alice

So this is how a dancer lives. Full of golden jewels and bells. To be able to do what they do, I should get drunk on wine. I should make myself forget for whom I am about to dance. I know I do it for him, for his mother, for those who sheltered me, but it still overwhelms me.

With those thoughts, I had left my chambers after the maids took care of me, of my dress. Of the bells that rang now every time I stepped. I know I promised them I would help with the entertainment part of the night. But now, there were more men than I could have thought. Tonight, some envoys, who wanted to strengthen the alliance, came. It didn’t matter who came; it mattered that they were always welcomed and put to dine with the royal family, and I, well, I was supposed to entertain them while others discussed military and trade agreements. The queen said I could improvise.

Before they announced me, before I stepped in front, ready to do what they asked, I prayed: to Apollo, to give me his fire to burn with it as I dance on his songs, to Aphrodite to give me her blessing so I can charm people like I was taught, and to Athena to help me keep my mind when they try to get everything else from me.

It was everything I could do in that moment, so I would not lose myself. When I stepped into the big hall, I could feel the eyes, the curious and lustful ones. I could hear whispers, and while the musicians still sang for them, in my head was pure agony. In the room, the music spilled like wine, it felt like an escape for me and paradise for others. I tried not to look at them, at him. But their eyes burned on my skin, like they tried to figure out my shape under the silk.

Before starting my performance, I went to them—to the queen and the prince, who stood separately along with the envoy at a table across the great hall. My eyes lingered where they shouldn’t, or on whom, right before my bow in front of them. But I couldn’t keep it for myself—all that fire, all the fear and tension which travelled through my body. When I raised my head, my eyes met his, just for a second, but that second was enough to see the wander in that gaze. It was enough for my eyes to see how his brows were knitted together, like something displeased him.

Before I began to dance, I took a deep breath, hearing my heart louder than the music. Let them look at me, I told myself. Let him watch.

I used my body, my voice, everything I had. The bells on my ankle rang to the rhythm that the musicians prepared for me. The silk twisted on my legs, swiftly, like water tried to learn the curve of my thighs. I sang about lands across the sea, about kings who sailed to come home, about heroes who mourned their lost ones, and then about love, about the poison with a taste of honey. Everyone loved to hear the stories of gods and heroes, some for the bloodshed, some for the epic journey with a happy ending. And I knew that the queen’s plan was working. They would always fall for this. They would always look at a beautiful thing and do anything to reach it; they would make me twirl on their pinky finger until my feet ached, but this time, I would play them.

In the midst of music, I could hear the kylikes, the wine spilling, the whispers, the laughs, but at least the queen had time to discuss the important matters, even though I could swear that the one who had to be a diplomat was too drawn to her, and not as a queen.

I already knew that some of them would come eagerly for me, that they would come to touch what was not theirs. So I played with them, I smiled, I sang for them. I whispered sweet words, my fingers lingered on their necks, but gods, how much I hated it. My smile meant nothing. I wanted to get out of their touch, to run, to find my light in this crowd. But then, one dared to keep his hand longer on my waist and lean closer to me, like he had the right to that.

“Nightingale… what else can you sing on your knees?”

A whisper, one that made my skin crawl. But my smile didn’t falter. I was luring them into my game. I just took the man’s hand from my waist and got away from him. A twirl and another man thought he could get me, but I didn’t let him touch me. He had, however, enough time to graze the edge of my himation.

From the corner of my eye, I saw it—a seat, empty. His seat.

I searched for him in that crowd, in those glares, but it was like he vanished. The kylix he once held had no more wine. I don’t know why, but at that moment, what I felt was something between rage and betrayal. He left me alone; he left me to drown in my own misery.

Or maybe he had to talk with the envoy, with some guests. He was a prince after all. And he had no obligation to stay with me; he was nothing but a fleeting dream for me. But I couldn’t help but feel more astray.

The music stopped, just as I did. I could feel the beads of sweat going down my spine, my neck, while my breath was heavier. I stopped looking for him, I made a reverence, a thank you to the public, to the queen who prepared these beautiful clothes for me, to my body that carried me here.

The queen smiled softly at me. She knew the hardships of being a woman, of being watched and desired, but never in the way you had  wanted. She knew that her plan worked, and her eyes showed gratitude for my help. But I was tired, I was disappointed. Every word I sang, every move I made was for only one person, and that person left. Left me searching for him, but now, my mind was a haze.

I followed the maid who came to guide me to a table, one where I was alone, so I could enjoy my peace for a while, until the guests would ask me again to dance. I was given wine and olives, and I couldn’t be more grateful for them. I poured the wine down my neck way too fast, way too eager, like it could ease the aching in my back and feet.

I enjoyed my little moment of peace, even though it didn’t last long enough for the wine to fill up the void in my heart. Someone already came for me, an envoy, at least he looked like one by his clothes. I felt like he was about to devour me with his eyes.

“Lady, I’ve grown quite curious about your talents. You seem to be favoured by Apollo, by the way your voice sounds and your body moves. Care for a dance? I would love to hear more about you,” he said, with a voice too smooth to be sincere.

He was young, not ugly, but too smug for his own good. His gestures were trained, practised, made only for performance. I was taken aback by his smile, not one that would shake my world, but one that would make some maidens fall for it. However, I was already far too deep to refuse him and too infatuated with a prince to fall for his flattery.

“Of course…” an answer which lingered way too long between us.

I took his hand and let him lead the way. The musicians started playing again, some song from a faraway land, one I had heard only when someone was visiting us. Our palms pressed together and we joined the dance as the rest of the people. I thought these would be all the steps we did, the ones practised for every noble blood, made with dignity and a proper distance. But at the next beat, his hand found my waist, placed way too low, and then he moved, slowly, deliberately. Some just watched, others took whoever they had near and dragged them to a dance. But I couldn’t ignore how his grip was getting tighter, how he let his pride mistake permission with desire.

“So… Tell me. Where are you from? I’ve seen enough people in my life to see the difference between the natives and guests. Your dance is not something I saw last time when I visited Ithaca.”

I was caught by surprise. But he seemed like a man who studied too much someone’s appearance and movement.

“I am from an isle in the east. I was brought here as a gift for the king after the war. I was taught to dance for them,” a lie, a big lie. If he were to ask a maid how I ended up here, they would tell him that I was brought here by the sea, that I ended up finding a home through strangers. I was no gift, but someone who needed a new start. And now, this was the payment for the shelter I was given.

It seemed my answer intrigued him even more, and because I mentioned being just a gift for the king he became bolder, like I was only an object he could play with. I had no noble blood, just a lyre and a silk that wrapped my body.

I can’t remember the last thing he said to me after that. My eyes were no longer on him, my thoughts had left the conversation the second he started spitting nonsense about the night and this dance. I was just following his steps, I was doing whatever he wanted, while I peered over his shoulder at the shadowed figure behind the column. That stance. The piercing glance at me, like I were the one who did something wrong, when he was the one who left. I furrowed when I was sure he could see me. He was sipping from another kylix brought by a young boy, talking with a man, probably another envoy.

