Two

The great hall of the Phthian megara was large and open. It had all the traditional Greek architecture with the large, white pillars holding up the flat ceiling, the great tapestries with battles and gods sewn into the heavy material, and the polished marble floors.

The megara was where all official business and religious ceremonies were held. The throne room was in the heart of the megara, with the living quarters in a different wing. There were storehouses for winter, stockpiling foods and supplies for the citizens.

At one end stood a statue of Athena. At the other, King Peleus' throne.

Between the throne and the looming vision of Athena, I despised the great hall. It reminded me of everything wrong with my current situation. Mainly that I was a prisoner of that throne and that the freaking goddess who betrayed and abandoned me tauntingly loomed over me.

I tried not to fidget as I watched Achilles approach the throne. Ever since we'd arrived, I barely had a moment of peace to myself for Achilles insisted on keeping me close. Slaves were housed in a different area of the palace, but Achilles had me situated in a room close to his. Anything he needed I was expected to carry out. Essentially, I was his slave—much to my disdain.

However, that day marked the first time meeting Achilles' father.

We'd arrived in Phthia shortly after the moon had risen in the sky a week ago. Clocks weren't readily available, so I had no clue what day it really was, but routine kept me vigilant on time. I soon discovered that there were certain expectations I would adhere to, and that those expectations came from the hero himself.

After a restless sleep in the cramped room across from Achilles', I woke up bright and early to get dressed before my daily tasks. Through the dim light, I briefly thought it was Zoisme. Guilt twisted its knife in my gut. How ironic it was that I was in her position. I promised her freedom and failed.

The last item I secured in place was a sheer veil that flowed over my face. For a moment, it reminded me of a face mask, reminiscent of the life I left behind. The life that was currently consumed by a pandemic. With each passing day I longed to be back in my own time, pandemic or not. I missed my parents and siblings and I even missed my job. It wasn't something I loved, but it gave me a purpose and I was good at it.

I supposed I could have been in a worse situation. I hadn't been thrown in a dank dungeon somewhere. My first night in Phthia, a guard had clamped two cuffs around my wrists. They were already raw and blistering from the rope Achilles had used. While the coolness of the metal cuffs soothed them briefly, I soon found they chafed more than the rope.

At least now I garnered enough trust not to wear them.

And now, I was free to roam the palace, though a cage was a cage, whether there were bars or not.

As we stood in the great hall of the Phthian palace before King Peleus, I had new issues to contend with. It was my first time meeting the king of Phthia.

"I didn't think your adventure would mean bringing back Trojan wenches," the king said, rapping his fingers on the arm of his throne. He had been away on a campaign or something and had only just arrived the previous morning.

I bristled at the insult, but Achilles had made it clear that I wasn't to utter a single word unless I wanted my head removed from my shoulders. I happened to like where my head was, and the very real threat in his voice spurred me into obedience. He was the war-hungry hero, after all.

The king was shockingly younger than I expected. I anticipated an older man with white hair and beard, like Priam. The man seated on the throne had dark hair and skin, with clear blue eyes akin to Achilles'. Admittedly, that dark hair was threaded with silver, adding a soft shimmer each time he moved his head. Both Achilles and Hector had thicker muscles with square features, but Peleus was wiry and thin. That wasn't to say he was weak. Quite the contrary. He looked like he could hold his weight in battle and had a long, deep scar that ran from his temple to his cheek to prove it.

He was so different from Paris's parents, who were ageing gracefully back in Troy. Priam had aged out of battle, and now enjoyed the comforts of retirement. In a palace. He'd been softened by the royal life. Peleus, however, had yet to get to that point.

A fist wrapped around my chest and squeezed. Thinking about Troy now wasn't the best idea. Troy led to Priam and Hecuba, Priam and Hecuba led to Hector, who led to Paris. We'd been separated after Poseidon unleashed his sea serpent on Hector's envoy. Paris had been hurt, trying to save me, and, like Zoisme, I didn't even know if he survived. Not knowing what happened to him was way worse than the situation I was in. Well, okay, it was a close second. Everything just blended together at some point.

"It was an unexpected discovery," Achilles admitted. I now saw where his coolness came from. His father gave a whole new meaning to resting bitch face. Apparently, Achilles had inherited it effortlessly. "A discovery that may prove useful, given that she appears to know the Trojan Prince Hector."

"Does she now?" Peleus scoffed and leaned forward. Up until that point, he'd talked like I wasn't here, his attention solely on his son. Now, however, those striking eyes settled on me. "What makes you think she's telling the truth? She could be lying to save her own skin." His lips twisted in a sickening smile that made me cringe. "Trying to save herself, I think. But a slave is still a slave. I'm sure we can get her to like Greek meat and then she would never want to return to the Trojans."

"Screw you," I spat before I could stop myself.

