11

11

Patroclus

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.

His expression goes stony. “This is different.”

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.”

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?”

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?”

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.

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.”

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?”

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.”

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.”

12

Helen

I don’t hesitate. I fling myself forward, veering toward the left side of the course. Each of the routes available is gnarly, especially with the black-clothed opponents lying in wait, but this is my best bet. My upper body strength is great, but the taller champion’s longer legs will give them an advantage on the climbing wall. I have to aim for the shortest route instead. Or, rather, the shortest route that actually makes sense. The middle one is tempting because it’s basically a fancy rope swing, but I don’t like the angle. It’s a trap.

This whole fucking course is a trap.

One of the other champions, a guy I vaguely recognize from my father’s parties, shoves me aside with a laugh and starts across the raised platforms. He barely makes it through three before one of Athena’s people knocks him off. It’s not even a fancy move. They literally shove him and he goes flying, landing on the padded ground with a sound I can’t hear over the roar of the crowd.

I glance over to find Atalanta standing at my shoulder. She’s fastened her locs back and is wearing a bodysuit of deep silver. She gives me a quick grin, the smile turning her scarred face from merely attractive into striking. “Temporary alliance to get through this?”

I should be able to do it on my own. The whole point of fighting for the title of Ares is so that everyone will be forced to take me seriously. But…I’m no fool. I give a jerky nod. “Through the first trial.”

I fly over the column platforms in her wake. They’re deceptively far apart, which forces me to slow down, but it’s a small price to pay. I cross them quickly enough and land on the final one below the rope ladder. It sways and I look up in time to see another of Athena’s people dropping down from above.

I lurch back, nearly losing my footing, but manage to course-correct at the last moment. They land in front of me and slowly raise to stand. The all-black uniform, complete with mask, sends a shiver through me. They’re also quite a bit taller than me. That will work in my favor for once.

They lunge, obviously planning to shove me back off the platform. Instinct demands I scramble back, but I plant my feet and duck down just as they reach for me. From there, my muscle memory takes over. I grab their arm and use it as leverage to stand and send them flying past me… Right to the ground.

I don’t wait to watch them land. I’m already scrambling up the ladder after Atalanta. I haul myself to the top of the ladder and loop a leg over, starting down the other side. The majority of the other champions seem to have chosen the third path, and I catch sight of one of Athena’s people moving through a group of them, sending people flying left and right. Five champions eliminated by the time I descend the ladder.

My feet barely touch down on the next platform when I hear it. A loud whoop and a whizzing sound. I turn in time to see Ajax flying along the rope swing in the center route.

Atalanta shakes her head. “What a fool.”

I frown, trying to judge the momentum. “He might make it.” He’s certainly tall enough to force physics to work to his benefit.

Atalanta and I turn as one to the next obstacle. A series of panels is suspended just close enough that a person could use their feet and hands to wedge themselves along without falling. In theory. The trickiest part is going to be sticking the initial landing and the dismount, which requires jumping from the panels, grabbing a rope, and swinging myself over to the platform. Time it wrong, and I’ll be just as fucked as Ajax. At least I took off my shoes, so I don’t have to worry about the soles of them slipping.

Atalanta rolls her shoulders. “I’ll take the right one.”

It’s slightly wider, which would make it damn near impossible for me to move well. I glance at the taller woman. “Why help me?”

Gods, what am I doing? Checking out her thighs when I’m supposed to be racing.

I shake my head, take a breath, and leap into the left path. The landing vibrates through me, and I slide a few precious inches down toward the empty space below. I grit my teeth and start forward.

As I inch along, I watch Ajax’s momentum slow out of the corner of my eye. He stops a good twenty feet from the final platform and curses, swinging his body back and forth in an attempt to move closer to the platform. It won’t work, but I have my own problems to worry about.

I’m achingly aware of the time ticking down as I move forward. This is so much harder than it looks. I’m in the best shape of my life, but it takes concentration to ensure at least two opposing limbs are pressing against the panels while still moving forward. I grit my teeth and keep going.

I have not come this far to fail now. I have too many motherfuckers to prove wrong. My siblings. Paris. Achilles. Every single person in Olympus who thinks my value begins and ends with the family and face I was born with.

Atalanta is outpacing me, which tempts me to rush, but a single mistake means ruin. I concentrate on breathing as I move down the panel. Step, press, step, press. Over and over again. By the time I reach the end, my body is shaking. I eye the distance I’ll have to cross to reach the rope and swing to the next platform. It looks like miles. I could make it easily if my muscles were still fresh, but I’m exhausted.

I leap.

The second my feet leave the panels, I know I’ve misjudged. I hit the rope several feet lower than I planned, too close to the bottom. The rope swings, but I slide down a few more precarious inches, my legs flailing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The platform is higher than I expected based on where I planned to grab the rope, and my momentum is less than anticipated. It doesn’t matter. I have to jump. I release myself at the pinnacle of the swing and slam into the platform, only my upper body clearing it. My breath whooshes out of me, but I don’t let myself freeze up. If I do, I fall.

I scramble for purchase against the flat surface, but I lose an inch, sliding back toward the floor. Back toward defeat. No, damn it. I have come too far. I’m not going to let a little thing like gravity beat me now. I force myself to go still, to think. If I can get a leg onto the platform…

A dark boot appears in my field of vision, and I look up in horror to find one of Athena’s people standing over me. They raise their foot, obviously intending to kick me in the face. Oh fuck, this is going to hurt.

They never get a chance.

Atalanta appears behind them. At first I think she’s simply going to shove them off the platform, but she’s more of a showwoman than that. She hauls them around and delivers a devastating punch to their face. They go boneless and fall to the platform. Holy shit, she just knocked them out with a single hit.

She grins at the crowd and gives a cheery wave before focusing on me. She leans over, medium-brown skin shining with sweat, and offers me a hand. I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”

I hate that she might be right. My arms quiver, but I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”

She makes an impatient sound, her tone exasperated. “Stop wasting time and take my hand, or I’ll leave you and you’ll fall.”

When she puts it like that, there really is no other choice. I slap my hand into hers and let her pull me up onto the platform. The crowd goes wild in response, the very arena seeming to shake. Atalanta gives me a quick grin, and then I’m in her arms. She doesn’t give me a chance to react before she bends me back into a showy dip and gives me a quick kiss. She sets me on my feet and then she’s gone, racing up the last obstacle, a thick knotted rope that we’ll have to climb to reach the final platform.

There are three ropes, so I hurry to the one in the middle. My arms and legs protest violently at the thought of more, but I’ve worked through that kind of pain more times than I can count. Being a gymnast hurts, sure, but not more than growing up in my father’s house. Really, I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.

I start up the rope, fighting against gravity and my own weakness as I ascend. I’m halfway up when the opponent Atalanta knocked out stumbles to their feet and looks up. I can’t see their face through the black mask, but I feel our eyes meet. They start for my rope, staggering a little. “No,” I whisper.

I did not come this far only to fail now.

I fight against my exhausted muscles, fight against gravity itself, to pull my body up another six inches. It won’t be enough. They’re too tall. They reach the bottom of the rope and jump, grabbing my ankle. The contact almost rips me right off the rope. I slide down a few inches with a shriek that the screams of the crowd swallow up. Another yank rips me clean off the rope.

The platform rushes up to meet me, and I land flat on my face. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. But if I stay down, I’ll be eliminated, and that isn’t an option. I stagger to my feet, the arena spinning wildly around me. The crowd sounds like a feral beast baying for blood. They want to see me fail. Everyone wants to see me fail.

On the other side of the rope, Athena’s person is climbing to their feet as well. They still don’t look steady, but if they’re anything like Achilles and Patroclus, that won’t make them less dangerous. I’ll only get one shot at this.

I don’t stop to think about all the things that could go wrong. There’s no time for that. I take two quick steps and leap, grabbing the rope. It’s too heavy to swing much, but my momentum works in my favor. I straighten my legs just as my feet make contact with their chest. The impact nearly takes me off the rope again, but it sends them flying off the platform.

There’s no time to savor my victory. I haven’t won yet. Fuck, I haven’t even passed the first challenge yet. A quick glance at the clock has panic seizing me. If I fall again, I won’t get another chance.

Fear gives me strength. I haul myself up, hand over hand, with a speed I would have thought impossible. This time, no one assists me as I reach the final platform and scramble onto it. I look at the clock, barely daring to believe it. I did it. I’m here.

I passed the first trial.

You didn’t do it on your own. You needed help, and everyone saw that you weren’t strong enough.

The voice sounds horrifyingly like my father. I shudder, my chest going tight and throat trying to close. It doesn’t matter that I needed help. I won’t let it matter, even if it means I have to go above and beyond the next time.

All that matters is that I passed this trial, so there will be a next time.

I stretch my arms overhead and concentrate on breathing through the ache in my body. Easier to focus on that than the tumultuous emotions running riot inside me. I force myself to look around and take stock of those on the platform around me. Atalanta is nearby, looking barely winded. From the third route, there are ten people who passed the first trial, among them Hector, Paris, the two strangers…and Achilles and Patroclus.

Despite myself, my attention narrows on the latter two. Of course they made it. I doubt they needed help, either. Even more irritatingly, they both have a fine sheen of sweat on their skin and the sign of exertion only makes them both more attractive. A traitorous little zing jolts my body, and I force myself to look away.

Up to this point, I’ve done my best not to think about what happened yesterday. I can’t believe things got so out of control. I never would have slept with Achilles if I wasn’t already reeling from the events of the last couple of days. If he hadn’t tossed me over his shoulder like I truly was some princess a conquering knight happened across and ripped from her safe tower. If he hadn’t essentially offered himself as the perfect target. Someone to take all my ugly emotions out on without having to worry about the aftermath. I highly doubt I can do a single thing to hurt that man, either emotionally or physically.

He might not have been the safe choice of an outlet, but I can’t deny that he was the perfect one all the same. He took my blows and let me provoke him to do exactly what we both wanted. To fuck me like he hated me. Except…it didn’t entirely feel like that.

I know what it’s like to have sex with someone who hates you. Paris proved that toward the end of our relationship. He hurt me on purpose. Never physically, of course. He’s a gentleman. But he spilled poison into my ear when I was most vulnerable, when my barriers weren’t as strong as normal.

Gods, Helen, if you’re not going to do it right, you can leave and I’ll do it myself.

Sorry that you didn’t come, honey. You’re so damn hard to please.

You keep acting like I’m the problem. Have you ever thought that you’re the only one with an issue in this relationship?

Even when Achilles was tossing me around, even when he was growling at me, I still felt safe in a way I never felt with Paris. I didn’t have to worry about being called a selfish bitch because I was after my own pleasure. Achilles simply took it as fact. More than that, he made sure it was good for me. That orgasm wasn’t feigned, and he didn’t leave it up to me to get myself off. He didn’t act like it was a chore to make sure we both had a good time even while hate fucking, either.

After? Well, I can’t think about after too much. I need to dislike Achilles. He’s standing between me and what I want most in this world. I absolutely cannot afford to soften toward him.

Patroclus glances at me, and the second our eyes meet, guilt swarms me. Having sex with Achilles might or might not have been a mistake on its own, but I can’t help feeling extra bad because Patroclus is involved. I went from flirting with him and coming on to him to sleeping with his boyfriend. It doesn’t matter that they’re in an open relationship. The way I went about things is shitty.

Now’s not the time to think about this, though. Not when Athena is lifting her hands, once again calling for silence in the arena. “Congratulations to the champions who have passed the first trial. The second will begin in two days’ time.”

It’s over.

It seems almost underwhelming to be led down the ladder at the back of the platform and guided toward the exit. We were here less than ten minutes. Ten minutes to decide whether or not our dreams would be stopped short or allowed to continue. It makes me a little sick to my stomach to think about how close I came to elimination. If Atalanta hadn’t helped me…

I could have done it on my own…I think.

As we’re led back to the vans, I don’t miss how Achilles and Patroclus seem determined to keep as far away from me as possible. I’m so busy looking at them, I don’t realize Paris is beside me until he drops an arm around my shoulder. “That was quite the performance you put on, Helen.” He uses my surprise to tug me close.

He, of course, ignores me. His arm probably doesn’t appear tight from the others’ point of view, but I can’t get away from him without making a scene. “You would have fallen if Atalanta didn’t step in. No matter what you look like—cute getup by the way, even if I prefer you in dresses—you’re the same old Helen. You can’t function without someone there to hold your hand and tell you what to do. It’s okay, honey. I’m more than happy to give you a guiding hand.”

His words sink deep into the raw spots I don’t show anyone. How fucking naive had I been to confess my darkest fears to Paris? He’s never missed a chance to sink the knife in deep and twist it.

He’s wrong, though. My fears are wrong, too.

I’m not helpless. I don’t need a savior. I don’t. It takes everything I have to keep a quiver from my voice, to offer only calm even as panic flutters in my chest. “Get your hands off me or I’ll remove them myself.”

My skin prickles and I have to concentrate in order not to drop my gaze. I will not back down from this man, will not let him undermine my confidence in myself, will not let him shame me for something he enjoyed just as much as I did. “Let go.”

A chill skitters down my spine. This is the scariest thing about Paris. He never actually threatens, hardly ever yells. But his unrelenting determination to see the world his way regardless of evidence to the contrary? His nice-guy smiles even as he’s calmly launching verbal assaults? It’s terrifying.

The panic fluttering in my chest gets stronger, and a little tremor flickers through my tone when I speak. “You don’t have the right to touch me.” Attacking another champion is strictly forbidden and he knows it. He’s using it against me. I try to duck out from beneath his arm, but he tightens his hold. I’m trapped. All the training and all the preparation and I’m held captive in the arms of a man who means me harm. I try to swallow past the way my throat closes. Not again. I will not do this with Paris again. I look around for help, but Achilles, Patroclus, and Atalanta have disappeared into the first van. Hector and the other four champions are nowhere to be seen, and Bellerophon is occupied arguing quietly with the Minotaur and Theseus. There’s no one coming to save me.

Wait.

I don’t need saving.

Godsdamn it, it took Paris all of a minute to slam me right back into the helpless skin I’ve worked so hard to escape. I am not helpless. I am more than capable of saving myself. I turn toward him until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Paris?”

His gaze drops to my lips and his voice deepens. “Yeah?”

I grab his cock in an iron grip and squeeze. He makes a pained noise and tries to jerk back, but I have too good a hold. All he manages to do is hurt himself. My body hides what I’m doing from Bellerophon, which is just as well. This would definitely qualify as an attack. I twist my wrist a little, enjoying the way Paris goes a sickly green. “If you touch me again without my permission, I’ll gut you.”

I ignore the wave of fear his words bring and twist harder. Hard enough that his knees buckle. “You will never, ever, play with me again, you bastard.”

He straightens slowly. “Helen.” Gone is the anger, quickly masked behind the charm. He’s always been able to tuck away his negative emotions like that. At least until the rare occasions when they explode without warning. Paris winces a little and smiles as if I just did something clever. “Always so reckless. Always so willing to hurt yourself to hurt me.”

Sure enough, his smile widens. “Do you really think your brother is going to let someone like you become Ares? Your temper alone will bring down Olympus. You’re not strategic; you never know when to fold or bend. You can’t even pass a simple obstacle course without help, and you think you can direct Olympus’s army? Don’t make me laugh. You’ll make us weak, easy to pick off for our enemies. Enemies like them.” He nods at the van that the two non-Olympians have disappeared into. “If you really want what’s good for the city, you’d step down now.”

Even as I try to come up with a response, his words burrow deep and plant poisonous roots. I am impulsive and reckless. I have been my entire life. How many times have my father, my brother, accused me of the very same thing? If I weren’t reckless and impulsive, I would never have had sex with Achilles last night. I wouldn’t have made a pass at Patroclus. I wouldn’t have done a lot of wild acts I’ve committed over the course of my life when the pressure beneath my skin becomes too much to bear.

I never would have dared attempt to become Ares.

I don’t care. Paris is wrong. He has to be wrong, and I will not let him make me doubt myself. Not ever again. I swallow past the thickness in my throat. “Next time you touch me without permission, I’ll cut off your arm and beat you to death with it.”

I’d rather cut off my own arm than follow him, so I turn on my heel and head for the next one down the line. Bellerophon lifts their brows at me. “Problem?”

It’s not until I’m sitting there between the two strangers that I pause long enough to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by picking this van. Then the doors shut, and it’s too late. Damn it. I’m too raw to keep my shit together, practically vibrating out of my skin with feelings I don’t know what to do with. I’m not up to sparring with either of these men, verbally or otherwise.

The one with shorter hair, Theseus, stretches out his big legs and gives me a long look. “Back where I’m from, women know their place.”

Wow, he’s not even going to try to soften me up, is he? Weirdly enough, that’s almost a comfort. I don’t have to be sweet and sunny and political in my response. I blink slowly at him. “That must be so nice for you. Where you come from, do they also offer unsolicited opinions to strangers?”

He smiles briefly, but it’s not a happy look. “You’re not a stranger, though, are you? You’re the prize.”

Thanks for reminding me. I glance at the Minotaur. He watches both of us with an empty look in his blue eyes. Creepy. I give them both a mock sympathetic look. “You don’t stand a chance of winning, and our women know their place is equal to everyone else. Go home before you embarrass yourselves.” I feel sorry for the women in question if he’s telling the truth, but where could he possibly originate from? Mars?

Theseus shakes his head. “You’re proof that Olympus is soft. You and your people have lived in the lap of luxury for so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like in the real world.”

Cold slithers through me. “I suppose you’re here to teach us the error of our ways. Lucky us.”

The panic I experienced from that confrontation with Paris comes back—with interest. A single conversation with this man, and he’s quickly competing with my ex for the person I least want to win. It’s more than the threat he poses to me personally; it’s the way he’s calling Olympus soft as if he’ll have an opportunity to change it. Maybe I was too hasty in writing off a coup attempt. We cannot allow either of them to win. I shudder. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He leans forward, but the Minotaur grunts. Whatever the relationship between these two, that sound is enough to call Theseus off. He leans back and closes his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.

It’s just as well. I feel a bit like cracked glass at the moment. One wrong move will shatter me completely. It doesn’t make any sense. I passed the first trial; I should be ecstatic. I should be celebrating. Instead, I’m fighting the urge to cry.

What in the gods’ names is wrong with me?

I don’t have an answer by the time we arrive back at the dorms. I keep my gaze on the floor as we file back to our respective rooms. It’s only when I close the door between me and the rest of the world that I start to shake. At least I held it together until this moment when I can break down alone.

Which is right around the moment I realize I’m not actually alone.

Hermes and Dionysus lounge on my couch. She’s flipping through channels so quickly, there’s no way she’s registering each one. He’s supine on the couch, his head in her lap while she idly sifts her fingers through his hair.

I should be happy to see them. They’re my friends after all, and I was just thinking about how much I miss them last night when I was all alone and out of sorts. I sigh. I should stop using the word should. It doesn’t matter that they’re my friends, because they’re my friends second. As with my siblings, for Hermes and Dionysus, being a member of the Thirteen comes first. “What are you two doing here?”

Dionysus lets out a faint snore. He’s got on a graphic T-shirt from some band I’ve never heard of and a pair of faded jeans. His mustache is curled perfectly despite the nap, so he’s either faking it or he just fell asleep.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the energy for this right now. “I need a shower and a meal before I do anything remotely entertaining.” Not that I can leave the house or property while I’m a champion, but Hermes and Dionysus are more than capable of creating their own entertainment. Especially with the kinds of people the champions are comprised of.

Disappoint lashes me. Trust my brother to send Hermes in her official capacity instead of coming himself. I try to keep my feelings off my face. “How strange that he couldn’t make the time to have a polite little sit-down with me. It’s enough to make a sister doubt where she stands on his list of priorities.” Kind of like when he makes plans to marry off said sister without consulting her first.

I don’t comment on the fact that Hera is the one who suggested I join the tournament in spite of me being the prize. If Hermes doesn’t already know—and how could she?—I’m not about to be the one to tell her. I don’t think she’d run right to my brother with the information, but she likes to keep people on their toes, so I can’t guarantee it.

Besides, I’m certain Callisto’s motivation was simply to stir the pot and cause trouble, even if she indirectly helped me in the process. If Perseus finds out his wife prodded me into this action, it will cause even more drama. No matter her reasons, Callisto did me a favor by snapping me out of my self-pity spiral. I won’t out her. “No one twisted his arm and forced a ring on his finger.” Not like he’s done to me.

As if I have a choice. “Yes.”

She clears her throat, and a startling approximation of my brother’s deeper voice emerges from her lips. “You’ve had your fun. It’s over now. Resign before the next trial.”

I wait, but she seems to be finished. “That’s it? Normally he likes to threaten some kind of consequence.”

Hermes shrugs. “He’s a little distracted. The Minotaur and Theseus didn’t come to Olympus alone, and your brother has his hands full dealing with the leader of their little group, Minos.”

Easy enough to read between the lines. Their leader is here, watching me make a fool of my brother and the rest of the Thirteen. It’s undermining Zeus’s authority and doing the exact thing he doesn’t want—making us look weak. More like making him look weak.

Olympus needs a firm hand.

A sliver of regret goes through me. I might want to wring my brother’s neck right now, but even I can admit he’s likely doing the best he can in circumstances not of his own making. He hadn’t thought to take over the title of Zeus for years yet, but our father’s unexpected death changed the whole timeline. I do want Olympus safe and stable.

Maybe I should resign.

My stomach clenches at the thought, but I force myself to consider it. If I resign now… I shake my head. It won’t help. The damage was already done the moment I put my name forward and defied my brother publicly. More, now that I’m directly competing with the Minotaur and Theseus, I can’t afford to do anything but put on a good showing. I’m representing Olympus against their outsiders’ interests. I’m representing my brother, even if he’s furious about it.

I’m a Kasios, after all.

Humiliating me means humiliating him. Resigning now is weak, and it will make him appear weak. He’s not thinking clearly or he’d have realized that on his own. I take a deep breath. “Backing out now won’t change the fact that I participated in the first place. It won’t suddenly make him look better.”

I suspect she’s right, but I won’t talk shit about my brother right now, not when he’s in a precarious position and I’m partly to blame. Instead I laugh, loud and giddy and fake. “Sure. As if he’s ever let emotions get the best of him even once in his life.” Even as the lie flies free, guilt pricks. Perseus wasn’t an effusive child, but he felt everything very deeply. Our father saw it as a flaw, a weakness to be exploited by future enemies, and spent most of our childhood carving that softness out of my brother, piece by piece.

Hermes considers me for a long moment, and I find myself holding my breath. I might have been friends with her for years, but in this moment, we stand almost as equals: her one of the Thirteen, me a contender for being a member of the Thirteen as well. She finishes a braid and sits back. “Are you sure about this?”

He opens his eyes, blinking at me. “Hey, Helen. When did you get here?”

Dionysus takes my hands and presses a kiss to each of my cheeks. “She means we’re off to get some of Minos’s people drunk and see what information we can mine from them.”

That pulls a laugh from me. “All in a day’s work.” I don’t tell them to be careful. Despite outward appearances, both Dionysus and Hermes are more than capable of taking care of themselves. And each other. Beyond that, this is part of Dionysus’s specialty. He might play the fool in public, but he didn’t win his title by accident. He’s got a cunning mind behind that ridiculous mustache.

I walk them out and lock the door behind them. Only then do my shoulders slump, weighed down by all the things both said and unsaid. No one believes I can pull this off. Not my enemies. Not my family. Not even my friends. No matter what words they mouth, they’re all waiting for me to fail. They’re sure of it.

I turn away from the door and plod down the hall with heavy steps. I need a shower and about eight hours of sleep.

Maybe the world will make sense in the morning.

13

Achilles

I swallow my frustration and pace another lap around the living room. “I’m not hovering.” I am hovering. I have been since we got back to the rooms. I want to blame it on all the adrenaline with no output. That trial was too damn short, even with the opponents causing snags along the way. If I’d just been able to work hard, to expel some more energy, maybe I’d be able to settle down now.

Patroclus sighs and sets down his e-reader. He’s got glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he looks so adorably nerdy, I want to kiss him. Too bad trying would probably mean a black eye with how pissed he is right now. It’s not often my man gets riled, but when he does, it takes a long time for him to work through it. I have no one but myself to blame for the current shitstorm.

He gives me a long look. “You’re getting what you want. Why are you so upset?”

I hate it when he does this. Instead of admitting just how furious he is, he turns it around and talks to me as if I’m the one being ridiculous. It’s patronizing in the extreme, one of Patroclus’s shittier habits. The fact that he’s right only irritates me more. “I fucked up. Why don’t you just like…yell? Throw something? Fuck, punch me if it will make you feel better.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Then talk to me. Stop icing me out.” He’s barely spoken six words to me since last night. I hate it when he does this; he’s sitting in front of me, but he might as well be on another planet for all I can reach him. These kinds of fights don’t happen often, but when they do, they drive home how different we are. It serves as a reminder that one day Patroclus will get tired of my shit and ice me out permanently.

Not this time.

Not yet.

Please, gods, not yet.

I start to say yes, but he’ll know if I lie because I’m shit at it. I hate lying. I’d rather keep my mouth shut and say nothing at all than lie. Neither is an option under his intense look. “No.” Gods help me but I don’t hate her as much as I thought I would, and I can’t blame the orgasm on that shift. She’s nothing like I expected, and yet somehow also everything that I expected. I don’t really get it, but I’m intrigued all the same.

And the sex was so fucking good. It was intense and a little terrifying, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again. When I become Ares and she becomes my wife, it’s almost a certainty.

There he goes being patronizing again. I exhale harshly. “I know how emotions work, Patroclus.”

He doesn’t look up. He just adjusts his glasses and leans back against the couch. “I need some time. I thought I’d made my peace with your pending nuptials, but I have to work through my side of it because it’s significantly more real now that Helen is more than just a theory.”

My stomach drops. Is it happening? Is this the end? It’s come at me too fast, too out of left field. I swallow hard. “What does that mean?”

That’s the problem. If his impressive brain gets going on this tangled situation, he might decide that the end of this tournament is the end of our relationship. I know it’s selfish as fuck to want to keep him even while I’m married to someone else. It’s even more selfish now that I’ve had sex with Helen and there’s a distinct possibility of it happening again no matter what protests I make. Most of all, it’s damn near unforgivable that I can’t stand the thought of him and Helen together without me in the picture. No matter which way I look at it, we’re no longer speaking about a political marriage of convenience. Now it’s messy. It’s my fault, but there’s no easy fix for this.

Damn it.

Still, no matter how Ms. Hebe tried to ensure we were being raised as well adjusted as possible, sometimes the nights were…rough. Wandering the place after dark helped. Movement has always helped me.

It’s been a long time since I felt the compulsion, though. I don’t worry about the shit I can’t see anymore. I see what I need to, and I’m not the same scared little kid I was back then. I’m a warrior. There’s nothing life can throw at me that I can’t handle.

Or so I thought.

I’ve had Patroclus at my side since we were enlisted in Ares’s security forces at eighteen. His moms thought it would be good for him, with the structure and physicality and all. I had a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. I know everyone thinks we’re too different; they thought it back then, too. But even as teenagers, we just…clicked.

I don’t know what I’d do without him. Even though part of me always thought eventually Patroclus would move on to someone who stressed him out less, most of me never believed it would happen. Now, the possibility is all too real.

It’s late enough that the house is deserted, everyone in their beds and keeping out of trouble. Bellerophon or their people will have clocked my movement, even without me turning on the lights. They’re too good to let people get into trouble after dark. I’m not interested in getting into trouble, though. I just want to expel some of this awful feeling churning in my gut.

I’ve fucked things up. I knew that the moment I came out of the haze of lust on the floor next to Helen. Even then, though, I half convinced myself that Patroclus would roll with this the same way he rolls with all my other bullshit. Wishful thinking.

I see the way he looks at her.

He’s never looked at anyone like that…except for me.

I wish I could claim I slept with her solely because I wanted to and not because I was jealous of her and Patroclus. I wish I wasn’t that big of an asshole to do something so selfish just to keep them away from each other. Even when he’s fucked other people, it’s been all in good fun or satisfying a curiosity. He’s never watched someone walk across the room with a longing I can fucking feel even from a few feet away. He’s only been in close contact with Helen as an adult for a few days. How much stronger will that get in a week? In a few months after we’re married?