I took a glimpse at his lips, now red from the wine, at his tightened jaw, before I turned my head towards the diplomat who kept me in his arms, the one whose hand went up my back, way too far, enough for him to remind me that I was here to entertain him, not to dream about a boy. I was stiff; I couldn’t keep myself together, and I wanted to back away the second his breath touched my neck.

My body was tense, the hand that I had on the man’s shoulder tried to keep him away from me, but the feeling of impeding doom was making me stress more than I should, until…

“Apologies,” a voice, soft spoken, one that I knew too well. “But it seems the lady has forgotten her promise.”

I blinked. The diplomat blinked. Only the prince knew what he was talking about in that moment.

“Ithacan custom,” such a smooth response, such a lie. “No important festivity ends without a dance with a royal member and her. Family tradition. Father said we should cherish the gifts brought by our friends. An omen of peace, I believe.”

If I weren’t in such a position, my mouth would be hanging open in surprise. What a liar. But gods, how much I wanted to kiss that mouth of his.

The one who had me for half of the dance finally let go—not without a grumble for himself and a muttered, “Of course. Forgive my mistake.” A bow before the prince, and he slipped away, leaving me with this, this son of a… of a sweet woman.

I sighed and took his hand in mine. You want to play dirty? Fine.

“Please, enlighten me, prince of Ithaca, what custom your family has I didn’t know about? And what gift should you cherish?” My voice was not soft and sweet like before, but ready to throw daggers at him the second he tried to tell me another lie.

He showed me one of his smiles, the one that swept me off my feet in a second. His hand reached my waist, slowly, done that way to make me crave more.

“Don’t think I didn’t see it," he whispered, voice thick with wine and something I couldn’t describe yet. “That you wanted me to come save you.”

His eyes flicked to my mouth, just briefly. I hated that it made my knees weak.

The dance started, with him guiding me, with him still smiling at me and looking like he hadn’t just left moments ago. I was pretty sure I could taste the wine on his lips if I leaned close enough.

“You left.” I stopped, my breath catching. “In the middle of it. You watched and walked away.”

His fingers paused, his eyes narrowed, but his legs still moved to the rhythm of the music. The warmth of his palm stilled on my skin, but his touch felt unsure. He didn’t know if he should pull me closer or walk away with a lie lingering in the air.

The silence between us said more than any words could. Perhaps it was the alcohol that changed what he intended to do at first. He guided me through those people who still danced, but I had other plans. I was a gift ready to be cherished by the prince, right there, in front of those people. His smile could shatter my whole world, but my body was about to shatter his.

I stopped, right there, in the middle of everything and the face he made when he saw the dirty look I gave him was more than enough for me to realise that this idea would work on him.

“I will take your gesture as a response to my performance.” My voice was even, while I tried to put aside every doubt I had, every thought that tried to warn me that this was a bad idea. “Then, my prince, let me perform again. I hope you will like it this time.”

My hand reached his, the one that still rested on my back, and made him set me free. I was petty, but more than that, I would always accept the critique the guests had for me. So his leaving meant that my performance bored him. The answer to my problem was to make it more interesting.

His eyes were following every movement I made. My heart started acting crazier than I would have wanted. I followed its rhythm, not the one set by the people around us, but by me, by him. The silk that kept the skin on my shoulders hidden slipped this time, and only for him. I surrounded him, I avoided every reaching hand, every breath he drew out for me.

Every step I took was deliberate, far enough for him not to reach me, but close enough for my perfume to linger longer. I turned near him once, then I vanished between the people beside us. I could see from the corner of my eye how his chest rose, how his hand twitched, how his brows knitted together, and how his nose scrunched. I could swear he was about to let out a desperate whine.

He found me again, in the sea of people, people who, one by one, started to give us more space. It seemed that my stubbornness was a good performance for them. The prince stood, and I got closer, my fingers grazed his as I passed, just a memory of warmth. Then I twirled out of his reach again, but this time he caught the himation that fell off my shoulders. This is all he could get from me this night.

I saw his gaze; he was begging me to listen to him. A smile appeared on my lips, my hand reached for him, my fingertips touched his jaw softly, and the prince leaned into my touch. However, I didn’t want him to enjoy too much of it; I wanted to vanish in the chaos when he needed me more, so he could understand me, but I wasn’t prepared for his neediness. He required just that brief moment to grasp my wrist, to make me stay there. I could feel his breath on my skin right before his lips met the palm of my hand.

“[name]…” he murmured, voice low and frayed as every sound he made cost him something. I didn’t answer him, my head turned, refusing to look at him, knowing that his eyes with that boyish desire of his would make me fold for him.

My body started making distance between us, but he didn’t let me. His other hand found my waist again and held me in place, keeping me in front of him. He kept me so close that I could feel his heartbeat. I still looked the other way, I still thought that I could resist him.

But he didn’t need words; he didn’t need to turn my head towards him. No. The prince—my prince—pressed a single kiss under my jaw, in front of everyone. This boy. This boy was trying to kill me slowly, and not with blades, but with his softness—with love.

“I didn’t leave because I didn’t like your performance,” he whispered. A truth I didn’t let him explain to me. “But because they called for me. I was so bewitched by you that they had to drag me out so I would listen to them.”

My mind was so lost in his words, in his voice, but I could still feel how my cheeks started to burn. My limbs started to soften, my whole body moulded into his. I had no reason to try and fight him, not when he could win every argument. A sigh escaped my lips while Telemachus left another kiss on my jaw before facing me. This time, I looked right into his eyes, into those that pleaded with me not to torment him anymore.

Both of us were flushed, one from the confession and the other from embarrassment. My ploy worked a little too well; it worked against me. I clenched my fist. Telemachus, on the other hand, showed me a smile when he saw me soften before him.

“I hate you when you do this.” It was no whisper, it was a declaration of defeat. “You always say things like this, and I always fall for it.”

The prince blinked, then he let out a breathy laugh. And that one laugh made me smile. I leaned more towards him. No more dancing, no more guests, just him. His forehead touched mine, and everyone could see, not just the diplomat, that this was for sure not an Ithacan custom. That I was no gift sent from another king. I was a soul who fell for this prince.

“Maybe next time, you don’t let me burn in the middle of the hall.” His voice had some amusement in it, but I knew he meant it in a more serious way than he would’ve wanted.

“Next time, you don’t let me dance with strangers while you have an Ithacan custom to excuse your desires.” This was a whisper, just for him.

My words made the prince create some space between us so he could look at me. The way he looked at me—gods. It was killing me. I was drowning in his eyes, in the unspoken apology for me, in the shameless yearning he showed in front of everyone. The prince took his hands off me so he could arrange the silk, now covering my shoulders again. By the way his hands stopped on my shoulders, I thought he would leave again. Instead of confirming my fears, his palms cupped my face, and he leaned way too close to be appropriate. I was still just a dancer, while he was the crowned prince.

“What are you doing…? They are still looking…” My nose touched his, my fingers caught his chiton, but not to pull him towards me. I was afraid of doing such a thing. I was afraid of showing him how much I wanted him to do what he was already doing.

“I know.” A murmur, before his thumb caressed my bottom lip, softly, like he tried to learn the shape of it without doing more than this. “You don’t know how much I want to kiss you right now.”

My body tensed, my cheeks burned, and I couldn’t get away from him. There were still people dancing around us, but there were men who watched us from afar. Not only men, but maids and the queen.

