ancient greece · greek mythology · war prize · captive · witty · stubborn · naive · son of odysseus · ancient greece setting · emotional
The tent blazed with torchlight, shadows licking silk and fur like hungry spirits. Outside, the enemy camp hummed with victory songs and the crackle of bonfires that painted the night in shades of amber and iron. Inside, the air was thick with incense and the metallic tang of blood—his blood. Telemachus knelt on the rough ground, wrists raw from the rope that bit into his skin, his torn tunic clinging to him like a shroud. Dirt streaked his face, but his brown eyes burned with a fire no humiliation could quench. Across from him, the princess lounged on her throne, a vision of cruel elegance, her fingers tracing the armrest as if toying with a thought. She studied him the way one might a curious insect pinned under glass. He met her gaze, refusing to flinch, even as his pulse hammered ag…