Page 12 of Elysium

PENELOPE SAT ON THE DAIS, hands folded, eyes turned down.

She had received harsh instructions from her father.

She was to sit without making a sound. He was capitalizing on the masculine energy that continued to hang around Sparta.

Helen had been vowed to Menelaus, but the remaining suitors were desperate to return to their homes with a promise of union and marriage.

Which left only Penelope, the much less sought-after prize.

She had heard the suitors talking: smaller dowry, less title, a sharper tongue, and more pride than a woman of her status ought to carry.

“You will be promised to one of these men today,” her father sneered at her, “And if he wants to take you right here at the end of the race, that will be at his discretion. In a few hours’ time, you will no longer be a problem left for me to deal with. ”

She could not allow her father's words to find purchase in her mind. She had grown up with his hateful comments and less than opinion of her. She would never be Helen, and that was crime enough to him. While she might have been successful in keeping her emotions off of her face, her father’s words churned inside her, and she clenched her hands in her lap.

A prize, he had called her. Would he truly let the victor claim his spoils once they’ve crossed the line?

The men had gathered at the starting point for the race.

Many of them vied for Icarius’ attention as she sat to his right.

They boasted of their speed, strength, and skill in battle.

Boasted of how they could protect his precious daughter and bring honor to his household through strong offspring and warrior sons.

Her father shooed them away, signaling to his men to begin the race. That’s when she saw him. His hair was tied back with a leather thong, his eyes searching the crowds of people.

Odysseus.

Her heart skipped a beat. What was the king of Ithaca doing here?

He already had a name above his station.

He had no need for dowries, land, or titles.

He was a king revered at a young age, already spoken of as a hero.

He was a man who had the option of picking his own battles. His own queen. And yet…

His eyes found hers, and a grin stretched across his face, followed by a wink.

Penelope had to look away, afraid the creeping blush on her neck would give away her thoughts.

He stood apart from the other suitors, shoulders loose, his grin lazy and infuriating.

He didn’t boast of his winnings, as the others did.

It was not lost on her that he looked to her, and not her father, as the other men did.

The starting cry rang out, echoing in Penelope’s very blood. She watched as a cloud of dust rose around the men, feet pounding as they raced for her hand. When the dust settled, a man stood, still grinning up at her.

Run, she mouthed at him, trying to keep her composure.

Me? He mouthed back, pointing at himself.

He shrugged and looked around at the empty starting line.

She narrowed her eyes, mouth fighting against a smile.

Odysseus was the picture of innocence, standing there with his head tilted.

He then began to jog at a pace that bordered on insulting, kicking up dust clouds around him.

Penelope bit her lip to stifle a laugh. Gods help her. She was already losing his game. She glanced away for a moment to steady herself, but he was gone when she looked back.

Her heart clenched. Now that he was out of sight, reality crashed back down around her. There was no way he could win. Charming as he might be, he was already several moments behind the other suitors, and though he was a king, the other suitors had him rivaled in their physical strengths.

Seeing him was like… a splash of cool water. He had pulled her thoughts from the depths. His charisma alone, even from a distance, had calmed her spirit.

If only she could have a say in the man that would have her for marriage.

She could only dream of a future where her husband’s spirit brought her joy, a future where she fought back smiles, and where her king playfully scolded her for rolling her eyes at his latest mischief.

But the daughter of a Spartan leader was awarded no such luck.

Time seemed to freeze, onlookers continuing to holler and cheer as though a person’s life wasn’t on the line.

This was all sport to them. Penelope had watched how they sold Helen to the highest bidder and Clytemnestra to his brother…

And now Penelope’s future rested in the hands of whoever was the fastest man left over.

Her fate, her body, her future. None of it had ever belonged to her.

She was pulled from her thoughts of dread by the crowd, voices getting louder as the cloud of dust carried the suitors back to the dais, and bringing her soon-to-be-husband to her.

Her eyes tried to pierce through the cloud, desperate to see him, but knowing that she had let her mind run away with fantasies, the man that was to take her hand in a few moments would not be the stranger with whom she had shared an ocean-side kiss.

As the group of suitors grew closer, she could hear their shouts and breaths. Several lengths from the end of the race, one figure emerged from the pack, pulling ahead. Once her mind caught up to what her eyes were seeing, her breath caught, and her heart stuttered.

He crossed the finish line with a lunge, chest heaving, dust sticking to his sweat-drenched skin. The crowd erupted in cheers, chanting his name. But Odysseus didn’t look to them, his eyes immediately found hers. When their eyes locked, for a moment, Penelope forgot how to breathe.

“Lady Penelope,” He called, his voice carrying across the crowds, “Come down from the dais and meet your husband.” The glint in his eye was pure mischief. She stood, bowing her head to her father before stepping down from the place they sat and making her way to Odysseus, her betrothed.

“I must admit,” He said once she was close enough, his breath still coming in gasps.

“This was far more thrilling than listening to those boys fight over Helen’s hand.

” He said, breathless but grinning. A laugh escaped from his lips.

“Child’s play for a pretty girl. A queen deserves the fastest, strongest, most cunning husband she could get.

” He boasted, a grin plastered on his face.

“It appears my husband is very humble, too.” She retorted, fighting back her own smile as well. “You have bested men twice your size, King of Ithaca. What trickery did you pull to win?” How had he defied the odds?

His hand found her chin, his touch impossibly gentle for a man who had outrun the world. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His grin was maddening, full of secrets that he had no intention of giving up. Not yet, at least.

“At any rate, come. My father will want to present you with the dowry before you take your leave to return to Ithaca.”

“Dowry be damned,” He growled, hands clutching her hips.

The air left her lungs as he pulled her flush against him.

His mouth claimed hers with a fire that set her skin alight.

Odysseus dipped her backward, grinning against her lips as the crowd erupted into cheers.

“Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, has a nice ring to it.”

The crowd continued to roar their approval. The stomping of feet and clapping of hands reverberated across the square. Penelope, flushed and breathless, barely noticed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her father’s scowl. A reminder that all freedom comes at a cost.