How could I explain this?

“Maybe you should wait until they leave.” The words didn’t match my actions. I was leaning towards him as well, and before I could realise, the only space between us was his thumb. His breath was warm against my lips, and it made me more curious about the way he would kiss me now.

My eyes closed, waiting for that kiss he couldn't hold in. But it never came. It never happened. And I hated it. My heart thumped in my chest, along with the applause from the suitors, from the guests, like everything that happened between us was a very intricate performance. We stood there, in the middle of the hall, with our chests rising from the adrenaline, from the exhaustion.

The prince started making a bigger gap between our bodies, and I didn’t think it would hurt me this way, to not feel his heartbeat under my palms. His hands left my face, but instead, the right slipped on my waist.

“Make a bow and follow me.” A whisper, right to my ear, before he turned his face to the crowd, to his mother, who watched us the whole time.

I did what he told me. A reverence, so did he, like he wasn’t the prince. A performance. That was everything. Something to entertain them.

The way he still kept his hand on my back while he walked made my stomach twist. The prince was flaunting me, not as a gift, but a treasure. I was following him, silently. The bravery I had when I pulled that stunt with him earlier had vanished the second he tried to kiss me. I didn’t know what he planned or where he wanted me to go. But besides his “betrayal”, I trusted him more than anyone here. With every step I took, the sound of the bells from my anklet filled the hall, accompanied by the whispers of the guests or laughs over cups of wine.

The suitors made way for us, but the glances some of them showed us made me think about their mocking for the next day. I knew them, Telemachus did as well, yet he did all this. He walked with me, until we disappeared behind the columns of the palace, letting the queen alone in that hall.

"You are mad, prince. Did you see those glances?" Everything slipped the second we found ourselves in the darkness, far away from the eyes. But their tongues? They would always help others remember this moment.

"No." Way too serious. Way too fast. "I saw only yours." And his hand left my back, even though his touch lingered on my skin, just like before.

A sigh, and I turned my head to look at the hall. At the people who still enjoyed themselves. My palms rested on the cold marble of the column, while my eyes followed the people who one by one started leaving the hall or giving into the pleasures some maids offered them. The queen was already tired, but she stayed, for the sake of the elders. And I—I stole the prince, her last hope in that chaos.

"Why do you care so much about what they think?" His tone sounded bitter. I was debating if I should face him again. I was fearing the glance he would give me, even though I knew he would always look at me lovingly.

I hesitated at first. My eyes were still analysing the hall, and my head refused to turn for quite some time. But when it did—not slowly, but frantically—my lips met his without a warning. He knew me. He knew what his question would do to my mind. And Telemachus waited. Waited for me to turn like this, desperate to answer him. He waited to kiss me.

I was lost in his touch long before he finally let his arms wrap around me. From one that stayed on my lower back, to one that hitched up, to my nape, keeping the silk from falling from my shoulders. And his lips said what he couldn't for the whole night. The prince was the dream I couldn't escape. He drew me closer to him, until his knee found the space between my tights, until there was nothing between us.

My body felt like it was made for him. Maybe my mind cursed me for letting him be this reckless, for letting him kiss me here, but my lips said otherwise. He needed just to squeeze gently my flesh and my lips parted. Nothing would have prepared me for the way he started tasting me. His tongue was tentative, his lips were soft and the sounds he tried to muffle made me melt in his arms.

He stole a gasp from me, but I stole his whole being. I could feel his heartbeat, right next to mine, where our chests were pressed together. My hands ended up in his hair, making a mess of it. I forgot entirely about the crown he had, only when I felt the metal under my fingers did I stopped my fingers from wandering through his curls.

Right before he pulled away, he made sure to make me remember him for the rest of the night by pressing maybe a little bit too hard on my lips, until a sound I was so ashamed of left me and met him. The prince, even when he backed away, didn't take his hands off my body. He tried catching his breath, just like I did. Chests rising again and again while we inhaled deeply, forgetting for a moment that we were still behind a column, not fully hidden from the eyes of others.

"I don't care about what they think," I finally responded to his question. Another breath, and my head resting on his shoulder ."I just don't want them to mock you again."

His breath stopped for a second. He held it, like my words choked him, but when he finally let himself relax in my arms, his lips touched my temple. Telemachus' embrace got tighter before he spoke.

"That's my problem to worry about." He sounded tired, but not pained. Every word was dragged for far too long. "And mock me about what? That I got a dance with you?" Now his tone was amused, and when I looked at him, he had such a prideful smile on his face.

I saw him, I saw how wrecked he was—not the way I expected. He looked dazed and still drunk, but this time not on wine. The lip balm from my lips was now on him. It was my time to caress his lip, not to tease him, but to wipe the excess of red which coloured him.

"No. You are a prince, Telemachus. And I…" Something inside me didn't let me finish the sentence. I didn't know if it was because I was lying to him about my past or because I felt ashamed of how others portrayed me.

"And you are my princess. Does anything else really matter?" The way he said it made my heart skip a beat. His voice was sweet like honey, and I was ready to listen to it the whole night, but his thinking pained me.

His palm covered my hand and he kept it on his lips, and before I knew it, he started kissing my fingertips. With every kiss, the red on his lips stained my palm, my hand, my wrist, until on his face remained just a small trace of it, in the corner of the mouth, where I pressed my lips clumsier than I hoped. Despite his loving gestures, despite his infatuated glance at me, I couldn't think of a beautiful outcome for him with those suitors around.

My eyes couldn't leave him, not when we stood in the dim light of a torch, not when he couldn't make some space between our bodies, and definitely not when he kissed my jaw in the same place as he did minutes ago. This time, I paid more attention to the scent of his perfume combined with the wine.

"Telemachus… It's not—" Not even a second after I spoke his name, his teeth decided to nibble at my skin, and I stopped talking. I pressed my lips together, keeping for myself any other thought, word, or sound I had.

"I don't care, [name]. I will dress you in purple, I will adorn you with gold, and I will love you in front of every human, god and creature that exists in this world.” Not a single breath between those words. He didn’t speak like he was afraid of someone hearing him declaring his love, his devotion for me. There was no whisper, just a boy still embracing me like I was the only thing that kept him from breaking apart. Little did he know that I was the one cracking with every word said on my skin.

The place where he let his teeth sink in was now spoiled with a tender touch, with his soft breath. I couldn’t say anything else to make the prince understand the position he was in, and I started to think that there was no point in trying anyways. The himation I had on the shoulders was long gone on the floor, slipping through his arms. Not like he cared enough about it. One last kiss on my neck before Telemachus decided to look at me again.

"I love you. And no envoy, suitor or whoever is in that hall can change my mind. So tell me again. What does it matter that I am a prince?" Despite being a question, his voice didn't sound confused, but more irritated, and by the way his eyes stared right into my soul, I started thinking it might be because I had tried to stop him from being too affectionate with me.

The frown on his face reminded me of a kid being upset because he couldn't have what he wanted. A small smile appeared on my face, and I didn't let him question me any further. I cupped his face, and I kissed the corner of his mouth. I felt his hands move on my back, and before I knew it, he stole another kiss from me.

