Alexis of Sparta (Book II) - Unedited, first draft*

β′ - Dyo

Two

The great hall of the Phthian megara was large and open. It had all the traditional Greek architecture with the large, white pillars holding up the flat ceiling, the great tapestries with battles and gods sewn into the heavy material, and the polished marble floors.

The megara was where all official business and religious ceremonies were held. The throne room was in the heart of the megara, with the living quarters in a different wing. There were storehouses for winter, stockpiling foods and supplies for the citizens.

At one end stood a statue of Athena. At the other, King Peleus' throne.

Between the throne and the looming vision of Athena, I despised the great hall. It reminded me of everything wrong with my current situation. Mainly that I was a prisoner of that throne and that the freaking goddess who betrayed and abandoned me tauntingly loomed over me.

I tried not to fidget as I watched Achilles approach the throne. Ever since we'd arrived, I barely had a moment of peace to myself for Achilles insisted on keeping me close. Slaves were housed in a different area of the palace, but Achilles had me situated in a room close to his. Anything he needed I was expected to carry out. Essentially, I was his slave—much to my disdain.

However, that day marked the first time meeting Achilles' father.

We'd arrived in Phthia shortly after the moon had risen in the sky a week ago. Clocks weren't readily available, so I had no clue what day it really was, but routine kept me vigilant on time. I soon discovered that there were certain expectations I would adhere to, and that those expectations came from the hero himself.

After a restless sleep in the cramped room across from Achilles', I woke up bright and early to get dressed before my daily tasks. Through the dim light, I briefly thought it was Zoisme. Guilt twisted its knife in my gut. How ironic it was that I was in her position. I promised her freedom and failed.

The last item I secured in place was a sheer veil that flowed over my face. For a moment, it reminded me of a face mask, reminiscent of the life I left behind. The life that was currently consumed by a pandemic. With each passing day I longed to be back in my own time, pandemic or not. I missed my parents and siblings and I even missed my job. It wasn't something I loved, but it gave me a purpose and I was good at it.

I supposed I could have been in a worse situation. I hadn't been thrown in a dank dungeon somewhere. My first night in Phthia, a guard had clamped two cuffs around my wrists. They were already raw and blistering from the rope Achilles had used. While the coolness of the metal cuffs soothed them briefly, I soon found they chafed more than the rope.

At least now I garnered enough trust not to wear them.

And now, I was free to roam the palace, though a cage was a cage, whether there were bars or not.

As we stood in the great hall of the Phthian palace before King Peleus, I had new issues to contend with. It was my first time meeting the king of Phthia.

"I didn't think your adventure would mean bringing back Trojan wenches," the king said, rapping his fingers on the arm of his throne. He had been away on a campaign or something and had only just arrived the previous morning.

I bristled at the insult, but Achilles had made it clear that I wasn't to utter a single word unless I wanted my head removed from my shoulders. I happened to like where my head was, and the very real threat in his voice spurred me into obedience. He was the war-hungry hero, after all.

The king was shockingly younger than I expected. I anticipated an older man with white hair and beard, like Priam. The man seated on the throne had dark hair and skin, with clear blue eyes akin to Achilles'. Admittedly, that dark hair was threaded with silver, adding a soft shimmer each time he moved his head. Both Achilles and Hector had thicker muscles with square features, but Peleus was wiry and thin. That wasn't to say he was weak. Quite the contrary. He looked like he could hold his weight in battle and had a long, deep scar that ran from his temple to his cheek to prove it.