Page 5 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

King Polydectes’s cold eyes followed Perseus as he strode into the megaron, forcing his breath to remain calm. Perseus lifted his chin, meeting the king’s stare with defiance. He took in his opponent’s features: the sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and dark brown eyes that would have been handsome were it not for the arrogant glint in his eyes.

Polydectes lounged on his throne, a goblet of wine in hand, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. Around him sat the usual assortment of advisors, wealthy merchants, and naval commanders who frequented his extravagant feasts. Perseus recognised only one of them: Kleos’ father. He was his son’s spitting image, but where Kleos was all grins, childish jokes, and slaps on the back so hard they might knock you to the ground, his father was a man of icy composure. His face, a mask of indifference, showed no hint of recognition toward Perseus. But then again, why should he? Kleos had always snuck out to see Perseus, defying his father's disdain for commoners .

Perseus scanned the rest of the room, the guards in their gleaming bronze armour lining the towering walls, the heavy wooden doors sealed shut behind him. He felt like a trapped animal.

“Haven't you forgotten something, fisherman?” Polydectes's voice dripped with contempt. “Kneel before your anax!”

Perseus held the king’s exacting gaze, slowly lowering to one knee. He noted the grime staining the extravagant carpet—a testament to countless others who had knelt here before him. “Forgive my rudeness, My King.” The words tasted like acid on his tongue.

Satisfied with his grovelling, Polydectes clucked his tongue, “It's good to see that youremember your place … Son of Danae.”

Perseus inhaled deeply, schooling his face into a mask before facing Polydectes again. So far, their encounter was going terribly. He had hoped Polydectes wouldn’t recognise him, but that hope shattered when the guards singled him out. It would have been easier to bargain with the anax had he not remembered him. But why would he not? After all, Perseus was the only man to ever stop him from getting what he wanted — his mother.

Perseus was ten when he first met King Polydectes. At the annual sports festival, he'd bested every boy his age in wrestling and sword fighting, even sending a few older lads sprawling.As a reward, the king had invited him and Danae to a celebratory feast. But when Polydectes, fueled by wine, had begun groping Danae's thigh, Perseus's practice sword, though wooden, had risen in defence. His small hands trembling with fury, he had warned the king to back off, swearing an oath to Zeus to end Polydectes's life should he ever touch his mother again. Laughter had erupted around him; after all, he’d been a mere child brandishing a toy sword. But moments later, a lightning bolt had split the sky, striking an olive tree to Polydectes’s right. Had Dictys not rushed to his side, pleading for the boy’s life, Perseus’s defiance would have been his last act.

Now, the king mustered Perseus. “You know, Perseus, you’ve grown into quite the handsome young man. The resemblance to your lovely mother is uncanny. Tell me, how is Danae these days?”

Perseus battled the urge to scoff at Polydectes’s feigned interest. What game was he playing? Did he somehow learn Perseus couldn’t pay the tithe?

He bit his tongue and lowered his head. “She is well, anax.”

“I should hope so!” Polydectes boomed with a rumbling chuckle. “It would be a shame for such a prize to wither. She has always been so satisfying to look at. A pity I don’t see her that often. Any idea why that might be?”

Perseus clenched his fists, anger simmering beneath the surface. But he needed to stay calm. He was no longer a boy with a wooden sword. “We might not have much, but my mother cherishes our humble home. She simply wishes to live a quiet life.”

A cruel smile twisted Polydectes’s lips. “Speaking of ‘not having much’, you seem to have arrived empty-handed. What is the meaning of this Perseus? Where is my tithe?”

A cold dread washed over Perseus. How did he know Perseus’s leather pouch was empty? He glanced up to see the king's face alight with sadistic glee. Polydectes crossed one leg over the other, his bearded chin resting on a fist. He was savouring this moment, the predator toying with his prey. Sadistic bastard.

“My King! I beg your understanding…”

“And yet you stand before me with no silver when your household owes me tribute.”

A muscle ticked in Perseus’s jaw, but he did not dare contradict him. It was not like he would listen to his sob story about the bandits ambushing his mother, nor would he accept the thirty-five drachmae that he had brought.

Polydectes took a slow sip from his gilded wine goblet. “Honestly, Perseus, couldn’t you at least have brought the lovely Danae? I would have preferred to see her supple form bowed before me, begging for forgiveness. Not some insolent boy who reeks of fish.”

Perseus gritted his teeth. Yet, there was no concealing the storm brewing in his eyes, his mind racing with violent retribution .

“Come now, Perseus, there is no need for that scowl. You only have yourself to blame. How could you be so foolish as to come to my palace empty-handed?” Polydectes's laughter echoed through the megaron, a cruel symphony to Perseus’s torment.

“I did not come empty-handed.”

Perseus regretted his words before they had come out. Polydectes arched a bushy eyebrow expectantly. Now was his moment to offer compensation for the twenty-five missing drachmae.

“Have you finally come to offer me your dear mother as my concubine, then?” Polydectes asked into the silence.

Perseus shuddered. It was no secret that the women at the king’s palace were treated as mere playthings used for the king and his inner circle’s pleasure. He would pay any price to prevent that fate for his mother.

Perseus drew a deep breath, forcing the words out, “Actually, I was going to offer you my services.”

Polydectes scoffed, “And what use would I have for a lowly fisherman like yourself? You can't be very skilled if you couldn't even scrape together sixty drachmae in a year.”

The guards lining the megaron’s walls erupted in laughter, joined by a few of the advisers. Kleos’ father just assessed Perseus with a probing glance.

Perseus pleaded his case through gritted teeth, “I am strong. I can fight. You’ve seen me at the tournaments.”

Polydectes cocked his head in amusement.