"I love you too." It was quieter than I had wanted, but he heard it. And his response was a sigh. He sounded defeated. "But people expect you to have someone else on your side. If you remember correctly, I am a gift. And you look way too in love for them to think you want just some fun with me." I hated the way I had to portray our relationship, for the sake of keeping the rumours and mockery away from him. He had to shelter his pride, his dignity, from those men.

It seemed my words only made him more mad than before, like I had just insulted him. I hoped my declaration of love would soften him and would make him understand how we need to play our part, at least for now.

The chaos from the hall seemed to dim. This prince should be there helping his mother out, talking with merchants and with whoever wanted to have connections with Ithaca. But he? He stood with me, he left all his duties so he could be with me, so he could kiss me in the darkness—and I was feeling guilty for having him. Telemachus saw it. The pit in my stomach started to deepen with every finger dragged on my spine.

"Tell me to leave then." Short, serious, angry. That was the best way of describing his voice. "Tell me you want me to let go."

"What?" I blinked. My palms went from his face to his shoulders, like his words made my world shatter, like I needed something to keep me on my feet.

"You heard me." He didn't weaver. His eyes were no longer big, dazed, but narrow, filled with something between desire and rage.

"But… How could—"

"Then why are you saying all this? I have told you already. I don't care what they say. I am the prince of this land, and I can decide for myself who I love. If I want, I can make you a princess by tomorrow. I can defend my name and my family's legacy. So don't tell me again to do what others want from me, not when it comes to you." A small pause and a sigh. His head was now resting on my shoulder, while his hands squeezed me in his arms in a way that made my knees weak. "You are the only exception I would make, the only rule I would break. I am already listening to every mouth in that hall, to every teacher I have and to every expectation strangers have for the son of Odysseus. You are my only escape. Don't cast me away just because some people are saying nonsense. Just forget about them. Forget about everyone besides me. I will make new rules. I will change everything to have you, and I will cut their heads for thinking you are just a gift. You are mine—a dancer, a princess or anything you want to be. It doesn't matter for me, so it shouldn't matter for you either." Words after words. They spilled, like the prince couldn't live if he didn't say them. I could feel on my skin how his cheeks started burning. Maybe that wine made him braver, made him more reckless and well… more needy than before.

My breath caught. I stared at nothing while listening to him. But my body responded to his declaration before my mind did. My arms wrapped around him, my face hid in his shoulder, and my mouth found the side of his neck. It was my time to pamper him with kisses. I wanted to offer him all the love he deserved. He felt me trying to use the same technique as him. Only a kiss that lingered too long on his collarbone, and I heard his laugh.

"You know… After that declaration, your laugh is reassuring. Please, don't behead anyone. I love you more when you don't have some murderous desires, even though they are for my sake." My voice was muffled by him, my lips still pressed on his skin. I didn't dare to look up. "I am yours, Telemachus. I will be what you need me to be—a princess, a dancer or anything else. I want to be the one who kisses your worries away, the one to whom you come when the burdens are too heavy to be carried alone. I will be here for every day and night, for as long as you'll have me." I could swear I sounded like I was choking on the words. My declaration was more like a whisper I would have said behind closed doors, in bed sheets, not in a hallway, behind a column.

My prince took his hands off me and looked up at me. The anger he had on his features before disappeared. On his face was plastered a smile or more of a cheeky grin, one he would show me after I failed to make him get up from the bed. His hands cupped my face again, and he pressed his lips on mine. Not the same heated kiss like before, but one more innocent, softer and sweeter. The one he wanted to give me in the hall.

"I need you to be [name]. Not one version of her, but every single one of them. This prince is already yours. Not just the prince, but the boy you scolded as well, the stubborn lover and his smile, his whole being is yours. So kiss me better if you don't want me to behead people." He laughed over my lips.

His laugh was contagious.

Telemachus was beaming, and I couldn't keep a serious face anymore. I laughed with him as well. This is all he needed to wrap his arms around me again, not to embrace me like before, but to lift me off the ground. Mine went instinctively around his neck, to secure me, to reassure me that he would not drop me, even though I would have trusted him with my life.

Before I could even say anything, he started twirling around with me. For that moment, for those two minutes or how much it was, I wanted to forget that people were waiting for us.

My laughs could be heard only by him, and only I could see him smile in the way he did in that moment. It felt like a dream, like we could finally enjoy some peace despite the chaos that was happening behind us. The torches' light just made him even more beautiful. It got caught in the gold of his crown, of his jewels.

Right before he put me down on the ground, he stole another kiss.

"Wait for me. I need to help my mother, but I promise this time I will come to you." Another reassuring smile, another kiss placed on my forehead. "Or perhaps you will come to me. My door is always open for you."

Eyes. Those pair of eyes were on me the whole time.

In that moment, not even my anger mattered. Yet, for him, it did. The first thing he did was to call some people to have the mess cleaned. He said something to the suitors who helped their friend reach his chamber. I couldn't hear it—and I didn't even want to.

Some people made a fuss, while my mind was already very satisfied with my plan. Maybe it wasn't as peaceful or diplomatic as I should have done it, but desperate times require desperate measures. Before I blinked, maids were there cleaning, some of them pointing their fingers at me for being heartless. I had no remorse for giving some lessons on good manners and respect towards a lady.

“That's how you treat your guest, prince? Poison them? Make them beg for rest and peace? Xenia spat upon by a girl you dressed in fine linen.” One of the suitors who remained behind just to scold the prince.

The only thing I saw was the frown on the prince's face, not the ugly way that man looked at me and at the girl who had endured their torment for the past days. My hands were on the shoulders of the maid who seemed concerned about her fate. It was not her fault that some men couldn't keep their hands for themselves, yet some people only saw the spoiled body, not the scarred soul.

“Don't worry. Go get some rest. I will see you in the morning.” I spoke up to make sure her mind was not on those people. I didn't let her leave without giving her a small pouch with some lavender so she could sleep better.

The girl left without any other word, and I was left watching a man being whiny as a kid to the prince, who had given him more than enough in the past months. Not even a second after I heard my name—which sounded disgusting said by that bloody suitor—I went towards them. If he wanted to argue, I could handle that. Of course, the one who realised first that I was approaching them was the suitor, whose name I didn't bother to remember.

A blink, and I was stopped from taking another step. In front of me was the arm of the prince, who made a sign for me to stay where I was. Telemachus didn't even turn to say something, to look at me.

“I only see a man drowned in wine and his own arrogance, while his peers make a play out of it. Everyone goes home with a lesson learnt. And I reassure you that order will remain in my house,” The prince sounded serious, but I wasn't about to promise him anything. “Right?” And he looked at me from the corner of his eye. Not even when he asked me something could he look me in the face properly.

Not even a nod or a sound from me. Perhaps a dirty look was enough to understand what I thought about everything.

“Your friend doesn't seem to agree with you.” The thing spoke again.

And only then did the prince turned his head slightly to look at me. He still had annoyance written on his face. Nothing, not even his pleas, would have made me promise peace to those people—no. Monsters.

“[name] knows better that violence and hatred don't bring peace. She will respect the rules of this palace.” His voice dropped low. The last part sounded like a demand from me, not a reassurance for the other party.

