Archive of Our Own

The sea curled silver beneath the morning sun as Hector stepped off the prow of his ship. The winds had carried his vessel swiftly from the eastern edge of the Aegean, yet even they seemed to hush in reverence for the day. Ithaca's shores-rocky, proud, and salt-bitten-rippled with mourning draped in ceremony.

Black banners swayed above the stone port, quietly speaking of sorrow that struck this land, and yet the island bore no air of despair. Not even in grief.

Laertes, the old wolf of Ithaca, was dead.

Sailor, king, warrior, and father - he had once sailed with Jason aboard the legendary Argo and had fought beside Heracles, Argus, and Atalanta. Even among Trojans, Laertes was a name that stirred quiet respect. Now he was ash on the sea wind, and the throne had passed to his eldest daughter.

And she was only fifteen.

Hector adjusted his crimson cloak as he ascended the pathway that wound to the palace gates. Warriors stood at attention; some of them leaned, but most were broad. The trait they shared was that they were all sharp-eyed, their skin touched by the sun, with the quiet stillness of men trained not in parades but in battle and the roughest of seas. Ithaca's strength was not in its size, Hector noted, but in the discipline stitched into its bones.

Torches flared in copper sconces. Noblemen from across the isles gathered with kings, princes, and generals who wore their finery like armor. Their voices were kept low, reverent, and uncertain. Grief thickened the air like smoke, and yet, it was not mourning that left them breathless when the doors opened.

It was her.

Odysseus entered. She moved with grace as her mother and younger sister followed soon after. Her mourning robes were made of Ithaca's famous black wool, making them as dark as the bottom of the ocean. The fabric was flowing, adding weightlessness to her movements, but there was no fragility in her bearing. Her shoulders were straight, her steps deliberate, her eyes unflinching. Her eyes didn't match, and her hair was long and black as oil in moonlight, coiled and braided into a practical but still elegant knot. She was short in stature but had lean-coiled strength, not dainty, associated with young royalty. Her gaze burned brighter than the torches and yet filled many with chills.

She did not bow her head. She did not cry.

She looked at them all like a general surveying a field before the war.

Fifteen, Hector thought. Fifteen and already unshakable. Many men gathered were suddenly drawn to the unusual beauty of this clearly powerful woman. Feeling robbed by the fact that Laertes would never speak of her beforehand, and by how those lucky enough to witness her would keep it a secret. Among those men were a few who hoped the woman would gaze upon them once again. And between them stood the young prince of Troy. He just couldn't help but stare at the mesmerizing eyes of the new queen. The left one was bronze, similar to his current armor, and the other was a dark shade of blue, as if the depths of the ocean were hidden beneath her gaze, waiting to drown unsuspecting victims. Maybe he was already caught? Captured in the trap with her loveliness used as a lure? How else could anyone explain the way his heart was beating so fast or how his legs were at a crossroads? Afraid to move and yet tempted to get closer.

It wasn't supposed to be like this! He was supposed to represent his father on a diplomatic mission. A simple way to gain experience and to find some allies who would be interested in his future rulership. But now Hector was worried if he would be able to use his words. Apollo blessed him with many things, but the gift of speech wasn't one of them. Years or maybe even months prior, he would dismiss such an ability, but now he was more than willing to get down on his knees and beg the god of poetry and music for this favor.

When he thought of himself. Barely seventeen, still training, still learning, still depending on his patron's blessings. He couldn't imagine himself being able to stand like this. With so much ease, as if ruling for over a decade, it was nothing but a formality. This woman was just about to become the ruler of a small island, and yet it felt like he had just met a god in the making.

The high priestess recited the rites in an ancient tongue. Libations were poured. The crown, wrought in the image of two small golden wings that curved gently around queen's temples-sacred to Hermes, the guide of travelers and herald of gods, and most importantly, a source of divine blood of the royal family - was placed upon her head with solemn grace by her own mother - a woman who despite being mostly covered by the darkness of mourning robes still remained as regal and composed as spoken in songs and recalling of kings and nobles. Her hair had not yet been struck with lines of silver, and her hands were filled with small scars- badges of honor for any true craftsman.

The room was silent, awed, uneasy, watching. Waiting to see if the crown would turn out to be too heavy. If she would falter.

She didn't.

When her voice rang out to accept the crown, it was low, clear, and steady. It echoed against the stone and settled like truth in every ear. "I accept this burden, not as a child to be shielded, but as my father's daughter. And as Ithaca's rightful queen."

Something stirred in Hector's chest. Respect, yes, but more. Fascination. Curiosity. A sense that something irreversible had begun.

Then came the moment of offerings.

One by one, the kings stepped forward, each bearing gifts. The offerings were meant as blessings, at least in form. But it didn't take a seer to read the deeper meaning of what they brought.

A prince from Thebes offered a necklace of fire-gold, set with gems the color of wine, looking like pomegranate seeds. "For a queen as radiant as Helios' own daughters," he declared, smiling just a bit too wide.

A lord from Delos presented a carved ivory comb and a silver-framed mirror. "May you reflect the beauty of your realm," he said, glancing at her rosy lips as he spoke. The queen's face didn't shift in the slightest; meanwhile, the younger princess's hand was clenched in a fist, her knuckles slowly turning white.

A young king from Helos brought an embroidered robe dyed with rare saffron, boldly declaring it "fit for the future bride of a hero." But even as he spoke, the air in the chamber shifted. Odysseus tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes unreadable, and then, with a voice calm and cutting, she replied.

"As beautiful as your gift is, you should not forget the tragedy that gathered us here. It is not chivalrous nor proper to expect a mourning woman to seek a husband so soon."

A heavy silence followed. Several of the kings flinched, and others looked suddenly uncomfortable as if realizing for the first time how their gifts - jewels that had goddesses like Hera, Aphrodite, or Eileithyia engraved on them, imported silks, Egyptian perfumes, flattery disguised as a tribute - now clung to them like brands of shame. Murmurs passed between attendants. One lord hastily began adjusting the tone of his prepared speech, stammering to justify how his gift was meant to bless Ithaca's rule, not court its newfound queen.

Hector watched it unfold with amusement and quiet admiration. She had not raised her voice nor scorned them outright, and yet she had unmade their pretenses with a single sentence.

And none could argue with her.

They came one after another, gifts wrapped in honeyed words, their eyes gleaming with calculation. They hadn't expected her to meet them on equal footing, probably awaiting a crying lady who jumped into the arms of the first man to show sympathy. They had not thought her capable of wielding power.

But she stood like a stone before a tide. Polite, cool, unmoved.

And then they began to stumble.

A young prince - barely older than she - stammered through his dedication, visibly sweating beneath her gaze. Another tried to justify his overtly romantic verses as a tribute to her father, making a fool of himself until snickers and poorly contained laughter rang out among the guests.

From the high seat beside the throne, Queen Anticlea watched with cold, unimpressed eyes, her mouth set in a line that promised quiet retribution. Hector glanced her way and could not shake the thought: she looked like a woman silently taking note of who might need to be killed later for daring to belittle her child. And with the way she would glance at the sea on the horizon, he could probably make an accurate guess where she would dispose of the body(/bodies).

The air grew tense, almost pitiful, like boys presenting trinkets to the queen, realizing too late that they had misread the battlefield. So far, the most respectful were the nobles of Ithaca and other islands under her rule. They, without a stutter, bowed in respect, speaking highly of her father before blessing their new ruler.

Then came Hector.

He stepped forward with only two guards behind him, bearing long, narrow boxes carved from dark cedar.

He did not bow. He did not leer.

He knelt only briefly and looked her in the eye - not as a suitor, not as a fool blinded by beauty - but as one ruler to another.

