Chapter 33
I raced up the beach, crashing through the trees.
I did not know where I was heading; all I knew was I had to get away, far away from Penelope, from my shame and that madness she had unleashed within me.
In the distance, a light flickered, guiding me forward like a beckoning hand.
I chased after it until the woods finally thinned out, giving way to rolling fields.
A giant stone caught my foot, and I nearly went hurtling to my knees.
A boundary marker, I realized. I was at the very edge of the palace grounds.
I pressed on and was met with a rich tang in the air and the sound of snuffling creatures settling in for the night. Ahead of me, Eumaeus’s house shone through the dark, warm light spilling from its windows.
It took a few moments for my knocks to be answered.
Eumaeus’s face was soft and drowsy with sleep.
His tunic was skewed around his shoulders, as if he had just pulled it on, his hair flattened on one side.
He scratched the back of his neck as he regarded me standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night with nothing but the moonlight as my companion.
“Melantho?” he murmured around a yawn. “Is everything all right?”
“Can I come in?”
Something shifted behind his eyes, confusion giving way to politeness, and then he stepped aside.
“Of course.”
The space was small and sparse, the air permeated with the musky smell of the animals outside. A fire glowed invitingly in the corner, beside which was a table and stools draped in leather hides. In the corner was his pallet bed, the blankets and furs tangled together.
“I was not expecting guests,” Eumaeus murmured, watching me.
“Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you. I am blessed to have been gifted it,” he said. “Penelope says she is building more homes here for the palace slaves. Her generosity is remarkable, is it not?”
I tensed, glancing away. “Why did you leave the celebrations?”
A slight flush of color crept up Eumaeus’s neck, disappearing beneath his beard. “Because I saw you had.”
I said nothing. I knew Eumaeus had questions, but hospitality was a sacred custom, even among us slaves, so he could not ask them until I had been properly cared for.
“Would you like some food?”
I nodded, suddenly aware of how starving I was.
He motioned for me to take a seat, and I watched as he moved around his home.
Despite his rugged appearance, there was something elegant and refined about the way Eumaeus held himself; his mannerisms seemed to have been plucked from another life, beyond that of small ramshackle huts and mud-coated pigs.
A few moments later, he set down a plate of bread and cheese beside a bowl of thick stew studded with chickpeas.
“Thank you.” I managed a smile.
I could feel Eumaeus’s eyes on me as he took a seat. If I had known him better, I would have said he looked nervous. Tearing off a piece of flatbread, I soaked it in the stew and popped it into my mouth. A hum of pleasure escaped me.
“Is it…to your liking?” he asked. “It would have perhaps been better if the stew was hot, but I—”
“It’s delicious, Eumaeus,” I cut him off. His smile was so genuine it beckoned my own. “Do you like to cook?”
He nodded. “I am permitted my rations from the palace, and everything else I source for myself. Mistress Penelope sometimes brings me spices from the market…” Eumaeus paused, studying my face. His gaze then dropped to my damp clothes. “Are you sure everything is all right, Melantho?”
I was surprised by the flicker of genuine concern in his voice.
“I’m fine.”
“You can tell me if you’re not fine,” he offered, his eyes painfully sincere.
“I just…needed some time away from the palace. Sometimes it all… It gets a bit much.”
Eumaeus nodded. “I understand.”
I was certain he did not.
We lapsed into silence, and Eumaeus glanced around the room as if searching for something to say.
“I saw your brother the other day. He asked after you.”
I almost choked on my food. “He…he did?”
“I believe he misses you.”
I pushed my plate aside, appetite withering. “He’s had nine summers to speak with me if he wished to.”
Eumaeus stared at my unfinished stew. “Melanthius is a lost soul. I think…he could use some guidance. The guidance of a sister.”
My smile was so tight it stung. “I am not his sister. Not anymore. He’s made that clear enough.”
“You know that’s not true, Melantho. You will always be—”
I rose abruptly. “I shouldn’t have come.”
Eumaeus followed me as I moved toward the door.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I want to.”
“We don’t have to talk about Melanthius. Wait, please.” He reached for my wrist. His grip was not firm—I could have broken away if I wished—but I let him hold me there. “You don’t have to leave. Unless, of course, you must return to Mistress Penelope—”
“Penelope does not need me.”
“Then will you please wait? You’re clearly upset, and I hate to think of you being alone like this—”
“Are you asking me to stay the night, Eumaeus?” I turned to face him, and he immediately released me, cheeks reddening. “I know you asked Mistress Penelope if you could court me. So we have permission. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
He seemed at a loss for words, yet his eyes blazed, questions flickering within them like the shadows playing across the walls.
“Say it, Eumaeus. Say you want me to stay.”
I could feel his desire expanding between us, charging the air with possibility. It felt good to be wanted like this, to have someone else’s longing threaded between my hands instead of being strangled by my own day after day.
Eumaeus’s throat bobbed as he whispered, “I want you to stay.”
I moved quickly, taking his face in my hands and clumsily tugging his mouth to mine. His surprise felt like a spark against my lips, but it quickly melted into something else, something hungry and urgent.
When he began tugging at my gown, I suddenly stiffened, pulling away. Eumaeus blinked dazedly at me, lips slightly swollen from the urgency of our kisses.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you…want me to stop?”
Faded memories swirled, of all the times I’d wished Castor and his friends had asked me that very question.
Instead of replying, I undid my gown, letting it ripple to the floor. Eumaeus’s eyes widened.
“Come here,” I instructed.
I did not have to tell him twice.
Eumaeus wrapped me in his large arms, and I sank into the heat of his body, letting my thoughts grow silent as instinct took over.
I knew this game well; it was simple and familiar.
It was a place I could disappear into, where I no longer had to be “Melantho,” rather just a body—limbs and skin and lips.
Within moments, Eumaeus was carrying me to his bed in the corner of the room, his own tunic discarded on the floor. He was surprisingly muscular, skin dusted with thick, dark hair. When he placed me on the furs, he paused to stare at me, as if wishing to savor the moment.
“Aphrodite has truly blessed you,” he murmured.
I smiled. I had forgotten how intoxicating it could feel to be wanted by someone.
Taking Eumaeus’s hand, I pulled him down to me.
This time, he kissed me slower, his lips migrating from my lips to trail down my neck, along my collarbone, venturing farther still.
With his free hand, he pushed me down onto the bed while his lips continued to explore.
I craned my neck to watch the muscles of his back ripple and shift as he moved, glowing like a golden mountain range in the firelight.
At some point, my head fell back and my eyes fluttered closed. I let my thoughts stray, the heat of the moment seeming to burn away the guard I usually held in place. In the confines of my mind, it was no longer Eumaeus’s bare body over mine, no longer his lips on my skin, nor his roaming hands…
Penelope was smiling down at me, her curled mouth pressing against my fingertips, whispering my name.
Melantho, Melantho, Melantho…
“Melantho?”
I realized Eumaeus was staring at me, his face half dipped in shadow.
“What?” I asked, painfully aware of how defensive I sounded.
“Are you all right?”
Instead of replying, I pulled him to me, crashing my lips against his.
“Tell me you want me,” I demanded as I positioned myself over him.
“I want you.”
I closed my eyes, holding the words tight inside me.
“Say it again.”
“I want you.”
“Good.” I smiled down at him. “Now show me.”