I know what happened the second I see the look on Achilles’s face. He’s so used to being in the right that when he knows he fucked up, he acts like a dog who chewed up my favorite pair of shoes. He walks through the door into my rooms with his shoulders bowed, and he won’t meet my eyes. Considering where he just was and the familiar flush to his skin, I can take two guesses to figure out what he’s done. He all but confirms it when he finally speaks. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.”
No need to ask for clarification. The evidence is right there in the scratches on his forearm and the faint perspiration dampening the dark hair at his temples.
He had sex with Helen Kasios.
I drag in a slow breath, but it doesn’t help because all I can smell is the faint scent of fucking still clinging to him. Achilles takes a step toward me, but I hold up my hand. “Go take a shower before you try to tell me you’re sorry.”
He curses and veers toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. From the back, I can see more scratches peeking out at the neck of his T-shirt. My stomach twists. I have absolutely no logical reason to be upset about this. We’re not exclusive. Achilles fully intends to win Ares and that means marrying Helen. Demanding that he not sleep with his wife is a ridiculous ask and unfair. I knew what I was signing up for when I fell in love with this man.
He was never meant to be only mine.
But all the logic in the world can’t quell the awful feeling twisting in my stomach. Tighter and tighter, harsher and harsher. I don’t mean to speak, but as he opens the bedroom door, the words slip free. “You hate Helen.”
Achilles glances over his shoulder at me. “‘Hate’ might be a strong word.” He has the grace to look ashamed, but there’s still a relaxed line to his shoulders that speaks of good sex.
The thing in my stomach twists harder. Achilles and I have been together too long to have a relationship free of ups and downs and occasionally intense fights. This feels different. Everything about this feels different. He’s occasionally selfish and impulsive; sometimes I’m selfish and distracted. Neither of us is ever cruel, but I don’t know what to call this except cruel.
“Were you that angry that I was helping her stretch? That fucking jealous? What happened to us not doing jealousy, Achilles?” It’s never been a problem before, but surely he understands this is different. Everything about his reactions to her are as outside our norm as my reactions to her. Achilles might play the golden fool sometimes, but he’s too smart to pretend he doesn’t understand why I’m upset.
His expression goes stony. “This is different.”
“Yeah. Exactly. This is different. So why did you do it?” I rush on before he can answer. For once, my mouth is moving faster than my brain. “Is it because you’re going to marry her? It’ll be your ring on her finger, so she’s just for you?” The words are out before I can call them back. I’m feeling sick enough that I don’t want to call them back. “You said she was off-limits less than twelve hours ago.”
He stares at a point over my right shoulder. A sure sign that I’m not going to like what comes out of his mouth next. He doesn’t disappoint. “She’s already getting to you.”
“You fucked her. Anyone looking at the evidence would say she’s getting to you.”
He clenches his jaw. “She knows exactly what she’s doing, too. She’s trying to cause a rift between us.”
I curse and turn away. I can’t look at him right now, not when he’s being so damn stubborn and misguided. Not when he’s being a fucking hypocrite. “Stop blaming her for your actions. Did she tie you down and fuck you, Achilles?”
“No,” he grinds out.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. It took the two of you to have sex, and I’m not in a relationship with Helen. I’m in one with you. She didn’t put down a ground rule and then promptly break it in a jealous rage after we both agreed to it. She isn’t putting all our goals and plans in jeopardy because of her impulsiveness. She isn’t the problem.”
“Patroclus.”
I reluctantly turn to face him. Achilles looks angry, but that’s no surprise. For as long as I’ve known him, he’d rather be angry than upset or regretful. It’s an easier emotion for him. I thought we’d gotten past him doing that to me, though. I’d thought a lot of things up until we became champions. Now I’m not sure what the truth is. “I changed my mind about the shower. I need you to go.”
He jerks like I reached out and struck him. “What?”
“Get out. I can’t stand looking at you right now.” It hurts too much. I suspected things with us would eventually reach some kind of conclusion, but not like this. Never like this. I thought we had more time. This isn’t the end, not yet, but it’s the first sign of it. I need time to process, and I can’t do that with him near me.
For the first time since he walked through my door, he actually looks worried. “We need to talk about tomorrow.” An excuse and we both know it.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Ajax wants an alliance.”
I shrug. “We predicted that. It doesn’t mean anything has changed about our plans.” It’s even the truth. Nothing has changed. I will still follow Achilles into the underworld and damn myself in the process. It’s always been that way with us. Maybe if I were a better person, a stronger person, I would cut ties now before things spiral fully out of control and he tosses my heart into a meat grinder. He would never harm me on purpose, but he’s careless. He’s always so fucking careless with other people.
I’m not a better person. I’m certainly not strong enough to walk away from him, no matter how painful the future is destined to be. I just…can’t look at him right now. “Go.”
