifying. Telemachus was terrified. But this was one game he had no choice but to win.

Antinous stared at him dispassionately. “You should be.”

And then his fist swung, and he closed his eyes tight, fully expecting a blow straight to the nose, but only felt a rush of air. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The suitor’s face was completely blank, his fist connected with the wall mere centimeters from the shell of Telemachus’ ear. They made eye contact, and it felt for a moment as though the earth itself had tipped.

“Next time,” he said, “I will not miss.”

Antinous turned, the fabric of his cloak rustling in the quiet. Argos stood, rushing to the prince’s side as he fought to steady his heavy and uneven breathing. The man paused a few steps away, his hand twitching slightly.

“Go cry to your mother,” he added, voice a dark rumble. “Or don’t. It doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

And with that, the suitor was gone.

Telemachus finally allowed himself the shaky exhale he’d been holding in for what felt like minutes. He counted to ten, and then back, and then did that twice more as he waited for his heart rate to return to normal. And that was when he heard it. Like a faint, faint whisper coming from inside his head.

Fuck.

There was just the slightest hint of volume accompanying the thought, and the prince found himself straining to hear it even as it came from within. Deepish, smooth, slightest hint of rasp near the end. It was gone, now, but he’d heard it. And he recognized it.

Antinous’ voice. Inside his head.

His stomach dropped to his ankles for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. Between the cedar and the itching and now this stray thought that definitely did not belong to him—

He needed to talk to his mother.

Setting aside his gut instinct, which was to curl up in a ball and cry for hours, Telemachus pulled himself from the wall. Wiping away the sweat that’d begun to trail from his temple at some point, he snapped at Argos.

“Come on, boy,” he said, not even waiting to catch his breath before breaking into a run down the hall. The dog followed far behind him, too old to keep up well, but Telemachus had no time to wait.

He changed his path to Penelope’s room slightly to make a pass through the castle kitchen, ignoring the odd looks of a few maids as he retrieved a bone from the disposal. Even though Argos had really done absolutely nothing to deserve it, he was a man of his word. Most of the time.

He kept it moving, leaving the bone on the first step of the stairs up to his mother’s room for the dog to find. He banged open her door, slamming it shut the moment he was safely inside and Argos had joined him, bone hanging sadly in mouth.

At least he was self aware.

The queen was seated on the edge of her bed, which was wide enough for two and intricately crafted. The frame of it was wooden, born from the branches of an olive tree that lived on, even now. The way she told it was that Odysseus had built the house around it, as it’d been the very tree they’d first met under. A symbol of their love and infinite dedication to one another.

Trees died, and people disappeared, but soulmate bonds lasted forever. And right now, that was the absolute last thing Telemachus wanted to think about. But he knew. He knew.

His mother, who’d been in the middle of undoing her work on the burial shroud, jumped at the sound of the door, dropping it unceremoniously. She turned, eyes slightly wide with the remnants of her initial shock. “Telemachus—?”

“How’d you know father was your soulmate?”

He must’ve looked absolutely unhinged or something because she was looking at him oddly. Even Argos looked lightly concerned as he gnawed somewhat reluctantly on his bone.

Then he realized why that might be, as his chest was still heaving from nearly having his face caved in and then running the length of the palace in just a few minutes. His hands were still jittering uncontrollably from his anxiety, and his eyes may have been slightly glassy. That, combined with the desperation in his voice, was probably painting an interesting picture.

He blinked hard to clear the sheen from his eyes and prayed he looked a little more sane. “Please?”

Penelope shook her head slowly, shifting and making space for Telemachus next to her. He collapsed onto the bed, deeply grateful to no longer have to hold himself up on legs that felt like literal jelly. She set aside her weaving, making a contemplative sound.

“Well.” She drew out the word. “Before we met, I could always hear him thinking. Like—“

“An echo?” Telemachus blurted, already sincerely distraught by her answer.

She eyed him curiously. “Yes, I suppose that’s a good way to describe it. And when we met, I knew it was him immediately because I recognized his voice. That, and he’d give me this funny, tingly feeling.” His mother smiled slightly as she recalled the memory. “That’s about it. Things weren’t too complicated for us, thank the gods.”

Not too complicated. Telemachus nearly burst into tears on the spot as the words marinated in the air. Sure, he’d already known the truth, but to hear it confirmed was a whole other thing. To be more descriptive, this “whole other thing” felt like having anvil dropped directly on his head. Multiple times.

He let out a wounded groan. He’d dreamt of a soulmate connection all his life. He’d prayed to any and every god that one day, he’d be like everyone else. He’d have someone who truly loved him, and he’d be normal.

Sure, it felt good to know he wasn’t fundamentally broken. But when he’d asked for a soulmate, a scary, manipulative, creepy, greedy, wannabe mother-fucking suitor was not what he’d intended. In some ways, this was actually worse.

Not in some ways. In all ways, because there were exactly zero planes of reality in which this turned out well for anyone. He hated his soulmate, and not only was the feeling mutual, but his “other half” had literally just promised to punch him in the face the next time they crossed paths.

He had to laugh. It was such a ridiculously ironic tragedy that it circled back around to being genuinely hilarious. Or maybe he was just in denial and laughing about it was his newest coping strategy. Then again, if his life was going to play out like a comedy special, he supposed his reaction was an appropriate one.

The prince could feel foreign melancholy tugging at the edges of his psyche. And all that did was piss him off because just what did Antinous have to feel sad about!? Everything was going perfectly for him! Telemachus should be the one moping around and wallowing in his own misery, yet all he could feel was the familiar sense of impending doom that he always did!

He wanted to smack someone. He didn’t even know who he was more pissed at. Penelope got Odysseus, who was clever and brave and loved her and they were perfect together. And who did he get? Some asshole whose name was probably going to be credited on his gravestone for cause of death!

This wasn’t fucking funny. It was just cruel and unusual. The fates, Aphrodite—whoever the hell was responsible for this needed to pay for their crimes. Now. Immediately. Tears sprung to his eyes.

“Oh my gods.” Penelope leaned over him, cupping his face in her hands. “Why are you crying, my dearest son? You’ve been acting so strange. What’s gotten you so sad?”

The better question was probably what didn’t get him so sad, but he digressed. Telemachus sat up, wiping furiously at the stray tears and trying not to feel to awful about his mother’s worried expression. He tried to smile, but felt that he failed.

“I have a soulmate now,” he said dully.

The queen gasped, covering her mouth. “Really? After all this time?” She enveloped him in a tight hug before he could react, and he couldn’t help but melt into her embrace slightly. He just needed some peace, after all the shit that’d happened this morning. The tranquility was promptly shattered as she pulled back, face grim with knowing. “But shouldn’t this be good news?”

He couldn’t tell her who it was. He’d sooner die than own up to the fact that fate thought his perfect match was fucking Antinous. And sooner die he probably would.

He shrugged, looking away. “I guess.”

Her face fell further. “Is it someone—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Telemachus bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Penelope reached out, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry. If it is someone bad. But… the fates must know what’s best for you, right? Maybe it’ll work out after all.”

They didn’t and it wouldn’t. But nothing in his life had ever worked out well, and so this wasn’t especially shocking. He only shrugged again, leaning his head against his mother’s and feeling the tears well up again.

Gods, he was weak. One hour be damned; he had good reason to hate himself when his life was truly fucked in every sense of the word. When he was so useless that he could only go from loveless to loveless, just with a special shitty twist. It was cruel. What could he have possibly done to be dealt a hand like this? Surely no one deserved such a life?

He sighed. If he was going to have a breakdown, it might as well be a productive one. “Mom. Do you know a Nikolaos?”

He couldn’t see her face from this angle, but he could hear her steady breathing. “No… is that your—?”

“No.” He exhaled powerfully. He would literally kill to have a soulmate as normal as that. “Unrelated. I was just wondering.”

They sat in silence for a few moments more as disappointment clawed at Telemachus’ chest. And as his mother held him close, their heads brought close together, he tried to think of a single guard he could name. He came up empty.

He was forced to think, then, that maybe, just maybe, Antinous had been a tiny bit right.

His soulmate had been a tiny bit right.

He was going to be sick.

Chapter Text

Antinous couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep losing his nerve and his wits after every interaction with the prince. At this rate, he was never getting anywhere.

How much longer could he realistically keep this up for? How much longer could he justify hurting someone who didn’t even really deserve it? The little wolf was sneaky, sure, with a sharp tongue and a tendency for insults, but it was Antinous who continuously antagonized him. And it was he who’d nearly punched him in the face.

He felt awful. Far worse than was typical. He wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Better yet, he wanted to disappear completely; at least if he died, he could finally end the trail of pain that seemed to follow his family everywhere they went. Maybe cruelty ran through his veins.

Pushing down the sudden urge to hurl—twice in twenty-four hours was just shameful—Antinous toed open the door to the suitors’ quarters. Predictably, they were empty. Supposedly, they were all going out to spar in the courtyard this afternoon. And if they truly believed their ability to knock each other on their asses would win the affections of the queen, then he had to consider that they were just beyond saving.

Well, he had no time for such distractions. Besides, sparring with strangers only made him uncomfortable. Even if he knew it was all in good fun and no one was getting hurt, Aphrodite was still the only person he felt okay trading blows with. And since she was nowhere to be seen, that didn’t mean a whole lot.

Just one more reason why he was better off dead.

Antinous crossed the broad length of the room, coming to stand beside his bed. He collapsed face down into the mass of pillows, exhaling forcefully and relishing in the rising feeling of suffocation. Was it even possible to choke yourself to death?

Probably not. Survival instincts and all that. The body’s job was to keep itself alive, completely independent of how the brain and heart felt about such an endeavor.

He craned his neck to the side, breathing in deeply and erratically. Antinous was being ridiculous and he knew it; after all, he hadn’t survived twenty years of hell just to kill himself at the first minor inconvenience. He had a plan. All he had to do was stick to it. He was so, so close to the crown, and so close to the life he’d always dreamed of.

And then it’d be worth it. It had to be, after all he’d sacrificed and all the pain he’d suffered. He just had to hold out hope.

The suitor rolled over onto his back, sitting up with a groan. Hope was a difficult concept to grasp when he seemed permanently caught between a rock and a hard place with no feasible way out, but that was neither here nor there. There was work to be done. There was always work to be done.

He was making progress, at least. In just a day, he’d already succeeded in planting some seeds of doubt amongst the royal guard, though the outcome of that particular pursuit remained to be seen. He was fairly certain that Nikolaos guy would turn out to be a good investment—close enough to the other guards to have some semblance of influence, but impressionable enough to be influenced. A good choice, all in all.

That being said, he’d already exhausted his most surefire method of winning people’s trust. His next moves would have to be a lot more complicated; he couldn’t just go around sleeping his way to the top forever.

Well, he could. He just didn’t want to. It wasn’t that Antinous was inherently opposed to casual sex—it was sort of hard to be when you grew up around a love goddess—but he didn’t exactly go out of his way to partake in it. Besides, he already felt sufficiently burnt out as things were, and that was without the added strain of getting physical with strangers. And the last thing he needed was word of his intimacy spreading about the castle like wildfire.

Despite himself, his mind wandered back to he and the little wolf’s prior interaction. It’d just been so odd. That cold feeling he’d come to associate with the prince had been so intense that he’d feared, if briefly, that he might truly freeze. And then Antinous had grabbed hold of his wrist, and—

Fuck.

It was truly a difficult sensation to describe. It felt like he’d been burned, but not necessarily in a bad way. Which was ridiculous because burns always hurt and he knew that well, but it was true all the same. It’d almost felt good. His skin crawled at the memory.

Their little conversation, if it could even be called that, only served to further convince him that he couldn’t rely on flirting too much. If one conversation was all it took to be called a whore, then he needed to tread extremely carefully. Antinous really hoped everyone in this gods-forsaken palace wasn’t so puritanical, though he got the feeling it’d been more of a petty jab than a genuine comment.

He stared down into his lap where his hands laid, tracing the intricacies of his palms with his eyes. They were coarse where the prince’s were soft. He didn’t know what that said about him.

Antinous heaved a sigh, slinging a leg over the side of the bed. Maybe it was best not to think too hard about it. After all, the throne wouldn’t topple itself, and his life wouldn’t be magically piece itself back together, either. He had to make it happen, and he didn’t have infinite time to wait.

He stood. There was still a long, long road ahead. But if a few months of resilience were all it took for his efforts to pay off, then so be it. Blinking away the heavy fog of melancholy hanging over him, Antinous exited the suitors’ chambers for the second time that morning.

All things considered, the situation could’ve been worse. It’d been one hundred and twenty-eight days since the suitors had first arrived in he and his mother’s home—yes, Telemachus had counted—and not much had changed since then.

Realistically, he knew the suitors were only biding their time. He saw the hungry way they looked at his mother which never failed to make him ill, and he felt the weight of their stares on his back whenever he dared take his eyes off them.

The suave words and generous gifts dumped at his mother’s feet day after day did nothing to sway her apathy, nor hide the men’s true intentions. The empty praise accompanied by pretty flowers and jewels and riches meant nothing to Penelope, and it never would. He knew it, she knew it, and the suitors were all too aware in their own right. He could tell they were growing tired of her resistance, and it made him nervous.

And therein lay the problem with common knowledge. Each party in the castle knew quite distinctly of the other’s motivations, and no one was fooling anyone. So while the predictability of the whole affair was in some ways beneficial, the mutual distrust and distaste only contributed to the tensions bubbling just beneath the surface.

And tensions there were. Telemachus felt like a prisoner in his own home, confined to the upper floors of the castle where suitors weren’t allowed. The palace no longer filled him with feelings of peace and familiarity, but rather uneasiness when he dared to walk the halls alone. His mother was more outgoing than he for reasons the prince couldn’t grasp, and it was only at his insistence that she stopped making as many public appearances.

Nowadays, the queen spent most of her time in her room, weaving and unweaving the burial shroud. He could tell she was bored and dissatisfied with the state of affairs, but more than that, he could feel her frustration. His mother’s hands worked deftly and steadily, but Telemachus did not miss the way the fabric sometimes clenched and crinkled in her fists.

He wanted to comfort her, especially after the long nights and early mornings where he knew she’d been crying. He saw the red tint of her eyes and the gradually increasing exhaustion in her body, but he never knew just what to say. It was on those nights that Telemachus wished badly that things could be different.

“Mother,” he’d said during one such time, “you can rest, you know. I can deal with the last of the weaving.”

Penelope’s eyes were tired, but she only shook her head, fingers continuing to loop and craft with immaculate efficiency. “Oh, don’t start; I could say the same about you. I wish you wouldn’t stay up so late keeping me company. And, besides. The busywork keeps me sane.”

“Well, we only really have each other,” Telemachus murmured.

The weaving halted, and his mother at last laid down the shroud. She turned to him, a slight frown pulling at the edge of her lips.

“I know you don’t like to talk about it,” she’d said slowly, “but maybe your—“

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, drawing his knees to his chest. His heart ached painfully.

“It’s not like yours and father’s,” he lamented. “We’re not like you and father.”

Penelope rested a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. “I know.” Then, she sighed, closing her eyes. “Well, I don’t. But I believe everything in life happens for a reason. And so maybe your soulmate isn’t who you’d wanted or expected, but you can still find fulfillment. Maybe people can change.”

“Even after all that’s happened? You still honestly believe that?”

His mother’s eyes opened once again. She looked sadder, now, but not for herself. For him. “What other choice do I have?”

Telemachus wished he could hold onto hope with the same wholehearted belief and strength that she did. But some things in this world are constant. Some things never, ever change. And if he ever stooped so low as to fall in love with—

His stomach turned.

He wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t care if fate said it was so; when had fate ever been kind to him? It could sweep his father away and it could introduce these awful suitors into his life and it could make his every day a living hell, but it could not seize control of his heart. He’d been loveless before, and he’d do it again, and again, and again before he even considered feeling anything beyond disgust for that man.

But how could he possibly explain how he felt to her? She’d never understand what it was like to be truly alone because, even cast halfway across the sea, Odysseus’ bond to her remained strong. His mother claimed she could feel him, sometimes, as though he was standing right next to her. Like his hand was on hers. Like they were still right where they’d left off seventeen years ago.

Even after all this time, their connection remained steady. They loved each other, and that was just as undeniable a fact as grass being green or the sky being blue. So how could she possibly understand what it was like in his shoes?

The prince shrugged and remained silent beyond that. He was ordered off to bed, then, though he didn’t spend too long in his quarters before returning to sit outside Penelope’s door.

It was the guards’ job to patrol her bedroom, but Telemachus had long since realized he could no longer trust the castle staff. He hadn’t told his mother—for all he knew, she was already somewhat aware—and he hadn’t told her that he’d been the one watching over her at night.

He knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. His body wasn’t appreciating it, either, as the sleep deprivation and stress was beginning to take its toll. But if something happened to his mother, he’d never forgive himself.

Telemachus stroked Argos’ head, which vibrated minutely with the force of his snoring, gently through the night. Hours passed. He kept his eyes open.

Everything about it was draining. Still, his mother never complained, and neither did he.

Occasionally, the prince wondered what kept Antinous up at night. Their soulmate bond had the unfortunate side effect—though, most things about it could be labeled as that—of them sharing pretty much everything. And yes, that included the unimportant things no one really needed to feel, like sleep schedules. While Telemachus was awake, he could feel when the other man slept, and it wasn’t very often.

Unless, of course, they just happened to fall asleep at the same time practically every day. But that was just too great a coincidence for him to accept.

Then again, it sort of made sense. If those shitty dreams he’d been struggling with for the past few months were indicative of the ones Antinous typically had, he supposed he’d be hesitant to fall asleep, too. That was only speculation, though. Certainly not enough evidence to draw a strong conclusion.

Telemachus smoothed a particularly wordy legal document onto the table before him. He was sitting in the library, one of the few public areas of the castle he ever cared to spend much time in these days. That was mostly due to the fact that the vast majority of the suitors barely ever touched the space. Their lack of interest—or capability—in reading truly surprised no one.

His eyes glazed over the first few paragraphs. In all fairness to the suitors, at the moment, there was nothing he’d rather do less than read, either.

Argos’ tail beat against his ankles, as though tempting him to put off his work and go take him on a walk. A walk did sound good, but with the amount of men fooling around in the courtyard, it wasn’t happening. Afternoons were the worst when it came to trying to avoid suitors.

Or, he supposed it depended on your perspective. He could acknowledge there were certain merits to suitor-heavy times of day.

Telemachus’ eyes raised from the imposing stack of papers before him, focusing in on the only other man in the library.

He didn’t think Antinous knew he was there. Or maybe he did—he was always quite hard to get a read on—and was only feigning ignorance. But judging by how the suitor had yet to stop staring blankly out the far window for the last thirty minutes, he was going to assume he’d truly gone unnoticed.

The suitors as a whole had been completely ignoring him for the past few weeks, and he suspected it had something to do with Antinous’ influence. No, he more than suspected it. He just knew. It seemed the actions of the suitors always circled back around to him. He was the obvious leader, after all. He did the scheming, and the rest of the men followed along. Like loyal dogs.

The prince scoffed softly to himself, scribbling out a sloppy signature. And scheme Antinous did. Was he so opposed to giving his brain a rest? While Telemachus wasn’t often privy to the specifics of the suitor’s thoughts via their soulmate link, he definitely did suffer the constant feeling of someone else’s mind running a mile a minute. It made it difficult to relax, not that he was doing much of that, anyway.

His eyes quickly returned to the suitor. He’d taken to observing Antinous, recently. He wanted to understand what the fates understood. He wanted to get it, and more than anything, he wanted a one up on his enemy.

Technically, Telemachus already had one. He was nearly one-hundred percent sure that Antinous didn’t know they were soulmates, and he intended to keep it that way. The suitor tended to feel lots of strange, conflicting emotions when they had the misfortune of interacting, but none of them indicated knowledge of a soulmate bond, nor any deeper feelings.

It did make the prince feel a tiny bit better to know he wasn’t being knowingly mistreated by the person who was, supposedly, perfect for him. His mouth twitched up into a slight smile of wry amusement. He was never going to be able to take that thought seriously. It was ridiculous when he first found out, and it only got more ridiculous by the day.

Dragging himself from the depths of his own ruminations, Telemachus blinked, vision zeroing back in on Antinous. It was a nice day outside for once, and the sun streaming in from the broad windows around the room lit him in a golden halo. His face was perfectly neutral, evidently deep in thought. His skin glowed.

The prince sighed. Soulmate bonds were inevitable. It was pretty much impossible to fight the pull of fate. And despise and distrust this man as he might, there was no arguing that his body desperately wanted to feel a different emotion.

He wouldn’t allow it. Over his dead body.

Telemachus stood quietly, sweeping his things back into his satchel. That was quite enough observing, if the telltale tingle in his limbs was saying anything. The itching may have solved itself, but his other symptoms persisted every time he laid eyes on the suitor. It irritated him, but there wasn’t much that he could actually do about it.

It didn’t really matter, anyways. His feelings didn’t control him. He instead put his focus into more important things—and people. Maybe one day he’d get inside Antinous’ head, but that day surely wasn’t today.

“Come on, boy,” he said, and Argos trailed him out the library obediently. He did an admirable job, in his opinion, of continuing forward as though he didn’t feel the eyes blazing into his back.

The peace, if you could call it that, didn’t last very long. Not that Telemachus had really expected it to, but it would’ve been nice.

The day of the inciting incident started off like any other. He rose early as usual, refreshed and relieved by the lack of nightmares that night. He’d found that the dreams were pretty inconsistent as a whole; sometimes he went weeks on end experiencing one after another, and sometimes he slept undisturbed for roughly the same period of time.

All in all, the morning wasn’t an unusual one. He was up before the sun rose, which allowed him the tranquil darkness of his room to soak in. It was a promising sort of silence, light and airy and free. Argos wasn’t yet awake so he took great care not to disturb him, stepping over the sleeping dog’s body and slipping quietly out his bedroom door.

These early mornings were the only time Telemachus felt comfortable enough to wander the castle alone. The suitors had no reason to be up so deep into dawn, and so the chances of running into any were slim.

He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he descended the stairs. While the year had progressed into the later stages of spring—or early summer, depending on who you asked—the ground floor of the castle remained a bit chilly before the sun came up. That wasn’t to say he minded it, though. He’d always appreciated the cooler months, rare and fleeting as they may be on a tropical island.

Telemachus’ eyes swept over the dining hall as he crossed the foyer. Practically empty, save for two guards stationed on either side of the room. He nodded hello, though the men seemed half-asleep and unresponsive. Quickly considering his efforts a lost cause, he swept past them and through the the kitchens.

He didn’t eat much these days, but he did do a lot of cooking. While he did trust the maids far more than the guards, the threat of something being slipped into he or his mother’s food loomed ever-present in the back of his mind.

Sometimes the prince wished he could go back to the days where he wasn’t so anxiety ridden. Everything was so much simpler back when safety was an assurance rather than a question. He didn’t really mind the extra layer of responsibility, though. Some cooking was a small price to pay in order to keep what was left of his family safe.

He breathed out slowly, rummaging through disorderly cupboards for the ingredients he needed. Telemachus was really no chef; it wasn’t like he’d ever been taught, and he didn’t feel like badgering the maids to teach him.

He was certain his mother knew it was he who’d taken up the food preparation, but she’d yet to say anything about it. And he had to assume what he made wasn’t absolutely awful because she hadn’t expressed any strong opinion on the meals, either. Granted, she could just be attempting to spare his feelings, but Penelope had never been the indirect type.

The only dish he’d ever asked to be instructed on making were tagenites. They were one of his mother’s favorite foods, and he felt making them well was the least he could do.

Then again, well was relative. Telemachus liked to think he’d become pretty skilled at preparing them, as he could now flip the girdle-cakes with his eyes closed, and he’d devised the perfect ratio of honey sweetness to sea salt in the batter.

Though there were no windows in the kitchen, his internal clock clued to him that the sun had risen since he’d originally woken. That meant the suitors were soon to follow. He picked up the pace, wasting no time sliding the cakes onto a plate and drizzling them with honey.

Balancing the plate on one hand, Telemachus pushed open the kitchen door and—

He paused halfway through the entrance. The dining room was empty no longer, newly filled with a not-so-small group of suitors. Eight, including Antinous standing proudly in front, eyes trained directly on him. The prince may not have known why he had that smug expression on his face, but he didn’t like it either way.

With a throat feeling suddenly like sandpaper, he swallowed.

For a brief moment, Telemachus considered slamming the door back shut and hoping the suitors wouldn’t bother him. But he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew there were only two ways out the kitchen. It was either through the dining room, or out the back. And while he could try and sneak out in the ten or so seconds he managed to buy himself, he had no doubts that he’d be followed.

And then what? He’d be all alone in a corridor with that man, again, and he knew how well that’d gone for him last time.

He wished Argos were there with him. Even if the dog wouldn’t actually do anything, the comfort of scratching his ears and burying his fingers in his fur would make up for it.

Telemachus chewed his lip, stepping tentatively out into the light. He was on his own. Again.

Antinous’ lips curved ever so slightly upwards, and he was reminded once again why he despised him. And why he’d never, ever wanted to be put in this situation again. That being said, it really didn’t seem as though he had a choice.

“Little wolf,” the lead suitor drawled, the words accompanied by a flash of bright white canine as he took a step forward. “Fancy seeing you here.”

The prince locked his limbs, forcing himself not to retreat as the larger man drew closer. His eyes flitted across the room, bouncing between the two guards. Surely he was safe. Safer, at least. How could something truly bad happen with two members of staff standing right there?

His stomach flipped. A warning.

“Likewise,” he said shortly, hoping that his tone and facial expression conveyed exactly how much he didn’t want to be having this conversation. When Antinous only continued strolling forward and his fear only continued to swell, he stammered out, “Well, I think I should be going—“

“Oh, but I think you shouldn’t. What’s so wrong with our company, princeling? What’s got you in such a hurry?”

Antinous stopped just a few feet before him, and Telemachus’ heart beat impossibly faster at the dangerous glint in his eye. He looked back to the surrounding suitors, who must’ve began closing in while he wasn’t looking, or maybe the suffocating vicinity was all in his head.

Either way, this wasn’t a friendly back and forth, nor was it a genuine question. They weren’t going to let him leave, not before he gave into whatever it was they were looking for. But giving in never went well, and he sincerely doubted it’d start working out for him today.

Perhaps honesty was the best way to go. Maybe if he played nice and polite and stalled a bit, they’d get bored of him and let him free.

Internally, he rolled his eyes at his own wishful thinking. Real funny. Not only was that seriously unlikely, he’d have to consider that the world had flipped on its axis if it did work out that way. Realistically, there was no point in even trying.

He really wished his soulmate bond would take the hint and give him something, anything on what Antinous was thinking or feeling, but he was met with radio silence.

Fine, be that way. He didn’t need the help of the fates. He only needed himself.

Or, he really hoped that was the case. Anything beyond that, and he was officially and irrefutably helpless.

“You’re everything that’s wrong with your company,” he snapped, impressing himself with the strength and balance in his tone. “I’m just trying to get back to my mother, asshole. She’s waiting for me, and I don’t have the time nor the patience to entertain you. Now move.”

Antinous laughed in his face, and his emptyheaded little posse—no seriously, fuck them—snickered around them. There had to be far more gathered now, which Telemachus thought was ridiculous because fifteen to one was just unfair anyway you spun it. Then again, he guessed fairness wasn’t the suitors’ greatest concern at the moment.

The head suitor shook his head patronizingly, sending his hair swaying in a delicate manner that sharply contrasted his brutish personality. Telemachus nearly bit his hand off when the man had the nerve to reach up and ruffle his hair, and he nearly screamed in frustration when the tingling returned full force.

He hated it. He hated it more than he could even hope to ever express in words. He wanted to kill someone, or be killed—just someone had to die, so help him gods.

“Don’t touch me!” he growled, shoving at the heavy arm.

Antinous allowed it to drop away, though his face betrayed nothing beyond that shitty empty smirk he insisted on hiding behind. The prince wanted to forcibly tear it off his face.

“I suggest you calm down, little wolf. Unless you plan on making me, but we both remember how well that went for you last time, no?”

“Perfectly well, thanks.” He stood his ground, barely breathing but refusing to back himself further into the wall. Not again; he’d since learned from that bout of stupidity. “Interesting how you need a whole crowd to back you up, though. Are you allergic to fighting your own battles? Does your lack of a fanclub from time to time make you ache with loneliness?”

Antinous huffed out a laugh. “Trying to provoke me, are you?”

“I’m trying to get the hell away from you.”

“I can see that much, wolfy, but I suggest you give up on that endeavor.” He cocked his head to the side, nodding slightly to the men behind him. “And you’re wrong. I wouldn’t typically require an audience for an opponent so feeble, but when you’re trying to prove a point, more is often better.”

Telemachus opened his mouth, fully prepared to fire off a quick retort or simply ask what point when the heavy weight of Antinous’ arms pushed back against his chest and sent him sprawling to the floor. The impact temporarily knocked the wind out of him, and the loud crack of plate hitting the floor beside him made his ears ring momentarily.

He glanced at the food, which was still safely situated off the floor. That was good, at least. It was still consumable.

The plate was quickly forgotten as Antinous drove his foot down onto his stomach, and if he hadn’t been able to breathe before, now he definitely couldn’t. It didn’t feel like he was compressing anything important, but gods, the pain was sharp. He clenched his fists, focusing on inhaling and exhaling and not bursting into tears like a pathetic little bitch.

Telemachus didn’t say anything, focusing only on glaring at his attacker through the sheen of tears. What did he want? When was he going to fuck off and just leave him alone?

“Notice anything?”

The smug tone of his voice filled the prince’s chest with white hot rage. It was quickly extinguished as Antinous leaned down, putting more pressure into his abdomen. His hair fell over his face, suddenly very close to Telemachus’ face, and it smelled faintly like cedar. The smell calmed him slightly.

He wanted to puke. Then he wanted to strangle himself.

“I’m noticing,” he grit out between heavy puffs of breath, “that you’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Antinous ignored him. “Two guards in this room, princeling, and yet no one’s come to help you.”

The foot bore down harder one last time and this time, Telemachus couldn’t help himself from crying out at the pain. It hurt so bad. Could this actually kill him?

And then the suitor retracted his leg, taking a step backwards. He didn’t look particularly satisfied, which didn’t surprise the prince. He never seemed happy about doing the things he did, but he also never stopped. And he knew, to him, which one of those was more important.

Telemachus wrapped an arm protectively around his middle, very slowly moving to an upright position. His stomach burned like fire, and he hoped his agony wasn’t showing too blatantly on his face. He waited for a stray thought, emotion, anything—

Nothing. Very, very interesting. And super fucking inconvenient for him. The one time he actually wanted Antinous inside his head and now all the sudden the universe wanted to keep them independent? He was so violently bitter that he could spit.

His eyes flickered across the crowd of suitors. There were a lot of sadistic smiles in that crowd. Perhaps he’d underestimated their hatred of him, or maybe this had nothing to do with him at all. These four months had turned them impatient. They couldn’t beat the shit out of the queen without serious reprecussions, so who better a target than her helpless son?

He coughed out a laugh. The flecks of blood that landed on the floor beside him definitely weren’t a good sign, but it was too late for caution now.

He smiled. He hoped it looked as deranged as he felt. “Is that it?”

“Fun’s over, little wolf.” Antinous’ eyes were dark. “Submit.”

It was true that he’d probably be safer going along with the suitors’ demands. Without guards for protection, he was going to be made a public punching bag. And he got the feeling the other men, the ones so thrilled to see him injured right now, wouldn’t be as kind as Antinous to stop at the first blow.

A living hell. He hadn’t lied when he’d said that. But Telemachus bent for nobody, and he certainly didn’t break, so he only spat pinkish saliva at Antinous’ feet and shot him his most animalistic grin.

“You may call me a dog,” he huffed, “but I’d sooner rip off my own leg and eat it than ever take an order from a useless halfbred mutt like you. Now go make yourself useful and disappear.”

Someone cracked their knuckles. “Sounds like he’s looking for a round two.”

A round two would probably result in him either unconscious or dead, but Telemachus would gladly take that over the repercussions of backing down. After all, proving his cowardice would only harm him in the long run. Though, considering the way things were going, there probably wasn’t going to be a long run.

He was so, so tired. He seriously debated just letting the men kill him—it’d be swift if he provoked them just right—but at last swept the thought away. He imagined his mother’s face when she heard the news. He imagined how alone she’d be, and how unsafe with no one to protect her or draw attention elsewhere.

He wouldn’t do that. He didn’t pride himself on all that much. He was a puny excuse for a prince and he could barely so much as stand up for himself against these villains, but he knew one thing. He loved his mother. He loved her far more than he loved himself, and that was a truth that remained constant.

Slowly, carefully, Telemachus staggered to his feet. He could already feel the nasty bruise taking form across his middle, and there had to be some internal damage because a bruise alone couldn’t be this excruciating. But this was for his mother, not for himself, so he ignored the dizziness and nausea in favor of sneering at the crowd.

“Bring it, then.”

Several suitors stepped forward, obviously eager for a chance to paint the room red with his blood, but a familiar arm stopped them.

“No.” Antinous sounded exhausted. Telemachus thought that was rich. “You’re all dismissed.”

One of the men frowned deeply. “But—“

“Dismissed. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

The suitor Antinous was typically seen alongside—Eurymachus, or something else equally irrelevant—whispered something to him the prince wasn’t privvy to. And then Telemachus felt his first indication of their soulmate bond all day. A sharp pang of irritation, accompanied by an undercurrent of concern.

“Don’t worry about it.” The lead suitor shooed the other man away with his hand.

Eurymachus looked between the two of them with an unreadable expression. He didn’t look angry, nor confused, just… percieving. The prince shot him a dirty look when his gaze lingered a tad too long, and the suitor only shrugged, turning and walking away.

Antinous was standing in front of him once again. Telemachus half expected him to smack him in the face or something, just for some added pain and humiliation, but no blows came. Instead, the suitor only shifted slightly on his feet, his gaze narrowing.

“Do you truly not value your life?”

He didn’t plan on giving him a single inch. “Sure.”

“You need to quit going around searching for fights you know you can’t win.”

“Does it matter? Seems the fights tend to find me either way.”

Feeling fairly certain he wouldn’t be attacked from behind, Telemachus stooped to collect the plate of food. It was cold by now, but something was better than nothing. Probably.

“I know you’ve never loved or been loved enough to understand this, but when you care about someone, you’d do anything.” He glared at Antinous, taking pleasure in the uncomfortableness he could feel prickling at the back of his mind. And the bitter edge of sadness that came with it. Good. “But guess what, smartass? I do. And if you think I’m just going to stand by and play house for you people while you marry my mother who doesn’t even want it, then you’d be sorely mistaken.

“I don’t have much to live for anymore—really, I never did—but I do have a purpose. And so long as I’m breathing, you will never touch her. Not you; not any of you. So you can stop pretending to be all noble when it suits you now. It was you who started it, so either finish it, or someone else will. Whether you stand back and watch it happen or snap me in half with your own two hands, one of us isn’t leaving this palace alive. So I suggest you choose your bed and lie in it.”

Then Telemachus’ eyes traveled from his face, which was blank as usual, down to his body. He was standing sort of strangely, similarly to how he was holding himself. Which was weird, because the only reason his posture was so weird was because his stomach was hurting like hell and—

Wait. Soulmate bonds extended beyond the untouchable things, didn’t they? Were physical sensations not things soulmates could experience secondhand.

He smiled. It didn’t really benefit him whatsoever if Antinous was in pain, but it did make his sense of justice feel a lot better. And, besides. He’d been curious for a long while.

“You look uncomfortable,” Telemachus pointed out. Then, lowering his voice slightly, asked, “Do you know?”

Antinous squinted at him slightly, stepping backwards. “Know what?”

So, no. That wasn’t super surprising. The prince couldn’t even begin to imagine the chaos that’d unfurl if he ever did find out; he got the feeling he wouldn’t be too great at keeping it on the down low. This was good for him. This was fine.

He refused to acknowledge the disappointment deep in his gut. Or maybe that was just the rising need to vomit. More than likely a lethal mix of both.

“In that case, forget I said anything.”

Before Antinous could run his mouth again or grab his arm or something, Telemachus made his escape as fast as he could without keeling over. The climb to his mother’s room wasn’t easy, but he made it, and that was what mattered.

He knocked on the door, taking the moments before it opened to gather himself. He doubted he could fully hide his pain from his mother, but he could definitely keep the cause under wraps. The last thing he needed was her trying to go to war for him. That was exactly what he was trying prevent with all this.

The lock on the other side clicked, and his mother’s face peeked out to meet him. She smiled, but it slowly slipped away as her gaze slid down his body and took in his strange posturing. She sighed, crooking her fingers in a come hither motion. He bit his lip, following her inside.

Penelope closed the door, turning to face him. “Telemachus?”

“I made food,” he said, thrusting the plate into her hands before she could say more. “It’s sort of lukewarm, but… I mean, I hope it’s okay.”

Her eyes softened as she accepted it, but she put the plate to the side nevertheless. “You don’t look well,” she murmured. “Come, sit down. And don’t try to tell me no.”

There really was no point in denying her. Besides, Argos was curled up on the bed, and all Telemachus really wanted to do was hug his dog and have a good long crying session. Wordlessly and carefully he flopped onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Argos who licked his face enthusiastically. His stomach twinged with pain, but the new position made it somewhat easier to ignore.

His mother sat beside him. Her hand tangled delicately in his hair, stroking from forehead to scalp and back. He didn’t move to explain himself, only squeezing Argos a little tighter and allowing himself to feel momentarily safe under her touch.

“Have they hurt you, my beautiful son?” Her fingers didn’t falter on their steady trail, even as the queen’s voice came out sharper and angrier.

He would lie, but he’d grown tired of secrets and deception. Any falsehood he tried to craft could be far too easily disproven, anyway. And gods, he was sick of lying.

“Yeah,” he confessed into the warmth of Argos’ fur. The dog whined, nosing tenderly at his cheek. His throat closed up embarassingly fast at the display of affection. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

He could feel his mother’s hand clench momentarily in his hair before loosening and continuing with its prior gentleness. “You are my son. My one and only son. My only regret would be allowing those beasts to treat you this way.”

“Mother,” he said, “please. The guards will not save us. The maids are just as helpless as we are in the face of these men. There is nothing you can do for me.”

Her body sagged against him, her face pressing into the top of his head. “I hate to feel so powerless. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re safe, right? And I’m alive. It’s just some bruising, is all. Nothing a bit of medicine can’t fix.” Telemachus sat up, gently righting the slump of his mother’s shoulders and offering up a smile that, hopefully, didn’t look as pained as it felt. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

Penelope’s eyes were red rimmed with unshed tears when she looked at him. She wove their fingers together, holding their hands between them like a safety net all their own.

“You are so brave,” she hissed. “No matter what anyone tries to tell you about yourself, you remember what’s true. You’re brave and strong and you will be a great ruler someday. I just know it.”

He didn’t know if he believed that. But for her, he could try. “Okay.”

She released him, face hardening as she slipped from sentimental mothering to the infallible queen he knew. “Now. What’s your damage?”

Telemachus reached upwards, unpinning the upper half of his chiton and allowing it to droop toward the bed. He smoothed the fabric down and away from the skin of his stomach, grimacing at the sight of the broad, greenish-yellow marking marring his abdomen. His mother’s face tightened impossibly more, but she didn’t speak. He was grateful for her silence.

“Just this. It looks worse than it feels.”

“That’s… good.” She frowned. “Antinous?”

“For now.”

Penelope lightly poked at the edge of the bruise, and the full body cringe she recieved in response seemed to tell her all she needed to know. She sighed. “Were you coughing blood?”

He smiled wryly. “How’d you know?”

She looked at him with a decidedly unamused expression as she stood. “It’s not funny. Wait here while I fetch the maids. And if you move even a centimeter, I’ll give you a bruise far worse than that.”

Telemachus giggled even though he knew for certain she wasn’t joking, and he was also incredibly frightened. That being said, it was nice to be taken care of once in a while. He laid back down, returning to stroking Argos as Penelope vanished. His eyes began to droop, and he didn’t even register the exact moment when he drifted off to sleep.

“It’s been a while,” Antinous said.

He could tell Aphrodite’s presence from a mile away, even without her sparkling appearance or heavy aura. It was somewhat strange to feel the warm weight of her form back by his side after all this time, but he couldn’t deny he’d missed her.

“A couple months is not so long.”

He looked up, somewhat surprised to hear the soft thud of feet touching to ground. The goddess wasn’t floating, for once, and she wore a complex expression. They stood in silence for a few moments. Finally, she looked away.

“You should’ve called for me, dearest.”

He bit his lip, opting to direct his gaze back toward the roses rather than stare at her side profile, which revealed nothing.

He shrugged. “I didn’t realize I could.” A brief pause. He gathered his courage. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t have to explain what for.

Aphrodite shrugged back, though she didn’t move to look at him. “I know. I’d like to apologize as well for… some of my previous transgressions.”

Antinous smiled despite himself. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m just glad that you really didn’t…”

“I’d never.” The goddess’ voice came out sharp, and she flinched as though having surprised herself. “I told you. You’re my one and only pupil.”

“Well, you’re kind of my one and only friend, so…”

“What about that suitor? Eurymachus, was it?”

“No one besides you actually knows me.” He sighed. “Though, I suppose that’s a problem of my own creation. Better than the alternative, I guess.”

Aphrodite turned toward him suddenly, a new fire blazing in her eyes. “No. I was wrong. I made you feel like who you really are wasn’t enough, like you needed to be someone completely different to be loved, but—you don’t! You have a soulmate, and that would’ve happened with or without my intervention, so…”

She trailed off, almost involuntarily. Antinous was taken aback to say the least by the sudden outburst. She’d always been pretty open with how she felt—which made sense, considering who she was—but her passion had never seemed so sincere. And he’d never seen her seem genuinely guilty before. It was kind of creepy, and also all sorts of wrong to have a diety apologizing to him so fervently.

“Hey,” he smiled uncertainly. “It’s not that big of a deal. You helped me, and I was the one who asked you to change me. I’m thankful. It’s okay.”

The goddess was openly weeping now, and perhaps as a side effect of her powers, Antinous felt himself getting seriously teary eyed as well. Not wanting to get caught sobbing in the gardens alone like a freak, he rubbed viciously at his eyes.

“You’re making me cry,” he choked out.

“Oh, you know I can’t help it! Sometimes it’s good to let it out!” Aphrodite sniffed, catching a delicate pearl of a tear on the tip of her nail. “You’ve had such an awful stay here. Perhaps you deserve to cry some.”

“Your forcibly induced crying only makes me feel worse.”

“Shut up!”

The goddess grabbed him with a strength that really did not suit her dainty appearance and squeezed him into a tight hug. Her hair tickled the sides of his face and she smelled strongly of a familiar lavender scent. Her small amount of clothing made deciding where to touch a bit awkward, but recognizing that she’d be the last person to give a damn, Antinous settled for placing his hands on the small of her back.

It was more than a little sad that one hug was what it took for the dam to break, but it had been a long time. Years, probably, and at only increased his heartache tenfold.

“I didn’t realize we were hugging people now,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.

Aphrodite scoffed. “Physical intimacy is important amongst friends, too. Don’t be stupid, dearest.” Then she pulled away, holding him firmly by the shoulders. “My time is running out. I can’t say exactly who your soulmate is—that’s a matter of the fates, just outside of my jurisdiction—but please, heed my word. Telemachus. Treat him well, alright? Do not break him, and do not give up hope. I promise things will be better one day.”

Antinous blinked at her. “I—?”

She pressed a fluttering kiss to his cheek, squeezing his shoulder once more. “I promise.”

And then she disappeared in a dazzle of sparks, leaving the suitor alone once more in his confusion.

Don’t break him, huh?

He chewed the inside of his cheek. She may have been just a touch too late on that.

Chapter Text

Telemachus’ twentieth birthday came and went. The suitors, unfortunately, did not.

Honestly, not much had changed at all in the past two and a half years. That included himself. He would’ve seriously preferred if they had, but making it to two decades old was already achievement enough, so he supposed he’d have to let it slide. This time, at least.

In regards to their uninvited guests, Telemachus couldn’t say he felt all too optimistic. Each passing year only further fuelled their audacity and wrath. Of course, he often ended up on the recieving end of such animosity. They grew bolder, more violent, and exceedingly hateful. He grew stronger, like a porcupine forming its quills.

Fights became something of a daily affair, if you could even call them that. Personally, the prince didn’t consider one man versus five times the amount fair, but clearly some people did. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a full day without dodging a blow. Or, more commonly, without not dodging a blow.

Telemachus had sort of forgotten what his natural skin tone looked like. Nowadays, it was constantly muddled by bruises of various greens, blues, and purples. It was hideous, and that was without mention of the occasional broken bone or jagged scar.

He saw the way his mother’s face fell every time she forced him to share his injuries. If he had it his way, she’d never have to see them. No one should. But, as when it came to most things in his life, he didn’t have a choice. Penelope insisted on treating him personally.

Every night he slipped into the baths and stared down at his own body, trying and failing to temper the disgust. He could see clearly each of his ribs from beneath his skin, no doubt the direct result of his barely-there appetite. He was certainly more muscular now, but it wasn’t in the healthy grandeur of a warrior. No, it was more like that of a starving stray forced to fight for its life on the streets which, in all fairness, was pretty accurate a descripton. The skin on his knuckles was often peeling from the frequent hand to hand combat, and he could now say the scratches on his arms weren’t solely self inflicted.

Telemachus guessed he couldn’t really complain about his haggard appearance when he, in his own twisted way, contributed to it. He’d taken up knives, recently. He’d always thought carving was an interesting hobby.

He was well aware that Antinous probably felt some of the pain brought on by his particularly brutal sessions, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much. Certainly not enough to stop, anyway. It wasn’t like the suitors were making him hurt himself, but they definitely were giving him some excellent reasons. If Antinous wanted him to put down the blade, he could come and wrench it from his cold, dead hands.

Antinous. Somehow, he’d become the least of the prince’s worries as of late. No, it was his lackeys that posed the greatest threat to he and his mother, and he was fairly confident they weren’t operating under the lead suitor’s command.

For one thing, while Telemachus had many a thought on his morality and decision making skills, he definitely didn’t think Antinous would be in support of animal abuse. Especially not directed toward sweet Argos, who remained somewhat friendly to the suitor even after all this time. The prince rarely brought his dog around the castle anymore, not after a suitor had first landed a kick to Argos’ ribs.

The memory still filled him with rage. He didn’t remember much from that afternoon, only screaming his voice raw and carrying a gently whining Argos up to his mother’s room. He hadn’t thought he’d survive the incident, not at his old age and with his frail body, but he had. And Telemachus would be damned if he allowed his dog to ever be caught in the crossfire again.

Interestingly enough, his soulmate had been equally enraged when he’d told him what happened. They hardly ever talked, to be clear, but he and Antinous had taken to coexisting in the library from time to time. It’d been a stark and incomprehensible change; one day it’d been Antinous shoving him to the ground, only coldness on his face, and the next he’d taken to acting far more subdued.

He wasn’t complaining, necessarily. It provided a brief respite from the constant strain between the two parties in the castle, so to speak. A silent, small, and extremely hesitant truce between enemies. Very, very occasionally.

For the record, it hadn’t been Telemachus’ idea. The first time the suitor had sat near him—not across or next to him, but at a neighboring table—his first instinct had been to run away screaming. His second instinct had been to hit him with a book and hope it inspired a concussion. His third instinct was to cuss him out on sight.

He wasn’t so idiotic as to start a fight in a rare instance where there didn’t seem to be one, though, so he minded his tongue. Somewhat.

He’d slid a little further away from the man, clutching the paper he’d been reading like a makeshift shield. “Why are you here?”

Antinous’ head turned to him, very slowly like an owl’s. It was a bit scary. “Am I not allowed to be?”

He huffed. “Well, you’re a suitor, so I trust you don’t have much regard for where you are and aren’t wanted. But, hey, congrats. This time you actually aren’t breaking the law!”

The ensuing eyeroll nearly rocked the table with its intensity. “I’ve never broken the law, little wolf, but real funny.”

“Oh? And what do you call beating up a member of the royal family?”

“I call it a one-time thing. Do you get off on antagonizing me?”

“Do you get off on breaking into people’s homes and being a nuisance?”

They glared at each other. A clock distantly ticked. Finally, Antinous sighed, turning away once again. Telemachus fully expected him to say something else, but he didn’t. He only sat there, staring blankly at a wall on the opposite side of the room.

The prince was pleasantly surprised. And then he wasn’t, because no matter how hard he tried hard to focus on reading and signing, the suitor’s presence was just too much for him. Blame it on the godsforsaken soulmate bond. The rising tingling sensation was annoying, and the proximity was uncomfortable.

“Why do you spend so much time in libraries and so little time reading?” Telemachus leaned back in his chair, allowing the document to slip from his hands and flutter back down to the desk. “Is the wall that interesting?”

He paused. “You can read, can’t you?”

Antinous glanced at him, expression an equal mixture of offense and annoyance. “I can read perfectly fine, thanks.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Let me rephrase. I can read things that matter perfectly fine, not whatever prissy, noble shit you can find in here.” His nose crinkled slightly. “Just looking at whatever it is you’re reading makes me want to kill myself.”

Now it was Telemachus’ turn to roll his eyes. “Congrats on being halfway to literacy, but there’s no need to waste your time whining to me about it. You can gladly borrow one of my knives and get the job done.”

A spark of amusement lit up in the back of Telemachus’ mind. Antinous’ mouth twitched, a barely there smile that swiftly vanished as he stood. “Yeah, you wish.”

A tiny, evil part of him felt a little sad to see the suitor go. He told that part of him to shut up and be serious. Soulmate or not, this was still the same old Antinous. And while it’d been a long time since he personally tormented him, the prince wasn’t about to forget his past actions so easily.

He couldn’t be trusted, and that was an indisputable fact.

“Well, I’d say it’s been nice,” Antinous said, “but it hasn’t. See you around, wolfy.”

Telemachus shrugged, focusing on turning a page—gods, the paperwork never ended—rather than allowing his eyes to wander. “I sure hope not.”

The moment his company was sufficiently out of sight, he made himself scarce as well. He’d long since realized the only time he was truly safe from the rest of the suitors was when Antinous was in his vicinity.

He wasn’t entirely sure why that was. It was possible that Antinous was dissuading them from attacking, but he couldn’t be too sure. It definitely seemed like the case, but Telemachus just couldn’t wrap his head around why he’d do that for him. And he didn’t even want to entertain the thought that the suitor might feel anything less than hatred for him, because then he’d have to reevalute his own thinking, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

And so, mixed feelings and soulmate bullshit aside, when Antinous appeared in the library alongside him a few weeks later, he didn’t shoo him away. A part of him was a bit relieved. Then, somewhere along the line, it became something of a tradition.

He really, really hated to say it. It implied something closer than it really was. Still, it was true. Sometimes, he and Antinous got along.

Sometimes. Sorta. Kinda?

Whatever.

His crisis concerning the lead suitor was only worsened by Eurymachus, of all people. He’d swept into Telemachus’ life just a few weeks ago where he usually kept his distance, and all so he could make everything worse… as was typical.

See, it was one thing for them to be soulmates. He’d mostly gotten over that development by now—it had been years, after all. Thinking of Antinous as the fate’s intended lover for him still made the prince cringe, but he’d moved on from denial firmly into reluctant acceptance. And that was fine.

What wasn’t fine was other people noticing. Other people, say, pointing it out. So of course that was exactly what happened, because Telemachus was clearly the gods’ least favorite child, and also because Eurymachus was just fucking irritating like that.

He’d felt the man’s eyes on him for ten minutes before finally being approached. Telemachus had considered turning tail and sprinting as far from the small group of suitors as possible, but the last thing he’d needed was to look like a complete coward. Even if a complete coward was probably closer to the truth than the alternative label.

Eurymachus walked over alone. That made him feel a bit better, if only because Eurymachus rode Antinous’ dick like nobody else and was, consequently, the second least likely suitor to beat him up on sight for fun. That wasn’t really saying that much, but Telemachus had learned to appreciate the small victories in life. After all, he didn’t get many.

He sighed deeply. Really, this was on him; choosing to step foot in the courtyard was pretty much a death sentence in its own right. But he’d desperately needed the fresh air as of late, and that wasn’t debatable. It turned out that sitting alone in his room, staring at sharp objects and contemplating how best to maim himself, really wasn’t much better than facing the suitors. It wasn’t super productive, either.

Regrettably, he’d gotten to the point where solitude was a worse idea than potentially getting beat to a pulp. Beatings, at least, wouldn’t kill him… probably.

He could acknowledge that his life and thought process was more than a little sad at this point in time. Actually, he spent a good deal of time ruminating on this fact, and he’d come to realize that the less he dwelled on it the better. Lest he start crying in public, or in front of his mother, or anywhere. He’d really started to hate crying.

Eurymachus stopped in front of him. He had a face that looked permanantly smug and it never failed to get Telemachus’ blood boiling every time he saw it, but he was willing to be civil if it got him out of there alive. He definitely wasn’t going to be the one to extend the olive branch, though.

“Hey, princeling,” the man said, and Telemachus had to fight back a groan.

It’d been Antinous who’d set the standard of stupid nicknames for him, and he was never forgiving him for starting that trend. At least his voice wasn’t annoying like Eurymachus’, though. It made the little wolf bullshit a bit more bearable. All he knew was if that particular alias caught on amongst the suitors as a whole, it would be his last straw.

“Hey,” he grumbled. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eurymachus only smiled. He smiled a lot, particularly in situations which smiling was not the appropriate response. The prince kept his face absolutely neutral, an artform he’d long since perfected. The body talks, after all, and none of these snakes ever needed to know what his was saying.

“Not in a good mood today, are you?” The suitor cocked his head. Telemachus really didn’t understand why he, out of everyone there, was the one being constantly likened to a dog. “That’s alright. I only have a question, then I’ll be gone.”

A question, huh? That was new. A bit intriguing. It was also firmly untrustworthy behavior, and Telemachus would be safest treading carefully. He glanced at the group of suitors behind Eurymachus, who seemed to be entertaining themselves. He looked back at the man before him, narrowing his eyes.

“And do they have anything to do with your question?”

Eurymachus smile only widened some. “Nah. Just some friends.”

“And are your friends going to kick my ass should I answer your question wrong?”

“You have a lot of questions, don’t you?” A shrug. “No. I really do just have a question, no strings attached, just this once. I suggest you enjoy the peace.”

Telemachus stared at him. It didn’t seem like he was lying—for once—and the other suitors hardly even seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. He supposed it couldn’t hurt. And even if it did, it wasn’t like he could just up and walk away without consequences.

He sighed once again. “I’m trying to, so make it quick.”

“Alright.” Eurymachus leaned down a bit, casting a large shadow over Telemachus where he sat. “I’ve been dying to know, recently. You and Antinous. What’s your deal?”

The prince blinked up at him. This was unprecedented. Honestly, not even he knew what the deal between he and Antinous was. Obviously there was the link, but that shouldn’t be something other people could pick up on—as far as he was aware, anyway. But that was the only “deal” there was, unless you counted annoying the shit out of each other as a deal.

Now he was second guessing himself. Was there a deal? Was this psychological warfare, or was he being asked in earnest?

Yeah, right. Nothing Eurymachus did was in earnest. He frowned. “Why? Are you jealous, or something?”

The suitor rolled his eyes. “No. Just curious. Do you actually think he’s my type?”

Telemachus had really never put much thought into who Eurymachus’ type might be—and thank the gods for that—but Antinous looked like… that, so why not?

“I mean, I was under the impression most suitors were fucking each other. My mother definitely won’t, so it kinda seems like your only option.” He pouted sarcastically. “My condolences.”

Eurymachus scoffed, though he didn’t seem too offended. Telemachus was willing to bet that was because he knew his taunts were, on some level, true. He’d spent enough time people watching to know these men were desperate.

“You’re funny, princeling. I guess we’ll just have to see about that.” That grin, the one like he knew something you didn’t, was back. “But, no, I have a soulmate. That relates back to my previous point, actually—are you his?”

Telemachus nearly choked on air. Surely he hadn’t heard that correctly. “I’m sorry?”

The grin was at full force now. “You heard me. Are you and Antinous soulmates?”

He quickly gathered himself, aware on some level that he was making a stupid face. How did he know? Was it a lucky guess, or had Telemachus somehow given himself away, or had Antinous said something? Did he even know?

He was getting too flustered. He needed to calm down and buy himself some time to think about this. He wasn’t sure what the worst of exposing his soulmate status to a suitor would be, but he also wasn’t willing to test his luck and find out.

Telemachus pressed his lips into a thin line. “Shouldn’t you be asking him? He’s your master, is he not?”

Eurymachus sighed. “If you think you can annoy me into letting this go, you can’t. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Antinous isn’t the most forthcoming guy.”

“Yeah, well, neither am I.” The prince stood, hoping he didn’t look too frail looking up at him. “No, I am not his soulmate. Are you finished asking stupid questions, now?”

The suitor watched him stand, but didn’t budge from where he was, effectively blocking his path. How creative. Telemachus had really grown to resent his parents for screwing up his genes and locking him at a height and weight that did nothing but inhibit him. But, fine. Eurymachus could be that way. As long as the rest of his dumbass friends stayed safely away, he was willing to play this stupid game.

“Are you just going to stand there?” he snapped. “You asked, and I answered. My presence here is no longer needed.”

It was like he’d never spoken at all. “He doesn’t talk about many things often, not unless they’re concerning business.” Eurymachus stared at him, and Telemachus couldn’t help but feel a little unnerved by the glint in his eye. “He talks about you a good amount, I’d say. At least in comparison to most topics. And the things he says are very, very interesting.”

The prince’s skin prickled. “What sort of things? Like how to chop me up and dispose of me the easiest?”

“Well wouldn’t you like to know?” The fucking smile was back. “I can tell you that’s not it, though. Quite pessimistic, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” Telemachus’ eyes wandered over his shoulder. The other suitors were looking, now. He bit his lip. “If you want to have this conversation, tell your feral friends to back off.”

Eurymachus looked back, clearly apathetic. “Doesn’t seem you have much of a say here, princeling. What a shame.”

If Telemachus could smack him and get away with it, he would. Coming here was a mistake, but he’d already known that. He supposed compliance was the only way forward, as per usual. Or, he could accept his fate and walk himself into yet another losing battle. He gnawed on his own tongue. He really wasn’t in the mood.

At last he made his decision, if it could even be considered one.

“Yes,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, “I’m obviously going to assume the worst of the man who tried to turn my pancreas into a pancake. And no, I don’t care if he talks about me because I hate him the same way I hate you and everyone else here. So no, he’s not my fucking soulmate. Does that clear up your confusion?”

Eurymachus clicked his tongue in disapproval and he nearly tore it out. “But you don’t hate him the same way you hate the rest of us. It’s interesting, because I could’ve sworn I’ve seen you and him sitting together. Do you do that with everyone?”

He had him there. It really wasn’t easy to explain their relationship—he barely understood it himself most of the time, primarily due to Antinous’ near constant flip flopping between emotions and personas like a mentally ill fish on land. Maybe if his soulmate could decide whether or not to be a complete psycho and actually stick to it, he could give Eurymachus a straight answer.

Alas, that was never going to happen. His eye twitched. He had some words for Aphrodite. Some really, really strong words.

“Have you considered,” Telemachus said, very slowly as though speaking to a particularly emptyheaded child, “that the reason I’m inherently opposed to being anywhere near the rest of you weirdos is because you beat me up every day? For instance, if you acted a bit more normal, I wouldn’t get the uncontrollable urge to vomit every time I see your face. Diplomacy is a skill, you know.”

“Okay, point recieved.” Eurymachus’ smile dropped immediately. “Y’know, I was going to let you walk, but I take comments on my appearance very seriously.”

The prince rolled his eyes hard as the suitors standing nearby drew a little closer. “Clearly that’s the only aspect of your appearance you take seriously.”

He absolutely despised how, no matter how many times this same sequence of events went down, his heart never stopped pounding with the same old fear. It was impossible not to be afraid when he could still feel the remainder of injuries from prior days radiating across his skin.

That being said, it seemed to really piss the men off when he didn’t react. Sometimes they got creative with the violence, but most times it was the same routine. He’d gotten extremely good at looking extremely impassive even while being tossed around like a sack of bruised potatoes. He’d gotten uncannily skilled at controlling his tear ducts, along with his vocal cords for maximum efficiency. It was like beating a brick wall. He was very proud of that.

Things went down exactly how he’d thought they would. He still walked with a limp, even two weeks later in the present. He’d never seen his mother so angry.

Speaking of the present… and anger. Telemachus had known Antinous was in a bad mood that day. He could feel it, festering and iron hot at the back of his mind. It was making him deeply irritated, and that was just by proximity, so he had a good idea of just what kind of day the man must’ve been happening.

He didn’t know why. Frankly, he didn’t particularly care to find out. But he did have a mission, and Antinous was going to be helpful to him for once.

Now, on the surface, trying to get a rise out of an incredibly pissed off man twice your size seemed like a terrible idea. And it… was. He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. While the lead suitor did seem a lot more neutral toward him nowadays, and their rare interactions in the castle halls typically began and ended with a verbal dispute, that didn’t make Telemachus immortal.

He knew all of this. Antinous had attacked him before, and what was stopping him from doing it again? He wasn’t the worst suitor, not by a long shot, but he was still a suitor. There was a reason the prince kept his guard up around him the exact same way he did around the other intruders. He could never be too certain.

That being said, there was something else Telemachus knew. But he was a cautious man, and he knew not to draw such a dramatic conclusion without sufficient evidence. So now he had to put his theory to the test with the one man he could be almost certain wouldn’t send him six feet under.

See, the prince had developed quite the talent for knowing when he was being watched. And while, most of the time, the uncomfortable sensation of eyes boring into his spine was the result of a suitor or many, it’d been happening more and more while he was completely alone.

At first he’d thought he was being stalked, but he quickly disregarded that theory. After all, he got the feeling none of the brutes that opposed him could make themselves unknown so expertly. And no one, brute or otherwise, was hiding themself in a completely open space or empty room. So that was off the table.

He’d then chalked it up to his own paranoia. That was definitely a lot more feasible, as the near constant night and day terrors made him quite prone to anxiety. Still, after months of these happenings, Telemachus decided even he could not make up such a thing. He was definitely being watched.

That being said, knowing he was being watched by a mysterious, invisible entity didn’t make him feel any better. He felt like a kid again, longing to be rocked in his mother’s arms to avoid the monster under his bed.

He wasn’t so delusional as to genuinely believe he was being followed by a monster, but it definitely wasn’t human. And then one day—last night, to be exact—it hit him, and he felt so very stupid. Telemachus had made eye contact with an owl outside his bedroom window and he’d just known.

How could he forget the existence of the gods themselves?

His own father had been Lady Athena’s champion. He’d been aware of that fact since he was a child! It was safe to say that Telemachus felt like a colossal idiot for not putting two and two together the very first time he’d felt those phantom eyes on him, but all was not lost.

Knowing he was being monitored by Athena made him feel… better? He didn’t know, actually. On one hand, being noticed by a goddess was pretty fucking cool. But on the other hand, he didn’t actually know her motivations, and he didn’t presume to. For all he knew, she was following him around and laughing to herself about what a disappointment to his entire family line he was.

Be that as it may, he needed answers. And, considering how long it’d been since he’d first caught Athena’s attention, she wasn’t going to make the first move anytime soon. Thus, the responsibility fell to him.

So he’d gotten to thinking. He’d been so busy thinking that he hadn’t gotten even a wink of sleep last night—and thank the gods for that, as Antinous’ nightmares were only getting stronger and more violent as time went on.

Huh. Maybe that was why he was so pissed recently. Telemachus had to wonder how much of the dreams were pulled from his soulmate’s lived experiences and how much were artistic liberty. Did they flare up on their own, or were there certain triggers that inspired weeks on end of sleepless nights?

This was all beside the point, anyway. It really wasn’t his business in the first place, except it kind of was since their lives were irreversably linked and it was Telemachus who had to suffer through the shitty dreams on his soulmate’s behalf, but—

That wasn’t the point. He sighed to himself; the fates were truly testing him.

The point was he needed to create a catalyst for Athena to take action and make herself known. But what could he do—or have done to him, he supposed—that could possibly inspire the presence of a diety?

Well, she was the goddess of war. And wisdom, but he figured the chances of impressing her with his wit alone was slim to none. So what better way to get the goddess of war to reveal herself to you than getting in a fight?

Now, he was aware he’d been in numerous altercations under Athena’s watch where she’d never interfered. That sort of offended him, but there were no hard feelings. After all, he’d never even attempted to fight back in those instances.

That led straight into his next point. He needed to fight back, show Athena he wasn’t totally puny, and then, if he was lucky…

Boom. Divine intervention.

Now, this was far from a flawless plan and he knew it. He was making a lot of assumptions, for one thing, and it was certainly bold to assume anything of the gods. He didn’t really have a choice, though. It was clear no star was going to fall from the sky and change his life, so it came down to him.

And Antinous, of course.

His reasoning for picking a fight with him over anyone else was simple. One, he probably wouldn’t completely incapacitate him should things go wrong. Two, he probably wouldn’t call in backup; he’d always been more of a one-on-one type of guy. And, three, there were worse people to have his ass kicked by. So what if he liked to switch it up every once in a while? Fighting the same ten, fifteen people every day got old.

Telemachus sucked in a breath, injured leg bouncing nervously from where he lingered behind a pillar. Was he really about to do this? He wanted to consider himself courageous, but his increasingly fast paced heart and wobbly legs was making such a thing extremely difficult.

How was he even supposed to go about doing this? Antinous wasn’t at all impulsive, and the prince found it hard to believe he could simply anger him into taking the first swing. Plus, he felt his intentions would be far too obvious, and the last thing he needed was to be called on his bluff.

That left starting the fight up to him, but… how was he meant to do that!? In theory, it was the opposite of complicated. All he had to do was walk up and hit him, but that posed the serious risk of Antinous laughing in his face or getting jumped by all the suitors for daring to attack their leader. Or both.

It wasn’t like he packed a super great punch. He’d be lucky if his fist didn’t just bounce off the man’s unfairly large bicep.

He was beginning to get the feeling he was overthinking this. This had been his plan, so it was entirely on him to execute it. He had to remember the end goal of all this. Athena, Athena, Athena.

The choice in his approach was swiftly made for him as a hand grabbed at his collar, yanking him out from his hiding spot. Telemachus kicked himself for allowing his mind to wander so far he’d forgotten rule number one of survival: opening your eyes and using them.

He was more than a little disgruntled at having been snuck up on by a suitor, but he only had himself to blame, so he tempered the annoyance. Then he let it flare as the suitor—Agathinos, judging by the shadow—dragged him out into the middle of the banquet hall.

The room, bustling with likely very drunk men, fell into a mix of quiet and soft titters as Telemachus was flung forwards and into the fray. He caught himself just barely before crashing over a table, stumbling slightly and fighting not to panic. There were just so many. Was the entire population of suitors all gathered here? And who drank this much so early in the morning? This was why the castle storage was so damn empty all the time.

His eyes found Antinous’ across the room. He definitely looked drunk, and he felt it too, judging by the slight wooziness and dulled surprise tugging at the back of Telemachus’ skull. He didn’t know why the suitor always acted so shocked whenever he made an appearance. Did he know he lived here?

Whatever. Hopefully he was an angry drunk, or at least an erratic one. Or maybe he should be worrying about himself a little more, considering he’d just walked straight into the lion’s den, and the crowd of eyes following him seemed incredibly hungry for blood.

Telemachus shivered.

“Well, well, well,” Agathinos slurred. “Look who decided to show up. Come to drink with us, oh prince?”

Over his dead body. Maybe he should stop using that phrase. “Absolutely not.”

A ripple of murmurs and laughter through the crowd. Telemachus grit his teeth as the suitor before him snickered. Agathinos was an asshole, like most of the people populating this room, and he was definitely worse than Antinous. Like Eurymachus, it seemed terrorizing him was one of the suitor’s favorite pasttimes.

It also seemed like his dreams of a fair fight were officially crushed. Now his only objective was making it out of this room with all his limbs in tact. To be fair, though, if he could pull that off, Athena’d probably be impressed either way. Maybe this was actually a favorable outcome. At the very least, it could become one.

Agathinos leered at him. “Is that right?” He laid a heavy elbow on Telemachus’ shoulder, forcing him into a sideways lean. “Well I’d say as long as you’re here, you’re asking for it.”

The prince wasn’t naive to the way most suitors spoke of his mother, nor the things they likely wanted to do to her. He wasn’t ignorant to the way they devoured her appearance like starving hyenas standing over a corpse, either. That being said, it was an entirely new experience to have that same look directed at him.

His skin crawled with disgust. How did his mother deal with this? Or was it easier for her, being so untouchable, while Telemachus was left to struggle on the front lines? He knew it wasn’t the same and that he shouldn’t compare, but he couldn’t help it sometimes. Now was one of those times.

He truly hoped Agathinos was alone on this particular view. The last thing he needed was the public’s opinion of him shifting toward that of a sexual conquest, considering it was probably the only way his social standing could get worse at this point. He shuddered at the notion, leaning as far from the suitor’s arm pressed against him as physically possible. He could deal with vitriol. He could not deal with desire.

Screw it. Why had he thought he could handle any of this? If Athena wanted herself to be known, she would’ve gone and done it already. He was only wasting his time chasing ghosts.

It seemed some of the suitors had grown bored of their display. Telemachus silently thanked the heavens for their alcohol-induced poor attention spans. At a suddenly sharp pang of anger, his eyes were drawn almost magnetically back to Antinous’ table.

Eurymachus looked remarkably disinterested beside him. In all fairness, he also looked barely conscious, leaning so heavily against Antinous that he was practically pushing him off the bench. Telemachus’ stomach twisted a little at the sight, though he didn’t care to put a finger on why.

That wasn’t the real focus here, anyway. Antinous looked nothing short of furious, though it was somewhat unclear just what exactly had inspired such a reaction. He guessed the man was a lot more liberal with his expressions when under the influence. He felt incredibly chilly as their gazes met momentarily, cool blue meeting heated brown. It didn’t really matter to him; the prince could use any sort of negativity, really.

Telemachus shrugged the arm away, stepping back. “Fuck off. I’m not here for you.”

He was all too aware how he close he was to backing himself straight into a table full of other men, so he forced himself to stop even as Agathinos pursued him. The suitor’s hand closed around his arm roughly, yanking him forwards.

“I wonder,” Agathinos said, words sour and uncomfortably close to his skin, “just how much you resemble your mother, hm?”

There was an uproar of drunken laughter from the table closest to them. Telemachus bit his tongue, focusing entirely on breathing and not losing himself to rage or fear. He had a mission.

“Don’t talk about my mother,” he hissed, trying fruitlessly to pull himself free.

The suitor grinned, free hand landing heavily on the prince’s waist. “You ought to thank me, boy. You’re lucky I haven’t already torn that pretty dress off your tramp of a mother myself.”

Telemachus’ vision flashed. The hand on his midsection felt sticky and disgusting and they’d definitely caught the attention of the room now, and how dare this man speak of his mother that way and make him to feel so small?

There were so many eyes on him. He couldn’t break free. And, oh my gods, these men might actually rape him. “Don’t you dare call my mother a tramp!”

It came out a roar, but what good was one voice against one hundred men? One hundred men who, even if not the ones doing the assaulting, were perfectly keen to watch it happen. No one was coming to save him.

Someone stood in the corner of his vision. Agathinos’ sneer only intensified. “Or what?”

The suitor’s head turned, then, addressing their sniggering audience more than Telemachus himself. “Who’s gonna tell the little brat his precious mother would sit far prettier on my cock than a throne?”

Another chorus of laughter. Someone might’ve pitched in something equally horrible—he heard his own name in there somewhere—but he could hardly focus on anything more than the blood rushing in his ears and the frantic pace of his heart. He could feel his skin flush, the sweat beginning to bead at his temple, but more than anything he felt furious. Enraged. Terrified, but so, so angry.

And so Telemachus dug down into the fabric of his chiton, taking quick advantage of how little attention he was being paid. He reached the holster he’d crafted and fitted himself, the result of days of craft, and his fingers closed around the familiar hilt of a knife.

He’d only ever taken his frustrations out on himself. But the way Agathinos was holding him hostage, the way the suitors laughed and jeered as though nothing was wrong, like they just got to treat him this way?

The way they spoke of his mother like a piece of meat. The way they threatened her virtue and more. The way they’d barged into his kingdom and treated his family like trash stuck to the bottom of their sandals?

The way he still limped. The way his arm pulsed in the suitor’s hold from pressure on bruises both old and knew. The way he’d been made to hate himself and to feel so weak, and the way he’d allowed his hate and bitterness to build for years with no outlet—

He’d never fought back while armed. No one in the castle fought while armed, but if the suitors could bend the rules and niceties any way they wanted, why couldn’t he?

Enough was enough. Enough was enough. And he’d sooner bleed to death, skewered and defiled on his own blade, than allow these vile men to speak one more word on his mother.

His eyes met Antinous’ briefly over Agathinos’ shoulder. He was standing. He looked horrified, maybe.

Telemachus felt impossibly angrier. How could he just listen to this? How could he be so scandalized, act so above it all, and yet allow it to happen? These men listened to him in a way the prince could never even dream of getting them to. They revered him. He was their leader, for fuck’s sake. If he told them to stop, they would.

But he didn’t. He may not’ve participated in their cruelty firsthand, but he allowed it. He sat back and allowed it. Either he was nothing more than a filthy coward with no beliefs beyond his own greed, or his hate for Telemachus was truly unique. Some fucking soulmate he was.

His hate flared. Toward the suitors, toward the fates, toward Aphrodite, and toward fucking Antinous most of all. They all deserved to bleed. He wanted them to bleed, weep red and crimson until the castle stained like pomegranates and he could bathe in the salt of their tears.

Years. Months. Weeks. Days. He’d taken it for so long. No more. Either Athena came down to save his skin and do something good for a change, or he bled out where he stood.

At least he wouldn’t die a fucking coward.

With an energy and sureness he hadn’t felt in a long time, Telemachus tore the knife free and drove it straight into Agathinos’ forearm. The man screamed, caught off guard and in pain, and with a cruelty he hadn’t known he’d posessed, the prince clenched his jaw and twisted.

The sound of flesh squelching and the distinctly metallic smell of fresh blood wasn’t one he’d soon forget, nor the gasp of agony. The suitor stumbled backward, clutching his mangled arm and looking at Telemachus with an expression that could only be described as aghast.

For a moment, the entire room was still. Only him, chest heaving and hands shaking, clutching a bloody knife like an axe murderer. The suitors gaped in silence at him. He was sure his eyes had to be bulging out of his skull.

He felt disgusted with himself. He felt disgusted, and also on top of the world and like he’d never come down. He’d done that. He’d inspired fear, even if it was likely short lived.

So be it. Someone wasn’t leaving this place alive.

With a sound that could only be described as animalistic, Telemachus lunged at the suitor, knife slashing wildly. He knew he’d made contact as the man yelped, shoving back at him desperately and sending the prince crashing into a nearby table.

All hell broke lose, then. There was yelling, the sound of glass breaking and the smell of wine spilling from shattered bottles as Telemachus careened into the crowd. His arms flew, knife slicing shallowly into someone’s cheek, who yelled. People scrambled every which way to escape the chaos—someone grabbed at Telemachus, and he kicked wildly at them.

Someone’s hand went for his neck and he bit down hard, crunching on fingers. Their blood tasted nothing short of disgusting, but the ensuing crack of bone and pained growl made it absolutely worth it.

A fist connected with his face soon after, the impact so strong it made his ears ring. His face felt completely numb for a moment, and that didn’t last long as he was punched again. His nose crunched and he let out a guttural shriek as the bone caved.

There were multiple men restraining him then, shoving him down into the wood of a table. It creaked under the weight, and something sharp was shoving into his back and, gods, it hurt. The disgusting wetness of food and drink he was being shoved into really wasn’t helping his panic, and nor was the knife being wrenched from his hand.

Fine, he didn’t need a damn knife. He was at least going to do some more damage before fucking dying. His fist connected with someone’s face—Antinous’ face—and the recognition only fueled his fervor. He clawed viciously at an unsuspecting eye, missing just barely but leaving a deep scratch down his cheek.

And then his knife was pointed in his direction, and someone who definitely wasn’t Antinous driving it down toward Telemachus’ face and—

Time slowed. He didn’t know exactly when he’d started crying, but he did know his vision was inhibited by streams of blood and tears, and his voice felt raw from all the screaming and cursing he’d presumably been participating in.

He blinked rapidly, clearing the sludge from his eyes. For a moment, he thought he’d actually died and this was a snippet of the afterlife. What other reasoning could there be for why the knife that was meant to have punctured the center of his face was suspended just inches away, completely unmoving.

Then he turned his head, choking on his own spit when he came face to face with who could only be Athena. She was tall, and imposing, and the grim look on her fight might’ve been scary had he been in a different situation. Now, it seemed like a ray of light in a world of dark.

Telemachus tried to smile fully, but the gigantic dent in his lip made the act unbearably painful. He settled for a slight upturn of the lips, just barely catching his breath.

“Athena,” he panted, only to realize his words were slurred by the sheer amount of sticky blood flooding his mouth.

He turned his face further to the side, spitting red onto the table. Now that he’d been given a moment to relax, he quickly realized he’d bitten his tongue hard enough to leave a sizeable indent, and deep enough to nearly choke on his own blood.

Oh, well. He wiped at his mouth, feeling disgusted and tired and in pain but more alive than he had in the past three years alone. He smiled again. His lip stung.

“This,” Athena said, voice low, “is a stunt I never could’ve expected. Even your father would never stoop so low.”

He opened his mouth to say something but the goddess held up a finger. “You’re only going to injure yourself further. Your recklessness is astonishing to me.”

“That’s why I need you,” he managed to say, eyes tearing up once again from the strain. “Please.”

Athena’s face softened ever so slightly. She reached out a hand, hovering it just over his face, and he felt the bones of his nose realign. His tongue, previously burning so awfully it’d been difficult not to vomit from the pain alone, seemed to squeeze itself shut, the persistent trickle of blood coming to an end. He stared at her, astonished.

Her eyes glinted dangerously. “Gather your bearings, little wolf. Now allow me to assist you in fighting for your life.”

Telemachus felt suddenly, miraculously, rejuvenated. Time faded back into being, and before the knife could make contact with his face, he rolled aside. It plunged deep into the table.

His reflexes felt insanely fast. Inhuman, even. A well placed kick sent one of his attackers reeling before the blade could be retrieved, and he sat up on the table, narrowly dodging a blow.

Following the whisper of Athena’s voice, he grabbed an unbroken bottle and smacked it straight into the skull of another suitor. The thid sent the man spiralling to the floor, and suddenly it was just he and Antinous, face to face. It seemed at some point the rest of the suitors had either retreated or been knocked out cold.

The back of Telemachus’ mind pulsed with apprehension and fear. Before the suitor could react, he reached behind him and wrenched the knife from the table, pointing it at Antinous’ throat.

His knife-wielding arm was covered in blood. It highlighted the spiderweb of bruises excellently, he thought. If the look on Antinous’ face said anything, it was that he looked positively unhinged.

Good.

Slowly, the suitor raised his hands, backing up carefully. “Hey, hey. You can put down the weapon, little wolf.”

Telemachus scooted forward and off the table, pursuing Antinous as he inched backwards. His head was ringing and the side of his own face burned with a phantom pain. He supposed that was what he got for scratching his soulmate so violently, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

Fuck the fates.

“No.” He continued stalking forwards, knife outstretched as Antinous continued retreating. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t gut you like a fish right now.”

The suitor’s eyes narrowed as he took another step back. “I’m getting the sense you’re not in your right mind right now. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

He laughed sharply, stopping at exactly the same time Antinous did. The man was backed into a corner. At least now he knew how Telemachus had always felt.

“Really? Because I certainly am.”

“Telemachus!”

He jolted at the sound of his name coming out of Antinous’ mouth. His skin tingled and his heart fluttered. He was going to fucking kill him. He was going to kill himself.

“What?” he snapped. His voice sounded unusually high strung, even to himself. Maybe he really wasn’t in his right mind, but the spiral felt too intense to stop.

Antinous’ hands were outstretched, not so much defensive as pleading. “Please. Put the knife down.”

He was done with listening. He was done with being bossed around and having no control in his own destiny. “No.”

“Telemachus.” It was Athena’s voice now, commanding inside his head. “This is your soulmate. You can’t kill him.”

He turned around, time now safely frozen. “Sure I can.”

Her face hardened with concern. “It will kill you. Surely you know that.”

“I do.” His jaw tightened.

For a moment, all was completely still. The goddess’ shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “He means you no harm, Telemachus. I can see inside his mind, and he is not going to kill you.” She paused as though pondering. “Sometimes, mercy is a necessary skill. You’d do well to remember that.”

He didn’t really want to kill Antinous. His stomach flipped at the thought. He didn’t trust him, he hated him, but he didn’t want to kill him. And, besides. He’d be a fool not to listen to the goddess of wisdom.

The steady ticking of the clock inside his mindscape faded. Slowly, in the present, he lowered the weapon. Antinous’ eyes relaxed just slightly, but his posture remained stiff.

He was feeling many conflicting emotions. Fear, sadness, anxiety, stress, grief, relief, and—

A shock so potent it felt almost crushing.

Antinous’ arms fell, mirroring his own. Very softly, he murmured, “Good. Good boy. Just—drop the knife. Put it down. Mind the feet.”

Telemachus shifted hesitantly, stuck between his own apprehension, Athena’s words, and the rising feeling of warmth in his chest. Not to mention the sudden exhaustion taking over his whole body.

He dropped the knife. It clattered.

Antinous exhaled slowly. For a moment, they just stood there. The suitor’s face shifted ever so slightly, as though a decision Telemachus wasn’t privy to had just been made.

For a split second, he thought he heard Athena call to him. Something about watching out. And then a fist connected hard with his face at just the right angle, and his world flickered. He fell.

The last thing he remembered before passing out was the smell of cedar, alongside strong arms and a smooth voice whose murmurings he couldn’t quite decipher.

Chapter Text

Oh my gods. Oh my gods. Oh my gods.

“Fucking hell,” Antinous said, clamping his jaw tightly shut as he barely restrained the urge to retch. He didn’t have time for this shit. Gods, he should just end it all now and give up on all this. That blade was so close. He was so close.

He clapped a hand over his mouth as he gagged. Gods above, he was useless. He was scum of the earth, pique of uselessness and ultimate waste of space. He deserved to die. He didn’t even deserve that. And a little blood shouldn’t be wrecking him like this, but—

Oh, fuck it. It wasn’t about the blood, or the knife, or the pain rippling through the side of his face in heavy waves. It was about Telemachus, crumpled at his feet, unconscious and injured. Which was something Antinous had done. One of the many, many things he’d done.

There was so much blood, but it didn’t matter. Oh my gods. It wasn’t about that, it was about his—

“Holy shit,” he gasped, and this time couldn’t hold back the ensuing retch. He turned the opposite direction as Telemachus’ body as quickly as possible, surprising himself with the lack of resulting vomit. He only dry heaved for a few moments, head spinning, and he couldn’t tell if it was sickness or a head injury or Telemachus.

His—

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even think it.

Forget it. That wasn’t possible, but his only other option was to crawl into the center of the earth and embrace death. Focus. Focus. He needed to get the prince out of here, lest someone else find him first. Ignoring how just touching the little wolf filled him with dread and the heavy pressure of shame, Antinous carefully lifted him from the floor.

He was light. Way lighter than he probably should’ve been. Did he not eat?

Whatever. It wasn’t his business what the prince did or didn’t do—if he was being frank with himself, it was probably at least partly his fault.

Fully. Fully was a little more accurate. He was just like his father, wasn’t he? No, he might’ve been worse. And this scene was just all too familiar. Hadn’t his mother been held just the same way Telemachus was now? Hadn’t she fallen with the same dead weight and heavy thud that he had?

He remembered it all. His mother’s face had grown distant and fuzzy in his mind, but somehow, that sound stayed clear as day in his memories. Impact, shuddering breath, thud. Bone and ground, the tiniest crack smallest of splinters. His world tipped, then, like an explosion but quieter. But much more silent.

His mother was never silent. She liked to talk. That, he remembered. She talked and laughed and glowed so brightly. She just never stopped. He didn’t remember her face, but he remembered the glow.

Love. He hadn’t been loveless then.

And then he was, he supposed, as the world tipped and the universe split and his mother merged into earth with nothing more than a thud, like a hammer to a nail. Nothing more, nothing less.

Thud.

The world didn’t end. Time didn’t stop or slow down. There was no miracle, no goddess to swoop down and save her. There was simply nothing at all.

His father nearly died. Antinous remembered that, too. He hit her, and then he fell to the ground with an awful scream like he’d been the one who died. Maybe like his heart had been wrenched in two, though he guessed that must’ve been the point.

She stopped. He didn’t. And Antinous learned, then, that heartbreak wasn’t just one moment. It wasn’t one sound, one sensation. It was a dam that built and built but never truly collapsed. When it broke, it splintered. The tiniest drip, and then the next, and eventually, there’s nothing left.

Loveless. Heartbreak. Thud.

He didn’t remember much more than that. He couldn’t be sure, but in his nightmares, he only watched. His mother didn’t bleed, but she didn’t get up. His father cried, or maybe that’d been his imagination. He’d watched, and then he’d walked away.

“C’mon,” he hissed, pressing two fingers lightly to the side of Telemachus’ neck. It looked so fragile under his hand, like one wrong move could crush him. He winced at the unwanted imagery, holding his own breath as he searched for a pulse.

Logically, he knew one hit shouldn’t kill him. But one hit had killed someone. And he’d be damned if he—if his soulmate—

“Telemachus,” he growled, anger and anxiety flaring in his chest dangerously. “Please. Come on.”

As though on command, his neck pulsed. Faintly, very faintly, but a pulse all the same. A slow, shaky breath fanned out against Antinous’ skin. The prince was knocked out. Like he’d intended. And he was going to wake up.

His legs nearly went limp beneath him with the sheer weight of his relief. Ignoring the fact that his arms felt utterly useless and about as stable as a mound of dry sand, Antinous shifted the little wolf in his arms so his head wouldn’t be tipped so uncomfortably. Judging by the way he’d hit the floor, a concussion was likely in order. That was an entirely seperate issue, though, and one he’d have to confront at a later time.

He needed Aphrodite, badly. That could wait, too. What he really needed was to get the prince and himself the hell out of there.

Antinous glanced down at the knife by his feet. Take it, or leave it? It looked intricately crafted, perhaps even some sort of family heirloom. The blade was sharp and stained with the blood of who-knows-who, and while the thought of carrying the weapon around with him only further turned his stomach, leaving it out in the open for anyone to snatch was a far worse idea.

Changing his grip on the little wolf once again to brace him against his right arm and shoulder, the suitor stooped as smoothly as possible to retrieve the knife. He shoved it into the holster strapped to his leg, straightening slowly.

Telemachus groaned quietly. His face twitched violently, limbs jerking oddly in his… sleep? Was all the movement hurting him? Gods, Antinous truly couldn’t do anything right, even when he was actually trying—

“Shut up!” he snapped aloud. The prince twitched again at the noise. His heart squeezed awfully and he hastily lowered his voice. “Sorry. About…”

Antinous hauled the both of them across the hall, shoving open the grand doors with his back and elbow. What was he sorry for? Trying to steal the throne? Marry his mother? Allow all this to go on in the first place?

He made a turn. He really had nowhere to take the prince besides his or the queen’s quarters, and there was no way he was trying that. The suitors’ rooms were really his only option besides dumping the man somewhere entirely random, but the little wolf needed a bed and some pillows. Desperately.

Maybe not. He was young, in fairly okay shape. Alright, probably less than okay. Still, one bad rest on a concussion wouldn’t kill him, would it?

But what if it did? And then Antinous would really be a murderer, truly and irrefutably the worst, and he’d be utterly alone and he’d have to live with another fresh layer of guilt for the rest of his life, and—

No. The suitors’ quarters weren’t safe, but Antinous was fairly confident he could hide him. At least long enough to return him to the queen in better condition.

Return him? That was against his best interests, was it not? This was the perfect opportunity. A hostage situation, practically, and with a little blackmail, the queen would certainly yield.

He had the greatest pawn on the board cradled in his arms. This was what he’d been waiting for his whole life: A golden opportunity. One on a silver platter, served up to him with no tricks or deception. No drawbacks. Just profit—hell, the greatest profit in the entirety of Ithaca—and all for his lonesome.

He glanced down at Telemachus, eyelashes casting shifting shadows as his eyelids fluttered subconciously, and felt immediately mortified as tears sprung to his own eyes. What was he doing? Who even was he anymore?

The suitors listened to him. Somewhat. But they were their own people, and they grew bolder and prouder and more willing to push the limits as the years forged on. He didn’t want this. He’d never intended for things to go quite this far, but then again, where was the surprise there?

He was poison. His entire family line was poison. Affairs inside the castle had gotten out of hand impossibly quickly, and before Antinous knew it, pressure on the royal family became more than pressure. It became torture for torture’s sake, harm for pure amusement. It made him sick. It reminded him of…

Himself. Himself, and the man he’d left back home just like him. Himself, and the shadow of darkness he constantly tried and failed to outrun.

The men respected him, but they didn’t always listen to him. They trusted his strategy, and hadn’t this been it? Hadn’t this been the plan? Hadn’t it been working?

He’d told them to leave the prince alone—of course he did. He told them to be a little less extreme. The plan was already in play. It wasn’t necessary anymore. Sometimes they listened. Most times?

Well. It was evident how most times went, considering the events of this afternoon.

Antinous wanted to believe he was a good person. That being said, he knew it wasn’t true. Goodness wasn’t within him. He’d come to far to turn back, and so sickness and evil were the only things left. He held onto those things; it was easier.

Some people say ignorance is bliss. He believed that, to an extent. But ignorance can also be malice, and what was he if not malicious?

Telemachus didn’t deserve any of this. Not a single bit. And now that Antinous knew? Now that he knew this man, so brazen and brave with the sharp tongue and a stubborness made the impossible seemingly possible for him? Quick witted, and smart and mean, and who hated him, rightfully, more than anyone in the world?

He could feel the prince’s distaste. He couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t hate him. They were soulmates. They were supposed to be in love.

What a load of bullshit. The realization teetered just between the realm of funny and sad. Soulmates or not, he’d seen how these things went. He knew better than anyone that love alone was not enough. And they didn’t even have that.

Carefully and silently, Antinous eased open the door to the suitors’ chambers. There didn’t seem to be anyone there, though it was difficult to tell with the new arrangement. After years of sharing a singular room, the palace had finally split them up into seperate, smaller abodes.

It’d been a good sign when it’d first happened. He’d figured it was a sign of the kingdom slowly giving in, accepting that the suitors weren’t leaving without a crown. Now, it only made him ill. They weren’t leaving. They weren’t leaving without a crown.

Walking the familiar path down to his room, he pushed open the door. It was pretty much pitch black, and the coolness of the lower floor filled him with a strange calmness and relief. That, and sorrow.

Now he didn’t know what to think. Where did he end and Telemachus begin? Where did their thoughts align and diverge and where did their feelings forge together? When had their strings become tangled in the web of fate? When were they supposed to be perfect together?

Perfect. It nearly made him laugh. There was nothing perfect about them. There was no love, there never would be, and there really shouldn’t be. That was for everyone’s benefit.

Antinous moved to stand over his bed. Slowly, he lowered Telemachus down onto the mattress. The man didn’t so much as fidget in his sleep. For a long moment, the room was filled only with the sound of his and the suitor’s low, ragged breaths.

The little wolf looked peaceful. Younger, even, when his face relaxed and his features softened. His expressions were always so hardened, his eyes always sharp and angular. He never stopped glaring. Antinous hadn’t thought he could.

Now, he slept. He was covered in blood and the suitor was definitely going to have to wash the entire room clean of the residue, but…

Foreign tranquility flooded his mind. Telemachus. His soulmate, hostage, and enemy.

Victim.

He buried his face in his hands, turning away. This was what he’d wanted. It was all so perfect. It was all going according to plan. He was so close, the life he’d been dreaming of for so long was right there, and—

Love. He wanted to believe. He didn’t want this. He wanted a soulmate who he could love and who could love him back, and who wouldn’t make things so goddamn complicated.

The tear was hot against his cheek. He flicked it away; he was only allowing himself the one. This was who he was now. And the person he was now didn’t have a single tear left to cry.

