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Chapter Text

Theia

A gentle breeze lifted her veil as she stood on the deck, watching the shore grow closer. Her brothers used to mock the small kingdom now standing before her eyes.

“Ithaca is nothing but a dry rock. There are more goats than men on that pitiful piece of land.”

Now, Theia couldn’t say much about the goats, but she could confirm one thing: the island was definitely not a “dry rock.” Green hills melted into one another, contrasting with the whitewashed villages scattered along the coast. It seemed… peaceful. Beautiful.

“ONE HOUR ’TIL WE DOCK IN KIONI. ALL MEN ON DECK!”

Wait… Kioni?

Theia marched to the captain, who was still barking orders.

“I’m sorry… there must be a mistake. I was told this boat stops at Stávros.”

The captain snorted. “What kind of stupid question is that? Ain’t no harbor in Stávros, girl. Closest thing to the sea there is Polis, and only fishing boats dock there. So, Kioni it is.”

Then, leaning closer with an air of disgust:

“If I were you, I’d thank the gods your brother had money to spare to put you on this boat and shut my goddamn mouth. The sooner you’re outta my sight, the better.”

Well. That seemed to be the general consensus these days.

“You told my brother you would get me to my uncle! He’s waiting for me in Stávros. How am I supposed to get there?”

“I told your brother I’d get you to Ithaca. The rest, I couldn’t care less.”

He turned away, adding over his shoulder, “You got two perfectly good legs. It’s an hour walk from Kioni to Stávros. So walk.”

“Bastard,” Theia muttered under her breath once he was out of earshot.

⸻

Three hours later

“It’s an hour walk to reach Stávros. An hour walk, my ass.”

“Beautiful” wasn’t the right word to describe Ithaca anymore.

“A never-ending hills-fueled nightmare” might suit better.

Seriously, how many hills could a gods-damned island have?

As she reached the top of what was maybe the fourth (or fifth? Who knew anymore?) hill in the past two hours, Theia muttered to herself:

“I swear to all the gods, if I don’t see that damn village from the top, I will throw myself off the next cliff I find.”

Apparently, the gods had decided twenty-one years was quite enough, because the absence of anything resembling a village indicated they were ready to end her life here and now.

Theia let out a groan, threw her satchel to the ground, and dropped to her knees.

All things considered, staying right where she was seemed like the best course of action.

What a perfectly reasonable place to stay: the top of a stupid hill.

No more walking, ever again.

She would live and die on the top of this cursed hill.

Maybe someone would stumble upon her remains someday and bestow upon her the title of “ Witch of the Awful, Terrible Fourth Hill”.

Maybe they’d tell children to stay away from this gods-forsaken place, or else the witch would turn them into slugs. What a beautiful legacy.

“Hum… hello?”

The fantasy of her lasting fame was rudely interrupted by a voice.

A voice seemingly belonging to a boy standing a few steps below her.

“Am I hallucinating you?” she asked flatly.

The maybe-boy-maybe-hallucination chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

Theia stood up and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “That’s exactly what a hallucination would say.”

The boy grinned and stepped closer.

“Fair enough. I can’t prove I’m real… but would it help if I swore it to you?”

Now that he was nearer, Theia could get a proper look at him. He looked about her age — tall, with tanned skin, brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. If he was a hallucination, well, she had to thank whatever part of her brain conjured him, because he was pretty easy on the eyes.

But against all better judgment (and maybe a little mad hope), she decided to trust him. There was something about his gaze — the way it radiated with kindness — that startled her.

She hadn’t been shown much kindness in her life. It seemed unlikely her mind would invent something so rare.

“Alright. You’re not a hallucination. Congratulations.”

The maybe-real boy laughed and gave a playful bow.

“Well, thank you, my lady.”

He straightened again, now towering a full head taller than her.

“May I ask why you were sitting in the middle of nowhere accusing people of being figments of your imagination?”

Theia groaned, letting herself fall back into the grass dramatically.

“Because the stupid captain from the stupid ship dropped me in the wrong village, and now I’ve been roaming this stupid rock for two hours, under the blazing sun may I add, trying to find a village that was supposed to be one hour away from Kioni — and I’m pretty sure that either I’m lost, or this island is just one village surrounded by hills. Endless. Hills. ”

The boy’s eyebrows flew up, and he pressed his lips together as if trying very, very hard not to laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me!” she snapped.

He raised his hands in surrender, chuckling.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He took a deep breath, composed himself, and said,

“I promise you, there are other towns on this island. Where exactly are you trying to go?”

“Stávros,” she said with the weariness of a soldier.

A look of surprise flickered across the young man’s face.

“…Stávros is definitely not an hour away from Kioni. More like two or three, depending on the weather.”

Theia hissed through her teeth, “That son of a harpy…”

“Or maybe he just didn’t know the island very well?” the boy suggested, half-smiling.

Theia glared.

“No, no, no, this man had been nothing but a despicable human being from the moment we departed from Sparta. He definitely said it on purpose. Please tell me you know how to reach Stávros from here?”

He smiled warmly and nodded.

“I do. I actually live close to the city, a little higher up the mountain. I was heading home now, but I wouldn’t mind showing you the way. If that’s alright with you?”

Bless the gods. This boy was a blessing.

“Really? You would??”

“Absolutely. It’s on my path anyway.”

Feeling a sudden burst of energy, Theia grabbed her satchel and started downhill. “Okay, let’s go then!”

“Wrong way,” the boy called, pointing to the opposite direction.

She spun around, ready to glare, but something about his grin made her pause. Instead of the glare, she settled for a smirk. “Alright, alright, O wise guide.” With a roll of her eyes, she turned and started marching in the right direction. “Let’s go then!”

Chapter Text

Theia

Maybe it was the sun threatening to melt her right where she stood, or maybe it was her mind surrendering after the storm that had upended her life in the past few days, but Theia realized she couldn’t find any words to say.

So they walked, side by side, silent and awkward, the hills stretching endlessly around them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the boy cleared his throat and glanced at her.

“Do you… need help with that?” he asked, nodding toward her bag.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Right. Okay.”

Silence fell again — thick, uncomfortable.

This is awkward , Theia thought miserably.

“Well. This is awkward,” the boy said out loud.

She whipped her head toward him — and burst out laughing.

“What?” he said, startled.

“I was just thinking the exact same thing!” she gasped between giggles.

The boy blinked at her in surprise — and then let out a bright, melodic laugh.

Before they knew it, the two of them were doubled over, cackling like madmen in the middle of nowhere.

When he finally caught his breath, he pressed a hand to his heart, mock solemn.

“Alright. Small talk. Gods, I hate small talk… but here we go. Let’s start simple: what’s your name?”

Theia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still grinning.

“Good job. You’ll be a professional small talker in no time.”

“Stop it.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“I’m just teasing,” she said, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers. “I hate it too. But you asked, and I respect that. I’m Theia.”

He studied her curiously, his head tilting just slightly.

“Theia? Is it short for something?”

“Aletheia.”

His eyes brightened with recognition. “Ah — ‘Truth.’ A heavy name to carry. Are you always truthful, then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” she teased, then softened. “In all seriousness, don’t call me Aletheia. Only my mother did — and it was usually right before a full-blown scolding.”

He laughed again, a sound as easy and musical as a lyre’s first note.

“A mother’s wrath knows no bounds. Or so I’ve heard. Mine never scolded me.”

“Well, we can’t all be perfectly polite and well-mannered children. Some of us have to cause a little chaos to keep the world balanced.”

His laughter rang out again, so sincere it made her chest ache a little. Maybe she had been unknowingly blessed by Thalia today. Or maybe — just maybe — this boy was the easiest audience in all of Greece.

“And what about you?” she asked, bumping him again. “What’s your name?”

“Tem,” he said easily.

She squinted at him. “Tem? Short for…?”

A glint of mischief sparked in his eye.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, floored by his audacity. Meanwhile, he just kept strolling downhill like he owned the land. Cocky bastard.

“Echoing my words? So you’re a guide AND a parrot.”

Tem turned, walking backwards a few steps as he shrugged.  “What can I say? I multitask.”

Despite her best efforts, Theia let out a small laugh. Shaking her head incredulously, she ran down the hill to join him, her satchel bouncing against her hip.

They kept walking, the afternoon sun beating relentlessly on their backs. Theia tugged her veil lower, desperate to shield her face from Helios’ dramatic display.

“Are we even remotely close to Stávros? Because I’m not particularly thrilled at the prospect of dying from sun sickness in the middle of nowhere on this gods-forsaken island.”

Tem let out a small laugh. “So dramatic. Come on, you’ve barely seen Ithaca. I promise, it has its charms — you just have to look harder. I give you two weeks before you fall in love with it.”

Theia snorted. “Alright, bet.”

He smiled as they took a few more steps. “And to answer your question, yes, we’re close. Just a few more minutes and the town will be in view.”

The tension had long since melted away — so of course, as they approached an olive grove, the Fates had to laugh in her face and will Tem to ask the one question she didn’t want to hear.

“So… Sparta?”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She fought to keep her voice even.

“Yes. Sparta. Born and raised.”

Tem hummed thoughtfully, his gaze wandering over their surroundings. “Is it your first time leaving home?”

“Yes,” she replied a little too sharply.

He seemed to sense it, because a moment later his eyes lit up — not with judgment, but with discovery. He veered off the path toward a fig tree a few feet away, plucked two ripe fruits, and jogged back.

“I’m sorry if my questions bothered you,” he said, offering her one of the figs. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Peace offering?”

He smiled at her, waiting patiently. His expression was so genuine, it was almost unsettling.

In her experience, people didn’t show kindness to strangers without a reason. Hades, most didn’t show kindness to family either—not unless they had something to gain. People took and took until there was nothing left, then moved on without a second thought. She knew that. She’d lived it. She’d been the one thrown away.

Something in the back of her mind whispered that this wasn’t just about accepting fruit from a boy. It was about accepting kindness. And the idea felt so foreign she didn’t know what to do with it. It felt like an oath—not to him, not even to herself, but to something still unnamed.

Her gaze flicked from the fig, to his eyes, then back again. And she took it.

“Thank you.”

She took a bite and—oh my. That was the best fig she’d ever had in her life. She really ought to apologize to Ithaca for insulting its rocky soil, because clearly it was infused with some kind of magic. Not that she’d say it out loud. No need to hear an “I told you so” from mister Ithaca has its charms . She settled on what she did best instead.

“So… is it tradition here to upset people and then bribe them with figs?”

Tem gave her a coy look, then rolled his eyes. “Gods forbid I try to be nice…”

Which only encouraged her further.

“I mean, not that I’m complaining. Now that I know all it takes is a pout in your general direction for you to show up with food, I might use that to my advantage. I’ll never have to work another day in my life!”

He shook his head, grinning in disbelief.

They kept walking, the path slowly beginning to curve downward. Just as the sun dipped toward the horizon, Tem nudged her gently.

“Hey, look.”

She followed his gaze. There, tucked between the hills and shimmering in the golden light, was a small city. Pale stone buildings reflected the sun’s glow, a sharp contrast to the rugged greens of the pine and olive trees surrounding it.

“Is that…?”

“Stávros,” he confirmed, already smiling at her expression. “As promised.”

Relief flooded her chest. Finally, this long, sun-scorched journey was nearly over.

Well… not all of it had been terrible.

“So,” he said, eyes still on the road ahead, “why did you come here again?”

“I never told you.”

“I know. I was trying to ask without sounding too nosy.”

She adjusted the strap of her satchel. “My uncle lives here. I’m going to live with him.”

“Do you two get along?”

“I don’t know. Never met him.”

He turned his head, eyebrows lifting. “Then why—”

She shot him a warning look. He raised his hands and wordlessly offered her the fig he still hadn’t eaten.

“Right. Not my business. Sorry. Curiosity’s a family curse.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s okay.”

A few more minutes passed in silence, until the road split. One path sloped gently toward the town, the other continued along the ridge.

Tem pointed. “Town’s that way. This one brings me home.”

They stopped, now facing each other. So this was it, then.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “For helping me. I don’t think I said that yet.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” he replied easily. “And anyway, my morals won’t let me abandon lost travelers to their fates so…”

She smirked. “Lucky me, then.”

He hesitated—just a moment—then took a few steps down his path, before turning back.

“See you around?”

She was surprised to find she wanted that. Really wanted that.

“…Sure,” she said. Then, a little louder: “See you.”

He waved and kept walking, disappearing into the golden light.

She stood for a breath, then turned toward the town—and whatever came next.

Chapter Text

Theia 

The contrast couldn’t be starker. Where the hill had been a never-ending field of solitude (well—for the first two hours, at least), the town buzzed like a beehive in spring.

Everywhere Theia looked, people were rushing about, talking, laughing. Children darted between stalls, shrieking over nothing in particular. A small market had taken over the agora, its colorful stands painting a vivid picture against the pale walls of an elegant building.

Where Sparta’s crowds had always felt suffocating, this one was almost… inviting.

Ew . Did she enjoy people now? That couldn’t be right. One couldn’t like a town they’d only been in for five minutes.

She had to pull herself together. If she ran into Tem again, he would never let her hear the end of it.

And besides—she had an uncle to find.

Carefully, she approached a woman selling embroidered fabrics.

“Um… excuse me?”

The woman looked up and smiled warmly. She had the kind of face that made you think of grandmothers from the stories —flour-dusted clothes, cheek pinching, cake baking.

“Oh, hello, lovely! Did any of my works catch your eye?”

Theia flushed. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to look at them today. I was wondering if you knew where a man named Menon lives? I was told he’s a baker?”.

The woman’s eyes widened, an “o” forming on her lips.

“Oh, you must be his niece! I bought a loaf from him just this morning—he mentioned he was expecting you!”

She stood up, came around her stand to get closer, and pointed toward a small street on the left of the agora.

“You go this way, walk straight ahead until you see a big oleander, then go right. It’s the last building before the shrubland.”

Left. Oleander. Right. Shrubland. Got it.

“Thank you so much!”

The woman smiled warmly. “Not a problem, lovely. Come back around when you’ve got more time—I’ve got some green fabric that would pair beautifully with those lovely green eyes of yours.”

Theia blushed a little before saying “will do.”

—

Well, here we are.

Theia took a moment to study what would become her new home. In front of her stood a two-story house made of light stone. It wasn’t luxurious, but neither was it as modest as her mother and brothers had led her to believe. Clearly, Uncle Menon’s business was doing well.

The bakery was in the front, a large oven facing the street. It seemed empty, the fire long extinguished. She could make out the private part of the building in the back, behind what was probably a small courtyard, and guessed she’d have a better chance of finding Menon there.

Cautiously, she knocked on the side door and waited.

It only took a moment before it flew open, revealing a middle-aged man in the doorway.

“You’re late.”

Well. That’s a warm welcome.

Theia hoisted her bag and stammered, “Uh… sorry? It’s just that the boat dropped me at Kioni, and I had to walk all the way here, and I got lost and—”

He raised a hand to stop her ramble.

“Well, you’re here now.”

Theia stood frozen as he turned away and walked back into the courtyard. Without even turning around, he called out, “Are you coming, or are you sleeping in the street?”

“Yup. Right on.”

As she caught up with him, he gestured around the courtyard.

“Here’s the bakery. And that’s the shop’s back room.”

She nodded quickly as she followed him into the house.

“And here’s where we live.”

The room she stepped into was pretty bare, but spacious. A small hearth stood proudly in the center. A couple of benches were pushed against the walls, and a small table with two chairs sat on the other side of the room. Wooden stairs led up to the second floor, and a small cot was shoved beneath them.

“Is this where I’ll slee—”

“No. You have the bedroom upstairs. I’ll take the cot. Or sleep in the shop. Not sure yet.”

Oh… That’s nice of him.

“Follow me.”

Menon led her upstairs and opened a door to a small bedroom. The window had been left open to let in the late afternoon breeze, and she could see the sky reddening above the hills. Beneath the window stood a cot, a little larger than the one downstairs, with fresh linens in a soft shade of pink.

Menon scratched his throat. “Girls like pink, right?”

For the first time since she’d entered the house, Theia smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, pink is nice.”

He hummed, satisfied, and continued.

“I’m turning the storage room next door into a bathroom. Used to have a basin downstairs, but I’m guessing you’ll want privacy.”

She nodded. “Thank you. That’s… thoughtful.”

He grumbled, as if he hadn’t expected her to say that, then added, “I’ll let you get settled. When you’re done, come downstairs to eat. You’ve barely got anything on your bones,” before storming out.

Alone at last, Theia threw herself onto the bed and closed her eyes, welcoming the soft breeze through the open window.

“Welcome home, I guess.”

—

The smell of herbs and spices greeted her as she descended the stairs. Menon stood by the hearth, stirring whatever simmered in his cauldron.

Her gaze drifted to the table: two bowls, an assortment of cheese, bread, and fruit, and a jar of wine.

“I made a stew,” he said without looking up, nodding toward the table. “Help yourself. It’s almost ready.”

Theia sat and hesitantly reached for a piece of bread. One bite told her—oh. That was good bread. He really was good at this.

Before she had time to fully appreciate it, Menon joined her and silently ladled stew into her bowl.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he set it down.

He only shrugged and filled his own.

She cleared her throat. “And… thanks. In general. For, you know, agreeing to take me in.”

“Don’t fuss about it. It’s not like either of us had much of a choice.”

Her stomach twisted. Yeah. No one had asked her. Just pack Theia off to the other side of Greece, to an uncle no one had seen in thirty years—let him deal with the problem.

“I can… I can cook or clean, if you want.”

Menon raised an eyebrow. “You saying my house is dirty and my food’s no good?”

“What? No! The food is great! The house is great! I just meant—” she waved her hands, flustered—“I thought I should help. To… you know… make up for being here.”

He squinted at her, like she was speaking a foreign language.

“Make up for what?”

She looked down. “For bothering you.”

That got a reaction. His brow furrowed, mouth twisted in disbelief.

“You’re not bothering me.”

Her head shot up. “I’m not?”

“No. Doesn’t change much for me. I’ll still wake up and do the same job I’ve done my whole life.” He shrugged. “Guess the only difference is I’ve got company for dinner.”

Something in her chest unclenched. “So… you don’t want me to do anything?”

“You can help in the bakery, if you want. The simple stuff. But other than that—” he waved a hand vaguely—“just do whatever it is people your age do.”

Oh. She hadn’t expected that.

—

Whatever it is people your age do . Honestly, she had no idea. She didn’t have friends back in Sparta. Her brothers were much older, and if they ever acknowledged her, it was only to call her trouble.

Back upstairs, Theia loosened her chiton and slipped off the ribbon tying back her curls. After the day she’d had, sleep sounded like the best idea anyone had ever had.

She slid beneath the linens—soft, pink—and her hand brushed against something on the mattress.

A small bouquet of dried lavender, tied with a bit of fraying rope.

“Thoughtful,” she whispered, smiling.

Chapter Text

Theia

Rapid knocks pulled her out of sleep. Menon’s voice followed from behind the door.

“It’s almost midday. You should close the shutter to keep the cool air in.”

Midday? That couldn’t be right. She was usually up with the dawn. But as Theia blinked toward the window, the sky was already a bright shade of blue, and warm light was beginning to creep across the floor.

Her body still felt heavy, her limbs sluggish with leftover exhaustion. Guess her voyage had worn her out more than she thought.

“You awake?”

She cleared her throat and called back quickly, “Yeah, yeah. I’m awake.”

“There’s food on the table if you want. Once you’re ready, join me in the bakery.”

Heavy footsteps thudded away down the stairs, leaving the room quiet again.

Theia sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. She ran a hand through her wild curls, trying to flatten them, then crossed the room and opened the door. A faint scent of woodsmoke and baked goods lingered where Menon had stood just moments before, and to her surprise, she found it comforting.

After a quick wash in the storage-room-turned-bathroom — really just a cupboard with a basin and a stool, where a few oils and a strigil sat — she pinned her peplos and hurried downstairs.

As promised, a plate of grapes and cheese was waiting for her, along with a cup of goat milk. She finished in a few bites, wiped her hands on her skirt, and stepped into the courtyard to join Menon.

If the summer’s heat was settling in the courtyard, it was nothing compared to the absolute furnace she walked into when she reached the shop. The oven glowed red as Menon removed some loaves and placed others in to bake. A counter opened directly onto the street, where a couple of customers were patiently waiting, chatting among themselves.

One of them, a middle-aged man with a red beard, called out, “Hey Menon!” He nodded toward Theia. “Who’s that?”

Menon glanced over his shoulder, acknowledging her presence, then turned back to the shouting man. “My niece.”

The man’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Oh! Ismene’s girl! Of course! Now that you say it, it should’ve been obvious. She’s the spitting image of her mother, this one.”

Theia gave him an awkward smile, then looked down and started to fiddle with her belt.

The man, oblivious to her discomfort, continued cheerfully.

“A real firecracker, that Ismene! You know, kid, back in the day I tried to have my chance with her—but hey, I guess that Spartan guy was the better catch.”

This belt was absolutely fascinating. It deserved her full attention. Anything to block out the mortifying words coming out of that man’s mouth.

The loud thud of bread being forcefully dropped onto the counter yanked her focus back.

Menon stood with both hands braced on the counter, glaring at the man.

“If you’ve got nothing better to say than how you wish you’d gotten into my dead sister’s skirt, I suggest you take your bread and leave, Ledos.”