"My queen," he said, his voice calm but practiced - too practiced, he realized. He had rehearsed this moment aboard the ship more times than he cared to admit (His crew by now probably memorized the speech perfectly just by hearing him repeat it to himself time and time again). Every syllable had been shaped with care, each word chosen to convey respect, diplomacy, and strength. And yet now, standing before her, none of that preparation felt sufficient.

He tried not to linger on her eyes, the way her hair framed her face like a crown of black fire. But gods, she was beautiful! He was a prince of Troy; he had met queens and noblewomen across the known world during his studies abroad. None had ever looked at him like this - not with longing, but with challenge, on equal ground.

Still, he kept his gaze steady.

"Basileus Odysseus of Ithaca, your black wool is a sign of luxury in my homeland. Troy honors your strength and your grief. These are not gifts to woo, but to acknowledge the fire within your crown and to respect our history of trade. Not a promise, but a salute. I bring no jewels, no veiled intentions - only this, tokens from one nation of warriors to another. My father, King Priam, sends his deepest condolences, and I, as his son, offer this blade not as a tribute to a widow's vulnerability but to a queen's power."

With a slight nod, the prince pointed to his servants to open the boxes, revealing to the Ithacan royal family bottles of wine, a bronze ceremonial knife, and golden cups with depictions of Hermes. The last gift felt a little risky, since it could be seen as an offense (being associated with the god of trickery and thieves), but the moment he saw the royal family, he knew it was a good call. They might not brag about their godly heritage as some, but the very crown on the queen's head looked like a small pair of wings embracing her dark locks.

Hector looked up to see the queen's reaction to the gifts. Her face still held a smile, but her eyes sparked something when she looked in his direction. Were the cups really this good a gift? Maybe it's because it feels a little more personal than some others, or the fact that none of them were seen as apparent attempts at courting? Or- or maybe she wasn't looking at the items but at the man holding them. That idea caused his face to heat up. He dared to look at her again, but this time, he barely contained a yelp. They made eye contact. The same (evil) spark appeared in her eyes, and her smile widened ever so slightly. His hands were shaking, and he was certain that it wasn't caused by the weight of the golden items. He was about to say something (what exactly, he wasn't sure), but the loud sound of Anticlea clearing her throat made everyone look at her. She had a displeased expression, and new shades of red had appeared on her face; she looked as if she were about to combust when Odysseus spoke up.

"I want to thank you, Prince Hector, son of Priam, for this act of generosity. I do hope your stay in Ithaca is pleasant and that the new ruler lives up to your expectations.~" He was going to die. That was just a fact. The only mystery was what would be the cause of said death. Brutal but calculated actions of the basileus' parent, or that oh-so-sweet trap that he got caught in before he even got a chance to react.

The rest of the evening went smoothly. Hector was currently sitting in the small guest room. Well... saying small might be a little rude. Especially since he's comparing it to the spacious room that he had back in Troy, Ithaca might not be as big or rich as his homeland, but it is still a beautiful place. The shores were a sight worth immortalizing in art, and even the simple guest rooms were filled with painted floral patterns and living plants. The palace felt alive in more ways than one. There was a weird feeling that the halls were designed to trick him. They looked simple at first, but he had an ominous feeling that if he got lost during the tour, he would end up wandering for hours. It made him think.

This palace is just like Odysseus.

Small and as beautiful as cunning. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't help but lie on his back and think back to those mismatched eyes and the mischievous smile. He wanted to know what she looked like outside of that mask of politeness and diplomacy. The glimpses of her actual personality were more tantalizing than any food or drink offered today. Speaking of! He should probably get some more wine, or he was worried that he would stay awake for a whole night, or his mind would trail into places he wasn't ready to explore.

And with that, he ventured outside of his room towards the kitchen. It would be rude to wake up servants in the middle of the night because he had a sudden appetite for wine. He memorized the path well enough, but it didn't change the feeling of his suspicions about this place being a maze slowly being validated. Some halls felt more cramped than others, and all the murals of grape vines and ocean shores made him feel lost. He had the urge to use some thread or crumbs to mark his way to guarantee the way back. Luckily for him, he was able to safely find his way to the main hall, and the path to the kitchen was, at this point, just a formality.

Hector moved carefully through the dimly lit kitchen, his steps light despite the weight of his armor. The scent of roasted lamb and fresh bread still lingered from the coronation feast, but the hallways were silent now, the palace asleep.

His fingers brushed the smooth surface of a clay jug. 'Ithacan wine.' A strong alcohol with sweetness can easily ease you into drinking too much, from what he'd heard. It almost made him laugh. Another thing that reminds him of her. He lifted it, careful not to clink it against the cups stacked beside it. When he thinks back to the ceremony, he didn't participate in the proper toast. It was partly because he was too focused on talking to other guests, and more so because he feared being noticed by Anticlea, who seemed to dislike him for some reason. And so now he will have a small, pitiful toast with unmixed wine since he didn't even dare to look for spices at the risk of making noise.

'This would have to do.'

"Stealing from your own host, Prince of Troy?"

The voice was light, amused, and far too close.

Hector turned swiftly, his grip tightening around the jug. A small figure leaned against the doorframe, her cheeks and eyes were red, arms crossed, dark, almost onyx black curls spilling loosely over bare shoulders, out of her formal garments and jewelry. Instead, she was wearing a thin robe of deep blue - likely something hastily thrown over a nightdress - which did little to hide the quiet confidence with which she carried herself.

Queen Odysseus.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. She tilted her head, watching him, her lips curving slightly as if she had caught a wolf skulking through the sheepfold.

"I-" Hector straightened, the formal words instinctive. "Forgive me, my lady. I had no intention of-"

"-waking the servants?" she finished smoothly, stepping further into the room. "Or being caught?"

Hector exhaled, setting the jug down with deliberate care. "It would seem I have failed at both."

Odysseus took a slow step closer. Her smile grew wider as she carefully held the robe to keep it from falling and possibly exposing more of her skin to the stranger. "Indeed, you have~" She closed the door behind her before she stepped forward slowly, barefoot, on the cool stone floor. "And now, I'm faced with a rather difficult choice."

He raised a brow. "Oh?"

Odysseus hummed, tapping her chin as though seriously considering his fate. "Do I uphold the laws of hospitality and allow my guest to indulge? Or do I remind him that queens do not take kindly to thieves, even princely ones?"

Despite himself, Hector felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "A harsh accusation. I was only borrowing."

"Ah, borrowing," Odysseus echoed as if considering the word. Her tone was mocking awe as she put one hand to her cheek. "And when, pray tell, were you planning to return the wine?"

Hector hesitated.

She grinned. "That's what I thought."

Odysseus took another few steps closer. Now, she was almost at arm's length.

Hector wanted to say something, anything, but all he could do was to keep himself pinned to the counter as if there was a secret passage waiting to be opened.

Hector sighed, trying to ignore the prying eyes. "If this is truly an offense, I will, of course, accept whatever punishment my queen sees fit."

"My queen?" Odysseus echoed; this time, she seemed to be genuinely surprised. "That's very formal, Prince of Troy. You didn't seem quite so stiff at the feast earlier- Well, at least not when speaking with other men gathered. Does the glorious crown prince fear a woman's attention?"

"At the feast, I was honoring your coronation," Hector replied evenly. "And I still am."

"By sneaking into my kitchen in the dead of night?"

He exhaled sharply. "I wasn't sneaking."

Odysseus gave him a look.

"...Not entirely."

The queen's sharp eyes lingered on him in the deafening silence until-

She started giggling.

For the first time that evening, he truly looked at her - not as the queen who had sat composed and sharp-witted among kings, but as a girl who was just fifteen, with laughter in her eyes and bare feet on the cool stone floor. And yet, she had the presence of a ruler twice her age, standing before him with the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders.

"You have a quick tongue, my lady," he admitted, half-smiling.

