Chapter 22 #2
The words rang in Leukos’ ears, but he didn’t stop. His bride—his future queen—was upset, and tradition would not keep him from her.
He reached her just as she began to rise from her throne-like chair, struggling under the weight of her ceremonial robes.
“Sit,” he said gently, stepping in front of her, shielding her from curious stares.
She shook her head, fingers digging into the armrests. “No, I need to go. I need to find Danaos.”
“Charis, he’s at the palace gates. I saw him earlier—he’s not leaving.” He hesitated, then added, “You’ll speak to him after the celebrations. I promise.”
Her glistening eyes snapped to his, the fear she’d been hiding rising to the surface. “Leukos… I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, wringing her hands in her lap. “I can’t marry you when my heart belongs to him.”
Leukos tensed. This was what he’d feared.
Charis had gone along with the preparations, following her priest’s counsel to appease the gods. But now that their union was imminent, she couldn’t let Danaos go.
And her hesitation could cost him the alliance between Tiryns and Megara.
If they were to join the Westerners in battle, they needed an army. And only Tiryns could provide that.
“They won’t let you be together, Charis,” he murmured. “The nobles will notice—if they haven’t already. And when they do, they’ll demand his exile. You know this.”
Her expression wavered, and he stepped closer.
“But if we marry,” he continued, softer now, “you can still keep him close. I already told you—he won’t have to leave. You won’t have to lose him.”
Her breath hitched. “And he agreed to that?” She bit her lip, turning towards the open window, searching the horizon as if she might glimpse him through sheer will.
“No,” she whispered. “No, I have to see him. Please, Leukos, I—”
Her words broke off.
A sharp gasp escaped her, and her body seized, rigid against the chair. Her eyes flared open, the warm brown of her irises vanishing beneath a pearly-white ethereal light.
Leukos stepped back.
Around them, the lively chatter and music collapsed into silence.
Charis’ glowing eyes flicked side to side as though tracking something unseen—something far beyond the palace. It was her Gift from the Maiden, the one that allowed her to sense intruders breaching Tiryns’ barrier.
Leukos had glimpsed it only once before, from a distance, when Katell had crossed into the city. Seeing it up close, the hairs at the back of his neck rose.
His jaw clenched. What now?
The Great Hall held its breath.
Who had entered? Had the Rasennans found a way in?
Then Philistos’ voice boomed, shattering the silence like thunder. “The barrier has been breached!”
Gasps rippled along the banquet table as the guests surged to their feet.
Despoina was the first to move, sweeping to Charis’ side before turning to the guards. “Sound the alarm!”
The sharp blare of horns pierced the air, slicing through the growing panic. Then came the drums, reverberating off the palace walls—warning all of Tiryns of imminent danger.
The city was under attack.
Leukos didn’t move, not while Charis sat rigid in her throne, eyes still glowing as though the vision was searing her from within.
Then the light faded, and she collapsed into her seat, pale and trembling. Despoina brought a cup of water to her lips.
Leukos dropped to one knee, ignoring the chaos unfurling behind him. “Charis.” He leaned closer, careful not to touch her. “Are you all right? What did you see?”
Charis spoke between gasps, struggling to catch her breath. “Three people crossed the barrier… and animals… horses, I think.”
Leukos’ pulse quickened. Three? A scouting party? Or something worse?
“They’re on horseback,” Despoina snapped, already turning to the nearest guard. “Send word to the city—warn the people to hide! Find the intruders!”
“No!” Philistos surged forward, hands raised as if to block their path. “None may leave the palace.” He turned to Charis. “The gods are among us, Your Majesty. As long as the gates remain shut and the marriage ritual is completed, they will protect us—intruders or not.”
Charis, one hand pressed lightly to her chest, seemed more composed. She hesitated, glancing between the priest and nobles who were already murmuring in agreement, nodding like sheep hungry for divine favour.
She drew a long, measured breath, then lifted her chin, features settling into the serene, untouchable mask of a queen. “Philistos is right.” Her gaze met Leukos’, equal parts resolve and regret. “The gods expect a wedding, and so we must continue.”
But Leukos had reached his limit.