The man turned a shade of red that could rival his beard. He frantically dropped a coin on the counter, grabbed the bread, and left as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

“You read?”

Theia blinked and turned toward her uncle.

“Sorry, what?”

He repeated, louder this time, pulling a wax tablet from a shelf. “Do you read?”

“Yes… yes, I do.”

“Good.”

He handed her the tablet along with a basket.

“I need more dates and some eggs. Wrote everything down. Remember where the market is?”

She took them both and nodded. “On the agora, right? In front of that big building?”

“The old palace, yes.” He pulled a coin purse from one of his apron pockets and held it out.

“This should cover it—and a little more. Get something for yourself if you want.”

“I… It’s okay. I don’t want to waste your money.” She stammered.

He waved her off. “It’s nothing. I’m asking you to help—the least I can do is give you a reward for it.”

He then looked around, making sure there wasn’t any customers with wandering ears, and leaned a bit closer.

“I know it didn’t come up last night, but if you ever want to talk about what happened back in Spart–“

“Nope.” She cut him off, a bit too quickly and too loud.

His eyes widened slightly and he took a step back before nodding. “Good. Me neither.”

Theia bit her lips, looking down “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… to snap. At you. I didn’t mean to snap at you”

“‘S’okay. Don’t worry about it”. He sounded genuine, like her little outburst truly did not matter to him. Like he understood. What a foreign feeling, being understood.

He turned back his oven saying “Now go before there’s nothing left.”

She stepped into the sunlit courtyard, tablet and basket in hand, trying to shake off the heaviness in her chest.

—

Just like yesterday, the market was bursting with activity. Mothers tried to drag their children away from a stand selling sweets, customers argued with vendors over the price of milk, and hawkers shouted about potions supposedly imbued with magic.

“Young lady!”

Speaking of.

A man in a colorful tunic—and, in Theia’s opinion, far too many jewels—strode toward her holding a small red bottle.

“This contains sand from the very beach where Aphrodite was born,” he declared. “It’s said to be blessed. Rub it on your skin each morning, and you’ll be granted eternal beauty and great love! Only three drachmae!”

“I’m sorry, I’m not interested,” Theia said, trying to walk away.

“Two drachmae! Come on, you wouldn’t want to miss out on great love, would you?”

She was about to decline more firmly when a voice rang out behind her.

“She said she wasn’t interested, Stratos. So back off.”

A girl about her age stepped to her side, eyes narrowed at the man—Stratos, apparently. With a grin, she leaned in and whispered theatrically, “I saw you scoop that sand from Polis just two days ago. Don’t think you can scam this girl with your made-up stories.”

Stratos sheepishly backed away as the girl guided her back onto the street.

“I can’t stand that scammer.” She rolled her eyes. “Sand from Cyprus? Please. He lives two streets away from me and hasn’t left the island in his life.”

She turned and studied her. “You’re new here, right? I don’t know everyone in town, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you before.”

“Yes. I arrived yesterday.”

The girl’s face lit up. “Oh! Welcome to Stávros then! I’m Myra. What’s your name? Where do you live? Where are you from?!”

This girl was far too energetic for someone who woke less than an hour ago.

“Theia. I… um… I’m from Sparta. And I live with my uncle. Menon? He’s a baker?”

“Oh—grumpy Menon! Best bread in town, that guy, but you can’t get three words out of him. How come you’re from Sparta but your uncle’s here? I thought Menon always lived in Ithaca.”

Can people stop asking about her family for five minutes? Please?

But there was something about Myra—despite her boundless energy and never-ending questions—that felt gentle and kind. Theia couldn’t bring herself to wave her off.

“Yeah, no, he’s Ithacan. My mother was too. She moved to Sparta when she met my father—something about a Spartan delegation coming here thirty-ish years ago? My father was part of the royal ship’s crew, and my mother left with them.”

Myra put a hand to her heart with dramatic flair. “Oh my gods—love at first sight! So romantic! Are they still in Sparta, or did you all move back here?”

Theia looked down, nudging a rock with her sandal. “Uh, actually… my father died at Troy. I never met him. And my mother passed a few years ago. So yeah… here I am.”

Myra’s face dimmed a little.

“Oh… I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. People say I’ve got a big mouth and no idea when to shut it.”

That got a small laugh out of Theia. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

Myra nodded. “Still. My dad died in Troy too, by the way. I’m from Sérifos originally. When the men came back without him, my mom packed us up and we left on the first boat. Turned out it was headed here. She met my stepdad not long after, and now I’ve got three siblings, a happy mom, and the best dad I could’ve asked for. So maybe the Fates knew what they were doing.”

Funny how some stories start in the same place… and end up in completely different worlds.

“Hey, maybe the Fates put me in your way today for a reason!” Myra said, giving her a playful nudge. “I’ve gotta go—my dad’s waiting for me. But if you ever need someone to show you around, or catch you up on island gossip, or just hang out, really—hit me up! We make goat cheese. Our stand’s just a few stalls down.”

Theia laughed again. “Will do.”

“See ya!” Myra called as she ran back to her father.

—

“I’m back!”

Menon looked up from the dough he was kneading. “Had fun?”

She smiled as she set the basket down on the table. “Actually, yes. I talked with a girl at the market. She seemed friendly—offered to show me around one day.”

“That’s nice.” He nodded toward the basket, then toward the storage room in the back. “Put this away. And go grab some rosemary from the pots in the courtyard.” After a beat, he cleared his throat and added, “Please,” like someone not used to politeness who just remembered to make the effort.

Theia was starting to suspect—strongly—that Menon was a big softie under that rough exterior.

“Sure,” she said, trying to hide a small smile.

She put the dates and eggs away, then crossed the courtyard to fetch the herbs. As she knelt down, she heard the telltale jingle of coins. She glanced at her belt—and realized Menon’s coin purse was still there.

“Ah, shit.”

She stood up and walked back into the shop.

“Hey, sorry, I forgot to give you back thi—oh!”

There, standing beside her uncle and laughing, was none other than Tem.

Except he didn’t look at all like the boy she’d met on the hill. Long gone was the faded green tunic. Today, he wore a simple yet finely embroidered chiton, with a bright blue chlamys fastened by a beautiful silver brooch.

His eyes went wide with recognition.

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

“…Hi!”

“You already said that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “Right. Yes. Sorry.”

Menon glanced between them, eyebrows raised, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief.

Arms crossed, he turned to Theia.

“You’ve barely been here a day, and you already met Telemachus—the prince of Ithaca?”

The—

The what ?

Chapter Text

Telemachus

“…and not only would an alliance between our two kingdoms be beneficial from an economic standpoint, but it would also carry religious significance, as Athena is, after all, our patron goddess. And I must say, my cousin is a lovely and accomplished young woman—she plays the harp and the aulos masterfully.”

Here we go again.

For the first twenty years of his life, Ithaca had been ignored by nearly all of Greece. Most refused to recognize his mother’s regency and wouldn’t negotiate with a woman, despite the fact that the Queen was more competent than all of those fools combined. But ever since his father—war hero, legendary Odysseus—returned two years ago, not a single month had passed without some ambassador or minor king trying to marry off their daughters to him, as if tying their bloodline to Ithaca’s crown would grant them glory, power, or at the very least, something to boast about at banquets.

At his left, he could feel his father’s exasperation matching his own. Nevertheless, he remained composed and solemn.

“Thank you, Damonides. Your offer will be examined.”

Damonides bowed and left the hall.

His father pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How many marriage proposals since the start of the year again?”

Telemachus sighed.

“The fifth, I believe. We had a bit of a respite this winter, when the weather was less favorable for sailing.”

Odysseus rolled his eyes.

“Good gods. Do they know alliances can be forged without having to push their daughters as bargaining chips?”

Telemachus chuckled. “Apparently not.”

His father dramatically slouched in his chair, eyes lifting to the ceiling as if begging the gods to release him.

“I want to go home. I miss your mother and your sister.”

“We’ve only been here for two hours.”

“And that’s two hours too much.”

Telemachus patted his father’s arm soothingly, as if to say, There, there. Everything is okay.

“There’s only one person left, I believe. It’s almost over.”

Odysseus straightened in his chair, adjusted his circlet, and muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”

He signaled to the guards to let the next person in, and the overseer of trade walked through the door.

“Mnason, what can we do for you?”

Mnason bowed politely before approaching the table where Odysseus and Telemachus were seated.

“My king, my prince,” he began, bowing again for good measure. “I’m afraid the ships from Egypt carrying zea have been delayed. According to my informants, winds near Crete stalled their passage. It may not reach our shores for another fortnight.”

His father frowned.

“Considering how widely zea flour is used by every household, that’s very concerning news indeed. Do we know if our current stock can sustain us until the shipment arrives?”

“Not yet, my king.”

“Then send some of your men to check the reserves across the island. If some areas are running lower than others, we may need to redistribute—or ration—until the problem is solved.”

This is it, Telemachus thought. This is your time to do something useful.

He cleared his throat and turned to his father.

“I can check the stocks in Stávros.”

Odysseus raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. We’re already here anyway. You can head back home, and I’ll take care of it.”

His father leaned in slightly. “You know we could send someone else, right?”

Telemachus gave him a small reassuring smile. “It’s alright. I don’t mind, really.”

And he truly didn’t mind—not in the way his father meant.

Sure, it wasn’t as glorious or heroic as fighting in a war or facing down monsters and gods, but it was… something. A role he could play in solving a problem. Something he could actually do. It felt more useful than sitting beside his father through endless meetings, nodding along in silence . A simple task, but a task nonetheless.

And gods knew he’d spent enough time feeling useless.

Odysseus studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable, as if trying to decrypt the intricacies of his son’s mind, before stepping back.

“Okay then.”

He turned his attention back to Mnason.

“Report to me as soon as possible. And keep me informed of any changes regarding the shipment.”

“Of course, my king.” Mnason bowed one final time—exaggeratedly low—and left the room.

“He’s doing a bit much, don’t you think?” Odysseus joked.

Telemachus grinned. “I think he’s afraid you’ll send him to the Underworld if he doesn’t bow at least once a minute.”

His father tried to stifle his laughter. “Poor guy… the worst part is, he’s actually doing a good job. He doesn’t need to worry so much.”

They both rose and made their way out of the hall. Halfway down the stairs, Odysseus stopped.

“I mean it when I say we can send someone else to check. I know firsthand how boring it is to inspect storage.”

“I know. But I can do it, so why bother anyone else?”

“Alright.” He started descending again. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wife and a baby to cuddle. See you later, son!”

And with that, he practically ran out of the building.

Telemachus shook his head in amusement and walked down the stairs as well.

—

“Well well, look who it is—His Fanciness! If you’re planning on going inside my shop dressed like that, let me tell you, you’re asking for trouble.”

Telemachus laughed as he greeted the man. “Hi Menon.”

“Hi, kid. What brings you to my shop today? Planning on stealing my pastries again?”

“Okay, that happened once, and I was five! I didn’t even know what stealing was!”

Menon wiped his hands on his apron and muttered, half-playful, “Trouble—the whole lot of you in that family.”

If Mnason respected protocol to a fault, then Menon was the opposite. Telemachus could walk in dressed head to toe in gold with the most ostentatious crown on his head, and Menon would still call him kid and grumble, “Stop leaning on my table, you’re going to make something fall.” In his defense, it was hard to take seriously the boy you once caught under your table, covered in honey and date paste.

It was… comforting, in a sense. He’d started visiting Menon regularly after the suitors arrived—at first, just to escape the tension in the palace. He kept coming even after his father returned. In a way, it had always been his way of clinging to a normalcy he’d never really known. A chance to just be a boy, without the weight of legacy pressing down on his shoulders.

Not the heir of Ithaca.

Not the son of Odysseus.

Just Telemachus.

He hadn’t meant to sound so official. But the moment he opened his mouth, the palace was already clinging to his voice—like dust you couldn’t quite shake off.

“I’m here on behalf of the kingdom, actually. Just got out of some meetings with my father.”

“Hence all of… this,” Menon said, gesturing at his clothes.

“Yes,” Telemachus blushed. “Anyway, we’ve been informed the next shipment of zea is delayed. It could take up to two weeks to arrive. I wanted to check on you and the other shopkeepers—see if we need to worry about stock.”

“Two weeks? Could’ve done without that.”

“Are you going to be fine until then?”

Menon patted him on the back. “Don’t go worrying about me, boy. I’ve got enough zea to last a few weeks, and even some barley, if needed. I try to be cautious—buy more than I need from time to time, just in case something like this happens.”

“Smart move,” Telemachus hummed, genuinely impressed.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I may be getting older, but my mind still works, kid. I’ve been running this bakery since your father was out there wrecking havoc with the other boys in town.”

Telemachus laughed. He was about to reply when the back door burst open.

“Hey, sorry, I forgot to give you back thi—oh!”

A girl stood in the doorway, framed by sunlight and dust, a pouch in one hand, a basket in the other.

He recognized her before his mind caught up with his eyes.

Not just any girl.

Her.

Theia.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Then:

“Hi!”

The word left his mouth too fast, too loud.

“Hi!” she echoed, blinking.

“…Hi!”

He winced. Gods, really?

“You already said that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “Right. Yes. Sorry.”

Menon looked between them, eyebrows climbing high, his expression somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

Arms crossed, he turned to Theia.

“You’ve barely been here a day, and you already met Telemachus—the prince of Ithaca?”

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Her mouth opened, then closed again. The basket tipped slightly in her hand.

Telemachus saw the moment it clicked—the way her eyes widened, not in fear or awe, but in sheer disbelief.

“You’re… you’re the prince?”

“I… yes, but really, it’s not—” Telemachus glanced away, jaw working like he was chewing on his next words. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Menon snorted. “Not that big of a deal, he says, while he’s here ‘on behalf of the kingdom.’”

Telemachus gave him a subtle glare. Not helping here, old man.

Theia’s eyes shifted between the two men, the shock never leaving her face. She glanced back at her basket, as if remembering she’s been holding it the whole time.

“I… I have to go gather rosemary. For the… for the rosemary bread. Yes.”

She dropped the coin purse on the nearest table, avoiding the two men’s eyes, and practically ran towards the door, before stopping abruptly.

Then she did it.

The thing they all did.

She turned quickly, and bowed.

“Good day, your highness” before disappearing into the courtyard.

Something broke inside Telemachus. He didn’t even realize he’d taken a step toward her.

Please no. Not you too.

Not the girl who’d talked to him like he was just a boy.

Who teased him without restraint.

Who made him laugh so hard he let his guard down.

Who made disappear, just for a moment, the weight he was carrying.

Menon let out a low whistle. “Well. That went well.”

Telemachus didn’t answer. He just stared at the door.

Chapter Text

Theia

“Gods, no. Gods, no no no no no.”

Theia was pacing the courtyard, hands tangled in her hair.

The prince? The gods-damned prince? And she’d made a fool of herself in front of him?

May the earth open up and swallow her now.

She stopped mid-step, turned in a circle, then kept pacing.

What had she said? What had she done? Oh gods—she’d snapped at him. She teased him. Treated him like—

Like a commoner.

Not like the heir to Ithaca. Not like someone who could have her thrown onto a boat and sent straight back to the mainland.

She groaned and pressed her palms to her face.

Should she go and walk straight into the sea? She should go and walk straight into the sea.

Her increasingly panicked thoughts were cut short by a voice behind her.

“Hey.”

She turned to see Telemachus, who had followed her into the courtyard, waving a hand shyly.

She froze. Her eyes widened even more.

“Please don’t panic!” he blurted, hands raised.

She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves, then said, coldly:

“No.”

He tilted his head. “No… you won’t panic?”

“No, I’m not talking to you.”

She picked up her basket and marched toward the pots, granting her full attention to the rosemary—and none to the prince trailing behind her.

“Please, just—just give me a chance to—”

“I’m not talking to you because if I do, I’ll say even more stupid things that will definitely get me thrown onto the first boat back to the—oh gods. I just spoke over you.”

He laughed.

He laughed .

How dare he laugh at her misery.

“It’s okay, you can spea—”

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and barreled on, ignoring him completely.

“No, no, no. Not only did I probably break, like, fifteen protocol rules, but I spoke over you . And I insulted your kingdom just the other day!”

“Technically, it’s my father’s kingdom.”

“SAME THING!”

They stared at each other for a beat.

Then he asked, “Can I speak now?”

“You can do whatever you want, you’re the prince,” Theia muttered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” she said, sharper this time. “Go on.”

He sat beside her on the ground, showing no regard for his pristine clothes.

“First of all, I’m not going to throw you on the first boat back just because you made a few jokes or interrupted me. Gods, if it were that easy, I would’ve had a much quieter childhood.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, but he blinked it away and pushed on.

“Secondly… I’m still the same person you met on the hill. Who my parents are doesn’t change that.”

“You’re literally wearing a chiton embroidered with gold right now.”

Telemachus cringed.

“Yeah… my father and I had a meeting with the Athenian ambassador. Hence the… fanciness , as Menon put it. I swear it’s much more casual when we’re just dealing with internal affairs.”

Theia raised an eyebrow.

“‘Internal affairs’? You’re really not helping your case here.”

She crossed her arms. “And while we’re at it— you lied to me .”

Telemachus blinked. “I didn’t!”

“You said your name was Tem !”

He let out a laugh, hands raised in mock surrender. “Not technically a lie! That’s how my little sister calls me—she can’t say my full name yet.”

“If you have to say technically , then it’s a lie.”

His smile fell as she picked up her basket and stood to leave.

Then everything happened too fast.

Telemachus stepped forward and caught her wrist, pleading.

“Please don’t—”

Panic seized her. She jerked away, clutching the basket tightly, eyes locked on the ground as she took several steps back.

“Don’t grab me.”

Telemachus froze.

A long silence.

Then, quietly:

“Sorry.”

But Theia couldn’t answer. Her gaze stayed rooted to the dirt, her arms wrapped tightly around the basket as if it were a shield.

She heard him approach—slowly, carefully—making sure to stay in her line of sight.

“Hey…”

Nothing.

“Theia…”

Something in the way he said her name cracked the wall. Like it carried weight, or care, or maybe both. She finally lifted her head and met his gaze.

His kind, apologetic gaze.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

A pause.

“Too bad I didn’t bring any Fig of Forgiveness with me today, huh?” he added, with a tentative smile.

It worked. Something in her unraveled—and then came a laugh.

And she realized, it was her own laugh.

It seemed to surprise him just as much as it surprised her.

She didn’t even know why she was laughing. Maybe it was his terrible joke. Maybe it was the crash of all her emotions at once. Or maybe it was the absurdity of it all: she had just panicked in front of a boy who turned out to be a prince—whose only solution to emotional distress seemed to be figs.

He, on the other hand, was beaming—like getting her to laugh had been his greatest adventure yet.

She shook her head, still clutching the basket to her chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“True,” he said. “But you laughed.”

“At you!”

He winked. “A win is a win.”

Then, with a dramatic gasp, he placed a hand over his heart. “By the gods—are you laughing at royalty? Guards! Put this threat to the kingdom on the first boat!”

Theia glared.

“Too soon?”

“Maybe a little,” she answered—but a smile was already returning to her face.

For a heartbeat, things went quiet. The panic from earlier seemed far away now, like it had belonged to a different person entirely.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He wasn’t teasing now. The grin had faded into something quieter—more earnest. And in that moment, she remembered why she’d wanted to see the boy from the hill again. Not because he was charming, or clever, or secretly royal. But because with him, things felt oddly simple. Like she could forget to be guarded for a while.

“Listen,” Telemachus said, stepping a little closer. “What I wanted—what I meant to say is that I really enjoyed talking to you yesterday, on that hill. I didn’t want any titles or manners to get in the way of that. It was nice—just being me, for once, you know? And now that you know… I hope nothing changes. I— I don’t want things to change. Can we do that? Still talk like normal people?”.

“I don’t think bringing up figs every time things go wrong qualifies as normal behavior—crown or not,” she teased.

He gave her a mock-annoyed look, like really?

She smiled. “But yeah… I’d like that too.”

He practically glowed at her answer. She couldn’t remember anyone being this happy just to talk to her more. It was jarring—strange, even—but also… oddly nice.

The moment felt too sincere. Too open. So of course, she had to break it.

“Speaking of crown—I have to say, I’m a little disappointed you’re not wearing one. What, is my humble presence not worthy?”

He chuckled and put a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me—and I did have one during the meeting, actually. I just handed it back to my father before he went home. And for your information, it’s a circlet, not a crown. It’s more discreet.”

“Huh. Because discretion was the keyword today, obviously,” she said, pointing at his clothes.

“Oh, shut u—”

The door to the bakery blew open, revealing a shouting Menon.

“If you’re done chitchatting, kids, I need my rosemary!”

Theia turned to Telemachus.

“I think he wants his rosemary.”

“I believe the word was need .”

She smiled. “I guess I have to go, then.”

“Me too, actually. The stocks aren’t going to check themselves.”

They walked back toward the bakery in comfortable silence—her stopping by the table, him heading for the door. Before leaving, he turned.

“So… I’ll see you again, then? For sure?”

“For sure.”

“And you’re not going to freak out over royal things?”

She placed a hand on her heart. “I’ll do my best.”

He grinned. “That’s all I ask.” Then he turned to her uncle. “Bye, Menon!”

“Bye, kid. Say hello to your mom and sister for me.”

