Page 27 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The brilliant light of the throne hall blinded Perseus as he walked through the gilded doors. The warm glow of the torches danced off the turquoise and gold tiles covering the floor and illuminated the intricate mosaics adorning the walls. He recognised some of the scenes depicted as famous myths, tales his mother had told him when he was little. There was a fresco of the epic battle between the Olympians and the titans. Another illustrated the abduction of Europa by Zeus in the form of a mighty bull, yet others remained unfamiliar.

He couldn’t fathom how much drachmae the Joppan rulers had spent to build a palace this magnificent, nor who had paid for this display of wealth. At least King Cepheus knew how to spend his citizens’ money with taste. Polydectes’s residence paled in comparison to Joppa’s palace.

At the centre of the room stood two cedar thrones, decorated with intricate carvings of vines that intertwined them with one another. Another smaller throne stood beside them, where the Joppa’s rulers lounged, waiting for Perseus and his company to approach.

Before he stepped into the splendor, Perseus shot Medusa a wary glance. He gripped the hilt of his adamantine sword. It had been idiotic to let her come, yet when he saw her slightly parted lips as she drank in the details of the throne room, he had to suppress a smile. In her flowing gown, loosely hugging her curves, Medusa looked nothing like the monster he knew was crawling beneath her skin. Perseus averted his gaze to avoid staring at her for too long.

Kleos muttered under his breath as they approached the royal dais, “At least we know they can spare a ship or two …”

Perseus grinned at the remark, but Kleos did not meet his gaze. Instead, his narrowed eyes remained fixed on the gorgon, who seemed oblivious to his hateful glare. Not that Perseus could blame him. After all, his face still bore the marks of their last encounter.

Finally, they reached the foot of the dais where King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia held court. Perseus made to step forward into a bow, but two guards lowered their spears before him.

“Hand us your weapons before you address the king and queen of Joppa.”

Perseus frowned at the thought of handing over his sword. How could he possibly explain that the royal court would be safer with him armed without disclosing who accompanied him?

“I apologise, but after the trip we’ve had, I’ve grown quite fond of them. I’d rather not be defenceless if I can avoid it.”

He held onto the sword’s hilt and stared the man down.

“You cannot avoid it. As the captain of the guard, I will not let anyone come near the royal family armed, so either you lay down your blade, or I must ask you to leave the palace.”

Perseus shot Kleos a worried glance, who looked just as displeased as him. He should not have brought Medusa to the banquet. What had gotten into him?

Still, he could not retreat either. Their ship was ravaged by the storm. They would not make it back to Seriphos with the tattered sails, splintered mast, and a gaping hole in the centre of the deck. It was a miracle they had safely reached shore in the first place. They needed a new galley, and bartering with the King of Joppa was the easiest way to get one.

Reluctantly, Perseus took the sword and dagger strapped to his belt and handed them to the captain of the guard, who now wore a self-satisfied smile on his lips. Yet, he did not bend down to give away the concealed blade in his right boot. He would keep that one — just in case.

“And her?” the captain’s gaze lingered on Medusa. He was not very subtle about it either. His eyes raked over the curves visible in her modest dress, which Perseus had picked to make her cover as a priestess of Apollo believable.

“She has none,” Perseus's voice was a steel blade, his body a shield between the guard and Medusa.

“And I am expected to simply trust your word?”

Perseus balled his fists, energy simmering in his veins. He fought the urge to punch that smug grin from the guard’s face.

The captain advanced toward Medusa. “Just a brief search, mistress, and you may proceed.”

Before Perseus could respond, Medusa’s venom-laced voice sounded behind him, “I am a maiden of Apollo; my god would not take kindly to any man touching me without permission.”

The captain paused, and then his smirk returned. “You're right, priestess. I wouldn't want to offend your god... so may I have your permission?”

Perseus stepped closer to Medusa, shielding her with his body. If the guard so much as made one more step …

“Enough, Heron!” King Cepheus’s voice boomed through the hall. “Perseus and this woman are our esteemed guests. Show them the respect they deserve.”

Perseus sketched a low bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesties. I am Perseus, son of Danae, stranded at the shores of Joppa while on a mission for Polydectes, king of Seriphos.” Polydectes’s name tasted foul in his mouth, but he schooled his face into neutrality as faced the rulers.

He lifted his gaze to the royals once more, analysing their hosts for the first time. King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia were still attractive despite the grey streaks in their dark hair. The flowy silk robes did little to conceal the king’s powerful figure, muscles honed by years of swordplay. His amber eyes crinkled in a welcoming smile, yet the sharp discernment within them made Perseus’s skin prickle. Yet, it was the queen’s regal poise that made him want to kneel at their feet. Despite the dark shadows beneath her eyes and her hollowed-out cheeks, Perseus could see the remnants of a captivating beauty. Her rich purple robe was a vibrant contrast against her ebony skin, and her high cheekbones and full lips made her look almost ethereal. On the market, Perseus had heard that Cassiopeia had originally been an Aethiopian princess. When Cepheus had travelled to Aethiopia for trade negotiations, it had taken him all but one glance to fall in love with her. She had been the queen of Joppa for over twenty years now, and judging by their interlaced fingers, he still appeared just as smitten with his wife.

