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Poseidon

I want nothing more than to sit on this kitchen floor all day, Icarus’s shoulder pressed to mine and his now-steady breathing centering me. Being Poseidon has never been easy, but it feels like the walls are closing in now more than ever. There’re no right moves, only wrong and worse. I don’t have any answers, and I don’t know the right questions to ask to find them. In short, I’m fucked.

But there are too many people depending on me. I can’t afford to sink into depression and hopelessness. I have to move . I’ve already wasted too much time. I heft myself to my feet and give my body a good shake. “Come on.”

Icarus stares up at me and I have a hard time understanding what I see in his dark-brown eyes. It’s not fear, not horror, but there’s something I can’t quite define. Finally, he accepts my hand and allows me to carefully lift him to his feet. “Where?”

If I were smart, I would send him back to his room and lock him in for safety. I would set someone I trust as guard at his door to ensure no one gets any ideas similar to Polyphemus’s. But the thought of letting him out of my sight makes my chest hurt. “We’re going to the shipyard. I have to meet with my people. We might not be officially at war, but we’re still the first line of defense.”

Icarus straightens his shirt, his expression concerned. “Before, you agreed to go along with Hera’s plan to deal with Circe.”

“Yes.”

“But now you’re going to…what? Double-cross her? Poseidon, that’s suicide.” He follows me out of the kitchen, so close that he’s nearly stepping on my heels. “What the fuck do you think you’re going to do? Circe has an actual navy out there. It’s a small one, but still more than you have.”

That’s just another question I don’t have an answer to. The people under my command are sailors—at least some of them. But there’s a wide gap between knowing how to navigate a ship and knowing how to use one in a fight. We’re not a navy, and I’m sure as fuck not a naval general. I can do my best to prepare them, do my damnedest to ensure we’re ready as the front lines to protect the city, but in my heart of hearts, I’m certain I’m going to get every single one of them killed. For nothing.

Circe will still invade before the Thirteen can get their shit together and vote on war and unification. Even more people will still die. We just won’t be around to witness it because we’ll be the first people she cuts down. Even if Hera manages to work out some kind of deal, it won’t extend to me and mine. That’s just how she operates, and I have a feeling that’s how Circe does, too. Hera’s priority is her family. I don’t hold it against her, but it’s so fucking shortsighted I want to scream my frustration. Now Hermes is in the mix, no longer to play court jester, revealing just how dangerous she’s been all along.

We’re too fragmented, everyone looking out for their own interests. We don’t stand a chance. Maybe we never did.

I open the front door and step aside so Icarus can follow me out. I don’t realize that I haven’t answered him verbally until he wraps his hand around my bicep. He tries to tug me to a stop. I’m distantly aware that I could just keep dragging him down the street, but I allow him to halt me.

“I mean it, Poseidon. Maybe it would be better if you made your own deal with Circe. If your people stood down, she’d spare them.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

He looks like he wants to do just that, but huffs out a breath instead. “Okay, she’d probably spare them.”

I rotate to look at him. For once, there’s no apparent lie on his face, just a worry that makes my chest twinge in response. Or maybe he’s a better liar than I realized… “Are you that worried about me? You hate me.”

“Oh, that.” He waves it away as if our being enemies is something to discard so easily. “You’re not altogether terrible, but if it’ll make you feel better, call it selfish interest. Circe holds no love for me, not after my father and family failed her so spectacularly, and I intend to use my blackmail material to remove some of her. Maybe if she’s rushing past us, she won’t stop to cut me down in the process.”

The words are correct, at least for the playboy spoiled brat that Icarus has portrayed since arriving in Olympus. And yet…I don’t believe him. He wasn’t speaking out of self-interest. He was worried about me . I don’t know how to feel about it, so I push the sensation kindling in my chest aside. “Even if I were willing to do something so dishonorable, if Circe is as smart as you say—and she’s shown every evidence of being exactly that smart—she would agree to my deal and then double-cross me the moment she made landfall. To do anything else would be to leave a potential dagger at her back.”

Even if she would take the deal, I…can’t. Throwing all of the city to the wolves in order to save myself and the small group of people I’m personally responsible for feels wrong. Damn it. Not for the first time, I acknowledge that ignoring my inner moral compass would’ve allowed me to go much further in Olympus. But it’s not who I am. It will never be who I am.

