Helen of Sparta (11 page)

Theseus
, I thought, the diamond biting into my palm. I stepped back, tripping over the low stool. Menelaus frowned, reaching for me, but I batted his
hand away.

Theseus, who does not look at me as though I am a chest of gold, or speak to me as though I do not know my
own mind.

I lurched around him toward the bed, hoping to put space between us, but I banged into the chest that held my gowns, bruising my shin. Menelaus followed, his
eyes dark.

Theseus, who listens to more than just his lust.
Like you used to. A king who cares for h
is people.

Menelaus caught me by the wrist and pulled me back against his body. “If you had only come to speak with me this afternoon, or even during the feast, I would have told you all of this. Explained ev
erything.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. “You don’t understand what will happen if we marry and the strang
er comes.”

“It’s you who doesn’t understand, Helen.” His fingers tightened around my wrist, his other hand a fist in my hair. He didn’t pull, but nor could I move away. “Do you think you’re the only one who dreams? The only one who suffers? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? I can’t sleep at night without seeing you, without growing so hard, I feel as though I will burst from the pain of not having you be
neath me.”

“Not l
ike this.”

His hand held me bound. If I screamed, would anyone come? The slaves were used to hearing me cry in the night. They would only think it a nightmare. And anyone outside would mistake it for noise from the feasting, just another kitchen girl shrieking when she’s caught by the man she teased
all night.

“Please, not like this,” I begged. “If we’re going to be married, can you not just wait a few month
s longer?”

He laughed again, rough and low. “A few months of agony. And days of watching you expose yourself to these dogs. Days of suffering your refusals. It would be crueler of me to leave you in doubt of our future, to let you work your wiles on other men.” He kissed me beneath my ear, his fingers leaving my wrist to trace my collarbone. “You will not tell me I cannot have you, after tonight, and I would not see those men you tease suffer as I have. It is unkind of you, Helen. Unkind to them, and even unkinder to me. Or is that the truth of it? The reason for your nightmares? All this time you say you are unwilling, that you are taken by force, but watching you with t
hat hero—”

His hand wrapped around my throat, and his eyes, narrowed and dark, glittered in the moonlight. I went still, my lungs seizing. The beat of my heart filled my ears louder than ever while his fingers pressed into my skin, closing, squeezing until my breath caught. I grasped his wrist, but the way he stared at me, the way his lip had curled and his grip tightened, I did not dare to
struggle.

“No,” he murmured, the pressure upon my throat easing at last. I took a gasping breath, my chest aching, though whether it was my broken heart or the air I had been denied, I could not tell. “No, I cannot believe you are so cruel as that. But you are mine, Helen, and I will have you remember it when you sit beside that Athenian
tomorrow.”

Theseus.

I closed my eyes and clutched the diamond in my palm. If I fought Menelaus, there would be no forgiveness. Even if I scratched and clawed, he would not free me. He would only look on me with the same hate I saw in
my dreams.

He kissed my neck, and I shivered. Menelaus, whom I had loved as a brother. As a child, I had dreamed of our marriage. I had dreamed of how he would take me in his arms, gentle and fierce. Dreamed of his kiss on my lips and how kind a husband he would be. The best I could have
hoped for.

A sob caught in my throat, and I turned my
face away.

“I am owed this, Helen,” he murmured against my ear. “I am
owed you.”

There was nothing gentle about him, then, when his lips claimed mine, and I knew I would give him this. Not because it was owed. Not because he had earned it. Not because I was his. I would give him my body, because he could not have my heart. Because I would not marry him, no matter what Tyndareus had promised. Because once, long ago, he had been my friend, and regardless of what happened between us, I could not bear for him to ha
te me yet.

I unclasped the pins that held my dress and let the fabric fall to
the floor.

Because before the week was ended, I woul
d be free.

C
HAPTER EIGHT

M
enelaus half growled, his hungry gaze sweeping over my nakedness. For a moment, a brief moment, he only stared, but then he was pushing me back against the bed. One hand was at my waist, biting into the soft flesh as I fell into the bedding. He crawled atop me, pulling me toward him by my hips when I flin
ched away.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” he murmured.
“So long.”

I shut my eyes and lay limp, my fingers closing all the tighter around the diamond still in my palm. But I did not want to think of Theseus. I did not want to thi
nk at all.

His lips traced the line of my jaw, the column of my neck, the slope of my collarbone, and the shape of my breast. “Beautiful,” he said between hard kisses as he worked his way to the peak. “So b
eautiful.”

But I did not feel beautiful, then. I did not feel anything but sick. Before the nightmares had come, I had imagined these moments between us, imagined his kiss, his caress. I had imagined a considerate lover, a friend as concerned for me and my pleasure as his own. Before the nightmares, each brush of his hand against mine had lit a fire inside me, but now I lay bare before him, and felt only the twist of snakes in my belly and the chill of g
ooseflesh.