Then, Perseus’s gaze flicked to the smaller throne. The princess seated there was a vision — a younger, radiant echo of her mother, her dark skin shimmering in the torchlight, her onyx curls cascading around her shoulders. Yet, she had the same intelligent eyes as her father. They shone like polished bronze as she seized him up as if she might discern his character with a single glance. She outshone everyone in the room — save for the emerald-haired woman standing beside him.

Queen Cassiopeia leaned forward, addressing Perseus, “We have heard of your mission, young hero. The king of Seriphos sent you to slay the Gorgon Medusa, who has terror of the Lesbos Strait. But what brings you to Joppa? Have you fulfilled your quest? Are you in search of another?”

Perseus shifted uncomfortably. He needed to be careful how he spun lies with truth to make his story believable. “It is a long story, Your Majesty, one I will gladly share this evening. For now, know that we were caught in a violent summer storm after defeating the gorgon, which blew us to Joppa’s shore.”

Cassiopeia’s eyes widened at that. “Truly? It’s as if the fates have —”

“You must excuse my wife’s enthusiasm,” the king cut in, shooting a warning glance at his side. “We are eager to hear your tale, but first, please join us for the feast.”

Undeterred, Cassiopeia leaned in again, curiosity sparkling in her obsidian eyes. “So, you have indeed vanquished the beast? Medusa is dead?”

Perseus dared a glance at the priestess beside him. She stood frozen, her back stiff, at the mention of her supposed demise.

“I defeated the gorgon in her lair, north of the fishing village called Cisthene.”

That was true enough. He had won the fight against Medusa, even though it had been more of an ambush than a battle.

The queen clasped her hands together. “Oh, what a feat! Such an accomplishment at your young age ... and such a handsome young man, too.”

The king sighed, and a flicker of annoyance crossed the princess's face at her mother's effusive praise.

“Please join us at the table of honour,” Cepheus said in a tired tone. “That way, you’ll be able to eat at least while my lovely wife peppers you with questions.”

Perseus suppressed a sigh. He had not expected such interest in him by the royals. It made keeping Medusa under control infinitely more complicated. Still, he couldn’t refuse the king’s invitation.

He placed a careful hand on Medusa’s back as he guided her toward the table. She bristled at his touch, but Perseus leaned in, whispering into her ear, “Just so you know, I’ve still got a dagger in my boot. One wrong move ...”

Their eyes met through the veil. “Whatever do you mean, young hero ?” she purred, her voice a silken trap. “The gorgon is dead, slain by your hand. I'm but a humble priestess. What might I possibly do to warrant such a threat?”

Perseus groaned. He should not have brought her with him.

They reached the banquet table, the Joppan royals watching with keen interest.

Medusa's smile was saccharine. “Just focus on your tale, hero,” she murmured, “don't trip over the details of my supposed demise.”

She glided to a seat at the table filled with freshly baked bread, figs, cheeses, and heaps of roasted meats. From the corner of his eyes, Perseus noticed Kleos, who had been untypically quiet since they entered the throne hall, shaking his head .

“So, tell us, young hero,” the queen continued her inquiry, “whom have you brought to accompany you?” Her gaze fixed on Medusa, curiosity alight in her eyes. “Is this lovely woman your wife?”

Kleos choked on his mutton, and Perseus could have sworn the princess rolled her eyes.

“This is Kleos, my trusted friend,” Perseus replied, thumping Kleos on the back as he coughed and sputtered. “And this is...”

“Irene,” Medusa interjected, a serene smile gracing her features, “a priestess of Apollo, blessed with the gift of foresight. I serve as Perseus's oracle, guiding him on his journey.”

It should not have surprised Perseus that she was an excellent liar. How often had she lured men into their deaths with that sweet smile? He could not blame the poor souls for falling for it.

Queen Cassiopeia looked overly satisfied at her response. Still, her curiosity was not yet sated. “And how did you come to this path, young priestess? It's not common for one so young to journey on a ship filled with ... rough men.”

Medusa's voice was soft, tinged with sorrow, “It was my fate, Your Majesty. I encountered Perseus soon after Medusa had raided a ship carrying my brother. He and his crewmates washed ashore near my temple. We were sent out to aid survivors … and that was where I found him.” Her voice cracked. “I barely recognised my brother. The gorgon had… mutilated him, torn him apart —”

Medusa broke off as if suppressing a sob. She was a master of deception. A shudder went through her as if she was genuinely reliving the trauma. Her hand wandered to her abdomen, where Perseus knew a hidden wound festered.

Across the table, the princess whispered, “How terrible.”

“It was then that I heard of a young hero, one sent by the gods to finally slay the beast that killed my brother. So, I pleaded with our headpriest to grant me leave so I might accompany him on his mission and avenge my brother’s death.”

