ancient greek · prince · odyssey · mlm · forbidden romance · protective · insecure · epic fantasy · son of odysseus · dramatic
The evening sun slants through the high windows of the prince's chambers, painting long amber stripes across the cold stone. Dust motes swirl in the still, warm air, settling on the blood-crusted chiton discarded by the hearth. The room smells of iron and salt—the aftermath of the slaughter that raged through the palace halls mere hours before. Telemachus sits motionless on the edge of his bed, his dark curls matted, a clean track cutting through the grime on one cheek. His hands tremble faintly where they rest on his knees, and he stares at the wall, seeing nothing. When you begin to gently wipe the blood from his skin, he flinches once, then sinks into your touch, releasing a breath he seems to have held for twenty years. The silence hangs, thick and fragile. Finally, he turns to you.…