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Far below us on the mountainside, a voice cried out with pure rage. Only one word lofted to my ears—Helen—until it was cut off by the boom of my home crashing into the stone below.

I urged Zirga on toward the misty forests surrounding the Bloodkeep. The Darkwood was a black mark on the horizon, the light swallowed by the dense trees. The creatures that lived within were equally dark, having grown in abundance after the line of Priam no longer kept the sinister nature of the wood in check. No one dared enter the forest anymore, but I steered Zirga straight toward it. The spires of the Bloodkeep were barely visible in the distance, threatening from afar. Going there meant my certain death at Desmerada’s hands. But the closer we were to Bloodkeep, the safer Elena was from Menelaus. It was a risk I was willing to take.

“It’s better now,” Elena cried in my ear over the roar of the wind. “The mark. It no longer burns.”

Distance—it was the only way to keep her safe. Safe from Menelaus—but we were flying straight into something that could turn out to be far more deadly.

Chapter Eleven

Helen

Sparta

1255 BC

Leda knelt, her silvery ringlets sticking together in a blood-soaked mat on her head. A demon on each side kept her arms outstretched as Menelaus ran a blade over her skin, as if he were playing a violin of blood and bone. Her screams echoed through the royal chamber. The nobles in attendance stood silent. Their eyes burned with pleasure, thrilled at their king’s strength. To have kidnapped Zeus’s former lover? A triumph. To have her cowering before the great demon horde? A treasure.

The demon nobles’ thirst for blood was well-known throughout the Underworld. Regents were chosen based solely on their ability to maintain their position at the top of the heap through violence, bloodshed, and fear.

“Don’t, Helen. Just let him end me,” Leda pleaded.

My tears scorched my face, the pain my mother was enduring far too much. “I have to, Mother. Please.”

My brothers, Castor and Pollux, lay to Leda’s side, their eyes open and unseeing. Blood marred their once-handsome faces, and their lips had already taken on the dusky blue of death. Menelaus had slaughtered them the moment they’d tried to rescue me from the auction block. My tears for them mingled with the ones for my mother. I had none left to cry for myself.

Menelaus made another deep cut at Leda’s elbow. Blood pooled beneath her and colored her fine gown a deep crimson. She had been dressed in the purest white with a regal purple robe for my wedding earlier in the morning. I had never seen her look so beautiful. The sight should have made me happy. But there was no sliver of joy to be found in my situation. Leda was a prisoner just as much as I was. Both bought, paid for, and enslaved by Menelaus. The gowns and glitz were only for show. Menelaus wanted to impress his horde, show his strength and wealth.

And all had gone according to plan until Menelaus tried to touch me, to claim me after he’d forced me to wed him. I had incinerated him, melting his skin like candle wax, and almost set the palace afire with my magic. The only thing that stopped me were his skeletal hands at my throat, choking me into darkness. I awoke here, with my mother bleeding at my feet and an ultimatum in my lap.

Menelaus turned to me. “I could do this for days, months, even years.” He licked Leda’s blood from his knife. “Only you can save her, Helen. Just say the word.”

Menelaus approached me as I sat upon the dais. He’d forced me to watch my mother’s suffering for hours. My resolve weakened with every cut, every blow, but Leda would not relent, would not allow me to give Menelaus what he so desperately desired.

“My queen, do you not want to ease your mother’s suffering?” The demon king loomed close to me, his hot breath like the vapors of hell. “I appreciate your cruelty, I truly do. It warms my heart to see you enjoy the tortures of our enemies, those who would take you from me. But, if you consent, I will spare her. You have my word as your king and husband.”

I wanted to give in, but Leda’s gaze was hard, telling me that it was better for Leda to die than for me to accept Menelaus’s terms. The blood from her arms still flowed in spurts, and a fine sheen of sweat shone on her face. Still, she would not allow me to raise a hand to save her. Despite my mother’s pleas, I could feel myself bending, almost breaking. The tears continued down my face as they had for the past several hours. I made no sound, only wept as my mother endured Menelaus’s torments.