"And you have slow hands," she quipped, reaching past him to take the jug herself. Before he could react, she uncorked it and poured two cups, then reached for one of the shelves and took a small jar of honey and three pouches of spices. She mixed everything with utmost precision before sliding one toward him across the wooden table.

Hector hesitated. "Is this a test?"

"A test would imply you could fail." Odysseus raised her own cup and took a small sip. "Consider it an invitation."

He studied her for a moment longer before picking up his own cup. Wine shared was wine forgiven.

He drank slowly and thoughtfully as the woman watched him over the rim of her cup. Her shoulders seemed to be less tense, and with quiet content, she allowed herself to join in indulgence. The drink was a little too sweet for his liking, but he liked the warmth of it. It burned pleasantly when sliding down his throat.

He allowed himself to study Odysseus's face a little. For a quick second, she gleamed with joy as she sipped her drink. It was cute to see how she definitely had a sweet tooth (seeing how much honey she added to her own cup). It made him chuckle, which caught her attention.  

"Despite everything, you are quite carefree. Aren't you worried?" He asked finally.

"About what, exactly?"

"Being a queen."

Odysseus swirled her wine, watching the way the red liquid reflected the low candlelight. "Oh, I'm very worried," she admitted almost too easily. Her gaze was still focused on the dark drink, which almost spilled on her hand. "But worry is only useful if you don't let people see it."

He nodded, respecting the honesty. "A wise strategy."

"It isn't a strategy." She smiled, but there was something knowing in her eyes. For a moment, the shine in them was gone. She seemed tired until something new burned in her. Something almost predatory. "It's survival."

Hector felt a slight shiver running down his spine. He found himself liking her more than he should.

The moonlight shifted through the high windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The moment lingered, fragile yet unspoken, before Odysseus broke it with an easy smirk.

"Now tell me, Prince of Troy - do you always sneak about in foreign palaces at night, or is Ithaca just special?"

Hector chuckled, shaking his head. "Only when the company is worth the risk."

Odysseus laughed, lifting her cup once more. "Then consider yourself fortunate, Hector of Troy. Not all thieves get to drink with their captors."

And for the first time that night, Hector thought that perhaps his parents had been right to send him here after all.

The months went by, and now, Hector was taking part in the festivities of Demeter. Since that night in Ithaca, he has only seen Odysseus in the distance. She would sit surrounded by other kings or her soldiers while he sat further from important figures. He might be there to represent his father, but it doesn't mean that many would appreciate the opinion of the prince of an isolated city, not to mention Troy's current conflict with Sparta. It might not be bloody (at least for now), but the hostility is more than obvious, and that leads to both cities avoiding potential provocations.

The sacrifices were made, and some people were drunk before the dances had a chance to start. Athens was beautiful at this time of year, and Hector was glad that his father had allowed him to join the annual hunt, one of the main events of this almost week-long celebration. It was his chance to prove himself to other experienced hunters and nobles, and he wouldn't waste this opportunity.

The festival air was thick with roasting meat and the laughter of warriors boasting of past hunts. Yet Hector found little amusement in their noise - his mind was already in the woods, focused on the task ahead.

He adjusted his bracers, fingers tightening the straps with practiced ease. The hunt was no simple game. Even in times of peace, a man proved his worth not only in war but in the skill of the chase.

"You look as if you're marching to battle, oh glorious Prince of Troy."

The voice was too familiar and far too amused.

Hector turned, his grip still firm on the leather strap, to see Odysseus watching him.

She stood with the grace of someone who knew exactly how much space she commanded and exactly how to use it. The bow at her back, the quiver of arrows slung across her shoulder, and a hunting blade strapped to her side - these were not decorations. They belonged to her as surely as the sea belonged to the tides. She was wearing leather armor over her tunic and leather braces with bronze elements. The most noticeable was the band made out of bronze and gold. Less decorative but still a good way to showcase her status.

Hector inclined his head. "A hunt should not be taken lightly."

Odysseus clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "And here I thought you'd learned something since we last met." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a mock conspiratorial whisper. "Remind me, Prince of Troy - how does the saying go? 'A hand that steals is always waiting to be caught'?"

Hector stiffened. "I was not stealing wine."

"Were you not?" Odysseus cocked her head, her smirk widening. "Because I distinctly remember finding you in the kitchens, holding a jug of wine - looking very guilty."

Hector exhaled through his nose, half amusement, half exasperation. "I did not wish to wake the servants."

"And yet, somehow, it is still the most scandalous thing I have seen from a visiting prince," she mused, but then she seemed to be lost in thought for a second. "Well~ Now when I think about it, it was the second most scandalous thing a prince has ever done in my palace. Still, it doesn't lessen the weight of your crime."

Hector rolled his eyes. "Shall I expect you to hold this over my head until the end of my days?"

"That depends." Odysseus leaned against the post beside him. "Will you continue making it so easy?"

Hector let out a breath that might have been a laugh. "I see now why men of weaker minds would fear your presence."

Odysseus smiled at that, and for a moment, there was something warmer beneath her amusement. A quiet pride.

"Aww? And why would any of them have a reason to fear me? I was just a lovely self whenever I'm honored by good company." She chuckled briefly before adjusting the strap of her quiver. Hector heard about Odysseus' archery skills. There were many rumors circling her, but those revolving around her skills were the least scandalous ones. Some rumored that her bow was impossible to string by anyone but her; others suggested that she was trained by gods, or that she was secretly a child of Apollo, or that she had already sworn herself to be a huntress of Artemis, and even that she was fostered by a foreign ruler. All of them felt ridiculous, especially when they were all mentioned at once, but there was little to no proof to deny or confirm any of them. And so the fair lady remained a walking mystery.

They looked at each other in silence, but then her gaze flickered down - just briefly - and Hector watched her expression shift.

It was only for a heartbeat, but he had seen it.

Her gaze had caught on the scar along his forearm, one from a hunt from two years ago. A reminder of a beast that had nearly torn the spear from his hands. Seeing her expression, he smirked a little and even flexed his biceps to show off this proof of a won battle.

"You act as if I do not understand risk," she said bluntly. Then, she casually, almost too casually, grabbed the thread of her bracer.

Hector caught a glimpse of scattered small silver marks, a bite mark, hidden beneath the bracer on her wrist.

Older than what he has shown.

For a moment, he had no reply.

This woman even had the audacity to mimic his previous strike pose. Hector cleared his throat and tilted his head, hoping to hide the small tint of red that he felt creeping onto his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"A wolf?"

Her eyes shone with mischief. "My mentor's hunting dog."

"You are reckless."

Odysseus smirked. "And you think too much."

"You may laugh now," Hector countered, "but when you come limping back with a gash across your leg, I will be the first to say I warned you."

At that, Odysseus only hummed - a small, almost knowing sound.

But she did not deny it.

Instead, she reached for her bow and tested the string, her smirk sharpening like the edge of a blade.

"Oh, so if tragedy strikes me, I can't count on the help of a chivalrous prince? What a tragedy." She fake-sobbed for exactly five seconds before her smile returned. "What do you say, Prince Hector?" she asked. "If I can't expect your help, then how about a challenge to make this little hunt more entertaining?"

Hector crossed his arms and raised his brow. "A challenge?"

"Whoever returns with the finest catch wins."

"And the loser?"

Odysseus grinned. "Owes the winner a favor."

Hector smiled slightly with a new fire lit up in his eyes. "And please tell me what the Queen of Ithaca would demand of me?"

Odysseus pretended to think. "Perhaps I'll have you serve me wine at my next feast. Have you dressed up nicely while holding for me a tray full of sweets or savory dishes?"

Hector let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are determined to make me your servant?"

"Hmm," She placed a finger on her mouth innocently. "Perhaps~"

Soon, they were all called to go to the stables, where they would be offered horses for the hunt. Then, before she turned to leave, she met his gaze again - just for a moment.