“Not Dad?”

“He knows what he did.”

With a final laugh, Telemachus disappeared into the street.

“Gods help me, the one time I take someone in, she goes and adopts royalty.”

“Want your rosemary or not?”

The hint of a smile grew on Menon’s lips.

“Come on, I’ll show you what to do with it.”

She trailed after him, wondering if maybe—just maybe—Ithaca wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Telemachus

The palace is quiet when he gets back, the late afternoon sun painting the white marble gold. A faint trace of incense still lingers in the hall—a remnant of some earlier prayer.

It feels peaceful. He has to keep reminding himself that it’s because life is actually peaceful now.

Up until two years ago, it looked more like a badly frequented tavern than his home. Jars of wine and various weapons soiled the floor, and the air constantly carried the nauseating smell of alcohol, sweat, and blood.

Two years of calm hadn’t undone nine years of noise.

Even now, he almost expects to trip over a shield or a drunk man’s leg. To be cornered by men twice his size, whispering in his ear all the atrocities they’d like to do to him.

And the even worse ones they’d like to do to his mother.

For years, he didn’t sleep in his own room. He would sneak into his mother’s in the middle of the night, knife in hand, standing vigil at the foot of her bed until sleep claimed him too.

Still a boy. Still a child. Doing what he could to shield her.

He has to remind himself now, when he wakes up gasping in the dark, that it isn’t necessary anymore.

They’re gone.

They’re dead.

Then why does his heart refuse to steady?

He exhales slowly, trying to list the few things that can still quiet his mind.

His mother’s laugh, more frequent now than it ever was.

His little sister’s antics.

His training with Athena.

His father, with whom he’s finally able to bond.

Eurycleia, still looking at him like he’s the babe she used to sing to sleep.

Menon’s comforting grumpiness.

…Theia.

This one was new. Very, very new. And very, very unexpected.

He’s known her for barely a day, and yet…

She had the ability to calm the storm constantly boiling within him. He couldn’t explain how. 

One minute he’s walking home after training, his heart heavy with self-doubt. The next, he’s laughing and joking with a stranger.

One moment he’s thinking of ways to make himself useful, the next he’s being mercilessly teased in the courtyard of Menon’s bakery, his thoughts having flown far away.

He’d never really had friends before.

Was this what friendship was like?

Finding someone who made things easy? Who made him forget his worries, even if only for a moment?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this… lighter. Like he didn’t need to constantly prove himself.

Even with family, the weight might lift, but it never truly left—always hovering just above him.

“TEM!”

Speaking of family.

The telltale sound of wobbly little footsteps gave him barely a moment’s warning before his sister crashed into his leg, hugging it tight.

“Hey there, little storm! What are you doing running around all alone?” he said as he picked her up and rested her on his hip.

She smiled that mischievous little smile of hers while hiding her face in his chlamys.

“Were you running away from Mama again, Eirene?”

Eirene. Peace . The Fates had a twisted sense of humor.

There was no being less peaceful or quiet than his baby sister. She was loud, and always moving, and constantly causing trouble…

She was perfect.

“Alright, little lady, let’s go find Mama, shall we—no, don’t touch that,” he said as he gently pried her little fingers from his brooch. “It’s pointy. You could hurt yourself.”

“Ouch?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Exactly. Ouch.”

He balanced her on his other hip while he unfastened his chlamys with one hand.

“What did you do with Mama today?”

“Fwowas!” she replied excitedly.

“You picked flowers?”

“No! Mama do fwowas!”

“Really? Mama made flowers? Is Mama a magician?” he gasped, teasingly.

She gave him a look as if to say are you stupid?

Yeah. She did that often.

“She watched me make some floral patterns on my loom,” said his mother as she joined them in the hall.

She took Eirene back from him and kissed his temple. “Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mom.”

She turned her attention back to the squirming toddler in her arms. “Young lady, what possessed you to run off like this?”

“Tem!” Eirene shouted happily as she pointed to him.

Penelope sighed. “Can’t even scold her for that. She was just happy to see you.”

Telemachus laughed. “That’s her greatest power. She drowns you with cuteness, and then you forget why you were mad in the first place.”

“I swear, I don’t know what I did to get a quiet, well-behaved child in my twenties, when I was young and energetic, and then a little whirlwind in my forties.”

“Blame Dad. He’s the one with chaos in his blood.”

She shook her head and laughed fondly.

It always melted his heart to see his mother so happy. She deserved it—and so much more.

“Speaking of Dad, do you know where he is? I have to give him my report.”

“We were in the family room, getting ready for dinner. Come,” she said, motioning for him to follow.

When they entered, his father was crouched next to one of the sofas, picking up Eirene’s toys. It always felt a bit surreal to see his father—the legendary war hero Odysseus—doing something so domestic. Yet, based on the smile on his face, it seemed that cleaning up after his toddler daughter was the greatest honor ever bestowed upon him.

Telemachus guessed it was, in a sense. His father had never gotten the chance to clean up his eldest’s toys.

Shaking the thought away, he cleared his throat.

“You know she’s going to take them all out and make a mess again in less than five minutes, right?”

Odysseus looked up at his son and gave a defeated shrug.

“What can I say? She has me wrapped around her little finger.”

As if on cue, Eirene squirmed in Penelope’s arms until she was set down, then toddled straight toward her father—or rather, the wooden horse figurine in his hand—and snatched it with triumph.

“Papa! Orsie!”

Odysseus smiled fondly and tousled the dark curls on her head. “I can see that, darling.”

Eirene happily toddled away, making some horses noises as she waved the toy around.

“So” Odysseus asked as he stood up and sat down on the sofa “how screwed are we about the zea stock?”

Telemachus joined him on the opposite one.

“Honestly, we should be fine. At least in Stávros. Menon’s stocks are good enough to last until the end of the months, and the other smaller bakers have enough alternative flours to manage.”

“Well that’s a relief” his father said as he was grabbing two cups of diluted wine and handing one to his wife. “How’s Menon doing?”

“Fine. He sends his best to Mom and Eirene.”

“Not to me?”

“Apparently you ‘know what you did’, whatever that means”.

Odysseus laughed into his cup.

Penelope gave him a sharp look.

“What did you do?”

Still giggling, he turned to his wife.

“I may, or may not, have stolen a pastry from him when I was twelve.”

Oh? Being the bane of Menon’s existence ran in the family, apparently.

Penelope rubbed her temples in mild exasperation.

“You were the prince. Why would you even need to steal a pastry?”

“Ah, but you see—there was a girl, who came here with her uncle and cousins for a diplomatic visit. And we played all day under an olive tree. And then she said she was hungry, but I hadn’t brought any drachmae with me, so what was I supposed to do?”

She blinked.

“I can’t believe you stole a pastry for me the very day we met.”

“Well, you stole my heart soon after, so I’d say we’re even.”

Oh, he was good .

His mother’s exasperation dissipated instantly as she stared at her husband lovingly. They might start kissing.

He loved his parents, and he loved that they loved each other. But, please, can someone save him before he starts throwing up?

“TEM!”

Gods bless this perfect child and her perfect timing.

“What’s up, little storm?”

She handed him another horse figurine, and pointed at the one in her hand.

“They fwens!”

Telemachus chuckled and took the toy. “Of course they are.”

She toddled off again, satisfied with her matchmaking.

He leaned back, twirling the wooden horse in his fingers, and couldn’t help the quiet smile tugging at his lips. Friends.

The word lingered.

Theia’s name flooded his mind, with her laugh and her snarky comments. His smile grew at the thought.

I think I might’ve made one of these too. Or at least… I want to.

“What’s that on your face?”

His father’s voice snapped him out of his reveries. “What?”

“That‘s one hell of a smile you got here.”

Penelope was looking at him too, her expression unreadable, but very focused.

Of course he’d go and have emotions in front of the two most perceptive people he knew.

Quick. Retreat. Distract them.

“Am I not allowed to smile at my little sister? Who is, we can all agree, the best person here?”

Eirene walked back, still making horse noises with her little toy. He gestured toward her as if to say See? Focus on your baby. Leave your grown son alone.

Odysseus raised a brow. “Nice try. But that’s not your ‘I love my sister’ smile. That’s a new smile.”

“Yeah. That’s the ‘I’m trying to think of the best angle and force to throw this toy at your head’ smile.”

His father leaned back, still smirking, his expression saying Okay, I’ll drop it… for now.

Telemachus took a sip from his cup and tried to steer the conversation in a new direction.

“So… any upcoming meetings we should worry about?”

That did the trick. His father immediately launched into a rant about the representatives from Kefalonia and the never-ending negotiations over shared fishing zones.

Normally, he would’ve listened carefully, offering his best input. But today, his mind drifted—

to a girl angrily picking rosemary as she shouted at him.

And when he met his mother’s curious gaze, he realized the smile had crept back onto his face again.

Well… maybe he should welcome it.

Chapter Text

Theia

“And… done! Okay, what do you think?”

Menon looked over her shoulder to inspect the little honey roll she just made.

“It’s fine.”

In the past week, Theia had come to learn that “it’s fine” was Menon’s way of saying, “Excellent job, congratulations.” Success.

Things had been… surprisingly good lately. Not thrilling, but routine. She would wake up early, run errands at the market for Menon, pause to chat with Myra, return home to help with Menon’s work, share dinner, and call it a day. Mundane, but in a quiet, soothing way.

Yet, she hadn’t heard from Telemachus since that day—since the day she’d learned who he really was.

They’d promised to see each other again. He’d asked her to treat him like a regular boy. But nothing. No word.

She tried to tell herself that he must just be busy. That he meant it when he said they would meet again. But a voice inside her kept creeping in, louder and louder, whispering, What were you thinking? Of course he doesn’t want anything to do with you. Why would he?

Why would he, indeed? He was probably surrounded by people far more interesting than she was. And honestly, she couldn’t blame him.

It had all been wishful thinking.

So then why does her heart ache?

Before she could spiral further, a familiar voice rang from outside.

“Hi you two!”

Myra was leaning on the counter, grinning widely. Her brown hair had escaped from her braid, a few wild strands framing her face as if she’d just been caught in the wind. Her energy seemed to fill the space, like she was always in motion, even when she stood still.

“Hi!”

Menon glanced up from his work and gave her a gruff nod.

“Myra.”

That, of course, did nothing to deter her.

“Menon, mind if I steal Theia from you this afternoon?”

“M’not the one you need to ask.”

Myra turned to Theia, eyes bright. “Mind if I steal you away this afternoon?”

Theia laughed, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Sure—unless…” She glanced at Menon. “You need me to stay?”

“No, I’m good.” He paused, then looked at her a little longer. “Have fun, yeah?”

She smiled as she handed him the apron.

“Will do.”

Myra was practically vibrating with excitement. “Yes! Let’s go!”

Before she reached the door, a hand caught her shoulder. Menon was behind her, pressing a little bundle into her hands.

“…In case you girls get hungry,” he grumbled.

“Aw, Menon, you are a softie in disguise!” Myra cooed.

“Out of my shop. Both of you.”

Myra tugged her onto the street with a laugh.

“I’ll bring her back before sunset!” she called over her shoulder.

“You better,” came Menon’s low reply.

The afternoon sun was warm as they stepped outside, and Myra looped her arm through hers.

“So,” she began, already steering them toward the town square, “I hope you didn’t have any noble plans for your afternoon, because I’ve decided we’re having a girls’ day.”

Theia raised an eyebrow, amused. “Have you now?”

“Absolutely. You’ve been here for, what, a week? And I’m pretty sure you’ve only seen the agora and your uncle’s shop. This won’t do. I’m going to show you around, maybe we’ll do some shopping—personally, I need new sandals—and most importantly, I’m going to tell you all the juicy gossip you need to know.”

“Ah yes. The gossip. The most important thing,” Theia said dryly, though she couldn’t quite keep the smile from her lips.

“See! You get me.”

And just like that, Myra was off—pulling her through the streets with an energy and speed that would make Hermes jealous, showing her favorite spots, always accompanied by some anecdotes, and waving at every third person they passed. Theia barely had the time to speak through the flow of Myra’s words, but surprisingly, she found she didn’t mind. Her energy was not exhausting; it was contagious.

By the time they reached the now-familiar agora, Theia’s cheeks ached from smiling, and her head was swimming with names she’d already half-forgotten. But for the first time in days, she wasn’t thinking about what happened in Sparta, or the (unfounded, she knew) guilt of taking over Menon’s life.

Or silly princes who hadn’t shown up when they said they would.

“Okay, so this you already know,” Myra stated as she guided her to the steps of the big, elegant building overlooking the agora and sat down. “The market’s here every day—only in the morning during summer because of the heat.”

She pointed to a modest but elegant temple to their right.

“Right there is the temple of Athena. She is well respected here, and—” she pointed to another, brighter and slightly more luxurious temple on their left—“right there is the temple of Apollo. It’s pretty recent; I think they only started worshipping him in the last twenty years or so. The queen is from Sparta—like you, actually!—and they worship him there, right?”

“Right,” Theia nodded.

“My neighbor Damon swore he had a prophetic vision the last time he went, but, between you and me, he was probably just dehydrated.”

They both laughed, enjoying the little cakes Menon had given her.

“Oh, I forgot!” Myra shouted, almost jumping. “There’s a Hermes temple a little outside the city, next to the main road. If you plan to travel, don’t forget to burn him some offerings.”

“Not planning to, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

Myra paused and glanced around before leaning in, lowering her voice dramatically. “Should probably go too and give him a quick prayer, so he won’t strike me down for forgetting to mention his temple—gods, Theia, your uncle is a magician, these cakes are insane!”

Theia smiled softly as she took a bite of her own cake, taking in her surroundings. The market had long packed up for the day, but the agora was still bursting with activity. Once again, she was struck by how different it felt from Sparta. It was crowded, yes, but there was something lighter about the people here. She still needed to get used to it.

The sun had shifted, and the building behind them had started casting a long shadow over the steps. Theia turned to look at it. It was larger and more elegant than anything else around—almost out of place.

The old palace , Menon had said once.

“Hey… what about this building?” she asked. “Menon mentioned it was a palace once, but I doubt we’d be able to sit here if it still was.”

Myra followed her gaze.

“Ah, yes. Technically, it is a palace—or at least, it was. This is where the royal family used to live. Now it’s kind of a communal space? I know the king comes here a few times a week, sometimes with the queen, sometimes with the prince, to meet with people. We see them come and go often. But we also use the courtyard for festivals and celebrations. And I think some of the wings have been turned into homes. In short, it has many uses.”

“But not the royal palace, then?”

“Nope. That’s higher up the hill now.”

I actually live close to the city, a little higher up the mountain.

Well, he hadn’t lied. He just forgot to mention it was a palace.

“Oh!” Myra perked up. “I forgot to tell you about this! So yes—old King Laertes lived here, and the one before him too, I guess. And King Odysseus for a little while! He became king really young, I was told. I got all this from the women in town when my mom dragged me to the river to help with laundry. The women here love to talk.”

She leaned in, eyes gleaming.

“Anyway—the king goes on a trip or something, comes back with a wife, and immediately starts building a palace just for her! If that isn’t peak romance, I don’t know what is.”

“Not just a political marriage then, I guess.”

“Oh no. I mean, she was a princess, so that helps, I guess—but those two are in love. Like, the temple to Apollo? That wasn’t here before. He had it built for her too. And when he went missing for ten years after the war, she never remarried. And believe me, there were a ton of suitors. And when he came back, they immediately had a baby? Nah, this is true love right there. I’m a bit jealous, actually.”

Myra sighed, probably thinking about her imaginary great love story.

Theia raised an eyebrow. “That’s one way to spin it. You sure you didn’t dream this entire thing up?”

Myra gasped, mock-offended. “How dare you doubt the sacred gossip of Ithacan laundry women!”

They both laughed, the sound echoing in the agora.

‘What happened to the queen’s suitors then? I heard about this a little—that there was a bunch of men just waiting for her to pick one of them as king.’

Myra shrugged. “Honestly? We don’t really know. One day they’re here, the next they’re gone. I think the king kicked them out when he came back or something. Good riddance, I’d say. Some of them came to town sometimes—they were just terribly rude.”

“Hm.” Theia nibbled on what was left of her cake, thoughtful. “Must have been hard for her.”

“Yeah and for the prince too. Imagine being just a kid and watching these people trying to take your father’s place? At least I got a nice stepdad.”

“Lucky you,” Theia replied with a small smile.

“Damn right lucky me. My dad is the best .”

Myra stood up. “Okay it’s almost sundown, better take you back to Menon before he starts putting pebbles in my bread for having the audacity to bring back his niece late.”

“You know I know how to get home from here, right?” Theia replied, with an eyebrow playfully raised, as they both made their way down the agora.

Myra dramatically put a hand on her heart “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Theia shook her head and ran up to her.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

They were just about to turn into a side street when a voice rang out behind them.

“Hey!”

Both girls spun around—just in time to see—

Telemachus.

Practically jogging toward them.

“Theia,” Myra whispered, eyes wide with panic, “Theia, why is the prince coming toward us?”

“I may know him.”

“What do you mean you may know him?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You’ve been here a week! How long could the story possibly be —”

“Shh.”

Telemachus had caught up with them, his hair a bit tousled from the run. No princely attire today—just a regular blue chiton, though the fabric was clearly finer than theirs. In his right hand, he carried a sheath.

“Hey,” he said softly, with a smile.

“You already said that.”

He cringed. “Told you I’m terrible at small talk.”

Theia gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay, you’ll get it someday. And hello to you too.”

At her side, she felt Myra frantically tugging her sleeve.

“Oh, um—this is Myra.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

“And Myra, this is—”

“Prince Telemachus, yes, I know,” she replied a bit too quickly, bowing fast.

Telemachus laughed nervously and fiddled with the sheath in his hand. “Yeah, I guess you would. And please, no need to bow.”

“Okay,” Myra practically squealed.

Telemachus turned his attention back to Theia.

“Sorry I kind of disappeared for a week. I meant to see you sooner—I swear—but my father and I had to go to the south of the island to deal with some things. Not going to bore you with politics. Anyway, all this to say: sorry I didn’t drop by.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I thought you’d forgotten about me or something…”

“Forgetting the girl who almost attacked me with rosemary? Nah, never.” He tapped his temple with a smirk. “It’s engraved in here.”

“You deserved it and you know it,” Theia replied, grinning.

He shook his head in disbelief, though his smile didn’t fade.

Theia cleared her throat.

“Nice sword? I mean… I guess it’s a sword, right?”

Telemachus glanced down, as if he’d just remembered what he was carrying.

“Ah—yes! Yes, it’s a sword. Just picked it up from the blacksmith.”

“Planning to go to war or something?”

“Gods, I hope not. It’s just for training. I usually use a spear, but I need to work on close-range combat too.”

At Theia’s side, Myra remained unusually silent—wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, like her mind had ceased to function somewhere between prince , sword , and training for war .

Theia glanced at her, amused. “She’ll recover eventually.”

He chuckled, already stepping back.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. But I’ll come by soon, I promise!”

Theia pointed a finger at him, mock-threatening.

“I’m holding you to that!”

He grinned. “Bye, Theia. Myra.”

“Bye!” Theia called.

Myra managed a stunned little wave, still blinking like she’d just seen a ghost—a very smiling, very royal ghost.

They watched him jog off, and Theia turned to find Myra staring at her, open-mouthed.

“I… I… explain???”

Theia sighed and tugged her down the street.

“It’s not that big of a story.”

“You just teased the prince of Ithaca without restraint. There is a story.”

“It’s just— I got lost on my way to Stávros, and I ran into this boy who helped me find my way here. Next thing I know, he’s in Menon’s shop wearing literal gold , asking me to treat him like a normal guy. I mean— he’s really nice, and occasionally funny, mostly because he’s ridiculous. So we’re kind of friends now? I guess?”

Myra threw her hands in the air.

“You guess ? You guess you’re friends with the prince?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. He’s our age. He’s literally just a guy. A weird guy, by the way. If he thinks he upset you he’s going to give you food.”

Myra paused, eyes narrowing. “Now that’s a man after my heart— not the point! I’m not the one being dramatic! You’re the one not being dramatic enough! You’re literally best friends with the heir to the throne!”

“‘Best friends’ is overly exaggerated. We’ve talked, like, three times.”

“Yeah. In a week . I’ve been here for twelve years, and you know how many times I’ve talked to him? Once. Just now!”

“I maintain you’re being dramatic. You should do theater, really.”

Myra raised her hands, as if surrendering. “I’m going to need at least one night of sleep to process this. Maybe two. Maybe a week.”

They turned the corner into Theia’s street, the sun now low enough to paint everything in warm gold.

Myra let out a dramatic sigh. “Alright. I’ve done my duty as your guide-slash-emotional support friend. Go home before Menon starts muttering about irresponsibility and I end up cursed.”

Theia laughed. “Thanks for today. Really.”

“Anytime. Just—maybe next time, warn me about your royal acquaintances? So I don’t go and break my mind in front of them like an idiot?”

“It’s just him, I promise.”

With an exaggerated groan, Myra waved her off and headed the other way.

When Theia stepped inside the house, the familiar creak of the door greeting her, Menon was already sitting in his usual spot, wine in hand, watching the last light fade through the window.

“Good day?”

Theia smiled softly, mostly to herself.

“Yeah. Yeah it was.”