He was evil. He was fucked in the mind and his life was a mess from the very beginning. He was never going to be happy, or fulfilled, or able to outrun the cesspool of guilt that’d been nipping at his heels for over a decade now. He was just Antinous. The suitor.

Goodness didn’t exist within him. It couldn’t. But if he couldn’t do good for the people in his life, he could at least disappear. Surely he’d be doing some people a favor. Maybe he could save someone a bit of pain.

Just how long had Telemacus known? How long had he known this wretched beast of a man he knew himself to be was meant to be his? How long had he suffered in silence?

Rage bubbled beneath his skin. Why hadn’t he told him? Why hadn’t he just fucking done something, anything rather than allow this stupid charade to go on?

The knife against his thigh itched. There was only one way out of all this, wasn’t there?

If Antinous couldn’t do good, he could at least resolve to stop doing bad.

He unsheathed the knife, placing it gently onto the dresser beside the bed. He sank, hesitantly, onto a chair opposite the little wolf’s position. There was no movement from the bed other than the subtle rise and fall of Telemachus’ chest and the soft fluttering of his eyelashes.

The bedroom door was locked. It was just the two of them. There was a knife on the dresser and someone was going to use it.

If Antinous couldn’t do good, he could at least stop doing bad. He could at least stop.

He didn’t exactly have high expectations or standards, but he’d at least like to die with some answers. Maybe he didn’t deserve that much, but this certainly wasn’t the beginning of his selfish streak.

In all honesty, selfishness was all he’d ever known, and for good reason. When you’re poor and irrelevant, when you know the world wouldn’t bat an eye if you disappeared, and when you have no one on your side, selfishness is the only way to survive. So what if it made you wrong? Some people aren’t born in palaces stacked on silver and gold. Some people can only do what it takes.

He tipped his head back against his shoulders and laughed a shuddering, painful laugh. This would no doubt come to be a long, long wait. That was fine, he supposed. This had been a long time coming, after all.

Antinous wasn’t going to do it any longer.

A gentle breeze. The air was cool against his face, ghosting over his skin and tickling his cheeks like the delicate touch of a feather. It was silent, eerily so, but the tranquil nature of the scene soothed the shadow of what might’ve become unease.

It was perfect. Telemachus’ body didn’t ache. His mind felt clear and his limbs light with a carelessness he could never afford, and—

Ah.

A dream.

His eyes opened. Fields of rippling roses in every shade stretched from where they cocooned his body to the edge of the horizon, which burned brightly with the oranges and pinks of sunset.

He squinted up into the sky. This world was undeniably beautiful. It felt homey, almost, and the ground his back was pressed into felt pillowy like the finest of beds. It was nice, sure, but it was a fleeting niceness that couldn’t possibly last.

Just how long had it been? Or was the apparent passage of time a figment of his imagination? Was this all merely some twisted form of escapism? Was he even alive?

He knew he’d been hit. Several times, actually, but he remembered the finishing blow best. He didn’t know much more beyond the subtle pressure of reality pulsing in his temples, but he knew that much.

Knowledge was power, he guessed. Telemachus chose to count his blessings, because he didn’t have all too many, and—

Speaking of blessings. Speaking of knowledge.

Athena… he’d met her, hadn’t he? Was this dreamlike landscape the doing of a goddess? Could she even do such a thing? It really didn’t seem like the war goddess’ domain, but who knew?

A rose petal flitted through the air, landing lightly against the curvature of his cheek. The ticklish sensation felt all to familiar to another feeling, so he wasted no time brushing it away. Slowly, the prince sat up. Impossibly, the scenery seemed to grow more vibrant at the movement and change of perspective.

He blinked, squinting through blinding sunlight. There was a faint shape in the distance, just barely visible, but distinct all the same. A person?

Telemachus pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the unsteadiness of his legs and the sudden rush of lightheadedness. He wasn’t about to complain; it was a miracle that he was alive in the first place.

Well. Miracle maybe wasn’t the right word. Not that he hadn’t wanted to survive, but…

He bit his lip and promptly released as he tasted blood. Bad habits. And so what if he’d maybe, possibly, very slightly wished not to wake up? He was still here—wherever “here” may be—and that was what mattered. He’d fought for what was important, and he’d won, so that had to count for something, right?

His blood still boiled as he thought back to the suitors’ words. The hand on his waist, the knife, and what they’d said about his mother was just so…

Shit. His mother. If he was dreaming—or dead, or hallucinating, or whatever—that meant she was all alone. He’d been knocked out in the banquet hall, and he knew for a fact he hadn’t walked himself back to the queen’s quarters. She was all alone, and the suitors had to be nothing less than pissed at his little stunt.

His stomach dropped. When the suitors got angry, things tended to go south. Typically they’d take it up with him, and that was fine. Now, though? His mother was all alone, and the suitors were angry. They had to be.

What would they do? How long had he been unconscious? What if they found his mother’s room, broke down the door, and—

That settled it. Divine intervention or not, he needed to wake up. His mother needed him, and he’d be damned if he allowed something to happen under his guard.

Pushing himself to walk faster despite the wobble in his knees, Telemachus crossed the broad plain in what felt like mere seconds. One moment the mysterious figure was far beyond his reach, and the next, he could easily make out the finer details.

His heart beat faster despite himself. He couldn’t explain why, but just placing eyes on the woman made him feel… strange. Even with her back facing him, he could just feel her beauty. It was like a drug, or a strong aura, or perhaps even a spell. Whatever it was, it was clearly working. And his strong self awareness was, somehow, not negating the effect.

Telemachus slowed to a stop an arm’s length from her. He couldn’t see her face from his vantage point, but he was too distracted to particularly care. This woman glowed, literally. Her skin, a golden bronze-ish hue that reminded him of fireflies or squinting into the sun, twinkled on its own accord. Her hair, so long that it trailed down her back and pooled into the flowers below, looked like the softest thing the prince had ever seen.

His eyes followed the stream of luscious silver, catching on a hint of bare thigh peeking through the mass of hair. She turned, and she was—naked.

The prince felt his face flush stupidly. He’d never seen a naked woman before, and honestly, he’d never really wanted to, but this one? He felt like he truly couldn’t help the magnetic attraction she seemed to draw from within. He shook his head, trying to fling the stubborn heat from his cheeks and keep his gaze squarely on the ground.

“Uh,” he said, staggering back. “Do you—is this your domain?”

The woman turned. Telemachus tried desperately to ignore the fact that he could see the soft curve of hip and breast in his peripheral. There was a finger pressing against his chin, then, angling his face upwards until they were eye to eye.

Her face was just as inhumanly gorgeous as he’d expected, but that didn’t change the fact that holding eye contact with someone so divine was basically impossible for him. He glanced nervously away, trying to ignore the hand and the nakedness and the fact that his face was being cradled by…

A goddess. Probably.

Did this series of events make him lucky? The prince supposed he had to be. How many mortals met two gods in a day? Most went their entire lives without any direct contact. Could it be some kind of sign?

Maybe not. Not to be ungrateful, but this experience wasn’t exactly a blessing. This goddess, whoever she was, had trapped him in some mystery realm when he needed more than ever to be in the real world.

He blinked rapidly in an attempt to snap himself from a sudden brain fog. He really couldn’t tell if his struggle holding onto a singular thought was due to the influence of this deity, his own stupidity, the fact that fucking Antinous had knocked him out cold, or all of the above.

Also, fuck. Antinous had knocked him out. Which meant he was unconscious somewhere at the mercy of a bunch of men who were split between wanting to sexually assault him and just plain assaulting him. Or the third option, also known as murder. Which, at this point, would probably be the best outcome of such a dilemma. And wasn’t that just great?

He felt incredibly ill, forcing himself to push down the nausea and fear. He’d never even kissed someone before, and now he ran the risk of being raped in his sleep? Amazing how a society so obsessed with romance and soulbonds could breed people so cruel? Whatever happened to soft sex and gentle kisses? Cuddling and holding hands or whatever actual soulmates were meant to do together?

He’d like to think that he wouldn’t sleep through being literally raped—or maybe that’d be for the best? Was such a thing even possible? He imagined it had to be painful.

His hands had begun to shake against his will. Considering his state, there was no way he was fighting anybody off. He was helpless, as usual, left irrelevant once again in the face of his own fate.

He had to wonder what the goddess of love would think about all this. Did she hear him? Did she know? Did she truly not give a damn of his mother, waiting like prey to be ripped apart by men who couldn’t give less of a damn about her real soulmate and the tears she shed every night for him? Did she not care about him? Did he not deserve a soulmate who actually loved him, or the basic bodily autonomy to not he violated in the only part of himself he really had left?

He hated her. It had to be some sort of blasphemy to think such a thing, but it was true. And why should he respect a diety so useless and selfish she couldn’t even look after the people suffering under her own idiotic domain? What had the goddess of love ever done for him?

Gods above, it didn’t matter. Better his mother keep her purity and pride than he. She deserved, at least, to see her husband again… if he even stood a chance of getting home. If he managed to stay alive.

Telemachus would take a thousand blows for her, and this wasn’t going to be the first nor the last. That being said, he could get used to beatings. There was no way he’d ever get used to rape.

Fucking hell. Maybe he really should’ve put that knife to good use and finished what he’d started.

He was abruptly yanked from his thoughts by the sound of a slight sniffle. His eyes refocused, and his jaw nearly hit the floor as he realized the goddess before him was crying. In a very elegant, mystical way, of course, but still weeping.

If he wasn’t going to be struck down before, he was definitely getting it now. And then, against his will and entirely out of nowhere, Telemachus felt himself begin to tear up as well. And he’d been doing such a great job of holding it together, too.

Unsure of how exactly to comfort a godly being beyond his comprehension, he shifted back and forth on his feet. This was awkward. He’d give her a comforting pat on the shoulder or something, but she was totally naked and that would definitely be weird. Were gods even tangible?

“I’m so sorry,” he said, voice coming out crackly from the strain of holding back the incoming flow of tears. “I didn’t realize this place was such a sore subject—are you—?”

“Oh, it’s not about that!” The goddess’ voice was high, harmonic, and filled with anger. Telemachus was absolutely and undeniably dead.

She scrubbed her hands over her face, and when they fell away, the glimmering tears were completely gone. It was like they’d never been there at all. Even odder, the prince felt his own wave of persistent sadness fade into nothingness just moments after.

The goddess reached out then, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and staring intently at him. An anxious shiver ran down his spine at the contact and fierce vigor in her stare. She shook her head, nails digging crescent moons into the skin beneath his chiton.

“It’s you, Telemachus.” Her voice was softer now, but no less passionate. “I’ve… I believe I have made a mistake. Never before have I sensed such strong negativity from a human. Your soulbond, it’s… withering.”

He didn’t even halfway succeed at hiding his confusion. “What?”

“I know you resent me.” The goddess ducked her head, hair falling like a curtain across her grim expression and tickling the prince’s own face. “I can feel it, and I understand your apprehension, but—“

Telemachus stepped back, waving his hands between them in a gesture for her to stop. “Wait, I’m sorry—resent? I can assure you that’s not true; I don’t even know who you are!”

The woman heaved a heavy breath, chest rising with the force and deflating alongside her shoulders as it fell. Almost hesitantly, she spoke once more. “Aphrodite. Love goddess.”

He blinked stupidly at her. “Are you kidding me?”

That was a dumb question. The moment it left his mouth, sharp and tactless and entirely against his will, he wanted to smack himself. Now that he knew, it was obvious. The flowers and doves—both important symbols of her power—and her almost overwhelming beauty.

And now that he knew, he was pissed. More than before, anyway. Fresh, hot indignance formed so thick in his chest and throat he felt he could barely speak.

Aphrodite smiled, strained and sad. “I apologize. I’m typically more put together than this, but… well. It’s a long story.”

Telemachus didn’t know how to respond to that. This was Aphrodite, the goddess he’d both prayed to and cursed within the confines of his mind? The one who’d burst into tears on the spot and was now apologizing to him?

It made sense while also making none. But more than that, the prince didn’t know how to grapple with the conflicting emotions he felt at her presence.

Made a mistake, she’d said. And made a mistake she certainly had. The notion of a goddess failing so miserably at anything seemed impossible, but here they were, and his love life was going spectacularly terrible, so… at least she knew. And, awful as it may be, he was glad to see that she felt bad about it. She deserved to feel bad.

Telemachus clenched his fists, forcing down the rising need to scream in her face. He had so many questions and so little answers. He wanted an outlet for all the energy inside of him, some way to expel the electric darkness that seemed to reside permanently inside his soul nowadays.

It was fucked up. He should hear her out. He should be reasonable and realize the rage he felt wasn’t even directed at her, and so little of it was really her fault at all, but the promise of some vengeance was so tempting.

Whatever. It wasn’t like he could hurt a goddess, not even if he tried. More than that, nothing he could do or say to her in this strange mindscape could even compare to the amount of pain her lack of intervention had caused him over the past two decades.

He was so tired. He was sick of the persistent exhaustion in his bones he just couldn’t seem to shake. He was fed up with feeling empty and heartless and more alone than he’d ever been before his fucking soulbond came into the picture. Who cared if it withered, whatever that meant? You couldn’t kill something that was never even alive in the first place.

He shrugged, turning his back on the goddess and focusing on the petals beneath his feet rather than the oppressive urge to cry. “I bet.”

“Telemachus.” Aphrodite’s voice sounded stronger, now, only slightly brittle around the edges. “It’s fate. Gods and humans have little in common, but no matter what you are, you can’t defy fate.”

He whirled around. The action was spontaneous, yet another bad decision to add to his infinite collection, and so abrupt that the love goddess flinched backwards. He was really on a streak of frightening people today, wasn’t he?

He couldn’t deny he liked it. Fear had been held over him for so long, like an axe perched for imminent execution. It was as powerful an emotion as any other, far more influential than love could ever so much as hope to be. And it’d been wielded against him for so long that now, when the axe was in his hands?

Addictive was how he’d describe it. He felt high on power. He finally, finally felt like somebody. And if that someone was a monster, at least he had fangs to defend themself with. Monsters got respectable deaths, slayed by heroes quickly and cleanly. They fell for the greater good, died only to live on in history books and word of mouth. Perhaps they were villainous, or perhaps they were just born the wrong way in the wrong time and place.

Monsters didn’t get raped or abused. Monsters had nothing but their own protective scales, and nothing to lose but their lives. Their mothers would never have to fear the hands and eyes of men because they were strong and protected their own. And monsters succeeded, and when they didn’t, they died with a head held high. They got to be legendary.

Telemachus had once dreamt of being a hero, like his father before him. Clearly that was out of the cards for him. He was only a man, and sometimes barely even that. He was royalty, with a crown, gold, and riches, and he still felt like nothing.

Felt like. And wasn’t that just hilarious, because at this point, it was more than just a feeling. It was the truth.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” He sounded manic, even to his own ears. “Tell me more about fate, oh great goddess. Tell me more about how, no matter what I do, I’ll never be able to escape the cage I was put in at birth.

“Tell me more about how I’m never going to live up to my father’s name or protect my lineage or accomplish anything with my life because I’m stuck here, in a castle I used to call home where I am battered and abused every fucking day. Tell me about my soulmate, who’s a psycho and wants me dead just like all the other suitors in Ithaca.”

He scoffed, shaking his head wildly. “You… you and all these other divine entities. You think humans are just like toys you can play with, right? You string us along and drag us through your shit with no regard for anything more than your own selfish goals. And then you want to feel bad about yourself and cry to me for sympathy that you’re a failure in your own fucking domain?

“Why does it even matter to you, huh? Whether I die alone or not has nothing to do with you. My pathetic excuse of a soulmate or lack thereof isn’t going to change your life because, as always, I’m left to suffer the consequences of other people’s actions. I’m done!”

Telemachus wrenched his hands from his hair. He hadn’t even realized he’d been tearing out strands in small clusters, but gods, who cared? He laughed hollowly, the sound ringing out across the field. “I don’t care. I’ve cared for so long and it’s never, ever done anything for me, so I am done! I don’t care what the fates say, I don’t care about finding love, and I certainly don’t give a damn about your irrelevant problems!”

His vision was blurry with moisture, now, and his head spun. Maybe all the yelling wasn’t ideal with the magnitude of his injuries. But he was making a point, damn it. And his point might get him struck down, but honestly, that would probably be the most merciful thing Aphrodite could do for him at the moment.

“Why don’t you cry yourself a river and run on back to Olympus, where you can go do whatever it is you spend your time doing rather than helping the people who actually need you? If you really want to help me, it’s too late. I’m damaged beyond repair, and I’m going to die soon, anyways.” He bit his lip hard in an attempt to quell the humiliating quiver. “Just… I don’t know. Open your eyes. Go to some other child who thinks they’re unloveable and teach them that they’re not, lest they end up a complete and utter failure like me.

“I don’t know what it’s like to shoulder the responsibility of being a deity, and I could never understand. But for the gods’ sake, you could at least quit crying and actually do something.” He directed his gaze to the ground, observing how the drop of a tear slid down a stray petal and deep into the roots below. “I know we can’t fight destiny, but… we could do better, right? This doesn’t have to be it. We could at least try.”

He looked up at last. Aphrodite’s face was blank, giving none of her emotions away in a stark contrast to her earlier state. For a moment, he thought he’d be smited then and there. And he’d deserve it, too, with the heinous amount of blasphemy and hubris he’d just allowed to spill from his stupid mouth.

She didn’t do that. After what felt like a millenia of waiting, she took a deep breath and offered a tiny smile. It was filled with a broken, tattered sort of empathy. “You’re right.”

He stared at her, wiping furiously at the remains of wetness clinging to his eyelashes. “Huh?”

“What you say is true.” She was closer to him now, and when she pressed both palms to his face once again, he didn’t pull away. “But I swear that what has happened to you will never happen again. Not so long as my power still flows.”

For some strange reason, he believed her. He nodded slightly, as much as he could while still trapped in her gentle grip.

The smile on her face melted away, replaced by an intense expression of melancholy. “Not all of it, Telemachus. It’s not too late for you. I know this life you lead is far from the one you’ve envisioned, but I believe there’s no such thing as someone loveless.”

His heart squeezed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” The goddess’ face tightened with conviction. “Your soulmate, Antinous. I understand why you hate him so; you have good reasonn to. He has made many a decision of which I do not approve of, and he is a deeply flawed man.”

“Deeply flawed?” The prince scowled. “That’s kind.”

“I am serious. If you choose not to listen to me about anything else, fine. But this? This, I need you to understand.”

The regal sureness in her tone—the first time she’d really seemed particularly godly, in his opinion—left no room for disagreement. With only the slighest of pauses beforehand, he nodded once more.

“He is a… complicated person. He’s not easy to know, but neither are you.” The darkness of Aphrodite’s eyes bore into his. “I understand him far better than anyone else, and I know who he is is not who he appears.

There was a flash of guilt on her face, so quick he could’ve imagined it. Just as quickly, it was gone, and the goddess continued. “So I implore you to keep an open mind.”

He huffed, incredulous. “He is cruel and wants to marry my mother. He’s just like all the rest.“

“I won’t tell you to trust him completely.” Aphrodite drew back, face darkening slightly. “That is far too great a request. But I’m telling you to please just give him a chance. The way you’ve treated each other today is eroding your soulbond, and when a connection is destroyed…”

“So are you.” Telemachus pinched the space between his brows. His headache was beginning to border on unbearable. “Yes, yes, I get it. Don’t kill your soulmate. I’ve heard that one before.”

The goddess made a soft disapproving sound, perching her hands on her hips. “You’re denying yourself, Telemachus. You don’t have to fight the effects of the soulbond. It’s no use.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She gave him a swift once over, and her lips crooked upwards just slightly. “You’re pent up, dear, and in more ways than one. It’s alright to be attracted to him. It’s not exactly something you can help.”

He was certain his face was turning a blotchy shade of mortification pink. Goddess of love or not, they were not about to have this conversation right now. Besides, Telemachus certainly hadn’t forgotten the danger he and his mother were no doubt drowning in back in reality. This little exchange needed to end, and swiftly.

“The only interest I have in that man is that which I cannot help. And I’m not…” his skin prickled as he flushed further. “I’m not pent up, as you say.”

She stared at him, deadpan and disbelieving. “You can’t lie to me. About this, anyway. And some self love from time to time would do you some good, dear. It has many benefits for both your physical and emotional wellbeing—“

Barely resisting the urge to clap his hands over his ears, which were surely glowing red, and crawl into a deep, dark hole in the ground, Telemachus cut her off.

“As much as I appreciate the input,” he said quite loudly, “I need to wake up. My mother needs me.”

Aphrodite paused, eyes going distant for a moment as though she were looking into a far off place. The moment quickly passed, and her gaze snapped back to his.

“I suppose you’re right. Several people are waiting on you.” Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Say you’ll consider what I said, at least.”

The uncomfortable heat in his body flared further. “The part about giving Antinous a chance or about jacking off?”

She sighed. “Both, dear, but the prior ought to be your first priority. I didn’t realize everyone in this castle was such a puritan.”

Before Telemachus had the chance to snap that now was seriously not the time to be debating his masturbation habits—the time for that was never, actually—the field began to fade around them. His head swivelled to watch as the carefully constructed paradise gradually transitioned into chalky smears of dulled colors.

He looked back to Aphrodite, to ask a question or two more, but she was gone. He suddenly felt incredibly sleepy, and the headache he’d been fighting quickly claimed him. Losing his balance as the dream swirled around him, Telemachus swayed and toppled. The fall felt like nothing more than a slow descent into a warm bed.

It smelled good. He wasn’t sure if it was the remainder of Aphrodite’s aura or something else entirely, but it calmed him nevertheless. It was a familiar scent, one he felt he should he capable of placing, but thoughts weren’t coming easily to him at the moment.

He really, truly hoped that, when he awoke, the world hadn’t changed. The gods only knew he couldn’t take another tragedy, and certainly not one at the expense of the one person who did love him.

His mother.

This had all better work out, somehow. He’d listen to Aphrodite, maybe, but he couldn’t deny that he was getting real tired of taking constant leaps of faith.

His eyelids drooped. Darkness came immediately after.

The room was almost entirely drenched in darkness by the time the little wolf opened his eyes again. Antinous couldn’t deny the quick flood of relief he felt when that seafoam green flickered tiredly up toward the ceiling. Even though he’d known the prince would survive—he seemed to have a knack for making it out of treacherous situations alive—the extra layer of confirmation did help quell the intense anxiety he’d buried himself in for the past few hours.

He also couldn’t deny the fact that he really wanted to wring the little wolf’s neck because, what the fuck? He must’ve known, right? There was no way he hadn’t.

He palmed the knife on the dresser and dragged it far from the prince’s side of the room. He wasn’t very often scary, but with access to a weapon?

Yeah, Antinous had no doubts that he’d absolutely carve him into tiny pieces if given the chance. That being said, he absolutely wasn’t about to be given the chance.

The little wolf shifted. He sat up slightly, turned his head a little and made direct eye contact with him, and proceeded to make an odd strangled noise.

“Relax,” Antinous hissed, voice no more than a low rumble. “The suitors don’t know you’re in here. If you scream, they’ll hear you.”

His company gawked at him, a mixture of anger and fear twisting his expression into something undeniably harsh. The suitor knew exactly how he felt, given that his rogue feelings were currently invading his mind like never before.

“Relax?” The little wolf hissed, scooting backwards in the bed until his back was pressed firmly against the wall. “You knocked me out, you have my knife, I’m in your bedroom—what the fuck did you do to me?”

Another sharp pang of fear jolted up his spine. The prince seemed nothing short of terrified, chest rising and falling at a pace far faster than could possibly be normal, breaths puffing out short and urgent. Antinous felt suddenly sick. Did he really think he would—?

“No,” he said, voice cracking slightly against his will. “I’d never—look around you, little wolf. Clothes are on. I swear to every god in all of Olympus that I didn’t touch you.”

He was shaking, now, so badly that the covers being held tightly to his chest were quivering too. The prince was shaking his head erratically, and that had to be hurt, but it didn’t seem like he was even fully there anymore.

Antinous had seen this particular brand of uncontrollable terror before, but never on anyone else. Certainly not on the little wolf, who didn’t often seem scared or intimidated, and certainly not like this.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do. He could barely help himself out of his own spirals, so what the fuck was he supposed to do for someone else?

He stood slowly, flicking the knife to the floor so it was clearly out of use. “You need to breathe, little wolf. You’re making yourself sick.”

“Stay away from me,” the prince gasped. “Please, please stay away from me.”

“Okay.” He stopped where he was, hands made visible against his sides. “I’m going to stand right here, then. Is that fine by you?”

“I don’t know.” He was rocking slightly now, knuckles white with the force of which he was clutching the bedding. “I want to go home.”

Antinous desperately wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and have his own private breakdown, but he had to pull through. This was his soulmate, and it was at least 90% his fault he was panicking in the first place, and he wasn’t so awful that he’d just leave the little wolf to cry alone.

What did Aphrodite tell him when he got like this? Her words always worked though, granted, that might’ve had something to do with her powers, so…

Oh, fuck it. It wasn’t like he could try much anything else.

“Listen, I get that, but you need to breathe.” He hated how much the words sounded like begging. “I know you can do it. In on one, out on two, okay? One… two. One… two…”

Shockingly, the prince seemed to at least making an attempt to listen. His breathing had slowed down, slightly, and the weird gasping sounds had begun to deplete.

“Good. That’s better.” His own breath came out shaky with some semblance of relief. “I know that it feels like you’re going to die and the world is ending, but it’s not. It’s just a feeling, and it always passes.”

“I don’t know,” he panted. “I don’t—“

“Telemachus.” The name felt heavy on his lips. The other man paused as though feeling the gravity of it secondhand. “I’ve been there. I promise it will pass.”

The rocking had completely stopped. For what felt like hours, the only sound in the room was soft breathing and faint sniffles. Finally, the little wolf retrieved his face from his knees. The circles under his eyes looked especially pronounced.

“That was fucking stupid,” he murmured, voice strained with the slightest of rasp. “Fuck you. I know you didn’t. Why’d you bring me here, anyways?”

Why indeed. Because he was hurt? Because he’d wanted to keep him safe from other suitors who wouldn’t have been nearly as reasonable? Or was it that they were soulmates, and now he knew it and needed to know more?

All of the above, perhaps?

“We’re soulmates.” The words hung dreadfully in the air, and the next came out with a bite he hadn’t quite intended. “And you knew.”

The little wolf was silent for a long moment. He looked at Antinous intently, something in his eyes—which were a little less foggy, thank the gods—appeared almost analytical. Like he was solving a puzzle instead of looking at a human. The complete lack of expression in his gaze and the long stretch of time he’d spent staring was beginning to make the suitor feel uncomfortable.

He sank back into his chair, if only to provide himself a little distraction. That familiar coolness that so often came alongside the prince’s presence felt particularly tortorous today.

He bit his lip. “Are you going to say something? Deny it?”

“There’s nothing to deny. Unlike you, I have nothing to hide.” The little wolf crossed his arms. Antinous felt unfairly comforted by the return of his signature piercing snark.

He really should’ve felt angered by how unseriously the prince was clearly taking their situation, but… he couldn’t. He felt bad about knocking him out, and about all that’d happened in the dining room. He felt relieved to see there’d been no lasting damage—physically, at least—and that he was okay.

The suitor was annoyed, yes, but that biting anger from before he’d awoken had all but fizzled out. He was angrier at himself than anyone, which wasn’t exactly new.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “So, you have nothing to hide, and yet you keep our soulbond a secret for… three years. Do you understand how ridiculous that sounds?” He glared at the little wolf from behind his fingers. “And would you quit moving around? You literally just smacked your head into the ground.”

“And whose fault is that?” He shifted again, perhaps only to spite him. Then, in the span of a single blink, his face darkened with true distaste. “Care to take a guess why I didn’t tell you? Maybe do a bit of soul searching to come up with the obvious conclusion?”

It stung because it was true. Antinous understood exactly why; he was self aware, even to his own detriment. He wanted to explain himself, but really, there was no point. He doubted the little wolf would take him at his word, and he knew for a fact he wouldn’t care even if he did.

He was a shitty person. There was no explanation that could change that fundamental truth, so why bother?

He ducked his head, unable to hold eye contact. He was leaving after all this was done. There was no harm in being honest. “Believe me, I know. I never should’ve treated you that way, soulmate bond or otherwise. I just thought you were the only way I could get to throne, and I thought you’d give up, so…”

He trailed off, wringing his hands in front of him. “I mean, it doesn’t really matter. It’s fucked up either way, and you probably don’t care, so. I just wish you would’ve told me.”

“And what would that have changed?” The little wolf’s voice, formerly monotone, had taken on a slightly different tone. Frustrated, yes, but also something more he couldn’t quite decipher. “It shouldn’t matter. The fates shouldn’t decide if you give a shit about someone or not, if you bring them through hell and watch them burn. That’s you.”

“I’m not like you.” His stomach twisted. “You know who you are, and I… don’t. Some people are just born weak, and that is me.”

His eyes drifted to the knife on the floor. He couldn’t believe he was really baring his soul like this, but… he supposed it was fine. Just this once. He didn’t intend on sticking around to see how things played out beyond this, anyway. He could only hope that severing their connection wouldn’t do the prince any longterm damage.

He took a shaky breath. “Anyway, that’s not my point. Everything you think about me is true. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But at least you could’ve known it wasn’t personal. And I’m not telling you this to change your mind or because we’re soulmates, but just because you’re… good.

“I won’t say I’m sorry for what I did. Like everyone, I have my reasons, but… I don’t know. I won’t stand in your way anymore.”

Antinous stood abruptly. This conversation needed to be over. “You’re free to go. I made Eurymachus occupy the suitors, so they shouldn’t be around to bother you.”

He kept his eyes squarely on the wall just next to the prince. In the blur of his peripheral, he watched him carefully stand from the bed. His expression was doing something weird. Slowly, he limped toward the door and reached for the handle. He paused.

The little wolf turned back. “Hey.”

Antinous blinked, glancing at him and then away. “Hm?”

“My mother told me, uh.” He cleared his throat, looking suddenly awkward. “She said people can change. And, well, I didn’t really believe her for a long time because I thought, how could someone who does such awful things ever be more than the sum of their misdeeds?

“But recently, I haven’t been the best myself, and I’ve been thinking that, you know, we’re all sort of fucked up around here. And we’re just kinda doing whatever it takes, right? And obviously I don’t think the things you do are necessarily comparable to the actions of me and my mother, but—my point stands.

“And I think that you’re a huge asshole, not because you go out of your way to harm people, but because you don’t. You just let things happen because you don’t really know what you believe in. And I think that you think that because you do so much bad that you’re irredeemable, but…”

The little wolf made a few vague gestures as though searching for his next thought. “I mean, I just don’t think that’s true. Like, you’re not the worst. You helped me, even though you have no good reason to.”

“But—“

“Can you shut up?” The prince threw an annoyed glance his way. “You love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”

Antinous shut up.

He continued. “You say I’m good, but really, I’m not. The only difference between you and I is I try to be better while you’re content with staying the same, but it’s not like you can’t. So what I mean is…” the little wolf trailed off, rubbing absentmindedly at his left wrist. “Don’t. Don’t do whatever it is your planning on doing.”

The suitor’s blood ran a little cold. “What?”

“I can hear your thoughts. Some of them, anyway.” The other man offered him a stilted smile. “Soulmates, remember? I’ve gotten pretty good at listening.”

Their eyes both wandered to that damn knife at the exact same time. Carefully, the little wolf knelt and picked it up, tucking it back beneath the fabric of his chiton. “I need this. I also need someone to argue with who won’t beat my ass on sight.”

His voice sounded lofty, but Antinous knew he wasn’t missing the hint of concern behind it. And then he was truly stunned, because for the prince to feel concerned about him after all that’d happened? Even just a little bit?

“I, uh.” His voice felt dry. “Thanks.”

Telemachus smiled again, a bit gentler this time. The beauty mark just beneath his eye crinkled slightly as he turned.

“Wait.” He nearly caught himself off guard.

The little wolf tilted his head to look over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Antinous swallowed roughly. “I wish you wouldn’t… you know. Do what you do, either. Knives are for suitors.”

Telemachus looked surprised, the hand on his wrist tightening and promptly releasing. The smile reappeared, soft and sad. Maybe a bit guilty. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He disappeared, then, and didn’t spare a single look back. Antinous watched him go, watched as the door swung shut behind him. Somewhat numbly, he walked to his bed, taking the bloody covers and depositing them on Eurymachus’. A bit of payback for constantly stealing his own bed which, according to the other suitor, had “softer pillows.”

He cracked a smile despite himself. He guessed that could’ve gone worse.

Maybe he would be around for tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Telemachus stopped in the hallway just outside the suitors’ quarters. He looked around, knife clutched like a beacon of safety in his hands. Then, turning to the nearest wall and pressing his forehead flush against it, he let out the longest and most agonized scream he possibly could without allowing even the slightest of sounds to escape him.

Twenty seconds, and that’d be it. One second for each year of this bullshit, and then he was done.

Time passed. He stopped, took a hefty gulp of air to combat the sudden lightheadedness, and continued down the hall on a familiar path up to his mother’s room.

Gods. Where did he even start? What was he even supposed to make of the conversations he’d just had? Athena and Aphrodite, of course, but—who was he kidding? The bewilderment he’d felt at those meetings was absolutely nothing compared to whatever the hell had just gone on with Antinous.

He truly believed that was the first or second time the suitor had acted completely genuine toward him. And it was fucking weird. Sure, he’d known Antinous wasn’t necessarily the person he said he was, but this went far beyond appearances.

A conversation completely free of snark or malice? The suitor bearing his soul like there was no tomorrow—and, holy shit, maybe there wouldn’t have been—and Telemachus had felt bad for him?

How could he? Or maybe the better question was how could he not? What he’d said and left unsaid has been sympathetic, even reasonable. And, worst of all, Telemachus could do more than sympathize. He felt like he was listening to himself talk, and… well, he could only hope the way he told his own life story wasn’t so deeply depressing.

And why should he even care? It was dangerous to care, even if it only came down to pity.

No. Worst of all—just how many things could be the worst at once, he had to wonder—was that he knew it wasn’t only pity. For all he’d said about feeling bad, the more Telemachus examined his own swirling mess of mangled emotions, the more he found that wasn’t necessarily the case.

He didn’t feel bad for Antinous. He certainly didn’t pity him, considering most of the fucked up shit in his life was done of his own accord. Especially not when said fucked up shit directly impacted he and his mother’s lives for the worse.

So, while he couldn’t claim to feel bad for the man, but he could say that he understood where he was coming from, at least to a certain extent. And knowing what he now knew…

His mother had always told him his empathy was one of his best traits. He’d grown up crying over worms that dehydrated in the sun after storms, spent his childhood feeding birds from the palms of his hands, guiding baby turtles back go the sea. She’d said he had a weeping heart, and she’d implored him to maintain it.

He didn’t know that he’d necessarily succeeded in that aspect, but he did know that a heart too large only made for a bigger target. And he was all too aware that Antinous was still himself, and he’d done what he’d done, and some of what he’d done was unforgivable.

He also knew he couldn’t hate him for it, even if it was by far the most sensible thing to do. Hatred was safe. It was easy. Moving on was… not.

Then again, what choice did he have? Aphrodite had told him their soulbond was withering, and while she hadn’t been totally clear on what that meant for them, he could assume it was nothing good. It seemed like a reasonable hypothesis that buiding and maintaining resentment against the fates’ chosen partner for you would result in such an effect.

He gnawed absentmindedly on his tongue as he made another turn. It couldn’t be a one sided effort—to get along, that was. If Antinous refused to get his act together and start doing right by him, then they’d both just have to rot. It only seemed fair.

Fair or not, he didn’t want that. He’d wished for a soulmate for so long, and he truly, wholeheartedly wanted to like him. He wanted to see what Aphrodite saw, and he wanted it to be something good. It was a tall order, sure, but he was willing. He could only hope Antinous felt similarly.

His stomach flipped. It was just so odd, now that they both knew about their soulbond. It was seriously strange to have the knowledge that they were meant to be lovers hanging over their heads when, obviously, that was not the case.

But could it be?

The thought stopped him squarely in his tracks. What was he even thinking? Anyone with two eyes and a brain could see how fundamentally incompatible they were in every sense of the word, and that wasn’t even taking the whole suitor situation into consideration!

He’d always been excellent at puzzles, but this was one he just couldn’t seem to figure out. They bickered and argued in nearly every interaction they had. They didn’t trust nor like each other, and Telemachus had literally just tried to carve out his organs. And, for the gods’ sake, Antinous was still trying to marry his fucking mother.

But he could be kind. He could be helpful. And when they weren’t actively trying to antagonize each other, sometimes it was… peaceful. A rare tranquility which could only ever be found in his mother’s arms, or snuggled up against Argos, or—

In the suitor’s company. Which wasn’t constantly bad.

And he didn’t know how much of this line of thought could be chalked up to the stupid soulbond and how much of it was—whatever the fuck was happening in his brain, apparently—but he did know that he wanted to smack himself. What was he even thinking anymore?

It just wasn’t happening. A relationship between he and Antinous, let alone actual love and fondness, was literally impossible. No magic force could ever change the fact that in no universe did they belong together. None. If they were actually meant to be, then these wouldn’t be the cards they were dealt. And that was really all there was to it.

Telemachus turned another corner and instantly raised his knife as he bumped into someone. A male someone. Moments before he made a wild slash on sight, the suitor took a generous step back.

“Woah, woah.” The words came out slurred. “Watch it, princeling. A little trigger happy, aren’t you? Antinous won’t be pleased should you chop me to pieces.”

Eurymachus looked over his head, seemingly lost in thought, then made a little shrugging motion. “Well, he might not be super distraught, but he totally owes me, so…”

Telemachus paused, taking an equally large step back but not lowering the blade. He was maybe a little less drunk than before, but definitely still on the edge of unconsciousness. That meant he probably wasn’t much of a threat, but he could never be too safe.

He sighed, glaring at the man across from him. “I’m sure he’d manage.” Then, realizing this may be his only chance to get some intel from the man, added on. “What exactly does he owe you for?”

Eurymachus smirked dopily, waving an uncoordinated finger in front of his face. “Ah, ah, ah. You think I’m so drunk I’d just tell you anything?”

“I mean, that would be nice.”

“A pity I’m not.” The suitor blinked blearily at him, and for a moment, Telemachus truly thought he’d blacked out. That assumption was promptly shattered as he jolted, a wide smile stretching across his face. “Hey. Did he ever figure out your… uh, what’s the word?”

The prince was quickly losing patience, but he had to admit that a drunk and disorderly Eurymachus was better than a sober one. “Soulbond?”

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers. “Soulbond. What’s up with that?”

Telemachus, finally feeling sufficiently self assured, let his knife wielding arm fall to his side. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know.” He scoffed. “You won’t tell me your secrets. Why should I tell you mine?”

Eurymachus let out a sigh jampacked with irritation. “You’ve been waiting to use that line against me, haven’t you?”

“Sure.” He flipped the knife in his hands, twirling it absentmindedly. “I’ve got something else I could use against you, too.”

The suitor inched back a little further. “You are so lucky that I’m seeing double right now. Can’t have you getting all high and mighty.”

“I think you’re plenty high enough for the both of us.”

Eurymachus giggled, and that was leagues more terrifying than anything he’d ever done in the past. “Hey, that was kinda funny. I see why…”

He stopped abruptly. The scheming smile returned. “Nevermind! How about a secret for a secret, then?”

“You’re still on this?” Telemachus frowned. His mannerisms were, alcohol disregarded, strange. “You realize this all could’ve been avoided had you just told him in the first place, right? And why do you care so much, anyway?”

“I have my reasons. Call it curiosity!” The suitor paused at his disapproving stare. “Why is that so hard to believe? Also, I’m going to pass out like any minute now, so chop-chop.”

He barked out a laugh, then another, and then he was full on laughing. Telemachus stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “I don’t really care, but are you…?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about another knife joke.” Eurymachus swayed harder. “That first one was really good, but, like, mine wasn’t that good.”

He pinched the skin between his brows. “Can you please just get to the point already? I have places to be.”

The suitor stopped laughing immediately. It was disconcerting. “Oh, yeah. I… what was I saying?”

This was really like communicating with a toddler. Fighting the urge to smack his face into the wall and end this incredibly circular conversation, Telemachus grit out his next words. “Your secret. What are you offering?”

“Right. Gotcha, gotcha. I can tell you…” he trailed off. The smirk began to reform. “I could tell you the boss’ favorite sex position?”

Telemachus stared at him in disbelief. He had the feeling he was making an extremely unflattering expression, and the quick combo of heat in his cheeks and razor sharp coolness down his spine wasn’t helping. His eye twitched. “Pardon?”

Eurymachus’ face was remarkably stony. “Reverse cowgirl. You’re welcome.”

He didn’t even know what shade of red he was at that point. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He wanted to strangle the man before him for even offering up this information and putting that image in his mind—

Nope. He was not thinking about it. He was not thinking about it. He didn’t even know exactly what that meant and it was still painting a vivid picture that he did not want painted. Like, abs. Man abs. He had to be ripped, right? With arms like that, there was no way he—

Wasn’t going to hang himself. What the actual fuck!?

His entire body felt hot. Was this what Aphrodite had meant? He was genuinely cursed. His mind wanted desperately to deny the fact that was becoming increasingly obvious, but his body and that gods-forsaken soulbond were making it literally impossible. He was not attracted to Antinous. He was not. He was not.

He was. He knew good and well that he was, and had been for far longer than he’d like to admit. Gods fucking damn it, he was sexually attracted to a man who was—had been?—trying to fuck his mother. Despite everything, he still was, and he knew it wasn’t going to go away because they were soulmates and soulmates were supposed to have sex and make babies!

He nearly wept at the thought. Just thinking about sex with Antinous’ face still fresh in his mind was almost lethal, not to mention how improper it felt, considering their last conversation.

This couldn’t be his life. Could this day get any worse?

Actually, he took that back. It definitely could get worse, because how in the everloving fuck did Eurymachus know that!?

“Uh,” he said, suddenly incapable of putting together a full sentence. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

Eurymachus stared at him. His lips twitched. Then he burst into his loudest cackle yet, nearly creasing in half from the intensity. “Oh my gods, you should see the look on your face.”

Telemachus nearly got to stabbing right then and there. It was taking all his self control and good sense not to smack the man just for the sheer audacity. Did this lewd clown truly take nothing seriously?

For the sake of his own sanity, he decided to ignore the ever present rush of relief in his bones. Fine, he could accept sexual attraction. But he did not and would not ever stoop so low as to feel jealousy in any way relating to that man. They were soulmates. They were not lovers.

“Relax, princess, I’ve got no clue.” The suitor’s eyes were shining from unshed tears. “I mean, I can make a few guesses, but—“

“You,” he ground out, wholly flustered, “are fucked in the head. Why would you even—it’s not funny!”

Eurymachus stifled his smile as his eyes flitted down to the blade. “Alright, alright, relax. Keep your secrets, princeling. I’ve already got my answer.”

The suitor brushed past him, further down the hall in the opposite direction. Telemachus threw daggers with his eyes into his back, willing his heart rate to slow and his face to return to its typical complexion.

He had so many questions and at least triple the grievances, but he had the feeling pursuing further conversation would be meaningless. Besides, he’d had enough of dealing with suitors for one day. And he was still caked in dried blood, still had a huge wine stain pressed sticky against his side, and had still yet to see his mother.

He was also in desperate need of forgetting at least ninety percent of what he’d just been told, falsified or not.

This, at least, was a no brainer.

He continued along his original path, picking up the pace despite the protesting ache in his legs and back. Getting flung into those tables hadn’t really hurt in the moment, but he was definitely feeling the consequences of the squabble now.

Also. Something else strange he’d noticed. When he was in Antinous’ room—he fought to keep his mind from wandering—his headache had been reduced to a feeble pulsing in the back of his head. Now it was back to full force, taking over the majority of his skull and attacking the backs of his eyes.

He began to climb the stairs. There were several conclusions he could draw from this.

One: It’d been the aftertaste of Aphrodite’s influence. He’d felt a bit better when stuck in her domain, and it wasn’t unreasonable to assume those effects could carry into the real world for a short period of time.

Two: The pain was operating in an alternating pattern. That was also sensible; he’d had many an injury, and he knew the discomfort wasn’t always constant. When it came to bodies, things tended to ebb and flow. That said, he was particularly invested in theory number—

Three: Soulbonds had healing properties. Very possible. He knew from experience that Antinous’ presence was irrationally calming, inconvenient as that may sometimes be. And relaxation was only a few steps down from healing, so…

His leg buckled beneath him and, if not for having flung out an arm to grip the stairway railing, he probably would’ve toppled straight back down. He sighed in irritation, taking a few ragged breaths to regain his strength.

Now would be a great time to test that healing theory, but he guessed he’d already used up what was left of his luck. He supposed there’d always be time tomorrow, or the day after that, or…

Or maybe there wouldn’t be a tomorrow because his mother was going to slaughter him. He’d been so worried about her that he’d completely forgotten that his own livelihood was in question.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forcing himself back to an upright position. Gritting his teeth to push through the rising pain in his—well, everything—he managed to overcome the last few steps. That was the hard part, he reminded himself as he looked sullenly down the long hall ahead.

He usually appreciated the expansiveness of the castle, but it was a little inconvenient when you could barely stand. All he wanted was a warm bed and a long, long nap. He knew with absolute certainty the only thing he was getting was an excessively extensive verbal lashing.

Clenching his jaw against the second incoming wave of agony, he continued forward once again. The dizziness and shortness of breath certainly felt oppressive, it wasn’t impossible to overcome. Soon this walk would be the least of his issues.

Once leaned safely against the wall of her quarters, he sent a quick prayer to Aphrodite that the queen’s motherly love would overpower her wrath anger. Momentarily panicking as he searched for the key—gods forbid he’d dropped it somewhere a suitor could find—he at last dug it from its hiding place, tucked snug along the lining of his knife holster. Then, bracing himself as though walking straight into a warzone, he pushed open the door.

He glanced around. The room was still and silent, not to mention bathed in darkness due to the tightly drawn curtains.

Slowly, he crept a little further in, pulling the door shut behind him and twisting the lock. There was a rustling, and Telemachus paled with terror in anticipation of his mother’s face.

The cause of the rustling trotted out from the other side of his mother’s bed. He nearly melted with relief, and this time, he didn’t mind that his legs had buckled.

“Argos!”

Once situated on the floor, he opened his arms, beckoning the dog forward. Argos eagerly complied, rushing to him with such fervor that the prince was nearly knocked off balance.

He didn’t care. Telemachus ruffled his fur, smashing his face into Argos’ neck and finding himself embarassingly emotional at the familiar softness and gentle panting against his shoulder.

His dog gave several concerned sniffs to his clothes. The prince sighed, pulling back just enough to speak. “Long story, boy. Nice to be smelling someone else’s blood for once, I bet.”

Argos licked his face. He decided to take that as a yes, giggling at the coolness of nose prodding against cheek. Telemachus hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed him until he was gone.

Or rather, until he was almost gone. Excellent as doing some damage had felt in the moment, he knew far too well how close he’d been to an entirely different outcome. He snuggled Argos closer.

If this day had served only one purpose, it’s been that of a reality check. In multiple capacities, but he decided to focus on the simple shit rather than the slew of other, more complicated problems for the moment. Telemachus knew he was skinny and scrawny, and he also knew that needed to change… fast. Pulling a weapon on the suitors today meant they’d be likely to do the same in their next interaction. In his current state, such an event would be a one way ticket to the underworld.

He needed to get strong. Hopefully learn some proper stabbing technique, too; even he, armed only with the kind of battle experience you could pick up from a textbook, could tell his form had been unimpressive. The element of surprise was really all he had going for him, and that would be pretty much nonexistent by tomorrow.

His best bet was begging Athena to take pity and train him in the art of violence, but considering he didn’t even know where she’d gone off to, the odds weren’t looking great. He blew out a steady breath, pulled back into the present by another lick of Argos’ tongue.

And… talk about reality checks. He stood up, head swivelling around the room in search for his mother. Heart speeding up once again, he ducked his head into her bathroom. Nothing. He walked back into the main room once more, looking around as though something could’ve magically changed in the span of fifteen seconds.

He felt, for a moment, that he’d stopped breathing completely. His airways felt constricted, pulled tight as though being strangled with a rubber band.

Had it all been for naught? But how?

He felt a lethal stir of anxiety and paranoia begin to spread like poison through his limbs. It was similar to what he’d felt back in Antinous’ room. Maybe a bit less intense, but that wasn’t really saying much, and—gods, did it matter? He needed to pull it together. Panic solved nothing.

The room was filled with the familiar low whine of a dog in distress.

They didn’t have her. Logically, it was nothing short of improbable. His brain knew it. The only thing left to convince was his body, which shook gradually harder against his will.

“Be reasonable,” he said, soft with feigned confidence into the air. “One, she’s put up a fight. You’d hear her. Two, Eurymachus wouldn’t be wandering around alone if the queen was in their grasp. Three…”

Telemachus’ fingers clenched in Argos’ fur, releasing quickly as the dizzy spell passed. He sucked in another sharp breath. “He didn’t lie.”

There was a brief glimmer of hope. And then the door behind his back clicked and slammed open, and the prince nearly jumped from his very skin as he whirled to face the intruder. He was halfway to whipping out his weapon of choice for the fourth or fifth time that day when his eyes and instincts finally linked up.

His arm fell away, a relief so potent it nearly brought him straight to his knees the moment he saw his mother’s face. He couldn’t help the breathless giggle he let out, nor the stupid smile. He was confused and comforted, terrified and a little upset at her brief disappearance, but more than anything?

Gods. Even with that frosty, flesh-piercing stare she wore, he was just happy to see her. Thrilled to know she was fine, unharmed and unchanged. He’d been missing her so badly, wanting so desperately to crawl back into her arms like a child again and just forget about…

Well. Everything.

He still wanted to do that. He also wanted to cry, but he’d done quite enough of that for at least another couple months. And, despite knowing the storm that no doubt awaited him, the glimmer was back in full. And his mother was okay.

Telemachus wasted no time flinging his full weight into her, hugging viciously. Penelope seemed only momentarily surprised, stumbling backwards slightly with a light grunt. She quickly recovered, though, returning the tight squeeze with twice the power and allowing him to rest his face against her shoulder.

“Telemachus,” she breathed, body sagging against his. Then, with a decent amount of force behind it, she smacked a hand against his back. “Telemachus!”

And there was the anger he’d been expecting.

“I know,” he murmured into the fabric of her dress.

She squeezed him tighter, so fiercely he felt as though his ribs had been forcefully compressed. Her voice came out sharper than any blade. “You do not.”

She was right, as she nearly always was. He knew his mother hated his recklessness, despised when he got in fights, and, most of all, when his injuries came at her expense.

He knew she felt guilty about it. He’d always told her not to, assured her that listening to the shit they spewed was far worse than a couple of bruises or abrasions. Telemachus was well aware of her disapproval; it wasn’t as though the queen made an effort to hide it. She’d asked him not to, and he hadn’t listened.

Of course the look of sorrow and rage she so often wore hurt him, but he wouldn’t apologize. He used to, but quickly realized that empty promises of staying out of trouble only made the inevitable more painful for them both.

Besides, how could he say he was sorry? He’d defended his mother’s honor, maybe even made the suitors think twice before making senseless threats, and she was safe. The ends justified the means, did they not?

He was sorry about the gray hairs gradually overcoming the once inky black of his mother’s crown. He was sorry that she had to bear both the responsibility of the kingdom and her son’s livelihood at the same time.

Penelope was a person who loved by giving. So was he. Only she gave support and wisdom, whereas he would gladly give his life.

He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done, but the guilt sometimes drowned him.

“You’re right,” he said, quiet and defeated. He was suddenly so very tired. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I didn’t know where you were, if you…”

“I was looking for you.” This time, the hand was light against his shoulder. “I heard the commotion from my quarters. How could I just stand around?”

Reluctantly and with little urgency, his mother pulled away. She captured his face in both hands, tugging him down slightly to be on her level. Her eyes roamed over his skin which was surely forming an entirely new bruise, then narrowed as she tilted his head forward.

Gentle fingers brushed at bloody hair, parting the dark strands to examine the injury. He winced despite himself as her hand brushed over the wound.

Penelope released him, though the heavy sadness in her eyes made it impossible for his legs to move, even if he’d wanted to.

“Tell me, please,” she implored with a voice made low, “that this blood is not all yours.”

Telemachus glanced down at the streaks and stains of red slewn across his body. Despite himself, he smiled a little. “No, actually.”

Her eyebrows raised, clearly judgemental, as she beckoned him to follow her to the washroom. “Really?”

“You’re gonna be mad,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub. His mother followed suit. “Just don’t kill me.”

She smoothed down the fabric of her dress. She did that a lot, he’d noticed, when she got anxious and was trying not to show it.

“I’m already mad, Telemachus.” Her tone was level, even as her fingers gripped the cloth furiously. “But I don’t want secrets between us. I don’t want you sneaking off into danger that could be easily avoided. I’m your mother. You don’t get to leave me in the dark.”

He chewed his lip. “If I’d told you, you wouldn’t have let me.”

“Then maybe—“ The queen cut herself off as her volume intensified. She took a deep breath, briefly turning away to grab a jug of water. She turned back, face strained in a clear attempt to control her fire.

“Maybe,” she continued much quieter, “you shouldn’t have. What must I do—what god must I pray to—for my son to so much as try to exercise a little caution? To open his ears and actually listen?”

“I do—“

“You do not.” His mother’s hands trembled, though her hold on the jug remained strong. “Now, you listen to me. I understand you feel it’s your responsibility to keep me safe. That is the reality, and I’m sorry, but I understand. Still, it’s my responsibility to keep you alive. And how could I possibly live with myself if you went off and got yourself killed in my name?”

She dropped the jug into the basin. It landed with a resounding thud, and Telemachus flinched a little. Half from the noise, half from the impact of her words.

Penelope sighed again, eyes landing in her lap. “Must I confine you to your room? Forbid you from venturing downstairs?”

His eyes flew wide with disbelief. “What? You can’t do that!”

“And why not?” she asked, almost ferocious. “I can do whatever I want. If you can sneak around, getting into fights and trying to end your life every day of the week—“

“I am not trying to kill myself!” Telemachus’ own voice had risen of its own accord, his face heating with shame. “Mother, please—“

“Don’t.” She raised a hand, the gesture and menacing edge to her speech effectively silencing him. “I’m not stupid. I know what you do.”

“I know you’re not!” Desperation was practically dripping from his voice. “But please, mom, I need to be out there.”

“Telemachus. I’m not going to argue with you.” She turned her back to him once again, reaching for a roll of bandages. “I will not lose my one and only son to those vile men. And if you won’t keep yourself out of trouble, the burden falls to me.”

In all the ways he’d expected this interaction to go wrong, he’d failed to forsee this. If he didn’t have eyes on the suitors, then who knew what they’d get up to? Who knew what new and awful scheme they’d dream up against he and his mother?

And, more than that, he’d spent his whole life staring out his window and waiting for the moment his life would turn around. He’d spent far too long just standing around, waiting on his father, on the suitors to disappear, on a taste of freedom.

This was it. The control he’d been searching for the last twenty years. Things were awful in so many ways, but at least he wasn’t completely helpless. At least he had some agency. He’d met Athena and Aphrodite, sort of won a fight for the first time, and he was just now getting the chance to explore his soulbond.

How could he give it all up? After all he’d seen and done, how could his mother expect him to sit down and return to complacency? He’d rather die than allow the suitors to get their way. He’d rather die than return to the life he used to lead.

He grabbed her arm. “You don’t understand.”

She whipped around to face him, bandages strangled in a white-knuckled grip. “Oh, don’t I?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

His mother locked her jaw. “Don’t you dare get mouthy with me. I’m doing this because I love you.”

“And I’m doing this because I love you.” He snatched a cloth from beside the basin, drenching it and water and scrubbing roughly at the blood dried on his skin. “You said it yourself. How could I just stand around? They want to steal your virtue. They wish me dead. No one’s coming to save us, so what am I meant to do?”

Penelope grabbed a cloth of her own, meticulously and gently beginning to clean his head wound despite the harshness in her expression.

“You assume I don’t know what they wish to do, and your assumption is wrong.” She pressed a little harder, and Telemachus hissed at the pain. “I know of their evil, and that is why we have to tread carefully.”

She rinsed the cloth, sending streams of reddish brown down the basin, then returned to dabbing at the back of his head.

“These suitors aren’t a problem that can be solved in a day. We have to bide our time and stay alive. I’m not asking you to do nothing, I’m asking you to wait.”

Telemachus slammed down his own cloth. “Wait on what, exactly? Do you seriously still believe he’s coming back?”

His mother flinched at that, arm falling to her side. Her expression crumbled slightly, and he immediately regretted the words. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but nothing came out.

The queen’s hand shook slightly as she returned to washing the blood from his hair. Molten guilt pooled in his ribcage. “I do.”

He stared at his feet. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Her hand slowed, voice dropping to scarcely a whisper. “I haven’t heard from him in months.”

Telemachus looked up at her, lips parting in bewilderment. “Months? But I thought you’d said…”

“I lied.” She huffed out a broken laugh, rinsing the cloth once again. “It’s been over half a year, now. I know he’s not dead, but…”

Penelope shrugged, eyes shining a little. “I didn’t want you to worry, but I did say no more secrets. And I’ll be honest, I really don’t know what I believe anymore.”

They sat in silence for a moment, only the sound of water draining to occupy the empty atmosphere. Argos whined from near the door.

Finally, he spoke. “Must be lonely.”

His mother smiled slightly at that. “I suppose. I didn’t realize how accustomed I was to hearing his voice in my head until, one day, I couldn’t.”

He really hoped the lack of Odysseus’ voice wasn’t his parents’ soulbond deteriorating. Of course, he’d never voice that concern to her face, but it did make his mood a little worse. Telemachus supposed he’d have to ask Aphrodite about that later. Surely she could do something to soothe his mother, or at the very least send some thoughts her way?

Penelope took a deep breath, snapping him out of his ruminations. “Shall I stitch this up for you?”

He winced, remembering the almost excruciating pain from the last few times she’d done his stitches. “Well… is it really that bad?”

She glanced at the wound and back at him. “Shallow, but you know head injuries bleed a lot. What happened, anyway?”

Telemachus decided not to comment on her obvious attempt to change the subject. “I got knocked out.”

His mother looked at him, clearly confused. “And nothing happened after that? They just let you leave?”

This was going to be difficult to explain. In his head, the prince weighed the pros and cons of telling the full truth. On one hand, teling the truth would require him to talk about his soulmate, and he really didn’t think he wanted his mother to know all that.

Then again, they had promised no more secrets. If he wanted even the slightest chance of escaping the confines of his room, he needed her to feel he could be trusted. And, more than that, she deserved to know what’d really happened. She was his mother, after all.

“Not quite.” Hesitantly, he pulled the knife from its hidden sheath. “I may have stabbed someone. A couple of someones, actually, and most of the suitors went running.“

Penelope’s eyes flicked between him and the still bloody knife, clearly conflicted. He smiled nervously. “This was what I said you’d be mad about.”

“I…” she shook her head. “You do understand how knife fights usually end, correct?”

“I know, I know. Danger aside, though…” He couldn’t stop the smug grin from crossing his lips. “I mean, you should’ve seen their faces.”

His mother’s mouth twitched. “Describe it for me.”

“Sort of like the face you made when I told you. But, you know, more terrified.”

This time, she couldn’t stop the smile. “Well, I can’t say I’m too upset. On the contrary, I’m quite proud. I wish I could’ve seen it.” She rolled her eyes, clearly struggling to contain her amusement. “Don’t make it a habit, though.”

“The knife is only for special occasions.”

“Uh-huh. And then what happened?”

This was the more complicated part. He must’ve pulled a face because the queen raised her eyebrows critically. “Telemachus?”

He fiddled with the damp cloth in his hands. “You know Antinous.”

Her expression immediately darkened, lip curling slightly. “All too well. Go on.”

“So—“ He stopped himself, switching his choice of fidgeting to twirling a grimy lock of hair between his fingers. “Before I say, promise you won’t judge. Or freak out. Or kill someone.”

Her eyes narrowed impossibly further. “What did he do?”

“Mother.”

“Fine.” She crossed her fingers. “I swear I won’t do any of the things listed. Now, out with it.”

“Alright. He, uh…” Telemachus cleared his throat, looking anywhere but into his mother’s intense gaze. “Took me to his room.”

She made a sharp gasping noise. He made a desperate waving gesture with his hands. “Not like that! Like, he hid me from the other suitors so they wouldn’t, y’know, kill me, or whatever.”

His mother still looked rattled. Gods, this was going well. He forged on before he could change his mind and go back on his word.

“And he helped me out, pretty much. He sent the others away so they wouldn’t bother either of us, and that was pretty nice of him, and then we had a conversation that was actually pretty civil and… and also he kindafiguredoutthatwe’resoulmates. And I met a goddess. Two goddesses, actually.” He let out a nervous giggle. “Isn’t that just crazy?”

The following silence was incredibly loud. Argos made a weird snuffling noise, almost like a dog’s equivalent of a snicker. Penelope was staring blankly at him, clearly trying to decipher whether he was joking or not.

Finally, she spoke. “I’m sorry?”

“You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“I’m not!” His mother chewed her own lip. “That’s just… a lot. Two goddesses?” She shook her head, a small smile forming even as her brows creased. “You and your father, both like magnets for the gods. And—is this why you wouldn’t tell me who your soulmate was?”

“Yup.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I mean. It’s not exactly… romantic. Or particularly great news. And back then, I didn’t get why we were connected at all, but…”

Telemachus paused, sighed. “Okay, I still don’t really get it, but I think he’s not as bad as he seems.”

Penelope tilted her head, still doubtful. “Because he… helped you.”

“It’s more than that!” He stopped himself. Who even was he anymore, jumping to Antinous of all people’s defense? “It’s not like I’ve forgotten that he beat me up and sicced the suitors on me, but—it was you who said people could change, was it not?”

His mothers lips pressed into a thin white line. “I… did. This was not what I’d envisioned, though. The man is dangerous.”

Telemachus couldn’t exactly refute that. It was true, after all. Arguably, it was he who knew of that danger best. But that was part of the appeal, was it not?

“I know that,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “but hear me out. You and I, we’re a great team. That being said, we’re not particularly fearsome, right?”

His mother watched him intently. “That’s true. What of it?”

“Antinous, however, is!” He nodded as though to fortify his point. “You’ve seen how he acts. He’s strong, has influence over the suitors, and he could probably crush some skulls. I mean, he almost crushed mine.”

“Telemachus…”

“Water under the bridge. Look, I know you don’t trust him but—I think I could maybe, possibly get him on our side.”

“Telemachus.” Her voice was a little sharper. “I understand he’s your… soulmate, but to place your trust in a suitor is incredibly risky. Do you see how easily this could go awfully wrong?”

He needed to convince her. It was imperative she allow him to continue interacting with the suitors, and more so for him to go through with his plan. Of course he didn’t trust Antinous, but they were soulmates. And, being soulmates, they had a certain understanding of each other. From what Telemachus could see and what Aphrodite had told him, of course he had his reservations. He also had a small amount of hope.

Antinous had told him he wouldn’t stand in his way. And if he’d already promised neutrality, it wasn’t impossible for him to be swayed into support. But Telemachus couldn’t do that cooped up in his room, and certainly not if his mother decided to try and stop him.

“Your concerns are valid,” he conceded, “and I hear what you’re saying. But you have to understand. We are soulmates. Maybe not the most desirable pair, but that doesn’t change the core connection. It’s like how you and father get each other in a way no one else can.

“Not exactly like that, obviously, but it’s in a similar vein. I hear his thoughts, I know how he feels, and you don’t.” Telemachus grasped her hand, pleading. “If you can’t trust him, then trust me. I really think I can convince him.”

His mother still looked unsure. For what felt like centuries, they only sat there, looking at eachother. He squeezed her hand tighter. At last, she squeezed back, running a hand through her hair.

“Is this you asking to be ungrounded?”

He smiled sheepishly. “If you’ll allow it.”

“No more fights.”

“None I’ll start.”

“No more.”

“You know that’s impossible.”

She glared. “At least promise you’ll take any opportunity to get out of one.”

“I can agree to that.” He put his free hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear not to stab anyone unless they try it first.”

“And more than anything, be smart.” The queen frowned. “I need you alive, my beautiful son.”

He practically deflated with relief. “I will. I am. Thank you.”

“Hey.” She held up a finger. “Not so fast. I’m stitching up that gash, you’re going to wash off all this blood, and then you’re going straight to your room and staying there for the rest of the day. Understood?”

Telemachus deflated, this time for a slightly different reason. Then again, he shouldn’t act too mopey. All in all, this day had arrived at a favorable outcome for him.

He hugged his mother once again, feeling truly grateful. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He could feel her smiling into his shoulder. “I love you too. Now wait here while I get my sewing kit.”

He shuddered despite himself.

Freshly bathed, stitched, and with a throat still scratchy from the effort of not screaming his head off during said stitches, Telemachus was only slightly surprised to find Athena in his room when he walked in. Though he was fairly certain he wasn’t just seeing things, he still blinked a couple times to make sure.

Slowly, he entered the room, closing and locking the door behind him. Athena didn’t turn or acknowledge him, so Telemachus was forced to swallow down his nervousness and make the first move. Again.

“Lady Athena,” he said, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. He wasn’t about to risk pissing off another god, especially after Aphrodite had been so gracious. He felt his luck in that regard had long since run out. “Thank you for all your help back there. I’m not sure what I would’ve done had you not intervened.”

The goddess at last turned to face him. She smiled very slightly, though it looked tense and unnatural. “It was no problem.”

Her gaze was sharp like a hawk—or an owl, he supposed—and he felt immense pressure being placed under its scrutiny.

“Do you, uh, like dogs?” He awkwardly stepped to the side, allowing Argos, who’d been hiding behind his legs, to lumber forward. “This is Argos. He’s very friendly.”

He shot the dog an expectant look. Argos gave him an equally irritated one in return, hesitantly creeping closer to the goddess. Athena’s eyes flitted between him and the animal, a hint of endeared confusion in her eyes.

“I do.” She patted Argos primly on the head. His pet, ever the people pleaser, panted happily. “I prefer birds, though.”

They stood in a stilted silence. Telemachus wanted to shoot himself in the face. What kind of idiot meets a goddess and proceeds to ask them to pet their dog? He was hopeless. Hopeless!

At least Athena didn’t seem to bothered by the awkward atmosphere. Or maybe she just didn’t notice, as it seemed she was genuinely and fully invested in patting Argos’ snout. It was an unbelievable scene in every sense of the word, but he wasn’t about to ask questions.

Or, actually, he was. He had many questions about many things, and now was as good a time as ever. Telemachus cleared his throat.

“So.” He sunk into his desk chair, unwilling to collapse on his injured leg in front of divine company. “If I may ask… why, exactly, did you come to my aid?”

Athena’s head snapped up, eerily fast. He almost squeaked in fear, but managed to contain his jumpiness. She looked unsure for a moment, hand stilling over Argos’ ears.

“I used to know your father,” she said at last. “He was… a friend of mine.”

Telemachus couldn’t stop his eyebrows from jumping. “Seriously? You knew him?” He grinned, suddenly too excited to care about the social etiquette of interacting with a diety. “That is so sick!”

He paused, coughing into his fist. Alright, he wasn’t that excited. “I mean, that’s really interesting.”

Athena cracked another smile at that, but it was a sadder one. “I suppose you could say that.”

Sensing the change in mood, Telemachus hesitated, unsure whether or not to press the issue. He decided it couldn’t hurt… much. “I’m guessing you’re not anymore, then?”

The petting resumed. “I met him when he was young. He grew older and we grew apart.” She frowned slightly. “That was after the war.”

“Oh.” He stared down at his feet. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know every little detail about his father’s life, every single war story and trial and tribulation, but he didn’t know how to put that interest into words. Instead he only said, “I’m sorry.”

The goddess waved a hand dismissively. Telemachus was beginning to get the feeling she was a lot more invested in this topic than she was trying to appear.

“That was a long time ago.” She looked at him intently, as though seeing into his very soul. “He was a lot like you. Brave, maybe a bit brash. Quite clever, too.”

He flustered at the indirect praise. “Really?”

She nodded firmly. “Yes. You’re just like he was, before he grew jaded.” Her eyes grew even sadder, if only slightly. “It was my influence that turned him to the man he is today, and I… regret it. It haunts me. So I thought that maybe, if I helped you reach your goal, I could consider it a debt repaid to him. An apology I could never give in person.”

“I see.”

Telemachus gnawed the inside of his cheek for a moment, considering her words. She wore an expression of guilt, her once guarded face shining bright with emotion. He wished to know just why she’d abandoned his father, wished to wonder aloud what might’ve happened if she hadn’t, but…

Well. People made mistakes. Gods, too, as he’d quickly learned today. And he’d never really been the type to hold onto grudges for long, anyway.

He shrugged slightly, offering a gentle smile of understanding. “I confess I don’t know a lot about my father—or friendship, if I’m being honest—but I’m sure he’d appreciate what you’re doing. I mean, this is kinda the best day of my life.”

Athena looked surprised. “Is that so?”

Somehow, it was. Despite the dramatic swing between some of his darkest moments and some of the most promising, he did feel happier now than he had in a while. And that was shocking. The good kind of shocking.

“Yeah,” he said, tone softening at his own disbelief. “If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve been totally dead. And I wouldn’t have gotten to properly talk to my soulmate, or made my first proper friend… if you’ll have me?”

The goddess’ eyes widened slightly. He smiled nervously, more than a little afraid to find out if he’d crossed the line. Then, her lips quirked upwards, and it was like the sun shone brighter. “You’re a good kid, Telemachus.”

His heart jumped with a strange sort of elation. He felt unfairly happy. He hadn’t even known he could feel this light until just now, and it made him want to cry a little—which he wouldn’t, of course, because tears of joy were still tears.

He settled for trying not to look too stupid as he held in the intense swell of emotion. Maybe things were looking up after all. “Thanks.”

“I’ll teach you how to defend yourself,” she said, “if that is what you wish.”

“I do,” he breathed. “Thank you so much.”

“We’ll start tomorrow, then.” Athena withdrew her hand from Argos’ head, walking backwards toward his bedroom window. “A word of advice, though?”

He blinked at her. “Yes?”

“Don’t kill your soulmate.” She side eyed him, hard. “I mean it.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind!” He shook his head. “It won’t happen again, promise. We’ll be fine.”

She nodded her head, brisquely. Then, before Telemachus could get out another word, she disappeared in a flurry of feathers. He flopped face down on his bed and proceeded to scream into his pillow until he couldn’t breathe and had to carefully roll onto his side to avoid agitating the stitches.

Things definitely weren’t perfect, and the next day was sure to become some degree of a trainwreck. But he was alive, and so was his mother, and he had Athena on his side. With some proper strategizing, he might even manage to get Antinous to stop acting so…

Unstable?

In the other man’s defense, he didn’t seem to he panicking or angry or particularly stressed at the moment. He also wasn’t slitting his wrists like he’d been planning to earlier that day.

For some reason, that did bring Telemachus some peace of mind. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t plan on trying to.

Maybe they would be fine.

He barked out a laugh. That was the most ridiculous thing he’d thought all day, and somehow, it might’ve been the truest.

Chapter Text

Antinous had never been a huge fan of birds. He supposed he could see the appeal of the small, dainty ones, like the doves Aphrodite constantly had following her around. Their tiny beaks and little feathers were cute, he guessed, and the fact he could cup one in his hand was an added plus. The apex predators with the huge talons, though?

He stared up into the trees above him. It was very much still the crack of dawn, so it wasn’t entirely unusual to see an owl out in the open. That being said, its unblinking stare through the canopy above made him uneasy. It was one thing to be watched by nature. It was a whole different thing to have his very person dissected through the eyes of a bird that could certainly rip his arms off.

It’d been at least ten minutes of this staring match. Antinous would’ve just left, but he was keenly aware that this was no normal bird. And to turn his back on a goddess?

That’d just be stupid.

Athena’s presence wasn’t anything like Aphrodite’s. Aphrodite had a warm, inviting aura that seemed to lift your mood the moment you caught even a whiff of it. The goddess of wisdom was… a different story.

It wasn’t heavy, necessarily, but it did feel like pressure. The air felt cleaner when she was around, the wind sharper. Even the static noise of leaves rustling and grass shifting underneath his back seemed heightened almost to the point of overstimulation. He really didn’t think humans were made to be this aware.

Maybe he should’ve been more phased by Athena’s appearance. This was a deity, after all, and meeting a new one was an experience he hadn’t had in a long time. And, past happenings aside, an encounter with the divine was one of those things there was just no getting used to.

Still, he couldn’t say he was overly surprised, having felt this same presence hovering around Telemachus back in the banquet hall. The chaos hadn’t allowed him to put the pieces together at the time, but it was obvious in hindsight. The way he’d moved, almost like he was literally one step ahead of everyone else, just wasn’t natural.

Divine intervention from the goddess of wisdom and strategy herself. He was a lucky guy; Antinous had to give him that. Then again, he certainly needed someone on his side. Maybe it was less luck and more the universe balancing the scales a little.

He blinked. The owl was gone, leaving him alone once again. Sometimes he wished he could spend a singular moment in the mind of a god. There was nothing he’d love more than to, for once, know exactly what they were thinking.

He heaved a sigh, trying and failing to find the motivation to make the trek back to the castle. It’d been less than a day since the fight and finding out the real identity of his soulmate, and…

Antinous didn’t know what exactly he’d expected out of that particular revelation, but this wasn’t it. He’d felt so intensely emotional yesterday, but it was like he’d completely run out of energy to feel anything since then. Today, all he felt was numb. Sort of like his body was moving on autopilot and his mind was somewhere entirely foreign.

It was interesting. He should care about this, and he knew he did, yet all he felt capable of doing at the moment was lying down and sleeping for at least a couple hundred years. Worst of all, he couldn’t even do that. Antinous didn’t need to try closing his eyes to know the nightmares that followed would make him immediately regret it.

That’s why he’d settled for… whatever this was. Daydreaming? That seemed a little too whimsical a term to describe the meandering, barely-there string of thoughts he was mulling over. He was genuinely starting to feel that he spent more time talking to himself than to other people.

He guessed that was fine. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to another suitor at the moment. If he so much as caught Agathinos—the filthy bastard—in his line of sight, he sincerely doubted he could remain levelheaded.

A hint of anger peeked through the fog in his brain. The way he’d grabbed the prince and the things he’d said had been replaying in his mind against his will everytime he closed his eyes. It disgusted him. Did the others really think that way? Was the fault on him for allowing them to?

He picked absentmindedly at the cut just beginning to heal vertical down his cheek. It was certainly going to scar. Antinous supposed he was already fortunate to not have caught an infection from that old blade.

He wondered how Telemachus was. He ought to know, considering their connection, but it seemed the other man was far better at picking up on thoughts and feelings than he. He’d felt it, heard his thoughts loud and clear during the banquet hall catastrophe, but it’d been utter silence since then. All things considered, it made sense. How was he meant to keep track of a whole seperate set of emotions when he could barely interpret his own?

The sun was higher in the sky now, which meant his time alone in the gardens was running out. He didn’t want to see his fellow suitors. He wasn’t prepared. He definitely didn’t want to see the little wolf.

But he did.

But he didn’t?

Antinous groaned aloud. Where was he even meant to go from here? He’d strongly considered just leaving the castle entirely, but had reluctantly discarded the idea upon realizing that Aphrodite couldn’t complete her oath if he gave up on his soulmate. Nevermind that giving up was all he really wanted to do.

Theoretically, this should all be excellent news. His soulmate was a royal. Anyone else would be jumping for joy, and under different circumstances, Antinous would too. Under these conditions, though?

Yeah, no. He wasn’t so self absorbed as to think the pros of even attempting to subject Telemachus to himself outweighed the cons. He wasn’t a good soulmate, and he was never going to be.

The thought made the pit in his chest a little wider. Gods, he was really about to make Aphrodite break an unbreakable promise, wasn’t he? What exactly were the repercussions of such an event, anyway? Death? Could gods die?

Once, he might’ve considered that an idiotic question. Now, it was seeming more and more like a feasible concern. It was like no matter what he did, he always ended up causing more harm than good. The pattern was so pronounced it was almost funny.

Almost. If he thought about it for longer than five seconds, it veered straight back into depressing.

He was also still ever so slightly hungover, so that wasn’t helping anything. Some more alcohol sounded great, actually. Getting blackout drunk would at least relieve some of the stress and pain that ached constantly in his chest, and bones, and pretty much everywhere.

Eh. He really shouldn’t do that. The only thing more embarassing than his inability to hold his liquor was the instant regret upon returning to consciousness. That said, could it really get much worse than this?

He sighed, closing his eyes tight to shield himself from the first rays of morning sun. The crown would be nice. Some peace of mind would be even nicer.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him, blacking out the sun and reducing his world to darkness. He squinted blearily up at the figure. Figures?

“Oh, hey, Eurymachus,” he said, barely able to inject even the slightest of enthusiasm into his tone. His eyes shifted to the second, smaller figure. His breath caught in his throat, and he wasn’t sure if the air had truly stilled or if it was just his imagination getting away from him. “And… you.”

Telemachus looked slightly amused at that, tapping the point of his sword against the grass. Why did he have a sword? And why—no, how—were he and Eurymachus standing together in a state of civility? Now he knew for certain he wasn’t in his right mind.

“And me.” The prince’s voice broke through his momentary haze. “Are you going to keep staring at me like an idiot, or are you going to get up?”

“I suggest you listen,” the suitor shrugged cavalierly. “He broke into our room and threatened to stab me to death.”

Antinous wasn’t sure how he was meant to react to that. “Uh…?”

Telemachus shot the other man a critical look. “Shut up.” He looked back at Antinous. “It makes more sense in context.”

“Don’t believe him, dude. He’s totally psycho.”

“You are dismissed.” The little wolf’s voice raised above Eurymachus’ though his eyes stayed trained on Antinous. His foot tapped away impatiently. “Terms and conditions, fuckface. Or do you not understand the concept?”

Eurymachus glared at the side of his head. “You don’t have the element of surprise anymore, little boy. Don’t think I wouldn’t send you to negotiate in the underworld.”

“Oh, shut up. Wouldn’t want you to break a nail trying.”

“If it means breaking your face, sure.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

The suitor scoffed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.” Telemachus finally broke the magnetic eye contact, turning to make a nasty expression at him. “Did all that alcohol kill what’s left of your braincells, or do you just enjoy saying stupid shit?”

Eurymachus stepped forward. “I suggest you worry about your own skull.”

“I suggest you go fuck yourself.”

Antinous could feel a monster of a headache coming on. Turning over and succumbing to misleading allure of sleep was looking more and more desirable by the second. Reluctantly, he pulled himself to a sitting position, forming an effective barrier between the men moments from wringing each other’s necks on either side of him.

Playing peacemaker certainly wasn’t his strong suit, but he was willing to give it a try if it meant putting a swift end to the world’s worst trio.

“Eurymachus, knock it off. And, you—“ he kneaded the skin between his brows, sufficiently exasperated. “Chill out, yeah? The stabbing thing is getting out of hand.”

“I have a name.” Telemachus rolled his eyes, turning his back to Eurymachus once more. “Tell your favorite henchman to go mind his business and I will gladly heed your advice.”

He certainly did have a name. Antinous still found himself quite afraid to use it, at least out loud, though he couldn’t recall where exactly the stigma had come from. It hadn’t always been there, but the way things were, it just felt weird in his mouth. And that sounded even weirder in his head.

Eurymachus heaved a sigh, overly dramatic as always. “Of course you’d take his side. Maybe I just wanna be around for your bizarre soulmate courting ritual.”

Antinous nearly swallowed his tongue at the throwaway comment, looking accusingly at Telemachus.

The little wolf pulled a face at the unspoken shift in blame. “I didn’t tell him that, for the record. You’re just slow on the uptake.”

Antinous barely even knew what they were talking about anymore. He felt like he’d accidentally walked into three different layers of subtext and at least four unique conversations, most of which he wasn’t privvy too. For some reason, the thought of he and Eurymachus being in on something he knew nothing about sort of pissed him off.

He should probably put some thought into why that was. On the other hand, it was beginning to occur to him that the less he knew about their soulbond, the better. So, while he wouldn’t typically advocate for sticking his head in the sand…

Well, he was doing a lot of things he wouldn’t typically do nowadays.

Antinous sighed once more. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with the little wolf, but allowing Eurymachus to stay would only drive him to the brink of insanity. And then straight off the edge, judging by the incredibly unsubtle glowering match they were holding in his peripheral.

“Alright, fine,” he groused, “have it your way. Shoo, Eurymachus.”

The suitor gawked at him, clutching his heart as though he’d actually been stabbed. “Wow. Have you no loyalty?”

Telemachus huffed out what might’ve been a snicker.

Eurymachus rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up. “Fine, I’ll go. Don’t let him stab you, dude.”

“Worry about yourself.” The prince made a disapproving noise, face morphing into something more serious. “And remember what I said.”

“Believe me, I will.”

He didn’t seem even remotely concerned. In fact, the suitor looked all too smug as he gave a sarcastic salute, turning on his heels and strolling across the grass back in the direction of the castle.

Antinous really wasn’t liking that gleam in his eye. It was the look he got when he was, for lack of a better word, up to no good. That sort of smugness only really crept out when he was in the middle of executing a particularly interesting play.

He knew Eurymachus was shady. He could honestly say he didn’t have a problem with that, either—holding such an opinion would only make him a hypocrite, after all.

The man was self serving, yes, but in a predictable way. Predictability wasn’t dangerous. More than that, he could tell Eurymachus genuinely seemed to like and respect him. The “why” was anyone’s guess, but Antinous guessed the reasoning didn’t really matter.

They were… friends. Ish. Friendly?

Whatever the status of their relationship was, it’d never been his intention. Turned out it was sort of difficult not getting closer to somene you spent the majority of your day around for, what, three years?

His point here was that he was almost positively sure Eurymachus wasn’t planning on betraying him. He was certainly going behind his back, though, and whatever he was doing definitely had something to do with him.

And Telemachus.

That was the most concerning part about all this, actually. Because, if Antinous was reading the situation correctly, the little wolf and Eurymachus, of all people, were working together. Somehow. And that was just—

What?

He had to strain his mind to think of even a single common goal they might have, and still came up with nothing. Blackmail, maybe, but on which end? Both? Was mutual blackmail a thing?

What could Telemachus possibly have on him, anyway? Eurymachus wasn’t even remotely familiar with the concept of shame. And, considering he knew the prince was his soulmate—a point which he hadn’t been focusing on nearly enough, actually. Why the fuck wouldn’t he tell him? Was making his life harder a sport for these two?—he doubted Eurymachus would try to blackmail him now.

He blinked himself from the addictive haze of overthinking. Or was he not thinking enough? Hard to tell.

Hard to focus, too, with Telemachus standing over him and staring into his soul with an expression he couldn’t read at all. It was… distracting. Almost as distracting as the way pinkish hues of sunlight washed over him, staining his skin in a way that gave the impression of glowing. It sort of reminded him of Aphrodite, actually. Sparkles and all.

The soft thud of sword against ground snapped him out of it. Again. It was only then that he realized he’d been spacing out while staring directly into Telemachus’ almost perfectly symmetrical face, and that was weird, and these were weird thoughts to be having, and he needed to cut it out, effective immediately.

He averted his eyes, standing slowly. He needed a change of perspective. At least this way he could safely look over the prince’s head and not have to worry about getting lost in the exact shade of his skin when the sun hit it just right.

Too much. What the fuck?

He could feel his face warming against his will and privately thanked the gods for his complexion. What was wrong with him? Sure, they were soulmates, and maybe that had something to do with the nervous-excited chill he felt when forced to come face to face with the little wolf. Still, those had been his thoughts, pulled directly from his brain. His confused, traitorous brain.

It was one thing to be soulmates. It was a fact he was still struggling immensely to come to terms with, but he knew that he could. Their connection didn’t necessarily mean they had to actually like each other. The universe wanted to, and while he’d like to believe the universe knew best, he’d seen firsthand how some soulbonds ended. And it wasn’t pretty.

So, fine. They were soulmates, the fates wanted them to be together, and that wasn’t happening. He could get over it.

But for his own mind to wander like this? That was a whole seperate issue, and it was nothing short of unacceptable. He did not want to notice the small things of Telemachus’ appearance. He did not want to be hyper aware of his every movement.

Physical attraction. The mere thought of it made him want to crawl into the ground and wither. Desire as he might, Antinous couldn’t really beat around the bush when the truth of the matter was so obvious. It was like the moment he’d connected the dots in his mind, his body had woken up and decided that he was going to be attracted to his soulmate, like it or not. And like it he did not.

It wasn’t like Telemachus was ugly—quite the opposite, actually. That hadn’t really been a problem until now, but it was almost instantaneously proving to be a big one.

He was a grown man. They were not friends and most certainly not lovers so, setting their soulbond and general human nature aside, he was going to tell his brain to can it. Then, he was going to act like a proper, well-adjusted adult, starting… now.

The little wolf was still looking at him, though his current expression was clear as day in its embarassment. He glanced away the second Antinous met his eyes, cheeks tinging slightly red.

The suitor’s soul died a little. “You’re reading my mind again, aren’t you.”

Telemachus flushed a little more, the brief confidence he’d showed before dissipating in an instant. “That’s not how it works. Its more like your mind is reading itself to me.”

Antinous sighed deeply. From the way the skin on his neck was burning, you’d think he was being sunburnt. “Same difference. I swear it’s involuntary.”

“I’m sure it is.” The prince spun the sword in his hand, almost like a nervous habit. “You… you didn’t hear anything from me yesterday, right?”

He raised an eyebrow, eagerly welcoming the change in subject. It seemed Telemachus was feeling merciful—or maybe he was somehow more embarassed of overhearing his internal monologue than Antinous had been of having it. Either way, he wasn’t about to kick a gift horse in the mouth.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Hiding something?”

“No!”

The answer came far too quickly. He found it interesting how his company’s ability to lie and maintain a poker face fluctuated between total proficiency and totally nonexistent by the day.

He caught his mouth turning up at the corners and immediately dropped the almost-smile. Antinous was off his game, and that was if he was being generous with himself.

Most of that could be attributed to the usual culprit. He didn’t know what to make of Telemachus’ actions, and that went for both today and yesterday. He’d entirely expected not to make contact with him again at all—that’d been his goal, actually—so to be sought out like this was weird, to say the least. He must’ve had a reason. If that was the case, he’d yet to make it known.

It was also unbearably awkward. They’d lapsed into a tense silence, and it wasn’t the normal kind of tense Antinous was used to. It was simultaneously hot and cold, a rubber band just waiting to snap.

“So,” they said at the exact same time.

Antinous’ headache flared as though in protest of this conversation. He swallowed the urge to turn around and make a swift escape because, if he had to be sort of an asshole, he could at least not be a cowardly one.

“Go on,” he prompted. “What were you saying?”

Telemachus shook his head, sword still twirling idly in his hand. “It’s nothing. You?”

“I was going to point out that you kind of suck at lying.” Antinous crossed his arms. “Occasionally, at least. What’s your deal with Eurymachus?”

The sword stopped mid rotation. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“And yet it concerns me.”

“Well, our fates are literally attached, so I’d say that’s a given.” He looked up suddenly, eyes piercing his with that familiar intensity. A shiver ran down his spine. “Feeling better?”

Antinous felt as though he’d been physically shoved off balance. “Me?”

“What clued you in?”

“Sorry.” He didn’t even know why he was apologizing. “I’m… fine, I guess. I just don’t get why you’re asking.”

“Because I want to know, obviously.” The little wolf rolled his eyes, though he didn’t sound particularly annoyed. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

Now he really didn’t know what to say. He’d never considered himself overly proficient with words, but he’d at least been able to make a good show of it. Now, his tongue felt heavy and dry, his head astoundingly empty. He opened his mouth.

“Why are you here, anyway?”

Antinous immediately wanted to kick himself. For whatever reason, Telemachus was extending an olive branch, and this was what he was doing with it. Like the very definition of incompetent. Like—

“Well,” the prince bit his lip and promptly released. “I’m here to ask a favor, actually.”

“A favor?” He sounded skeptical, even to himself. “Look, little wolf, when I said I wouldn’t get in your way, I meant I was staying out of things, not taking requests.”

“Too bad. You owe me.”

Antinous squinted at him. “For?”

Telemachus squinted back. “Shall I go down the list? I didn’t disembowel you, for one thing.”

“And yet it seems the offer is still on the table, considering you snuck into my room with a weapon, which you’re still holding onto. And what made you think going into the suitors’ quarters alone was a good idea, anyway?”

“It worked out, did it not?”

“Barely.”

“More than barely.” He frowned briefly, though his face quickly evened out into seriousness. “You could least listen to what I have to say before writing me off. No strings attached, no promises. And then, if you want, you can stalk away and pretend none of this ever happened, or you can stay and do something good.”

Telemachus looked up at him, gaze almost pleading. Like a kicked puppy. “Please?”

And, good gods. Logically, he knew he was being manipulated, and logically, he knew he should turn his back on the prince and return to the safe haven of minding his own damn business. Telemachus could take care of himself. He wasn’t helpless, try as he might to pretend like he was, and he had no doubts he’d figure out whatever this new dilemna was in due time. But, manipulation aside…

He seemed genuine. At least somewhat. And the way his voice, formerly harsh and jaded, softened on the word please did awful things to his head. It was like the universe itself was pushing him to agree. Was this what it meant to defy fate?

Something good. Was that really true? Did the little wolf truly believe one stupid favor could make a real difference in the face of a lifetime of evil? Or did it even matter?

Stay out of it. That’d been the plan. But this was his soulmate, someone he did owe some compensation, and perhaps certain exceptions could be made?

It wasn’t like he had any plans beyond this. How bad could it really be to step over the line he’d drawn for himself, just this once? He’d already given up on the queen. Surely it couldn’t hurt to hear out the prince.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You really think asking a suitor for help is wise?”

Telemachus’ jaw set. “You’re not just any suitor, though, are you?”

That was true. He wasn’t.

Antinous let go of the remaining hesitation tucked deep in his chest. It was just one favor. One good thing, and then he could be done with this whole charade.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m listening.”

The prince smiled unabashedly and his stomach flipped at the sight. Damn it. “You won’t regret it! I mean—not too much, at least. Hold this.”

With seemingly no regard for either of their safety, Telemachus chucked the sword in his hands at him. Antinous caught it on reflex, barely avoiding an accidental graze against the blade.

He glared at the other man, who appeared largely unconcerned. “Seriously?”

“Oh, you’ll live.”

“You certainly won’t if you make a habit out of handing your weapons to strange men.”

“You’re calling yourself a strange man?” Telemachus brushed his hands off against his chiton, taking a step closer to him. “Interesting.”

“You disagree?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You—“ Antinous stepped back as the little wolf continued coming closer. “What are you doing?”

“First favor. I know I said it was just the one, but it’s technically two.” Telemachus reached out and grabbed the front of the suitor’s own chiton, keeping him squarely in place. “And quit running from me. You’re the one with the sword, remember?”

Antinous definitely could’ve broken away. Be that as it may, he found himself completely unable to move under the little wolf’s scrutiny. He felt almost unbearably warm, now, and all too aware of every breath and tiny movement. “Well, yes, but—“

“Shhhut up.” Telemachus seemed blissfully unaware of his plight, his eyes closing briefly as though focusing intently on something. His eyes opened once again. “Feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Nevermind. Favor number one.” He didn’t let go of him, though he did back up a little. “Just a quick experiment. Can I touch you?”

It seemed like every time Antinous thought he knew where things were going, the prince managed to say something that threw him for a violent loop. He could practically feel his temperature spike, and he knew the added warmth of someone else’s body heat very close to him wasn’t to blame.

Or perhaps it was, just not in the way he would’ve liked.

“You—you already are,” he muttered, trying and failing to quell the rising panic in his chest. And when had he picked up a stutter!?

Telemachus groaned. “Skin to skin is what I mean, smartass. May I?”

Good gods, he couldn’t do this. The fates had to be mocking him somehow. Attraction was obviously an integral part of a soulbond, and that was all well and good when it came to normal people in normal relationships, but them? As in he and the little wolf?

Absolutely not. He wanted to take off his skin and run away screaming—gods above, the proximity was already too much—and he found it doubly ridiculous that even Aphrodite couldn’t draw out such a strong reaction from him but fucking Telemachus could.

Fuck his life.

“Go for it,” he said, choosing to accept his fate and embrace helplessness. Well-adjusted adult his ass.

