Chapter 28
Anysa was mid-giggle, halfway through an over-the-top reenactment of a nobleman swooning alongside me—her voice lilting, arms flung wide—when the air changed.
Her breath hitched and the words died in her throat. She snapped upright so fast her heel slipped on the rug.
I followed her gaze … and felt my own lungs forget how to work.
The king stood in the doorway.
But not the monstrous god I remembered from the throne, swathed in red and lounging like the world bored him, issuing commands as if life itself were a tiresome game.
This man entered with his edges blunted, as if he’d rehearsed every movement to take up less space.
His cloak was trimmed in gold, understated rather than regal, his expression open in a way I hadn’t expected, almost … gentle.
“Your Majesty,” Anysa murmured, bowing so fast she almost fell over the chair she’d been sitting in.
He held up a hand. “No need for that,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it, more wind-stirred coals than thunder. “I didn’t come for ceremony.”
I blinked. I wasn’t sure what I’d been bracing for—command, dismissiveness, perhaps even congratulations spoken like a threat. But I’d certainly not been expecting this.
His gaze found mine, and for once it wasn’t the hungry, taking look that always made my skin crawl. His brown eyes softened, unexpectedly tender … and he smiled.
I found myself staring at his mouth, startled by how different that smile looked now, without courtiers watching, without a goblet in his fist or blood in the air. It was unguarded. Real, maybe. Less modeled from arrogance and more like something human.
For the first time, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to look away.
“For a moment,” he murmured, “I wondered if I might lose you.”
The warmth in his tone also caught me off guard and surprise fluttered in my chest. He almost sounded … sincere.
“I—” My throat caught. “I’m fine.”
His gaze skimmed over me, lingering with an appreciation that made the room feel too small. “I can see that,” he said, and the words felt like a caress.
He crossed to the bed, his steps unhurried, and extended a hand. It took me a moment to realize he was offering to help me up.
I hesitated, then slipped my fingers into his.
His palm was warm and dry, his grip surprisingly measured, like he wanted to reassure rather than dominate.
“You look stronger already,” he said as he guided me upright with a care that startled me.
“And you should be the first to see what you have done.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t loosen his grip as he led me toward the balcony. Our fingers remained intertwined, his touch lingering like he thought I might vanish if he let go. The doors groaned wide as he pushed them open, spilling sunlight over the threshold and flooding the room with warmth.
Outside, the marble terrace overlooked his rose garden. Crimson blooms ran wild in their perfect rows, bending beneath the morning breeze. Their perfume rose in waves, thick and heady, as if the whole world were blooming for this moment.
But on the other side of the garden walls, a narrow road, different from the one I’d come to the palace on, cut through the landscape along the coast. And along that road were … wagons. Dozens of them, maybe more, each stacked high.
My fingers curled around the balcony’s edge as I stared at men and women in palace colors moving quickly among them, securing crates, tying down barrels, lifting sacks of grain.
I spotted folded linen, jars of medicine, tools, flour sacks marked with the seal of Sparta’s royal storehouse.
All of it was being loaded onto carts under the morning sun.
“For Amyklai,” the king said, his voice soft but proud. “The first shipment rolls out before midday. More will follow.”
I stared at him, unable to speak for a moment as a fierce, impossible relief swept through me. My knees went weak, unmoored by the enormity of what he’d just vowed. “You … You’re sending supplies?”
His smile widened. “It’s what was promised, isn’t it?” He took a step closer, his voice still warm. “And I always keep my promises.”
Tears burned my eyes before I could stop them. I nodded, unable to speak. I could see Calismae’s face in my mind as the wagons came to a stop in front of the manor. How proud she’d be.
Come back with your shield or on it, she’d told me.
I’d done just that.
He was watching me with something like satisfaction. “I knew you would be queen the first night I saw you,” he said. “The Trials simply revealed what was already true.”
My gaze kept darting to the supplies, to the promise of food and healing, then back to him, my heart thundering with a happiness so fierce it almost hurt. A sound escaped me, half laugh, half sob. “Thank you.”
