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The woman is a princess in a tower, and what’s a princess good for except bait?
She shifts, the subtlest squaring of her shoulders. When she turns to face the room, she looks happy…as long as one doesn’t stare into her amber eyes. They’re as cold as Zeus’s. She gives the room a little finger wave. “Lucky you.”
A scattering of laughs. Neither I nor Patroclus make a sound. I glance at him. He’s a few inches taller than me and built naturally leaner. Tonight, he’s wearing the glasses I like so much and a suit that I can’t help wanting to rumple. The man is always so fucking put together. Nothing fazes him, because before he takes action, he’s already run half a dozen scenarios. Surprising him is damn near impossible.
Still. “You sure about this?” I murmur. He may have expected a wife to be offered as part of the tradition, but Helen complicates things. Might as well get into bed with a snake and pray it doesn’t sink its fangs into you. It will bite. That’s what snakes do. The woman is loyal to her family and her family alone. Being married to her means every interaction, both in and outside our home, will be a battlefield. She’s a Kasios. She can’t be trusted.
“This is the only way.”
He’s right. I don’t know why I’m even questioning it. This is what I’ve wanted since I was old enough to realize the only thing people in Olympus respect is power. Getting a taste of it as I climbed the ranks beneath Athena? Yeah, I’m willing to sacrifice a whole lot to get that title. “Then we move forward with the plan.”
He glances at me, handsome face completely calm, and gives a subtle nod. Patroclus never wanted to lead, let alone claim a spot as one of the Thirteen, but he’s going to put his name forward so he can help me win it. This was the plan from the moment I decided on Ares. The first two trials are designed to whittle down the champions until only five remain for the final one. Alliances aren’t unheard of, but I’m not willing to wager my success on the unknown. Which is where Patroclus comes in. He’ll provide any assistance necessary to ensure I reach the final trial. I’m reasonably certain I could do it on my own, but he insisted.
Truth be told, I didn’t protest that hard. Patroclus has been at my side since we met at eighteen. We’ve hit every major milestone since then as a pair. It would feel wrong to compete and win the title of Ares without him watching my back.
Still. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Stop trying to give me an out. I’m competing. End of story.” He turns back to study the crowd. “I have files on every single possible champion from Olympus. You’re the best. With me at your side, your win is all but guaranteed.”
My win. Becoming Ares. Marrying Helen. Patroclus and I have an unconventional relationship, at least according to some, but I keep waiting for the idea of me being married to someone else to bother him. It sure as fuck would bother me if he married someone else. But he’s as unruffled as always. It drives me up the wall. “Marrying Helen Kasios is going to be a giant pain in the ass.”
He gives me another of those censoring looks. “Ares.”
As if he needs to remind me. I’d marry a literal fucking harpy if it meant becoming one of the Thirteen. Unfortunately, Helen Kasios isn’t far off from that. She’s a spoiled brat who’s always gotten her way, and even through her lying smile, I can see she’s furious about this development. She’ll make whoever wins this thing regret it, probably for the rest of their lives. That’s not even getting into the fact that any information she gleans from me will be fed right back to Zeus.
It’s a smart play on his part. Worthy of a plan Patroclus would put together. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter. I will become Ares. I’ll deal with all the other shit once the title is mine.
Movement on my other side makes me glance over. Paris. He’s a lean white dude who obviously spends a shit ton of money on his appearance. It’s there in the smoothness of his skin, in how perfectly styled his blond hair is. Too bad money can’t buy a good personality; Paris is a fucking asshole. All the good-person genes in his family went to his older brother, Hector.
Hector, I like and respect.
Paris is looking at Helen like she’s a piece of meat he can’t wait to consume. I don’t make a habit of paying too much attention to the gossip sites, but Paris and Helen’s breakup was nasty enough to make headlines for weeks. Now the little shit is practically rubbing his hands together with glee.