Chapter Text

Telemachus

His muscles ached, his hair was damp, and beads of sweat threatened to fall into his eyes. But he had to keep going.

Analyzing the situation, he spotted an opening in his opponent’s guarded stance. In a swift movement, he lunged, trying to disarm—

—only to fail. Spectacularly .

He hit the ground with a thud that knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Your tells are too obvious. You have to guard your mind better, or your opponent will see what you’re planning before you even have time to act.”

He gave her a thumbs-up from where he lay on the grass. What a nice patch of grass. Very comfortable. Maybe he should just stay here—seemed like a perfectly good place to die of shame.

He tentatively opened one eye, only to be met with Athena’s grey stare. The goddess was standing above him, looming like a disappointed tutor.

“Also, your legs were in the wrong position. It’s an open invitation to be tackled.”

“You know what I love about you, Athena? Your talent for positive reinforcement. It’s a gift, truly.”

“You won’t get anywhere being coddled,” she replied coldly.

The goddess extended a hand and helped him up.

“But you’re getting better with the sword.”

Oh?

Telemachus smirked.

“Was that a compliment I heard?”

Athena rolled her eyes.

“Forget it—the one time I try to encourage you…”

“Aw, you’re trying emotions again! I’m so proud,” he said, placing both hands over his heart.

Big mistake. His chest hurt like Hades.

Bigger mistake, in one quick leg movement she sent him flying to the ground.

Again.

Telemachus groaned.

“Okay—okay—I deserved it.”

He rose—painfully, this time without help—and limped over to join her on the log she now occupied like a throne.

She gave him a look. That look. The one that felt like she was reading his soul like a particularly complex scroll—annotating as she went.

“You have a lot on your mind,” she said quietly. “I can feel it.”

“Well, I’ve got a lot of things going on in my life. Gods forbid a guy has thoughts.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Oh right. Goddess right there.

She looked entirely too proud of her joke.

He shot her a look and gave the driest “ha-ha” known to mankind.

Her face turned serious again.

“I didn’t choose to help you just because you’re your father’s son,” she said. “I chose you because you have a brilliant mind. You should try to work on putting those thoughts aside—I know you’re capable of it. It’s not safe to fight with a burdened mind. It takes away your focus.”

Not because you’re your father’s son.

Yeah, sure.

“Come on—would you have even looked at me twice if I wasn’t the son of Odysseus?”

Athena went quiet.

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

“I won’t deny that the fact I held you as an infant partially influenced my decision.”

“Please don’t remind me. It’s entirely too weird to think about.”

“You were a very endearing newborn—”

“Can we not …”

“Even though you drooled on me—”

“OKAY. That’s enough nostalgia for today, thank you very much!”

She laughed, and despite his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but join.

No matter how much scolding, scrutiny, or humiliation she threw his way, he wouldn’t trade her for the world.

She was his only friend, after all.

Correction.

She was his only friend.

A snarky girl with a talent for making him look like a fool now held the title too.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

He was working on it, okay?

Uh… apparently, he had very specific tastes in friends.

From the corner of his eye, he could feel Athena observing him again. Damn him for always having emotions in front of the sharpest people.

To his relief, she seemed to think this was not a topic worth exploring today. Instead, she said:

“Listen, no matter the reasons I had for choosing to stand by your side, what’s important is that I believe in you. I know you can be great. In more ways than one.”

That’s nice. But also—no pressure.

None.

At.

ALL.

She stood up, effortlessly picking up her sword and making it vanish into the ether.

“That’s enough for today.”

“But we’ve only been here an hour?”

“Yes. And you ended up on the ground five times in that hour. I don’t think you’re in the right mindset for more training.”

Telemachus stood up, his mind racing. He would not be a failure at this, too. He could not.

“I can keep going—”

“Telemachus…”

“I can . I’ll focus, I swear—”

“I said it was enough.”

Her voice was calm. Composed.

But it carried an authority that could not be ignored. She would not change her mind.

Congratulations, Telemachus. Now you’re a fool and a disappointment. Even more than before.

“We’ll pick this up another day. Go and rest. You’ve earned it.”

With those final words, she vanished in a flash of light, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Telemachus let himself fall back onto the grass in utter defeat.

“No. I haven’t.”

—

His feet dragged through the small path, pebbles and dirt slipping in his sandals, but it was nothing compared to the dull pain each step created in his whole body. He was aching in places he didn’t even know it was possible to ache. Really, how does one manage to hurt in the little finger? From sword training? It was absurd.

But nothing ached more than his heart right now.

He knew he wasn’t his father. He knew it in the way people looked at him when he attended a council. Like he was a child his father had brought because he was out of guardians for the day. He knew it in the way the suitors had laughed at him but shivered at the mere mention of his father.

He knew it in the way Athena looked at him. Like he was the lesser version of her previous pupil. Like she was training him out of charity. A favor to an old friend.

He knew all of this. That he wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t clever enough. Focused enough.

Not enough.

The words echoed in his head, sharp and certain.

Not enough. Not enough. Not—

“Telemachus?”

Oh.

Oh no .

Why did the gods refuse to be fair? Why did they have to send her his way now?

Bracing himself, he turned around and was met with inquisitive green eyes.

Theia stood there, a few steps away from him. He lowered his head and shut his eyes, mentally preparing for her to laugh at him. She should, really. He looked pathetic.

“Are you alright? No offense, but you look terrible.”

Oh?

Telemachus dared to open his eyes, only to realize there wasn’t a trace of mockery in her eyes. Only… concern?

That… wasn’t what he’d expected.

The worry on her face summoned an unexpected pang in his chest. He didn’t know why it hurt so much. The only thing he knew was that he had to make it go away every way he could.

She couldn’t see him like this. She couldn’t see him so weak, so undone. He was supposed to make her laugh. That was the whole point of this friendship thing, right? Keep it light. Keep her smiling. Not this… whatever this was.

“Telemachus… did you hit your head or something?”

Shit. He was supposed to answer.

“Nah. Only my pride. And my back a bit. Probably turning purple as we speak.”

A little smile crept on her lips. Success.

“Did you get into a fight or…?

“Just training. Wasn’t at my best today, obviously,” he said, gesturing to himself. Ouch. His arms hurt. “But my mentor did say my sword-fighting skills were improving, so… yay, I guess?”

Her smile grew. Yes. He still had it.

“A win is a win, right?” she said, grinning.

“Hey! That’s my line!”

She chuckled, but her eyes still lacked their usual mischievous light. The worry hadn’t left. He had to distract her.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you swear vengeance on these hills?”

“What, a girl can’t take a walk anymore?”

“I wouldn’t want you to get lost… again.”

Her eyes widened in (not entirely) fake outrage, her mouth opening, then snapping shut, like she’d just stopped herself from calling him something terribly vulgar. Instead, she settled on a playful glare.

“I’ll have you know, a guy showed me the way once, so I should be fine. He also forgot to mention these were his lands, which—honestly? Rude.”

He couldn’t help but snort. Ew. How very princely of him.

“Sounds like an ass. Also, technically—”

“—your father’s lands. I know, I know” she said, rolling her eyes.

Then, her demeanor shifted. The playful spark dimmed, replaced, once again, by concern, but this time more quiet and focused. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she gave him a slow once-over, and he suddenly felt very… observed. Like she could see through the sarcasm and the half-smiles right into the ache beneath.

She didn’t say anything right away, just studied him in silence. The pause stretched. Then:

“Can you manage walking uphill right now?”

“Huh… I think? It’s probably going to take twice as long as usual, but I’ll get there eventually.”

“Is it easier to walk down?”

“I… guess? But I live up—”

“Yes, I know that. I’m asking if it’s easier for you, right now, to walk downhill. Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Come with me.”

He blinked. “ Come with me ,” she’d said, just like that.

No hesitation. No room for argument.

And gods, there was something in her voice—something calm but unwavering—that made it impossible to refuse. He opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to joke it off, but nothing came out.

He just… nodded.

And followed.

—

“Sit here. I’ll be right back.”

Painfully, Telemachus lowered himself on the chair, still in stunned obedience.

Theia had “smuggled him” through the side door that opened to the courtyard, then straight into the house. “Do you really want to deal with Menon right now?” she had said, when he wondered why they were being so secretive.

He hadn’t even really looked around. The walls, the table, the cool shadow of the house—none of it registered. Only that he was sitting, and she was moving with a kind of purpose he couldn’t match.

Then—suddenly—a piece of bread and a cup of water appeared in front of him.

“Eat. And drink,” she said, before sitting in the chair next to him.

“What are you, my mother?” he tried to joke.

The look she gave him made it very clear: now was not the time for sarcastic remarks.

Gods, this girl could scowl.

He grabbed the cup and drank a few sips under her watchful eye before clearing his throat.

“So… what’s the plan?”

“The plan is for you to wait until you’re not feeling half-dead before I send you back home.”

“I’m not feeling—” her stare cut through him, daring him to lie. “Okay, I’ve been better. But it’s not that bad. Just… training pains, you know? I pushed myself a bit too hard, was a bit too unfocused, got my ass handed to me a couple of times. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

A pause. Then—

“Why?”

That confused him.

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why did you push yourself this hard today?”

Telemachus shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just wanted to work harder, I guess.”

Again, she asked, “Why?”

“To… get better?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Is there a war brewing I’m not aware of?”

You don’t need a war to be met with violence, he thought. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“No, but—”

“Then why?!”

“BECAUSE I HAVE TO!”

His voice cracked, but he kept going.

“Because I need to get better! I need to fight better or else—what’s the point, huh? What am I, except a complete and utter failure?! Back to being a kid who couldn’t even—”

He stopped himself, breath heaving. Then, quieter:

“I need to get this right. Because I need to know I’m not completely useless. And right now? I feel pretty damn useless. Because I couldn’t even get out of my own stupid head for ONE HOUR and fight properly, and now here I am!”

Theia was looking at him—eyes slightly wider, but with a stillness that told him she had been expecting this.

She set down her cup.

“There it is.”

“What?” he spat.

“The truth.”

His anger evaporated instantly, replaced by shock. Of all the answers to his incoherent rant, this was not one he had expected.

Did she… did she do that on purpose? Push him until the cracks in his armor showed?

He didn’t know how to feel about that. Actually, he didn’t know how to feel at all . It seemed like all the emotions had now vacated his mind.

Theia leaned closer.

“I didn’t like what you did on the hill this afternoon.”

“I… what?”

“I didn’t like how you pretended everything was fine,” she continued, “when clearly it wasn’t. I don’t know what’s going on in your head—and you don’t have to tell me everything right now, or ever even. But I want you to be honest. You’re feeling bad, emotionally or physically? You tell me. You’re feeling angry? You. Tell. Me. No need to explain why if you don’t want to. But I need you to tell me how you feel.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how simple she made it sound. As if it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world.

She was still watching him—waiting, like she actually believed he could do it.

“You asked me to treat you like a normal person? Then show him to me. Stop hiding him behind this perfect prince mask you keep wearing. You don’t have to do that—not with me.”

Speechless. She had rendered him speechless. Not a sound could actually come out of him right now.

She had seen him. Only their fourth encounter in maybe ten days, and she had seen him. He couldn’t understand how she had done that.

Theia softened a bit, then took a deep breath.

“Listen, I have my own demons too, okay? I get it. It’s difficult to open up. I’m not going to preach something I can’t do myself. But as your friend, I want to be there for you. For the good and the bad. At least, I think that’s what friends are supposed to do…”

He felt the grin tug at his face before he’d even processed her words.

“So we are friends?”

She laughed, that amazing laugh he’s been trying to get out of her all afternoon.

“Of course we are, you big idiot.”

His grin grew even bigger.

“So… Aletheia wants the truth.”

She groaned dramatically. “Can you not…”

“I don’t know! It seems fitting!”

“Shut up.”

Telemachus gasped. “Is this how you talk to your friends ?”

“I don’t know. I only have two friends. You’ll have to ask Myra, once she’s recovered from meeting you the other day.”

They laughed, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he added quietly. “I’m a mess.”

“So am I.”

“What a pair, huh?”

Telemachus glanced at the window—the sun was dipping low behind the hills.

“I feel better now. I should go,” he said, dragging the words out. “If I’m late, my parents are going to think I’ve fallen into a well.”

Theia snorted. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

He stood, brushing the dust from his hands. “Hey—do you have your morning free in two days?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I can. Why?”

“I want to show you a cool place. Gotta start working on that whole ‘falling in love with Ithaca’ thing.”

“You’re still on that?”

“Hey! It’s kind of my duty, okay?”

A crooked grin tugged at her mouth, and something about it settled warmly in his chest.

“Fine. I’ll go to that ‘cool place’ with you.”

“Perfect,” he said, grinning as he backed toward the door. “I’ll pick you up at sunrise?”

“You’re lucky I’m an early riser—otherwise, it wouldn’t be wells your parents should be worrying about.”

A breath of a chuckle escaped him as he opened the door. “Duly noted.”

He left still smiling, her voice lingering in his ears—and for the first time in a while, the weight on his shoulders didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Chapter Text

Theia

“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. Remember when I said we were friends? I take that back. We are not friends. We are now mortal enemies. If I manage to survive this, I will kill you and dance on your tomb.”

“…Don’t you think you’re a bit overexaggerating?”

“I. AM. NOT.”

I’m taking you to a cool place , he said.

It’s going to be fun , he said.

Liar. Nothing—absolutely nothing—about this was cool or fun.

A few steps ahead (or above? She couldn’t tell anymore), Telemachus was waiting with that infuriating smile of his, standing so effortlessly, as though the steep climb was nothing. His legs were as long as tree trunks, making this whole thing seem like a walk in a garden.

“I’ve been coming here for ages. It’s not that hard,” he said casually.

“Not that hard, he says,” Theia muttered, glaring at him. “Of course it’s not that hard when you have gigantic legs that make it easy to climb a LITERAL MOUNTAIN. Some of us here are of average height!”

“Actually…” Telemachus tilted his head, smirking. “I’d say you’re pretty short.”

Theia looked up slowly, murder in her eyes. “Say that again. Say it one more time. I dare you.”

Telemachus raised his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t even reach my chin! Just stating facts.”

“Facts get people pushed off cliffs.”

He laughed. He laughed at her misery. Again.

They were now on a narrow dirt path overlooking a ravine, barely wide enough to fit a person. Theia clung to the roots and shrubs for dear life, her fingers aching with the strain, breath catching in her throat every time her foot slipped. She didn’t dare to look down. She wouldn’t look down. She—

…She looked down.

To her imminent death, probably.

“Telemachus. Telemachus, I am going to die.”

“You’re doing great,” he said, still standing further up, hands on his hips like an exasperated father. She pitied his future children, if they ever had to deal with that insufferable attitude. Auntie Theia would make sure to tell them all the embarrassing stories as revenge.

What was she thinking about again?

Oh, right. Her inevitable death.

“Telemachus, I swear, if you let me die here, I will curse you and then haunt you. You will never know peace.”

He shook his head with a half-smile and started making his way back down toward her with an ease that was unbearable to watch. Once he reached her, he held out his hand.

“Come on, we’re almost there. I’m going to help you, okay?”

She didn’t want to let go of the roots, really didn’t want to. But it was either staying here, trembling and static, or taking his hand and moving on. So she reached for him.

His hand was warm, steady, rougher than she expected, but careful—like he knew exactly how tightly to hold without making her feel trapped.

“Don’t let me fall,” she said, trying to sound dry, but her voice faltered. It came out softer—more scared than she had meant.

He must have felt it, too, because his response was quiet, almost like a promise. “Never.”

They moved slowly now, the path wider but still treacherous. Her fingers curled around his, tighter than necessary, like it was the only thing keeping her alive. She didn’t let go, even when the path widened a little.

Wouldn’t want to tempt the Fates, right?

Her foot slipped—just for a moment—on a loose patch of dirt. Her heart jumped—so did he.

“I’ve got you,” he said quickly, his grip tightening, pulling her back into steadiness.

She didn’t answer. She was too busy trying not to throw up, or cry, or both.

Instead, she muttered under her breath, “This better be the most amazing place in the world.”

“It is,” he said, like it was obvious.

Of course it is, she thought grimly. Of course it is. Because he picked it. Because he’s tall and smug and doesn’t fear the concept of falling to your death like the rest of them.

Finally, she let go of his hand when the path widened some more as they made it to the top and then—

Oh .

Perched in the middle of this mountain of doom stood the ruins of what she presumed had once been an ancient temple. It had clearly been abandoned for centuries. Only a few broken columns and scattered stone fragments remained, now reclaimed by nature. Vines climbed the ruins, and wildflowers had taken over every patch of grass.

But the best part—the part that made her pause, breathless—was the view. From here, you could practically see the entire island spread out below, the deep blue sea surrounding it like a vast, endless mirror. The sun glimmered on the water like it was made of precious stones.

For a moment, Theia stayed silent, lost in the vastness of it all. Her chest felt tight, overwhelmed by the beauty, by the sheer scale of the world below her.

Ok. This is a cool place.

She could feel Telemachus behind her, already brimming with that self-satisfied grin he wore when he knew he was right.

“Shut up,” she said before he even had the chance.

He laughed. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You were about to. I could feel your smugness from here, it’s coming in waves.”

He came to stand at her side, that damn smirk still plastered on his face, and leaned in to whisper, “I figured you’d be a little mad about the hike, but I hoped the view would be worth it. And, just in case it’s not—” He rummaged through his satchel, and then—almost too casually—pulled out a tangerine.

Because he would. Of course he would. Of course he would preemptively pack his “fruits of forgiveness” because he knew his plans would anger her. She wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.

She snatched the tangerine out of his hand.

“You are, by far, the weirdest guy I have met.”

He smiled proudly, his chin up, like she had just given him the biggest compliment in the world.

“So,” Theia started as she took another look around, “what is this place?”

“Ruins.”

“Yes, thank you. I can see that. I meant why are we here?”

“Ah, but you asked what this place was. Not why we’re here.”

She gave him a look sharp enough to cut marble.

“If you want to play the smartass game, I promise—you’re going to lose.”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The sheer audacity of that man.

“…I hate you.”

“…I don’t think you do.”

“I do. I really do.”

“Do you often let people you hate pick you up at sunrise and take you to mysterious locations?”

“You don’t know my life—”

He held up a finger, silencing her with that infuriating smirk, and rummaged through his bag again—

Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he produced a honey roll.

Unbelievable. This man was unbelievable.

She took it anyway.

“…Did you pack the entire palace pantry in there or what?”

“It’s from Menon’s.”

“Ah. So you stole from him again…”

He cringed a little. “I can’t believe he told you about that— and no. I’ll have you know I bought it with proper money like a good, law abiding citizen.”

“You’re not a citizen.”

“Semantics.”

With this word, he turned around and started walking toward the ruins.

“Come on!”

She shook her head, but followed. Like she had a choice. Gods help her, she was starting to find his nonsense almost…endearing.

He led her deeper into the ruins, to where the remains of an altar—or maybe a bench, it was hard to tell—sat beneath the shadow of a stone pine that had taken root in the abandoned temple over the years. Fragments of mosaics still clung to the stones here and there, too weathered by time to reveal their designs—constellations of blue, brown, and white scattered across ancient stone.

Telemachus emptied his satchel onto the bench—more food, of course, and a canteen she assumed held water. He gestured for her to sit beside him, smug as ever. With a resigned sigh, she did.

“So, are you going to tell me why are we here?” she asked, dimming her teasing tone a little. She was genuinely curious.

“This is my favorite place. My grandmother showed it to me when I was little and, I don’t know, it feels so… peaceful here.”

“Your grandmother? Dragging tiny you through the path of nightmares we’ve just been through?”

He smiled softly, reminiscing.

“She was a formidable woman. Strong-willed too. Seems to be a pattern in my life, right?” he added, nudging her playfully.

She raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference.

“Careful. Sounds like you’re trying to flatter me.”

“Anyway,” he went on, “she died when I was twelve, but I keep coming back here now and then. Maybe for her. Maybe for me. I don’t really know. But I feel good here. It’s my little secret spot.”

He glanced at her, a bit shyly. “I thought you might like it.”

“I do,” she said softly. “Thank you. For showing it to me.”

And she meant it. More than she expected to.

He smiled bashfully, looking down, a little melancholic, like he couldn’t handle her thanks quite yet. It stirred something in her chest in way she couldn’t explain.

Looking down at the food between them, she had an idea.

“So. I need to ask. What’s the deal with your “food of forgiveness” thing?”

That got a laugh out of him. Good job, Theia.

“Okay, full honesty? I keep bringing it up because I like ruffling your feathers. It’s very entertaining.”

“Alright. Jerk.”

He shook his head, still grinning.

“But also I think it’s from my mom. Not the ‘forgiveness’ part, obviously, but whenever I was sad or upset when I was little she would take me to the kitchen and give me something to eat as she comforted me. And later on when I started visiting Menon more when things at home were—complicated, to say the least— he would give me a little something too. I think I ended up associating snacks with comfort.”

“Snacks are comforting.”

“Right?! The worst part is, I caught myself peeling an apple for Eirene the other day because she was grumpy—and I realized… I’ve become my mother!”

She blinked.

“…Eirene?”

She meant for it to sound casual. It didn’t.

He didn’t seem to notice. “My little sister. I told you I had a little sister, right? She turned one this past winter. She is a menace .”

Oh.