A flicker of something unspoken. A challenge? A promise? No matter what it was, it was barely as significant as the fact that she had the audacity to wink at him!

Then, she was just gone.

And Hector, for all his certainty, found himself less focused on the hunt than he should have been.

The hunt had lasted hours. Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult if it were not for the other hunters, who were more obnoxious. So many people gathered that it was difficult to hunt any creature that might be easily startled.

By the time Hector had tracked and slain a stag, his muscles ached from the weight of the armor and all the equipment he had on hand, and his tunic was damp with sweat. His horse had grown restless beneath him, eager for rest. He had seen no sign of Odysseus since they parted, and though he would never admit it, he had wondered - had she bested him? Had she met trouble in the woods? He heard that she was a skilled archer (He wasn't bad either), but it doesn't take much for the hunter to become the hunted. A beast too big to be approached alone, or even just a man who would take this opportunity for friendly fire. He didn't like it, but his mind was trailing into darker and darker scenarios. After some time, he started to shudder in worry that he would be met with the corpse of the young woman who would be mauled by the monsters lurking in the depths of the wilderness. He felt his heartbeat quicken and his breath grow uneven. He needed to cool off. Now! Or he will pass out from the worry alone.

And so he took a few deep breaths, and with his mind calm enough, he followed the sound of the running water.

Then he saw her.

She was seated on the riverbank, boots discarded, her bare feet submerged in the cool water. Her horse was nowhere to be seen, but a red fox, two hares, and a small stag were lying nearby - proof of her success.

Odysseus was clearly sore from the way her shoulders were tense, but at the same time, she looked at ease, almost as if she had been waiting for him.

"You're late," she said without looking up.

Hector let out a soft breath, setting his own stag beside hers. "I didn't realize we had a meeting scheduled."

She snickered. "We do now."

Odysseus finally turned, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You did well," she admitted, nodding toward his stag.

"And you did better," Hector conceded.

Her smirk deepened. "Did I hear that correctly? The Prince of Troy admitting defeat?"

Hector exhaled, shaking his head. "I should have known better than to let an archer set the rules of a hunting competition."

"And yet, you agreed."

"I must be a fool then," he muttered.

Odysseus chuckled, then glanced over him. "No wounds? No lion scratches? I expected Apollo to give his champion a worthy challenge."

So she knew? Well, maybe he was Apollo's champion in the title; he felt more like a student of his. It was a well-known fact that the god of the sun favored his city, but to make such a big jump, in conclusion, felt too daring even for someone as reckless as the little queen.

Hector hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, removing his armor, and lowering himself to the riverbank beside her. The water was cold against his fingers as he reached down, washing the sweat from his palms and face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

A knowing silence passed between them. Then, as Odysseus rolled her shoulders, something shifted - a faint wince that the Trojan prince caught immediately.

Hector narrowed his eyes. He had fought enough battles to recognize what this sign of discomfort meant.

His gaze flickered to her left shoulder.

A small stain of red.

It was faint at first, but as she shifted, the blood seeped further into the fabric of her tunic.

"Odysseus?"

She hummed absentmindedly.

"You're hurt."

She waved a hand. "It's nothing."

"What happened?"

"Just carried a bloody carcass. What!? Do you think a girl isn't strong enough to carry a stag?" She pouted, but when trying to cross her arms, she hissed from pain.

"That's a childish excuse, and you know it," Hector muttered, stepping closer.

Odysseus sighed. "Fine- Someone's arrow landed near me, and my horse got startled, so I fell into the bushes."

Hector was already reaching for her tunic.

Odysseus tensed. "Hector?-"

He ignored her, pulling up her sleeve just enough to see the injury. A thin gash ran along her shoulder, the blood still fresh, staining the fabric. Dirt clung to the wound.

Hector exhaled sharply, reaching for the waterskin. "You are reckless."

Odysseus mused. "And yet again, you worry too much-" She barely finished when the feeling of cold water being poured on her shoulder gave her goosebumps. Hector let out a pleased hum when seeing the wound being cleaned off the sand and dried leaves. The young prince put down the waterskin and seemed to look for something, muttering in displeasure when unable to do so.

Without another word, Hector gripped the edge of his own sleeve and tore it.

Odysseus gawked in shock, looking almost offended. "And why the hell did you do that? You ruined your own tunic!"

Hector rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, unless you have bandages hidden in your quiver, this will have to do."

He carefully wrapped the cloth around her shoulder, tying it tightly. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, his touch feather-light against her skin.

Odysseus watched him.

Hector cleared his throat and stepped back.

"Better?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.

"Didn't know you were a healer," Odysseus remarked.

"I am not," Hector admitted. "But I do know how to keep a fool from bleeding out."

Odysseus snorted. "You must be very busy in Troy, then."

Hector sighed. "You have no idea. Now, please tell me, is there anything else that I should look over?"

"Only bruised knee and some pain in the left ankle."

The prince nodded, then crouched in the shallow part of the river, with his feet up to his ankles in water; reaching out, he delicately grabbed the queen's foot and looked closely for any signs of swelling. He made her move her foot to see any reactions, but luckily, it seemed that there wasn't anything major happening.

For a moment, the river filled the silence between them. Then, Hector's gaze flickered higher-

And he saw it.

A scar.

It started just above her knee and ran high up her inner thigh. The ridges were jagged, uneven, and deep. Hector placed his hand on Odysseus' knee, and with his thumb, he caressed the lower end of the scar.

Odysseus shifted slightly, and her voice hitched - but she said nothing.

His fingertips brushed over the scar's surface, tracing its uneven path.

Too deep for a simple wound. Not a blade - it was rough, torn. It seems to be a difficult place to be attacked. Maybe she fell?

"Was that a branch or some sharp stones?"

The short woman looked up, avoiding his dark eyes. She composed herself before speaking. "Neither. It was a boar, probably way bigger than any you have ever seen."

His thumb ghosted over the ridges, measuring the depth, mapping the injury in his mind.

"This was deep," he thought.

"Y-yeah. I got struck the same moment I stabbed it with my spear."

"So you finally met someone as stubborn as you? How did it feel?" He teased with a low chuckle.

"V-very funny." The young queen tried to be sarcastic, but her voice cracked when Hector moved his hand higher, trailing the scar.

It wasn't just a shallow cut. It had torn through the muscle.

A jagged wound, poorly healed - because it was meant to be fatal.

Hector had seen wounds like this before. Ones that left men crippled.

And yet, here she was. Walking. Fighting. Laughing. No wonder she was such a daredevil! Many warriors felt untouchable after surviving lesser things.

"It healed ages ago. You don't need to worry about it - p-please~."

But he was too focused.

Scars always intrigued him with how they could better recall the histories of duels and challenges than many storytellers. It fascinated him to listen to healers describe everything that warriors went through based on a few cuts, from the battles that caused them to the healing process and details about someone's daily life. And this one in front of him was no different. He traced further up, feeling where the torn skin smoothed out again. The way the scar curved suggested the attack had struck upwards, meaning-

Odysseus had been standing over it.

"You fought it while it was charging," Hector murmured aloud, his thumb absentmindedly gliding along the scar.

Odysseus opened her mouth. A small whimper escaped her, which made her clasp her mouth with her hand before pitching in a slightly higher voice. "H-Hector-"

But the prince was too focused to notice.

His fingers followed the scar higher.

"The angle… it must have struck upwards," he muttered. "Just a little further, and it would have-" He could clearly see the picture in his head. The wild boar impaled her by her thigh, and the way she attacked with much determination. The beast was probably jumping and kicking until its last breath, explaining the uneven shape.

His gaze was still fixed on the scar as he moved the fabric upward to inspect the long injury further. It was amazing how big it was. It had the length of her thigh, if not even longer, including its curve.