He doesn’t move. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you.” If I let him, he’ll hug me and promise never to do it again, but I can’t stand the thought of him lying to me, even unintentionally. One of the things I love most about this man is that I never have to guess where I stand with him. He speaks his truth, even when it might be hurtful. A small price to pay for that clarity.
Right now, nothing feels clear. He might intend to never touch Helen again, but he never intended to touch her in the first place, and look where that’s gotten us. “Go, Achilles. Please.”
He finally nods and walks to the door. Achilles isn’t one to run from a fight; it took years before he realized that trying to hash issues out all at once instead of giving me time to process is a surefire way to escalate things. It still feels fucking terrible to watch him walk out of my rooms and close the door softly behind him.
A premonition, a vision into our future.
Someday, Achilles will walk away from me, and that time, he’ll never return.
I move to the door and flip the lock. I’m not in the mood for company right now, not that anyone is going to seek me out the night before the first trial. I pace around my living room, too agitated to sit down. Achilles didn’t cheat on me. That’s not what we’re about. But it still feels like a betrayal. I can’t parse out my feelings properly. There’s anger and hurt, yes, but also a thread of guilt.
I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have done the same damn thing if the opportunity came my way first.
There’s something about Helen that gets all my wires crossed. It’s not just that she’s beautiful, though she is. It’s not that once, a very long time ago, she saved me from a bully. It’s not even the cunning mind she’s given me glimpses of during our handful of conversations. It’s the strange vulnerability that crept into her amber eyes the first night and then again when she was on the treadmill, obviously trying to outrun something in her head. The woman is a puzzle, and I know myself well enough to recognize that I am weak for a puzzle.
Most people act in ways I can anticipate, even if it’s illogical. Humans are driven by basic urges, even when they’re playing political games. Everyone wants something, and once I figure out what it is, it’s easy enough to see ten, twenty, thirty steps ahead.
I can’t figure out Helen’s purpose for becoming a champion. She has power, influence, more money than most people can spend in a lifetime. She’s savvy enough not to balk at a political marriage; she’ll have been prepared to navigate it from the moment she became an adult. Is she just another power-hungry Kasios making a grab for a title? Or is this all a rebellious act to stick it to her brother? Neither of those answers feels quite right.
Helen being a puzzle aside, the physical attraction I feel for her is downright uncanny. I have no idea what Achilles saw when I had her on the floor, but I’m all too ready to admit that I was far closer than I needed to be, that my body had gotten the better of me even if neither of us commented on it. And the way she kept looking at my mouth…
I don’t blame Achilles for having sex with her. The problem is I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Jealousy. Anger. Hurt. Guilt. It’s not a simple situation, and the fact that we’re competing tomorrow in the first trial only muddies the waters further.
It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.
When we started down this road, I decided to have Achilles in my life for as long as he’ll have me, to support him and do everything in my power to ensure he realizes his dream of becoming Ares. Feeling hurt that he slept with Helen after declaring her off-limits changes nothing. I will still do what it takes tomorrow to get him through the first trial. Not that he’ll need my help, but Achilles can have tunnel vision when it comes to his goals. If the factors change, he doesn’t always notice. That’s why I’m here.
I just…never expected to resent the role.
* * *
The next morning brings no clarity. I duck into the main living space earlier than anyone else and grab food to take back to my room. I’m still not ready to face Achilles, and I don’t even know what my reaction will be upon seeing Helen.
I was telling the truth yesterday. I don’t blame her for what happened. She knows we have an open relationship. She has absolutely no reason to think she crossed any lines by having sex with Achilles.
My jealousy isn’t logical and has no basis in fact. It’s pure emotion, and I don’t trust it not to surge the moment I see her. I’m not sure what I’ll do if it does. She deserves to be more than the club Achilles and I bludgeon each other with, but I can’t guarantee I won’t do exactly that if given half a chance.
It’s not a comfortable realization.
By the time Bellerophon comes to collect us, I’m filled to the brim with restless energy. The sensation only gets worse when I step through my door and find both Helen and Achilles already standing in the hallway. We were given no clothing guidelines, so I went with a pair of compression pants and a T-shirt. Clothing that’s easy to move in but fitted enough that it’s unlikely to catch on anything or provide a handhold for another champion. Achilles is wearing the gear we commissioned for him, a similar style to mine but with a black and silver pattern on it that’s designed to catch the eye. He looks good, just like the handsome god he plays when he’s required to deal with the public on Athena’s behalf.
Helen…
Helen looks like the princess Achilles has named her. She’s wearing tiny shorts that leave her long legs bare and a tank top that clings to her skin, both a black-gold that shines even in this low light. There’s also glitter on her skin and in her slicked-back hair. She hasn’t downplayed her beauty today. Smoky eyes and black lipstick should be too intense, but combined with the glitter, she appears otherworldly.
They look…like a couple.