The twist in her chest eased—so suddenly it left her a little off balance. Whatever that had been, it was gone now.

“Well. I’d be grumpy too if someone was hovering over me with a knife and an apple.”

He laughed. “She kept grabbing the peel and trying to eat it! I had to bribe her with a honey date to let me finish!”

“So she got an apple and a honey date out of you? Smart girl.”

“A little too smart in my opinion. Right now it’s okay because we can catch her when she’s up to no good, but at some point, it’s going to get more difficult.”

He dramatically shivered at the thought.

Telemachus grabbed a roll as he turned towards her.

“By the way, I never asked. Do you have siblings?”

Her jaw tensed. She really didn’t want to talk about it, or even think about it. But she didn’t want to ruin this good day by cutting him off quickly.

Gods she had asked him to be honest. And here she was.

So she plastered a fake smile on her face and said:

“Yes I do. Two brothers. But they’re much older than me so we’re not very close.”

“Oh. That’s kind of sad. I hope that won’t happen with me and Eirene.”

“If you keep feeding her snacks, you should be fine.”

“What about your parents? I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but… since you’re living with your uncle, I figured…”

“That they were dead?”

She said it casually—too casually—but didn’t let the pause stretch.

“No, it’s alright. They are. My father died in the war—he left before I was born, so I never knew him. And my mother passed too. But it was a while ago. I’m not going to cry about it or anything. I’m okay, I swear.”

When she met his gaze again, it was full of pity. She hated it.

“I promise I’m fine. I was never really close to my family anyway. And now I’ve got Menon! Grumpy old man, sure—but with a big heart. Did you know he bought pink linens for my cot because ‘girls like pink, right?’ ”

She gave a small snort. “Adorable.”

If he noticed her deflection, he didn’t let it show. Instead, after a moment, he leaned over and asked:

“So, do you?”

“What?”

“Like pink?”

Theia rolled her eyes. “It’s an alright color.”

They both chuckled. Telemachus continued.

“What’s your favorite color then?”

“I don’t know, probably blue. What’s yours?”

He thought about it for a little moment, and then said.

“Green.”

She nodded thoughtfully. It suited him, somehow.

They let the silence settle for a moment—not awkward, just quiet. Peaceful. The sun was filtering through the pine needles, occasionally bathing their bench in sunlight.

Telemachus was right. It was peaceful here.

Eventually, he rose from the bench with a soft groan. “As much as I would love to stay here all day and pretend I don’t have things to do, I do have things to do. And we should probably head back before Menon starts going around saying I kidnapped his niece.”

“You kind of did.”

Telemachus gave her an unimpressed look.

“You and I have very different definitions of kidnapping. I asked you if you wanted to come. And you agreed.”

“Na-ah! You tricked me into thinking this was going to be fun!”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you regret coming here. I dare you.”

The asshole. She knew he knew she loved this place.

“Please tell me we won’t have to go through the mountain of doom again on our way down?”

He laughed, muttering “mountain of doom” under his breath.

“We have to go through the mountain of doom again on our way back.”

She whined a little. She wasn’t proud of that.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“I thought you hated me?”

“Shut up”.

He grinned as he offered his hand to help her up. As they approached the treacherous path of nightmare, she cast one last look at the ruins and thought that if she died on the way back, at least she’d die in peace.

—

By the time she made it back to Menon’s, the sun was high in the sky, its heat beating down on the island. Gone were the gentle morning rays that had cast a delicate light over the temple.

As she stepped into the shop, Menon wore the expression of a man fresh from battle.

“Make her go away. She’s been here for an hour. She never stops talking.”

Theia followed his gaze to find Myra leaning on the counter, pure mischief in her eyes.

She quickly tugged her friend away into the courtyard, before Menon started connecting the morbid dots between “oven” and “girl who speaks too much.” Myra let herself be dragged, giggling like she hadn’t just been marked for culinary execution.

“Please tell me you had a good reason for persecuting my poor uncle for an hour?”

Myra gasped, offended. “I was perfectly delightful! Just having a lovely conversation with a fellow resident, as one should.”

“For one hour?”

Something sparkled behind her eyes.

“Well… at first I was just saying hello, asking about life, you know, the usual. And then I asked where you were—and I got a very interesting answer.”

Oh no. She knew that look. That was a teasing incoming look.

“Menon told me,” Myra continued, “that his dear, dear niece had left first thing this morning with a certain prince to go—and I quote—‘gods know where, but the boy looked entirely too happy about it.’”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“You know, you should really get over your ‘oh gods he’s the prince’ phase. I feel like you two could be great friends. You’ve got the same talent for getting on my nerves .”

This did not deter her in the slightest.

“Come on~ What did you do with the prince this morning?”

“…You really waited an hour just to ask what I did this morning?”

“YES! And also—perhaps more importantly— why was he ‘entirely too happy about it’?”

“Because he couldn’t wait to watch me suffer. He took me on a hike, and I almost died fifteen times.”

Could Myra stop grinning for five seconds? It couldn’t be healthy to grin for that long.

“So what I’m hearing is: you were alone, in the nature, with a gorgeous man.”

“Being alone in the nature is how we met! Also, ew—please never call my friend a ‘gorgeous man’ again, or I might actually puke.”

“…Because you’re jealous?”

“Because he’s my friend !”

Myra was practically bouncing on her heels now.

“Come oooon , I need details!”

“He wanted to show me some ruins in the mountains. He practically threw food at me. We talked for a bit. We went home. The end .”

“Sounds romantic~”

“It was ABSOLUTELY NOT romantic!”

Myra took a step back, her eyes wide. She hadn’t mean to shout.

“Sorry, just… do you really think someone like Telemachus would get romantically involved with someone like me? Come on, he’s smarter than this. You’re smarter than this. He’s going to end up married to a beautiful foreign princess, and they’re going to have tons of royal babies. I’ll be very happy for him when it happens. Just… this isn’t the romance play you think it is, okay? We’re friends. Who spent some time together. Nothing more.”

Myra nodded once, seriously. The time for teasing was over.

She really hoped she hadn’t messed up their friendship with her outburst. Fortunately, Myra said, “I get it. Don’t worry. I’m sorry I pushed you. ‘Big mouth who never knows when to stop,’ remember?”

Theia laughed with relief as Myra made her way toward the door. But just as she passed by, she whispered, “You never said you were smarter than this, though.” And with that, she left, leaving the words hanging in the air.

This was delusional.

They were friends.

Just friends.

Nothing more.

Chapter Text

Telemachus

When Telemachus opened his eyes, his room was already bathed in soft morning light.
 
Huh. Strange. He was usually up before sunrise.
 
Now that he thought about it, he normally woke multiple times throughout the night—sometimes from nightmares, sometimes from thoughts that refused to quiet down. But not last night. He must have had at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time since…
Well. He couldn’t even remember.
 
That was nice.
 
With a surprising burst of energy, he jumped out of bed and got dressed. A quick glance in the bronze mirror revealed no sign of the usual dark circles under his eyes. Even his hair seemed to be cooperating. This was shaping up to be an excellent day.
 
Yesterday had been amazing. He’d actually held his own against Athena in training—and she gave him not one, not two, but three separate compliments on his fighting. At dinner, when his father brought up the housing problems in the east of the island after a storm, Telemachus offered a few ideas—and his father had said they were good. His mother had even called them smart.
 
But nothing—not even Athena’s praise—could top how perfect yesterday morning had been.
 
Taking Theia on that hike had been a bit of a gamble, but he was sure she’d love the ruins as much as he did. It was his favorite place, of course he had to share it with one of his favorite people.
 
Wait—was she? One of his favorite people?
 
Uh. He guessed she was.
 
Anyway, he’d been right. She did love it. He’d also worried that his outburst a few days earlier might have changed things between them, but it hadn’t. If anything… things felt better. Their banter had been effortless—quick, bright, familiar. He didn’t even need to plan out clever replies anymore.
 
He didn’t need to think at all. The words just came.
 
Swinging the door open, he practically ran through the hallways, offering cheerful waves to the staff as he passed.
 
He found his mother in the family room, already seated on one of the sofas.
 
“Good morning, Mom!”
 
“Good morning, sweetheart—oh!” she gasped, surprised, as he dropped a quick kiss on her head.
 
Telemachus flopped onto the opposite sofa and grabbed a plate of grapes. Damn. These were good grapes. He should find out where they came from. Maybe Ithaca needed an alliance with whoever grew these divine things. The world deserved to be blessed with them.
 
His mother’s voice interrupted his grand importation plans.
“You look especially cheerful this morning. Did you enjoy your run?”
 
“Hm? Oh, I didn’t go on a run this morning. I just woke up, actually.”
 
“You… just woke up? You? The Prince of Insomnia?”
 
“I know, right? I slept like a baby.”
 
“Well, not like this one,” his father’s voice rang out from behind him.
 
Telemachus turned just in time to see him step into the room, a red-faced Eirene clinging to his chiton, her cheeks still wet with tears.
 
He jumped up and gently scooped his sister into his arms. She let herself be carried, immediately hiding her face against his tunic.
 
“Hey there, little storm. What’s wrong?”
 
“Ouch.”
 
“Ouch?”
 
“She’s teething again,” his mother explained with a sigh. “Poor dear spent the whole night crying.”
 
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Eri,” he said, planting a kiss on her damp curls. “But it means soon you’ll be able to eat everything like a big girl! Isn’t that great?”
 
She shot him a dark look. Clearly, this child had no respect for his optimism.
 
“Yeah, I don’t think she in the mood for your… positivity? Right now she just wants to cry and rage” his father chirped.
 
Telemachus sat down once again, settling his sister next to him, and went to grab some more of these amazing grapes.
When he looked up, he noticed his father seemed a little anxious.
“Uh-oh. What’s going on? Please tell me you’re not having another baby. This one’s enough,” he said, pointing a thumb toward the furious toddler beside him.
 
“Gods, no,” Odysseus chuckled. “I just wanted to talk to you about something. I know you wanted to come to the council meeting with me today, but I remembered—the festival in honor of Apollo is coming up, and that’ll definitely be on the agenda. So I think your mother should go instead, since, you know… it’s kind of her thing.”
 
“It is absolutely my thing,” Penelope cut in.
 
“I know that, my love,” Odysseus said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it.
 
Gods, they were adorable.
 
“Okay… and why do you look so worried telling me this?”
 
His father tilted his head slightly, squinting at him like he was trying to solve a riddle.
“Because… you really wanted to come? And I didn’t want you to be upset?”
 
“Upset? I’m not upset, it makes perfect sense! Go Mom! Have fun petrifying those pompous old men with fear!”
 
His mother looked surprised and let out a small laugh. “Will do, darling.”
 
Eirene chose this moment to throw herself onto a pillow, wailing.
 
Penelope quickly got up, taking her daughter in her arms and whispering reassuring “shush” to her.
“It’s a shame we’re out of mint paste. We should send for more.”
 
“Oh, I can go get some!”
Both of his parents shot him a perplexed look.
 
“That’s very nice of you,” his mother started, “but you don’t have to do that. Some of the kitchen staff were planning to go to the market in Stávros anyway. I can just ask them to get it while they’re there.”
 
Telemachus waved her off with a grin. “No, really, it’s no problem at all! Don’t bother the kitchen staff. Plus, I’m free of any obligations today, so I have all the time in the world!”
 
She shot a look at her husband, then back at her son.
“If you insist—”
 
“Perfect!” Telemachus practically shouted, leaping out of his seat. “I’m going right now. The sooner, the better, right, little lady?!” he said, tickling his sister.
 
The murderous look in her eyes told him to back off before she started biting.
 
“Okay—well, see you later, family! Mom, Dad, enjoy the meeting!”
 
Odysseus and Penelope waved awkwardly, still staring at him like he’d just spoken a different language.
 
“You guys are weird today,” he stated, before walking through the door.
 
—
 
Stávros’ most renowned pharmacopolēs could be found in a crooked residential street, tucked just off the town’s epicenter. The shop itself was more of a room, really—adjacent to an old house—but anyone who had ever spoken to the owner could tell you exactly why they kept coming back: she exuded wisdom. Really, she looked like how he imagined one of the Fates would—if the Fates were, you know, nice old ladies.
 
“Hello young man! Do you need more ointment for your bruises already?”
 
Also, she didn’t seem to realize who he was. So that was nice.
 
“Hi Sophia! And no, not today. I am on a sacred mission to get mint paste for a very groggy toddler”, he said with a wink.
 
Sophia raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his tone.
 
“Mint paste, you say? A very important task indeed.” She glanced over her shoulder at the jars lining the shelves. “You know, the secret ingredient is the mint from the northern slopes—strong enough to knock out a headache, or a toddler’s tantrum.” She chuckled softly.
 
Telemachus grinned. “Good to know. I’ll make sure to get the best of the best for this very special lady.”
 
Sophia’s eyes twinkled. “I didn’t know you had a baby! Always coming with some bruises and swelling asking for remedies, and not once have you mentioned your daughter! Though I shouldn’t be surprised, by your age I already had three children.”
 
His smiled fell so fast he could have pulled a muscle.
“Oh—oh no! She’s not—“
 
Sophia cut him off while rummaging through her shelves.
“I always say to new parents ‘come to me, I’ve had six children, I know what you need even before you do’!”
 
“She’s my little sister!” he practically yelled. “My little sister, I don’t… I don’t have—“
 
“A little sister! Oh aren’t you the dearest, then, taking care of her. I could always tell you were a good boy. I see it in your eyes.”
 
He gave her a small smile before looking down shyly.
 
“I’ll get that mint paste for you right away—oh, hello, lovely!” she called to a customer who had just entered the shop. “You—I know you’re here for bruise ointment! I have some fresh stock in my house, I’ll be right back.”
 
As she left, Telemachus turned to the newcomer—only to be met with a familiar face.
 
A familiar face who was trying very hard not to panic.
“Oh—hey! Myra, right?”
 
“Oh, uh, hi! Your High—Tele—you! Yes, it’s Myra. Yes. Hi.”
 
Poor girl looked like she didn’t know what to do with herself. She took a deep breath and continued:
“Should I bow? I feel like I should bow. But the other day you said I didn’t need to. But maybe it was just the other day. Should I bow?”
 
He laughed a little. She may still be terrified, but at least she was speaking this time.
 
“No, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to. And that applies to all future encounters as well.”
 
She let out a deep sigh.
 
“Good. Okay. That’s nice. I mean, I guess that’s nice. I’m sorry—I’m just trying not to freak out because Theia said I should stop freaking out because ‘really, he’s just a guy! And a weird guy on top of it! You both get on my nerves the same way,’ or something like that, but I’ve been living here for twelve years and it’s hard to start seeing you as just a guy just because my friend decided to adopt you or something and—I should stop talking now.”
 
Telemachus couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. Gods, what a drastic change from the malfunctioning girl he’d seen at the market!
 
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not making fun of you, I promise,” he said between chuckles. “I just wasn’t expecting… all of this.”
 
She groaned dramatically, burying her face in her hands.
 
“I know! I know, I am cursed.”
 
She took yet another deep breath.
 
“Please don’t tell Theia I told you she told me you were weird.”
 
“It’s okay,” he said, grinning. “She already told me herself.”
 
Multiple times. And that he was ridiculous, too.
 
Myra suddenly went very still, eyes narrowing as she studied him. The shift—from spiraling to focused—was even more jarring than the talking.
 
“Do… do I have something on my face?”
 
She didn’t answer. Just kept staring, head tilted slightly to the side, like she was working something out.
 
Telemachus shifted, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”
 
Myra blinked, snapped out of it. “Nothing! Nope. Nothing at all. Sorry. I got lost in my thoughts for a minute.”
 
She cleared her throat and straightened her posture.
 
“So? What are you here for?”
 
“Mint paste for my little sister. She’s growing her teeth and she had a rough night. And you?”
 
“Bruise ointment for my little brothers. Somehow they think punching each other is a valid form of communication.”
 
“Little siblings, am I right?”
 
“Na-ah! I’ve seen your sister for afar once! She seemed like the cutest baby ever!”
 
“Yeah. Emphasis on ‘afar’ and ‘seemed’. She’s a little demon. But she’s my little demon, so…”
 
There was a pause. But it was less weird than before. Hey maybe he was getting better at this whole ‘talking to regular people’ thing!
 
Then, absolutely out of nowhere: “Theia’s at the bakery, by the way.”
 
Telemachus raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I… guess she would be?”
 
“Okay. Well, now you know.”
 
“Okay…?”
 
This was weird. Of course Theia would be at Menon’s bakery. That’s where she lived. And sure, maybe he was planning to drop by to say hello and now he was certain she would be there, but still.
 
Maybe Myra was just a weird girl. Theia appeared to be collecting this specific type of friends.
 
“Alright you two! Here’s the mint paste for you, and the ointment for you. That will be two obols each.”
 
Myra started rummaging through her bag before he stopped her.
“That’s okay. This one’s on me. In the name of older siblings solidarity.”
 
“Oh, then no need to tell me twice. Thank you very much.”
 
Wow. He didn’t expect her to agree so fast.
 
She must have sensed his surprise because she gave him a look.
“Hey do you know how much money we spend each week for these three idiots? I’ll take all the free stuff I can get.”
 
He chuckled and handed the coins to Sophia. The woman leaned in and whispered loudly:
“Are you trying to seduce this lovely girl, young man?”
 
The heat rose to his cheeks, and he was about to blurt an awkward denial when Myra spoke.
“Nah Sophia, he likes them a bit more sarcastic.”
 
She grabbed the ointment from the counter and left with a cheerful ‘bye!’.
 
Wait. What was that supposed to mean?
 
—
 
When he poked his head through the window of Menon’s shop, the first thing he saw was chaos.
 
A very contained chaos. Apparently affecting only one person.
 
Theia must have sensed his presence, because she lifted her head and said,
“Hey! Sorry, I can’t really talk right now, as you can see I am—”
 
“—Trying to fuse with the flour, yes. I can see that.”
 
She was nearly unrecognizable beneath the white dust—clothes, arms, face, even her hair hadn’t been spared.
 
She gave him a withering glare.
“Ha-ha. Fear me. For I have become the goddess of flour, and you shall meet my dusty wrath.”
 
“Isn’t that Demeter?”
 
“She’s the goddess of harvest. I am specifically focused on flour.”
 
“My mistake. I’ll have a temple built in the agora as soon as possible.”
 
“As you should.”
 
She turned back to her dough with great dignity, as if this was her divine mission.
 
Then, without looking up, she asked,
“Not that I don’t want to see you, but didn’t you have a meeting this morning?”
 
He leaned against the counter, grinning.
“Not anymore. Last-minute change—my mother’s attending this one.”
 
She looked up, brow raised.
“And you’re okay with that? I mean, one thing I’ve learned about you is that you’re obsessed with these meetings.”
 
“I am not!”
 
“You so are! You spent the entire trail back home talking about it yesterday!”
 
He faked indignation. “I did not!”
 
“Oh my gods, I cannot wait for tomorrow’s meeting. I have arguments that will make bald man number two agree with bald man number three,” she said with an exaggerated deep voice.
 
“Is that supposed to be me?!”
 
She shrugged with a smirk and went back to her work.
 
“I just saw Myra, by the way.”
 
“Did she explode at the sight of you?”
 
Telemachus shook his head. “No. But she talked. A lot.”
 
“In a never-ending flow where you wonder how she even remembers to breathe?”
 
“Yes!”
 
She snorted. “Yeah. She does that. But it’s progress from the last time she saw you and almost fainted on the spot.”
 
“That’s what I thought!”
 
Then something flickered in her eyes. A little shadow.
 
Oh no. What did he do? What did he say?
 
“Prince-induced panic aside… did she seem okay? I, uh… I yelled at her yesterday.”
 
Oh. She wasn’t sad because of him. That was good. But she was sad. And that wasn’t.
 
“I mean, I don’t know her that well, but yeah—she looked okay? Normal, I’d say. Annoyed at her brothers for fighting, but not mad or anything. She talked about you a little. Didn’t seem upset.”
 
Theia visibly relaxed at his answer.
 
“Good. Good. That’s good.”
 
“Why… did you yell at her?” he asked tentatively.
 
Her head snapped up and her eyes went a little wide before replying a bit too quickly. “Nothing! I mean nothing important. She just hit a sensitive nerve, that’s all. I shouldn’t have raised my voice, though.”
 
Telemachus hummed. “She didn’t have any food of forgiveness I see. Rookie mistake.”
 
“Out of my sight. Before I drown you in flour.”
 
He raised his hands in surrender, stepping backward toward.
“Alright, alright. Wouldn’t want to anger the goddess of flour,” he grinned.
 
“Bring an offering next time.”
 
He chuckled, slipping into the busy street and giving a playful wave before vanishing into the crowd.
 
—
 
The rest of the day was indeed as good as he’d expected. He returned home and handed the mint paste to Eurycleia, who managed to soothe his sister enough to put her to sleep. She kissed his cheek and whispered a relieved, “Thank you. You’re a sweet boy,” before returning to her day.
 
With a rare free afternoon, he wandered the land, eventually ending up at a cliffside. The heat wasn’t as unbearable as it had been in the past few weeks—summer was coming to an end. Now it was a gentler warmth, perfect for lounging in the grass and enjoying the view.
 
He really did love his home.
 
A few hours later, as the sky began to turn pink, he headed back to the palace and stole a few olives from the kitchens. He took them to the fountain, where he planned to enjoy them in peace.
 