His blood boiled at the absurdity of it all—the gods, the ritual, the gates still sealed while the city was infiltrated. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he fought to hold his temper.
“The gods can wait.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned to the long banquet table, sweeping his gaze over the assembled rebels.
“Megarians, with me!” His command cut through the chatter.
Chairs scraped as the men rose at once, ready to follow him into battle. They had nearly reached the doors when Philistos’ voice rang out, sharp as a thrown dagger.
“Prince Leukos, are you defying the queen’s orders?” The priest’s words echoed through the Great Hall, loud enough for every guest to hear.
Leukos came to an abrupt halt, teeth grinding. Slowly, he glanced back, meeting Philistos’ cold, disapproving sneer. The priest stood beside Charis, whispering something in her ear.
Charis’ lips pressed into a thin line, her expression sharpening into displeasure.
“I know you care little for the gods, Prince Leukos—and I understand why.” Her voice, deliberate and steady, carried across the hall.
“But Tiryns depends on the Grey-Eyed Maiden’s barrier for protection, on the Giver’s blessing for our harvests, and the Sea God’s endless waters.
I have a duty to protect my people and honour the gods. That cannot be ignored.”
A ripple of murmurs followed her declaration. Some nobles nodded; others exchanged uncertain glances.
Behind Leukos, the rebels shifted uneasily. Theo caught his eye, offering the barest shake of his head—a silent warning.
“My queen,” Leukos said, his voice tight with restraint. “Let me go to the gates and confront whatever danger approaches.”
Charis didn’t hesitate. “General Danaos is at the gates and will protect us as the wedding continues.” She arched an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my general’s ability?”
Leukos let out a short, bitter laugh. “Honestly? Yes.”
If a Rasennan legate had slipped into Tiryns, how much damage could they cause before being stopped? Rasennan legates had years of war experience, whereas Danaos had none.
Charis’ expression hardened. “I do not permit it.” Her sharp tone clipped with finality. “Philistos, let us proceed with the rituals.”
The priest bowed. “As you wish, my queen.”
Without another glance at Leukos, Charis turned, her gown whispering against stone as she moved towards the firepit and waiting altar. Despoina fell in step beside her, guards following in practised formation. The nobles, ever obedient, trailed behind as the priest signalled them forward.
Leukos clicked his tongue, jaw tight with frustration.
“Steady,” Theo murmured, stepping beside him. “The front gates aren’t the only way into the palace. There are two smaller gates near the residential quarters—we can sneak someone out.”
Nik leaned in from behind. “I’ll go,” he whispered. “See what we’re up against.”
Leukos gave a discreet nod. “Go. Be quick.”
In an instant, Nik disappeared in a blur, slipping out before the Tirynthian guards noticed. The rebels closed ranks, forming a wall of support behind their prince.
Leukos stepped forward, forcing himself to summon control over his Gift as the priest approached with a bronze basin.
The water inside shimmered with rosemary and bay leaves—symbols of purification.
Leukos dipped his hands, scrubbed them quickly, and dried them on a linen cloth offered by an attendant.
He took his place beside Charis at the edge of the firepit, the scent of burnt offerings—barley, wine, and herbs—coiling into the air. Philistos lifted his hands to the sky and began the invocation, intoning the names of the Twelve.
Charis lowered her head. The nobles behind her murmured their responses, voices blending with the priest’s chant.
Heat licked at Leukos’ face, but it wasn’t the flames that set him on edge—it was the shouts echoing beyond the palace walls and the deep, pounding drums that grew louder with every beat, each one a warning no one else seemed willing to heed.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Charis kept her head bowed. “I was wrong for trying to escape the vow our parents made,” she whispered. “We must marry before our selfish choices doom us all.”
A sudden commotion erupted at the Great Hall’s entrance. Heads turned.
Nik had been seized—two guards gripping his arms, another pressing a spearpoint to his throat.
“Your Majesty,” one guard called, dragging Nik forward, “we caught the traitor trying to sneak back inside the palace.”
Charis whirled on Leukos. “What is the meaning of this?”
Leukos opened his mouth to respond, but stilled. Nik’s face had gone pale.
A knot twisted in Leukos’ gut. He strode towards the guards, his voice edged with steel. “Release him, if you know what’s good for you.”
