Page 52 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Perseus kept his cloak hooded as he tailed Kleos through the winding streets of Seriphos toward the tavern, where off-duty king’s guards drank and gambled the night away.

“Could you walk a bit less like you own this place? What if someone recognises us and alerts Polydectes?” Perseus muttered, glancing over his shoulders.

“Because creeping through the street like you are hiding something is much less inconspicuous?”

He was right, of course, but Perseus struggled to relax his shoulders as he walked at his friend’s side. Their entire plan hinged on Perseus and Kleos going to the tavern and stealing guard uniforms so they could relieve the shift at the servants' entrance in three hours. If they failed, they would not be able to infiltrate Polydectes’s palace undetected, the element of surprise gone.

The two men reached the tavern door, the pounding music and raucous laughter wafting through the dimly lit windows .

Perseus pulled his friend aside. “You said you’ve been here many times, and we both know you are not exactly someone who is easily forgotten. What will we do if someone does recognise you?”

“Relax, Perseus,” Kleos responded calmly, brushing his hands off and opening the tavern door. Perseus glared at his friend, doubt gnawing at him from inside. There was no room for error, not when the lives of his crew depended on them succeeding. Still, he followed after Kleos. “I haven’t been here for a while, so they might not remember me. And even if they do, no one knows that I have sailed with you, so —”

“Kleos!” A deep voice boomed from their right. “Fancy seeing you here after such a long time! Where have you been these past weeks?”

They both turned, and Perseus’s stomach plummeted. A tall, broad-shouldered man in gleaming armour stood before them, his face flushed with wine. Recognition hit Perseus like a thunderbolt. This guard had been in the megaron during the tithe, his face unreadable and without any of the warmth that lit up his rich brown eyes, but it was unmistakably the same man. He had proudly worn the captain’s helmet of the king’s guard.

Kleos, unfazed, greeted him with a broad smile. “Kyros? What are you doing here? Don’t you have a feast to attend?”

“It helps when you make the schedule!” Kyros raised his cup. “My second in command is in charge tonight.”

“Admirable how much effort you put into being a lazy drunkard,” Kleos chuckled.

Perseus watched the familiar exchange quietly, hoping his hood concealed his face.

Kyros's eyes narrowed as he finally registered Perseus, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “Who is your companion?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of menace.

Kleos's usual composure wavered as he awkwardly nudged Perseus. “Oh, him? He’s my bodyguard… Eustathius! My father insisted I bring him along for the expedition I just did for him. Don’t mind him; he is terribly dull company. Doesn’t drink or laugh, isn’t that right?” Kleos elbowed Perseus.

“I prefer to keep my senses sharp… Sir ,” Perseus forced himself to play along.

Kleos’s eyes were sparkling with mischief as he slapped Perseus on the shoulder. “See? Such a killjoy!”

The captain’s eyes lingered on Perseus. “He looks familiar …”

Perseus’s heart began racing, his palms growing slick with sweat.

“Nonsense!” Kleos snorted. “He just has one of those faces.” He turned to Perseus. “Eustathius, why don’t you buy us a jug of wine? Make yourself useful.“

Kleos tossed a silver drachma at Perseus, who caught it with a glare. His friend was enjoying this little role-play too much. Still, Perseus welcomed the opportunity to escape Kyros's scrutiny. He approached the bar, his movements carefully measured.

“A jug of red wine, please,” Perseus said, slamming the coin on the counter and scanning the room as he waited.

Near the back, a group of sentinels were arm wrestling, betting with silver drachmae and spilling wine whenever an arm smashed into the table. To his left, men lounged, women with revealing necklines draped across their lap. But to his right, a conversation caught his attention.

“I’ve heard Polydectes plans to execute him tomorrow as the highlight of the festivities,” a guard with a thick black beard said.

“Do you really think he’ll make a spectacle of it?” A blonde-haired man countered. “It is the festival of harvest after all, and he is …”

“He is a traitor,” the bearded man interrupted grimly.

Who were they talking about? Perseus had not yet heard that Polydectes ordered public executions. He had never made a spectacle of killing his subjects before.

A younger guard spoke up. “Do you know what he got arrested for? Did the old man try to usurp the throne after all these years?”

Electricity hummed in Perseus’s blood as his heart thundered in his chest. It could not be.

The black-haired guard scoffed. “Usurp the throne? The king’s brother is too lazy for that. That’s why Polydectes had to step in in the first place when Dictys neglected his duties after his wife died in childbirth.”