While he had literally just agreed, Antinous found himself caught completely off guard when Telemachus reached up and pressed the palm of his hand to the slope of his cheek. He flinched despite himself, partly due to the stinging of the yet-to-be-healed scratch marring his skin, the gut instinct he’d yet to unlearn even after years away from home, and mostly because the little wolf of all people was holding his face, and that was just… huh?

His palm was soft and warm and… small. He had small hands, at least in comparison to Antinous’ own, and he was pressing directly against the scratch down his face. It didn’t hurt, though. Actually, the lingering pain seemed to have completely dissipated. Or maybe that was the result of his stupid soulbond clouding his judgement and forcing him to hyperfocus on the fact that Telemachus was literally cupping his face, what the fuck?

The prince was staring at him again. “Feel it now?”

He was definitely feeling a lot of things. In his head, he kicked himself. “Point recieved. You can quit stroking my face now.”

Telemachus huffed, releasing his hold on him and stepping back. “I promise it wasn’t this weird in my head. Pretty interesting, though, right?”

Antinous touched his own fingers to his cheek. Sure enough, the pain was completely gone, and the formerly jagged roughness of his skin felt a little smoother. His cheek still felt warm with the lingering presence of the little wolf’s fingertips.

“It is,” he said at last, realizing belatedly that an answer was expected. “I didn’t know soulbonds had healing properties.” A pause. “Thanks.”

Telemachus shrugged, looking very self satisfied for reasons he couldn’t so much as hope to guess. “No need when it works both ways. I feel much better around you.” His foot, which had been tapping away, paused in time with his words for a second that seemed to span centuries. “Physically, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

Antinous barely had time to stew in the delicate tension resurging between them with the swiftness of which the little wolf changed the topic.

“Second favor!” He held out his hand expectantly for the sword. Antinous knew he wasn’t imagining the pink tint to his cheeks, and it certainly wasn’t the lighting. “This one’s a little more complicated.”

He eyed Telemachus suspiciously, hesitantly passing the weapon. “Does it involve slicing me to pieces?”

“If that was my intention, I would’ve just done it already.” He made a dissatisfied noise under his breath, the small puff of air carrying the heavy weight of judgement. “You really think I wish you dead after all that’s happened? Have you retained absolutely nothing?”

Now it was his turn to be annoyed. “It just doesn’t make any sense. You don’t make any sense.”

“I feel I’m making perfect sense. Maybe you just need to do a better job listening.”

“I—“ He pinched the skin of his forehead, fighting to keep the unfair irritation threatening to burst from between his teeth indoors. “Be honest, little wolf. What’s your motive? Why is it that you insist on being so generous with me? I find it truly difficult to believe your opinion of me has changed so drastically based off one conversation, so what is it?”

Telemachus studied him, closed expression and body language painting a picture of someone not even the slightest bit fazed. “What’s your theory, then? Since you seem to know so much.”

What was his theory? He understood people. He knew exactly how to read them, knew exactly what they wanted from him and exactly what he could get in return, knew the end goal and every motivation. He knew none of the above about the prince.

It couldn’t be because they were soulmates. If Telemachus truly cared about that, he wouldn’t have kept their connection a secret for the past three years. And, as of right now, it didn’t seem he had much of an interest in discussing anything about it beyond what directly benefitted him, such as the healing.

Selfishness. He was resourceful and clever, and Antinous knew there was no way he was attempting to bridge the gap between them out of the goodness of his heart. That didn’t bother him—he couldn’t say he would’ve behaved differently—but it did raise more questions.

What was it Telemachus thought he could gain from him? What was it Antinous offered that no one else in this castle did? Was he simply the lesser of a hundred-and-seven evils?

“I don’t know,” he said, voice coming out sharper and louder than he’d intended. “That’s why I’m asking you. I don’t really care if you’re using me, I just want to know what for.”

Something in Telemachus’ face shifted. He looked uncomfortable, almost guilty. “Well. I feel that’s something you should care about.”

Antinous scoffed. “That’s the way the world works, wolfy. People use each other as a means to an end, and maybe there’s mutual profit, or maybe there’s not.

“Good people get walked on because the world is cruel. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. You’re good, little prince, but you’re not dumb. I don’t get to be mad at you for using the same system we all use to survive, but I’d really prefer if you didn’t try and lie to my face about it.”

They stood in a stiff silence for a long moment. Telemachus’ hands clenched and unclenched around the hilt of the sword, clearly debating his response. That, or wondering if this whole conversation was a waste of time and energy.

Maybe it was. Antinous was willing to pay his dues and help the prince out. Could he really say he was being taken advantage of if it was more than deserved? Try as he might to forget the last few years, he couldn’t shake all the awful shit he’d done and allowed. The shit he was still allowing, if only because he didn’t yet know how to make it stop.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he truly wanted to change. He hated who he was. If he could go back and start all over again, rebuild himself from the ground up and reverse all the harm he’d done, he would.

But he couldn’t, could he? Run and pretend as he liked, he’d never get to be that person. Letting Telemachus have his way was, honestly, the least he could do.

The little wolf was frowning slightly. “I want you to teach me how to fight. That’s my second favor.”

Antinous looked at him, the sword in his hand, the way Athena’s aura was gathering over his head like a cloud intensifying before a storm. Coolness crept up his spine. It all made a little more sense now.

“Sparring partners.” He couldn’t keep his incredulousness from seeping into the words. “You want me to be your sparring partner.”

Telemachus’ jaw set. “I’ve no one else.”

He didn’t sound particularly hung up on that—more frustrated than anything, really—but the bluntness of the truth made Antinous’ chest ache a little. He didn’t, did he?

Sure, there was Athena trailing him around, but he knew firsthand the difference betwen divine company and that of a fellow mortal. He loved Aphrodite, but she was still a goddess. Untouchable, and above him in ways that made it impossible for him to ever even the scale.

So Telemachus was turning to him. A suitor, a man who couldn’t possibly be trusted, all because he had no one else. It was sad. It was awful, almost painfully so, and it was possibly the worst idea Antinous had ever heard.

He owed him. He did. And if this was what the prince required of him, he should do the decent thing and say yes, but…

Still. Guilt crushed him like a thousand boulders. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Telemachus sounded a little more heated now. “I swear this isn’t just some ploy for me to stab you to death.”

He wrapped his arms around his midsection, grounding himself in the illusion of touch. “It’s nothing to do with you. I don’t… I don’t spar. I can’t.”

The little wolf glared at him, looking momentarily like he was about to argue. His mouth opened, then snapped shut. His face returned to carefully constructed neutrality, all traces of frustration wiped clean in an instant.

“Alright,” he breathed out, the tension Antinous hadn’t even noticed in his shoulders releasing. “Well, that was all I had to say, so.” A muscle near his mouth twitched ever so slightly, sending a delicately placed mole quivering. “If you reconsider, then—I mean, I’d probably already know, but I’ll be around.”

Telemachus began to turn. He honestly couldn’t believe the prince was letting him off so easily. He was grateful, of course, not to be forced to explain himself, but…

But what?

Antinous felt now, more than ever, that he had no clue what he’d wanted. He’d desired the crown at first, more than anything in the world, but now he could only feel a sick, black hole of shame expanding in his stomach when he so much as considered the position.

He wanted Telemachus to leave him alone, but he also needed him to stay because they were soulmates and he’d wanted this for so long. But Antinous could bring nothing but harm to the prince and his family, so it’d only be selfish for him to involve himself, and he was trying so hard not to be selfish.

And here was the little wolf, who seemed to have a one track mind and who always knew exactly what he wanted, asking for his help. To defend himself. From the danger Antinous had put him in. From people like Agathinos.

“Wait,” he said, and he didn’t even know why he said it.

Telemachus paused, took a long breath, and shifted back to face him. The lines of his face were drawn taut. “Antinous. Don’t waste my time.”

He swallowed dryly. “I’m not, it’s just—what is it you plan to do? If you do learn?”

The little wolf stood eerily still. For a long moment, the only sound was of wind whistling and grass shifting beneath their feet. Finally, he shrugged, expression betraying nothing. “The suitors have to go.”

They stared at each other, seemingly locked in a stalemate. Antinous’ heart pounded a little faster.

“One hundred and eight. You’re telling me you plan on taking down a hundred men, all by your lonesome?”

“Do I have a choice?” His eyes pierced him. “It’s me, myself, and I in this hellhole. They won’t die by themselves.”

Die? He felt as though a bucket of ice cold seawater had been dumped over his head. “You mean you plan to kill them?”

“They want to rape my mother.” That ice cold fury Antinous had witnessed back in the banquet hall had appeared in his voice once more, alongside that lethal expression. “Do you honestly believe they won’t go through with it? That they talk just to talk?”

The suitor reached out as though to grab his arm but recoiled at the last moment, bringing his hand back to his side. Desperate anxiety clawed at his chest. He knew now, though, that the righteous anger accompanying it wasn’t his own.

“Little wolf, that’s real blood on your hands.” His voice sounded strained. “You’ll get yourself killed trying to do this.”

“I just need a guarantee. I need to know they won’t hurt her.” Telemachus was a little louder, now, though his voice remained fairly level. “You’re the only suitor I can semi-trust to keep them in line and you won’t even do that, so—“ he cut himself off as his voice continued to rise, clearing his throat of the emoton that’d begun to break through. “I don’t want to be a killer, obviously, but I will do what I must.”

The guilt and worry came to a swell. He clenched his jaw a little tighter to help relieve a bit of the stress. “Stop it.”

“Gods, I’m tired of being ordered around.” Telemachus raked a hand through his hair. He looked horribly tired, the increasingly pronounced darkness beneath his eyes and the subtle slump of his posture painting an exceedingly poor picture. “Stop worrying about it. I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t pity you.”

“You think I’m weak.”

“I’ve never thought that!” The harsh snap of his words rang through the air before he could stop himself. “Please, for the love of all things holy, stop putting words in my mouth.”

“You can worry all you like,” Telemachus snarled, “but the facts are that, when worst comes to worst, you serve nobody but yourself. You care, but not enough to stand up and actually do something about it.”

The words felt like a smack in the face. He didn’t look regretful at having said them, but the little wolf’s face did falter a little. The silence picked up once more, neither man willing to move.

Antinous was scared. He couldn’t help it. He knew Telemachus wasn’t joking, that he truly would try to stage another attack on the suitors, and he knew he would die trying. He couldn’t lose someone else. Even if it was only circumstances outside their control that pushed them together, he couldn’t deny that he cared. He didn’t want to, and he did.

Telemachus was right. But he could be proven wrong.

He ignored the bile in his throat that rose at the mere thought of sparring with the prince. He hated fighting. He hated being touched without warning and trading blows, and he hated more than anything the idea of hitting Telemachus at all.

Perhaps it was a necessary evil. His cross to bear.

Thud.

“I’ll do it,” he spat, and the resignation in his voice screamed surrender. “I’ll help you. Promise me you won’t go through on this stupid plan and I’ll teach you how to fight.”

The little wolf’s eyes found his, the shock in them clear as day.

Antinous folded his arms. It took a concentrated effort for him not to go weak at the knees at the mere thought of what he was getting himself into. Necessary evil. Maybe if he said it enough, he could outrun the pathetic terror that plagued him at the notion.

“You dislike me,” he said. “That’s valid. I get it. But I don’t dislike you, and I can’t let you go off and die on me. So, please. I just want you to be smart, because we’re soulmates, and I guess that means I’m sort of doomed to worry about you.”

Telemachus was wearing that strange expression again, looking at him with a carefully concentrated eye that gave the impression of tearing through his very soul. At last, he ducked his head, relieving the heaviness of his gaze from Antinous’ shoulders.

“Doomed, huh?” His mouth quirked up ever so slightly. “How very romantic of you.”

The suitor caught himself relaxing at the quip. “I wasn’t aware I was meant to be.”

“I think it should be a given, considering.” The little wolf turned back around but didn’t move to leave. “I can agree to no murder, if that’s your condition.”

“Great.”

He couldn’t be positive, but he could almost feel the smile in Telemachus’ words. “I’ll find you, then. Tomorrow.”

The godly aura that’d been lingering in the air their entire conversation swirled harder around the prince, and Antinous was then reminded of his original query. “Hey.”

Telemachus, who’d begun to walk away, stopped in his tracks. “Hm?”

“Are you being mentored by Athena?”

Time seemed to falter for a moment. The little wolf turned around, a single eyebrow raised. “Are you being mentored by Aphrodite?”

Antinous felt his own brows raise. “Touché. You know a lot about a lot of things, don’t you?”

“Only those I’m not supposed to.” Telemachus shrugged, sword twirling idly once more. “I must say, it explains a lot.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Up to interpretation.” He turned back for the final time, continuing his trek back to the castle. “Thanks,” he called faintly, not so much as stealing a single look back.

Antinous didn’t respond. Maybe it was best he hadn’t looked back. He felt he must’ve been wearing a stupid expression.

There was another gust of wind, then, this time carrying the scent of rose petals and sea salt. The sky seemed to brighten as Aphrodite touched down next to him, a hand placed firm on his shoulder. She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear just barely as though telling an important secret.

“Perhaps the fates were right about you two,” she whispered.

He glanced at her, face heating despite himself. Blasphemy be damned, there was really only one suitable response to such a claim.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

Aphrodite laughed, and it sounded almost like a birdsong.

Chapter Text

Walking into the banquet hall in the deepest, darkest part of the night felt like walking into a lion’s den. Telemachus was more than aware that, in this analogy, he was most certainly the hunted.

It’d been difficult convincing his mother to allow him to speak with Antinous that morning. Asking her to leave again, this time in the dead of night, had been an almost impossible task. They’d argued for at least a solid half hour, the queen only conceding after he’d reluctantly agreed on bringing Argos along.

He really hadn’t wanted to drag his dog into this mess. After all, what exactly was the difference between one little wolf and a second?

Argos, too, seemed antsy. It wasn’t lost on him that his pet could probably still smell the remnants of his blood strewn about the room. The maids had cleaned the place thoroughly, but he couldn’t help but feel the grim essence of what’d gone down in this very room remained.

He swallowed, venturing further into the dark. “Eurymachus,” he hissed, “I know you have a light. Use it.”

Something shifted in the corner of his eye, and he whipped his head to face the sound, followed closely by Argos letting out a low growl. There was an orange spark, then a fire, and the room was lit in a dimly warm haze.

Eurymachus was lounging on a bench, his face incredibly smug as he shifted the candle in his hands back onto the table. His eyes flicked down to Argos, then back up to meet Telemachus’ own gaze. He smiled.

“I see you brought the mutt. Are you really so afraid of me?”

“Shut up.” Telemachus scowled at him, nerves significantly reduced by having regained the ability to see. “He wasn’t my idea. Settle, boy.”

Argos looked apprehensive at the command, sniffing suspiciously at the suitor. He gave a disapproving snuffle, but his body did relax slightly as he trailed Telemachus to the other side of the table.

The prince sat down across from Eurymachus, dog coming to sit at his side. Argos’ furry head pressed gently against his weak leg like an anchor. Telemachus greatly appreciated the silent support. He wasn’t exactly scared of this particular suitor, but he couldn’t deny the man had a way of making him feel uneasy, even when barely doing anything at all.

Eurymachus’ swung his legs off the bench, swivelling so he could fully face him. He leaned forwards, hands clasping together like a businessman. Telemachus supposed that, in this instance, he kind of was. They both were.

The suitor cocked his head. “Well? I’m not trying to be out here all night. I’ve got a beautiful maid waiting on me.”

“I don’t care about you and your designated whore’s alone time.” Telemachus sighed in a vain effort to release the tension from his teeth. “I’m just trying to uphold our agreement since I, unlike you, have some modum of honor.”

“Have I not upheld it?” Eurymachus’ voice was mocking. “Would you look at that? The prince, missing all day, and his mother left unharmed. What more could you possibly want?”

That was true. He had, admittedly, been quite nervous to put his mother’s livelihood in Eurymachus’ hands. He never would’ve so much as considered such a thing without the additional safety net of Athena watching over the castle’s affairs. But the suitor had done what he’d promised. The men had, somehow, been convinced to stay away from her. And he wasn’t about to make a fuss about it, lest Eurymachus change his mind and act differently in the future.

“I’ll give you that,” he conceded, “and I’ll gladly thank you for that much.”

“Hm.” Eurymachus shrugged. “It’s not empty words that I want.”

The momentary gratitude he’d felt for the man fizzled out into nothing in mere seconds. Telemachus frowned. “Fine. How do you want me to prove my intentions?”

“I’ll take your money, for starters.”

“You’re a nobleman. You don’t need my money.”

“Neither do you.” He held out an expectant hand, fingers waggling almost playfully. “Hand it over, princess, or you’re on your own.”

Resisting the urge to tip the steadily burning candle right on top of that hand, Telemachus dug into his belt, producing a fairly large satchel of currency. He unceremoniously dumped the coins out onto the table, watching impatiently as Eurymachus’ eyes roamed over the pile, no doubt counting his gains.

He gave a low whistle, clearly satisfied with the number. “And this is all yours?”

“It’s not like I’m going to take out a loan.”

“I think I like you a lot better now that I know you’re filthy rich.” Eurymachus palmed the mass of coins, sweeping it haphazardly into his own satchel. “And you don’t even know it. Shit, who needs the queen with an accomplice like you?”

Telemachus’ closed his eyes to stave off the irritation. He could own up to not having the greatest concept of money, but when you owned an entire treasury, giving out a little more than was necessary didn’t pose too much of a problem. He did hate to have made Eurymachus so happy, though. It was time to squash his dreams.

“Now you’re pushing it.” He folded his arms across his chest like a shield to the suitor’s bullshit. “This is a one time payment, to be clear. Is that all?”

Eurymachus considered the words, fingers smoothing repeatedly over the surface of a tetradachm. Finally, that sharklike smirk appeared once again. “I want the dear queen’s word as well.”

He barely contained a wince. “Is mine not enough?”

“You have no real authority here, do you?” The suitor looked up from the coin, eyes sparking with amusement. “Who cares what the prince has to say? It’s the monarch who manages relations between families, so I’m gonna need to hear it from someone who actually matters. No offense, little wolf.”

He nearly leapt across the table right then and there to strangle him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, but Antinous can?” Eurymachus raised an eyebrow. “Is he always your exception?”

Telemachus’ face flared with an indignant heat that could only be dispelled by burying his fingers deep into Argos’ coat. “What exactly are you implying?”

The suitor only stared at him, distinctly unimpressed. His lips quirked upwards with something almost like pity, but his words were purely sardonic. “Ah, Telemachus. Who do you honestly think you’re fooling?”

He didn’t reply, too busy fighting for control over his own scattered psyche to shoot back something coherent. Antinous wasn’t his anything, and certainly not an exception. Just because he’d been the one to come up with that stupid nickname and just because it felt wrong for anyone else to use it—it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t!

All this panic over two stupid words. He was acting dumb. And what did Eurymachus know about such matters anyway?

“I don’t know what you mean,” he snarled, “and I don’t care to know. We’re here to talk business and business only, or have you forgotten the rules so soon?”

“I’m perfectly within the confines of the rules, princess.” Eurymachus grinned with a superiority that gave Telemachus the strong urge to deck him. “You wanted information on him, and I’m about to give it to you. Unless you’re trying to change our agreement, in which case I’d think it to be quite improper.”

He was right. Gods fucking damn it, he really hated when he was right. It took all the prince had in him to temper his anger and come down from the high of murderousness, but he accomplished the Herculean task all the same.

He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and forced his voice back to its dispassionate state. “We’re talking about him, not me.”

“Hard to do one without the other, but we’ll see.” The coin rolled between his knuckles. “Shall I go on, your highness, or do you require a moment to contain yourself?”

Argos made a disapproving sound as his fingers tugged a little too hard on his fur. Telemachus released his hold, apologetic, and settled for aggressively fiddling with the hem of his chiton. “Just say your piece and get it over with.”

Eurymachus didn’t seem at all bothered by his obvious disinterest in further conversation. He only leaned in a little more, flames of the candle between them licking dangerously close to his chin. The lighting made him look almost supernatural, more so since he didn’t seem at all bothered by the heat. Maybe looking as unnerving as possible made it all worth it for him.

“You know what,” the suitor drawled without even an attempt at hiding the mischief behind it, “let’s play a new game. What do you want to know?”

Telemachus chewed his lip. He hadn’t put much thought into particular lines of questioning at the time they’d struck this deal—that’d been this morning when he’d broken into their room—and he found himself drawing a blank.

It wasn’t for lack of curiosity, no. He had many, many questions about Antinous, nearly all of which he knew would never be answered upfront. He wanted to know why he was the way he was, if the dreams he’d been having over the past three years—more sporadically with time, thank the gods—were true.

He knew Eurymachus was well informed. He was a snake, slithering about and gathering information under the radar. In that way he supposed they were sort of the same, only Telemachus didn’t use his discovered knowledge for evil.

Be that as it may, he wasn’t so sure that the sly suitor would know much of anything about the things he actually cared about. It was still unclear to him exactly how close Eurymachus and Antinous even were, anyway. And the last thing he wanted to do was say something in the privacy of this room that would only be leaked to Antinous later.

“I’ll take anything,” he said, and that wasn’t a lie. “Tell me something I’d never know otherwise.”

“Something you’d never know.” Eurymachus hummed lowly, no doubt constructing the perfect and least helpful response possible in his head. “I can do that. Problem is, it’s not so clear what you know and what you don’t.”

“Would you like me to draw up a diagram? Compile a list?” He rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of taking your best guess?”

The suitor chuckled, entertained for reasons beyond his comprehension. “Alright, alright. Always so mouthy. But, sure. I can get on board with chance, if that’s how you want it.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be here all night.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” He drummed his fingers against the table for a moment, deep in thought. Telemachus could practically see the moment the gears clicked and he formed his next scheme.

It was a sight he hated to see.

His weariness must’ve shown on his face because Eurymachus looked impossibly more pleased. “You’re worried about loyalty, aren’t you?”

Telemachus frowned. “If you mean concerned that he’ll stab me in the back, then not especially.”

“So there is remaining doubt.”

“He’s one of you. There’s always going to be some doubt.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Eurymachus leaned back, something in his eyes all too knowing. “In that case, allow me to quell it. You see, Antinous—strange guy, we both know that—he cares for his own.”

“His own?”

“That is what I just said, yes.”

Telemachus sighed. “Which is to say I’m not understanding what you mean. Elaborate.”

“I’ll make it nice and simple, then, for the simpleminded in the room.” The smile fell off his face, replaced by a more serious expression. “To those he has a soft spot for, he’s abundantly loyal. Granted, that’s a very small amount of people, but they exist all the same.”

“And?”

“And,” he said, voice giving the impression that’d Telemachus had just said something incredibly stupid, “that small minority. Care to take a guess who’s in it?”

He frowned even deeper. Honestly, he found it difficult to imagine Antinous having a soft spot for anyone, whatever that might entail. He was just so closed off. Try as he might to psychoanalyze the man at every opportunity, the prince still found himself constantly lost—not necessarily by his actions, but by the feelings that drove him.

Eurymachus was clearly expecting an answer, though, so he gave a noncommittal one. “You?”

The suitor laughed. “Me? I suppose you could make that argument, but that wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Impatience is a vice, princeling.”

“I’d say neither of us are particularly virtuous.”

“I won’t disagree.” He held up a fist, unfurling it slightly to raise a singular finger. “Me, according to you.” A second. “That goddess of his.” A smile, then the third. “And, of course… you.”

Telemachus’ breath caught in his throat. “Me? Are you serious?”

“And what would I get out of lying about this?” The hand fell away, coming to slam back against the table. “You can’t be telling me you really don’t see it.”

“I’m not seeing it because it doesn’t exist.”

His skin felt warm and prickly as his mind worked in overdrive. It was like he was reviewing every interaction they’d ever had over the span of just a few seconds, scouring for any instance that could possibly have betrayed a soft spot.

He’d never treated him particularly well in the past. Sure, they’d had moments of peace amidst the chaos, like those irregular conversations at the library, but Telemachus felt that might’ve been reading into it too much. He’d threatened him, physically attacked him—how could both those things be true at once?

Did saving his life count? Maybe? But it also sort of felt like the bare minimum of decency. Surely he didn’t have to posess any special value to Antinous for him not to get the death treatment.

But then he thought back to their conversation earlier in the day. He recalled, far better than he’d have liked, exactly what Antinous had thought about him. Attractive. He’d practically waxed poetic about his appearance. The memory brought fresh butterflies to his stomach, but—

They were soulmates. Telemachus had experienced similar thoughts about the other man, but that didn’t necessarily mean he had a “soft spot” for him. It was just something that happened, a mutual side effect neither of them could control. So what if Antinous thought his skin was nice and his face was very symmetrical?

His face pinkened against his will. Neither of those things were even true. Did soulbonds come with rose tinted glasses or something? Telemachus was constantly covered in bruises and other scratches and scrapes, he looked like roadkill approximately half the time—and why was he even pursuing this line of thought? Why was he entertaining the idea that Antinous might… actually care?

It was unbelievable, but the evidence was there. Antinous had ended up agreeing to help him, after all, even with there being nothing in it for him. And yet all it’d taken was a single “please” to sway him.

Hell, Antinous had said himself that he was doomed to worry about him, but the words had just sort of bounced off of him at the time. You don’t worry about someone you don’t care about, and he didn’t want to believe such a thing. It just felt too impossible, like he was getting his hopes up for nothing.

Not to mention that he couldn’t say why it got his hopes up at all.

Not to mention that Telemachus, too, had a concerning habit of worrying about the man. And if you couldn’t have worry without care, then what exactly did that say about him?

“I don’t know,” he murmured, rubbing the backs of Argos’ ears rhythmically. “I—you’d better not be fucking with me.”

Eurymachus rested his face against his hand, looking at him with a notable lack of enthusiasm. “The proof is all right there in front of you. If you don’t believe me, at least believe your own eyes and ears.” He paused for no more than a second or two, barely giving him a solitary moment to think on it further. “Now. My turn.”

Telemachus was still reeling from the previous point. It felt like his head was completely submerged underwater and, worst of all, his stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. Nor would his skin stop itching.

“Okay,” he said, having fallen into too deep of a daze to give the suitor a sufficiently hard time.

The response came instantaneously. Perhaps he’d been thinking about this the whole time. “I want to know what you think of him.”

He hated how his whole body warmed at the question. “Like how?”

“How do you think?” Eurymachus chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Answer the question, princeling.”

Gods, what did he think of him? Antinous seemed to have the unique ability to inspire dozens of different, oftentimes conflicting emotions in him, all in so little time. Honestly, even he wasn’t completely sure what his stance was.

And, as much as he seemed to believe it, Telemachus truly didn’t hate the man. He should, and he didn’t. He found himself occasionally annoyed by Antinous’ more than occasionally destructive antics, and greatly concerned by the magnitude of negative thoughts he seemed to spew about himself on a daily basis, but…

He didn’t mind him. He didn’t know that he fully trusted him, but he also couldn’t say he didn’t. He guessed he sort of liked him when they were alone, when Antinous almost-kinda-sorta dropped his guard a little and wasn’t so bad, but that didn’t happen so often.

He was a contradiction in human form, and it was most certainly a bad idea for Telemachus to engage with someone so erratic, but…

He did like what he saw in him. Sometimes, in those rare instances where it was just the two of them and Antinous actually spoke his mind with no games or manipulation or threats, it was—nice.

Nice. Was the bar so low? Was he truly this forgiving? And, if he was, could that possibly be wise?

Probably not. But oh, curse the heavens, Eurymachus may have been right. Somewhere along the line, against his will and all his good sense, Antinous had become the exception. And that was no good, but it was true.

It was in the fates’ hands now.

“I find him confusing,” he responded, truthfully. “Sometimes he’s distant, sometimes he’s not, and sometimes he acts like a completely different person. But I don’t mind him.” His face heated further. “I don’t think I do, anyway. He’s helping me, so. I guess I don’t mind.”

Eurymachus’ face was, for once, betraying absolutely nothing. He gazed at him, considering. Telemachus felt increasingly uncomfortable the longer he was stared at.

“Are you going to say something?”

He huffed out a laugh, clearly in no rush to state what was on his mind. “You are so interesting, princeling. Tell me—what happens once he’s served his purpose? When he’s no longer of use to you?”

Telemachus couldn’t stop his mouth from curving downwards. He couldn’t tell whether the sinking of his stomach was offense, apprehension, or guilt. “What are you accusing me of?”

“Look.” Eurymachus face was grimly serious, tone flat in a way he’d never heard from him before. “You’re tough under that pathetic exterior. You can take a heartbreak or five and be fine in the end, like a royal cockroach that just never dies. But Antinous, beneath that smooth tongue and armored persona?”

He tutted, shaking his head slowly. “Soft, like clay. I know you think he’s this untouchable being—I know I did—but I’m telling you now that, should you continue down this path, you’re going to break his heart. And he, unlike you, won’t recover so easily. If he recovers at all.”

Eurymachus held up a hand as though sensing Telemachus was about to speak. “I’m not saying he’s weak, and I’m not telling you what to do. But know the only reason I agreed to your asinine agreement is because he asked me to be kind to you, and that the moment you’re done with him is the moment you’re done with me.”

His face brightened once more, all traces of grimness completely gone. It was a staggering shift. “Understood?”

Telemachus found himself speechless, a hot ball of shame squirming in the depths of his stomach. He wasn’t doing that, was he? Of course he had some ulterior motives, but he wasn’t a supervillain. Was it so bad to want to protect his family? Could he not do both?

He gaped at the suitor, belatedly finding his words. “Just who do you think I am?”

Eurymachus gazed at him in a way that made him feel all too seen. “Someone loyal, perhaps to a fault. See, the problem with that is your loyalties and his best interests don’t quite align. And, unfortunately for the man of the hour, he is a friend of mine. Unfortunately for you, that means I’m legally obligated to at least raise an eyebrow at any potential love interest.”

He shook his head, palms suddenly all too sweaty. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, but it is.” Eurymachus stood, the coin finally slipping out of sight and into the darkness of his satchel. “You’re soulmates, princess. Quit fighting fate and figure your shit out.”

Telemachus stood as well, reaching out a hand to grab the other man’s wrist. “Wait.”

He only looked further amused, hand flexing like a warning in his grip. “Something wrong? I distinctly recall saying I didn’t want to be out here all night.”

“One last thing,” he said. Seeing Eurymachus’ disinterested expression, he swallowed his pride, choking it down in much the same manner as sucking a rock through a straw.

“Please,” he asked, releasing his arm and putting on his most helpless face. It felt like slipping into an all too familiar role.

“Yeah,” Eurymachus made a face, not so passive aggressively wiping his hand against his chiton. “Don’t do that. What?”

“You’re such a—“ he stopped himself, quickly reigning it in. “Okay, fine. Just… what’s in this for you?”

“What? Can’t believe that maybe I just want the best for a friend?”

They stared at each other momentarily. Eurymachus snorted. “Yeah, neither can I.”

Telemachus felt a hot flash of indignance lodge between his ribs, right under his heart. “You’re awful.”

“Don’t get me wrong, princeling, I have the capacity for doing things out of the kindness of my heart.” He shrugged, not appearing at all offended by the remark. “I do love drama. I’d also love to be in close cahoots with the husband of Ithaca’s prince.” He waggled his eyebrows with an astounding lack of subtlety. “In this case, my reasoning is all of the above. The money’s a nice bonus. Does that answer your question?”

The husband of Ithaca’s prince. Telemachus felt his heart leap with something akin to excitement and it was at that moment when he knew this soulbond was really and truly going to be a problem for him. As if a marriage was ever going to happen. As if he should, even against his will, want it to. Marriage was for people who loved each other.

At least this version of Eurymachus was more in line with his usual persona. He was unsure what to do with this new side he’d seen of the suitor during this meeting. He was just as snakey and obnoxious as ever, but there was more to it than that.

This had all been so very… revealing. Telemachus still wasn’t sure just how much trust he could put in his word. For all he knew, the suitor was lying through his teeth about all the information he’d shared. Hell, he’d done it before.

But this time, things felt different. Eurymachus seemed serious for the most part, even concerned. Never did Telemachus think he’d see the day where the condescending jerk expressed genuine interest in the needs of anyone besides himself.

Perhaps he’d misjudged him?

Alright, he wouldn’t go that far. To a certain degree, yes, but he maintained that Eurymachus was a pain in the ass and that he absolutely knew it. But he had upheld the terms of their agreement, and he had answered his questions in a way that could be trusted. Probably. There was always gray area in that category when dealing with suitors, but all things considered…

Gods. There was a lot to consider here. Antinous and soft sounded a whole lot like antonyms, but Telemachus couldn’t deny that there was a lot about the man that he’d never have expected upon first meeting. His thoughts and actions rarely matched up, so was it so unbelievable that his true nature and outward appearance didn’t, either?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t known he was an actor, but Telemachus had first assumed it was a shield for something far more sinister. Could it really be the opposite?

Soft. Soft. He wanted to see that. He was so curious. What did he look like when he smiled? Not a smirk or the thin-lipped bare minumum of politeness or a grit of the teeth, but a true smile? In response to a joke or, he didn’t know, maybe the brief respite of happiness?

Telemachus wasn’t very often happy. He didn’t have many reasons to smile, and it seemed it was the same case for Antinous. But what if?

Maybe he had dimples like his mother did. The hidden ones, the ones that only popped out when the queen looked at something she truly loved. Like the tapestries of Odysseus hung delicately on walls, far from the suitors and for their eyes only, or when she looked at him.

What did Antinous look like when he saw something he loved?

He shouldn’t be wondering about this. It wasn’t his place and, gods, he was lucky to have a soulmate who seemingly sucked at hearing his thoughts. The thought lit a fresh flame of guilt within him, sending heat relentlessly to burn inside his throat and smoke to smother him.

He was lying, keeping secrets. To his soulmate. That couldn’t be good for the state of their connection, could it? And, scratch that, now he couldn’t shake the feelinf that maybe, just maybe, Eurymachus had been a little bit right.

Telemachus was using him. To learn to fight and as a target for Athena’s teachings, for temporary protection, maybe even to help eliminate the other suitors, and then what? He certainly hadn’t planned on letting the man stay, soulmate or not. He was going to use him and let him go.

He’d thought it’d be fine. Really, he didn’t owe Antinous anything. He’d done so much harm to he and his mother, and, for fuck’s sake, he owed Telemachus. He didn’t deserve the kindness or empathy, he’d admitted it himself, so why did he feel so bad?

Telemachus didn’t really consider himself the type of person who could successfully break anyone’s heart, much less someone like Antinous’ but was it really worth the risk? If he stopped treating him with humanity, was he really any better than the rest of the suitors? Those who saw he and his family as only a means to an end?

No. He refused. Even if Antinous didn’t deserve a clean slate—mostly clean, anyway—he was going to give him one. He was trying, after all. Telemachus guessed they both were, to varying degrees of success.

Moving on. It sounded so, so simple, but to believe such a thing would only be naive. Nothing in this life could or would possibly be so easily attainable. Not now, not ever.

Then again, he really wasn’t interested in finding out what happened when a soulbond died. And he’d always been something of a hard worker.

“It does,” he said at last. “Thanks.”

Eurymachus already had his back turned to him, headed for the door and leaving the lit candle behind. “A week’s time, your higness. That’s how long you have to bring me your mother’s word.”

Telemachus sighed, any positive feelings he’d had toward the suitor for even the tiniest of milliseconds officially exhausted. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve been over this.” He waved a hand lazily in lieu of a goodbye. “Get your own lines. No extensions, by the way.”

“Fuck you.”

The only response he got was fading footsteps and faint laughter. Telemachus looked down at Argos, meeting his perceptive eyes with an equally knowing look. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

Argos licked his hand in agreement.

Realizing that his allotted time for free roam was nearly gone, Telemachus made swift work of the journey back to his mother’s quarters. Her light was on, no doubt waiting for news of his return. Swallowing the rapidly blooming suspicion that his next request would send him straight to the underworld, he unlocked the door and crept inside.

Just as the door swung shut behind him and his mother looked up, eyes bleary with the strain of resisting sleep, the world stuttered to a stop. Despite having gotten somewhat used to Athena’s abilities, the shift from real time to the sluggishly detailed realm the goddess placed him in was still disorienting.

And detailed it was. He felt like his every nerve was aflame, each hair on his body standing at attention. It was a bit annoying, even overstimulating at times, but he supposed it served its purpose in combat.

“Telemachus,” Athena said, voice stern but not unkind. “Are you really planning on going through with this?”

He turned to face her. “It’s not ideal, but yeah.”

“And you think your mother will agree to this?”

He winced. “Well, it’s just diplomacy. We cooperate with a lot of people we don’t like.”

Athena’s slight frown deepened into a real one. He sighed, increasingly uneasy under the force of her scrutiny. “His clan just wants a bit more prestige and influence. She’s going to ask questions, but if all he wants is a sponsorship, I’m sure I can get her to agree.

“It’s circumstantial, anyway. If my father comes home, he gets what he wants and it won’t really matter. If he doesn’t return, a sponsor from the queen would mean a lot less. Either way, it won’t do us harm.”

Telemachus mouth twitched into a similarly exasperated frown. “It will make him one of the more important noblemen, which will no doubt make him very happy, which I hate, but… I mean, it’s politics. You win some, you lose some more.”

Athena sighed, backing down. “I suppose.”

“You think he’ll stab me in the back?”

“Not now, no.” She tilted her head, owl like. “You?”

“About the same. I’ll have to be careful, though.”

She shot him a critical look. “We’ll see. And your soulmate?”

“What about him?”

“You’re really trusting him of all people to be your sparring partner? You realize the only difference between a spar and a real fight is intention, yes?”

Telemachus was getting increasingly tired of defending himself. Even more tired of defending Antinous, who he really shouldn’t be going to bat for on an almost hourly basis. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Her brow twisted. “Not many do.”

“That’s fair. I seriously doubt he’d kill me, though.” He chewed his lip, the irony made bitterly apparent on his tongue. “Doesn’t seem the type.”

“Really?”

“I know. I’ve heard it from my mother, from you, even fucking Eurymachus. Believe me, I’m aware.”

Athena stayed silent for a moment, face setting in grim acceptance. “Alright. Then I shall go along with your plans.”

She paused, considering, then resumed her thought. “One more thing, just to be sure. Do you maintain that the suitors must die?”

“It… depends.” He ground down on his bottom lip harder, briefly comforted by the strengthened taste of iron that split fresh from skin.

Murder wasn’t his first choice—actually, it was pretty close to the bottom of his list. That wasn’t even taking to account the actual feasibility of such a thing. He was just one person, and even with Athena’s instruction and someone to practice with, taking on a hundred men stronger and older than him was nothing short of improbable.

Not impossible. He preferred to keep that word out of his mouth for the most part. That being said, the distance from improbable to impossible in regard to this particular circumstance was close to none.

Also, Antinous was a suitor, albeit a nicer one, and so was Eurymachus. Sure, he didn’t have quite as many qualms with sending the latter straight to hell, but they still existed in a large quantity. He wasn’t a complete psycho—yet—and so killing anyone in cold blood was a step or seven too far.

He would if he had to. It just didn’t seem like the necessary course of action at the moment. Hopefully that much would stay the same, even as the castle’s situation shifted and morphed from day to day.

He unclenched his teeth. “I don’t think so. We’ll see.”

Athena nodded once. The world began to turn again, slowly at first and then suddenly quick. In the blink of an eye, the goddess was gone, replaced by his mother’s relieved face. Telemachus smiled in a way he hoped was comforting, crossing the room to sit on her bed and trying in vain to squash his anxiety.

“I’m back,” he said quietly. It was no more than stating the obvious, but he didn’t miss how his mother’s whole body seemed to soften at the words.

“Thank the gods,” she breathed, scooting over to allow him space. “That meeting—how did it go?”

He supposed there was no use in stalling. In his mind he reviewed his case, looking over recent events the same way he analyzed books and documents in his “free time”. He was going to have to spin a damn good tale if he wanted even the slightest of chances at his mother agreeing.

“You see,” he said, holding onto Argos’ collar like it’d magically offer him some wisdom. He guessed emotional support was close enough. “We’ve come to an agreement.”

The look he got in response to that told him all he needed to know about how the rest of the night would go.

Telemachus smiled abashedly. “A quid-pro-quo, you could say.”

“Gods above.”

“At least it didn’t end in a knife fight, no?”

Penelope was not amused.

He cut the bullshit, sending a brief prayer to any god that’d listen for the strength to make his case. Again. For what felt like the fiftieth time that day.

Diplomacy. Fun to study, sure. But if this day was showing him anything, it was that he absolutely was not fit to be the king of anything. There was only so much strategizing and negotiating and dancing around the point he could take before his brain exploded and he brought all of Ithaca down with him.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, tired eyes meeting the queen’s equally hollow ones. “Do you want the full story or the abridged one?”

“How long do you want to be grounded for?”

He groaned aloud. If she was joking, it might’ve been funny.

It was long past midnight at this point. The other suitors should’ve all been asleep, Melantho probably long gone… gods, did wasting people’s time run in the royal family or something?

Eurymachus paused outside the suitors’ quarters, halfway down his usual path. Was it even worth paying a visit to the maids at this point? It was dark, and cold, and conversations with his royal highness never failed to drain his life force.

Eh. Probably not. He hated to screw up his work-life balance like this, especially considering he’d already spent all day on the job, but getting laid at a time like this didn’t even sound good. It sounded… exhausting. Like a lot of work.

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think the word work. Keeping the suitors in a state of peace and love was hard enough on its own, and convincing them not to go start shit with the prince or his mother was even harder. Luckily, many had the object permanance of an infant, so the overarching goal could be easily forgotten with a little distraction, but—

Well, put it like this. Have you ever tried to entertain a toddler? If not, then perhaps substitute the toddler in this analogy for a small, ankle-biting dog that only eats and shits but also wants constant attention and whines incessantly if left to its own devices. Except the dog is a grown man and there’s also a hundred of them.

Annoying was what it was. Eurymachus really didn’t appreciate having to play resident babysitter, and he certainly wasn’t pleased with being forced into the role of undercover bodyguard for the most irritating little prince in the world and his equally frustrating mother, but this was just his life now, he guessed.

Fucking Antinous. His friend, and also his worst enemy for forcing him into this purgatory. Ever since he’d fallen head over heels like a goddamn idiot, he’d insisted on making it both of their problems. Eurymachus seriously missed the cold, effective man from three years ago, but he couldn’t deny this sappy one made for a pretty good source of amusement.

Of course Antinous would deny this change ever happened, but come on. He had a Aphrodite for a matron goddess for fuck’s sake—he’d openly admitted to it when asked—and still chose to stab himself in the eyes just to remain blind to the obvious special treatment. It was nothing short of insane.

Whatever. The man had issues, clearly, but Eurymachus wasn’t too concerned. He’d figure it out… eventually. Maybe on his deathbed, but eventually. And in the meantime, he scarcely even had to worry about seducing the queen.

Life was good. Well, it wasn’t, but it would be, because once Antinous and his darling prince were fucking—

Boom. First love, then marriage, then the baby carriage, and then Eurymachus would have a free connection to the throne. And he didn’t even have to commit any real crimes to get there!

He maintained that the head suitor still owed him for the pain and suffering he’d been put through as of late, but he had to admit that the payoff made it more than worth it. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t take the prince’s money, or the queen’s sponsorship, or the incredibly easy guilt trip material for a favor in the future, but that was besides the point.

The point was he was doing the gods’ work in getting those stupid soulmates together. No one else could put up with such consistent idiocy long enough to be an ally, so in some ways, Eurymachus actually deserved all the credit there.

Honestly, though, he really couldn’t predict with certainty what Telemachus would choose to do with the information he’d been given. The boy looked moved, but Eurymachus knew by now that his outward spectacle rarely betrayed his true inner world. “Expect the unexpected” was a phrase that summed him up perfectly, in his educated opinion.

Whatever. It didn’t really matter what he did or didn’t do, did it? In the end, if the fates wanted two people together, they would be. No ands or buts. It was the journey that was the interesting part.

And, speaking of interesting. As his hand raised to open the door to the suitors’ quarters, a feeling of unease washed over him. Eurymachus pulled back, examining the wall closely as though it’d tell him something.

Normally he’d just keep it moving, throw caution to the wind, but the area seemed eerily calm. Too calm.

Sure, it was night-time and most suitors should be asleep, or at least pretending to be. But even from the other side of the chamber walls, he could tell something was wrong. It was the type of calm that only befell the palace when something insane had just happened and their typical routine had been temporarily knocked off its axis. And that could only mean one thing:

He’d missed the fallout.

Great.

Fuck him. It better not have been anything good, either, or Antinous would be hearing it until the end of time. He and his stupid boyfriend, ruining his life one nonsensical favor at a time.

He pushed open the door, half expecting to be greeted by a corpse or five. His hopes were promptly eliminated as his eyes adjusted to the room around him and was met with nothing.

Not nothing, actually. The poor suitors still forced to sleep in the main room were definitely lying on their beds, but even the blind and deaf could tell they were wide awake.

Eurymachus’ eyes raked over the outlines of bodies, searching for someone he knew with certainty would talk. His eyes fell on Amphinomus. Nice, slightly feeble, normal-ish (at least in comparison to his fellow men) Amphinomus.

His soulmate, bless his heart.

He crossed the room quickly, looming over his bed as the other man pretending not to notice him. “Psst. Amphinomus.”

No response.

He sighed. “Hello. You’re not fooling anyone.”

When there was still no movement, he grabbed the lump by what might’ve been a shoulder and jostled him as hard as possible. “Sweetheart. My love. Most beautiful and fairest throughout the land.“

Nothing. Pushed to desperation, he searched his mind for something truly egregious, smiling sadistically when he found it. “Baby girl?”

Someone snickered nearby. There was a rustling from beneath him, followed by a voice muffled low and embarassed into a pillow. “Eurymachus, shut up.”

“Stop ignoring me, then.”

Not bothering to wait for permission, he used a knee to nudge Amphinomus to the side and flop into bed beside him. It was an uncomfortable fit as per usual, but the close quarters did make for easier gossiping.

“So?” Eurymachus grinned eagerly as exasperated eyes shifted to trace his expression. “What happened?”

Amphinomus grunted, turning back to face the other direction. “Ask Antinous.”

“Oh, come on. Are you mad about Melantho?”

“Could you please lower your voice for once?”

Ah, so he was. Eurymachus sighed, hushing himself slightly to appease the man. “You know I barely even like women like that! She’s just a distraction, is all!”

Another muffled grunt of irritation. He tried once more, increasingly desperate. “Can the silent treatment start tomorrow? You know Antinous won’t tell me shit, he’s stingy like that.”

That was sort of the truth. He probably would tell him if he managed to annoy him enough, but it’d probably be half the story at best. And so help him gods if it involved the prince, because in that case, half would be generous.

“Amphinomus,” he whined, drawing out the word and pressing the side of his face flat against his back. “Please? I swear I’m calling it off. I’ll even make it up to you, sexually, or whatever.”

There was a quiet squeak of protest. “That’s not necessary!”

“If you insist.” He didn’t even attempt to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Alright, fine. I can give you money, if you want—I literally just got back from extorting the prince.”

“What? I don’t want your money—“

“Cool. Can you tell me now?”

There was a long pause. If Amphinomus were any worse a man, or perhaps any wiser, he certainly wouldn’t have told. Unfortunately for him, he suffered from an intense sickness of being too damn nice, and so he folded quite predictably.

Eurymachus felt maybe slightly bad. He’d be sure to pay him back later, if only because he wasn’t a complete monster. To some, sure, but being mean to this particular suitor was like kicking a puppy repeatedly, and that was just evil.

“That Agathinos guy,” Amphinomus murmured, “you know. The creepy one.”

“One of many, but sure.”

A deep breath, obviously taken to stamp down the rising exasperation taking root in his company’s voice. “You know what I mean.”

Eurymachus told himself to shut up for once. He had to remind himself from time to time that speaking with Amphinomus was like trying to coax a frightened deer. “Sorry, sorry. And?”

“You should’ve seen it. I don’t know what started it, but they really got into it.” He paused, breath quickening slightly as if recalling a harrowing memory. “Antinous told him he’d slice what was left of his arm clean off, something like that.”

His eyebrows jumped. “And did he?”

Amphinomus shuddered. “Gods, no, but they did fight, right in front of everyone. The boss was pissed.”

That sounded… unlike him. To a degree, at least. Antinous wasn’t the type to spontaneously get into fights, or anything for that matter, not unless it concerned—

Ah. Of course.

“You, my friend,” he said, sitting up but not before offering a comforting pat to his soulmate’s back, “are a lifesaver. And where is this Agathinos?”

“Gone. Left after the beating he took.” Amphinomus winced. “I kind of felt bad.”

“Only you could possibly feel bad for that beast.” Eurymachus snickered, filled with an almost childlike joy at what he was hearing. Gods, he couldn’t wait to get this from the source. “Well, I shall see you tomorrow then, my love. Consider Melantho out of the picture; tomorrow, it’s you and I.”

“Sure.” He could practically hear the blush. How sweet. He’d linger on that a little more if he didn’t have another suitor to question.

He and Antinous’ room was unlocked, thankfully, and Eurymachus wasted no time in barging inside. A single candle was lit, casting the room in an environment quite similar to the one he’d just escaped from with the prince. He shut the door not so gently behind him, taking some satisfaction out of making the other suitor jump.

Antinous turned, frowning deeply. There was a large, blooming bruise spasming from the front of his hip to his midsection, a matching one smashed into his eye which was swollen shut. Eurymachus’ eyebrows raised impossibly higher.

“Don’t start,” the man murmured, turning back to whatever he’d been fiddling with. “I’m off my game, I know.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about the injuries.” Eurymachus crossed his arms, then reconsidered his statement. “Actually, I do. You good?”

He was pressing something to his eye now. A cloth, damp with water or some other healing solution, Eurymachus didn’t know. “It’ll heal.”

“Not what I asked, but ooookay. Be that way.” Now it was his turn to frown at Antinous’ grave demeanor. “What’d he say?”

The other man faltered slightly, the repetitive dabbing motions slowing before picking up once more. “Nothing.”

“Antinous.”

He sighed deeply, turning slowly to face him. “I don’t want to talk about it, Eurymachus. Take the hint and fuck off.”

“This is my room, dude. If you wanted a private space to wallow you should’ve found another place.” He tutted softly, shaking his head. “Spill. You know I’ll find out some way or another.”

“Nosy bitch.”

“Protecting the prince’s honor?”

This time, the motions stopped completely. Antinous removed the cloth, squinting at him from beneath a purple eyelid. “You’re speculating.”

“I’m right.”

He sagged slightly, clearly defeated. “You are. Feel free to fuck off, now.”

“No.” Eurymachus rolled his eyes, then smiled slightly despite himself. Perhaps he, too, was off his game. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Antinous averted his gaze. “I don’t know.”

“You’re literally fighting for him.”

“It’s—“ his voice raised slightly, then fell as he caught himself. “It doesn’t make me some hero. I’m just trying to fix what I already broke.”

“Eh. He seems fine to me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Antinous frowned deeper. “And how do you know how he’s doing, anyway?”

Shit. Perhaps he’d flown a little too close to the sun with that one. It wasn’t that he really cared if Antinous knew about he and the prince’s meetings, but the second he caught wind of their agreement, he knew he’d be pissed. Not only that, but Telemachus seemed pretty concerned with keeping things confidential as well.

He shrugged, keeping his expression loose and lazy. “Educated guess.”

Antinous brows furrowed further. “I know you’re sneaking around together. You were with him just now, weren’t you?”

Busted. Fuck. It was the prince’s fault for being so goddamn obvious earlier that day, but Eurymachus knew for certain it’d be he who got the brunt of the annoyance.

He guessed it was no use lying about this much. “I was.”

“Doing?”

“Each other.” He couldn’t stop the smirk as Antinous’ jaw ticked. Jealousy. How adorable. “You know I’m only fucking with you, man. Ask him yourself if you’re so curious.”

The head suitor sent him a lethal look, turning on him once more. “Whatever.”

Eurymachus sighed. Young love. Sometimes he forgot he was surrounded by emotionally stunted idiots barely escaping their second puberty. Sadly, he never got to forget for long.

He flopped down onto his bed. Antinous continued cleaning his abrasions in silence, and he didn’t press any further on what exactly had been said and done. He was getting the feeling it was a bit of a difficult topic.

Because, yeah, Eurymachus did have some tact. He just chose not to use it most of the time.

His eyes slid closed, lulled into sleep by the monotone soundscape of water and fabric against skin. The way things were going, maybe he wouldn’t have to wait until the end of time for the wedding.

He could dream, at least.

Chapter Text

He was standing over his mother’s corpse. She was rotting, skin melting off bone and seeping grayish blue into the ground below. Her eyes sunk, crying and weeping blood as she reached for him with a barely there hand, flesh barely clinging to skeleton.

Help me, help me. I love you.

He should help her, save her, do anything. He reached out but his arms wouldn’t move. His body felt stiff, like perhaps he was the one barely clinging to the overworld, and he was disgusted. She was grotesque. His own mother, and she was disgusting.

Her eyes oozed, disappearing further into her skull. Hair weakened, drooping like the stems of flowers and dragging onto the floor. He could feel her staring. Help me. Help me.

His body was looming over her, hands clasped over ears. Help. Help. Help. Help.

“Stop,” the man muttered under his breath. “She’s dead, I don’t care, I don’t care—“

The hand dropped with a thud, corpse finally coming to a still. I love you. I forgive you.

The man was still shaking his head, eyes wild like that of a murderer. His hands pressed harder against the sides of his head as though anchoring his skull to his spine. Blood seeped, fresh and red and inescapable down his back. “I don’t care.”

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and the man flinched heavily. His father leaned down, gently wiping the blood that dripped from his skin. He smiled, sweet and malicious. “I love you. You’re going to die alone.”

The man’s hands tightened further, skin paling at the knuckles with the force of his grip. His breath sped up, chest heaving at the brink of hyperventilation. “I don’t care.”

“I should’ve killed you, Antinous.” His father’s nails dug into his skin, piercing and agonizing. The man flinched yet again. “See what you’ve done? See how you deserve to die?”

The man didn’t respond. His jaw seemed wired shut. Helpless, useless, helpless—

“SAY SOMETHING!” His father was screaming now, his own skin graying as his eyes sunk. Dying. He was old and he was dying, and his nails were submerged in the meat of the man’s back and there was so much blood—

The man looked up, past the dreamscape and past his father, straight into Antinous’ eyes. He raised a finger, hand shaking uncontrollably and mouth twisted with disgust. “Murderer.”

The dream shifted all at once. The dull layout of his once home twisted, blood dissipating into sweat and his parents fading into shadow. It was dark, suddenly, and all he could feel were his own limbs spasming unshed tears scratching like gravel beneath his eyelids.

He could feel his nails stabbing into his palms, real blood beginning to stain his fingertips. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he—

A weight draped across his back, arms coming to fall over his shoulders. Antinous stiffened, breath speeding up impossibly further as his body prepared for a blow.

Nothing came.

The person’s breath, expelled from a face he couldn’t see, fanned out warm and calming against the back of his neck. Their hair tickled the underside of his jaw as they tucked their face into a shoulderblade.

His hands loosened despite themselves, breaths beginning to even out of their own accord. It was then that he realized, quite belatedly, he’d come to be sat down on…

He looked down. Flowers. It felt like a bed, but it most certainly wasn’t, and—

All thoughts ceased as something soft, slightly chapped pressed into his skin. Lips teased his back, teeth grazing the skin lightly enough not to harm but to leave a slight sting and blazing trail.

There was a heavy blanket of tranquility in the air, warm and comfortable. Antinous felt, again, like his limbs weighed too much for any meaningul movement, but this time it certainly wasn’t terror keeping him pinned. Just as the last of the tension in his muscles began to release, his hands unclenching—

Teeth pinched a mouthful of skin. He jerked, half surprise and half due to the unexpected undercurrent of pleasure alongside the pain. There came a low laugh from behind him, vibrating lightly against the affected area.

It felt warm and slightly sore, and then a whole different sort of warm as the wetness of what felt like tongue soothed the burn with a gentle pressure.

His whole body felt confused, unsure whether to lean into or away from the touch. Heat dripped like honey from his face and collarbones, coming to pool deep in his gut. His skin felt hypersensitive, the lack of stimulation anywhere else beginning to almost hurt and sending a muscle twitching in his thigh. A sound almost like a whimper escaped him.

The person behind him shifted, arms falling from around his shoulders as they swung a leg over his thighs, pulling themself into his lap. Despite being face to face, he couldn’t make out any detail, only a slight smile.

They ground down, then, almost experimental. All breath seemed to leave him as his hips raised in response, pushing back against them. Him. That much he could tell, arm wrapping around his waist to drag them closer together.

He braced himself against Antinous, hand splayed against chest and pushing with surprising strength. The contact set him off balance, onto his back and deep into the nest of flowers. The man was above him now, face still blotted by shadow.

He anchored himself with a knee between Antinous’ own, hand sliding a path down the skin of his chest and stopping just shy of a slanting hip bone. He cringed slightly at the pain radiating throughout the new bruise.

The fingers stuttered, faltering at his apparent discomfort. They pressed back down, gentler this time and with a sort of quiet care that made Antinous’ head swim. He was reminded of something. The smell of lavender, the coolness bouncing in the air between them despite the heat of their bodies pressing together, the softness of his touch—

The man leaned down and kissed him with reckless abandon. He kissed clumsily, like someone who maybe didn’t know exactly what they were doing but certainly knew what the end goal was.

Antinous’ mind blanked the moment their lips slotted together. It felt like something had clicked within him, a feeling of addictive wholeness he’d never felt before and never known he’d needed until that very moment. Now, he didn’t know exactly how he was meant to survive when no longer running on the feeling.

His body felt like fire, but one not meant to be put out. Antinous tilted his head for a better angle, opening his mouth slightly to go deeper. The man complied, almost as if running on the same wavelength, allowing their tongues to intermingle. It tasted like something familiar, lavender and roses and gold, something he knew and had been missing in his sleep—

A soft hand moved to guide his face, thumb prodding at his bottom lip with something akin to affection, and the electricity surged.

Before Antinous could even fully process what he was doing, his arm shot upwards, catching the man’s wrist just before he could rest his palm against his cheek. The scarred cheek. The one that’d just been healed earlier that day.

He pulled away, a thin web of saliva connecting them before breaking away into transparency. Like a soulbond.

Seafoam eyes glinted at him through the darkness, the close proximity allowing him drown in every swatch of blue and green and gold. His head swam.

“Telemachus?”

The eyes widened.

Then, abruptly, the ground broke beneath them. Fragments of petals and sky and blackness pelted his skin as the dreamscape crumbled. He reached out a hand for Telemachus, grasping at nothing as it all disappeared, flinging them into the abyss.

Down, down, down, his chest constricted with panic and—

“Telemachus!”

He shot up in bed with a gasp, the jerkiness of the movement sending pain rippling up his side and stomach. He nearly fell straight onto the floor, just barely catching himself on the edge of his mattress.

After somewhat regaining the ability to think and move, he slowly righted himself. He then sat there, completely still, sheets balled in his hands and chest heaving uncontrollably. He stared at the wall, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to process what’s just happened. His skin felt sweaty and crawled as though every nerve had been exposed to the open air and promptly lit on fire.

After a long moment of nothing but his heavy breaths filling the air, there was a rustling from the other side of the room. Eurymachus sat up very slowly in the dark.

“I’m… assuming that wasn’t a nightmare, then?”

Antinous squeezed his eyes shut. He knew this night was something he most certainly wasn’t outrunning. Murderer, like a slow droning chant in the back of his mind, steadily overshadowed by the hazy warmth still washing across his skin. The sensation of Telemachus’ lips against his own, his hand gliding down his stomach, his tongue—real or not, this would haunt him. Both of them, if he was reading things right.

His face flushed with a heat he’d only thought possible by flying face first into the sun. No. Yes. No.

“Something like that,” he muttered, voice shaking horribly to his utter mortification.

Eurymachus, shockingly, didn’t press for more. Antinous was grateful.

Telemachus woke up and immediately wished he hadn’t. He barely registered his own squeak of shame as he was flung from his sleep and back into the realm of the living, covers upheaved and pillows overturned by the amount of tossing and turning he’d been doing.

Among other things.

He smacked his hands over his face, unable to handle the burning of blood rushing beneath his skin or the reality of what he’d just seen. Participated in?

No. Gods, no. He did not, he did not, he—

As though possessed, his hand moved from its death grip on his cheek to brushing over his lips. He could still feel it, the warmth, the softness, his tongue gliding across his mouth and—

No!

It’d felt good. So good, better than anything he’d ever felt in his life—which wasn’t saying much as the only thing he’d ever kissed was Argos’ forehead and his mother’s cheek, but oh. He was good. Of course he was, Aphrodite was his fucking matron goddess, but holy shit. Attentive, skilled with his mouth, he wondered where else he could be skilled with—

He threw himself face down into his mattress with a quiet exclamation of agony. No. He was not going there. It was just a sex dream, not even a sex dream because they didn’t even do anything, and he was being creepy and weird and—

Oh my gods, it’d been like an out of body experience. He’d been the one to initiate it, he’d been the one to put his mouth on another man’s back and grind against his crotch and he didn’t even know how to do any of those things!

He didn’t know why or how he’d done it; he hadn’t even felt like he’d been the one doing it, even if it’d been his dream form moving. And now his temporary possession had just screwed the both of them over for the rest of time because there was no way Antinous forgot that Telemachus had literally just tried to dream-fuck him.

He closed his eyes, trying futilely to bury his face deeper into his pillow in hopes he’d suffocate. All that accomplished was allowing the intrusive image of Antinous’ shirtless abs and back muscles that he’d been kinda-sorta-technically-but-not-really touching to project itself over his eyelids. And the bruise on his torso. Had that been real, or merely fantasy?

In his mindscape he’d had back dimples. Cute little dimples that fluttered and were so low on his back that Telemachus doubted most had seen them or would ever get to.

A possessive prickle began at the back of his neck, spreading like poison down his torso, across his collarbones, even lower. It felt so, so wrong, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He wondered against his own will whether Antinous was lying awake right now with similar thoughts. Had he been standing, the rush of terror and excitement would’ve knocked him straight off his feet and that was wrong!

He shifted slightly with a sorrowful groan and went into immediate paralysis as the area just below his midsection ached in response. He was going to fucking pass out.

He wouldn’t. Absolutely not, under zero circumstances would he even consider doing anything about his situation. He’d never recover from the sheer amount of shame he’d have to endure to so much as take the edge of his arousal. He could outthink his horniness. He wasn’t such a stupid weakling that he’d be controlled by his dick. Distractions, distractions…

This all felt doubly inappropriate considering their situation and what he’d just seen. Had Antinous really killed his mother? When it came to his past, could his word ever truly be trusted?

The nightmare hadn’t been as clear as the rest. Usually Telemachus witnessed things directly through the man’s eyes, but this time he’d had sort of a bird’s eye view. This time, he felt almost aware he was dreaming. Like Antinous knew it wasn’t real and was only entertaining the usual terrors.

He felt sorry for him in that regard, at least. No one deserved to be tortured with such words and visions, especially if they were actually drawn from real experiences. At this point, Telemachus felt he could say with pretty much perfect confidence that they were. What other explanation was there?

He wanted to ask him about it, but he knew there was no sufficiently tactful method for inquiring about childhood traumas he wasn’t even meant to know about. Still, it ate away at him. Would Antinous be the person he was if not for his father? Would he still have done the things he’d done?

Telemachues guessed there was no one answer to that. He wished there was some way to know for sure but, more than that, he just wished he had the power to make the nightmares go away. He didn’t know how Antinous dealt with it presumably every night. They weren’t even his memories, and the prince still struggled to watch.

Well. He supposed that them nearly getting it on in the dreamscape—he was never getting over this—did have some benefit. Mainly that it had seemed to take Antinous’ mind off the nightmare. On the other hand, now they were living a nightmare in which they had to make eye contact and speak with each other in…

He glanced out his window. Darkness. Maybe another three hours if the universe was feeling generous. Didn’t matter. It was only staving off the inevitable.

Telemachus was beginning to seriously regret his choices leading up to this. Having to spar together after a dream like this was just… just…

Truthfully, there was no word that could accurately describe the exact mixture of horror and humiliation that filled him at the thought. Fucking soulbond. Fucking fates. It was like everything was out to get him. Why oh why did he have to be experiencing his sexual awakening now?

Nope. He refused to wallow. He was a grown man and he could deal with his attraction to other grown men no matter how disabling it might feel. He was going to be a mediator because, technically, it had been his dream. Telemachus was going to suck it up and bridge the gap some way or another because, if there was one thing he’d gathered about Antinous so far, it was that he certainly wasn’t going to.

Which was weird, actually. He behaved more like a frightened virgin than Telemachus did, and that was wild since he knew for certain that couldn’t be the case. The suitor was always so suave, smooth with words and gestures, didn’t seem to mind a bit of flirting or getting slightly touchy with people.

People being anyone who went by a name other than Telemachus, obviously. Antinous had gotten so flustered yesterday and all he’d done was touch his face. It’d been sort of cute—

Nope. Moving on.

Was it just because they were soulmates? Couldn’t be. The connection went both ways, and Telemachus had never experienced such strong attraction that he tripped over his words. Strong attraction, wow. He’d never thought he’d see the day where strong attraction and Antinous belonged in the same line of thought, yet here he was.

On one hand, at least he didn’t have to wonder whether his soulmate found him aesthetically pleasing; Antinous’ thoughts made that abundantly clear. On the other hand, that only made things more complicated. The mutual knowledge of their soulbond, the mutual attraction they were both clearly failing at stifling, the literal sex dream—

The next revelation hit him like a boulder to the ribcage. The flower field. That wasn’t just some ordinary dream scenery, that was Aphrodite’s domain. Her realm.

This was her fault, wasn’t it.

All he wanted was to shake his fist at the sky, but he was keenly aware he’d already gotten away with enough disrespect. That aside, he understood she was the goddess of love and all, but he really, really did not want nor need her intervention here. If these dreams continued, they’d be the death of him.

Gods above. Fucking Aphrodite.

Telemachus squeezed his eyes shut, choosing to count his blessings and be thankful for the fact that the heat coursing through his blood and straight into his groin had subsided. Godly interference or otherwise, that was just not happening. He rebuked it.

Now what? Was he really doing this?

Minutes passed. Five, ten, inching toward fifteen. This was sure to be painful, and he wasn’t sure how willing he was to subject himself to this conversation right now, but…

Fine. Sure. It was better to work through the initial layers of awkwardness now than to try and do it face to face. He could only hope it worked.

Focusing on projecting his thoughts as loudly as possible, he formed the words in his head. He didn’t know exactly what the psychological equivalent of yelling was, but he hoped he was channeling it.

Are you awake?

Antinous had already known he wasn’t getting another wink of sleep that night. He was almost afraid to even try it, terrified that the torture would continue. He wasn’t even sure which dream that referred to.

He was already tense. His mind refused to stop replaying every moment, each unwanted recall only sending him further into the pits of despair. He felt like he was spiralling out of control, only this was a spiral he didn’t necessarily want to end which was just… bad.

Attraction was one thing, sex was another. He wasn’t a prude, he’d done it many a time with many a people, but this was different. It was personal. And for him, sex was never meant to be personal. It was just something people did together, and maybe it was fun but it wasn’t meant to mean anything. It certainly wasn’t something he tossed and turned over.

If this was what a damned dream was doing to his psyche, he fretted to imagine anything pertaining to the real thing. If there’d ever be a real thing, which—probably not. Definitely not. And whether there was or wasn’t, he didn’t care, he didn’t—

Are you awake?

Antinous jolted. Telemachus’ voice, muffled as though speaking through a wall or three, intruding on his brain out of nowhere. He could feel his face flush at the mere sound and if that wasn’t the saddest thing he’d ever done, what was?

Holy shit. Telemachus definitely knew. How was he meant to respond him when the communal knowledge that they’d just been dreaming about each other. Not just dreaming. The little wolf’s lips on his own, movement, friction—

Antinous made a pained expression to himself, reigning it in at once. How did the prince project his thoughts? Did he even need to bother, considering Telemachus seemed far more adept at picking up on his machinations than the other way around?

Yeah, he thought back.

There was a long silence. For a moment, he worried (hoped?) that the message hadn’t gone through. Then Telemachus’ voice returned, almost hesitant and just as quiet as before.

He sounded lower, rougher. Maybe because he’d just been sleeping?

So sorry about that. Like, seriously, this is embarassing. I think your matron goddess put that dream in my head. I swear this does not happen to me often. Or at all.

Antinous’ eyebrows scrunched as though it’d help him pick up on the murmuring. Gods, it was becoming all too apparent that he fucking sucked at deciphering his soulmates thoughts, but he was pretty sure he got the gist.

Aphrodite. Of course. He was going to kill her, using her power and aura for evil like this. It was her influence that’d tipped them over the edge—nothing to do with themselves. It hadn’t been Telemachus’ dream after all. He should be relieved.

A strange feeling took root in his chest instead, like a bramble clawing desperately at his lungs.

Maybe everything meant nothing after all.

He should be relieved.

It’s not a big deal. It wasn’t. I can’t hear you that well.

Shit, sorry. We need to work on that. A brief pause of consideration. Hey. Want to get started early?

There were a few seconds of delay between the message and the time Antinous took to successfully interpret it. His heart beat a little faster as he realized what was being asked of him. The anxiety waited exactly zero minutes to introduce itself in the face of the request.

Now?

If it’s alright by you. I know it’s kind of weird.

Less words, please.

He almost heard the sigh. Yes. You good?

Antinous’ stomach flipped once more. He truly didn’t understand how the little wolf seemed so capable of bouncing back from any and every situation in mere seconds. He, personally, felt crawling into the center of the earth and suffocating on dust would be preferential to having to look Telemachus in the eye for at least another two days.

He really wanted to make an excuse for not participating, but he had promised he would. And, besides. He doubted Telemachus wouldn’t be able to see straight through him.

Should you really be wandering the halls this late?

No. I’m grounded, actually.

Then how—?

I’m not that stupid. I sent Athena to guide you.

Antinous’ blood ran cold. Wait, wait—

She doesn’t bite, you know. There was a long pause and foreign embarassment swelled in his chest. There was a faint sound before the next stream of words that might’ve been the frantic clearing of throat. Anyways—not the point. Good luck.

You fucking—

Suddenly, before he could finish that thought, the room seemed to go perfectly still. His hair rippled slightly in a nonexistent wind, each one standing at attention from the the shorter ones on his chest to the longer strands peppering his arms.

Antinous gulped as Athena materialized before him.

She was scary. That was really all he could think as the goddess stood before him, easily seven feet tall with reddish brown hair and eyes like that of a hawk. Or an owl.

She cocked her head. It was an unhuman movement, the tiniest twist of neck that managed to make him instantly uncomfortable. Her spear materialized in her hand, and it swung toward him without malice, though that didn’t stop him from flinching back heavily.

“You,” Athena said. Her voice wasn’t as deep as he would’ve expected, but it certainly exuded power. “Come with me.”

Eternally grateful for deciding to sleep fully clothed that night—with the exception of his chiton, which was half unpinned and hung low to expose his chest—Antinous scrambled out of bed. With a self conciousness only possible to achieve when dressing in front of a literal diety, he made quick work of his clothing and quicker work of draping himself in a cloak.

He glanced with concern over at Eurymachus’ sleeping form. Thank the gods he had an uncanny ability to close his eyes and almost immediately fall asleep. Scratch that, thank the gods his roomate had learned to sleep like the dead for the most part. He had no clue how he would’ve explained any of this to him.

Athena watched him, unblinking. “He’s fine. Are you done?”

So she could read minds, too? He was screwed. Please, please, please tell him she didn’t know—

Her mouth curved downwards. “Unfortunately. This is what I get for watching over this family in their sleep.”

“Gods be a fucking fence,” Antinous whispered, paling considerably.

Seeming not to deem that worthy of a response, Athena’s polearm dissipated and she stalked out his bedroom door. Seeing no other choice, Antinous scrambled after her, still shaking hair out of his eyes and trying in vain to pull it into an acceptable looking ponytail.

They exited the suitors’ chambers. She moved fast, eerily so, and silent like a predator permanantly on the hunt. The door closed behind them. In a millisecond, Athena had turned to him once again, spearhead lodged beneath his jaw and pressed against his jugular.

He forgot to breathe as they stared each other down. Athena didn’t seem particularly upset or angry. In fact, she looked perfectly composed. Like this was just another thing she had to cross of her to-do list.

“Antinous of Ithaca. Suitor. Sneak. Soulmate of Telemachus.” Her eyes narrowed, impossibly piercing. “Just what is it you think you’re doing?”

That was a good fucking question, one he’d been asking himself a lot more as of late. Sometimes, he missed the days where he had one steady goal and exactly one thing to live for. Now, he only felt confused more often than not. He bounced between plans and motivations and simply letting fate guide him like… like…

He couldn’t think of a good comparison. He was actually finding it extremely hard to think with the ever present threat of being skewered by a goddess like a piece of chicken, but he had to at least give it a shot if he wanted to live.

If he wanted to live. That was strange, wasn’t it? It was a weird thought, extraordinary, even, because at this moment in time… he did. Despite the everything and nothing holding him back.

Just when had that happened?

She was staring at him—into him—with an expectant look on her face. Perhaps it was time he made up his mind. Who did he want to be? What did he want to do?

“Pallas Athena.” His voice came out more sure than he’d predicted it would; a pleasant surprise. “I want to help him. That is all. I’d swear it on family or riches, but my word is all I have.”

“Right.” She frowned harder. “I don’t trust you. I know your history. I’ve seen it all.”

He swallowed roughly. “I know. I know I’m no good but—honestly, I’ve come to realize I don’t care much about the crown. I first came here to find my soulmate, and…”

“You’ve found him.”

“Yes.” His face warmed and he had to train his eyes on the floor just to continue. “That’s what I want.”

Athena huffed, spear dematerializing once again. He nearly sighed with relief, but the fire in her gaze had yet to leave, so he held on to his own apprehension as well. The goddess glared at him, all knowing and all percieving.

“Is it the soulbond you seek or the person behind it that matters most to you?” She shook her head, disapproval evident. “I don’t believe in this soulmate prophecy. I don’t believe you are right for him, and I certainly don’t believe you are in love.”

He gnawed the inside of his cheek, unable to stop the nervous habit from peeking through. “It’s… both. It’d be different if it were someone else, I think.”

Fresh embarassment rose in his chest. Good gods, this really wasn’t the self reflection he’d wanted to be having today. Because, while Telemachus was beautiful and gorgeous and that imaginary kiss they’d shared would be physically impossible to forget, no matter how many years or centuries or universes passed in between, that wasn’t really it.

It was his smart mouth, the way he always had something to say to everything. It was the way he was kind but not nice, ambitious and intelligent and strategic in a way that drew Antinous straight into his trap and made him want to know more.

It was the way he felt so much so intensely for so many people. How it seemed he couldn’t help but care because maybe that was just who he was. How he was mean and snarky but caring and concerned underneath, how they bickered but it never really hurt, and when it did, it was deserved.

It was when he offered a rare smile and Antinous’ world tipped.

And that wasn’t good at all. He was getting attached, possibly more than just attached, quite likely already drawn in beyond rescue, and that wasn’t good. He knew who he was and he knew how these things usually ended for him, for the people around him, and it wasn’t fucking good.

Antinous squeezed his eyes firmly shut. It was painful; the truth almost always was. He couldn’t deny he cared about the little wolf’s wellbeing, couldn’t deny how he made him feel human in a way he rarely ever did.

And that was why. He didn’t really know how to love someone—at least in the proper way. Antinous couldn’t say exactly how he felt about Telemachus, though he was almost certain it wasn’t love. Was it?

It wasn’t how he’d heard other people’s soulbonds described. All fireworks and fuzziness and awkward dates. People just knew, from the first minute they laid eyes on each other, just knew they were the one. That they had to be together, that they were in love and their life from beyond that moment would be better than before.

That… wasn’t them. Obviously. How many love stories began with abuse? Mutual hatred?

How many ended with it?

But what did he know, anyway? Maybe it was. Maybe he was just too cowardly to own up to such a concept, too afraid to indulge in the most basic of humanities.

It would be different if it was someone else. Then again, his whole world would be different if it was someone else. Someone… easy.

Or perhaps he was the difficult one.

“I’m not right for him,” he admitted at last. “There’s no need to tell me what I already know.”

“Then why?” Her voice remained stern, unfeeling. He shrugged.

“Doomed, I guess. I’m not meant for this soulmate thing, and I… I don’t want to be with him.” The honesty stung his throat like acid. “Once I’ve repaid him, I’m leaving. It’s not like I was ever meant to stay. And, even if I was, I don’t want to.”

He glanced back up, meeting the goddess’ gaze and glancing away again. “You know me, or at least you’ve heard. I destroy everything I touch, it’s… kind of my thing. I’m trying to be better, but I’m also not trying to drag him into my mess, so it’s better that I go.

“I know I’ve done nothing to earn your respect or approval, but I’ve no ulterior motives. And I promise that, once all this is over, he’ll never have to hear from me again.”

“You…” Athena trailed off. Her eyes widened slightly as though seeing something new, surprising. Her hair rippled slightly, ruffling like feathers.

Her jaw set, then, as though making a decision she particularly resented. Antinous wasn’t sure if it was his own wishful thinking or if, despite the tension in her jaw and face, the goddess’ expression had softened slightly. She expelled a slow breath, her aura seeming to burn brighter.

“Do not,” she said, slow and steady like a warning, “presume to know what he desires from you.”

Antinous blinked up at her. “What?”

Her mouth twitched. “I confess I may have judged you too harshly, suitor. I do not approve of your past actions and I am sure I will not approve of a great deal of your future ones, but—“

She sighed. “You and the young prince, it seems you’re both trying to do the same thing with… conflicting methods. I implore you to consider that he is a stubborn man and, if he truly wanted you gone, I would’ve smited you where you stood.”

Athena’s hair ruffled once more, head tilting in a way that was indisputably birdlike. “I often fail to understand the plights of mortals, but it seems your species is just as clueless itself.”

He stared at her like an idiot. He hadn’t expected her to back down like this, nor offer advice. He was getting free advice. From a wisdom goddess.

Antinous smiled nervously. He’d do well to remember it. “Thanks?”

She turned away, continuing down the hall. “That was not a compliment. Keep up.”

“For the other stuff, I mean,” he said, trailing closely behind her. He was beginning to feel some deja vu.

They began to climb a winding staircase Antinous had never taken before. It was the one near constantly guarded, the one leading up to where the crown spent her days. He’d never felt particularly curious to see what was upstairs, but now, the temptation of new knowledge felt almost holy.

The goddess stopped, craned her neck to glare at him. “Let there be no mistake. I do not like you. Allow me to catch you in these halls without permission and you shall meet your maker.”

His excitement fizzled out and was promptly replaced by the appropriate amount of terror. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She huffed something under her breath that Antinous couldn’t possibly make out. They continued upwards.

The first thing he noticed on the upper floor was the abundance of tapestries. He gazed, almost hypnotized through the dim light provided by candles and lanterns, observing the fabrics. Some were simply patterned, elaborate textures and colors weaved together into snippets of art.

Those weren’t the ones he was most enthralled by. Antinous stopped despite himself, gazing up into what could only be a family portrait. Penelope, far younger, cradling a baby in her arms and leaning into the man at her side. He wasn’t looking at the artist, instead into his child’s face, half smiling as though staring into the heavens itself.

It was adorable. It also made his heart ache with a slew of more complicated emotions he wasn’t quite willing to explore.

Antinous turned away, continuing after Athena in silence.

He nearly knocked into her—or walked through, he still wasn’t entirely sure where her form laid on the earthly scale—when she stopped in front of an unsuspecting door. She opened her mouth as if about to say something more, but ended up adding nothing.

After looking at him oddly for a moment longer, the goddess phased through the door.

He guessed that answered that.

A swirl of nervousness began in his stomach. He was about to enter the prince’s bedroom in the dead of night. This felt illegal, somehow, or at the very least taboo. More so considering the lingering memories of that damned dream. Perhaps he should turn back? Certainly it wasn’t too late.

Conflicted, he raised a fist to knock. Right as his hand was about to make contact with the wood—or retract as he crept back to the safety of his bed, who knew—the door swung open.

Antinous looked down, making direct eye contact with the little wolf. He looked far less put together than usual, even considering his appearance after altercations.

His hair was sort of standing up, dark curls frizzy, and the suitor absolutely did not miss the slight pillow crease next to his eye. The sight made something in his chest constrict painfully. The dark circles framing his bottom lashes produced a similar effect, though for an entirely different reason.

He looked small. Smaller than usual, anyway, and Antinous wasn’t sure if it was the uncharacteristically poor posture or his brain just playing tricks on him that was to blame for it. His legs were lean, slightly muscled but lean, and he was reminded once again that he wasn’t entirely sure if Telemachus ever actually ate anything.

And then, once he was done taking in the other man’s appearance, he was swiftly smacked in the face with the reminder and mental image of the dream he—they’d—just finished having, and promptly forgot where to locate his composure.

Antinous felt like he really should be saying something, but his vocal cords appeared to have lost the ability to operate. And he really ought to stop staring like a weirdo—maybe he should’ve put a little more effort into his appearance before coming here, was his face okay?—but it seemed his braincells and his actual body parts had unsynced at some point, so—

Telemachus was staring back at him with a more open expression than he’d ever seen from him, seemingly locked in a similar stalemate. His eyes looked a little brighter. Then he blinked, and the fragile stillness of the moment was shattered.

The prince grabbed his arm, hauling him inside and shutting the door swiftly but silently behind him in one smooth movement.

Antinous made a muffled sound of surprise at the sudden contact, forearm burning, but Telemachus’ ensuing glare silenced him.

“Shh,” the other man hissed. “I’m already grounded; I’m gonna be in the ground if my mother sees you.”

“So why am I here?”

“Because we—“

There was a rustle from outside the door. Both men went completely still at the same time, Telemachus hand still gripping his arm—he couldn’t even get his fingers all the way around—and Antinous’ side pressed firmly against his.

The movement stopped. For what felt like hours they stood there, frozen and barely breathing, waiting on their respective fates. There wasn’t any more rustling.

Telemachus breathed out slowly, clutching his chest with his free hand. Antinous felt similarly, his heart rate slowly declining as the tension dissipated.

Their eyes met. The little wolf’s mouth twitched, breaking into a nervously relieved giggle. The sound was infectious, and despite himself, Antinous felt a soft chuckle escape his own lips.

Then, as though remembering who and where they were all at once, Telemachus hand hastily slid off his tricep. Antinous practically recoiled in turn, placing a respectable distance between their sides and realizing belatedly that it’d been the prince’s hip bone pressing against his upper thigh.

Their eyes met again, the mutual acknowledgement of their circumstances almost tortorously awkward, and Antinous wondered once more how he was meant to survive this encounter. Why, why, why did he always let Telemachus have his way? It literally never ended well for him. Never.

“My bad,” he murmured, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the way the little wolf was staring intensely at one side of his face.

Telemachus shook his head as though snapping himself out of a fog he couldn’t see. “It’s fine, I don’t mind the… whatever. This is weird. Can we not be weird?”

He smiled, desperately awkward. “Easier said than done. And when has this ever been normal?”

“Look, I—“ Telemachus cut himself off, flushing the most perfect shade of red as his eyes darted away. “Normal in comparison, okay? Just because my dream self did…” his voice cracked as he stuttered to a stop. “Well, you know what he did. It’s not representative of, of—reality, okay? I would certainly never climb on top of you or act so improper and I definitely do not want to do any of those things with you or, you know, with anyone, it’s not personal. Like I’m not saying you’re ugly or anything, but like, not the opposite either, just a perfectly neutral normal looking attractive man, and royals are supposed to wait until marriage anyway, so—“

Antinous laughed. He really didn’t know why, but something about the way the typically coherent prince was stumbling over his words and rambling of all things was so endearing and almost out of character it became hilarious.

The little wolf’s head snapped up from its inclination toward the floor so he could shoot him a deadly look steeped in embarassment. “It’s not funny, you fucking asshole!”

He raised his hands like a shield to his wrath. “I’m sorry,” he said, even though his voice shook from the effort of concealing his amusement. “I’m not laughing at you.”

His volume dropped once more, though his face remained murderous. “You are.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t hurt me.” Antinous fixed his own expression with great difficulty, the knot of anxiety that’d been curled in his stomach for who knew how long at last unfurling. “I swear I’m not. It’s just kind of—“

His mouth caught on the word “cute” and the butterflies exploded once more in his gut.

“I don’t know,” he stumbled ungracefully into the replacement, flustered at his own rogue thought process. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Great, I won’t.” Telemachus glared at him with indignance, but Antinous didn’t need the soulbond to tell it was born of embarassment rather than true annoyance. “Of course the second time you express an emotion other than agony and despair it’s at my expense.”

He wanted to refute that sweeping generalization, but the growing urge to smile again was sort of proving his point. It made him uncomfortable to realize thst he didn’t know where their connection’s influence ended and where his own self began.

“Not true. Sometimes I’m asleep.”

“Your dreams aren’t too great, either.”

Antinous’ skin crawled. “You see those?”

Telemachus cringed slightly, brows furrowing. “Some of it.”

He thought back to his mother’s corpse, his fathers words, and winced. It was like everytime he thought the prince’s image of him couldn’t get any worse, it somehow did. His greatest shame, his worst and most gruesome secret, and Telemachus had known all along?

It was just so… raw. He took careful measures to ensure his past and everything pertaining to it stayed safely under wraps. It was disgusting even to himself, he dreaded to revisit those memories, and worse than that, it was real. It was a part of himself that no charm or charisma or facade of lies could ever truly hide. The boy who let his mother die and was beat at home.

And Telemachus knew. How long, years? And how much? Why hadn’t he brought it up, used it against him, or raised an eyebrow at least?

“Hey, calm down. I’m not judging.” Telemachus was peering at him with concern, mouth pulling downwards. “Seriously. And we don’t have to talk about it, I mean… my dream was weird and horny, so we’re sort of on equal footing in terms of blackmail material now.”

That snapped him out of the spiral, fast. He let out a quick breath of air, almost a third laugh but not quite. “Little wolf, that’s not even remotely the same.”

“Oh, but it is. I won’t bring up your childhood if you promise to never so much as think about or recall what just happened.” He held out a hand. “Deal?”

“I…” Antinous felt strangely moved, gingerly taking his hand and shaking it. “Yeah. Deal.”

“Cool. And, I know that I don’t know the full story or anything, and maybe I’m just talking to talk, but.” He gripped his hand a little tighter, preventing the suitor from letting go. “That wasn’t your fault. And I think you have a very bad habit of being very mean to yourself, so. Stop.”

Telemachus released him, smiling a bit nervously. “Easier said than done, obviously, but that’s just my uneducated opinion. If that matters to you.”

Weirdly enough, it did matter. While Antinous knew that, logically, almost of his family’s dysfunctionality had anything to do with him, the guilt remained steadfast. It wasn’t logical, the way he felt about himself, and he knew that. These things truly were easier said than done.

Hearing someone else say it, though—that was different. It made him feel less… crazy.

Sometimes he really did feel crazy. Almost all the time, actually. His brain was constantly fighting itself, bouncing between guilt, remorse, anger and sadness near constantly. Most times he couldn’t even tell who he was angry at, let alone if it was truly how he felt.

That was perhaps the most disorienting part. He thought a lot of things, the majority of which he wanted no part in thinking about, yet those thoughts tended to be the loudest and most intrusive. In that regard, mean was an understatement. He felt volatile like clouds before a storm and, if anyone would bother to ask him, he probably couldn’t say why.

Crazy. Maybe he was, but at least he knew he hadn’t completely lost it. Easier said than done.

And suddenly he felt dangerously close to tears and was swiftly reminded that he was, in fact, quite unstable. He’d sooner stab his eyes out with a blunt spoon than burst into tears in front of anyone, especially if that anyone was Telemachus, so he pulled it together.

“It does,” he said, hand still tingling slightly. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” Telemachus tilted his head, squinting slightly. “That aside, I am really dying to know why half your face is purple.”

Ah. That explained the staring. In all the chaos of this night—and this conversation, actually—he’d completely forgotten about the bruise. And the fight that’d led to it, actually.

Which was maybe for the best because the memory made his eye twitch. Fucking Agathinos. He hoped that arm never, ever healed. It’d probably be the only way he learned to keep his hands to himself and Telemachus’ name out of his mouth.

Realizing he’d been silent for entirely too long, Antinous loosened his expression and focused on getting his eye—the functioning one—under control. “Would you believe me if I said I tripped?”

The prince leaned heavily against the bedroom wall, folding his arms once more. He did that a lot. The leaning, anyway. He seemed to favor his left leg, though Antinous couldn’t imagine why that might be.

His mouth twitched. “You think you’re funny, hm?”

“I think you secretly think I’m funny too.”

“I think,” Telemachus cut in, “that when you tripped and fell, you lost what’s left of your sense on the way down.”

Antinous smirked. “Good thing that didn’t happen, then.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I got in a fight.”

“I can see that.” He frowned. “Why?”

For you, he thought but absolutely did not say.

“Because Agathinos is a raging dick.” He caught Telemachus conflicted expression, something uncomfortable and something concerned. “He’s gone, little wolf. No need for concern.”

The prince’s brows pinched. “Gone as in dead?”

He wished. “Dead, no. The infection he’s sure to get from that broken arm might finish the job, though.”

Telemachus’ expression brightened immediately. “Oh, seriously?”

“I don’t have a lot of rusty blades, but I put those I do to good use.”

“And didn’t invite me?” He now looked nothing short of elated. “You know what, I’ll let it slide. My hero. Shall I swoon?”

He was definitely joking and Antinous’ mind definitely still lingered on it for a beat too long. “It was the least I could do. I know I wasn’t all that much better, but… y’know. I feel like I’ve been far more generous with them than I should’ve. And after what he said about your mother and you—I couldn’t let it go.”

Telemachus was staring at him again. A second passed, two, and he was just looking at him in silence with an expression akin to that of someone staring into the sun. Like they’d just discovered something incredibly interesting, or had maybe just been blinded by some grand revelation.

Antinous shifted on his feet, gradually more uncomfortable with each passin second. “What? Is my eye that bad?”

Telemachus blinked several times in quick succession, shaking his head and glancing away. Then back, then away. His cheeks began to recolor, and there was a new light in his eyes. “No, no, it looks good. Well, not good, you know what I mean. I’m just… thinking. Yeah.“

Another spark of amusement. “Sometimes I wish I could get inside your head. Seems a little unfair as is.”

“Ah, you—“ he flushed. “You do not want that.“

He raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know about what I want?”

Their gazes locked on each other, almost competitive. Tension weaved its way through the air, the room suddenly cool.

Telemachus broke first, giggling almost nervously. “It, uh. It gets old.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it, then,” he conceded easily. It was clear the little wolf was sort of freaking out—though he couldn’t imagine why—and he figured it was best not to push. Even if this flustered, stammering version of the oh-so put together prince did intrigue him.

Every version of him did.

“This has all been… quite enlightening,” he said, “but I doubt this is all you wanted to talk about.”

The little wolf shook his head as though recalibrating. “Right. I was waiting for the sun to come up a little further.” He turned, peeking out from behind a curtain to survey the sky outside. It was beginning to bleed orange. “My mother should be awake now.”

Antinous already didn’t like where this was going. “And she needs to be awake why?”

Telemachus smiled sheepishly. “So you can make your case, of course.”

He nearly burst into tears right there and then. Twice in one night? First to a goddess, which had been terrifying, and now to the prince’s mother, the literal queen of Ithaca who definitely hated his guts—and for good reason—who was arguably more terrifying?

“You—“ he glowered at Telemachus. “You conned me!”

“I most certainly did not.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic; she’s very reasonable.”

“Yeah, and the reasonable thing for her to do would be to order me executed on sight. Or do it herself!”

The prince smacked him hard on the arm. “Mind your volume, will you? If you she walks in on us yelling at each other then we’re both dead and it’ll be your fault.”

Antinous closed his eyes, accepting his fate. “Fine.”

Telemachus nodded approvingly. “Great. Here’s the plan.”

He paused for a moment, reconsidering something privately. Finally, he sighed, holding out a hand. “It’s definitely a lot weirder now, but give me your face. The post brawl injuries aren’t doing you any favors.”

Antinous’ mind couldn’t help but flash momentarily back to the dream. His skin prickled with goosebumps—damn, and he’d almost succeeded at forgetting for the time being.

