Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LEUKOS
The palace gardens below bloomed with blood-red anemones and jasmine, and the air was alive with the melodic chirping of swallows. Spring had arrived, and it was a glorious day for a wedding. The sky stretched in a pristine blue, as if blessed by the gods.
A cold knot of dread clenched in Leukos’ gut as he stood on the open marble balcony of his chamber.
The soft rustle of olive trees and the fragrant scent of myrtle drifting in did little to soothe his turmoil.
They only reminded him of the sickly-sweet oils the priest, Philistos, had smeared across his skin during the pre-wedding rituals.
Leukos had endured it in silence, jaw locked, stomach roiling.
If the gods were truly watching, he neither cared nor wanted their attendance. Their so-called blessings always came at a price, and he’d paid more than enough already.
Below, the palace gates were sealed—a symbolic gesture to keep the union private between the couple and the gods. But with the entire Tirynthian court packed inside, the notion of intimacy felt laughable.
Beyond the balcony, Tiryns stretched in a maze of white stone buildings. Paved roads teemed with vendors and chariots, all leading to the looming city walls, taller than any Leukos had ever seen.
Alena would have loved it.
The thought ambushed him, slipping past his resolve. She was always etched into his every moment, an unshakeable presence. But today…
A sharp emptiness blossomed within him.
Today, he would have to let her go.
He swallowed hard, the pain settling like a fresh scar over the countless others he carried in his heart. Invisible, but heavy. He would bear it, as he always did.
A prince of Megara had no other choice, his father had always said.
He turned from the breathtaking view and stepped inside.
It was time to prepare. Thankfully, his rituals were far simpler than Charis’.
As tradition demanded, the queen partook in a symbolic bath with water blessed by a local fertility goddess—a sacred ceremony layered with meaning.
She would be dressed in elaborate finery, the traditional saffron-dyed veil draped over her.
Later, they would meet before nobles and guests, a sea of strangers raising goblets in their name.
A celebration neither of them had asked for.
Then, come dusk, the actual wedding would follow in a more private setting, ending with Leukos leading Charis back to his chamber—where he intended to keep his distance, lest his uncontrollable magic turn his new wife to ice.
The thought of harming Charis or anyone else left a bitter taste in his mouth. He grasped the sides of the bronze basin in his chamber, the metal cool against his hands. His weary reflection stared back, dark circles etched beneath his eyes.
Alena had haunted his dreams the night before.
She’d been seated in a dim, crumbling shack, moonlight filtering through cracked wooden slats.
Her face was bathed in tears, her sobs echoing in his chest. A woman he didn’t recognise knelt beside her, murmuring softly and wrapping her in a fragile embrace.
Leukos had tried to step forward, to speak her name, but the dream shifted like sand beneath his feet.
He was back at the rebel camp. Through the trees, the damned fox waited, its golden gaze gleaming like a cruel reminder of Alena’s destiny. He had stood before her, words caught in his throat, but no matter what he said, it was never enough to make her stay.
You breathed life back into me, Alena.
By the Sea, she’d felt so real in his arms. Her warmth sank into him like sunlight through thawing ice.
Her body pressed close to his, a blush blooming across her cheeks, her braid dishevelled after he’d run his fingers through it.
He remembered the exact shade of the auburn strands framing her face, a blend of the burning flowers from the southern kingdoms and ruby-red amaranths.
Her green eyes, glowing faintly with magic, had met his with a look that undid him every time.
He’d ached to kiss her again, to feel the softness of her lips and pretend, just for a heartbeat, that she was his.
In all the days they’d stolen together, he hadn’t kissed her nearly enough.
He’d been a fool.
A fool who’d kept secrets from her, and when they came to light, he’d lost her.
Now, six months later, he couldn’t remember what she tasted like, and that single detail gutted him more than any blade could.
Ice crawled from his fingers, encasing the edges of the basin in crystalline frost.
Leukos cursed under his breath and pulled back.
Damn the North Wind and his Gift.
Your magic will return. Enough to rival any Silver Shield’s or Achaean hero’s prowess.
Oh, it had returned plenty, and more. Magic that seethed under his skin, wild and unstable, demanding every shred of focus to contain it. It didn’t empower him. It consumed him.
He’d become a liability.