Perseus felt a storm surge within him. Polydectes had Dictys. Had he found Danae, too? His fists clenched, the power thrumming beneath his skin, threatening to break free. He drew a shaky breath, fighting for control.

But it was no use. The old fisherman, the closest thing Perseus had to a father, was to be executed tomorrow.

The conversation at the nearby table continued. “A man is allowed to grieve the loss of his wife and child, no?” The blond guard reprimanded, but his companion grunted, taking another swig of wine.

The barkeep slid the jug of wine across the counter, but Perseus barely noticed.

The young man persisted, “So, what did he get arrested for?”

Perseus held his breath.

?Not sure, exactly. Something about stealing one of Polydectes's women.“

The word hit Perseus like a blow to the gut. Danae. Medusa had run to the small cabin at the wood’s edge for nothing. She would find it abandoned, his mother and Dictys were both in Polydectes' clutches.

Despair washed over him. Dictys would die for trying to protect Danae. Guilt twisted in his stomach like a knife.

He had to act. Now.

His head was spinning as he strode toward the table.

Kleos looked up from his conversation with Kyros. “Ah, Eustathius, finally! There’s our wine!”

“We need to go,” he said through clenched teeth, ignoring Kyros's wary stare.

Kleos tensed, his smile fading. “Are you all right?” He glanced at Kyros, who was now eyeing Perseus's trembling hands with suspicion.

“We need to go. Now! ” Perseus snapped.

He grabbed Kleos's arm and dragged him towards the exit. He had to get out of there, had to think.

What were they going to do? Perseus had planned for Danae and Dictys to be safe and sound on the Queen Cassiopeia when he attacked the palace. He would have never risked their lives for his reckless plan.

But now? They were already in the palace he was planning to storm, probably held captive in the damp dungeons … or worse.

Their plan was in ruins.

Perseus sunk against the tavern wall, grasping his head. Now, he not only had to overthrow the Seriphos’s tyrant in one night but also rescue his family. And he had just compromised their plan to get into the palace.

…

Perseus and Kleos sprinted through the labyrinthine streets of Seriphos, the weight of stolen armour digging into their backs. They had ten minutes until the shift change at the servant’s entrance. They had to be there before the actual king’s guard would show up for duty. Otherwise, their plan to enter the palace unnoticed would fail. Kleos and Perseus needed to secure that gate, or the rest of the crew arriving there shortly would be in peril.

A wave of nausea hit him as he recalled his outburst in the tavern. Their hasty exit had left them without crucial information: who was on duty tonight? They had resorted to ambushing lone guards in a back alley, stealing the uniform of their backs, but now they faced the risk of encountering the rightful guards at the gate. Perseus quickened his pace, his heart pounding in his chest.

He took a steadying breath, sharpening his focus on the task ahead. He would not fail his crew — nor his family.

Ahead, Kleos slowed to a casual stroll as they neared the palace gate. Perseus mirrored his movements, feigning a drunken swagger. One close look at Kleos’s poorly fitted uniform could give them away. He was too tall for the armour they had stolen. They had barely been able to fit it over his broad shoulders.

“Follow my lead this time,“ Perseus muttered.

“And if they don’t believe us?”

Perseus’s stomach twisted in a tight knot .

“We knock them out,” Perseus decided. ?But only knock them out.“

Kleos shrugged just as two young guards emerged from the gate. The rumours were true — Polydectes had stationed new recruits here.

“Evening, lads,” the tall, gangly one greeted them.

“Evening,” Perseus replied, his voice steady, “Ready to be relieved?”

He held his breath as the shorter guard, his eyes narrowed, scrutinising Kleos's ill-fitting armour. “I thought Nikias and Darius had the night shift.”

Perseus’s heart hammered. “They did until the captain of the guards reassigned us. Now, are you going to hand over your post, rookie, or would you rather stay here all night?”

The guard, unfazed, persisted, earning a panicked nudge from his companion. “Why would Kyros reassign you on such short notice?”

Perseus could feel Kleos tense beside him, ready for a fight. They would probably be able to overwhelm these boyish-looking guards with relative ease, but could they do it before one of them rang the alarm bell to the right of the entrance?

“Well,” Perseus drawled, “he thought it a fit punishment since Eustathius here vomited on his shoes, and I happened to be standing next to him.”

