Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus 3)

The thought isn’t as unattractive as it was the first time I thought it. If I were a different person, maybe tonight would be enough to make me change my mind, doubt my goals. It wouldn’t be so bad to be kept by this man and Patroclus.

Except being kept is the thing that’s slowly choking the life out of me. No matter how nice the cage, the bird inside is still trapped. Being married to one of the Thirteen is not the same thing as being one of the Thirteen. If I fail, I will spend the rest of my life on the outside looking in. “You honestly expect me to accept that.”

“I honestly expect you to accept the results of the tournament, yeah.” Another of those shrugs. What must it be like to be Achilles, totally and completely sure of his place in the world and the path laid out before him? I envy him, even as I just don’t fucking understand how easy it seems to be.

My stomach twists a little, but I force myself to stare him down. “So you’ll accept the results of the tournament, too?” Maybe I should leave it alone, but I can’t quite make myself. “You say you want to keep me, both of you. So that extends to my potentially winning Ares. If—when—I win, you’ll still want… What? A relationship? Is that what you’re saying?”

Achilles smiles. “Yeah, princess. Exactly.” He answers too easily, as if indulging me. As if he doesn’t believe for a second that it’s really a possibility. “That’s usually what ‘keeping’ means.”

It’s too good to be true. No matter the strength of the connection, I’ve only known these men for a few days. Relationships that last years couldn’t weather what we’re about to. What are the odds we will?

I push the thought away. I can’t afford to let myself get derailed worrying about things that might or might not happen. Either it will or it won’t. Ruining things with Achilles and Patroclus based on theories… Maybe it would be smarter, but I don’t want to do it.

Instead, I stretch. “I’m tired. Let’s brush our teeth, change the sheets, and go to bed.” I ignore the little voice inside me whispering that we’re only playing house and this will end in tears.

Everything in Olympus ends in tears.

You have to take your joy where you can find it.

27

Patroclus

For better or worse, we’re headed for a single destination. There are no exits, no diverging paths, no way to change what will come. Within a few days, the title for Ares will be awarded to the winner of this tournament. Reality will invade this safe space we’ve created. There’s no avoiding it.

But not yet.

“I’m surprised you convinced Bellerophon to have breakfast delivered.” The layout isn’t fancy—eggs, hash browns, fruit, and pancakes—but it’s more than I expected.

Achilles pulls out a chair for Helen, ignoring her suspicious look, and grins. “Bellerophon is being overly cautious leading up to the third trial. Add in the assassination attempt, and they’d rather keep us as separate as possible for the next twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t need special treatment,” Helen says. She examines the food available and finally adds a bit of each to her plate. “I don’t like the idea of hiding in the room. It looks like I’m scared.”

“No one will see it. It’s not like they televise what goes on in this house.” Achilles pauses, expression going thoughtful. “Though Bellerophon did say they are canceling the interviews that were supposed to happen today. It’s a security risk, though they’re spinning it as something else for the public.”

“Gods forbid we provide a less than perfect image for the public,” I murmur. I sink into the empty chair and start filling a plate. I’m starving. Spending the night exerting the kind of energy we did wasn’t wise, but I don’t regret it. I’m not prepared to say that sometimes plans should be thrown out, but I can’t deny that I didn’t plan on Helen. It doesn’t matter. I’m still 100 percent with Achilles on finding a way to make this work.

She’s still right, though. There isn’t a single scenario that is perfect. The odds aren’t in our favor, but—

“Patroclus.” From the patient way Helen says my name, it’s not the first time. She’s got that little indulgent smile on her face, and my whole body goes warm in response. Gods, this woman does something to me. I don’t fully understand it, but I’m beyond questioning it.

“Yeah?”

“Your mom Sthenele. She was almost Aphrodite, right? It was when we were kids, but my dad used to talk about her a lot before you moved away.” Helen glances away, a shadow flickering over her face before she seems to put it away. “Why did she withdraw her name?”

It’s an old story, but I don’t mind retelling it. I give the untouched plate in front of her a pointed look. “Eat while I tell you.”