If he falls in love with her…

Yeah, I’m an asshole. I want to have my cake and eat it, too, and it’s not fucking fair. If I’d slowed down long enough to think about it, I’d like to pretend I would have made different choices. But then, I don’t like lying, do I?

I huff out a breath and open the sliding glass door to the back patio. The heat of the day has cooled, and the night air feels good against my skin. It doesn’t bring any clarity, though. This situation is so fucked up, and I’m to blame for a large slice of the pie. I know that, but it doesn’t mean I’m comfortable stewing over the mess I made. I’m a creature of action. Why sit around and twiddle your thumbs when you can do something about it?

Too bad there’s nothing to be done right now.

Patroclus doesn’t want to see my face again tonight, and talking to Helen isn’t going to change a single damn thing…

I hesitate. It might not change anything, but it’s still true that I don’t feel particularly good about how we left things yesterday. She seemed really unconcerned with the whole thing, but she’s a Kasios; she’ll have learned to lie from birth. Fuck. I should have remembered that. Patroclus would have remembered that, would have pushed for the truth instead of taking her at her word that sex was just sex and I wasn’t too rough with her.

I glance up at the sky. It holds no answers, but I’m not going to be able to sleep now. Maybe she’s still awake. We can talk or fight or whatever. Maybe she’ll actually be honest with me for once, and at least that part of this clusterfuck will be resolved.

Action plan in place, I turn and walk back into the dorm. It’s just as silent, just as dark this time, but I move faster, surer. I had the floor plan memorized the first night; it pays to know where the exits are, just in case. Working damn near ten years for Athena taught me that you never know when you might need one.

Back in our hallway, there’s still a light shining from beneath Patroclus’s door…but not Helen’s. I almost turn for mine, but I haven’t come this far to stop before I at least try to talk to her. I’m about to knock when I hear a thump on the other side.

There’s absolutely no reason for the small hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. This is one of Athena’s buildings, and our people have secured it. We’re the best. The champions are safer than Zeus himself. Helen probably just ran her shin into the coffee table or something.

All the rationalization in the world doesn’t change my instincts screaming that something is wrong. I’ve been a soldier since I turned eighteen. At twenty-two, Athena herself took me under her wing and taught me to trust the very instincts she’s spent years honing. I can’t walk away until I’m sure I’m wrong.

I try the door, and the handle turns easily against my palm. What the fuck? Something is definitely wrong. The time for hesitation is gone. I shove through the door and into Helen’s suite. The room is bathed in shadows, lit only by a single standing lamp next to the couch. That light is enough to catch sight of someone ducking into the door leading to Helen’s bedroom.

Someone damn near six feet tall with broad shoulders.

Someone who is not Helen Kasios.

I’m moving before I fully process the stranger’s presence, a decade’s worth of training and muscle memory kicking in. I rush down the hall on silent feet and shove through the door in time to see the figure standing over Helen’s bed.

A flash of metal in the moonlight. I can’t tell if it’s a gun or a knife, but it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m not thinking anymore. I’m reacting.

I throw myself at the attacker, wrapping one hand around their wrist as I tackle them to the floor away from the bed. They curse in a low voice and then the fight is on. They roll us, managing to come out on top. I’ve got a shitty grip on their wrist so I can’t force them to break their grasp on the weapon.

They jerk their arm down, breaking my grip, and scramble off me to stand. With the black clothing and black mask, they almost look like one of the opponents we faced today. All they’re missing is the owl on their shoulder. But this is not one of Athena’s people. I’d stake my life on it.

I barely get to my feet when they charge. This time, I’m ready. Going unarmed against a knife-wielding opponent isn’t exactly the best-case scenario, but it’s not outside my skill set. I dodge at the last moment, sliding my body just far enough out of the way to avoid the blade and grabbing their arm.

I’m so busy focusing on the knife that I don’t see their fist until they punch me in the face with it. It’s a good punch, so good I see stars for a half a second, which is all they need to kick my legs out from beneath me. I land on the floor with them straddling me, the knife still in their hand.

I react on pure instinct, getting my hands up around their wrist and stopping the blade mere inches from my chest. Fuck, they’re strong. They lean down hard on the knife, putting all their weight behind it, and it descends another inch.

What a ridiculous fucking way to die. Saving Helen Kasios from a godsdamned assassin. When Patroclus finally joins me in the underworld, he’ll never let me live it down.

A dull thump and the assassin goes limp on top of me. I’m so surprised, I shove them up before I realize what happened. Helen stands over us, a lamp in her hands and a fierce look on her face. I blink. She just…hit the attacker over the head. She saved me. Isn’t that a kick in the pants?

She goes to bring the lamp down again, but I throw a hand out. “Wait!”

She hesitates long enough that I belatedly realize I’m not talking to one of my subordinates. No matter how well she accounted for herself in the first trial, Helen is not trained in combat, and this is probably the first dangerous situation she’s ever found herself in. Fuck.

I watch her as she staggers to the phone by the bed and picks it up. If she passes out or something, I’m not going to be able to do a damn thing about it without releasing the attacker, and that’s not an option. But Helen manages to keep it together as she speaks into the phone, giving a quick rundown of what just happened. “Yes, please hurry.” She hangs up and drops down to sit on the bed. Neither of us speak in the thirty seconds it takes Bellerophon and their people to all but bust down the door.

They rush into the bedroom and flip on the lights, already issuing orders. “Secure the attacker and transport them off the property, and do it quietly. Athena will want an update immediately.” They turn to us. “Achilles and Helen, please wait a moment and then I’ll speak with you in the living room.”

I don’t offer to help. They have things well in hand…except for the fact that there’s a godsdamned assassin on the property. “How the fuck did this happen, Bellerophon? This place is supposed to be secure.”

I move out of the way while their people slap zip ties on the attacker and haul them to their feet. They’re a white dude with nondescript features, short dark hair, and narrow blue eyes. They blink blearily, taking in the room and everyone in it. I tense, ready for them to say some shit, but they only glare silently at us as Bellerophon’s people haul them out of the room.

Bellerophon makes a face. “I have to call Athena. Give me two minutes.”

Her honesty surprises me. I would have thought she’d try to play it cool even though I can feel the bed vibrating with the force of her shaking. I twist to face her. She’s gone even paler than normal. I’m pretty fucking sure I can hear her teeth chattering. “Helen—”

Fuck, I’m terrible at this. I always, always say the wrong thing no matter how hard I try. Patroclus would know words that would put her at ease and reassure her. I’m better at action. With that in mind, I reach over, pick her up, and set her on my lap. She makes an angry hissing sound, but she doesn’t immediately punch me in the face.

Slowly, breath by breath, she relaxes against me. That, more than anything, tells me how fucked she is in the head right now. She should be fighting and clawing and running her mouth, but instead, she’s shaking like a kitten. My chest gives an uncomfortable lurch, and I hug her a little tighter. “You’re safe,” I repeat.

She exhales slowly. “I don’t know why you’re in my room right now, but thank you for being here. I…” A little shake rocks her body. “Just…thank you.”

The door opens and Bellerophon walks back inside. They don’t comment on my holding Helen, which is just as well. I don’t know what I’d say in response. Instead, they assume an at-ease posture. “We’re still not sure how they got in, but we should have answers by morning.”

Another little shake from Helen. “Forgive me if that’s not comforting.”

If they don’t know how this person got in, there’s nothing to stop others from doing the same. The thought leaves me cold. I might not like Helen—much—but I don’t want her dead. “You’ll stay in my room.”

She tenses. “That’s not necessary.”

It takes Helen roughly thirty seconds to realize the same thing. “Fine. I’m willing to stay in your room.”

The breath I release isn’t in relief. It’s really not. I sure as fuck wouldn’t be losing sleep worrying about her if she hadn’t agreed to this. I give her one last squeeze and set her on her feet. “Get your shit, princess. Time to switch rooms.”

14

Patroclus

I’m still at war with myself when someone knocks on my door. I recognize Achilles’s brisk impatience and bite back a sigh. I hate fighting at much as he does, but I can’t just turn off my feelings because they’re inconvenient. Obviously I don’t want to be this twisted up when we need to be focused, but nothing about this situation with Helen is logical. Not my attraction to her. Not Achilles’s attraction to her. Not either of our jealousy.

I don’t understand it. I doubt I’ll get the opportunity to even try now.

I open the door and stop short. Achilles, quite frankly, looks like shit. It’s more than the exhaustion on his face. He looks like he just came to my room after being in a brawl. His shirt is torn, his hair is askew, and I’m nearly certain someone punched him in the face.

Dear gods, don’t tell me he slept with Helen again.

I swallow hard, tasting bile and jealousy. “What happened to you?”

He blinks. “What?”

My stomach drops. This isn’t a confession. This is something else. I straighten. He only left my room an hour or two ago. What trouble could he have possibly gotten up to in that time? Obviously more than I could have anticipated. He wasn’t brawling with the other champions; he’s too focused on Ares to get baited into a fight, and even if he did, he would already have been dragged from the dorms. He wasn’t with Helen, or he would still have that kicked-puppy guilty look on his face. “Achilles, what the fuck is going on?”

Shock lances me. The words don’t make any sense. Someone tried to kill Helen? And Achilles was there and… I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and force myself to focus. “Did you recognize them?”

Athena keeps an ongoing list of people who are considered dangerous in Olympus. Not the normal kind of danger that the Thirteen or the powerful families can bring. Her list is filled with people who are either loose cannons or willing to cross all sorts of lines with the right amount of money involved. If I’d had to take bets about the attacker’s identity, it would be on that list.

That it’s not… “That’s going to be a problem.” Unknowns can throw everything into a tailspin, especially during an event as important as this tournament.

It’s already happening. He’s already moving on with her.

I shut the irrational thought down. My fears don’t make sense. His moving Helen into his room does. If we were trying to secure someone after an attack, this is exactly the proper protocol to follow. The fact that he had sex with her a little more than twenty-four hours ago is immaterial. Except it doesn’t feel immaterial. “You’ll both stay here,” I find myself saying. “It will be easier to protect her if it’s both of us.”

Achilles studies my expression. For once, he’s not jumping into action. I hate that we’re moving so tentatively around each other, but I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t shut off my emotions any more than Achilles can shut off his ambitions. Maybe if we weren’t all piled on top of one another from this tournament and stuck in this building, it would be easier to navigate the thorny situation. I don’t know. All I know is that the thought of either Achilles or Helen in danger makes me break out in a cold sweat.

He finally exhales in a rush. “You sure?”

No, but I’m not about to let that stop me. “Yes.”

For a moment, I think he might press me on my answer. I don’t know what I’ll say if he does. This situation is so damned messy. I probably should have anticipated it, but I’m quickly learning that some variables are beyond comprehension. “Then you come to us. We’ve already hauled all her shit in there, and she’s unpacking now.” He makes a face. “She’s a lot like you when it comes to living out of a suitcase, apparently.”

Better to focus on the larger problem at hand.

Who wants Helen dead?

Zeus and Aphrodite are her siblings. Hermes and Dionysus are her friends. Hades isn’t the type to send an assassin, no matter what the greater population believes. Athena wouldn’t do it, not during a public tournament where the champions are under her protection. I doubt she wants another Kasios at the table, but she has no reason to believe Helen will be victorious, not with Achilles in the mix.

The others? Harder to say. Artemis isn’t above murder, though she’s careful to keep her hands clean publicly. The same can be said of Apollo, though I wouldn’t put money on him being a possibility. Hephaestus is a harder read. He’s smart and strategic, and he might have looked ahead and decided not to take his chances with Helen becoming Ares. I don’t think our new Hera has that kind of power, but her mother, Demeter, might. Poseidon rarely concerns himself with power plays and politics, so he won’t be bothered one way or another.

And that’s just the Thirteen.

There are dozens of powerful families who weigh the push and pull of Olympus politics and make moves behind the scenes. Paris and Hector belong to one of them. So do Atalanta and Ajax. So do I.

And then there are the non-Olympians. It doesn’t seem logical that they would be behind this, though. If you’re going to waste the resources on an assassin, why not take out one of the more dangerous competitors? Achilles or Hector or even me would be a smarter target. No matter how determined Helen is, when it comes to the combat trials, she’ll be eliminated. She simply doesn’t have the training or the strength to beat out all the major players.

By the time I have my things back in the suitcase to change rooms, I still have no answers. I can’t even effectively narrow down potential candidates. It’s not my job to. Not this time. Bellerophon and Athena will take care of it, starting with questioning the attacker. I have the utmost faith in them.

I’d rather be chasing this mystery than walking through Achilles’s door, but there’s no other option. No matter how messy my chest is right now, the fact remains that he needs me, and I won’t hesitate to be there for him. We’ve done bodyguard duty more than a few times over the years, and it’s best scheduled in pairs so someone is always awake with the client. As tonight proves, assassins don’t usually stick to business hours. We can’t discount the possibility of there being more in play, so vigilance has to start tonight.

I take a breath and open the door.

The first thing I see is Helen, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. Every time I’ve interacted with her, even when she was obviously out of sorts on the treadmill, even when we were both children, she’s seemed larger than life. That presence is nowhere in evidence now. It’s so easy to forget how small she is. Athletic, yes, but she’s barely five six, if that. Right now, with her huddled on the couch, she seems even smaller. If the attacker was my size, or Achilles’s, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.

The thought leaves me cold.

She looks up and blinks those amber eyes at me. She’s paler than normal, her perfect features drawn and exhausted. Even her hair is a bit of a mess, the dark strands tangled with sleep. She still smiles when she sees me, a little movement that seems almost fragile. “Hey.”

My heart starts racing, which is the most ridiculous response. I should be worried about her safety or her proximity to Achilles or something. Instead, I’m standing here, trying to pretend my palms aren’t sweating because she’s smiling like she’s happy to see me.

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

She pulls the blanket a little more firmly around her. “He roped you into this, too?”

Achilles comes out of the bedroom. “Two ways in and out. The window in the bathroom opens, but it’s not big enough for an adult to get through. The bedroom’s going to be a problem, though. The window is practically a door, and the lock is bullshit. It’s an access point we can’t secure properly.”

Which means one of us will have to be in there with her.

I hate how my stomach drops. I must have a masochistic streak, because volunteering to put myself in close proximity with these two already stings. I don’t know what prompted Achilles to offer to have her stay with him instead of bringing in a pair of Bellerophon’s people as bodyguards. Sometimes, I have no idea how that man’s mind works. No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what he was thinking. He probably decided we’d do a better job of things than anyone else. This was already complicated, and we just made it even more so.

It’s too late to change our minds, though. “I’ll take first watch.”

For a second, I think he might argue, but he finally nods. “Works for me. The couch is comfortable enough.”

He shrugs. “I’ve slept in worse places.” Achilles studies her for a long moment. Does he realize how transparent his expression is? He keeps saying he doesn’t like her, but he looks at her like she’s this strange creature he doesn’t understand and yet wants to keep safe. He’s always had a desire to protect those who can’t protect themselves, but this is different. Finally, he says, “You want to talk about it?”

Another shrug. His casual body language doesn’t match the intent look in his eyes. “Most people get shaken up after being attacked. Have some shit on their mind.”

I should say something, but it feels like they’re having a moment I’m barely part of. My feet stay planted, and my mouth feels sealed shut.

Her smile firms up a little, losing the fragile element. “I don’t fight everyone who looks at me sideways, Achilles. I just fight you.”

I turn away, unable to bear witness to what feels like such an intimate moment. To be reminded of the future I’m destined for, to be perpetually on the outside looking in. Easier to busy myself hauling my suitcase into the bedroom and making quick work of unpacking it again. Staying in motion is usually Achilles’s go-to, but I’ve never appreciated it as much as I do now. The rhythm of unpacking calms me, even if it doesn’t soothe the ache in my chest.

I’m nearly done when Helen walks into the room. She’s obviously just come from the shower, her skin dewy and flushed, her hair wet and slicked back from her face. She’s wrapped up in the blanket again, but I get a hint of a silky pajama strap over one smooth shoulder. I focus on her face, but there’s no reprieve for me there. She’s too fucking beautiful and somehow only seems to get more so every time we interact. It’s not fair.

How am I supposed to keep my heart intact and my head on straight when she looks at me like this?

She sits carefully on the bed and offers me a tentative smile. “You really are type A, aren’t you? Everything in its place.”

Helen looks a little better than she did in the living room. She’s regained her color, and she’s not huddling in on herself anymore. Still, I can’t help asking, “Are you okay?”

Her smile goes a little sad, a little bittersweet. “Because I had angry sex with Achilles.”

They both keep saying sorry as if that changes what happened, and I have a feeling that they’d both do it again if the circumstances lined up. And why not? They haven’t done anything wrong or violated any agreement. I’m the fool who let my feelings get tangled up with a woman I barely know. I have never, not once, reacted to Achilles being with someone else the way I’m reacting to him being with Helen. It’s a me problem, not a them problem.

The logic makes sense in my head.

What comes out of my mouth is something else entirely. “That’s not going to stop you from doing it again.”

She blinks. “I have no intention of fucking Achilles again.”

I try not to bristle, but I can’t help it. Fuck, I’m a mess right now. “He’s a lot of things.”

I shake my head and stalk to the window. Achilles is right; it’s impossible to secure properly. It’s large, and while it doesn’t face the fence, it would be all too easy for someone to perch on the roof across from us and shoot her through the glass. I shut the curtains. “You’ll be safe tonight. Hopefully we’ll have some answers tomorrow.”

I turn to face her. “What?”

That’s a good damn question. If I were more ruthless, maybe I’d do exactly that. I don’t want Helen hurt, but fear never killed anyone. That’s the problem, though. I don’t want her afraid, either. Achilles has always accused me of having too soft a heart, and it’s never been more apparent than right now. Even though it fucking hurts to have both of them in the same space, to see their obvious connection, I can’t hurt her to save my own feelings. “I’m not willing to stand by while people are terrorized just to reach my goals.”

I stare. She’s not being snarky. She’s asking a serious question. “There’s always another way.”

I have. I don’t know why it’s surprising that she has as well. She’s more than proven herself to be as intelligent as she is ambitious. It’s still strange to have my own thoughts mirrored back at me. I clear my throat. “There’s always another way,” I repeat.

For a second, she looks like she might argue with me, but she finally drops the blanket and crawls up to climb under the covers. Her black pajama set is… Holy fuck, I shouldn’t be staring, but I can’t stop. The sleep shorts are split up the sides to reveal tantalizing glimpses of her hips. And that tank top barely covers the essentials, riding up to reveal her toned stomach and pressing tightly enough to her breasts that they’re in danger of escaping. She’s not trying to be seductive, and yet seduction is there in every move she makes.

I jerk my gaze away. What the fuck am I doing? Ogling her after she’s just had a traumatic experience. Ogling her after she slept with Achilles. Ogling her when she’s not for me, has never been for me.

The tentativeness in her tone brings me back to myself. I give myself a shake and cautiously look at her. Thankfully, Helen is fully covered now, the blankets pulled up to her pointed chin. I breathe what I hope is a soundless sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

I almost choose the chair by the window. I even take a step in that direction before my brain decides to provide all the reasons Helen might have suggested I take the bed, too. I discard the ridiculous ones—she intends to ambush me, or she intends to seduce me. The most likely motivation is because she’s still scared out of her mind and my proximity would be a comfort.

I try not to look into the request. She’s already proven herself to be intelligent and strategic. It’s logical that she would believe one of Athena’s people wouldn’t want her dead, even a fellow champion. That’s all.

Still… “Are you sure?”

She nods and reaches a pale arm out to pat the bed next to her. “Please.”

I gingerly sit on the indicated spot and inch back to lean against the headboard. The bed is plenty big enough for both of us and probably Achilles too… I pause. No. Following that thought to its inevitable conclusion is a mistake. Even so, it surprises me when Helen scoots over until she’s nearly pressed against me. I’m over the covers and she’s under them, but I can feel the heat coming off her body. Or maybe that’s the overactive imagination I seem to be developing on the spot.

I clear my throat, desperate to focus on anything but the fact that Helen Kasios and I are in a bed together. I am on bodyguard duty. The only thing I should be thinking about is keeping her safe, not how good she looks in her sexy little pajamas.

In desperation, I say the only thing I can think of. “Who would want you dead?”

I start to protest, but she’s right. “Are you considering dropping out?”

I know what Achilles thinks of Helen and her charmed life, but it strikes me that it would be awful not to have control of your own fate. Regardless of our origins, both Achilles and I have made our choices again and again without anyone forcing our hands. No one has tried to marry us off to secure some kind of alliance or refused to acknowledge anything about us beyond our looks. “I suppose a diamond cage is still a cage.”

The tiniest hesitation. When she speaks again, she sounds soft and tired and not at all the fiery woman I’ve dealt with up to this point. “I really didn’t mean for things to get out of control with Achilles. I…like you. I’ve always liked you. I never would have hurt you on purpose. I just…” She gives a bitter laugh. “I get reckless when I’m hurting, and I was feeling vulnerable after… Well, if you hadn’t stopped the treadmill, I probably would have run myself into the ground. It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I truly am sorry.”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that, but I get the feeling that Helen doesn’t open up to anyone, so I can’t leave this confession hanging. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” Ridiculous that all I want to do is comfort her, hold her until that fragile shake in her voice disappears. I should be clinging to my anger, but it all feels like too much effort right now. I lean against the headboard and close my eyes. “It’s okay, Helen. We’re good.”

Desire shoots through me, as intense as it is inappropriate. Knowing the attraction I feel is reciprocated… Does it even matter? Achilles should be my first priority. Even if I wasn’t his first priority when he fucked Helen.

When was the last time I took something—someone—solely because I wanted to without worrying about how he’d feel about it? He is the selfish one, the brash one, the one with a heart he’s all too happy to give to anyone who catches his fancy. Yes, he keeps part of himself for me and me alone, but even when I’ve indulged with other people, it’s been about a moment’s pleasure rather than chasing a connection.

I feel a connection with Helen. I don’t know if it’s lust or the potential for something more. Up until this moment, I had resigned myself to it remaining unexplored. But Achilles pulled that trigger first, didn’t he? It’s not as if he can blame me for making the exact same selfish choice he made…

I drag in a rough breath and guide my thoughts away from the brink. “Go to sleep, Helen. I’ll watch over you tonight.” And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, we’ll see.

15

Helen

I wake up pressed against Patroclus, his larger body spooning me from the back. His very, very large cock is making itself known. Good morning. Instigator that I am, I roll my hips a little, rubbing along his length. His low groan in my ear is so very Patroclus that I smile without opening my eyes. I’m not sure when he ended up under the covers with me, but I’m not complaining.

This is…nice.

I reach up to trail my fingers over his forearm where it bands across my ribs just under my breasts. “Yes.”

I don’t want to. Not yet.

It’s been so fucking long since I’ve woken up next to someone, and even longer since I’ve enjoyed the moment instead of going through the motions of getting them out of my apartment as quickly as possible. Maybe it’s my history with Patroclus, maybe it the man he’s become, but he makes me feel safe. He let me spew all that bullshit at him last night and didn’t tell me to stop indulging in self-pity or being dramatic. He didn’t call me weak for having messy emotions after being attacked. He just listened and then told me to go to sleep in that deliciously stern tone he adopts when he’s got my best interests in mind.

My treacherous desires whisper that this is what it could be like if things were different, if we were different people in a different situation. If I let down my barriers a little and he wasn’t already in love with a big golden dick. Achingly honest conversation that’s somehow gentle despite the rawness. For the first time in my life, I haven’t been watching my words and hiding behind doublespeak and carefully curated words. Both Achilles and Patroclus bring out different parts of me, and they’re honest parts. I don’t know how to deal with that, but this isn’t the time or place for that sort of soul-searching, not with the stakes so sky-high.

Truthfully, I don’t want to deal with anything right now…except the man trying not to thrust his hard cock against my ass.

Patroclus really is too polite.

That stops me for a moment. “Patroclus?”

I don’t want to speak the words that might stop this, but I’ve already done this man wrong when he didn’t deserve it. I can’t do it again. I won’t. I close my eyes. “I, uh, get reckless when I’m hurting or scared.”

He goes still behind me. “Are you feeling reckless right now?”

My chest goes tight, but I can’t blame him if he pulls away. I’ve never really talked about this before outside therapy, and never with a person I’m aiming to seduce. It’s so much easier to let my partners see what they want to see so I can get what I want—a few hours of pleasure where I don’t have to think about anything but the next touch, the next kiss. This isn’t a carefully orchestrated hookup, though. This is Patroclus. With him, in this moment, I can stop being selfish for once. “Do my reasons bother you?”

The relief his words bring makes me almost giddy. I sink back into him, letting his strength buoy me. Patroclus might be a brainiac, but his body is all soldier. I want to explore it at length. I inhale deeply, relishing the way the move drags the underside of my breasts against his forearm. “Touch me, Patroclus. Please. I need you to.”

I expect him to do it all at once. I really should know better, even after spending so little time with him. Patroclus is a man with a plan, and that’s never more evident than it is right now as he shifts his hand to press to my stomach. His thumb brushes the curve of one breast, a slow drag that has me shifting restlessly against him.

He moves to tug the thin strap of my pajama top over my shoulder, easing it down to free my breast. It’s an almost teasing move, and it only feels more so as he traces the line of fabric, brushing my exposed breast to tug down the other strap, too. It takes a little more work since I’m lying on my side, but once again, he doesn’t rush. It’s a fucking torment. “Patroclus.”

I worry my bottom lip, but I can’t keep silent. “More. Please.”

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, he dips beneath the band of my shorts. I expect him to move slowly in this the same way he has in everything else, but it’s as if all his patience has been used up. Patroclus cups my pussy, his touch rough. We both exhale harshly at the contact.

I have no desire to be owned outside the bedroom, and not even in the bedroom most of the time. The power balance in my life is too precarious, too keen to tip to weigh against me. But right now? With Patroclus guiding us? I love it. I bite my bottom lip and whimper a little. I can’t pretend it won’t have consequences, but when have I ever let consequences get in the way of doing what I want?

It feels too good to stop.

Now that Patroclus has me where he wants me, he slows down again, gentling his touch as he explores me. He traces my opening with his middle finger, still cupping me almost possessively. He doesn’t act a caveman and shout mine, but he’s holding me like he owns me, like he’s claiming me. It doesn’t matter that we shouldn’t. It’s happening.

Achilles said that, too. That we shouldn’t.

A voice inside me whispers that I’m being even more reckless than normal, that I’m playing with these two men’s relationship just so I won’t have to feel vulnerable, but it’s too quiet in the face of my desire. Or maybe I’m really that selfish. Patroclus says he doesn’t care, and that should be enough to spare me any unnecessary guilt.

It’s not like I’ve been honest with partners in the past about the fact they’re just a convenient escape.

It’s not like they’ve cared enough to ask.

I meant what I said last night, what I said this morning. I’ve liked Patroclus since we were kids, have wanted him since I met him again as an adult, when he essentially gave me an itemized list of why we couldn’t go home together the night before the trials started. I’m not sure I care if he’s using me as a weapon to hurt Achilles. All that means is that we’re both using each other for selfish purposes. I should just enjoy it instead of thinking so hard. The whole point of indulging in this reckless behavior is that I’ll stop thinking.

I’m already shaking my head before he finishes speaking. “No. Absolutely not. Give me more.”

For a moment, I think he might stop anyway. This isn’t the impulsive wave that overtook me with Achilles. This is intentional and maybe that means it’s a mistake. I don’t care. I still don’t want to stop.

Apparently Patroclus agrees, because he shifts behind me and wedges his other arm between me and the bed. The new position brings me even closer to him, gives me the sensation of being entirely wrapped up in this man. He palms one breast; it’s less a stroke than him holding me to him, but I’m not complaining. Not when he’s working two blunt fingers into my pussy in the process. Methodical. Patroclus is so damn methodical. It’s sexier than I could have anticipated. It’s more than that, though. He holds me like I’m something precious, something he’s all too capable of shattering into a million pieces.