It had been a great day.
 
So of course someone had to go and ruin it.
 
“Got some to spare?”
 
His father sat down beside him, hand outstretched.
 
Begrudgingly, Telemachus gave him a couple.
 
“So,” he said, “how was the meeting?”
 
“Surprisingly good! Everybody behaved and we actually managed to get things done.”
 
“Yeah. Because they’re scared of Mom.”
 
Odysseus chuckled affectionately. “Your mother does have an impressive death glare. Believe me, I’ve been on the receiving end of it.”
 
“Yet you still pursued her.”
 
“Ah, that—because I’m a fool.”
 
They laughed, then let the silence stretch.
 
Just for a little while. Because apparently, his father had planned for his demise today.
 
“You’ve been a bit strange lately. Not a bad strange, just… unusually happy.”
 
Telemachus frowned.
“Am I not allowed to be happy?”
 
“Oh, no, I’m glad you are! I’ve just been wondering why. You keep smiling at random times during the day, and this morning you were so cheerful I could barely look directly at you. I thought I was going to go blind from all the joy coming off you.”
 
“You’re so dramatic… I had a good day yesterday and I’m having a good day today. That’s all.”
 
“Sure, but it’s not just yesterday and today. It’s been a couple of weeks now, this weird smile on your face.”
 
“You’re the one being weird! You and Mom were doing that thing again this morning where you talk to each other with your eyes. It’s creepy.”
 
But his father wasn’t taking the bait this time.
“What’s her name?”
 
Telemachus snapped his head around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
“What do you mean?”
 
“Or his name, really—I don’t judge. I spent nine years a few tents away from Achilles and Patroclus, after all.”
 
“Again: what do you mean?”
 
“You’ve got that look. The ‘I’m thinking about someone I like’ look.”
 
“The years at sea melted your head, old man.”
 
“Okay, first of all—rude. Second, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this isn’t about someone you met.”
 
A beat. His father’s piercing gaze was still on him, analyzing—as if trying to read his mind.
 
“…Fine. I met someone.”
 
“Yes! I knew it!”
 
“But it’s not what you think! She’s just a friend!”
 
“Uh-huh.” Odysseus nodded slowly, a suspiciously knowing look on his face. “A friend who makes you smile like an idiot every time you think about her?”
 
The audacity. The audacity of that man.
“I. Do not. Smile like an idiot.”
 
“Oh, but you do.”
 
“I’m just glad I made a friend who isn’t a goddess I have to share with my father!”
 
“Don’t say that to Athena. You’ll break her heart.”
 
“Shut up.”
 
His father laughed. He was enjoying this conversation way too much for Telemachus’ taste.
 
“So,” he said, nudging him, “who’s this new ‘friend’?”
 
“Don’t say friend like that. Her name is Theia. She’s from Sparta. Moved here a few weeks ago.”
 
“Oh, Sparta! Like your mom!”
 
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but there are many people living in Sparta. Anyway, I found her lost in the hills on my way back from training. I showed her the way. We talked. It was nice. Then the next day, when I went to check Menon’s stock, she was there. She kind of freaked out when she realized I was—well—me, but eventually we decided to be friends. So that’s it. There’s your story.”
 
“Why was she at Menon’s?”
 
“She’s his niece.”
 
“Oh! Ismene’s daughter! Makes sense—she left with a Spartan man who was working on the royal ship when Tyndareus and his family came to visit. Fun fact: that’s how I met your mom.”
 
“I know. You told me. She told me. Everybody told me.”
 
Odysseus completely ignored him and continued his merciless interrogation.
“And why have you been particularly sunshiny these past two days?”
 
“Never use the word sunshiny again, I’m begging you. And I just had a good time with her, that’s all. I showed her the old temple in the mountains—the one Grandma liked to visit.”
 
“Did she survive the hike?”
 
“With attitude. She said, and I quote, ‘if I survive this, I will kill you and dance on your tomb.’”
 
“I like her already,” his father cackled. “Did she make it, though? Because clearly you haven’t been murdered by a furious girl.”
 
“She liked the place a lot, so that calmed her fury a little.”
 
“So let me get this straight—you’ve been a literal ray of sunshine for the past two days because you took a girl to a beautiful place and she liked it?”
 
“Don’t say it like that.”
 
“Like what?”
 
“Like it was a romantic thing.”
 
Odysseus raised his eyebrows. “Did I say the word romantic?”
 
“You said it with your eyes.”
 
“Uh-huh.”
 
His father stood, grabbed another olive, and walked off with a wink.
 
“She’s just a friend!” Telemachus called out.
 
“Sure,” his father replied from a distance.
 
“I swear!”
 
“Of course.”
 
And he disappeared into the olive grove.
 
Telemachus was beginning to regret the time when he didn’t have an annoying father in his life.
Just a little.
 
“She’s just a friend,” he muttered to himself.
 
Because she was.
Just a friend.
Just a friend.

Chapter Text

Theia

Theia had plenty of reasons to be in a bad mood.

First of all, it had been raining all week—the final summer storms battering the island without mercy.

Second, she had fallen pathetically in the courtyard the other day, breaking the straps of her sandals in the process. That left her with a grand total of one pair of shoes and an ugly purple bruise on her hip.

Third, she had burned a batch of loaves yesterday. Menon told her it wasn’t a big deal, but she was still mad about it.

She had plenty of reasons to be in a bad mood.

None of them had anything to do with the fact that she hadn’t seen Telemachus in a week.

None. None at all. Why should she feel bad about that?

They weren’t attached at the hip. He had his own life. He was probably off doing something political or fancy—as he would—because that was what his life was supposed to be. Not dropping in every day to chat with a lowly orphan elbow-deep in flour.

If anything, it was a good thing that they weren’t spending as much time together as they had before. After all, she needed to get used to it. At some point, Telemachus would rule over the island, and she highly doubted kings had the time to take their friends on hikes. Or banter like it was an Olympic sport. Or make them laugh until all the dark clouds in their heads vanished.

What was she thinking about again? Ah, yes. She was in a bad mood.

As she dragged herself down the stairs this morning, she could feel Menon’s gaze on her.

“You’re not in the shop already?” she asked him.

“Came here to grab something.”

“Okay.”

She sat down at the table, munching on some fruit. His eyes were still on her.

“Do you need anything?”

“No. M’good.”

Okay. He was definitely acting weird today.

Menon joined her at the table. Correction: he wasn’t just weird. He was extremely weird today.

“Are you good, though?” he asked, his voice unusually low, a hint of concern in it.

“Splendid.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Theia kept her hands busy—picking at the breakfast in front of her. The plums were a little bitter. They really should stop buying from that merchant.

“Did you… have a fight with Myra?”

“No. I mean—” She waved a hand vaguely. “We had a little disagreement last week, but we’re good. We’re fine now.”

It was true. Really. They’d even seen each other a few times since.

He leaned in a little closer.

“Did you… have a fight with Telema—”

“NOPE.”

Oops. That came out louder than she’d meant. Menon blinked. She could practically hear the echo of her voice bouncing off the walls. Gods. Why was she like this?

“No fight,” she added quickly, grabbing a piece of bread like it was a lifeline. “We’re good. Can’t fight with someone you don’t see, right?”

She tried a laugh. It came out thin. Nervous. Even she didn’t buy it.

Menon didn’t respond right away. He just watched her, silent. She could practically hear him weighing the odds—whether to press or let it go.

Eventually, he rose from his chair, choosing to use his good sense and end the interrogation. Or maybe he’d just remembered that emotional conversations weren’t exactly his forte. Or hers.

Really, she could see how they were related. What a pair of grumpy deflectors they made.

Before he made it through the door, he turned back to her one last time.

“Don’t need your help in the bakery today. You’ve been doing a lot lately—you deserve some rest. Go and do girl stuff. I don’t know, take a walk, pick flowers… whatever it is you do when you’re not here.”

“Menon, it’s raining.”

“Not today it’s not.”

Theia glanced toward the window—and sure enough, the sky was relatively clear. Huh. She hadn’t even noticed.

The sound of the door shutting pulled her out of the thought. Menon had gone back to the bakery, leaving her to her “free day,” she guessed.

She dropped her head on the table with a groan.

—

“‘Go and take a walk.’ ‘Pick flowers.’ ‘Do girl stuff.’ Yeah, yeah, sure, Menon,” she mumbled, kicking a pebble as she walked.

She wandered aimlessly through town, with no real idea what to do with herself. She briefly considered going back to bed and ignoring the entire day, but it would be a shame to waste the few rays of sun they’d gotten lately. And she had been sulking because of the poor weather. And the shoes. And the burnt bread.

Nothing else.

“Hey! Pick on someone your own size. That poor rock’s had enough, I think,” called an amused voice.

Myra stood a few steps ahead, grinning. She looked suspiciously relaxed for someone currently holding back a very pissed-looking child by the arms. Behind her stood another boy, slightly older than the angry one, watching the scene unfold with practiced disinterest.

“Got your hands full here, don’t you?”

Myra rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I told them I’d take them to the beach if they behaved,” she said, shooting a long look at the boy currently in her grip. “I think they just heard ‘beach’ and—wait. Nikos! Come back here! We don’t shoot rocks at other people’s doors, you idiot!”

A third boy, about the same age as the one fuming, came running back, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“See what my life is?” Myra said. “They’ve been cooped up at home all week because of the storm. I considered fratricide. Multiple times.”

That got a laugh out of her.

“The infamous little brothers, I assume?”

“The very ones. Nikos is the one who just tried to commit property damage. Mister Anger here is his twin, Ilias—he’s mad because I told him no, we do not steal people’s cats, even if they’re cute. And behind me is Dimos. Don’t trust his calmness—he’s as bad as the others, if not worse. He just knows better.”

All three of them looked unmistakably like Myra—same tousled brown hair, same spark of mischief in their eyes. One of the twins even had her exact shade of hazel, just a little brighter. Their skin was a touch lighter than her bronze, but they all had that same sun-warmed glow.

“Boys, say hello to my friend Theia. She knows the prince, so you better behave or he’ll have you fed to Scylla.”

A chorus of annoyed “hellos” followed. Theia gave an awkward wave.

“Anyway,” Myra continued, “what are you doing out here moping? Aren’t you usually helping Menon at this time of day?”

“Yeah, usually. Except he kicked me out. Said I ‘deserve some rest’ or something. I think he just doesn’t want me to burn more bread.”

“…Or—hear me out—he genuinely wants you to rest? I know, I know, it’s crazy .”

“Ah-ah.”

She knew, deep down, that her recent attitude had worried Menon.

But a little voice in her head kept whispering: He wants to get rid of you. You’re a burden. Like everyone else thinks. Even like Tele—

Nope. Not going there.

Myra tilted her head, watching her a little too closely. Then, with the casualness of someone trying not to spook a stray cat, she said,

“Alright then. You’re coming to the beach with us.”

Theia blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. You, me, and three monsters who should probably be kept in cages. Fresh air, salt water, screaming children. The dream.”

“I didn’t know how to—”

“I’m not asking you to swim around the island and back. I’m asking if you want to sit on the sand for a few hours, maybe dip a toe in the sea, and mostly chill and chat while I vaguely make sure none of my siblings die or commit a crime.”

Theia hesitated. A small part of her wanted to say no, to go back to her sulking and wait for the day to end.

But the louder part—the one that didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts anymore—nudged her forward.

“…Alright. Lead the way.”

“Ha! Victory!” Myra pumped a fist. “You hear that, boys? Theia’s coming. Try not to drown.”

“Can we drown each other?” one of the twins asked.

“No.”

“Even a little?”

“No!”

—

The beach Myra took them to was tucked into a small cove, cut off from the rest of the island by reddish cliff sides. Just getting down to the water felt like an adventure, and for a brief moment, Theia wondered if Myra and Telemachus had secretly made a pact to end her life through strenuous rock climbing.

“Yeah sorry about the hike. But it’s the best one trust me! And usually it’s pretty quiet, not a lot of people go there.”

“Yeah. Because they have good sense” Theia replied dryly.

“Less complaining, more walking. You’re going to love it. My dad showed it to me when I was younger. If little me and these three idiots here can handle it, you can.”

“I’m a city girl.”

“Oh yes. I can see that. The whole island can see that.”

Was it considered morally wrong to push your friend to her death in front of her brothers?

Unfortunately, yes.

She settled for a death glare.

“Wasn’t the hike with the prince way worse than this? I feel like you’re exaggerating just a little,” Myra shouted over her shoulder.

“Yes, it was. And now I’m forever traumatized by mountains. At least he took my hand.”

Myra stopped dead in her tracks, and turned to her with a grin.

Oh no. Why did she have to say that? She’d just thrown oil on the fire.

“Did he now?”

The smug expression on her face was unbearable to watch. She might reconsider her morals after all.

“Yes. After I threatened to curse and haunt him if I fell to my death. It was self-preservation.”

“Right. Self-preservation.”

“Please know I’ve been considering pushing you off the cliff for the past few minutes.”

Myra laughed (why did she always surround herself with people who took pleasure in her suffering?) and grabbed her hand.

“There. Hand held. Now let’s go, we’re almost there.”

They were, indeed, almost there—because just a couple of minutes later, a small rocky beach came into view. The deep blue of the sea contrasted beautifully with the ochre-colored stone, and a few pine trees clung to the cliffs, casting patches of shade along the beach’s edge. Myra practically ran to one of those shaded spots, unrolling a blanket she’d just pulled from her bag. Her brothers vanished from her side the moment her back was turned, already sprinting toward the water with wild enthusiasm.

Theia joined her on the blanket and turned toward the sea, letting the sound of the waves soothe her.

Her friend shot her an overly proud side glance.

“Told you so.”

“I hate you.”

“Because I was right?”

“…Maybe.”

Myra chuckled as she lay back. Then she sat up quickly and yelled, “Don’t die! And don’t kill each other!” to the boys before lying down once more.

“There. Eldest child duties done.”

Theia closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself get lost in the rhythm of the sea and the song of the cicadas. A soft, salty breeze brushed her skin. She had to admit, coming here was a good idea.

She turned to Myra, who was still sprawled beside her with a peaceful smile, and asked,

“Do you come here often?”

“Oh yeah. At least once a week in the summer, and as often as we can the rest of the year. Usually the whole family tries to come, but Mom and Dad had a lot of work today—hence the forced babysitting.”

The answer made her chest tighten slightly. She couldn’t explain why.

No—that was a lie.  She knew exactly what had triggered it.

“Hey… I’m going to ask you a weird question.”

Myra cracked one eye open. “Shoot.”

“I noticed you call your stepfather ‘Dad’… but he’s not your real dad, right?”

Her friend propped herself up on her elbows.

“Well, technically, he’s not. But he’s the only dad I’ve ever had, and he doesn’t treat me any differently than he treats the boys. He goes around saying he has four kids—not three and a stepdaughter. So, as far as I’m concerned, he’s my dad. And an amazing one, at that.”

Theia hummed thoughtfully.

“I mean,” Myra continued, “he knew when he married my mom it was a package deal. And he didn’t run away screaming. He was actually really sweet from the start. The day I met him, he took me to see his goats and made me hold the babies.”

She giggled at the memory.

“Did your mom remarry after your father passed?”

“Nope,” Theia said, absently playing with the sand. “She said no one would want her—because she had a child. And worse, a daughter. My brothers were already adults when the war ended, so she didn’t have to take care of them anymore. If anything, they supported us.”

“No offense to your mom, but that’s a stupid thing to say. I’m proof she was wrong. Maybe she just really loved your dad and never wanted to remarry, and that was just an excuse—an incredibly poor one, and borderline mean, for sure—but still.”

“Honestly, from the way she talked about him, I’m not sure she ever loved him at all. I think she just wanted to get out of here, and he was the first man who offered her that. She always seemed more angry at him for leaving her with kids to raise than actually hurt by his death.”

Myra was quiet beside her, which was never a good sign. When Theia glanced over, she found her friend wearing a heartbreakingly soft expression.

“Not the love-at-first-sight story you pictured, huh?” Theia nudged her gently, trying to lighten the mood.

Myra wrinkled her nose. “I am extremely disappointed. Come on Theia’s mom, there was an opportunity for a great romance right there!”

Theia let out a huff of laughter.

“Now that I think about it, it explains a lot now…” she added thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?”

“Why you’re so emotionally constipated. Can’t grow a proper emotional awareness in such a practical household.”

“HEY! I am not emotionally constipated!”

“You so are!!!”

Theia scooped up a seashell and chucked it at her. She aimed for the eye. Regrettably, she missed.

“Oh, so this is how you treat a good friend who was about to share… this ?” Myra declared dramatically, pulling a small bundle of dates from her bag like a magician revealing treasure.

“Never mind. I am emotionally constipated and you are perfect. Now give me,” Theia said, making grabby hands.

With exaggerated reverence, Myra placed a date in her palm. “That’s better.”

Theia popped it in her mouth and gave her a look of pure betrayal.

Beside her, Myra was chuckling quietly to herself.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, just… it does work.”

“What does?”

“The Telemachus Technique. Food to calm you down.”

“I will make you eat sand.”

“That you do.” She turned toward the sea and cupped her hands around her mouth. “HEY BOYS! SNACK!”

Her brothers came running—dripping wet, covered in sand, and loud—until they reached the dates. Then, silence.

Theia watched them, chewing in thoughtful defeat.

So that was all it took.

She really was no better than a bunch of kids.

—

Maybe Menon was onto something with this whole “kicking you out of my shop” idea. (He hadn’t really kicked her out—she knew that—but complaining about her uncle insisting she take a day off didn’t quite land the same.)

They spent most of the day at the beach, lounging under the shade of a pine tree, talking about everything and nothing. Like how one of the fishermen kept trying to flirt with Myra, but somehow didn’t get the hint.

“He’s as dense as a rock,” Theia muttered. “Do you want me to put some stones in his pockets and toss him in the sea?”

Myra rolled her eyes, smiling but serious. “Girl, I love you, but threatening to kill people every five minutes? That’s a problem. We really should work on that.”

“You’re just no fun.”

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, they both stood up and started packing. Well, she started packing while Myra scrambled after her brothers like a particularly exasperated sheepdog. Once all three boys were rounded up—dry, dressed, and reluctantly obedient—they headed back toward town.

As they reached Myra’s house, Theia started to say goodbye, but her friend grabbed her hand and tugged her inside.

“Come on. I want you to meet my parents.”

A sudden sense of dread washed over her.

“Wait—are you sure this is a good idea? I’m terrible with parents. They hate me. It’s a scientific fact.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I love you. My brothers didn’t try to drown you, so they must at least like you a little. There’s no logical reason for my parents to hate you.”

“It’s not about logic. It’s on sight. The moment I walk into a room with parents, they decide I’m bad news. Instantaneous.”

Myra gave her an incredulous look.

“Who told you you were bad news?”

“My mother. And my brother’s wife.”

“Again, no offense, but I think I hate all your family except Menon. You’re not ‘bad news’—you’re just a little ball of sarcasm. Like a black kitten. And that’s okay! So, are you coming to say hello willingly, or do I have to carry you in?”

Theia mumbled, “I’m not a black kitten,” under her breath, but reluctantly followed her friend.

The house was small, but not in a suffocating way—it felt warm and lived-in. Flowers and trinkets decorated nearly every surface, from amphoras to wonky little dolls made of straw and fabric, the kind a child might make and loving parents would proudly display.

A woman stood at a table, cutting herbs. One glance told Theia this had to be Myra’s mother—she looked exactly like an older version of her daughter.

“Mom, we’re home! I brought a friend, so be nice!”

The woman looked up and met Theia’s gaze. A warm smile spread across her face.

“Oh, hello dear! You must be Theia—I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hello, missus—”

“Just call me Callia, sweetheart.” She wiped her hands on her chiton and came closer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Callia opened a window and shouted, “Simos! The kids are back, and Myra brought a friend!”

Less than a minute later, a man with greying blond hair stepped inside and held out his hand.

“Hi! You must be Theia. I’m Simos, Myra’s father. Welcome to our home, kid.”

He had wrinkles around his eyes—not the kind carved by age or hardship, but the ones you earn by smiling often.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” Theia said shyly, shaking his hand.

“Hope the boys weren’t too much trouble?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. They just played in the water the whole time.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Then he turned to the boys with a grin.

“What, no hello for your old man? I guess that means… tickle war!”

With that, he launched himself at his sons, all gangly limbs and laughter. The oldest—Dimos, Theia thought?—tried to protest between gasps and helpless giggles.

“Dad! We’re too old for tickle wars!”

“Nah, you’re never too old for a tickle war!” He turned to Myra with mock menace. “Isn’t that right… young lady!”

“No—Dad—don’t you—”

Too late. He pounced, tickling her mercilessly.

“Daaaad! Stop! I— I have a friend here!”

“Alright, alright. Embarrassing father, I get it,” he said, stepping back and wiping a fake tear. “Cruel children.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Myra shook her head, grinning. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Love you too, darling.”

Simos turned back to Theia with a playful glint in his eye. “Sorry about that, I was just making sure their debts were paid. No hello? That’s punishable by tickle death, you know.”

Theia chuckled. “Understandable.”

Myra let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest like a wounded heroine. “How. Could. You? In my own home?”

“The one you almost carried me into?”

“The very same!”

