Page 40 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Medusa froze in the centre of the inn’s bedroom, her laughter dying in her throat as she whirled to face Perseus.
“There is only one bed,” she stated with a mixture of frustration and hesitation.
Perseus leaned against the door frame, unfazed. “That would be correct.”
Medusa's mind raced. Had the evening’s revelry clouded her judgement? She could not remember a time when she had felt as light as she had, when Perseus had twirled her across the dance floor, enthralled by the lively rhythm of the music and the cheering crowd. She hadn’t even minded the stench of stale wine nor felt the urge to escape the drunken revelry. No one would have touched or even dared approach her — not with Perseus accompanying her. Not when he had made a show of acting as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had not minded Perseus’s attention either. Medusa had basked in the warmth of his smiles, bringing out the golden hues in his hazel eyes .
Now, it seemed Perseus wanted to claim the price for his protection. Searing, hot anger began bubbling inside Medusa. Why were all men the same? She would not tolerate this — not from him .
Before Medusa knew what she was doing, she lunged for the bed behind her, snatched a pillow, and hurled it across the room with all her strength. She hit her mark. For a moment, Perseus merely stared at her, rubbing his head in confusion. Medusa was still panting, rage making her heart race.
Then, unexpectedly, Perseus burst into laughter – loud enough to echo down the hallway. “What was that for?”
“You know exactly what that was for. Why did you order a room with only one bed?”
Perseus shrugged, “Because, my love, we told the innkeeper we were newlyweds. So, when I picked up the key, I couldn't exactly ask for a room with separate beds, could I?”
Suddenly self-conscious of her explosive anger, Medusa shifted her weight.“Pretending to be a married couple was a foolish plan.”
“Well ... did you have a better idea for explaining that veil of yours? No one would have believed that a priestess of Apollo would be travelling alone — let alone accompanied by someone as handsome as me. If anything, they would have believed that you had run away from your temple ... at best, they would have locked me up and tried to return you ... at worst …”
“Be that as it may ... I am not your wife, and I will not share a bed with you,” Medusa interrupted, her voice firm.
She could never. It did not matter that she slowly began accepting that Perseus might be a decent man — the exception to the rule. Neither did the fact that the self-righteous prick occasionally made her burst into laughter — and worse, made her blush — change her mind. Medusa would not lie next to any man. She would never be vulnerable again.
Perseus sighed, keenly studying the emotions mirrored in her features. “Are you really going to make me sleep on the floor?”
Medusa could tell that most of the annoyance in his voice was faked, but she still shot back. “You had no qualms about making me sleep on the dirty floor of a cell for weeks!”
Perseus averted his gaze. The silence between them grew uncomfortable for a moment.
“Alright, alright ... I'll sleep on the floor, but I'll take the thick blanket,” Perseus conceded.
Medusa nodded in agreement, relief washing over her body. She unclenched her fists, ignoring the half-moon indentations she had unconsciously dug into the palms of her hands. She strode toward the bed. When she turned to face Perseus again, he had begun unfastening his chiton. With one swift movement, he pulled it over his head, and Medusa nearly gasped at the sight of his broad shoulders, shimmering bronze in the flickering light of the oil lamp.
Medusa quickly averted her gaze.“Can't you turn around at least, or do you crave female admiration so much that you just have to give me a show? Do you want me to swoon over your chiselled chest and compare you to Adonis’s beauty?”
“You think I'm as beautiful as Adonis?” he asked, flexing his muscles.
Medusa rolled her eyes.
“If my chiselled body offends your modesty so much, I suggest you simply don't watch me change ... I, however, don't intend to sleep in dirty clothes, and I suggest you remove your muddy dress as well,” Perseus said before proceeding to untie his sandals.
Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she averted her gaze, unfastening her peplos. She faced the wall to prevent herself from looking over the shoulder for another glance at Perseus’s glistening muscles. It cost her more willpower to suppress her curiosity than she would like to admit.
When she finally slid into bed, Perseus’s clothes were neatly folded on the wooden chair next to the window, and he lay wrapped in a thick woollen blanket on the uneven floor. Medusa was almost disappointed that he had already covered himself in cloth again. What was wrong with her?
Just before her eyes fluttered shut, Perseus whispered from the floor, “You know? I could get used to losing arguments against you … even if it means I must sleep on the cold floor with splinters in my back. ”
A small smile bloomed on Medusa’s lips as she finally drifted asleep.