Bellerophon clears their throat, and I realize I’ve been staring. “Let’s go.” They turn, leaving us to follow them down the hall in the direction of the exit.
Achilles tries to catch my eye, but I shake my head. I’m not in the mood to try to hash out anything, and even if I were, now’s hardly the time. “Stick to the plan,” I murmur.
He nods, but not like he’s happy. That’s fine. I’m not particularly happy at the moment, either. I glance at Helen again, but she seems lost in her own thoughts, her gaze a thousand miles away.
The other champions are already gathered by the time we make it out there, and everyone is quiet as we file into the vans—even Paris. I end up sitting between Achilles and Helen, which might make me laugh at the irony if I could draw the breath. My emotions are a messy tangle in my chest, so I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing that makes sense.
I focus on the trial ahead.
It will be physical—all the trials for Ares tend to be physical. It’s also likely to be something timed rather than a trial that pits champions against champions. Historically, they save those for later, usually the last one. In the last four out of five Ares competitions, the first trial has been some kind of race. An easy way to cut out the majority of the champions in one sweep. That’s what I’d put my money on.
But just because it’s a race doesn’t mean there won’t be fighting. That’s usually well within the parameters of the trial. People love a good show, after all, and blood sport is the oldest show of them all.
The van stops and the doors open. It’s time. I move first, needing to get out of the enclosed space with these two. It doesn’t matter that neither Helen or Achilles have so much as looked at each other or that the simmering connection between them might be all in my head. I need space. Unfortunately, space is the one thing I don’t have access to and won’t until the trial ends.
My nerves don’t settle as the other champions file out. If anything, they get worse. There’s always a moment like this before I go into conflict, a sickening lurch in my stomach where I’m suddenly aware that all the planning and strategizing in the world still isn’t enough to fully prepare for reality. There will always be variables I can’t account for.
The stakes have never been so high before, though.
Bellerophon clasps their hands behind their back and looks at our group. “The first trial begins shortly. You will have two minutes to study the area before the horn sounds. Once it does, you will have five minutes to complete the course. If you fall, you will be automatically eliminated.” They barely wait for us to answer in the affirmative before spinning and heading down the long concrete hallway that we exited from the other day.
Even before I see the crowd, I can hear them. I can feel them in the vibrations of the concrete around me. It’s disconcerting, but I push the feeling away. They’re not here to see me, after all. Understanding that, embracing that, means I don’t have to think overmuch about them. I’m not here to win. I’m only here as support.
Achilles falls into step beside me. “We good?”
“I’m still angry with you.” Except that isn’t quite right. There’s anger, yes, but the overwhelming feeling is loss. This is the beginning of the end that I’ve feared ever since I fell for Achilles. He might not be gone yet, but the grief still takes root all the same.
He gives a jerky nod. “Okay.” He doesn’t tell me we’ll talk later. It goes without saying that we will. Neither of us is the type to leave something festering for long, even if I can’t see a way through this. It doesn’t matter. The only thing I need to see clearly is the trial.
We step through the doorway, and my attention immediately lands on the course in front of us. It’s a series of raised platforms interspersed with different obstacles. I’ve seen similar on television, but this one seems geared equally toward lower body as upper. There are three pathways from beginning to end, and I examine them in sequence, painfully aware of the large red clock ticking down the seconds to when we begin. “Shoes off.”
Achilles doesn’t question me. He simply obeys, yanking off his shoes and socks. “First route?”
I shake my head. “The jump from the end of that rope will be too tricky to time properly. The second looks faster, but that rope swing on the rail might get stalled out in the middle since it’s so long. Go third.” The climbing wall up won’t be a problem, but descending might. Still, it’s better than the other two. Fewer variables in play, even though it’s technically the longest of the bunch, the course jutting out toward the crowd before doubling back to the finish. Each route has four obstacles of varying difficulty, and there’s the time limit to consider. But surely it’s not that simple?
Even as the thought crosses my mind, people in black file out from the entrance opposite us. They’re all wearing Athena’s uniform, and they have black masks pulled down over their faces. That creates an eerie image, and the crowd shrieks with glee at the sight of them. I sigh. “Of course it wouldn’t be so easy as just getting through the course.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I take off my shoes and socks. Even though I should be focused entirely on the course, on the opponents filtering through it to key positions where they can most effectively stop the champions, I glance at Helen. She’s got a look of concentration on her face, but she’s staring at the first route. It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest the third, but I bite back the words. Helen isn’t my priority. She can’t be my priority.
Overhead, only thirty seconds remain. The lights flicker and then turn toward the boxed seats overhead. Athena stands there, watching us. I thought the crowd was loud before. It’s nothing compared to when the spotlight shines on her. The entire arena shakes with the force of their sound.
She holds up a hand, a conductor to their fervor, and they go silent almost immediately. As the seconds tick down to zero, her amplified voice says, “The first trial begins…now.”