Callia put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Alright, enough with the dramatics—the two of you!” she said, pointing at her husband as well. “Theia, my dear, would you like something to eat?”

“Oh no I’m alright, thank you.”

“Something to drink?”

She was about to refuse again, but Myra mouthed “say yes!”

“I wouldn’t mind a cup of water, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course my dear, I wouldn’t have offered if it was. Please sit, I’ll be right back.”

Hesitantly, Theia pulled a chair and sat down. Myra joined her on her right and Simos took the opposite chair.

“So,” he started, “how are you finding Ithaca so far? Myra told us you arrived a few weeks ago, right?”

“Almost a month ago, yes. It’s okay. I mean—it’s nice, I think. Haven’t seen much other than Stavros and Kioni. And the beach today, I guess.”

“And the mountains,” her friend added.

“Yes the mountains a little.”

Callia came back with her cup and joined her husband.

“Oh the mountains are lovely! If you know the right places, you can really see some breathtaking views.”

“Or if you know the right people,” Myra said, with a pointed glance Theia pretended not to notice.

“And are you and Menon getting along alright? I know he can be a little rough around the edges.”

“Yeah he’s not a man of many words,” Theia chuckled. “But he’s actually very nice.”

“That’s good to hear,” Myra’s mother nodded.

Her father titled his head. “You’re Ismene’s daughter, right?”

“Hum… yes. Yes. That’s my mother.”

“I was sorry to hear about her passing. I didn’t know her very well, but we were around the same age. I remember all the boys chasing after her like lost puppies.”

“Were you one the lost puppies?” Callia asked him with an eyebrow raised.

“Of course not my darling. My heart knew it needed to wait for my one true love to get off a ship one day.”

His wife blushed “oh stop it you big romantic.”

“And, please don’t take it badly Theia, I’m sure she grew out of it, but Ismene was a bit… well she was a bit of a mean girl back then.”

She did not, in fact, grow out of it.

But she couldn’t say that to her friend’s parents, with their perfect love and their perfect family, where people got tickled and art projects put on display. She couldn’t tell them how drastically different her childhood had been.

Oh shit. She still hadn’t answered to Simos.

“No it’s okay, I know my mother could be… intense.”

She laughed a little, trying to diffuse any possible awkwardness.

“You have a lovely house. I like, uh, the flowers. They’re really nice.”

Callia beamed. Success.

“Oh thank you! Aren’t you sweet. My husband brings me wild flowers everyday when he comes back home. Since the day we first started courting.”

“And I never missed a day,” he replied lovingly.

Theia smiled politely as they exchanged another sweet look across the table. Her fingers curled around her cup, suddenly restless, as she could feel something heavy just beneath her ribs—not jealousy, not exactly. Just the ache of realizing how foreign all of this felt.

She set the cup down.

“I should probably head out,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Menon’s probably wondering where I vanished to.”

“I’ll walk you home!” Myra offered enthusiastically, already hopping to her feet.

As Theia made her way to the door, Callia stepped forward and wrapped her in a warm, tight hug.

“Come back anytime, okay? And we’d love to have you for dinner sometime soon.”

Theia swallowed hard, trying her best to blink away the sting behind her eyes.

“…Sure. Thank you for having me.”

“Take care, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

The door closed behind them with a soft thud, and the hum of the house faded into the quiet street. Theia walked in silence, her steps quicker than usual, her eyes fixed on the path.

Myra glanced sideways, her cheerful energy dimming.

“Hey… are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Theia, you’re crying.”

“I’m not.”

“Theia…”

She turned around sharply.

“It’s just… your family is so nice.”

“…They are?”

“And it’s insane. It’s unfair. How we both started in such similar places—two girls whose fathers died in the war, raised by single mothers—and it’s like I’m looking at an inverted version of my life. Where things actually turned out good. Where someone grew up loved. Cherished. And not…” she swallowed hard, “not treated like a burden.”

“You’re not a burden—”

“Maybe I am! Maybe I always was.” Her voice cracked. “That’s what my mother said. That’s what my brothers told me too. That’s why they sent me to Menon as soon as—”

She stopped herself. She almost said to much.

“As soon as what?”

“…As soon as I became too much to handle.” Her voice was quieter now.

“Because that’s what I am, right? Too much. That’s why my brothers got rid of me. That’s why Menon kicked me out today. That’s why Telemachus hasn’t shown his face in a week. Because I ruin everything. Because I am too much.”

Tears were falling freely now. Theia shut her eyes, silently praying to every god she knew to make it stop.  She hated crying. Hated that Myra was seeing her like this.

“Theia.”

She probably thought she was a burden too. That this was it. The end of their friendship. Somehow, she had managed to make—and lose—two friends in less than a month. That had to be some kind of record.

“Theia, look at me.”

Myra’s voice had shifted—firm, serious, stripped of its usual joy. That only confirmed it. This was the moment she left her. Like everyone else did.

But she had to face it. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

Myra had stepped closer. Her expression was fierce.

“I want you to listen to me—and listen carefully , okay?”

Theia gulped and nodded.

“You. Are. Not. A. Burden. You. Are. Not . Too. Much. Do you know what you are? You’re brave. You’re clever. You’re a good listener. You’re terribly funny—emphasis on terrible,  really, your sense of humor is so sharp you could gut a fish with it—and you are loved.

Forget your mother. Forget your brothers. Hades—fuck your mother and brothers. If they couldn’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss.

I love you. You are my best friend, and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Menon loves you—in his own quiet, gruff way—but he does. And Telemachus? He adores you. Seriously I talked to the guy five minutes the other day and just hearing your name made him light up like the sun. If he hasn’t shown his face in a week, there’s probably a very good reason. And if there isn’t, well… I might get arrested for regicide, because no one makes my friend cry and gets away with it.”

“S’not regicide,” Theia mumbled as she brushed off her tears.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“It’s not regicide. Regicide is when you kill the king, not a prince. You’ll get arrested for plain old murder.”

Myra laughed. “Well I’ll get arrested for ‘plain old murder’ then! I’m kind of disappointed, they should really invent a name for it.”

Theia let out a wet chuckle.

“Yeah.. complain to the scholars for that.”

“Oh I will!” Then, more seriously, “I know you don’t like talking about emotions, and you just shouted your little heart out, so I won’t push. I just need to know—and there’s no wrong answer, I swear—do you want me to walk you home, or do you need some time alone?”

“I… I’d like to be alone. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize! I told you, there’s no wrong answer. Go home, take a long, long nap, and I’ll see you tomorrow at the market, okay?”

“Okay.”

Theia nodded and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked. She could feel Myra staying still for a moment, watching her, before heading in the other direction.

The street was quiet now, the sun dipping lower, shadows stretching long and soft across the stones.

Before she even realized, she had reached the bakery. It seemed empty—her uncle must have gone back into the house.

When she opened the door, he was standing in the middle of the room, clearly about to start cooking.

“Hey. Had fun—”

Before she could stop herself, she ran into his arms and started sobbing. For a second, he froze. Then two strong arms wrapped around her, and a rough hand began to gently stroke her hair.

“Hey, kid. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The tears didn’t stop, but the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter.

Chapter Text

Sixty-seven arrows covered the practice target, turning it into a poor impression of a porcupine. Most were clustered at the center, with a few straying toward the edges.

Sixty-seven arrows.

It still wasn’t enough.

Telemachus reached for his quiver—only to find it empty. With a sigh, he walked to the target and began pulling the arrows free, only then noticing the stains left by his bleeding fingers. Hours of drawing the bowstring had taken their toll.

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop until every screeching part of his mind went quiet.

Arrows gathered, he stepped back and fired again.

“I think it’s already dead.”

The voice startled him so much he nearly dropped his bow. He spun, only to see Athena beside him, hands clasped behind her back, eyes locked on the target.

“Not the point,” Telemachus muttered.

“What is the point, then? Not that I’m not glad to see you training—but you’ve been at this all week, nearly every hour of the day, to the point of exhaustion. And that’s a lot, even for me.”

“Emptying my head.”

He didn’t look at her. His focus stayed fixed, fingers twitching around the bowstring.

She raised a brow.

“You know, when I said you needed to clear your mind during fights, I meant compartmentalize the unwanted thoughts and focus on your goal. Not… whatever this is.”

“Well, compartmentalizing isn’t working. The unwanted thoughts are loud and looping. I need them to stop.”

Another arrow thudded slightly off-center.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Existence.”

Athena hummed thoughtfully.

“Care to elaborate?”

“No,” he said, reaching for another arrow.

“Okay, that’s enough.” She gently pried the bow from his hands and made it vanish—gods know where.

(Well, she knows where. And she’s a god. His point exactly.)

“All right, bow thief. Want my clothes next? My soul?”

“Stop the dramatics.” Her tone was unimpressed. “You’ve been doing this for a week, and it clearly isn’t accomplishing whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish.”

“It’ll work eventually—”

The glare she shot him was enough to shut him up. He groaned and dropped his face into his hands.

“Here’s what you’re going to do.” Athena crossed her arms. “You’re going to go home, get those fingers looked at, eat something, and process your ‘loud and looping’ thoughts in a way that doesn’t end with you collapsing dead in the middle of nowhere.”

“There go my weekend plans.”

“Telemachus.”

“No, yeah, I hear you. I hear you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

“I know it’s not… the best way to deal with everything. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Not sure you’d get it.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

Oh great. Add ‘accidentally insulting a goddess’ to the ever-growing list of things making his life a living nightmare.

Quick—salvage the situation.

“I don’t mean you’re not smart enough or anything,” he rushed. “I mean—you are kind of intelligence personified, so, you know… obviously. I just—”

He winced. “It’s something incredibly human. Messy. And it involves feelings. Not exactly your area of expertise, am I right?”

He tried for a grin. It came out crooked.

Oh gods, she was quiet. Why was she quiet? Was she going to smite him?

Death by stupidity?

And when his father would ask why she killed his son, she’d say, “He insulted my emotional intelligence.”

And he’d probably answer, “Fair enough.”

But then the most unexpected thing happened.

She smiled. That little, knowing smile of hers that said I figured it out.

“Is this… about a girl?”

“NO.”

Yelling. Panicking.

Totally convincing, Telemachus.

And then she laughed.

She laughed.

What was going on?

Athena must’ve picked up on his confused panic, because she stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You know,” she said, voice gentler now, “I’ve been bracing for this. I remember when your father had his life turned upside down by a girl. First thing he did was run to me and talk my ear off.” She smiled, just a little.

“I guess I expected you to do the same. Not all this… brooding and training yourself into the ground.”

“Well, we’re not the same person.”

“Don’t I know that. But you do share his flair for dramatics.”

“I do not! ”

She looked at him.

Then at his bleeding fingers.

Then at the target.

“…Yeah, okay. I see it. But you don’t have to worry about me pouring my heart out to you for hours, because there are no feelings .”

“You literally said earlier, ‘it involves feelings.’”

“Different feelings. Not at all romantic feelings about a friend.”

Her smile curved into a smirk.

“So there is a friend?”

Shit.

Why did he say that? Just—why?

“Okay, you know what? I am going to go home. Bathe. Eat. Clean my fingers. Whatever it is you said. Excellent suggestion. Peak wisdom. See you soon. Goodbye.”

He plucked the arrows from the target, shoved them into his quiver, and started walking away.

“Good luck with the girl!” Athena called after him.

“SHE’S JUST A FRIEND!”

The last thing he heard before she vanished was her laugh.

—

She’s just a friend. Just a friend.

Just. A. Friend.

Telemachus couldn’t remember how many times he repeated this thought in the past week.

He was having a great time. A fantastic time. Life was good. He was happy.

And then his father had to open his big mouth and imply… this .

He had wanted to brush it off.

It was just his father messing with him, making up for twenty years of missed opportunities to embarrass his son like any normal parent.

Or maybe he was just a hopeless romantic. And it wasn’t his fault his dad fell for the first girl he talked to for more than five minutes.

So he tried to go about his day like everything was normal. Like his father hadn’t just dropped an emotional storm in his lap and walked away smiling.

He stopped by Menon’s to say hello, and then—

Green.

Theia had asked him, on the mountain, what his favorite color was. And before that, he’d never really thought about it. No one was ever going to catch him wearing a yellow chiton, but having a favorite color ? That felt… unnecessary.

And yet somehow, when she asked, he’d answered green.

And it felt right.

He didn’t know where that came from, but it felt right.

So he strolled in, leaned on the counter, fully prepared for their usual match of wits—

—and then she looked at him.

With her green eyes.

Surely, this was a coincidence. It had to be.

Green was a good color. A solid color. There were plenty of very nice greens in the world.

Hades, the whole island was full of green! Trees! Plants! Shrubs!

All kinds of excellent, completely unrelated greens.

And the fact that the color that had popped into his mind that day was the exact same shade as her eyes?

That soft, warm green. Like olive leaves caught in sunlight.

That meant nothing. Nothing at all.

Olive trees are great.

Everyone loved olive trees.

Totally normal, emotionally neutral trees.

Then why, in the name of all the gods, did his brain combust the second she looked at him?

Why did he fumble through his words like a fool and make the world’s worst excuse just to escape?

Oh gods.

He was having an existential crisis.

Over a fucking color.

And her smile.

And the sound of her laugh.

And the way her brows furrowed when she was mad.

And the way she made him feel—

Seen.

Heard.

Alive.

No. No no no. This couldn’t be happening.

It couldn’t mean that.

He was just an emotionally stunned individual experiencing friendship for the first time and he was confused. That’s it. That’s all it was.

Because if it wasn’t—

If it was something else—

It would be terrifying.

And stupid.

Because—let’s say, hypothetically —he was catching feelings for Theia. What then?

She certainly wouldn’t feel the same.

And if—even more hypothetically—she did ?

He was a prince. One of these days, his father would eventually agree to marry him off to some foreign princess or noble girl in exchange for an alliance. And he knew that. He was okay with that.

His parents being in love wasn’t the norm. It was the exception.

He couldn’t let himself get caught in something that had no way of ending well.

So he hid. Like a coward. His parents were attending all the meetings for the festival together, so he didn’t even have to go into town anymore. No chance encounters. Perfect.

And Theia would be fine. She didn’t need a prince mid-breakdown showing up at her doorstep. She had Myra—who was a little insane, sure, but not his current flavor of insane. A fun, happy kind of insane. They probably spent the whole week together. Doing friend things.

And he did things too! He was busy! He trained! And if the sole purpose of training had been to stop thinking—well, that was fine. Lots of people did things to relax. His mother spent hours on her loom, and no smug goddess ever showed up to tell her to confront reality.

And if he trained all day in the rain, destroying a copious number of training dummies in the process—well, that was his business. In fact, it was actually quite strategic. What if a conflict broke out during a storm? He’d have to fight regardless of the weather.

Really, it was a smart move.

Oh, who was he kidding.

He’d spent the whole week trying to clear his mind, only to realize how utterly empty he felt without her. How she had carved a place in his head, into his heart, and without her near, he didn’t feel complete

Whatever this was—friendship or something more—it was too late.

He was doomed.

For everyone’s sake, he really, really hoped it was friendship.

“Telemachus?”

His mother’s voice pulled him back to reality. He had been so lost in his head, he hadn’t even realized he had made it back home.

“Oh. Hi, Mom. Back from the meeting already?”

“The meeting ended three hours ago. It’s mid-afternoon, darling.”

Already?

“Sorry, lost track of time.”

Penelope’s eyes were on him, scrutinizing. He could swear, sometimes, she looked like she was trying to read his mind.

“You’re home earlier than the previous days.”

“Yeah. I didn’t feel like training anymore.”

“Hm—hm. Nothing to do with the bow that appeared at my feet a few moments ago?”

Betrayed.

Betrayed by his oldest friend.

Athena could have sent the bow to the weapons room. But no. She sent it to his mother, so she would come talk to him.

That’s sneaky, Athena. Even from you.

He didn’t even know what to say. He was too exhausted to come up with a convincing lie. So he just shrugged.

His mother stepped closer, calm as ever, and gently took his right wrist, lifting it.

“Does it have anything to do with the current state of your fingers?”

“…Maybe.”

She sighed, then placed a steady hand on his back and nudged him forward.

“Come on. Let’s get these cleaned up. And have a little talk.”

Great. A talk with his mother.

The most intelligent woman he knew.

The person who knew him better than anyone. He was definitely going to be able to deny and deflect.

Penelope guided him to the kitchen, just like when he was a child, crying over scraped knees. He guessed the situation wasn’t much different.

Before he even had time to come up with a poor excuse, a bowl appeared in front of him.

“Fingers in. Now.”

As soon as his hand touched the liquid, a violent sting shot through every cut.

“What did you put in there, the waters of the river Styx?!”

“Water, vinegar, and wine. I grew up with five brothers and married an archer, sweetheart—I know what I’m doing.”

“If my hand falls off, I’ll blame you.”

“You do that, baby,” she replied nonchalantly, already preparing a plate of bread and honey dates.

Oh. Wow. Honey dates. His favorites when he was a child. She was trying to bait him into talking.

Thank the gods his mother was a good person—because she would have made an excellent evil mastermind.

She sat next to him, setting the plate between them.

“I lied,” she said casually. “It wasn’t just the bow that appeared next to me. Athena showed up too.”

Telemachus blinked. “She what —”

“She said something along the lines of, ‘your son is having emotions and is trying to exhaust himself instead of dealing with them. Do something.’ ”

Penelope gave him a look. “For her to come to me about that, it must be pretty serious.”

He groaned and let his head drop onto the table with a dull thunk .

“She’s exaggerating,” he mumbled. “I just got some cuts from archery. Nothing more.”

“Is that why your forehead is currently pressed to the table?”

“It’s a very nice table.”

His mother let out a skeptical hum.

“And what about the fact that you’ve been training nonstop for a week?”

“Well, you’re the one handling the meetings these days. I have nothing else to do.”

“Under the rain?”

“It’s actually very strategic.”

“Strategic, absolutely. Nothing says ‘my life is perfectly under control’ like beating up dummies in a thunderstorm.”

“See? You get me.”

Penelope softly lifted his head from the table, forcing him to look at her.

“Telemachus, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just lots of very loud thoughts. I tried to shut them down. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re my baby. I’ll always worry about you.”

“I’m a pretty tall baby.”

“Mine nonetheless. Did it work? Training to shut them down?”

“Absolutely not,” he said flatly.

He dropped his head once more. He could feel his mother’s fingers stroking his hair in a quiet, familiar attempt to soothe him.

“Do these thoughts have anything to do with your friend Theia?”

Wait, what.

Telemachus shot upright so fast the chair creaked beneath him, panic ringing like a bell in his head.

“Who told you about Theia?”

“Who do you think?”

Again: the audacity of that man.

“Mom, I hate your husband.”

Penelope laughed and placed a hand on his arm.

“Don’t be too hard on your dad. Even if he wanted to keep it to himself, he never stood a chance.”

“You batted your lashes and he blabbed?”

“Pretty much.”

Third round of forehead-to-table.

“What did he say?” Telemachus mumbled.

“Nothing bad, I assure you. Just that you made a friend named Theia. That she’s Menon’s niece and recently moved here from Sparta. And that she seemed to be the reason you’ve been so happy lately.”

“Nothing more?”

“Is there more?”

“Nope.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Dad thinks there is more. But that’s just because Dad is Dad. He thinks you just have to take a stroll to find your one true love.”

“Well…”

“Oh, stop it. I know your meeting sounds like something out of a rhapsode’s tale.”

“Not really. We played draughts and he lost nine times. When he finally won the tenth, I threw an olive at his head.”

Telemachus blinked. “Wait. You?”

“He ruined my perfect ten-wins streak,” Penelope said, utterly unrepentant.

“A myth just died,” he muttered.

Penelope laughed and continued, “So… is it?”

“What?”

“About your friend?”

“No. And yes. It’s a lot of things I don’t really want to talk about—no offense, Mom. I just… I don’t want to bother her with my emotional distress. That’s why I haven’t seen her lately.”

“Well, if she’s your friend, wouldn’t she want to know if you’re struggling? Wouldn’t she want to help?”

She would. She told him so. To be honest. To tell her how he felt. And here he was, hiding away.

He wanted to respect her wishes. He wanted to be transparent. But what was he supposed to say? Oh, sorry I disappeared for a week, I was having an existential crisis over the fact I might be developing feelings for you! No big deal! Let’s take a walk!

But… but she’d also said he didn’t have to explain. Just to be honest. To stop masking everything.

And he’d failed her.

That couldn’t stand.

He shot to his feet so fast the chair nearly toppled.

“You’re right. She would. She told me. I need to go.”

He made for the door, but his mother caught him by the arm.

“Not so fast, mister. I need to bandage those fingers first. Then you can go see her.”

Defeated, he sank back into his seat and held out his hand.

But for the first time in a week, the thoughts quieted—just a little.

—

Never mind. The thoughts did not quiet down for long. They were back. And louder than ever.

It was probably the fourth time Telemachus walked past Menon’s bakery.

Every single time, the plan was the same: Okay. Just go in. Say hi. Say you’re sorry you vanished. Everything goes back to normal.

And every single time, his brain yelled a very dramatic NOPE , and his legs just kept walking around the block like a coward on repeat.

The fifth time would be the one. The fifth time would be the one. The fifth time. Would. Be. The—

“Stop pacing like a madman in front of my shop. You’re scaring away the customers.”