Perseus resisted the urge to reach for her hand. It was not like her story was remotely true, yet he still felt the overwhelming need to comfort her. What was wrong with him?

Instead, he confirmed her lie, “It’s true, her prophecies led us to Medusa, and we were able to capture her.”

The princess shifted uncomfortably, her gaze fixated on the lines of her palms.

King Cepheus raised his goblet. “A stirring tale! To the young hero and his courageous companions!”

…

The atmosphere mellowed as the feast progressed. Kleos and other guests raised their gilded goblets in frequent toasts, but Perseus remained vigilant, his attention fixed on the woman beside him. Medusa's eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail. What was she scheming?

Luckily, Kleos now carried most of the conversation, entertaining their hosts with outlandish tales of their journey that vastly exaggerated their bravery. Perseus caught him stealing glances and flexing his muscles in the princess's direction, but she seemed uninterested, her mesmerising amber eyes only leaving her untouched plate to glare at her mother whenever the queen's flattery toward Perseus grew too effusive. Cassiopeia gushed over his looks, his bravery, his strength. If only she knew the truth of their encounter with the gorgon. Perseus couldn't fathom why the queen was so intent on impressing a simple fisherman from Seriphos — even though he currently posed as a foreign dignitary.

Then, musicians entered the great hall, their lyres and harps filling the air with a lively melody. Courtesans rose from the table, their graceful movements a whirlwind on the dance floor.

Queen Cassiopeia leaned closer. “Do you dance, Perseus?”

Beside her, the princess shrank in her seat. Was the queen trying to set up her daughter with him ? Whyever, would she do that?

He offered the princess a sympathetic smile before shrugging. “I'm afraid I'm more adept with a sword than with dance steps. However, I would like to discuss my mission at your convenience, Your Majesties.” Perhaps now would be a good time to bring up the wrecked ship anchored in their harbour.

King Cepheus dismissed him with a wave. “After the feast, boy. First, let’s enjoy the festivities.”

Perseus suppressed a sigh. The longer they spent at this palace, the more time Medusa had to plan her escape — or worse. He glanced at her, only to find the captain of the guard, Heron, approaching their table, his eyes fixated on Medusa. Perseus's jaw tightened.

“Lady Irene,” Heron began, his voice laced with a poorly veiled attempt at charm, “I wish to apologise for our earlier encounter. I was only trying to fulfil my duties — perhaps a little too eager.”

Medusa remained silent, her glare sharp enough to make Heron flinch — even with her face concealed in the shadow of her veil. For a heartbeat, it was as if she had dropped the mask of the pious priestess, revealing the predator slumbering beneath.

Heron continued, although there was a quiver in his voice now. “I was wondering if you would accompany me to the dance floor — if your duties to Apollo allow you, that is.” As he finished the sentence, his swagger returned, a confident grin spreading across his face.

Perseus balled his fists. He would not allow this man to touch Medusa inappropriately, priestess or not.

Medusa’s lips parted into a smile, though the predatory gleam never left her eyes. “I would be delighted to,” she purred.

Perseus watched in disbelief as Medusa rose gracefully and accepted Heron’s extended arm, who was now blatantly ogling her.

Kleos's elbow jabbed his ribs. “Perseus? You've gone pale.”

What was she doing? She was going to blow their cover. He knew little about Apollo’s maidens, but he was certain that consorting with lustful guards was not part of their vows.

Perseus narrowed his eyes as Heron led Medusa onto the dance floor. Just as they reached the whirling couples, Medusa stumbled. Perseus gripped the table, his knuckles white, as Heron caught her, his hand lingering on her back. Even from afar, he could see Medusa's barely contained fury.

Perseus didn’t hear the conversations around him as the musicians started playing a new song, and Medusa and Heron began circling one another. She knew every step, moving her arms in long, elegant lines as she spun around herself. It was a quick dance that required little physical touch from dance partners. Yet, Perseus felt his chest tighten as he watched Medusa’s every step, every leap, and every turn.

Finally, the tune was over, and the music shifted to a slower, more intimate tune. Medusa lowered herself into a graceful bow, preparing to retreat to the table, but Heron caught her hand, a seductive smile on his lips, as he beckoned her for another dance. He pulled her close, possessively gripping her waist.

Medusa stiffened in his arms, and Perseus shot to his feet. Enough was enough. He marched toward the dance floor in long strides. She had been a gracious guest and entertained the guard with a dance. He would not watch as the sentinel hands wandered — not when not when she was under his protection.

Suddenly, Heron’s hand dropped lower, and she struck. In one moment, the guard was grinning, whispering something in the gorgon’s ear, and the next, he was whimpering, his arms twisted behind his back.

Perseus rushed forward, arriving just in time to hear the sickening crack of Heron’s finger breaking. Perseus could not help but grin at the man’s muffled cry.

Then, his eyes met Medusa’s, her usually ocean-green irises burning bright with a green flame. His mouth dropped. She was breathtaking in her rage.

The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them, “May I have this next dance, Lady Irene?”