Page 32 of Elysium

AFTER RETIRING TO THEIR ROOM for the evening, Penelope couldn’t keep her mind from racing.

She stood in front of a large mirror, unbraiding her hair mindlessly…

The evening replayed in her head over and over again.

Each word exchanged between her cousin and her husband.

Each touch from Odysseus and how she was viewing them through this lens Helen had planted in her mind.

Odysseus exited the bathing chamber, the olive skin of his bare chest glowing in the candlelight.

Penelope offered him a half-hearted smile, running a brush through her hair.

He approached her, running his calloused hands down her arms. “Jealousy doesn’t suit the queen, does it?

” He said with a smirk, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“Mmm,” she responded, continuing to work the brush through her tangled locks.

“Whatever is in your head, wife, say it.” He looked at her reflection in the mirror, eyes gentle. His voice dropped, hands stilling on her arms as he waited.

“Do you love me, Odysseus? Or do you claim me?” The words are out before she can stop them, no matter how she might want to swallow them back.

And yet, he laughed, a mischievous grin returning to his face. “Is that what troubles you, heart?”

Finally, she met his eyes in the mirror, setting the brush down on the vanity beside where they stood. “You didn’t answer my question.”

The king sobered in an instant, turning her to face him directly. Penelope took no pride in the way his face fell, or how his breathing had become shallow. She could not let this fester between them. Not when they had already come so far.

But… She had to know.

“You are my wife. My queen. You are the mother of my son. I have fought, bled, and suffered for over twenty years to return to your side.” His words were firm, exacting. “Tell me, Penelope, does that sound like a claim? Or love?”

She sidestepped, removing herself from his grip. “You made a spectacle of us. Of me.”

“A spectacle? Penelope, you cannot truly believe the things you are saying.” He countered. She knew him well enough to know that he was edging on frustration. “How can you doubt me?” His voice was softer, perhaps hurt.

She eliminated the space between them with a few steps. Turning her head upwards, she met his gaze with a fire in her eyes. “If it were just us. If there were no thrones, no gods, no history,” her voice faltered, she felt tears threatening to spill. “Would you still love me like this?”

Odysseus didn’t answer, not for an eternity. He searched her eyes, looking for a deeper truth, for her soul at this moment. “Have you forgotten the vows I laid bare before you and our olive tree, wife?”

Penelope held her ground, refusing to shy away from his severe scrutiny. “There is no world where I do not love you, Penelope. It does not exist.” He responded finally, nostrils flaring as he did.

Her breath caught, frozen in his sights. She felt suffocated. But it wasn’t enough. “Would you have fought for me if they had taken me to Troy?” Her words were pointed, sharp, as they cut through the air between them.

“Penelope…” He let out an astounded laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “You think I wouldn’t?”

She didn’t answer, she didn't know how. After one evening in Sparta, she felt like her entire being had been misaligned. Nothing was right. Her heart was racing in her chest, silently begging for relief, release.

She blinked once, and his hands were on her, cradling her face in his hands. “I would have slaughtered the men that touched you before the sun rose.

“I would have razed Troy to the ground with my bare hands.

“Penelope, I would have burned the world .”

She was crying now. She could feel the tears dampen her cheeks. But he did not let go, did not release his hold on her. “Would it have taken you twenty years?” She whispered, barely audible over the crackle of the fire, over their combined breaths.

“I would have killed them in their beds before the moon set.”

Her hands, trembling, came up to grab his wrists, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin. His heartbeat, wild and uneven, matched her own. “Odysseus…” she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

"Don’t you dare-" He cut himself off, dragging in a sharp breath. His hands tightened ever so slightly, his eyes burning into hers, searching for something, anything.

“Don’t you dare question my love for you, Penelope.

” His voice was low, dangerous. She clung to him now, frame shaking.

“I claim you, wife, because you are my equal. You are everything I could never be. You are not my prize. You are my soul , Penelope.” Her breath came in sobs now.

She was struggling to see his face through her tears.

“And I will not hide my love for you from the world.”

They collided like a storm built up over hours, days, years , of unspoken and unheard pain. A sob left her lips, but Odysseus swallowed it whole, his mouth crashing down on hers like a wave breaking against the cliffs.

His grip never wavered, holding her steady, anchoring her, like he had been waiting his whole life just to pull her back to him. The kiss was unyielding. He was her rock, never faltering. He steadied her, grounded her.

Without breaking apart from her, his hands moved from her face, one arm circling her waist and securing her against him, and the other grasping the back of her neck, tilting her face upwards.

Penelope wrapped both of her arms around his neck, clinging to the man in front of her for dear life.

He pulled back, only slightly. “We will never doubt this again.” He muttered.

Penelope didn’t answer, not with words. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his grip bruised against her hips. They were lost to it now, to the storm, to the fire, to years of waiting.

“No thrones,” she murmured against his lips. “No gods.”

“No history,” he finished for her. And then he silenced whatever came next the only way they knew how.

By claiming his wife.