“Well…yes. Her immediately murdering you and everyone under you is definitely a possibility, even if you make a deal.” Icarus sighs and drops his hand. I try very hard not to miss the contact of his fingers digging into my muscle. He sighs again. “We’re fucked.”

“Not yet.” Even if I privately agree with him, I refuse to do so verbally. It feels too much like giving in. My people are depending on me. Hope is already a nebulous thing, and giving it up without a fight means our deaths are a certainty instead of a probability.

Apparently I can lie when my moral compass calls for it.

I lead the way to my SUV and hold the door open for him. He raises his brows but for once makes no comment. He hauls himself up into the passenger seat. As I circle around the front of the vehicle to the driver’s side, it strikes me that so much has changed in forty-eight hours. I can’t allow myself to think about what happened in the bedroom, both the pleasure and the release of the pressure that seems to follow me around every moment of every day. Ever since I was forced into the title of Poseidon, I’ve had the weight of my corner of the world on my shoulders. There’s no one to share that burden with, and even if there were, my people depend on me . I’m the one who bears the title. Not someone else.

It never occurred to me that I might find something resembling a safe space with a partner. My past lovers have been about lust, no small amount of loneliness, and occasionally desperation—but never whatever this is. They all cared for me in their own way, the same way I cared for them, but I never felt cared for . Not in the way I did last night with Icarus.

I never should have put him in that position. He’s depending on me for his very survival, and I abused that power. I grip the steering wheel and stare out the windshield, guilt lashing me. “I’m sorry.”

Icarus is far too clever by half. He twists to face me and pokes my shoulder. “No, we’re not going to do that. The paladin act is very adorable but not when you use it on me.”

“It’s not an act.” Sometimes I wish it were. It would be nice to discard it when the pressure gets to be too much.

“Yes, I’m aware.” He pokes me again. “If I had told you to leave the bedroom the moment you walked in, what would you have done?”

I manage to tear my attention from the horizon to look at him. Fuck, he’s beautiful—and furious, his perfect brows drawn together and his eyes intense. I clear my throat. “What kind of question is that? I would’ve left. To do anything else—”

“Exactly.” He pokes me a third time. “So unless you want me to apologize for taking advantage of you when you were in a vulnerable emotional position…”

I shake my head sharply. “No.”

“Perfect. Then let’s stop this bullshit about apologizing for something neither one of us regrets and go deal with the siege Circe is laying on the city. Then we can figure out what Hermes is actually planning and deal with that, too.” He shifts his touch against my shoulder, gripping it, his fingers digging into my muscle once more, but this time with a specific intention.

I stare at him, unable to look away. How can he rivet me with just a single touch, a slight shift of tone? I don’t understand it and yet I respond to it instinctively.

Icarus smiles slowly. “And then, once all the boring and tedious responsibilities are taken care of, we can come back here and I’ll take you to bed properly.”

Take me to bed properly. I’m both terrified and elated to discover what that means. Last night rocked my world off its axis. Another night like that and I might not recognize myself in the morning. Impossible to say if that’s something I should dread or welcome with open arms.

I put the vehicle into gear and drive toward the shipyard. By the time we arrive, I still don’t have an answer to how I feel about his offer. Or rather, how I think I should feel. The truth is that I want nothing more than to turn the SUV around and haul him back to the house to have the promise of his words fulfilled. But that’s unacceptable. I have responsibilities. Not to mention, if we’re about to be at war—are already at war, no matter what the ridiculous vote says—then there’s no telling if I’ll actually make it home tonight at all.

Orion meets us at the shipyard headquarters, waiting for us the moment I step out of the car. They look as tired as I feel, the lines bracketing their mouth deeper than normal. “No updates.” They turn smoothly to fall into step next to me and Icarus as we head toward the stairway leading up to my office. “Aside from the meeting you had last night, there’s been no movement from any of the ships.” They don’t ask me for details, which is just as well. I still don’t know what to say about it.

If Circe decides to take Hera’s offer, I don’t know that I can stop her. I might not even know she’s accepted it until I’m up to my neck in blood. The thought leaves me cold. I never should have taken her out there. I never should have let her have access to Icarus and, by extension, Circe’s phone number. Fuck.