“Is this really—“

“Yes. She is going to ask questions and she’s not going to believe your answers.” The hand flapped impatiently. “This is equally excruciating for me, by the way.”

Antinous sighed heavily, focusing on his fingers and toes and not the fingers that connected with his bruise as he leaned forwards slightly. Telemachus didn’t seem to be lying, as the double barrelled embarassment rising in his chest definitely belonged partly to him, but he was certainly doing a better job of hiding it.

“Anyways,” the little wolf said as the healing did its work, looking pointedly not at him, “I’ll be the one to knock on her door. Obviously. We under no circumstances will reveal that you were in my room because she’ll hurt me.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking. His eyelid fluttered uncontrollably as a fingertip ghosted over it. “Okay.”

“She’s definitely going to call me on my bluff, and when that happens, we deny. Always. Even if she definitely knows we’re lying.”

“Should we really be—“

“I know, I know. But, look, if she can’t prove it, we’re fine.” Telemachus pulled his hand away, looking over his work carefully. “She’ll be mad at me more than you, anyway, and she’ll probably wait to yell at me until after you’re gone.

“It’ll be more of an interrogation than a conversation, probably, so just answer the rest of her questions truthfully and you’re home free.”

Antinous delicately prodded at his eye. Not even the slightest of stinging. “Thanks. Are you sure about this?”

“Are you?” Telemachus shrugged. “She’s not sold on you, but that’s mostly because she doesn’t know you. Like I said, my mother is a very reasonable woman.”

He frowned. “What more is there to know?”

The little wolf stared at him like he was an idiot. After a long moment, he simply turned toward the door and eased it open. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“Pissing me off is what.” He looked back and made an impatient motion. “Are you coming? Time waits for no one.”

Antinous didn’t really have a choice, anyway. He followed him forward, closing the door gently behind them and accepting his imminent doom.

Chapter Text

Alright. So Telemachus may have dug himself into a hole deeper than fucking Tartarus.

He could succumb to delusion. Delusion was very easy, very addictive, and also required a lot less self reflection. Not to mention that, frankly, it’d been the only thing upholding the frail remains of his sanity for the past three years.

He could definitely do that. Or—and he liked this option a lot less—he could open his eyes and really look at himself. He could be a real man and say with complete honesty and truthfulness and minimal bullshit that he—

Yeah, no. Delusion was great. It was an incredibly reliable shield and it was protecting him from both his thoughts and from the fact that Antinous was standing right behind him.

Like, right behind him. Tangible distance. And all he could smell was cedar and his shadow was curving over him like the fluffiest blanket in all of Ithaca—no, Greece—and it made him feel—

Gods fucking damn it. And he’d just gotten his blood flow under control.

He not so gently smacked his forehead into his mother’s door and groaned in agony.

The shadow flickered. “Are you—?”

Quite possibly defintely a not-so-tiny tiny bit in love with a suitor? “Yes.”

Telemachus didn’t even know what to think about that. He needed a fucking drink. Alcohol, or maybe something stronger and more corosive like acid or lead, or maybe just a fireplace to dunk his head in.

He picked his head up reluctantly from the wood of the door. Antinous was peering down at him, looking torn between laughing at him and genuinely inquiring about the state of his psyche.

Not good. Like how Telemachus was beginning to find every single thing he did some degree of endearing. Even when he was laughing in his fucking face. Especially when he was laughing in his face, actually, because at least he was smiling, even if it was just for a second and only because he was making fun of him.

Telemachus really, really hated everything about this. In his head, he crafted a non-extensive list of the reasons why this new development would damn him.

One: Suitor. This one required exactly zero explanation because come on.

Two: His mother was going to crucify him should she ever learn of this. And he would’ve had it coming because, again. Come on. He was supposed to be smart. Falling in love—he resented those words heavily as they felt deeply inappropriate for the situation at hand, but he didn’t know what else to call it—with fucking Antinous of all people in all of Greece and the whole damn world was just outrageous.

And yeah, he technically didn’t have a choice, but he could’ve at least put up a better fight. He’d picked up a stammer for the gods’ sake. A stammer. He’d giggled like a maiden in a fantasy book about to be swept from her tower and, oh, look how far he’d fallen. Like a bird with broken wings, shot and hunted by Eros himself.

His luck was really something else, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t his heart have just stayed in its lane like it had for years before all this soulmate nonsense? He much preferred it ice cold and incapable of thawing. After all, there was a difference between a soulbond and actual attachment, and it was becoming painfully clear that he’d crossed into the territory of the latter.

More than crossed. He was fully immersed. And that was just—what even was it? He didn’t know anymore.

The more he thought about it the more distressed he got, so. Moving on.

Three: Antinous. As in, the whole concept of them together as people. Beyond their unquestionably questionable history, which Telemachus had grown not to particularly resent, it was still… complicated. And, good gods, if that wasn’t the understatement of the century.

Antinous wasn’t bad. Quite the opposite, actually, and he didn’t know whether that made things better or worse.

Sure, he’d already sort of known this. Aphrodite had warned him, Eurymachus had warned him, he’d seen it with his own two eyes, but it’d never fully dawned on him until now. He’d gotten in a fight defending him and his mother. And for what? There was nothing in it for him.

Telemachus knew why. Because, deep down, he truly wasn’t bad. And because, perhaps not so deep down and for reasons beyond his comprehension, Antinous did care about him. And he was actively trying to protect him.

He knew it wasn’t just because they were soulmates, either. His mother had nothing to do with their bond, and yet his protection extended to her too.

But she mattered to him. Maybe that was the important part.

That’d been it. The straw that broke the camel’s back. Proof, Telemachus supposed, that Antinous was more than he appeared and far more genuine than he might’ve thought. Proof he was someone he could maybe, possibly grow to… like.

Fuck, who was he kidding? He already liked him. Nonsensically, impulsively, instinctively like breathing, Telemachus liked him. Love was only the natural progression of things, and that was terrifying. Could he handle it? Could he justify investing so deeply in yet another person when his love for his mother was already ripping him apart?

Four: Let it be known that he loved his mother more than he loved himself. If it were her life or his own, he would choose his mother every time.

He wasn’t necessarily proud of that. Telemachus wasn’t blind to his own self destructive tendencies; the cuts on his arms had only just begun to close, after all. He was only, what? A few days clean?

He was barely even holding onto that. The only thing that was currently stopping him from reaching for his knife—more out of habit and the addictive sense of control it brought than anything—was the guilt. Guilt on Antinous’ behalf, partly because he knew the man could feel what he was doing and partly because he’d been asked not to.

Sometimes his palms still itched and the impulse burned in his veins until it became almost unbearable. He’d resorted to drawing shaky lines onto his skin which, while not at all relieving his hunger, did satiate it until the compulsion fizzled out. He could pretend the dripping ink was blood, and that helped some, even if he wasn’t sure it was really better.

He didn’t have a ton of experience with loving, no, but he knew who he was, for better or for worse. If he did love Antinous, that meant giving his everything. Frankly, he didn’t know how much left he had to give.

It was probably too late, anyway. Telemachus had already found himself defending the man on several occasions, fighting the urge to yell at him to stop doing and saying stupid shit—was this how his mother felt? If so, he understood the frustration.

What more was there to know? Gods, he was beyond saving. Telemachus was beyond saving for wanting to save him in the first place.

Antinous had fought for him, really fought for him. He had a heart, and a conscience, and he certainly did use it, even if you sometimes had to squint to see it. And Telemachus was sure there was so much more because, even when he was being genuine, there was still a wall as expansive as the ocean itself dividing them.

Five: Antinous was closed off. More closed off than Telemachus could even dream of being, as much as that might help him in his endeavors.

To be fair, after seeing his past, he had somewhat of a better idea of why that may be. Still, though. There was no use loving someone who, feelings aside, was intent on putting their feelings aside. Pretending to be someone else.

Gods, he was screwed. And that was just the first five grievances on his list which spanned miles long.

The door eased open before them. Penelope peeked out into the hallway, eyes clouded from sleep as they landed on him. They softened with affection, then promptly hardened with rage as they flitted up to Antinous behind him. She looked back to him, message clear. That message being that he wasn’t making it to twenty-one.

“Telemachus,” she said, tone wooden. “How very nice to see you. Outside your room. Before the sun is up. And, oh, company too? I wasn’t aware!”

While he’d already known he was in deep trouble, it was a doubly bad sign when the sarcasm snuck out. Not to mention the trademark politician’s smile.

He offered one of his own, lips pressed firmly shut with not even a hint of teeth. “Good morning! May we come in?”

His mother stared him down, the force of her judgement almost lethal. Her smile widened, more a shark’s grin than anything.

“Oh, certainly.” She glanced back to the suitor behind him, a muscle in her cheek twitching. “One moment, thank you.”

Telemachus was given no time for preparation before being yanked into her room, door slamming behind them. His mother practically flung him away from the entryway, forcing him deeper into her bedroom for better privacy.

Her eyes were nothing short of alight as she jabbed a finger into his face. “Telemachus of Ithaca, son of Odysseus, are you trying to get me killed from the stress!?”

He thought that was a little unfair considering he was just as likely too keel over from the chaos of the castle’s affairs, but he wasn’t so stupid as to express that aloud.

He held in a sigh, still in fear of his life. “I’m fine, mom. He’s here on my terms.”

“That’s hardly even the point.” His mother gestured wildly at the door. “You’ve just brought a suitor onto our floor!”

“Okay, yes, but—“

“Telemachus.”

“Mother.” They glared at each other. Telemachus didn’t bother holding in the exhausted rush of air that escaped his lips this time. “Let him talk. It’s necessary.”

She crossed her arms. “What’s your goal, then? Where’s the necessity?”

“He’s training me, you know that. I didn’t want to sneak out without telling you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mom.”

“Quit whining at me.” Penelope massaged her temples, looking more than sick of him. “You vex me, Telemachus. Like nobody else.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. “He’s just trying to make things right, mother. He’s really trying to help us.”

“And do you know that for certain, or is this just your tendency to look for the best in people?”

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t see through something like that?”

“Normally, no.” Her hands fell away and she looked at him seriously. “But you’re not yourself when it concerns this soulmate of yours.”

That felt like an actual kick to the chin. Indignance flooded him before sense could override the sensation and he found himself gawking at his mother. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She sighed, turning her back on him and returning to her bed. She picked up her weaving, settling back down as her hands began to move with an aggression that did not at all fit her controlled expression.

“I don’t understand how you trust and forgive him so easily. It’s not wise. Or have you forgotten all that’s happened?”

“Gods above, I’m not a fucking idiot.” His voice lashed out with a touch more bitterness than he’d expected. “Do you never tire of underestimating me? Of treating me like some blundering fool with no clue of the horrors of the world?”

Her head tilted up from the shroud with a slow, dangerous precision. “Excuse me?”

Yelling wasn’t going to save his argument. Getting upset and emotional definitely wasn’t helping his case either, but he found he couldn’t help it. It was true, anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t intentional, and maybe he wasn’t giving enough grace here, but he was getting extremely tired of people putting their two obols where they didn’t fucking belong. Constantly bossing him around, making him out to be some naive child incapable of comprehending their decisions and the effects they’d have.

His mother hardly even knew Antinous. She didn’t know his laugh or his smile or the true nature he seemed intent on hiding. Who was she to tell him what to do, who to trust, what wisdom meant?

He hadn’t forgotten. He had forgiven, but it wasn’t because he didn’t comprehend the gravity of what he was letting go but rather because he did. Because he understood making mistakes and being far less than perfect and, yeah, maybe he did like to see the good side of people.

Was that so wrong? If Antinous really was changing, getting out of his way and doing more than he’d ever been asked, should he just continue to despise him forever? It wasn’t worth the energy. Hell, it probably wasn’t even possible with this bond they shared.

Telemachus knew much of cynicism. Had she forgotten who bore the brunt of the suitors’ rage? Had she disregarded the years of injuries he’d endured, all for her skin to stay spotless? The crushing loneliness of holding half a heart in a world crafted specially for two?

Right. Because he was the naive one. Naive, apparently, for the gargantuan and unforgivable crime of wanting to be loved the way his mother had been loved so goddamn easily.

Give him a fucking break.

He steeled his expression. “You heard me.”

His mother scoffed, standing and discarding her work. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Telemachus. Never once have I believed that.”

“So why do you treat me like I am?” Hurt welled in his throat like a sponge trying its hardest to soak up his words. “You don’t have to understand it, but you could at least believe in me. That I know what I’m doing. I have reasons for doing what I do, and even if you don’t like them or get them they still exist, so—“

He cut himself off, shrugging angrily and suddenly unable to speak. Argos, who’d been lurking somewhere in a dark corner of the bedroom, skulked to his side and nuzzled his leg in silent support.

The queen’s face fell slightly. She bit her lip, releasing it with a slow sigh as she regained her composure. “This isn’t really about this, is it?”

He looked away. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” She was silent for a long moment, her voice softer and more tactful when she spoke again. “I’m sorry if I have made you to feel… small. It was never my intention. I’m only concerned for you, Telemachus. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well, that’s already happened. What now?” His tongue was moving without permission once more, sharp as a blade. “Is your strategy working out? Am I your happy, healthy baby boy again yet?”

She was quiet again, leaving him to stew in the stinging decay of his guilt as it swallowed his flesh. He sighed, scratching idly at his arm. His fingernail caught on a dent in the skin and something tore, opening the wound back up to the air.

“Forget I said that. It was low.” He laughed lightly under his breath, the sound a low chuckle of irony-ridden hysteria. “Can we get this over with now? I’ll be right back to rotting in my bed like you wanted once I figure out the basics of how not to die while roaming my own fucking castle.”

His mother wasn’t looking at him. Her face was pinched, nothing short of distraught, and Telemachus was forced to wonder whether he was protecting her like he’d intended or just making her life worse. Like a parasite she just couldn’t get rid of.

He couldn’t help but wonder. This insistent thought, tugging on the corner of his brain, so painful but so necessary. So loud, staring straight at him and screaming the question he just couldn’t shake.

If his mother could choose. Odysseus or himself, her loving, accomplished husband or her nobody of a son, then who? The love of her life, or he who followed behind him?

If Odysseus were here, he would’ve found some way to save her already. And he certainly wouldn’t have made her face crumble like this.

“We…” she trailed off, swallowing down her words. “We’ll continue this later when things are not so emotionally charged. You’re free to go, just… keep yourself safe, please. And I would still like to talk to him.”

“Fine.” Telemachus barely restrained the urge to tear the door off its hinges when he reached it. He paused, hand trembling slightly on the knob. “Talk being the key word. I don’t want you yelling at him.”

A telling silence. He sighed, frustrated, and wrenched open the door.

Antinous was sort of freaking out. He’d calmed down slightly at Telemachus’ assertation that they’d be absolutely fine, and that effect had been swiftly reversed by the muffled argument he could pick up on through the door.

He probably shouldn’t be listening to this. It wasn’t really his business, and they’d closed the door for a reason, but the more their voices raised the more paranoid he began to feel that something incredibly bad was going to happen. Yelling made him uncomfortable, and while they definitely weren’t yelling, they were certainly heated. Sometimes the quiet rage was the worst. Most times, actually.

He eavesdropped anyway.

“… don’t understand how you trust and forgive him so easily. … forgotten all that’s happened?”

He winced. Quite predictably, they were talking about him. Now was the ideal time to look the other way and not have to witness his character be torn to shreds.

Of course, he did not take this easy out. If there was one thing Antinous could count on, it was his curiosity and how it consistently seemed to screw him over. Or maybe the real curse was his lack of self control in stopping the cycle.

Telemachus was speaking now. He knew both by the timbre of his voice and the foreign hurt that came with it, weighing heavily upon his chest.

“Gods above, I’m not a fucking idiot.” He sounded purely angry, though his emotions betrayed him. “Do you never tire of underestimating me? Of treating me like some blundering fool with no clue of the horrors of the world?”

Telemachus was anything but foolish. Did his mother really think otherwise? He found that difficult to believe; he and the queen seemed so alike. Clever, sneaky… had she never witnessed his brilliance firsthand? Never reflected on where it came from?

He startled, losing track of the conversation as the sweet scent of flowers filled the air and a familiar presence washed over him. He whirled around only to come face to face with Aphrodite.

He narrowed his eyes into accusatory slits. “You.”

The love goddess looked impossibly smug, only smiling coyly at him. “Blessedly, yes. Sleep well?”

“Fuck you.” His face heated despite himself. “What in the everloving hell did you possibly think you were accomplishing with that little stunt? Have I not already told you to stay out of my dreams?”

Aphrodite’s smile slipped and she sighed. “It’s my job, dearest. How else am I going to push you stubborn soulmates together?”

“You don’t.” Antinous looked up toward the ceiling, praying for the strength to make it through this conversation. “Look. I know it’s your job and I know that you did promise to see it through, but could you meddle in a less invasive way? I shouldn’t need to school you on consent.”

She pouted, propping her hands on wide hips. “But you’re both ready and willing!”

“No!” Antinous lowered his voice, quickly realizing how loud he’d gotten. “Aph, he does not want me like that. Or at all, actually, and he’s a virgin, probably, so that’s hardly ready.”

“What, you want some other man to be his first, then?” Aphrodite scoffed. “You’re better than this, dearest. You could put a little more effort into wooing him, you know. This is hardly a display worthy of a child of mine.”

“That’s not what I—“ his face was burning now as he quieted, praying to any god except the one before him that Telemachus didn’t hear a single word of this. “Okay, first of all, I don’t care who’s his first. That’s not my business.”

“But does the thought not make you fume?”

It did. “Quit using your aura on me.” The irritation simmered out—for the most part, anyway. He kneaded the skin between his brows to keep from reaching out and attempting to strangle his lovely matron goddess. “I’m not going to try and court him because—and please listen carefully here—I don’t think we should be together.”

“What?” Her jaw dropped in offense. “It’s fate. Whatever do you mean?”

He frowned deeply. “Why are you acting like you don’t know I’m fucked up on the inside?”

“Because you’re not.” Aphrodite mirrored his expression. “There’s nothing wrong with you, dearest.”

“Right. You’re sort of contractually obligated to say that, though.”

She jabbed him in the chest with a perfectly manicured finger. “You must stop saying these things, dearest, when so many would disagree. There is nothing wrong with you. You require no fixing. You are lovable. He is in love with you.”

Antinous heart stopped momentarily as he recoiled. “No.”

Aphrodite looked increasingly frustrated, her perfect hair frizzing slightly at the ends. “What do you mean no?”

“I…” his heart was beating fast, a panicked drumline pumping through his veins and scorching his skin like fire. “Don’t say that to me.”

The very notion filled him with sick, slimy repulsion. He couldn’t even imagine it. His mouth felt dry and his skin scaly, the very idea expelling nausea straight from his chest to his stomach and then as bile into his throat.

It wasn’t Telemachus that disgusted him. It was his mother, his father, and himself. He could see it vividly like a prophecy, exactly what might happen—what he might do—should the prince really choose to love the wrong person.

Thud.

A heartbeat. Or a fall, depending on who you asked.

That familiar aura coated his skin, falling over him like a blanket that soothed his nerves and relaxed his breathing which he hadn’t even noticed had intensified in speed. He blinked at the door in front of him, taking a long moment to register his surroundings and remind himself where he was.

Or more specifically, where he wasn’t.

He hated it. He hated feeling like he’d never be normal or healthy no matter how hard he tried because a part of him would always be stuck. Stuck all those years ago in that living room with his mother and father. Stuck reliving the worst moments of his life and never outrunning it, never getting over it or moving on.

It was like nothing that happened could erase the pit inside him. No person or people could make that kind of torment go away. No soulmate could ever end as anything more than another tragedy.

Aphrodite looked heartbroken as she looked at him. He wasn’t sure if it was his thoughts or feelings triggering that pitying, sorrowful look in her this time, but he didn’t really care to find out.

He sighed. “You know why.”

Her face twisted slightly, regretful. “It doesn’t have to be forever. You could make something new.”

“He’s a person, not a test subject.” He looked away. “Not worth the risk.”

“Love is always going to be worth the risk.”

Antinous could feel her eyes on him. He bit his lip, hard, and briefly wondered when he’d picked up that habit. “Easy for you to say.”

She was silent, then. Acknowledgement or exasperation, he couldn’t tell. By the time he’d gathered the courage to face the love goddess once more, she was gone. He quickly learned why as footsteps neared the doorway on the other side and light from inside spilled into the darker hallway.

Telemachus. He looked upset, a muscle twitching in his cheek and a gleam in his eye. He wasn’t sure if the glint was the force of his anger or the evidence of his inner battle against tears.

Antinous’ heart sunk a little and he pushed aside his own mini crisis for the moment. “That bad?”

The little wolf opened his mouth as though to say something but cut himself off with a quiet sniffle. He looked mortified, glancing over his shoulder and then back at Antinous. His cheek twitched a little more aggressively as his eyes began to water.

Antinous was shocked, to say the least. He’d only ever seen the little wolf cry once before, and even that’d been a couple of tears at most. Not to mention it’d been in the midst of a panic attack after an incredibly traumatic experience and—it’d been sort of his fault, so what was he even—?

He wasn’t doing this right now. His own complicated feelings on the matter weren’t important right now, not when Telemachus seemed to be on the brink of tears. What the hell had the queen said to him to put him in such a state?

Antinous looked over the little wolf’s head, making direct eye contact with Penelope. Her face betrayed nothing.

He carefully took Telemachus by a shoulder, guiding him gently from the doorway and easing the door half shut with the nudge of a foot. He felt, once more, completely useless. Like he had nothing at all to say. That combined with the prince’s sadness—no, anger? Frustration? Betrayal? Perhaps all of the above?—clouding his own scattered emotions really wasn’t helping.

“Hey,” he said, hushing his voice partly out of fear that the queen would jump at him if he spoke even slightly out of turn, “you’re okay.”

Telemachus was looking up at the ceiling, blinking harshly. When he met Antinous’ gaze again, his eyes were tinged a slight red but cleared of tears.

He made an exhausted sound under his breath, leaning slightly into his hand. Antinous couldn’t tell if he knew he was doing it.

“I am.” His voice sounded stilted, barely restrained fury peeking through the grit. “She wants to talk to you.”

Antinous stiffened slightly, his thumb beginning to rub light circles into Telemachus’ shoulder before he even realized he was doing it. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to—“

“I do not.” The prince laughed lowly. “I appreciate the effort, but what I really want to do is go get some anger out by whacking you with a sword until one of us passes out from either exhaustion or critical injury.”

Half of him wanted to protest. The other half just wanted that hurt expression to go away, and if getting verbally torn apart and then skewered accomplished that, then…

“Okay.” He let out a long breath, trying and failing to let go of the nervousness clinging to his lungs. Maybe that other half was really more like two thirds. “I’ll make this quick, then.”

Telemachus looked up at him with that unreadable expression again. His face looked a little less tense, and he smiled slightly, albeit a wobbly one. “I’m really shocked you’re agreeing to this. Thanks.”

“Anything for you.”

Oh, wow. Why did he say that? That was, like, peak romance cliche. Gods above. He didn’t even mean it like that, it just sort of slipped out, but it definitely sounded that way because…

Oh, fuck. There was literally no other way to take such a statement. Because no one said that kind of thing in any other context besides romantic, did they? That was kind of the whole point of the phrase. Undying love and loyalty or whatever. And he just said that without thinking, which, for him, meant—

Oh, no.

He was going to end it. He might actually, truly remove himself from this earth because, the more he thought about it, the more it really did seem like he…

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no—

He didn’t. He wouldn’t be so selfish, so stupid, so awful as to possibly subject Telemachus to this. Absolutely not. He liked him, fine, but he refused to love him. Because if he actually loved him, he would leave him the fuck alone.

Telemachus did look slightly surprised at his stupid, stupid, stupid slip of the tongue, but he didn’t comment on it. Not that he had the chance to given that Antinous retracted his hand at the speed of light and barged into the queen’s room even quicker.

If there was one thing that scared him more than Penelope of Sparta, it was himself.

He refused to put any more thought into the matter for the time being. He was terrified of what he might find.

He wrenched the door shut behind him, trying and failing not to feel intimidated. She was by no means tall or imposing, but the perfect elegance and grace which she carried herself made her seem… elevated. And not just in the physical sense.

Her hair was tied back without a single loose strand, her clothes impeccable with not even the smallest of wrinkles. Her face was tired, eyes slightly sunken and mouth adorned with the beginning of frown lines. Her hands looked rougher than he might’ve expected, though…

Well. He didn’t know much about weaving. Maybe that was typical for those who partook in such a hobby.

While he’d once wanted to marry her—actually, no. That wasn’t even really the case, was it? He’d wanted the throne more than anything, and the marriage had only been another obstacle in the pursuit of his goal. And for good reason, too. The icy way the queen was glaring at him only assured him that he wanted no part in the battle for her hand.

It was no mystery how she’d nearly reduced the little wolf to tears. She had the strong presence of a ruler with a cold introspectiveness that reminded him strongly of Telemachus. It was a lethal combination. They were quite alike, actually, in both appearance and demeanor, but Antinous found he strongly preferred the prince’s company.

This line of thought was not helping his case. At all.

“My queen,” he said, bowing his head in a gesture of respect and hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt. “You called for me?”

“You.” She sounded intensely angry, stromg voice laced with the slightest of tremors. “Do you understand what you have done?”

Antinous didn’t need further explanation to know exactly what she meant. His chest constricted with guilt and shame as he raised his head to meet her severe gaze.

Of course he did. It was one of the many things that kept him up deep into the night, tossing and turning as he wondered what could’ve been and grappled with what had been.

The state of the castle was in many ways his responsibility. Telemachus’ pain, and the queen’s secondhand, was also of his own making. To say he didn’t understand the gravity of his past actions would be blatantly untrue. Sometimes he wished he didn’t, or that he simply didn’t care at all.

Remorse made his life… difficult. But at least it made him human. And if this remorse lit the fire that pushed him to help undo what harm he’d brought upon their family, then this awful guilt he’d have to live with would be made worth it. Even if it killed him. Even if he never got to be more than this.

Antinous swallowed, palms clammy. “Yes, I do.”

“Then how,” her voice was impossibly shakier, quiet but filled with a rage threatening at any moment to burst forth and consume him whole, “can you stand before me now? Stand before my son and pretend to care?”

He flinched despite himself as she came closer. This was not that, she was not him, calm. Be calm and listen or so help him gods he could not be this weak.

Penelope pushed closer, hands balled into fists. “How dare you show your face here. Do you feel no shame, no remorse? Have you a heart?”

No. No. Yes.

He thought he did, at least. Sometimes he had to wonder.

His entire body tensed, limbs locking and teeth grinding together as the queen stopped in front of him. He fully anticipated a blow, the pain and dizziness that came after, the ringing of the ears from the screaming but—

Nothing.

Antinous opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. She was still standing in front of him, but her hands had gone slack at her sides, and some of the initial fury had dissipated.

She took a deep breath, stepped back. “Speak.”

He searched desperately for the right words. This was his one chance if he wanted Telemachus’ plan to go right, and this was really the least he could do and, good gods, wasn’t he meant to be good at talking?

He was, he guessed, when that talking consisted of lies and falsehoods. The genuine stuff was where the difficulty lay, and that was just—sad. It was sad. But it’d have to do because he certainly wasn’t about to attempt to lie straight to the queen’s face.

… just answer the rest of her questions truthfully and you’re home free.

“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing his voice to project through the layer of bile attempting to drown him out. “For everything I’ve ever done. For encouraging the suitors’ behavior, for treating Telemachus like nothing—worse than nothing—for… everything. I regret it every second I’m alive.”

His eyes stung against his will but, thankfully, his strong aversion to vulnerability seemed to evaporate the tears before they had even the slightest of chances at spilling over.

“I know that probably means nothing to you as it cures none of the evil I’ve curated, and I seek not your forgiveness nor approval, but—”

He paused, clearing his throat in vain. “I swear. I swear there is nothing pretend about the way I feel about your son. I only wish to make up for the pain I’ve inflicted on both him and you. I want nothing but the best for him.

“I sometimes ask myself… similar questions. I don’t know who I am, if I’m more than a monster, and more often than not I feel like nothing, so—“ he stopped himself, wringing his hand to relieve some of the building stress. “What I’m saying is there’s nothing in this for me. When it comes to myself, I don’t really care how things end. I’m not trying to win your hand or redeem myself or do anything about our soulbond. I just want to help him. And you, if you’ll allow me. And once my purpose is served, I’ll be out of here.”

Penelope was silent for a long stretch of time. She stared at him with that same analytical look Telemachus so often wore, and Antinous had to wonder if honesty had really been the best policy in this situation. He could only hope because the sharp humiliation he was experiencing at having bared his incredibly miserable and disturbed soul to the queen would not be worth it otherwise.

She buried her face in her hands, then, quite unexpectedly. He watched, bewildered, as the prim and proper queen dragged her hands down her face and groaned.

“Gods give me the strength,” she muttered under her breath, head shaking slowly. The queen looked at him in clear disbelief, chin still cradled between her palms. “You love him. He who terrorized my family and wrecked my plans for this gods-forsaken castle is in love with my son.”

Antinous went ashen. “Well, I wouldn’t—“

“Shut up!” Penelope made a low noise of agony then flung a finger out to point it into his chest. “Now you listen to me and you listen well. I do not know why and I do not know how, but my son trusts you. He thinks you are good.”

She laughed incredulously to herself, eyes glinting like balls of fire. “I don’t know you. I can’t say I forgive you yet or ever, but I do know that there is nothing I can say or do to convince Telemachus to leave you be and, trust me, I have tried. But I can tell you this.

“If you ever, ever harm him again, I will rip you limb from limb and cook your body for dinner. I will personally ensure you never, ever make it to the underworld and you will never know peace for the rest of your fucking afterlife.”

Her chest was heaving slightly as her voice lifted. “I don’t just mean physically. You make him cry or break his heart and I will break your every bone and some more. Do you understand me?”

Antinous mouth was dry with terror. “Yes.”

Penelope shook her head once again, this time seemingly more to herself than anything. “I am… opposed. To every bit of this. But I understand you are soulmates and you cannot help your feelings, so—please. Do not hurt my son.”

He desperately wanted to protest. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. Despite everything, resolution filled him. “I won’t.”

“I want to like you.” The queen frowned. “I do. Someday, maybe, when all is said and done and if we all make it out of this hell alive. Maybe.”

“That’s more than I could’ve asked for.” Relief quickly joined the resolution. “Thank you.”

He didn’t enjoy how many people were accusing him of being in love. He really, really didn’t like the implication that multiple people were seeing something he refused to believe existed. He didn’t want to be in love. He barely even believed in the concept, particularly in this context. Not with Telemachus, of all people.

And even if he did, even if he was, there was absolutely no way this ended in a manner other than terribly. Either the little wolf didn’t give more than the polite amount of shits about him and his nonexistent feelings went unreciprocated—the better horrible ending—or he did and they both suffered a gruesome tragic death.

Antinous wasn’t entirely certain how the tragedy might come about, but who knew? He didn’t care how many times people insisted soulmates were perfect for each other and meant to be. He knew that wasn’t necessarily the truth. And when it came to himself?

Basically a disaster waiting to happen. He would not wish a relationship with himself on his worst enemy. He was unstable as things were, and what if he got somehow worse? Snapped one day and hurt him?

Gods, no. It was his worst nightmare. Telemachus being in love with him was his worst nightmare. Being in love with Telemachus was his second.

At least it was one he didn’t have to worry about it coming true.

The first one, at least.

He was absolutely going to be sick. He could practically taste the stomach acid threatening to tear through his esophagus and spew out onto the floor. It was a wonder he even still had a fucking esophagus.

Penelope was silent once again, chewing idly on her lip. She sighed. “Tell me, Antinous. Do you believe what he’s doing is wise?”

Trusting him? Giving him a second chance? Both? Neither? He might actually hurl.

“No.” It was halfway a truth, halfway a lie. “But I’ve warned him. And I think he should have the freedom to live life the way he chooses. Even if it’s not the way you or I might have.”

“Unless it gets him killed first.”

“Well.” Antinous cocked his head slightly, debating on whether or not to take the leap. “That’s why I’m here, no?”

Penelope looked at him. For a moment, it seemed as though she might argue, but the words never came. She shrugged slightly, her lips turning the tiniest bit upwards at the corners for the first time since their conversation had begun. “I suppose you have a point. I never did thank you for saving him.”

He smiled nervously. “I didn’t really…”

“You did.” The small smile disappeared. “I suggest you take my gratitude and leave before I take it back. Thank you.”

He inched back toward the door, hand resting on the knob like it’d somehow protect him from the queen’s potential wrath. “Uh. You’re welcome.”

She didn’t reply, only turning her back on him and increasing the distance between them. Antinous wasted no time, taking the opportunity and running with it straight back into the hallway.

Fresh anxiety gripped him as he wondered what the little wolf had overheard, if anything. He was slighty comforted by the fact that he was beyond eavesdropping distance, leaned against a wall with his head tilted back halfway down the corridor. He then felt like an idiot because their stupid soulbond didn’t seem to be bothered much by distance, and certainly not just a few feet of it.

He approached him slowly, unsure whether he was even awake. Neither of them had slept much, after all. Antinous quickly jumped from that train of thought, stopping before him and taking in the two swords leaned up against his legs. Those certainly hadn’t been there before.

“Little wolf?”

Telemachus jerked slightly, his eyes opening wide and darting to mert his in an instant. His shoulders quickly relaxed as he looked him over, pushing up to his full height.

He looked… better? Less upset, at least. Far more tired, but Antinous figured trying to convince him to take a rest would only be a waste of their time. He was stubborn and stupidly determined if nothing else, which should be irritating but really didn’t bother him at all.

“Done?” The prince smiled lopsidedly at him, leaning slightly to retrieve the weapons. “That was fast.”

He was doing that so much now. Had he always smiled so much?

No. Definitely not. Antinous recalled almost never seeing an expression besides utter boredom and/or annoyance on his face until just recently. It was weird and foreign, almost friendly.

Antinous wasn’t complaining. He liked it when Telemachus smiled, it was just odd and sort of hard to handle. It made him go from pretty to beautiful, from sunlight on a cloudy day to fireflies at the heart of an eclipse, and holy shit he may have actually lost the plot. He was in the deepest layer of hell and it was one of his own making.

He scarcely breathed as he observed the little wolf’s expression, scouring for any sign that he’d picked up on that. Nothing. Were his senses being dulled by exhaustion, perhaps drowned out by his own strong emotions?

Antinous guessed he’d never know considering that, special circumstances or otherwise, he hardly heard anything. It didn’t really matter, anyway, not as long as Telemachus didn’t have to overhear him writing stanzas in his brain like some sort of lovesick victim of Aphrodite.

Fuck. He was a lovesick victim of Aphrodite.

And if that was true, that meant his worst fear was coming to life right before his eyes. His heart clenched painfully. Not like this. He didn’t want it, not now, not ever. Telemachus was way too good for him. They didn’t belong together, not in this universe or the next. He was leaving. That was what he had to do.

The flat side of a blade smacking him in the hip flung him from his crisis. It, luckily, didn’t connect with his bruised side, but it definitely had some force behind it and left a faint sting in its wake. He looked down at the little wolf, wishing and praying to feel some modum of annoyance. Only reluctant endearment remained, rippling under his skin like an entirely more deadly injury. Fuck!

“I’ve no clue what you’re thinking,” Telemachus said, “but whatever it is, you’re making me stressed by proximity. Come on.”

“You could’ve just said that,” he muttered, falling into step alongside him because his traitorous, idiotic, short-sighted body posessed no ability to deny this man. “So violent.”

“Sue me.” The prince pressed a sword into his hand, his fingers brushing over his knuckles during the switch. “And I did. You were just lost in your own world, blissfully ignoring me.”

“Not on purpose. You really can’t hear me?”

Telemachus was taking him down an unfamiliar road, now. He traversed the halls easily, like a second nature, taking turns and opening doors Antinous hadn’t even known existed until this very moment. On the bright side, it gave him a great opportunity for distracting himself from the fact that he’d fallen in love and he knew it.

He shouldn’t be this distressed. Logic would dictate that, being soulmates, falling in love was to be expected. It was an inevitable conclusion. Still, it just didn’t feel feasible. It felt wrong, almost criminal to harbor such a warm, fuzzy feeling toward someone he’d treated so awfully and who most certainly couldn’t like him even a fraction of the same way and he really ought to just—

Shut up. He’d made a promise and he was going to see it through. Seeing it through meant staying alive.

He didn’t want this. He really, really did not want this. How many times did he have to say this before the fates did the reasonable thing and just let them live?

It was almost funny. He’d wanted a soulmate for so long, wanted to fall in love for so long, and now that the hour was upon him, he wanted nothing to do with it.

If not for Aphrodite and his strong sense of duty toward the prince, he would’ve been packing his damn bags that very second. Or drowning himself in alcohol until he passed out and hopefully never awoke. Or stabbing himself in his vitals. Or tying a rope and taking a leap. Or telling the voice in his head to shut the fuck up for once or so help him gods.

“Nope.” Telemachus opened another door, and this time, they were met with cool air. “It’s not an all the time thing. I really have to focus to pick up on more than a words and whispers, and I don’t really have the energy to try, so…”

He paused. “It also feels a little invasive. Trying to hear more than what comes organically, that is.”

Antinous hummed noncommitally. Thank the fucking gods for that much. If Telemachus knew of anything going on inside his head or heart at the moment, he’d probably have a stroke. “Where are you taking me?”

Telemachus paused. They were at the top of a winding stairway, the graying steps disappearing into the darkness below. The only thing signifying their apparent path was a delicate silver railing, glinting just barely under the first hints of sun peeking from the blanket of night.

The little wolf leaned over that railing, looking experimentally at something Antinous couldn’t see. There was a light breeze, ruffling his hair almost affectionately, and Antinous had to wonder if all of nature was in love with this man. It seemed the only possible conclusion for how he managed to look perfect at every angle and brighten every room.

Telemachus straightened once more. “The beach. The courtyard has suitors.”

Antinous frowned, squinting in the same direction his company had. He could make out exactly nothing. “How do you know that?”

“Athena told me.”

Cold dread. “She’s here?”

Damn. He was truly out of it if he hadn’t noticed her presence there before because, now that it’d been pointed out to him, it was insanely obvious. No wonder the wind was swirling around him like that.

“Duh. She’s here to help with my training. You’re just, like, the dummy.”

“Okay, wow.” Antinous scowled at him. “Why do I put up with you, again?”

The smirk he’d tried and failed to hide before was incredibly apparent. “Doomed.”

He rolled his eyes, lips turning up slightly. An apt descriptor. “I guess.”

For a moment, they only stood in a comfortable silence. It was sort of pretty, this view by the cliffside. The water in the distance was an inky black, brightened temporarily by shimmers of light before fading back into darkness. The soft lapping of waves against the shore was almost melodic, like a lullaby.

Intimate. Antinous wondered how many had been brought here. It was too remote for just anyone, between its location and the patio itself being nestled between overgrown trees and lush rosebushes.

Lavender sprinkled amongst white. He’d never seen lavender roses before, actually. They sort of reminded him of…

He took a glance at Telemachus out of the corner of his eye. He was already looking at him. He felt his face warm as their eyes met. “What?”

The little wolf smiled, but there was something sad about it. “Beautiful, right?”

He faltered, eyes bouncing between the scenery and Telemachus. He softened despite himself, voice more delicate than he’d intended. “Yeah.”

“The colors mean things,” he said. His voice sounded almost wistful, like he wasn’t talking to Antinous at all. “I read it in a book once. Can’t remember which.”

His sentence trailed off into nothing. After it became apparent he wasn’t going to continue that thought, Antinous prompted him. “Like?”

Telemachus looked a little surprised at that. “It’s not that interesting.” He tilted his head at just the slightest of angles. “I didn’t take you for a botanist.”

He wasn’t. Antinous knew nothing about plants. He just wanted to hear him speak. His face heated a little more. “It’s interesting when you tell it.”

The prince said nothing for a moment. His cheeks colored slightly and he turned his back on him. “I… well, since you asked.”

Antinous watched with more than a little concern as he stuck a hand into the rosebush. “Should you—?”

“I’m very skilled.” Telemachus’ hand was fiddling with something carefully, and a few moments later, it extracted from the bed of leaves with the neatly plucked head of a flower. “See?”

Antinous eyed the shallow scratches on his arm. The fresh ones, anyway. It was sort of hard to tell the new from the old. “Do I?”

Telemachus ignored him, eyes filling with the light he loved to see as he carefully observed each petal. “The lavender ones are really rare. I think this is the one of the few bushes that has them… I normally wouldn’t pluck these ones, but this is a special occasion.”

“That occasion being?”

He hesitated for a beat, and Antinous had to wonder if he’d imagined it. “Well. My mother didn’t kill either of us. Is that not something to celebrate?”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Fair enough. What does it mean?”

“Enchantment, wonder, mystery…” Telemachus smiled down at the flower. An undercurrent of melancholy hit him again, strangely enough. “Royalty. And love at first sight.”

“Ah.”

They both stared at the rose as if it held some sort of mystical wisdom. Love at first sight, huh?

He would say how fitting, except it sort of wasn’t at all.

“It’s different than other roses that signify love.” The prince stroked a petal with a quiet care. “Red roses are like passion, desire, down to earth type romance. These ones are like… whimsical love. It’s—hm. You ever read those bedtime stories as a kid, the ones with princesses and knights and stuff like that?”

“Once or twice,” he answered honestly, too drawn in to feel too concerned about sharing his background. “Aphrodite forced me. Like soulmate propaganda.”

Telemachus laughed, holding out his hand to him. “You know what I mean, then. True love’s kiss, fairy godmothers. Basically everything real life doesn’t have to offer.”

Gingerly, Antinous accepted the rose. He didn’t know whether that meant anything, cradling the flower in his palm like it was his baby. It didn’t really have any significance beyond being a flower and existing sort of prettily, but he found himself wanting to protect it. To never let it die, even if that was impossible.

“And the white?”

Telemachus plucked off another rose, holding it up to the light. “Purity, new beginnings, eternal love. I swear I didn’t intend to bring you to the most romantic patio this place has to offer.”

I wouldn’t mind. “I guess all we’re missing is some red to finish it all off.”

“Eh.” The melancholy swelled. “Red is overrated.”

“And why’s that?”

There was a long silence. Telemachus sighed, something in his face almost forlorn. He pressed the white rose in his palm alongside the lavender one, his fingers gently coaxing Antinous’ hand closed.

“It means I love you.” Telemachus’ hand left his, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. “Like I said. Overrated.”

Chapter Text

Telemachus kicked off his sandals, crossing carefully from the rocky border of the beach onto coarse sand. It was startlingly cool, and he sighed softly as his feet sank into the ground. Damp. Must’ve been high tide just prior to their arrival.

He’d needed this. He loved the beach, but between the suitors and his mother and his own responsibilities as prince, he could only dream of having the time to do so. As such, the sensation of sand and foamy waters lapping against his toes was almost therapeutic.

Almost. Maybe one day he’d experience a stress free life, but for now, these fleeting moments of quiet would have to do.

It wasn’t all bad. Sure, he felt pretty miserable right now, but he was nowhere near defeated. And, yes, his soulbond was definitely contributing to the problem, but at the same time…

He turned back. Antinous was nudging their sandals to a spot further from the ocean’s push and pull, folding up his cloak and carefully placing the two roses behind the makeshift wall. He watched, a little fond, a little wistful.

It didn’t seem like he could tell. That was good, Telemachus supposed, if only because neither of them were in the correct state for a blossoming romance. And that was operating under the assumption that Antinous could possibly feel the same, which was…

Eh. Fifty-fifty, and even that felt like wishful thinking. Telemachus had always found it difficult to interpret his soulmate’s feelings, even with the help of their link and its corresponding partial telepathy. It should be simple, but it wasn’t. Antinous’ emotions, expressions, and actions rarely ever synced up. He knew this. So what was he meant to do? Take a wild guess?

Telemachus wasn’t totally emotionally inept—he liked to think so, anyway—but he did appreciate when things made sense. Logic, clear rationale, puzzles with exactly one solution and one solution only—that was what he wanted. Those things were solvable, and if you didn’t get it, then you knew you’d done something wrong and to try it again.

This situation was, well, pretty much everything he hated. And maybe he was doing something wrong. Perhaps the answer was just as simple as he’d hoped it be and was currently staring him straight in the face with a sign that said Pick me!.

But even if it was, he guessed he’d never know. Not until it was too late, because life just kind of sucked that way.

If he were to utilize his common sense and that only, he’d figure that Antinous had to like him. They were soulmates for the gods’ sake, and that was how it was supposed to work, but he couldn’t shake off the doubt.

Their relationship had never been normal. It was probably never going to be, either. And they were already universal anomalies, were they not? Taking nearly two decades just to discover the first crumbs of a soulbond between them certainly wasn’t the norm. So who was he to expect common sense from this travesty? Maybe it was just in their nature to defy fate.

Or maybe not. Maybe some things just weren’t meant to be understood.

That wouldn’t stop him from trying.

Telemachus blinked and Antinous was standing across from him. When had that happened?

“Is something seriously wrong?” Antinous tossed his sword between his hands, fingers flexing accordingly. “You’ve been so out of it since you talked with the queen.”

Right. That. His mother’s obvious lack of faith in him did make him feel embarassingly small and insignificant, but his self esteem had always left a little something to be desired. And, sure, it was part of the reason why he felt numb and weighed down like an anchor to an island, but that wasn’t all of it.

He just wanted to be loved and in love but that was looking more and more out of reach with each passing second. And then he felt extra horrible because they both had far bigger problems than their love life but, gods, was it so much to ask for?

The scars on his arms tingled. He ignored it.

“Just thinking,” he said, clinging tighter to his own sword.

Maybe he should just tell him the truth. He got the feeling it’d only scare Antinous away, though. He couldn’t deal with that. His one pseudo-friend in this place, the only person who really made him feel something other than sad and lonely—

And wasn’t that just crazy? Once his worst enemy, the person who’d made his life a living hell, and now he was clinging to him like algae clung to driftwood. It was crazy, but he was okay with crazy. At least he wasn’t crazy alone.

They weren’t just pseudo-friends, they really were friends. And, maybe he was simply biased, but so be it. They made sense. In a weird, weird way, he and Antinous fit together perfectly. Like misshapen puzzle pieces, but matches all the same.

He couldn’t lose that. Not his person—and only his, his unreasonably possessive side itched to scream—romantic or otherwise.

They weren’t even together. He definitely should not be feeling so damn overprotective over a man who quite possibly didn’t even like him the same way, but… gods. He wanted to. He wanted to be with him. He could never put up with that awful loneliness again.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

Antinous was talking. “… say that a lot. You just seem sad, that’s all.”

When wasn’t he sad? It was sweet that he thought to ask, though. Telemachus’ heart clenched painfully. Perhaps it was but the bare minimum, but it meant so much more. Felt like so much more, even if he knew he wasn’t being at all sensible.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.” He could hear the frown in his voice. “And you’d tell me if you weren’t?”

Would he? Probably yes, probably no. He never made promises he didn’t intend on keeping.

“If it comes to that,” he conceded, and at least part of him meant it.

Antinous seemed somewhat satisfied with that, his features reacting minutely. Telemachus was grateful because, if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have known what else to say. Nothing he could actually commit to, anyway.

Athena materialized next to him. It never failed to surprise him when the goddess made her physical form known, and he found himself jumping slightly at the sudden presence.

Antinous didn’t look particularly phased, though he did present a little shyer when he spoke. “Lady Athena.”

Telemachus looked between them. He had no clue just what they’d spoken about—or left unsaid, who knew?—during their walk up to his room. He couldn’t lie; he was dying to know. It was becoming more and more obvious that he was going to be left in the dark, though. Antinous looked calm and his emotions remained similarily unbothered, so that wasn’t giving him a ton to go off.

He considered trying to pick up on his thoughts. It was tempting, sure, but Telemachus wasn’t sure if he was necessarily ready for everything he might hear. For now, the fragmented words and ideas floating around his brain painted enough of a picture.

Athena. … Still scary. … Telemachus

He strained his ears. Telemachus what? Gods, they needed to build this damned connection if only so he could get some relief and some actual confirmation on how exactly Antinous felt. It was like the universe was working overtime just to give him as much grief as possible. He felt his jaw clench and—

“O…kay. And now you’re mad.” Antinous wasn’t looking at Athena anymore, now directly at him. “At me. Because of me?”

“Are you seriously going to ignore a goddess in favor of having this conversation?”

Athena huffed next to him. “Take your time.”

Telemachus shot her a look he hoped screamed betrayal. “And when did you two decide to team up?”

“I don’t take sides, and certainly not his.” Her wings retracted, disappearing into thin air with a ruffle of feathers and the slightest of winds. “That said, calmness and connection to both yourself and your partner are integral to safe sparring.”

Partner. He looked to Antinous who only raised an eyebrow. He skin prickled and he heaved a sigh. “Alright, fine. I’m not angry with you, but I do really want to wring your neck right now. Does that make sense?”

Antinous grinned, a canine glinting off the hazy light projected via seawater. He wondered how it’d feel against his neck. Thigh. Fuck. “No. But you can try.”

His competitive side flared, secondary only to the heat coursing through his veins. “I can do more than try.”

“Enough.” Athena sounded truly exasperated. “You two are hopeless. Assume position. Antinous, take offense.”

He looked conflicted for a moment, all earlier bravado falling away. After a few seconds, the suitor shrugged slightly, the action accompanied by a small shake of the head, and fell into aggressive stance.

Telemachus was beginning to get the idea he really wasn’t too comfortable with violence. That was reasonable, even if only going off what he’d seen in his—their, he supposed—dreams. He didn’t want to force the man into doing anything he didn’t want to, but… well, he had agreed. And he got the feeling he’d probably refuse anything he saw as pity, anyway.

Still. He’d have to be careful. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally cross the line. More than he already had, anyway.

He stared down the dull end of Antinous’ blade, falling onto the backfoot and raising his own. On guard.

He knew the positions well enough. There were a lot to memorize, yes, and he imagined it was quite different in real combat, but his voracious reading had benefitted him in this aspect at least. That said, diagrams and words on paper could only get you so far. And, if that brawl with the suitors had told him anything, it was that those things could hardly go the distance. Not in the face of death.

Athena lightly prodded at his grip, and he quickly corrected the positioning of his fingers. She nodded approvingly.

His eyes found Antinous almost immediately, like his they’d been somehow magnetized. His eyes roamed over his arm, broad shoulder and muscles that seemed unfair for carrying such a lightweight weapon, and… how had he only just noticed the man was a lefty?

“Hm. Do you fight both sides?” It was as though Athena had heard him.

Antinous blinked, his eyes moving from Telemachus to the goddess beside him. “Sure. It’s about the same.”

“Go right,” Athena instructed. “For now, at least. I assume most adversaries will be right handed.”

The suitor didn’t protest, simply swapping feet and switching hands. Telemachus wondered just where, or from whom, he’d learned swordsmanship from. Especially to be capable of using both hands with equal proficiency. Very impressive. Sort of hot. More than sort of, but this line of thought was hardly getting him anywhere in the first place.

Athena was looking at him with a gaze filled with judgement. He sort of missed the days where he didn’t have to worry about censoring his thought process in fear of mind readers, but oh well. Those days were long gone.

He rolled his eyes. “Ignore it.”

She rolled her eyes back, but didn’t badger him. “Fine. Now, feel your every limb. The weight, the positioning, everything. Calm your mind, get in tune with your body, order your breathing. A manic mind is a manic body, and those who fight with fear escape with nothing.”

Calm his mind. Sort of hard to do when the warm brown of Antinous’ eyes was boring into his very soul, but the stern timbre of Athena’s voice left no room for argument. He took a deep breath.

In four, sustain. Out four, sustain. Again.

He considered himself pretty in tune with his body. Sometimes a little too in tune, but at least it made this step easy. He focused on his toes, ankles, knees. Each individual muscle in each thigh, the curve of his pelvis, the exact stacking of bones that made up his ribcage. Bicep, wrist, five knuckles on each hand.

He exhaled, the breath flowing impeccably into the air. It smelled like the ocean. And flowers petals stinking of every shade of red.

No use fighting it, he guessed.

“He needs to practice his blocking and parrying,” Athena explained. “Be nice.”

“Don’t do that,” Telemachus interjected.

“Every time that blade makes contact with him, that’s a run up and down the beach. This will be enforced.”

He paused. Terror gripped him. “Okay. Maybe be a little bit nice.”

Antinous smiled. One dimple, left side. He nearly collapsed at the sight, and when had he become such a softie? “You’re gonna have to pick a side, little wolf.”

“Median, then.”

“I can do that.” That fucking dimple. He supposed that made three that he knew of.

“Telemachus,” Athena said, back to her no-nonsense teaching voice, “focus on efficiency and accuracy. I’ll correct you as I see fit.”

He nodded, reminding himself that this was serious and the threat of danger was still ever looming. Eurymachus could keep the suitors in line for now, but that was merely a temporary solution. Eventually, enough of them would get fed up to the point where their anger could become easily overpowering.

That day in the banquet hall remained fresh in his memory. What happened when most of the men came to agree with Agathinos? Sure, the bastard was gone, but the spirit of his words surely remained potent within at least some of the other suitors’ hearts.

He needed to learn. Not only that, but he needed to get good. At least to the point that, when the day inevitably fell upon him, he could fight off any attackers. Long enough for his mother to escape and survive, and maybe that was a far off dream, but what was wrong with a little hope?

He looked at Antinous. Anything for you, he’d said, and Telemachus did believe that. Still, could he justify endangering his life? If the suitors became truly out of control, could Telemachus really expect him to put his own livelihood on the line to defend him and his mother?

Maybe it was too late. In many ways, Antinous had already chosen a side: that of the crown and him. It didn’t seem the other suitors were aware of his betrayal—yet—but the gods only knew they couldn’t keep up this secret act forever.

Things were bound to come crashing down. Worse, too, if things progressed between them. Was it worth the risk?

Telemachus supposed only he could define what was “worth it” to him. What did it mean to have a soulmate if they both didn’t make it out of this mess alive? If they had to live in fear and constant cautiousness? If they weren’t due a happy ending?

But, then again. What was the point in living if he made it out all alone? He’d already lived that life, the one cooped up in his bedroom with no one but himself to seek for comfort. He wanted to believe he was strong, but deep down, Telemachus knew he couldn’t possibly survive another twenty years of that. If he even lived another twenty years.

There was no use going down this particular rabbit hole at the moment. He couldn’t control the world or those in it, try as he might. The only thing he truly controlled in this life was himself, so he might as well make the most of it.

He’d find a way. Even at the lowest point of his life, he always did. There was no turning back now, especially not with a whole extra person under his wing.

His mother, his dog, his soulmate. Maybe his father, or maybe that was only a fleeting fantasy. He guessed he’d just have to wait and see.

He steeled himself, strengthening his stance. “I’m ready.”

Athena waved a hand in a show of granting permission, then disappeared into a flurry of feathers. The moment his vision cleared of the hazy aura she left behind, Telemachus saw how far Antinous had advanced in only a few seconds. It really wasn’t fair; he had longer legs, after all.

He pursued him almost lazily, sword dipping low in his grasp. Telemachus supposed that was fair, considering the covers on their swords eliminated any real danger and that Antinous was simply far out of his league, but still. It offended him.

He narrowed his eyes, backing up slightly if only because Athena had forced him into the role of defense. He’d really much prefer the opposite, but he supposed his time would eventually come.

Antinous’ steps slowed before him. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Sorry, am I not in the zone enough for you?”

“Absolutely not. You should be thinking solely of your opponent.” His eyelashes lowered, something mischevious, almost coy behind them. “Of me.”

Well, shit. Telemachus’ heart rate turned up to eleven, and that was partially because of whatever the fuck that was and also because Antinous was lunging at him.

He nearly stumbled at the sudden movement, catching himself and barely avoiding the ensuing slash. Diagonal, upwards and just missing his leg. The blade moved again, flashing forwards and catching on Telemachus’ own weapon as he forced it away from his torso.

The force of his parry did dispel the sword, but Antinous seemed fairly unbothered. He quickly recognized his mistake as the wide arc his arm had taken left his side exposed, and—

The weapon moved quickly. He was resigned to take the blunt force trauma at full force—it had definitely been on him, after all—but all momentum seemed to end the moment the sword neared him. Antinous lightly tapped him on the side.

Telemachus glowered at him, feeling his face pinken slightly. “That is not fair.”

They were standing fairly close to each other, but Antinous didn’t bother backing up and neither did he.

The suitor looked impossibly smug. “What? I was just offering you some free advice.”

“You—“ he flushed a little further. He couldn’t exactly say why something so innocent was getting him so incredibly worked up, so he settled for stewing in his own rage. “Bitch. Just you wait.”

Athena appeared beside him once again. “Not bad. You regained your balance quickly, good reaction time—perhaps try not to let your mind wander in the midst of battle, though?”

And now he was being made fun of by a goddess, of all people. Like salt and vinegar in an open wound. Then again, he did just get a compliment—two, actually—from the goddess of war, so…

He smiled despite himself. “I’ll keep that in mind. That and that only.”

Antinous laughed and his rage returned. “Fuck you.”

The suitor’s only response to that was a wordless jab of his thumb over the shoulder, directing his eye to the expanse of beach behind him. Telemachus was going to fucking strangle him.

After he got back from running that stupid lap, anyway. Villains, the both of them.

He wasn’t an awful runner or terribly out of shape, so he was only slightly breathless by the time he returned. It wasn’t an awful distance, either, so the adrenaline and vengeful bloodlust was still coursing freshly through his veins. He glowered at Antinous the minute he got close enough for it to be recognized.

Athena looked down at him. “You understand your mistakes, yes?”

He nodded, placing a hand low on his stomach to correct his breathing back to a productive cycle. “My block was too wide.”

“Yes. You always want to keep your weapon close to you. If you’re not in a distinct stance, you’ve done something wrong.”

He picked up his sword from where he’d discarded it prior to his punishment. “Anything else?”

She side eyed him. “Stay focused.”

At least this time he could blame the redness in his face on physical exertion. “Gotcha.”

She nodded, the small smile on her lips probably the closest he’d get to true encouragement. It was fine. He’d gotten quite good at picking up on the underlying message behind her closed off expressions and inability to properly show affection.

Athena looked slightly offended at that as she faded into nothingness. Maybe he should quit psychoanalyzing deities while they were in mind reading distance. Or at all, actually.

Antinous still seemed humored, but there was a bit of concern behind his eyes. “I didn’t actually hurt you, did I?”

Yeah, Telemachus knew where this was coming from. He didn’t know everything of the man’s childhood, no, and he was sure their early years in the castle had contributed to this paranoia, but it didn’t really matter. It was evident that any sort of violence or combat made him uncomfortable. Even when it was directed at someone else.

Reasonable, yes, but the worry had to be quelled somehow. Telemachus was already well aware that Antinous’ participation in this training had already been pushing his limit, and he didn’t wish to contribute to that further.

His spite fizzled out—for now. “Do I look hurt? You barely touched me.” He made a face of mock pondering. “Unless you count total betrayal and disrespect as damage, in which case you’re both guilty and up for execution.”

Antinous’ shoulders relaxed slightly. “Okay… just checking.“

“Check on yourself.” The spite returned at full intensity as he resumed position. “You’re dead.”

The suitor backed up, raising his free hand in a deceptive show of innocence. At least that meant he was back to normal—if he could be a smug jerk, he was fine. “Care to explain what exactly is so bad about some friendly advice?”

“You know what you did.”

“Enlighten me.”

Telemachus stamped his foot. “You’re a child of Aphrodite, you know what you did.”

“Oh, so what I’m hearing is I’m simply too hot.” His voice carried, rich and full of mirth, across the sand between them. His skin erupted in goodebumps. “Is that right?”

Pretty much. Was this flirting? Was he being flirted with right now? The itch spreading like wildfires across his skin was almost unbearable now, but, screw it. Two could play at this game… and if it was a game they were playing, Telemachus was going to fucking win.

He couldn’t help it. His love for a good competition—and more importantly, for winning—occasionally outweighed his common sense.

“Oh, no,” he sighed, really laying on the dramatics, “you got me. You’re just too sexy. Are you gonna come put the moves on me now or what?”

Any embarassment Telemachus might’ve felt at saying something so blatantly provocative was cleanly stamped out by the sheer satisfaction of making Antinous speechless. The man gawked at him for a moment, offensive position falling apart as his sword wielding arm dropped.

“I mean,” he said, then paused. A long pause, and Telemachus was sure that it was only his complexion saving him from the shame of an incredibly obvious blush. “I—I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

And wasn’t that a damn shame because he seriously wished he would. Literally, figuratively, in every sense of the phrase he wanted it—hell, Antinous could put his body on him too, if he was down with that. Telemachus was certainly down with that. Also, good gods, he was pathetically desperate for this man and he couldn’t even blame it on Aphrodite this time.

Antinous was positively gaping at him now. His blood ran cold. “Tell me you didn’t choose this exact moment to learn to read my thoughts.”

“Uh…” his soulmate seemed genuinely at a loss for words. “It just sort of happened. You mean to say you weren’t joking?”

Well, no. He flushed, heart racing.

He could lie. He got the feeling Antinous would probably believe him if he simply said he’d been fucking with him, but what would that accomplish? Telemachus wanted to be with him. He wanted to be closer to him, as in as close as possible. As in sex.

Not just sex. It wasn’t even about the act, not really, though he couldn’t say the prospect wasn’t nice. It was about the intimacy, about being together as one whole and having the marks to prove it. It was about the emotion. It was feeling so strongly you simply had to do something about it, showing the other person the intensity of your feelings for them in a way words alone could never fully encapsulate.

He didn’t want to have sex, he wanted to make love. Hell, at this point, he’d gladly take a long hug or an extensive hand holding session and be happy with it. He just wanted to be close to him. Was he even making sense anymore?

Were there really people out here who enjoyed the feeling of being in love? For him, it was more like torture. Sweet torture, yes, but torture all the same. Especially when the person he was in love with refused to get a fucking clue because he felt he was being pretty damn obvious.

He had a list a mile long why they shouldn’t be together. Their environment, their pasts and personalities, the fact that Antinous maybe didn’t even like him but he had just been flirting with him, so—

Shit. He needed to make up his mind. Was it worth it? Was he willing to try?

“I mean…”

Gods, he was going to die of humiliation. Was he going to regret this? Almost certainly. But he might regret silence even more. Now was the moment of do or die, fly or fall, live in love or turn his back on the very concept.

Well. If there was one thing he loathed more than the idea of being rejected outright, it was cowardice.

He smiled, a wobbly thing that did nothing to conceal the nervousness swirling in his stomach. “That dream was pretty nice, no?”

Antinous was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. He looked positively terrified. And, yeah, Telemachus was prematurely regretting saying what he was thinking because this was exactly the response he’d known he’d get. And, as usual, his gut instinct was quickly proven right.

“I…” Antinous’ eyes flickered rapidly between his face and the sword clutched in his hands. He visibly swallowed. “We should get back to sparring.”

It hurt. It shouldn’t, but it did. At least he could say he’d tried.

Gods, if the mere suggestion of Telemachus having some sort of sexual attraction to him elicited such a reaction, an I love you would probably make him disappear into thin air. Immediately. Like smoke to a fire that’d never even existed in the first place.

His heart felt like it was being pressed down upon, squashed like a bug under a shoe. He couldn’t tell if the painful pressure was his imagination, or maybe their soulbond was still withering after all and he was only encouraging the damage.

And now he only wanted to cry. Which was embarassing, because he certainly wasn’t so fragile to the point that a mere rejection could break his spirit and reduce him to tears. Except he’d already been sort of having a bad day and between his mother and his soulmate not even liking him the way a soulmate was supposed to he just—

In four, sustain. Out four, sustain. And repeat, again and again until it didn’t hurt anymore. In, out. He could do it. This was far from the worst thing that’d ever happened to him.

His vision failed to clear, but he had a mission and it needed to be carried out one way or another. This wasn’t the worst thing.

He smiled wryly, ignoring the persistent sting in the whites of his eyes and the way his vision swam with moisture. “Let’s.”

Telemachus was surprisingly competent—in his own biased opinion, anyway—for someone seriously struggling to keep their emotions in check with only half a mind to focus on actual swordplay.

It was helping. He could say that, at least. Five times, five matches of mindless blocks and slashes and parries as Telemachus retreated into his own mind. It was peaceful when he pretended it wasn’t happening, when he looked past Antinous’ face instead of into it. When he ignored how softly his sword made contact every time, like the gentlest clockwork. When he only nodded and smiled, barely listening each time the suitor checked on his condition.

Neither Athena nor Antinous commented on his state. He was glad, actually, because he knew for certain that no amount of stoicism could detract from the obvious sheen to his eyes.

Telemachus was almost relieved each time he was sent to sprint down the beach. It gave him a moment to hyperventilate and have a good excuse for it, not to mention respite from Antinous’ silent concern. And Athena’s similarly conflicted stare.

She didn’t ask. She already knew all there was to know, anyway, considering she was definitely reading his mind. And he was grateful for her silence, too, because the last thing he needed right now was an impromptu quick-thought therapy session.

Her feedback was helpful. He was getting better, and while his legs shook from the sprints and his arm grew almost numb from the overuse and his breathing became increasingly labored, he did feel stronger. More confident. Like maybe he wasn’t just some idiot trying to play hero.

It was on the ninth sparring session when Antinous swept his leg from beneath him—his fault, really, he hadn’t been paying proper heed to his backfoot—and offered a hand to help him up that Telemachus burst into tears.

It was honestly super pitiful. He buried his face deep in his hands, drawing his knees to his chest and completely abandoning his sword in lieu of sobbing like a mentally unsound little baby. And, fuck, Telemachus wouldn’t love himself either if he were Antinous. That just made the tears, once a steady stream, evolve into a neverending river of misery.

He faintly registered a shaky breath from above him, then the sound of Antinous coming to sit beside him. Good gods, this had to make for an absolutely bizarre display. Two grown men sitting on the beach during the prettiest golden hour Ithaca had seen in weeks and one was crying for literally no reason.

He sniffed, picking up his face ever so slightly to speak. “One minute. So sorry.”

Antinous was respectfully silent. Or maybe he just had no meaningful commentary to offer on this outlandishly abysmal turn of events, which was also fair. He almost wished he’d say something, if only so Telemachus could act like all was well and good.

He’d probably ruined all chances of that, though. He might as well just give it up and profess his undying love already for the sake of efficiency. That way, he could have his heart broken twice in the span of just one day rather than two.

He honestly couldn’t decide which of those scenarios would be worse. Maybe they were equally bad and none of this mattered at all.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Antinous admitted quietly as his sniffles grew rarer. “I kind of do. Not really, though.”

Of course he didn’t. How could he possibly understand? This wasn’t a problem he had to deal with!

To his own chagrin, the tears flowed harder, completely resetting all progress toward calming down.

There was a long moment of silence, and for a second, he truly thought Antinous would just get up and leave. Athena had certainly vanished with a swiftness only possible via teleportation the second his breakdown had started, so it wouldn’t be all too surprising.

Instead, he did something much more shocking. Telemachus barely even registered the weight against his back was Antinous’ arm until the other one wrapped around his front. He was pulled, quite ungracefully, off balance until he tipped to the side with a tiny squeak.

Telemachus’ body was braced against Antinous’ side, so much larger than his own. His torso was warm, smelled like cedar and felt like home. Or a crackling fireplace on a frigid rainy day, or the first rays of sun after a long night.

He scarcely breathed for a long moment. It felt like the world itself had stopped breathing with him. Antinous’ head fell against his, the weight of his hair draping over his shoulders and tickling Telemachus’ own face.

“Relax,” the man murmured, his arms loose but strong around him. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry.”

Well. It wasn’t like it was his fault or anything. The heart wanted what it wanted, and if that wasn’t him, then…

“You’re fine.” At least his voice wasn’t quivering anymore.

He almost resented how easily his body relaxed the minute Antinous was next to him, but he supposed that made sense. It sort of pissed him off. He was still pretty pissed off, actually. It was a combination of being forced to practice blocks rather than smacking this bitch he called a soulmate as hard as possible, his argument with his mother still rattling around in his brain, and pretty much everything else.

Antinous’ breathing was somehow more uneven than his own at this point. That raised questions but, whatever. He wasn’t in the mood for curiosity.

Telemachus embraced the silence, staring down at his legs which had at some point unfurled. He seriously hated his legs, only slightly less than his arms, and that was only due to the lack of scars. They were still sort of ugly, just in a different way. He couldn’t explain it.

The arms around him tightened and he wobbled, tipping backwards the moment Antinous did. He let out a tiny gasp as his head hit the sand, gentle but unexpected.

He was staring up at the sky, breath hitching as the weight of the suitor’s head came to rest on his chest. The way Antinous’ arm was pinned underneath them couldn’t have been comfortable, but he raised no complaints.

Telemachus glanced down at him. It looked sort of like he was listening to his heartbeat, one ear and cheek pressed against him, but he couldn’t be sure. He was certain this counted as cuddling, though, which—oh wow.

He wanted to be excited about that—he was, even against his better judgement—but who knew what this meant? Antinous had literally just completely ignored his advances and now they were cuddling, which was arguably more confusing and also super rude if it meant nothing, so…

“Telemachus,” he said, voice drowning slightly against the fabric of his chiton.

He stopped thinking, one arm coming up to idlely play with Antinous’ hair. “You should say that more often.”

“I will.” Surrender had never sounded so sweet. “Telemachus. Will you listen to me?”

He didn’t really have a choice in the grand scheme of things, did he? He was built to fall in love and built to hang on every word this man spoke, though, if he was being completely honest…

He bit his lip, painfully bitter. Soulbond or not, he’d always choose to listen. There was no reality where he wouldn’t choose to listen, just as there was no reality where neither of them got hurt. They were far from perfect—for each other, hell, even for themselves—but in some ways, maybe that was what made them so. Perfect in an irregular way.

He sighed, squinting into the sun now perched high in the sky. “Depends. Would you fall in love with me?”

Filled suddenly with a bravery he hadn’t known he’d posessed, he dragged his eyes from where they wandered in the sky. Green met brown. Antinous smiled uncertainly and he braced for impact when—

“I already did.” Like it was so simple.

His body tingled, a full body itch that felt sort of like dying but a lot more like living. And, strangely enough, it sort of felt like nothing had changed. He’d expected his world to fracture, the sky to fall, a shooting star to appear, some mystical happening to reflect such a declaration, but…

Nothing. And maybe the world wasn’t changing because nothing had. Like loving each other wasn’t anything new at all.

“I see,” he said, and laughed despite himself. “I guess you know what they say about assumptions.”

Antinous huffed the slightest of laughs against him, shoulders tensed but breathing made fairly even. “I’m not very good at saying what I mean. Expressing myself, the works.”

He closed his eyes, pulled into the quiet tranquility of the moment. “I know.”

“For the record, I did think our dream was very nice.”

He smiled tenderly. It couldn’t last. “But?”

A long pause. Antinous exhaled shakily, arm wrapping tighter around his waist and Telemachus welcomed the pressure. It kept him grounded, dragged him down where he might have flown away.

There was always a but. Always some sort of drawback. He understood it completely, agreed completely, and it still ached like an open wound.

“We shouldn’t be together,” Antinous said.

He’d known it was coming. He didn’t need the soulbond to see where this was headed, and he wanted so badly to be mad about it. At the end of the day, though, he was right. And all Telemachus could force himself to feel was a dull sadness.

Just the usual, then.

“No shit,” he replied.

Antinous did laugh at that. He found himself smiling back, soaking in the vibration of his laughter while he had the chance. It was fucked up. It was also kinda funny.

“I don’t think we’re doing this right,” Telemachus mused, tugging playfully at a lock of hair.

He batted his hand away haphazardly. “Oh, absolutely not. Aphrodite would be having an aneurysm if she were around to see this.”

“Same boat. Athena’s probably pissed.”

In the distance, an owl hooted as if in response. Telemachus rolled his eyes at the display, chest filling with warmth despite everything. Everything and nothing had changed. Perhaps that was for the better.

“Yeah, she’s definitely ditched us.” Antinous’ arms loosened around him and, almost reluctantly, he sat up. “I think that means you’re free to come and beat me up, then. If you can manage it.”

Telemachus scoffed, sitting up and shaking the sand from his hair. “Thanks for reminding me how much I hate your guts. I can and I will, by the way.”

He palmed the weapon next to him, dragging the sword into his palm. There was a brief moment of hesitation, and he found himself smiling uncertainly.

“So. The deal’s still on, then?”

Antinous extended a hand to him, lifting him effortlessly to his feet. “Not fucking doesn’t mean I’m not going to help you, Telemachus. I want to help you.”

Gods. This was awful. It was great. How was he meant to go on like this, knowing what they both knew? That they were so close to just being and simply choosing not to act on it?

Not even just choosing. It was a choice, sure, but it was undeniable that their circumstances did much of the heavy lifting when it came to keeping them apart. If the suitors found out, for instance, he was certain the fallout would be legendary. And not in a good way.

He had to wonder what happened when soulmates denied their bond. Was that what they were doing? Was not being together when the fates clearly wanted them to be bad? Dangerous, even?

Well. Maybe they’d just have to find out. Bide their time, finish what they’d started, and maybe someday…

Telemachus walked backwards, reassuming position. He raised his sword, batting his eyelashes. “Can we not do both?”

Antinous stared at him, unamused. He couldn’t hide the butterflies coming to life in his stomach, though. “I would never have taken you as the horny type.”

He laughed, melancholy at last replaced by a sense of comfort. “I’m usually not.”

“Just me, then?”

“If I say yes, will you faint?”

Deadpan. “No.”

“In that case, yes.” He took a breath, amusement fading slightly. “But, seriously. I know things are kind of shit for us right now, but… we’ll figure it out. All of it. And maybe, you know—how to be together?”

Antinous hesitated for a moment before his face set with resolution. “That’s the plan.”

Doubt refused to leave him be, inching insistently within each crevice and crack between his bones. Crawling up his skeleton like disease. “I want you around.”

Something in his face softened, the last bits of conflict seeping from his expression. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Telemachus swallowed. He is in love. Someone is in love with him. They are going to deal with it whatever way they can. And someday, oh, someday, these two loveless outliers could be—

“Friends, then?”

“Eh. I’d prefer not to be associated with you.”

He scoffed. “Asshole.”

Their eyes met from across the sand, something affectionate, something longing. It was a strange sort of dynamic, intimate and misshapen in ways that probably wouldn’t make any sense to the unpercieving eye.

He understood it, though. Forgiveness, insight, all the things neither of them were willing to say aloud but knew the other was thinking. It was strange to be seen. Good, but strange. Couldn’t it be both?

They fell back into a steady rhythm, only the sound of swords connecting and sand shifting beneath feet. The air warmed as the sun rose, light glinting off the clear waves. Not closure, but peace. A temporary respite from the trials no doubt lying ahead.

It wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough. But for now, Telemachus supposed these tiny fragments of peace were all he could really ask for.

Red was quickly becoming his favorite color.

Penelope didn’t know what she’d expected.

She was guilty, yes. It was a feeling she often found herself attempting to outrun, but she’d yet to fully succeed in that endeavor. She was well aware of her flaws, the things she did and did not that made up her personhood.

She was… not enough. That much, she knew. How could just one woman balance ruling a kingdom by her lonesome, fending off violent suitors, and parenting a growing, deeply complicated boy?

Man. She had to remind herself, sometimes, and perhaps that was part of the problem. She wasn’t ready for Telemachus to grow up, to go out and get himself killed like—

Not killed. She musn’t think that way, lest she speak it into existence.

Maybe she simply held on too tight. There was a reason she’d waited these twenty long years for her husband, her darling Odysseus, and it went beyond love alone. She was stubborn in her care. She latched onto people and refused to let them go.

But sometimes you had to let go. That was just life, was it not? Things grew and died, flourished and escaped the bounds they’d been nurtured in, and you had to let go. And that was the way the world turned, and turned, and turned.

She knew this, but she was also weak. A weak queen and mother who could never rise to the expectations she’d placed for herself. If she could, this disastrous situation never would’ve played out in the first place. Her husband, and now her son. The son who’d suffered so greatly under the burden she ought to bear.

Letting go. Was it finally time? Time that she give in to the whims of these vile men? Telemachus was venturing down a dangerous road, one that was sure to get him battered or worse. He was brave and bullheaded just like his father before him, flinging himself face first into adversity all for the sake of protecting her.

That wasn’t how it was meant to be; she was his mother. So how could she let this continue? Allow him to take up the responsibility of sacrifice?

Penelope’s hands moved from the rough wood of her bedframe, dropping off the olive tree’s branch and dangling into nothing. The frame was warm under her touch, just as it had been the day she’d first laid eyes upon it. Laid upon it. The best and brightest day of her life, laughing under her husband’s smart mouth and playful words and…

It hurt. A loveless marriage. And who would’ve thought?

She bit her lip, blinking back the mist that stubbornly arose in her eyes. Gods, she missed him. Her Odysseus. And where was he now? With whom? Drowning at sea or on the brink of death, still trapped on that island with that vile woman—

Dead?

It wasn’t possible. She musn’t give up hope, for the moment she loosens her grasp and lets go of his memory, she has doomed herself.

She ventured to her window, easing it open for a breath of fresh air and leaning out into the sunrise. Penelope often found herself gazing off into the sea, wondering fruitlessly just where it’d whisked him off to. How it’d kept him prisoner so long.

Their bond used to be so strong. Day in and day out, streams of words and thoughts, not coherent but loud and clear. She’d felt her longing, his love, and she’d sent it back tenfold. She felt the pain and terror, spent countless nights tossing and turning in the pit of his grief, but at least she’d been there with him.

“I miss you,” she’d say aloud, closing her eyes and pretending he was just across from her. “Telemachus too. I tell him your stories.”

There wasn’t always a response, at least not immediately. He was often busy, preoccupied, but she never went ignored all too long.

Is he swimming yet?

Penelope had chuckled to herself, younger then and with a baby cradled in her lap. “Of course.”

I’d hope he’d be the fastest.

There weren’t many other children in the kingdom. She was hesitant to allow him near the other nobles, even just their kids, for fear of a kidnapping or killing.

It wasn’t an unfounded worry. After all, it’d happened before. And now that Telemachus was, technically, the sole heir to Ithaca, it was a larger threat than ever.

She hadn’t wanted to worry Odysseus. He had enough troubles all the way across Greece on the other side of the war. She swallowed, smiled tearfully down at her baby who may never come to know his father. “He is.”

And now that connection was gone. Silence, radio silence, and she was rapidly losing faith but trying her hardest not to show it. Telemachus had gone through enough. He didn’t need to know how little she still believed, nor that his father was somewhere stranded far, far away.

Change was coming. She could feel it in the air, and it wasn’t just the last of the flowers blooming as Ithaca hurted into the summer months. She had a bad feeling. She expected something would happen soon, though she couldn’t so much as dream of what.

Hold it together. At this point, it was all she could think to do.

Penelope averted her eyes from the ocean waves, coming to settle on two figures on the beach. They were lying down—no, lying together—and on closer inspection…

She let out a shallow breath, the smallest of smiles gracing her lips. Young love; of that she was quite familiar. She remembered the thrill of first laying eyes on Odysseus, the electricity that’d sparked between them and the excited itch under her skin.

It’d all felt so slow, so quick. Like one day, her life had been lacking, and the next all was well. They’d needed each other, been so damn perfect.

She’d had her doubts about that suitor. Penelope couldn’t so easily forget the way he’d first behaved in her castle, how he’d contributed to her and Telemachus’ undoing, but…

Antinous was standing, offering a hand and pulling her son to his feet. She thought she saw them share a smile, her perhaps that’d been her imagination.

She wanted Telemachus to be happy. Gods knew she wasn’t doing so great a job of that. But this Antinous, this strange man who acted so reserved but seemed to come out of his shell around her son—he made him happy.

And, besides. They were soulmates. They shouldn’t be kept apart. No one deserved such a fate, especially after Telemachus had spent so long believing he was alone.

Gods, her love might just be her downfall. How could something so beautiful wind up being so destructive?

There was a knock on her door. She drew the curtain shut, savoring the last of her sentimentality before drowning it under layer upon layer of dignity. She’d quickly realized the only true way to appear queenly and uphold some modum of respect for herself was to shut off her emotions completely. And so it would be.

It got lonely, sometimes, having no true confidants. Her son, while she loved him dearly, was hardly a replacement for a friend. She hadn’t heard from Ctimene, either—not since her husband had passed seven years ago.

She still didn’t know the full story when it fame to that. She knew Odysseus’ crew was gone, every last one of them, but she’d never heard of the how. In the end, though, the effect was the same: Ctimene had lost her soulmate and had never been herself again.

Penelope had tried to contact her, of course, but she couldn’t exactly leave the castle. Ctimene had become something of a recluse, refusing to leave her house or answer her letters.

She wondered often what’d become of the poor woman, though she doubted she’d ever find out. A grieving widow, left alone with a shattered heart. It was a fate she fretted to imagine for herself, but one that loomed ever closer in possibility.

Argos trailed behind her as she went to answer the door. Melantho stood beyond the doorframe, dark eyes keen as they raked over the queen’s appearance.

Penelope beckoned her in silently, closing the door quick and quiet. Melantho was one of the servants she’d known the longest; arguably the closest thing she had to a friend here, though that didn’t say much.

“Something happen?” she asked, stepping backwards to take a seat on the foot of her bed.

Melantho looked at her with something like seriousness in her eyes. “They don’t plan on waiting much longer, my lady.”

Penelope sucked in a sharp breath. “How long?”

“Not sure.” She smoothed down her apron, frowning slightly. “They’re banding together, planning to take the castle by force. By the end of the summer, I hear. That’s all I know.”

“Gods.” Her head was beginning to throb. “Me or him?”

Melantho shrugged, turning on her heel and heading back for the door. “Your son. He’s what matters most to you, no?”

She nearly crumbled right then and there. Her worst fear. It’d already nearly come true once before, and now, the suitors were making a concentrated effort. Telemachus. Gods.

“Keep an eye on things for me, will you?” Penelope’s voice came out weaker than she would’ve liked. “If things change.”

Melantho glanced back at her, expression unreadable. “What hasn’t?”

She had no response to that.

The door closed, leaving the queen alone to stew in her thoughts. Something had to change. Something she had some control over.

Her eyes flitted to the weave. Nearly complete. Time was fleeting.

Perhaps it was time she start thinking up a challenge… and considering the strong possibility of betrayal.

Chapter Text

I already did. And that was true. Oh, how dreadfully quickly these things could change.

Telemachus was limping heavily beside him, his breathing more than a little labored. Antinous would’ve been more bothered, but the little wolf did seem happier, more at ease. And he was holding onto his arm, making it quite difficult to resent the fact that he was carrying both of their swords.

He didn’t mind. He couldn’t, it was physically impossible, but fear still ate away at him.

He’d promised not to leave. He didn’t know how he was meant to uphold that when every vein and blood cell was screaming at him to run before he could destroy this, too, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. Which was worse, staying and stewing in catastrophe, or simply leaving the wreckage behind?

He honestly couldn’t say. Those stupid, cursed flowers that burned hot where they were tucked into the folds of his cloak. He was never taking them out. He hoped they never died. It was like a physical reminder, an anchor to the reality of how Telemachus felt about him, and…

Good gods. He loved him. He’d thought it, spoken it, and all Antinous had wanted to do was fall to his knees and beg him to take it back. Be wrong. Change his mind, somehow, rewrite the fates and all their history and just go.

Telemachus wouldn’t. He knew that, for the prince was a stubborn man and there was nothing anyone could do or say to dissuade him from his chosen path. Antinous loved that about him. He hated it, for his stubbornness would be the death of them all.

Why? Why?

He didn’t get it. He felt both happy and ill, like this was the best day of his life and simultaneously the worst. Telemachus loved him. Wanted to be with him.

And Antinous wanted it too.

This was the worst day of his life.

Desperation burned in his chest, the sensation a vile mix of bile and regret. He wanted that life so badly that it hurt, like thorns stabbing through each muscle and tendon with every second he spent loving him.

Telemachus, he wanted it, how could he possibly explain it in words? He never knew what to say or how he felt, dysfunctional at best and calamitous at worst, but he knew what he was feeling now and it terrified him.

It was rain in the middle of a desert. It was selling his soul with every breath, trekking through hell and high water just for a chance at this life he could never obtain. It was light at the end of a tunnel that never ended. It was the calm before the storm, the eerie tranquility that befell an island before the hurricane that ripped all life from its roots. It was the first glimpse of heaven after crawling through hell.

But he couldn’t. Never, never, never. Some people were meant to be alone, some people were just too good for others, some people—

“Wait,” Telemachus said, stuttering to a stop as his hand tightened over his bicep.

They were on the outskirts of the courtyard, the path enshrouded by plants of all kinds. The roses buried in his cloak itched. A reminder. Knowledge he could never outrun.

“People?” he inquired, switching his grip to have one sword in each hand.

The little wolf nodded silently and backed up slightly. “They’re coming this way.”

Sure enough, Antinous could hear the beginnings of footsteps approaching. He stepped forward, hold tightening on the weapons. “Behind me.”

Telemachus, shockingly, obeyed. Not so shockingly, he only retreated the tiniest of space backwards, face set with the neutral expression he always wore prior to conflict. His fingers pressed warmly into his arm. “Hold on.”

Antinous glanced down at him, mouth twitching. “But you just said—“

Two figured emerged at once. He extended both blades in a flash, heart rate speeding up as he prepared to defend them and—

“Down, boy.”

That was new. He felt temporarily frozen as Telemachus’ fingers loosened and fell away, allowing the prince to step forward once more. “Eurymachus, great. And… I don’t believe we’ve met?”

Antinous’ swords dropped as he fought to smother the heat rising within him. His stupid soulmate was going to be his undoing. As of the present moment, Eurymachus would also bear some of the blame.

He scowled at the suitor in question. “Gods, are you trying to get yourself stabbed?”

His eyes slid to the man beside him. A fellow suitor whom he vaguely recognized, both taller and broader than Eurymachus and himself. That wasn’t really what’d caught his attention, though. His voice took up a hint of incredulousness before he could stop himself. “Are you guys holding hands?”

Telemachus made a delighted noise from beside him. “Aww, Eurymachus, so you do have a soul!”

The newcomer flushed, hand flexing as though to pull away. “Well, that’s—“

Eurymachus kept an iron grip, keeping his partner (?) squarely in place. He rolled his eyes, mouth curving testily. “Ha-ha, very funny—is it illegal to have interests now? Goodness.”

He’d known Eurymachus had a soulmate, but he’d always just assumed they’d yet to meet. After all, the man never really spoke of them or expressed much of a desire for romance. Despite being well aware he was throwing stones in a glass house, Antinous couldn’t resist the chance to make fun of him.

He smirked. “Well I’m super interested in hearing about how you and your boyfriend came to be.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who just accepted down boy from a man half his size, and—“ Eurymachus cut himself off. “You know what, we’ll finish this later. No time.”

It was always risky getting in an argument with Eurymachus; there was a large chance it ended poorly for the other side. This was one such circumstance. He was definitely going to look back on this and be crushed under the weight of his own embarassment.

Telemachus cocked his head, traces of someting almost smug in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Eurymachus’ plus one glanced over his shoulder once again. He’d been doing that a lot, alongside the nervous tugging on his partner’s hand. “Uh, they’re catching up.”

Antinous craned his neck, trying to see behind the wall of their bodies. “Who?”

“Do you fuckers have no common sense?” Antinous nearly tipped over as Eurymachus shoved past him, making a break for the blinding lush of the gardens with the other suitor close behind him. “Run first, ask questions later!”

“Oh, shit,” Telemachus whispered from his side, voice dull with dismay. “They weren’t kidding.”

There was a small group of men at the other side of the courtyard. Antinous made direct eye contact with the presumed leader, and those weren’t suitors, they were—guards?

He recognized that face. Someone from years back, some name starting with an ‘N’, and that didn’t fucking matter because he was holding a spear and he wasn’t the only one.

The man smiled almost knowingly. Nikolaos. And then the men charged.

Antinous chucked one of the swords back to Telemachus who caught it deftly, launching into a sprint in the same direction Eurymachus had disappeared off to. His pulse pounded in his ears as he made a sharp right to veer between tall bushes. His only solace came from the sound of the little wolf’s footsteps close behind them, though he could tell they were staggered and worn.

“Antinous!” he yelped from close behind him. “They’re going to—“

He whirled around the fastest he ever had, catching a glimpse of Telemachus’ panicked face before he was hauled back through the crevice Antinous had just made it through. He lunged for him, grasping wildly for an arm or something but coming up with only air.

He cursed loudly, shoving back through the leaves only to be met with—

He gasped, something hitting him with force in the stomach. It felt like a dull pain, knocking the wind out of him and forcing a grunt from his lips. The edges of his vision began to gray, and sound began to fade as he could only vaguely make out the movements around him.

Gods, why wasn’t his body moving the way he wanted it to? When had his weapon slipped from his hand?

Telemachus was yelling about something, thrashing wildly in the guards’ grasp with a feralness he’d only witnessed once before. Nevertheless, he appeared helpless against multiple larger and stronger opponents. Fucking guards. He wanted to make them take their filthy hands off of him, but he couldn’t move.

His sword was on the ground. No, not his sword—that was Telemachus’, lying some feet away from him. Who knew where his own had gone. A shame, seriously. If he only had his sword. Then he could do something more than just stand there, watching dizzily as the world blurred around him.

It sounded almost like someone was begging. Telemachus. He was repeating Antinous’ name over and over, though he couldn’t imagine why. He wasn’t the one in danger, he was…

He looked down. There was something sticking out of his stomach. It was the hilt of something long and intricately crafted—a weapon, presumably—and it was sticking out of him.

Ah. So this was why he felt so paralyzed.

But this was a good idea, actually. A spear. Double-sided, maybe? It could help Telemachus fend off larger groups in the future… far better than a sword, anyway. He should make one for him. Later, when he could see straight and had his head on right, but—

Oh, shit. He might be dying.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered, knees giving out beneath him.

He fell to the grass, hands coming up to numbly stifle the blood. Or what he assumed was blood. It felt warm and wet and sticky and gross, and he was sort of impaled at the moment, so that would be the logical conclusion.

“Please,” he heard Telemachus say, “please—“

“‘M okay,” he slurred, swaying slightly. “I’ll… see you when I wake up… okay?”

Something was said. He couldn’t even hope to understand what it was. His eyes slid closed against his will, the world darkening around him and pain rupturing into hot lava. He didn’t make another sound as he crumpled, flowers crushed beneath him.

The air filled with static. There was a persistent buzz between his ears, like his brain itself was struggling to make connection with the world around him. His stomach hurt. It burned like hell, possibly the worst thing he’d ever felt, but he found himself unable to move or speak another word.

He’d better not be dying. That was the last thing he thought before falling down, down, drowning in darkness and—

Relief.

He felt dazed when he awoke, his surroundings still but a hazy mess of colors, shapes, and lines. The lights felt too bright and the shadows too dark. His head hurt. It was impossibly disorienting.

Strangely enough, his body felt impossibly lightweight. His limbs didn’t feel heavy or fatigued, but rather like feathers carried on the wind or dandelion seeds fluttering amidst a breeze. That burning pain in his abdomen had all but disappeared, and it was then he realized he hadn’t been roused at all.

Antinous blinked blearily, still trying to adjust to reality—or rathe whatever brand of reality this dream might present. He startled, breath hitching as his eyes rose to meet Telemachus’ face above his own.

“Oh,” he said, and his voice sounded slightly raspy. “Hi.”

His soulmate seemed to relax completely at the sound of his voice. He smiled, fragile and far from enough to conceal the worry underneath. “Hi.”

It took Antinous a whole seperate few beats to realize his head was being cushioned by the little wolf’s lap. He’d sort of just assumed the comfort was being provided by that weird flower dreamscape they’d encountered before. Turned out it was just the legs of his beloved.

He was too far gone to feel embarassed about that.

“What happened?” he asked, not even bothering to lift his head. Life was too short. It was only getting shorter.

Telemachus didn’t seem to mind, though his face quickly grew grim. “You got stabbed and some guards took you away. No clue where to.”

Antinous frowned. “Took me away? And where are you?”

“Uh.” His smile grew somehow more strained. “In jail? Kind of.”

His heart plummeted. “What?”

“Not jail, more like… solitary confinement.” He shrugged, making a clear effort to remain unaffected. “It’s not so bad; they’re not hurting me or anything. They say they’re going to release me soon.”

Antinous squeezed his eyes shut. “Gods above. How long has it been?”

“Five days, or so they say.”