The difference between him and Achilles is stark, but they’re similar in one aspect: no partner I’ve had in the past has touched me like either of them. I’ve never been cherished. I’ve also never been tossed around like an equal, my strength taken as a given instead of a fantasy. Neither of them treats me like I’m a princess to be coaxed into giving up my supposed virtue or a weak thing that a harsh word will leave crumpled and broken on the floor. The entire time Achilles and I were fighting, I was an enemy to be conquered through mutual orgasms. I never expected it to be so sexy.

Patroclus is fucking me slowly with his fingers like this is the only chance he’ll get, and he’s determined to maximize it for all it’s worth. He presses the heel of his hand to my clit. Not enough to give me the friction I need to get off. No, he’s still teasing me. His mouth brushes the shell of my ear, his voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. “You’re not for me, Helen. You were never meant for me.”

I can’t decide if the words sting or just stoke the need between us hotter. Nothing sparks as fiery as something that’s destined to be temporary. It makes me greedy, makes me want to soak up every second of this because I’ll likely never get it again. I drag in a rough breath. “Then let’s make it count.”

He gives a choked laugh. “Yeah, we’ll make it count.” He shifts away and moves me easily despite the awkward position, pressing me down onto my back. It’s so seamless, I’m still blinking in surprise as he slides down my body, taking the blankets with him. Patroclus pauses to worship my breasts with his mouth, but he’s got a destination in mind and I’m not about to start complaining as he tugs off my shorts and settles between my legs. He presses a kiss to one thigh. “Achilles will get restless and come looking for us before too long.”

Again, that lash of almost sting. I most certainly should not want to get caught with Patroclus’s mouth all over my pussy, but the reckless wave inside me only gets stronger. What will Achilles do? I honestly can’t focus enough to guess for certain. Start a fight or join in? Start a fight and then join in? The possibilities set me aflame. I won’t pretend I hadn’t considered sharing a bed with both of them. I have.

Still…I’m not so far gone that I can jump into this without a little clarification first. If I’m going to feel guilty about this later, I have to know how much guilt is truly mine to shoulder. I have enough already; I don’t need to carry anyone else’s. “Are you using me to prove a point?”

He’s oh so serious. Even in this, with heat turning his dark gaze scorching and his breath ghosting against the most private part of me, Patroclus contemplates my words with the utmost severity. I like that about him. A lot. He doesn’t just fire off an answer and intend to bullshit his way around it being false later. He actually thinks about it and then gives me honesty. How novel.

Finally he nods. “A little. Does that bother you?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. I can’t think properly. I drag in a breath, determined to match him honesty for honesty. “Maybe it will later, but I need you too much right now. Kiss me, Patroclus. If you need to prove a point, do it by making me come.”

His slow smile has my whole body lighting up. Gods, this man is handsome. It’s different from the perfect features Achilles is blessed with. I noticed Patroclus had grown into a good-looking man the first time I met him as an adult, but each time since, it’s like that attractiveness has been compounded again and again. My heart gives a strange little lurch, but I ignore it, just like I ignore the inevitable consequences of doing this.

Then there are no more words. He leans down and drags his tongue up my center. Slow. Methodical. Determined to learn every inch of me. He presses my thighs even wider apart and dips his tongue into me. First a tease, then a full thrust that has me moaning too loudly. I try to arch up, but he responds by shifting, banding one forearm over my lower stomach and using his shoulders to wedge my legs open even wider. I’m pinned and loving every moment of it.

Still, I’m not one to lie there passively and take whatever he wants to give me.

I dig my fingers into his short hair and tug, urging him up to my clit. He doesn’t hesitate, following my unspoken instructions to give it the same thorough treatment he’s given every other bit of my pussy. He tests out motions, his gaze on my face, until he finds the one that has me arching and moaning and writhing against him. “Yes, like that,” I moan.

Pleasure builds in me, higher and higher. Patroclus never deviates. He doesn’t speed up or slow down and shift the pressure the slightest bit. He winds me tighter and tighter and…

The bedroom door opens.

Achilles steps into the room and pulls the door shut behind him. We both freeze. I’m so fucking close, I could cry. I should have known this wouldn’t last, that we’d get interrupted before things escalated enough to truly offer me a reprieve. I should have known this was a foolish, impulsive thing that would most certainly backfire in an aborted orgasm.

I should have known…a lot of things.

I tense, waiting for Patroclus to scramble away from me, to sputter out excuses, to fight or leave. He doesn’t move. If anything, he tightens his grip on me, a silent command to stop trying to inch up the bed away from him. I freeze. Patroclus gives me a quick look as if testing my reaction. Whatever my face is doing, apparently it satisfies him. He turns his head just enough to look at Achilles. “You’re interrupting.”

Achilles’s slow smile doesn’t reach his dark eyes. “Yeah, I know.” He stalks to the chair next to the bed and drops into it, stretching his big body out and taking up too much space. He waves a negligent hand in our direction. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Oh my gods.

I look down my body and meet Patroclus’s gaze. I expected him to look ashamed or guilty. Maybe regretful. I sure as fuck didn’t expect his desire to burn even hotter. He doesn’t seem happy, but there’s no doubt that Achilles’s casual command sparks something in him.

Still, he is Patroclus, and because he’s Patroclus, he hesitates. “Are you okay with this?”

I don’t know. I feel like I’m free-falling. It’s one thing to know I’m neck deep in a messy relationship and sinking deeper. It’s entirely another to… I don’t even know what’s happening here. But my aborted orgasm beats just as strongly as my need to escape for a little while. Didn’t part of me hope this would happen? Yes. I didn’t expect it to happen like this, but it’s not as if it was outside the realm of possibilities when I urged Patroclus to touch me, to make me come.

I glance at Achilles and, wow, his smile might not reach his dark eyes, but he’s looking at us like we’re a banquet laid out for his pleasure and he’s not sure where he wants to start. I shiver. There’s no taking back what I’ve done, and maybe that’s an excuse, but I don’t care. I don’t want to stop. I want to charge forward and see what happens next. “I’m okay with it.”

Patroclus turns his head to glare at Achilles. “Audiences should be seen, not heard.”

Achilles snorts and Patroclus offers another of those little smiles I’m starting to like so much. He doesn’t give me a chance to decide if I’m bluffing or not. He just dips down and resumes stroking my clit with his tongue in the exact same rhythm that had me dancing on the edge before we were interrupted. I whimper. “Oh fuck.”

I don’t even think. I just obey, wrestling my pajama top off while Patroclus works my pussy like we’ve been lovers for years instead of less than an hour. I manage to get the offending garment off and toss it at Achilles. He snatches it out of the air and sifts the silk top through his fingers almost contemplatively, but his gaze never leaves us.

Patroclus’s gaze threatens to light me aflame. Later, I’m sure I’ll have some complicated feelings about playing the part of a pawn in a game between these two men. Right now, I’m too close to coming to care about anything but Patroclus’s tongue working my clit. So close… So fucking close… I palm my breasts, pinching my nipples as he edges me closer and closer to orgasm. It felt so good before, but with Achilles watching…

There are no words.

I’ve never done anything like this before. Oh, I’ve been plenty experimental when it comes to sex, but only with a trusted handful of people over the years. Being Zeus’s daughter means anyone caught in my bed would see horrific consequences. Olympus likes to pretend it’s forward-thinking, but that so-called progressiveness doesn’t include the purity culture that pervades the upper circles. As a result, I’ve never trusted someone enough to let them watch while I fuck. It would be all too easy for them to record while I was distracted and then…

Patroclus turns his head and nips my thigh. “Stop thinking so hard.”

I barely comprehend his words when Patroclus moves, releasing my thigh and pushing two blunt fingers into me. He shifts the angle a few times, searching…searching. He grins. “There.” He flicks his fingertips against my G-spot. Holy shit, that was fast.

My whole body goes molten, the feeling only compounded by the fact that he’s following Achilles’s directive. I look over at the other man, but his gaze is on Patroclus, his eyes narrowed. “Now, her clit. Make her come, loud and messy.”

Once again, Patroclus obeys immediately, moving back to my clit. The combination of him stroking my G-spot and licking my clit and… “Fuck!” I orgasm, back bowing and my heels digging into the mattress. Patroclus doesn’t move, doesn’t stop, just keeps going, driving my orgasm higher and…

I cry out. It’s almost a scream. The pressure builds and builds and then something gives inside me, and I squirt all over Patroclus’s hand. Only then does he gentle his touch, easing me down until the only thing I’m able to do is stare at him and shake. He gives my pussy one last long, thorough kiss and lifts his head.

Achilles’s low laugh draws our attention in his direction. His body language is perfectly relaxed, but the way his giant cock presses against his sweatpants gives lie to the image he’s projecting. As I stare, he palms his cock roughly and grins. “That’s a good start.”

16

Achilles

I can’t decide if I’m more pissed off or turned on. When I heard Helen’s moan, I knew what I’d find the second I walked into the room. She and Patroclus fucking around, or just flat-out fucking. I walked through the door anyways. There’s something selfish in that. If I were a better man, I would have let Patroclus have his moment with Helen without me involved.

I’m not a better man. I’m a selfish asshole.

Watching him eat her pussy… The way he responded to my commands…

We’ve never done anything like this before. I’m naturally bossy in bed, and we’ve shared partners in the past, but not like this. Not with me taking the lead so intensely and him following along without a word. Not with a woman both of us are drawn to in different ways. Helen is nothing like anyone we’ve shared in the past, and this situation is a first for us in so many ways.

I’m not ready for it to stop.

Patroclus leverages himself up to look at me. The entire bottom half of his face is wet with Helen, and fuck if that doesn’t send a bolt of lust straight to my cock. I want to kiss him, to taste both of them mixed up on his tongue. Not now. If I cross that line, I’ll be fucking her again before I leave that bed.

He shakes his head a little as if waking from a dream. “What?”

I make an effort to keep all the tension from my body. “You know you’re not satisfied with one orgasm. You’re so hard, you’re about to come in your pants.” I lean forward and prop my elbows on my knees. “Fuck her, Patroclus. You think that pussy tastes good? Feels good clamped around your fingers? It feels even better around your cock.”

Helen makes a little writhing motion and turns her head to blink those big amber eyes at me. She’s got a shell-shocked look on her face, but that doesn’t stop her from running her mouth. “I’m right here.”

There are a dozen reasons to stop this now, but I ignore every single one of them. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been panting after Patroclus’s cock since that first night. You think he eats pussy good? Let him focus all that attention on fucking you properly.”

She gives another of those long blinks, and I can practically see her brain jumping back online. “You are such a dick.”

I can’t speak to regrets. I don’t fuck with them all that often. Once something’s done, it’s done, and there’s no point to wish on stars that you can go back in time and redo things differently. You live with the consequences and move on, maybe learn a thing or two in the process. Maybe this shit is a mistake, maybe it’s not, but if all three of us want it, why shouldn’t we go for it?

For once, Patroclus isn’t lost in thought. He’s staring up her body like he wants to taste every inch of her, like he’s finally found someone besides me who clicks off that impressive brain of his and leaves only instinct behind. He’s still Patroclus, though, so he shakes his head and attempts to focus. To reason. “I want you, Helen. I don’t want to stop. If you’re good with this—”

I snort at how quickly she responds, and he gives a little laugh. “You sure?”

What the fuck is she talking about? Use what against her? I frown. “The only thing we’re going to use against you is Patroclus’s cock.”

He understands, though. He always seems to be able to make the jump even when I’m floundering behind him. Patroclus smooths a hand over her stomach. “You’re right. This is messy. But what happens in this bedroom is between us. It goes as far as you want, but it won’t affect what happens once we leave the bed.”

That sounds like a whole lot of bullshit. He’s already thinking of the future. She is, too. Fuck, even I am. “It’s already messy.” I can’t keep the impatience out of my voice. “It was messy the moment we fucked, the second you came all over his face. It’s not going to get messier.” But I get what her fear is now. Someone has used sex against her in the past and left her bruised because of it. I try to soften my voice, but it still comes out in a rumble. “Helen.” I wait for her to give me most of her attention. “Patroclus is right. What happens in this bedroom is just between us. It will stay just between us.”

That snags at me even as I tell myself it’s none of my godsdamned business if Helen regrets this. She doesn’t have to see things my way, to believe that the experience is worth the consequences. Not yet. I have plenty of time to convince them both. “You’re going to be coming too hard to regret anything.”

He hesitates, searching my expression. I don’t know what for. I’m practically wrapping up Helen like a gift for him, even if this might not be the perfect scenario he imagined when he thought about what it would be like to seduce her. Honestly, though, he’s probably considered this scenario, too. Patroclus knows I’m a human wrecking ball. Just like I know his mind is ten steps ahead of us right now and thinking too hard about potential outcomes and consequences.

I see the exact moment he discards all that and throws caution to the wind. He gives a short nod and turns back to drink in the sight of her laid out for him. “Yeah.”

Relief and anticipation twine through me, but I refuse to show any of it. With these two and their determination to overthink any given situation to death, there was a decent chance one of them would have slammed on the brakes and stopped this before I was ready to end it. It takes me a few seconds to let that concern go and refocus.

They both said yes. We’re in this. Time to have some fucking fun.

I inhale slowly, letting my plans spin out. I want them both to come hard, but I also want a damn good view. I snap my fingers. “Patroclus, on your back. Helen, on top.”

I prefer to be in the middle of any sexy shit happening, but I can’t deny how fucking hot this is. I might not be the one having sex, but they’re acting out my commands. Patroclus stretches out on the mattress on his back, and Helen wastes no time moving to straddle his hips. She’s a little shaky still, and he catches her thighs, holding her steady. They look at each other, and it’s like I can see the connection between them.

It pisses me off and turns me on. I guess that’s no surprise. Everything about this pisses me off and turns me on. Isn’t that connection the reason I lost control and fucked Helen on the floor like an animal a single day after badgering Patroclus into promising to stay away from her? I can’t erase what’s obviously growing between them, but I’m starting to realize I can ensure I won’t be left behind. “Rub on his cock, princess. Let him feel how wet he made you.”

She plants her hands on Patroclus’s chest and rolls her hips. My chair is angled just right to see everything. The way she drags her pussy over his cock, pressing its hard length down between them. It wouldn’t take much for him to be inside her now. In fact… “Helen and I didn’t use protection.”

They go still. Patroclus looks at me, a line appearing between his brows. I speak before either of them have a chance to. “There’s no reason for you two to use it, either. She’s on birth control. You aren’t with anyone else but me right now. All of us are tested regularly.”

Helen shoots me a sharp look, her pretty lips thinning with irritation. “Speak for me again, and I’ll gut you.”

The promise of more if I don’t fuck this up and piss one of them off. I can do this. I can pump the brakes just enough to make sure everyone is on the same page. “Do you want to use a condom, princess?” I smile slowly, enjoying the way her gaze narrows in response. “Or do you want to ride Patroclus’s cock bare and let him fill you up?”

She flushes a pretty pink and shifts her attention to the man between her thighs. “While I’m inclined to protest just to piss him off, I’m not one to cut off my nose to spite my face.” She shivers a little, her rosy nipples peaked on her perfect tits. “I like the idea of you fucking me bare, Patroclus. I like it a lot. I’m okay going without a condom if you are.”

I cannot count the number of times I’ve heard him say those exact same words in that exact same tone. It’s a protest for the sake of protest. Patroclus wants this just as much as we do. More, even. There’s a fine tremor in his hands where they grip her thighs. He’s fighting for control, to be the rational, reasonable one.

Fuck that.

He curses, and I know we have him. He confirms it a second later. “I want it.”

Yeah, but I don’t want extra room for claiming miscommunication or scooping up more regrets than necessary. “Use your words. Be explicit.”

Patroclus strokes his hands up her thighs and then down to hook the backs of her knees. He jerks her a few inches up his stomach. “I want to fuck you bare. I want to fill you up.”

Helen nods so fast, her hair falls in her face. “Yes. Yes, let’s do it.”

Satisfaction curls through me. They’re doing what I want, and little feels better than that, especially because I know how bad they both want it, too. Just like I know they wouldn’t have done this without my pushing for it. They’re both too damn sensible. I make myself lean back in the chair and relax as much as I can manage. “You know what to do, princess.”

Helen wraps a fist around Patroclus’s cock, and my cock twitches in response. She strokes him slowly, her long fall of light-brown hair shielding her face from me. I want to tell her to pull it back, to show me everything, but I can’t quite manage it. Maybe it’s better not to see the way she looks at him. Bad enough to witness his expression as he watches her rise to notch his cock at her entrance. Patroclus is as shell-shocked as he was the first time we had sex, as if he’s waiting for someone to pinch him and say it’s all a joke, a trick, a sham.

He still looks at me like that sometimes.

I push the thought away and focus on watching Helen fight her way down Patroclus’s cock. He’s girthier than I am, and even though she just came hard enough to soak the bed, she’s still got to work to take him. “He’s spreading you so wide, princess. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Patroclus shifts his grip to her hips. “Slow.”

This time, she doesn’t snarl at me. She simply obeys, moving almost decadently slowly. It’s sexy as fuck to watch the way her body rolls over him, but it’s like an itch I can’t quite scratch. It’s too intimate, too sweet. The way they look at each other, I might as well not be in the room. The sensation only gets worse when Patroclus brushes her hair back and then arches up to kiss her, her face cradled gently in his hands.

Yeah, no, this isn’t what I signed up for.

This time, they move slower. That causes the ache to get worse. Not even Helen’s perfect tits are enough to combat the feeling of being immaterial. I’m a selfish prick. I like being the center of attention. And I’m…not right now.

Helen eases onto Patroclus’s lap with her legs on the outside of his. If I enjoyed the view of him entering her before, it’s a thousand times better now. His cock spreads her almost obscenely, and I palm myself roughly in response. This time, she doesn’t have to fight as hard to take him. She leans back against his chest and slides one arm up to hook behind his neck. “Is this better, Achilles? Can’t pretend you’re not here when you’re making us stare right at you.” Her lips curve. “Is someone feeling insecure?”

Patroclus cups her breasts, temporarily distracting both of us. She gasps at him pinching her nipples just shy of roughly. I enjoy the way her hips jolt in response, seeking pressure against her clit. He knows. Of course he knows. He always seems to divine what his partners need next. He wastes no time sliding one hand down between her thighs to stroke her clit. I can appreciate the fact that he keeps most of his hand up on her stomach, though, offering a clear view of them fucking.

What I can’t tell is if he’s trying to prove a point or not.

Both of them watch me as he winds her up stroke by stroke. She’s still doing that sexy slow roll, obviously not in a hurry to reach any destination. Helen’s breath hitches. “Poor Achilles. Is this better? Now you can watch how much I’m enjoying Patroclus’s cock.” She whimpers when he switches up his touch against her clit. “You can see how much he’s enjoying my pussy.”

Helen’s gaze flicks to where my fist moves in my pants, and she licks her lips. I tense, waiting to see if she’ll really toss the gauntlet at my feet. I should know better by now. If there’s one thing Helen can be trusted to do, it’s escalate the situation. She bites her bottom lip. “You want to shut me up? Get over here and do it properly.”

I’m on my feet before I can think of all the reasons this is a shitty idea. If I wanted to stop, though, I’d ask Patroclus to give me a bullet-pointed list. I don’t want to stop. “Sounds like you need a cock to choke on.”

She arches an eyebrow, never missing a beat of fucking Patroclus. “Bold of you to assume I’ll choke on you.”

Not just ruining what little tentative peace we have with Helen, either. If this blows up in our faces, it might very well fuck my and Patroclus’s relationship beyond all repair.

We’re barreling down a path of no return, and it’s too damn late to stop. I’ve never had much in the way of brakes, always relying on his steadier hand and cooler head to stop us before we do shit we can’t take back. With him balls deep in Helen’s pussy, there’s no appealing to the only god he worships. Logic has nothing on the lust bringing a sexy flush to his handsome face.

I step closer, letting Helen hook her fingers into the band of my sweats. She tugs them down just enough to free my cock and looks up at me. Fuck, she’s sexy, and the fact she’s riding Patroclus’s cock right now only makes her sexier. She licks her lips again. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

The words might sting if she weren’t looking at me like she wants to consume me whole. I can’t quite laugh. Not right now. “I think you like me just fine, princess.”

Her smile goes downright mischievous. “Maybe I just really want to suck your cock.”

Behind her, Patroclus curses. “Then stop talking and do it.” He wraps a careful fist around her long hair and nudges her head forward. I half expect Helen to snarl at him, but she follows his guidance eagerly, letting him urge her forward until she can wrap her lips around the head of my cock.

For all my shit-talking, I only ease forward a little, giving her time and space to adjust to my length. Patroclus does something with his hand between her thighs that has her whimpering and taking me deeper. I hold perfectly still and watch her suck me down. It looks just as hot as it feels, her tongue working the underside of my cock even as her lips meet my base. “Someone taught the precious princess to deep throat,” I murmur, voice rough with need.

Helen pushes against Patroclus’s hold on her hair, and he lets her off my cock. She gives me an arch look. “Now that we’ve established I can take you, stop trying to pretend you have a noble streak and fuck my mouth like you mean it.”

17

Patroclus

Up until this point, I’ve been acting on instinct and lust with little thought behind it. For the first time in my life, the draw of the forbidden is too much to ignore. I know I’ll regret this entire experience later, but the spell cast by first Helen, and then Helen and Achilles, is too strong. It’s only as Achilles sinks his fingers into her hair, gripping my hand in the process, and starts to fuck Helen’s mouth that I wonder what her motivation is…and if we’re taking advantage.

She said she gets restless and impulsive. She admitted as much to me last night and again this morning. She asked me if I was okay with it, and I’d been so out of my mind with need and hurt and jealousy that I said I didn’t give a fuck. Yes, she’s shown enthusiastic consent this whole time, but if the motivation for that is harmful, does that consent mean fuck all?

Godsdamn it, we are taking advantage.

I want to call him selfish. To agree with Helen’s earlier statement about him being an asshole. I should do that and cut this thing off right now until we can have a conversation where someone isn’t on the verge of orgasming or half-asleep or running from some internal demons only they can see.

I don’t.

I lift my hand from Helen’s clit. Achilles anticipates my need just like he so often seems to and leans down to take my fingers into his mouth. He growls a little as he licks the taste of her from my skin, but he doesn’t pause in his relentless pace. I withdraw my wet fingers and resume stroking Helen’s clit. She moans around Achilles’s cock and tries to keep fucking me, but she’s too damn distracted. Too trapped between us.

We move down to our knees beside the bed. The new position allows me to sink even deeper into Helen’s tight pussy. I don’t know if I believe in the afterlife, but this must be what it feels like. Hot, wet perfection. No wonder Achilles forgot himself and fucked her bare. It feels so good, it short-circuits something in my brain. My thoughts keep trying to reassert themselves, but then she’ll clench around me, and they scatter like marbles.

I barely allowed myself to think about what it would be like to fuck Helen Kasios, but reality is so far beyond what I could have possibly imagined.

I don’t mean to match my rhythm to Achilles’s. No matter how conflicted my feelings about him are right now, he is my sun and I am helpless against the gravity he exerts. I work Helen’s clit as we fuck her, and it doesn’t take long before she’s moaning and shaking. Still, I don’t relent. I want to feel her come apart around me. I want to fill her up, just like Achilles commanded. So easy to put the responsibility on him, on his orders, rather than admit I want to experience what he did with her, want to make my own mark so I’m not left behind. This is only temporary, but at least I have this right now. It’s more than I thought possible.

She sobs around his cock as she orgasms, and her pussy clamps on my cock so tightly, I lose control. I release her hair and pound into her. Too fast. Too fucking rough. It doesn’t matter because she’s arching back against me, spreading her thighs to take me deeper yet. “Helen, I—”

Achilles leans forward and captures my mouth. He kisses me like he owns me, like he owns this. I’m not sure he’s wrong. Even when he was sitting on the chair watching us, his presence consumed the space. Neither of us could escape it. I don’t think either of us wanted to. I sure as fuck don’t want to now. I come with the mingled taste of him and Helen on my tongue.

He barely lets me finish before he’s pushing us back. Rough. Achilles is too damn rough. But then, he knows I’m there to break Helen’s fall. She lands on my chest, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to wrap my arms around her. I hold her steady as he pulls out of her mouth and strokes his cock once, twice, a third time. Achilles curses as he comes across Helen’s breasts in jerking spurts. She moans and arches her back as if she enjoys the sight.

Achilles braces one hand on the mattress behind us and drags a single finger through the mess on her chest, idly circling one nipple. “Next time…” He drags in a rough breath. “Next time, I want Patroclus to come all over your pussy and thighs, and then I’m going to fuck his come into you.”

Helen makes that sexy little whimpering sound. “Making a lot of assumptions,” she finally manages.

A shudder of near fear goes through me. Achilles has that look on his face, the one like a hound that’s caught a scent. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him look like this in the twelve years I’ve known him. One, when we went through boot camp to become Ares’s security forces. They tried to wash us out, didn’t want an arrogant orphan and a nerd who’d rather have his head in a book. Achilles had already decided he’d get through whatever they threw at him, and he did, dragging me along with him.

The second time, when Athena poached him, and me with him. Within the first week training under her command, he dropped onto my bed one night and grinned. I’m going to be her second-in-command within ten years. It only took him six.

The third time, the final time, was when he decided becoming Ares was what he wanted.

Now, he’s looking at her, at us, in the same way, and there’s not enough air in the room. Helen doesn’t know him well enough to understand what danger we’re in, but she tenses up all the same. I let her push my arms away from her and sit up. “Well, that was fun—” She shoots to her feet.

Or she tries.

Achilles moves before I even realize her intent, putting an arm out in front of her. Helen bounces off it and lands back against my chest. “What the fuck?”

As much as I like the weight of her on my lap, as much as I do want to put my arms around her and cuddle her close, he just crossed half a dozen lines. I take a deep breath, trying not to react to the scent of Helen and Achilles and sex in the air, and strive to be calm and reasonable. “Achilles, let her go. You can’t just keep people where they don’t want to be.”

Helen didn’t sign up for that sort of game, though. “Achilles.”

He opens his eyes, and for the first time since he walked into the room and caught my tongue in her pussy, he looks absolutely furious. “No, you will not be talking to me like I’m being a dick. I often am, but not this time.”

Even though I don’t want to, I carefully set Helen down between us. The alternative is her vibrating with rage in my lap, and I’m only human. I won’t be able to stop my body from reacting, just having orgasmed or not. Without her delicious weight against me, I can finally think a little clearly. “Achilles.”

Helen shoves her hair out of her face, but she doesn’t try to stand up and leave this time. “You didn’t bargain for a conversation, asshole. You only wanted to fuck my mouth and come all over my chest. Mission accomplished. There’s nothing to talk about.”

As much as I hate the way he’s going about this, Achilles isn’t wrong. No matter which way I look at this, what we just did complicated things beyond comprehension. I feel so damn tangled up, I can barely think straight, and Achilles still has that flinty look in his eyes that fills me with foreboding. Every other time, his goal has been a position or meeting an external challenge. I don’t like to think of what he’ll do if people are his goal.

Maybe I’m reading him wrong. I must be. It’s sex clouding my thoughts. I rub my hands over my face and try to think. “It’s safe to assume you’re not going to resign from the tournament.”

Achilles crosses his arms over his chest and settles back against the mattress. “Are you pissed because you just came harder than you ever have before and that hurt your pride, or is it something else?”

Helen makes a sound that has me fighting not to inch away from her. She’s naked and smaller than I am. What harm can she do? Even as the thought crosses my mind, I shift my thigh so my cock isn’t an easy target. She doesn’t seem to notice, though. She’s too focused on Achilles. “I don’t know, what could possibly be upsetting to me? The fact that my siblings tossed me to the sharks without so much as a warning? Or maybe that my ex is competing in this fucking tournament solely to win me because he finally has external confirmation that I’m nothing more than a prize to be won? Oh, I know! I bet it’s because I was attacked by someone with a knife last night. Ring any bells?”

Guilt hits, a blow that would take me off my feet if I wasn’t already on my ass. “Shit, we shouldn’t have done this.”

Helen twists to look at me. Her mouth is pink from the fucking Achilles gave her, and there are faint tear tracks on her face, but her look of concern is for me. She reaches a hand up and cups my face tentatively, as if expecting me to reject her. “It’s not regrets. I’m pissed and out of sorts and all fucked up, but it’s not regrets. That’s not what this is about. You didn’t take advantage.”