…
Medusa’s steps echoed on the marble floor. It had been years since she had set foot inside the temple — since she had been cast out. An icy wind pulled on her simple gown as she hesitantly approached the altar at the far end. Her path was flanked by tall stone pillars, casting long shadows in the silver light of the crescent moon. No torches illuminated the statue of the goddess of wisdom and warcraft in the usual golden glow.
She knelt before the towering figure of Athena, whose helmet and spear shimmered in the moonlight. The owl on Athena’s shoulder assessed Medusa’s every breath with piercing eyes.
Medusa inhaled deeply before she said, her voice shaky, “Oh, mighty Athena, I’ve come to seek your wisdom. I –”
Before Medusa could finish her sentence, a searing light flashed before her eyes. When she dared peek toward the goddess’s face, Athena returned her gaze with an unforgiving stare, her eyes hard as steel.
Her otherworldly voice boomed through the temple, shaking the floor beneath Medusa’s knees. “YOU DARE SET FOOT IN MY TEMPLE TO SEEK MY COUNCIL AFTER WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!?”
“I– I …”
“HAVE I NOT TAKEN YOU IN WHEN YOU WERE SEEKING REFUGE? HAVE I NOT PROTECTED YOU, FED YOU, TAUGHT YOU? ONLY FOR YOU TO WHORE IT ALL AWAY AT THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY TO ANOTHER GOD?”
As footsteps approached, a shimmer of light flickered at the end of the hallway.
“I – I didn’t mean to …”
Hot tears were streaming down Medusa’s cheeks. She had flung her arms around herself, rocking back and forth on her knees.
“I HAVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING. YOU WERE MY CHOSEN PRIESTESS — NOW YOU ARE NOTHING. JUST A DIRTY LITTLE WHORE.”
When Medusa glanced up again, she could make out the silhouettes of her fellow priestesses and priests through a mist of tears. A groan that sounded more like a wounded animal escaped her throat. She stretched a trembling hand toward Cassandra, Calliope, and Demetrius. However, the faces of the only friends she had ever known remained cold and unmoving — as if they did not even recognise her.
Then, the first stone whizzed through the air. Before Medusa could react, it struck her shoulder. She whimpered. Another stone pummelled her back, legs, and head. Medusa tried to shield herself as the priestesses and priests hurled stone after another. Their chants grew louder, echoing through the marble hall.
Whore. Whore. Whore.
With trembling lips, Medusa made one last attempt to beg her friends for forgiveness. Cassandra. Calliope. Demetrius. But her mouth could only form a broken whisper, a sibilant hiss that sounded more serpent than supplicant.
Whore. Whore. Whore.
…
“Medusa!”
Rough hands shook her shoulders, but she couldn’t move.
“Medusa,” the man breathed her name again.
She barely heard him over the voices echoing in her head.
Whore. Whore. Whore.
Medusa kept her eyes squeezed shut out of fear to see their hateful faces again. Cassandra. Calliope. Demetrius, who had found her cowering at the feet of their goddess. He had been her first victim. A quiet sob escaped her throat.
“It was just a bad dream,” Perseus murmured, gently stroking her tear-streaked cheek. “Just a dream.”
If only it had been a nightmare and not her worst memory coming to haunt her. The priests and priestesses of Athena had not thrown stones at her, but they had chased her from their temple with spears and torches. They had called her a whore.
Swept away in a wave of grief, a desperate wail tore from her throat. She flung her arms around herself, curling up into a ball, while tears streamed down her face. She hated Poseidon for everything he had done to her. He had not only desecrated her body but also taken away the only friends she had ever known.
The bed beneath Medusa shifted as Perseus sat beside her, stroking her hair. Rather than recoiling from his touch, Medusa huddled closer and took his other hand.
“Do you want me to hold you?”
Medusa nodded, wiping away another tear. Yet, she could not bring herself to open her eyes again. It was a futile attempt to keep the images out of her head: being pressed against the cold marble floor, casting a final glance at the temple while fleeing barefoot through the forest, flashes of shipwrecks, mangled bodies, a barmaid turned to stone in a dark alley.
With a swift movement, Perseus lifted her and cradled her to his chest. She breathed in his scent of thyme and leather. Her breaths gradually steadied as she focused on the rhythmic thump of his heart.
He stroked her hair, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Her hands dripping with blood, the bruises on her back, those piercing turquoise eyes.
“You’re safe.”
Somehow, she believed him. She had survived, and she would continue to.
Exhaustion washed over her. She yawned as her body went limp.
Perseus set her down on the bed.
Before he could retreat, Medusa caught his hand. “Stay.”
Perseus lay beside her without a word, wrapping an arm around her as if to ward off the nightmares. She rested her head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling her once more.