I pressed my lips, swallowing every word or threat I wanted to say. My head was held high, something that made the suitor's face turn into an awful grimace. Those eyes were the definition of anger and somehow fear—he would never have the security that he would not be the next in line for some mad honey. Or daffodil if I feel more creative.

“You'd better keep your words, prince. Or the gods would punish you before your mother finds peace.” That man was prideful even after he saw what punishment could come after being entitled.

However, he left. Not before he took another glance at me. Maybe I didn't speak for myself, but my face said all it needed to be said.

My body turned away, ready to go back to my chamber. I didn't want to stay to hear the prince's scolding or some advice I didn't ask for, but it seemed I was not going to escape that easily. He grabbed my hand; his grip was firm, and the squeeze he gave me was more of a warning rather than a reassurance. He wanted to talk, I wanted to go back and rest.

“What do you think you're doing?” His voice contained his rage, but also exhaustion.

When I finally turned to face him, I saw the frown, the tension in his shoulders and how he tried so much to keep himself from breaking apart. Something deep inside my chest started hurting. Guilt, maybe. But I didn't want to feel guilty because I did what I thought it was right.

It was right. If those people can't keep their hands off a girl for more than a minute, then they deserve everything.

“I am protecting your maids from getting harassed,” I responded, finally, without any shame, any fear that I might be punished later. But my voice wavered slightly the second he squinted his eyes.

His glance, it was something between disappointment and anger. His grip got stronger, and before he said something else, he started dragging me out of the hall. I had nothing to do, but follow him, a pit in my stomach starting to form. I knew he wouldn't hit me. He wouldn't punish me like a slave or something. He wasn't a brute. He was kind to everyone. He wouldn't do something like that. Right?

I felt the eyes of some maids. The prince's steps were quick, as if he wanted to be done with this. For some, it might have looked like he was actually going to punish me. But for now, my attention was on keeping up with him. He walked too fast for me to keep up with him properly. I was always half a step behind.

I couldn't even see his face from that angle, just his shoulders and the back of his neck. He just got faster with every passing maid, pulling me slightly forward. And I stumbled. Not once. I called him. I tried to make him walk slower, but he was determined to get out of the palace or at least to reach a more private place.

But I stumbled once again, not being able to look where I stepped. And that was it. I was done with this. He ignored my calls, he ignored my plea to slow down, so I stopped. He did the same, and he finally looked at me. I tried to free my hand from his grip, and I tugged and tugged until I finally broke free. That's when I realised how hard he squeezed my wrist. I knew he probably didn't mean it, that he was just desperate to get out of there, to not be seen and criticised again. But still, it felt weird to see a red patch on my skin made by him.

He turned, facing me with his whole body. That angry frown didn't disappear. The disappointment was still there. And the pit in my stomach just became bigger. We just stood staring at each other for a moment. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, and for the first time since I met him, I felt fear. He wasn't looking at me like he was ready to talk about it like before, like he was ready to talk with his mother and reason with her. He looked done.

“Why are you dragging me like I'm a child you need to scold?” I finally broke the silence, feeling the tension starting to creep in that hallway. "And why are you walking so fast? Couldn't we talk there?"

I tried to sound stern, to hide that nasty feeling of fear that entered my heart, but I saw his fist, his tight jaw, the look. Something told me that I was stepping on thin ice, that I should better shut up, yet my mouth didn't listen to my brain.

“If you are going to—“

“Yes. I am going to tell you that what you did was stupid.” He finally spoke. He didn't try to hide his anger, not even a little bit. He didn't raise his voice, but the way the words were said was enough to make me tense.

“It was what they deserved. Don't think I will stay watching them torment young maids.”

“It's not your place to decide what they deserve. They are guests, even if they are awful; they are still guests, still noble, still powerful enough to do what they please.”

I blinked. Then I felt rage boiling under the feeling of doom. I was not going to accept the powerful part. I didn't care about nobility. Cruelty should be punished.

“And you are their prince. Their host. If you don't want me to intervene, why aren't you doing something? Why are you standing by and waiting for others to do something?”

“I am doing what I can. If I lash every time they make advances to a maid, they would make it worse. And I can't do everything. In case you forgot, I have other duties than staying and looking over the suitors and their affairs.”

Just as me, he started getting angrier. While he made a step towards me, I was making a step backwards. I didn't even know why I was doing it. I could see in his eyes how he wanted to make me understand why he couldn't do more than what he already did, but I also wanted him to be prepared to defend his people, not just say he can't do more.

“I never said you have no duties. I said that you should start to act like a prince, not a scared boy!” I was talking louder than I would have wanted.

His steps towards me stopped. And I realised what I said. However, there was no turning point. My anger got the worst out of me. But I was so tired— so tired. To watch, to be helpless, to hear. He told me about the power those men held, but he acted like he had none.

“A scared boy? This is how you see me?” His voice was low, almost like a whisper, like he was afraid of the answer.

My breath caught because it was too late to take it back. His eyes were cold, not even angry. Just hurt. Yet, he was standing tall, looking at me from above, waiting for my response. He waited for me to say it again. And I—

“Yes.” I clenched my fist. “Right now, you are. You let them step on you, on your pride and honour. You have so much potential, so much strength, yet you let them question everything you do. You let them push you around like you are a child who knows nothing of the world. You just look around and hope that next time they won't do it again. And I can't understand why you do so. I can't understand why you don't try harder.” My voice was finally softer. And I felt like I was setting everything we've built on fire.

For a moment, there was silence. Just us, looking at each other. Taking in the words I said. And I felt that weird feeling—that fear—in my heart. With every second he looked at me, with every breath I felt like I was drowning.

Please, say something. Anything. Lash at me. Say again that I was stupid, that you are doing your best. Tell me I didn't destroy everything with a few words. Please.

“Go to your room, [name]. You are dismissed for the day. And until I’ve thought what is better to do, don't go to the main hall again when the suitors are there. I will ask Phoebe to keep an eye on you.” Such coldness. This was no ask; it was a command. This was not Telemachus, but the prince. The one I just dismissed and made weak.

“Telemachus—“

“No. Don't even think about it.”

“But I haven't said anything.”

“We both know what you wanted to say. Keep the apology for yourself. I need no false care from someone who can't appreciate what I've done. From someone who sees me just like everyone else—a boy. A scared boy.”

He looked me in the eyes, one more time, before turning his back to me, ready to leave. But I couldn't. I couldn't let him leave like that. I didn't want to. I needed to address my words. I wanted him to understand the power he has, that he can't just go back into his shell.

I can't watch him leave.

So I grabbed his wrist with both hands, already feeling how tense he got and how he wanted to free himself. He was mid-stride when I caught it. He didn't turn to face me, but I could see from the side that frown that clouded his face. It wasn't anger, exactly, it was something that made my chest open, made my heart crack and made me understand how stupid I was.

"Telemachus. I just wanted—” The words came too desperate.

“Let go.” I could see his eyes looking at my hands on his wrist, then finally up at my face.

“I just wanted to make you understand that you can't run and turn your back. You have to do something. You are capable of changing something. You need to be the prince. I told you everything as a friend. I want to help you grow, because that's what friends are for. Why are you running away? What are you so afraid of?” I talked way too fast. I wanted to keep him there, and for a moment worked. He was listening. He was.