Ironic that she’s trying to reassure me when we sure as fuck did take advantage of her. Gods, we’re two of the biggest pricks in Olympus. “You came into our room to stay safe, and we used that proximity to fuck you.”

Helen arches a brow, suddenly looking more like herself. “Please. I meant what I said last night. I fully intended on seducing you the first chance I got, and I already fucked him.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder at Achilles. “If anything, I took advantage of you.”

Achilles opens one eye to glare at her. “I’d think after two stellar orgasms, you’d be in a better mood.”

I give her the look that statement deserves. Good gods, what have I gotten myself into? “If you’re seeing this through, you’ll be staying in our room until the tournament is over.”

I try to ignore the barbs in those words. She’s right, though. We’re shitty bodyguards right now. Anyone could have walked into the suite while we were fucking, and while Achilles has excellent situational awareness, I can’t guarantee he would have reacted quickly enough in the event of another attack. I sure as fuck wouldn’t have. “He saved you last night.”

This time, neither of us stop her as she steps over Achilles’s outstretched legs and walks into the bathroom. The door shutting sounds unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. Achilles sighs and lets his head fall back against the bed. “Well, that was unexpected.”

He turns his head just enough to look at me. “What part of what just happened makes you think I wasn’t into it?”

I’m not sure I’m ready to hear that answer.

That’s the thing. They wouldn’t have gone back to normal, even if Helen wasn’t in the picture and complicating things. Achilles and I might be relatively high up the power structure beneath Athena, but we’re still just soldiers. At the end of this tournament, Achilles will become Ares. One of the thirteen most powerful people in Olympus. There is no going back to normal after that. He’ll be thrust into the spotlight with Helen at his side as his wife. No matter how much he loves me, it doesn’t change the fact that I will be shuffled back into the shadows.

The future had always held an element of dread for me because the moment he becomes Ares, I lose him. It might not happen with the snap of his fingers, but eventually he’ll outpace me once and for all, and I’ll be left behind.

That was before Helen.

Watching them move on together? Fuck, I can barely stand to think of it.

Saying as much to Achilles is just asking for a fight. He doesn’t see things my way, is so certain he can power through and mold the future to his impressive will. It’s not until he fails that he’ll finally admit I was right, at least in this. He won’t believe me that our eventually ending up on separate paths is all but inevitable. He’ll try to fight for us, to hold us closer, and it will only hurt worse in the end.

Better to focus on the problem at hand. A simple mystery that must have a solution. “Helen won’t back down, and whoever is trying to scare her off is only going to escalate.”

He gives a nearly soundless sigh but doesn’t try to haul me back to the original topic. “Next trial is going to take us from twelve to five. She’ll get knocked out then.”

I wish I had his confidence. Helen has surprised us again and again. The odds might be against her, but they have been from the start. “And if she’s not?”

He shakes his head. “She will be. We just have to keep her cute little ass safe until that point, and then Zeus will sweep in and toss her in some ivory tower until the tournament is over.”

I finally move, leveraging myself to my feet. I can’t look at the bed, the chair, the floor. The memory of what we’ve done is imprinted over all of it. I can’t believe things got so out of control, but this feels as inevitable as everything else surrounding this situation. “This can’t happen again. You and me and her.”

Achilles, the bastard, laughs. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

He doesn’t believe that any more than I do.

18

Helen

It takes all of two minutes in the shower for reality to catch up with me. I just had sex with Patroclus and Achilles. I lean my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall and try very hard not to make a liar out of myself by regretting it. Truth be told, I don’t regret the sex. It was outstanding and then when Achilles stopped giving orders and joined in…

I shiver.

Actually, outstanding doesn’t begin to cover it.

But the fact remains that I just slept with Achilles again, and I don’t like him. I think. Probably. Mostly.

I sigh. Okay, it’s time to be honest, at least with myself. I might keep saying I don’t like the big man, but it hasn’t felt like the truth since… I’m actually not sure when things shifted so much, but the fact remains that they have. It’s not even that Achilles is sexy as fuck—though he is. It’s not even that he saved me last night.

I can’t entirely discount a little hero worship because of it, though. The man basically broke down my door and fought my attacker, who had a fucking knife. Sure, Achilles is special forces and more than capable of handling a single person, but that is beside the point. He didn’t have to do that. He could have turned away and left me to my fate and simplified his life. If I’m gone, so are a lot of complications in his future. He wouldn’t be to blame, either, so it’s not like my brother could do anything about it.

People die in this tournament. Bellerophon said it themselves. Sure, this wasn’t during a trial, but Perseus’s hands would be tied. At best, he could duke it out with Athena, but that would still spare Achilles the fallout. He didn’t hold the knife, after all.

He did, however, hold me while I tried not to fall apart in the aftermath. That’s the crux of it, the point where I tipped right out of hating him and into…something else. Anyone else would have used that moment of weakness to manipulate me. Helen, honey, this just proves that you shouldn’t be in this tournament. You should go back to your penthouse where it’s safe and wait for someone else to be declared the winner. Someone stronger. Someone who wasn’t helpless in the face of a single attacker.

Achilles didn’t use my fear as a weapon against me. He barely used words at all. He simply wrapped me up in his big body and held me until the shaking stopped. I didn’t expect gentleness from him, though if he’d asked me if I wanted a hug, I would have told him to fuck off. That’s the thing about Achilles; he seems more an “easier to ask for forgiveness than permission” kind of guy. He decided I needed to be held, so he picked me up and deposited me on his lap.

He never even posed the question of me resigning from the tournament. He simply took it as fact that I wouldn’t. That I’d set myself on this path and he respected me enough to respect that choice. How novel.

Not to mention, I kind of like bickering with him. I’m so used to the veiled insults that a person doesn’t feel until minutes or hours later that Achilles’s blunt crassness is a relief. No matter how much he snarls, there’s no real venom behind the words.

Damn it. I like the big jerk.

I push off the wall and duck back beneath the scalding spray of the water. Ultimately, my feelings don’t change anything. Achilles wants what I want, which means we are opposing forces. Patroclus, too, because no matter how much he wants me, his heart belongs to that beautiful fool. My time with him—with them—was only ever going to be temporary.

I knew that going in. Honestly, it was a perk. I’m only able to give so much. It’s not as if they’ll want to keep fucking after I ruin Achilles’s chance of realizing his dream. I’ll probably never see them again once the tournament is over, aside from official business.

There’s no reason at all for that knowledge to sting now.

Showering any longer would translate to hiding, so I shut off the water and take a few minutes to dry off, lotion up, and braid my hair back from my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look exactly like I always have. Too pretty, even when I attempt to downplay it, even when I’m tired and there are faint smudges beneath my eyes. The face of a woman people see as a prize, have always seen as a prize. They only care about the surface until what’s underneath inconveniences them, and then they drop me like yesterday’s trash. Or, worse, try to change me. Yeah, this face has brought me nothing but trouble.

Still, it’s the only one I have.

I sigh, straighten my spine, and walk out of the bathroom. The first thing I notice is that someone—probably Patroclus—changed the sheets and made the bed. The memory of why that’s necessary hits me hard enough to make every muscle in my body clench. Gods, that orgasm was good. The second one was even better, albeit in a different way. My entire body aches faintly from what the three of us did, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more.

I just can’t be sure why I want more. To keep hiding from the uncomfortable reality that I am in over my head for real this time? Or simply because I’m in lust with two men I most certainly shouldn’t be indulging with? Neither option is particularly flattering. Both will bite me in the ass before this is over.

Achilles is probably my strongest competitor, though the rest of the champions are no slouches. But he wants Ares nearly as bad as I do, and that gives him an edge I can’t afford to ignore. Having sex with him… Continuing to have sex with him… It’s a mistake.

Sleeping with Patroclus, his boyfriend, lover, partner? Whatever they call each other, it’s like poking a bear with a sharpened stick. I’m making things complicated, and if somehow I fail and Achilles becomes Ares, that means he’ll be my husband and both of them will be in close proximity with me for the rest of my life. Messy does not even begin to cover it.

I’m not sure I care. Not enough to stop.

I find the men sitting at the table by the kitchenette. Achilles is still wearing his gray sweatpants, and I can’t help my physical response to seeing them and his bare chest. His body is unreal, and knowing how effectively he uses it for his partners’ pleasure? I shiver a little. Patroclus has pulled on a pair of shorts, but he’s left off his shirt, too. This must be how they always are in the mornings: half-dressed and relaxed, easing into their day with a comfort I barely comprehend.

After I graduated from high school, the first thing I did was move out of my father’s penthouse and into one of my own. Living with Zeus was hardly a comfortable, soothing environment, and my siblings and I all dealt with that in different ways. Usually by starting shit. Living alone was a huge adjustment, and I quickly became territorial enough that I rarely let people stay the night. Even—especially—romantic partners. I’m not a morning person, and that means I have a difficult time getting my public persona into place before noon.

The only time I let that practice slip was when I dated Paris, and he gave me cause to regret it. It only took a few days of waking up together for the comments to start. Initially they were innocent enough. You look tired, Helen. It didn’t take long to graduate to full-on criticism. Maybe you shouldn’t leave the bedroom without makeup. What if you get photographed through the window? They’re going to think you’re sick. It got to the point where I’d wake up an hour before him to put my face on and do my hair so he wouldn’t have ammunition against me.

Paris, of course, just found other ways to pick me apart at the seams.

Best not to think too hard about the fact that I haven’t even thought to keep that mask secure around these two men. Achilles is the first person outside of family who’s experienced my bite, and Patroclus brings out something unforgivably soft in me that I’d completely forgotten existed. More, I haven’t worn makeup except when we’re going to be in front of a camera, and neither one of them has made a single comment. I’m not certain they even noticed.

The scent of coffee makes my mouth water, so I make a beeline for the counter. “I didn’t realize we had a coffee maker in our rooms.” I’m sure I would have seen it in mine if I had one, but I’ve been understandably distracted since arriving here.

I change course, heading toward the table and accepting the mug from him. How could he possibly have memorized my preferred way of drinking coffee? He wasn’t even in the room when I made it yesterday morning. I consider him but decide it’s a question for another day. I sip the coffee and offer a reluctant smile. “Perfect.”

The small pleasure of a perfect cup of coffee fades. “I know. Time to talk.”

Patroclus glances at Achilles. Again, I’m struck by the intimacy of the moment. They’ve obviously known each other a long time because they’re doing that couple thing where they have an entire conversation without speaking. I ignore the stab of jealousy. It’s not that I want that with either of them, but I do want that level of comfort in a relationship.

Unfortunately, that means letting my guard down, and the last time that happened, I ended up with Paris.

I take another sip of my coffee. This is where they either let me down gently or try to hard-sell me on quitting. The former, I’ll accept. The latter? Good luck with that. I take the third chair at the table. There were only two last night, so one of them must have brought this one in this morning. A tiny thoughtful gesture that I have no business feeling emotional over. Gods, I’m a mess.

Patroclus makes a choked noise and starts coughing, but I’m too busy blinking at Achilles. Surely he didn’t say what I think he just said. “What?”

I’d be smart to argue. The sex was mind-blowing, to say the least. I was telling the truth when I said I compartmentalize well—thanks, Father—but even I can’t be sure my heart won’t revolt and get involved if I keep sleeping with both of them. Maybe I could hold out against Achilles, but…

I glance at Patroclus. He’s a mottled red, but he seems to be breathing okay now. “He didn’t discuss this with you first.”

Achilles shrugs and drinks his coffee. He puts on a good act like he doesn’t give a shit, but there’s a thread of tension in his shoulders that tells me he cares about the destination of this conversation more than he wants to admit. “I don’t have to talk about it with him first. Patroclus will let guilt get in the way of doing what he wants, but what he wants is to bend you over the table and—”

That’s about enough of that.

I know he doesn’t mean it to sound like he thinks I’m weak, like I can’t stand up for myself or make my own decisions, but I’ve had too many people ignore my own words because they wanted to control me. I don’t think there’s a drop of malice or manipulation behind this, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s overriding me about my own thoughts and feelings. “Why don’t you ask me?”

He stops short. “What?”

Achilles snorts, and Patroclus glares. Finally, he says, “Helen, now that you’ve got some distance, I would like to apologize—”

I shake my head, holding his gaze. “No, you don’t get to apologize and pretend like I’m not an adult with agency. I was not drunk, drugged, or otherwise incapacitated. You both asked me several times if I wanted to continue, and I consented enthusiastically. Are you really going to try to argue that I’m not capable of making my own decisions simply because you want to flog yourself with guilt?”

Patroclus stares at me, mouth agape. Achilles, the ass, leans over to press a single finger to his jaw and close it. He grins. “It’s not often someone leaves him speechless.”

I wait, but Patroclus is still staring like I’ve grown a second head. I have no business feeling disappointment in his reaction. I thought he might be different from the others I’ve interacted with all my life, but apparently he’s not. He formed beliefs about me before we even met again as adults, and he’d rather stick to those beliefs than actually get to know the real me.

The impulse rises to get up and walk away, to retreat somewhere that I don’t have to navigate other people’s feelings for a little while, but I shove it down. Either I want him to take me seriously, or I don’t. If I do, then I have to deal with this like an adult, and adults don’t flee conversations just because they make them uncomfortable. I try for a smile, but my voice is still too sharp to pass off as humor. “I mean, if you want to be flogged that badly, I’m sure I can scrounge up some latex and a whip. It’s not really my cup of tea, but I’m willing to try anything once.”

Achilles laughs again. “Told you so.”

Finally, a small eternity later, Patroclus lifts his mug and sips. He’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before. No, that’s not quite right. He’s looking at me like I just gave him a new piece of information to chew on, and now he has to realign his assumptions. We’ll see if it sticks.

When he finally speaks, he sounds almost normal. “Your point is taken.”

I turn to Achilles to distract myself. “As to your suggestion that we keep fucking, the answer is…it depends.”

He gives me that lazy smile that has my body flushing with heat despite myself. He really is too handsome to be real. “What’s it depend on, princess?”

On how badly I need to escape the thoughts circling my head.

Except that’s not entirely true, is it? It may have started out that way, but things are both more and less complicated now. I liked what we did together. I want to do it again. I also realize it’s a terrible idea, but I doubt that will be enough to stop me. I’m not a masochist, and there’s plenty of pleasure to be had in my normal life—at least these days. No, there’s something that draws me to both these men, a tug deep inside me that I don’t know how to quantify or deny.

I haven’t worn a mask with them since this tournament began. They’ve seen the real me, warts and all. No matter their motivations or how doomed this whole thing is, that’s a heady feeling that I’m not willing to give up yet. I take a slow breath. “It depends on whether or not you’re going to stop trying to convince me to quit.” Just because Achilles didn’t capitalize on my being off-center last night doesn’t mean it won’t keep coming up. I know him well enough by now to know he’s just as stubborn as I am.

I blink. He didn’t even hesitate. “What do you mean, no?”

It’s a fair point, even though I don’t want to admit it. Something warm and unforgivable curls in my chest at the easy belief Achilles has in me. Both that I won’t change my mind and that I won’t allow myself to be convinced. Does he realize what a compliment that is? More, how rare it is for the people around me? “Fine,” I say slowly. “Then I guess we should keep fucking.”

Patroclus shakes his head slowly. “Bellerophon will be here in ten minutes. Get your head out of the gutter.”

The exasperation on Patroclus’s face is really, really attractive. He glances at me and shrugs. “Sorry, Helen. He’s being ridiculous.”

It isn’t even a question of playing along with Achilles. I simply do it. I give Patroclus a sexy pout. “He’s right. My feelings are very, very hurt.”

Patroclus gives another of those sexy exasperated sighs. “Gods save me, now there’s two of you.”

Achilles barks out a laugh. “Listen to her. She knows what she’s about.”

I can’t help the lightness in my chest as I sit back and drink my coffee. Gods help me, but I’m enjoying my time with these two far more than I could have ever expected.

19

Achilles

Things go south the moment Bellerophon enters the room. They take up an at-ease stance, their dark gaze pinned just above the top of my head. That’s not good. I’ve known Bellerophon for years, and the only time they get overly formal is when conveying bad news. They only confirm my suspicions when they say, “The attacker is no longer with us.”

Beside me, Helen startles. “They’re dead?”

Patroclus leans forward and braces his arms on the table. I can already see his big brain kicking into gear. “Picked up by who?”

Their gaze flicks to Helen, and Bellerophon hesitates for so long, even I already guess the answer before they speak and confirm it. “By Zeus himself. You have to understand, there’s nothing I could do about it. Not even Athena could step in at that point.”

It’s a token of our history that they give the information so freely. I doubt they’d do the same if anyone else was asking the questions. “That makes logistical sense to keep them here. Why are you asking, Helen?”

Sometimes, when I hang out with Patroclus’s moms, I get a sick feeling in my stomach wondering about what my life would have been like if I had two loving parents instead of being dropped on the temple steps to be donated like a toy that no longer served its purpose. Polymele and Sthenele treated me as an honorary son from the moment they met me as an angry little fuck at eighteen.

If Patroclus had been the one attacked, his moms would have all but beaten down the door, would have challenged both Athena and Zeus to ensure he was okay. They wouldn’t care who they pissed off or what the long-term consequences were, not until they reassured themselves with their own eyes that their son was healthy and whole.

Zeus would have gotten a report about Helen’s health; Bellerophon is a rule follower and would have written it up as soon as the attacker was secured. Even knowing she wasn’t physically harmed… What kind of brother doesn’t even bother to stop by and see her? Especially since he’s able to come and go from this place without consequences.

It’s far more likely my parents—if they’re still alive—have more in common with Helen’s fucked-up family than with Patroclus’s moms. Every time I get a reminder of it, the flicker of gratitude is something I hold close. It still feels shitty to be reminded of it while Helen is being hurt by her family’s carelessness. “I’m sure he had a reason,” I finally say. The words feel flat and wrong.

Helen doesn’t smile, doesn’t so much as look at me. She’s holding herself so tightly, as if worried she’ll shatter. I don’t like that shit. I don’t like it at all. “He always does.” She sounds tired. No, beyond tired. She sounds the kind of exhausted that comes from fighting an uphill battle on a timeline numbered in years.

I have the strangest impulse to tell her that I’ll take up both sword and shield for a little while, give her time to rest. I won’t say it, though. Who the fuck am I to offer her that? She wouldn’t trust it; she’s too smart to, even if there are no strings attached.

Patroclus frowns. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he interfere with Athena’s ability to get answers from the prisoner when his little sister is the one who was attacked? We need to know who the attacker was working for and how they got into the building. Even if a different champion was the target, it will make both Zeus and Athena look weak if this gets out.”

They roll their eyes, relaxing for the first time since they stepped into the room. “I don’t know why you start like that when you’re about to say something disrespectful.”

I ignore the statement because they’re right. “The hole in your people’s security is how this person got into Helen’s room in the first place. We’ll take it from here.”

Patroclus makes a choked sound. “He doesn’t mean it like that.”

Helen finally stirs. “I’m fine staying here.” She’s still got her arms wrapped around herself too tightly, and I don’t like the look in her eyes. She seems…cornered. Again, that ridiculous fucking impulse rises to tell her she has nothing to worry about, that we’ll protect her. We already offered to play bodyguard, but not even a bodyguard can protect the precious princess from her own family.

I want to, though. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.

I turn and catch Patroclus’s eye. He still looks confused, but I shake my head slightly to indicate that it’s time to drop the topic. Helen’s still bracing like she’s going to be bashed over the head, and I highly doubt trying to figure out why her brother is being a dick is going to help her feel better.

I want her to feel better.

She’s mine, after all.

I know better than to say as much, but sometimes in life, I come across a thing or goal and I know it’s meant for me. It doesn’t usually happen with people. In fact, it’s only ever happened once. Patroclus. After our first week in Ares’s boot camp, I knew he was meant for me and I was meant for him, that we’d be part of each other’s lives in a permanent kind of way.

The feeling about Helen isn’t identical, but it’s similar. I didn’t really understand until it was the three of us together, but she fits us in a way no one else has before. With her in the mix, it feels like it could make our pair even better, something I didn’t think possible before this tournament.

I can be patient when the goal is worth it, and right now it’s worth it. If I tell Helen she’s meant for me, she’ll take it as me talking about Ares and marrying her again, and it’ll just piss her off.

Actually… That’s a great fucking idea. Our princess works better when she’s angry rather than sad. I just need to paint her a convenient target to aim all those messy emotions she’s trying to bottle down at. She’ll feel better once she exorcizes them.

Helen tenses right on cue. All the brittle, fragile bits of her disappear between one blink and the next, and the scared princess vanishes, replaced by the furious harpy. She narrows pretty amber eyes. “Excuse me?”

She glares. “You obviously have a brilliant point you’re attempting to get to. Feel free to enlighten us.”

I like her when she’s prickly. It’s loads better than when she appeared so fragile and out of sorts. Patroclus is looking between us like we’ve gone mad. When there’s a problem to be solved, he’s my man, but he lets logic get in the way of his instincts. Right now, Helen’s too emotional to sit still long enough for him to strategize our way out of this mess. She won’t hear a damn thing he says, and she’ll just keep sitting there, looking small and lost and sad the entire time. Once she snaps out of it, she’ll feel better. Then she and Patroclus can bounce their brilliance off each other.

I can’t say that, though. He won’t understand. He drags his hands over his face. “We need to—”

She’s not thinking about the attack or her messed-up family right now. The only thing Helen is focused on at the moment is cutting me down to size. I might not be a borderline genius like Patroclus, but I know how to maneuver around battlefields, and my interactions with Helen are exactly that.

I give a lazy smile designed to infuriate her further. “You’re playing right into their hands, princess. This is just another kind of warfare. The second trial is tomorrow. Are you really going to spend the next twelve hours or so obsessing over your asshole brother?”

She opens her mouth and pauses. I can practically see her brain kicking into gear. It looks different on her than it does on Patroclus, but the vibe is very similar. Finally, Helen drags in a rough breath and slumps back into her chair. “You think this is all a mind game.”

She shakes her head slowly, almost wonderingly. “The gods really gave with both hands when they created you, didn’t they?”

I drag my hand over my face. This shit is stressing me out. I preferred life simpler, when the most complicated thing I had to worry about was the next mission Athena sent us on and when Patroclus would be too distracted to remember to eat. I know him, so I never have to wonder what he’s thinking or feeling. All the signs are right there, learned over more than a decade together. Things might have changed recently, but they haven’t changed that much.

Like right now. He’s thinking he doesn’t understand what the fuck just happened. He glances between us and speaks slowly, cautiously. “Achilles…isn’t wrong.”

Helen smiles a little. “Why do you sound so shocked?”

She picks up her coffee mug and stares down at it as if she can find answers in its depths. Patroclus and I share a look of perfect understanding. No matter how messy this situation is, we’re going to give Helen what she needs. We can’t control what the trial brings in the morning, but at least we can offer her a reprieve until then. It feels good to be on the same page with him after all the fighting and messy emotions. Things aren’t resolved; they won’t be resolved until the tournament is over and we’ve navigated the inevitable fallout.

In the meantime…

I look up to find Helen staring at me as if I’m a puzzle she can’t quite figure out the shape of. It’s tempting to offer her a charming smile or a bullshit answer, but if I want her to take this seriously—to take me seriously—the least I can do is explain myself. At least in this. “I don’t like that lost look on your face.”

She blinks those big eyes at me. “I… No, Achilles, I mean why try to make me feel better? Don’t you want me to quit?”

A complicated question. I shrug. “I’m going to win this thing and become Ares.” Her lips thin, but I keep going. She asked. I’m going to answer honestly. “But I don’t like that shady bullshit. They’re underestimating you, and it pisses me off.”

Patroclus snorts. “You just had to throw that in there, didn’t you?” He turns to Helen. “What he means is—”

But she’s not looking at Patroclus. For once, her attention is focused entirely on me. “You think I’m strong.”

Her soft words aren’t exactly a question, but I don’t like how wonderingly she says it. Like no one has ever pointed it out before. “You know you’re strong. You don’t need me to confirm it.”

Helen stares at me for a long moment and finally gives a faint smile. “Yeah. I guess I do.” She stands slowly. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Patroclus looks like he wants to argue, but he just says, “Food first. Coffee isn’t enough nutrition, not with the second trial tomorrow.”

She shrugs. “Whatever they have available.”

Patroclus stands too. “I’ll walk you out.” He barely waits until we’re out into the hall to turn on me. “What the fuck was that?”

He gives me the look that question deserves. “You know what I’m talking about. She was reeling and you came at her like an opponent.”

My anger doesn’t have a place in this fight, though. Helen might feel like mine, but she isn’t mine. Her honor isn’t mine to defend.

Good thing she’s more than capable of defending herself when she gets out of her own way and forgets to think too much.

I hold Patroclus’s gaze. “She’s not fragile. She’s not fucking breakable. Yeah, she’s been knocked down more than a few times in the last week, but she just needed the right prodding to get back up and start swinging again.”

I shrug. “Keep her distracted while I get food. Then we’ll fuck her until none of us have the energy to worry about shit outside our control.” We need plenty of sleep, but the day is young and we’re all in the best shape of our lives. No reason not to expel some pent-up energy in the most pleasurable way possible.

I stop in the middle of turning away. “Yeah?”

There’s not much I can say to that. It stings that he thought the worst of me, but he’s not entirely unjustified on making that jump. It’s a fucked-up situation and it’s not going to get less fucked up as time goes on. The only option is to keep pushing forward and then deal with the fallout after the tournament. “It’s fine. Now, go take care of our princess while I get some breakfast.”

20

Patroclus

We spend the rest of the day in bed, breaking only for meals. By unspoken agreement, none of us speak further about the assassin or Zeus or the tournament. Achilles and I do what we can to offer the comfort Helen will allow, which translates to orgasms.

That night, I take second shift. I sit in the chair next to the bed and watch them sleep. Helen didn’t wake when we switched out, and Achilles passed out in the way he’s always been able to—within seconds. He’s got his arm slung over her waist and, a few seconds later, she snuggles back against his bigger body.

I press my hand to my chest. When he wins Ares, they’ll sleep like this. They might snarl and snap at each other, but this morning Achilles demonstrated a deeper understanding of Helen than I have. He gets her, at least on some level.

No reason for that to make my chest ache. My foolish heart might care too deeply for her, might have given itself to Achilles long ago, but even if it breaks at the end of this, at least I have the bittersweet comfort of knowing they’ll take care of each other.

If Achilles isn’t the one to knock Helen out of the tournament. I don’t like his odds of winning her forgiveness anytime soon if that happens. She as much as admitted that it would be impossible.

Maybe I should be the one to do it.

I rub my chest harder. Damn it, I can’t. Even if it would help him, I can’t do that to her. No matter how complicated the potential outcome, we can’t go after her. She…trusts us. Maybe not entirely—Helen is no fool, after all—but she trusts us with her body, trusts us enough to at least share some small vulnerabilities. We can’t turn around and crush her after the last couple of days.

By the time the alarm goes off, I still have no answers. We get ready in near silence. I dress in my workout gear; I have no one to impress, after all. Achilles dons another of the custom uniforms we commissioned for him. This one is inky black and clings to his body, showing off his impressive muscles and elevating his attractiveness to the point where it almost hurts to look at him.

And Helen?

She has on a skintight catsuit that looks like someone spilled oil down her body. With every move, different colors shine in the low light of the room. She’s braided her hair and pinned it up around her head in an almost crown. Smart. The whole damn outfit is so smart. The fabric of the catsuit will make it challenging for anyone to keep hold of her, and her hair is no longer a liability to be grabbed in a fight. Every part of her…glitters. Her makeup is more stark than last time, too. She darkened from her eyes to nearly her temples, a dramatic look that, combined with her black lipstick, gives her the image of someone who should be on the front lines of some ancient army, leading her people into battle.

Helen looks like a warrior queen.

The crowd will be unable to take their eyes off her. More, they’ll love her for the dramatics of it all, especially if she does well.

Achilles moves to the door. “Let’s go.”

Achilles and I share a look and keep Helen between us as we file out of the room and follow the rest of the champions out of the house. I don’t like the way Paris watches her, like she’s a prize that’s his for the taking. It might be technically true, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth all the same.