"…It must have torn deep into the muscle here, the uneven healing suggests-"

His hand went a little further and-

"I said stop!"

Odysseus kicked him.

Hard.

Straight into the river.

Hector surfaced with a sharp gasp, flinging wet hair out of his eyes. The river was shallow but cold, and as he pushed himself up, water dripped from his tunic and pooled at his feet.

For a moment, he just sat there, soaking wet. His mind finally caught up to what exactly had just happened.

He looked up when he saw it. The queen of Ithaca closed her legs, her face was red, and her knee-length tunic was pulled up to her hip by him-

And then, realization fully struck.

His face turned completely red.

"I-I wasn't-" He scrambled for words. "I did not mean-"

Odysseus - still red herself - crossed her arms. "Mm. You know, usually, a nobleman such as yourself would at least offer me a gift or say a few pleasantries before trying to reach that aera."

The prince stuttered when trying to find his words, his face further heating up when trying to scramble some answers. The queen looked at him with a similar evil glint as from that night in the kitchen. "That shade of red suits you, my prince."

Hector groaned, rubbing a hand down his face (Luckily for him, that kick didn't dislocate his jaw).

"I was only assessing the scar-"

"Of course," Odysseus said, clearly enjoying this.

"With pure intentions!-"

"Oh, absolutely!~ Truly a purity comparable to Zeus himself."

Hector sighed, shaking his head.

"That," He growled, "was uncalled for."

"You were practically lifting my tunic over my head," Odysseus shot back, flicking a stray leaf off her knee. "And I told you to stop."

"I was examining the scar!"

"You were getting very thorough with that examination," she said, arching an eyebrow. "If I hadn't stopped you, you'd have been mapping my entire body like a cartographer."

Hector groaned, wiping his face with his damp sleeve. "Well, forgive me for being concerned about how deep an old wound was."

"You can be concerned," she allowed. "Just... not in a way that makes it look like you're trying to remove my clothes in broad daylight."

Hector huffed, looking down at his soaked tunic. "I'm freezing because of you."

Odysseus leaned back slightly. "Oh? And here I thought you were a warrior of Troy, defender of the city, son of Priam, chosen of Apollo. Surely, a little water isn't enough to shake you." She spoke with such significance and might in her voice as if she were announcing the arrival of gods.

Hector gave her a flat look. "You are infuriating."

"And yet you keep coming back for more," she said, grinning.

Hector shook his head, stepping onto the riverbank. "You fight dirty, Ithacan."

"On the battlefield, there are no winners, just survivors."

The remark carried an edge - something that made Hector pause. Odysseus wasn't just joking as she did before. There was something weightier beneath the words.

She must have noticed his shift in expression, because she sighed. Standing up, she straightened her clothes and leaned in, offering the prince a hand to help him stand, which he accepted.  "Look, I got a little carried away. Don't get me wrong, the kick was deserved!- But I should've held back with the teasing. It was unnecessary, especially when I knew you wouldn't harm me." They moved carefully towards the riverbank, where Hector started squeezing his chiton to remove the excess water.

"I won't say I don't understand where that came from." He chuckled breathlessly as he continued to dry his clothes. "I'm honestly shocked I wasn't kicked earlier just for looking."

The woman chuckled. "I used to train in less while surrounded by men twice my size."

"What!?" Hector asked mid, wringing water from his sleeve.

Odysseus hesitated. It was brief, but he caught it - a flicker of something uncertain in her eyes.

Then she sighed and started mumbling something under her nose, but the only thing he caught was "The Spartans."

Hector froze. "The Spartans?"

Odysseus nodded, throwing a stray pebble into the water, distorting the calm stream. "I trained in Sparta for a few years thanks to the fosterage offered by King Tyndareus. That's at least the official story. I'm still visiting quite regularly to master some skills." Odysseus looked at her companion with worry. "Hector, are you alright?"

Hector felt a sudden tension coil in his chest. Sparta. He already knew Odysseus was an exceptional warrior, but Sparta? A city known for its brutal training, its relentless discipline, its warriors who lived and breathed combat? It wasn't just another Greek city - it was a military state. And right now, Troy and Sparta were on uneasy terms, close to outright hostility. Maintaining "neutrality" between them is comparable to preventing forest fires from spreading.

"You seriously trained under them?" he repeated carefully.

Odysseus didn't seem to notice his shift in tone. "Yes. King Tyndareus and his brother Icarus arranged it. His sons trained with me. Well, alongside me, mostly. They were older, but sometimes they'd spar with me. Mostly, it was the professional trainers."

Hector exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I see."

That explained a lot - almost half of the rumors surrounding her could be easily answered with this piece of information. But there were still some things that didn't make sense. Why had she been trained there? Why isn't it public that she was fostered there? And more importantly, did this mean she was closer to Sparta politically than he'd thought? From past experience in political discussions, he knew that she was respected by the Spartan kings and their allies, but being this close to the royal family could mean many things.

Odysseus leaned on a tree, watching him. "You just went very quiet, Hector."

He met her gaze. "I'm sorry. I just got lost in thoughts."

She frowned slightly, then gave a short laugh. "You're that shaken by the idea of me training in Sparta? And here I thought you saw me as a fair competitor."

"It's not that-" he quipped, but before he could finish, the brunette clasped her hands with an energetic bounce.

"That's good! After I have my prize to win!"

"W-What?"

Odysseus went closer and smirked before pointing at the pile of animals. "The sun is almost setting, and from what it seems, I won."

Hector glanced again at the stag he shot down. It was slightly bigger than the one caught by the queen of Ithaca, but still, it wasn't impressive enough to be called better than the entirety of her catches." Her smile widened, and her eyes glinted with excitement. But it wasn't over yet.

Because Hector had a plan.

The prince slowly turned his body towards the short woman.

"I'm afraid you lost, my queen."

"Huh? Didn't you admit your loss earlier?" She clicked her tongue and turned her head like a mother before scolding her child. "And they call me a liar. But please~ tell me how exactly you bested me if the only thing you caught is one stag?"

Hector moved slowly without making too much noise. He attempted to keep up the innocent facade, but his eyes grew more predatory with each step.

"Simple," Shrugged the prince. "It's not my only catch for today."

"What do you- Eeeep!" With a swift strike, Hector snatched Odysseus out of her feet and held her bridal style. The man kept laughing while holding her tightly enough so she would not wiggle out of his grasp. "Put me down! You are still wet and cold!"

She was hitting his chest, but it barely did anything. Hector's laughter continued until the man could barely breathe. He looked at the huntress in his arms; his smile became warmer as he said, "You might not be my biggest prey-" Hector snickered as Odysseus slapped his torso, "but you are for sure the cutest.~"

The witty queen was left speechless. She looked at him with round eyes for a moment, only to avert her gaze while her cheeks were still decorated by a red hue.

"O-okay, you win. So, what do you want?"

And now it was Hector's turn to be silent. He didn't think that far. He just wanted to beat Odysseus in their little game, but now he could ask for anything. It would be easy to make her do something funny as a practical joke, or maybe. Or he could ask for something insignificant to be over with it.

But his heart betrayed him before he even had a chance to speak. Odysseus placed her hand lightly on his chest. She could feel the organ's rapid beating. Her face was redder than before; she seemed almost dazed when their eyes met.

The queen hesitantly wrapped her hands around the Trojan's neck as she whispered. "I think I know what you want - please correct me if I'm mistaken, I don't want any of us to regret this."

Hector didn't say anything; all he did was lean into her touch, but that was a more than welcome answer to her plea.

