Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LEUKOS
The three of them descended the staircase into the courtyard, where morning sunlight spilled like molten gold over white stone and flickered through the slender columns. The air was crisp, but a shadow shifted across the colonnaded walkway.
Danaos appeared in polished armour, his amber cloak billowing behind him—a striking contrast against the sunlit courtyard.
When he spotted Leukos, a scowl tightened his sharp features. Without hesitation, he cut across the open space towards them, his ominous aura putting Nik and Theo on edge.
“Leukos,” Nik murmured under his breath, a warning.
Leukos gave a subtle shake of his head. “I’ll handle him.” He strode forward, stepping away from his friends to meet Danaos by the fountain.
“Your Highness,” Danaos greeted, his tone clipped. He seemed restless, his movements agitated. “I’m heading to the palace gates. I’ll keep an eye out for any intruders.”
Leukos frowned. Danaos’ absence from the celebrations was highly unusual. He was the queen’s general and right hand. “No one would dare interrupt a royal wedding,” Leukos replied. “You should stay.”
Danaos paced, anguish cracking through his calm. “I cannot.”
Leukos recalled the conversation he’d had with Charis the last time he left Tiryns—he’d told her she was free to love and spend time with whoever she wished, especially after learning of her affair with Danaos. But he’d never spoken to Danaos himself about it.
Now, standing before the restless general, it was clear a conversation was unavoidable—perhaps necessary—before the wedding. No matter their feelings, they all had roles to play, and unresolved tension could only fracture the fragile alliance.
Leaning closer, Leukos pressed, “Charis will want you there.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren’t you attend—”
The general whirled on Leukos, his face flushed.
“I’m doing this for her!” he shouted, running a shaky hand through his golden hair.
Then, as if frustrated with his own outburst, he turned away, fists clenching at his side.
“I thought I could stay, but the thought of you and her… It eats me alive. I’ve dreaded this wedding for years.
Years! Ever since Charis told me the truth of your betrothal the last time you visited Tiryns…
and now I am but a hollow shell of a man. ”
Leukos barely kept his irritation in check. Danaos had no idea of the weight he carried—no idea how much it tore him apart to marry Charis while his thoughts circled endlessly around Alena. Yet here Danaos was, baring his soul like some lovesick boy, as if he alone had to swallow this pain.
Danaos halted, spinning back with a fierce glare. “When we first met, I prayed for your death. Back then, you were so obsessed with revenge and rescuing your brother. You cared so little for your own life that I thought…” He trailed off, a harsh chuckle escaping his lips. “But now, here you are.”
Leukos bristled at the reminder of those dark days after the massacre, when he’d thrown himself into brutal training with Nisos and Pelagios while Xanthos and Theo sought allies across Achaea. That fire still burned beneath his calm exterior, fuelling the rebellion.
“This wedding is nothing but a political alliance,” Leukos argued, fighting to keep his voice steady. “A farce—”
“To us, perhaps,” Danaos cut in, gesturing towards the Great Hall where the celebrations awaited, “but to everyone else, you will be husband and wife. To them, she will be yours when she should have been mine.”
He took a threatening step, tension crackling in the air between them.
“Danaos,” Nik growled from behind, warning laced in his tone.
The general registered his cousin’s presence before he backed off, his shoulders slumping.
Danaos’ love for Charis was deeper than Leukos had realised.
They had always been discreet when they were younger, concealing their feelings.
But since Leukos’ return to Tiryns, it had been painfully obvious.
Every time they were in the same room, they only had eyes for each other.
Now the raw despair etched across Danaos’ face sparked a painful recognition in Leukos. In that moment, their fates were intertwined—both shackled by duty, both forced to let go of the one they truly longed for.
“I thought of leaving,” Danaos murmured.
“But if that meant never seeing Charis again, you might as well rip out my heart here and now, for nothing could be more painful.” He struck his breastplate with a clenched fist, the sound a dull thud.
“So I’ll stay.” His fingers spread over the ridged scales of his armour, jaw locked.
“For her, I will stay. I’ll endure this torment until the day she no longer wishes me at her side. ”
He jabbed a finger at Leukos. “But if I find out you’ve made her unhappy, or you’ve mistreated her in any way—”
“I won’t,” Leukos promised, holding the general’s fierce gaze.