He grinned, the expression transforming him. “It’s the least I can do for the woman who reminded us what Sparta could be.”
I stared at him, almost awestruck. For a moment, he wasn’t the god on the dais who’d watched me like I was a piece of strategy. A possession. A thing to be won and wielded. He wasn’t the king draped in crimson, tipping back his goblet as girls dropped like flies before him.
I was seeing something else entirely, a different future, impossible yet suddenly near. A future where he wasn’t a throne or a threat … but a partner. Someone I could have built something with. Someone I could have stood beside without fear.
It left me unsteady, and I didn’t know what to say. The words wouldn’t come. My throat felt scraped raw by everything I’d endured over the last month, and all I could do was nod, the movement slight and delayed, like I was afraid to shatter the moment if I moved too quickly.
I hadn’t expected kindness from him. Not ever. But here it was, unexpected and disarming. I turned back toward the wagons, thinking that for the first time since I’d walked into this cursed palace, a faint strand of peace was draped across my shoulders.
My village would survive.
I imagined the moment when the wagons arrived in Amyklai.
The way the children would run to meet them, barefoot and wide-eyed.
I could almost hear Calismae’s disbelieving laugh cutting through the stunned hush as barrels were opened and food was lifted high into trembling hands as they realized I’d won.
I pictured the way the hunger might lift, not just from their bellies, but from their souls.
And I had done that.
The weight of it rose in my chest, not suffocating, simply full. As though something inside me had quietly stitched itself whole. I had fulfilled my purpose.
I smiled, and realized he was looking at me.
Menelaus squeezed the hand he still held and lifted it to his lips, the press of his mouth lingering on my skin.
“Helena the Beauty,” he said softly. “A queen with strength that matches my own … Sparta has hungered for you longer than you know. I never believed I’d have a true partner again.
My first wife … she wasn’t strong enough for this life. It broke her.”
The sorrow in his voice was so real it stole my breath.
For the first time, I wondered if the whispers about him had been wrong. This version of him was so different from the smug, brutal one I’d seen on the throne. This one didn’t bare its teeth. This one didn’t cut.
This one made me wonder if that other man, the lion draped in red, the one who watched girls die without blinking—if it was only a mask. A mask he wore so well I’d forgotten men could have more than one face.
This one almost made me want to believe him. But had his last queen wrongly believed in this version of him too?
He looked down at our joined hands before carefully letting go and beginning to turn away. I watched him for a heartbeat, suddenly thinking of Thalessa and how she was dying in a cell. If there was ever a moment to try … this was it.
“Wait.”
He pivoted, the movement expectant, as though he’d known I would want more.
“You have given me so much,” I said, surprised by how true it felt on my tongue. “But … I have one more favor to ask.”
A flicker of interest moved through his eyes. “Name it.”
“Amyklai’s town healer has been imprisoned,” I said hesitantly. “She’s older. Sick. She needs medical care, not chains. I wish for her to be released.”
Menelaus didn’t hesitate, he didn’t ask why she’d been imprisoned or give the barest hint of suspicion. “Done.”
Just like that. As though mercy cost him nothing. As though it was normal for him to grant grace so easily. It confused me more than anything he’d said. More than the gentleness or the soft grief I’d heard curled beneath his voice.
“Rest while you can,” he murmured then, stepping back just enough that sunlight caught in the bronze circlet at his brow. “Sparta needs you strong.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, no cape swirling, no bellowed orders, no threat lingering in his shadow.
Just a man … who left me standing there in shock, fingers still warm, unsure which version of him I’d met today. And wondering which one would marry me.
I stayed by the railing, the wind teasing my hair, and I could almost smell the scent of olive oil and straw drifting up from the wagons below. I tried to let the moment engrave itself in my chest.
Amyklai would survive. And I was about to have a crown.
But more than that—I was about to have the power to make real changes.
Soft footsteps padded across the stone behind me, and then Anysa appeared at my side. Her gaze followed mine down the hillside.
She froze.
“All of that is for Amyklai,” I whispered.