Telemachus’s head snapped toward the very familiar voice. Menon was standing behind the counter, arms crossed, wearing the universal expression of a man thoroughly done with nonsense.

He gulped, then plastered on a too-bright smile.

“Hi Menon! How are you—”

“She’s in the courtyard.”

Straight to business, he sees.

“Okay, thanks! I’m just going to go—”

“Not so fast, his royalness.”

Menon’s voice was cold and disgruntled. Well—colder and more disgruntled than usual.

“I don’t know what your princely ass was up to this past week, but next time you plan on disappearing, tell her. Or send a damn note. You made my little girl sad, and this better not happen again. If I were you, I’d get on my knees and beg for forgiveness.”

That was probably the most words Telemachus had ever heard come out of the baker’s mouth. It was chilling.

And it broke his heart a little.

“I— I will. Sorry.”

“M’not the one you need to apologize to.”

“…Okay.”

He started toward the side door, but Menon called out one last time.

“You need to work on that fake smile. Not gonna last long in politics with the one you’ve got.”

If Telemachus wasn’t ninety percent sure Menon was one joke away from shoving him into the nearest oven, he might’ve said something like ‘you’re one to talk, Mister I-Haven’t-Smile-Since-The-Titan-War’ .

Thankfully, he wasn’t that much of an idiot.

The walk from the front of the shop to the courtyard door took maybe thirty seconds. It felt like three hours.

Oh gods. He made her sad. No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to make her sad—he was supposed to make her laugh. Or get her mad, but in a playful way! He’d been so wrapped up in his own head it hadn’t even crossed his mind that his absence might hurt her. That she might actually miss him.

He wasn’t—he couldn’t possibly be that important to her. He was just the awkward boy, who happened to be a prince, who dropped by sometimes to joke and talk. She had amazing people in her life—Menon, Myra… Surely, surely , him being gone couldn’t have made that much of a difference?

But she was sad. Because of him . Because he vanished without a word, caught up in his cowardice.

And then, a new voice slipped into the already crowded chorus in his head:

You feel empty without her. What makes you think she doesn’t feel the same way when you’re gone?

That was a dangerous voice. He needed to silence it—and fast.

He took a deep breath, opened the door, bracing himself to apologize to his friend (who was just a friend!), and—

Why. Why did the world refuse to be fair? Was this divine punishment? Some cruel trick of the Fates? Because how else could you explain the fact that his breath was literally stolen from his lungs?

There she was. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, the sun hitting her so perfectly, so ridiculously specifically, it had to be the work of a god. Her hair was down.

And he might die. Right here. Right now.

He’d always known she was beautiful—he had eyes, after all. But this? This was something else entirely.

Her dark curls tumbled freely over her shoulders, the sunlight catching hints of red in them. She was wearing her usual light blue chiton, the one he’d seen her wear a dozen times before—but today, it looked like a river itself had decided to rise and wrap around her.

She wasn’t even doing anything special. Just sitting on the courtyard stones, trying to gather her hair. And yet, she looked like a goddess.

And he was so doomed.

Finally, she seemed to sense that an idiot had appeared within her vicinity, because she looked up. And their eyes met.

Her green eyes. Like olive leaves bathed in sunlight—

Oh shut up, brain.

“Hey! Just give me a sec, my ribbon snapped. I’m trying to fix this madness.”

Was there a god of ribbons? If so, he needed to find them and burn an absurd amount of offerings in gratitude. Maybe suggest building them a temple at the next council meeting. Priorities.

Words were not forming in his throat. So he nodded. Like an imbecile. Which, clearly, he was.

Within seconds, she’d managed to braid her hair and tie it with what remained of the ribbon. A tragedy.

“There! All good. I hate when they’re in my face, it’s so impractical.”

Someone like you isn’t meant to do anything practical. You should be admired. Worshipped. Seated on a pedestal—

Oh by the gods what was wrong with him!

She stood up and walked toward him.

“Hello, stranger. Long time no see!”

She was smiling. That was a good sign, right? She wasn’t sad today. It was also a terrible, terrible thing, because her smile was brighter than the stars and he was approximately three seconds away from combusting.

“Cat got your tongue?” Theia asked, tilting her head.

“I don’t have a cat. I had a dog. He died.”

Someone end him. Right now. Why did he say that?

She blinked, a little taken aback.

“…Sorry?”

“Yeah.”

Fantastic. Orator skills at their peak.

She stepped closer, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are you so weird? I mean—weirder than usual?”

Because your mere existence is a beautiful, infuriating torture I want to endure for the rest of my life.

He did not say that out loud. Thank the gods.

“Uh. Menon said… Menon said I made you sad.”

She cringed. “Please tell me he didn’t threaten you or something. I swear, I cried once.”

“I made you cry?” His voice cracked.

Her eyes softened immediately.

“No! No, don’t worry. It wasn’t because of you. I just… had a lot on my mind that day. It was a bunch of things. But it wasn’t you.”

She paused, then added more gently, “I mean, I did wonder where you were. I was a little worried. But you didn’t ‘make me cry.’”

A wave of relief washed over him. He hadn’t hurt her. But she had been sad. And she had been worried.

“Are you okay now?”

Look at that. A full sentence! Good job, brain.

“Yeah, yeah. I had a rough week. Just an accumulation of small nuisances. But I’m good now.”

She paused, then added, “Are you okay? Did something happen—?”

She cut herself off, eyes dropping to his bandaged fingers. Slowly, gently, she took his hands in hers (which absolutely did not make his heart jump, nope).

“Did you overexert yourself because you were stuck in your head again?”

How did she do that? How could she read him like that—so fast, so effortlessly?

“Telemachus?”

Gods, the way she said his name… No! Stop. Pull yourself together.

“Ah. Yes. I might have. And that might also be why I didn’t come by this week. I was… trying to deal with it privately. But I should’ve said something. I’m sorry.”

“Well, at least you’re not pretending everything was fine. So that’s progress,” she said, with a wink.

She let go of his hand ( no! ) and stepped back.

“Let’s take a walk!”

Not would you like to go on a walk. No—she had decided. They were going.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

“Okay. Where to?”

“I don’t know, it’s your island! Surprise me!”

“So you planned an activity… but only half of it?”

“Exactly,” she said, with infuriating cheer. “Give me a moment to tell Menon I’m leaving.”

Theia walked into the bakery, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Athena, I am begging you—fix my head so I can stop looking like a fool.

Nothing happened. No sign. No divine clarity.

Of course not. Athena was probably watching from Olympus, laughing her immortal ass off.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Okay, let’s go!”

She marched towards the street, and he followed.

—

“You’re not taking me to the beach I hope?”

Telemachus laughed. Gods, it felt good to laugh again after that week of brooding.

“Got something against beaches?”

“I do now. Yesterday Myra dragged me to that beach. And don’t get me wrong, it was very nice but you’ll never guess what she made me do before getting there?”

“What?”

“She. Made. Me. Hike.”

She said it like it was the greatest injury known to mankind. His laughter doubled.

“Don’t laugh! I started to wonder if you two didn’t conspire against me!”

“I solemnly swear I did not conspire with Myra to inflict hikes on you. Now, we are going to walk uphill to go where I’m taking you, but it’s very manageable. If my mom does it in her fancy clothes, you can too.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Your mom is a badass. I hear you.”

“Understatement of the century. You know what she told me earlier today? The day they met, she threw olives at my dad because he had the audacity to win one game of draughts. After she won the first nine!”

“Well, yeah. That is a perfectly normal reaction. How dare he.”

He laughed again. It was like a dam had broken. All the awful thoughts that had plagued him all week were suddenly drowned in the raw joy of this moment. And maybe Athena actually did hear his plea, because he’d managed to hold a normal conversation for the past few minutes. He would need to burn her some offerings. Or maybe let her kick his ass a few more times during their next training session, as a thank you.

When the path started to slope upward, he could feel her silently seething beside him. It took him all the effort in the world to not smirk or make a sarcastic comment. He was taking her somewhere nice as an apology, no need to risk her wrath in the process.

Even if she was very funny, and pretty when she was mad—

No. Stop.

After a moment, Theia broke their comfortable silence.

“So. How come you were able to spend the whole week brood-training? Don’t you have, like, duties or something?”

“‘Brood-training.’ Yeah, hilarious. And no, not right now. Both my parents are tied up in meetings and councils because of the festival next week.”

“The what?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to her.

“No one told you about the festival in honor of Apollo?”

“Obviously not. Or I wouldn’t be standing here all confused!”

No, evidently, she wouldn’t.

“Every year, at the end of summer, we organize a festival for Apollo—a ‘thank you for the sun, see you in six months!’ kind of thing. Really, it was just a poor excuse my dad came up with to start a tradition because my mom was sad she was missing out on the celebrations in Sparta after she moved here. During the war, she kept it going to boost morale, and now it’s more or less her pet project.”

“That’s cute.”

“What is?”

“That your father created a tradition just to make his wife less homesick. That’s adorable.”

Yes. Yes, it was.

Another reminder that he would never find a love like theirs. Instead, he was cursed with impossible feelings for a friend.

A few moments later, the palace came into view. It was Theia’s turn to stop abruptly.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“…my home?”

“Your brilliant idea for a walk was to take me to the royal palace? With no warning? While I have flour on my skirt?”

There it was. The death glare.

Gods, he’d missed that.

“My whole family is home, so there’s no way I’m taking you inside. We’re going to the gardens.”

The glare now came with a raised brow.

“What, you’re ashamed of me?”

“I’m ashamed of them. There is a non-negligible chance my sister might bite you. My mother will play mind games and somehow learn your entire life story in five minutes. And don’t even get me started on my father!”

“Sounds exhausting,” she laughed.

“It is. I love them but gods, they are a lot. ”

“Because you are perfectly quiet and normal in comparison?”

“Absolutely. I’m so normal. I’m the normalest.”

“That’s not a word.”

“It should be. I will put a motion forward.”

“Whatever you say, your high—OH MY, IS THAT A FLOWER TUNNEL?”

She didn’t even leave him the time to answer before she ran under it, tentatively touching the purple flowers, an expression of unfiltered happiness on her face.

The fierce Theia, goddess of flour and death glare, completely undone by a flower tunnel.

“It’s lilac!” she yelled gleefully. “It’s my favorite flower!”

She looked so happy, so unburdened by whatever she was usually hiding behind her sarcasm. He would trade the world to see her like this every single day.

What was it again? Doomed?

So be it.

Maybe she will never feel the same. Maybe he will end up in a loveless marriage, all for an alliance. But if he could, along the way, make sure she would smile like this as often as possible, he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

“Come on, I want to show you something else.”

She glanced up at him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“Lead the way, then.”

They walked on, the scent of lilacs fading behind them.

Chapter Text

Theia

“…and then I told Eudora that Doros was bad news, because I totally saw him making out with Thexis behind the temple the other day—like, first of all, the disrespect? But also, he’d been doing that whole ‘look at me, I’m a nice guy, give me a chance’ thing with her for weeks! And now he pulls that? I told her, ‘Sweetie, you deserve better.’”

“Who’s Eudora again?”

“Sophia’s granddaughter.”

“…okay… and who is Sophia again?”

“The pharmacopolēs , Theia! Are you even listening to me?!”

“There are too many names! I can’t keep up!”

“How do you not know Eudora? She sells her grandmother’s remedies at the market every week!”

“I’ve been here a month ! I haven’t even had time to get sick yet!”

“Fair enough. Though sadly, Sophia doesn’t have anything that can cure your sass.”

Theia lobbed a piece of bread at a very giggly Myra’s head.

This offense shall not go unpunished.

Both girls were seated around Callia’s table, while Myra’s mother busied herself in the garden, fetching vegetables and herbs in preparation for lunch.

Theia had been a little apprehensive about coming back to their home, considering the state she’d left in. But both Myra and her mother seemed to share this uncanny ability to not dwell on what had happened—to focus on the now.

Must be nice.

When she’d joined Myra at the market the other day, she’d been nervous to face her after her outburst the evening before. But there she was, waiting with a smile and a story, as if nothing had changed.

Because, in a way, nothing had changed. Not for Myra.

It was Theia’s world that had tilted off its axis—when she’d been told she was loved. That she was wanted. By her friend. By her uncle.

Friends and family, genuinely caring for her.

What a novelty.

Speaking of friends.

“So,” Theia cleared her throat. “Turns out you won’t have to commit regicide. Or princicide. Or plain old murder, or whatever…”

Myra’s head snapped toward her so fast Theia swore she heard it crack.

“Well, well. The return of the vanishing prince!”

“Stop it,” Theia said, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh.

“I hope for his sake he had a good excuse. I’m talking ‘sacred mission to the Underworld’ level of excuse.”

Theia hesitated. Should she…?

Really, she wouldn’t be divulging anything. He hadn’t even told her what was wrong. But she’d already had Menon threaten the poor guy—she wasn’t about to add Myra to the list.

Oh, to Hades with it.

“He gets stuck in his head sometimes,” she said. “And he struggles to get out. That’s why he wasn’t around.”

There. Vague enough.

“For a week ?” Myra asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yup. It’s not the first time. He trains too hard when it happens—tries to empty his head or something.”

“…It rained all week.”

“And yet.”

“My mistake. He’s not a vanishing prince after all. Just a regular drama queen.”

“Who’s a drama queen?” Callia asked as she reentered the house.

“A friend,” Theia said.

“The crown prince of Ithaca,” Myra said at the exact same time.

Callia’s eyebrows flew to her forehead.

“Your friend or the prince?”

Her daughter leaned forward smugly, resting her chin on her hand.

“Ah, but you see, mommy dearest… Theia’s friend is the prince.”

“Oh wow ,” Callia replied, eyes going wide.

“Thank you! That is a normal reaction! Not like the ‘oh he’s just a guy’ speech I got when I found out!”

Theia groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“He is just a guy.”

“Well, he must be a very polite guy if he’s willing to put up with you two,” Callia said lightly.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mom,” Myra added with a smirk. “We only talked twice—”

“Once. The first time you almost fainted.”

“Shut up. We only talked twice, so I wouldn’t say he’s putting up with me. But he is very willing to put up with Theia.”

She wiggled her eyebrows for effect.

She was very lucky her mother was in the room, or else some severely unladylike words would have been spoken.

“My husband met him a few times when he was a child,” Callia said, reaching for a bundle of thyme. “Back when Simos was helping out Eumaeus, before taking over his father’s sheep.”

“Eumaeus?” Theia asked, lifting her head from her hands.

“The king’s swineherd. The prince used to visit him sometimes. Apparently, he was a very nice boy—always running around and playing with the piglets.” She chuckled softly. “But he got quieter in his teens. I don’t think he must have many friends his age, so… I’m glad he has you around.”

“Oh, he’s glad alright,” Myra commented with a grin.

“Be grateful your mother is here, and that I respect her too much to say what I really want to say right now.”

“You looove me.”

Callia grabbed a basket and left the room, not without pausing at the door with a knowing smile.

“I’m going to fetch more herbs,” she said, then winked at Theia.

“Mom! Mom, don’t leave me with her—she’s going to murder me!”

“Oh no,” Callia’s voice echoed from outside, not a hint of sadness in it.

Myra turned to her, an innocent smile on her face.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”

Theia slowly grabbed an apple, never breaking eye contact.

“Flattery will not save you.”

“Is that a threat?” Myra asked, backing away dramatically. “Because it sounded like a threat.”

“Oh, it’s a promise.”

“What would your prince say if he knew you were a threat to national security?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Theia’s smirk grew wider. “He knows.”

And threw the apple.

Myra yelped and dodged, the apple bouncing harmlessly off the doorframe behind her. She turned back to her friend, mouth agape.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“I told you it was a promise. And I was only considering it until you said your prince.”

“Hit a nerve there?”

Theia slowly moved her hand toward the fruit bowl, eyebrows raised as a warning.

“You know,” Myra said, way too composed for someone about to meet death by fruit. “I noticed something interesting just now.”

“What?”

Myra took her time responding, and that alone made Theia uneasy. Finally, she leaned forward, resting her head on her hands.

“You act all mighty and wrathful every time I mention Telemachus, yet I don’t hear you denying. Not anymore.”

Apparently, Myra had decided today was a good day to die.

She will be missed.

(She won’t.)

“I hate you.”

“You don’t. You hate the truth. Ironic, isn’t it… Aletheia?”

Theia groaned. “This is why I don’t tell people my full name!”

“Too late! That knowledge is now forever engraved in my head,” Myra said, tapping her temple.

“But back to our subject matter: you’re not denyyying.”

“Because your mother was in the room, and I would have needed to use very colorful words.”

“Not for ‘your prince’ she wasn’t.”

“And I attacked you with an apple for that.”

“But you’re usually very vocal on top of the physical violence.”

“Because technically, it’s not wrong! He is my friend. He is the prince. Therefore—my prince. I just don’t like what you insinuate!”

It was logical. It made sense. So why did her face feel hot?

Myra was about to reply when Callia’s voice rang out from the garden:

“Stop torturing your lovely friend, Myra!”

“Yeah,” Theia said, flashing a crooked smile. “Stop torturing your lovely friend, Myra.”

Myra leaned back in her chair with a dramatic sigh.

“Betrayed by my own mother. Can you imagine?”

Um… yeah, actually.

Her thoughts must have been written all over her face, because Myra suddenly straightened, panic flashing in her eyes.

“Shit! I forgot your mom was a bi—bit too mean,” she caught herself, glancing nervously toward the window like her mother might materialize to scold her.

“Nice save.”

“Okay, denial aside, can you at least tell me how it went with Telemachus?”

Hearing his laughter made me feel lighter than I had in a week.

But she couldn’t say that to Myra. That would only encourage her madness. Which was a madness. Because they were just friends.

“It went well. I mean—at first he was terribly awkward and couldn’t get more than two words out, but that’s because Menon threatened him because he thought he made me sad!”

“He did make you sad.”

“Life made me sad. Anyway, after a joke or two he started functioning like a human again, so we went on a walk. And we talked. Like normal people. And now everything is fine. The end.”

Myra pouted and grabbed a piece of bread.

“I’m a bit disappointed. I hoped he would at least beg on his knees for forgiveness.”

“Honestly, he looked miserable. Like a wet kitten. Even if I had been mad at him—which I wasn’t!—I couldn’t have stayed mad.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell that to the crying Theia from three days ago. Where did you two go?”

Silence.

If she told her, she’d make a big deal out of it.

Which it wasn’t.

It really wasn’t.

“…Theia?”

It really wasn’t.

“…lace gardens,” she muttered, barely audible.

“I can’t hear you.”

She threw her hands up. “The palace gardens, okay?!”

And just like she expected, it broke Myra.

She sat there, mouth open, so still Theia briefly wondered if Medusa wasn’t in the room with them.

Then—

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Theia winced, waiting for more.

“I repeat, because I don’t think I made myself clear: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! ”

“You’re being drama—”

She didn’t get to finish—Myra raised a finger like a weapon.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say I’m being dramatic! You went to the palace—do you realize how insane that is?”

“Okay, first of all: I went to the palace gardens, not inside. His family was inside—he said something about not wanting them to be embarrassing. Second, Telemachus has been to my place a dozen times, I don’t see how this is any different. It’s his house. A big, luxurious house, but still his house!”

Her friend shook her head frantically.

“No, Theia, you don’t understand. No one—and I mean no one—goes to the palace anymore! Meetings, state visits, foreign delegations… everything happens in the old palace now. Ever since the king came back and the suitors left, no one except the family and the staff has set foot on that property. They want privacy to, like, an extreme degree. Which is understandable! But you? You got to go?!”

“What do you want me to say? He said ‘I’m taking you somewhere,’ and next thing I know, I’m standing under a tunnel of lilacs in his gardens!”

“So let me get this straight. He goes full ghost for a week, then comes back with ‘Here’s my secret garden?’ ”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” she groaned. “Because I knew you’d make a big deal out of it. I should’ve just said we stayed in my courtyard.”

“Did you not hear the part where I said it’s an actual, political, royal big deal?”

“Maybe there’s an exception for friends!” Theia snapped, then instantly regretted how defensive it sounded.

“Oh, you’re an exception alright…” Myra grinned.

“Stop it.”

Her friend raised her hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it.”

She tore a piece of bread, popped it in her mouth, then mumbled around it, “For now.”

Theia rolled her eyes, but the tension eased. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet you keep coming back,” Myra winked. “Hey, I need to buy new fabrics to make some nice outfits for the festival. Wanna come?”

“Sorry, I already have plans.”

“‘Plans’ huh? Is that his code name?”

“I’m leaving”.

“Have fun with ‘Plans’!”

“I’m not even answering you.”

She grabbed her cloak and made for the door, doing her best to ignore Myra’s smug humming behind her.

—

Archery practice—or more like, archery introduction. That was Telemachus’ grand idea for the afternoon.

It had all started that day, when they were sitting under a tree in the palace gardens. She’d asked about the cuts on his hands, and one thing led to another… which somehow ended with him asking if she’d ever wanted to try it.

Absolutely sure he was joking, she’d answered something like, “Sure, I’ve always dreamt of it!”

Unfortunately, he’d been dead serious.

She learned that the next day, when he showed up at the bakery with a smug smile, proudly declaring he’d found a children’s training bow in the weapons’ room and restrung it.

“Because, you know, you’re so tiny.”

He very nearly met death by fruit for that.