“Five!?” He shot upwards, just barely avoiding smacking Telemachus’ chin with his forehead. He twisted his torso, forcing them face to face. “Are you okay? I’ve been out all this time?”

Another shrug. “If you don’t know, neither do I. And I’m fine, for the record. Isolated and annoyed and seriously tearing my hair out fretting over you and my mother, but fine. I’m surprised I could reach you; I’ve been sleeping a ton, you know, hoping for a dream like this.”

The queen. His organs lurched unpleasantly once more. “And your mother? Is she safe?”

Telemachus bit his lip and averted his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Gods.”

“I know.”

His hands clenched forcefully, and Antinous carefully took them into his own hands. They stayed like that, hands overlapping until the little wolf’s fingers loosened and his nails stopped digging into his skin.

His bottom lip quivered, but other than that, his face remained impassive. “I’m keeping faith, though. They say they’re negotiating with her—you know, for my freedom. And I don’t see what reason they’d have to lie, so…”

He shrugged for the third time, blinking fast. “I mean, I have to believe them. I’ve no other choice.”

Antinous took a deep, shaky breath. Five days. So much could happen in five days, much of it nothing short of horrible, but Telemachus was right. Falling into despair and pessimism did nothing for them. And if the guards really were going to release him soon, then…

“She’ll be alright.” He sounded a lot more sure than he felt. “And that goes for you, too. You’re both strong. Resilient.”

“But what about you?” Telemachus scowled, hands flipping to hold tight onto Antinous’ own. “They won’t tell me where you are. I didn’t even know if you were alive until now. They stabbed you and they wouldn’t let me heal you for so long and I thought you were—“

“Telemachus.” He brought their hands up between them. “Look. I’m right here. I’m alive because of you.”

The man swallowed roughly. “But it’s not real, is it.”

“Maybe not.” He pressed a kiss to the backs of their knuckles and overlapping fingers, chaste and fleeting as the night. “It’ll have to do, though. Until we see each other again.”

“It’s lonely here,” Telemachus whispered, staring at him with something akin to desperation or wonder. Possibly both. “It’s dark nearly all the time and the guards barely speak to me. And I know it’s stupid but I’m just so afraid to wake up. I was missing you when I was awake and even when I wasn’t, and I couldn’t hear your voice or thoughts even when I really tried. I’m scared and it’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he murmured, “and I know you are. But that’s five days done, isn’t it?”

“I can’t take five more.”

“You can.” He squeezed Telemachus’ hand, soft and pliant under his own. “You will. And if it ever gets to be too much, you think of me and I’ll be thinking of you. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

He could already feel them beginning to slip away from each other. He could feel the ground beneath them sliding, their bodies once so warm against each other growing cold and distant. He tightened his hold even further, refusing to let the dream end so soon.

“Telemachus.”

“Yes,” he snapped, abrupt and angry but not hateful. His hands were shaking. “However long it takes.”

His heart surged as the landscape continued to deteriorate. Gods, and so maybe it wasn’t good in the long run, but who could refuse a feeling like this? How could he possibly turn his back on someone who needed this feeling so badly? When he needed it so badly?

“I know we said just friends,” Antinous sputtered, words coming out rushed and frenzied as their hands began to forcibly seperate, “but friends can say I love you too, right?”

“I’ll love you no matter what we are,” Telemachus breathed. “Wait for me.”

The anger was gone, replaced with something grim that rhymed with defeat but did not imitate it. He was too strong to stand down. The world might not know it, but Antinous certainly did. He knew it instinctively, not like faith but like fact, primally from his core in a way none other could possibly claim to.

He opened his mouth. To respond, to scream for him to come back, to press a kiss to his lips or forehead for what was quite possibly the last time, even if only in dreamland. Who knew.

Not him nor any other man, though perhaps that was by design. Some things humans simply weren’t meant to digest, and he supposed they never would.

With a nausea inducing swirl and violent lurch, Antinous found himself jolting awake in the real world. A much darker place, dank and freezing with the added bonus of a persistent pain throbbing in his stomach.

A face loomed over him, and it was certainly not that of Telemachus. It was utterly unsurprising and managed to disappoint him all the same.

Eurymachus glared down at him. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to finally wake up and grace us with his sentience.”

And, because he had just been practically a dead man for nearly a full week and still felt intensely emotional about all that’d happened, Antinous did the unthinkable. He sat up as fast as he could, ignoring the awful cramping and pain in his stomach, and hugged his annoying bitch of a best friend the hardest he possibly could.

So what if he was feeling sentimental? Maybe he was just now realizing how wrong he’d been. How loved he actually was and how deeply he felt it for others.

Eurymachus let out a surprised noise as Antinous smashed his face into his chest, hands coming up to awkwardly pat him on the back.

“There… there?” He chuckled in a way that sounded blatantly confused. “I didn’t even know you were capable of getting cuddly like, ever—and now you’re making me feel like an asshole for that opener.”

“You are an asshole.” Antinous let him go, squinting in the darkness to find the other figure, sitting on the other side of them. “You. I forgot your name but I don’t care. I’m in a good mood.”

The other suitor made a similarly confused noise like a fish out of water as Antinous hugged him aggressively. He, too, settled for a rhythm of bewildered back patting before finally being released.

“It’s Amphinomus.” Eurymachus sounded distinctly amused. “Did that spear get you in the brain or something too? This is getting freaky.”

“Let him be,” Amphinomus chided, and his voice was mellow in a way that felt almost comforting. “It’s good that he’s moving around. Is your pain feeling a bit more tolerable?”

Antinous gazed down at his stomach for the first time. There was a bandage wrapped tight around the lower half of his torso, stained a burnt brownish color with old blood. It definitely did hurt—sitting up had felt particularly gruesome—but not to the extent that he couldn’t push through the pain. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or simply his high threshold for pain doing him a favor.

He looked up then, eyes at last adjusting to the dim atmosphere. It looked like… a dungeon, more than likely. The ground was cold, flat stone and it was a relatively large space, considering. That said, he could still see every wall from where he sat even with the low visibility. That included the bars, evenly spaced and secure looking on one side.

Great. If Telemachus was sitting in solitary confinement, this was definitely just plain old prison. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel surprised.

“It is,” he confirmed at last. Not by much, but it certainly wasn’t exruciating the way it had been the last time he’d been conscious, and he would take what he could get. “Nice of them to bandage it.”

“All the work of our lovely resident caretaker,” Eurymachus announced with a pride that was actually a little sweet. “Credit where credit is due.”

“It’s nothing,” Amphinomus said quickly. Seemed he was the modest type. “It already wasn’t so bad by the time we arrived. Prince Telemachus did most of the work, really—“

“Ah, be careful what you say, my love. The ‘T’ word tends to get him all worked up and doe eyed. Like clockwork, but more annoying.”

“Shut up.”

“You can’t silence the truth.”

While Eurymachus was possibly (read: definitely) correct, Antinous would have to be posessed, sedated, or both to ever publically concur with such an assessment. And, while he couldn’t silence the truth, he could certainly mute the speaker.

Which was what he would have done had he not been struck with a sudden realization. He blinked, leaning in slightly to look at Eurymachus’ face a little closer. He had to squint to make sure he was seeing things right through the stifling sheet of darkness. Once he grew more assured, his eyebrows scrunched with concern.

“Nevermind that.” He pinned him with a critical look. “What the hell happened to your face?”

Eurymachus’ smug smile faltered. There was what appeared to be a faded burn scar that certainly hadn’t been there marring his cheek.

“Well,” he drew out the word far longer than necessary, glancing experimentally at Amphinomus. “Let’s just say they didn’t appreciate me trying to break out of here.”

The other suitor winced and did a spectacularly poor job of hiding it.

Antinous looked between them, face setting before pinning his friend with a critical stare. “Eurymachus.”

”What?“

“You know what. Did they actually burn you?”

Eurymachus kept his mouth firmly shut and Antinous had never heard a silence so loud. Anger gripped him and he looked accusingly at Amphinomus.

“Did they?” he asked, though he already knew.

Amphinomus nodded solemnly. “Not just his face.”

“Alright, Amphinomus, he didn’t need to know all of that.” Eurymachus folded his arms across his chest, mouth twitching into a frown. “Yes, they did, and no, don’t ask to see the evidence. They’re only scars now. And, before you ask, they are just as ugly as you’d imagine. Possibly more.”

“Gods above.” He felt increasingly sick as the initial rage left him. “Are you okay? No—why the fuck would they do that?”

Eurymachus shrugged, and Antinous could tell by the tension in his face that he was working hard at feigning indifference. “An example, I suppose. We’re not the only guys in here.”

This just kept getting worse. “What?”

“They’re locking up all the passive suitors,” Amphinomus cut in, his knee nudging Eurymachus’ as if in quiet support. “Anyone and everyone who won’t go along with their plan.”

“We escaped the guards after you and our favorite princess got caught,” Eurymachus added, voice still uncharacteristically flat. “Didn’t even realize what’d happened until I went looking for the both of you and you were nowhere to be found. We went back to the banquet hall, and you’ll never guess who was leading a rally.”

Antinous sighed, fearful apprehension settling thick in his stomach. This time, the awful feeling radiating through him wasn’t only the throbbing of his wound. “Who?”

“Agathinos.”

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, allowing his head to fall back and thump hard against the wall behind him.

Amphinomus nodded sympathetically, face somber. “He has quite the following now, ever since you’ve made yourself scarce.”

So it was his fault. Of course. It always seemed to come back to him, and what was worse was having no one else to blame for his misfortune. If he could go back in time, he’d smack himself in the face for even considering starting this nonsense. “How’d he even survive that? Is he some kind of fucking mutant?”

“I know you’re new to this soulmate thing,” Eurymachus said testily, “but you’re not the only one benefitting from soulbond healing abilities.”

Antinous paused. “Oh. Right.”

Maybe he was genuinely no more than a monumental dumbass because he’d never even stopped to consider that unfortunate side effect prior to now. Damn the fates and their stupid magical romances. That and the nonsensical healing process, which—no, actually, that was the only thing saving his life right now. He just wished it wasn’t equal across the board.

Hypocritical, certainly, but he couldn’t feel too bad about it when the lives of his soulmate and himself were hanging in the balance. And it was all because of some gods-damned healing.

He truly pitied whoever had that man as a soulmate. His pity died as he considered that they’d probably healed him of their own free will, so…

Whatever. The both of them could rot in the deepest, dankest parts of Tartarus for the rest of eternity. Assuming they even got there, but doing so would require a soul and the presence of such a thing was… debatable. At best.

Eurymachus made a low, irritated noise. “Anyway, we got the hell out of there. Woke up in the middle of the night to a bunch of guards, they kidnapped us, we got dropped off here. We just so happened to get put in the same cell as you, so—lucky break, I guess. A day or so passed, I tried to escape, failed, went through a little hardship for the sake of keeping things interesting, and the rest is history.”

Amphinomus nodded once more, silently confirming the story. “I’m worried for the royal family. Now that it’s only the worst of the worst upstairs…”

“Upstairs?” Antinous interrupted. He wasn’t ready nor willing to think of just what fate might befall the crown at the moment, instead choosing to occupy himself with less damning information. “We’re below the palace?”

“I… think so?” Amphinomus frowned uncertainly. “Well, I don’t know, I just thought…”

Antinous glanced around them. Between the low light and plain environment of flat ground, gritty walls, and what looked like a mound of blankets on the floor, there wasn’t much to go off of.

He looked back to the other suitor. “Thought what? Something you recognize?”

“Well, no.” The man appeared to flush, though it was difficult to tell. “I just… the architecture. Before we got moved to this cell, we were in a room similar to this, but the walls were rounded. And that’s weird for a dungeon, unless it’s below a sector that’s also rounded.”

“Ah,” Antinous breathed, “the suitors’ chambers.”

“I figured we must’ve been just below them,” Amphinomus murmured, softspoken as ever. “And this area… I can’t be sure, but I recall there being a leak some time ago in the far corner. I know because I stepped in something wet near there, so—we’re maybe near some sort of washroom, or perhaps the kitchens? Something with water.”

He smiled slightly, something hopeful sparking in his blood. “Sounds about right.”

Eurymachus poked him lightly in the side. “See? Maybe you should say what’s on your mind more often. And what are you smiling about?”

He closed his eyes, mapping the castle in his head. Each path he’d taken, trailing close behind Telemachus, winding and curving. Each room, each turn and nook and cranny alongside every dead end. The suitors’ chambers, the kitchen, they were fairly close to each other, he could practically see himself tracing that path back, so…

His eyes opened. “I think I know where we are.”

“Oh?” Eurymachus cocked his head, knocking his and Amphinomus’ skulls lightly together. “Do tell.”

Their little display was very cute, and that sort of annoyed him. Perhaps he was simply jealous that they both had their respective soulmates mere inches away while his was… well, who knew where. He guessed he ought to count his blessings that his soulmate was even still in the mortal realm, though. It was a wonder how Telemachus continued to evade death even in the most dire of circumstances.

He decided not to dwell on that. The anxiety he experienced just thinking ‘death’ and ‘Telemachus’ in the same sentence might kill him before anyone else got the chance to try their luck.

“Below the kitchens, obviously, but that’s not the important part.” He looked around. “I feel it’s a little late to be asking this, but are there guards nearby?”

“Changing shifts,” Eurymachus said. “We have another few minutes at least, possibly more. Spit it out.”

“Okay, okay.”

He hushed his voice anyway, beckoning them to huddle closer together. Their bodies formed a tiny triangle, shoulders and legs pressing together tightly. Much better. Safer.

Or maybe he just needed the comfort of somebody’s touch because his body felt like it was moments away from caving in. The sadness was almost deafening, and he couldn’t tell how much of it was Telemachus and how much was the product of his own grief.

Either way. He was anxious and panicked and missing his… lover? Friend, soulmate, partner, his person. He’d asked Antinous to wait for him, but he would do more than just wait. He was getting them out of here. Somehow, someway, and impossible as it may seem, he would do it.

It wasn’t a matter of deciding or attempting, it was simply something he had to do. A task he would suceed in. After all, they’d made a promise, one he fully intended on seeing through. The remnants of lavender petals crushed against his bandage were proof enough.

“There’s a door,” he whispered, making an effort to maintain the image in his mind. “It’s right behind the kitchens. I never knew where it went because it seemed like it should lead straight into a wall, but now I’m thinking it could be leading to a stairway down.”

“Must be some sort of key,” Eurymachus pressed his lips firmly together, deep in thought. “Doubt they’d keep it unlocked. Think a guard would have it?”

“Maybe. Hopefully. We just have to find a good target and convince them to hand it over.”

“And how would we do that?” The question was asked quietly, Amphinomus’ expression laced heavily with apprehension.

Antinous bit his lip. How indeed. They didn’t exactly have the tools for a proper bargain, with neither the money nor status to make a deal profitable for the other party. He stared down at himself. The bandage. The blood. The desperate need to get out of this shithole and see Telemachus again that coursed through his veins like fire.

The light from a lantern outside their cell flickered, sending a brief cast of warmth into the room. His skin glistened momentarily, the light catching on the curve and ridge of his stomach. Bronze skin, smooth like pearls.

The guard sat down somewhere he couldn’t see, but the light of the lantern behind what appeared to be a chair leg remained. It lit up the back of his calf, just barely glowing beneath his chin. From what he could tell of his features unchanged by shadow, he looked young.

Gullible.

It was really that simple.

“I’ll tell you when I get the chance,” he muttered, under his breath and barely there.

Eurymachus eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity but didn’t ask further questions. Good. The only way this was going to work out was if they refrained from asking too many questions. Some things just had to come naturally.

Their cell lapsed into a heavy silence. Armed with nothing better to do, Antinous leaned against the cell wall, fingers working idly to twist and untwist his hair. It was almost like weaving, he thought as the strands wound around nothing and across his fingers. How ironic.

He didn’t know how much time passed before the next shift began. He knew he was impossibly hungry and faint in the head—Amphinomus had regrettably informed him that meals were both irregular and dissatisfying—but not much more than that.

The fact that the dungeons stayed the same no matter how much or little time passed, which was to say dark and cold, was disorienting. He hated the slightly moldy smell in the air and the utter boredom of having nothing to do. Worse than the boredom was the tendency to dig himself into a pit of worry that came with it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Telemachus, his mother, and all the awful things that could be going on at the surface. The doubt ate away at him, worming into his heart and mind before making a permanent home for itself. He wanted it gone, but he also knew that wasn’t happening.

The last of the waiting was spent with his eyes closed, tracing the outlines of Telemachus’ face on the insides of his eyelids. It felt obsessive, but it kept him sane… ish. And entertained to a certain degree, or maybe that was just him fooling himself.

He guessed only he could be the judge of that. Sanity was relative, anyway.

Amphinomus was incredibly uncomfortable with their plan. That much he could tell, but the man had made no arguments against it so it’d be carried out nevertheless. The man probably recognized that it was both necessary and the easiest to pull off considering their circumstances. That, or he was simply too shy to openly protest.

Antinous wished he could say he cared more, but that was Eurymachus’ job. His only concern at the moment was getting the three of them out of this prison in a timely manner with minimal injury. A high order, but anything was possible.

Not anything. There was a sizeable amount of unattainable things in this life, but he had to confess his perspective had been shifted by what he’d witnessed here in the castle. He was still far from an optimist, but perhaps there was some room for hope in his heart.

And, quite possibly for the very first time since his very first breath, Antinous truly believed Aphrodite when she said there was no such thing as loveless.

He held out his hand for a blanket. Amphinomus passed it over carefully, scooting to the other side of the cell as quietly as possible. He laid down, back facing them.

Not just so he didn’t have to witness the spectacle they were about to create, though that was certainly part of the appeal. His position provided the perfect vantage point for watching anyone who passed by their cell. Useful, of course. Efficiency was key when it came to operations such as this.

Antinous looked at Eurymachus and raised an eyebrow. All good?

The other man shrugged. He was a lot more withdrawn, and that was a lot more worrying than it had any right to be. Granted, Antinous was sure part of it was the stress and strain of their imprisonment, but the torture he’d been subjected to certainly played a part. Not that Eurymachus would ever admit it, which made offering any sense of comfort much harder, but that was a problem for another day.

As loudly as possible, Antinous began to fiddle with his chiton. It was already unpinned and draped around his waist as a result of the recently patched puncture wound, but that didn’t really matter. It was the sound of fabric rustling that was the real focus.

Eurymachus acted similarly, though his fingers truly were undoing the top of his chiton, tugging it downwards to drape low. He took the chance to survey the man’s torso for the scars he absolutely knew he was hiding, and found…

Burns. Small, mostly, but littered all across his skin. Some looked gnarlier than others, more leathery and peeling ever so slightly, but the overall effect was the same. His jaw ticked as he imagined how long it must’ve taken for all of those to be administered. The blistering, swelling pain those wounds must’ve brought.

He was no stranger to burns. Being the son of a blacksmith and the target of his ire more often than not gave easy access to such injuries. His scorch marks were long faded by now, small and insignificant as it had been years. Still, if he looked closely enough, his skin still bore some discoloration.

The injuries faded. The memories did not, nor the pain they brought on. Sometimes he almost felt it, the stinging and searing like a phantom flame lapping against him. Antinous wondered how Eurymachus was dealing with it. If he was dealing with it at all.

Noticing his staring and obvious disapproval, Eurymachus only smirked at him. He waggled his eyebrows comically, scooting closer to Antinous at an almost leisurely pace.

“Top or bottom?” he asked, amusement blatant even in his hushed tone.

Antinous rolled his eyes. It was really no laughing matter, but dealing with Eurymachus tended to make it difficult to take anything seriously. “Your choice.”

“Bet.”

Eurymachus crawled on top of him, draping the blanket deftly over their bodies. Antinous propped himself up on his elbows, bringing their faces close enough together to look ambiguous.

“Not a word of this outside this room,” he hissed almost imperceptibly into Eurymachus’ ear.

The other suitor only snickered. “Scared your boyfriend will break up with you if he finds out I’m your secret mistress?”

He sighed, exhausted and starving and quite infuriated to having willingly subjected himself to this. Even if it was a last ditch effort and certainly not his preferred outcome. “Just kiss your fucking hand so we can get this over with.”

Eurymachus let out a hearty exhale just shy of a laugh but, shockingly enough, ended up obeying. Glancing briefly over his shoulder, he brought the back of his hand to his mouth and began to make the most lewd mock-kissing noises Antinous had ever heard.

Gods. He felt sorry for the people in the cells near to them. He felt even sorrier for himself at the thought of anyone possibly getting off to this, but sacrifices had to be made.

Swallowing his mortification for the greater good, Antinous made a low sound that could be interpreted as one of pleasure, jostling his leg to give the effect of movement and shifting fabric. Eurymachus paused for a moment, face reddening as he struggled not to burst into laughter. Antinous shot him a look he could only hope screamed murderous intent.

The suitor got it together with difficulty, resuming his half of the commotion. A bit of Antinous’ soul withered with each passing second this went on, but he got the feeling they wouldn’t be waiting much longer. He breathed out shakily, air catching in his throat with the tiniest of gasps that he prayed would be taken the entirely wrong way, and—

A light flickered on and sharp clanging noise legitimately caught him by surprise, so Antinous didn’t have to fake the panicked jump of his shoulders. Eurymachus smoothly flipped his hand around, giving the impression of someone stifling their moans in the midst of intercourse rather than a man violently making out with his own hand.

Antinous hastily grabbed him by the waist, hauling him downwards so he was lying fully on top of him. He had to bite back an actual groan of pain as Eurymachus’ elbow dug momentarily into the skin beside his wound. The suitor mouthed a swift and silent apology around his palm, shifting his arm discreetly into a more comfortable location.

They sat up together, not exactly having to act out the messy untangling of limbs as they were blinded by the beam of a lantern. Antinous’ eyes at last cleared of the blotchy blur, opening a little wider when he came to see the more familiar face of Nikolaos rather than the man from before.

His grip tightened on both the handle of the lantern and the hilt of the spear in his other hand. Antinous found himself nearly cringing just at the sight of the acursed weapon, but he had bigger problems. Benefits? He supposed that, in this circumstance, it was a bit of both.

Nikolaos’ eyes seemed to skip right over Eurymachus, heading straight for him. His gaze raked, hungry and greedy in a way that made Antinous’ skin crawl, over his bare torso and then up to his face. Something twitched. It was the most minute of changes—he couldn’t even tell you what exactly it was if he tried—but Antinous felt the shift in his very bones.

It was scary. But, out of everyone in this place, Nikolaos was certainly more likely to have what they needed than some random low ranking guard. And this had been what he was looking for, anyway. Lust.

It was the easiest possible thing to exploit. In this case, with the way Nikolaos was looking at him like food instead of like a person, it was certainly succeeding. On the other hand, he might be throwing himself into quite a bit more peril than he would’ve liked. A deeper hole had been dug than he’d intended, and now it was high time for him to scrabble his way out of it.

Oh, well. He’d always been something of an underdog when it came to adversity and, besides. It was too late for turning back now. Far too late.

He could only pray to Aphrodite that nothing seriously heinous came from this interaction. That said, the heavy resentment in the guard’s gaze sold him an entirely seperate promise. He guessed, in a strange way, that this was probably karma.

His lip curled into something more venomous than a simple scowl. “Knock it off.”

And then he turned and walked away.

For what felt like an eternity and a half, the only movement in their cell was that of chests rising and falling. Antinous felt almost lightheaded, and it was then he realized he’d been holding his breath. He inhaled, exhaled, cautiously nudged Eurymachus to the side so he could sit up. “All clear?”

Amphinomus was next to straighten. “Yes,” he whispered, and his voice sounded distinctly awkward. “No one’s in our wing.”

Eurymachus dragged himself to a sitting position between them, hand darting out to claim the cover for himself. He wrapped it meticulously around his torso and the concentrated movement did not go unnoticed. Antinous didn’t call him out on it, if only because his wound was stinging worse than ever and it was already taking all of his energy and self control not to cry out.

“Pretty good performance, if I do say so myself.” Eurymachus was talking, tone unapologetically mordant. “The creepy guard was really the cherry on top. All setup, no payoff, all for some guy to seriously fuck you with his eyes like a butcher before a lamb with a fetish for all things pointy—great plan, this one.”

“It did look sinister,” Amphinomus lamented, more considerate but no less doubtful. “I mean, he had a knife, and I don’t think…”

“Really?” Now it was Antinous’ turn to feign indifference. “All the better, then. Looked like progress to me.”

He could feel the heaviness of two pairs of eyes boring into both sides of his skull. He sighed, resoundly ignoring the fire in his abdomen and the ache of hunger in his bones and the clear disapproval from every angle.

He laid back down, arms settling like a makeshift pillow behind his head. The emptiness of his stomach hurt. He could barely think ahead with the combination of his injuries and the lack of meaningful substance in his stomach, but strategy was the only thing that could possibly save them.

He’d been here before. Just like old times, hungry and in pain but forging on nevertheless. It was the only way to survive. For the first fourteen years of his life, it was all he’d known.

“Might wanna temper the staring,” he said, words directed mainly at Eurymachus but eyes aimed pointedly up at the ceiling. “Aren’t you scared your boyfriend will break up with you if he finds out I’m your secret mistress?”

An unimpressed snort. Worse than being easily and obviously seen through was the hand resting momentarily against his shoulder, a gesture of sympathy.

“I’d tell you off for being reckless, but I get the feeling you already know that. Not only that, but you revel in it.”

He stayed conspicuously silent.

There was a rustling noise as Eurymachus took the clue and stood. The tail end of the blanket he was tangled in teased across Antinous’ face as he stepped deftly around him. Amphinomus added nothing to their pseudo-feud, only breathing softly as his partner settled beside him.

He didn’t have to look to know it. He could practically feel the comfort of their bond bouncing through the air.

Screw it. Antinous was definitely jealous. If he had to rot in jail, he could at least do it with someone he loved at his side. Not that he didn’t appreciate the company he had, but it wasn’t anywhere near the same thing.

Then again, perhaps Telemachus’ absence from the room was a good thing. After all, he’d certainly be welcoming a verbal beatdown if he dared explain what he was planning to do to him. Blessed by a goddess or not, calculated or not, offering yourself up like a lamb to slaughter was never going to be a good idea. In fact, the risk was practically the entire point.

He was fairly certain he’d escape the guards’ grasp alive. Almost one hundred percent, actually; he wouldn’t have gone through with such a plan were he not confident in that much.

Beyond that, though…?

He stared down at his stomach. Skin stretched over bone and muscle, the lines on either side of his hip bones sloping like a ‘V’ under the folds of the fabric he was adorned with.

He was always in control when it came to sexual encounters. It was how he liked it, usually—at least when it came to casual stuff. And, if he was being frank, casual stuff was all he’d ever partaken in.

That said, this wasn’t that. He was going to have to play helpless if he wanted any chance at luring the guards into his trap. If they wanted his body, he would give it to them. Just enough resistance to draw interest and make the situation seem out of his control. And when they let their guard down, got just a little bit too comfortable, then—

Snap. Like a moth to a flame. And he would come out on top as he always did, only he couldn’t guarantee the remains of his virtue with him.

He closed his eyes. And now to wait, like a lamb to slaughter.

Only whose slaughter was he waiting on, exactly?

Telemachus hated it here. He hated the bland interior walls, how they were more like an enclosure than anything. They couldn’t possibly compare to the flowery green paints making up his own bedroom’s structure. His room was warm and bright, filled to the brim with collectables and things he didn’t really need but was too sentimental to truly get rid of.

His bed was large, with fluffy covers and pillows that he made the exact same way every day. The maids had once been intent on reorganizing the space, but he’d grown out of their assistance quickly and found he preferred his own methods. Unconventional and chaotic as they may be.

This bed—he was shocked he’d even been given one, really—was stiff and itchy. Not the pleasant, mild itch burned within him whenever he saw Antinous’ face these days, but something akin to grains of sand chafing against his body. He’d taken to sleeping on the floor, which the guards didn’t appreciate but couldn’t stop him from doing.

His back didn’t particularly appreciate it either, but he found that the dull ache was grounding. Each time he awoke he knew he was still there, that the world hadn’t ended and that his pride remained. All because of that stubborn pain in his spine.

It was the eigthth time he’d risen here. He wanted to cry the moment he opened his eyes and was faced with the same old scenery, if it could even be called that. It wasn’t that he expected a star to fall and his circumstances to magically change at once, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t a persistent hope.

He hadn’t dreamt of Antinous since his soulmate had been dragged from his coma three days ago. Between the man’s scattered thoughts and the nagging anxiety that followed, the pain in his stomach and the secondhand hunger that went unquenched for long periods of time, he was worried. Immensely, so worried it almost hurt.

No Athena, either. He felt almost betrayed by her absence, though he couldn’t say why. Perhaps she was busy, or helping in her own way independent of him, or perhaps she’d abandoned him completely.

Like she’d abandoned his father.

“Give me a sword,” he said to the guard standing joylessly by the broad door he was trapped behind. Gods, how he wished to run. He’d never make it, but he wished.

The man turned his sullen face to him. His voice fared no better. “Can’t.”

He hated this, too. How the guards practically refused to talk to him, even about the most trivial of things. He wished to speak, about anything, about nothing. He’d even take a conversation about the weather over this and—hell, that might be useful, actually. He hadn’t seen the sky in what felt like ages.

“You can,” he snapped, “you just don’t want to.”

The guard didn’t reply. Did no one have a personality in this place? He wanted to bicker with someone, to shoot playful insults back and forth and smile and laugh or do literally anything. Antinous had told him he could take another few days of this torture, but Telemachus wasn’t so sure. It felt neverending. It felt oppressive. It felt like he wasn’t going to see the light ever again.

“Fine,” he growled. He sounded unhinged even to himself. “You think you can keep me prisoner. Bait. And what good is dead bait, then? Shall I slam my head against this wall until the contents of my head color this floor? Wrap myself in my chiton and hang from the bedframe?”

The guard looked at him again, this time with a noticeable increase in attentiveness. “Well, that’s not necessary—“

“Isn’t it?” He was yelling now. Good. Acting a little unhinged always seemed to get the job done. “Isn’t it? I’ll rip out my nails one by one and you’ll have to listen to my screams. All day, all night. I have twenty and I can make them last. Do I look like I’m kidding to you?”

“No!” The guard seemed clearly and visibly disturbed now. “Do calm down, please.”

He lowered his voice, eerily calm. “Give me my sword, then.”

A wince. “I can’t give you a weapon.”

He simply stared at the man. He was a lot taller than Telemachus, though most people were, with sandy hair and an expression that looked distinctly unnerved. He was pretty plain, otherwise. Unemotive, but even the most unbothered of people couldn’t outrun his gaze. Not when he didn’t want them to.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, a muscle under his eye twitching violently. He didn’t exactly have to fake insanity; this week had been spent thinking of his mother and all the grotesque things that could be happening to her. Murder. Torture. Rape. Perhaps someone new had already claimed the throne. Perhaps his suffering was for nothing after all.

“Ten seconds,” he murmured. “This room may be empty but I’m astoundingly creative. I’m sure I can figure out some way to end my life.”

It was a bluff. To an extent, anyway. Killing himself really was pretty simple, even in a place like this. He’d spent a lot of time pondering different methods during his lowest moments here, eyeing sheets and water and heights he could jump from and pretty much anything with an edge.

He wasn’t proud of it. The thoughts filled him with shame when they arrived, whispering insistently for him to just do what he wanted so badly to do.

Obviously he hadn’t. He didn’t plan on it either, not with his mother’s livelihood hanging in the balance and his promise to Antinous still ringing in his ears. He belonged on this earth. He was going to stay here.

This stupid guard didn’t know that, though. And, if Telemachus had it his way, he was never going to. Not without a shadow of doubt lurking ever present behind him.

The man’s eyes darted around the room. “You wouldn’t.”

“Ten.”

“You can’t.”

“Seven.”

“Are you actually—?”

“Three.”

“Hey!” The guard threw up his hands in exasperated panic. “Okay, okay, stop. I’ll request it, okay? A dull sword. A super dull sword. Will you please knock it off now?”

He would not. He wouldn’t “knock it off” until he was a free man and knew for sure that his mother was safe and sound.

He smiled sweetly. “Yes, thank you.”

The guard turned away, muttering under his breath about lunatics or something of the like. Telemachus could hardly say he cared. While the guard slipped halfway out the door, conversing quietly with the ones stationed outside—and it better be about his sword, too, or so help him gods—he moved back to his perch beside the bed.

He should run or at least try, but he knew it’d be a futile effort in the end. More than that, he worried it might violate whatever rules the suitors and guards had set for his mother. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally inspire them to get violent with her. If they hadn’t already.

He sank to the floor, staring down at his legs with a numb sort of dismay. At least once he got the stupid sword he could practice drills. He’d been working out the best he could while still being cooped up in this fucking detention center, but without the space to really run or the materials to practice his swordplay, he was stuck doing push ups and planks until he physically couldn’t.

He welcomed the pain. There was something almost therapeutic about the way his limbs crumbled beneath him, giving out and folding painfully into themselves. It left his arms shaking terribly, body heavy and head faint, but it was better than the familiar lull of depression.

Athena would be proud. If she were here, he thought bitterly and immediately regretted. He had no right to lay claim to a deity. She could spend her time how she wished. It was really none of his business. She didn’t owe him anything.

But she’d told him she’d stay. She’d promised, and now she’d upped and left. Just like everyone tended to, and that was just…

Antinous. He redirected his thoughts, for losing himself in daydreams about the man whose face he wouldn’t forget no matter how long they were kept apart was far better than the alternative. Besides, he’d been told to think of him. Who was Telemachus to deny such an order?

He closed his eyes, head falling back against the foot of the bed. If he really let his mind wander and go wild, he could almost feel his soulmate’s presence. Maybe he was crazy, or maybe he was simply attuned to the many quirks of their bond.

He used to simply recall the one dream they’d shared. The sensation of their lips slotting together, his hand gliding across Antinous’ skin—it was all very easy to get lost in. But even that got old when revisited dozens of times per day, so he had to switch it up every once in a while. More than once in a while, but if he said the true number, he’d just look crazy.

What he thought of now wasn’t as sensual. He imagined them holding hands, sitting next to each other, across from each other, reading in the library and bumping elbows every time they turned a page.

He remembered what he’d said. I already did. Would he fall in love with him, and Antinous already had. He wanted to hear it again as more than just a memory. He wanted the real words, the real sounds vibrating against his skin and in the air between them.

He opened his eyes. Tears were spilling freely down his cheeks, and he despised himself for even allowing such a thing to happen.

Telemachus blinked several times, clearing his vision to look dismally up at the guard before him. He was standing awkwardly, blunt sword in outstretched hand. It looked light. Too light to kill anyone with.

Primly, he brushed off his chiton and stood wobbily to his feet. He accepted the sword, smiling serenely. “Much obliged.”

The guard looked concerned. He didn’t care. The room fell into silence as he raised the blade and eased into position. Ten slashes per angle, eighty each—however many sets it took for him to pass out from exhaustion.

He started from one, sword moving mindlessly.

Patience was key.

Antinous didn’t scream when he was awoken in the middle of… the night, presumably.

He didn’t kick or fight back as a hand gripped his wrist, dragging him painfully to his feet. Something in his shoulder popped and, for a terrifying moment, he thought something might’ve dislocated.

The momentary shock and burn was quickly replaced by the familiar one low down in his torso. That was manageable, and he bit his tongue to keep from making a single sound. If he panicked, he doomed himself.

The sudden contact was terrifying enough. His body shook despite itself in fear, and he focused on breathing and remembering that this wasn’t his home, it wasn’t his father, and he was no longer but a feeble teenager. Child. Adolescent.

This, he thought, might be worse.

His head was wrenched to the side. His eyes met Nikolaos’, glinting ever so slightly in the dark alongside a hint of teeth. It was almost animalistic, the way his mouth curled. Or perhaps that was just his instinct, screaming for him to run or fight only for his body to stay still.

He’d wanted this. It was the plan. He had to do it. He had to, he had to, he…

“Not a word,” the guard hissed, and yanked him hard toward the cell door.

Antinous caught Eurymachus’ eye, opened just barely in the dark as he stumbled over him and after his attacker. There was a brief moment of eye contact. It said nothing and everything. It was the beginning of the end or the start of their ascent to freedom. He guessed only time would tell.

The cell door swung shut behind them. Or, it should have, if not for Antinous’ foot blocking it just slightly. The door swayed. It did not shut.

He was dragged into the dark then, unceremonious and cruel. The grip on his wrist burned like hot iron and he breathed, breathed, breathed. Now or never.

Like a lamb to slaughter.

Chapter Text

Aphrodite was far from thrilled at having been summoned to the gates of Olympus. It was nice in some ways to return to her homeland—she’d been spending the majority of her time mingling amongst humans as of late—but the downsides far outweighed the good.

The other gods were… well. She couldn’t say she got along well with many of them. For the most part, they were fickle and petty and closed off. She found it difficult to get along with such characters, and as such vastly preferred the mortal realm. Their openness, their bold emotions and melodrama—it gave her power. A power none of her equals could possibly provide.

She also fretted to leave her dearest protege alone for long. She knew what sort of messes he tended to dig himself into when left to his own devices, and that wasn’t even calling into question that soulbond he was still desperately trying to supress.

She should be more annoyed. Did he even understand how much trouble his refusal to get over himself was causing her? She’d made an unbreakable vow, after all. Did he really expect her to not go through with such a thing? She certainly wasn’t about to have her spot in Olympus revoked over such an easily solvable problem.

If Antinous were any other stupid, stubborn mortal, she would’ve placed a curse on him out of sheer frustration by now. That said, she’d grown quite attached to this human, and the thought never came close to seriously crossing her mind. And, besides. Progress had been made. Slow progress, yes, but they had exchanged “I love you”s, so—

She sighed to herself. If she were to get technical about it, then they really hadn’t. And what child of hers didn’t know how to say “I love you” to their significant other? She must’ve gone incredibly wrong somewhere if this was the level of emotionally impaired her dearest student still was.

Nevermind that; there was nothing to be done about it now. He’d get there eventually. The fates had wound his and Telemachus’ strings together, and now they had no choice but to join or to break. She really shouldn’t be stressing so much, anyway. If she wasn’t careful, she’d wind up with wrinkles.

Aphrodite reclined, half listening but mostly daydreaming as Zeus went on about some game. To indulge a prideful man such as himself in any sort of competition was foolish at best and life-altering at worst, but considering who the challenger was…

She finally focused her gaze, eyes wandering from the King of the Gods’ signature bravado down to the stadium below. There were faces big and small lining the seats, the chatter almost deafening. The peanut gallery held almost no significance, though, not compared to the lone goddess placed center stage.

Athena. She stood, tall and broad shouldered, unfaltering even beneath her father’s gaze. She’d always been prideful, so there were no surprises there, but it was certainly different to see her taking a stand for Odysseus of all people.

Aphrodite’s lip curled slightly. She had her reservations about that man. His actions were questionable at best and stupid at worst, and that wasn’t even taking into account the hundreds, thousands of broken hearts he’d left in his wake.

Six hundred men. Six hundred families’ soulbonds irreversably shattered, six hundred siblings, children, friends, and family that would never see their loved ones again. She’s be lying if she said there wasn’t resentment there. How could she not? The fool had given up so many lives, and for what? Where was he now? Certainly not reunited with his family.

She could respect his determination and acknowledge the intense love and reverence he held for the wife and son he’d left behind, but that didn’t mean she could let go of his transgressions so easily. And, besides. This went deeper than slights against her domain. It was a matter of safety, of cost and gain.

“What do you say?” Zeus’ voice rumbled like thunder across the stadium to an uproar of cheers.

Aphrodite didn’t understand what the point of asking them was; if the King of the Gods had ordered it, then it would be done. She made a noncomittal noise in response, vanishing like smoke into thin air the moment the first round began. If Athena wished to convince her, she could take the time to find her in her own quarters.

It didn’t take long. Of course it didn’t—Apollo and Hephaestus barely had any stake in this game. Whether Odysseus emerged from this contest a free man or not really had nothing to do with them. On the contrary, Aphrodite would not be so easily swayed.

The door to the bedroom creaked open, walls bathed in hues of red, white, and gold washed out by the pale light streaming in from the outdoors. Aphrodite raised a hand, beckoning casually for Athena to come forth.

The wisdom goddess made her way further into the room, swinging the door shut behind her with a well placed nudge of her polearm. She paused several feet from Aphrodite’s bed, eyes sweeping across the room in careful surveillance. She’d always been so analytical. Almost eerily so, and maybe to her own detriment. Despite those all-seeing eyes, Athena seemed quite prone to missing what was right in front of her.

Aphrodite sat up slowly, hair pooling in a shimmering spiral behind her. The mattress dipped as she shifted into a more comfortable position, legs folding elegantly beneath the sheets.

She raised a perfectly crafted brow. “Well? Do you plan on convincing me or merely enjoying my company?”

Athena sighed deeply. The stiffness in her shoulders released slightly as her helmet disintegrated away into nothing. “It was forseen by the prophet. There was no way those men would’ve gotten home to their families.”

Aphrodite bristled. “Do you think that’s my problem with your favored ‘Warrior of the Mind’? That he doomed his crew to Zeus and left his mother to die alone?”

“Do you mean to tell me it isn’t?”

She scoffed, tossing her hair and leaving a swirl of petals in her wake. “Really, Athena? For someone so smart, you sure can act dumb.”

Her brows furrowed, features sharpening. “Careful.”

“Relax, love, I don’t mean to offend.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, leaning back into her haven of pillows and pearls. The jewels, sparkled at the contact, her power surging around them as Athena’s emotions intensified. She wasn’t angry, but she was certainly apprehensive. Frustrated. Guilty, even, and wasn’t that something?

“Lay off your powers.” Athena’s grip tightened around her spear. “Do you see me tossing you into Quick Thought?”

Aphrodite allowed her hold to fall away, aura fading out into nothingness once more. “Not like it would do anything, but fine. I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Thanks.” Her tone was cutting, tongue flicking like acid. “Care to tell me what your problem is, then, if not the crew?”

“A broken heart can heal, darling.” Aphrodite stood from her bed, crossing the room leisurely to stand by her hall of mirrors. She flicked one, sending the reflection spinning and a chorus of light tinkling as the frames bumped against each other. She smiled grimly. “Sure, those soulmates will be in a living hell until they learn to live with half a bond, but it’s not an irreparable malady.”

“So?” Athena had followed her, standing awkwardly by her side. She was gazing into one of the mirrors as though it’d reveal something entirely new, something beyond her blurry reflection.

It would, and it did. Not that the wisdom goddess could see it. These mirrors were a private affair, one made for Aphrodite and Aphrodite’s access only. She saw through the smoke and mirrors, could peer through the glass and see sparks of love and connection. The state of soulbonds, how they grew and withered. It was more like a map than a mirror, really, and it had far more uses than a simple reflection.

Now, she gazed down at a lone island. There were two hearts beating there, though one was looking far away. A man and a woman, standing in seperate worlds of loneliness on the same sandy beach. She washed away the image as quickly as it’d come.

“So,” she said, tilting her head to gaze up at Athena from the corner of her eye, “I can get over that betrayal, repugnant as it may be. I want him to reunite with his soulmate and son, dear. I’m a love goddess. I want his love to prevail.”

“Then prevail,” she urged, and her voice was almost pleading. “Let him go, Aphrodite. Please.”

“Do you understand what you are asking of me?” Irritation gripped her, turning her body to face Athena almost without her permission. “He is a monster, dear. A monster of your creation, but a monster all the same. He will return home and he will kill all who stand in his way for that is how it is written, and I cannot allow such a thing to occur.”

Athena’s face fell ever so slightly. “So that’s what this is.”

“Yes.” Aphrodite folded her arms across her chest. “He’ll kill him, dear. You know this and so do I.”

“Prophecies can be subverted.”

“And does this seem like one such prophecy?” The frustration was building now, simmering at her fingertips and singing the ends of her hair. “All has come true up to now. Kill all the suitors for love. What about that sounds ambiguous to you?”

“Don’t act as though you know nothing of the intricacies of fate.” Athena frowned. “Their bond is proof enough. It was eroding, meant to fade into nothing and stay that way. But it’s been healed, has it not? Things change. We must change with them.”

“Not if it risks his life. What then? Will Odysseus kill my disciple and cripple his own child secondhand? Is that the change you wish to roll the dice with?”

“I don’t want him dead.” Athena was getting heated now, her mouth curling with barely retained fury. “I care about him too, you know. Certainly not as much as you or Telemachus, but I do. He is the soulmate of my friend and I would not propose Odysseus’ freedom if I believed it would be his undoing.”

Aphrodite felt her heart soften a little at that. “Your friend, hm?”

“Yes.” Athena’s jaw was set. “My friend. I understand I am not known for my emotions or connections, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

She stared at the wisdom goddess for a few long moments. She looked genuine—of course she was, for Athena was nothing if not honest. Her worries, of course, weren’t completely quelled. She’d worked so hard to bring Antinous to his soulmate and bring them together, so to put all that in jeopardy was… well, it wasn’t her first choice.

That said, Aphrodite couldn’t deny Athena’s words. The fates worked in mysterious ways. It certainly wouldn’t be first nor the last time they shifted unexpectedly. There was nobody, human or deity, that could accurately predict their wiles. She knew this well.

And, besides. She knew that, if Antinous had a say in any of this, he’d want Odysseus freed. If not for the man himself then for his son, even if it came at his own expense. If she was being frank, especially if it came at his own expense.

Maybe someday she’d successfully undo the harm she’d imprinted on him. It hadn’t been her intention, no, but it was her responsibility. A second project, so to speak.

That day wasn’t today. Maybe not anyday close to now, but she wouldn’t rest until she saw it done. She was a love goddess, after all. No child of hers could live a life without loving themself first.

“I know,” Aphrodite conceded. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”

Athena shrugged slightly, her face unchanging. “I know. Your verdict, then?”

“I need your word, first. Swear that, if he is released, you will ensure no harm comes to Antinous via his hand.”

The other goddess returned Aphrodite’s stare with a matching intensity. Her voice didn’t so much as wobble as she stated, “I swear it on the River Styx.”

“Living dangerously, I see.” Aphrodite watched on approvingly as the air took on an almost golden glow, burning brightly around them before fading into only a slight sparkle, like the remains of fairydust.

“Not dangerously.” Athena’s helmet rematerialized in an instant, concealing her eyes and expression once more. “I know what I’m doing. Your friend will live.”

“Our friend,” she agreed, mouth turning upwards at the corners. “Release him.”

The other goddess nodded firmly, turning back towards the door. Aphrodite hesitated for a moment watching her wings ripple, then raised her hand. “And, dear?”

She didn’t turn. “Yes?”

“Tell Ares what I’ve said. He’ll fall in line.”

Athena made a soft noise, something between a scoff and a snort. That was all the goodbye Aphrodite got before she disappeared in a flurry of feathers, off to meet her next challenger.

Aphrodite turned, settling back onto her bed. Another unbreakable vow. Even with her vast knowledge of and connection to love, she was sometimes still amazed the lengths people would go to protect it. Even Athena, the war goddess who hardly ever cracked a smile, was weak to its whims.

There was a reason her power was so strong. Her domain was all encompassing, addictive, the one thing humans—and deities—could never truly run from.

It was all a little poetic, if the tiniest bit sad.

“Wait,” he hissed.

Antinous stumbled slightly, his heel slamming into something hard. He winced, biting his tongue to keep from making a sound and cringing when something clattered nearby.

His back collided with the corner of… a table, most likely. The edge dug into his back sharply like a nail into a groove, and if there was a bright side to all this, it was that his puncture wound might become the least of his worries.

Not likely. The pain in his back and the rapidly rising panic in his chest had nothing on the pulsing, stabbing ache in his stomach. He might throw up all over this guy if he kept up with the shoving and—maybe he should consider that. He could—

The grip on his arm tightened and then twisted. He let out a distressed gasp before he could stop himself, his shoulder contorting into an angle it certainly should not and the pain searing white hot as he heard something crack—

“Fuck, man!” His free hand scrabbled helplessly against Nikolaos’ chest, nails clawing desperately at the fabric. “I’m willing, I’m compliant, what more do you want from—“

His shoulder popped. He shrieked, eyes blurring with tears that were wholly unwelcome from the agony. He swore he felt something tear, this awful stretching feeling and a pain that spread slowly throughout his arm before radiating like a shockwave across his body. It wasn’t the first time he’d had his shoulder ripped from its socket but, gods, he’d really thought he’d escaped, he’d really thought—

His breathing was coming fast and ragged. Gods, no, he didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t panic, he wouldn’t, and he most certainly would not cry because he’d never give this asshole the satisfaction and he was not back home, he was not, he was not, he—

Antinous was shoved back onto the table. He vaguely registered his arm dangling limply beside him, the dull pain surging, the wound on his stomach protesting and it was excruciating and everything was too much and Nikolaos was saying something, his hands were on him, why were his hands on him, touching him, gripping and tearing at his clothes like vipers when he hated being touched and he just wanted to go home and why was he talking so fucking much when Antinous just wanted to—

He slung his free arm, the one he could move and wasn’t consumed by flame, around Nikolaos’ neck and kissed him. He wanted to vomit. He was going to be sick. Slut, useless, loveless, whore—

Their tongues intermingled. He tasted nothing like Telemachus, not flowers and sunlight but something completely other. It was disgusting when their teeth clashed and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching as a hand pressed down onto his bare waist. It was disgusting and so he angled the kiss deeper like a useless, loveless, no good fucking—

“Stop talking,” he gasped as he pulled away, his leg hooking around Nikolaos’ waist and drawing them closer together. There was something pressing against him and he was sort of terrified but this was what he’d wanted so suck it up you stupid— “Stop talking and fuck me like a real man, or I’ll find someone else.”

The guard had the audacity to laugh into his mouth and, oh, if Antinous only had both arms and a blade. He’d gut him. He’d carve his manhood from where it lay and scoop out his organs one by one. He’d slice his tongue straight down the middle, leaving him to choke on his blood and tears while he wished for someone, anyone to come. But they wouldn’t, would they? Just like no one was coming for Antinous. He’d be left to save himself all by his lonesome, dig himself from the pit he’d created and have only himself to blame.

He was going to be sick.

His arm screamed in protest at the change in position as Nikolaos yanked at his hair, dragging him from the table and onto the floor. His knees fared no better as they collided with the ground and his neck strained at the angle it was twisted at.

“Bite me,” the man sneered, hold tightening on his hair, “and I’ll break your other arm and then some.”

Antinous had always liked his hair. It was proving to be something of a liability now, and his face was pressed up against Nikolaos’ inner thigh and not just his inner thigh and, oh, he could spit. His head hurt. His abdomen hurt, his arm hurt, his back and his neck and more than anything his chest because he was nothing more than a loser, usless, freak, whore—

His right wrist, his good wrist, was clutched in Nikolaos grasp. He swivelled it as much as he could, trying and failing to stay calm and willing and compliant in the face of the hardness pressing against him.

“My hand,” he said, and his voice barely shook. “I need my hand.”

His mouth curled. “You think I’m stupid, whore?”

You didn’t pay me, he thought but didn’t say because he wanted this and it would be done. He had to be smart, he had to be exactly who people expected him to be because that was the only way he’d gotten this far to begin with. He wasn’t some anxious virgin, he could do it, he could.

“It’s better,” he murmured, teasing his nose against his pelvis and he would not be sick. Smile just the slightest bit, alluring, look up the way you know they like but don’t get too cocky because you know they like the struggle, you know— “I promise you I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How about you work with what you have first?” Nikolaos sounded impatient, his hold on him tightening to a point far past discomfort. “Open, boy.”

He did. He didn’t want to, but he did, and he kept his eyes open if only because he didn’t want to look cowardly and because he needed this to work. He needed it to be good, he needed his hand back, he needed to stay calm and to get out of here but gods, it was difficult.

His heart was racing, his mind whirling even faster. He needed it to stop. Gods, how long was this going to fucking take? He could barely breathe. He felt choked and stifled and in some ways he was but the way these stupid walls were closing in on him certainly wasn’t literal.

If he really focused, he could ignore the increasing strain on his jaw and pretend he wasn’t doing what he was because if he acknowledged it he might cry, and that was exactly what he didn’t need. He could focus on his arm which still hurt like hell and the stab wound which was equally agonizing, and then he could pretend he wasn’t there.

It felt like floating. A weightlessness in his limbs, a disconnection to himself that might’ve been frightening otherwise but was now only comforting. But he had to stay. He had to focus because if he didn’t, all this would be for nothing and he’d miss his only chance.

His chance. The grip on his hair was slackening, and the man above him sighed. The fingers around his wrist, loosened, loosened…

Home stretch. He could do it. Antinous brought up his hand, cradling the guard’s hip lightly and running it up his side. He was still wearing his chiton, hadn’t yet bothered to strip of the belt and other folds of fabric. Idiot.

His fingers toyed with the leather strap, wandering. The pad of his thumb prushed back something cold, something sharp. It stung where his skin had been split but, good gods, he’d never felt anything so good. He could cry. He was crying, actually, but that might’ve been the lack of oxygen. And his own weakness.

He blinked up at Nikolaos. He wasn’t paying attention, head tilted back almost leisurely in the midst of pleasure. Fucking idiot. He hated him.

He hated that his body and mouth barely even felt like his anymore, how he felt grotesque from the inside out, but his hands were still his. They belonged to him. Everything belonged to him, even as his fingers shook wildly and he might never be the same again. Loveless, useless, slut, slut, slut—

He was himself. Still. The only person he’d ever fucking belong to was Telemachus and that was because he wanted to, so he’d be damned if one stupid blowjob stood between his one true love and himself, so—

Antinous bit down. He ground his teeth together the hardest he ever had in his life, his right hand driving the point of Nikolaos’ blade into his side. The man screamed. It was like music.

Blood flooded his mouth. The coppery taste would’ve been disgusting but he’d already tasted worse. Antinous wrenched away from the man as he convulsed, face drawn in agony.

He stood, quickly, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his mouth or the excess smeared on his chin. He advanced on Nikolaos, legs and hand shaking and shoulder in the most excruciating agony he’d ever experienced but unfaltering.

He didn’t spare a singe moment for his mutilated fucking dick or the terror in the guard’s eyes before stabbing him straight in the chest. He drove the knife in, tore it out. Blood streamed down. He was sick, he was awful, a monster, monster, monster—

It was like his arm was moving without permission. Antinous didn’t make a single sound as he drove the blade in once more, then yanked it out. And he did that, again and again, the only thing keeping Nikolaos’ body upright the force of the blade shoving him back into the wall again and again and again and…

The knife fell from his hand. He stared, horrified as the body slid down the wall into a heap. Dead. A gash made of a dozen smaller gashes gaping in its chest and bleeding profusely through the fabric of his chiton.

Antinous looked down at his hand. Was that his, the one covered in blood and trembling so intensely it nearly shook the room? Was that him? A murderer, monster, useless, loveless, whore, slut, whore, monster, monster, father.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

And then he blacked out like a switch had clicked in his head, his body crumpling to the floor like a corpse or executioner with barely so much as a gasp or twitch.

Eurymachus heard a crash from somewhere next door. He didn’t know exactly where that guard had taken Antinous, but he certainly got the gist of what they were doing there. If he hadn’t before, the startled end of a shriek certainly filled in the blanks.

His skin erupted with goosebumps. Had that been what the other prisoners had heard when he’d been brought in? He hadn’t been aware the walls of this place were so thin. If he’d known, he would’ve kept the screaming to a minimum. Sure, his skin was being quite literally scorched from his skin, but he certainly hadn’t meant to subject Amphinomus to the dreary details of his little escapade’s consequences like that.

His eyes met Amphinomus’ across the cell. The man looked positively terrified. “Are they—“

“Yes,” Eurymachus said stiffly, standing on legs that felt made of lead. “No time for gawking, he won’t appreciate your pity. C’mon.”

“But—“

“Amphinomus, he will be fine. We have a job to do.”

Honestly, Eurymachus wasn’t so sure about that one. You didn’t exactly have to be a philosopher to figure out that rape was kinda a big deal and sort of a huge threat, and any old dumbass could arrive at the conclusion that Antinous had sort of signed himself up for a close call. Or just a plain old call—who knew, really?

He’d seemed confident. He always seemed confident, though Eurymachus was growing more and more sure that was simply part of his facade and a tool to aid in his rise in power. It’d worked, to be fair, but confidence and charisma weren’t going to save him here.

Then again, he had to have a plan. Antinous was occasionally reckless, yes, but he was also never not strategizing. And if he’d decided to go through with such a dangerous course of action, there had to be some merit to his schemes. Certainly he wouldn’t just let this happen. Right?

Who was he even convincing anymore? He felt unnerved and afraid and, well, neither of those things were like him at all. But Amphinomus certainly wasn’t going to be a beacon of assurance—he was probably the most flappable man in this whole building, after all. And while he meant that with love and kindness, that also meant that Eurymachus had to be the one to keep his head on straight.

Which was… fine. He could handle a little mortal peril from time to time. Granted, this was more than a little and more frequent than just occasionally, but he was too deep in things now to reconsider his life choices at this point. They had a plan to execute, a friend to save, and the little prince was seriously going to kick his ass if he didn’t deal with this promptly, so…

Shit. On one hand, Eurymachus had technically held up his side of the deal. On the other, now they had Agathinos to deal with, and who knew if the prince’s mother was even still a free woman? Someone must’ve turned on him. A couple someones for things to have gone this sideways, but that was a problem for the surface.

Fuck this. It wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Not enough to give the money he’d been awarded back, no, but guilty. He was getting soft, obviously. That was Antinous’ fault, too, as he and his dumb boyfriend seemed dead set on acting too lovestruck to live. It was a little cute. Mostly sickening, but their pseudo-relationship had forced him to start tolerating the prince. And once he’d started tolerating him, Eurymachus had quickly gotten a little too invested in being helpful.

In all fairness, he wasn’t a completely selfless lunatic. His meddling did have a purpose and an end goal, but he couldn’t deny that he was becoming a bit more forthcoming than he’d intended with his assistance. Though, he supposed it hardly mattered now. The queen wasn’t choosing a new king, and he’d made a deal. Sleazy as he may admittedly be, a contract was a contract. Years of bullshit aside, he still retained some semblance of honor.

Eurymachus pushed experimentally at their cell door. It eased open with a long, low creak.

“That’s one problem down, then.” He squinted through the darkness beyond their cell, trying to make out any hint of a guard or adversary in the hallway.

Amphinomus’ shadow cast over him, curving like a safety net over his figure. “Let me.”

Eurymachus glanced sideways at him. “You sure?”

His jaw set. Cutie. “I don’t want you to aggravate your injuries. Besides, nobody listens to me around here.”

“Ah, well.” He smiled sympathetically. “I’d listen to you anytime, pretty boy.”

Even without proper lighting, he could tell Amphinomus’ face was flushing. “Be serious.”

“I am.” There was another dull thud. Any guise of peace there might’ve been was shattered, and Eurymachus nudged the door a little further open. “After you, then. Don’t die. Or, y’know, at least put up a decent fight. I won’t judge.”

Amphinomus stepped out into the hall. The world seemed to falter for a moment as though warning Eurymachus not to let him go, but the moment he allowed himself to get that sentimental was the moment he knew he’d truly lost the plot.

Sure, they were soulmates, but that’d never meant much to him. And he could recognize that he’d never been the greatest universe-certified partner, and he knew well of his shortcomings, but… well. That was just who he was. And he wasn’t super interested in changing that foundation.

Yes, he was arrogant and greedy and something of a sneak, and yes, he knew this. He knew one day he’d have to slow down and accept the path the fates had laid for him, it just… wasn’t today. He had goals, plans, and no time to waste on a love story that was going to come true either way.

That said.

“I—“

Their voices began and ended at the exact same time.

Eurymachus sighed, a type of fluttering embarassment he’d never really felt before stirring up in his stomach. “Don’t let me stop you, sunshine.”

“Oh, no,” Amphinomus stuttered all too quickly. “We’re just wasting time and, I mean, it wasn’t really all that important anyways, so—“

“It’s important to me.”

They stared at each other. Time ticked. Amphinomus took a tentative step further into the hallway, further away from him. “I was just… uh. Well, I—I wanted to say that, um—“

“I love you too,” Eurymachus supplied. Casual. Conversational, even.

“Yeah,” Amphinomus agreed, quickly and most certainly not casually. Eurymachus could practically feel his heart pounding through their bond. “That.”

He smiled and knew he was done for. “Cool.”

His soulmate nodded rigidly and fled down the hall without another word. He turned a corner and disappeared, leaving Eurymachus all alone on their block. He sighed once more. He’d have time to think about this later. Or not, but the more time he spent standing around like an idiot directly contributed to their likelihood of certain death and not in the right direction, so…

He went in the opposite direction of Amphinomus, following a trail he vaguely recognized from his first attempt at freedom down to a different wing of the dungeon. This section was larger with more cells than just their one, louder and packed with more men.

Suitors.

He held his breath as he entered a new walkway. He crept between two rows of cells, trailed by eyes of suitors as conversations faltered and quieted. Watching. Waiting. A silent question of what and why hovered over them all, a long moment of suspense as Eurymachus came up behind an unsuspecting guard and—

He smacked him as hard as he could manage in the back of the head. The man made a stunned sort of sound, swaying slightly before collapsing to the floor. The dungeon was silent after the echo of the thud receded, leaving the simple breeze of dozens of breaths behind.

Eurymachus kicked him one last time in the stomach. Just to be sure. And to let off some steam, obviously, but he could pretend it was both.

“Alright everybody, listen up,” he said, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to go unnoticed outside of their bubble. “It’s jailbreak time. You see a hot guy about yea high holding a key? Follow his instruction; he’s here to get you the hell out of here.”

There was a ripple of whispers and voices. Eurymachus sighed, snapping his fingers the same way he might snap at a dog. This was clearly not the first nor the last time he’d be using this metaphor in reference to these stupid men.

“Excitable lot, aren’t you?” He barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t get too excited yet. You show your face in these walls after this day and you’re practically asking to get dispatched. Agathinos and the rest of his posse had this organized, so what makes you think he’ll continue to let his competition walk free? You realize locking us up was only the first step, right? He won’t stop until he’s king and all of us are dead.”

The murmurs stopped. He smiled, grimly mocking of their situation. Their being the operative word, because there was no way in hell Agathinos was scaring him off this easily. Not until Eurymachus’ deal was done. It wouldn’t hurt to get a couple dozen other suitors out the way, though.

“Luckily for you, my friend Amphinomus is going to lead you all out of here. He knows the way, so keep your mouths shut and your feet moving and you’ll be fine. Return to your hometown or wherever it is you came from—anywhere is better than here. There’s a war starting in this castle. I suggest you do what you can to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.”

He didn’t stick around to find out the group consensus. He figured any suitor worth keeping alive would put two and two together fast enough to realize his proposition was reasonable. Yes, he was asking them to withdraw their suits, but he was also saving their lives. Was that the intention? Not necessarily, but sometimes actions spoke louder than words. The ends more than justified the means.

And either way, his fellow prisoners weren’t really his main concern. He stepped over the guard he’d knocked out’s body, retracing his steps up toward where he’d first heard Antinous’ commotion from. The noise had long since died and that worried him far more than the slamming and crashing. Either someone had given in or someone was dead. And in this case, he wasn’t even certain which outcome would be worse.

When he found it, he knew it. Eurymachus stopped just outside a door, tall and unassuming and most certainly locked. He stood very still, listening for any sign of life.

Silence.

Eerie.

He glanced around. Any guards should be sufficiently distracted—their wide open cell door should’ve done the trick—and any stragglers would be more likely to run into Amphinomus than himself. Still, some caution was better than none.

He waited a few moments more. Once it became clear that nothing was changing and that nothing would, he jiggled the doorknob experimentally. It was well made, just how you’d expect of something found in a literal castle. He could try picking it, but he was low on time and patience. It wasn’t like he had the materials for the job, anyway.

Eurymachus stepped back, gave one final glance to his surroundings, then drove his heel into the wood just beside its lock. There was a crack, louder than he’d hoped but quieter than he’d expected, and his foot went straight through.

He reached through the makeshift opening, groping around clumsily before finally finding the knob and turning it. The door creaked open.

Cautiously, he inched into the room, pulling the mauled door shut behind him. It looked to be a… storage room, maybe? Something like that, dark and cluttered and almost completely still.

The keyword here being almost.

There was a body on the floor. Two bodies, actually, but one was sitting up and hugging his knees to his chest while the other simply was. Completely immobile, slumped against a wall. A glint of light on metal caught Eurymachus’ eye, alerting him to the knife that was smeared in dark liquid. Blood, obviously.

Dead. Obviously.

He returned his eyes to Antinous. He had a blank sort of look on his face, just sort of staring. Not at the guard, but into space itself. It was sort of creepy.

He nearly jumped as he took in the next detail. Only one arm was wrapped around his knees, the other dangling uselessly beside him. The shoulder looked fucked up, to say the least. He was certain the bone shouldn’t be sticking out like that, and it certainly shouldn’t be that color, and it was definitely dislocated.

There was blood on his face. His mouth? Arms, too, but that wasn’t so surprising. It didn’t look like his own, so that was… good?

His stomach dipped unpleasantly. Eurymachus’ eyes swept over his friend who was trembling very slightly, though maybe that was just the cold. There were scrapes and scratches and the old bandage from when he’d been stabbed, but nothing else new or apparent. It seemed only his arm had been seriously injured, but he was also practically naked, so perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.

Stupid, stupid man. Eurymachus was possibly more stupid for allowing him to go through with this plan at all.

“Antinous,” he said quietly, moving very slightly to approach. “Are you all there?”

No response. Predictable, yes. Concerning, also yes.

“Antinous,” he repeated, a little louder this time. “Hello?”

Still nothing, though the man was shaking harder now. Eurymachus sighed, seriously resenting his past self for not thinking to bring a blanket or something. He turned, eyes scowering the reckage around them for any useful fabric or clothing. He was going to freeze like this.

Several seconds more of looking rewarded him with Antinous’ cloak, crumpled and partially hidden beneath a mess of shattered… glass? Gods, what the fuck was going on with this place? Did no one here understand the principle of cleanliness?

“I’m gonna put this over you,” he narrated, unsure if Antinous was even really listening but speaking all the same. “And now I’m gonna move this… guy. Just drag him a little. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Antinous’ eyes were tracking him now. That was something, he supposed. Even if those eyes looked glazed and unseeing and he still wasn’t saying anything or moving. Progress was progress.

He pushed the guard a little further from the door and his friend, scowling down at him. Bitch. Eurymachus hoped his stay in the underworld was both torturous and agonizing. Even death was a mercy such a being frankly did not deserve, but he wasn’t exactly Hades so he didn’t exactly get a say.

He stooped, picking up the bloody knife and depositing it on the table behind them. He wished to hold onto it, but he got the feeling that attempting to shake Antinous from whatever this was would be damn near impossible whilst holding a knife. The knife he’d probaby—definitely—just killed that man with.

And to think he’d believed he was in deep before all this.

“Where am I?”

Eurymachus jumped, cursing at the unexpected voice. He turned faster than he’d intended and Antinous flinched hard in response, eyes wide and still slightly hazy.

“Oh, shit.” He put his hands up, trying to calm his racing heart and pinched nerves. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to speak, you—you’re still in the dungeons.”

“Oh.” Antinous’ voice sounded distinctly raspy, the sound bordering on painful. Eurymachus cringed at the implications. “I… I don’t…”

The man looked down at himself. He looked back to Eurymachus and his eyes looked glassy.

Good gods. Eurymacus wasn’t fucking Amphinomus, empathy and understanding were two things he seriously sucked at and he hated when people cried in front of him. He already felt ill at this whole display and he was certainly doomed to fail hard at any attempt at comfort.

“It’s over,” he said brittlely. “You did it, man. We’re escaping and it’s over.”

“Okay,” Antinous mumbled. His eyes were going unfocused again.

“Hey.” Eurymachus snapped his fingers, left then right. The other man squinted at him, eyes following his movements blearily. “You can’t keep spacing out on me. Don’t you wanna go see Telemachus?”

Antinous blinked at him. And then he started crying.

Well, shit. That was supposed to be his trump card.

“Why are you crying?” The sheer amount of desperation and stress packed into those four words would’ve been embarassing in any other circumstance. “C’mon, man. He’s gonna bite my face off if he finds out I made you cry. Please tell me those are happy tears.”

“I can’t,” Antinous croaked, hurriedly swiping away the moisture. “It’s—fuck. Fuck! Just stop talking for a minute!”

Eurymachus slammed his mouth shut. He could do that. And then he couldn’t, opening his mouth to protest before watching in horror as Antinous gripped his shoulder and jerked it back into place.

He barely made a sound, only a restrained grunt. Eurymachus gawked at him. “Oh my gods why the fuck would you do that?”

“It’s—“ he coughed hard, spitting blood from his mouth, “fine, Eurymachus.”

This just kept getting worse. “Antinous—“

He made a guttural noise, almost like a growl. “I don’t want to hear it. My clothes.”

“Okay,” he said, and he’d never felt so helpless. “Here. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Antinous took the bundle, his fingers still noticeably quivering and his relocated arm still weak and unhelpful at his side. His face looked twisted in pain but he didn’t protest as he began to redress. Or attempt to, anyway.

Eurymachus didn’t say anything. What could he say, really? He only watched in a grim silence, searching for further damage and finding nothing. Still, he couldn’t shake the doubt. It didn’t seem like things had gotten the chance to go so far, but…

He reached back for the table, subtly slipping the knife into the folds of his clothing while Antinous was turned the othrr way. Growing tired of watching his stubborn struggle, he redid the clasp Antinous couldn’t reach, offering his arm for stabilization but being resoundly ignored. Fine. He could respect his bodily autonomy—just thinking the words angered him—but he had to draw the line somewhere.

Eurymachus grabbed him lightly by the fabric near his hip, preventing him from tipping as they took their first steps toward the exit. “Slow.”

“Don’t touch me,” Antinous snapped, his tone sharper and icier than he’d ever heard.

He cringed, stepping away slightly. That was on him. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” His voice was stilted. “A little warning would be nice.”

Eurymachus pushed open the door, looking up and down the hall thoroughly before stepping out into the dark. “Gotcha. Won’t happen again, boss.”

“I’m nobody’s boss.” Antinous winced as he made his way though the doorframe. “Where are we going?”

“No clue.”

Antinous gave him a deadpan look. The silent scrutiny was enough to assure Eurymachus that the he was still himself, even stewing in layers of pain and just coming out of an experience that had to be at least a little traumatic, and that was enough for him.

He grinned slightly. Pissing him off was a surefire way to take his mind off things, at least for a while. “What?”

“You—“ Antinous sighed, shook his head. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you.”

“To an extent. I know the way out of here and nothing beyond that. I do know someone who does, though.”

They turned a corner. Eurymachus opened his mouth to respond but fell silent as the first hints of light beyond that of a simple lantern shone through cracks in a trapdoor above them. He glanced at Antinous, then at the ladder leading up to the castle.

The other man chewed his lip. “A ladder.”

“Yup.” He frowned. “Seems it’s our only option.”

“Of course it is.”

“Can you do it?”

Antinous glared at him, walking up toward the first of what a fairly short stack of rungs. In this moment, though, the few feet of ladder felt like several miles worth. “Do I have a choice?”

“I mean, we could always make a prayer circle and plead for our lives instead. Y’know, just saying.”

He huffed out what sounded like the beginning of a laugh before stopping abruptly to put a hand on his side. He made a face. “Ow.”

Eurymachus felt like that had to be a serious understatement considering the state of his body, but he didn’t plan on pushing it. That he was talking at all was a miracle in and of itself, even if he sounded like gravel and rusty gears personified. The prince was going to be pissed. If he was even alive, which…

Well. He had to be, right? Even Antinous would’ve had to mention it if his soulmate literally died, stoic as he may attempt to be. Thinking about sudden soulmate death really wasn’t helping his mood though, considering. Why had he sent poor Amphinomus off again? Gods, it’d be a miracle if he didn’t keel over from the stress and pressure alone.

Antinous was moving again. His left arm still hung pathetically at his side, gravity taking its toll and leading the way, but the rest of him seemed functional. Probably. For fuck’s sake, Eurymachus wasn’t a doctor. He barely knew his left from his right some days, jeez—

“I need you to get the door,” Antinous said, his tone bordering on impatient.

Eurymachus blinked. Damn. That was… faster than he’d expected. And less gruesome sounding. Apparently nothing short of total incapacitation could stop this man, though he supposed he’d already sort of known that.

“I’m behind you,” he warned, quickly scaling halfway up the ladder and using his free arm to carefully and ever so slightly push up the door. “Is it clear?”

“Let’s see.”

Antinous pulled himself upwards, groaning audibly as half his torso disappeared into the floor above. “My arm.”

Eurymachus grabbed the forearm, delicately shifting the limb up and out of the opening and—

“Holy shit,” Antinous gasped.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, “just a little more—this is gonna hurt.”

“It already—“

Eurymachus barely dodged a kick to the face when his leg jerked, an uncontrollable twitch of pain. There was a muffled sound, something like cursing presumably from behind a stifling palm.

He winced, watching the last of Antinous disappear and clambering out swiftly behind him. The lights seemed so bright up here, and he was temporarily thrown into a blurry and disconcerting state of blindness.

He closed the door behind them, keeping a protective heel on the lid to prevent any stragglers. He squinted down at Antinous who was kneeling, arm cradled in his lap and muttering some new and unique profanities Eurymachus had never even heard of prior to that day. Perhaps it was a regional thing.

“Sorry,” he repeated, only somewhat sure of which occurrence precisely he was apologizing for. “That bad?”

“Worse,” Antinous ground out. “Way worse.”

“Look on the bright side, man. You were right.”

At that, his friend lifted his head to squint around the kitchens. It was a location Eurymachus had visited before—not for cooking, necessarily, but that was his business and his alone—though it looked much different than it had the last time he’d graced its presence.

To be fair to himself, there was a noticeable lack of cooking going on now, too. The lights were on, though, which indicated that someone had been there recently or was going to. That said, Eurymachus wasn’t even certain what time it was meant to be at the moment, either. For all they knew, it was the dead of night or just half past noon.

Antinous frowned, standing shakily and denying his assistance once more. “It’s… certainly bright.”

Eurymachus began to respond but hesitated. Something was off. This room was empty, yes, but he was getting the distinct feeling deep in his gut that it wouldn’t be for long. It was like the air itself had stilled in anticipation. He turned, eyes landing on double doors.

“Don’t panic,” he said, unsure whether Antinous could feel it too and really not wanting to trigger another period of unresponsiveness.

The man beside him startled slightly. “Well, I am now.”

“What did I just—“

The doors swung open and Eurymachus hand fell on the hilt of the knife, only to be faced with…

“Melantho,” he breathed, the hand falling away. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

“No, I don’t.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pulling the doors shut behind her and flicking the deadbolt. “Especially considering you’ve been missing our meetings. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’re already banging someone else. Also, I was in jail. And I’m a committed man now, so—“

Antinous cut in. “This is Melantho?”

Her sharp eyes wandered over to him, raking judgementally across his haggard appearance. Her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly, stance melting into a more assertive one. “And what’s it to you?”

“Antinous, meet Melantho. She’s sort of a bitch and she does it on purpose.” He turned to the maid in question who was staring at him, unimpressed. “Don’t give me that look. Melantho, meet Antinous. He’s barely just recovered his life force, so relax and be nice.”

“Sure.” Her voice was dismissive. She leaned back against the counter, arms folded firm across her chest. “Why are you here, Eurymachus? I surely hope you don’t expect me to be of use.”

“But you’re here,” he said slyly. “Not to do your job, clearly. So why? What is it you know and what’s your price to tell us?”

She was silent for a long moment, eyes flicking from Eurymachus to Antinous and then back again. At last, she sighed. “You’re lucky you were a good lay. I’d take you straight to Agathinos otherwise.”

Antinous made a strangled sort of noise. “You—“

“Relax.” Eurymachus gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re working with snakes here, man. Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth when this is the best you’ll get.”

“I suggest you listen.” Melantho’s voice was silky smooth as always. “The offer is still on the table should you stand to offend me.”

“You’re not such a lowly snitch.” He waved a hand as though brushing away the empty threat. “Does the queen know you’re this much of a sellout, though?”

“I’m sure she suspects it. In any case, there’s not much she can do about it now, is there?”

Eurymachus could practically feel the rage coming off Antinous in waves. He needed to redirect this conversation before things got messy and they lost their only chance at figuring out the prince’s location—the easy way, anyway.

“Alright, alright, no need to gloat. I’m sure you’ll get what you’re looking for—or already have. What’s the state of things?”

“She’s issued a challenge for her hand,” Melantho stated blandly. “Something about a bow. I’m sure it’s been designed with failure in mind, but it’s been keeping the men busy.”

“And?”

“Something specific you wish to know?” Her eyes glinted.

“Are they okay?” Antinous blurted. “The queen, her son, are they—?”

“They’re fine.” Melantho shrugged. “The prince was released just today, actually. I assume you expect me to show me to their new chambers.”

Eurymachus cocked his head. “They were relocated?”

“Of course. It’d be a bit stupid not to.” She scoffed lowly, shaking her head and turning her back on them. “A word of advice, though?”

He frowned. When Melantho’s tone got serious, it was a pretty good indicator that she was going to say something important. He nudged Antinous lightly, cuing him to snap out of his thoughts and listen.

“Yes?”

“If you’d like to live, don’t show your face here again.” She pushed open the door with her foot, peeking out and then beckoning lazily for them to follow. “The other suitors are placated now that they think they have a chance at the crown. But eventually they will catch on, and they will riot. This is the queen’s last chance to choose before they simply take her by force.”

She glanced back at them, face grim. “I don’t care what you do, but whether you stay or go, I suggest you evade capture by the others. They’ll kill you, and likely far worse than that. So if you decide to go off and do something reckless, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Eurymachus and Antinous exchanged a dubious look. It seemed time truly was running out for them. All of them.

“Are you going?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Antinous’ jaw set. “Never. You?”

Eurymachus sighed, tilting his head back to look at the grooves and lines of the ceiling and recall his thoughts. He’d really be better off cutting his loss and getting the hell out of there. He should run for the hills with Amphinomus in tow and do something, anything that was not this. He was practically signing his life away by staying here.

But then again. He’d sort of agreed to keep the suitors away from Penelope, and he’d sort of failed at that. It seemed only right that he finish the job and pick up the slack.

And, besides. There was absolutely no way he was leaving Antinous and Telemachus alone to fend for themselves. It wasn’t that he thought they were incapable, but Antinous was barely alive and Telemachus probably weighed a hundred pounds at most, not to mention he was still expecting an invitation to that royal wedding, so…

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he said with a smirk. “We’re in for the long haul.”

“Stupid boy,” Melantho scoffed.

Antinous made a soft disapproving sound. “That, I agree with.”

The rest of the trek was spent in a heavy silence. Three people completely submerged in three seperate worlds, minds wandering and thoughts scattered yet focused. The castle was still, an air of calmness that could only come before a particularly huge storm.

And what a storm it would be.

Chapter Text

Telemachus had still yet to see his mother. He felt he might not ever again.

On the floor of his new “bedroom”, he sat and stared at the wall. It was similar to his last holding location, fairly plain and equally boring. That said, it did have more things to fill the space. There was a small and unimpressive washroom connected to it through an even smaller door, which he was choosing to be grateful for since it was certainly more than his old place had provoided. In a corner sat a desk and chair, plus a lantern that barely worked—he knew because he’d already tried it. A shame. He could’ve at least burned something down in protest.

He recognized this room, though, at least better than the other one. It was a guest bedroom, though he couldn’t say exactly where he was. The view outside his window was pretty useless as it faced into trees rather than open space, preventing him from keeping an eye on things or getting any idea of his exact location.

That said, he wasn’t necessarily complaining. There being a window at all was shocking, though it was cramped and definitely not big enough to crawl through. Not that he intended on escaping; there was nowhere to go, after all.

That wasn’t even his biggest issue anymore. He had two problems that deserved far more of his attention at the moment. One, his mother was still somewhere away from him. The guards who’d taken him here had said she was “busy” and would see him later.

Telemachus wasn’t particularly inclined to believe that. What the hell could she be busy with at the moment that came before him? And, more than that, of her own volition? The theory swirling insistently about his brain at the moment was she was either dead somewhere and he was being lied to, or she’d already chosen a suitor to marry. He wasn’t even sure which of those outcomes would be a worse fate. And either way, it’d mean that all had been for nothing in the end. His last words to her would be stilted and cruel.

The thought made his stomach turn. It wasn’t just his thoughts messing with his body either, and that brought him straight into his second glaring problem. The one he definitely couldn’t ignore, not even when he really tried.

Two: The state of his soulmate. If he was being frank, he had no clue what the fuck they—whoever “they” was—were doing to him. What he did know was he’d been jolted from his brief sleep to quite possibly the worst pain he’d ever been subjected to, sharp and straight to his shoulderblade.

The guards had come running. He’d only just been moved at that time and only just been allowed the privacy of a room without a guard on the inside. And that’d only come after a particularly long screaming match and round of bargaining. It really hadn’t helped his case when he’d woken up screaming like that, but it wasn’t exactly his fault. No, it was the fault of…

Well. He didn’t know that, exactly. He found he was saying that more and more these days.

It hadn’t ended there, either. There was this awful, heavy weight crushing his ribcage at the time. It was pure distress and he’d felt it was choking him. He’d never felt a terror like that before, like his whole body was screaming danger and his gut instinct was to find Antinous immediately, but that obviously wasn’t an option.

So he’d panicked. Again. It was the strongest feeling of helplessness and impending doom he’d ever gone through, and it’d lasted what felt like hours. He barely even remembered what’d happened during his episode, only waking up an indiscriminate amount of time later surrounded by guards and a maid.

She’d been kind. He hardly remembered her name or her face, the ever-growing fog of anxiety still hovering over him and clouding his perception, but he remembered her gentle voice and patience.

She’d asked him if he was feeling sick. He’d said no, then no to a bunch of other questions about his overall health. Had he eaten anything in the past day, no. Drank, not really. Sleeping well, absolutely not. Any vomiting? Nausea? Poor vision?

The maid had eventually ushered the guards from the room. Maybe she could tell their presence made him uncomfortable, or maybe she simply had the same distaste for those traitorous scoundrels herself.

Who knew, really. Where her loyalties lay wasn’t especially clear to Telemachus, either.

“Here,” she’d said, and handed him some type of strange smelling liquid. “It has calming properties.”

“Will it kill me?” he’d asked dryly, taking the cup with little hesitation.

She smiled slightly, though there was little humor in the expression. “It won’t. Does tend to make you sleep like the dead, though.”

“Close enough.” He’d downed it in a single gulp.

The maid had been silent for a few long moments, looking increasingly conflicted as she watched him drink. For a second, Telemachus had wondered if that conflicted expression was confirmation that he had, in fact, been poisoned, and was, in fact, going to die. But there was a sadness in her eyes that made him reconsider.

“What’s up?” he asked, casual because he had nothing more to lose and barely had the energy to summon proper emotions. “Feeling sorry?”

She blinked, frowning in a way that harshened the soft lines of her face. “Take care of yourself, Prince Telemachus. Your mother would not want to see you mourn so soon.”

“Pity she’s not here to stop me.” He sat up further in bed. “Tell me, do you bow to those men?”

She looked at him, smoothing her apron and then glancing away. “I’m but a feeble maid and nurse. I do not have a say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Run. Somewhere, anywhere.” He gave her a tired once over. Skinny, stressed. Who wasn’t? “This is hardly your battle and you’re hardly fighting it.”

The maid was silent once more. Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath, shrugging slightly. “Maybe I will.”

“Good luck.” The words were grim but sincere in their dullness. “And thanks for the food. Even if I won’t eat it.”

She gave him a disapproving look but didn’t push it. He appreciated that in some ways. The gods only knew how starved he was for someone, anyone who understood him. Would listen to him and actually respond. It’d been far too long since he’d last had a proper conversation.

The medicine worked until it didn’t. So while the pain had long since faded to a tolerable throb, the fear remained. That, and the swirl of anger, guilt, and negativity which, while not entirely unrelated to his own emotions, was certainly being projected and inflamed by the soulbond.

Worry didn’t feel like a strong enough word to encapsulate the way he felt. Sick didn’t do it either. Not even horrified could live up to the way his nerves felt pinched and doused in hot lava with every passing moment he and Antinous were apart.

When had he become so codependent? Perhaps undiscovering loneliness had been the worst thing to ever happen to him. Now that he knew what the world was like with people by his side, he truly couldn’t grasp how he’d gone so long without it. How he was meant to do it again.

Eight days. Nine if he counted today, and Telemachus supposed that at least proved he still had some sense of self reliance. If the way things were going were any clue, he needed to start putting it to use more often. It was like he’d blinked twice and everything that’d been going semi-decently had immediately gone up in flames at his feet. Worst of all, he couldn’t shake the feeling it was at least partway his fault.

More than partway. He was meant to protect his mother and now look what he’d done. She was alone somewhere, or maybe not alone, and maybe that was worse. Surrounded by men who’d do anything to claim her in a palace filled with staff who’d do nothing to help her—it was a disaster waiting to happen.

No, scratch that. The disaster had already hit. Each passing second was just a tiny bit more damage and a higher pile of wreckage that Telemachus would no doubt be expected to clean up. Only, how could he? He wasn’t made for this. He wasn’t particularly smart or strong and he certainly wasn’t some all powerful ruler like his father, so—

There was a commotion from outside his door. For a moment, his blood ran cold, freezing instantly in his veins and sending desperate flashes of danger, danger to his brain.

He clambered to his feet, grabbing his practice sword. He’d been sharpening it in his spare time, grinding the blade against the hard rock of his windowsill. It was a dreadfully slow and irritatingly exerting process for such pitiful results, but he had achieved an edge sharp enough to cut and subtle enough to go unnoticed when a guard would come and do a sweep of the room.

He inched closer to the door, partially holding his breath. More guards? Maids? Suitors here to mutilate and mar his body until there was nothing left? A nightmare but a feasible one, so feasible that his heart began to pound tenfold. He pressed his ear to the wood. If he was going to die, he could at least be in the know about it.

There was a female voice, her sound muted and hushed through the wall. “It’s your word against mine. Take it or leave it.”

He didn’t recognize the person speaking, but it wasn’t a man and that was reason enough for him to relax slightly. Sure, some of the maids were certainly traitorous, but none had tried to kill him. Yet.

He guessed there was always a chance, though. At least it’d be a novel experience in comparison to the fairly uncreative death threats he’d been recieving for, what, a good seventh of his lifetime?

Gods above, that was sad.

There was a noise, then. A low grumble, perhaps, or simply a word or two said too gruffly to be understood. There was the sound of footsteps, only they were fading and not coming closer.

He squinted at the door as though it’d magically provide some sort of explanation. It didn’t. But this was strange, because the maids barely ever came to visit him without a good reason and never without a guard, so…

The door swung inwards and Telemachus leapt back. He raised his sword defensively, heart jamming tightly in his throat and—gawked.

“Eurymachus?” His jaw fell open. And somehow, someway, he was flooded with an almost delirious sort of joy at the sight of him. “What the fuck! You look like shit—no, how are you here?” He leaned to the side, peering nervously over his shoulder. “And where’s—“

Eurymachus grabbed him unceremoniously by the shoulder and steered him halfway inside the room, closing the door a little further behind them but not completely. His face was dead serious, complete with a mark that looked like some sort of burn decorating the side.

Telemachus shook his hand off, adrenaline fueled joy melting back into the more familiar feeling of paranoia and annoyance. “Where is he? I swear to gods if you left him behind, I’ll—“

“No!” His voice came out rushed, equally panicked sounding. “He’s here, it’s just—can you relax and listen to me?”

He paused, voice fading into nothingness. Eurymachus and panic didn’t feel like they belonged in the same sentence. That didn’t make him feel any better about the state of his soulmate, but it was difficult to feel worse and the suitor had no reason to lie, so…

He tossed the sword back onto his bed, folding his arms for stability and grounding, trying in vain to steady his pulse. “Fine, I’m listening, what?”

“He—“ Eurymachus paused, dragging a hand over his face. When he removed it, his features were taut. “I really doubt he’d want you to know this, but I feel like it’s sort of your right, so just don’t freak out, okay?”

Telemachus was freaking out in advance. His heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty and his legs were sort of shaking beneath him—though that could also be his lack of appetite shining through as well as his workout routine—but gods, he just needed him to spit it out. ”What?”

Another sigh. Eurymachus shifted from side to side on his feet. “Okay, so, we got thrown in prison—as you probably know—and we needed to come up with some way to break out, so Antinous decided it’d be a good idea to try and trick the guards into opening our cell door, but the only way he could think to do that was…”

He made several frantic hand motions. Telemachus stared at him as though he’d grown a second head. “I don’t understand, Eurymachus, can you just say it like a normal person?”

“He tempted them,” the man hissed, voice dropping low. “And I think they actually did something.”

Telemachus stomach dropped. “What?”

“Yes,” Eurymachus said, more hurried than ever. “Yes, and then I think he stabbed the guard to death—allegedly—and now he’s acting all—I don’t know, spacey? And he was being weird about seeing you and I don’t know why, but my point is you need to do something because I can’t help him and he’s in no state to do anything right now.”

“You… you…”

Horror gripped him. He couldn’t possibly be saying what Telemachus thought he was saying, right? No way. That pain, the fear he’d felt was all—

No. He was going to puke. This had been what he was trying to avoid. All this time, between his mother and himself he’d never even considered that—that—

The horror turned to fury in seconds. He felt like he was going to explode from the sheer amount of anger coursing through his veins, red hot and boiling with no outlet to relieve itself with. He wanted to scream or punch someone or both, he wanted to find that guard and—

“And you let him?” his voice was trembling. Quiet and flat and revealing nothing beyond that frustrating, persistent tremble. “You knew what he was trying to do and you let him?”

An expression too quick to decipher crossed Eurymachus’ face before disappearing into nothing. His voice was similarly calm. “You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I don’t care what you wanted,” he grit out, aware that the awful poison threatening to color his vocal cords was misplaced but too out of control to stop it. “You let it happen. This is your fault.”

“My—?” Eurymachus scoffed, the sound sudden and loud. “What was I meant to do, princess, hold him down? Do I look Achilles to you?”

“How could you?” His voice was rising against his will. He shoved Eurymachus in the chest, fury contorting his muscles and spreading over him like a plague. He shoved him again, harder this time, sending the man backwards into the wall with a thunk.

“Gods, I hate you.” He was practically shouting now, eyes blurring as he beat his hands against Eurymachus’ chest. How could he? It felt like betrayal, like a thousand knives stabbing beneath his finger nails and driving straight through to his heart. The bile rushing to his mouth and throat tasted like bitterness. “I hate you! You’re so—so—“

Eurymachus grabbed him roughly by the arm, forcing him backwards. He gave in, arms going slack as he promptly lost the energy to fight. He was so tired. So angry but so fucking tired. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and die, or cry for a thousand days and a thousand nights, or just float out of this hellish reality once and for all. He couldn’t handle it. Why had he ever thought he could?

“Are you done?” Eurymachus asked, toneless.

“Yes,” he whispered. The shame pooled in his stomach. He thought he might drown in it.

“You’re crying.” The hold on his arm loosened, the tightness drawing back to a soft pressure. “Cut it out. You’ll make him feel worse if you greet him with tears in your eyes.”

Telemachus shook his arm slightly to free himself, rubbing irately at his eyes. The pressure hurt, but it was a welcome pain and at least swept away the last of the moisture. He glanced back up at Eurymachus now that he could see clearly, his eyes tracing along the burn and then deep into the tension in his face.

He looked equally tired. Upset, too, though his face remained fairly neutral. Guilt crushed Telemachus at that; it wasn’t fair of him to lash out at him. It wasn’t his fault, really—they both knew that when Antinous had an idea, he went through with it. For better or for worse. And Eurymachus, too, had been through hell. He’d made it out and done the best he could while protecting Telemachus’ soulmate the best he could, so…

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Eurymachus’ eyebrows raised slightly. “Better than ever.”

“Sure.” Telemachus sniffed. “Where’s Amphinomus?”

His expression didn’t change much, though his lips twitched ever so slightly downward. “Leading the other prisoners out of here. I don’t know if he’s coming back or not but, y’know. Hopefully he’s in some small seaside town right about now and not roaming this place.”

His mood further darkened. He could hardly even imagine. “I’m sorry.”

“Since we’re handing out apologies like candy now,” the words were delivered with a thin coating of snark, “I hope you know I really did not intend this. And I’m at least partly sorry for how I used to treat you.”

Now it was Telemachus’ turn to feel surprised. “You were never that bad.”