Normally I’m at my office for several hours every day, but there hasn’t been a normal day in far too long. It looks much the same as when I left it a few days ago, sparse and utilitarian and matching my needs perfectly. The desk is large and sturdy, the chair equally so, the computer old but serviceable. The wall behind where I sit holds a paper calendar with various shipping schedules marked in carefully color-coded highlighter. The only real decorations I have are a few prints of Olympus’s rocky shorelines by a photographer I’ve liked since I was a kid.

It’s the polar opposite in almost every way to my uncle’s house. I can’t help glancing at Icarus, searching his handsome features for his reaction to this space that is more mine than anything else he’s seen so far. He studies everything with open curiosity. I look away before disappointment can filter across his handsome face.

“Have any ships been able to get through?” I ask, determined to focus on the problem before us and not Icarus.

“No.”

Damn. That’s what I was afraid of. Thanks to myself and Demeter, it will take some time before Olympus’s citizens feel the pinch of the blockade, but it will happen—and sooner than I’d like. I drop into my seat and slowly tap my finger against my thigh as I try to sync my breath with the contact. I don’t know what to do. I’m not equipped for this. Other than keeping watch…

I glance at Icarus, but while Orion might be more open-minded than Polyphemus, surely they would draw the line at me asking a known enemy for advice. Better to save any questions for when we’re alone.

Icarus sits on one of two chairs across from my desk and crosses one leg over the other. He glances at me and then appears to give Orion his full attention. “Do you have the ship names?”

Orion waits for me to nod before they answer. “The Swine , the Scylla , the Canens , the Moly , and…the Penelope .”

I jolt. “Did you say the Penelope ?”

“Yes.” Orion nods their head. “It’s the flagship, the one Circe returned to after meeting with you.”

Penelope is a common enough name in Olympus, but there’s something there, something tickling the back of my brain, a memory I can’t quite place…

“That’s new,” Icarus murmurs, distracting me. He twists to face me, and I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Do you remember how I told you that I have information on a number of people in Circe’s inner circle?”

“Yes.”

“Four out of five of the ships belong to those people. If I’m able to divert them from supporting her, you’ll have significantly better chances.”

None of my ships are warships. There must have been a time when Olympus didn’t have the barrier because there are old cannons in some of the towers that bracket the bay. They’re coated with rust and ancient enough that I have no idea how they work outside of theory. Even so, our odds are better if we have only a single ship to face. We could load up one of the smaller boats with explosives and ram her. I’d prefer not to do something like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Even if we didn’t attack the Penelope directly, we could run the blockade and get ships in and out. Probably not without losses, but some would manage it.

I glance at Orion, who’s absolutely stoic in the face of this prospective plan. Even so, I’ve worked with them long enough to know they don’t trust Icarus. They have no reason to. I’m not sure I do, but I can’t afford to pass up any possible edge. “Have our people continue their watches. If any of the ships move, I want to know about it. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do.”

They open their mouth, seem to think better of whatever they were about to say, and nod shortly. “Consider it done.” Orion hurries out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.

I lean forward and brace my elbows on my knees. Part of me can’t believe I’m doing this, attempting this, trusting him . I finally say, “That blackmail information you have must be particularly damning if Circe’s generals would consider leaving her at this moment.”

“Oh, it is.” Icarus smiles slowly. “I just need a way to contact them.”

Surely you don’t trust this man after a couple days in his presence and one outstanding orgasm? Surely you’re not that much of a fool.

The voice might be my uncle’s, but it strikes right to the very heart of me. I was never particularly good at Olympian games, and that’s even truer since becoming Poseidon. In those first few years, I was outmanipulated by the rest of the Thirteen and those around them over and over again—until I stopped playing the game entirely. That’s the only way I could if not win, then at least minimize losing. “They’re not going to turn on her based on your say-so.”

His smile dims. “No, they won’t. Which is why I have plenty of evidence to support my information.”

Betting the entirety of Olympus on Icarus’s word is a terrible idea. I can’t do it. “I’ll think about it.”

His smile vanishes completely, and my chest aches at being the cause of it. It’s on the tip of my tongue to take my words back and tell him that I do trust him, that I’ll get him a computer and whatever else he needs, but he speaks before I have a chance to walk back my words. “Sure, Poseidon. Whatever you need.”