I want to, though. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.
“Let me know if that changes. The second trial begins tomorrow. Try to stay out of trouble until then.” Bellerophon turns and leaves the room at a pace just shy of running.
I turn and catch Patroclus’s eye. He still looks confused, but I shake my head slightly to indicate that it’s time to drop the topic. Helen’s still bracing like she’s going to be bashed over the head, and I highly doubt trying to figure out why her brother is being a dick is going to help her feel better.
I want her to feel better.
She’s mine, after all.
I know better than to say as much, but sometimes in life, I come across a thing or goal and I know it’s meant for me. It doesn’t usually happen with people. In fact, it’s only ever happened once. Patroclus. After our first week in Ares’s boot camp, I knew he was meant for me and I was meant for him, that we’d be part of each other’s lives in a permanent kind of way.
The feeling about Helen isn’t identical, but it’s similar. I didn’t really understand until it was the three of us together, but she fits us in a way no one else has before. With her in the mix, it feels like it could make our pair even better, something I didn’t think possible before this tournament.
I can be patient when the goal is worth it, and right now it’s worth it. If I tell Helen she’s meant for me, she’ll take it as me talking about Ares and marrying her again, and it’ll just piss her off.
Actually… That’s a great fucking idea. Our princess works better when she’s angry rather than sad. I just need to paint her a convenient target to aim all those messy emotions she’s trying to bottle down at. She’ll feel better once she exorcizes them.
“You know what Bellerophon was too cowardly to say? What your brother and Athena are thinking?” I give her my laziest, most arrogant grin. “You should quit.”
Helen tenses right on cue. All the brittle, fragile bits of her disappear between one blink and the next, and the scared princess vanishes, replaced by the furious harpy. She narrows pretty amber eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Your brother is a dick, and there’s only one reason he wouldn’t come check on you.” I cross my arms over my chest. “He thinks if you get scared enough, you’ll quit.”
“I won’t.”
“I know that. Patroclus knows that. You know that, too.”
She glares. “You obviously have a brilliant point you’re attempting to get to. Feel free to enlighten us.”
I like her when she’s prickly. It’s loads better than when she appeared so fragile and out of sorts. Patroclus is looking between us like we’ve gone mad. When there’s a problem to be solved, he’s my man, but he lets logic get in the way of his instincts. Right now, Helen’s too emotional to sit still long enough for him to strategize our way out of this mess. She won’t hear a damn thing he says, and she’ll just keep sitting there, looking small and lost and sad the entire time. Once she snaps out of it, she’ll feel better. Then she and Patroclus can bounce their brilliance off each other.
I can’t say that, though. He won’t understand. He drags his hands over his face. “We need to—”
“No, Patroclus. Achilles has something to say. Let him say it.” Helen starts for me, lasers practically shooting from her eyes. She’s beyond sexy when she’s furious. No shit. I don’t think it’s possible for her to be anything less than gorgeous, no matter the circumstances. More importantly, though, is that the lost look on her face is gone.
She’s not thinking about the attack or her messed-up family right now. The only thing Helen is focused on at the moment is cutting me down to size. I might not be a borderline genius like Patroclus, but I know how to maneuver around battlefields, and my interactions with Helen are exactly that.
I give a lazy smile designed to infuriate her further. “You’re playing right into their hands, princess. This is just another kind of warfare. The second trial is tomorrow. Are you really going to spend the next twelve hours or so obsessing over your asshole brother?”
She opens her mouth and pauses. I can practically see her brain kicking into gear. It looks different on her than it does on Patroclus, but the vibe is very similar. Finally, Helen drags in a rough breath and slumps back into her chair. “You think this is all a mind game.”
“I don’t know what this is, but there’s not a damn thing you can do about it until the tournament is over and we get out of this house.” I hold her gaze. “You’re smart. You know the trials are as much mental as they are physical. They can’t make you quit, but they can undermine you until you fail.”
She shakes her head slowly, almost wonderingly. “The gods really gave with both hands when they created you, didn’t they?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, princess.” Some of the tension bleeds out of me. She hasn’t lost that haunted look in her eyes, but it seems the worst has passed. Damn woman bounces back fast, doesn’t she? Or at least gives the appearance of it. Helen seems the type to stew—one way we differ—so she’s not going to pour out her heart to us. Things would be simpler if it didn’t feel like she was mine, which means I want her to fling open the doors barring us from her inner thoughts.
I drag my hand over my face. This shit is stressing me out. I preferred life simpler, when the most complicated thing I had to worry about was the next mission Athena sent us on and when Patroclus would be too distracted to remember to eat. I know him, so I never have to wonder what he’s thinking or feeling. All the signs are right there, learned over more than a decade together. Things might have changed recently, but they haven’t changed that much.
Like right now. He’s thinking he doesn’t understand what the fuck just happened. He glances between us and speaks slowly, cautiously. “Achilles…isn’t wrong.”
Helen smiles a little. “Why do you sound so shocked?”
“He’s not usually subtle,” Patroclus murmurs. He shakes his head. “How can we help, Helen?”
She picks up her coffee mug and stares down at it as if she can find answers in its depths. Patroclus and I share a look of perfect understanding. No matter how messy this situation is, we’re going to give Helen what she needs. We can’t control what the trial brings in the morning, but at least we can offer her a reprieve until then. It feels good to be on the same page with him after all the fighting and messy emotions. Things aren’t resolved; they won’t be resolved until the tournament is over and we’ve navigated the inevitable fallout.
In the meantime…
“Why?”
I look up to find Helen staring at me as if I’m a puzzle she can’t quite figure out the shape of. It’s tempting to offer her a charming smile or a bullshit answer, but if I want her to take this seriously—to take me seriously—the least I can do is explain myself. At least in this. “I don’t like that lost look on your face.”