“Bad is bad,” Eurymachus said simply. “And I said partly, by the way. I still find you sort of an annoying pest.”

For some reason, he laughed at that. The familiar pettiness was comforting in a way. “Pot, kettle. To be clear, ‘hate’ is a bit of an exaggeration on my part.”

“No shit.” His voice was deadpan, though his mouth had quirked up ever so slightly. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be out in the hall pretending I don’t exist while you go get your man.”

“Is that safe? There are still guards, you know.”

“Melantho works in mysterious ways,” Eurymachus said, as though that explained anything and Telemachus was meant to recognize that name or know who the fuck they were. “And I’ll be back, so don’t die in the meantime. We have work to do.”

And work they certainly did. Telemachus couldn’t even begin to grasp just how they were supposed to get out of this situation. Really, the only true solution was total elimination of the suitors, but that wasn’t exactly easy. And if the suitors were to leave, they’d be leaving dead, and that only raised a whole seperate slew of issues.

For one thing, most of these men were Ithacan natives and had families and love ones who’d undoubtedly raise hell should they fail to return. And if every suitor died, suspicions would certainly fall to the only survivors—those being their group, hopefully.

So while, yes, he and his mother were royalty and had some priveliges others might not, mass murder was certainly not one of them. The council would tear them apart. More than they already had, anyway.

His head hurt. He just wanted to discuss this with his mother, but that wasn’t possible at the moment. And even if it was, what was she meant to do about their dilemna? She was smart and far wiser than he, but she was also just one woman with her hands constantly tied. Perhaps this was not a situation one could simply outsmart. Maybe it was time he throw caution to the wind a little.

There was a very light knock on the outside of his doorframe. Telemachus jumped, realizing belatedly that Eurymachus had left whilst he’d allowed his thoughts to run away from him, and more belatedly still just who was knocking on his door. Before he had the opportunity to get too worked up, a calloused hand closed around the edge of the door, pushing it a little more open.

Antinous’ voice was raspy when he spoke, nothing like the smoothness Telemachus had become so accustomed to. It was quieter, too. More weary. “Can I come in?”

He nearly knocked something over in his rush to open the door fully. He stood on one side of the threshold, Antinous on the other, and stared for a second. Maybe longer than a second. Time was the least of his concerns at the moment.

If he’d thought Eurymachus looked bad, Antinous looked horrible. He appeared far more gaunt than ever before, the skin beneath his eyes so dark it veered almost purple. His clothes looked badly worn and he was cradling his left arm close to his chest, but he was alive.

Telemachus nearly burst into frantic tears right then and there. He wasn’t even sure whether his anger and rising impulse to enact the bloodiest vengeance this world had ever seen was overpowering his despair, but it was certainly getting there.

He wanted to latch onto him and never let go because gods, he’d missed him, but he was exceedingly aware it wouldn’t be appreciated. His skin burned.

All this pain and suffering, and for what? He couldn’t save his soulmate from what was practically the worst fate imaginable, hell, he could barely save himself! Telemachus would be damned if he ever let him out of his sight again. He wouldn’t allow it. Never, never—

Antinous smiled. It looked hollow, forced. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

His heart was pounding. He wanted to reach out and touch him just to make sure it was real—a hand, a finger, anything—but refrained. Telemachus moved to the side, allowing him sufficient space to enter without any contact.

Antinous followed him inside. He moved slowly, carefully, and Telemachus certainly didn’t miss how his eyes darted around the room at every tiny sound and movement. He looked tense, his eyes empty in a way that filled him with this overpowering need to protect him. Not that he could if he tried. Not that he hadn’t already allowed things to go so badly. He was truly a failure in all the places where it counted and even where it didn’t. He should just…

“Do you—“ Antinous winced, cleared his throat. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Telemachus bit his lip. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Sorry.” His voice sounded slightly wobbly. “I’ll just go.”

He wanted to protest. About what, he didn’t know, but he supposed it was inconsequential, anyway. His vocal cords didn’t seem to be cooperating with the wants of his brain at the moment. He watched in silence as Antinous slipped into the washroom, door closing gingerly and hardly making a sound.

Telemachus found himself chewing aggressively on his pinkie nail before he’d even realized he was doing it. He took his finger from his mouth hurriedly—it was sort of a disgusting habit as his mother frequently told him—and settled for pacing the floor instead.

What was one even meant to do in such a situation? He wanted to talk about… anything, really. Everything, nothing, just have a conversation with the man he’d been dying to see so badly, but anyone could see the man was closed off. Antinous didn’t want to talk and that was fair, but Telemachus wasn’t sure whether allowing this stiff silence to continue between them was better or worse.

Maybe he should just leave him alone for now. He was probably tired. Injured, too, but Telemachus wasn’t sure just what was wrong with his arm or if it needed healing. If he’d even allow it to be healed; he probably didn’t want to be touched. He was saying probably a lot. He just wanted one concrete answer on literally anything, and was that really so much to ask for?

There was the faint sound of water splashing from the other side of the wall. Telemachus paused his pacing. Maybe he really should give him some time to himself. Maybe…

The water sounds stopped. There was a heavy feeling like shame pressing down on him, and then he was very certain the soft sniffing sound he was hearing was not simply water. He backtracked toward the closed bathroom door, standing hesitantly outside of it.

Was he crying? His stomach flipped. What the fuck was he meant to do about this? Personally, he preferred a good private sobbing session, but he felt he couldn’t just leave Antinous alone like this. That just felt wrong.

He felt both like he was seriously intruding and also like he wasn’t doing enough. He should do something, right? And he couldn’t just stand here, he felt like he was being stabbed repeatedly just listening to this, so—

Telemachus knocked on the door lightly before he could talk himself out of it. “Antinous?”

The noise stopped abruptly. Quiet smothered the room like smoke, extending for a period far longer than what was comfortable before the response came.

His voice sounded fairly… normal, considering. Like he’d never been crying at all. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?” he asked, delicately. “Please?”

Another lengthy silence. “It’s your bathroom.”

“I mean, not really. This is just some random guest room.” He placed his hand lightly on the doorknob, then paused. “You can say no, you know.”

When that harbored no response, Telemachus sighed and slowly pushed in the door. He peeked inside, submerging himself fully in the room when faced with no protests. He looked to the basin freshly filled with water, then to the floor beside the basin.

Antinous was just sitting. Staring at the wall with his knees drawn to his chest, breathing slowly and deliberately. He didn’t look at Telemachus. It was like he wasn’t even there.

Cautiously, he crossed the short stretch of floor to stand beside him. Telemachus sank to the ground, sitting just next to him with a decent chunk of space between them.

“You’re supposed to get in it, you know.” He glanced experimentally at his soulmate.

Antinous blinked, eyes refocusing as though just awaking from a dream. “Huh?”

“The bath.” He jabbed a finger over his shoulder. “Did you forget you made it?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Antinous made an uncomfortable attempt at a laugh. “I keep… I don’t know. Floating. It’s hard to explain.”

Floating. Telemachus couldn’t say that he related or the description made a lot of sense to him, but he could at least try to reach some understanding. And Antinous was speaking, so that was already a better outcome than he’d expected. Maybe forcing him to talk was the way to go.

“Like daydreaming?”

His soulmate looked at him and then away. “You could say that.”

They sat like that for a few moments longer. The background noise of water rippling before coming to a gentle still. It mixed with the sound of their paired breathing, Antinous’ lighter and barely there. Like he was afraid the entire building would collapse if he exhaled a little too hard. Or maybe it was his own body that he feared would break.

And then Antinous reached out, prodding him lightly in the bicep. His whole arm tingled. “I see you’ve been working out.”

Telemachus’ face flushed despite himself. “I had a lot of free time.”

“Looks good.” Antinous smiled. A real one, dimple included. “Feels good, too. You’d put on muscle easier if you ate something, though.”

With the blush still high on his cheeks, he should’ve seen that one coming. “That obvious?”

“Very much so.”

Telemachus leaned back, resting his head against the rim of the tub. It was a broad thing, more than spacious enough for himself but probably a bit cramped for someone of Antinous’ size. He was overcome once more with the urge to latch onto him and refuse to let go.

“Fine.” He tilted his head to look at the side of his face. “I’ll eat my food if you let me take care of you.”

Antinous gave him an unfavorable glance from the corner of his eye. “Seriously?”

“What? I feel it’s fair.”

His soulmate frowned slightly. His fingers dug into his arm—his bad arm—only to loosen and release a moment later. Antinous sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You are,” Telemachus allowed. “You will be. But that hardly changes anything. I want to help you. I missed you.”

Antinous fidgeted, his fingers curling once more into his arm. A new nervous habit, maybe. “How much did Eurymachus tell you?”

“Nothing specific. Just… general stuff.” He retained a wince, instead opting to run his fingers along the grooves of the tiles beneath them. It provided a nice distraction and a decent outlet for his squirrelly energy. “Why?”

His shoulders, which had been gradually rising while Telemachus spoke, retreated. His hair shifted at the motion, curling at the base of his neck and sliding downwards. “Just curious.”

More than curious, obviously. He didn’t intend on calling his bluff, but it did make him wonder just what about it all he was so afraid of Telemachus knowing. Surely he didn’t suspect he’d judge him. Hopefully not.

And how could he have reservations, anyway? Antinous was alive and—not well, obviously, but he was breathing and present—that was all he’d really wanted. He’d known there’d be no linear road to their reunion, and he’d been certain there’d be some level of cost to it all, but he’d been okay with that. Or thought he’d been. Now he wasn’t so sure.

It was becoming increasingly clear how dangerous things were for them in the castle. What’d happened could never happen again, but Telemachus was keenly aware he didn’t have the power to assert that. The only place they’d be truly safe was far from these walls.

He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t—or rather, wouldn’t—abandon his mother. He had to stay and fight these suitors, even until his very last breath.

But Antinous? He could leave. He should leave, really, and it was sort of Telemachus’ fault for dragging him into these schemes in the first place that he wasn’t. They’d made a deal, one the man had been pressured into agreeing to, and now he’d never leave of his own volition. It didn’t need to be said; it was practically common knowledge. That knowledge might kill him. And it was all his fault.

“Can I ask,” he said, hesitantly and with a careful grace like a deer inching past the all-seeing eyes of a predator, “what happened to your arm?”

For a moment he feared he’d overstepped. And he probably had, but Antinous responded anyway. “It got dislocated.”

How, he itched to ask, but he wasn’t so blind not to see how far that crossed the line. He stayed cautiously silent instead.

Antinous sighed. He extended his arm unceremoniously, allowing it to flop into Telemachus lap. “I’m not going to explode if you ask questions. I can hear you thinking them.”

He kicked himself on the inside. Stupid brain. So much for being well mannered and gentlemanly, though he guessed he hadn’t acted as a real prince for a while, now. Ever since the suitors had swept into his life, his title of royalty meant little to nothing. He was but a speck on the wall, a pest people longed to get rid of.

Cockroach was definitely a comparison he’d recieved before. That might offend someone else, someone who hadn’t lived through the half of these past three years. But to him, cockroaches meant undying. An incessant, endurant bug that lived through anything and everything, and living was really all he could ask for, now.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll bite. How?”

Antinous stared down at the arm, flexing the fingers carefully. His face was dead serious when he spoke. “Well, he took my arm and he…” the tiniest voice crack followed by a swift swallow, “he displaced it.”

The room was quiet for a long moment. Telemachus stared at him stupidly. “Was that a joke?”

Antinous snickered, his veil of seriousness cracking into a sideways smile in an instant. “I mean, that is what happened. Did you not like it?”

“I’m trying to be serious and you’re cracking jokes.” He tried and failed to summon a stern expression. “I could’ve put that one together on my own, but thanks for the input.”

“You’re welcome.”

Smug bastard. He let out a shaky breath, the air tainted by what might’ve been the beginning of a laugh—he’d never give Antinous that satisfaction, though.

Testing the waters, Telemachus put a hand on his arm, lifting the limb slightly. Antinous barely reacted, though the smile did slip from his face and he thought he might’ve felt the man twitch. That aside, he didn’t protest, but quiet allowance wasn’t quite enough for him.

He leaned forward, forcing Antinous to catch his eye. His fingers drummed lightly against the man’s skin. “Do you mind?”

“Can you…” His soulmate hesitated. He looked embarassed. “Nevermind.”

“Don’t play this game with me,” he scolded, his tapping mellowing out into more soothing circles. “Speak. Or I’ll… I don’t know. Are you ticklish?”

“No,” Antinous said, far too quickly.

He smirked, devillish. That was sort of adorable; he’d have to explore this at a better, later date. That said, Antinous didn’t need to know the ‘later’ part. “Wanna bet?”

The man scowled at him, though there was no heat behind it. “I’ll kick your ass.”

“With a puncture wound?” Telemachus looked at him sideways. “I think not. I’ll have to take a look at that too—if you’ll allow me. So?”

He breathed out harshly through his teeth, glancing away from his searching eyes. “You… can. I’d prefer if you sat in front of me, though.”

He didn’t question the request. Telemachus shifted, scooting from his position beside him until they were face to face. He lightly poked at his soulmate’s legs, still pressed close to his chest in an almost defensive position. He flinched but didn’t retreat.

“Move your legs,” Telemachus ordered. “You’re too tall for this to make sense.”

Antinous gave him a deprecating look but straightened out his legs obediently. He nudged them to their respective sides with a knee of his own, moving closer until he was sitting between them.

It felt a little… well. It felt like their faces were fairly close in proximity and they were staring straight into each others eyes. And it felt like his stomach was sort of fluttering and also like he was being incredibly inappropriate considering the context.

He shook his head slightly, removing that train of thought from his mind. Another time, maybe. He was all business at the moment, blowing whisps of hair from his eyes and resuming his hold on Antinous’ arm.

“Better?” he asked.

The other man nodded. His gaze was still flickering nervously from different parts of his face—his eyes, cheekbones, nose, and lips primarily—to the wall behind him, but he didn’t seem overtly uncomfortable beyond that. A win was a win, even if Telemachus really wished he’d just stare him lovingly in the eyes already. Maybe that just made him selfish.

He dragged his own eyes from Antinous’ face to his injured arm. He flipped it slowly at the wrist, fingers coming to rest delicately in the palm of his hand. They absentmindedly traced the lines engraved in skin, soft and almost reverent in their patience. He glanced back up at his soulmate, preliminary.

He was watching Telemachus’ hand. His face looked tense, but the feeling portrayed in his eyes was unreadable.

He stopped the slow circles. “Good?”

Antinous looked at him for an even shorter period this time, swiftly averting his eyes. “Yes.”

“Are you saying that just to make me feel better?”

“No.” Another quick look. “Go on.”

Telemachus barely restrained the urge to let out a sigh of his own. He was really working with nothing here, but he’d just have to hope and pray that Antinous would actually stop him should he do something wrong. Not that he knew what wrong would be in this circumstance, but…

Cradling the arm in one hand, he trailed the remaining one up his forearm and even higher. His palm ghosted across the man’s bicep, still large though perhaps slightly shrunken; most likely the result of lacking sustenance. His hand finally came to rest on his shoulder and the man tensed beneath him.

“Does it hurt?” he questioned, lightening the already gentle pressure.

Antinous shook his head quickly. His breathing was a little faster, or maybe he was just imagining it. “No. It’s already starting to feel better.”

Their eyes met. Telemachus was leaning over him, his face just a little bit elevated above Antinous’ own at the angle they were working with. There was this electric like tension in the air, but it wasn’t anything like what he’d felt before.

The other times had been passionate, sure. Fiery, like bright red and the freshest rosebush on a newlywed couple’s wedding night. But this was… gentler. Like light purples and blues, this calming sort of intimacy that made Telemachus feel safer than he had in the last week and then some.

He wasn’t entirely sure what face he was making, but he was sure it had to be a stupidly struck one. Antinous looked similarly enamored, his eyes glued to his face. Telemachus swallowed, throat suddenly raw and longing to take back all the pain and stiffness that seemed ingrained in his soulmate’s bones.

The moment was so fragile. One wrong movement and it might all fade away. Like fairydust, this fragment of time as the tiniest sparkle that you could never prove was truly there. He was completely still, worried he might brush the last of this feeling away and—

“He kissed me,” Antinous blurted out. His voice sounded shaky, almost frantic, like he was confessing to something truly awful. “I think I hated it.”

Telemachus paused, leaned back slightly. Guilt pressed heavy in his stomach, but his tone was soft and weightless when he at last found his voice. “I’m sure you did.”

“Does that not—“ he cut himself off, fists clenching. “Does that not disgust you?”

His heart ached. Gods, if he wasn’t careful, he might cry. And he couldn’t do that, but the impulse was strong and Antinous’ own scattered emotions were even stronger. They ripped through their connection like lightning, jabbing him right in the chest with every piercing ripple of sorrow.

“You don’t disgust me,” he said, honestly and steadier than he’d thought he was capable of. “Nothing about you does, nor could it ever.”

Antinous’ breathing was speeding up once more. “But I—“

He stopped, voice seemingly failing. His body was beginning to shake and Telemachus could feel the tremors from his arm transferring to his own through contact of their skin and the air between them.

“Hey,” he murmured, watching with worry as his eyes began to lose focus. “I’m right here. Just me and you, the way it should be. Breathe.”

There was a long moment where Telemachus worried he might simply remain unresponsive. Instead, the man shuddered slightly, his eyes finding his once more.

“Sorry,” Antinous croaked, “but where am I?”

“My bathroom,” he supplied, relief quickly overriding the other stubborn feelings. “You’re safe here. I promise whatever happened to you is never going to happen again. And I’m telling you now that the implication I would ever be disgusted by you offends me beyond words. And I’ll, I dunno, whack you with a stick if you say that dumb shit again. Lovingly, of course, but I’m pretty jacked now so it’d probably still hurt a little. And—“

His meandering rant was cut off by Antinous burying his face in his neck and wrapping his free arm around his waist. He let out an embarassing squeak, falling forwards into his chest and unintentionally pinning him into the tub behind them.

He couldn’t say he minded, though, releasing Antinous’ arm in favor of returning the embrace. It was sort of an uncomfortable, twisted position, but he found the warmth of his soulmate’s arms and the feeling of his breath puffing against his skin far made up for it.

He was certain they both smelled like jail and anxiety, but gods, he couldn’t care less. His face was smushed into Antinous’ hair. He couldn’t breathe, but he’d never smelled something so good.

“It was hell,” Antinous lamented into his skin, and he was definitely crying now. “I missed you.”

Telemachus shifted slightly in order to not be completely and utterly choked by the other man’s hair, but was otherwise content with their positioning. His hands ran lightly over his back, pacifying.

Maybe a bit too pacifying. He could feel Antinous’ breaths becoming slower against him as his muscles relaxed, and as nice as falling asleep on the floor like this did sound, he had responsibilities to attend to. And Antinous had come in here with intent to wash up, so it was best things didn’t end here.

Gently, he attempted to pry himself from the man’s grasp to no avail. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t take every chance he could get to appreciate Antinous’ strength, but that aside, it was proving to be somewhat of a liability in this case. He poked his soulmate lightly in the cheek, an insistent prodding motion that lasted until he drew back far and long enough to look at him.

“C’mon,” he said once he had his attention, “we’ve got things to do.”

Antinous muttered something incomrehensible into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His skin tingled once more, warming despite his best efforts to prevent the blush.

“Don’t you want to sleep in an actual bed?” he tried.

This made an eye crack open. “Depends. With you?”

His face was positively blazing now. “Well, I guess. Are you sure it’s—?”

“I don’t want you to treat me different,” Antinous’ voice was quieter, less playful. His eyes bore into Telemachus’ with intensity. “Okay?”

And how could he possibly say no to that? He reached up, toying with the ends of his hair and relishing in the feeling of togetherness. Connection. Understanding. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Once Antinous was being cooperative and no longer clinging to him with a death grip, it was easy enough to untangle himself.

Telemachus went to stand, then decided against it at the last moment. He steeled himself, delicately using his hand to tilt Antinous’ face up to his own. Before nerves could win out or his limbs gave in like jelly, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It felt good. Better than good. He could’ve fainted, actually, smacked his head on the floor and died a happy man. He’d been desperate for this very moment, worried he’d never get to experience anything like this in the real word ever again.

He pulled away, cheeks reddening pathetically and wondering had he gone too far. But Antinous was gazing at him and he looked… lovesick. Like he was drowning in Telemachus’ person, and it was then he knew he hadn’t. His stomach was fluttering like a thousand butterflies, and he went to speak but struggled to form a single syllable.

He at last settled for smiling like an idiot, pushing himself to his feet. A beat to gather himself. “Was that okay?”

“When it’s you,” Antinous answered, and he damn near burst into flames on the spot.

Once he was done laying out various oils on the edge of the tub for him—he was more than a little irritated at the limited collection and boring scents—Telemachus turned and slipped from the bathroom to allow him some privacy. All he really wanted was to stay glued to his side infinitely, but that just circled back to the self reliance thing and how he needed to practice it.

And, besides. Antinous had shown him the scar from his spearing right before he’d left. He’d pulled the fabric of his chiton down to his waist, exposing his abdomen and the large, conspicuous remains of his injury. He’d said it no longer hurt—no doubt the consequence of the healing session—and that was all Telemachus had wanted to hear.

Closing the door softly behind him, he nearly leapt from his skin as he barely avoided tripping over a body on the floor.

“Eurymachus,” he hissed, hand coming up to steady his racing heart. “You can’t lie in the dark like that in these circumstances!”

There was a rustling sound and Telemachus knew for certain the soft thing cushioning his heel was a pillow. From his bed. Filthy thief, he thought. He’d give it a rest just this once, considering what they’d all been through.

“My bad for trying to sleep,” came the grumbled reply. “And your stupid lantern doesn’t work, anyway. Good talk?”

He could feel himself soften around the edges at the question. “I think he’s feeling better. For now, at least.”

A noncommittal grunt, the sort that could only be roused by someone on the brink of consciousness. Telemachus let out a breath, one of many relieved ones since this day had begun, before stepping gingerly over the suitor’s body and toward the door.

“Did you lock this, at least?”

“No, princess, I left it wide open.” More rustling as Eurymachus presumably turned onto his side. “Do you always make small talk when people are trying to rest?”

Having never had a sleepover or joint living experience, Telemachus could honestly say that no, he didn’t. He shrugged then stood awkwardly for a moment as he remembered the other man couldn’t see him.

“Not usually,” he supplied, “but this is important. One more thing, please?”

“You’re polite today.” He saw his faint silhoutte move, sitting up slightly. “What’s up?”

“Did you… see my mother, by any chance? When you were out in the halls?”

There was a long silence, interrupted only by the occasional splashing of water. Telemachus waited with bated breath, knowing the answer deep down but praying for something different. She had to be alive. That’s been the deal, but where was she?

“No,” Eurymachus said at last.

He bit his lip. Damn it.

“Something-something patience, something-something virtue. Keep your head up, princess.” Eurymachus turned once more, voice becoming fainter as he pulled whatever blankets he’d stolen up past his face. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

She’d better, he thought but did not say. He’d retrieved his soulmate, yes, and he’d be eternally grateful for that, but life was nothing without his mother. She had to be okay. She had to be.

He perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the door before him through the dark. He wasn’t sure how exactly Eurymachus and this Melantho figure had managed to get the guards away from here, but he knew he wasn’t going to find out. At least not until Eurymachus woke up. And there was no way he was leaving their entire room unattended; three unconscious people at once was practically an invitation for an ambush. He supposed he’d be staying on guard tonight.

His eyes drifted to the sword at the foot of his bed, then to the narrow window and meager view of the outside world. An owl flew by, bringing a gentle breeze with it.

It wasn’t Athena; she had a certain presence that other animals did not. That didn’t stop him from hoping, staring out that narrow window and waiting on a goddess to answer his prayers.

She never came, but the door to the bathroom opened and Antinous did. Clothes that were likely a guard’s spare hung off him and his hair carried the scent of oil and freshness. His eyes found Telemachus’ and he smiled slightly. A little bit. An olive branch to a world that’d done them all horribly, horribly wrong.

Telemachus returned the gesture, dragging his eyes from dreams of the heavens to the real world below. His mother would come around. And if she didn’t, they’d find a way to bring her back themselves.

For now, love could be enough.

Chapter Text

“A nightmare,” he heard someone say, faint as though speaking through a pane of glass. “It’s normal. Happens pretty much every night.”

“Does he always writhe around like that?”

“Yup. Gets worse if you try to wake him.”

A beat of silence. Someone was touching him. It was not Telemachus.

Antinous held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. This wasn’t new. Honestly, he’d be more worried if he went a single night without some sort of shitty dream, but knowing he was dreaming didn’t change how real the sensation felt.

Hands burning across his waist. Lower, lower, rough like blades against his skin—he’d take that over this. Anything over this.

He wasn’t going to think about it. This wasn’t real, therefore there was nothing to think about. He was shaking anyway, losing his breath and sucking in air shakily like a fish stifled by land, but it wasn’t real. He was afraid of nothing. Nothing. Cowering from thoughts of his own creation, and what kind of useless weakling would—

Antinous cringed as nails dug into his thigh. He could feel his teeth grinding and cracking against each other but didn’t have the control to stop it. When was he ever in control? He couldn’t move, couldn’t run or scream, he hadn’t even tried to run when he could’ve. He’d gone along with it. Initiated it. Disgusting, disgusting—

The hand trailed further up his inner thigh. This hadn’t even happened. He’d never touched him there, not in the real world. They’d just…

Odd. He could hardly remember. Not his name, not his face, but he might never forget his touch and the way he’d—

Antinous kept his eyes firmly shut, breathing and barely even succeeding at that but trying so hard. He couldn’t go through this again. Not in a dream, not anywhere; he would sooner die. And die he might. Die he should. Die, die, die—

It stopped. Everything did. The hand, the sensation, even the weakness in his knees and the terror that’d accompanied it. He felt almost peaceful, this beautiful floating sensation similar to coasting on a swaying water’s surface. Featherlight, like a seed on the wind. But better. Far better than real life could ever be, and maybe that was better. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

Flowers. He could’ve cried of relief. An open field, no walls to cage him or darkness to smother him. Just an endless sky and thousands of flowers in various states of blooming, and a goddess knelt in the center of it all.

He couldn’t see her face. Only her hair draped over her like a veil and this heavy aura of sadness as he approached.

He noted the disproportionately wilted petals surrounding her. Good to know it wasn’t just him, then. It wasn’t good to see her so miserable, though. Yet another drop of guilt to add to the ever growing pond seemingly flooding his stomach and drowning his organs. Maybe that was why he always felt so sick.

Antinous placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. She picked her head up, and tears gleamed like glitter on her face.

He wished he didn’t always have to feel so responsible for other people. The pity, the sadness on his behalf, it killed him inside. He couldn’t help but feel like a cancer sometimes. Something that withered and brought all around him down with it. A disease inside him that couldn’t be quelled, only spreading and spreading to all he cared about. All who made the mistake of caring about him.

“Aph,” he said mildly, “what’s up?”

She sniffed, clearly making a great effort to pull it together. He could at least appreciate the attempt. “A lot has happened since we last saw each other, hm? Sit.”

He didn’t really want to do that. He also didn’t really have a choice. And, even if this request weren’t coming from a goddess, that grave tone of voice and somber expression would’ve done the trick.

Resisting the urge to voice his displeasure, Antinous carefully settled beside her. This wasn’t a conversation he’d been longing for. He already knew how she’d feel about things, anyway: pissed that he’d used her teachings to put herself in jeopardy and double pissed at the betrayal of it all.

The immense sadness and guilt that came with it was necessary, if only because Aphrodite was prone to feeling too much for too many people. She felt responsible for him, and therefore, a failure on his end was a failure on hers.

It wasn’t. It shouldn’t have to be, anyway. But he couldn’t help this nagging feeling of neglect—resentment, even—taking root beneath his skin. It was unjustified and he knew it. She was a diety, one with jobs and responsibilities beyond just himself. He couldn’t expect her to be around all the time. He should be able to take care of himself.

So if she’d left him and something… bad had occurred, who was he to blame but himself? He never should’ve put himself in that situation in the first place. It’d worked, yes, but there were other ways that probably wouldn’t have been as shitty. Not many, even less reliable ones, but there were. Yet this was the path he’d chosen. If he’d been a little smarter, a little stronger, a little less compliant, then maybe…

“Antinous.”

He didn’t lift his gaze from his hands. Still shaking. Stupid.

“Antinous.” Her voice was becoming increasingly shaky. “Listen to me.”

“I am.”

Aphrodite breathed out unsteadily. From the corner of his eye, he watched her hand grasp onto his arm and haul him gently into him. He didn’t flinch this time, thank the gods. And just when he’d gotten somewhat capable of getting his first reflex in control. Now he was back to jumping around like a frightened lamb at the most basic of sounds or movements.

Why did it feel like everytime he improved, he never went anywhere? Every singular step forward resulted in another three back, every blink had the past flashing behind his eyes and grasping onto his skin, like this sickness he could never truly be rid of. A persistent ailment, one that was sometimes a mere sneeze or cough and other times the most awful seizing pain that brought him straight to his knees.

Was there even a point? If there was a such thing as healing, why couldn’t he be that free? Was it possible? Was it ever?

Aphrodite’s head was leaning against his shoulder. Her arms had at some point come to circle his torso, squeezing him enough to ground him in their conversation but not hard enough to be uncomfortable. Just a hug. Nothing nefarious, no ulterior motives, and yet it only made him want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she wept, voice melodic but weighed down by despair. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s alright,” he said, and even he wasn’t sure of the truthfulness of that statement.

“It’s not.” The goddess clenched her fist before slowly unfurling it, smoothing her fury into nothingness against the meat of her thigh. “Sometimes I believe I’ve failed you, my love. Like I’ve created something I can’t control. Like maybe all my attempts at restoring your broken heart have only succeeded at worsening your pain.”

“I’d be dead if not for you.” Dull veracity. There was nothing really to hide there.

“And yet,” Aphrodite said, softer now, “I wonder. Was it all worth it, to live and go through all this? Is this the path you’d choose to walk if not for my interference? Or is it the one that’s been forced upon you?”

Antinous was silent then. It was a good question, really. In the grand scheme of things, just how much control did he have over his destiny? After all, he’d spent a long time fighting fate to little avail. Suppressing his soulbond, distancing himself from all those who drew too close—he’d wasted more than half his lifetime running from his own shadow. His past that clung to him like tar no matter how hard he tried to strip his skin clean.

There was no such thing as a clean slate. He was a different person today than he had been three years ago, yes, but his person remained. A tapestry woven of all the good and bad deeds he’d ever carried out, threads new and old but all of equal value in the end. And, when he took his last breath, how could he be sure which had won out?

He agonized over it. It was easy to throw himself into the bad, easy to lose himself in what was comfortable rather than what was right, because at least then he knew who he was. An identity he loathed but an identity he knew. And then he didn’t have to be lost, aimless like a swan feather on an ocean current. He could just be, for better or for worse.

He didn’t want to just be anymore. He wasn’t satisfied with drifting through life. Not with never knowing, with being alone, with floating through the world clinging to a lifeboat he’d built by hand but that wasn’t truly him.

There was no such thing as a clean slate, no, but he’d committed to change. And even if, at the end of his life, what he’d left behind was still far from adequate and he’d gone nowhere just as he’d feared all along, at least he’d know he’d tried. He could live with the knowledge that something was better than nothing, even if his something was never quite good enough.

And how could he stop now, with Telemachus and his mother still in danger? How could he turn his back on the person who’d seen his shadow and stuck around anyway? Who didn’t mind that he was corrupted by design and broken from the beginning?

Perhaps he didn’t have a choice. Perhaps he was simply born to suffer and then to die. He guessed he’d never know. Maybe he didn’t need to.

He took a deep breath, tilting his head back to gaze into the endless sky. “If you’re asking me if I’d do it all again, I’d tell you I haven’t got a choice in the matter. I’ll be born, and my mother will die, and my father will grow to resent me and I’ll grow to resent myself, and I’ll meet you. And I’ll make the same mistakes I always do, and then I’ll make it right.”

“But it’s not right.” She sounded almost disgusted. “Had I not brought you here…”

“I would’ve been miserable.” Antinous sighed. “It’s all the same, isn’t it? I hated it. You know that.”

“You could’ve made it out without me.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I would’ve killed myself. Or maybe my father would’ve killed me. Or maybe I would’ve died and you never would’ve noticed because I grew to be a nobody after all.”

“That’s…” Aphrodite trailed off, removing one of her arms from around him to wipe at her still gleaming face. “It’s not the same. You could’ve been nobody and been happy. Found fulfillment somewhere else, with some less selfish goddess.”

“You’re far from selfish.” He blinked back the sheen of tears threatening to overtake his eyes. “You’re my first friend. I’d never want a life without you.”

She sniffed again, harder this time. She sounded moved, even through choked up words made barely audible in her grief. “Antinous…”

“My point,” he said, “is there’s no meaning in endless what-ifs. There’s no such thing as starting over. And wasn’t it you who told me love is worth the risk?”

“I did.” She was crying again.

Antinous leaned his head against hers, closing his eyes as a wave of tiredness overtook him. “Then, to answer your question, it was worth it. Because I’ve met my soulmate and I finally feel like myself and even though I feel like shit I still want to be here. And none of this would’ve happened without you, so—pardon my blasphemy, but—stop being dumb. I’m tired of people feeling awful on my behalf, even if they are a goddess and can’t help it.”

Aphrodite let out a true sob then, squeezing him with a strength and intensity that only a god could realistically posess. He gasped for air, clawing at her as she attempted to choke out his life force. With love and affection, yes. Possibly fatal, possibly also yes.

“Okay,” he wheezed, “okay, I get it—“

“I love you,” she wailed, continuing to drench his clothes with impeccably crafted tears. “I’m so proud to have raised you. You’re good. When all is said and done, people will remember you and know you to have been good. At least the ones who matter.”

That made him feel embarassingly emotional. He blinked rapidly. “Thanks.”

She at last released him from her death grip, but kept her fingernails applying a light pressure into his skin. It felt almost soothing. “I want you to be safe, dearest. No more reckless stunts. And I truly wish you’d call for me more often. You know I’d never abandon you in a time of need.”

Antinous smiled sheepishly. “I know.”

“You must wake up soon, my love.” She patted him lightly on the cheek, her face deeply caring. “Many are waiting on you. But first, I have a secret I can conceal no longer.”

“And that is?”

“I believe the king Odysseus will be returning soon.” Aphrodite’s voice was lower, more serious. “He has been just recently freed from his imprisonment. That is what I was so busy with.”

Antinous’ brows shot up. A supercharged combo of anxiety and excitement stirred in his veins, pumping through his limbs and shooting up his spine. He couldn’t restrain the wider, more hesitant smile. “Really?”

“I do not know when, I do not know how.” She shook her head, hair swaying. “I have made a vow with Athena for your safety, but you must understand the ruthlessness that man posesses. He will stop at nothing to return to his family, and that means eliminating anyone who stands in his way.”

A shiver traveled across the back of his neck, baby hairs standing on end. “Prepare for a massacre, then?”

“Precisely.” Aphrodite frowned slightly. “Be cautious, dearest. And be careful where, when, and with whom you divulge this information. The suitors mustn’t suspect anything if you plan to leave this castle alive and alongside your lover.”

Danger. A familiar feeling, one he didn’t enjoy but was certainly no stranger to. It followed him everywhere, an entity just over his shoulder that whispered run and hide and survive.

He would survive. There was no other option, really, not when he was so close to freedom. To love without worry and a life so different to that which he’d known. Telemachus.

“Do you think I should tell him?” he asked, already beginning to feel himself slip from the dreamland. Colors were growing fainter, sensations less real, Aphrodite’s face blurrier by the second.

She gazed at him. “You know him better than anyone, dearest. In due time.”

The words lingered in the air for a moment. Wind stilled, birds stopped their singing, and in one broad movement, the world flipped. Flowers disintegrated around him, the sky collapsing and plunging Antinous into the frigid tundra of reality in no more than the span of a single blink.

“See?” Eurymachus sent a pointed nod at the now stiller figure nestled beneath blankets. “It’s just like that sometimes. No need for concern. Definitely no need to wake me, you overdramatic fuck.”

Telemachus chewed the inside of his cheek. Easy for him to say. Of course he was going to be a little concerned when Antinous started twitching and tossing and turning like that. How did he managed to get even half a night’s rest like that was beyond him. The most likely answer was that he simply didn’t, but that was a whole seperate can of worms to be opened at a later date.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, jostled slightly as Antinous’ leg shifted next to him. A kicker, apparently, as Telemachus had swiftly learned. Even just sitting on the bed put him in the danger zone, nearly leaping out of his skin when his episode had first began.

That said, he didn’t necessarily mind it. It was proof of life for one thing. If he was alive and breathing, Telemachus didn’t have much of an incentive to complain about anything.

His flow of thoughts was interrupted by the unsubtle clearing of Eurymachus’ throat. “The door, princess.”

He startled, vision clearing as his eyes snapped toward the entrance in question. “What about it? Someone there?”

The other man slowly stood, his body language equally guarded. “Sounds like it.”

“Great.” The wry tone of voice and stress steadily needling its way into the lines of his face said it all. “Should we—?”

There was a knock on the door. Telemachus froze from where he was standing up, halfway to reaching for his sword. He and Eurymachus exchanged a wary look.

A knock was… odd. A suitor definitely wouldn’t do such a thing, and the guards tended to just barge in on their own terms—though, it could always be some sort of trick. Expect the unexpected? Reverse psychology?

Frankly, he was sick and tired of playing games. If violence was what they wanted, at least they could be on the same page for once. He was more than willing and more than prepared for a little bloodshed, if only to take the edge off his rage.

There probably weren’t enough people in all of Greece to satisfy his anger.

His hand closed around the hilt of the sword, pushing away from the bed and closer to the door. Eurymachus didn’t move to follow him, though his eyes were still trained on the door.

He placed his free hand on the door knob, bracing a shoulder against the door but otherwise keeping his distance. Should this intruder have a weapon, he wasn’t in the mood for a stabbing. He’d be doubly pissed if they got him through the door.

He glanced back at Eurymachus. The man shrugged as though saying, go ahead. His readied his sword, steeling himself as his hand twisted and—

“Telemachus?”

He froze, fingers tensing on the door. A quiet voice. Muted, but feminine and strong. It couldn’t be. It was? It had to be. But he didn’t want to get his hopes up, didn’t want his dreams shot and smothered the moment he dared to believe.

But he had to. This was his mother he was talking about, and how could he not throw caution to the wind for her?

Before his excitement could get the better of him and he could fling open the door like an idiot, he hesitated. He was smarter than this, or at least could afford to act like it.

Telemachus opened the door just the smallest of slivers, peeking doubtfully into light. And there was his mother, looking tense and tired but alone and in one piece. Relief weighed so heavily upon him so quickly and intensely that he felt he might crumble into dust on sight.

“Mom!” he gasped, hushed but urgent and elated like the first smatter of color amidst a field of flowers and greenery.

He practically tore the door off its hinges wrenching it open and nearly knocked his mother over in his rush to pull her inside the room. He almost tripped over something in his rush, something furry and moveable that brushed against his legs followed by a warm tongue.

“Argos?”

Telemachus could barely keep track of his cluttered emotions as his head and heart raced as one. He was happy. It was almost too much, so bright in contrast to the darkness he’d been living in that his eyes stung and grew fuzzy.

His mother hurried inside the room, wrapping him in a hug so tight he saw spots for a moment. He stumbled backwards, torn between reciprocating with equal fervor without ever letting go and using his brain. He could barely think. He felt so giddy it was like half his brain had shut off and he was running on love and overwhelming reassurance alone because his mother was okay.

“The door,” he sputtered, accepting the embrace and floating in the familiar scent of his mother’s perfume and the soft weave of her hair.

Eurymachus sighed behind them, inching around the edge of the room to pull the door shut. “What am I, your butler?”

Penelope pulled back instantly, her eyes soft on his and then more alert as they fell on the suitor in question. “Is he?”

Telemachus laughed. It felt like decades since he’d last made a sound like that, true and from the soul. “No, mom. This is Eurymachus—the greedy one, you remember. He’s unemployed.”

There was an affronted noise. “Excuse me?”

“Shh.” He jabbed his free thumb over his shoulder, the other one still rested on his morher’s arm. “You’ll wake him.”

All eyes in the room moved back to the bed. Argos had already leapt onto the mattress, tail whipping excitedly across Antinous’ legs. Telemachus found himself smiling like a fool and swiftly fixed his face.

Or tried, anyway. He found that his inner joy was intent on seeping out through the cracks in his demeanor. There was something innately comforting in having all his loved ones in one room—well, all his loved ones and one asshole.

To be fair, Eurymachus had more than redeemed himself in his eyes. Bringing Antinous back alone had cemented his place as someone Telemachus could hardly say he hated. He could even admit that he was helpful at times and his company wasn’t as excruciating as one might expect… at least when neither of them wanted it to be. That said, he would most certainly never give him the satisfaction of saying such a thing out loud.

Then again, he was feeling sappy. He could still hardly believe his mother was real and right in front of him, even while her voice filled the room and the warmth of her tired smile reached his skin.

Gods. They were far from the end of this long and gruesome road, but in this moment, the future felt almost manageable.

His mother patted him gently on the forearm, shaking out of his grip and moving closer to the bedside. She peered down at Antinous, the small smile fading as she observed.

“Is he alright?” she asked at last with a quick look back at Telemachus.

That made his heart soar a little further. There was something inside him that yearned for his mother’s approval—of course there was. He looked up to her. She was the strongest person he knew, the smartest and the boldest, and in some ways, he never felt he could live up to that.

His father, a king, warrior, and general. The wittiest man Ithaca had perhaps ever known, a Warrior of the Mind and all too deserving of such a title. He didn’t know those things personally, of course. But he’d heard. And so there was a nagging voice, always in the back of his mind, wondering when it’d be enough. If he could ever outgrow such a legacy, ever be legendary at all.

He still didn’t have the answer to that. Rememberance was one thing, reverence was another, and while he knew his name as prince of Ithaca would never be forgotten, he wasn’t sure its importance would remain. If it’d posessed any at all.

Telemachus had never really been much of a fighter. Not a ruthless warrior like his father nor a particularly strong diplomat like his mother. His mind was all he really had, and even that he felt would never be quite up to par.

He hadn’t forgotten what his mother had said. Maybe that was why it stung so much when she’d doubted him. His wits were all he had, and even she did not believe in its ability. And if even his own mother couldn’t trust his judgement, then what more did he have to offer the world?

Of course he couldn’t hold a grudge against her. He knew, logically, she hadn’t meant her words the way he’d taken them. He was aware her doubts came from worry and love rather than condescension, and so he couldn’t possibly say he held that love against her.

Still. To hear his mother express concern over his soulmate, to at last accept him as someone to be trusted rather than ostracized? To not question Eurymachus’ identity for she knew he’d never bring her into unsafe company? It felt good. Unfairly good.

“He’s just sleeping,” Telemachus said, and he sounded stupidly thrilled even to his own ears. “Long day. But forget about him for now—where have you been?”

His mother turned fully back to him, expression instantly more sullen at the question. “You first, my love. Tell me they did not harm you.”

“No.” He shook his head hurriedly, more eager to hear what had transpired on her end than rehash the events he’d already lived through. “Just solitary confinement.”

She let out a heavy breath, shoulders sagging slightly as though a weight had been lifted. “Good. That was part of the deal we made, that you wouldn’t be harmed.”

“And you?” He gave her a critical look. “Any precautions taken on your behalf?”

She smiled slightly. “Don’t lecture me now. It’s hardly reckless if you think it through first.”

“Mom.”

“You need not tell me I’m a hypocrite.” The queen waved a hand as if to swat the idea away. “I’m well aware. But I was backed into a corner. I could agree to marry one of the suitors on the spot which, of course, would be immensely problematic, or I could buy us a little more time and keep you safe and sound. For the moment, at least.”

Telemachus wanted to protest against such a sentiment but also knew there was truth in her words. Not only that, but to disagree would only make them both be hypocrites. They truly were similar, weren’t they?

“Hi Telemachus’ mother,” came a groggy voice from behind them, causing him to jump before recognition set in. “Did I miss something?”

“Good morning.” Penelope smiled and it looked genuine. “Not much, no. How are you feeling?”

His eyes darted between Antinous and his mother at record speed, not quite sure just what to make of this interaction but feeling unimaginably joyful anyways. It was certainly a vast improvement over their last faceoff, and—gods, he could hardly focus because Argos was using his soulmate like a ladder and licking his face emphatically and Antinous was letting him and it was fucking cute.

Eurymachus snorted, quickly turning away and feigning a cough when Telemachus shot him a murderous look. It wasn’t his fault that Antinous and domesticity in the same realm, sentence, or galaxy was enough to send him into immediate cardiac arrest. It also wasn’t his fault that he was simply too burnt out and too vulnerable to even attempt hiding it.

So what if his brain insisted on jumping forward ten years and envisioning what this early morning might look like between just the two of them in vivid detail? And when he said vivid, he meant—

“Me?” Antinous smiled, a nervy and awkward as he carefully stroked Argos’ fur. “I’m… decent. And you?”

His mother’s face softened further and that was basically a victory for the both of them. Not just basically, but with zero deniability and full confidence.

“Similarly. I suppose decent is all we can strive for in such difficult circumstances.” Penelope smoothed down the fabric of her dress, face converting to a more serious one once more. “That said, it’s good that you’re awake. I was just about to explain the new developments in regards to my courtship.”

Telemachus’ mouth curved up at the clear dissonance between her delicate phrasing and the reality of it all. “Courtship is a strong word, but please, continue.”

She smacked him lightly on the hand to shut him up. He’d hardly realized how much he’d missed their disputes—the small ones, anyway—until they’d disappeared into thin air. Never would he make such a mistake again.

“None of this leaves this room,” she declared, “though I doubt that will be an issue. This is mostly directed at the stranger in the room.”

All eyes turned to Eurymachus. He appeared as though about to say something snarky, but reigned it in at the very last second with a shrug. “I’ve no one to tell either way.”

Telemachus would never not find the effect his mother had on the masses entertaining.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Penelope nodded solemnly. “Now, first things first. As I mentioned before, this plan was something of a last resort, and therefore was not refined to my liking. As such, it is truly our last resort.”

She paused for a moment to let the words sink in. The atmosphere felt instantly more grim, and he could feel a nagging sense of foreboding creeping up his spine. He knew it wasn’t just him either when he caught Antinous’ eyes.

Eurymachus broke the stalemate. “Care to elaborate?”

“Naturally.” His mother’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ve issued a challenge featuring my husband’s old bow. Telemachus, you know the one.”

He did. He’d only really seen it once and, being far younger and more shortsighted at the time, hadn’t paid much attention to the finer details. It was an odd thing, though—that much he remembered. It was strung at the time, but when his mother had unleashed the string, it’d snapped into a harsh bend in the opposite direction.

He blinked away the memory. “You want them to string that thing?”

Penelope scoffed. “They can try.” Directing her words back toward those out of the loop, she added, “It’s impossible. Handcrafted via the hands of the gods and made specially for my husband. No other man could possibly have a chance at stringing it. I’ve seen their attempts and they are pathetic.”

Telemachus would’ve loved to have seen that. “How much longer can you really drag this out?”

She glanced at him, expression hardening. “Not long at all. And that is precisely my point here. When they fail to acquire my hand by strength of character, they will take it by the strength of their hands. They strike before summertime.”

“But that’s—what? Two months at most?” Telemachus frowned. “That’s hardly long enough for anything substantial.”

“Which is why,” Penelope said, emphasizing the words as she spoke over his, “I will be choosing a suitor to marry in a week’s time.”

A heavy silence fell upon the room, interrupted only by Argos’ whine. Three appalled faces stared back at the queen as though waiting for her to take it back. She did not.

“Sorry,” Telemachus said. “What?”

“I know what you’re going to say.” She blew out a long breath, strands of hair swaying as they connected with the expelled air. “But please understand this wasn’t a simple decision for me, nor is it one I can be talked out of. At the end of the day, there’s no one coming to save us. We can rely on ourselves and only that. So the longer I put off choosing a new king, the more enraged they’ll become and the more of a target I put on your back.”

“Mom—“

“Telemachus, please.” She held up a hand, effectively silencing him. “They are coming for you, dear. And I assume that, the next time you are forcibly taken from me, you will never come back. I can’t take that risk.”

He understood it. Of course he did, but he could certainly never say he agreed or that the thought of what his mother was about to do didn’t terrify him. He opened his mouth, perhaps to argue or beg, but was interrupted by a different voice.

“Can I say something?” Antinous’ voice was soft, tentative. “I think it may help your decision.”

Telemachus looked at him, temporarily soothed by the voice and image. Antinous glanced back at him, and while his face didn’t change, his thoughts were clear. Don’t worry.

It certainly wasn’t that easy. But he’d gotten far in life by staying fairly coolheaded and now was no time to lose his wits.

His mother nodded stiffly. Her hand was lightly patting his in a way no doubt meant to make his worries more mild. It didn’t really help. Nothing could help until this was all over and his family was still his. No corrupt man to poison his mother or the kingdom. A life of peace.

He wished.

“So—“ Antinous paused, tilted his head as if considering something. “Long story short, Aphrodite is my matron goddess. You don’t need to know much more than that.”

“Wait.” Penelope let out a small, disbelieving chuckle. “You have a matron goddess too? Is everyone here recieving divine assistance but me?”

“Not me,” Eurymachus volunteered. He paused for a long period of time, craned his neck to look around the room. “Wait, what do you mean everyone?”

This time, it was Telemachus who had all eyes on him. His neck heated slightly with embarassment at the attention especially as he felt Antinous’ amusement well up in his own chest. “Well don’t look at me.”

That wasn’t even true anymore, anyway.

“Don’t even start.” Eurymachus rolled his eyes hard, though the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “You mean to tell me I’ve been antagonizing yet another god fuelled entity this entire time, and you never once thought to get me smited off the face of the planet? What is wrong with you people?”

“I was doing you a favor,” he retorted indignantly. “So you owe me, basically.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eurymachus glanced over to Penelope. “Can I say that?”

“Sometimes he needs to hear it.”

Telemachus scowled though he couldn’t summon true irritation if he tried. “When did this turn into a who can bash me the most competition? This is why I don’t tell you things, Eurymachus. Because you’re annoying.”

“Alright, alright,” Antinous said with more conviction than anyone should posess while buried under layers of covers and half obscured by fur and fluff. “Settle, everyone. This is serious.”

He did look incredibly serious. Telemachus hardly needed to peer into his mind to see that whatever he was flipping over in that brain of his was something of great significance to them. Good or bad, that was the real question.

Once Antinous considered the room and mood sufficiently subdued, he pushed himself further up in bed, shifting Argos off to the side. His eyes caught his once more. Don’t worry.

“She delivered a message to me in my sleep,” he stated carefully. “Aphrodite told me that Odysseus has just been freed by an… imprisonment, of some kind. Do you know anything about that, my queen?”

Telemachus’ brain had frozen halfway through his explanation. He felt caught in limbo, hovering helplessly between knowing and believing because there was simply no way he’d just heard what he thought he had.

Odysseus. His father, freed. From what? Where? And what did that mean? Could it be he hadn’t been lost after all? Was it finally time? He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. Oh, gods, but if a god said it then it had to be true. It had to be. His father, his—

Penelope gasped, belated. Her hand reached out to clutch his arm with an iron grip and he allowed her to. He was barely staying upright as well but her staggering weight against his helped keep him in the moment. Almost. But his mind was whirling, whirling, speeding ahead of him and flying through every possible opportunity and circumstance and answer that could possibly mean that his father was—

“Yes.”

The word was raspy, breathless and desperate like the first drop of rain into a desert. She sounded like a woman starved. Of love, of hope, of everything. Telemachus’ heart shattered and healed all at once.

“I know.” His mother’s eyes were shining. “I—know. Calypso. He was on an island with a woman named Calypso and she refused to let him leave. Do you mean—?”

“It’s speculation,” he added quickly. “All speculation. She doesn’t know when he’s meant to return or… well, if he makes it at all. But there’s still hope there. And I’d think it unwise to give up now with the king on the cusp of returning, right?”

“I… that’s… good. It’s so good, but I—“ His mother looked horribly torn. “I can’t plan around speculation.”

“Of course. Your hesitance is reasonable.” Antinous looked back to Telemachus, his eyes searching as though his face might reveal something.

He wasn’t entirely sure what expression he was making. Something shocked, surely, because as much as he hated to admit it, his father just didn’t seem real to him. He didn’t seem tangible, not like a person or relative but rather a concept. This idealistic clump of thoughts and wants that was never really meant to escape from dreamland.

It was a strange feeling, to miss someone so badly without really missing anything at all. After all, Telemachus had never met his father. He’d never known more than his sharp eyes and slight smile and those were only what lines and threads and splotches of pigment could depict.

His mother had once told him he had the most cunning, deep gaze she’d ever seen. That when he laughed he sort of wheezed. And, like the prince himself, he enjoyed a good puzzle and challenge to put his mind to work.

They were good things. Things he could latch onto as a child and fantasize over, wild dreams of a father he didn’t know playing games with him and teaching him checkers. Reading books too complicated for his little eyes and too heavy for his fragile hands, tucking him into bed and rousing him early in the morning to hunt and run and train.

He loved his mother. Even despite his father’s absence and the hole it left behind, he wouldn’t trade his childhood for anything. His mother had read him books and tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead every night. She’d humoured him with bedtime stories and taught him important skills like cooking and weaving and geography and darts.

He’d spent countless mornings under her careful hands as she twisted tiny braids into soft hair. It’d been longer, then—his mother had insisted on letting it grow out, perhaps for the sole purpose of practicing her craft on his own locks. He’d only started wearing it shorter when it got long enough to puff up like a thundercloud at even the slightest hint of humidity, and the tangles that followed simply weren’t worth his time.

Those days, he hadn’t thought about his father. Sure, sometimes he wondered how different his life might be with him around. He asked questions occasionally, wondered privately to himself whether he’d ever be man enough to live up to the great Odysseus’ image, but he’d loved his mother. And that was enough. It could be enough.

After all, how could he miss someone he’d never met? Depend on someone who’d never once been there for him, not in his darkest days and quietest hours? He’d learned to live this way, found people that helped him live this way, and that was enough.

His world was his, not his father’s. It belonged solely to him and that world could be enough. Even if it could fit in the palm of his hand and shaped in the image of a woman rather than some great warrior. Even if the oceans were crafted of tears and the beaches of salt. It was his, and he would make it.

In some ways, he already had.

But love wasn’t logical, was it? No, the way he felt about Odysseus, this soul deep longing to see him and meet him and be his son at last wasn’t logical. He wanted it. He wanted it and that was all he knew and all he needed to know.

And he knew, like how the sky was blue and grass green, that his mother had to feel the same.

“Mom,” he said, cutting her off with a voice miraculously tremor free. “You can’t give up now. This is all you’ve wanted for so long.”

“No.” Her voice was equally strong, almost jaded. “I wanted my baby, my son, to grow up in a world where he didn’t have to worry. One where he could stay alive.”

“I am.” He clutched her hand, squeezing hard but not roughly. “I’m here and so are you, and father could be arriving anyday now. I know it’s a risk, but I also know you’d regret remarrying every day if you did go through with it. And I know I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed you to live in such pain.”

“The suitors must go.” Antinous spoke again, softly but with that same conviction. “This is a battle we’ve fought before. And we can fight it again, if you’re willing to hold the line.”

“I know you probably don’t care what I think,” Eurymachus added, “but I’m quite opinionated and I loathe to keep my mouth shut. It’d be stupid to give in here, your majesty. And, besides, a new king would solve absolutely none of the kingdom’s problems. If anything, it’d only create more drama.”

“I know I haven’t been the best son,” Telemachus admitted, turning to face his mother fully and direct his words solely to her. “I’ve been selfish and reckless and inconsistent and negligent in my duties to you.”

“Oh, Telemachus, no,” she whispered, and her eyes were teary.

“Yes.” He squeezed her hand even tighter. “I love you so, so much and I’d give the world for you. But I realize now that my thinking is—was—flawed. Because my life is your world and yours is mine. So we can’t go sacrificing ourselves for each other. We have to stay together and do the right thing together and be on the exact same page. And I’m sorry for not realizing that before.”

He blinked rapidly to keep back his own sudden flood of emotions. “So, if you want to accept someone’s suit, I’ll follow you and fight for you every step of the way. It’s your right and your life, but just know those pigs will never win. Crown or otherwise.

“I want you to keep holding on.” He gently released her hand, vision now swimming but face still dry. “I know it’s a lot to ask. You’ve been waiting twenty years for him, after all. But I really do believe father will return and bring some good change with him. After all, we’re not helpless against these suitors; all we need is a catalyst to bring them down. So?”

The room was temporarily silent, the air stiff as though fearful even the slightest of breezes might change the queen’s answer. It’d begun to pour outside, a light rain growing steadily heavier as the morning sky darkened into gray.

It was dismal. So, sometimes, was life. But Telemachus couldn’t say he was afraid. Not even with so many doubts ahead of him, because when he looked at his mother and felt Antinous’ voice like a low hum in the back of his mind drumming on and on and on in time with his heartbeat, he just—

“What I said before.” Penelope’s voice was stilted. “Everything. About your judgement, your wisdom, your heart and fearsome wit—“

“Mom,” he said, not even sure of what he aas arguing for.

“No.” She shook her head, gripped his shoulders fiercely. “You’re mine. My son, and I could not be prouder of that. Whenever, wherever, however—happy or sad, making mistakes or rude or angry—I don’t care. You don’t have to be anyone, you just have to be because the man you are and the decisions you make speak for themselves. And I am so, so sorry for ever having doubted that.”

It was nice. Maybe the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him and it had double the weight coming from the person he looked up to the most. More than that, he could tell she meant it. Telemachus had never felt more relieved.

“Okay,” he croaked, not trusting his voice to work properly and stay crackle free on the syllables. “Okay.”

“I wish I could say I have more faith,” his mother said, addressing the room now, “but I don’t, and I can’t.”

Looking past her for a moment, Telemachus was struck by the realization that this had been a public affair and that even the public looked moved by their conversation. Even Eurymachus, who was frowning slightly with something almost emotional written into the tiny line. He guessed he’d never truly know.

They all stayed respectfully silent, and she continued with a tearful breath. “That said. I put my faith in the gods above me and in the people in this room to survive this one last stunt because, if nothing changes, this will surely be our undoing. If he doesn’t return, then…” Another shuddery exhale. “Well. Let’s look up, shall we?”

Three consecutive nods. Penelope smiled slightly, looking down at her hands and back to the suitors surrounding her. Former suitors, actually. Telemachus figured it was more than past time to discard that stupid label and all the evil that accompanied it.

“You two… thank you.” The queen’s eyes softened over Antinous and Eurymachus’ respective figures. “For standing alongside my son and I despite all that’s occurred. I respect your willingness to change your ways.”

“Of course,” Antinous said, hand still steadily stroking Argos’ sleeping head. He looked truly happy, in this resigned, bittersweet sort of way that made Telemachus’ heart ache a little. “It’s only right.”

Eurymachus shrugged, obviously attempting to look and sound more unbothered than was really the case. Just this once, the prince would let him be. “At the risk of sounding too nice, what he said.”

“Right.” Penelope rolled her eyes subtly. Telemachus was glad to see being exasperated by his antics ran in the family. “So we’re dragging this out a little longer. Fine. If that’s the case, then we need to develop some sort of plan.”

“At the risk of sounding like a psycho,” Eurymachus cut in, “I was thinking murder.”

Telemachus snorted, the innate humor of the statement and dry tone accompanying it a sharp but meaningful contrast to the gruesome implications. Then again. He couldn’t say he disagreed. Couldn’t say he saw another way out, either.

The queen’s mouth twitched. “That’s not so easy, is it now?”

“Well, they’ve already violated xenia at least.” Antinous frowned. “Several times, actually.”

“That saves us from the wrath of the gods,” Telemachus agreed, “but not that of the people. Killing a hundred men, most of which being Ithacan citizens with Ithacan family and friends, would result in outrage at best and a mass mutiny at worst.”

“Not to mention killing a hundred men in the first place.” Penelope sighed. “Four against the bloodthirsty masses. It’s improbable.”

“It’s probably more like fifty or sixty now,” Eurymachus offered. “Amphinomus took quite a few to safety from the prisons.”

“Amphinomus?” His mother cocked her head.

“Long story.” Antinous shook his head, lips twisting as he worked himself deeper into thought. “But, alright. Say there are fifty men. Our odds are still beyond slim, especially considering the—what, twenty or so guards roaming around this place? They’re also a threat.”

Telemachus’ temples were beginning to throb again. He stared at his sword still lying discarded on the floor, trying to think of something, anything. It was a difficult problem. A deep hole and sharp corner they’d dug themselves into, but nothing was impossible. They just needed the right circumstances. A bit of luck and some brainpower, and even the smallest snd shrimpiest underdog could come out on top.

He knew from experience.

Lightning cracked outside the window. The sound of rain had become much heavier since the beginning of the storm—not anything to be concerned about, but certainly more than just a bit of rainfall. The flash of light and sharp bang of thunder lit up a thought in his mind equally quick.

“Besides the bow, mother,” he asked, fast before he could forget it, “are they armed?”

She thought for a moment before slowly shaking her head no. He smiled slightly, a devious plan beginning to worm its way into his mind already.

Eurymachus let out a low whistle. “See, I like that shit-eating grin when it’s not directed at me.”

“You should.” His smile widened further as he looked back to his mother. “Are we free to roam now?”

“I’m no longer be monitored, so as long as you stay out of the guards and suitors’ sights, you’ll avoid trouble.” Penelope bit her lip. “I can’t accompany you. I’m expected in the banquet hall to watch the challenge every day. In fact, I should be getting going before I draw suspicion. This was meant to be a bathroom break.”

He wrapped his mother in a quick hug then, letting her go reluctantly but pushing her towards the door. “Better to get going, then.”

At some point, Antinous had stood from the bed, Argos trotting behind him as he drew closer to Telemachus. “Do be safe.”

The prince’s skin tingled as his presence loomed behind him. He smiled at his mother who looked between them with something akin to affection. Though, she did hesitate with one foot halfway through the doorway and Argos situated at her side.

“I don’t know when I can next return.” She swallowed. “Take your own advice, you three. Don’t do anything too out there. And what are you plotting, anyway?”

Telemachus glanced up at Antinous who was already looking at him. He smiled despite himself and the danger he was about to be flinging himself into—again. Was that so surprising, though? At this point, it was just an everyday side effect of any old excursion they happened to participate in. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“No.” The dimple reappeared. “But your thoughts are broadcasting in my head, so I think that counts.”

“Care to explain for the third and fourth wheels among us?” Eurymachus called wryly from deeper inside the room.

He nudged Antinous with his elbow, the contact lighting his arm up in a pleasant flame. “You doing the honors, or shall I?”

Rain poured harder from outside the window, watering the gardens planted around his tower and fuelling the burst of life blooming rapidly from just inside the palm of his hand, wrapping around him and all those he considered family.

Except one.

One day, maybe. One day very soon.

Chapter Text

“You don’t want to stay through the storm?” The old man asked him, concern weighing heavy at the edges of his mouth. “There’s a hurricane on the way. Can’t be long before it hits.”

Eupeithes. That was his name; he’d told him right when the group first arrived, straggly and disheveled from their escape. It really shouldn’t have been so stressful nor so close to going wrong, but he supposed that was what happened when you tried to bring four dozen panicked men to an unknown and unspecified location.

Frankly, he was surprised it’d worked at all.

In all honesty, though, Eupeithes sort of unsettled Amphinomus. He’d been kind enough—no, more than kind—toward them, that he couldn’t deny. Allowing so many strangers to crash at your place at all would make anyone better than most. It wasn’t his actions that were disquieting, it was his… everything else.

There was this strange, heavy guilt in his eyes that never left, even when he smiled. A dullness, almost. Like a man half alive. He was old but far from frail, a muscular but skinny build so many workers wore. And he lived all alone in a house clearly made for severals on the outskirts of the city.

Amphinomus’ bad feeling had only worsened with each second he spent in Eupeithes’ company. He couldn’t explain it. He certainly wasn’t afraid of the man, but he was definitely uncomfortable around him. It felt a little odd, a little judgemental to be so on edge around a presumed widow and lonely old soul, but…

But nothing. He knew it wasn’t fair—felt bad, even—but he also knew he couldn’t take any chances with anyone or anything. Not if he wanted to keep his life, anyway.

He shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I’m afraid I must, sir. I dread to leave you all alone in such a situation, but I’m sure my other suitors will leave you be once the weather is right. Is there anything I can do to—?”

“No, no.” Eupeithes shook his head, effectively cutting him off. “You’ve done more than enough for me. Thank you.”

Amphinomus glanced at the still disorderly living room around them. Straightening some pillows, sweeping the floor, and trying in vain to soak up the water their group had trailed in was hardly anything, especially not in comparison to the great favor he was doing them all. Then again, he’d been taught not to argue with his elders and so he only smiled politely.

“Surely you don’t plan on restarting your journey as you are?” Eupeithes looked over him, a frown deepening the lines of his face and darkening the brown of his eyes. “And the way you describe this castle…”

That was another thing that intrigued Amphinomus about this mysterious loner. He seemed quite invested in the happenings of the palace, more so than the suitor had thought he would be. When he’d described their brief imprisonment and the long history of violence in the royal estate, Eupeithes had looked almost concerned.

Not that showing concern was weird, necessarily. It wasn’t. He almost felt like he was reaching for reasons to distrust this man, but the look on his face had been an almost paternal worry and that had struck Amphinomus as odd. Or maybe he was simply looking for things that weren’t there.

Also. He felt like he recognized this old man. His dark skin and build, the almost familiar look in his eye…

He couldn’t quite place it. It made him antsy. At the moment, he’d probably have more trouble finding five things that didn’t make him paranoid about this place. “This place” being the island of Ithaca as a whole.

He wasn’t even from here. He’d been perfectly happy back overseas on the island of Dulichium, with family and friends and freedom from all… this.

But no. His state was but one of many under the rule of the Ithacan kingdom, and his father wanted independence so they could rule themselves. Or, if he were to address the elephant in the room, so his father could rule them.

And so, as all things tended to go in regards to politics, someone had to take the fall. Naturally, he understood why he’d been the one sent here to carry out this mission. He was his parents’ only son and the only member of their family who could realistically become Ithaca’s king and subsequently allow Dulichium’s independence, and so here he had been sent.

He didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, of course not. He was honored, truly, to have been volunteered. Honored. Yes.

Alright, he wasn’t. He was irritated and inconvenienced, though he’d never voice such disrespect or ungratefulness aloud. Really, though, any one of his sisters would’ve been a better choice than he for such a task. He was hardly a diplomat and had exactly none of the charisma recquired of a such a political figure.

He wanted out. But that was both impossible and irresponsible, especially considering that his soulmate was yet another nobleman. He’d never be free of the public eye, not even in death.

Not that he was thinking about death. What was that phrase, “never say die”? Was he jinxing himself with this line of reasoning? Better not to risk it, already being a nervous wreck and all.

His many grievances put aside, running away was hardly an option for Amphinomus in the first place. He felt horrible for all that’d conspired in the queen’s castle, and while he was deeply frightened of returning to such an environment, he’d rather return a coward than cower in the face of such evils. He couldn’t just sit back and hold his breath while he waited to see whether the suitors successfully overturned the throne or not. Whether he ever even saw Eurymachus again, which was… uncertain.

“I have to,” Amphinomus reaffirmed. “I’ll be safe, of course. Cautious.”

“Allow me to help you, then,” Eupeithes insisted. His face was more certain now. “Follow me.”

Amphinomus wasn’t about to turn down help, even if it was from sort of a shady figure. After all, he badly needed it.

He followed the man from the living room, dodging suitors and making it out into the hall. Eupeithes continued, walking slowly and with a slight limp before stopping in front of him. He turned to the left, fiddled with a door before opening it.

At his stare, Amphinomus ducked inside. It looked to be… a bedroom, perhaps, or what was once a bedroom. Now it looked uninhabited, the bed made neatly and without the slightest of flaws, the space fairly empty. It looked as though someone had taken most of its contents with them when they’d left—though that was just speculation on his part.

He glanced back at Eupeithes. The man was still in the doorway, almost frozen. His eyes roamed across the room over and over again as though searching for something, but not anything tangible. Not something that could be found.

Pity tugged at Amphinomus’ heart. His bad feeling persisted, though this time for a completely different reason. “Do you not come here often?”

The man blinked, at last unfrozen. “Ah. No. This was my son’s room.”

He didn’t elaborate. He also didn’t move, and so Amphinomus took it upon himself to venture a little deeper into the room. He didn’t mean to intrude, really, but he had been invited inside. And he couldn’t deny he was curious about this son. All the things Eupeithes had and hadn’t said still rung so loudly in his ears.

There was a note on the dresser beside the untouched bed. It was the only thing lying on the dusty surface, and so Amphinomus picked it up, unfurled it.

The handwriting wasn’t neat. It looked rushed, as though whoever had scrawled the message had been in a serious time crunch or some state of emergency. The contents were brief, cold in delivery and faded with time.

I’m leaving. I won’t return for a long time, if ever, so don’t count on it. If you were going to try and find me, which I doubt, then please refrain. I want nothing to do with you.

His heart beat a little faster. This felt private—no, it was private. He really shouldn’t have looked at this. Oh, he should definitely apologize. This was between Eupeithes and his son, he should—

“That was a long time ago,” said the old man from just behind him, causing Amphinomus to jump despite himself. “Three years, give or take.”

“Oh,” he squeaked. “I’m… sorry for your loss?”

A gruff laugh that vibrated deep in the suitor’s very bones. “Eh. Not much to be sorry about on my end. It was my fault, anyway.”

“Oh,” he responded once more, voice steadily rising in pitch and wobbliness as he searched tirelessly for an adequate response. He came up empty and desperate. “I see.”

“You’re not here to hear an old man’s stories.” Eupeithes smiled grimly to himself, plucking the paper from his fingers and settling it safely back on the desk. “Apologies. There was a point to all this.”

“No, no,” he protested weakly, inching to the side as Eupeithes broke open the lock to a trunk situated in the back corner of the room. “It’s fine. I’m interested. People tell me I’m a good listener, if you’d like to—you know. I don’t know. Dump your problems on me?”

His voice had practically faded into nothing by the time he finished. The old man straightened, holding some type of strange looking hammer and several metals. When he turned back to him, he was wearing that familiar look of guilt on his face.

“They’re hardly my problems to dump,” Eupeithes was walking toward the door again, “but you’re kind for asking.”

“Well, it’s clearly eating you on the inside.” Amphinomus followed him out, this time to a different door and then down a stairway leading to some sort of basement. “There’s no harm in spilling to a stranger. I mean, we’ll probably never see each other again.”

The tools and metals were dumped onto what looked like a craftsmen’s bench. Amphinomus wasn’t familiar enough with the crafts world to really identify what he was looking at, but it looked formidable and the fire Eupeithes was stoking beside it certainly wasn’t helping. Nor was the floor, covered in dark soot and tiny metal fragments he had to carefully step around.

“I killed the love of my life,” Eupeithes said dryly. “Ever met someone who murdered their soulmate?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

It took all of Amphinomus’ self control to keep his jaw from hanging open and his expression controlled. Why had he asked about this again? Maybe he should trust his first mind more often. That was perhaps the most disturbing thing he’d ever heard, and to deliver such news with such a straight face and unaffected tone? Were the suitors even safe here?

“I…” he gulped. “Not that I know of?”

“Well now you have.” Eupeithes tested the slowly blooming flame with his hand, sweeping his palm above it and making an approving sort of noise under his breath. “Any particular weapon you have in mind?”

“Uh.” His mind felt blank, still stuck on the last bit of information and refusing to let go. “Not especially, no. Sir.”

“Well, I’ll think of something. For the masses, yeah?”

The old man—murderer, killer?—turned away and stared contemplatively at a rack of similar looking metals and half baked weapons. So that was what he was: a blacksmith. Sort of made sense, considering the murder—but that was sort of an awful thing to think. Even if it was true, it was awful all the same. Gods, just what had he walked himself into?

Eupeithes was still muttering absentmindedly to himself. “Good reach, crowd control… lightweight… sustainability…”

“Sir,” Amphinomus croaked and not even he could say why. “You really killed your soulmate?”

The muttering stopped. Eupeithes turned back to him, impossibly more materials clutched in hand. His face was unreadable. “I did. But that’s not what I’m most ashamed of.”

There was more? If his heart dropped any lower, it might put him in danger of cardiac arrest. “How could anything be worse than that?”

Catching himself about five seconds too late, he flushed. “I mean—well, that was rude and presumptuous of me. I apologize, really, I’m sure it’s… I’m sure there’s worse?”

Eupeithes snorted, looking down at the smithing bench and beginning several different processes with the metals that Amphinomus couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around. “Worse is relative, kid. I’m not offended, anyway. This is about the reaction such a thing should elicit in anyone.”

“If you know that, why’d you do it?” The question slipped out.

The old man’s hands keep moving. Experienced. Bloody. “I ask myself the same thing from time to time. I really can’t say.” He shrugged slightly, barely noticeable. “I know it sounds like a cheap answer, but it’s the truth. I killed her because I was angry and because I wanted to. I regretted it, but I wanted to.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t stop the morbid curiosity. He was ashamed of wondering, but it was like an itch that needed to be scratched. It was just so… fucked. What was more fucked was how much he wanted to know more.

He especially wanted to know how a man who murdered his wife, the self proclaimed love of his life, could be the same one standing before him. The one offering help, the one who was withdrawn and regretful with eyes dark and wide that had seen everything. How did it translate? How could someone be both?

“I loved her.” His voice shook only the slightest bit but it hit Amphinomus straight in the chest. “She was an excellent wife and mother, far better than I could ever be. But we weren’t compatible. She wasn’t easy to get along with.”

“Did she deserve to die, then?” He sounded timid, even to himself. “For being difficult? That… hardly seems fair.”

“No.” Eupeithes sighed. Not exasperation, but resolution. “No, of course not. But it felt as though our bond was… deteriorating. And I felt trapped. Like I was chained to a feeling I was no longer capable of feeling. Any love I might’ve had toward her turned to resentment, and it was slow at first but only grew with time. I can hardly remember what caused it now, but…”

He trailed off, tools grinding absentmindedly against metal and moulding it into something new. He shook his head, a humorless laugh escaping gnarled lips. “I was just so angry. So I hit her. That was the first and only time.”

Amphinomus swallowed dryly. There was a lump in his throat that hadn’t been there before. “And that’s how she died?”

Eupeithes nodded. “Just like that. It was stupid of me.”

“That’s…”

He searched for the words to adequately describe the slimy disgust his story made him feel. The sense of foreboding, the insistent question of how anyone could possibly do or feel such a thing toward their soulmate, of all people. Their other half. Anyone, for that matter.

But even so. He couldn’t help feeling a little… sorry, for this old man. Tentatively, yes, but sorry all the same. Because while he was certainly a murderer and most certainly cruel for what he’d done, who was Amphinomus to judge his personhood? He didn’t know him, not the feeling that’d pushed him to do such a thing, nor the past or future.

He only knew the person in front of him now. And that person wasn’t bad, necessarily. Not good, but not bad. One action, good or bad, didn’t make up a person. And so he would reserve his judgement, for that was the grace he couldn’t help but afford other people.

Amphinomus shook his initial comment away with a bounce of his hair. “That’s not your biggest shame?”

Eupeithes glanced up at him. His eyes looked sad, tired and framed by dark circles and the lingering mark of frequent tears. “Quite the openminded one, aren’t you?”

Was he? “I’ll give anyone a chance.”

“I see.” A brief pause, a lingering weight on the end of two short syllables. “And you? What’s your soulmate like?”

“Oh. Uh.” He flushed and hated himself for doing it. “He’s… a character. Some might call him unlikeable. Difficult, even.”

“Not you, though.” He sounded almost amused.

“Ah, no,” Amphinomus said hurriedly. “No, he’s—nice. In his own way. Funny. Nothing like me, so I think it balances out well.”

There was now a pole in Eupeithes’ hand. He began to work on the first end, heat melting the metal and tools beginning to chisel it into a new form.

“Good for you,” he replied, his tone sincere enough, but Amphinomus could never really be too sure. He had quite the poker face. “My son didn’t have a soulmate.”

“Oh, really?” That wasn’t something he’d heard before. “I didn’t know that could happen.”

“Neither did I.” He looked up then, dark gaze piercing him to the very bone. “Would you like to know my true greatest sin?”

Did he?

Might as well. He was too deep in this stranger’s life to turn back now. And, besides. Eupeithes looked like he could use someone to talk to, if only for the morning.

“Yes?”

“When Anysia died—when I killed her—I wasn’t myself. I suppose that’s what happens when you break your heart in two. You lose yourself.”

One side was finished. Eupeithes moved to the other, not once looking up from his work and keeping his hands steady despite the increasing strain in his voice. “I loved my son. But I was so angry all the time. Angry or numb, that was all I was, and so I—“

His voice broke. Amphinomus stared at him, the message quick to seep in despite the silence and situate itself invasively in his mind. Good gods. “And that’s why he ran away?”

“His name is Antinous,” Eupeithes murmured. Amphinomus’ heart stopped. “I suspect he went up to the queen’s castle. He always wanted to be bigger than what he was. Perhaps you know him.”

How oh how and why oh why did he always manage to find himself in situations like these? This was awful. He never should’ve pressed the issue in the first place.

He thought of Antinous. Bold, charismatic, quick thinking even under pressure. He’d saved all of them from that prison and likely Prince Telemachus as well. And while he certainly didn’t have the perfect track record when it came to his behavior at the castle, Amphinomus could see clear as day the change in his character.

It was good, positive. He was good, and while he didn’t know him well, to imagine him being going through so much at Eupeithes’ hands disgusted him. Losing his mother, too. It must’ve been difficult.

His lip curled ever so slightly despite himself. He never would’ve known. Never should’ve known, either.

Was it possible to unhear sensitive information at will?

“I do,” he said, carefully as though treading on the finest of ice.

The man looked up with something akin to shock in his eyes. He didn’t speak. Neither of them did for a time that felt like centuries, until Eupeithes’ lips at last moved and the disgust intensified.

“Is he…?”

“I don’t know,” Amphinomus replied honestly. “We’re not very close. But he’s alive, if that matters to you.”

His hands finally stopped moving, coming to a shaky still on the newly formed weapon. “Oh, gods.” He bowed his head low. “Gods. I didn’t think…”

“I can relay a message for you, if you’d like.”

“Please.” Eupeithes eyes looked almost haunted. “You’d do that for me?”

He stared uncertainly at the rapidly deteriorating man. He wasn’t sure what quite to make of him, but he was sure that it wasn’t his place to make such a decision. He didn’t know Eupeithes, nor the ins and outs of just what he’d done to his family. He hadn’t lived that life and never would. He didn’t know him.

Antinous, however, did. And if he perhaps would like to hear from his estranged father, who was Amphinomus to stand in his way based on some falsely superior moral stance?

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined. Maybe it was worse and Antinous would want to hear it anyway. Who was he to decide whether they ended or began again?

“I would.” He frowned. “You’re his… father, even after all that’s happened. So this is for him, not for you.”

Eupeithes’ hands were shaking far more aggressively now, but his voice had returned to something a little more solid. More sure. “Of course. Tell him I’m sorry for… everything. And that I still love him. That I always did.”

Amphinomus bit the inside of his cheek, conflicted deep inside his soul but still agreeing in the end. It felt wrong, but who knew? “That, I can do. Anything else?”

“No. Yes.” The old man lifted the newly made weapon with shuddering palms. “Take this. And, please. Ensure this ends well for him.”

He looked over the weapon, taking it cautiously from Eupeithes’ calloused hands. It was still warm to the touch, just shy of painful in his grasp. There was a blade on both ends, one smaller and one larger. Sharp. Formidable. Deadly, certainly, with the right person wielding it.

“Double sided weapons can be tricky to get the hang of.” The man’s voice was resigned and brittle once more. “But, if you do happen to grow accustomed to it, they’re very strong against crowds. I hope it’ll be of use.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled at Eupeithes, strained but genuine. He could hardly say he’d formed a secure opinion on him either way. He was a contradictory figure, to be sure, but Amphinomus supposed there were few people in this world who existed on purely one note.

He scratched the back of his neck nervously, trying to buy himself some time to put his words together the way he liked. His mouth, his brain, and his heart hardly ever worked in tandem, but he felt his next words were important to get right.

“I’m not very well qualified to give much of an opinion on you,” Amphinomus stuttered, “but, uh. I don’t know that your son would agree, but I meant it when I said you looked like you could use some company. Stewing in misery doesn’t usually… help.”

Eupeithes stared emotionlessly at him. “Some people deserve misery.”

“Well—“ he gulped. “I suppose. But misery only breeds mistreatment, so… torturing yourself isn’t making the world any better of a place.” Too harsh? Too harsh. Maybe he needed to hear it? Maybe he should shut up. “No offense. Sir.”

There was a long pause. The old man swallowed, looked away. “You’re right.”

He didn’t expand upon that. Amphinomus, who already felt weak in the knees and wrought with enough doubts to break any dam, thanked him once more and fled from the basement with equal urgency. At least he could say he’d tried. Not that trying was really enough here.

Spear clutched in hand, he gave the room another quick once over. A mess. Gods, he ought to get going, but—

Amphinomus coughed lightly behind his fist in what was, honestly, quite the feeble attempt at catching the suitors’ attention.

Somehow, miraculously, the room fell silent. When had he gained that ability?

Embarassment and anxiety quickly crept up his spine and situated as an aggravating flush over his face and neck. Gods above, he was truly not suited at all for this. What was he even meant to be saying again?

A man began to whisper something by the beat up couch. Another suitor kicked him, hard. “He’s speaking, asshole.”

“Thank you,” he said meekly and fought to keep the stutter in check. “Please, uh, be kind to our gracious host during your stay. I—I have to get going now, so. Practice good xenia while I’m gone.”

There was a rising chorus of whispers. Someone shouted out, “Where’re you headed?”

“Back to the palace.”

A new voice. “In a hurricane? Dude.”

The judgemental stares on the group’s faces told Amphinomus that, yes, he was almost certainly marching to his death. Still. The prince and his mother needed all the support they could get, not to mention Eurymachus, who would certainly do something idiotic the second he was surrounded by equally reckless people.

Though, considering what he himself was about to do…

“Well, hopefully not during the hurricane.” He inched a little closer to the door. “Which is why I’ve got to go… now. Well wishes, everybody. Be safe.” He hesitated, smiled tentatively. “And please make good use of the mop and broom. This place looks like a warzone.”

A wave of self conscious grumbling, though the movement that followed indicated they were actually listening. He was flattered, really. Embarassed, but flattered.

With another round of quick goodbyes and after being strongarmed into accepting several cloaks and a large satchel stuffed filled with a vast assortment of things he hadn’t had time to really look over, Amphinomus at last stepped out into the beginnings of the storm.

It was certainly raining harder than before, and the wind was strong enough for him to teeter slightly between steps, but the conditions weren’t horrible. He’d much rather brave a hurricane than Agathinos and his in-group anyday.

A familiar warmth erupted across his shoulderblades. Care to explain why I’m feeling rain on your end?

He let out a sharp whistle of air between gritted teeth. I’m going on a walk.

Be serious.

Eurymachus must’ve been seriously stressed if he was taking that tone with him. And no petnames? Not that he was complaining. Obviously. Not the point.

Are you doing alright?

Just peachy. Sarcasm was practically oozing from the statement. Our two favorite lovebirds are planning quite the massacre.

He paled, nearly tripping on a slippery stone and having to stab the freshly made polearm into the ground to save himself from an untimely doom. Oh?

Yeah. I don’t want you to die.

He shuddered, half fear and half cold. The feeling’s mutual. I’d rather you not die alone. Or at all.

I have fifty other people to die with. Worry about yourself. A lengthy pause. I have to go, my love. I want you to go back. I’m not joking.

Tempting. So very tempting. He squinted through the rapidly intensifying sheets of rain, heart beating nervously in his chest. The castle was very faintly in sight.

I can’t. I promise I’ll be of use. Amphinomus sucked in a shaky breath. How can I get to you?

What he interpreted as a pained, muffled sigh occurred on the other end of the bond. He felt awful for inspiring such a sound. I’ll walk you through it when you get there. Don’t take the front.

Thank you.

No response, save for the storm bearing heavier upon him. He lowered his head and continued forwards, focusing on one carefully placed foot at a time. On, and on, and on.

Antinous crossed his arms, glaring stubbornly down at the little wolf. “Absolutely not.”

“Divide and conquer is the fastest and comes with less chance of capture,” Telemachus argued, returning his look with equal fervor. “More stealth, hello? Have you forgotten what happens if we get caught?”

He had to resist the urge to smack his face into the wall at that. Or wring his soulmate’s neck. “No, which is why I don’t want you wandering off alone. It’s safer if it’s the two of us in case we run into someone. Eurymachus has Melantho which is pretty much instant protection—at least according to him. But you? Nothing.”

“Yes,” Telemachus said, stretching out the word for emphasis, “but I won’t get caught.”

“Telemachus.”

“You don’t get to just pull out my real name whenever you want me to listen.” His cheeks tinged an indignant pink, hand reaching out to waggle a finger in front of his face. “Antinous, I can do it.”

He grabbed the little wolf’s wrist midair, lightly pushing that bold hand back until it was gently pinned against the wall behind him. The way Antinous’ fingers encircled it completely was quite the satisfying sight. As were the flames burning in Telemachus’ eyes.

That wasn’t the point. Not the heated frown on his lips or the proximity of their faces when Antinous leaned in closer. He was just the glad the touch he’d initiated hadn’t caused his own traitorous body to flinch or cringe away.

“I know you can.” His voice was softer now, more patient. “But the only reason I agreed to this was because I was under the impression you’d be safe in my company. The circumstances are dangerous enough without the added risk.”

Telemachus’ hand twitched slightly in his grasp, though he didn’t make an effort to pull away. He sighed, tipped his head to the side in a way that sent his hair cascading like the choppiest of waves. “Will it really make you feel better?”

Their eyes met. Antinous let out a slow breath, allowing the tension to release from his shoulders and carefully letting go of the little wolf’s wrist. The light mark his fingers left behind made him feel strangely… possessive.

“It will,” he said. “Please?”

Telemachus stared at him. He could practically feel his thoughts racing through their link, a mile a minute as always. Already drafting their plan B, certainly. Antinous was in love.

“Hey,” the little wolf rolled his eyes, though a smile escaped him. “Get back on topic.”

“What if you’re my favorite topic?” Antinous asked, a little less than half joking.

“Ha-ha.” He was blushing again. “Stop. I’m trying to think. You’re making this difficult.”

He knew he was. He could feel the fluttering in Telemachus’ stomach secondhand, and while that knowledge did bring him a smug sort of pride, he was well aware they really did have work to do. Suitors to… discard. Was he even ready?

“Okay.” Telemachus nodded to himself, biting down on and quickly releasing his lower lip. “Okay. This… complicates things, but we can make it work. You think we can take down some guards?”

Guards. He had to resist a shudder. “Depends how much attention you’re willing to draw.”

“So that would be none.” He chewed his lip again. “Alright, that’s fine. If we can get the armory secured then we’re already halfway there.”

“Is that on our floor?”

“Sure, if we’re where I think we are.” Telemachus glanced around, shrugged. “I’d say yeah—almost certainly. Is that a problem?”

“It could be.” To be fair, so could most things. “Depends where the guards are concentrated, though I’d wager most are busy supervising the challenge. Or…”

Antinous trailed off, staring out the cramped window which revealed heavy rain. The wind was blowing some of the droplets inside, wetting the floor near their feet and bringing in cool air. It smelled like a storm. A big one, too, judging by the thick clouds rolling ominously across the horizon. And that was only what he could see between tree branches and rattling leaves—he was certain the ocean must have been rippling even more violently.

“Maybe we should wait for the storm to hit,” he suggested at last. “I’d think the guards and suitors would be too busy saving their own asses to check up on their hostages.”

The smallest of smirks. “Hardly hostages anymore, are we?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

Telemachus spoke the words with something much like affection seeping through the lines. Not like affection, no—it simply was. His heart warmed with this private, aching need to be laid claim to. He wanted to be someone’s something. Not just someone, but Telemachus’ something.

It felt like a deeply intimate thought. Just exploring his own thought process embarassed him, not to mention the looming threat of suitors and guards and a mass mutiny as well as incoming murder hanging over their heads. He didn’t have time for romance—at least not for devoting half his brain to agonizing over it. Every second counted, though if they did end up stalling until the storm, then…

No time. Move on.

“You know what?” The little wolf nodded, seemingly not listening to his scattered psyche or just doing a good job of pretending. “I like that. Granted, it will sort of fuck with Eurymachus, but I doubt he intended on following the plan to the letter in the first place.”

That was probably true. Eurymachus was meant to be gathering the maids, which—well, Antinous had held several reservations over this particular part of their scheme.

For one thing, the man would be completely alone in a fairly suitor infested area. While Antinous sincerely doubted there’d be suitors in the kitchens or storage rooms—in other words, the two spaces the maids tended to occupy the most—he still didn’t like the idea.

“Well, you’re not going to do it,” Eurymachus had pointed out. “And, no offense to his highness over here, but if we’re going off who could beat a suitor in a fight…”

“I could beat you in a fight,” Telemachus retorted. He paused, then added testily, “If I had a five second head start.”

Eurymachus snorted. “Yeah, and you’re never going to get it, so now what?”

“Can you two not be at each other’s throats for two seconds?” Antinous sighed, feeling increasingly like the adult in the room.

“We were,” Telemachus said. “Too bad you were asleep. You missed a historic event.”

“Once in a lifetime, even.”

“That’s what I said, numbskull.”

“That’s not what historic means, smartass.”

“Too bad indeed.” Antinous rolled his eyes discreetly. “Seriously, though. Are you sure you’ll be alright? Because I’m not breaking your ass out of prison…” he cringed. “Again.”

“Yeah, prison would be the least of my issues.” Eurymachus grinned. “I’m good. This is exciting!”

“Gods help us all.” Telemachus made a shooing motion with his hand, argument aborted. “Don’t die. It’d be pretty embarassing if you did.”

“Yes, sir.” The boisterous man saluted sarcastically, slipping halfway out into the hall. He hesitated, ducked his head back through the doorway. “Ten drachmas I come back in one piece.”

“Twenty that you get your ass kicked anyway.”

He gave it some thought, snickered. “Thirty if it comes with a stab wound.”

“Coming from the guy who got skewered is rich,” Eurymachus said, tossing a judgemental look in Antinous’ direction, “but I guess that gives you a home field advantage.”

“Go away,” Telemachus laughed.

The smile had lingered on Antinous’ lips for a few moments after Eurymachus left, but it didn’t last long. After all, there was little about their circumstances that was truly amusing, and their chances were… slim. Beyond slim, really, but he figured he should at least refrain from catastrophizing himself into a state of total panic.

They needed witnesses; that was the point of all this. A third—or fourth, if you considered the intricacies of who could really be called a “suitor”—party that could testify on the conditions of the suitors’ death.

Obviously, the mass killing—he hated to think about it but hated the alternative more—would trigger quite the outrage. The people of Ithaca as well as the council would surely want answers. And, naturally, the crown’s word alone wouldn’t suffice to justify the extreme course of action they were about to take.

Antinous appreciated Eurymachus for volunteering himself, he did. After all, Telemachus certainly wasn’t going, and he didn’t know if he could’ve stood a partnership with Melantho, temporary as it may be. And that was if she didn’t stab him in the back first, which was… to be determined.

He really hoped it ended well for Eurymachus. After all, he didn’t know if he could bear the weight of responsibility for yet another person’s death. First his mother, now his friend.

Gods forbid.

“What’s up in the meantime, then?” Antinous spoke the words slowly, focusing on the tips of his fingers and toes to relieve the rapidly building anxiety. “We probably have an hour or two before things get serious enough to cause a disturbance.”

“That’s true.” Telemachus folded his arms, beginning to pick nervously at the skin. “I don’t know. It feels wrong to just sit around like this, especially with my mother down there.”

He slapped the little wolf’s hand lightly, forcing him to cease the scratching. “I get it. We don’t have to.”

Telemachus reluctantly let go of his arm, though his fingers continued tensing and relaxing rhythmically at his side. “No, no. It’s better that we be sure.”

They stood in silence for a moment, matched breathing and wandering minds filling the emptiness of the room. The quiet staining the walls around them was only highlighted by the persistent patter of intensifying rain and storm.