A gasp tore from her lips as her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes, wide and shining, filled with tears as they swept over the line of wagons, supplies stacked high, soldiers organizing crates, wheels already groaning under the weight of grain, medicine, oil, and bread.
“You did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with wonder and disbelief. “Helena—you actually did it.”
I turned to her, and for a moment, I didn’t feel like the girl from Amyklai or the queen they wanted to crown. I just felt human. Tired. Hopeful. Alive.
I reached for her hand, gripping it hard. “This is just the beginning,” I said. “If the version of the king I just met is real—if that wasn’t all performance—then maybe … maybe I can save all of Sparta.”
Anysa nodded fiercely, more tears slipping free.
We stood there side by side, two village girls wrapped in purpose, watching as hope rolled down the road toward home.
Eventually, we stepped back into my new room, sunlight following us like a reluctant shadow.
Anysa shut the balcony doors and turned, jumping when Roz suddenly darted out from behind a table. I grabbed a few almonds from a bowl and crouched down, holding them out in my palm.
Before I could coax it closer, Roz lunged, tiny claws brushing my fingers as it snatched the almonds straight from my hand. It squeaked once, triumphant, then sat back on its haunches and began eating them furiously, crumbs scattering across the floor.
“What even is it?” Anysa asked, leaning over to look at Roz closer. “I’ve been holding off on questions because it seems to get offended, but is it some kind of rat?”
Roz dropped the almond and bared its tiny, blunt teeth.
“My apologies,” Anysa murmured, taking a step away like Roz was going to lunge.
I laughed and picked up the almond. Roz grabbed it again and continued eating.
“I found it in the forest,” I said softly, stroking its silken head. “On the way to the palace. For some reason, it decided to stay with me, and always seems to find me when it wants to.”
Anysa leaned in, squinting. “It looks like it’s judging me.”
“It probably is.”
“Well, I hope queens are allowed to have pets. Because I don’t know what Menelaus is going to think when he sees you with a blood-ribbon-tailed forest gremlin at your side.”
“It’s not a pet,” I said, stroking Roz’s shimmering head. “It’s my … friend.”
Roz let out a delighted little trill at my words and Anysa tilted her head and snorted. “Then maybe it can be another wedding present. For tomorrow.”
My jaw dropped. “For … tomorrow?”
The door burst open.
Nomiki marched in like she owned the place, a long scroll tucked under her arm and a kalamos already behind one ear. “Yes. Tomorrow.”
Roz let out a tiny squeak, as if offended by the lack of knocking, and scampered away.
“Good morning, Your Radiance,” Nomiki said briskly, rolling the scroll out across the nearest table and seemingly ignoring the fact that I’d had a mouselike creature in my room.
I stared at her. Was that … cheerfulness?
Her voice was lighter than I’d ever heard it, her posture suddenly deferential. During the Trials, she was always clipped words and tight eyes. She’d glared at us if we were late or in the wrong formation. Now, she all but sang the title.
Amazing what a crown did to people’s manners.
“You’ll be pleased to know we’ve finalized the wedding procession. The musicians from Messene arrived last night. You’ll walk the length of the inner court, greet the priestesses, they’ll present sacrifices at the shrine of Menelaus before—”
“Wait.” I pushed to my feet. “You’re saying this all starts tomorrow?”
Nomiki didn’t pause. “At first light, the servants will be in to get you ready. The omens were read, and the date is auspicious. Besides, the people are eager for stability. A crown on your head gives them something to believe in.”
I barely heard her.
By tomorrow I would be crowned. Married. Bound in name and symbol to a man I barely understood. A man I’d only just begun to suspect might not be the monster I thought … but might still be one all the same.
“Has my mother been contacted?” I asked.
Nomiki dipped her head. “A missive was sent at dawn.”
I swallowed, a small, tight motion, wondering if she would make it in time … if my victory might break the chill inside her. I forced myself to nod as Nomiki continued. To focus. To listen as she prattled on about routes and ceremonial robes and the priestesses’ chanting cadence.
But beneath it all, one truth echoed louder than the rest: By tomorrow, I would be queen.