“Running away? I am running away?” His anger was returning, and before I could blink, he caught one of my hands and got it off his wrist. He didn’t let go, he just held it and looked me in the eyes. “Where have you been living in the past months? Were you so caught up in everything I gave you that you couldn't see around?”

“What are you talk—”

“Oh, don't play with me now. You know very well what I am talking about. I've been taking care of you all this time. How many stupid things did you do in the past weeks? Remember when you started yelling and pushing Ctesippus because he shouldered a maid on his way to the wine jug?” His voice was steady, but the rage in his eyes was burning me, slowly and surely.

“He is a brute and a—” Maybe I should have stopped talking.

I didn’t.

“It doesn't matter! You were putting the girl and yourself in danger just to teach him a lesson. And who was there to make sure he didn't become violent? That his needs were met before he made everything worse? Me. I was there. I gave him my mother's best wine to please him and let you go.” The words started to loose the edge, the same way he started to loose his breath. He was not even breathing properly in his anger.

"I know. I am thankful for you and—" I had no chance to say something.

“You are? You truly are? You who now question me for refusing to engage in any stupid confrontations. You who call me a scared boy, who tells me I am afraid of men I am trying to fight every day, to get them out of my house, to stop them from eating my inheritance. I’ve tried for so long. And for what?” His voice had something in it I hadn’t heard before—something small, but present. He was shaking and I could feel his grip getting looser on my hand. "I am so tired, [name]. Every day I have to put up with those men. Every day, I have to listen to tutors, to the elders, to everyone around me telling me about my father and how well he did at my age, how he was king, how capable and brave he was. Everyone has an opinion about me, about my capability, about what I should do and how I should deal with the suitors." He got closer to me again, as if he closed the distance between us, I could see through him. That maybe I understood him.

My heart shattered when I saw the desperation in his eyes, in his stance, in the way he leaned closer to me. I’ve watched him for so long, doing all this, having this conversation with himself on pieces of paper that were buried under scrolls and I’ve also watched him give up little by little. And I didn’t want him to give up. I wanted him to succeed, and standing by was not an option for him.

“Telemachus… I understand it's hard. But you can do so much more. I understand the pressure, the—”

"Do you? Do you really understand? Because it seems you are just like them. You have a complaint about me. You say I am running away. That I am not doing enough. But when would it be enough? When would I be enough? When would I hear someone say I did the right thing? Because not even my friend can say that. And I am done trying to prove myself. I am done saving you every time you do something like this. If you want to be a saviour, then be. But don't expect me to clean your mess, because I have nothing else to give. Not to you, not to anyone." He said all this flat. Tired. And his hand let me go, taking steps back, creating distance between us. Such a great, cold distance.

I was left speechless. I was staring at him with my mind racing, with my heart pounding, and my legs becoming jelly. I stood there and I felt the explanation I’d been building disappear. He didn’t need an explanation. But I did.

What have I done?

I opened my mouth to say something. What was there left to say? I wanted to apologise. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him that he is more than enough. That I was no saviour. That I just wanted to help. I wanted to do what I thought was right. I wanted to help the household. To help him. But I did everything worse.

“Go to your room. Don't make me say it again.” He was looking down at me. Not an ounce of fondness, not anything. Telemachus, my friend, was gone.

“Wait. Let's talk. Please. I never meant—” I didn't even realise when my voice started wavering, when my palms started sweating. And even if I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say, how I wanted to apologise, I tried. And I would have tried it all over again because it felt like any apologise I was already preparing would not have been enough for everything I’ve said.

“There is nothing left to talk about. You made yourself very clear. Now, you either leave on your own, or I will get the guards to help you find your chamber.” Not even a frown anymore. Nothing. Plain. Serious and ready to execute.

“No. You don't decide that for me. I am no slave. I am your friend. And I want to—”

Friend? Was I really his friend? Friends were supposed to help each other carry the burdens, not making them bigger. Who was I, really? Someone with a weird sense of justice and way too many ideas that had no place in this house, with these people. I forgot how small I was compared to them, compared to him.

"I am a prince. Your prince. I decide quite a lot, actually. If I say that I want you to go to your chamber, you will go. You said yourself that I should act more like a prince. I am greatful for your advice, but that's all. I am no longer going to accept your reckless behaviour. So leave before I change my mind."

I didn't even want to know what he meant by "changing his mind". Because I was no longer just [name]. And he wasn't just Telemachus. We were prince and healer. He held power, while I held a plea and guilt. The closeness we built in months disappeared in a few minutes because I was stupid. Because I thought that I could help, because I thought that I was doing what was right, because I thought that if I was sincere, it would be better. I thought he would understand, that we could get over everything. I thought.

I pressed my lips, knowing I should do exactly as he said. That I should not push further. That I should be wiser than this. Maybe I should just accept that I already destroyed everything. But I didn't move. I stood and looked at him, holding my breath, until he turned around, ready to leave before me. So, I took a deep breath.

"I am sorry. I stepped out of line. I–" I needed another breath. I felt how the words started getting stuck in my throat. "I am really sorry. I appreciate everything you did and do for me. I thought—"

"You thought wrong." One last response from him. One last reminder for me.

"I know. I am sorry," The last step backwards. "My prince."

The words were bitter on my tongue, yet here I was. And he was right. He was so right. He was a prince. I was just a healer, a shipwrecked. Someone he decided was worth saving. So, I made a bow. I finally listened and went to my chamber.

Who would have thought that the way to my chamber would be so long? It might have been because of my steps, because I felt like I was dragging myself along the hall, and I had no strength left in my legs. Why was I feeling hurt when I hurt him?

My mind was a total mess to the point I couldn't even hear the others talking around me. I could just replay the discussion we had. I could just think about what I should have said and what I shouldn't have. And every time the words "boy" and "enough" crossed my mind, it felt like I should bury myself or go back to the sea that brought me to this shore.

My chamber was the only place I could feel safe, where I could think. And maybe I would finally understand what I did wrong, what I should do, what I should say to Telemachus the next time we meet. If we meet. If he even wants me to be near him ever again. What if he wants me out of the palace? What if I have to leave Ithaca? Where should I go? Should I go back home? Should I go to some other island? What if I get into another shipwreck? I need to make a backup plan. I need to prepare if he tells me to leave.

* * *

My days went like this. Thinking that at some point someone would come and tell me that I was no longer welcomed here. That I stayed too long and I had made too many mistakes they can no longer look past. A week of avoiding him, a week of refusing to talk with each other. I was brave back then. I wanted to talk with him, but with each passing day, with each night I spent looking at the ceiling, I felt that it was better to just stay away for some time. To not be seen. To not trouble him. To simply exist somewhere and hope this day isn't my last.

I liked to think that I knew Telemachus. I liked to think that he was and would be kind as always, that he would not make me leave all this after an argument. That he cared enough for me to just accept me despite my flaws. And even though I knew he was not that petty, that he would do what is best for everyone, somewhere deep down, I feared what it meant for him to lose his patience.