Charis was more than a political match. She had protected him after the massacre when he was at his lowest; she’d stood by him when no one else dared. He owed her his life. And though he could never love her as she deserved, he was resolved to be the best husband he could be.
Danaos studied him for a beat, then gave a curt nod. “She’s waiting for you in the Great Hall.”
Without another word, he turned and strode away, his cloak snapping behind him.
When Leukos glanced over his shoulder, he was met with Nik and Theo’s grim expressions. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The look in their eyes said enough—they saw right through him.
But their concern was misplaced.
Leukos was doing what had to be done: honouring his parents’ wishes, solidifying the alliance between Tiryns and Megara, strengthening the rebellion from within palace walls.
This was strategy. Just as his brother Galen had taught him.
Now was not the time for weakness.
He’d clung to dreams of Alena for too long, letting her linger like a ghost in every unguarded moment. The servant from his chamber had been wrong. Love wasn’t a need. It was a beautiful indulgence—one he could no longer afford.
Exhaling a long breath, he forced himself towards the Great Hall and the role he was meant to play, ignoring the hollow ache blooming in his chest like frost creeping through cracks.
Duty would have to be enough.
The sun had just reached its highest point, yet Leukos was already weary of the celebrations.
The ceremonial feast preceding the wedding—an Achaean tradition meant to bless the union and display the strength of both families—dragged on in splendour.
Guests lined the length of an expansive banquet table that stretched almost the entire span of the Great Hall, women seated at one end and men at the other, in strict adherence to custom.
A festive melody wove through the air from flutes and lyres.
Seated at the head of the table, Leukos stared down its absurd length.
At the far end, Charis sat beneath a saffron veil that shimmered in the light, cascading over her shoulders and pooling at her waist. She conversed with Despoina, though her eyes kept straying towards the nearest window—where the palace gates lay just in view beyond the courtyard.
Was she looking for Danaos?
From the men’s side of the table came another round of boisterous laughter. Nik was entertaining the nobles with exaggerated tales of his fights in Bruna’s arena, while Xanthos and Tiryns’ chief priest looked on with barely concealed distaste.
Pelagios lurched to his feet, swaying slightly, his beard damp with wine, face flushed crimson. He raised his goblet high and roared, “To Prince Leukos, soon to be King of Tiryns! May the Mother bless him with the peace of a happy marriage—and the Cyprian with the fires of passion!”
The men erupted in cheers, slamming their cups on the table. Leukos forced a smile and drained his goblet in one long swallow.
Sensing his waning patience, Theo clapped Pelagios on the back and said, “Why don’t you share a tale from King Pandion’s war? I doubt many here have heard a firsthand account of the Battle of Kendrisia.”
The men perked up, eager to hear more. Pelagios’ eyes lit, and he launched into the story. Leukos gave Theo a subtle nod of thanks, then looked to Charis once more. She was no longer listening to Despoina. Her head was bowed over her plate, face pale and drawn beneath the soft folds of her veil.
She looked as trapped as he felt.
Leukos rose, and the men fell quiet.
“My prince?” Xanthos asked.
“I’ll be right back,” Leukos said with a tight smile. “Pelagios, don’t stop on my behalf.”
The Silver Shield nodded, diving into an even more vicious description of the Makhai—how the monstrous demons clawed their way from the earth and tore through the Rebel Queen’s lines like living nightmares.
Leukos skirted the table, keeping his distance from the guests. But before he could reach Charis, a robed figure stepped into his path.
Philistos.
The priest smiled, all teeth and false reverence. “My prince. You cannot join the queen.”
So the sly bastard had guessed his intent.
“Why not?” Leukos asked, irritation slipping into his tone.
Philistos folded his hands. “The gods are among us tonight,” he said smoothly, “and they expect tradition to be upheld. You’ll see your bride soon enough—after the feast, when the final rites begin. Until then, the boundaries between man and woman must remain sacred.”
His smug composure was infuriating. Ever since Leukos’ return to Tiryns, Philistos had wormed his way into Charis’ inner circle, cloaking manipulation in piety. He would be the first removed from her council once Leukos wore the crown.
“You do not wish to displease the Sea God,” the priest added.
Leukos’ jaw tightened. If the priest thought invoking Megara’s patron would deter him, he was mistaken. “I don’t care for his wishes,” he replied scathingly, continuing forward.
“The mortal who fights the gods does not live long,” Philistos warned.