The kiss was awkward at first. They both weren't sure what to do, but once they stopped thinking, things started to work out naturally. What started as a mere kiss grew into something more heated, filled with many unspoken feelings. Odysseus gently caressed Hector's cheeks; she held his face as if he were about to disappear once she opened her eyes. Hector, instead, was lost in the feeling. Moments ago, he was shivering from the cold, but now he was burning on the inside. He loved how soft her lips were, her black curls brushing his skin, and how she smelled like sea salt and cherries.

Maybe. Just maybe. It was Apollo himself who aided him, using his heart as any other instrument and making it play for his little queen the sweet song of love.

After that day, they started exchanging letters. Sometimes they were longer than some of the scrolls he used for studies, and other times they were short but precious messages about safe travels and daily routines.

But despite that, it was hard to say what they were.

Hector would shamelessly admit to himself and only himself that any time an opportunity struck, he would let the sails carry him toward rocky Ithaca, or that he took advantage of some important meetings to do more than just represent his city. He has no idea how many times in just a year he lied to his father about the problematic weather that forced him to delay his journey home. He would lie on the beach or in an inn and giggle with Ody, who was relaxing on his chest, as he was coming up with a new way to describe a threatening storm that prevented him from leaving Crete for at least a week.

At this point, it would probably be easier to believe he was cursed by Poseidon, if not for the fact that he was a teenager and his dear mother seemed to understand what was going on far better than the king of Troy.

He himself rarely interacted with Spartan royalty or was invited to their gatherings. Usually, it was a coincidence. A shared interest of mutual allies. And so he was more than surprised when he was invited to Sparta with his father.

The Spartan court had always felt colder than its climate. There were no lavish columns like those of Troy, no delicate mosaics underfoot. Everything here was blunt: the stone, the men, the politics. Even the air seemed to demand obedience, not reverence.

Hector sat at his father's side, draped in the red and gold of Troy, his posture perfect, hands folded in silent attentiveness. Or what passed for attentiveness. In truth, his thoughts drifted as Priam and King Tyndareus argued over sea routes and accusations of piracy thinly disguised as "accidental interference." The words blurred together like ocean waves - tide after tide of political theater. The biggest challenge for him was not to be claimed by Hypnos while the two kings argued like two children, unwilling to share their toys.

The discussion had been going in circles for nearly an hour when Odysseus, seated near the Spartan king, leaned forward. Her voice, calm and composed, cut through the ambient tension.

"If I may," she said. "The routes around Delos have been the most contested. I propose Sparta continues to claim the southern arc while Troy adjusts northward for winter trade winds. Both ports benefit from better seasonal access, and neither risks unnecessary confrontation."

It was a clean, rational solution. Hector could see that even Tyndareus approved.

But Priam, frowning deeply, leaned back in his seat. "And what place does Ithaca have in this matter? You speak of neutrality, yet you trade openly with Sparta."

Odysseus didn't flinch. "And also with Troy. Black and white wool, olive oil, and wine move through my docks to your city's markets each season. The records are available if you'd like them."

Her tone remained respectful but firm. Unshaken.

Priam's expression didn't change, though Hector could tell the reply had stung his pride.

Across the stone chamber, Tyndareus gave a low hum of satisfaction. "She is here," he said, lacing his fingers together, "because she is a trusted advisor. One of the few I can truly rely on. And because, unlike many men thrice her age, she knows how to solve a crisis without demanding tribute first."

Priam's lip curled. "She is what - seventeen now? You would have your foreign policy built upon the opinions of a little girl?"

Tyndareus chuckled, leaning back in his chair with the easy confidence of a man unafraid of ruffling royal feathers. "And how old is your son here - barely nineteen? Or how old were you when you took over your father's cursed throne? Would you discredit a crowned queen of Ithaca while trusting your own blood to wield a sword and shield? Should we cast aside his armor next? She's ruled since fifteen, and in two short years, she's outwitted nobles, brokered ceasefires, and strengthened harbors across the Ionian. If she were a prince with that mind, you'd already be offering a royal wedding feast in Troy."

He gestured toward the young queen. Her gaze was still focused on the maps in front of her. "Her record speaks louder than half the kings in this room. Experience, intellect, poise. What more proof do you require?"

As Tyndareus finished, Queen Odysseus herself turned a calm gaze across the chamber, and though her expression was composed, there was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes at how her position was being defended. When Hector met her gaze, she did not gloat or smirk - she simply acknowledged it like a ruler who knew her worth. Then, as if she sensed something, she turned that gaze briefly toward Priam, unflinching. He said nothing, but his jaw tightened.

What surprised Hector most was what happened next. When Priam had scoffed at her age and judgment, it was Queen Odysseus who took a slow breath and said to the Spartan ruler, "Prince Hector has commanded men since seventeen. Led campaigns, even. He possesses wisdom and skill, making him worthy of being a champion of Apollo, so it means he is undoubtedly worthy of praise and respect from the people in this room."

The silence was immediate, heavy. Hector blinked in surprise, his ears warming, and for the first time, he was aware of the blush threatening to rise in his cheeks. He managed a composed, "Thank you, your grace," though his voice had a touch more warmth than he intended.

She gave him the barest of nods, a flicker of a smile at the corners of her lips - not mocking, but kind. The same kindness he would witness so many times on the beautiful beaches of her kingdom.

And Priam saw it. Saw his son blush. Saw the Queen of Ithaca let it happen.

He said nothing, but Hector knew his father noticed everything. Every glance. Every crack in the armor.

Before any more could be said, a servant entered, bowing deeply. "Letters from Ithaca, my majesty," he said, offering a sealed bundle to Odysseus.

She stood, nodded politely to both kings, and excused herself. Her footsteps echoed softly across the stone, purposeful and calm. Hector's gaze followed her until the doors closed behind her.

Then, Tyndareus gave a low hum of satisfaction.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice rich with admiration - but beneath it, a strategic gleam. "She is sharp, ruthless, and loyal. As a champion of the bright-eyed goddess, she is both a strategist and scholar. The future of diplomacy, whether you like it or not. And she's proven it time and time again. You mock her youth, but she has outwitted artisans, outmaneuvered generals, and quelled uprisings with fewer resources than most of us would dare try."

Then, turning to Priam more directly, Tyndareus allowed himself a careful smile. "I see her not just as a sovereign ruler but as someone whose potential has yet to be matched. Sparta has long thrived under wise rulers, and I imagine a future where that wisdom is doubled - shared." He let the word hang there, then added, "Castor or Pollux - either would be fortunate to share the rule with her. And Sparta, even more so."

He didn't bother masking it; he was still planning. Still imagining her not just as an ally - but as a queen of Sparta, by marriage, and by choice. There was no mention of Ithaca's succession, but Hector suspected there were wheels turning there, too. Quiet, strategic ones.

Then, Tyndareus said, almost as an afterthought, "And yes - she is growing beautiful. Formidable in mind and form. If that unsettles you, King Priam, perhaps it's because you've noticed the way princes glance at her way too long."

Hector's spine straightened. That comment struck deeper than he wanted to admit. Tyndareus had noticed. Had he?

His cheeks flushed again - cursed heat - and he quickly looked away. But his father had already noticed.

The meeting had dragged on for some time after Odysseus's departure, filled with quieter, less purposeful debate. The air grew heavy with strained courtesy and veiled threats until, one by one, the advisors and aides made their polite exits. Priam and Hector remained until the stone hall fell into silence once more.

Only then did Priam speak. His voice was low and clipped as he began walking alongside Hector down the shaded colonnade, their steps sharp against the marble floor.

"You were staring at her," he said flatly.

Hector stiffened slightly but kept his tone even. "I was listening."

Priam gave a dry, humorless laugh. "With your eyes? Gods help us if Tyndareus had seen you blushing like a maiden."

Hector tried not to react. "She defended my record. I thought it deserved acknowledgement."

"She doesn't give things for free. Especially not flattery." Priam's voice carried a warning now. "You're lucky the Spartan king was too focused on his plotting to notice."

