Page 25 of Elysium

“I THINK I’LL GO AND SEE HELEN,” Penelope announced casually, as if she were suggesting a stroll through the olive groves, not a journey across the sea. She said it over breakfast, of all times, while buttering a piece of bread as if nothing in their world had shattered the night before.

Odysseus froze mid-bite, the honey-drenched morsel clinging to his fingers. He swallowed harshly, choking as it lodged somewhere between his throat and his growing disbelief. “No,” he rasped, voice sharper than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to temper it. “No, you won’t.”

Penelope set her knife down with deliberate grace, one brow arching as she studied him. Her calm was far more unnerving than any storm he’d weathered at sea. “No?”

He shifted in his chair, straightening as he met her gaze. “No.”

Penelope glowered at him from across the table, her expression resolute. “Helen is Zeus’s daughter,” she began, her voice even but carrying weight. “If anyone can tell us what the gods are scheming, it’s her. Perhaps her father, or her ‘siblings,’ have revealed something to her.”

Odysseus frowned, leaning back in his chair. “And you think Helen will share what she knows?”

“She’s my cousin, and we’ve always been close,” Penelope replied, though her tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty. “If she has any insight into this... she’d tell me. She has to.”

“No.” He tried to sound deliberate, kingly. But he felt inferior to the queen that sat before him, planning several moves ahead while he focused on the moment in front of them.

A small smile tugged at her lips, playful yet calculating. “Close your mouth, husband - it’s unbecoming of a king.” She took a pointed bite of her bread, and though her tone remained light, the glint in her eyes warned him he was wading into dangerous waters.

“Penelope,” he started, voice firm but with an edge of pleading. “After what happened last night, after-”

She cut him off, her smile fading as she leaned forward, her hands folding neatly on the table. “Exactly. After what happened last night, do you think I’ll sit idle?”

“Idle?” His brows furrowed, his own voice rising as frustration threatened to bubble over. “You call staying here, ensuring Ithaca doesn’t collapse in the face of whatever madness Hades is planning, idle? Protecting what we have built from families crying for reparations, idle?”

Her eyes narrowed, her poise unwavering. “I call it waiting for the gods to strike again. I call it letting fear dictate my actions. That is not the queen Ithaca needs. And it is certainly not the woman you married.”

His chest tightened. Damn her and her logic. Damn her and her strength. He had loved it since the moment he met her, but gods help him, it would be the death of him.

“I won’t allow it,” he said, his voice lowering to something rough, something raw. “I won’t risk you.”

Penelope stood then, slow and deliberate, the morning light framing her like the goddess she was. “You won’t allow it?” she repeated, her voice soft but edged with steel.

Odysseus opened his mouth to respond, but she rounded the table before he could form the words.

Her fingers brushed his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Odysseus,” she murmured, her tone gentler now, coaxing.

“I am not asking for your permission. I am telling you what I am going to do. We will face this together, husband. But if there’s even a chance that Helen knows something about the gods’ game, about this bargain Hades has struck with you, I must go. ”

Her thumb brushed his jaw, and he cursed the way her touch softened him, melted his resolve. “Let me fight for us, for Ithaca, the way you have fought for me.”

He exhaled sharply, the weight of her words settling like a boulder on his chest. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a reluctant smile.

“Funny,” she replied, her lips curving into something soft and triumphant, “I believe I can say the same for you, king.”

“Gods help me,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Very well. But I’m going with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

This battle was only just beginning.

“Penel-”

“Don’t ‘Penelope’ me, Odysseus. You have just returned from over a decade at sea,” she cut him off sharply, placing her hands on the table and leaning close to him. “You will stay here, and you will rest.”

“Wife,” He closed his eyes, drawing air in through his nose as he tried to steady his temper. “You truly believe I will sit here in my kingdom while you traverse the seas?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he held a hand up, giving her a moment’s pause. “Seas that swallowed you whole just last night?”

Her brows furrowed, the smallest crack in her armor appearing, but her stance didn’t waver. He took the moment anyway, drinking in the sight of her. Courageous. Wild. Unyielding.

Menelaus and Agamemnon’s jeers echoed faintly in his memory, mocking his choice. They’d pointed out other women - daughters of wealthier kings, women with larger dowries or softer temperaments. Prizes, they had called them.

They never understood. They never saw what he had seen in the Spartan princess. Her fire, her sharp wit, the way she matched him at every turn, even all those years ago. She wasn’t a prize. She was a storm, and storms didn’t yield.

Delight danced across his skin as he took in the sight of his wife. Brows knitted, arms crossed. The scowl on her face was enough to bring him to his knees. No other woman would have stood up to their king the way this woman did now.

It didn’t matter that he had just returned home, just reclaimed his throne. She was ready to challenge him, and gods - Odysseus couldn’t love her more if he tried.

Odysseus rose slowly, mimicking her earlier poise, though he knew it would pale in comparison. He stood taller, but it was her spirit that loomed. Her expression hardened the moment he moved closer, the evenness of her facade giving way to a scowl.

“Odysseus,” she started, her tone now a warning.

He grinned, roguish and deliberate, before moving swiftly. With an ease that made her gasp, he lifted her, setting her down onto the sturdy table between them. His hands lingered at her waist as he stepped between her legs, crowding into her space as only he was allowed.

“Penelope…” he murmured, his voice dropping low, coaxing, teasing. He tipped her chin upward with gentle fingers, forcing her eyes to meet his. Her sharp gaze cut at him, but pride swelled in his chest when he saw her breath hitch.

His eyes flicked to her mouth, the faintest curve of satisfaction tugging at his lips as her body betrayed her resolve. To know that even after everything - after years, after distance, after gods and trials - he could still undo her was a victory sweeter than any war he had ever won.

“You can’t charm me into submission, Odysseus,” she said, though her voice had lost some of its earlier venom.

“Charm you?” he echoed, leaning in closer, his lips barely brushing her ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it, queen.” His hand moved to cradle the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the delicate line of her jaw. “I’d only ever remind you… We make a better team when we are together.”

Her lips quirked upward, the faintest glimmer of amusement mingling with her stubborn resolve.

“You forget,” she whispered, her fingers grazing the collar of his tunic, toying with the fabric.

“I’ve grown old with memories of your silver tongue, husband.

I will not be easily tricked as the goddesses. ”

Odysseus chuckled, low and rich, the sound reverberating through the air between them. “Not a trick,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “A plea.”

Her brows lifted, and though her lips remained pressed in a line, her voice softened. “A plea?”

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice a bare whisper. “Let us fight this battle side by side, from the safety of our palace. Let me carry you as you have carried me.”

Penelope’s breath caught again, and for a moment, the air between them was charged with something that couldn’t be put into words. But the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed; it merely shifted, steadier and unyielding.

“You’ll come to Sparta,” she finally said, tilting her chin defiantly. “But don’t think for a moment I’ll let you carry this, Odysseus.” Her hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’ll only slow me down.”

The grin that split his face was dazzling, irreverent, and utterly disarming. “I wouldn’t dare.”

For all her strength, she let him pull her closer, let him steal another moment between the war and the weight of gods. His lips brushed hers, and though the battle wasn’t won, it didn’t matter.

“We’ll have to arrange our travel plans.” He whispered, kissing the curve of her jaw.

“I chartered a boat last night,” she replied, breathless. “Sent word to Helen while you were sleeping.”

“You’ve just taken care of everything, haven’t you, wife?” He laughed, nipping gently.

“No, not everything,” she pulled back from him, unease flushing her features as her smile faltered.

He frowned, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “What is it?”

“We’ll need to tell your son.”