At the arena, I can’t stop myself from grabbing Helen’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. “It will be fine.”

She spares me a faint smile. “I know.” She squeezes my hand back before releasing it.

Then there’s no more time for talking because we’re being ushered through the concrete tunnel and out into the main area. I’m stunned by the transformation of the arena when the champions file through the entrance. Gone is the obstacle course, replaced by tall walls of varying heights. They look like concrete, but that’s impossible. Concrete would be far too heavy to haul in here to form this…

It’s a maze. It must be.

It’s hard to focus with the ever-present cheering of the crowd. I think I’ll hear that sound in my nightmares. It’s a reminder that too many eyes are on me, that this trial will change things even more than the first. There are twelve champions left.

After this trial, that number will be more than halved.

I glance at Helen and, on the other side of her, Achilles. Both have their expressions locked down, but surely they feel the same tremor in their chests that I do. I have never once doubted that Achilles would win the title of Ares. I don’t doubt it now.

But the cost…

The cost might be higher than I could have dreamed.

Directly in front of us and high above, the lights point at the box seat where Athena resides. She’s wearing a cream suit and is furious. Oh, she has it locked down, but I’ve answered directly to her for too long not to know her moods. She’s just as unhappy with the way things fell out with the would-be assassin as we are. More so since it happened on her watch.

She holds up a hand and the arena immediately falls to silence. Athena sweeps the champions with a single piercing look. “The second trial begins shortly. You will be positioned at different locations within the maze. There is one door leading to the exit, but it requires a key. There are five keys hidden within the maze. There is also a time limit. You may only take one key if and when you find them. If you have not found a key and the door exiting the maze within the time allotted, you will be eliminated.”

This is where alliances begin to break down. Five keys means seven people eliminated. At least. We have to find the keys first, and there’s no guarantee all will be discovered before the time limit is reached.

I take a slow breath and speak softly enough that only Helen and Achilles can hear me. “It’s a good wager that the keys—or at least a few of them—will be in the center of the maze.”

Helen snorts. “Sure. Simple. Except for the other champions trying to do the same thing.”

Down the line of champions, Bellerophon approaches with black hoods in their hands. Ah, that makes sense. They’re not going to give us a chance to potentially memorize the way through the maze. If we’re blindfolded and they take a strange route, it will be discombobulating enough that we should all start on even ground.

At least in theory.

Bellerophon eases the first hood over the Minotaur’s head and tightens it a bit. Then they move to the next champion.

Helen shakes her head, her picture-perfect smile in place. “So will I.” She looks between us. For the first time since we got into the vans this morning, some of the real woman shows beneath the mask. “Stay out of my way. I don’t… Look, I like you two. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t be competing against each other, but this isn’t a perfect world and I’m not going to let my emotions compromise my goals. So no hard feelings, but I will go through you to get Ares if I have to.”

My stomach twists at her words, even if they aren’t surprising. The feeling only gets worse when Achilles booms out a laugh. “We’ll see you on the other side, princess.”

Her grin is downright feral. “Bet on it.”

Then Bellerophon is in front of her, sliding the black hood over her head. They move to me next. Even knowing it’s coming, it’s still disorienting in the extreme to have all sight taken from me. The hood is perfectly blacked out, and the sound of the crowd feels particularly loud without my sight to distract me.

I jolt when hands touch my shoulders. They guide me forward, and even knowing we’re maybe twenty feet from the maze, I still can’t get my bearings. I try to keep track of the twists and turns, but it’s a lost cause. And if I’m not able to, I highly doubt any of the others are having a more successful time of it.

Oh well. This isn’t outside the expected parameters.

The hands on my shoulders tug me to a stop and a soft voice in my ear says, “Stay here with the hood on until Athena begins the trial.”

I nod, and they release my shoulders. Without the touch to anchor me, I feel even more out of sorts. The sound is unrelenting, and with the darkness so complete, I have to fight against the urge to lift my hands defensively. Anyone could be standing just out of reach and…

The cheering goes quiet and Athena’s familiar cool tone fills the empty space. “The second trial begins now. The trial will end in two hours or when five champions have escaped the maze. Good luck.”

I drag the hood from my head and blink into the bright lights. The walls are just as high inside the maze as they were outside it, but I can still see the upper tiers of the arena and the several of the screens showing the various champions. It’s impossible to gather enough info to be helpful, though. The maze walls seem to be uniformly gray. Even the differing heights of the walls—ranging anywhere from ten to fourteen feet, best I can tell—only add to the disorienting feeling of being unable to guess which direction to go. The other champions could be on the other side from me or the next path over, or they could be nowhere near me. Focusing on the screens will be more distraction than asset.

The path I’m on is relatively straight, one direction leading deeper into the maze and one appearing to lead toward the perimeter. When I was doing research on what the possible trials could be, mazes were on the list. The common advice to get out of a maze seems to be pick a direction and follow that wall to the exit.

Unfortunately, that won’t help me now.

I need to find a key before I find the exit, and that means heading deeper into the maze rather than toward the perimeter. If I knew what style maze this was…

Oh well. There’s only one way to find out. I take a deep breath and head in the approximate direction of the center in an easy jog. Fast enough to cover ground efficiently, but not so fast as to be caught unaware if I come upon another champion. The only champions that will be eliminated are the ones still in the maze when the time runs out, which means the smartest way to deal with anyone I come across is to incapacitate them in some way. Knocking someone unconscious isn’t an easy feat, so that means going for the legs. Knees are the best bet.

Unfortunately, the other champions will be trying to do the same to me.

I wind my way through the maze, the paths leading me away from and toward the center in turn. With the arena being the way it is, it’s impossible to know if I’m making progress or just moving farther away from my goal.

The crowd screams and I stop short, gaze flying to the screens I can see from my current position. They all show Atalanta. She’s flying through the maze, sprinting at a pace that has her locs streaming out in her wake. I see why a moment later when the Minotaur veers around the corner behind her.

He’s almost on her when she turns on her heel, launching herself against the wall and spinning in the air to deliver a brutal punch to his square jaw. It knocks him back a step into the opposite wall. By the time he recovers, she’s gone, disappeared around the nearest corner.

I watch for several more heartbeats before it’s clear that she got away, and I feel a strange sort of relief. We’d be better served for Atalanta to be eliminated this trial, but that doesn’t mean I want her hurt in the process. I exhale slowly and force myself to refocus. Now’s not the time to get distracted. I need to keep my eye on the prize.

A flash of movement at the corner of my eye has me turning…

Right into Hector’s fist.

21

Helen

It takes several long, frustrating minutes of weaving through this endless maze before my brain kicks into gear. Athena stated the rules at the beginning. Find the key. Get to the door out of the maze.

She didn’t say anything about how we had to go through the maze.

I eye the walls. They’re ten feet tall at their lowest point and mostly untextured, not leaving grooves or handholds to climb. But one of the potential obstacles I trained for was running up a wall. With enough lead-in, I might be able to make it. It’s hard to tell how wide the walls themselves are, but I used to do the balance beam. They can’t be much narrower than that.

It takes me a little longer to find a section of the maze with enough space to get a good takeoff. Overhead, the clock ticks down, but there’s still plenty of time. I can’t see all the screens from this position, but the ones I can see show the champions trying to work their way through the close paths.

If I do this, they’ll video me.

The others will follow suit quickly. Or at least they’ll try. They’d be fools not to. Whatever advantage being the first brings won’t last for long if I don’t hurry.

I take a deep breath and wipe my damp palms on my clothing. I haven’t seen anything of Achilles or Patroclus yet, and I can’t help worrying about them. My life would be easier if they were both eliminated in this round. I should be seeing this in black and white—what helps me become the next Ares and what stands in my way.

But if they’re eliminated…this strange thing between the three of us ends.

They’re the first people I’ve come across who seem to truly see me. Spoiled brat, yes. Pampered princess, mostly. But the strong, savvy woman beneath, too. Patroclus treats me like I’m something of true value. Achilles just takes my strength as fact. They both regard me as an equal.

It’s a heady thing. Maybe I’m a fool, but I’m not ready to give it up yet.

There’s no time to mull it over now. It doesn’t matter what the clock overhead says; if I don’t reach one of those keys first, I won’t make it to the next round. I haven’t come this far to fail.

I sprint at the wall. It feels a bit like running for the vault in gymnastics, except the vault is a ten-foot-tall wall and I get a quarter of the distance to pick up speed. I take one last step and launch myself at the wall. Up, up, up. My fingertips barely brush the top. I curse as I drop back to the ground and nearly land on my ass. “Fuck.”

The more times I attempt this, the more energy and time I’m wasting, neither of which I can afford. Maybe I should try something else… I shake my head hard. No. This is the best option. I’ve never let a little thing like failing once get in the way of my goals, and I’m not about to start now.

I retrace my steps back down the path and inhale slowly. I’ll make it this time. I have to. My fingers hit the top of the wall and I concentrate on firming them up so I don’t fall back to the ground. It hurts. Gods, it hurts. But I muscle past the pain and pull myself up until I can loop my leg over the top of the wall and drag my body the rest of the way up. At the top, it’s about what I expected. Six inches. Plenty of space. If not for the differing wall heights, I wouldn’t even bother taking off my shoes. As it is, it will be slow going, but I have the advantage of being able to see my path clearer than the other champions.

Around me, the sudden roar of the crowd feels like an almost physical thing pressing against my skin. It’s hard to push it away, to not let it affect me. I force myself to take a moment and survey the maze. It’s a twisty motherfucker, the pathways winding back and forth without any apparent rhyme or reason. I turn carefully and there it is.

The center.

I can follow the path with the foresight of seeing the way through…or I can take a shortcut.

The maze paths are about five feet apart. Not an insignificant distance but not so far that I can’t easily jump it. The center is right there. Maybe fifty feet away. I can get there, get the key, and take the same path back to the perimeter to find the door. The walls might be different heights, but it looks like if I can get up to the higher section next to me, I have a clear shot to the center.

Against these competitors, I can’t afford to be cautious.

More, I’m better suited than anyone to accomplish this with my gymnastics background. Five feet is nothing to cross, and the six-inch top of the walls might as well be flat ground. I can do this.

The screens shift above me and I take three seconds to watch one of the other champions try to run up the wall. He’s quite a bit taller than me and manages to haul himself up, but when he tries to get his leg over, something goes wrong. I wince as he falls back to the ground with a dull thud I can almost feel, even if I can’t hear it over the roar of the crowd. “Maybe I’m the only one who can do this,” I murmur.

There’s no more time to waste. I leap to the next wall and then use my momentum to leap to the third. Again and again, flying over the top of the maze. I vaguely register that many of the screens are showing me now, which means I have to hurry. Even if no one else can successfully scale the walls and use them the way I am—which is a big if—they will all know my location. I might as well have painted a target on my back.

The center of the maze isn’t particularly large, maybe a twelve-by-twelve space. In the center is a steel beam crafted to look like a tree with five branches sticking out. On each dangles a skeleton key.

The center of the maze also contains another champion. Theseus.

He hasn’t seen me yet, but he will as soon as he turns around. I don’t need to take him out. I just need him to stay down long enough for me to get a key and flee. I can climb another wall further into the maze once I’m alone. I don’t stop to think of all the ways this could go wrong. I throw myself at him, using my momentum and a healthy dose of gravity to drive him into the ground before he can reach the tree.

The impact jars me down to my bones. He’s a big guy, but jumping down ten feet hardly makes for a soft landing. Can’t stop. Doesn’t matter how much it hurts. Keep going. I shove off his back and stagger to my feet. The tree is only a few feet away, but I barely make it a step before he grabs my ankle and yanks me down.

This time, when I hit the ground, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I don’t let that stop me, though. Not with Theseus crawling up my body. If he pins me, he might actually kill me. He’ll definitely incapacitate me to ensure I don’t pass this trial.

Fuck that.

I bend at the waist, sitting up and putting as much strength as I can behind my fist when I punch him in his face. It’s barely enough to stun him, but I manage to wiggle a few inches away before he recovers and tightens his grip on my leg. He drags me half under his body with a harsh yank. My bodysuit might have been designed to be hard to hold, but it doesn’t matter when he can wrap most of his hand around my thigh.

Panic takes hold. I am so fucking close to what I want, and this man threatens to stand in my way. “Let go.” I aim another punch at his face.

He just grunts in response and releases my thigh long enough to hammer a blow to my quad. Pain makes me light-headed, but I will not be stopped. Not now. Not by this man.

I can’t flip him. He’s too damn big and I’m not in the right position for it. “Watch me.” I grab a fistful of his dark-red hair and jab my fingers into his eyes.

Theseus howls and flinches back. It’s enough for me to scramble out from beneath him. My injured thigh threatens to buckle when I stand, but I grab a key and drape the lanyard over my neck. Each step hurts, but I don’t have time to worry about that now.

I turn in time to see Theseus plant a hand on the ground and stagger to his feet. He teeters almost as if he’ll fall but manages to stabilize. Damn it. His eyes are red and watering, but he must be able to see okay because he narrows them at me. He curses. “You’ll pay for that.”

Theseus shakes his head like a bull about to charge. “You Kasioses represent everything wrong with this viper’s nest of a city. You’re not making it past this trial.”

The words send a shiver of true fear through me. I’d considered and discarded the notion that Theseus and his people might be here to attempt a coup on the Thirteen and, by extension, Olympus. Apparently I was right the first time. They truly are here for Olympus. “You can’t win. Even if you take Ares, you can’t win.”

I dodge at the last minute, ducking under his grasp and to the side. Theseus clangs into the tree and staggers back a step, but I’m already moving. I drive a kick into his knee at an angle, using all my strength. It gives with a stomach-turning pop and he lurches to the side, collapsing to the ground.

A dark, sickening desire rises inside me, an urge to stomp on that knee a few more times and ensure he’s truly down. But I resist. It might protect me from this man, but it won’t actually benefit me in the long run. The longer I stay here, the higher the chance of someone else coming in.

I curse and skirt around Theseus. He’s moaning and cursing my name, but he makes no move to rise again. I don’t think he can. Good enough.

My leg aches something fierce. It’s now or never. I take a shuddering breath and break into a sprint. Each step threatens to buckle my injured thigh, but I manage to scramble up the wall on the first shot. It takes longer this time to haul my body up to the top, and by the time I find my balance, I’m panting.

Next is hauling myself up two more sections to the tallest bit I can easily access. I’ll need the height to plot my way to the exit. This is easier, my balance surer, but I’m still overly cautious with my leg. A fall from ten feet would hurt like a motherfucker. A fall from fifteen?

Best not to risk it.

I look up at the screens in time to watch Atalanta nearly knock the Minotaur out with one well-placed punch. I manage a tired grin. “Nice.” I don’t look forward to facing her in the final challenge if it comes to that, but from our limited interactions, I like her quite a bit.

Then I refocus and survey the top of the maze. No one else has joined me up here yet, but I can’t take for granted that there isn’t someone else among the champions who’s capable of it. I have to get moving. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to be able to jump from wall to wall the way I did before. If my leg gives out, a fall will do more damage than Theseus did.

I twist a little, searching for the door to the exit. It’s near the archway we came in, which is in front of me and to the right. I try to control my rapid breathing as I map a path there. It will take more time, but I have a key and I just need to avoid the other champions. I should be able to do it.

The roar of the crowd changes. I thought it was intense before, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that shakes the arena now. It’s bloodthirsty. I turn in time to see the screens switch to Patroclus and Hector fighting.

I gasp as Hector delivers a devastating punch to Patroclus’s stomach. From the look of them, they’ve been fighting for some time. Both sport bloodied knuckles and their handsome faces are broken and bruised, almost unrecognizable. Both weave on their feet as they circle each other.

They’re in the best shape of their lives, but Hector moves more like Achilles…as if on instinct. I can practically see Patroclus’s brain trying to map out his next strike, trying to anticipate his opponent. It would work on anyone else, but not Hector. He’s too quick. I’ve never seen him fight, but he worked under Ares for years before transferring to Apollo. Apparently his time behind a desk haven’t softened him at all.

Patroclus is going to lose.

My heart lodges itself in my throat. I scan the maze to try to figure out where they are. I don’t know if I can help, but I have to try. I don’t think Hector would permanently harm Patroclus; at least, he wouldn’t do it on purpose. But accidents happen, especially in fights, especially when the stakes are so high.

There.

They aren’t far. I could reach them in just a few minutes…but it means going in the opposite direction of the exit. If Patroclus is no match for Hector, I’m certainly not, either. Helping him might very well mean sacrificing my chance to pass the second trial.

Hector lands a punch that snaps Patroclus’s head back. He barely stays on his feet. “No!”

A frustrated roar, heard even over the crowd, has me turning to find Achilles charging down the path. In the wrong direction.

I don’t stop to think. I just scream. “Achilles!”

Somehow he hears me. He slams to a stop and looks up. I point in the opposite direction. “He’s there!” A quick look is enough to map his course. “Two rights. Left. Right. Three lefts.”

He nods and then he’s off, flawlessly following my instructions. Within seconds, he careens around the corner nearest the fight and takes Hector down in a flying leap. He looks as fresh as when we entered the maze, and I exhale shakily. It will be fine. Achilles will take care of Patroclus. He won’t let his lover be killed.

Thank the gods.

I force myself to tear my gaze from the fight. They will be okay. I have to worry about myself right now. There’s nothing else I can do to help, nothing they need my help for. With one last glance at the screens, I leverage myself to my feet and start making my winding way toward the exit.

My leg holds, which is a bit of a miracle, but each step is agony. I catch sight of the Minotaur lumbering through the maze a few paths over. He looks up as I move past, narrowing his eyes. I tense, but he simply turns away, heading for the last few turns between him and the center of the maze.

I stop on the wall across from the door and ease down to drop to the floor. My leg finally buckles and I land on my ass. “Ouch.”

I look up to find Atalanta standing over me, a grin on her scarred face. In her hand, she holds a key. I offer back a tired grin of my own. “Right back at you.”

She opens her mouth, but her eyes roll back in her head and she slumps to the ground. Behind her stands Paris. He shakes his head. “Poor thing. She never saw me coming.”

I flinch, my body reacting before my mind fully processes that Paris has knocked Atalanta out. For a moment, something dark flickers across his face and I can practically see him weighing the chance to kick me while I’m down—maybe literally—and his desire to maintain his image as the charming playboy that Olympus believes him to be.

He shakes his head slowly and leans down to snag the key from Atalanta’s limp hand. “Climbing the walls, huh? I knew you couldn’t have gotten this far without cheating. You’re taking that key from someone who truly deserves it. Pathetic.” Paris turns and walks to the door. He inserts the key, opens it, and disappears through.

I stare for a beat, two, three. I didn’t cheat. I went about solving the problem by nontraditional methods, but that doesn’t make me weak. The irony of him accusing me of taking a key from someone who deserves it… I shake my head hard. Damn it, I’m letting him mess with my mind again. I scramble to Atalanta’s side and ease her onto her back.

She’s breathing evenly, and her dark eyes flutter open. “Motherfucker.”

Relief makes me a little dizzy. She’s okay. Or she will be. “I’m sorry.” I can’t stay here, can’t risk suffering the same fate if someone decides to take a page out of Paris’s handbook. I squeeze her shoulder and push away from her. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

The only thing that matters is getting through that door and passing the second trial.

I use the wall to leverage myself to my feet and stagger to the door. It takes two tries to insert the key into the lock and twist. It swings soundlessly open and I step through and out of the maze.

Is the cheering of the crowd louder? I can’t be sure, but I straighten my spine and work to keep the limp out of my walk as much as possible. Bellerophon stands just to the side of the door, an unreadable expression on their face. They motion to a bench that wasn’t there when we started this trial. “Wait there, please.”

I nod and walk to sit on the opposite side of the bench from Paris. I can feel his gaze on me, but I refuse to look over. Instead, I pin my attention to the screens overhead. They show the various champions. Several of the others are on the ground, having suffered various bodily injuries. Theseus is still in the center of the maze, leaning against the wall and cradling his knee. I don’t see Hector or the Minotaur.

Achilles is half carrying Patroclus, who looks wounded but—thank the gods—okay.

I fight not to react as I watch their slow progress, heart in my throat. We’re over halfway through the time allotted. They have to hurry up if they want to pass the trial. I press my hands hard to my thighs, fighting to keep my expression even. Will Achilles leave Patroclus behind? Will either of them make it?

Come on. You can do it. Hurry.

22

Achilles

Best not to think about that too closely.

I could tell at a glance that Patroclus would lose. And then Hector hit him with an uppercut that snapped his head back and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. After that, I stopped thinking entirely. My only goal was to knock Hector the fuck out and protect the man I love. I don’t give a fuck that Hector has his reasons for being here.

He doesn’t want Ares. He just wants to pave the way for his shit stain of a little brother to be Ares, and he’s willing to step on Patroclus to get there. If Helen hadn’t been on the walls and able to guide me… I don’t like to think what might have happened. “Fuck that.”

Overhead, the screens change and the crowd goes wild. I look up in time to see Paris walk out of the maze. The asshole looks regal as fuck in royal blue. He doesn’t appear to have even worked up a sweat. Bastard.

Right on his heels comes Helen.

She’s limping and smiling, but I can tell she’s furious. It’s carefully hidden in her amber eyes as she turns and gives a wave to the crowd. Part of me had hoped she’d be eliminated in this trial for simplicity’s sake, but I can’t stop the flare of pure pride. She made it through, and she did it in a clever way, too. “That’s our girl.”

The center also hold Theseus. I saw a glimpse of his fight with Helen. She kicked his ass. Or, rather, his knee. He leans against a wall with his eyes closed and his skin gone waxy with pain. Below the bottom of his black shorts, his knee is grotesquely swollen and turning an ugly shade of purple. At best, she dislocated it. At worst, she shattered something important.

Good girl.

He’s out of the tournament with an injury like that even if he’d somehow managed to get a key. Still, I guide us away from him. No reason to tempt the bastard into attempting to attack. I look up. There’s thirty minutes left in the trial. Plenty of time as long as we don’t run into trouble. But only if we don’t linger. I grab one of the keys and drape the lanyard over Patroclus’s neck. The second one goes around mine.

He glares, some of the strength coming back into his body. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not going to be Ares. I was never going to be Ares. I was only ever here for support, and you didn’t even need me.” He shakes his head and winces. “Leave me behind. It’s what’s best for you.”

True fear flickers to life. I know he’s talking about this trial specifically, but I don’t give a fuck. I can’t shake the potential future where he tells me that for real. He acts like I’m some shooting star and he’s just along for the ride, that I’m the ambitious one dragging him along at my side. As if he’s not a full partner. As if eventually I’ll leave him behind for good. As if choosing to stop striving alongside me isn’t a fucking choice on its own.

I grab his shoulders. Too hard. I’m holding him too fucking harshly. “Listen to me, Patroclus. I am never leaving you behind. Not in this fucking trial. Not in life. Stop acting like a fucking martyr.”

He flinches. “It’s not being a martyr if it’s the truth.”

We’re talking about the trial and not talking about the trial at the same time. I glare. “Are you done with me?”

He blinks and then blinks again. “No. I can’t… I won’t be the one to walk away.”

Relief makes me a little light-headed, but we don’t have time to get into it properly. Not here. Not like this. “Then shut the fuck up and hold on.” I dip down and yank him over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He curses and sputters, but it’s more out of outrage than pain.

I keep an eye out as I retrace my path toward the entrance. Atalanta and the Minotaur are still in the maze somewhere. There are no keys left, which means one of them have the final key…assuming they can reach the exit.

Patroclus curses me the whole time, but at least he stops telling me to leave him. I’m breathing hard by the time I turn the corner and see the door. The clock overhead reads ten minutes. Cutting it too close, but we did it.

I carefully set Patroclus on his feet. “You go first.”

He doesn’t argue. He weaves his way to the door and inserts the key. The crowd goes wild as he stumbles through. I follow quickly. The moment I step out of the maze, it feels like setting down a massive weight I’ve been carrying for the last two hours. I knew we’d get through. I knew it.

But there were moments when I doubted.

Patroclus and I head for the bench and I see Helen. A furrow of concern appears between her brows as she watches Patroclus limp toward her. She tenses like she’s going to leap to her feet, but I duck under Patroclus’s arm and keep him moving. “I got it, princess.”

I guide Patroclus to the spot next to her, and my chest warms at the way she immediately takes his hand. Patroclus shakes his head. “Stop staring at me like that. I’m fine.”

I sink onto the bench on the other side of Patroclus and he leans on me. Worry eats away at me. We can’t get Patroclus looked at until the trial is over. The last minutes seem to take decades.

With five minutes to spare, the Minotaur comes around the corner toward the exit. The last key is on its lanyard around his thick neck, and he’s got his head down as he charges forward. It’s the only reason he doesn’t see Atalanta until she’s on top of him.

I hold my breath as I watch her sweep his legs out from beneath him. She’s good, really good, but she’s not quite steady on her feet despite her obvious training. That has to be why she’s not able to dance back fast enough when the Minotaur lashes out and yanks her off her feet.

Nothing good.

On the screens, Atalanta perches on the Minotaur’s broad chest and hammers him with elbow strikes. I wince. That shit has to hurt, but he’s got his arms over his head and he seems to be waiting her out. His opportunity comes when she shifts to reach for the key.

The Minotaur slams his elbow into her side. The force of the blow knocks her off him and she lands against the far wall and clutches her stomach. He broke a rib there. Maybe more than one.

I tense as he climbs to his feet. If he goes after her now, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. For a long, pregnant pause, I can almost see him considering hurting her seriously. Then he turns and lumbers to the exit.

Seconds later, he throws open the door and stalks out. One of his eyes is almost entirely swollen shut from where Atalanta punched him, but he seems otherwise fine. I suppose it was too much to ask for him to have some more injuries to fuck him up for the next trial.

The crowd goes quiet as the spotlight aims at Athena. “The second trial is over.” She gives a slow smile. “Congratulations to our champions who are moving on to the third and final trial. Achilles, Patroclus, the Minotaur, Helen, and Paris.”

The arena goes wild. I can feel the cheering though the soles of my shoes, vibrating right down to my bones. Even though I want nothing more than to get the fuck out of here and get a doctor to look at Patroclus, I grin and wave. On the other side of him, Helen is doing the same.

I hate myself a little bit in that moment.

Why the fuck am I playing the game when one of the people I care most about in the world is so injured, he can’t sit up entirely on his own? It says something about me and my goals, and it’s a pretty shitty statement.

But with how far we’ve come, how hard we’ve fought to be here…

I can’t give it up. It’s not in my nature. I will fight to the bitter end, and the only thing I can do is hope that the cost isn’t higher than I can pay. It never occurred to me that that was even an option before this point. Now? Now I’m not so sure.

Things move quickly after that.

Bellerophon and their people usher us out of the arena. There are few enough champions that we all fit in one van. I keep Patroclus between me and Helen. I don’t like the way the other two men keep looking at him—at us.

Paris leans back against his seat and smirks. “Cute little thing you three have going. Don’t you get tired, Achilles?” I stare stonily at him, but apparently he doesn’t need a response. “You know, from carrying both Helen and Patroclus on your back?”

I sense Helen going tense, but I don’t look over as I respond. “It must be exhausting for you, Paris.”

He narrows his eyes. “What must be?”

Paris’s skin goes a mottled red but his tone is still full of that same infuriating charm when he speaks. “It’s cute how you’re sucking up to Helen like this.” He leans forward a little, cruelty alighting in his eyes. “You don’t have to work so hard. Just call her a dirty little slut and she’ll be on her back with her legs spread for you.”

Fury has me lurching forward, but Patroclus’s hand on my chest stops me. His voice is low but vicious. “Spoken like a man who had something priceless and fucked it up.”

I glance over at Helen, but she’s staring out the window. I would have thought she’d go for Paris’s throat for a comment like that. It’s not as if she’s subtle when she’s furious, and she slapped me for less. Instead, her shoulders are curled in on herself and her body language is tense and brittle.

This isn’t the first time he’s said shit like this to her.

I don’t really give a fuck what people think of me outside of a select few, but I’ve seen how Patroclus will sometimes let comments ping around inside his big brain until they muddle the truth and eat him up from the inside. It doesn’t happen as often now as it did in our teens and early twenties, but this has the feel of that.