The guards hesitated, then backed off, hands raised. Nik shook them off and stumbled forward, his gaze fixed on Leukos—until a slow grin spread across his face.
“She’s here,” he said, laughing in pure relief. “She’s alive. She’s here!”
Leukos froze—barely managing to keep himself level. He didn’t need to ask who Nik meant.
“Who?” Charis demanded, bunching the folds of her chiton in one hand. “Who’s here?”
But Leukos was already moving, striding out of the Great Hall and heading straight for the gates.
His footsteps pounded across the mosaic floor, his pulse a roar in his ears.
Alena.
“Leukos, wait!” Charis called, panic fraying her voice.
He stopped in the corridor, chest heaving, and turned.
She stood just behind, guards flanking her in tense silence.
“You cannot open the gate.” A silent, almost desperate plea undercut her words, reminding him how close they’d once been—how he owed her his life for taking him in all those years ago, when the Emperor had hunted him relentlessly. “The gods will curse you.”
Her chin puckered, trembling with unspoken fears. A better man would have offered comfort or reassurances to quell her worries. All he could muster was a bittersweet smile. “They already have.”
He turned away and hurried down the grand staircase towards the outer courtyard, taking the steps two at a time.
“Leukos!”
But he didn’t stop. Nik’s words echoed through his head. She’s here. She’s alive.
His foolish heart soared, but he needed to be certain.
He needed to see Alena with his own eyes.
He charged across the courtyard. A strong wind blew from the ramparts, warm and slick, unusual for this time of year.
On either side of the path, water trickled from twin marble fountains: one of the Sea God encircled by nymphs, the other of the Grey-Eyed Maiden in full battle regalia, flanked by the winged goddess of victory.
Raw magic thickened the air, clogging his throat. Was that Alena’s magic? When had it grown so powerful?
The gate loomed ahead. On the ramparts, Danaos stood with archers poised to loose their arrows.
“Hold your weapons!” Leukos ordered.
Danaos spun, his brow furrowing—until his gaze darted past Leukos to the grand staircase. Fear flickered across his face.
“Queen Charis! Go back inside!” he barked.
But the wind howled louder, drowning his shout. Each gust tore across the courtyard, snatching at hair, robes, and banners. Charis pressed forward anyway, skirts whipping, her guards tight around her.
Despoina stood below her with arms outstretched, trying to block the way. Behind them, the palace had emptied—nobles and guests spilling onto the steps, wide-eyed, drawn by the rising storm.
Philistos, red-faced from chasing the queen, spotted Leukos and roared, “Do not let the prince open the gate! He will doom us all!”
The guards lunged, racing towards him from both sides.
“Seize him!” Danaos shouted. “Protect the queen!”
The wind slammed against the wooden gate.
Leukos halted. A dozen guards closed in, spears angled. If any touched him, they were finished.
He summoned his Gift, ice-blue light flaring in his palms. “Let me pass.”
The guards faltered, their pace slowing at the sight of the cold blaze in his hands.
Then the wind screamed through the courtyard—no longer a breeze but a living, howling force. Warm and wet as a storm surge, it crashed into the ramparts with a beast’s roar. Spears clattered, shields toppled, and the wooden staircase groaned under the strain.
Something was coming.
Leukos stood his ground, magic blazing brighter as he eased back from the gate. On the ramparts, archers ducked low, knuckles white on their bows. They looked to Danaos for orders, but the general’s back was to them, his focus locked on the queen.
He shouted—Leukos could see his mouth move—but the wind swallowed everything.
Then the gate exploded.
A deafening crack split the air as splinters and iron bolts burst outwards in a violent storm. Shards of wood flew like knives. Leukos raised his arms, conjuring a shield of ice that deflected the debris.
The howling ceased. An eerie silence fell over the courtyard. Guards slowly turned towards the ruin, searching the swirling haze of dust.
Leukos’ heart stopped.
A figure emerged from the chaos—a woman wreathed in power. Wind coiled at her feet, green eyes blazing with magic, and three wolves prowled at her back.
Alena’s fierce voice—the one that had haunted his dreams for months—rolled through the courtyard.
“Where is my sister?”