They turned a corner where the evening sun sliced gold through the columns, casting long shadows across their path. Priam's jaw remained tight.

"Tyndareus wants her tied to Sparta - make no mistake. One of his twin sons will be paraded like an honored gift until she accepts. His eyes shine with the thought of her ruling beside Castor or Pollux. Their god-blessed power, paired with her cunning mind, might become problematic for us in the future."

Hector looked straight ahead, expression neutral. "She is already a queen. She doesn't need another crown."

"And yet they'll offer her one anyway," Priam muttered. "Because she's brilliant. Because he somehow finds her beautiful. And because men like Tyndareus think all brilliant, beautiful things can be owned."

There was a pause, and Priam glanced sideways at his son.

"That includes you, too. So don't be a fool. Don't become an easy target for her honey-coated trickery."

Hector didn't reply. The image of Odysseus lingered in his mind - how calm she looked under pressure, how she disarmed the room without raising her voice, how she had called him worthy before all others.

Privately, he was reeling - not from his father's words, but from how close they came to the truth. Dangerous? Yes. But not in the way Priam feared.

She didn't manipulate that room for herself. She played no game for glory. She solved, she listened, and she moved the tide without splashing.

And in the private-

The way she smiled. The softness of her voice in the dark. The kisses by moonlight. Her fingers in his hair. Her heartbeat under his hand.

He kept walking, slower now, caught somewhere between memory and longing, while his father walked a step ahead - still talking of strategy, of caution, of politics.

But Hector's heart, traitorous and quiet, was already elsewhere.

With her.

The night was still young, and yet the celebration was already filled with drunk guests encouraging reckless actions. Pylos was a beautiful place, and Nestor's hospitality knew no end. It was the wedding of one king's many sons. The Trojan prince feared that one day he would experience similar chaos with his family, but since he is the oldest, he has some time not to worry about it. Hector had seen Odysseus only in passing these last few months, their encounters brief and bound by duty. Tonight, however, fortune favored him. She was here, laughing in the warm glow of the firelight, speaking with Castor and Pollux.

Hector found Odysseus in the midst of a lively conversation with Castor and Pollux. The three of them stood near one of the long banquet tables, their laughter blending into the cheerful hum of the wedding celebration.

"It still amazes me how many children Nestor has," Odysseus was saying, shaking her head with amusement. "I lost count after the first five weddings I was invited to."

Pollux chuckled. "At this rate, we might as well assume every wedding in Pylos is for one of his offspring."

Castor smirked. "Maybe he's trying to marry them all off before they start a kingdom of their own and rival his."

Odysseus let out a short laugh. "It at least explains why we are here. Surely, he's already eyeing us as potential candidates for the next match."

"Speak for yourself," Pollux said, crossing his arms. "If I so much as see this old man approaching with that look in his eye, I'm making an excuse to leave."

"With your lacking social skills?" Mocked Castor. "It would be way safer for you to just jump through the window and run back home."

The three of them were laughing when Hector approached them, unable to stop himself from watching the way Castor and Pollux interacted with Odysseus. The way Castor leaned in just slightly closer than necessary, the way Pollux's gaze lingered on her when she wasn't looking. It was subtle - perhaps too subtle for Odysseus to notice - but Hector saw it clearly.

And he didn't like it.

"Still standing after all that wine, I see," Hector said as he reached them.

Odysseus turned to him with a grin. "Barely. I have Castor and Pollux to keep me steady." She patted one of the twins on the chest in a similar fashion to someone showing off their horse.

Pollux, in an attempt to be helpful - or perhaps to be in the center of attention - reached for a tray of food from a passing servant. He held it in front of Odysseus, only to lift it just as she reached for it.

Odysseus blinked at him, then scowled. "Pollux."

Pollux smirked. "What? If you want it, you'll have to try a little harder."

She gave him a flat look before going on her toes and stretching out her arm, only for Pollux to raise the tray higher.

"Don't tell me that the mighty queen's biggest weakness is the high ground - or rather lack thereof."

Hector watched as Odysseus pouted, her brows knitting together in frustration.

"You know," she muttered, "it's bad enough that Menelaus is starting to tower over me. I don't need you reminding me of how short I am."

"Starting to?" Chuckled Pollux. "Ody, He's already a head taller than you."

Castor, laughing, reached out and ruffled her hair. "There, there, little Ody. Maybe next year you'll grow."

Odysseus let out an indignant huff and swatted his hand away. "I hate you both."

"You love us~," Pollux corrected, finally lowering the tray. "Here, take your pick."

Odysseus muttered something about "insufferable brothers" but plucked a small honeyed fig from the tray nonetheless. She took a bite, still glaring at Pollux, who merely grinned in response.

Hector watched their dynamic with interest. The way the twins lingered near her, the way their eyes flicked toward her whenever she laughed - it was obvious. And yet she stood among them with the ease of a sister, not a woman entertaining suitors. Was she unaware, or was she just that good at playing obliviousness?

Hector saw an opportunity in the temporary silence and decided to take it. "Odysseus, would you walk with me?"

Odysseus glanced at him, then at her Spartan companions. "Trying to steal me away?"

Pollux frowned slightly. "We were in the middle of a conversation."

Odysseus smiled, patting his shoulder. "I'll find you both later. Don't approach Nestor and especially avoid his daughters."

She followed Hector away from the fire, toward the quieter part of the gardens where the torches cast flickering shadows against the stone. The air was cooler here, and the hum of distant conversation provided a comfortable backdrop.

"So," Odysseus mused, hands clasped behind her back, "was there something in particular you wished to discuss, or did you just miss my company?"

Hector smirked. "Perhaps both."

"How charming."

They walked for a time, speaking of lighter things - of Ithaca's bountiful fishing season, of the latest gossip from Troy, of an unfortunate incident where one of Hector's younger brothers had mistaken a senator's wig for a particularly stubborn bird's nest.

Odysseus laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "I swear, every time I hear of Troy, there's some ridiculous story involving your family."

"It keeps life interesting."

Their conversation turned quieter as they reached the edge of the garden, where a lone olive tree stood against the night sky. Hector hesitated, then exhaled. "Can I ask you something?"

Odysseus leaned against the tree, watching him. "Go ahead."

Hector ran a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure of how to phrase it. "Do you ever feel… unworthy?"

Odysseus blinked. "Unworthy?"

Hector crossed his arms. "I am to be Troy's future king, yet I wonder if I will ever be ready. No matter how much I train, study, or travel, it never feels like enough. People always compare me to my brother when I make the slightest mistake. You took the throne at such a young age, and you seem to carry it with ease. I-" He exhaled sharply. "Sometimes, I fear I will never be what my people need."

For a moment, Odysseus was silent. Then, with a soft sigh, she pushed off the tree and approached him. "I wasn't ready either," she admitted. "I became queen because my father was going mad."

Hector turned to her, frowning. "What?"

She gave a small, wry smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I might have worn the crown since I was fifteen, but I was performing my duties even before that." She sighed tiredly. "Laertes was a good king once, but he started unraveling not long after my birth. My dark hair and my weird eyes… he accused my mother of being unfaithful. I remember how he yelled the names of men he suspected of siring me as if trying to summon them."

Hector's eyes widened. "Surely-"

"It took years before Athena herself confirmed that I was my father's daughter, but it never fixed the strain in our relationship or his withering mind." Odysseus's voice was steady, but there was something heavy beneath it. "When I was a kid, I already felt like I had to prove my worth. Someone worthy of a crown and someone worthy of being called his child. So, I ventured to Sparta, where I trained and accepted every challenge thrown my way. And when my father could no longer rule, I secretly took his place. For two years, my father sat on the throne while I made the real decisions, just to protect his good name and Ithaca's stability. Not because I was ready, but because I had no other choice. Then he passed away, and despite how sad it made me, it made me feel at ease. There was one secret less to hide."