He moved away only long enough to pull his tunic over his head, and I turned my face away before I saw his nakedness. I did not want to remember him this way, to remember any of this at all. This man, whoever he had become, was not the man I had admired, even loved. He was no friend, nor any kind of protector. I did not know him, or understand the desperate, panting hunger of hi
s breaths.

Pirithous had been right to warn me, and in that moment, I only wished he had spoken sooner. That I might have kept Clymene by my side at all times, or stayed in the hall until I could be certain Menelaus had found hi
s own bed.

But I had thought—what had I thought? That Menelaus would never betray me. That Menelaus above all would protect me from harm. Had he not been my closest friend since childhood? Had he not always loved me, cared for me, stood as my champion in a
ll things?

Menelaus pressed me into the bedding, heavy and rough, until all I felt was the ropes beneath the furs, and bruises across my back. His hand wrapped in my hair, forcing my head back and baring my throat to
his mouth.

I cried out when he drove inside me the first time, tears pricking my eyes. He groaned my name, and I hushed him. The servants might not come if they heard me, but they would certainly be startled by a m
ale voice.

“Let them come,” he growled. Before I could prepare myself, he moved again. His red head bent over my body, his teeth closing over the tender skin of m
y breasts.

He did not seem to notice when I began to cry, hot tears burning as they slipped down my cheeks and pooled in my ears. I wrapped my legs around his waist to try to slow him, fisted hands pushing at his chest and shoulders to give myself space, to give myself time to breathe, but he only drove himself deeper
inside me.

“Mine, Helen,” he murmured. “You will always
be mine.”

I closed my eyes and focused on the feel of the diamond in my palm, the sharp cut of its edges against my skin. I tried to shift my body beneath his to avoid the worst discomfort, sickened by my own whimpering, by the roar of laughter rising from the courtyard outside. Gods above, but it burned, as if I were torn apart with every thrust. And the ropes beneath me—I could feel each knot, each overlay, digging into my spine. He groaned again, like a rutting boar, and
stiffened.

My breath caught, and I prayed that he was through. That I would never again know his weight upon me, or the staleness of his hard pants, or the sourness of his sweat, mixed with a too-s
weet musk.

A moment later, he rolled away, his fingers slipped from my hair, freeing me at last. I curled up on my side and covered myself with th
e blanket.

He laughed and drew me against his chest, fondling my breasts. “Just knowing you’re still beside me makes me hard
en again.”

I swallowed the sob in my throat and pretended I did not feel him pressed against my backside; I pretended not to hear h
im at all.

“Helen?” he murmured, kissing the back o
f my neck.

I did not answer, and with a sigh, he rolled to his back. I lay still and silent, listening for his breathing to slow, waiting for it to steady. The snakes in my stomach writhed, cold sweat breaking fro
m my skin.

I could not lie beside him any longer, with his seed spilling from between my legs, surrounded by the scent of his body, all musk and leather, until I gagged. But I forced myself to wait, counted my racing heartbeats until I had no more numbers, and Menelaus snored softly a
t my back.

Only then, biting my tongue against even the slightest hiss of discomfort, did I dare to move, slipping from beneath the blanket and contorting myself in order to escape. I half fell from the bedding and froze, searching his face for any sign that he
had heard.

Menelaus didn’t stir, his expression relaxed in sleep, all the lines I had grown so used to seeing smoothed away. For a moment, I stared at the boy I had known, the one who took me fishing when Castor and Pollux had refused me, and who swore to Leda it was his fault I had come back muddied from toes to chest, another go
wn ruined.

And then I saw the rest of him, scarred and hard muscled. The body he had used to claim mine, careless of my feelings, of my distress and discomfort. The boy I had known once
was gone.

I caught up my sleeping shift, laid out still upon my chest at the foot of the bed, and left
the room.

The water in the small bath had long turned cold in the moonlight, but I did not stir. Even the idea of moving from the tub made me wince. I should have used the pool instead, but I had not been certain I could keep my head above the water, and after everything that had happened, I refused to let myself drown. He had not been gentle, but he had been thorough. More than one area would blossom purple, black, and blue before morning, and so be it. This was all he would ever have of me. I would no longer feel any guilt for leaving h
im behind.

I opened my hand and stared at the diamond. The rough edges of the stone had cut into my palm, but I had not been able to release it. The sharp bite of the facets had been a welcome distraction from the pain of ou
r joining.

When I had eased my sore body into the warm water, I did not think I would ever rise again. But now, I sat in cold water and my teeth chattered, gooseflesh rising on my skin. I could not stay here until morning. If the servants learned what had happened, my father would be shamed in front of all his guests and I would be as good as married. Any hope I had of escape and freedom would be destroyed with the gossip and the announcement of betrothal that wou
ld follow.

I washed the blood from the diamond in my hand, and forced myself to rise from the water, wishing for Clymene. Bending over to reach the towels on the benches along the wall made me gasp, and I moved with less grace than an old grandmother as
I dressed.