The warning in Achilles' eyes should have had me backing off, but I was tired of the complacency. Besides, the image of 'Greek meat' was forever going to be scarred in my brain. I jabbed a finger at the king. My heart raced, and my palms were sweaty, my body well aware of what a foolish thing I was doing. But, I was a pro at putting my foot where my mouth was. Why change now?

"I will not tolerate being called names and offered up against my will."

The great hall fell into a stunned silence. All the guards looked at me in surprise, unsure of how to respond to my little outburst. Achilles stared at me, appellation and, perhaps a trace of pride, in his blue eyes."Do you wish for death?"

I glared at him. "Oh, like you care. I bet you were planning on using me as a concubine anyway."

Achilles' mouth popped open and closed like a fish searching for food. If my anger wasn't so visceral, I would have laughed. Good. I'd caught the great hero off guard. "I never said I would—"

A gravelly, rumbling sound grew from the throne. Our heads whipped around. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. .

King Peleus was laughing. It was deep and rough as if hardly used, but it was laughter nonetheless.

"Such ferocity," Peleus laughed. "You have found an intriguing girl, my son." His eyes narrowed on me again. "But your accent, it is not Trojan. Where are you really from?"

"She was on the Trojan envoy that sank off the coast," Achilles said, whether hoping to avoid more of my rebellious outbursts or because he wanted to get back on track, who could say. I deflated under the surge of anger and boldness. Thankfully, no one could see how my cheeks burned under the veil. "She was definitely travelling with them, and they might be looking for her. We could use her as leverage."

"Up until this point, you've been against this notion of war," Peleus said, thankfully turning to look at his son. "If I recall, your exact words were, 'it is not our fucking war.' Why the sudden interest?"

Achilles shrugged. "I don't mind war. In fact, I am up for a battle. It's Agamemnon who is spreading falsehoods about there even being a war. Besides, contrary to what you might think, I do care about Phthia."

"Yes, of course, that's why you're always off on some quest, you brave hero," Peleus sighed, although his look softened. A small bud of hope that the attention was off me grew in my chest. "You are our saving grace, my son, but if you think that one girl is going to change the course of a war, you will easily be proven wrong."

I stifled a laugh. If only they knew.

Achilles shrugged. "Perhaps not, but if she is as important to them as she claims, then she can give us information about the Trojans. If I'm in an agreeable mood, perhaps I'll share it with Agamemnon."

Everyone fell silent again as the king mulled over his son's proposition. My mind reeled. I didn't hold as much power as I led Achilles to believe, but I wasn't about to remain here as a slave. Let him believe whatever he wanted, but if I wanted to survive, I needed to think of some convincing lies and fast.

"I trust you, my son, but if this plan of yours backfires, that will be on you," Peleus said, leaning forward. "Zeus's grace or not, I will not stand for failure in my child. You'll be sure to join the war and do your part with or without any information this slave provides. And obey Agamemnon."

The king's silence was dismissive. Achilles dipped his head in acceptance, and though I couldn't see his expression, I did notice the way his jaw clenched tightly. When he whirled around, his expression was smooth as granite. His eyes met mine, narrowed, and he grabbed my arm.

"We need to talk," he said under his breath, dragging me out of the hall.

Oh, wonderful, he wanted to talk. Achilles was a real chatty-Kathy. "Do we?"

"I don't know where you come from, but here, a woman in your position would be wise to keep your mouth shut when speaking to the king. He spared you, this time. You will not be so lucky in the future."

I leaned in closer to him and pursed my lips. "I don't plan on being here in the future."

"I'm not letting you go," Achilles said with narrowed eyes.

"We'll see about that."

"If you want to get to that point, then you'd better start sharing information."

We had a good ol' fashioned staring contest, neither of us daring to blink. He had another thing coming if he believed I was going to be an easy prisoner. I was afraid, but like hell, was I going to show him that fear. Paris would be so proud.

Just as my eyes started to burn, a voice called out to us, and Achilles blinked. Ha! I won that round, hero.

"Achilles!"

It was like a lightning bolt struck the hero. One moment there was stony anger, and, in the next, he melted. As he turned to face the young man who came bounding towards us, Achilles' shoulders relaxed, and his face softened. It was a complete one-eighty from the asshat he was seconds ago.

The man who approached us was young. Younger than Achilles anyway, probably around my age. He wasn't particularly small, his muscles well-defined and honed from training, but his face was soft and still contained traces of boyhood. His brown hair was grown out into a similar style as Achilles,' and his grey eyes were surrounded by the lushest of lashes I'd ever seen. It gave him a puppy-eyed look that not even Paris could achieve. His ruddy cheeks were speckled with freckles.

"Patroclus," Achilles said as the young man threw his arms around the hero's neck.

I watched the encounter with stunned silence. The young man embracing Achilles was the young man who sacrificed everything for the hero.