Page 8 of Elysium
IN ANOTHER LIFE, PERHAPS, Penelope would be a wife that threw parties and celebrations for each small occasion. In that life, she suspected, she wasn’t nearly as happy as she had been with Odysseus all those years ago.
The people of Ithaca had been more than willing and excited to host a celebration for the return of their king, of the reunification of Ithaca. He had been a hero even before stepping back onto their soil.
Men and women both had been singing tales of Odysseus the Brave, weaving tales of the feats of the cunning warrior and his ability to outwit even the smartest of gods and armies.
And now that man was home, and they had reason to sing once more.
The music surrounding them thrummed over her skin, the warm evening air settling over the courtyard like a gentle, familiar blanket.
Penelope was never one for a revel, preferring the quiet of night and the captivation of a good conversation. But what kind of wife and queen would she be to avoid the party being held for Odysseus?
And he deserved a festival, deserved the praise and adoration that he had received since returning home. Not just for being the hero of the Trojan War, but for saving his people for the continuous onslaught and destruction that the suitors brought to his walls.
She needed him like water, ached for the woman she used to be by his side.
He had been the strength to her weakness, the breath in her lungs.
And yet… she felt inferior tonight, watching him throw his head back in laughter with old friends.
She knew he was the face of Ithaca, the reason men traveled from far and wide - people were drawn to him, like moths to a flame.
She had fallen victim to the same charms all those years ago.
A bright young man with a mischievous glint in his eye.
She had known he was trouble the moment she overheard him arguing and bartering with her cousin’s father.
His reckless confidence was impossible to resist. Even though she had learned to be cautious, even she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking out to meet him.
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He was grinning before she could even fully make him out against the gentle lap of the ocean waves. He knew she would come, she could see it in his eyes. There was never a doubt in his mind.
“Oh daughter of Icarius, what a lucky man I am for you to spend your evening here with me.” His voice carried confidently across the sand, his auburn hair illuminated in the moonlight. He bowed, arms outstretched, as she approached. The young king’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched her.
She almost turned around, leaving him alone on the sand.
Forcing herself not to roll her eyes, she continued, watching as he drew nearer to her.
“May I call you Penelope?” He asked, his throat tightening with an unspoken emotion as he swallowed.
Perhaps the King of Ithaca wasn’t as confident as he led others to believe.
“Most people tend to.” She responded, forgoing all practicum and manners. The man in front of her was a king. He was several years her senior and held a power she had never even dreamed of.
“Ah, the princess has a bite to her,” Odysseus laughed, throwing his head back. Penelope watched, eyes wide. She had never seen such an outward display. Her mother and father kept their emotions, even their joys, tightly wound.
This time, she couldn’t stop the scoff that came out of her mouth.
“If this is your idea of flattery, it won’t get you very far, king of Ithaca.
” She told the man before her, “Suitors have brought horses, goats, gems, and treasures from far and wide. Helen will never pick a man with your unruly mouth.”
“And what if I told you I have no interest in Helen?”
“Great waste of your time then, isn’t it?” Though her heart skipped a beat. Surely she was being fanciful. Penelope was plain, an ordinary woman. Men tripped over themselves for women like Helen. Her father made many mentions of how her dowry would have to be very large in order to sell her off.
“No, no, I don’t think so.” His head was cocked as he took another step towards her. Her breath caught in her throat, chin tilting up to keep eye contact. He took yet another step, this one slower, leaving a question unasked in the air around them.
Her next words were tentative, a little breathless.
“You surely made an impression on my uncle.” She managed to get out around the ball of anticipation in her throat.
“Your… protection oath for Helen has been all but put into ink.” She searched his face, trying to find any clue to what he was thinking.
“I’d like to go back to when you were talking about my mouth,” Odysseus replied, his voice dripping with a teasing warmth. “Politics has no place in this midnight rendezvous.”
“Your grace,” she spluttered, inhaling sharply through her nose. “This is highly inappropriate.” Her mind reeled at his closeness, the smell of him surrounding her.
“Is it? Or are you just finding it difficult to focus with me so close?” Odysseus’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, his gaze darkening ever so slightly.
She didn’t miss the way his voice had dropped to a whisper, or how he moved even closer still. “Is this…” She searched for her footing. She had never found her skin so charged, never felt so… exposed.
“Is this how you charm all the Spartan women?” She asked, fighting to keep her voice steady. Her father would call her reckless. Odysseus leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. “With riddles and a roguish grin?”
“Only the ones that aren’t easily swayed by goats and gems.” He responded quickly, grin stretching.
Penelope’s head was spinning in this game of wits she had found herself in.
“Helen can have her treasures. I’d take a sharp tongue and a sharper mind any day.
” His eyes bore into hers, charged with emotion.
Her eyes darted to his lips as they parted slightly, and he exhaled as he studied her. Blush crept up her neck, and her heart fluttered under his intense gaze. “You’re staring,” she whispered, begging him to look away. She was caught in his eyes.
“I know.” His voice softened. “I’ve wanted to do this since I laid my eyes on you.” He muttered, moving all at once. His hands found her waist, the fabric of her dress twisting beneath his fingers. He pulled her in, and his lips brushed hers, setting fire to the breath in her lungs.
Penelope froze underneath his touch. It defied all sense, but this felt more real than anything she had ever touched. Her hands unfurled from fists and found his wide shoulders, broad and steady, and she let herself pull him closer.
She held him there, or maybe he held her.
It was impossible to tell as time stood still on that beach.
His lips moved expertly against her mouth, easily taking the lead.
She melted against him, her breath hitching as his lips claimed hers.
His hands steadied her, as though anchoring them both in a moment they could no longer escape.
When she finally pulled away, a roguish grin was plastered on the king’s face. It felt impossible, but she felt her face flush even deeper than before. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, attempting to pull out of his embrace. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Odysseus laughed again. She felt his entire being shake with mirth. “You will be mine, Penelope of Sparta.” He looked at her, features filled with determination. “Penelope…” He whispered her name, a vow and a promise. His hand cradled her cheek as though holding the entire world in his palm.