Helen loved Paris. I don’t understand it, but I’m sure of it now. She loved him and let him in, and she might as well have cuddled up with a cobra, because he used that closeness against her.

I turn back to him. I’m no longer in danger of attacking him, but my anger is no less. I smile slowly. “I’m going to enjoy beating your face in during the next challenge. No Hector to protect you this time, Paris.”

He shrugs. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

The Minotaur snorts. “You four with your petty little squabbles. It exhausts me.”

The van slows to a stop. Paris barely waits for the door to open before he’s charging out of the vehicle. The Minotaur follows, but at a more reasonable pace. I half expect Helen to leave, too, but she turns to us. Her expression is locked down in a way I don’t like. “I’ll help you with Patroclus.”

Neither of us comment that I can carry him without much trouble. She obviously needs something to occupy her after Paris being such a shit, and if Patroclus is fine with it, so am I. We carefully ease him out of the van, and Helen tucks herself under his arm. She’s short enough that he doesn’t have to raise his arm overmuch, and she doesn’t so much as weave at his weight. She’s deceptively strong for her size, but that’s nothing new.

Bellerophon meets us there. They sweep a look over our trio. “The doctor will meet you in Patroclus’s rooms.”

Bellerophon and I watch for a moment. They speak softly. “He would have seen a doctor even if you didn’t carry him out of the maze on your back. He probably would have seen one sooner.”

Bellerophon claps me on the shoulder. “Well, congrats on making it to the third trial. You all but have it in the bag.”

I manage a slight smile, though I’m still tracking Helen and Patroclus as they reach the door. She’s limping a little, and I don’t think it’s because he’s leaning on her. Damn the woman. She should have said something if she was injured, too. I start for the front door. “Congratulate me when I’m named Ares.”

She sputters. “I’m fine.”

These two might be some of the smartest people I’ve ever encountered, but they don’t have the self-preservation the gods give children. If left to their own devices, they will ignore their bodies and end up seriously hurt.

That’s okay. If you won’t look out for yourself, then I’ll look out for you.

I spare a quick glance, taking in their profiles. Something soft and tender stirs in my chest. Both of you.

23

Helen

No matter what I tell Achilles and Patroclus, my thigh is one massive ache by the time we make it back to the room. I barely feel it. Between Paris’s horrible words circling my head and Patroclus’s obvious injuries, I have plenty beyond the physical to focus on.

That doesn’t stop Achilles from bullying us to the couch and snarling when I try to stand. He points a blunt finger at me. “Sit the fuck down and wait for the doctor.”

I should probably find his attitude aggravating, but… Much like when Patroclus stopped me on the treadmill, this is Achilles taking care of me. It’s novel enough to be nice. Aggravating. But nice. People don’t take care of me. Growing up in my father’s house meant showing too much caring was just asking for Zeus to teach us a harsh lesson. We watched it happen again and again with Hercules, and we learned well. Too well, maybe.

I nudge Achilles’s finger away from my face. “Theseus just got my thigh. It’s a bruise.”

He points at Patroclus. “Don’t you start. You can barely lift your arms to your shoulders. I’m cutting you out of your shirt, too.”

Patroclus and I share a look, and the exasperation I see mirrored in his dark eyes surprises a laugh out of me. It feels good, so I do it again. “Gods, Achilles, you’re a delight.”

The doctor is a short, wizened woman with medium-brown skin, a tight bun of graying hair, and thick square glasses. She sweeps a look over us. “Injuries?”

Patroclus hesitates but finally sighs. “Face. Ankle.” He shoots a guilty look at Achilles. “Ribs.”

The doctor snaps her fingers at Achilles. “That’s enough out of you. Either help them get out of their clothes without commentary or leave.”

Instantly, he ducks his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

He grabs a pair of scissors from the kitchen. It feels far more intimate than it should for Achilles to sit so close, his handsome face a study in concentration as he carefully pulls the fabric away from my skin and cuts. The scissors are a cool slide with each snip, and a few minutes later, he peels the catsuit off.

He’s just as careful with Patroclus, though he glares at the other man the entire time. “You should have said something.”

Worry curdles my stomach. “Look him over first.”

She examines Patroclus next, asking a series of terse questions. I look over her head at Achilles. I’ve never seen him so sick with worry and guilt. He carried Patroclus out of the maze over his shoulders. If Patroclus has broken ribs…if that action made them worse… I can practically see those thoughts going through the big man’s dark gaze.

Neither of us take a full breath until the doctor sits back. “You’re lucky. I don’t think anything’s broken. I would like to get an X-ray of your ribs, though. To be sure.”

She sighs. “Very well. Be stubborn. I can’t force you to get care.”

Achilles bristles. “Get the X-ray.”

I don’t know him well enough as an adult to know if he’s lying. It’s strange to realize that. It’s been less than a week of being close to him, but it feels far longer. At least until moments like this when it’s readily apparent that my knowledge is only skin deep.

But even Achilles looks at him like he’s not sure what the truth is. Finally, he shakes his head. “If I find out you’re lying, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Achilles turns to the doctor and gives her a polite smile. “Thank you so much for checking them out, ma’am.”

Achilles glares at us. “Can you be trusted to sit still and not fuck yourself up further while I go get some food for us? Or are you going to be vaulting out of windows and fighting the Minotaur?”

I roll my eyes. “It was a trial. I would say I got out pretty clean considering that I was facing down Theseus.”

I flush in response to his praise. He offers it so freely, without a single string attached. I don’t quite understand it, but I like it a lot. “Thanks.”

Patroclus shakes his head. “Come on. If we’re not sitting docilely and waiting when he gets back, he’s going to take it as evidence that we’re in worse shape that we claim, and he’ll be hollering for a second opinion from another doctor.”

I smile a little despite myself. “Gods forbid.”

He snorts. “‘Cute’ is one word for it, I guess.”

Achilles comes back through the door less than ten minutes later. He rakes a gaze over us but seems satisfied. “Well, that’s something.” He sets a giant box on the table, filled with several ice packs and more food than I know what to do with. “Let’s eat.”

It’s so easy to be with them. Even though I’m tired and I hurt and my heart is still aching from Paris’s poisonous words, I’m more at ease here with these two men than I have been in longer than I can remember. I’m not worried about my lack of makeup or my relaxed appearance or about them trying to use my careless words as weapons to launch at me when I least expect it.

It’s nice. More than nice. It’s an indulgence I know better than to allow myself to enjoy. Yes, we all passed the second trial and granted our little trio a reprieve, but the end result is still the same. One of us will be Ares. The others will lose out on a dream they’ve spent far too long chasing.

Some of the warm feeling in my chest dissipates. “It’s not important.” I refuse to admit that Paris scares me. He pokes holes in my confidence, in my emotional security, and then stands there with that little smile on his lips when I lose control and rage. There was a time when I reassured myself that at least the damage was confined to the emotional, as if that makes it better. The truth is that he’s done lasting damage to me, both mentally and emotionally. I take a deep breath. “He is not important.”

Patroclus doesn’t look like he believes me. “It’s not right how he talks to you.”

Achilles cracks his knuckles. “Want me to kick his ass for you?”

I smile despite everything. “That’s not necessary. I can fight my own battles.”

I wish I believed that. The problem is that Paris shouldn’t have managed to get past the second trial. He works out enough to keep what he’s decided is the ideal body type, but he’s not an athlete or warrior like the other champions. There’s absolutely no way he should have pulled off being the first through the door. When it comes to combat? He might not win in a fair fight, but Paris has never been in a fair fight even once in his life. How he ambushed Atalanta more than proves that.

And the rest? The future where this strange, tentative thing between me and Achilles and Patroclus crashes and burns away to ash? I can’t stand the thought of it.

Easier, simpler to focus on the more immediate threats. “Besides, it’s not as if he’s the only one I have to worry about. Even if Paris isn’t a true contender—and he is, or he wouldn’t still be here—no one can argue that the Minotaur is anything less than dangerous.”

Achilles narrows his eyes. “Seems forward of Zeus, but what’s wrong with that?”

My laugh comes out ragged. “What’s wrong is that he’s making a whole lot of assumptions that aren’t based in reality. Ares doesn’t need me as their wife in order to hold the title. Somehow the so-called comfort of being avenged doesn’t make me feel better. But then, he didn’t say it to make me feel better. He said it to assuage whatever’s left of his stunted conscience.” Or, worse, to placate me into being a willing victim. I can’t say that aloud, though. It’s too much to share, even with these two.

Achilles lifts his brows. “I don’t know what you’re worried about, princess. I’m going to become the next Ares, and while I enjoy a bit of slap and tickle and fighting turning into fucking, I only enjoy it when everyone involved is having a good time. You’re safe enough with me.”

I stare up at him, temporarily dumbfounded. Does he think that’s comforting? While I can admit that Achilles is the best candidate of the bunch, his winning means I’ve failed. It means I’ll spend the rest of my life regulated to the supportive wife, the one always outside the inner circle, the prize.

I sink into the chair across from him, suddenly exhausted. I can’t afford to forget that these men aren’t my allies. Not really. They might be guarding my body and giving me more pleasure than I could have dreamed and… But it doesn’t matter. We’re at odds.

Gods, that shouldn’t hurt so much. “That’s not nearly as comforting as you’d like it to be.”

I bristle. It doesn’t even occur to me to cover up my reaction. Not with these two. “I am the best option to win.”

Achilles gives that arrogant grin like he’s humoring me. “Really, princess? Have you dealt with a lot of soldiers and security efforts up in that gilded palace of a penthouse you live in?” The question might be barbed, but I can tell he’s not trying to be cruel.

He’s even right, at least in this. I don’t have experience with soldiers. Not even a little bit. I’ve had security all my life, but they tend to either blend into the background or keep enough distance—at my insistence—that I forget they’re there. I came into this tournament prepared to have to learn from the ground up when it comes to Ares’s actual duties, but I’m smart, ambitious, and not afraid to play dirty. I can figure out the rest on my way down.

I lift my chin. “I’m a fast learner.”

I am so fucking tired of being underestimated. Yes, I know only the basics of security from the client perspective, but that doesn’t mean I’m ill-prepared for the title. These two men are both smart and ambitious and they actually take me seriously, but they still don’t understand. There’s absolutely no reason to feel stung by that. No one else sees the real me, understands what I’m actually capable of. Why would Achilles and Patroclus be the exception?

Honestly, it’s an asset. No matter how it chafes, being underestimated has only benefited me. Right now is where I keep my mouth shut and let them believe they know something I don’t.

I can’t quite manage it, though. “Wrong. I’m not the one in over my head if I become Ares.” I lean forward and tap Achilles on the chest with a single finger. “You are.”

You’re showing your hand. I ignore the little voice inside me and answer him in kind. “I might not be out there playing soldier, but one thing I do know is politics. Can you say the same?”

What must it be like to be loved that much?

I shove the thought away. “You can’t just learn politics like you can with other skills. That’s not how it works.”

Something like worry takes root inside me. I’m going to win. I have to believe I’m going to win. But if I don’t? If Achilles does manage to secure Ares and steps into the viper’s nest I grew up in… He’s going to get hurt. He might get dead. “Because of the barrier, we haven’t had to deal with an outside incursion in our lifetime.”

Achilles shrugs. “I’m still more qualified than you are.”

I raise my brows, trying not to let the strange worry inside me flourish. How can he be so determined not to see the pitfall right in front of him? Or, if not Achilles, how can Patroclus ignore the danger? I have to make them see, in the event that the worst comes to pass. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to them. “Is that so? Then I’m sure you can tell me why the last Aphrodite took a hit out on Demeter’s daughter.”

Patroclus raises his brows. “Everyone knows she tried to kill Psyche. It was televised, Helen.”

I keep going. “How about what Hermes’s endgame is—or are you naive enough to think she’s merely stirring the pot to entertain herself? Can you trace all of Demeter’s contacts across the rest of the Thirteen? Will you fall in with her or try to stand apart? Both decisions have consequences. Are you prepared to pay them?”

Achilles shrugs, but Patroclus is looking at me like he’s never seen me before. Finally, he begins to understand. “All our strategy has been focused on the martial side of things,” he says slowly.

All this means I can’t really trust either of these men. No matter how much I want to. “Even a precious princess isn’t exempt from having to learn to swim in shark-infested waters. Information is just as dangerous as a gun, even more so in the right hands. The Thirteen will eat both of you alive.”

24

Patroclus

I’ve underestimated Helen. Again. I stare at the fire in her amber eyes and have to shift every path into the future I had speculated on. Again. Our original plans didn’t last past meeting her, and now the pieces I’d slowly begun to put back together are blown out of the water. Again.

We need her.

Not because we enjoy sex with her. Not because she’s destined to be Ares’s wife, which means Achilles’s wife. Not because we both like her quite a bit in our own way.

We need her because she knows things that will make the learning curve of entering into the Thirteen smoother and allow Achilles to dodge potential pitfalls. No matter how smart I am, I don’t know what I don’t know.

I don’t know a single thing about what she just mentioned.

Oh, everyone knew that Aphrodite attempted to kill Psyche, but it had appeared to be driven by jealousy and a desire to keep the woman away from her son. I had no idea that Demeter was involved at all. Or that I should be concerned about Poseidon’s bedroom habits. Or that Hermes is more than just the creature of chaos she appears to be. Or any of the other shit.

No, we can’t.

Achilles is brilliant when it comes to conflict, to anticipating an opponent’s move and ensuring victory for him and his team. But this is a different kind of conflict that he’s never had to deal with. That neither of us have, for all that my mothers are both from families that have a history of scheming for the available titles among the Thirteen. I think they used to indulge in more ambitious games before we moved away from the city center, but my life has been startlingly normal. Nothing like Achilles, with his ambition a hunger so large, I’m not sure Olympus itself can hold him. Certainly not like Helen, who is a warrior in her own right.

We need her.

Are you sure you’re not just saying that?

I ignore the voice, just like I have been ignoring it since my talk with Helen the night of the nominations. It doesn’t matter what I feel, because logic and facts reign supreme, and right now they’re all pointing in one direction.

Fact: Achilles is going to win the tournament and become the next Ares.

Fact: Marrying Helen is an inevitable side effect to that conclusion.

Fact: Neither Achilles nor I have had to navigate the inner circles of the Thirteen before, aside from Athena, who is an outlier among the group in how she deals with her people.

Fact: Helen has navigated those circles and done it successfully since birth.

Conclusion: It’s not enough for Achilles to marry her once he becomes Ares. We need her on our side and willing to lend us her expertise. When laid out like that, it seems simple enough. It seems logical and not at all an impulsive decision made because I can’t stand the thought of this thing between the three of us ending within a few days. I can blame Achilles and his intense looks all I want, but my own feelings are no less complicated…or irrational. It’s comforting to fall back on the strategy, to have it support the end result I selfishly want, but it does support that conclusion.

None of this is new information. Nothing we’ve talked about as we circled each other for the last few days is new information. It doesn’t matter how much we argue, because it boils down to the facts, and they never change.

We can’t argue or reason our way out of this situation.

I…don’t know what the answer is.

Achilles always has a better head in situations where time is of the essence. He isn’t weighed down by running scenarios and examining facts before choosing a route. He shoots from the hip, so to speak. I want to argue that right now, that isn’t the approach we need, not when so much can go wrong, but Helen gives a small smile. “He’s right. We’ve had a long day. Let’s go to bed.”

How seamlessly they move to guide me to the door, Helen tucking herself under my arm and Achilles falling a few steps behind to watch our backs. All without saying a single word. I shake my head. This is wrong. We are supposed to be looking after Helen, not coddling me because I was fool enough to get into a fight with Hector in the second trial.

Funny, but somewhere in the last day or so, I forgot I was jealous of the future bearing down on us. I glance down at Helen, waiting for the feeling to come roaring back, but there’s just a strange sort of contentment twinning with my overall stress and the pain beating in time with my heart. I’m not sure how to process that.

Achilles barely waits for us to make it to the bedroom before he says, “Get naked.”

Helen arches a perfect brow at him. “Someone’s presumptuous.”

He reaches overhead and lightly grips the doorframe, perfectly at ease, as if he’s not putting on a show for an audience of two. “I’m all for tucking you two in and keeping watch if you can honestly tell me that you won’t lie there in the dark and stare at the ceiling and stress yourself the fuck out.” He transfers his attention to me. “Are you up for it, or were you lying to the good doctor?”

Helen crosses her arms over her chest and eyes Achilles. “There’s nothing wrong with using our brains. You should try it sometime.”

He grins. “Nah, I’ll leave that to you two. I’ll be here to help you check out when you start spiraling.”

She blinks. “Um.”

This is already complicated enough without tangling myself further up emotionally. Which is exactly what will happen. I’ve barely dealt with the implications of what comes next, of how it’s shifted now that we’ve met Helen…slept with Helen. How am I supposed to make my peace with Achilles moving on without me if he keeps insisting on including me in this shit? “I’m not too injured, but I’m also not ruled by my wants.”

He’s always used sex to help me stop spiraling mentally. It’s always worked.

Now he’s extending that to Helen as well.

As much as he was bothered by the idea of me and her before, he’s totally set that aside now that he’s involved in the picture, too. Now that he’s got some future painted in his head with the three of us. If I were braver, I’d ask him what he intends, but I’m not sure I’m prepared for whatever the answer is.

Achilles shrugs. “Both of you need sleep. A few orgasms will help that along. I’m all too happy to provide them.”

This whole situation would be aggravating if it wasn’t so Achilles. He’s more than capable of nuance, but he prefers to see the world in black and white. What serves his goals and can be acted on in this moment versus literally everything else. And he doesn’t give a shit about the latter.

To him, there’s nothing we can do until the next trial. We have Helen with us, so it’s a given that we’ll keep her safe until then. He’ll fuck us to sleep and then take watch, probably until morning if I don’t miss my guess. I sigh. “You competed today, too. You have to be exhausted.”

Her face goes a little red, but she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I don’t even like you.”

The top.

He steps around us and walks into the shower to turn the water on. It takes only a few seconds before steam curls in our direction. I turn away. I have to because watching Achilles shower is one of my favorite vices. If I don’t get control of myself right now, I’ll be naked and with him beneath the water. Now is not the time for that. I have to remember that. I have to…

Helen presses her hands carefully to my upper chest. She looks a little fragile around the eyes but otherwise unbothered by Achilles being…Achilles. “He’s always like this, isn’t he?”

Her lips curve. “Your blood pressure must be through the roof. You’re so logical and he’s so…himself.”

Achilles and Helen are so different from me. I don’t see how fighting and fucking are more of a comfort than finding a solution. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy sparring with Achilles, especially when it gets him going and results in an especially rough fucking. And I can’t deny that sex will always stop my mental spiraling in its tracks. Sex won’t fix things or make them less complicated, though. It’s only a stopgap, a bandage, a temporary detour.

Coming up with a solution, though? That will bring long-term relief.

Maybe there’s room for both, for us each meeting a different need because of how different we are. Helen’s already looking steadier on her feet and more like herself. I nod slowly. “Yeah, he’s taking care of us in his own way.” He’s doing it right now.

Helen tugs on my shirt. “Come play with us, Patroclus. We’ll be gentle. After we tire ourselves out, you can talk us through what’s going on in your head.”

I’m so tempted, but no matter what they both say, sex changes things. Has already changed things. I want to believe that we’ll all land on our feet after this. I want to believe it so desperately, I’m tempted to ignore all the evidence pointing to the contrary. “This results in heartbreak. Either he ends up Ares, ruining your dreams, or you do, and it ruins his dreams. Or someone else entirely wins and that smashes both of you to bits.” Doubly so because at least with Achilles or Helen winning, there’s a small chance to fix things and reach the future I suddenly want more than anything. The three of us together.

That won’t happen if Helen is married to another.

I startle. “Why would you say that?”

If I don’t want to?

The thought almost makes me laugh. Of course I want to. It’s not as simple as seeing something I desire and reaching out to acquire it. Except… Maybe it is? Maybe this once, I can throw the consequences to the wind and ride it out for a little while?

If we’re all but destined to crash and burn, why not do as they suggest and take what little pleasure and joy I can where I can find it?

I half expect her to laugh it off or maybe agree easily with the intention never to follow through on it. We’ve known each other long enough that I understand Helen doesn’t let people in. She’s so different from the child I remember, different from the public persona she adapts with other people. Even so, I’m not naive enough to think she’s giving us everything. She’s too smart, and much too savvy, to expose herself like that.

Helen gives me a small smile that feels like a punch in the gut. “I’m not sure you really want that. I’m a mess.”

She hesitates but finally nods. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

25

Achilles

By the time Helen and Patroclus join me in the shower, I’ve managed to get myself under control. I don’t make a habit of lying to myself. There’s no point. That shit just gets in the way of accomplishing what I want, so I accept new information as it comes and adapt accordingly.

The feeling that sprouted yesterday morning, the surety that Helen is meant to make our couple into a throuple, has solidified inside me with the completion of the second trial. She kicked ass in that trial, and I don’t give a fuck that the three of us making it to the final one continues to complicate things. It means more time together before we have to deal with Ares.

I like having her around. I like her. Yeah, she’s got a point about the politics and shit, but that just reinforces my belief that the three of us were meant to be working as a team instead of at odds with each other. Helen will make a stellar ally. She’s smart and she’s experienced, and she knows the ins and outs of this new battlefield better than we do. More, I enjoyed the fuck out of watching her shove that knowledge down our throats. There’s nothing sexier than competence, and the woman has it in spades.

I can clearly see a future where I’m married to Helen. The long, lazy evenings where she and Patroclus strategize until I get tired of all the talking and drag them to the bedroom. The irritating parties made much less so by watching Helen work the room, dressed to the nines in gold and diamonds, a warrior of words and thinly veiled politics. The early mornings where Patroclus and I are up and going through our normal workout routine and Helen wakes up in time to share a cup of coffee and a quick breakfast before we all go about our days.

It feels real. It’s just a matter of getting us there.

There’s the issue of her wanting to be Ares, but she’ll get over it. She doesn’t seem one to linger on things as they should be when she can adapt to things as they are. It might take some time to earn her forgiveness, but I already know her weakness.

All I have to do is provoke her enough, and we’ll start fighting and end up fucking. Do it enough times and eventually we’ll skip over the fighting and get right to the fucking. I don’t see how that’s a bad thing by any definition of the word. Besides, I don’t have to be Patroclus to understand that Helen’s grasp of the politics of the Thirteen is an asset we don’t want to lose.

Helen ducks underneath the showerhead next to me. When I first saw the showers in these suites, I thought they were ridiculous. I’m a big guy, but even I don’t need four showerheads and this much room. I get it now.

I watch her wash her hair out of the corner of my eye while Patroclus comes up on my other side. He’s still got that sexy little furrow between his brows that makes me want to kiss it away. He always worries too much. We have this in the bag, and now that I don’t have to be worried about him running off into the sunset with the precious princess, everything is coming up aces.

There is the final trial to consider, but none of the remaining contenders are enough to worry me. None of that matters for the next two days, though, so I hook Helen around the hips and pull her against my chest. She resists the tiniest bit, but not like she really wants to go anywhere else.

I grin down at her. “Shower or bed?”

Helen reaches up and slicks back her hair, pressing her breasts against my chest. “Why not dream a little bigger, Achilles? Let’s do both.”

I take the opportunity to get a good look at his injuries, too. He’s moving okay, so he’s likely telling the truth about it just being bruising. Thank fuck. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him. His body will be a spectacular array of purple, blue, and green tomorrow, but he’s okay.

He watches us as he soaps up his body, his hands moving unhurriedly over muscles I want to sink my teeth into. He always was a fucking tease when given half the chance. Usually, I’m impatient so I get things rolling, but I don’t have that option right now. Not unless I want to release Helen, and I’m never letting her go. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Patroclus drinks in the sight of her, of us, as he finishes washing himself slowly. I don’t think he realizes his heart is in his eyes. Gods, the way this man wants. He makes me strive to be better, to be worthy of it. Knowing he feels that way toward Helen only ramps up my determination to make us work. I don’t waste time with bullshit about this happening too fast. If you know what you want, why dick around about going for it?

I want Patroclus.

I want Helen.

I mean to have them. Permanently.

I watch the water course over his body and my mouth waters. Yesterday was barely enough to take the edge off wanting these two. Today worrying about them in the trial has only heightened my need. We’re not doing this in the shower, though. It’s hardly the safest way to fuck even if everyone was fully healthy. With Patroclus’s injuries and Helen’s leg in danger of buckling, it’s out of the question. I want them, but I don’t want either of them harmed in the process.

Gods, I’m a fucking sap.

Finally Patroclus turns to face us fully and takes a step to close the distance. He plants his hands on her hips and leans forward…bypassing Helen’s face to kiss me. Patroclus always had the tiniest of sadistic streaks when we entertain others in our bed, but it feels different with Helen. Neither of us gave a fuck about those other people, aside from getting them off as hard as we could. With Helen, there’s…more. Jealousy or possession or something else altogether. I don’t know, but I fucking like it.

Patroclus kisses me like it’s just us, like it will always just be us. A reminder. A promise. Who the fuck knows? I kiss him back just as intensely.

And then he moves to Helen, taking her mouth with the same command he took mine. My breath comes faster as Patroclus presses her back against me even harder with the force of his mouth. She tries to reach for him, but I tighten my grip on her wrists. Helen’s strong, but I’m stronger, and I think she likes that because she moans. Or maybe what she likes is that I don’t treat her like she’s made of spun glass.

Patroclus eases down her body, finally kneeling before us. He kisses her lower stomach, just above her pussy. “Her legs, Achilles. Hold her for me.”

She sputters a little and rolls her hips, rubbing her ass against my cock. “Anything resembling submission is strictly confined to sex and only sex. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

Patroclus’s eyes go hot. “Noted.”

Or maybe it’s easy for others to ignore the thorns, seeing only what they want to see. Not me. I like the thorns. What use is a defenseless flower except to shove in a vase and let wither until its once-beautiful petals fall off?

They want to do that to Helen.

Fuck, we want to do that to Helen.

The realization makes me shift, not liking the direction of my thoughts. Patroclus and I aren’t the same as the other champions, the rest of the Thirteen. Yes, I plan to squash Helen’s dream with my own, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch her wither away. She doesn’t have to be Ares to get what she wants. She’ll figure that out as soon as this whole tournament is over.

That’s fine. I don’t have to see every step of the journey to know my destination. That’s what Patroclus is for. I have no doubt that he wants Helen, too. He’ll find us a way forward.

I grab Helen’s thighs, careful to avoid the bruise, and spread her wide for Patroclus. He makes a deep appreciative noise, and I laugh. “Somehow, you get her pussy first again and I’m stuck here doing all the work.”

She squirms in my arms, but even slippery from being in the shower, I hold her immobile as Patroclus works her clit with the flat of his tongue. He goes about it like he goes about everything in life: with utter precision and a determination to be the best. Helen’s breasts heave with every breath, and impatience flickers. “Hurry up and make her come. It’s my turn next.”

Helen turns her head and I take the unspoken offer, kissing her mouth even as Patroclus kisses her pussy. She tastes a little like him, and the realization has my cock hardening to an almost painful level. She’s not one to take her pleasure, this kiss, passively. It’s a battle the same way everything between us is a battle.

And then she’s coming, moaning against my tongue and trying to thrash. I tighten my grip on her thighs, enjoying the way her muscles flex and fight against my hands. She’s athletic as fuck. Both trials have more than proven what she’s capable of. I bet we could get into some crazy creative positions between the three of us.

Later. After the tournament is over and everyone is healthy and healed.

I break the kiss as Patroclus pushes to his feet and reaches behind us to turn off the water. “Bed. Now.”

Patroclus follows me out of the bathroom, a strange look on his face as I carefully toss Helen onto the bed. She bounces, but she’s fast, already rolling before she hits the mattress a second time. I snag her calf and flip her onto her back. “Don’t tell me one orgasm was enough for you.” I dodge a kick aimed at my face. “Be a good girl and spread your legs.”

I laugh. Gods, this is fun. “If you don’t play nice, I’m going to tell Patroclus to hold you down.”

Her amber gaze flicks to him, and I see the exact moment she realizes that will get her off even harder. “Oh no,” she drawls. “Not that.” When I don’t immediately move, she curses and tries to kick me in the face again.