Just two nights ago, when he’d dined with Charis and the twins, a servant had nearly lost her life when she accidentally brushed his bare arm. That small touch had been enough to unleash his Gift. Ice had erupted across her skin, spreading over her hand and stopping just past her wrist.
The memory of her piercing scream still haunted him, echoing through his mind at night.
If not for the twins’ quick reflexes—using their Gift to whisk the servant to a healer—the frost would have burrowed into her bones. She would’ve lost the hand. Maybe more.
But that incident wasn’t the worst of it.
In the days following Nik’s pact with the North Wind, Leukos had noticed something far more unsettling.
The Mark Nik bore was tethered to him, bound to his control—or his lack of it.
Every time his power slipped, Nik’s arm seized with frost, pain lancing through him as though the magic punished them both.
And since the climb up the mountain, Leukos had lost control too many times.
That knowledge hollowed him out and robbed him of sleep.
Nik had already bartered his soul. Now he suffered for every one of Leukos’ mistakes. No excuse could dull the edge of that truth.
A prince of Megara did not lose control.
His father would have called it weakness, unforgivable.
Yet no palace healer, nor his mother’s potion had been able to leash his unruly Gift.
So Leukos kept his distance. No touch, no closeness, no risk.
Isolation was the only way to protect the people around him.
He was still caught in those thoughts when a sharp knock jolted him.
The door creaked open.
“Oh, there you are!” A petite woman swept into the room without waiting for permission.
Her deep brown skin glowed in the soft light, her dark hair piled high and threaded with wildflowers.
She carried a basket of apples as if she were arriving for a picnic rather than intruding on the storm inside his mind.
Leukos blinked. He’d given strict orders that no one was to enter his chamber. After the dinner incident, he’d dismissed every servant. No exceptions.
“Leave,” he ordered. “It’s dangerous here. I can get dressed by myself—”
“Nonsense.” She breezed past him, setting the basket on the table beside a pitcher of wine, then clapped her hands together, a giddy smile on her lips.
“It’s your wedding day, and you’ll need help to get dressed.
The queen insisted. And besides, I know how to avoid a man’s touch.
” She gave a conspiratorial wink. “At least when I want to.”
Leukos stared at her, stunned by her nerve.
He opened his mouth to protest again, but the words caught in his throat. She had a point, frustratingly enough. As much as he wanted to remain alone and brood—as Nik called it—he couldn’t possibly wrap the extravagant wedding chiton by himself.
“Fine,” he relented. “You can hold the cloth, but keep your distance.”
She nodded and went to retrieve the deep orange-brown fabric. Embroidered with threads of gold, it caught the morning light filtering in from the balcony where it hung on its wooden frame.
They worked in near silence. She held the fabric just within reach, respecting the space he demanded, her hands precise but never hurried.
The chiton was draped first and pinned at one shoulder with a polished bronze fibula.
She guided the cloth around his body, letting him make the final adjustments.
Then came the cloak: an immaculate white garment with an embroidered border in Tiryns’ distinctive amber and bronze hues, heavy with symbolic patterns of fertility and strength.
“You don’t seem very excited about your wedding,” the servant remarked, her nimble fingers fastening the heavy cloak with a gold brooch in the shape of a lion.
He shot her a sidelong glance. “And you’re very bold to assume how I feel.”
She shrugged, a smile tugging at her rosy lips. “My husband is always telling me to watch my mouth because it gets me into trouble.” She left his side to pick up the gold circlet crown resting on a cushion.
Leukos huffed. “A wise man. And what do you tell him?” He was careful not to touch her skin as he took the crown from her hands.
“Nothing. He’s too much of a bore,” she said bluntly, stepping back to appraise him.
Her eyes lingered on the contours of his arms as he set the circlet atop his head, then traced his form with almost tangible hunger.
She bit her lip, her gaze smouldering. “But my lover doesn’t mind at all,” she purred.
“He loves every part of me, especially my mouth.”
Leukos froze, a sudden flush of heat surging through him.
Though no blushing virgin, he was still caught in the woman’s magnetic pull.
The intoxicating scent of myrtle hung thick in the air, clouding his thoughts.
He almost reached for her, driven by an inexplicable urge to touch, but shook his head, clearing his mind.