The guards stared at him as Kleos, seizing the opportunity, swayed dramatically, leaning on Perseus for support. “I wouldn't teesht hiiim,” he slurred, “he's a lil' pi-pissy... about it.” Kleos and let out a loud belch.

The taller guard jumped aside, wrinkling his nose, but the smaller one cocked his head. “You didn’t even bring your lances.”

Perseus let out an exasperated sigh. “Obviously! We are coming straight from the tavern, so give us yours and hurry along now.”

The guard didn’t move, his eyes fixated on Perseus’s face. He stood two meters from the alarm bell. It would take him three steps to reach it, and damn them all. Perseus flexed his fingers, his hand hovering over his sword .

Finally, after an agonising pause, the gangly guard nudged his companion. “Come, Kallias. Let’s just leave them to it.”

Perseus’s body slackened almost instantly as the tall man handed him his lance and dragged his friend along.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Kleos elbowed him in the ribs. His friend raised his eyebrow in playful indignation. “Really? I vomited on Kyros’s feet?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“I swear to the gods, Perseus; I’m never going on a secret mission with you again,” Kleos declared, even as he chuckled and shook his head.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the shadows.

Perseus drew his sword. “Who goes there?”

Silhouettes emerged from the gloom. “Be at ease, Perseus,” a familiar voice whispered. “It’s us.”

Orestes and the crew stepped into the moonlight, clad in ill-fitting finery. Their weapons were poorly concealed beneath their cloaks. Perseus knew their disguises were far from perfect, but it was too late to turn back.

Tonight, they would overthrow Polydectes. Or die trying.

Perseus’s gaze was drawn to Medusa as she stepped out of the shadows, following the men. She donned an onyx chiton, the dark fabric a stark context against her pale skin, a bronze broadsword strapped to her belt. Darkness swirled around her, the shadows accentuating the sharp lines of her face and hugging her curves. He sucked in a breath, forgetting the weight of his responsibility for a blissful moment as he took in her beauty.

Then, it all came crashing back as he realised that if she was here, that meant that Danae was indeed trapped within the palace walls. Medusa's eyes, brimming with sorrow and guilt, confirmed his fears.

He nodded at her reassuringly, signalling that he already knew. Facing his crew, he announced, “We have encountered a complication in our plan. Dictys and my mother have been captured. They are in the palace dungeons.”

A murmur rippled through the assembled men.

“What does this mean for us?” Orestes asked .

The question hung heavy in the air. They couldn't abandon their mission — Dictys's life hung in the balance. If they did not strike tonight, he would be executed come sunrise. But neither could they ignore the danger his family faced. Polydectes wouldn't hesitate to use them as leverage.

Medusa's voice cut through the silence, “You should continue as planned. Infiltrate the feast and make Polydectes pay. I will free Dictys and Danae myself.”

She stepped forward, her cool hand a comforting weight on his arm.

Perseus’s stomach grew tight at the thought of her risking her life to save his family. “No.”

“No? Do you have a better plan?”

“No.”

He didn't. He knew Medusa was capable. But the thought of her risking her life for his family ... his stomach churned.

Medusa gently pried open his fingers, interlacing them with her own. “Let me do this, Perseus. Focus on ending Polydectes’s reign.” The green fire in her eyes intensified. “We will win — just like you promised.”

Perseus cupped her face, barely registering the presence of the others as he held her gaze.

Kleos cleared his throat, patting him on the shoulder. “She’s right, Perseus. You have to be the one to overthrow Polydectes — just like you promised Athena.”

It was the second time these two had agreed. Perseus suddenly understood Andromeda’s fury when they had teamed up against her — still, they were right once again. The reminder of his oath to the goddess of wisdom and warcraft, the weight of responsibility, settled upon him. The crew had followed him to the gates of this forsaken palace, not Kleos or anyone else. He alone was responsible for their lives and the success of this mission. He could not abandon it to run off and save his family.

Perseus gritted his teeth. “Fine.”

“I will go with her,” Kleos offered.

His reassuring smile was a silent promise: he would keep Medusa safe.

Perseus’s throat bobbed. He would hold his friend to it .

Surprisingly, Medusa did not protest against Kleos’s offer.

“The dungeon is next to the kitchens. When you reach them, go down the stairs to the right, and you will find the prison cells.” Orestes explained, but his voice was distant.

Electricity hummed in Perseus’s blood, his eyes following Medusa and Kleos as they disappeared into the darkness.

For the first time in his life, Perseus sent a prayer to the gods. He would give anything for her to live.