Today was no exception. My mind was chaos, filled with fears and worries. But also with plans. I knew him well enough to know his schedule. He always has a council right after breakfast, then he has tutoring sessions, then training and only after he would be finally free. He always came into the garden, either to find Argos and complain about the day or to sleep in the sun. And I always came to make him go to shade, under the olive tree. But I hadn't done that for a while now. It would be a lie to say that I hadn't had the urge to go to him in the past few days to make sure he doesn't stay too much in the sun. But I couldn't do it. Not after everything. So most of the time, I made Phoebe or Eurycleia go, while I was going back to my work.

It was past noon already, and I still hadn't finished the garden work. I had to check on the rosemary and thyme as well. So I went with my day. I found peace in these daily tasks, in these small things that were given to me, and smelling these herbs made me remember my home.

As I was alone in the back of the garden, I started humming a song my mother used to sing to me. It brought me comfort in all this fear I felt. Fear of needing to leave this new home I had started to love. But wandering through all the memories I made here also let me understand that it was not the palace, not the bed and the food, but the laughs of the children, their little hands coming to hug me and tell me what they found, the gossip the girls shared, the laugh Phoebe had and her hugs. And somewhere, deep down, I knew Telemachus was part of that home, even though he decided to leave and take a whole part of it with him.

I was so lost in my head that I didn't hear the heavy steps of Argos at first. Even if he was old, he still came to check on me, and I was grateful for him. When he pressed his wet nose to my leg, I giggled, petting him gently and I started presenting him my work. I liked to believe he understood every little thing I told him. After all, he might have been wiser than most men in that hall.

"Do you think I should ask for more thyme?" I started talking with the dog while finishing collecting the last leaves. "Or would he send me away, saying we have enough?"

Argos barked and let his head on his big paws, looking at me. I was smiling, finally having someone to talk to. Since Telemachus told me not to step near the hall, I was mostly alone in this part of the garden. The other girls were working inside, close to the palace, but I was away from everyone except Argos.

"You have no problems, do you? You like the silence, you big boy." I laughed, starting to play a bit with him, scratching him behind his ears, then kissing his big head. I finally finished my work, and I had a small basket full of herbs ready to go either to the kitchen or to be made into salve.

I got up, and Argos did it with me, both walking slowly towards the kitchen to give the cook whatever she needed. Our walk there was filled with my voice asking him what he thought of my arrangements in the garden, but he was too focused on the walk, just wagging his tail from time to time.

When we reached the kitchen, I let him rest outside while I went to give the cook whatever she needed, even though there was chaos already. The maids were running from one place to another to prepare whatever dessert those men wanted for their dinner. I set the basket on the table, then stood on the side.

"Do you need some help?" I asked, looking around at the plates, the cups, the boys who were already taking jugs of wine towards the hall.

"With those hands, clearly no." The cook responded, and only then did I realise I forgot to wash my hands after working all day in the garden. I looked at them, then hid them behind my skirts. "Go wash your hands and come back to eat something. You ate just those olives at noon. I can't believe you stayed all day in the sun."

Danae, the woman who took care of the food, seemed very hard to crack open, but if you had the chance to know her, you would become one of her children, which also meant you were scolded every time you forgot to eat.

I did go to wash my hands. I was helped by one of the younger girls, and I could get the mud out of my hands and from under my nails. I got back and waited for Danae to give me a task, but she just looked at what I brought her and started sorting it out as she saw fit. And before I could ask again if she needed help, in front of me was a plate with cheese, olives, tomatoes, and bread.

"Eat it. It would keep you from fainting in this heat. We will have meat for dinner. I am sure those suitors would go and take another two goats from Melanthius." She said, pushing a cup of wine mixed with water next to my plate.

I smiled and thanked her before eating my portion. I wouldn't have admitted it in a million years, but she was right. The food was heavenly, especially after hours spent in the sun. The maids around me were still moving in and out of the kitchen, helping the boys prepare the tables for the suitors, while I watched them with my mouth full of good cheese and wine.

I looked at the last bit of cheese, and instead of eating it, I put it away. Argos would want to taste the cheese as well. So I ate my olives, listening to whatever the women decided to talk about, from the suitors who had already finished a jug of wine to new guards. At some point, they started talking about the prince, how he dismissed the last girls working in the halls after the men started touching them, how he told the suitors bluntly that they ate his inheritance.

Somehow, hearing that he is doing better, that he starts taking care of the poor women serving those men, made my heart feel lighter. Maybe whatever happened between us was good after all. Maybe I was bringing him down without knowing.

I took a deep breath, then I got up, got the last piece of cheese and was ready to go outside to Argos. The cook saw my hand, and I could hear her click her tongue.

"You know, after dinner, there would be plenty of food to give to the dogs, right? You should eat that." Her hands never stopped once, still preparing the dough for bread. Watching her, covered in flower almost to elbows, made me smile. She looked beautiful even now. Her rough hands from labour were making the softest bread and the best cakes.

"I know, but they always give the food to the younger dogs, and Argos is left with nothing." I took the plate and cup and put them in the place for washing. "Plus, you know I can't go in the hall. And I don't want to ask any of you to gather scraps for me. It's fine." I went towards her and embraced her quickly. I could hear her sigh, pressing her cheek on my head, before I finally let her do her work and go to Argos.

When I stepped outside the kitchen, I could hear Argos bark already. He was used to receiving something from me after we came here. So I was happy to give him the piece of cheese I left for him. But instead of finding him alone, I saw the prince sitting next to him, giving him some bones. I looked at my piece of cheese, then back at them, and I felt a pit in my stomach. It had been weeks since I saw the prince sitting with Argos, so close, at least close to me.

I didn't even realise that I was staring at them. I was so lost in that weird feeling in my chest that I stood near the door and looked at them. I should have turned around and found some cat to feed and spent my evening with, but Argos had none of it, because when I turned, wanting to go the other way, I could feel Argos tongue licking my hand. I looked down at him and smiled, opening my hand, and before I could blink, Argos had already eaten the piece of cheese I had.

"Nothing escapes your nose, does it?" I smiled and petted him, even though he still wanted to lick my hand.

"He might be old, but he would find the food anywhere. He has a good nose." The voice, so familiar. Once I would have smiled, but now I couldn't even look at the person speaking. "Right, boy?" His hand found Argos' neck, then started working its way behind his ear.

So close to mine.

I got my hand off him, agreeing with the prince, not with words, just a hum. I didn't dare to look at him. I just wanted to go anywhere else, but I didn't know what to do to not seem disrespectful.

What excuse did I have? Going to help Phoebe? No. She was in the hall helping the others. Checking on the children? No. They must already be home with their mothers. Grinding the herbs? Yes. This could work. I could make salve. This was perfect.

So I had to speak up.

"I need to—"

"How have you—"

We both started at the same time. We both stopped at the same time. And I finally looked up at him. I didn't know how long he had watched me or if he even looked at me properly. Maybe he looked up now, just like I did, but now we were both looking at each other, for the first time in weeks.

"I'm sorry. Please, continue." I finally said. It was painfully awkward. I wanted to just leave, to never think about this interaction, because I knew how stupid I was. And I didn't want to let myself hope for the friendship I clearly destroyed in that hallway. He was a prince, and I was someone who lived because he was kind enough to bring me in.

"No. It's fine. You said you need to do something." He looked down again, at Argos, at his hand still in the old dog's fur.