I crept back down the corridor, trying to ignore the way the peacocks’ eyes followed my progress in the dark. Menelaus snored still, the sound traveling throug
h my door.

Theseus.
I needed to speak to Theseus. Menelaus would not be able to wander the halls of the women’s quarters in search of me if he woke. As long as I did not return to my bed, I would be safe from him until
tomorrow.

The sounds of the feast outside had faded though the moon had not yet set. If Theseus was not in his rooms, surely his physician could find him for me. A much softer snore greeted me from the other side of the curtain at the main entrance, and I had never been more thankful for a sleeping guard. I slipped past him, my bare feet making little noise on the pain
ted tiles.

The halls were mostly deserted, splashed with moonlight and shadow. The owls watched me tiptoe past the open door to the megaron and through the storerooms beyond it. Ariston’s room was on the opposite side of the palace, inside the servants’ wing, since he had only common blood. When I heard footsteps, I hid behind pillars and waited for the rare servant to pass. I did not forget Pirithous’s warning, and prayed I did not meet any of my father’s guests, drunk from too
much wine.

I knocked on the door.
Please, let him
be awake.

I knock
ed louder.

“Princess,” a voi
ce hissed.

My heart pounded in my ears. I had no place to hide but the door frame, and it was not deep enough to keep me out
of sight.

The man came forward, still half in shadow. I could just make out the glint of his eyes, tracing the shape of my body through the thin shift I wore. A flush rose from my chest to my cheeks as the silence between
us roared.

He stepped into the moonlight, and I recognized
his face.

“King Pirithous.” I slumped against the stone, my hand pressed over
my heart.

“I had hoped that when I saw you to your room, you would stay there.” He reached around me to open the door and pushed me through it into darkness. He glanced back out into the hall and then pulled it shut b
ehind him.

I groped for the wall, and Pirithous grabbed me by the wrist when my hand brushed his tunic, guiding me deeper into
the room.

“Ariston!”

The physician appeared, carrying an oil lamp. The flicker of the small flame cast shadows over his rumpled hair and accentuated the blanket-lines impressed on his face, turning them into grues
ome scars.

“My lord Pirithous?” Then his gaze fell on me, and his forehead furrowed.
“My lady?”

“If you’ve any wine, she’ll need it. Nothing cut, mind you.” Pirithous sat me down on a stool. “Might I assume you came looking for
Theseus?”

I nodded, mute. My heart still raced, and I winced in discomfort. Had Pirithous been following me the entire time? If I had screamed when Menelaus had arrived, might he have heard
and come?

No. Even if he had heard, how could he have reached me? And Menelaus would only have bee
n enraged.

Ariston set the lamp on the table, a wineskin over his shoulder. He poured me a cup and pressed it into my hands. I drank, hoping for the numbness it might bring. At least the uneven lamplight kept him from seeing the marks o
n my body.

“I’m sure he’s in his room by now,” Pirithous said. “Ariston, keep her here. Apparently she hasn’t the sense not to wander, even when she’s bee
n warned.”

I glared at him, but said nothing, and when he was gone, I stood. I was too sore for the stool, and my damp hair dripped cold water dow
n my back.

“My lady, please,” Ariston said. “My lord will be here shortly, and he will not be happy to find
you gone.”

“I don’t intend to leave after I went to so much trouble to arrive.” I could not bring myself to smile, but the tension in his shoulders eased. “Tell me, does King Pirithous often lurk in the hallways
at night?”

Ariston’s lips twitched. “My lord Pirithous does not sleep much, but when he lurks, it is usually for a
purpose.”

I rubbed at my arms to warm them. “Like foll
owing me?”

Ariston took the lamp with him to the hearth, using the small flame to light a larger fire. When he didn’t answer, I moved to the window and pulled the shutters closed before the light could spill outside. I hadn’t wanted to risk waking Menelaus when I left my room, but I wished I had reached for something warmer than the light shift I slept in. Even the gown I had discarded would have been an im
provement.

The door opened, and I turned to see Theseus, still dressed in his long tunic from the banquet, the gold filaments of the embroidery glittering in the hearth light. He took in my appearance with clear eyes, his mouth a
grim line.

He shut the door and barred it. “Ariston, one of your cloaks. She’s
freezing.”

The physician rose from the hearth and disappeared into his slee
ping room.

“My lord—” But I could not manage more than those two words before my throat closed and my eyes filled w
ith tears.

Theseus crossed to me at once, and I nearly fell into
his arms.

I shuddered and hid my face against his chest, gulping back a sob. And then I could not hold my grief back any longer, and I cried i
n earnest.

“Shh.” He smoothed my hair. Warm wool settled over my shoulders, and he tucked the fabric around my body. “I do not know what has brought you to me in the middle of the night, Helen, but if it is within my power, you need only whisper it and I will see
it done.”