"It had to be very difficult for you."

"I can't say it was effortless." Chuckled the woman humorlessly. "At first, the bright-eyed goddess had to spend weeks teaching me how to control my emotions so I would not start crying every other meeting. But with time, it became easier, and from what I heard from other kings, we are not the first or the last ones to feel that way."

Hector studied her in the moonlight. Her hair was as dark as the night, and her left eye was as bright as the stars in the sky. It was hard to believe that such beautiful features would be seen as anything other than gifts from the heavens above, and yet it happened. Odysseus was able to overcome the challenge and become the wise and beautiful woman that she is today. She was just seventeen, and so far, Hector could count on one hand the kings who (at least in his eyes) earned nearly as much respect as she did. "You've really done well."

She smiled. "And so will you."

He exhaled, feeling some of the weight ease from his chest. "Thank you."

They stood in silence; slowly, he reached for her hand. Odysseus did not pull away. The prince of Troy was fighting with himself to say something. It could be the best or the worst choice of his life. For all the moments they shared, he never said anything as simple as "I love you." Every time he tried, he started to fear that all they had done up to this point was just fooling around or a way to temporarily escape their responsibilities.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His heart was beating, and he started to worry that his hands were getting sweaty. Hector was slowly ready to let go of her hand for that exact reason when he heard Odysseus speak. Her voice was quiet, as if she were whispering a secret to him.

"You know-" She hesitated for a moment before she continued. Her gaze never left their hands. "It would for sure be easier for us if we had someone by our side."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I- What I want to say is- It's nice to have someone with you. To give helpful advice, share opinions, offer a shoulder to cry on - or-" They looked each other in the eyes. "-Or to be like this." Despite clear nervousness, a gentle smile adorned her face. The prince of Troy smiled as well, and while looking her in the eyes, he brought the small hand he held to his lips and gently kissed it.

They stayed that way for a long moment, fingers entwined, the night wrapping around them in quiet understanding. They lean in on one another, just for a moment, before Hector straightens at the sound of approaching footsteps. Odysseus sighed, turning her head just as Nestor, the wise and ever-watchful king of Pylos, approached them, a cup of wine in each hand. The old king had a big grin while humming the melody that was heard from the halls, and his long beard and mustache hid most of his red face from the alcohol.

"Now, now," Nestor said, his voice warm with amusement, "what are two honored guests doing here in the shadows while the rest of us are making merry? People would shame me and call me an awful host if I left you empty-handed."

Odysseus smiled, accepting the cup. "A bit too much merriment all at once. We needed a moment to catch our breath."

"Ah, yes." Nestor nodded sagely. "Feasts can be overwhelming. However, I have found that good company and good conversation can be a remedy for that. Back in my days, a good feast would have been more effective than more than one signed pact."

Hector took a slow sip of wine. "Wise words, my lord."

Nestor grinned. "I've had many years to gather wisdom. And to gather children, it seems."

Odysseus laughed. "I must admit. You do have quite a few."

"Enough to fill a city, some jest." Nestor chuckled. "And yet, they are each fine men and women in their own right. My son Thrasymedes, for instance, is quite the archer. He recently won a contest against the son of Ares. You'd enjoy speaking with him, Queen Odysseus; you both are a fine blend of persistence and joy."

She smiled politely, but Hector felt her hand twitch. "An archer, you say? I do have an appreciation for the bow."

"Indeed! He often speaks of seeking greater challenges and learning from those with skill. I know he would be more than happy to experience a mentorship from an experienced warrior such as yourself." Nestor gestured toward the gathering. "Perhaps a conversation between you two could be enlightening."

"Ah, you flatter me, my lord. But my experience comes from my skills with logistics and tactics. Archery, for now, is nothing more than a passion of mine that I one day hope to turn into something more dependable. I don't think I would be able to bring anything to the table in that subject, at least not yet."

"And my younger son, Echephron-"Continued the king of Pyos with no less determination. His voice was still filled with laughter, if not a little slurry due to wine. "he has a keen interest in the sea. I hear you are quite the sailor yourself. He would enjoy stories of your journeys, I'm certain."

Odysseus cleared her throat. "Ah, well, I wouldn't want to take any of them from their evening. After all, tonight is dedicated to their older brother."

"Nonsense!" Nestor laughed. "A wedding is for meeting new friends and feasting at the cost of old bastards like me. And you, Prince Hector - I imagine a man of your stature has had many an offer, but perhaps-"

Hector nearly choked on his wine. "I-"

"My daughter Epicaste-"

Odysseus and Hector shared a brief, panicked glance.

Thinking fast, Hector blurted, "You see, my lord. I would be more than happy to meet your vast family, but it would make me an inadequate lover if I left my beloved in the cold of the night."

A beat of silence.

Odysseus froze her cup of wine halfway to her lips. Nestor raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

"Oh?" Nestor said, his sharp eyes flickering between them.

Odysseus hesitated for only a moment before straightening, slipping her arm through Hector's with feigned ease. "Yes. It's… fairly recent development, and probably an experienced man such as yourself knows how hard it is for us rulers to be blessed with crumbs of privacy."

Hector felt the warmth of her touch against his skin. "We hadn't intended to make it public yet," he added hastily. "But it's the truth. And isn't a wedding a perfect time to be shared with someone your heart beats for?"

Nestor was silent for a long moment before he smiled knowingly. "Ah, love~. A force greater than war or politics. Far be it from me to stand in the way of that." Your kindness knows no bounds."

Nestor took a final sip of his wine (From Hector's cup, but nobody would dare to stop him), nodding to himself. "Well, I suppose I should seek out another guest for an introduction or two. The night is still young, after all. Maybe Ajax finished the drinking contest."

With a final, amused glance, the old king turned and disappeared back into the palace.

Once they were alone, Odysseus sighed. "Well. That happened. Should we go, or would you like to stay here with your beloved?" Teased the queen lightly.

Hector exhaled slowly. "I panicked."

"I noticed."

"And you just… went along with it."

Odysseus smirked. "Well, it was that or be introduced to every eligible prince of Pylos."

Hector shook his head, chuckling. "So, that's how it is, then? We stumble into being lovers?"

Odysseus pretended to think. "It does lack a certain… romance."

He sighed. "I wanted to do this properly. To say something meaningful."

Odysseus turned to him, her expression softer now. "Then say something meaningful."

Hector hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest. But words were difficult, even now. So, instead, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. She squeezed back. Then, with his other hand, he gently placed it on her cheek; he moved closer until he could kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. The young prince didn't move back; their foreheads were touching when he whispered, "I love you. Would you let me adore you as one does a lover?"

A tear fell down her face, and Hector gently wiped them with his thumb. He looked at her with worry, only to see a smile so beautiful it seemed ethereal. She whispered back. "Only if you let me do the same." He answered by kissing her again; it was longer than the last one but not as long as the one they shared by the river. When they parted, they both chuckled. Maybe it was from the bliss they felt, or maybe lingering disbelief. No matter what it was, they were happy, and the thought that they were together filled their hearts with warmth.

A moment of silence stretched between them before she tilted her head toward the dim light coming from the doors. "So, now that we're officially lovers, should we do something lover-like?"

He chuckled. "Such as?"

She grinned. "Dance with me."

"Have you ever seen me dancing?"

"No, that's what makes it more exciting."

"Do you want to embarrass me in front of everyone gathered?"

"I only want to take this opportunity for us to act like lovers without fear of being discovered. After all, if anyone complains, we can always blame it on wine, my dear~."

Hector exhaled through his nose, half in exasperation, half in amusement. "I suppose that's only fair, darling."

She led him forward, and as they stepped into the light of the torches, the music swelled, and the world felt smaller again - just the two of them.

Two lovers enjoying their little world