There was silence for a moment. Or as silent it could be when in a hall not far away from here were 108 men feasting on cattle that weren't theirs. I looked at him, not being able to leave now. I didn't have time before to realise how painful it was not to talk with him for so long. We used to laugh, to share stories—he from the suitors and me from the maids. Now we stood close to one another and talked about nothing, just listening to the distant noise of the palace.

"Tele—" I stopped myself before I could say his full name. It felt wrong to call him by his name.

Can I still call you that?

Is that still mine to say? Is still your name something I should keep in my mouth the same way I keep it in my heart? Would you even let me?

I didn't even know what I wanted to tell him. I felt like I should apologise again, but would my apology even matter?

He didn’t look away. He didn’t do anything for a moment—just looked at me with that expression. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was something else I couldn’t read because I was drowning in my own guilt.

Why do you have to look at me like that? Like that conversation never happened? Why are you so peaceful? What are you even doing here? Why do you make me miss you so much more? Are you missing me the same way I miss you?

“Did something happen? You know you can talk to me.” He spoke so calmly—casual, in a way. He kept his hand on Argos’ head, and waited for me to say something. Waited for us to be like before. But I—I couldn’t. I couldn’t look in his eyes and pretend that nothing happened, that I wasn’t allowed anymore in the hall, that he didn’t told me exactly how little I was compared to him, to every other man in that cursed hall. That I didn’t made him feel inadequate as a prince.

“My prince, I need to grind the herbs. If you need or want, I'll—"

And with those words, I could finally see something shift behind that calmness he was showing. If I didn’t know him, if I didn’t understand his small gestures, I would have never caught that little second of stillness. That second when his fingers stopped moving in Argos’ fur or the small furrow between his brows that disappeared as fast as he appeared. It was like a fissure someone tried to hide it, maybe even fix it, before anyone would see it. And he was doing wonderful at hiding it, while I was doing wonderful at noticing it.

"Don't worry. Go do what you have to do. If you need something, ask Eurycleia." He intervened, petting Argos one last time, before straightening. He was Telemachus for a few minutes and went back to being the prince I told him to be.

I watched him for one more moment, and what he did next made me realise what I really lost—he smiled. He gave me something I didn’t know I was craving. Maybe it wasn’t the full one he gave when he was truly happy, but it was sincere. As small as it was, it was more than he gave me in the past weeks, and something cracked open in my chest seeing it. I don't know if it was the overflow of hope or the heaviness of guilt for trying to leave again, without resolving anything.

"I'm glad to see you're fine." The last words I heard from him before he left, and I was alone with Argos again.

I was such a coward.

My heart did that ugly thing again—something between breaking and fluttering. He was so close, yet so far, and I was too afraid to reach him. So instead of doing anything, I watched. I watched him getting away, just like our relationship did. It made me so sick looking at him, realising the distance we put between us without naming it, remembering how close we used to be.

I stood there with Argos just a little longer before finally deciding to go and grind those herbs. I knew I should just get my head out of there. So I walked, listening to the laughs of the maids working together outside—the last part of peace from this palace.

When I finally reached the small room full of herbs, I saw Eurycleia sorting the old leaves we had. She looked at Argos and me, then back at her herbs. I went over to her and saw the batch she had set aside for me to grind. I was ready to get to work, until Eurycleia started searching for something. She didn't ask me, like she expected me to know what she was looking for.

"Can I help you?" I said, taking the leaves I liked more to start my work.

"Weren't you supposed to bring a basket full of fresh herbs?"

The question made me stop and think. I was so distracted by the prince, by our problems, that I forgot to go back to the kitchen and take the basket. The sigh that left my lips was of pure disbelief and frustration. I let down everything I took and went towards the door, almost stomping on my way out.

Why was I so angry? Because I had to go again to the kitchen? Because I met him and I said nothing, but that I have work to do? Because I didn't even give him the chance to talk to me properly? What if he actually wanted to talk with me like before? What if he wasn't performing it? What if he forgave me and wanted me to know?

"I can go," Eurycleia's voice somewhere behind me. "You seem upset to return. But I doubt it's because you don't like the kitchen."

"No. It's fine. I can go. I just—" I stopped and took a deep breath. I let my forehead on the wall, letting the coolness of it relax my body. "Telemachus was there." I pressed my lips together. His name was so strange on my tongue.

"Did he say something?" She still did her work.

"I actually wish he didn't." I finally pulled back and turned to face Eurycleia. "He came to bring Argos some bones. I wanted to leave through the other door from the kitchen, but Argos knew I brought him cheese, so my plan didn't work. And we almost talked." I arranged my skirts, just to have something to do with my hands. "Almost…"

"What do you mean by 'almost'?"

"I mean that it almost seemed normal. Like before. Just the two of us and Argos. He told me about Argos' good nose. He even wanted to ask me something. And for a moment, it was just an afternoon." I sighed and sat down on the threshold, bringing my knees to my chest. "But it was a bit awkward. And I felt like I couldn't stay too close to him. Not without remembering those words…"

Eurycleia listened to my story, while my chin rested on my knees and my eyes on the sky. It was a beautiful afternoon. In the past days, the rain had made everything devoid of colour. I started missing the warm sunsets, the laughter of the children playing outside. It was just work over work, avoiding the hall as best as I could. So most of the time the route was my room, the kitchen, the herb room and back to my room. While the women stood together and talked, weaved and laughed. Those were the moments I wondered what would happen if I just left. If I let everything behind me and let the boat decide my fate.

"Why did you want to leave?" Eurycleia got close to me. She didn't sit down, but was next to me. Now I shared this sunset with her from the threshold of an herb room. "Didn't you want to talk with him? Didn't you miss him?"

"I mean—I do. I want to—I don't know—" I couldn't find my words. What left my mouth were nothing but scattered thoughts and feelings that needed other place to go since my heart was already overflowing with guilt and longing.

There was silence for a moment. Just the distant sounds of people, of animals being taken for dinner and seagulls flying towards the shore.

"I do miss him…" My voice was softer, quieter than I intended. "But I don't think I can talk with him. I don't even feel like I can say his name."

"Are you sure you're not too hard on yourself?" She looked at Argos who slept outside, then back at the sunset. "He doesn't seem to be so upset with you as you are with yourself."

"Maybe he just tries to be polite. Or respect the law of Xenia. Or—I don't know… Maybe he is nice so people don't start asking questions he doesn't want to answer." I took a deep breath before finally getting up, starting to smooth out my chiton. "Whatever it is, I don't think I can face him yet. He was quite clear back then about who he was and I don't want to think wrong again…"

Eurycleia sighed. She turned and looked at me, while her hands found the stray strands of hair and pushed them away from my face, just like a grandmother would. Her calloused fingers lingered a bit on my cheek and her touch alone could make me spill more of my soul in front of her, but instead of crying more about my problems I caught her hand and squeezed it.

"You are too stubborn, child. Just like him." She looked at me like you would when you saw a wounded animal who refused any help. "Just set your pride aside this time. And that self-righteous thing. Next time he comes, be open. I'm sure he misses you as much you miss him."

I laughed bitterly, a little breathless, then let her hand down.

"Don't say such things. You might ignite some hope in my heart and I don't have the luxury to have it right now." I said, finally going towards the kitchen, again, to retrieve that basket.