Page 39 of Elysium

SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD FEEL IT in the way he avoided her gaze just a touch longer, in the way his hand lingered on hers before he pulled away, lost in his own thoughts.

She had convinced herself, with the newness of routine, it was simply the strain of what lie ahead, the unknown that was lurking in the corner.

It had been so long since they had just been . Penelope knew the looming threats of the underworld still hung over their heads, but there were things that were more… immediate.

There were whispers of a gathering, murmurs of an upset that someone was leading quietly. Whoever had been organizing did not want to be known.

Not yet.

She would find out. She had to.

But as she stole another glance at Odysseus across the room, the same thought gnawed at her… what was he was hiding from her?

“My queen,” he mused from the other side of the table, drawing her out of her thoughts, “If you stare at me much harder, I’m afraid you’ll wear holes in my tunic.” He set his glass down, tilting his head as he studied her. “What bothers you, heart?”

Penelope felt heat rising over her cheeks. She had been so caught up in her thoughts; she hadn’t realized she had been staring. “Apologies, my king,” she said, rising from her spot. Odysseus crooked a finger, beckoning her over.

While it did very little to mitigate the flush on her face, she stepped closer to him. Quickly, he snatched her off of her feet, pulling her into his chair with him. She swatted him on the arm halfheartedly, a smile already replacing the worry that had been etched on her brow.

“Very improper,” she said, trying to squirm out of his grip. His arm around her waist had no give. “What if your son walks through those doors?”

“Then he will know that he was born of a passionate affair between mother and father. Very few sons are so lucky.” He kissed her temple, turning her face to meet his gaze. “Now, wife, tell me what troubles you this morning.”

For a moment, she considered laying it all out in front of him, her fears, his distance, the worries that weighed on her soul. But his eyes sparkled in the morning sun, and she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t.

“I… I am worried about the hum of dissent that seems to echo around Ithaca,” she said finally, allowing herself to relax into his arms. He tucked her head underneath his chin, his hand stroking her arm.

“We will handle it, my queen. Whatever comes, whatever storms, we weather them together.” His voice was so sure, his words were so confident that she couldn’t help but believe him.

They could have sat there for hours, tangled up in each other, and Penelope wouldn’t have known. Time stopped when they were together. He encapsulated her so wholly that it was so easy to forget about the burdens she carried, the burdens she hid.

When the door to the room slammed open, it startled them both. “Mother, Father.” Telemachus panted from the opening. She was on her feet in an instant, rushing over to her son. With a hand on his cheek, she could feel the way he shook.

“What is it, my son?” Odysseus asked, stepping next to them. He settled a hand on Telemachus’ shoulder, the other on the small of Penelope’s back.

“Families, the suitor’s families,” he breathed, his eyes locked on Penelope’s. “They’re organizing in the courtyard.”

“Take us.” Her husband said, firm. Penelope didn’t miss the way his body went tense, or how the hand that had anchored her was now reaching for his sword. Her son’s eyes left hers, turning to face his father.

As Odysseus strapped his sword to his waist, the two men exchanged something, silently. She saw the way their heads jerked, eyes narrowing. The unease of being left out of that unspoken interaction set her on edge.

Penelope’s heartbeat was pounding in her ears by the time they reached the courtyard. A multitude of men, enraged and shouting, stood in their space, the room filled with a tension that threatened to boil over. Their faces were red, brandishing weapons as they bellowed over one another.

The king grabbed her arm, pulling her close. He dropped his mouth to her ear and muttered, “You stay near me, you don’t wander.” His words were exacting, not that she would have argued otherwise. His hand squeezed her arm gently, as if he was grounding himself.

Penelope took her free hand and put it over his, trying to hide the way she trembled. “By your side, highness.” She answered softly, swallowing her fear.

“The king!” A voice cried, and the room went silent. The mass of people turned to find them. Each of their faces carried utter loathing.

“Let him speak.” A second, solid voice rang out, stepping into the opening before them. Eupeithes. She would recognize him anywhere. He paid his son many a visit over the last decade, a son she would not soon forget. It was no wonder that Antinous was as vile as he was.

He always found a way to linger, a way to stay close to her. Eyes straying below her face, an arrogant grin plastered across his lips. “Oh queenie,” he drawled, gripping her chin in his hand.

His hold on her was tight, fingers digging into her skin. “Come on, Nel.” Her eyes were slits, doing little to keep the disdain off of her face. “Why don’t you show me that bed the old king was so proud of?”

“Our king deserves the chance to atone, does he not?” He addressed the crowd, holding his arms wide in a display of mock welcome.

Penelope clutched at Odysseus’ arm, praying he would know that the man before them was a wolf hidden in sheep’s clothing. A serpent hidden behind a smile. He did not bring peace, he did not bring opportunities.

Odysseus did not respond, did not move. He looked the man up and down, expression revealing nothing, saying nothing. “I’ve spoken with the prince, you know.” Eupeithes continued, inching forward towards where the crowned family stood.

Telemachus sputtered beside them, looking towards his parents. “Mother, I didn’t-”

“Now, boy,” the ringleader interrupted him, “Don’t go taking your words back now that your daddy’s home.” He smiled, and it was a frightening sight. He looked ready to strike. “Antinous always said you were a slippery thing, little king.”

His grip on her chin tightened impossibly, forcing her backwards. Her back hit a wall, and she bit back a nasty retort. With his free hand, he ran a finger down the length of her jaw. “Now, queen…” His words washed over like an ashen wave. Penelope repressed a shudder.

“Wouldn’t it be tragic if the little king got hurt, my lady?

” He was close enough that she could smell the wine that lingered on his breath.

