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Not this. Anything but this. Anything but to be left behind, abandoned and without a word...
Why? She ran up a grassy hill. Perhaps from a high ridge she could spy the ship or Theseus. She reached the ledge and saw empty ocean everywhere she looked.
“I saved you in the labyrinth,” she whispered. “I guided you with my thread. I helped you slay the Minotaur and free the people of Crete from his wrath. I made your name for you. The great wide world will know the name of Theseus for centuries to come because of what we did together in that terrible maze. And you leave me? You said you would make me your queen... I would have had your child... I would have had your son...”
“Count your blessings, my princess,” came a mocking male voice from behind her. “I could have killed him. Or turned him into a dolphin. So tempting...”
She spun to face the voice.
A man stood under a cypress tree, not twenty paces away from her. He wore a scarlet sash tied around his hips and a crown of grape leaves in his curling brown hair—and nothing else. His body was tall and long and lean, and he loosely held an amphora by the handle.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What have you done with my fiancé?”
He left the shade of the tree and walked toward her. He walked slowly, no hurry in his steps at all. He had a fine male form, she couldn’t help but notice. The muscle of Hermes in his thighs, the beauty of Apollo in his bearing and the seductive smile of Zeus on his lips.
When he came to stand before her, he lifted the amphora. “Wine?”
Before she could reply, he lifted the amphora to his lips and took a long drink. He offered her the jug and she shook her head no.
“You must,” he said. “You’re surely thirsty.”
“I can’t...” She held the cloak together around herself. If she took her arms from under it to drink, she would reveal her nakedness to this strange man.
“Allow me.”
He lifted the amphora to her mouth. When he brought it to her lips, she nearly cried out with the sort of pleasure she’d felt when Theseus had taken her against the rough stone walls of the labyrinth. The wine was like none she’d tasted before. Sweeter, tarter, brighter. It burst in her mouth like a fat fresh grape. It was thick as blood and cold as a winter river. One sip had satisfied her strongest thirst.
“What is that?” she asked as he lowered the amphora from her lips.
“Wine,” he said. “Wine from blessed grapes.”
“I’ve never tasted its like,” she said, panting, amazed. “Who blessed these grapes?”
“I did, of course.”
“And who are you who blesses the grapes of the vine to create wine like none other?”
He smiled at her again, a wild animal smile. She took a step back from him in fear.
Only gods could bless crops.
Only one god would bless vines.
“Dionysus,” she breathed.
“At your service, my lady.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
With a flourish, Dionysus lifted her off her feet and swept her into his arms.
“Where are you taking me?” Lia asked the god of wine and revelry.
Dionysus held her against his chest easily, though she squirmed like a house cat trying to escape the unwanted affections of a child.
“I’m taking you to my vines,” he said in a tone that warned her such a thing ought to have been obvious.
“Where is Theseus? What have you done with him?”