“Unfortunately for you, I have no use for your brute strength. As you can see, my palace guard is well-staffed, as is my city watch and my army. I suppose you could work in the kitchens as a servant, but you would not earn enough there to cover next year’s tithe, would you?”

Perseus's thoughts raced. A silvery voice whispered in his ear, a daring proposition taking shape. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him, and words poured from his mouth as if his body no longer belonged to him, “What if I offered you the head of the Gorgon Medusa in payment for my debt?”

His voice sounded foreign — colder and smoother than his own — as it echoed through the room. Polydectes stared at him in astonishment. Perseus bit his tongue, realising what he had just said. Kleos’s idiocy must have rubbed off on him — or he had lost his mind. What possessed him to propose such a bargain?

For a few moments, all Perseus could hear was his thundering heartbeat. Then, Polydectes bellowed, his laughter bouncing off the marble walls. His guards joined in on his amusement. Perseus might have laughed, too, at the sheer absurdity of it all if it weren’t his own life he had just bartered away.

Finally, Polydectes regained his composure, chuckling. “Who knew you had a sense of humour, Perseus?” He leaned forward. “But seriously, boy, do you wish to make a fool of me? Some of the best men, the strongest heroes across the Greek islands, have tried to slay the beast. They all failed. What makes you think that you will succeed?”

Despite the mockery, Perseus caught a spark of genuine interest in the king’s eyes. This was a bargain he was willing to strike. But why? Was it the lure of glory from slaying the beast or something more sinister? Perseus was trapped, unable to back down, even as doubt gnawed at him: What made him think he could succeed where countless others had failed?

The spark within him, the kernel of raw power he had buried deep as deep as he could, scraped at the back of his mind. You are not like them , it whispered, a tempting siren's call.

Perseus violently shoved the thought back down. He would not acknowledge this power nor the absentee father who had bequeathed it. He refused to dwell on why he outstripped other boys in strength and speed, why wounds healed so quickly, why his blood sang with electricity when anger ignited. And he certainly wouldn't reveal any of this to Polydectes, whose grin remained a grotesque parody of amusement.

Instead, his voice was cold steel, “I do not seek to mock you. I wish only to atone for the disrespect my mother and I have shown you. We have nothing of value to offer you. However, I can offer you something money cannot buy: glory. For you and for Seriphos. I swear upon the gods I will deliver Medusa’s head. In return, I ask only for your forgiveness and acceptance of the gorgon’s head as payment. ”

Perseus met the king’s gaze unflinchingly, his spine rigid.

After a long pause, Polydectes leaned back on his throne and exhaled a reluctant sigh. “Many have made similar boasts, only to falter when faced with the beast. But something tells me you are different. And who am I to stand between a man and his death wish? As a show of good faith, tell me what you’ll need for this journey, and it shall be yours. Crew, supplies, anything.”

Perseus shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. Instinct urged him to refuse Polydectes’s help and sail alone on his fishing boat. He had just challenged the three fates to cut his life thread short, and he did not wish to be responsible for the deaths of anyone else. “I would prefer to journey to the Lesbos Strait on my own, your majesty.”

“Why would you refuse my help, boy? If you truly intend to claim the gorgon’s head for me, shouldn’t you accept all the help you can get? Unless there is another reason you want to leave on your own?”

Perseus’s stomach tightened with dread. Did Polydectes insinuate that he might flee Seriphos? He would never abandon his mother and Dictys. Yet, a fleeting thought whispered that perhaps they should have run this morning instead of facing the king. Life as a fugitive would be preferable to facing Medusa.

“No, Perseus,” Polydectes declared, a calculating gleam in his eye. “Here is what we will do: I will give you a ship from my fleet, crewed by experienced sailors, stocked with supplies and weapons. In addition, just because I’m feeling generous, five elite members of my guard will accompany you.”

Kleos's father, his face a mask of concern, interjected, “Is this wise, Your Majesty? The cost of such an expedition far outweighs the boy's debt. Consider the risks—”

Polydectes silenced him with a dismissive wave, turning to a broad-shouldered guard in bronze armour with a dark beard and cold beady eyes. “Linus, you and your epetae will accompany Perseus on his quest.”

The man stepped forward, his fist striking his chest plate with a resounding clang as he bowed. He turned to Perseus with a chilling grin that did not reach his dark eyes. “It will be my honour, Anax, to ensure this mission succeeds. ”

Perseus held Linus’s cold gaze, offering no pleasantries. He knew protesting the guard's presence would fall on deaf ears. Instead, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference, refusing to give Polydectes the satisfaction of witnessing his unease. Instead, he conceded, “Very well.”

Perseus, familiar only with the wooden practice sword he'd sparred with Kleos, was out of his depth. Still, the king's advisors, seasoned warriors themselves, outlined a strategy. They would equip Perseus and his crew with a shield, a shortsword, a bow and arrow, and a polearm. Each weapon catered to a different style: the sword for close-quarters combat, the bow for ranged attacks, the polearm and shield for mid-range offence and defence. A symphony of bronze, they hoped, might give them a fighting chance against the monstrous gorgon.

Finally, as shadows stretched across the throne room, Perseus was dismissed.

How long have those petitioners been waiting? he wondered, bowing stiffly, “Thank you, Anax. In your name, I will return victorious.”

As Perseus turned away to take his leave, Polydectes made his final remark, “Before you go, remember, you have until autumn equinox to settle your debt with me. Otherwise, I will seek compensation elsewhere.”

Perseus stopped dead in his tracks at that. It dawned on him why Polydectes had agreed to this bargain in the first place.

“Oh, and Danae remains on Seriphos while you’re gone. I want her close, just in case something … unfortunate … befalls you.”