“Just a kiss, Nel. I’m sure your mad king will understand.

” He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers.

Penelope tried to move, to refuse, but his grip on her chin was secure.

“If it means your little king is safe, Nel. It’s just a kiss… ”

“Your quarrel is with me,” Odysseus stepped forward, in front of where both his wife and his son stood. “Leave my son out of it.” She watched as his shoulders rose, the muscles in his back coiled, waiting. “Speak your grievance.”

“We’re just concerned, your grace,” the man continued to move closer to where Odysseus towered, defending his family. “You returned after so long, and then… you stole away with our queen? Where have you been?” Eupeithes turned his back on the king, facing the people now.

“Have we not already suffered enough, in your absence, king? Must Ithaca face your recklessness again?” There were several shouts of agreement from the surrounding masses. “Must you corrupt our queen, too?”

His words hung in the air, a shroud covering the room. Penelope’s breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her teeth, refusing to move. Her king stood, still as stone. “First, you kill our sons, our legacies , and now you claim our queen?”

Her head spun. Eupeithes was close now. How had he gotten so close?

Odysseus still stood between them, still guarding.

But he was a bow, strung tight. He would snap.

Caught between the here and now, and the way her memories lingered, she wavered, reaching for him, needing to feel his skin underneath hers.

Eupeithes took the moment, her weakness, and acted. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards him. “I wonder what our queen has to say?” He said, his mouth close to her ear. “I wonder if she’s as warm as Antinous claimed she was.”

Penelope’s heart stopped. His hands were on her, she could feel his breath on her throat. She had taught herself how to swallow her terrors whole, but something about his touch, his sneers, caused panic to rise in her throat.

She was back in that room.

Her breathing hitched

With men that never asked.

Hands trembling at her side.

Before Odysseus returned.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

With hands that only took.

His lips claimed hers with a hunger, a possession that caused her to gasp against his kiss. Her fingers curled tight at her side, willing herself still, willing herself compliant.

Antinous stepped closer still, caging her. The hand that had traced her jaw now came down roughly on her breast, kneading her beneath his touch. “So soft,” he growled into her mouth, “so sweet for me, Queen.”

She heard the sound before she could register what had happened. Odysseus’ fist connected with Eupeithes’ nose, causing him to stumble, releasing her. With his other hand, her king clutched at her, holding her infallibly at his side.

The silence that overtook the room was staggering. No one moved, no one dared breathe.

His eyes scanned her face rapidly, his shoulders rising in tune with the race of her heart. Odysseus gripped her chin between his fingers. She wrapped both hands around his wrist, holding fast to the solace his touch brought her.

Penelope inhaled sharply as his actions mirrored memory. Even paralleled, she would know his touch anywhere, would recognize the safety of him in any life.

He moved his hand to cradle her face in his hand, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. No words were exchanged, there was nothing that needed to be said. He closed his eyes. She could feel the tension rolling off of him. She forced back a sob, forced back the memories of his hands, his lips.

Odysseus, after a beat of silence, of searching, turned his back to the gathering of people. Offering his queen his arm, they took a step to leave.

Eupeithes gargled a laugh, a sound that would forever haunt Penelope.

Looking over her shoulder, she watched him spit blood onto their floor.

“Antinous told me what she was like, old king.” He taunted, tunic bloodied.

“How she shuddered when he touched her, how sweetly she would gasp for him in the dark.”

Penelope couldn’t see. Her vision was flooded with tears almost instantly. Her stomach threatened to upturn.

His lips left hers, trailing downward. Penelope shut her eyes, praying for this moment to end. Antinous laughed against her pulse, groaning. “Gods, Nel.” He rasped, moving quickly.

He grabbed her face roughly in his large hand, forcing her to look at him. She would not cry, she would not break. “You will be mine, queen. Mark my words” His lips crashed down on hers again, briefly. “I’d hate for the little king to suffer… should you refuse.”

He released his grip on her chin, shoving her face to the side. “Don’t miss me too much, Nel. I won’t be far.”

“You should thank him, old king.” He mocked, bowing low. Blood continued to spill from his nose. “He kept your bed warm while you were awa-”

Eupeithes didn’t stand a chance. The king’s blade was buried deep in his stomach before he finished his sentence.

Her pulse fluttered quickly in her throat. She hadn’t even seen the king move. He stood over Eupeithes as he gasped for breath, clutching at his wound.

The world did not move.

Not the men in the courtyard. Not the breath in Penelope’s lungs.

Not even the gods.

Eupeithes’ lips parted, but only blood spilled forth. His knees hit the earth, but no one moved to catch him. His fingers scrabbled against the stone, but there was nothing to hold on to.

Nothing to save him.

Her husband, her mad, impossible husband, had freed her again. Even in the wake of a man’s death, she found herself falling into him, into the endless safety he offered.

Penelope took a beat, two, before drawing in air. She looked to her husband, whose eyes had locked onto hers. “I spent twenty years ruling in my husband’s stead. Tell me, Ithacans,” she turned to face the surrounding men, “have you forgotten that?”

She looked down her nose to the man that laid before them, blood staining her courtyard floor. “You’re lucky, Eupeithes.” She turned her back to the men, brushing her hands on her tunic. “You’re lucky my husband got to you first.”

She did not turn, did not face the collection of families that stood behind her. “Remember this,” she said, voice ringing through the stone halls. “Remember it when you wake. Remember it when you dream.”

Then, and only then, did she pivot, facing the men that had jeered at her family just moments before. “Your king and I are bound by more than rings and vows, Ithacans.” She let the silence stretch, let the weight of her words settle like ash after a fire.

“Pray the gods never test us again. There is nothing I will not do for my king, for my son.”