Brat.

I watch him closely as he moves onto the bed. If either of them show the first sign of their injuries being more serious than they and the doctor claim, I’m shutting this whole thing down.

Patroclus kneels on the mattress above Helen’s head and catches her wrists, pressing them to the bed. She struggles, but I can tell she’s not fighting as hard as she could. I catch her eyeing his ribs, and my chest goes warm at how she’s taking care of him without being overt about it. Good girl. I move up between her thighs and press them wide and up, spreading her obscenely.

What a picture we make.

Patroclus is breathing harder than the effort to hold our princess down requires, and his cock is so stiff, it’ll be a fucking miracle if he doesn’t come just from the foreplay. It’s fine if he does. We have all of tonight and tomorrow. I plan on tucking these two in for some rest after I fuck the worry right out of their heads, but that doesn’t mean it has to be rushed.

Every muscle in Helen’s body quivers as she tries to fight our superior strength. Her pussy, though? She’s so wet, she’s practically dripping. I lick my lips and she makes a little whimpering sound that goes straight to my balls. Yeah, I can’t wait to get my mouth all over Helen Kasios again. I glance at Patroclus. He looks turned on and conflicted about it.

First, though, a few ground rules.

Helen blinks at me, a little frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “But saying stop can be sexy.”

She considers this and finally nods. “Okay, that’s fair. Same goes for you two, though.”

I don’t bother to tell them that it won’t be an issue with me. I appreciate the thought. There’s a level of caring that I’ve only experienced with Patroclus, and I’m too turned on to think too hard about it. Maybe later, when I’m not looking at the perfection that is Helen’s naked body, her pussy an invitation I have no intention of declining. “Sure.”

I don’t give her a warning before I move, quickly sliding down and releasing her thighs. She only has a second to tense before I band my forearm across the back of her thighs and press them up. I can’t spread her as wide like this, but it’s fine. I don’t need to in order to accomplish what I want. I drag the tip of my finger over her slit. “I’ve changed my mind about you.”

It’s entertaining as fuck to watch her expressions flicker. Desire and confusion and need. “What are you talking about?”

He blinks. “You mean before her body gives out.”

I keep stroking her G-spot with my fingertips and pretend to consider. “Sure. Before her body gives out or before we crash. Whichever comes first.”

26

Helen

I’m still having a hard time processing that I’m here, in between these two men, when Achilles starts eating me out. When Patroclus is between my thighs, he’s methodical. Achilles goes after me like he can’t get enough, like he’s less worried about getting me off than he is about tasting every inch of me. It’s sexier than I could have dreamed, and all the while he keeps up that steady rhythm with his fingertips inside me.

I don’t remember closing my eyes, but when I open them, Patroclus is staring down at me. He studies my face as if determined to memorize every piece of me. As if he can see beneath my skin to the selfish, petty, ambitious woman beneath. He shifts back, still maintaining his grip on my wrists, and eases down onto his stomach on the bed.

Patroclus’s lips brush the shell of my ear. “You fight so fucking hard, Helen. To be taken seriously. To be seen as a person. To forget how often neither of those things happen.” He speaks in a soft murmur completely at odds with the way Achilles is sucking on my clit.

I tense. I didn’t ask for this. I’m already held down and spread open. Being stripped bare, too? It’s too much. “Stop.”

Between my thighs, Achilles pauses, but stop isn’t wait. After the barest of hesitations, he resumes, settling into a rhythm of rubbing the flat of his tongue against my clit. My whole body goes tight in response. “Please.” I don’t know what I’m asking for. Patroclus to stop before he says something I can’t take. Achilles to make me come so hard, I stop thinking entirely. Both. Neither.

Patroclus, devil on my shoulder, just keeps spilling words directly into my ear. “Has anyone ever taken care of you, Helen? Not as a prize to be shown off but as a woman?”

He might as well have split open my rib cage and ripped my heart right out of my chest. This is only supposed to be sex, to be a convenient escape from how ugly the inside of my head is right now. It’s no supposed to be Patroclus or Achilles—or both—seeing me. “Stop,” I whisper.

My eyes burn and I blink rapidly, hating the tears that slip free. I can’t concentrate, can’t even think. “You don’t…” Whatever protest I’m trying to make disappears as Achilles sucks hard enough on my clit to bow my back.

He shifts to nip first one thigh and then the other. “You’re making her cry.” I can’t tell if he’s pleased or bothered by it.

Keep me.

The very idea should infuriate me. I am not someone to be kept. The whole reason I’m here in the first place is to avoid that fate…

Except when Patroclus says they want to keep me, it doesn’t feel like he’s saying they want to keep me in a gilded cage, a trophy wife to bring out for parties and events to prove what badass guys they are. Taming Helen Kasios and all that bullshit.

No, when he says keep, it sounds a whole lot like…

Achilles sounds so irritated, I smile despite myself. “Maybe you’re just not doing a good enough job.”

He lifts a brow, a devastatingly cocky expression on his face. “Hmmm. Guess I need to up my game, then.” He glances at Patroclus, and they share one of those silent conversations I envy so much. This time, I get flashes of intent. Achilles is asking a question. Patroclus grunts in response. I don’t know the nature of the question, but I’m ridiculously pleased to have picked up even that much.

So pleased that I don’t have time to tense before they move as a unit. Patroclus grabs me under the arms and lifts me as he rises. He eases onto his back on the bed with me straddling him facing Achilles. “What…” My voice trails off as Achilles wraps a fist around Patroclus’s big cock.

He gives me that wicked grin that promises all sorts of fun and pleasure. “Up.”

No mistaking his intent. I rise slowly and bite my bottom lip as he drags Patroclus’s cock through my folds. Back and forth. Back and forth. He catches against my entrance, and I start to sink down, but Patroclus grabs my hips, holding me in position. “Not yet.”

I go still as I realize what’s happening. He’s tasting me on his boyfriend’s cock. He’s obviously a fan because he gives Patroclus one last rough suck and then his mouth is on my pussy again. This time, the sight is even better than before.

Patroclus’s hands denting the skin at my hips as he fights both me and gravity to keep my body aloft. His hard cock practically throbbing with need and wet from Achilles’s mouth. Achilles’s eyes holding my gaze as he works my clit exactly how I need to get off.

For as long as I live, I’m never going to forget my time sharing a bed with these men.

Never forget? I might laugh if I could breathe though the orgasm barreling down upon me. More like I’ll be scandalizing my grandchildren someday recounting the time I allowed myself to be seduced by two warrior men.

Patroclus’s hands tighten on my hips, and it’s the only warning I get before he slams me down on his thick cock. I didn’t even realize Achilles had positioned him at my entrance.

I come so hard I scream, but Achilles doesn’t stop that decadent motion with his tongue against my clit. Patroclus starts rocking me on his cock, the tiniest movement that has my toes curling. “Gods!”

The shock of my actual name on his lips nearly sucks me under. I can’t submit, not to this. Not here, not now, not when so much is at stake. It should have been an easy thing to deny. One little word, two tiny letters. No.

I…can’t say it.

I can’t agree, but I can’t push them away, either.

Instead, I do the only thing I can think of. I hook Achilles’s thick neck and yank him down to claim his mouth. I pour everything into the kiss, all my doubts and fears and sorrow. Because this can’t last. It doesn’t matter what these two men think, how right the words they say, how safe they make me feel. It simply cannot last.

But we have tonight.

Achilles growls against my mouth. “Fine, then.” He breaks the kiss long enough to grab a pillow. “Lift.”

Patroclus almost unseats me when he obeys. I catch myself on Achilles’s shoulders and for a moment he looks at me like…well, like he wants to keep me. Then he plants those massive hands on my hips, lifting me and turning me around to face Patroclus. “I want to watch,” I protest.

Gods, he has his heart in his eyes.

I rock my hips, fucking him slowly as Achilles climbs off the bed long enough to grab lube from the nightstand. Patroclus looks at me like I’m a puzzle, a marvel, a gift. Like he’s in full agreement with Achilles about keeping me. That should piss me off. It really should.

But then, nothing is like it should be with these two. They defy expectation.

Patroclus slides his hands up to cup my breasts. “One day.”

I can’t quite catch my breath. “One day?”

The bed gives beneath Achilles as he crawls to take position between Patroclus’s spread thighs. He shoves them wide and up and makes a really sexy pleased sound. “I like you two like this.” He drags a big finger down the center of my ass. Patroclus jolts, so he must be getting the same treatment. “I could have either one of you,” Achilles muses. “Yeah, I like this a lot.”

I break the kiss long enough to say, “You’re talking too much.”

Patroclus goes tense, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that Achilles is feeding him his cock. With the flick of a switch, this became more about Patroclus’s pleasure than it became about mine. I press back a little so I can move more effectively…and so I can give him a show. The way he watches my body, it’s like he’s still not quite sure this is real, but he really, really wants it to be.

I’m not sure it’s real, either.

I lift my arms over my head as I roll my hips, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to twine them around Achilles’s neck. He’s tall enough that I have to stretch, but the way Patroclus curses at the sight, it’s more than worth it.

Patroclus moves one hand from my hips to press his thumb against my clit, and then he holds perfectly still so I can rub against him how I need. “I want to feel you come on my cock again, Helen.”

Achilles palms my breasts as he picks up his pace, fucking Patroclus so roughly, I can feel every stroke. So roughly, it’s as if he wants to reassure himself that Patroclus is okay, and this is the only way to do it. It’s almost like the thrust starts with him and cascades in a wave through Patroclus to me, where I rise and sink back down, sending it back to Achilles. It’s surreal and sexy, and I never, ever want it to stop.

I never want any of this to stop.

It feels too good, though. The pressure builds and builds, and I want to fight it but not enough to stop or slow down. Achilles plucks at my nipples, little pinpricks of pain that only add to Patroclus’s thumb against my clit, his cock filling me entirely. I open my mouth to demand more and then it’s too late. I’m coming.

I start to slump forward, but they hold me up between them. Achilles picks up his pace, and I dazedly realize he was holding back until now. He’s not holding back any longer. His thrusts have Patroclus’s cock moving inside me and my orgasm just keeps coming. Wave after wave, until it feels like my very bones have turned liquid. Achilles holds me surprisingly gently considering how he’s fucking Patroclus, and I swear I feel him kiss my temple.

Patroclus curses. “Fuck, I’m—” His grip on my hips turns punishing and then he’s driving up into me, yanking me down onto him as he comes so hard, I feel it.

Achilles presses me gently down against Patroclus’s chest. Patroclus wastes no time in claiming my mouth again, but I barely have time to sink into it before I feel something wet lash my ass. I pull back. “Achilles.”

He chuckles. “Yeah.”

I wait for irritation, but all I feel is a ridiculous sort of amusement. I grin down at Patroclus. “He really likes to mark his territory, doesn’t he? Like a dog.”

Patroclus gives a choked laugh. “Stop. You’re making her clench around me and it’s too good.”

We barely last five minutes in the shower before Achilles is on his knees, Patroclus’s cock in his mouth and his fingers buried in my pussy. At some point, we tumble back into the bed, wet and slippery and intent on our pleasure. Over and over again, as if we’re racing the clock to pack as many orgasms in before we have to return to reality.

Eventually, though, reality intercedes. It always does.

Achilles stretches, looks at the clock, and sighs. “Bedtime.” He rolls over and grabs the phone. I can’t help appreciating the way his muscles move. He really does have the body of a warrior. On my other side, Patroclus shifts so he can coast his hand down my side to my hip. Not a sexual touch, but it feels so good, I nearly moan. The casual intimacy is something I’m going to miss almost as much as the sex. Both he and Achilles are so free with their touch, with their words. I’m going to…miss them.

I want to lie or do something to turn away the question, but maybe I’m more fucked up than I thought, because I answer honestly. “I’m going to miss you. Not just the sex, though that’s fun, but…” I try for a shrug, but it’s rather challenging to shrug while flat on your back. “It’s nothing.”

Patroclus hesitates, his dark gaze flicking to Achilles, who’s gone silent and still on my other side. “You don’t have to pretend with us.”

I glance between the men, but this time, I have no idea what they’re conveying back and forth. What must it be like to trust someone that much, to have that level of history, that you can speak without words? I can do it with Eris a bit, but that’s more shared trauma than anything else. And my silent conversations with Hermes and Dionysus basically consist of “Can you believe this bitch?” while at Dodona Tower parties. What Achilles and Patroclus have is something else altogether.

Finally Achilles looks down at me. “I wasn’t talking out of my ass earlier. We mean to keep you.”

I can’t have this conversation again while flat on my back. Why are we retreading this ground? Nothing’s changed, no matter how many orgasms we’ve exchanged. We’ve gone beyond beating a dead horse with this situation. I sit up and scoot back to press against the headboard. “You want to be Ares. I want to be Ares, too. We are diametrically opposed.”

As if it’s that easy. “When I win, you’ll have to go back to being Athena’s second-in-command. You’ll never forgive me.”

The thought isn’t as unattractive as it was the first time I thought it. If I were a different person, maybe tonight would be enough to make me change my mind, doubt my goals. It wouldn’t be so bad to be kept by this man and Patroclus.

Except being kept is the thing that’s slowly choking the life out of me. No matter how nice the cage, the bird inside is still trapped. Being married to one of the Thirteen is not the same thing as being one of the Thirteen. If I fail, I will spend the rest of my life on the outside looking in. “You honestly expect me to accept that.”

My stomach twists a little, but I force myself to stare him down. “So you’ll accept the results of the tournament, too?” Maybe I should leave it alone, but I can’t quite make myself. “You say you want to keep me, both of you. So that extends to my potentially winning Ares. If—when—I win, you’ll still want… What? A relationship? Is that what you’re saying?”

Achilles smiles. “Yeah, princess. Exactly.” He answers too easily, as if indulging me. As if he doesn’t believe for a second that it’s really a possibility. “That’s usually what ‘keeping’ means.”

It’s too good to be true. No matter the strength of the connection, I’ve only known these men for a few days. Relationships that last years couldn’t weather what we’re about to. What are the odds we will?

I push the thought away. I can’t afford to let myself get derailed worrying about things that might or might not happen. Either it will or it won’t. Ruining things with Achilles and Patroclus based on theories… Maybe it would be smarter, but I don’t want to do it.

Instead, I stretch. “I’m tired. Let’s brush our teeth, change the sheets, and go to bed.” I ignore the little voice inside me whispering that we’re only playing house and this will end in tears.

Everything in Olympus ends in tears.

You have to take your joy where you can find it.

27

Patroclus

For better or worse, we’re headed for a single destination. There are no exits, no diverging paths, no way to change what will come. Within a few days, the title for Ares will be awarded to the winner of this tournament. Reality will invade this safe space we’ve created. There’s no avoiding it.

But not yet.

Achilles pulls out a chair for Helen, ignoring her suspicious look, and grins. “Bellerophon is being overly cautious leading up to the third trial. Add in the assassination attempt, and they’d rather keep us as separate as possible for the next twenty-four hours.”

She’s still right, though. There isn’t a single scenario that is perfect. The odds aren’t in our favor, but—

It’s an old story, but I don’t mind retelling it. I give the untouched plate in front of her a pointed look. “Eat while I tell you.”

She gives me a stubborn look, but her amber eyes dance. “You aren’t telling Achilles to eat.”

I tilt my head in his direction. He’s created a mounding plate of food and is already halfway through devouring it. When he catches us looking, he shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

Helen shakes her head. “Okay, you have a point.” She holds my gaze and takes a dainty bite of the omelet.

Satisfied she’ll continue eating, I pour three mugs of coffee and start at the beginning. “My moms—Sthenele and Polymele—have been together since they were teenagers.”

I ignore him. He’s heard this story a thousand times, and as a result, I can predict his interruptions the same way he can predict how it unfolds. “They’re both from families that have had members in the Thirteen in past generations, and with several of the titles primed to switch over, they had a good chance at claiming one for themselves. Sthenele worked under the last Aphrodite, and she was a top contender for the position.” The last Aphrodite liked her quite a bit, I think, and since the current holder of that title is the one who names their heir, it made my mother a front-runner.

I wait until she takes another bite to look away. “They wanted more kids. Polymele was pregnant.” The details are a little hazy for me after all this time, but the thing I do remember is how excited I was at the thought of a sibling…and how quickly joy turned to fear. “There was an, ah, attack.”

I lean back in my chair. “Polymele miscarried.” My moms still get kind of sad when that subject comes up. It wasn’t the only miscarriage she suffered in the years after that. They used to call me their miracle baby with a smile, but I know the fact I’m an only child is a bittersweet thing for both of them. “Sthenele made the decision to resign her position and put as much distance between our family and Olympian politics as possible.”

Helen studies the plate in front of her. “Why didn’t they strike back? Removing Peitho would have removed the threat.”

She sighs. “Yeah. I guess I do know better.” Helen picks up her fork and puts it down again. “That’s all very romantic. Do they regret it?”

I shrug. “They wanted our family to be safe more than they wanted power. They seem happy enough with the results.” I grew up in a household filled with love and safety. I don’t know that the latter would be true if my moms had chased their ambition. I still remember the tension and fights they had when I was small. So much is indistinct, but that isn’t. They relaxed once we moved, fought less.

She nods slowly. “And what do they think of you being in the tournament?”

Despite myself, I smile. Achilles often exasperates my moms, but they love him nearly as much as I do. “Yeah, you’ve had your eye on the top for a long time. It’s one of the first things you ever said to me in boot camp. You looked around and said, ‘Someday, everyone in Olympus is going to know my name.’”

Achilles doesn’t bother to blush. “I know what I want.”

Helen’s shoulders go tense, a sure sign we’re about to reenter our argument about Ares and what it means and what the future will hold. We’ll end up going in circles again and again, because there’s no solution. We only have theories right now.

I cut in before we can go off the rails. “I’ve shown you mine. Now show me yours.”

Her smile is half-hearted at best. “You had a happy childhood, didn’t you? Even before you moved?”

He looks a little guilty. “But Zeus.”

Achilles tenses and looks to me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that. Saying “I’m sorry” sounds like the biggest bullshit. I’m still waffling over responses when Helen continues.

My chest twinges with a strength I’m not prepared for. “Helen…”

I turn to Achilles and sigh. “This is a mess.”

I don’t think Helen has to do a single thing, up to and including forgive us. Not for this. It makes me a little sick to my stomach. Obviously, everyone who knew Zeus’s reputation knew that he wasn’t a good guy. Three dead wives, more than a handful of whispered allegations of assault, and a son he ran out of town when he wouldn’t fall in line. It all adds up to an unsavory picture. I don’t know how I didn’t consider what it would be like growing up in that household. If I remember correctly, Helen’s mother died when she was a teenager. Her stepmom didn’t last more than a handful of years after Zeus remarried.

My skin prickles. “What if this breaks her?”

I want to believe that. I do. But people are more than just a problem to be solved. Emotions often have nothing to do with logic. If they did, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. “I hope so.”

Achilles flinches, the tiniest reaction. He slumps back in his chair. “I don’t want to break her, but I…”

We put together some leftovers to store in the mini fridge and snag one of Bellerophon’s people to dispose of the rest. Achilles locks the door, and I take one last pass around the suite. With the interviews canceled, we don’t have anywhere we have to be today, but there’s still the chance of another assassination attempt on Helen. Whoever was pissed she passed the first trial has to be furious that she’s moving on to the final.

The only light fighting back the darkness of the bedroom is from a crack between the curtains. Helen’s huddled in the middle of the bed, the covers pulled up around her head. She looks smaller like this, and my chest gives another uncomfortable lurch. No, not my chest. My fucking heart. Achilles is always going on about how soft I am, but it’s not the truth. I can be plenty cold when the situation requires it. Except this one. Helen’s planted her roots in my center over the course of a few days. It shouldn’t be possible for it to happen this quickly, but my mom always talks about how she looked across the room, saw my other mom, and just knew.

I knew when I saw Achilles. Maybe not that I’d be in love with him within a week and we’d spend the next twelve years together, but I knew he’d be important to me. That he already was important to me.

It didn’t hit like a lightning bolt with Helen. Not when we were kids, and certainly not when we collided again as adults. It was more like the tide coming in, each interaction with her a wave that brought me closer to her until this moment. I’m drowning but I don’t even miss the taste of air. I want this new reality. I want to be as sure as Achilles that it’s possible even if I can’t see how in this moment.

I return to find Achilles has pushed the couch back to create room. He watches me closely as I ease onto the ground, eyes narrowed. “We were too rough with you last night?”

I’ll recover. I know that. But in time for the third trial?

I hesitate, but I don’t want to argue. Fighting this because I should is silly. “Sure.”

She sighs. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

She shifts and I nearly startle when her fingers brush my elbow. She follows my arm down to my hand and laces her fingers through mine. My heart twists and surges, and I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but I think I might be falling in love with Helen Kasios.

28

Achilles

The moment we walk through the tunnel and into the arena, it’s like entering a different world. I think it’s the sheer noise the people in the stands make. It reverberates through my body right down to my bones. The maze is gone as if it’d never been here to begin with. Instead, the oval is sand like it was during the opening ceremony. They’re really leaning into the gladiator shit, which is about what I expected since the final trial is combat.

Last person standing becomes the next Ares.

I glance at Patroclus. He’s got his game face on, every expression locked down and nothing slipping through. He’s wearing his normal gym clothes, and he’s limping a bit, but he’s moving better than he was yesterday. That’s fine. He doesn’t have to be in top form for this trial. He’s here to watch my back, which means there’s no reason for him to be sticking his neck out.

I’ll make sure he doesn’t feel like he has to, even if I have to eliminate him myself.

I have on clothes similar to the last two trials, gold and black that give me a dark prince kind of vibe. Or that’s what Athena’s designer informed me when he put together the clothing I was to wear for each event and trial.

Helen is in her warrior queen getup. I watched her put on the golden one-piece earlier, and it had been entertaining and sexy to hear her swear as she wrestled it up her body, but I can’t deny that the overall effect is stunning. It’s a body suit that leaves her arms bare and stops a few inches above her knees. There’s plenty of give so she can move, but the slick surface is similar to the one she wore in the second trial. It will make it damn near impossible to grab her or pin her. She’s pulled her hair back into a braid thing that’s pinned up around her head—another potential handhold gone—and there’s the ever-present gold glitter dusting her skin.

She catches me watching her, and her gaze skates away from me. She’s been like this all morning. Skittish. I can’t blame her, but part of me wants to comfort her when I should be focused on my end goal within sight. Pass this trial, win the next. Ares is so close, I can taste it.

The camaraderie from the second challenge is gone. We don’t have that padding between us any longer. At the end of this trial, one of us will have our dreams crushed, and the others will be left to pick up the pieces.

A shiver of foreboding goes through me. We will pick up the pieces. The three of us together work, and that’s rare enough that I’m not willing to give it up without a fight. I like Helen a whole fucking lot. She’ll forgive me eventually. She has to.

The crowd quiets as the spotlights make their way to Athena. She’s in another suit, a deep amber one this time that is about as fancy as she gets. She looks good, though. She always looks good. She lifts her hands, instantly commanding the attention of everyone in the space. When they’re quiet enough, she speaks. “The final trial is the trial of combat.” A pause while people lose their shit. They quiet down faster this time. “The champions will fight until only one remains. Elimination is by tapping out or first blood.” She waves a graceful hand to encompass the oval of sand we stand on the edge of. “Choose your weapons, champions. The trial begins in three…two…”

Patroclus tenses. “Batons.” He jerks his chin to the right, and I see exactly what he means. There are a trio of expandable batons hanging on a rack halfway around the arena on the right. It means running past several options, but he’s right. We should stick to what we know.

He turns to Helen, but it’s too late. Athena’s voice says, “One. Begin.” The crowd’s screaming drowns out everything else.

I don’t hesitate. I sprint across the sand toward the batons. They might not be flashy, but they can break bone easily enough and have a decent reach on them. More importantly, we use them regularly during our tasks for Athena. The heavy handle is comfortable and familiar against my palm.

The feeling of someone behind me surprises me. Surely Patroclus didn’t keep up with that sprint? I turn, expecting to see him beside me, but Patroclus is nowhere in sight. Instead, it’s Paris bearing down on me, a dagger in his hand. The fucker is aiming it right between my shoulder blades. I dodge back, the sand giving beneath my feet and threatening my balance. Fuck, we should have thought to practice sparring in a sand ring. It’s a complication I hadn’t anticipated.

Paris strikes again, his face a mask of fury. “I know you’re fucking Helen!”

I get my baton up in time, and the knife slides along its edge. The guy isn’t going for first blood. He wants me dead. The feeling is entirely mutual. I stagger back another step, allowing him to think he’s got me on the ropes. “Did you send the assassin?”

He pauses. “What?”

His confusion seems genuine, but what do I know? I didn’t realize Paris was a potential threat until I saw him through Helen’s eyes. He could be lying. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I would have enjoyed eliminating him personally even before I knew that he hurt her, scared her, made her doubt herself. Now, it’s personal.

I step to the side to avoid his next attack. He’s good, but he’s not better than I am. I whip out the baton, so fast it makes a whistling noise. Paris tries to dodge, but I catch the tip of the knife and send it spinning though the air away from us.

He flinches and backs away, his hands outstretched. “Achilles, wait.”

His ankle rolls and I’m on him, shoving him off his feet and into the sand. “The baton isn’t the best option to draw blood.” I kick him, flipping him onto his back. “Guess I’ll have to hit you a few times to make sure you’re eliminated.”

I lift the baton over my head. “Stop talking, Paris. You’re just going to make me angrier.”

I know better. Truly, I do. But I still twist to look behind me.

I find Patroclus instantly. I’m sure I’ll always find him, regardless of how many people stand between us. In an arena of only five, there’s nothing to distract from the scene playing out before me.

The Minotaur stalks him across the sand, light on his feet despite his big body. Patroclus has found a small knife somewhere, but it looks like a toy in his hand. The Minotaur has a fucking sword. It’s one of the big ones, big enough that he has to hold it with two hands. Big enough to cut Patroclus in fucking half. I glance up at Athena, but she hasn’t moved from the spot where she stood when she announced the start of the trial. There’s going to be no last-minute save for any of us.

Patroclus could take the Minotaur in a fair fight. Probably. But right now, when he’s favoring his ankle and has bruised ribs limiting his range of motion? It’s going to be a fucking bloodbath. The way the Minotaur swings that sword, he doesn’t care if he removes limbs to get to Patroclus’s blood.

He’ll kill him.

Even as the thought crosses my mind, Helen appears like an avenging goddess behind the Minotaur. She raises a pair of daggers and holds his death in her gorgeous face. Our woman doesn’t hesitate, striking at his exposed back.

The Minotaur must sense her, because he spins easily out of the way and cuts back at her with a stroke that would take her head if it landed. She ducks easily beneath it, but that doesn’t stop my lungs from turning to stone in my chest. Both of them. Both of them are in fucking danger, and they’re outmatched.

If the Minotaur lands a blow…

Even as the thought crosses my mind, I’m moving, leaving Paris behind and heading for them. I don’t give a fuck if the rules don’t encourage murder. Someone tried to kill Helen in the house, and Patroclus is injured right now. The way the Minotaur swings that sword has every alarm bell in my head blaring. He’s swiping it at them like he wants to hurt them. Helen is fierce and quick on her feet, but she’s too small. She can’t take even one hit from that thing. She’ll lose a limb, and that’s the best-case scenario.

And Patroclus? He’ll sacrifice himself for her, the fool. I already know it.

I pick up my pace, the sand churning beneath my feet as I pelt across the space. If I can just get there, I can stop him. I’m better than this fucker. I know I am.

Helen shifts her grip on the knife like she might throw it but seems to think better of it. Good girl. Never toss a weapon that’s still useful. I should have told her that. Fuck, I should have told her a lot of things.

I’m too fucking far away. I’ll never make it in time.

The Minotaur picks up momentum, spinning the sword with a comfort that seems like he’s done it before. Helen and Patroclus circle him, but they’re too aware of each other, too determined to save each other. It’s a glaring fault line to exploit, and the Minotaur is smart enough to do exactly that.

He seems to focus on Helen, pressing her hard. She scrambles away from the spinning blade, but the sand is too unsteady beneath her feet. Patroclus lunges to shove her out of the way, hand outstretched and chest wide open.