Even if Eurymachus managed to get the maids informed and organized, that was still no guarantee. It wasn’t even guaranteed that they’d win this battle, armed or not. There were just so many suitors and guards and so few of them.

He wasn’t looking forward to this. He really, really wasn’t. But if violence was the only language these men spoke, what choice did they have in the matter?

Violence and control went practically hand in hand. This, he knew, and it was a fact he himself had exploited not so long ago. Was he soon to make the same mistake?

Perhaps the morality of violence wasn’t as simple as black and white. Then again, what right did he or anyone have to draw the line? What made the blood on his hands any more or less red than that on anyone else’s?

Decisions, decisions. If he was being transparent with himself, he’d already made his. He’d chosen Telemachus and this family he’d come to love, somehow. And so maybe what they were about to do wasn’t right, but it certainly wasn’t wrong either.

He was fully prepared to deal with that, to live with the consequences of this day and all those that followed. But this time, he knew he wouldn’t regret it. Wrong or not.

“You’re thinking again,” Telemachus said.

He was a lot closer now, close enough for him to examine his every pore and eyelash, each tiny freckle and the distant memory of a bruise creeping across his clavicle. He wondered just when that’d happened. Just who had made it happen, and the fire inside his soul burned the tiniest bit brighter.

“Unusual, I know.”

“Yeah, I wish. Worried?”

“I usually am.” Simple as can be.

“I know.” Telemachus smiled slightly, an uncertain thing to bridge the castle shaped gap between them. “So let’s act normal, like none of this matters. Just forget about it.”

“That’s a big ask,” Antinous murmured, leaning in a little closer to him.

He smelled like lavender. It was a specific scent he’d come to love alongside the warmth that came with it. The sly upturn of his mouth like he knew a secret nobody else did. Only Antinous knew. He knew, he knew, he knew.

Telemachus was staring straight through his eyes and into him. “I can make it easy.”

It was he who moved first. Antinous closed the gap all at once, a boldness he’d hardly known he posessed gripping and pushing him forward.

His mouth slotted against Telemachus’ own. A perfect fit, like they belonged together, soft and warm and alive.

It was different than the dream. Better because it was real, but different. And it was them, theirs, just the two of them and no guards or touch that he didn’r want. Just theirs.

It was beautiful.

Telemachus’ hand was splayed out against his chest as he tilted his head, aiming upwards and allowing Antinous to go deeper. And deeper he went, their tongues intermingling between breaths puffed out and shared between them.

Antinous’ hands had, at some point, come to settle on and around Telemachus’ waist. The contact felt burning hot, even through layers upon layers of clothes, hotter still as the little wolf through his arms around his neck to pull them impossibly closer.

Telemachus pulled back, their noses bumping lightly against each other as Antinous tried to follow.

His soulmate giggled at that, still breathless and flushed red. Wow.

Antinous didn’t need that lovely smile to know he was happy—the fast beating of his heart and rush of emotions underneath said enough. He hardly realized his partner hadn’t spoken; it was the loudest their soulbond had ever been.

He was rubbing circles into Telemachus’ sides. He could die now and die happy, his soulmate’s fingers in his hair and lips made equally swollen, stuck in this moment of their own creation forever.

He was getting choked up. He was so light, so free of worries or weight or anything in this one singular moment that he felt he could cry. “I love you.”

Telemachus’ eyes were fierce, if a little misty. His weight shifted, one leg coming up to wrap around Antinous’ waist. There wasn’t a single part of them that wasn’t melded into one.

“Then show me,” he snapped, voice freshly impassioned. “Show me how much you love me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He shifted his grip, one arm coming to scoop under each of Telemachus’ thighs. He was still fairly light—maybe heavier than the last time Antinous had held him in his arms, no doubt due to the muscles he could feel pressing against his neck.

The little wolf squeaked slightly as he was lifted, his face coming to be buried in the crook of Antinous’ neck and good shoulder, though he supposed they were on somewhat equal footing now. Scratch that. He didn’t want to think or what had happened to his shoulder. He—

He put Telemachus down. He looked so beautiful, back pressed into the plush covers of the bed and hair sprawled across the pillow behind him.

His arms slipped from around Antinous’ neck, fingers coming up to swipe gently up his jaw and cheekbone. It was only when the little wolf’s hands came away wet that he realized he was crying.

“Is it me?” Their foreheads were touching. He was so beautiful. “Or him?”

“It’s always him,” he said, bitter even to himself. It struck him then that those words could refer to so many people he knew and had known. “But never you, Telemachus.”

The fingers wandered from the skin just below his eye, slipping lower to press featherlight against his jugular. It felt almost like he was feeling his pulse. His heart. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve your mind, not even a single piece of it.” The words were angry, but his tone just as reverent as before. “We can just lie together with a nice, respectable distance between us, if you’d like.”

“I’d like to do a lot of things with you.” Antinous smiled shakily, blinking the blur from his eyes to see his soulmate more clearly. “None of which are respectable.”

“Message recieved,” Telemachus said and pressed their lips together again.

Those slender hands fell back to his shoulders, yanking him onto the bed and over Telemachus. He landed clumsily and the little wolf laughed into his neck, this impeccable vibration that resulted in Antinous playfully pinning him down with his weight and hands.

“That’s not fair,” Telemachus huffed, squirming in vain from where his midsection was trapped between broad thighs. He shifted again, resulting in something brushing against Antinous’ backside, and promptly went a pretty pink. “Nevermind. I think I like this position.”

“Absolutely not.” Antinous flipped them easily, earning another humorous little squeak at the quick swap in arrangement. “We have places to be after this.”

“Well, I know that.” The little wolf was grinning the broadest he’d ever seen him. “You’re resilient, aren’t you?

“Are you?”

“Very much so.” Indignance flashed in his eyes, swiftly accompanied by a rush of heat through his chest as the clasp of his chiton was quickly discarded. “As much as I love listening to you talk, I do enjoy your occasional submissive streak.”

That made his face grow very warm very fast as the cool outside air hit his pectorals. Gods above. “Show me something impressive and I’ll consider it.”

“Bet.”

Telemachus pushed him deeper into the cushions, his hand roaming across his naked chest and nails scraping over his ribcage as they melted into each other’s mouths. Antinous began to unclothe the other man, fumbling and barely paying attention to the intricate clasps and ties in favor of falling into the comfortable sensation of his partner’s lips and roaming hands.

The little wolf pulled away, his hands smoothing insistently across the rigid plane of his stomach. He smiled, tipping Antinous’ head innocently to one side. Allowing his submissive streak to win out was really his first mistake, as Telemachus promptly planted a light kiss over the pulse spot on his neck.

He then bit down with all the ferocity of a vampire or, well—wolf. The muscles in Antinous’ neck gave a strange but pleasurable spasm.

“Freak,” he spat, but devolved into almost delirious laughter to match Telemachus’ shaking shoulders.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, at last pulling free the remainder of what was holding Antinous’ chiton together. “Enough messing around; I’m too horny to go on like this. You did say you wanted to be mine, though.”

“I thought it. And I already am.” He rolled his eyes, lovesick smile still on his lips. “Have fun explaining this to your mother.”

“Oh.” Telemachus paused, his fingers still hovering over Antinous’ pelvis. “Oh, shit.”

“And this is what you get for thinking with your dick instead of your brain, wolfie.”

Shut the fuck up was what his lover’s brain said. I love you was a close second. His mouth was too busy kissing him to speak, dragging them back into the depths of forgetfulness. Just a moment longer.

The hurricane would soon bring them back.

Chapter Text

I’m outside.

Eurymachus barely resisted the urge to sigh into his hands. Fucking Amphinomus. Everyone here was crazy and stupid, and was there any worse a combination than that?

One moment, he responded tersely. I’m in a bit of a predicament at the moment.

And a predicament it was. Getting held at knife point hadn’t exactly been part of the plan, and certainly not so soon—also, he really didn’t want to give Antinous those thirty drachmas. That’d just be embarassing.

“C’mon, Melantho,” he whined. “What’s one more little task? Don’t you want to be free from the castle’s clutches once and for all?”

Granted, he was really and truly asking. Melantho was an enigma and, like most people he knew, made no fucking sense. Her motives were a neverending source of confusion for him which was… fine. Whether she wanted a greater paycheck or to trigger the total economic collapse of this nation was really none of his business, but that knife definitely was.

“I’m tired of your shit, Eurymachus,” she grunted, the knife held steady in a small hand. “All of you.”

“Well, sure.” There was surely going to be a dent in his back by the time this conversation ended; his only two options were hugging the counter and walking straight into his own demise. How very shocking. “And that’s why you should help me wrap this up! Just like old times, except not at all.”

Melantho stared at him with a look so unimpressed it almost stung. Almost being the keyword—he’d already come this far without shame. “You’re an idiot.”

I know you said one moment, but a tree branch almost just took my head off.

This time, he actually did sigh. Then I advise you get to dodging, dear.

A long silence. Something like a nervous chuckle as the persistent cold spread across the bond. I’ll keep that in mind. While I still have one.

“Maybe so,” he snapped, a dangerous mix frustration and frantic urgency beginning to crawl up his spine, “but my soulmate’s about to get decapitated waiting out there in the storm while I go back and forth with you. Either stab me and finish this, get out of the way so I can do my job, or help me understand why you’re being so difficult so I can theoretically drum up a tiny bit of sympathy.”

Melantho’s eyes were dark, something unreadable simmering behind them. “I can’t let you kill the suitors.”

“That’s happening with or without me. And since when have you been loyal to them?”

“Since never.” She snarled the word with venom, bitterness twisting her expression. “I am loyal to myself and myself only, what don’t you get?”

A lot of things. He didn’t get a lot of things, and that was a problem, but there were so many bigger ones stacking up by the minute that he could hardly bring himself to care.

Then again. Melantho looked almost unruly, the least put together he’d ever seen the woman. Dark circles under her eyes and a…

Bruise. A bruise around her neck. Imprints of fingers, recent and as dark as her hair. Large hands, that of a man. They didn’t look as if done in pleasure.

He looked over her—truly looked—for the first time since he’d met with the maids. The others were long gone, seeking shelter in preparation for the incoming war within the halls. But Melantho had lingered behind, waiting for the rest to leave before at last pinning him here, wielding only a knife and her own deepseated rage.

Eurymachus’ mouth twitched downwards into a contemplative frown. He stepped forward, ignoring how the point of the blade began to jab not-so-lightly into his chest. She only glared up at him, refusing to move backwards but also not wedging the knife into his ribs. Curious.

He cocked his head, locking eyes with her in a tense stalemate. “Who?”

She flinched but raised her chin anyway. The knife didn’t budge. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play stupid, Melantho,” he scoffed. “You may not like me and we may not be friends, but this isn’t like you. You’re a snake through and through, and I don’t believe for a second that you’re genuinely sticking up for these guys without an ultrerior motive.

“So who is it you’re so concerned about dying? And why is it you need them alive? Because you can’t bear to see them die,” he narrowed his gaze, the words sharp and piercing, “or because you can’t bear to have your heart broken?”

There was a long silence. The blade began to shake in her grasp before slowly—tortorously slowly—retracting. She dropped it on the counter, her face composed once more. Like clay, or glass reinforced by iron.

Busted.

Melantho at last broke eye contact. She looked down at her feet, not quite timid but certainly not brave, her hair falling over her eyes and shielding her expression from him.

“Agathinos,” she hissed, voice quiet and resentful.

Eurymachus stared at her in disbelief. A moment passed, tense and breakable. Then, like sudden hail cracking against stone, he laughed. “Holy shit.”

She shrugged, face unmoving. “So? Found your sympathy yet?”

“Sure.” It was true. “You don’t even love him, do you?”

“Not a singular man or woman with a choice would ever choose to be his,” she snapped. “If they kill him, I go down with him. I can’t. I’ve heard the stories, the tales—“

“Alright, alright, stop.” He held up a hand, silencing the angry tirade before it could grow into something explosive. “Firstly, your fuckass soulbond doesn’t own you, nor does it define you. You’re a sneaky, soulless bitch with an agenda and you’re good at what you do. That’s who you are.”

Eurymachus half expected her to intervene. When she didn’t, he took that as invitation to go on with a far more moderate tone.

“Secondly, losing your soulmate is going to change you in one way or another. But it happens to everyone in the end.” He crossed his arms. “And for what it’s worth, I think it depends on how much you actually care about them. My parents barely tolerated each other and, when my mother died, the only thing my father was concerned about preserving was her will.”

Melantho snorted disparagingly. “Sounds about right for your bloodline.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

He paused for a moment, listening to the pouring rain on Amphinomus’ end and his ragged breaths. On the topic of losing a soulmate…

Eurymachus sighed. If the suitors didn’t kill him, the stress of it all just might finish him off anyway. “Look, he’s dead either way. And we both know he deserves it. So now you have a choice: try to prevent the inevitable for some piece of shit you don’t even like, or help a different piece of shit you don’t even like. But at least it’s for a good cause, right?”

The maid before him didn’t respond immediately. He listened to Melantho breathe, simply weighing her options, and had to force himself not to scream at her to hurry up already. He really wished she would, but even he wasn’t so insensitive.

Besides, he really did feel sorry for her. Sometimes he had to wonder just what the fates were thinking. These decisions had to be intentional—he didn’t really think there was such a thing as a misstep when it came to destiny—but that only raised more questions.

Whatever. It wasn’t like they were going to come down and answer him.

“Fine.” Melantho shook her head, seemingly incredulous with her own course of action. “Fine! You win. You do stupid shit and you always win.”

“One of my many talents,” he answered dryly, stepping around her and toward the exit. “What can you do for me?”

She was still smiling slightly, though it was hardly one of joy. More like dark amusement, perhaps at the irony of it all or her own fate she’d just effectively chopped into pieces. He felt sorry. Grateful, but sorry.

“So your accomplices are sealing up the armory.” Melantho blew out a long breath, several strands of hair fluttering with it. “I can gather the suitors to one location.”

He was feeling jittery. Even Amphinomus’ breathing had faded into a dull nothingness in the back of his mind, and while he was aware it probably meant just that, he was also aware that any number of things could’ve gone wrong for him while Eurymachus had been engrossed in conversation.

He was fine. Maybe? Probably, though who knew? He liked to think Amphinomus was a little too nice and pleasant to be killed off with no remorse, but this was Agathinos and his lackeys they were talking about. And they were… vicious.

From irritating anklebiters to bloodthirsty piranhas. In hindsight, Eurymachus had to say he much preferred that stupid dog metaphor.

“Cool,” he said, hand hovering over the door. He was hoping and praying to any god that would listen that neither he nor Amphinomus ran into any suitors on their way. “Get to it, then. There’s minimal time for wallowing.”

“You don’t think I’ll just go off and betray you?” Melantho sounded genuinely inquisitive. “It’d be pretty simple.”

Eurymachus shrugged. “You could. And then we’d all die and you’d earn… what? A shitty future husband? I mean, if that’s what you’re into, then sure. But I think we both know you won’t.”

“Hm.” Her face remained impassive. Ever the stoic. “I guess we’ll see, then.”

He eased open the door, peeking out into the empty hall. Where are you? “I guess.”

Eurymachus stepped out into the open, hurrying from the kitchens to safer grounds. He didn’t like how he could hear the ruckus of the challenge so close, the mass of suitors being only a few walls away. One wrong turn and he could be spotted.

He couldn’t get caught. At least he could drop the laid-back attitude and stress in solitude now; faking it until you made it only worked when capture didn’t end in certain death and when your potential capturers weren’t mere feet from you.

For a frightening moment, there was no response. Gods above, he was having heart palpitations. He held the knife in his hand tighter, scarcely breathing as he stood just around the corner of the main hall’s doorway.

He could hear the suitors’ voices clearly. They were arguing about something, though the discourse seemed to be among the men rather than directed at the queen. That was good. It hardly seemed like the best idea to have her supervising swaths of men seeking to claim her with little security, but he didn’t exactly make the rules here.

Holding his breath and shutting his eyes, he quickly skirted across the doorway and onto the other side of the hall. For a second he simply stood there, completely still and anxious to see whether he’d been noticed.

No one came.

The back, near where I left from. Amphinomus’ soft voice was like cool water over a burn. He let out a silent sigh of relief, continuing down the hall with cautious dexterity. Is that a good spot, or should I move?

It’s great, stay. I’m coming.

There was a heavy thump from the floor above them and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the impact. Eurymachus thought he heard what sounded like the start of a yell, only to be swiftly muffled by something or someone. It was followed shortly by a metallic clatter.

Did these people posess zero sense of stealth or were they just trying to fuck with his nerves?

Oh, well. He guessed he couldn’t blame Antinous or Telemachus or whoever the hell that was. If it worked, it worked. And, as there was no more movement or struggle, it seemed it’d worked.

Hopefully the right party wasn’t moving or struggling. Again, who knew?

The knife still sealed to his palm, Eurymachus hurried to the back door of the castle. It felt like the longest walk he’d ever taken, though he knew realistically only a couple of minutes had passed at most.

Near the gardens? he asked, hesitating next to the door. He was scared of what he might find behind it—though perhaps he should be more concerned about the strong winds knocking the shaky thing down before he even got the chance to make a decision.

Yeah. Amphinomus’ voice was a lot clearer now. He had to be close, then.

Eurymachus pulled open the door and was immediately greeted by a sheet of rain straight to the face, powered and strengthened by the whirling winds. It was dark outside despite only being the beginning of the afternoon, dark clouds stifling the horizon and forming a collective shadow.

He squinted through the storm, looking right and then left. There was a moment of hesitant stillness before—

“Over here.”

Eurymachus jumped again as Amphinomus appeared from… seemingly nowhere, actually. Antinous and his boyfriend could stand to learn a thing or two from him, he guessed.

“Good gods.” He placed a hand over his still heaving chest. “You scared the shit out of me. Wait, wait.” His eyes lit up. “Where’d you get the sick spear from? No, sorry, are you okay?”

He paused, eyes raking over his soulmate’s appearance. He looked exactly as you’d expect someone who’d just walked through a hurricane to look, which was to say a mess. As in clothes and cloak fully drenched and hair blown in every feasible direction. A sick spear.

Whatever. He was into it.

“Respectfully,” Amphinomus said, “I’m sort of freezing to death.”

That was probably the bigger problem here, wasn’t it.

“Okay, okay.” Eurymachus put his hands up, moving to make space for him in the doorway. “I get it. You can’t trail water all over the place, though. That’d be a little too obvious.”

Amphinomus stepped inside, shaking his head and sending water practically everywhere. Given that Eurymachus was already half soaked from his few seconds out in the open, he hardly felt it.

He held out his knife free hand. Amphinomus handed over the spear with fingers that felt like ice—he really had been freezing to death, it seemed—before shedding his wet cloak. Underneath it was a bag.

“What’s that?” Eurymachus asked, shifting the double-sided spear—he’d really never seen anything like it before—aside to reach for it.

Amphinomus quickly pulled it away from him, laughing nervously. “Well. It’s lots of stuff, but I think someone gave me hemlock.”

His hand quickly recoiled. “Poison hemlock? Where’d they even get that from?”

“Is it really so shocking?” The other man side eyed him as he quickly wrung the water from his clothes. “Sounds like something you’d have, honestly.”

“I’m not a botanist or a drug lord, Amphinomus,” he huffed. “I don’t even know what it does besides kill people. And why would they put that in your bag? Isn’t touching it, like, bad?”

Amphinomus’ clothes were now clinging to the curve of his skin rather than dripping everywhere. He carefully opened the satchel, showing him a leafy bundle of seemingly innocent white flowers.

He smiled slightly, apparently amused by his ignorance of all things floral. “Touching it isn’t usually what kills people. It’s still toxic, though.”

“That’s… good?” There was another thump from upstairs. Eurymachus smiled back wryly. “Speaking of killing people.”

His soulmate looked impossibly more nervous at the mention. Definitely a little paler, too.

“Is that…” he cringed mid sentence. Weird. “Antinous and Prince Telemachus?”

Unfortunately, there was little time for overthinking and evaluating every minor word and movement; he’d have to let it go for now. “Hopefully.”

Something in the air shifted, and all at once, Eurymachus’ hair stood up on end. He paused, focusing on that feeling and really listening. The bustling commotion from the main hall hadn’t quieted—it was louder, actually. And, not only was it louder, but the chorus of voices and footsteps were on the move. In their direction, presumably.

“No time, my love.” He tossed the spear back to him, Amphinomus catching it clumsily. “Are you sure you can even use that thing?”

Anyone else would’ve been offended. His soulmate only flushed. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay, great. Because you’re gonna have to figure it out…” The footsteps intensified. “Soon. Very soon.”

The blood drained just as quickly as it’d appeared. “Uh…”

Eurymachus opened the door once more, quickly shoving the discarded cloak back out into the storm. Better not to leave more evidence that they’d been there. He grabbed Amphinomus’ hand, quickly tugging them further down the hallway as voices grew in pursuit.

We’re waiting on a signal, he thought, lips sealed carefully shut in fear of drawing attention. When the others strike, so do we. We’ll want to cover all sides of the castle.

They came to a stop at an impasse. Here there were two halls, each branching out to a different section of the palace. They shared a look of equal dread.

Looks like we’re dying alone either way.

Amphinomus’ eyes narrowed in disapproval and worry alike. Don’t even joke.

Closer still came the crowd. He grit his teeth. I was hardly joking. Which side do you want?

His soulmate shook his head, hands scrambling back for his satchel. He hesitated, reaching carefully inside before pulling a smaller, folded cloak free.

Amphinomus’ unfurled it before gripping the fabric and tugging it experimentally. Then, arms tensing, he tore it completely with an unexpected strength. Well, not unexpected. Eurymachus had known he was strong, it was just that he hardly ever utilized it, so hot damn.

He was looking at the fabric with focus, at last completing the rough contour of a square before yanking the scrap free. The torn up cloak was swiftly shoved back into the bag.

What are you doing?

Amphinomus ignored him. Instead, using the scrap of fabric, he pulled the bundle of hemlock free. It was fully covered, the flowers and leaves having disappeared under the shield of dark fabric.

He looked at Eurymachus, held the poison toward him. You’ll need more than just that knife.

Their fingers brushed during the handover. It was seriously dumb that he was even thinking about this in these circumstances. What was he, Antinous?

Flowers? he batted his eyelashes. For me?

Oh my gods. Amphinomus went red… again. Never change. You know that’s not what I meant!

He smiled. The crowd would catch up to them soon. I know. But you should consider it.

Fine. Only if you come back safely.

I will, I promise. He stepped forward and to the left, smirk widening. I won’t get you flowers, but I can give a killer blowjob if you’re into that.

Amphinomus turned around in record time and stalked to the right. Eurymachus would’ve laughed if he were able, only they were fresh out of time and he was in great danger of never using his mouth again. For anything.

Don’t die, he thought and then gave a quick prayer. Hopefully all went well. He really wasn’t trying to end today six feet under.

You too.

And so the game was on.

Antinous had never felt nerves quite so bad in his life until this moment. He and Telemachus were braced side by side, just around the corner of the treasury door. Weapons and two guards mere feet away from them—a shitty combination to begin with, and a shittier one with palms this sweaty.

They only had one sword. Hopefully that would change soon, but that depended fully on whether they were actually able to get this done.

Telemachus had tried to give him the weapon, but Antinous had insisted he keep it for himself. He certainly didn’t regret that decision, though getting in a fist fight with men wielding spears—the same spears that’d already nearly ended him once—wasn’t the most appealing idea he’d ever had.

His soulmate glanced up at him, fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade. His lips still looked ever so slightly swollen. You good?

Not especially, but he was certainly ready to get this done and over with. He just had to remember who he was doing it for. Think of the end goal and close his eyes to the present.

He nodded.

The little wolf sent him a disbelieving look, but ultimately chose not to press the issue. Instead, he held up his hand and three fingers.

Three.

A finger disappeared. Two.

There was movement from the front of the armory. The hushed voices of the two guards bouncing back and forth indicated a conversation. More than that, a lack of surveillance.

One. Antinous braced himself.

They moved together and at once. Telemachus rounded the corner first, lunging forward and slashing low and wide with the flat of his blade. There was a yelp and the thud, thud, thud of a body—a guard’s body—hitting the floor, knees knocked in and rendered usless by the well aimed assault.

He followed swifty behind, smacking the end of the standing’ guard’s polearm to prevent it from swinging in the little wolf’s direction. It seemed to stay suspended midair for centuries before falling, clattering into the nearby wall.

The guard opened his mouth as if to yell for someone, but Antinous swiftly silenced him with the hardest, angriest punch he could summon. Straight to the throat.

The man made a gasping, wheezing noise. Antinous couldn’t bear the face he was making nor that awful sound, and so he quickly put an end to his misery. Another punch, this time to the nose and accompanied by a brutal crack, sent the guard spiralling to the floor unconscious.

There was something warm and slick splattered across his now throbbing knuckles. He decided not to think about it lest he become truly sick, instead opting to turn and check up on Telemachus’ progress.

His eyebrows jumped. “That was fast.”

The little wolf was crushing the guard’s middle, preventing him from getting up or finding any sort of leverage. Not that it would’ve mattered, anyway. His legs were… bent. The wrong way.

Damn.

He averted his eyes, that familiar queasiness threatening to rear its ugly head and make itself known all over the floor. The how wasn’t the point, anyway. What mattered was that the guard was out cold, slightly blue in the face and with the dark outline of fingers laced around his neck.

Telemachus grinned with something akin to pride as he slowly removed himself. “Strangling always gets the job done. I should know.”

A second of silence. His eyes flitted over whatever appalled expression Antinous must’ve been wearing and the smile quickly turned sheepish. “Too soon?”

“You…” For some reason, he laughed. The quietest little thing that slipped out and felt wildly inappropriate but wholly unstoppable. “You really are bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been nursing this grudge for three years.” Telemachus shrugged. His tone was light, but it didn’t take a soulbond to feel the clear and frightfully intense sincerity peeking through. “I’m very… passionate about this, so to speak. I say let’s keep it at that.”

He understood. He couldn’t say he necessarily related—after all, it hadn’t been him who’d been forced to bear the brunt of the suitors and guards’ cruelty. The memory of all that’d conspired and all he was and had been guilty of still hurt him deep in his chest.

Telemachus was right to feel angry. His wrath was justified, and even justice didn’t feel like strong enough a word for all he’d been through.

After all. Venegenace against these men wouldn’t give him back those three long years. It wouldn’t restore his innocence or erase the scars etched deep in his skin.

Some people would say vengeance is the sweetest dish of them all. Maybe those people were right. But when that initial sweetness faded, what more did it provide? Did its meaningfulness fade the same as those annihilated by its hand?

Still. “I get it.”

Telemachus was standing. His eyes swept vigorously over their handiwork, analytical as always and taking in every little detail at once.

“Should we…” There was a touch of hesitance that hadn’t been there before. Antinous recieved the message even before he finished speaking. Kill them?

A cold discomfort washed over him. He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Should we?”

“They are traitors,” Telemachus pointed out. He didn’t sound pleased. “They are allies to the suitors.”

Both of things were true. Antinous knew it, they both knew it, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that doing such a thing would be so unbearably wrong.

The little wolf’s eyes pierced his. “Be honest. Are you willing to kill anyone?”

The words, though sufficiently blunt, didn’t strike him as judgemental. He sounded genuine, even compassionate. Worried, maybe, but truly asking.

Antinous swallowed dryly. He thought of his parents and the blood smeared on his knuckles. The guard he’d already murdered, his body probably still rotting in the depths of the dungeon. If it hadn’t been discarded somewhere like a piece of trash.

He cringed, looking away and feeling stupidly weak. “It… depends.”

There was a sudden surge of movement from the floor below. It sounded like a crowd of impressive size all moving at once, a swarm of men traversing the hallways. The reminder of their dangerous presence forced another unpleasant shiver under his skin.

Telemachus worried his lip between his teeth, increasing the swelling redness while clearly being equally unsettled by the noise. “Okay. I think maybe we can just… lock these guys up somewhere? Until we’re done, anyway. And then straight to the prisons they go.“

Antinous nodded in agreement, quicker than he might’ve liked but spurred on by the pounding of footsteps beneath them. “I think that’s fair.”

“To be clear, the suitors are still dead men.”

He shrugged, a confusing tangle of satisfaction and dread arising at he words. “I think that’s fair.”

Telemachus shrugged slightly, looking away to focus on rummaging through the guard’s clothes in search of something. His face brightened as he found what he was looking for, his hand retracting with an unsuspecting key in tow.

“For the armory?”

“Yup.” The little wolf stood, using a foot to nudge the bodies aside so he could get to the door. “Can you take care of them for me?”

That, he could do. Quickly making the executive decision to move the guards to the guest bedroom they’d been using—it was close and had enough stuff in it to create a decent barricade—he grabbed the first man under the arms and dragged.

He was decently heavy, and the faint sounds of discomfort that slipped from his mouth every so often did nothing to help Antinous’ nerves. He ignored it, opting instead to shove open the bedroom door and haul the man through to the bathroom. Once he was settled and still looked sufficiently unconscious, Antinous jogged back to the armory hall.

Not seeing Telemachus right away sent a shot of anxiety through him, but his rational mind quickly put together the open armory doors and faint rustling from within. Relax.

He turned his eyes to the second guard. His legs were broken, obviously, and Antinous thought it’d be a bit too cruel to simply drag him like he had the other. More than that, it’d probably wake him up. And result in a lot of unwanted commotion.

All too aware of the position he was putting himself in, he hoisted the guard’s arms over his shoulders. Hoping he didn’t posess the state of mind or consciousness to start choking him, Antinous slowly and carefully stood, supporting the man on his back.

This trip ended up being far slower than the one before, and each second spent depositing the guard in the bathroom alongside the other only increased his impatience and impending dread.

Antinous shut the door, shaking out the tension in his arms and back. Wasting no more time, he picked up the desk in the bedroom and moved it out into the hall. Then a chair and the small shelf situated next to it.

After a moment of deliberation, he loomed over the bed. It was far from made, still unruly from… well, it was their fault, really. He pulled his mind from that particular line of reasoning and instead gave the frame an experimental pull.

It wasn’t an unreasonable weight or size, which, while inconvenient before, turned out to be very convenient now. It also didn’t screech or protest too noticeably with the movement. In other words, perfect.

Privately mourning the fact that his shoulder still burned at any overexertion (and that nowadays, pretty much any exertion was overexertion), Antinous put his weight onto his back foot and pulled. It didn’t take much time at all to situate the bed firmly in front of the door frame, pushing himself out and into the hall with the other items.

He closed the door quietly, boarding up the entrance with an assortment of furniture. He didn’t pay as much mind to the layout, instead going quickly and only giving the door handle a couple of test shakes. It didn’t budge, so he considered it a job done well enough.

Besides. If two men armed with only broken legs and a concussion managed to move that bed out of the doorway, he’d have to give it to them.

Antinous brushed off his hands against his legs, callouses providing a scratchy, semi-painful way to ground himself. With urgency in his steps, he retraced his path once more to reunite with Telemachus. Thank the gods, he was still there. Standing with the key in one hand and a sword—a different one, sharper and sturdier and very expensive if the quality of the metal told him anything—in the other.

The little wolf beckoned him forward with his non weapon-wielding hand. “What do you want?”

Antinous followed his lead, peeking his head tentatively through the armory door. He wished he could shake the paranoia he now found himself practically drenched in, but he knew that probably wasn’t happening. Not only that, but it was, in some respects, necessary. Wise.

The armory was… wow. So much stuff. All types of weapons, some old and some ancient with blades and spearheads sharp as the finest of grass. And…

His eyes lit up, looking over a slightly shorter sword that glittered closer to gold than silver. “Is that copper? No, more like… bronze. With arsenic? Regular bronze is pretty shitty for a sword, but this is nice.”

Weapons like these weren’t very common, and for good reason. Other materials, like steel and titanium, tended to be both more accessible and more effective. His own father favored—used to favor—a mild steel, which wasn’t terribly creative but was cheap and sold decently. Antinous only remembered him ever making one bronze sword, and it was more a showpiece than anything.

It’d been given to him, actually. The gods only knew who posessed it now.

He weighed it in his hand. The blade was intricate and decorative, though it did feel a bit odd to touch. It was heavier than your average sword, both due to the choice of metal and the thicker blade.

Still, whoever made it must’ve been pretty talented. It was pretty sick, actually.

“You’re into this kind of thing?” Telemachus’ voice carried a curious lilt from the doorway.

Antinous felt stupidly embarassed at the question. He quickly discarded the sword, leaning it back against the busy walls and making a safer choice. A long, steady steel blade with just the slightest of springyness to accompany the experimental slash. Not overtly showy, but effective. Much better.

He turned slowly to depart the armory, but not without one last cursory look around and the last minute grab of a knife and holster. He wasn’t going to think about what’d happened the last time he’d held a knife in hand.

“My father was a blacksmith,” he answered quietly, his voice little more than a murmur.

“Ah.” Antinous couldn’t even hope to describe how cathartic the lack of pity in his tone was to his rapidly squeezing chest. “That’s pretty cool. Is that why you kicked my ass while we were sparring?”

He remembered his ribs cracking under his father’s hands. He remembered having to take a long walk down to the city, agony increasing every step of the way, just to find someone willing to help him for cheap. It hadn’t been cheap, but not puncturing a lung had made up for not eating the three days afterward.

It all felt like little more than a distant memory now.

Telemachus’ eyebrows had raised slightly in his absence of response. Figuring his mind had already been thoroughly read, he shrugged and offered a self deprecating sort of smile. “I guess you could say that.”

The little wolf nodded in understanding, carefully pulling the armory doors closed behind him. He freed the key from a pocket once more, inserting it painstakingly into the lock and twisting. There was a satisfying click, clear indication that the armory was now fully and truly walled off to their oppositionaries.

The bustling volume beneath them had come to be quieter now, the suitors’ voices all concentrated to one location and no longer dynamic in their movement.

Telemachus looked up at him, knife still twirling in his right hand. “For what it’s worth, I like how you know so many things. Even if the memory attached isn’t a pleasant one.”

Love, nervousness, this unstoppable building tension that came with the knowledge that now was their time to strike. It was pouring rain outside, high winds that provided nowhere to go for those looking to escape. The suitors were all grouped together—somehow, as Antinous couldn’t even hope to imagine how Eurymachus had managed that—and they had no access to weaponry beyond what they already had. They were trapped, like sitting ducks prepped to be shot and killed.

Killed. Gods, he wasn’t ready, but he was. He just wanted Telemachus’ family to be free from this hell they’d been living in. He wanted the queen to finally not have to worry about these men or live with the knowledge that she’d forsaken her soulmate for a suitor she felt nothing for.

They had to die. It had to be now.

There was a pleasant weight on his shoulder, accompanied by the sweet scent of roses in bloom and this righteous, all consuming anger like poison dripping down his clavicle. It felt like justice. This all-consuming drive to protect and do what he knew deep down was right.

He looked to the side, Aphrodite’s hair brushing like calming waves against his face. She smiled, the hand on his shoulder sliding up to stroke the side of his face. There was something almost maternal about the pride gleaming in her gaze.

“Feel that?” she asked. Her voice was like the coolest of water to a simmering burn.

He nodded.

Aphrodite’s smile widened. “Good. That’s the fire inside your soul, and I suggest you keep it. It’s what makes you human. It’s what keeps your bond alive.”

“I will,” he vowed, and knew then it was the truth. “Are you… staying?”

Her eyes softened, hand still like velvet against his cheek. “Of course, dearest. Every step of the way.”

There was a moment where they simply stood together, breathing in tandem. Aphrodite’s eyes were bright as she looked upon him, and for a startling few seconds, it felt almost nostalgic. Like old times, except not at all. Because Antinous was far from who or what he used to be, and his matron goddess, too, had changed.

And really, what hadn’t?

She faded slowly, like seafoam dying against the white sand of the world’s most perfect beach. He watched the last wisps of her glittery hair disappear, the remains of her smile dispersing into thin air. Still, he felt her presence by his side. The weight of the smallest of butterflies perched over his chest, a reminder of the very first person who’d ever been there for him.

He smiled, this time at Telemachus. There was something so painfully bittersweet about the moment. “Thank you.”

His soulmate nodded. The returning smile was shaky. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Antinous took a breath, fixed his grip. “Remember what Athena taught you, okay?”

“Roger that.” Telemachus bit his lip, shifted from foot to foot. Rain fell harder. “This is where we go our seperate ways, then.”

That was the last thing Antinous wanted to do, but he recognized the little wolf needed to get to his mother and that they needed eyes everywhere at once. Sticking together would certainly feel better, but that was also less efficient and made the chance of stragglers far greater.

He sighed. “I guess.”

Telemachus began to back away. Further down the hall. Further to their eventual destination, the one that might be their last. “You think my father is really coming back after this?”

Antinous looked at him. He wished he had some sort of concrete, assured answer for that, but he didn’t. He was no more than a man, after all, and the fates would do as they did.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I really hope so.”

Telemachus nodded stiffly. He made as though to turn and walk away, but stopped mid pivot. He looked slightly teary-eyed, but the hand gripping his sword wasn’t shaking and his face was clear in its resolution.

He smiled. “See you later.”

Antinous nodded, raised a hand to see him off. “See you later.”

They didn’t say anything more than that. Telemachus disappeared around the corner, one bold step at a time, and Antinous wasted no time watching him go. After all, time waits for no one.

Maybe such a farewell could be seen as lackluster, with so few words exchanged between them and possibly for the last time. Only, there really was nothing more to say. Nothing left unsaid, nothing unresolved.

They both knew how they felt. Both knew that death was real and following closely behind them. That they were soulmates, and that simple fact was the only thing certain ahead of them.

Antinous pressed his back against the wall of the dining room, listening. Suitors, concealed behind tables and chairs but loud in their chatter. It was a large space with just three exits, big enough for suitable movement and space but small and barren enough to make hiding nearly impossible.

This felt familiar. All too familiar.

Then again. Maybe familiarity was exactly what they needed if they wanted to come out of this alive, just like all the times before and all the near-misses.

He took a deep breath and composed himself, waiting.

Three.

Two.

One.

There was nothing more to say.

Telemachus pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, hiding the chunky sharpness of the sword underneath with layers upon layers of sweeping fabric. He focused only on pushing forward and his own gradually evening breaths.

In four, sustain. Out four, sustain.

He needed to get to his mother. Nothing else mattered. He wasn’t going to think about the bloodshed soon to occur or even the livelihoods of those around him. He had plenty of time to care later, plenty of time to think and ponder himself into corner. For now, all he could do was survive and ensure his mother did too.

He didn’t know precisely where she was, but he could take a good guess. With the suitors all gathered up in the dining hall, it was only natural that the queen had been taken with them. With all those guards constantly breathing down her spine, it was really the only possibility.

Telemachus’ heart stopped beating for a frightening moment as he descended the staircase to get on the suitors’ level. A guard engaged in low conversation with a dark haired maid, though his eyes remained watchful and his spear wielding hand formidable.

For a moment, he considered turning tail and trying to find a different way forward. But, no. That’d only draw more suspicion to himself, wouldn’t it? He needed to be brave. More importantly, smart. And his first instinct clearly wasn’t always the smartest.

The maid looked up first. Their eyes met, and Telemachus knew she had to have recognized him. All the female staff knew his face, and far better than the guards given their closer allegiance to his mother.

If that was even still true. This maid had a look in her eye, something cunning. The look of someone who was willing to cut any corner to reach her goal, and it felt almost like looking in a mirror.

For not the first time, he truly wished he’d gotten to know the castle staff a bit better. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to keep his hand hovering but concealed over the hilt of his sword, debating who and when he’d have to kill.

The guard, too, looked up. There wasn’t that same recognition in his eyes, though there was ample apprehension. He opened his mouth to speak as Telemachus subtly changed his stance in preparation to strike, but—

“One of those goatherds,” the maid said dismissively. Her voice was lofty, but the undertone was clear and sharp; apparent as daybreak itself. “No need for all the skepticism.”

Her eyes remained on him, knowing. The doubt remained seated in his chest as he passed them, nodding his greeting with a casualness he certainly didn’t feel and continuing onwards.

She knew. She knew, but there was no time for debating the why or how. He didn’t spare even a second look back. Out of cowardice or courage, not even he could say.

There was someone watching him. Not guard or maid, but something more. This powerful, overwhelming force that seemed to crush him under its scorn. The faintly insistent ticking, clicking of a clock measuring the time and each of his scarce breaths.

Wait for my signal, he thought, careful not to take his eyes off the barely open door and the evil that lay behind it. Even as he directed his thoughts in one direction, toward his soulbond and love—he missed him already, pathetic as it may be—and allowed his thoughts to venture somewhere entirely else. He had to stay present.

But there was this hope. This undying hope in his heart that always seemed to get him hurt or in trouble. This stupid feeling that maybe, just maybe…

Time slowed. The presence turned from oppressive to familiar in its weight, draping over his shoulders like an owl might perch atop a tree.

He turned, the promise of tears pricking his eyes like burning hot blades. “Athena?”

And there she was. Tall and imposing as ever, helmet sat tall and proud atop crimson hair. Real.

He felt suddenly and intensely emotional at the sight as that wise gaze he’d missed and needed so desperately finally met his. The goddess he’d been praying for to reappear when all had felt lost.

He felt… betrayed, almost. In his darkest hours, all alone in that room and forced to witness his soulmate’s torment secondhand while knowing there was nothing to be done about it. Where had she been then? Even with a matron goddess who’d sworn to be his friend and support him, he’d still wound up alone.

Loneliness, his greatest fear and earliest friend, and all because she hadn’t been there. Feeling helpless and worthless and like it’d all really been for nothing after all. Having to mentally prepare himself for the possibility that his mother was dead, married off, imprisoned, violated.

He’d prayed. She hadn’t been there, just as she’d failed to answer his father’s calls and failed to save him from a twenty year’s journey. And counting, if Aphrodite had been wrong. If soon failed to be soon enough.

But how could he possibly express such a sentiment? He was so stupidly happy to see her again, so relieved to know he hadn’t been abandoned once more that it almost outweighed all else. The sword had never felt lighter in his hand and the wetness in his eyes never better.

“Athena,” he repeated. He didn’t know what else to say.

The helmet dematerialized and she smiled a fragile smile. She looked so very human. Each second that passed in silence between them was a second spent realizing just how humane these elevated gods could be. And it felt… good. Good to know even the most detached of goddesses could change for the better, let down a friend and still return, albeit with shame in her eyes.

Athena blinked, owlish and human. She opened her arms. “Hi.”

It took him an embarassingly long moment to realize what she was asking. When it at last clicked, he could only bring himself to take one hesitant step forward. What happened if she left again? If this was the last time they ever saw each other?

“Telemachus.” Her voice was the most gentle he’d ever heard from her. “You’re not just my pupil, a Warrior of the Mind. Titles are replaceable. You’re my friend, and I could not possibly ask for more than that.”

He bit his lip, vision swimming stubbornly to his chagrin. “Why did you leave, then?”

“To save another friend.” She took a breath, smiled shakily and strained once more. “I had to endure some… challenges, to free your father. It damaged me.”

She shrugged slightly, and a sheen of blue light emitted from her figure. He blinked away the ensuing sparkle, eyebrows rising and face opening up as he took in her appearance. That which was no longer masked or hidden, no longer some point of hidden shame.

There was a white scar over one eye. It looked like a nasty burn of some sort, keeping the skin pinched and firmly shut. There were similar burns and scars across other visible skin, arms and calf and strong hands that, now, were not only callused.

He’d never seen her winged form before, no. The most he’d seen of her wings were the feathers she often left in her wake and the fully owl form that he sometimes saw soaring in the trees. That said, he was certain they weren’t supposed to look like this. Burnt and ragged, even twisted in some places.

Not so regal after all. Telemachus hadn’t known a diety as strong and unflappable as herself could possibly sustain so many injuries, but…

“As you can see,” Athena was saying, that familiar monotone making its return, “I had to take some time to heal. And without my wings, I had some trouble getting back here, so—“

Not wasting another second, he lunged forwards and practically threw himself into the goddess’ arms. His friend’s arms. Gods, he’d truly missed her, so badly that it hurt and that reuniting felt so impossibly good.

“It’s okay,” he said, fingers brushing gently against the soft fluff of broken wings and feathers. It sounded almost like a sob. “It’s okay.”

Her arms slowly, awkwardly closed around him. It was easily the most stilted hug he’d ever received, but he hadn’t received many in the first place and could hardly bring himself to care either way. The fact that she was back and clearly trying her damnedest was enough; more than enough.

“I’ve seen all that’s happened,” she stated, dry in delivery but the feeling behind it far louder than any words. “You’ve handled yourself well, Telemachus. You’ll make a fine king someday, though I regret not being there to lend my guidance.”

He pulled back, though just barely and not without ample reluctance. Pride streamed into his heart and threatened to spill down his cheeks because he had. And he did. And he would.

Everything that’d ever stood in his way, every man who’d ever made him to feel small and useless. His own thoughts, which still sometimes nagged at the back of his mind and insisted he’d never grow to be anything. That he would die alone and without a flash or bang, that he’d never be missed or remembered and that his life meant nothing after all.

It wouldn’t matter. They didn’t matter. They were dead men and would die at his hands right here and now, on this day that would be remembered forever. And when the hurricane and coinciding floods swept their memory away, Telemachus would be left to pick up the pieces. And for once, there wasn’t even a sprinkle of fear in his mind. Only a challenge to be won and the once distant dream of vengeance.

Maybe such coldness only made him a monster. Gone was the boy who could hardly kill even a fly or squirrel, the child who felt pity for everyone and anyone. A heart that bled was a heart that dried. He would not bleed himself dry.

And he knew that, even with the blood of the suitors soon to be splattered across his hands, that he’d be okay. That the little boy inside him would be truly and dutifully gone, but the man that stood in his place would still be him. That he was no monster, for monsters were imaginary and the horrors of men were tangible.

So he couldn’t call himself cold. Not when he knew that it wasn’t dreams of legends and legacy that drove him, but the love that dripped from his every pore for his family. His mother, his soulmate, the friends he’d never once imagined making, and even his father.

It was then he realized the truth. That he’d never once been loveless, not with or without his soulbond and not with only one parent by his side. Not with a goddess and not when she’d been gone.

How could he call himself loveless with so much care baked into his veins? When it stained his hands and fingertips and left him broken on so many occassions? When it wasn’t the blood of his adversaries that trailed behind him, but the remains of his own bleeding heart?

Not legendary; not loveless. Just a man, even after all this pain and suffering. A man who didn’t need his father but wanted him around nonetheless. A man who, even if all was lost and that father never returned, would finally be okay with it after all.

He smiled up at Athena. “But you’re here now, aren’t you?”

She returned the gesture, pride engrained like gold into the lines of her expression. Her helmet rematerialized all at once, her power surging around them. “I am.”

He nodded. “Then let’s do this.”

Athena dissipated, her form reduced to an invisible presence that lingered over his shoulder as he slipped into the dining room. Loud conversations bustled around him, prideful suitors and sneering faces that paid him no mind.

He kept his head low, sword held so tightly in his hand that he could feel the warm metal creating a groove in his palm. The shadow of his hood kept his face concealed, and surely for the better. If not for the blackness he was sheltered under, the suitors might’ve seen the slightest of smiles balancing upon his lips.

He glanced forwards. His mother was at the front of the room, posture regal despite the masked fear and distaste behind her expression. She was behind three guards, a makeshift wall as the crowd pushed forward further and further.

There was yelling, arguments bouncing back and forth between her so-called defenders and the angry men. There was a loud crack as the bow, his father’s bow made more and more beautiful with age, cracked horribly beneath feet. A show of rebellion.

Screams for order. A guard was shoved backwards—Agathinos, of course, spiteful and leading the charge toward his mother—and, for a fleeting moment, the queen was left fully exposed. No guard ahead of her, still and unmoving like a statue or perhaps an altar.

There was the telltale crack of thunder from outside. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, landed on him. Her face didn’t change, but there was trust. Even as the suitors closed in around her, even as a hand closed around her wrist—

One.

With a yell as loud, guttural, and terrifying as that of a wolf and the twang of a bowstring, all hell broke loose.

Chapter Text

Telemachus hardly even registered the scream that rang throughout the hall, perfectly in time with the horrible thwack and pierce of arrow through skin. A suitor fell, suspended midair for a moment that felt like several eternities stitched together.

A bow. That was all he could think, all he could hear as the moment replayed through his mind like a fragmented record. He knew none of his own allies had a bow. None of the suitors should either; he’d seen the crowd and they were unarmed. Wrathful, but unarmed. Pigs to slaughter.

Who? He felt he should know. There was something almost like recognition, this incorrigible longing circling his brain and pumping through his rapidly beating heart. Stillness. Silence. Who?

It was as though a switch flipped in his brain. Athena’s voice, like thunder cracking over his head and funneling his own vision onto his mother and nobody else: Focus.

The split second of contemplation passed, reality shattering like glass over the hall. The crowd began to scramble, voices surging and several more bloodcurdling screams beginning to arise. The movement was almost dizzying, a tidal wave of frantic attempts at escape from more men than he could count or recognize.

It didn’t matter. He watched his mother’s face contort in fury as Agathinos wrenched her forwards by the arm and toward the side exit. The corpse—body, person, Telemachus hardly cared—fell against the broad suitor’s leg but the man just didn’t care.

His mother pulled back, shouting something into his face and Agathinos slapped her. Her head snapped to the side, colliding with a sickening thud against the castle wall, and—

“You bastard!” he bellowed and, by the gods, his sword had never felt so damn light.

A suitor’s shoulder collided with his face, temporarily blocking his vision and path. He drove his blade into the man’s leg, crippling him with a tortured cry. He didn’t care. His mother was being dragged, further and further away, closer to that side hall where anything could happen—

Another arrow whistled through the air. A suitor he hadn’t even seen coming, arm still raised as though to strike him, paused mid action. Blood sprayed across Telemachus’ face as skin burst and gave way to the sharp tip of an arrow.

It tasted bitter and disgusting. No time, even as his stomach churned and the sight of a severed finger being smashed under a clumsily moving heel gave way for bile high in his throat.

He continued shoving forwards, faster and faster, sword hacking through any opposing limb or body that dared to try and stop him. His mother, his fucking mother, the first and only person for a long time to show him true love, the one to keep him alive and to comb his hair and kiss his cheeks and read him bedtime stories back when he was still afraid of inconsequential things like the dark. And the last whisps of her hair were caught on the hallway door as she fought and fought, because if there was one thing his mother was, it was stubborn. Proud.

There was the sickening scrape of metal on metal, arrow after arrow ringing out with deadly aim, someone was surely choking on their own blood, a wrist was crunching beneath the sole of his sandal and his mother was gone.

Finally at the edge of the room, Telemachus sprinted out into the side hallway. His heart nearly stopped completely as his eyes took in the trail of crimson blood and the shadow of a skirt and figure disappearing around yet another corner.

He thought he heard his mother cry out, muffled through a layer of skin or the sickness of a man. It felt like a warning. It was a warning, because the brief glimpse of shadow he’d been provided surely wasn’t that of a man and his victim alone. It was multiple. A trick, an obvious trick, he—

“Be smart,” Athena hissed in his ear, wings tickling against his neck as he flinched.

“I can’t.” And he turned the corner anyway.

Three men. Agathinos, two he failed to recognize, his mother on her knees with a knife held tight to her throat.

She lifted her chin, larger than life even with blood pouring from a gash on her temple and dripping from her jawline. Even while held painfully in place by hands that dug into her sides and arms. Indents would surely be left. Evidence of suffering, the sort that marred Telemachus’ own body despite his many attempts to rub himself clean. Scars, too, judging by the blood beading up where the silver blade met her skin.

“Telemachus,” his mother said, quite evenly. “Leave.”

“No,” he whispered.

His hands were shaking, palms sweating around the hilt of his sword as his eyes darted between devils. Men. Three against one, and who knew if the other two had knives of their own? But gods, this was his mother, and he knew like sun and rain and gravity that would take every chance in the world if it meant saving her.

Agathinos smiled at him, the knife digging in deeper. “One step closer and your wench of a mother dies. You know, it’d be a lot easier for all of us if you just handed over the throne fair and square. Don’t you think this all could’ve been so easily avoided?”

“Stop your shaking.” Athena, again. “You are strong and they are weak. Are you a future king, or a mere pawn to be controlled?”

“A king,” he said, the words quiet and quivering. “I’m Ithaca’s future king.”

Her power was coursing in a soothing wave between his fingers and under his nails. The ticking of a clock, steady as pouring rain. “Again. Like you believe it.”

He took a breath, eyes darting between his mother’s pleading gaze and the snarling maws of the suitors. His fingers threatened to shake, but this time, he held his sword steady.

“I will be Ithaca’s king.”

The man’s eyebrow twitched. His mother’s throat was growing more and more red, and he could see her fight to hold back a whimper as that knife sliced even further.

“And who are you,” Agathinos murmured, condescending and cruel, “to make such demands? You think this little ambush is enough to dissuade me? I’ve ruled this castle for years!”

“Liar,” Telemachus spat. Darkness was creeping in on the edges of his vision, and he couldn’t tell if it was the unstable and increasingly intense wrath suffocating him or pure animalistic terror. “You’re nothing. Even without my mother or myself, you could never rule a kingdom. You know nothing.”

“Really?” Agathinos laughed, loud and abrupt. His eyes were almost manic. “Look around you, boy. I could take your so-called queen right here, right now. I could make her my bitch and have her squeal under my cock. Her only duties to this kingdom would be making heirs for my throne, just the way it should be.”

He gripped her chin tight, wrenching her jaws open. His mother’s face stayed completely neutral, though he could see the simmering rage and horror behind that dull gaze.

Gods above, this was happening. Again. This was real life and, for the second time, Telemachus was about to stand by and allow his loved one to be defiled in his name. He couldn’t bear it. No, no, no—

“But you know,” Agathinos sneered, his fingers stretching his mother’s mouth far beyond what could’ve been comfortable, “your tramp of a mother means nothing to me. Whether she’s kneeling beside my throne in a week’s time or long dead is none of my concern.”

He dropped her jaw. She glared up at him but quickly averted her gaze as his eyes lit up with a predatory enthusiasm.

“So what?” Telemachus grit out. “Get to the point or shut your mouth.”

“Careful, boy,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t want someone getting hurt.”

Agathinos’ eyes shifted from his mother’s face to Telemachus’ own. Those eyes travelled quickly downwards, raking hungrily over his appearance as the suitor’s mouth curved up and…

“No,” he breathed.

“A life for a life.” Agathinos grinned, teeth as sharp and promising as nails. “I will claim Ithaca’s throne and I will dominate this bloodline of vermin one way or another. It’s you or your mother, boy.”

He gazed almost sweetly into her eyes for a moment before dropping her face and letting go of her entirely. A sickly looking smile. “Choose.”

She pitched forward instantaneously, practically lunging at Telemachus from her restrained spot on the floor.

“Don’t you dare!” Her voice was no more than an undignified screech, rising and falling uncontrollably. “Telemachus, listen to me! Turn around. Your father must be out there and you must go to him. I need you to go. Please!”

“Mom,” he said. His voice broke on the word. “He’s here for you. I couldn’t…”

“I swear to the gods,” she snarled, “I’ll never forgive you. Never. He loves you! I love you—“

“Let her go.”

Telemachus looked away from his mother. He couldn’t bear the horror in her expression, nor the way her face must’ve crumpled like paper as she let out a furious sob.

“Drop the sword,” Agathinos demanded. The smug sense of victory in his expression made Telemachus want to tear the skin straight off his rotten core.

“You have a knife,” Athena reminded him, energy now circling his head like a halo.

He dropped the sword. It clattered, nearly enough to drown out his mother’s pleas. “I know.”

The other two suitors hauled her to her feet. Her knees looked slightly wobbly as she found her footing, trying in vain to tug away from them and get to him. Her eyes were shining.

“Telemachus—“

“You’re dismissed,” Agathinos said, voice flat and uncaring with eyes trained solely on him. “Take her away.”

“No,” he interjected sharply. “She leaves of her own free will. And if either of you dare follow her or, better yet, lay a singular finger on her, I’ll chase you down and disembowel you myself. Sword or otherwise.”

He must’ve looked serious if the way the men winced and pulled away from her slightly said anything. His mother inched backwards, clearly unwilling but knowing as well as anyone else that his will was both unbreakable and finalized.

“Talking big for a feeble little wolf, aren’t you?”

The term shot fire from his fingertips to the depth of his very soul. Agathinos seemed amused, like he was nothing more than a puppy going toe to toe with a lion. Little did he know he was so much more than that.

He’d soon find out, because little wolf was hardly an insult anymore. It was a title, a term of endearment, an expectation and a trophy. It was a reminder of the last time he’d bit back. The many, many times he’d bit back, the fight in the dining hall, the blood and guts he’d had to clean off his own canines.

Telemachus slid his eyes to Agathinos and sneered, something crazed and something humorous. “Do you think I’m joking?”

The sound of battle and bloodshed was growing louder. They weren’t far from it at all, really. Only a couple of turns and stretches of hall away, and maybe Agathinos realized that, because his face sort of fell in urgency. Maybe he realized that this little wolf wasn’t fucking joking because there was some discomfort in the way he shifted on his feet, stepping to the side to allow his mother the space to leave.

She looked at him helplessly. “Telemachus…”

“We’ll be fine,” he promised, and his voice no longer sounded uncertain. “Go upstairs and find Argos for me, will you? And… you know. Give dad a hug from the both of us, if you happen to find him.”

His mother sniffed once, but nodded. Her face was resigned even as her eyes remained misty and a tear began to well at her lash line. “My beautiful boy. I am prouder every single day.”

Telemachus swallowed, looked between her and the blade on the ground and Agathinos watching their exchange with an apathy he sometimes wished he himself could harness.

He smiled. “I love you. Sorry.”

She smiled back, shakier but filled with love. Admiration, even. He could only hope one day they could share one of contentment, together and at peace in their nation the way things never had been but ought to be. “I forgive you.”

And then she turned. Her skirts swished behind her, almost regretful as they trailed through shadow and further into the distance, almost apologetic with the tiniest turn of her head and catch of their eyes as she turned the corner and disappeared completely.

He could’ve cried, but he’d grown to be quite sick of it.

Agathinos’ voice interrupted the brief moment of nothingness that’d been so blissful for him. The knife was still clutched in his hand. “Come, boy. You two, make yourselves scarce.”

One of the suitors made a worried sound. “But, sir, the massacre out there is—“

“Not my fucking problem,” the man barked, spit flicking through air and landing with the tiniest of thuds on the already filthy floor. “Deal with it. It’s just a couple of stragglers who think they’re bigger and better—“

“They are,” Telemachus interrupted once more, loud and defiant. “Just a couple of stragglers, and yet they’re tearing your minions apart out there. You—“

A large hand shot out, clutching his throat in a brutal fist. He choked slightly, but didn’t break eye contact even as his vision began to swim with tears and dizziness. The lesser suitors had at one point scuttled away, though they really couldn’t get that much lesser than this, and next thing Telemachus knew, he was being dragged further from the conflict.

In four, sustain. Out four, sustain.

His burning neck was at last let go, air flowing like hot lava through a throat that was sure to be bruised. It wasn’t for long. He turned his face to the side, narrowly avoiding a broken nose as he was slammed chest first into a wall.

He recognized this wall. He definitely recognized the painting that’d fallen off it on impact, frame splintering against the floor as Odysseus’ face shattered like dust.

In four, sustain. Out four, sustain.

He could feel the heat of Agathinos’ body pressing down on him. Or, more specifically, pressing into him. His hands were trapped behind his back and between them, and his knife was strapped to his thigh… thinking back, he should’ve placed it in a better location. Better yet, he never should’ve put himself in this situation at all. Then again, better him than his mother, but—

There was warm breath swarming across the back of his neck and causing every minor follicle to stand up on end. Disgust, the jingling and rustling of clothing, nausea.

No. He could feel this bubbling rage, so violent that he felt his skin might melt straight off his bones. Strangely enough, his mind felt clearer than ever, even as his hands began to shake and drip with sweat.

It wasn’t fear; this, he knew. When all he could see when he closed his eyes was himself tearing this awful man to shreds with his bare teeth and painting these halls red with gore…

Flowers. He could smell the sweet scent of flowers mixed with the musky stench of man and pain of the nails digging into his wrists. Something floral and something familiar. Homey, almost, and most certainly recognizable.

He opened his eyes. Closed them once more, and he knew it wasn’t pure imagination that’d drawn up the image of a breathtaking goddess before him.

Aphrodite’s face was stony. “We are not doing this again.”

Telemachus grimaced. “I’d really prefer not to.”

Her eyes were glowing. Streams of all different colors, glittering and blindingly powerful. Her hair raised off the flower bed she stood on, spiralling midair like a thousand ribbons or a hundred snakes. Her face contorted in fury, beautiful as ever but striking and sharper than any knife, and Telemachus knew now that the bloodlust threatening to burst from his chest wasn’t his alone.

“Such gorgeous soulbonds,” she growled, “and so many have been severed tonight. With each second I feel the heart of a lover far away break in two as their so called soulmates die in the name of stealing a love they were never meant to have. A love they were never owed.”

Her eyes travelled past him as though looking at Agathinos in the real world. He wondered what she saw. If he, too, possessed a severed heart.

Her eyes turned back to him. They looked tearful, sadness and mourning and an earthshaking rage. “It is agony. My very domain is being torn apart for this family of yours. And it is well worth it, because even as I watch love corrupt and shrivel under the hands of those who are unworthy of the very concept, I see people who make me believe it can still exist. That I can still exist.”

“Difficult to keep faith then, isn’t it?” He smiled wryly.

She scoffed. “I suppose. That said, there’s no such thing as loveless. This is how I live forever and keep this twisted world spinning.”

“Hm.” Telemachus shrugged. “But he won’t.”

She smiled. It was sort of terrifying, but instead of fear, the gesture only brought him this monstrous sort of delight. “My point exactly. End him.”

Her image faded away and Telemachus was faced with the horrid reality once more. Cold, too warm, too close and so close to being violated and gods his arms were already sore from this damned position, but—

“Yeah.” He smiled humorlessly into the wall, his cheek scraping painfully against the material. “You’re going to have to kill me.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a response. Telemachus threw his head back as hard as he could manage, neck straining and a dull pain beginning to spread across the back of his skull as bone connected with jaw. There was a muffled sound of surprise, pain, whatever—and why should he be surprised, anyway?—but it wasn’t enough. If he could speak, it wasn’t enough. If he wasn’t choking on his own blood and tears, it wasn’t enough.

He stamped his foot down, jerking backwards and driving his heel into what was hopefully a toe or something easily breakable—

Crack.

His wrists were released, that awful warmth finally uncoiling as Agathinos cursed. It wasn’t enough. He could run, but he wouldn’t make it far. And he wasn’t here to turn tail like a beaten mutt, he was here to live or die and he’d already made his decision.

He whipped around, fast but not fast enough. The last thing he saw before pain erupted like hot lava through the center of his face was Agathinos, snarling like a rabies ridden beast with a dark mark forming by his chin.

His vision momentarily blacked out as his nose crunched and collapsed under the man’s hand. Gods help him, it was an agony he’d nearly forgotten with time. No amount of time or tolerance could change the fact that his entire face felt like it was melting.

No time. He had to help himself.

The world slowed for a split second as Agathinos reached out, potentially to grab him, strangle him, tear him to tiny pieces that’d never be found. The barest of seconds to respond with only raw adrenaline to keep him on his feet and his eyes open.

He had to get off the wall. It was preventing him from dodging effectively, not to mention how he could hardly wind up a punch without breaking his own elbow against the hard material. Pulling out his only trick, that being the knife stashed away under his clothes, which were…

Hiked up above his hips.

Fucking pervert.

Then again, at least this gave him no real reason to hold back. No reason not to pull out that knife and carve out Agathinos’ fucking spleen—

“You control your anger, not the other way around,” Athena snapped, close to his ear and smarting nose. Or whatever was left of it. “Don’t let it control you.”

“Kind of hard to focus with all these voices in my head,” he thought and lunged.

Agathinos went high and he went low. He drove his head straight into the man’s ribs, putting all his meager weight behind it and sending them both to the floor with a crash and a scream. Maybe his, maybe not.

The suitor was both heavier and stronger than him. He was vaguely reminded of Antinous for a moment as a strong hand grabbed his wrist, stopping it mid reach for his knife. Only, Antinous would certainly never twist it like that. He definitely wouldn’t leave the bone bursting out of its joint, fire racing up his arm and it hurt. He just wanted his fucking mother.

Only one person could make that happen.

He screamed, struggling and writhing still even as it worsened the pain and the mangled angle of his hand. If he allowed Agathinos to wrestle him onto his side, he was dead. Dead meat, to be raped and discarded. Raped and discarded, again and again and again, he was so much more than a fucking body!

His body was forced sideways. His balance failed, cold floor meeting his back and side. This wasn’t happening. The man looming over him couldn’t be real, nor could the weight pinning him to the ground like an ant unde a microscope. His free arm, crushed and useless, his wrist worse than useless and flopping about. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“Fucking bitch,” Agathinos growled as his knee connected with the man’s sternum. “Just like your whore moth—“

His other wrist. The one that’d been pinned but was now drawing up to Telemachus’ own chest and shooting forward. Sharp and precise even through the sheen of tears distorting his vision, like a spear or an arrow. Even better.

The thumb connected with a raging eye socket and gouged. There was this sickening squelch and there was some sort of fluid spraying down onto Telemachus’ own face. He didn’t stop.

No, not as Agathinous’ body convulsed and he shrieked an inhuman sound like none he’d heard before. He twisted the thumb, deeper, deeper—

His finger was slick when he pulled it back. He didn’t know what with, only that Agathinos’ eye socket looked startlingly empty and there were tears flowing down the side of his face as he struggled to keep his shoulders pinned down. And Telemachus didn’t care.

Before the suitor could even think of pleading for his life, he dragged his knife free from its holster. Maybe there was fear in the his eye. A plead for humanity, for sympathy or mercy or blood from a heart that had none less to give. Telemachus didn’t care.

He drove that knife into his gut. The man spasmed above him, hands panicking and scrabbling at his shoulders as he sobbed. Telemachus didn’t care.

He twisted the knife. He yanked it out, drove it in again. And again, and again, and again. Blood spewed from the man’s stomach as raw, tortured screams turned to garbled begging and it enraged him.

“Don’t!” he sobbed. The knife was stuck on something. When he tore it out, flesh clung to the weeping blade. “Don’t you dare!”

Again, again, again. Blood, insides spilling from an open stomach and onto Telemachus’ own body. Guts staining the floor, slippery and diluted with tears and spittle and perhaps even bile.

Agathinos had gone limp. His head was slumped onto Telemachus’ chest. Dead weight. Half empty, most of his body mass leaking all over the both of their clothes, and…

His wrist was numb. It wasn’t the only thing.

His useable arm burned as he shoved the corpse off of him. Disgusting. He hardly knew what that was meant to be referring to. Everything just felt so disgusting. Not just the blood. Everything. The whole damn castle made him sick. The people, the sights, the sounds.

He stood. His legs were shaking, clothes rumpled and soaked with gore. He ignored it, ignored his dangling wrist and the rising need to vomit or faint. It was what had to be done.

Here he was. Man of the house, right?

Telemachus snorted. It felt as unhinged as it must’ve looked, and did this make him a psychopath? He didn’t know. This had to say something about him, didn’t it? How was he even meant to…

He tucked his knife back into it’s holster. He wiped his cheeks then grimaced as the back of his hand left more slime than it removed. The hall felt eerily silent. Muffled and mute, even as he could hear quite clearly the chaos from the other parts of the castle. The fight was ongoing. He couldn’t check out yet, mentally or otherwise.

If he truly focused, he could feel Antinous’ heart beating. That was the only thing he focused on as he stepped over Agathinos’ body and continued down the red stained hall.

Rhythmic thudding. Proof to himself that he did possess a heart after all.

“You did well,” Athena said, soft and distant from somewhere above him. He could feel his bones beginning to slowly realign themselves, his nose beginning to protrude back from his skull. It was a feeling he’d never grow to enjoy. He prayed he’d never have to.

“Thanks,” he chuckled. It wasn’t funny. “Really hoping it feels better with experience.”

Athena was silent for a long moment. He didn’t have to see her face to feel the contemplative guilt rippling through it, though he couldn’t claim to pinpoint why.

She sighed, eventually. “It doesn’t.”

He only hummed in response, eyes sweeping the long hall and catching on movement in the shadows near the barely visible end. He squinted, heart beating a little faster in time with Antinous’ own.

He should be afraid. All he felt was a pressing sense of duty and the longing to see his loved ones—any of them, really—again. And so he could hardly stop to catch his breath.

Agile and silent as a predator, he advanced forward.

Eurymachus was convinced he’d never known true chaos until this very moment.

He wasn’t entirely opposed to chaos, no. In fact, many would attest to the fact that he had a tendency for stewing it. That said, he was most definitely opposed to this.

Glass was breaking. Tables were splintering, the crowd was so thick and swarming that it was difficult to tell bodies and faces even in close proximity, and that wasn’t even taking into account the need to duck every five seconds as arrows flew through the hall with a frankly horrifying aim.

Horrifying in a good way. Or a very bad way, as what may have been someone’s brains splattered onto his sandal.

Who had a bow? Certainly not a suitor, unless they’d decided to start taking out their own for fun’s sake, but he doubted it.

Screw it. He hardly had time to be worrying about this, especially not when the mystery bowman was being explicitly helpful, accident or otherwise.

His eyes caught on the area the panic was most concentrated at, zeroing in on the back of a head that obviously belonged to Antinous being quickly surrounded by wrathful men.

His feet were moving before his brain was, pushing forward as the increasing numbers—eight or nine, maybe—made the situation increasingly dire. From the corners of his vision, he could see the blurring figures of men attempting to flee the room, many slipping past the discord while some sank into the crowd with the twang of an arrow. Future problems.

He didn’t see Amphinomus, which meant he was either dead, disabled, departed, or simply picking up stragglers outside of the main room. Eurymachus supposed the fact that he wasn’t in soulmate-agony sort of answered that question, but you could never be too sure.

Back to the point. He really hoped Amphinomus was dealing with the other suitors because, at the moment, he was having to save Antinous’ wreckless ass. He supposed this counted as repayment.

He drove his dagger deep into the back of a man blocking his path, shoving him aside to join Antinous in the middle of the circle. Their backs and shoulders collided, forming a double sided spear of their own. A wonky and misshapen one, sure, but he guessed it’d just have to do.

Eurymachus held his weapon in front of him, mirroring his friend’s own stance as brief apprehension crossed their attackers’ faces. He grinned, watching as blood dripped to the floor off his own blade.

He tipped his head back slightly so his voice could hover close to Antinous’ ear, though his eyes remained firmly on the men around them. “There’s still time to reconsider your bet.”

“Yeah, right.” Antinous scoffed, back pressing more firmly against his to provide a better anchor. “If need be, I’ll just stab you myself.”

“That’s cheating.” Another arrrow flew and landed with the wet smack and pierce of bloodied flesh. He flinched at the sound and the increasingly little distance between them and the obviously angry suitors. “Let’s just get this done, yeah?”

Unsurprisingly, it seemed posessing weapons in the faces of those with none was a pretty good way to keep people from engaging. The circle was tight, yes, but he was positive it’d gotten far more sparse since his own entry. It was a guard who struck first, armed with a polearm that swept wide and sharp.

Wind whistled across his torso as Eurymachus dodged, narrowly parrying the blade of a far smaller knife and sending the weapon skittering across the floor at the impact. He lunged forward for the now unarmed man, Antinous following behind with a heel landing between his own two feet.

The suitor recoiled, Eurymachus’ blade only managing to graze his chest before snapping backwards. It was Antinous yanking him back and to the side, his weight just barely shoving him from the path of that same damned spear. So much for close quarters combat.

Bodies were thudding both near and far. Each wet plop seemed to add to the urgency, and the desperate screams and whimpers were beginning to die as numbers thwindled and more fled the scene. It was a promise of victory, and there were just three suitors on Eurymachus’ side, so maybe he could get away with…

Making his decision in a blink, he threw his dagger at the guard holding a polearm mid swing. There was a split second of stillness before that swing was interrupted with a moist gurgle and a silver blade being lodged straight into a scarcely beating heart.

Someone screamed behind him in time with the sound of a precise slash and something smaller, less than a body but equally fleshy, hitting the floor. Now weaponless, Eurymachus ducked to dodge a wild punch. A prompt kick in the face told him that was maybe not the move, but the blood streaming into his mouth from burning nostrils didn’t make the discarded spear in his hand less real.

He threw out his arm, inwardly mourning being forced to use his non-dominant hand. It didn’t end up mattering much, not as the pole made contact with a pair of knees, sweeping the suitor off his feet.

He momentarily disconnected from Antinous, driving the blade down and straight into the man’s chest before he could so much as protest. It didn’t feel especially fantastic to look into a dying man’s eyes—a murdered man, if you wished to be pedantic—but his face wasn’t feeling especially fantastic either, and whose fault was that?

He pulled the spear back out, using it to block the attack of the last suitor. He shoved back against his body weight with the pole, spinning the blade on him. Eurymachus squinted, body jostling slightly as Antinous moved with angry precision behind him.

“Hey, I know you.” Eurymachus glared at him. “You got me thrown in prison!”

“Are you kidding me?” Antinous grunted behind him, quickly accompanied by the sound of another person hitting the floor with a gasp. “Just—“

The spear pierced forward just as the man opened his mouth to respond, stealing his words and breath. Eurymachus shrugged as he collapsed. “I did.”

He turned, coming to stand by the side of Antinous with his weapon still raised. He blinked, taking in the five suitors laying scattered on the floor and his friend’s own haggard appearance. His side was bleeding profusely and accompanied by a long tear in the fabric of his chiton, no doubt the result of a gnarly graze.

He raised an eyebrow at the suitors’ still rising and falling chests. It was barely there, but his eyes certainly weren’t decieving him.

He glanced back to Antinous who looked distinctly haunted, even despite the stable grip of his bloodied sword in hand. “Did I miss the pacifist memo?”

Dark eyes shot to him, annoyance clear as day. “No, I…”

There was movement at the end of the hall. Several more suitors emerging from the woodworks, armed with the few weapons that’d been dropped by their fallen counterparts. Antinous fell silent though his breaths remained ragged, eyes tracking them with the same quiet intensity as a predator mid hunt.

Eurymachus shook his head. “Fine, fine, I’ll do it. Avert your eyes and keep me covered.”

Antinous glanced back to him, down to the bleeding and injured men, and then back to the advancing threat. He turned away and did just that, coming to stand in front of him with his sword in ready position.

Eurymachus ignored the slurred sounds and barely there pleas—from those conscious enough to give them, anyway—from the suitors. He drove his polearm down again and again, focusing on what was quick and painless and trying to keep his wits about him. And keeping his ears open and focused on the rapidly increasing volume of footsteps behind his back.

He couldn’t wait for this to be over with. Let there be no mistake, there was absolutely nothing enjoyable about anything in this godsforsaken place and all he wanted was to go live somewhere quiet and filled with non-murderous people. Preferably no people, actually, though it remained to be seen if he even got the chance to live out such a fantasy…

“Get back,” Antinous said. His voice sounded dead, void of all emotion. He’d certainly heard him take that tone before, back in the dungeons, right after—

Well. It didn’t take a genius to see where this was going.

And right as he straightened, yanking the spear from the last suitor’s chest, there was a bloodcurdling scream. It wasn’t like the other yells of pain or last gurgling gasps for breath, it was something completely other. Almost inhuman in its pain, and a voice he recognized even twisted with agony.

“You’re dead,” snarled one of the men and raised his sword.

Eurymachus grabbed Antinous’ elbow, his eyes still wide and focused on the suitors’ movements and how quickly they began to close in. He sounded frantic, even to himself. “That’s Melantho.”

Antinous’ face didn’t change, not with recognition nor judgement. “Go. I’ll deal with this.”

Prior experience told him that Antinous’ methods of “dealing with it” ranged from dubious to blatantly harmful, but prior experience also told him that attempting to argue would just result in a stalemate and several more dead bodies. And if there were any a time for trust, it was now. So—

He turned and, for a moment that felt like twenty, wondered if he’d somehow been stabbed from behind in the second he’d taken his eyes off his adversaries. Which, alright, that was his bad, but Melantho was wailing so horribly that he was finding it truly difficult to focus.

His vision cleared and he quickly came to the more reasonable conclusion that the pain wasn’t coming from his end of the soulbond. He thought a colorful variety of curses in quick succession as he booked it from the hall, not sparing a single look behind him.

Sidenote: Did this count as getting stabbed? He really wasn’t trying to pay up…

“Melantho?” He hissed, voice kept low and contained within the dark corridor. He tripped over something—an arm, a leg, whatever—and went to hold onto his knife tighter on reflex. There was nothing there. Shit.

Why was he doing this, again?

And, gods, his back was aching. He was beginning to feel a little lightheaded, like he himself were bleeding out. Losing a lot of blood, a lot of iron, it was becoming increasingly difficult to think and even harder to keep his panicking mind at bay…

You’re stressing me out, came the faded reply. I’m fine.

Eurymachus didn’t believe that for a minute, but it was a lot easier to pretend than spiral like an idiot. He focused on his feet and hands and ears, tracking the now fainter whimpering echoing up the hall. A little closer, a little louder…

“Melantho,” he repeated. She sounded incredibly close, sobbing in quick painful spurts of air. “Melantho, you’d better be alone over there.”

No response.

He took a breath, temporarily threw caution to the wind and rounded the corner. For a moment, he didn’t see her. Only shadows and walls, then a figure adorned by the long trail of a dress and what appeared to be a lump below that figure’s hands.

The maid crouching over Melantho spun on her toes, arms raising protectively like a shield between them. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Don’t come any closer!”

“So you aren’t alone. Great.” Eurymachus raised his own hands, mirroring the maid’s stance with a more passive one. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.”

He winced. The pain in his back was becoming gradually more unbearable, and he could hear Amphinomus’ breaths becoming increasingly ragged in the background of their headspace. Good gods, he was going to kill him should he get the chance. Stupid, stupid—

“She’s a friend of mine,” he explained, waving his hands slowly in front of him to illustrate his lack of weaponry. “What happened?”

“She… she…”

The maid backed up slowly, her hands clasped over her mouth as her chest heaved. Eurymachus’ eyes fell to Melantho, who was curled smaller and frailer than he’d ever seen from her, a woman so domineering. She was shaking, violent like a leaf caught in a storm, her hand digging into the skin over her eye as she convulsed.

“I see,” he said plainly. There were enough people freaking out for the three of them, he figured.

“It hurts,” Melantho gurgled. “I can’t, I—“

“Oh my gods,” said the maid, burying her face in her hands with a horrified sniffle. “I don’t know what to do! I’ve never seen anything like this! She just fell, and then—“

“Shh,” Eurymachus kneeled down beside her, wordlessly gesturing for the other woman to back away. “It’s not safe here.”

The maid looked between them frantically. “I don’t…”

“Find the others.” He placed a hand on Melantho’s forehead. It was burning and damp with tears and sweaty hair, yet clammy and cold. “She’ll be okay.”

He was almost certain that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t trying to drown yet another person in guilt.

The maid nodded, tentative and regretful. With scattered footsteps, she fled the corridor, skirt sweeping the floor and still filling the air with tiny sobs born from the lie they were all partaking in.

Melanthro writhed, shrieking as her voice cracked and rasped. Her arms tightened around her core, clutching at something invisible as tears poured onto the ground between them.

“He’s dying!” she cried. “Make it stop! You told me it’d be okay!”

“I know,” he said, “I know it must hurt, I’m sorry—“

She reached out, blunt nails digging into his forearm. Her eyes looked bloodshot, her face contorted in pain. She looked almost… dead.

“You don’t understand,” Melantho wheezed, another tear slipping down her cheek. “I feel like I’m breaking; my chest, my stomach, my eye!” She’s fully sobbing again. “I can’t die like this. Please don’t let me die like this.”

“Okay!” His vision was swimming, his back on fire, he worried he might faint. “I don’t know what to do, Melantho!”

Her body writhed once more. Eurymachus turned her head to the side as gently as he could as she coughed out spittle and bile. Her grip was growing weaker, fingers alternating between a stiff spasming and the dead weight of a corpse. Good gods, he already knows.

“Please,” she begged between desperate gasps for breath. “The knife, please.”

Her hand fell to the floor. His hand stayed in her hair, trying to comfort her though he doubted it was doing much, especially as he himself was shaking like a leaf. He couldn’t believe he’d told her this was going to turn out okay. He couldn’t believe—

“I can’t stab you,” he pleaded. “I don’t even have a knife! And even I’m not that much of a psycho, Melantho—“

“Eurymachus,” she said. Her voice was weak, barely there, but it sounded more like the person he knew, irritated and bossy and demanding. It also sounded like someone dying and in pain. “Just be a friend, will you?”

I don’t wanna worry you, Amphinomus whispered, But please tell Antinous his father said hello. And that he’s sorry and wishes him the best. In case I don’t…

“All of you are the worst!” Eurymachus squeezed his eyes shut, counted down from thirty. He couldn’t deal with this.

Melatho was looking at him with an almost empty gaze now, body still ocassionally jerking uncontrollably under his fingers. He used his free hand to retrieve the cloth wrapped tightly and stashed carefully in the folds of his clothing, unwrapping tiny white flowers with quivering fingers.

“I bought you flowers,” he said, lightly but unable to hide the slight waver. “I think this makes us like soulmates, basically.”

Her eyes opened briefly. She smiled, weak and trembling. “I wish.”

“It’s poison.” The fabric wrapped around the stem. His hand opened her slack jaw and held it there as the flowers shook. “I hope it tastes alright.”

Her eyes opened once more. Her words came out slurred and garbled but clear in meaning as her tongue moved heavily. “I know what it is.”

They fell closed soon after and for the last time. It wasn’t a pretty death, as so few were, but it was fairly quick. For poison, anyway. Painless, he hoped, but that was out of his hands.

The castle seemed strangely quiet, strangely peaceful. No more commotion or screams, no arrows or clashing of swords or life as he knew it. The storm seemed to be dying.

Perhaps the battle was over?

Perhaps everything was over, as his head had never been so quiet nor his thoughts so still. His heart was scarcely beating and his back was at last relieved, but there was no true relief. Only disconnect, like he was teetering on the edge of something horrible and this painful strain that felt like his heart was soon to be torn clean in half.

Carefully, he smoothed down the crinkles created in Melantho’s dress and rearranged her hair, carefully moving her away from the mess of vomit and tears she’d left behind in her final moments.

Like a stupid idiot, he cried.

His vision was flickering. All he could feel was this all consuming relief as Telemachus stumbled backwards, pushed by his own palm from the knife seeking to stab its way into his heart. Air was all it found, whistling, seeking—

The prince yelled something at him. Too late. Pain was spreading across his back, warm like bitter honey and sweet iron…

He slumped to the floor. He couldn’t move. All Amphinomus wanted to do was move, but his nerves felt like fireworks and refused to do anything more than twitch and stab at his aching spine.

They’d done well, at least. They’d made a good team, fending off what felt like wave after wave after wave of men in an understanding silence. Even as his spear slipped from his fingers, he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. After all, he had just kept the prince of Ithaca from dying a quick and shameful death. At who deserved such a fate, anyway?

Oh, shit. Him, possibly. That was his blood soaking his clothes, wasn’t it?

The last man fell. Telemachus’ face flickered in front of him. He was saying something, holding onto his shoulder with concern.

“Keep your eyes open, okay?” Something like that, urgent but steady.

He blinked heavily. His tongue wasn’t really working the way he wanted it to. He was seriously about to die, wasn’t he?

“Okay,” he slurred, fighting to keep his eyelids from sliding closed as he slowly took in the fact that he was lying on his side. When had that happened?

“I mean it,” Telemachus lectured, a blunt pressure being placed on his back that felt strangely numb. “We need someone reasonable around here. Are you still listening?”

“Eh,” he responded blearily. “‘m trying, ‘s just…”

And he was. His eyes fell closed anyway, slow and inevitable as the tide closing in or the waves pulling back alongside the moon.

Five against one was never going to be a winning battle. Antinous knew this. The fact that there was a blade lodged in his stomach was proof enough, and the increasingly heavy feeling that he was going to choke on his own blood and die, that he’d never see Telemachus again—

Aphrodite’s aura was all encompassing. He could feel her presence washing over him, layers of impossible calm steadying his mind and numbing the rising pain. His entire torso felt warm. He must’ve gotten stabbed more than just once, but he couldn’t say he could tell either way—

He staggered but kept his swing focused. It felt almost like deja vu, all of those drills he used to run wondering what for. For now, he supposed, as a suitor recoiled and screamed as his hand disconnected from the bleeding stub of his arm.

Two down, three to go. It wasn’t happening. He could literally see the blood spilling from him like a neverending river, spilling across the floor and coloring his vision red, red, red.

His body wasn’t responding how he wanted it to. His movements were growing sluggish, the sword heavier by the second. He drove the blade between the ribs of an assailant, cursing his own weakness as he couldn’t pull it back out—

“Be calm,” Aphrodite whispered. “You know why you’re doing this—“

He did. For love, for good, because he’d come much too far to die the moment his life had just begun to change. The moment he’d changed it. But he was only human, and he wasn’t sure even a goddess could pick him back up when his leg crumpled under him.

Absolutely not. He wouldn’t put Telemachus through such a pain. He wouldn’t, but he was only human and fatigue was beginning to outweigh the burning fire that’d allowed him to hack down half the suitors filling the hall in the first place…

“Be calm,” Aphrodite repeated. Her hand was holding tightly to his, the pain temporarily gone.

In death? He opened his eyes, staring into the eyes of the lone suitor standing over him. His sword—Antinous’ sword, when had that happened?—was angled back mid swing. The last one. Was his life some sort of cosmic joke?

There was the largest gash he’d ever seen on a human carved into his stomach. He could see it from his peripheral, and he realized belatedly that his guts were sort of… leaking? The arm thrown haphazardly over his own torso acted almost like a bandage, keeping his insides… inside. It was disgusting. He couldn’t die.

He couldn’t die, but he was. His vision was wobbly around the edges, static and darkness and… people.

His father. He was so far away, blurry and unmoving in the distance. His childhood home, burning to cinders beside him. Roses, roses, roses…

Telemachus.

He blinked. And there was a woman, knelt before him with open arms. She was smiling, warm and inviting and radiant like the sun. Her skin glowed, her smile so wide it crinkled the corners of her eyes and dimpled her cheeks.

Her hair was long, curly. She looked young, eternally young, and so recognizable. Like home. His home, burning to cinders.

“Antinous, my love,” she coaxed, “come home! I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Tears welled in his eyes. “I can’t.”

Her grin didn’t so much as falter. “I love you. Come home.”

“You’re dead,” he spat, surprising himself with his own venom. Tears had begun to fall. “Mom, you’re dead.”

She looked down at herself. For a moment, the smile remained. And then it slipped away like water, replaced with something like mourning. She looked back to him, and now there were tears trailing down her own face. Matching. He’d never known how similar they looked.

“I guess you’re right,” she murmured. Slowly, her hands retracted, coming to hug herself. “I suppose this is quite selfish of me.”

“I’m not ready to be with you,” he said. His voice was shaking. “I don’t want to be with you.”

“I know.” She smiled again. “I guess we’ll have to catch up some other time.”

“Don’t leave me,” he sobbed, weak. “You can’t leave me, mom. Not again. I can’t do it anymore!”

“You can, and you will.” Her hand extended, swiped a tear before it could fully form. “I’m glad you found something to live for, Antinous. I was worried you might never find it.”

She was fading.

“Stop,” he pleaded.

“It’s not about your soulbond, love.” She smiled. “It’s you! Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. He didn’t know what else to do as her image steadily fizzled into nothing. He just didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll see you later.” She laughed like bells. “And I do mean later. So don’t be scared.”

“I’m not.” His mother was nearly gone. “I love you?”

And then she was.

He could’ve crumpled into dust right then and there. He didn’t. He had something to live for and he had to live, and when his eyes opened to a sword careening down to end his life—

There was a dull piercing sound. The suitor before him gasped, looking down in confusion and horror as the sword collapsed from his hand. There was the tip of an entirely new blade sticking through his lung. The silence seemed to stretch beyond forever, and then the blade pulled back.

The man swayed. He fell, his only protest a soft sputtering of a mouth filled with blood.

Antinous looked up. For a moment, he saw his mother. For a second, he saw Aphrodite, her body dissipating into a faint pink smoke. And when his vision at last stilled and his mind at last awoke, he saw Penelope.

“Oh,” he breathed, and laughed with a noisy cough. “You’re alright.”

“Am I now,” the queen answered dryly, brushing her skirts aside and settling the sword beside them as she came to crouch beside him.

Her eyes caught on his and she smiled shakily. “My son’s alive, then?”

Antinous’ hands were shaking wildly as he pressed harder against the profusely bleeding wound. Telemachus’ heart beat in time with his, shallow breaths but proof of life all the same. He smiled stupidly even as pain threatened to drag him under. “He’s fine.”

“Good heavens,” Penelope exhaled. Her hands were trembling as violently as his own, even as they gently lifted his arms from his waist.

It was only when a wet tongue came to lap excitedly at his cheek that he realized Argos, too, was there. And suddenly he could hardly breathe. He was alive. It was over with. It was over with, and he could scarcely imagine—

“It’s all going to be okay,” the queen murmured. It sounded true. “Just focus on not breaking Telemachus’ heart, son. That, I can not forgive.”

It took him an embarassingly long time to register the words, and then he thought he might cry. Argos silenced his low hiss of pain with a wide sweep of his tail, fingers prodding at the edge of his burning wound.

“Did you… find your husband?” he asked.

He felt numb. He needed to cling to something, some line of thought, because he felt he was drifting and the heavy stench of blood and death surrounding them wasn’t helping. And the thud, thud, thud of bodies dropping that he couldn’t unhear, louder than his heart and that of the person he loved both and all those he had killed—

Argos had turned away from him. His ears were perking up, nose sniffing desperately. But not at corpses or wreckage or even the air itself. He was searching. For…?

“No,” the queen said quietly. “I don’t—“

And then a door slammed open.

Argos yipped, moving to bound forward before Penelope held him back with a jingle of his collar.

Antinous turned his head, only to come face to face with the point of a bow held high and strung taught. A shadowed figure, shrouded in darkness and a cloak he seemed to be drowning in. Around him was a heavy presence, bright and blistering and godlike. Athena.

The man’s eyes glinted, glimmering and predatory in their gaze. The temperature of the room cooled to something glacial as even Penelope stilled beside him. Something like fear, but not quite. No, it was something more, something so much more.

He didn’t have time to think about it. Lowly, with a voice like a chain mail, the man hissed out five words in slow succession.

“Get away from my wife.”

Chapter Text

An extremely faint heartbeat. That was all he needed to hear.

Telemachus couldn’t drag him, that was for certain. The incredibly long trail of blood behind them was evidence enough—he was starting to get the feeling he was doing more harm than good at this point.

He glared at the staircase before them. His heart was beating loud and rapid in his ears, nearly drowning out all surrounding sound. Not that there was much to hear. The castle was quiet, dead in a way he hadn’t seen in years. Not once since the suitors arrived had there been peace, but now…

Peace. He wouldn’t exactly call it that, not while drenched in his own sweat, not to mention the guts and remains of people he’d… killed. He couldn’t exactly afford to think about it. This dull, numb sensation had began to spread through his limbs over the past hours, minutes, days. He didn’t feel anything.

That was perhaps for the better?

He gently laid Amphinomus’ upper body back on the ground. He could hear the faint murmuring of women just over his own pulsing bloodstream, and all he had to do was climb the fucking stairs and get him to safety. He could do that much. Forget the fact that he could barely feel his legs or arms and Amphinomus had to be at least double his weight.

Fuck. Why did he have to be so weak? It was Telemachus’ fault he’d been stabbed in the first place. It, like so many things, was his responsibility.

He could suck it up. He had to, even as his knees threatened to buckle under just his own weight. He was going to be king someday, and a king was responsible for the livelihood of their subjects. Where there was a will, there was a way. Certainly. Probably.

He told himself to quit stalling.

Shaking out his aching arms and legs, Telemachus took a breath and stooped down. He grabbed Amphinomus under the arms, all to conscious of the very little breathing he was doing. Up the stairs you stupid fuck.

Hooking his hands under the larger man’s arms, he pulled him further off the floor until the brunt of his weight was pressed into his own chest. His body was already trembling. Gods, why did everyone have to be so damn big and him so small? It was like the world was specifically seeking to make his life harder—

He’s going to be dead before you stop complaining.