The Minotaur doesn’t miss a beat. He shifts his stance, reversing his cut.

It happens so fast. Too fast.

The sword descends. Patroclus’s blood sprays, turning his white shirt red. He sinks to his knees almost in slow motion, shock written over his handsome face, and topples to the sand.

Above us, his face flashes with Eliminated written over it. I don’t give a shit. I fly across the sand, moving faster than I ever have before. Too slow. All this training, years of training, and when it counts, I’m too damn slow. I skid to a stop in front of Patroclus, but there’s no time. I can’t go to my knees with the enemy standing over us.

How could I do anything else? Patroclus is only in this arena right now because I wanted him here. He never would have chosen it on his own. I lift my baton. It seems a pathetic defense against his sword. “Let’s do this.”

He comes at me like a tornado, too quick, the sword seeming to be everywhere at once. I land a strike on his thigh, but it barely slows him down. Holy fuck, the man is a monster.

I…don’t know if I can beat him.

The thought staggers me. I’ve never doubted until now, when it matters the most. If I can’t do this… I dodge a nasty backswing. He should be slowing down by now. Those swords aren’t light, and he hasn’t been conserving energy and movement since this started. Except he’s not slowing down.

I am.

Where the fuck did Helen go?

As if the thought summons her, I catch sight of movement behind him, a flash of gold in the bright stadium lights. It’s the only warning we have before Helen launches herself onto his back. She has her knife in a death grip, and for one endless beat of my heart, I think she means to slit his throat. Instead, she drags the tip down the side of his face, spilling his blood to mix with Patroclus’s at his feet. “You’re done, asshole.”

He shakes her off without the slightest bit of effort. She lands on her feet, but only barely. That hesitation costs her. The Minotaur spins on her and brings the sword over his head. Shock nearly roots my feet to the ground. What the fuck is he doing? Being eliminated means stopping right fucking now. Why the fuck is he still fighting?

Instinct takes over before my brain has a chance to catch up. I throw myself at his back, taking him down in a messy flying tackle. We hit the sand hard, but he’s already swinging those meaty fists, pummeling my sides.

I should disentangle from him, should let the refs take over and handle this because that’s their fucking job. I don’t. All I can see is him swinging on Helen, cutting Patroclus down. He meant to kill them.

I won’t let him have another chance at it.

Each punch I land on his face is one less chance he’ll have to hurt those I love again. One strike closer to removing him as a threat entirely. He won’t touch them again. I’ll make fucking sure of it.

Hands grab my arms and I’m hauled off the Minotaur by two refs. He starts to sit up but a third ref grabs him and shoves him back to the sand. I start to struggle, but the ref on my right gets in my face. “You’re eliminated. Stand down.”

I follow their motion and go still. There’s an arrow sticking out of my calf. I didn’t even feel it. I look up slowly to see Paris standing a good distance away, a bow in his hands and a smirk on his face. “Fuck.”

My knees hit the sand, and I have no fucking memory of deciding to kneel. I can’t… I can’t think about being eliminated right now. I crawl to Patroclus. He has his hands pressed to his stomach, but there’s so much fucking blood. I glare at the referee. “We need a medic!”

The woman flinches but shakes her head. “No one enters the arena until the trial is over.”

I bend over Patroclus and cover his hands with mine. “I’m so godsdamned sorry.”

I lost sight of her when I tackled the Minotaur, but surely she isn’t eliminated. If Paris wins… We promised her. We fucking promised her, and I lost sight of everything in the last few minutes.

I twist to look for her. There. Helen stalks Paris, fury written over her perfect face. She’s still only got those fucking daggers, and he’s got an honest-to-gods bow drawn and pointed in her direction.

He could shoot her. He could fucking kill her.

Paris lets loose an arrow and Helen dances to the side, dodging it at the last moment. She narrows her eyes and picks up her pace, sprinting toward him. Paris flinches and scrambles for another arrow. He’s got them embedded in the sand at his feet like he’s some old-time warrior instead of a cowardly little prick who sat back and let everyone fight it out so he could pick off the winner. He strings another arrow and fires, but Helen drops to the sand and it flies over her head.

I chance a glance at Patroclus. He’s still breathing and he wraps his hands around my wrists. The strength of his grip reassures me. “She’ll do it.”

I follow his gaze to Helen again. I want her to win. Of course I do. It’s not even a contest between her and Paris. But I can’t think properly right now. Not with her and Patroclus still in danger. Not with my entire plan upended.

A third arrow flies. She spins out of the way like a dancer, light on her feet and using the turn to pick up momentum until she’s flying over the sand.

She’s so close now. Less than ten feet from him. Paris grabs another arrow, but he’s panicking, his movements clumsy. He nearly drops it. That’s all the opening she needs. The little fool flings one of her knives at him. Fifty percent chance it hits, and even that’s optimistic.

Except it does.

It takes him in the shoulder, spinning Paris away from his fucking arrows and into the wall surrounding the main arena. He slides to the ground, clutching his shoulder and screaming something I can’t hear over the cheers of thousands of people around us.

Helen takes one more step before she seems to remember herself. She straightens and turns to face Athena. From this angle, I can’t see her expression, but there’s a fury in the set of her shoulders that practically dares Athena to do anything but declare her the winner.

Athena stares down at her for a long time, long enough for the cheers to die down and the silence to gain an eerie quality. Finally she lifts her hands. “We have a winner. Congratulations…Ares.”

The arena goes wild.

On the sand, medics rush out from one of the arches, teams splitting up to take each of the injured champions. I wave mine off. I’m barely injured. A fucking scratch. That’s all it took to snatch my dreams from me. I was so close. So fucking close.

It’s…over.

I’ve lost.

My dreams are dead and gone, and it’s my own damn fault.

29

Helen

I can’t stop shaking. I need to see Patroclus, to make sure he’s okay. The medics have him on a stretcher, and they move past me as they carry him out of the arena. I barely get a glimpse of his pale face before he’s gone.

The referees march the Minotaur out behind him. They keep looking at the big man as if they’re not sure whether he’ll leave peacefully. His words still ring in my ears. Figured you’d both come running when your little boyfriend was threatened. He used Patroclus to draw Achilles and me to him. Guilt has me in a choke hold.

If I’d been stronger…

If I’d eliminated the Minotaur before he had a chance to nearly kill Patroclus…

If…

Achilles limps toward the exit. He barely looks at me as he passes. I should give him space, should let him process what the fuck just happened. I haven’t processed what happened, so I can’t imagine he has.

But I can’t. Fear swamps me, stronger than I could have anticipated. “Achilles.”

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t stop, doesn’t so much as slow down.

The feeling gets worse. “Achilles, talk to me.”

He barely hesitates. “You got what you wanted, Helen. Get that sad look off your face.” He’s still not looking at me, instead offering me his perfect profile. “Celebrate.”

The bottom of my stomach drops out. “Was it all bullshit? The talk of the future and keeping me?”

He shakes his head. “I have to go with Patroclus to the hospital. I’ll talk to you later.”

It doesn’t sound like a promise. He tosses out the words as if he’ll say whatever it takes to end this conversation. To end…this.

I don’t call his name again. I stand there and watch him walk away, taking a chunk of my heart with him. When did that happen? I’ve said from the beginning that we didn’t have a future. Not me and him. Not me and Patroclus. Certainly not the three of us. It doesn’t matter how well we meshed during the trials or the way they seemed to see me or…

A sob catches in my chest, but I refuse to release it. This is what I wanted, what I’ve fought so hard to accomplish. I’m realizing my dreams and ensuring all of Olympus is forced to take me seriously.

Achilles is right. I should be celebrating and doing a victory lap. I shouldn’t be standing here and trying not to cry.

Bellerophon appears at my side as if by magic, their expression carefully blank. “I need you to come with me, Ares.”

Ares.

I did it. I fucking won. No one can look at me and believe I’m just a pretty face, a pawn to be moved about the chessboard at the whim of those more powerful than I am. I should be elated and celebrating and riding a high unlike any other.

Instead, I just want to make sure Patroclus is okay, to talk to Achilles properly and have him reassure me that everything he said yesterday wasn’t just bullshit. That he really meant it now that we’re staring the future right in the face.

I take a breath and try to calm my racing heart, to think. My actions have consequences: both entering the tournament and winning it. As much as I want to chase after Achilles and Patroclus until this awful gaping wound in my chest is healed, becoming Ares means I have responsibilities beyond my own personal needs.

My men will have to wait. Hopefully they’ll still be there for me after everything that’s happened.

I’ve barely let myself consider that they might actually be mine, and now it may very well be over. I close my eyes, take another breath, and when I open them, I have my game face on. I am Ares and I will not be underestimated.

I smile up at Bellerophon. “Lead the way.”

They don’t speak until we’ve entered one of the arches—a different one than we’ve been entering and exiting for the trials—and head up a flight of stairs. “There will be a formal event introducing you as Ares tonight, but the title was officially yours the moment you won the third trial.”

I can’t read anything in their tone about their thoughts on my winning. That’s just as well. Plenty of people will be pissed about it, and I need to get used to it. That doesn’t mean I can’t be gracious in this moment. “Thank you for hosting the champions. I know it wasn’t an easy duty.”

Bellerophon doesn’t comment on that. We take another set of stairs up. My adrenaline is still going strong, but I can already sense the crash coming. Too much, too quickly. This is exactly what I wanted, so I should be happy, right? I don’t understand this strange sense of loss that feels like someone wrapped me in a lead blanket and tossed me off a pier.

They open the door at the top of this flight of stairs and step back. “They’re waiting.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised to see my brother standing next to Athena. He might not have been visible in the box seat when she made the announcements, but he’s not the type to let something this important pass without witnessing it.

Perseus has on a charcoal-gray suit with a cream shirt underneath it. The only sign that he’s less than perfectly put together are the faint creases in his slacks that almost look like he was gripping the fabric in his fists like he used to when he was a child and trying not to react. But that’s ridiculous. Perseus hasn’t shown that kind of loss of control since our mother died. Longer, even.

Athena waits for the door to shut behind me to sigh. “Well, you fucked that right up, didn’t you?”

Athena’s dark eyes flash, the only outward sign that she’s furious right now. “He’s on his way to the hospital now. The damage was too much for the medics to handle, so it’ll be up to the surgeon. They had damn well better save him.”

Save him. Because he might die.

I open my mouth to argue but manage to hold the words back at the last minute. She’s right. It doesn’t matter what promises the men and I made… Except were they promises? They certainly sounded like it when Achilles spoke with such confidence, but that was before he brushed me off just now, before he walked away without looking back.

He’s never going to forgive you. It was a nice dream while it lasted, but it’s over now.

I inhale slowly. If I ignore Athena’s warning and show up at the hospital, there’s a decent chance neither of the men will want to see me. I don’t think they lied, exactly, but I know how quickly people stop saying what you want to hear when you stop giving them what they want.

Achilles thought he’d become Ares. When he made those promises, it was with the intent of me bending when all the chips were down. He never actually thought I had a chance of winning, and his confidence reflected that. Now that he’s lost his dream?

He won’t forgive me.

He certainly won’t play second fiddle to me being Ares.

I swallow hard. Would I feel differently if our positions were reversed? It’s easy to pretend I would have gotten over it and we’d dance our way to some happy little triad, but the loss of something I’ve wanted with every fiber of my being? I can’t say I’d be able to look him in the face, married or no.

When I speak, my tone is perfectly cordial, doing nothing to reflect the loss driving its roots deep into me. “Of course, Athena. My apologies.”

I can see the storm brewing in Perseus’s blue eyes, and I want nothing more than to follow Athena out the door to avoid it, but I didn’t come this far to be cowardly when it counted. I got what I wanted, and that means facing down the consequences of my actions.

I’m one of the Thirteen now, after all. I lift my chin. “Zeus.”

Immediately, he goes cold. Covering up messier emotions. We’re all such liars in my family, myself included. My brother finally says, “I had my reasons.”

That pulls me up short. “Excuse me?”

I force myself not to react, to slow down long enough to piece out what he’s saying…and what he isn’t. “You can’t seriously believe that Minos had no knowledge of the attack. That doesn’t even make sense. What are the odds that one of his carefully selected people randomly decided to sneak into my room and try to kill me?”

For a moment, Perseus looks so fucking tired that if we were a hugging family, I might try to hug him. It doesn’t last. His moments of weakness never do. He shakes his head and straightens his shoulders. “There are extenuating circumstances.” For a moment, I think he won’t continue, but he sighs. “I suppose you’ll be briefed on it officially tomorrow with the rest of the Thirteen. Minos brought news of a credible threat against Olympus. He wants to cut a deal in return for sharing that information.”

I snort. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

He looks out over the arena and then back to me. “The barrier is failing.”

I go still. “You’re shitting me.” I shake my head, stunned. “How? Why?”

True fear slices through me. This is big. Really big. If we have to go to war, a huge portion of the responsibility for soldiers and combat will rest on my shoulders, and as Achilles was quick to point out before, I have a steep learning curve ahead of me before I’m ready for something like that. “Perseus, surely there’s information in the archives about the barrier.” I’ve looked myself, but there are sections that only Apollo has access to, and he’s not the sharing type. He’d answer Zeus’s questions, though. He wouldn’t have a choice. “There’s—”

I want to be mad about that, but I can’t. I might not like being left in the dark, but I can’t deny that my brother is doing his best for Olympus. I swallow hard. “I see.”

It strikes me then, why this feels so different. “Dad never had the whole Thirteen meet. He just made executive decisions and expected everyone to fall in line.”

What kind of question is that? Except as I consider it, consider him, I realize I’m not a sure thing from Perseus’s view. He’s treated me like a piece to be moved about the board, has used and misused me. Our father preached loyalty to family above all else, but we both know it’s bullshit. Gods, Perseus hasn’t even given a proper apology, and as much as I love him, I know better than to hold my breath and wait for one. I could—should—hate my brother for what he’s done.

But this is Olympus.

We’re all monsters here.

Even monsters have to work together when threatened by an outside force. I’m sure Achilles… I stop the thought before it can reach completion. It doesn’t matter what Achilles would or wouldn’t do. I can’t make decisions based on his and Patroclus’s theoretical position in my life when it’s all but guaranteed they’ll never want to see me again.

Helen Kasios may have had time and space to mourn something like the loss currently residing deep inside me. Ares doesn’t. With the safety of Olympus in the balance, I will do my duty. “Yes,” I finally say. “I’ll stand with you.”

He nods and walks past me to the door, only to pause with his hand on the knob. “Helen.”

The words sting, but I manage to keep a sarcastic reply internal. Mostly. “And?”

He glances over his shoulder. For a moment, the briefest blink, his eyes warm up and his smile is bright and sharp just like it used to be before our father beat every soft emotion out of him. “I’m proud of you. You were amazing out there.” He opens the door and walks out of the room before I can work though my shock to come up with an answer.

My brother is proud of me.

Maybe pigs will fly next.

Still not an apology. I shake my head. Apparently I can’t help wishing for the moon even when I’m getting everything I ever wanted. It’s exceedingly frustrating to have to keep reminding myself of that fact.

I can’t go to him. Not without pissing off Athena, but even without her in play, it feels wrong to show up uninvited. If they don’t want to see me, it’s cruel to force them to.

Before I can take a step, the door flies open and Eris, Hermes, and Dionysus pour into the room, towing Eros and Psyche behind them. Dionysus sweeps me up into a hug and spins me around until I feel sick. “Ares! Look at you, little warrior!”

I should be happy to see my friends. This is what I wanted, after all. We stand on the same level now. I’m no longer being left behind. I just…I didn’t expect the win to feel so hollow.

As Dionysus and Eris cut to the bar at the back of the box seat, Hermes and Psyche chat easily like old friends. This is what I wanted. This is everything I wanted. I’m Ares. Too bad it feels like I’m missing a limb.

He watches Psyche laugh at something Hermes says while Dionysus pours out six drinks. “Hermes told me a wild rumor a few days ago.” He says it so casually, voice pitched low to only carry to me. “She claims you’re hooking up with both Achilles and Patroclus.”

The wobble in my bottom lip gets worse despite myself. “I like them. For real. Maybe more than like.” I don’t know why I’m confessing to him. We’re friends, but some wounds are best kept hidden. I can’t quite seem to manage it in the face of his presence.

You won’t know until you try.

Becoming Ares has complicated that. I can’t get to Patroclus and Achilles without stepping on Athena’s toes, and that isn’t an option. Not when it might mean a split Thirteen. My brother’s right; if there’s an outside threat, our petty rivalries shouldn’t stand in the way of an allied Thirteen. Unfortunately, I know too well how should doesn’t mean shit. I can’t threaten that. I can’t.

But Eros isn’t one of the Thirteen.

I shift closer and lower my voice. “Would you check on Patroclus? He was injured and I want to make sure he’s okay. I can’t do it without stepping on Athena’s toes, and she’ll never forgive me for starting out my time as Ares by fucking with her.”

Eros lifts his brows. “That all?”

Was that all? The cowardly part of me wants to leave it at that, but I’ve come this far. Maybe my feelings for my men will blow up in my face, but if I don’t try, then it definitely will. I drag in a breath. “And tell them…” Gods, why is it so hard to get this out? “Tell them that I still want that pretty future they painted. If they do, that is.”

He waits, but what else is there to say? That I think I might have gone straight past falling in love and into love itself? That I want Achilles’s wonderful and aggravating assurance at my back for whatever comes next, no matter how large or small? That I want Patroclus’s brilliant mind and stern determination to take care of us? Eros wouldn’t understand, and laying myself bare even this much is almost more than I can handle. “That’s all.”

He nods. “Do you want me to go now?”

The longer I have to wait for an answer, the worse it will be. Not just for what happens next. Patroclus has to be okay. He has to be. “Please.”

I inhale slowly and exhale just as slowly. I’m dirty and sweaty and exhausted, and all I want to do is go home and sleep for three days until this new world settles around me. That might have been an option for Helen, but it’s not an option for Ares.

I square my shoulders, paste a smile on my face, and head to join my sister and friends at the box-seat bar.

30

Achilles

I go straight from the arena to the hospital, following the ambulance they stuffed Patroclus into. He needs surgery, though the nurses keep telling me it isn’t serious, that the doctor is optimistic, that he’ll be just fine. Optimistic. That shit isn’t a sure thing. I pace around the waiting room until they find an empty room to stash me in.

I wait and wait and wait. I’m practically climbing the walls as the minutes tick by without news, two thoughts rolling through my head at regular intervals.

I need him to be okay.

Helen should be here.

Except she’s not Helen anymore, is she? She’s Ares. She got what she always wanted, snatched that shit right out of my hands even if she wasn’t the one to eliminate me. Why would she be worried about me, about Patroclus now? It’s not a fair thought, but it’s clear she has no intention of coming. She would have shown up by now if she wanted to be here.

More than that… I don’t know if I’m ready to see her. The future I had in my head, the one I’d been working toward for years, is gone. No matter what else is true, I will never be Ares now. Without that title…

I drag my hands over my face. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I can’t find my feet, can’t figure out next steps, until I know Patroclus is okay. He’ll figure out the future for both of us.

Unless he doesn’t want me anymore. I’m not the winner he fell in love with. It’s my fault he got hurt. He wouldn’t even have been in the tournament if not for me. He begged me to leave him behind in the second trial and I ignored him.

I curse. Patroclus wouldn’t dump me for not securing the title. That’s not how he operates, no matter what my sudden insecurity is sure of. No, it’s far more likely that things with Patroclus will fall apart if we can’t find a way forward with Helen. He got a taste of how well she balanced the two of us. How can he be satisfied with only me now that he’s had her, too?

A knock on the door has me spinning on my heel, but the person who steps inside isn’t a nurse and it’s sure as fuck not Helen. It’s Eros. I know who he is, know who his mother was to Patroclus’s moms. Enemy. Rival. Danger. Eros and I have never had reason to cross paths. He plays the part of the golden fuckboy, and I’m the soldier. Or at least both those things used to be true. Now Eros has, by all appearances, settled down into domestic life with Psyche Dimitriou.

And me? I don’t know who I am anymore. “What are you doing here?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m listening.”

I start to snarl back, but I can’t help thinking about the conversation we had with Helen after the second trial. She might not have any experience leading soldiers, but her brain is more than twisty enough to be at home steeped in the Thirteen’s fucked-up politics. I have a prior relationship with Athena, which might have smoothed the way when I became Ares, but I know better than most that she bends for no one.

Would she truly have kept me from Patroclus?

The thought leaves me cold.

She wants a future with us. I don’t know whether to laugh or curse. This is probably some fucked-up version of karma for being so sure that she’d forgive me if I took Ares from her, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same. Without Ares, Helen is still a Kasios. She might be a pawn moved about by her brother, but she has power. Only a fool would say she doesn’t. People will remember her forever, would have even before she entered her name as a contender for Ares.

Even before she won.

I know who I am as Athena’s second-in-command. It’s not the role I wanted to play forever, but I understand the parameters. I’m good at it, too. The best.

If I gamble it all on Helen, that means sacrificing my place beneath Athena. She’s not one to allow her people to serve two masters, and starting a romantic relationship with Ares is exactly that. Leaving her command means there’s no going back. If things fall apart with Helen, I’ll truly be left with nothing. “She’s asking too much.”

I can’t settle down, though. Helen’s words from yesterday come back to haunt me. How she said I wasn’t prepared for what it really means to be one of the Thirteen. I thought she was full of shit at the time, but who the fuck cares about someone and lets politics get in the way of making sure they’re okay?

I know what I would have done in her position.

Even knowing there might be far-reaching complications, I can’t say I’d do anything differently if I had won the title of Ares. Patroclus is mine. Olympus can burn if it means making sure he’s okay.

Rationally, I see why Helen made the choice she did, but I don’t know if it matters. The risk is too high with so little guaranteed payoff. For the first time in my life, I can’t see a way forward. I don’t have my internal assurance that I’ll realize the future I want.

I…failed.

I’ll come to terms with that—I know myself well enough to understand that—but I can’t think of anything at all until I’m assured Patroclus made it through surgery and I see him with my own eyes. Everything else can wait until then.

The door opens again, and this time it’s Athena who appears. She looks as perfectly put together as she appeared on the screen in the arena, only a faint tightness around her eyes giving lie to the image. “Patroclus is out of surgery and in recovery.” She holds up a hand when I start forward. “They need time to get him settled, but as soon as it’s possible, you’ll get access to his room.”

Not soon enough, but I trust Athena. If she says he made it through surgery, then he did. I exhale in a rush. Relief makes me a little dizzy, but I can barely believe it for truth. I need to see him. I need him to anchor me in the middle of this storm. I can’t see a path, but surely Patroclus will be able to. “This is so fucked.”

I stop short. Athena doesn’t usually couch her criticism by easing people into it. She’s frank and to the point, and that’s one of the many reasons we are so loyal to her. “When are you anything but blunt with me?”

She smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’re in trouble. Olympus. I don’t know all the details yet, but Minos brought in information when he brought his people. There’s a threat on the horizon, and I don’t know that the barrier will protect us from it.” She hesitates but finally says, “We needed you as Ares.”

Bitterness claws up my throat at the reminder of my failure. Athena never mentioned that there might be the potential for an attempted invasion, but it just reinforces that with me as Ares, there would be no unknowns. Even though I’m conflicted as fuck right now, I still find myself saying, “Helen will surprise you.”

I shrug, but I’m unable to keep the tension out of my voice. “Take that up with Paris.” Easier to blame him than to admit I fucked up. The moment Helen and Patroclus were in danger, I forgot about eliminating Paris and ran for them. I kept fighting the Minotaur even after he was eliminated because I wanted to remove him as a threat—and that had nothing to do with the tournament.

Helen was the one who eliminated the Minotaur and didn’t stick around to beat him to a pulp. She immediately went for Paris. That’s why she won and I didn’t. If I’d been paying attention, I could have dodged Paris’s arrows, too.

I lost sight of my goal.

Helen didn’t.

She’s not wrong, but it still pricks at me to hear her talk about Helen that way. “She might not have the combat experience, but she’s got politics down to a science. She’s not a bad fit. Like I said, I think she’ll surprise you.”

Her smile is bittersweet. “You’re smarter than that, Achilles. That decision is one that will stick. For better or worse, the fact is appearances matter in this city. I can’t have my position undermined by welcoming back Ares’s cast-offs.” She moves to the door. “Whatever your decision ends up being, be sure it’s what you want, because you’ll have to live with it.” Then she’s gone, closing the door softly behind her.

Everyone’s making a dramatic exit today.

It’s another hour before a nurse comes and collects me, herding me down the hall and up an elevator and through another series of halls to the room where Patroclus lies in a hospital bed. He looks too pale, too thin. It has the fear from before rushing back, amplifying. “He’s going to be okay?”

I don’t know if I believe her. I have to believe her. “Thanks.”

He looks…small. Patroclus lies on the bed, hooked up to several machines, his skin even paler than normal. Guilt pricks me, digging deep. The only reason he was in the tournament in the first place was to watch my back. I should have let him be eliminated in the second trial like he wanted, should have listened to him every time he warned me of the danger of pushing forward stubbornly. I bullied him into entering, and then I bullied him into continuing even when he was injured. I wanted him with me, and that selfish desire is the reason he’s in this bed now, still and drained.

I might not have wielded the sword that cut him, but this is my fault.

There’s not as much space here as there was downstairs, and I’m afraid if I start pacing again, I’ll knock into his bed and cause him pain on accident or something. So I don’t. I force my restless energy down deep and drop into the chair next to his bed.

It’s like the bastard was waiting for me to stop moving, because he opens his eyes almost immediately. “Achilles?” Even his voice is fucked up, raspy and too quiet.

I drag the chair forward and take his hand. “I’m here.” Touching him calms me a little, though it does nothing to remove the guilt plaguing me. My chest goes tight and awful. He’s okay. That’s the only thing that matters. He’s okay.

He exhales and goes limp. “Thank the gods. If after everything, Helen was married to that bastard… We promised her that it wouldn’t happen.” His eyes fly open. “Wait, that means Helen is Ares.”

Patroclus squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles faintly. “I know you wanted Ares. I’m sorry you didn’t get to live out your dream.”

I hesitate, but Patroclus is in this with me, too, and I can’t hold back information from him, no matter how Athena’s words still churn away in the back of my mind. “Athena came by the hospital.” He doesn’t speak, so I force myself to continue. “She says she wants me to stay on as her second-in-command. I guess Bellerophon reported about how close we got with Helen, and she wanted to let me know that in order to pursue things with the new Ares, it means resigning with Athena. Do that, and there’s no going back.”

I wait, but Patroclus doesn’t offer any brilliant insight. “Well?”

He shakes his head. “It’s up to you to decide if the cost is too high.”

I consider his words, what he did and didn’t say. “You’re going to Helen.”

He shrugs. “Then I’ll resign and see if Apollo’s willing to hire me. He’s one who sees value in information, so he won’t balk if I pursue a relationship with the new Ares and also with Athena’s second-in-command.”

I don’t have an easy answer. I don’t know if an easy answer exists. Finally, I say, “If I try with Helen and it blows up in my face, I’ll actually have lost everything. It’s not an easy choice for me.”

I open my mouth but stop before I keep arguing. Is Patroclus right? Yeah, it’s a risk to resign and go to Helen. She might have been playing a deeper game during the tournament, manipulating us into being allies who will watch her back, but…

I don’t believe it. Not for a second.

The connection between the three of us was real. More than that, I get Helen. I don’t have to be brilliant like Patroclus to understand the woman. She felt safe with us. She showed us vulnerability. That was real. I’m sure of it.

I sit back in the uncomfortable hospital chair but maintain my grip on Patroclus’s hand. As usual, he’s right. If what we shared was real, then there’s no choice at all. I expected Helen to get over her loss of dreams when I won. It’s hypocritical in the extreme to not be willing to do the same, even if I’m afraid. I shake my head, a reluctant smile pulling at my lips. “You really are a smart motherfucker.”

He smiles in return. “You would have figured it out eventually. I just helped things along.” He squeezes my hand, already feeling stronger. “You’ve always had enough faith for both of us. It’s my turn now. It will work out with Helen. I’m sure of it.”