For once that nagging, loathing little voice in his head was being some degree of helpful. He could appreciate that. He could focus, he could do it, he could.

Supporting Amphinomus’ leaden body with his own smaller one, he dragged the man to his feet. Telemachus nearly stumbled at the dramatic increase in weight, cringing as his arm and shoulder burned with overuse. Fuck this. He felt like he was trying to lift a literal tree, what the fuck?

You can’t even feel his heartbeat. Hurry up, murderer.

He shifted their weight, forcing Amphinomus right arm to join the other over his left shoulder. Telemachus ensured a strong grip on his wrist, then quickly realized he couldn’t maintain this position for much longer and he really, really wasn’t trying to drop someone already on the brink of death. Or already dead, though that wasn’t the point and wasn’t particularly helpful so he wasn’t going to think about it.

He squatted, surprising himself by not falling straight on his face as he swayed. With a grunt, he used Amphinomus’ arm to haul the man across his shoulders and halfway onto his back. With him somewhat settled, he relinquished his hold on the man’s arm and instead hooked it around his leg.

He felt like he was actually about to get crushed. His eyes began to water as every muscle in his body felt it was being pulled in every direction at exactly the same time. Now they both might die.

Telemachus forced himself into a semi-straight position, cringing privately at the pain. At least the other man’s height was good for something; his legs were still dragging against the floor, diverting some of the pressure from his own frame.

Focusing only on keeping the both of them upright rather than how frail and breakable he felt, Telemachus made slow and grating work of the steps. He was more concerned about aggravating Amphinomus’ condition than anything, gritting his teeth and breathing slowly to maintain his balance and strength.

He was so tired. Of what exactly, he could hardly choose. After all, they’d won, and yet there was no victory or celebration in the air. Only fear, the dead, and the promise of a long and extensive cleanup that’d surely span kingdom wide. Not to mention the strong possibility of an uprising. The council was going to rip them to shreds, alibi or otherwise.

If his mother was even still alive, which wasn’t ensured and could easily not be the case. Maybe she’d rounded that corner and run into an entirely different set of suitors and been killed. Or worse. Maybe everything was for nothing. Gods, he could really just collapse here and…

He crossed the last step, free hand shaking where it gripped the banister. The ground felt like it was slowly spinning beneath him and he inched a little further from the staircase for safety’s sake.

He nearly crumpled in the process of taking a knee, carefully retracting his hold on Amphinomus and lowering him back to the floor. Every limb screamed at him as he stood once more, scurrying down the hall and in the direction of muffled voices. There was a sound like crying radiating from behind a closed door, and he urgently rapped a bruised knuckle against it.

The noise stopped abruptly. He could almost hear the combined intake of breath, a moment of fear and suspension that could’ve spanned seconds or centuries. He kicked himself for failing to consider the fear such an intrusion would obviously cause.

The voice in his head began to whisper once more. This time, he silenced it.

“It’s Telemachus,” he said quickly. His voice sounded distorted to his own ringing ears. “I’m alone. There’s a man—unconscious, don’t worry—and he’s dying. From a stab wound, to the back? I need your help, please.”

And then, pain. His body convulsed despite itself at a sudden, searing burn across his stomach. And then this awful rush of melancholy, grief like he’d never felt before piercing through his ribs and straight to his already aching chest.

Antinous. Gods, no. He was probably sick or dying, stabbed or sliced and bleeding out somewhere on the castle floor. He had to get to him. There were so many things he had to do, so many people to save when he could hardly even save himself. Tears were springing in his eyes and he wasn’t entirely sure it was purely their connection speaking. The connection currently threatening to sever his torso in half and it hurt.

The door swung open. A room full of maids with pink tinted eyes that screamed alert looked back at him in varying states of disarray. He swayed on his feet. Adrenaline could only last so long and go so far, after all.

He had to go further. Adrenaline or otherwise, he’d come to far to fall in what very well may be his family’s last moments. His soulmate’s last moments, though he considered them one in the same now.

A taller woman stepped forward, trailed by several others. Behind them, smaller groups seemed to be huddled, soft and wary conversation he couldn’t quite decipher making waves across the room. Someone was definitely crying.

He felt he should feel some type of way about that, but all he felt was empty. Even irritated, though even his slow working mind could realize that such a thought would be both evil and unjustified.

And then he realized in a split second of abject horror that he would never be normal. He’d never get to return to being the person he used to be. He’d never get to forget the bloodshed or abuse or loneliness. He’d never get to be better.

These years he’d spent holed up in his home that felt more like a prison, fighting everday for the lives of himself and all those he cared about; it was all damage. Damage on top of damage on top of damage, scars and bruises that never fully healed and never would. Fragments of his mind and heart that’d been slowly stolen from him, his own morality crumbling with every passing day.

This was the end, but it wasn’t the end. Because even now that not a suitor still breathed in these castle walls, he couldn’t shake the memory.

In that way, he supposed they’d won. The suitors were dead, brutally slaughtered and never to cross the River Styx, but it was he who’d have to live with all that’d conspired. For the rest of his life: damaged.

His stomach ached.

“Prince Telemachus?” the head maid asked, concern coloring her tone a somber blue.

He didn’t want it. He couldn’t stand the sympathy or the words. All he wanted was to be alone. The very thing he’d been running from all these years, the only life he’d known for so long, and now he couldn’t help but to yearn for it back. Back when things were easy. Dismal, but easy. Back when his life meant nothing, but at least when you were nothing, there was no pressure.

And he felt horrible for thinking it. Telemachus hardly knew what he wanted anymore. He wanted love and now he had it, but now he couldn’t help but feel that love alone was not enough. And if all he had to live for wasn’t enough, then—?

“This way,” he said, tone wooden. “It’s serious, so I hope you’ve the supplies.”

He didn’t stick around for long after that. Telemachus helped a group of maids carry Amphinomus into the safer, more comfortable room and settle him on his stomach. They bustled to surround him, armed with various tools he recognized from his own days of patching up wounds by the daily. The memory hurt just as much as it had in the moment.

They seemed distracted from their grief by the task, at least. Conversation lulled into a focused silence as the women tended to him.

Telemachus turned away and made for the door. He couldn’t bear to be there if things didn’t work out. How was he meant to explain this to Eurymachus? If he was even still around.

A twinge of nausea resurfaced in his stomach as he thought about their last conversation. He almost regretted being so blasé. He got the feeling Eurymachus wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to present himself as. Maybe he should’ve realized it earlier. Maybe Telemachus should ask him about it, should they ever get the chance.

After all, weren’t they all equally damaged?

The maid was still crying, alone and softly behind her hand. She was drawn back by the doorway, watching blankly at the rest of the room’s proceedings. Telemachus understood it. He wondered how the kingdom was to move on from this. How he was meant to move on.

“Lost someone?” he asked, not entirely sure where the question came from when all he wanted was to go, go, go.

She looked up at him, blearily and with eyes red from agitation. She sniffed, nodded.

“It’s not going to stop hurting,” he said plainly, “so don’t waste your time waiting. You get stronger, that’s all. I think we can all get stronger.”

She sniffled once more, incredulousness and pain straining her features. “My friend is dead. Forgive me for not believing that.”

“Stronger, not better. There’s a difference.” He pushed open the door with his heel. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

“Not your fault.” She smiled hollowly at him. “I’m sorry for you, too.”

That hurt. Possibly more than the deep, harrowing burn and his stomach and the feeling that his soulmate’s time was rapidly running out. Possibly worse than any wound, more painful than any heavy hand could ever hope to be. On legs heavy as his heart, he left.

Athena returned to him with a whisper. “Go to the dining hall. It’s urgent.”

He was tired. Of fighting, of protecting, of being alive.

“Athena,” he said, picking up his discarded sword as he retraced his steps and dodged dead bodies that littered the hall and stunk of sin. “What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” she returned with predictable sternness. “Go, Telemachus. You’ve no time for pity.”

He sometimes felt he’d spent his entire life with no time to spare. No time for tears or friends or a father, no time for feeling or living for fun. He was living on borrowed time, constantly evading one threat or another, following in the shadow of the one man he’s longed to know more than anyone. And it still wasn’t over.

“Okay,” he said as the first tear of many threatened to fall. Only this time, he couldn’t summon much of anything, not even the tiniest hint of moisture. Even sadness, it seemed, had grown tired of him. “Okay.”

And he continued on as he always had. For himself, not really. For love, even that he couldn’t say. He placed one foot in front of the other again and again, because maybe there was some value in living just for the sake of it. Even if it was a life he’d never wanted.

For once, the scars twisting up and down his forearms didn’t itch. He’d never been so glad to see his veins pulse with blood, a tiny rhythmic heartbeat concentrated just over his wrist.

Like a kiss on the hand, maybe.

Penelope shook above him. She moved slowly, positioning her body squarely in front of his as though in defense. But she didn’t seem afraid, and so Antinous too felt calm, even as death grabbed at him.

The man’s eyes were wild. They were flitting rapidly between them, confused and frightened in their desperation. He was scared. Antinous felt an overwhelming sympathy for him as his fingers shook on the string of the bow. He knew he wouldn’t let the arrow ring. Not with Penelope between them, not even as his grip continued to tighten and his face remained gaunt and terrified.

His face was just like Telemachus’. They shared the same nose and eye shape, the same brows and the same curly hair, though they were a sunbleached brown as compared to his soulmate’s inky black. They could’ve been twins or mirror images if not for the differences in their overall complexion.

Antinous could’ve smiled if every muscle didn’t feel so slack. He could’ve smiled if the air didn’t feel so oppressive or if this man’s haunted look didn’t remind him a little of himself. Dull eyes, shadowed by memories and pain Antinous was certain he must’ve been reliving in every miniscule moment.

He looked like a man who saw ghosts. He thought, perhaps foolishly in regards to a man with an arrow pointed to his head, that they were very much alike. That they might even get along.

The world seemed to still and, suddenly, things felt a little more right. More balanced, as though what little order they’d maintained over the years was being slowly restored. He thought he heard Aphrodite sigh.

And then Penelope’s voice cracked as she spoke, the love of a wife and mother spilling into the air between them as Athena’s aura swelled. “Odysseus?”

The end of the bow faltered. Slowly as though submerged in water or ice, it lowered. Telemachus’ father blinked rapidly, clearly disbelieving of what he was seeing, his face opening up gradually like the sky just after a particularly strong storm. Even with blood staining his clothes and splashed across his face, he seemed… in love.

It was the sort of love and boundless loyalty Antinous had once not believed in. He recalled once wondering just how the queen had maintained her faith for so long in the wake of her husband’s disappearance. He now knew as the married couple locked eyes, and all he could think in the presence of the great bygone ruler of Ithaca was what about his son?

He owed Aphrodite an apology now that he knew how it felt.

And then his chest began to hurt because this really was the end, wasn’t it? He’d lost an impossible amount of blood. Even he could see that, and the gradually worsening spots in his vision only served to prove him right. And he was likely never going to see Telemachus again… or Eurymachus, at that, but at least the latter would probably get over it.

Well, no. That wasn’t true and he knew it, but he only had space for so much guilt over his loved ones should he die here.

And then there was his father, who… had probably never looked at his wife like that. Had probably never looked at his son with so much adoration in his eyes, and Antinous wasn’t entirely sure whether that made things better or worse.

It was somewhat easier to pretend he didn’t still care about his father’s approval. His love. A lot easier, certainly, not to think about the rare good times they’d had, those warm days and sunsets before their home of three had become a house of two.

Still, he was happy. Telemachus didn’t talk about his father much, but he also didn’t really need to. It didn’t take a genius or even a soulbond to see how much he’d needed him.

Need wasn’t the word; he was strong on his own. Strong for those three years he’d contested the suitors without fail all by his lonesome. Stronger for forgiving him, because Antinous wasn’t sure he himself would’ve done the same. The strongest for his heart, which was all too open and all too generous, even for those who deserved nothing. Especially for those who deserved nothing.

He knew he’d already shown his remorse. He feared, in some part, that it’d never be enough. That a thousand apologies and a thousand shows of forgiveness would never relieve the crushing guilt he felt. More than that, he feared that crushing guilt was exactly where it belonged.

He’d apologize again, and again, again. And he’d make it right and keep it right so long as they both still breathed. Telemachus deserved a perfect life after all this pain. And while he knew they loved each other, Antinous still found himself worried he could never provide such a thing.

It seemed it was out of his hands, now.

So even as he lay there, dying, he was happy. He trusted Aphrodite would take gentle care of Telemachus’ heart, even if it did shatter without him. And he was happy that his soulmate had finally gotten what he’d wanted: a family. A safe one he wouldn’t need to worry over.

“Penelope?” Odysseus whispered, the word like an incantation or a melody. A word that screamed life into the room in a way the suitors never could’ve managed, not even with all hundred of their voices in perfect harmony.

And then Athena’s power surged and there was Telemachus, sword held high behind his father’s head as though mid swing before being frozen in place. Antinous felt his heart beat faster with a frantic sort of joy and watched as the blood spurted faster with equal dread. Love, it seemed, might kill him.

The sword clattered. Odysseus flinched, whirling around and stumbling backwards as he saw his son. For a moment that felt like twenty years of waiting, there was no movement at all. Not even the slightest of breaths.

Telemachus’ hands were shaking. His eyes blinked rapidly, darting between his father and the sword on the floor and his father and the bow gripped in Odysseus’ hand.

The bow that’d been trampled by the suitors, Antinous recognized belatedly. He wondered when he’d had time to retrieve it. Then, more belatedly, he wondered how he’d come to string it. Then, he wondered…

Why his eyelids were so heavy?

Run, run, run, Telemachus’ mind was chanting like a mantra. He looked exhausted, even terrified. If Antinous could’ve, he would’ve wrapped him in a hug, but…

“Telemachus,” Penelope tremored out. “It’s—your father.”

Run, run, run. His lover’s breath was speeding up, mind reeling as Antinous could practically feel the sweat webbing between his fingers and trickling down his spine. Raw panic. He looked like he was about to cry.

“In on one,” he said with a voice barely there, “out on two… okay?”

Telemachus’ eyes snapped to him. He couldn’t possibly have heard his death rattle from where he stood. He supposed it had to be their connection doing the heavy lifting, and that made his heart beat with a stupid joy once more.

He was in love. And for once, loving someone felt okay. He felt like he was… allowed to. And now he was going to die.

One, he thought. Two. One…

“Son?” Odysseus asked, hesitation evident in his tone and shaking timbre. He reached out a finger as though Telemachus were a mere reflection in water, susceptible to rippling out of reach at the slightest of touches—

His soulmate cringed away, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. “I—uh—“

He was tearing up, but he was breathing. Telemachus looked rapidly between his parents, heart thudding faster and faster before darting around his father and making a beeline straight for him.

His vision blurred for a moment, eyes falling shut and then opening blearily. The next thing he knew, Telemachus was kneeling by his side, patting his face frantically with one unsteady hand and pressing against his wound with the other.

“Antinous,” he hissed, face screwing up in an emotion he couldn’t place. Perhaps an attempt to keep the pain inside. In that case, Antinous knew it well. “Stop closing your eyes, please stop closing your eyes.”

He could feel a warmth beginning to congregate beneath where each of his soulmate’s hands lay. He attempted to move his own heavy arm, only managing to somewhat nudge Telemachus’ knee.

“Your dad,” he slurred.

“I know!” Telemachus gasped. He was shaking so hard and turning so pale that Antinous himself began to feel panic rise beneath his skin. He was back to short, shuddering intakes of breath.

“Shh,” Antinous murmured, his hand twitching against his leg. It’s okay.

Telemachus leaned over him, so close their foreheads were touching. His hair tangled with Antinous’ eyelashes and it sort of reminded him of their first real kiss. He could’ve smiled were his soulmate not fully sobbing.

“Athena,” he was saying, almost like a chant over and over again. “Athena, Athena—“

Antinous’ eyes drooped once more as his whole body began to buzz. It was a strange sort of numbness, lights and colors flashing throughout his vision and behind his eyelids. It was loud and quiet at the same time, this floating kind of sensation taking over everything and monopolizing every sense. He could still feel Telemachus’ blistering forehead against his own, though. And that same, pleasant warmth he always felt whenever their skin touched. He’d miss this. If he did die, he wanted to die and dream of this every single night.

Did ghosts dream? If not, then he’d make it true. He’d be the first ghost to dream and the last to cross the River Styx if ever given the chance, for there was no chance he was going anywhere without…

There was a world of blue. He descended, slowly as though adorned with wings to parachute his fall, into a world of glittering nothingness.

He opened his eyes. Athena.

“My lady,” he said. He felt alive.

“You are,” she responded, tone dry but certainly warmer than he’d ever heard before. Her hair rippled in a wind that wasn’t truly there, and it was then he realized she wasn’t wearing her helmet. She looked almost human without it, her face much rounder and less birdlike than he remembered. There was a strange scar over her eye—he wondered if it’d always been there.

He smiled. A true smile, one so bright and untethered that it felt almost inappropriate. Most certainly inappropriate, and he quickly allowed it to drop away.

And, much more shockingly than anything he’d witnessed that day, Athena smiled back.

“I didn’t always like you,” she admitted into the stillness between them. “I never thought I could. I suppose I failed to comprehend what it was Telemachus saw in you. Or Aphrodite, for that matter. It’s not often that my judgement fails me.”

He stayed respectfully silent. He could feel the ghost sensation of someone touching his hand. Perhaps in the real world, with thin fingers he recognized tracing mellowly across his own and between each slight crease in his palm.

Athena took a shallow breath, smiled once more in that tight-lipped manner that felt suspiciously like approval. Even some estranged version of affection.

“I suppose that, while I was logically aware of the notion of people changing, I did not fully subscribe to such an idea. Most people stay somewhat stagnant throughout their life. The ones who do not often change for the worse. I find that humans have a tendency for falling into evil; some may deem it easier than the alternative.

“I foolishly believed the same of you without proper evidence. For that, I admit my wrongdoing.” She inclined her head ever so slightly, and Antinous wondered fuzzily if you could acrew negative karma for having the divine apologize to you too many times. He sure hoped not.

Athena huffed. “Your stupid line of reasoning vexes me, but other than that, you are a tolerable individual. I’m glad Telemachus has found a soulmate in you.”

“My bad.” He smiled once more. It seemed he simply couldn’t stop himself. “I’m also very glad.”

“I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, helmet reappearing in a flurry of mist and concealing her heavy gaze. “There are many people waiting for you on the surface. Do not agitate your wounds once you wake because I will not be coming to aid in your healing again. It is not my expertise.”

He nodded quickly. The phantom sensation felt almost tantalizing, begging him to rise from this conversation and see his lover’s face in reality. He couldn’t wait. He needed to see if he was okay.

“I won’t keep you for much longer. I do have one final question for you before I make my departure.” Athena’s wings fanned out. They looked strangely tattered, some feathers even singed, but breathtaking beautiful either way. Her hair fluttered once more. “Do you vow to stand by him through thick and thin, whether you believe you’re what’s right for him or not?”

He blinked rapidly. Once, it may have been a difficult question. One plagued with self loathing and doubt, a narrative of sacrifice that really only told of a lack of trust and integrity. And then the answer came to him in a split second with no greater need to think.

He trusted Telemachus more than even himself. He knew they loved each other equally and, more than that, how much they’d fought just for the option to be together freely at all. The option they now had.

Antinous suspected the doubt might never truly leave his mind. The little voice that whispered obscenities and insults and thoughts he hated himself for having but knew he couldn’t control. The one that chanted for him to die, die, die but was now quieter. Not gone, but quieter. An irritating buzz amongst a field of glistening fireflies.

“I do,” he promised. “He’ll never have to worry about that ever again.”

She stared at him. Then she sighed, a wry smile just barely there on her lips. “Very well. I wish you the best of lives, Antinous. That much, you deserve.”

She was gone before he even had the chance to say goodbye.

His father had helped him carry his soulmate to his room. His father had helped him carry his soulmate to his room.

It didn’t sound real. It sounded like a joke. Telemachus couldn’t believe it. Not their matching eyes or noses or faces or voices or statures or the curl of their hair. He couldn’t believe it, but he knew it was true, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

So he ran.

He was ashamed. The first words he’d said to his father were thank you, and then they’d stared in equally stunned silence at each other for an unbearable length of time over Antinous’ sleeping—sleeping, breathing, living—body before Telemachus had managed to stutter out a half-assed excuse about feeling incredibly tired and slammed the door in his father’s face.

His father’s face. Odysseus’ face. The man he’d longed to see for so long, and this was how they met? Telemachus crying and panicking like a helpless idiot. He must be so disappointed. He must be—

Telemachus dumped a basin of ice cold water over his head and relished in the full body shiver he recieved in return. He didn’t know what to do. His mother had knocked on his door twice now. She was worried, happy and hopeful and whole again but so worried and so disappointed in him, in their family, in how everything and nothing was going how it should—

He scrubbed frantically at his skin. The water was swiftly made into a muddy reddish brown swirl that disappeared beneath his feet within seconds. He felt filthy. He couldn’t stop thinking about all that’d happened, the death and the screams and the squelch of Agathinos’ eyes beneath his fingers. He cringed at the memory, cringed once more as he remembered his mother being dragged away…

His heart sped up. Gods, what if she wasn’t safe? The suitors were gone, but were they really? What if they were just in hiding? What if they had her right now? Stabbing her, raping her, killing her? No, no, no—

His father was there. Yes, Odysseus would stop it. If there were suitors, his father would stop them, right? But he hadn’t stopped them from breaking his pride and bones for all those years. He hadn’t stopped that guard from raping Antinous, so—

Antinous. He could’ve stopped breathing since Telemachus last checked on him. Yes, that’d been five minutes ago and, yes, he was only a room away, but five minutes was all it took for someone to bleed out and die. Five minutes was all it’d taken for Telemachus to carve the life from Agathinos’ writhing body—

He haphazardly dried himself, only half tying his chiton before rushing back out into his bedroom with a rapidly beating heart. The room was cluttered as always, chaotic in a way that was purely his and, oh, he missed it, but none of that could possibly bring him comfort until he knew—

His entire body sagged in relief when his eyes settled upon Antinous, chest rising and falling rhythmically and buried beneath his covers. Telemachus wanted to cry but that felt sort of stupid, not to mention impossible. Ignoring his cold, wet hair and rapidly dampening clothing, he crawled onto the little spare space in bed Antinous provided; he was already big and slept like a mutant starfish, making the other person’s comfort theoretical at best.

And somehow, shivering and being continuously kicked by twitching limbs in a bed way too small for two, it was the most comfortable he’d felt in a long time. And for that moment, he felt safe. Like no suitor would jump out at them and tear them apart. And somehow, against all odds, he laughed. A true one.

Telemachus pressed his body further into Antinous’ side, taking care not to put any pressure on his torso where the wound lay. It was already scarring with his and Athena’s help and would no doubt leave a nasty, apparent one. Strangely, the visual was almost comforting. A reminder of all they’d been through and all they’d survived, together.

He leaned his head onto his soulmate’s shoulder, taking a lightly twitching hand in both of his. He traced the lines and imperfect joints, focusing only on Antinous’ breathing and his own. This way, he didn’t have to think about his father or all the work they had left to do. His father, his father, his father.

Fingers, joints. His lover, his lover, his lover.

He fell into a brief sleep this way, holding Antinous’ hand and trying not to think about the infinite possibilities they both never woke up. The possibilities where his father never came home, and the scarier ones in which he did.

The first words Telemachus’ soulmate said to him upon rising from the dead were, “Are you okay?”

He’d promptly burst into tears.

Antinous hadn’t asked questions. He didn’t need to, never needed to. There were so many formalities they could’ve waded through, so many carefully constructed questions and answers they could’ve exchanged about their shared trauma. It’d only be a waste of their collective time.

So Telemachus appreciated it when he only carefully wrapped his arms around him and propped his chin on his head and allowed him to sob into his chest until he physically couldn’t summon another tear and his eyes burned from overuse. He appreciated it more than any word could say.

“Are you happy?” he’d asked once the flow had stopped and Telemachus could only run his hands across his scar again and again and again, needing the proof that he was still alive. His skin was warm to the touch, muscles contracting at every bit of contact even as Antinous didn’t pull away. He never did, even when he was worried he must be bothering him.

“I don’t know,” Telemachus had admitted, quiet and ashamed. “I should be.“

“I don’t know that enough people have gone through what you have for there to be an approved reaction,” Antinous said. His hand was running through his hair, twirling it and no doubt turning it into a tangled rat’s nest. He could hardly say he minded.

“Anyone would be happy to see their dad again,” Telemachus muttered without thinking.

There was a long pause. Antinous sounded distinctly amused. “Really?”

He flushed. “My mouth and my brain aren’t working in my favor today. Sorry.”

“No need, I get it.” The hand in his hair slowed, drifting down to rub soothing circles at the base of his neck. “You should talk to him, though. I know you want to.”

He did, more than anything he’d ever wanted in this life. “I’m scared.”

“And you’re going to do it anyway,” Antinous said, “because that’s your dad and you’ve been waiting for this your whole life.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“I’m getting the feeling he wouldn’t care.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“I’m certain you’re more likeable now than you were as a random baby.”

“But what if I’m actually not.” A pause, a snicker. “I’m serious!”

“Then,” his lover conceded, humoring him, “I’d be seriously confused because you weren’t even that cute of a baby. Believe me, I’ve seen the tapestries.”

“Fuck you.” Telemachus huffed out a shaky laugh, nudging him with his foot. “When did you become so emotionally intelligent?”

“Rude.” Antinous kicked him back with far more vigor than was strictly necessary. “When did you get so dumb?”

He made an offended sound into the meat of his shoulder, returning the kick and relishing in the ensuing hiss of pained indignance. Music to his ears.

“Whatever. Just so you know, one civil conversation with a wisdom goddess doesn’t make you any less of an idiot.”

“Right,” Antinous drawled, ending with a contrastingly gentle kiss to the forehead as their ankles interlocked mid battle.

His heart warmed as heat spread across his cheeks. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

A smile so gorgeous it almost burned. “I’m proud of you.”

He was happy. Sickeningly happy and, for the first time in a long time, utterly safe.

He blushed further if only to intensify his own embarassment. “I was a cute baby though.”

Antinous laughed in his face, and the shared vibration between them was like music to his soul.

“Boo,” Eurymachus said, creaking open the bedroom door. There were pronounced circles beneath his eyes. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Antinous pushed himself further up on the bed, cringing slightly as his stomach burned with the movement. He opened his mouth to say something further, something snarky or combative, but something in his friend’s posture made him think otherwise.

He only patted the place next to him on the bed. “You can take Telemachus’ spot. What’s up?”

Eurymachus closed the door behind him. He walked to the bed. He sat down and then, for once, didn’t say anything.

Antinous couldn’t stop his eyebrows from slowly rising as concern overtook his initial skepticism. “Eurymachus?”

“I’m glad you’re okay, dude.” Eurymachus glanced at him, offered a strained smile. “Seriously.”

“Okay, I don’t like this.” Antinous grabbed his shoulder, forcibly hauled him from the edge of the bed into closer proximity. Eurymachus collapsed on his back, not putting up much of a fight and knocking his head into his shin.

“Talk to me,” he said, now that they could see eye to eye and Eurymachus was peering up at him. “What’s wrong? Are you dead or dying? Tell me no one’s dead or dying because you look like shit.”

“Not so handsome yourself.” Eurymachus glared at him, sighed, closed his eyes. Then he opened them and smiled somewhat. “You owe me ten drachma, by the way. And you got stabbed? Ought to be thirty, then.”

Antinous made a sputtering sound of disagreement. “This is a slash, not a stab, there’s a difference, and that’s not what we agreed upon either way! But yes, I’ll give you your ten drachma, you broke fuck.”

“You’re poorer than me. Until you marry into royalty anyway, which—invite me, yeah?” His eyes had slid closed once more.

“If his highness allows it.” Antinous’ smile melted away at the lack of notable response. He sighed, nudged his head with his knee. “Hey. Something’s actually wrong, Eurymachus, so quit fucking around. Where’s Amphinomus?”

Eurymachus’ eyes opened. He smiled with no joy. “I was hoping you’d bring that up!”

Antinous’ stared at him blankly. “If this is how you tell me your soulmate is—dead, I’ll slaughter you.”

“Even I’m not that callous.” He waved a hand as though physically dismissing the point. “No, he’s alive. Barely, but living is living! Melantho bit the dust though, which is both unfortunate and something I can’t imagine you’d really care about, but yeah.”

“Eurymachus…” he frowned, heart sinking a little.

It was true he’d hardly known her—and hardly tolerated her, at that—but it was equally true that Eurymachus clearly had. They’d certainly had some sort of a bond between them, anyway. And Amphinomus… what did barely alive even entail?

“Don’t start going on one of your guilty spirals again. I can literally see you thinking it.” Eurymachus waggled a finger in his face. “It’s cool, dude. I’m glad your people are okay.”

“It’s absolutely not cool.” Antinous swatted his hand out of the air. “Stop trying to pretend this isn’t bothering you. How’d she pass?”

“Interesting story, actually,” he responded dismissively, staring up into the ceiling rather than into his face. “Did you know Agathinos was her soulmate?”

Antinous’ brain paused and additional dread set in. “No?”

“Well, now you do. It really was sad, though. I’m guessing he died a pretty brutal death since she was screaming and writhing in agony until her very last moments. Pretty disturbing shit.”

“Eurymachus—“

“I’m begging you to stop saying my name with such overwhelming pity. You would’ve slapped me for that.”

“Fine.” Antinous breathed out slowly. “You know you can be sad about your friend dying, right?”

“Just because I’m not sobbing on the floor getting mucus everywhere doesn’t mean I’m not sad,” Eurymachus huffed, turning his face to the side so his expression could not be seen. “And when did you become the emotionally intelligent one?”

“The question of the day, apparently,” he said dryly. “I guess having my dozenth near-death experience of the last twenty-four hours finally taught me to stop running from my emotions.”

“Was that meant to be directed at me?”

“If the shoe fits.” Antinous sighed once more, his hand coming to rest on Eurymachus’ shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about Amphinomus?”

“You sound like him.” He turned his face again, this time to meet his gaze again. His eyes looked ever so slightly glassy. “I don’t think he’s gonna walk the same, man.”

A long pause. “What do you mean?”

“He took a spear in the back, apparently, and you know how spine injuries are.” Eurymachus took a breath, then another slightly faster one. “He’s awake now, in a lot of pain, but awake. And for whatever reason, his right leg barely moves.”

“Ah.” Antinous’ chest ached a little more. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Be serious.” He jostled his leg under Eurymachus’ head, forcing the other man to sit up. “You’re my best friend and I’m glad you’re still alive to annoy me but, that said, you are seriously annoying me. I’m not going to judge you for being upset. I know you like to face things with a smile, but you don’t have to. So give me something to work with here.”

The other man slowly turned to face him. They stared at each other for a long couple seconds, a stalemate neither was willing to end. Then Eurymachus sniffed. “I hate this stupid castle.”

“Same.”

“I literally told him not to come back.”

“It’s not your fault he didn’t listen.”

“Exactly!” Eurymachus threw his hands up in anger. “Stupid fucking bitch. I hate that guy. I hate all of you! It sucks being the voice of reason every day surrounded by self sacrificing idiots who—who—“

He sniffed once more, the fight leaving him as quickly as it’d come. “Who might not walk again. Ever.”

“Yeah,” Antinous said.

“Yeah,” Eurymachus repeated. He opened his eyes incredibly wide and looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “Wow, this is embarassing.”

“I’ve seen uglier criers,” he admitted, opening his arms, “such as myself. We’re going to hug now.”

Eurymachus gave him an incredulous look. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling.”

Antinous forcibly closed him in a hug, squeezing him until the other man was angrily clawing at his back and wheezing profanities. He didn’t comment on the obvious wetness against his shoulder; he figured he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Okay,” Eurymachus grumbled, still sniffling as he pulled away. “Okay. Gods, you’re like a weirder, more annoying, less dead version of my mom. Give it a rest already.”

Antinous thought back to his own mother. He decided to take it as a compliment. He wondered, suddenly, if being considered “parental” even in jest proved that he’d split away from his own father’s path for good. It seemed like a yes and he’d never felt so… free.

“Oh, shit,” Eurymachus said suddenly. “You should visit Amphinomus sometime—he’s up the hall and he’d probably at least pretend to be happy to see you. He has a message for you.”

“O-kay… I will?” He attempted to read his expression and failed. “I hope you didn’t actually mean what you said about hating him. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He sighed. “Of course I know that. That’s why I’m so fucking mad.”

“You said he can barely move it, not that he can’t.” Antinous patted him on the back in a way he hoped was at least somewhat comforting. “I’m sure he’ll learn to at least sort of walk again. Especially if you hound him about it.”

“Oh, I will.”

Eurymachus paused for a long moment, seemingly staring at his neck. He stared for an uncomfortably long time, eyes flitting from his face back to his neck. It got unbearable unbearably quickly.

“What?” he asked, growing self conscious faster than he would’ve hoped.

And then his friend’s stony demeanor broke and he grinned. In a tiny giggle unbecoming of his size and appearance, he whispered in a voice thick with barely restrained malicious joy, “Is that a hickey?”

Antinous’ face went from neutral to on fire in a matter of seconds.

Eurymachus laughed so hard with such unfettered delight that he proceeded to fall off the bed entirely, nearly taking Antinous with him with a thump so loud the entire kingdom had to have heard it.

Antinous, who had no non-incriminating explanation for himself, proceeded to throw him out of Telemachus’ room and slam the door in his face. In typical fashion for an irritating fuck such as Eurymachus, he giggled for another five minutes straight outside the door before finally deciding to up and do something with himself.

“Thank you,” he’d said between giggles, softer and more genuine. “Seriously.”

“You can come back,” Antinous had answered begrudgingly, though he knew they both understood the sincerity behind the irritation. “Whenever you need. Unless you start laughing again, in which case, bother someone else.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eurymachus sniggered. “As if you’re ever living this one down, loverboy. One question, though—top or bottom? Wait, wait, wait—no spoilers! Can I make a prediction first?“

“Leave.”

Sufficiently humiliated as he was, Antinous found himself more grateful than anything. Grateful that this whole ordeal had come to a close. Grateful that, should things turn out well, Telemachus and his father would come to be close again. Grateful that he’d managaed to make Eurymachus feel somewhat okay, even at his own expense.

It was a happiness that felt impossible. But it was a happiness he knew, because he was holding it to his chest at that very moment and feeling, somehow, good.

Chapter Text

He’d dropped the vase. That was all.

Shards splattered across the floor, tiny bits of ceramic splintering into many more and covering the kitchen in a thin coat of gray dust.

It was loud and his father was sleeping. It was loud, but his father was sleeping and he slept heavy. He just had to be quiet. Clean it up, that was all, his father was sleeping.

Antinous’ fingers shook horribly as he dropped to his knees, bits and pieces of sharp debris jabbing into his skin. He couldn’t breathe, especially not as ashes stuck to his sweating hands and his vision began to shake with terror. His father was going to kill him. And now that his mother’s remains were scattered across their floor like trash, he—

There was a thump from his father’s bedroom. He flinched, sending more of the vase back onto the ground with quiet pinging noises that echoed. He was dead. He was so dead. Why did it have to be today that his father woke up? Why wasn’t it his father in the fucking vase, why—?

“Antinous!” His father barked from across the house, loud and aggressive enough to shake the very earth his useless son was teetered on. “What the fuck are you doing?”

There was no use. His father was coming and he was going to kill him. Or worse. He’d always been so sensitive to talk about his wife—Antinous’ mother, the woman, whatever—and always hated when Antinous touched her stuff. He didn’t understand it. It seemed oftentimes that he despised his son more than he hated his wife, the wife he’d murdered, and Antinous just didn’t understand—

The footsteps were coming closer. He couldn’t cry; his father was crueler when he cried. Something about being a real man, someone strong or at least not weak. Then again, a real man wouldn’t be quaking in fear of the man who’d raised him.

“Raised” him.

He clasped his shaking hands together, bowing his head and fighting back the urge to sob. Aphrodite the beautiful, holy goddess of love, I pray to you for your guidance and protection. Your grace and benevolence is—

A door slammed and the footsteps drew closer. Please be listening. Please. I need your help. I know I don’t deserve it but please, please, please help me—

“Antinous!” His father yelled again, so close that his ears rung as he stepped into the room—

I’m begging you not to let him kill me. Please don’t let him kill me. I’ll do anything, please—

“I’m sorry,” he said, robotic and rehearsed. He kept his eyes carefully on the floor and focused on the tiniest spec of his—dust. “It fell, I’m sorry. For waking you up. And I… I can fix the vase—I promise I won’t sleep or eat or rest until it’s perfect again. And the ashes, I’ll—“

His father wasn’t moving. Antinous could feel himself beginning to float, that numbness he so often prayed for weaving itself beneath his skin. And then he wasn’t there. He didn’t have to be there as the boy’s father buried his face in his hands and sobbed, nor as the boy sat with his gaze to the ground, awaiting a command or beating like a filthy, obedient dog.

The boy’s father picked his head up from his hands. His gaze looked empty, and when he spoke, his voice was perfectly even.

“You’re done.” The father stepped backwards, shaking his head and sending tears falling with him. Rage was beginning to root in him, tensing his muscles and vibrating in every limb. “Get out of my house.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” the boy whispered as he continued to shake. Small, so small, like a spec of dust or grain of sand. “I don’t—“

“Leave!” The father screamed. “You were a fucking mistake, Antinous! You know why you don’t have a soulmate? Because you don’t have a fucking soul!”

“Dad!” The son wailed, begging and weeping into his mother’s ashes. “How can you say that? Tell me you don’t believe that! Please, dad!” He was crying so hard he could barely speak. “Dad. Say something. Say you love me. Please.”

“I am not your fucking dad.” The father’s voice was low once more, controlled in its apathy even as tears continued to slide down his cheeks. “And I will never love anyone again. Not your mother, and certainly not you. And you know why?”

“No,” Antinous wept, rubbing at his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the flow but only succeeding at smearing ash across his cheeks. “I don’t understand.”

“Because love is poison.” His father laughed hysterically. “You think I wanted this? Wanted you? You were born to a monster and a no good wench and you have that coursing through your blood. You were poisoned from the day you were born and you’ll never be anything more than collateral damage.

“I used to be happy, you know? Happy without my soulmate and waste of a son. I can’t remember the last time I felt that way.” His father grabbed his face, forced the boy to look him in the eyes even as he squirmed away. “So you appreciate what you have, Antinous. You be happy to be loveless and you never, ever make the mistake of believing you could be anything else. You never fall in love and you certainly never start a family unless you want to spread your damage and poison another poor little boy too. Okay?”

“Okay,” the loveless whispered as his heart shattered into pieces once more. “I’m sorry.”

His father yanked his hand away, dropping his face. “You can’t stay here.”

“D—“ he cut himself off, eyes clearing as his tone dropped to something monotone and far away. His body continued to shiver uncontrollably, though his face remained plain and distant. Floating.

“Sir,” he tried again, though his father wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll do anything for you, please. You can’t leave me.”

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” the father said stonily. He, too, seemed not to be fully there.

The son’s eyes had turned wild, desperate. His gaze flitted about like a frightened animal, landing back on his father and making a decision at last.

Sometimes in this memory, things went blurry about then. His recollection fuzzed into a smear of colors and movements and then a sea of black. He used to wonder just what he’d done so shamefully as to block it out completely. Wondered if things were as horrible as he speculated or if he even wanted to know at all.

His shaking hand landed on the belt of his father’s tunic.

He wasn’t a boy, after all, despite how small he’d often felt back then. He was older, continuously toeing the line of manhood with each passing month and year. He was handsome, apparently, or so the rest of the village seemed to agree. He slept around because sleeping around meant spending the night in another person’s home rather than his own, and going through the motions of sex that meant nothing to him meant stepping out of his cancerous mind for a while. Even if the sex was bad and the exhaustion afterwards went far deeper than just his limbs.

Aphrodite had disapproved of his habits, but she hadn’t stopped him. She used to tell him he wasn’t an object to be used. Antinous used to tell her what he was or wasn’t didn’t really matter to anyone besides her.

At least he’d had a use.

His father looked down at him in horror. Antinous could pretend to be interested in this if it meant he could stay. And if his father, too, could see his worth—even if for nothing more than a cheap whore and warm body, then—

“I can do this,” he said in the voice he guessed people liked. He didn’t really get it. Never felt much of a drive in the first place, though maybe that was just his lack of a soul showing.

His father stumbled away from him with a face like disgust. He looked shaken.

“Please,” Antinous begged, “if I can stay, I promise I’m good.”

“You—“ his father looked a little green. He shook his head, looked at him but couldn’t seem to stomach what he saw. Antinous had wondered if he was truly so sickening.

“Please,” he said again. Mutt.

“Stay,” his father sputtered at last. He was still backing away, away, away. “You can stay. Just far away from me.”

It was that day, Antinous remembered at last, that his father finally stopped bothering him. He stopped talking to him at all, actually. And when he had, the loveless son hadn’t felt powerful or pathetic. He’d just felt… damaged.

He blinked, the memory clearing to make way for reality. Amphinomus’ working leg was bouncing with nervousness where he sat while the other was propped up and completely still. He looked tired.

“Are you okay?” he asked, well meaning concern in his eyes.

It was sort of funny in an awfully grim way. Partly paralyzed and cringing with every tiny movement yet still doing favors and extending good deeds. Amphinomus truly was something else. He guessed nobody in this godsforsaken castle knew how to cope with their own pain effectively.

”I’m sorry. I love you and I always did.” Antinous sighed.

Yeah, right. He could hardly even imagine the words in his father’s voice, much less coming out of his mouth. Much less directed toward himself. That, too, was ironically hilarious.

Not really, though.

Anger and sadness alike twisted into a nasty, mercury sized ball in his stomach. He hated his father for all that’d conspired in his childhood. He hated him now more than ever for daring to feel sorry about it. He hated himself the most for even considering the slightest hint of pity for his plight. That which he’d brought upon himself. That which, for all intents and purposes, meant he deserved to die alone and Antinous deserved to feel happy about it.

“Well,” he said, face carefully blank to keep his reeling mind at least somewhat in check, “no. Not really. Wanna play draughts?”

Amphinomus didn’t know, but he seemed to know enough. He smiled with meek understanding and Antinous had never appreciated someone more. “It is strangely boring around here without all the… manslaughter.”

“You’re funny,” Antinous said and went to grab the checkerboard.

“Hi mom,” Telemachus murmured, timidly nudging her bedroom door halfway open. “Is my… is he with you?”

His mother jumped. She’d been sitting on the bed, alone without even Argos to keep her company. When she turned, her face looked grim for a split second before splitting into the relieved joy of a mother as she saw him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said, smiling gently and genuinely, somehow. She looked younger than she had before, he was sure of it. “Your father’s on the balcony. I told him you might meet him there?”

A question. He simply could not believe that after twenty—nearly twenty one now, actually—years of waiting, he had to be asked whether he wanted to see his father. Worse still was that his first instinct was to say no and flee back to the safety of his bedroom. Though safe was relative, and he found himself glancing subconsciously to each dark corner of his mother’s quarters to ensure there was no one waiting to kill them both.

Telemachus had never considered his paranoia a problem in the past. After all, paranoia was how he’d made it this far to begin with. Now that the threat was done and dealt with and he still broke into a nervous sweat at every stray sound and movement, though…

Two steps forward, one step back. He could live with that. A life filled with hardship and terror was still one worth living at the end of the day—at least, it could be. He’d make it one because, anxious as he was, he couldn’t deny the joy that filled him everytime he thought about his family all together in one home. He simply couldn’t deny it.

“Yeah,” he said, voice catching on an attempt at casualness. “I will.”

His mother, clearly allowing nothing past her and nothing to slide, gave him a skeptical look. She opened her arms to him. “Come here, lovely son.”

This, at least, he knew how to do. His mind lingered on the topic a beat too long, quickly wondering before he could stop himself whether his father would try to hug him. He cringed at the thought and then wondered whether that was normal or another symptom of his increasingly apparent dysfunctionality.

Telemachus flopped onto the bed, his face smushing into his mother’s shoulder as she did the work of supporting them. She didn’t seem to mind, rubbing his back in a slow and consistent pattern that felt more grounding than anything.

He closed his eyes and saw her being dragged. He opened them. That’d hardly even been the worst thing he’d seen today. The image haunting him seemed to say otherwise.

“Your head,” he murmured, all too sensitive to the tearfulness of his voice even as he attempted to strain it back to a state of normality. “Is it okay?”

“Of course.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s not bleeding anymore. I’ve had blisters from weaving that caused me more pain.”

He wasn’t sure whether he believed that—the pain part, specifically, as he still remembered the sharp crack and thud of her head hitting the wall—but it was true she wasn’t bleeding.

With effort and a body that felt like water, he lifted his head from her shoulder and leaned to look at her temple. His mother seemed willing to indulge him on this, brushing her hair out the way so he could see things better.

Her head was bruised in shades of yellow and purple, and he could still see the remnants of the wound, but…

“It’s gone,” he said, mystified.

She smiled again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I have a soulmate now.”

Ah.

The words sent a tiny shiver down his spine—maybe surprise, or elation, or even simple recognition—before a smile of his own appeared. Because, exhausted as he was and antsy as his father’s return made him feel, he couldn’t help but be happy for his mother. Love was what she deserved after all these years of suitors and the mind games that’d came along with them. She deserved, more than anyone, to be happy.

“You’ve always had him,” he pointed out, shifting her hair back into place. “Now you just have him closer.”

“I suppose.” The smile had yet to leave her, though he could see the concern building behind her eyes as she tracked every square inch of his face and body language.

Her hands left his back and moved to hold his own. She turned them this way and that, examining the old scars on his arms and the bruises created in the midst of battle. She took caution with touching his palms and the pads of his fingers, staring intently at the rawness and bright red skin.

Telemachus stayed carefully silent. He wasn’t really sure what exactly she was looking for in the lines of his flesh, and he was content to simply sit and let her worry over him. It was the natural order of things, his mother asking nitpicking questions and bothering him over every tiny scrape while he protested and claimed it was perfectly alright.

Only, he wasn’t willing to lie anymore. They both knew what was true, and ‘alright’ wasn’t it. Things were closer to alright than they ever had been before, yes, but there was still work to be done and so, so much damage.

“Are you happy?” he asked, echoing Antinous’ earlier question to himself.

She blinked as though waking from a daze. She gently dropped his hands back into his lap and… shrugged.

“You know,” she said, slowly as if still gathering her thoughts even as she spoke, “when something’s been a dream of yours for so long, nothing can truly live up to it. I am happy, of course, to have my family alive and well. I’m happy to see my soulmate again and to see those suitors gone.”

“But?” Hesitant, like the first drops of rain prior to a downpour.

His mother’s face softened. “I sometimes feel we lost these twenty years, the two of us. And I fear that, in your father’s absence, I failed to be enough for you. So I’m happy, yes, but still a little bit sad.”

She paused, still searching for the right phrasing, then finally laughed. It was a beautiful sound. “I don’t need to explain this to you, do I? You’re just like me.”

Maybe a year ago, or even two months ago, he would’ve disagreed with such an assessment. He would’ve looked at his mother’s wisdom and quiet strength and endless reliability and decided they were certainly nothing alike. Tangentially related at best.

Now, he only smiled in return, tentative but somewhat freeing in its truth.

“Yeah,” he said. “I get it. But if I don’t get to pity myself, neither do you.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The queen snorted, lips tilting up in a wry smirk. “I hereby accept my proficiency as the mother of a very handsome, intelligent, accomplished young man.”

This was stupid. His mouth twitched minutely to control his laughter. “Then I guess I hereby accept my proficiency at being a handsome, intelligent, accomplished young man.”

“And son,” she added. “That’s important too.”

“And son,” he affirmed, as he supposed it truly was. “A handsome, intelligent, accomplished son.”

“It won’t be the same, you know.” Her smile turned the tiniest bit sad once again. “Life with your father. He’s… changed. Though I suppose you wouldn’t have the best frame of reference.”

“I’m not exactly the same smiling baby either.”

He discreetly wondered if the dry comment adequately hid his insecurity or only served to highlight it. The look his mother gave him told him it had to be the second.

“He’ll love you,” she said, sure as the existence of the heavens themselves. “He always has.”

Telemachus didn’t necessarily doubt that. He didn’t know how best to explain his fear, the strange, sinking mix of dread and excitement and elation gradually making a home in the pit of his stomach. He knew his father was happy to see him. He could see it in his eyes, tired and lined with terror as they were. And lined with terror they were.

Did they all share that haunted look? Maybe he’d become used to it in the mirror after all these years, that persistent darkness that used to unnerve him back in the depths of his depression.

It was strange to refer to that time in the past tense. It was stranger to realize it was, at least in some ways, a monster of the past. One that clawed at his heels and still lived in his blood, yes, but was sometimes drowned out. Usually drowned out, masqueraded by his heartbeat that sped to infinity when he knew he was safely with his loved ones.

He didn’t know that he could say the same for when he was alone; he didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to face loneliness again. To think it’d been his closest friend for so long. Scarier still was to think of a future where it might be once again.

And still, even standing in the face of his darkest fears that crawled further up his spine with every breath, he didn’t feel so stiflingly afraid. And he didn’t hate that look in his eyes so much anymore either. Not when he and his mother shared the same sea-green hue and squinted the exact same way when they were focused—or fighting for their lives. Not when his father stared in the same occasionally vacant way Telemachus still found himself falling into when he was least prepared. And not with Antinous, whose eyes spaced when he remembered. Floating, as he called it, which was terrifying for the both of them but not so bad when they were together. And he liked watching the look fade away when he relaxed, liked it when he wasn’t so jumpy just between the two of them.

They were all jumpy, it seemed. His father especially, who flinched at everything but did an admirable job at hiding it. Telemachus found himself grinding his teeth together at every tiny sound as well, and he’d realized during their silent rescue of Antinous that the great Odysseus’ jaw clenched with that exact same tic.

A family shattered and rebuilt by damage. It wasn’t optimal. Telemachus decided he didn’t care.

“I’m ready,” he declared, more to himself than anything and sure as sunlight even as sweat gathered at every pore by the mere thought of it.

But it had to be done, and if he could slaughter suitor after suitor just for a chance at loving his father, then his fear, too, could be defeated. It’d just take a little effort. A little more time, but if there was one thing this mismatched family knew how to do, it was wait.

His mother squeezed his hand, giving him a slight push to help him to his wobbling feet. She smiled at him and the ghosts that swam in her eyes disappeared for that short, fleeting moment.

“This makes me happy,” she told him, tears replacing tribulation.

He could only imagine how great that tribulation must’ve been. He could only grasp at a franction of the frenzied happiness she must’ve felt. But because he was a good son, his smile only widened because he knew nothing he said could ever please her more than simply living and enjoying it.

“Me too,” he said.

And with only a few strides—eight to cross the room and two nervous sways before the entrance to the balcony—he left the room and family he’d known and stepped out into mystery. And as the heavy curtains swayed closed behind him, he took his first breath of the cool, post-storm air and realized that he was sharing the same daytime air as his father. Ithacan air, wind that weaved through their hair and fluttered under their clothing, playful like the fluff of a feather or tiny seeds of a dandelion.

Telemachus quickly realized he still had no clue what to say and was then too scared to accidentally make eye contact with his father, who was also a king and great warrior, and was it weird to be starstruck by the person who helped create you? It was probably weird. Gods, help them all.

In his peripheral, Argos leapt from his father’s—father, father, father, his mind chanted uncontrollably like a prayer—side and bounded to him. The balcony was small, with Argos’ tail still swatting his father even as he licked at Telemachus’ palms and cheerfully pawed at his leg.

“Hi Argos,” he said and immediately wanted to smack himself for greeting his dog before his—he could be normal about this—father.

No, he couldn’t. He really, really liked that word, as in an abnormal amount. Was there a normal amount to enjoy thinking such a mundane thing? Fuck it, who cared. Father, father—

“Father,” he mumbled under his breath and promptly wanted to bury himself out of pure, unadulterated humiliation.

Excellent second impression to make: a crybaby, and insane to boot! Nice job, Telemachus, really. Nobody does it like you, and I mean that in the worst way possible—

There was a sound sort of like a sniffle beside him. Telemachus’ head slowly turned with the sort of caution one might use when standing inches from a snarling bear, only there was no danger, only…

Confusion overtook the fear and his mouth moved, once again, before his brain had the chance to. “Are you crying?”

It was an objectively stupid question because the way his father was wiping covertly—and he used that word quite liberally, not unlike how he took every opportunity to incorporate ‘father’ into his inner voice’s vocabulary—was absolutely impossible to miss.

And they were standing right next to each other, close enough for Telemachus to see every line of gray streaking his hair and beard as well as each tiny freckle dotting his nose and cheeks. And his father was crying, presumably over him through eyes practically identical in shape to his own.

Weird.

Argos looked between them with good natured judgement. His father sniffed again, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to gather himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and they even sounded sort of similar. “I don’t think I know how to act anymore.”

Telemachus stared at him, finding that, having now laid his eyes on him fully for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. And now he was seeing a sort of manic, crying old sailor covered in blood and this shimmering golden liquid stained into the fabric of his torn chiton.

And, weirder still, he was absolutely thrilled about it because this meant that, A, being an insane crybaby wasn’t so bad in comparison, and, B, maybe this sort of thing just ran in the family.

Family. The sky blurred behind his father’s head.

“I guess we both don’t know how to act,” Telemachus lamented with an unexplainable sense of overwhelming joy as a tear of his own fell and soaked into Argos’ coat.

His father looked at him for the first time. His eyes kind of glimmered, bright and seeing in a way that certainly wasn’t just sunlight or moisture. It was the gaze of someone who’d been missing someone very dearly. The gaze of a father who’d been missing him.

“Telemachus,” he said weakly, almost amazed sounding. “You’re so…”

He trailed off, losing the words or heart to express himself clearly. His father reached out a worn hand again, just as he had the first time they’d met, but quickly retracted it midair. His face opened with bittersweet joy, amazement, joy.

“You can touch me,” Telemachus sputtered out quickly with voice made thick with tears. He realized for the first time that his father sort of had to look up at him to meet his gaze and the observation filled him with a swirl of emotions he couldn’t possibly name. “I won’t flinch like before. Or run away.”

“I might,” his father whispered.

They looked at each other and laughed with a shared awkward nervousness that felt like freedom. And they laughed the same. The same stilted, bubbling inflection and bit of rasp that Telemachus used to hate on himself but now really, really liked. He might crumple into dust on the spot if he wasn’t careful.

None of this felt possible, or real, but it was. It was, it was, it was. The father he’d sometimes doubted even existed was real and they were existing right next to each other. Not next to, but alongside each other. Beings that complimented each other in every conceivable way.

His father’s hand, still shaking, reached out once more. The palm, scarred and coarse like eroded rocks against the tumultuous sea, landed on his cheek. The way it cupped his face was reminiscent of how one might cradle the much smaller head of an infant. His eyes were watering again.

“You’ve grown,” his father said, so choked up and now holding him as he’d always dreamed of. “My sweet boy. You’re so beautiful, like your mother.”

Long since given up on holding back his emotions, Telemachus didn’t bother attempting to stop the intensifying flow of tears. “I look like you.”

It was decidedly true, though he’d never really doubted that. More than that, he didn’t mind the comparison. It wasn’t so bad to look like someone you loved, after all—or wanted to love, anyway.

Despite being strangers of the same blood at best, love was the only way to describe the swelling, overwhelming feeling he was quickly drowning in. It was way too much and simultaneously not enough, everything he’d dreamt about for so long while being nothing like he’d envisioned. After all, the urge to flee was as strong as it’d ever been.

When Telemachus was a child, he spent much of his time daydreaming about his father’s return. While other kids played house, he’d played a slightly more niche game of surveying maps and trying to figure out just where a fleet of hundreds could’ve disappeared to during what should’ve been a three day voyage. He’d never figured it out.

Temporarily, he thought to ask. Then again, it seemed somewhat self explanatory; an entire army had left and only one man had returned. His father. And wonder, yes he did, but if his father were to ask him what his own life had been during his twenty years of absence, he would’ve fallen to pieces. He assumed the feeling was mutual.

He guessed he might never know. For once, he was alright with not knowing. There was an understanding in the air, an understanding of two people who’d been through hell and were eager to leave the past behind. Though, if he were being honest with himself, he’d see that likely wasn’t possible.

Still, forgetting was—at least in theory—easier than reliving. If he were to be honest with himself once again, he’d admit how his inner strength felt expired for life. Just how much pain could one person suffer before they simply shattered? Or, more realistically, gave up on holding themself together?

He looked at his father, who was smiling wobbly despite the grief and infinite distress weighing beneath his eyes and at the corners of his mouth which seemed equally heavy. He looked at his own arms, which were purple, green, and blue and striped like the coat of a tiger.

Hideous. He didn’t like it. He sort of didn’t mind it, either.

More than you’d think, apparently.

His father blinked rapidly, the calluses of his fingers leaving trails against his wet skin like footprints pressed into wet sand. He was still smiling and, watery as the expression was, Telemachus found it seemed neither of them could stop.

“Yes,” his father agreed as wind whistled with joy. The island felt so silent. “How time has flown.”

Telemachus chewed the inside of his cheek. Time had been stagnant within the castle walls. Day after day of monotony, beating and healing and tiny intermissions that only existed to be shattered just as abruptly. Somehow, he’d felt equally hurt every time.

Perhaps it’d been different out at sea. Had his father learned to close his eyes, let the ocean carry him and merely drift as months turned to years and then to decades? Had he, too, felt sick with decades of yearning for something there was no guarantee he’d ever attain?

He wished to ask him. Maybe someday he would. And it at last occurred to him that such a day could be anyday, as his father had returned and was here to stay.

The world blurred stubbornly once more, and all the words he’d practiced so dutifully in hopes of such a picture perfect reunion faded into oblivion, crashing and burning like heavy tides at the call of the moon. There was no hope of adequately explain himself, no way to meaningfully express the fearfully ecstatic beat of his heart. Instead, he could only force out a broken husk of a voice.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he said, brittle and honest. The sea below seemed to bubble in acknowledgement—or perhaps it was only his reeling mind that felt seen.

So when his father hugged him, strong and unusual and incredibly foreign, he fell to pieces. Tiny pieces of a little loveless boy who was now dead and who’d only lived to see this very moment. After twenty years of waiting, waiting, waiting, he felt seen. Not safe and sound, but seen.

And, for those who’ve wandered alone through life with but a will to protect and a drive to live out of nothing more than a stubbornly spiteful hatred wrapped around their aching shoulders, to be seen is to be loved, and to be loved is to make it to twenty-one.

Once, he’d prepared to die for his family. Today, Telemachus could think of nothing he’d like to do less.

“You should meet my soulmate,” he murmured into his father’s shoulder through a stuffed nose. “Some other time.”

His father only nodded silently, chin bobbing against the top of his head. Neither of them moved to break the embrace.

The sky was bathed in hues of red, purple, and gold by the time Telemachus made it back to his room. He peered inside through red tinted eyes, momentarily confused by the static emptiness before hearing a bang and a string of enraged cursing from a few doors down. Slightly more confused—only now for a far different reason—he pulled the door shut and moved a little further down the hall.

He opened the door of the guest bedroom. Amphinomus—who was sitting up in a chair and alive, somehow, which both bolstered his mood signficantly and added to his growing sense of being utterly lost—was gently consoling Eurymachus, whose head was in his hands out of apparent distress.

Antinous, who was sat on the floor opposite them, looked incredibly smug. There was what appeared to be a checkerboard in a state of supreme disarray sat between them.

Telemachus could feel his eyebrows raising as his brain and eyes caught up to one another. “Post trauma board games. Nice.”

Eurymachus’ head snapped up and he pointed at him angrily. “Tell your fuckass boyfriend to quit committing illegal moves! You can’t do that!”

“It’s not my fault you’re from the middle of nowhere where no one knows how to play,” Antinous retorted, cheerfully palming a pile of coins from beside the board. His face seemed to light up with sadistic glee at the action. “And there goes your bet funds.”

“Kill yourself.”

“I do think your kingdom’s variation is the worst,” Amphinomus supplied, smiling cordially at Telemachus over their heads. With a lazy scrawl, he added a new notation onto a piece of parchment flattened against his working (?) thigh. “That’s Antinous two, me five, you… zero. Maybe you just suck.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am,” Amphinomus said quite patiently. “You are bad though. Prince Telemachus, do you want to play?”

“Not against him you don’t,” Antinous interjected, pausing from counting his money to look up at him. “It’s like playing against a grandmaster.”

“I’m not that good,” he cut in, quickly and predictably humble. Eurymachus only sighed.

Telemachus glanced between the three of them, simultaneously conflicted, relieved, and unsure what he wanted to focus on.

There was the fact that, despite seeming genuinely amused the moment, he could feel a deep sadness and sense of unrest practically radiating from Antinous’ very skin. That couldn’t be good, though now was hardly a good time to bring it up.

And then there was Amphinomus, who seemed well enough somehow—and thank the gods for it too—but was also heavily bandaged and sitting very, very still. There was no way he wasn’t somehow injured, even with the healing properties of being close to your soulmate.

Telemachus felt he really ought to be apologizing to him at least twenty times right about now, but it felt sort of wrong to do so with an audience, and he also ran the risk of restarting the waterworks which was neither ideal nor optimal. Also quite awkward, and Eurymachus would surely never let him live it down.

Speaking of Eurymachus. He looked… fine. Simply in the midst of his usual dramatics. So while, yes, it’d be easiest for them all to leave it at that, Telemachus had come to be a little bit fond of the asshole, to his neverending chagrin. And when he was fond of someone, he couldn’t help but be a little aggressive about it. He was beginning to think he might’ve picked that up from his mother.

Telemachus stepped a little further into the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Alright,” he surrendered, incapable of putting up any sort of fight against the three pairs of eyes on him and the pressing atmosphere of doom and gloom that very well may have been his mind’s own creation, but you could never be too safe. “You’re going to have to teach me the rules though; I haven’t played in years. Where’d you even get this from, anyway?”

“Suitors’ quarters,” Antinous explained, inching over slightly so Telemachus could sit next to him. Their knees were touching and the feeling of sadness only intensified with the closer proximity. “At least they’re good for something.”

Telemachus remembered Agathinos’ eye popping beneath his thumb. He cringed. “Yeah.”

There was a moment of heavy silence between the four of them. Was it him who’d made things awkward or was it both of them? Were they all privately ruminating on the brutal murders they’d just witnessed and partaken in, or was that just a him thing?

Probably not, right? Though somehow, the joint knowledge that they were likely all thinking the same thing only made things worse because now Telemachus felt obligated to apologize for bringing such shitty memories on in the first place, and—

“This is my pity party,” Eurymachus snapped. “Only I’m allowed to look that depressed right now, sad boy.”

Telemachus blinked, his face cracking into a slightly hesitant smile only achievable by being caught wholly off guard. “Maybe looking at you makes me depressed.”

“Here we go,” Antinous sighed with equal parts exasperation and relief. The sadness lingered, even as his fingers danced over Telemachus’ knuckes in a steady rhythm. “The real victims here are the bystanders forced to listen to you two bicker.”

“Not bickering,” Eurymachus revised, “disputing is the word we use in polite society.”

“Oh my gods, shut up.”

“The upper class prefers ‘say no more’, but I guess you’re too impoverished to know that.”

“Now it’s bickering,” Telemachus said, barely holding in a giggle at the sideways look of betrayal Antinous shot him. “Sorry, sorry. You’re not poor, you’re perfect.”

The look softened.

“Debatable,” Eurymachus acquiesced, not at all phased by the look of good natured irritation that quickly turned to one of barely contained murderous intent once settled on him.

The heavy atmosphere lifted.

“Alright, alright,” Amphinomus interrupted in the patiently coaxing tone one might use against a particularly rabid goose, ever the pacifist and possibly looking to prevent several more injuries before the day was done. “Shall I explain the rules now or after you two get in a fist fight?”

“My bad,” Eurymachus conceded in record time.

“My bad,” Antinous added, a lot more begrudgingly and not without shooting several more daggers into Eurymachus’ very soul.

“I apologize on their behalf,” Telemachus said primly, fighting to maintain a serious expression.

Eurymachus groaned from beside him. Antinous elbowed him hard in the side, knocking him off balance with an indignant squawk as he nearly face planted onto the checkerboard. Amphinomus sighed a shaky sigh that sounded suspiciously like a laugh before simply deciding to talk over the chaos, as a traditional sense of peace seemed impossible with a group such as this.

Emphasis on the traditional. Despite never having felt a more righteous rage in his life than after witnessing at least three checkers disappear from his board—though he couldn’t prove Antinous had robbed him, the soul didn’t lie—he felt the lightest he’d ever had the privilege of feeling.

And it did make him feel better to see them all smiling, laughing, even when mostly at each other’s expense. Though the heaviness Antinous was carrying remained, it did seem to lessen as time drew on and the room grew darker and darker. Even after maintaining the world’s longest losing streak, both in draughts and in the life he’d been leading these last three years, he now felt sort of like he’d won.

His eyes were tearing up again and he was glad it was getting too dark to see anyone clearly.

“Fuck you,” Eurymachus griped as Amphinomus lazily annihilated him once more. “It’s not fair. Did getting chairbound give you magic powers?”

Telemachus stiffened slightly despite himself. So he couldn’t move after all. Once more, the low lighting was excellent—he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to see the guilt on his face.

“That’d be a lot more interesting,” Amphinomus said, yawned. It was like being potentially, theoretically, most likely paralyzed—alright, he didn’t actually know yet, but he could assume the worst—was no more than a slight inconvenience to him. Telemachus simply could not believe that.

Antinous hand squeezed his wrist. He was most definitely listening to his quickly spiralling thoughts. “It’s getting late. We should—“

“Yes,” Amphinomus cut in, unusually curt. “I’d like to talk to you though, Prince Telemachus. If you don’t mind.”

He didn’t mind. He did? He wanted to run away.

You should talk to him.

Antinous was, objectively, correct. Then again, he also didn’t know the full story, only bits and pieces from what he must’ve been relaying through their bond and the basic assumptions anybody could make.

Still, it was common decency, and Telemachus needed to apologize anyway. He ignored the sweat beading between his fingers and smiled his diplomacy smile that he saved for occasions where the real thing would look more pained than anything.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “of course.”

Antinous glanced at him, a clear question in his gaze even through the haze of dark surrounding them.

It’s fine.

His soulmate shrugged in consensus, letting go of him reluctantly and sidestepping toward the door. Telemachus stood uncertaintly off to the side as Eurymachus straightened, shaking out his legs and nudging the board out the way.

“Just a second,” Amphinomus said affably, pushing himself up straighter in his chair. “It’s a bit of a process to move.”

Telemachus bit his lip, memory flashing back to carrying him up the stairs and then to the trail of bronzed blood he’d left behind. “I bet.”

“Goodnight,” Antinous called from the door, his heel pushing it halfway open. “Be safe, everyone. I’ll be in your room, Telemachus.”

His skin prickled but he only nodded wordlessly, the announcement bringing minimal comfort as Eurymachus craned his neck to examine his soulmate’s legs.

“How much weight?” he asked inquisitively.

Amphinomus followed his gaze, a muscle twitching ever so slightly just over his knee. He shrugged, face revealing nothing. “Enough not to break my neck, hopefully.”

Telemachus now felt that he was seriously intruding on something he had zero right to witness but couldn’t stop watching. And it might be weirder to try to leave, anyway, especially now that he didn’t have Antinous to hide behind. He couldn’t wait to get back to him.

Eurymachus waved his hand slowly and he blinked, attention at last drawn back to reality. “Earth to his highness, hello? Mind being a cane?”

“You don’t actually have to do that,” Amphinomus added. His knuckles were white against the armrest as he slowly rose from the chair. “He jests.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s fine,” Telemachus interjected, crossing the room on legs that didn’t feel entirely his own. He was beginning to wonder how he hadn’t simply fainted already. “I don’t mind.”

“See? He can be helpful.” Eurymachus’ hand was on Amphinomus’ side, carefully pushing him closer to upright and promptly cringing, putting their movement to an abrupt pause. “Ow. You know you can say something about that, right?”

“It’s really not so bad.” Amphinomus sent him a dirty look—Telemachus hadn’t known he was capable of such silent brutality, but he had literally watched him shove a blade through a suitor’s stomach, so was it really that shocking?—then an apologetic one in his direction. “Do you mind if I hold onto you?”

“No,” he said quickly, feeling increasingly like he was being lied to in order to not feel so bad. That made him feel ever so slightly worse, actually, but he definitely wasn’t planning on showing it.

Unfortunately, he was getting the feeling Amphinomus knew exactly what he was thinking and that, too, made him feel even worse. It was like a never ending loop of guilt and, worse than anything, it was all from within.

Telemachus spectated without comment as, with a surprising lack of fuss, Amphinomus walked to the bed. Walked wasn’t exactly the correct word—only one leg seemed to move, just as he’d suspected from the beginning. The other one sort of dragged in its wake, heavy and stubbornly unreactive. Eurymachus had to move it, for the most part keeping it under his soulmate’s torso in a way that Telemachus guessed was probably less painful.

He genuinely couldn’t tell. Either he really wasn’t in much discomfort at all or he simply posessed an excellent pain tolerance and masterful poker face. Eurymachus probably knew. The guilt worsened.

Amphinomus’ hand loosened against his forearm, which he’d been using the way one might use… a cane. Made sense. He’d probably need one after this if he had any hopes of walking by himself again; at least that he could do.

Telemachus privately wondered just what he’d do after this. What would his family would think when he eventually returned to his home kingdom? The disabled weren’t often looked upon kindly. Maybe for royalty it was different, though he could hardly begin to know for himself. And it was his fault to begin with, so—

“Thanks,” Amphinomus said, sounding honest and casual enough even while having to use both hands to drag his slack leg up next to the other one.

Eurymachus grimaced, craning his neck as though a better angle would allow him to see an invisible injury the rest of them couldn’t. “A little gentler for those of us with sensitive backs?”

Amphinomus sighed, staring intently down at the limb. “My bad. I can’t really feel it.” He shrugged, frown slipping back to a thin line of neutrality. “I’m done though, I promise.”

“Cool.” Eurymachus sighed a similarly exasperated sound. “No moving though, seriously. Apollo, help me. Actually, fuck this, I’m gonna go pray. You two have fun.”

Telemachus really did not want to be left alone right now. He also really didn’t want to say that and really had a duty to stay and make sure no one died under his watch—his heart began to beat faster as he realized how easy it would be for a suitor to sneak in the room and massacre the both of them at that very moment, rip them limb from limb and ensure neither of them crossed the River Styx but that wasn’t going to happen because the suitors were dead, dead—

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted out the second the door closed behind Eurymachus, the words bursting like water between the cracks of an awfully constructed dam because, if he held them in for even another second, it might be he who exploded. “I know that no number of apologies could ever make up for—for losing a limb, but I—“

“Hey,” Amphinomus said, cutting off his rambling before it could even fully begin. His face was blurry behind the stubborn sheen of tears that always seemed to appear whenever Telemachus got vulnerable.

He smiled at him. He didn’t look the least bit angry. “It’s okay. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Telemachus blinked at him, confused and disoriented and still slightly nauseous. “What?”

“I know you feel bad.” Amphinomus’ eyes crinkled slightly at the corners with something almost like amusement. “The maids told me what happened. I’m just glad you kept me alive. I really thought I wasn’t going to wake up after that.”

“But…”

Telemachus’ words died. He didn’t know what to say. He still felt horrible. Worse, even, after hearing what Amphinomus had to say and seeing that he truly wasn’t angry when he had every right to be. The forgiveness felt unearned. It was unearned.

“You can’t even walk,” he finished at last, the words blunt and stupid.

He wanted to smack himself for stating the obvious, for being insensitive, for being. The shame rose to his throat, nearly high enough to drown him.

Amphinomus sighed once more. “I’m not going to pretend I’m… happy, about this. But I’m not dead and neither are you.”

A beat passed. A soft wind whistled outside the closed window, a warmth spreading across the floorboards. Words continued to flow and Telemachus continued to listen.

“The queen is free to do as she pleases now. Your castle’s your own again. And I heard your father’s home.” The soft smile returned. “I’m happy for you, Prince Telemachus. You should be happy for yourself too.”

Telemachus blinked very quickly so no tears fell. His hands were shaking horribly and, once again, he didn’t know what to say. His mouth was dry and uncooperative and he was… moved.

Unfairly moved. Unfairly happy, but he deserved to be happy and he wanted to let himself be.

“Ignore the crying,” he sniffed, looking up at the ceiling to will the haze away. “You’re too nice.”

“Not really.” Amphinomus was silent for a moment, his unharmed leg bouncing idly and rattling the bedframe ever so slightly. “I was here, you know? From the beginning. I saw how the other suitors treated you.”

He remembered. Everytime he closed his eyes, memories of hands and violence and purple bruises. The shame, the smallness, the stifling pressure of eyes upon eyes upon eyes waiting to claim him, kill him, see him fall apart.

He didn’t remember Amphinomus, but he remembered the silence. He remembered Antinous’ cruelty and Eurymachus’ goading, pushing on and on and on to his limit and more.

He’d never stop remembering.

“Everyone did,” Telemachus said, and it was as raw as it was true. “That’s not your fault. What could you have done, anyway?”

“Anything.” Amphinous’ voice was serious. “Even if I failed, I could’ve tried. I knew it was wrong. And when you know something is wrong and do nothing to stop it, you’re only being cruel.“

He wanted to disagree, say that it was okay just how Amphinomus had assured him the same, but it wasn’t. It never would be.

He shrugged, speechless once more. “Yeah.”

“I guess,” the other man said slowly, “you could say I’m nice. But what I like about you—what everyone likes about you, I think—is that you’re not nice. You’re not agreeable or acceptable because you have a good sense of right and wrong and you stick to it, and people with strong morals are almost never agreeable.

“So what I mean is thank you, for saving me. And… I think I’ll be less nice from now on.” Amphinomus extended his hand from his side, stretching it into the air between them. “I hope one day this is all but a distant memory for you.”

Telemachus’ eyes watered impossibly more. By the end of the day, it was quite possible he’d have no tears left to cry.

And the strangest thing about it all was that he didn’t want to forget. He hated the pain and the paranoia and the memories but he didn’t wish to shake them. They were baked into him, pressed into his very bones, the mold of his being and every tiny vein and nerve. These three horrible years had made him into someone disagreeable and stubborn and scared and himself.

And these three years were horrible, yes, but they were beautiful in their tragedy. And like a rainbow needed rain to appear, this tragedy had brought his soulmate to him. His father to him, his mother to him, people he could call friends to him. They’d made him weak and yet so, so much stronger for it. Not unbreakable, but resilient. Proof that he could continue to survive.

He wouldn’t miss it. He was certain in his gladness to leave those days behind him, but just as positive that the past wasn’t like a snake’s skin you could simply step out of. It clung to you. Sometimes the scales tore at your flesh and left you weeping, and sometimes, your old skin melted into the earth and became a home for something new.

It was terrible, but it was good. And Telemachus was happy.

He took Amphinomus’ hand and shook it, firm and sure as a king would sign any contract. The cruelty that stained both of their palms didn’t leave as their skin touched. It stayed, but it was colored by forgiveness.

“I don’t intend on forgetting you,” Telemachus said. “You’re cool. We should write once you get where you’re going.”

Amphinomus’ eyes sparked. “Dulichium.”

“Not so far, then.”

“Not at all.” Their palms slipped apart. “You should visit sometime. Gods know I can’t.”

Telemachus, to his own surprise, snorted at that. All leftover tension in the air dissipated and he felt once more that for all he’d lost was more he’d gained.

He smiled. “Is all that time around Eurymachus finally rubbing off on you?”

Amphinomus shrugged with an air of helplessness, his smile equal to his own. “It’s inevitable.”

For what felt like the hundreth time that day, Telemachus laughed.

He didn’t stick around long. He left Amphinomus with a promise to write and another to bring his soulmate back, both of which he fully intended on adhering to.

He found Eurymachus only after a long stint of wandering in what felt like circles, at last venturing out into the muddy darkness of the gardens. It was the last place he would’ve expected to find him, let alone so quiet and still, knelt beneath the shadow of an overgrown rosebush. Black.

He took a breath, walked up beside him while hugging his forearms close to his chest in an attempt to conserve his already little warmth. Eurymachus’ had was bowed. Praying after all, it seemed.

Telemachus silently sank to his knees beside him, not dissuaded by the murky soil nor responding splash of flooded earth. The other man didn’t acknowledge him, keeping his eyes dutifully shut and hands clasped firmly together.

He assumed the same pose, bringing his forehead to the still mushy dirt and feeling the coolness against his skin. Beautiful lady Aphrodite. Please do bring my two friends the peace their souls rightfully deserve.

The air felt a little bit lighter.

And thank you for everything, he added after a moment of deliberation. I hope to see you in my dreams to properly deliver my thanks. I feel in some ways you saved my life.

“Okay,” Eurymachus said loudly and with a carefully curated enthusiasm, disrupting both his prayer and train of thought. “I’m done. Is your face actually on the ground?”

“Yes.” Telemachus sat up, looked in his face. He saw someone pained. “I take my prayers very seriously. And we are both sitting in a pool of muddy storm water, so…”

“I guess.”

His mouth twitched up slightly, hand darting out to flick against Telemachus’ forehead. They both watched tiny flecks of dirt disappear back into the ground alongside droplets of water in a companionable silence. Then:

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” Telemachus smiled, pushing his slightly muddy and very soaked hair out of his face befofe rising to his feet. He extended a hand to Eurymachus. “Go on a walk with me?”

Eurymachus eyed his hand suspiciously. “Is this a setup?”

“Obviously not,” he scoffed, fingers waggling. “Come on before we both freeze to death. Wasn’t the whole point of this not dying?”

Eurymachus stared at him for a moment longer, deliberating more intensely than he truly thought was necessary. Eventually, a decision was made, though not without a heavy sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

Then he took the olive branch and allowed it to pull him to his feet.

Telemachus poked him in the arm once they were both standing and side by side. “See? No trick or secret murder plot.”

“I never said murder, but good to know that’s where your mind’s at.” Eurymachus side eyed him. “I guess Antinous wasn’t lying when he said you’ve been working out.”

He felt his chest warm a little, then his face with the same good natured embarassment. And satisfaction, if he were to be frank. “He talks about my arms?”

Eurymachus laughed a bark of a laugh. “More than you know, princess. Be honest—were you the top? He wouldn’t tell me.”

Telemachus flushed further and he covered his blazing cheeks with his hands as they walked. “We didn’t even go that far!”

“So top.”

“Eurymachus!”

“What?” They stopped at an underpass. The smug smirk widened. “My bad for assuming. It’s just with the giant hickey you left—“

Telemachus laughed despite himself, self-inflicted humiliation slipping out in uncontrollable bursts of tiny giggles. “I got a little carried away, alright? It’s not a crime.”

“With how sickening you two are, it should be.” Eurymachus glanced down at him, mouth twitching with barely suppressed mirth. “You know what he said about you before he even knew you were soulmates?”

“I’ve been dying to know ever since you decided to be such a stingy little shit about it.”

They slipped inside the castle through the side door peeking from beneath the overpass. Telemachus held the door with his heel, closing it gently behind them so not to make too much of a disturbance in the beginnings of night. Cool air followed them in, drifting close behind like a permanent shadow.

“Drunk, of course,” Eurymachus explained with the sly eagerness of someone very excited to mortify a friend. “Called you the prettiest nuisance he’d ever met.”

Telemachus briefly imagined Antinous saying those words. He flushed impossibly more, skin tingling with an almost inappropriate giddiness. Still, he couldn’t stop the stupid smile. “Seriously?”

“I hardly need to lie when he gives me this much free material.”

“You’re the worst.” He grinned with a mischief that nearly matched that of his predictably evil company’s. “And that’s why you’re the best. What else?”

He scoffed. “This isn’t a charity, princess. I won’t be seen giving up all his secrets for free. Nice try, though.”

Telemachus turned a corner, delighted to see that he had remembered his chosen path correctly. There was a door, and beyond that door was a small and circular prayer room, empty besides an assiduously carved bench and a broad mural of abstract figures and swirls taking up the walls. That, and the tiny altar set up in the middle of it all.

The giddiness faded. It was time to get serious.

Eurymachus cocked his head, stepping fully into the room to better survey his surroundings. “Your house really is random, isn’t it.”

“A little.” Telemachus shrugged, sinking down onto the bench and ignoring how his still wet limbs temporarily stained the stone. “That’s what happens when you have too much space, I think.”

“It’ll be nice without all the suitors.”

The other man sat hesitantly beside him. It occurred to him for the first time, even after having seen a hint of his inner turmoil, that Eurymachus might be feeling uncomfortable.

It was strange, yes, but perhaps necessary. After all, Telemachus had already fallen apart in front of him, so he supposed it was only fair.

“Yeah,” he agreed, corpses flashing through his memory and disappearing like morning dew. “But enough about me.”

“No,” Eurymachus groaned with equal parts fear and exasperation, fast and abrupt before he could even finish a thought. “Did Antinous put you up to this?”

“No.” Telemachus arched a brow. “Is there a reason he would have?”

“You sound just like him.” Eurymachus turned to glare at him. It didn’t seem wholehearted. The wisps of sadness remained. “Did he tell you something? Seriously.”

“Honest to the gods, he didn’t.” Telemachus gestured around them. “This is a prayer room, and I wouldn’t lie somewhere so sacred. The implication here is that you can’t either.”

A sigh crisp with sarcasm. “No, really?”

“Technically I’m meant to be bringing you back to your boyfriend,” he continued, louder, “so spill your secrets as fast as possible because we’re on the clock, thanks.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

And maybe Telemachus was wrong, but he was nearly certain that wasn’t the typical good natured annoyance he was hearing. Eurymachus sounded almost… touched.

That alone was disconcerting. Combined with his sudden silence and the conflicted look on his face, it was nothing short of scary. Scary because Telemachus knew that expression, the one he wore when he was deeply sad and trying not to bother anyone with it.

But when your soulmate is paralyzed and you’ve just barely escaped a war you had no obligation to fight in with your life, you deserve to be heard. And in no circumstance would Telemachus ever describe this as a bother.

“Eurymachus,” he said, quieter now, “are we friends?”

The other man glanced at him, chin resting in hand in a pose of perfected detachment. “I mean, if you have to ask…”

“You’re weird, I made my first human friend at twenty years old, and we once wanted nothing more than to bash each others faces in,” Telemachus said flatly. “I have to ask.”

Eurymachus snickered. “Ignoring how sad your life is—once wanted? Speak for yourself; I’m just biding my time.”

He glared at him, amusement building but seriousness remaining. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“We are, princess,” Eurymachus said with something like disbelief in his tone, kicking him lightly. “We’re friends. And you don’t have to sponsor my clan, by the way. I just wanted to make you feel a little more important.”

Telemachus was silent for a moment. A smile tugged at the edge of his lips as he realized what that meant and everything began to fall in place. Friends. A surface level agreement and a deeper one hidden side by side. How hadn’t he seen it before?

He tilted his head slightly and his wet hair flopped in time. “Does that mean I get my money back too?”

“Yeah… no.” Eurymachus paused, smiled with a sheepish lack of regret. “I already lost it in the betting pool.”

Now it was his turn to snicker. “Dumbass.”

“I prefer unlucky, but sure.”

“I can still sponsor you, you know,” Telemachus said, foot coming to kick lightly at his ankle. “I don’t mind. And after all you’ve done for my family…”

“No.” The response was flippant, simple and dismissive as a gust of wind to a dandelion’s many seeds. “Honestly? I did this because I wanted to, not because I expect some sort of compensation. And also because I thought you deserved to not be such a fatherless fuck.”

Telemachus grinned. “Shut up.”

“And,” Eurymachus continued, “because I can’t wait to deliver a speech at your wedding. You’ll love it.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted. “There’s no reality in which I allow you to debate who’s the top in front of a room full of royalty and my parents.”

“Parents, huh?” Eurymachus nudged him with his knee, smirk audible in his voice. “Someone’s excited.”

And he was. He smiled despite the bullying he knew he’d surely recieve for his unfettered joy. “I am. Thanks to you, partially.”

“Eh. Not really, but I’ll gladly take the ego boost and some money for my troubles, if you must. Also, there wouldn’t be a debate. I know it’s you.”

Telemachus shook his head in gentle exasperation, cheeks reddening again and response crafted to be carefully evasive because over his dead body. “Whatever. I’ll write you into my last will and testament and you can recieve your gift money then.”

“Am I allowed to give a speech at your funeral at least?”

Telemachus sighed. “You know what? Sure. If you live that long, which would be a disaster for the city-state and Greece as a whole, but at least I wouldn’t be around to see it.”

“Asshole,” with a laugh.

“Bitch.” A smile.

“Fuckface.” False venom followed by an appreciative pause.

Eurymachus nodded slowly, eyes playful and knowing. “That’s a classic.”

“I know. For nostalgia’s sake.” Telemachus kicked him again, this time a little harder. “That was for nostalgia too.”

And then Eurymachus did something completely unexpected and wrapped his arms around him, nearly yanking him off the bench in his surprise and hugging him. His face was planted into Telemachus’ much narrower shoulder and, for a moment, the prince simply sat there in shock.

And then he didn’t, hands coming to rest against his back. And he realized then that, while not crying, Eurymachus shoulders were shaking slightly. Perhaps with grief stricken laughter.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, muffled into Telemachus’ arm.

He shrugged as much as he could with the weight of a grown man lying against him. “I know.”

There was another long silence. Eurymachus didn’t pull away. And Telemachus’ guilt built and built until—

“He got stabbed protecting me,” he said quietly, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

Eurymachus said nothing for a long moment. And then he looked up slightly, just enough for his eyes to be seen, and laughed. “I’m not stupid, princess. I figured.”

“Fine, asshole. Sue me for trying to be polite.” He threw his hands up, letting them fall back down not so gently with a thump.

The guilt faded as he realized that Eurymachus had known this whole time and truly didn’t seem to care and he felt okay again.

The silence resumed for a moment longer. Peace fell upon the room, and then Eurymachus said, “My friend is dead.”

Telemachus said nothing. He remembered Melantho, the maid he’d hardly known or liked, and he knew.

“I’m sorry.”

There was nothing more he could say.

Another lengthy pause. Misery with the promise of light at the end of the tunnel, a shared knowledge that the worst had come and gone. That the time for survival was over, and now was the moment to live.

It was melancholic, but it was freeing. It was freeing.

And then, to ruin the moment like he always did, Eurymachus asked, “Does my friend being dead give me a wedding speech discount?”

They left the prayer room soon after, arguing with hushed voices and gradually increasing volume the entire way about nonsense and weddings and funerals. It was, as most of their petty squabbling turned out to be, fucking stupid.

Antinous didn’t know how long it’d been since he’d entered Telemachus’ room and begun to wait. He’d sat on the floor, and then on the bed, and then under the covers because he was shaking so badly.

It was hardly the cold. Not fully panic, either, and maybe some parts confused happiness that he didn’t know how to properly express beyond wild, frantic quivering. He couldn’t stop thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking.

And then Telemachus was there in the doorway and he felt this all consuming relief like none other. He wanted to cry but, more than anything, he wanted to laugh.

He couldn’t do that either. He could only shake.

His soulmate was dripping with water and stained with mud. His pristine eyes found Antinous’ own, looking over the trembling bed and the trembling body that was shaking it and softened. It felt like warm sky crashing over him. It felt like love.

Telemachus’ soulbond spoke for him before his mouth earned the chance. Hold on.

Antinous didn’t know if he could do that. His mind raced faster and he sat up slowly, eyes watching as Telemachus disappeared into the bathroom. And then he got up, trailed him into the open door and sat on the edge of the ginormous basin as his soulmate filled it.

Telemachus turned, looked at him as his fingers went to unpin his chiton. His face pinkened and Antinous was very much in love. “I heard you called me the prettiest nuisance you’ve ever met.”

News to him. He made a mental note to strangle Eurymachus when they next saw each other. But the way Telemachus blushed whenever he was complimented, try as he might to stay cool, was worth owning up to such embarassing words. Drunken, more than likely.

“You’re the prettiest nuisance I ever laid eyes on,” Antinous said. His voice sounded a little strange to his ears. It always did when the memories got to be too much too fast and too soon.

(He didn’t know when wouldn’t be too soon. He was turning twenty-four in a few months time and it was still too soon.)

Telemachus smiled at him, the nervous way he did when about to try flirting and attempting to be suave about it. He was awful and it was hilarious. His mood lifted slightly, father and house temporarily forgotten like a fog swept away.

But this time, Telemachus didn’t do any of that. He discarded the rest of his clothes, still flushing down to his collarbones even despite his straight face, and sank into the water.

He outstretched a hand. Asking, not telling. Asking, naked in front of him but not eyeing him like a piece of meat or seemingly interested in sex at all. Just asking, and seemingly understanding that his voice was shaky and he felt like the stupid memories had stolen his very voice.

Taking and never giving, but now being asked. He smiled a little nervously but stripped and entered the water nonetheless with the aid of that hand perfectly torn and callused hand.

Because he wanted to. He wanted to and he didn’t have to. He was still smiling and now he couldn’t stop, even as he continued to shake.

Telemachus rubbed at a small dirt smear on his forehead, water dripping down the curve of his cheek and chin. He caught Antinous’ eye, rolled his. “Eurymachus’ fault.”

“Of course,” he said. Quiet, amused.

“I know it’s something with your father,” Telemachus continusd and he stiffened despite himself. “You don’t have to say, I get it. But, you know, if you want to talk. Or think, I guess.”

He hardly knew what he wanted when it came to his family. He hated talking about them, not talking about them, remembering them, forgetting. He was beginning to think the common denominator here was that he hated them. Him.

But he didn’t. That made it all the more frustrating. And then there were tears spilling from his eyes.

“My dad said he loves me,” he choked out and knew for certain he wasn’t making any sense. “A day ago, he loved me.”

“Yeah?” Telemachus asked, tone soft and cautious.

It wasn’t the bad kind of cautious, that which people used when scared or frightened or, gods forbid, disgusted. It was the cautiousness that came with loving someone and not wanting to hurt them.

“Yeah,” Antinous answered and didn’t elaborate.

And then he cried and cried and cried, oh so weak in a way his father would’ve despised him for. He would’ve smacked him, buried him, burned him.

Telemachus forced him to sit on a higher ledge propped up in the water, placing himself squarely behind Antinous. And then he’d started brushing his hair with his fingers, speaking in a hushed but excited tone of all the things he and Odysseus had talked about.

“And he cried more than me, if you’d believe it,” his soulmate had said, fingers tugging loose a small knot with gentle precision. “I mean, can you even imagine? This bearded war hero crying like a baby. Do you think that sort of thing is genetic?”

Perhaps to someone else it would’ve seemed insensitive to go on and on about their own loving father in a conversation about someone’s estranged own. Perhaps, if it were someone else doing it, it would’ve been.

But they’d fought hard for this moment. Antinous had fought hard for Telemachus to be happy and to gush nonsensically about every little thing his father did and said, and it made him impossibly happy to hear it. Not happy in a bittersweet sort of way or with a twinge of burning jealously, but purely happy.

“He’ll love you,” Telemachus told him, hands now braiding his hair into a basket weave that he insisted wouldn’t actually tangle despite the complexity. He wasn’t going to pretend to understand it. “I mean, I think he’ll love whatever I love, but I just feel like you guys would get along. I don’t know. It’s a certain vibe, I guess.”

“Traumatized?” Antinous asked, playful and speaking for the first time in perhaps an hour.

Telemachus’ hands paused then resumed. He giggled. “It sounds horrible, but maybe.”

Antinous smiled. “Can’t wait.”

And he was happy, at peace as he was. But a tiny, stubborn voice in his head wanted more. A tiny, stubborn voice in his head that quivered with the fear of a beaten child told him he would never be truly happy until he knew for sure.

And he knew that voice, the one that still loved his father, was right. He knew he had to go, and he knew his soulmate heard that voice too.

Chapter Text

Antinous woke abruptly and far earlier than he would’ve liked.

The sun was just beginning to peek from night’s oppressive curtain, the first dim rays making but a splash against their bedroom floor. His side was cold and his head hurt the way it always did after a night of on and off terrors, flipping between recall and rest in far from equal measures. His wound, at least, had made itself scarce and unobtrusive.

His drowsy irritation turned to faint confusion as his eyes followed the shadows dancing along the floor. For a moment, he remembered the jail and the dark and was reminded.

Then shadow melted into skin and skin into Telemachus, fighting with the sleeve of his himation. He didn’t usually wear that. Then again, perhaps it was easier to fight for your life in less complicated garments—