Chapter 13: Imprisoned(2)

The ship cut through the dark Aegean waves, but Helenos didn't feel the spray of the salt water.

He was standing at the edge of the deck, looking toward the horizon where Mycenae had disappeared hours ago. For the first time in his life, the suffocating walls of his mother’s palace were gone.

But in their place was a new kind of weight—the heavy gold rings on his fingers and the realization that he was now the property of Sparta.

Or was he?

He turned his head slightly when he heard the rhythmic thud of boots on wood. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

The air around him seemed to get warmer whenever she was near.

Menelaia.

The Queen of Sparta didn’t walk like the noblewomen in his mother’s court, who glided as if they were afraid to break the floor.

Menelaia walked like she owned the earth itself.

She was tall, her shoulders broad from years of wearing bronze armor, and her eyes were the color of a stormy sea—unpredictable and deep.

"You're shivering," she said. Her voice wasn't soft, but it had a low, steady quality that made Helenos’s heart skip a beat.

Before he could answer, she stepped behind him and draped a heavy wool cloak over his shoulders.

Her hands lingered for a second on his collarbone. Helenos felt a spark of heat go through him.

In this world, men were supposed to be shy. They were supposed to keep their eyes down and wait for a woman to speak.

But when he looked at Menelaia, he didn't feel like a prize or a statue. He felt like a person.

"I’m not cold," Helenos lied, his voice a bit shaky. "Just... thinking."

Menelaia leaned against the railing next to him. "About what you left behind? Or what you’re sailing toward?"

Helenos looked at her profile. Most people were blinded by his face, but he was the one who couldn't stop looking at hers. She had a small scar on her jaw from a hunt, and her hair was tied back in a messy braid that didn't care for fashion.

To Helenos, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, not because she was perfect, but because she was real.

"I’m thinking that I don't know you," Helenos said boldly. "Everyone says you are a conqueror. They say you came to Mycenae to take the greatest treasure in the world. Is that all I am to you? A trophy for your collection?"

Menelaia turned to face him fully. The flickering torches on the ship cast long shadows across her face.

For a long moment, she didn't say anything. The only sound was the creaking of the ship’s wood and the wind in the sails.

"I have enough trophies in Sparta, Helenos," she said finally. "I have gold, I have land, and I have more bronze than I know what to do with. I didn't sail all this way for a pretty face."

Menelaia licked her lips

She stepped closer, invading his personal space. Helenos should have stepped back, but he found himself leaning in.

"I saw you in that throne room," she whispered. "Everyone was looking at you like you were a god or a doll. But I saw your eyes. You were bored. You were angry. You were trapped. I didn't come to put you in a new cage. I came because I wanted to see if the man behind the face was as strong as the rumors said."

Helenos felt a lump in his throat. Back in his old life, as a web developer named Dodo, he had never felt this kind of intensity. And in this life, everyone treated him like a fragile glass vase. But Menelaia saw the fire in him.

"And?" Helenos asked, his heart hammering against his ribs. "What did you find?"

Menelaia reached out. Her fingers were calloused and rough, the hands of a warrior. She gently tucked a stray lock of his hair behind his ear. Her touch was surprisingly light, almost hesitant.

"I found someone I want to stand behind me, und.. me” she said.

In that moment, Helenos realized he was in trouble. He had spent years planning how to survive this world, how to use his beauty to stay alive, and how to avoid the tragic ending of the Trojan War.

He had told himself he would never trust anyone. But as he looked into Menelaia’s eyes, all those walls started to crumble.

He wasn't just attracted to her power. He was in love with the way she looked at him—like he actually mattered.

"People will talk," Helenos said, trying to regain some control over his breathing. "A Queen of Sparta falling for her consort? They expect you to be distant. They expect me to be a quiet ornament."

Menelaia laughed, a short, sharp sound that made him smile. "Let them talk. Let the whole world scream until their throats are sore. I am the Queen. If I want to love the man I married, who is going to stop me?"

She moved even closer, her chest almost touching his. Helenos could smell the scent of cedar and leather on her. It was a grounding, earthy smell that made him feel safe for the first time since he had been reborn.

"Helenos," she said softly, using his name like a prayer. "You don't have to be perfect for me. You just have to be mine."

Helenos reached up, his small, soft hands resting on her strong forearms. He felt the muscles move under her skin. He realized then that he didn't want to run away anymore. He didn't want to hide in the … in the… or pretend to be an idiot for his sister. He wanted to be in Sparta, by this woman's side.

"I've spent my whole life being a trophy ,'" Helenos said, a small, genuine smile breaking across his face. "I think I’d rather just be yours."

Menelaia’s expression hardened. The heat in her eyes slowly came back up. Maybe with some by a look of pure, raw affection. She leaned down, her forehead resting against his.

"Then it's settled," she whispered.

As the ship sailed deeper into the night, the stars above seemed brighter than they ever had in Mycenae. Helenos knew that there would be many challenges ahead.

He knew that the world was still a dangerous place for a man with a face like his. But as Menelaia pulled him into a firm, protective embrace, he didn't feel afraid.

He was Helenos of Troy, the most beautiful man in the world. But more importantly, he was a man who had finally found a home in the heart of a Queen.

The voyage continued, the rhythm of the sea acting like a heartbeat for their new beginning. Helenos stayed on deck long after the other sailors had gone to sleep.

He watched Menelaia take the helm for a while, her strong hands guiding the massive ship through the waves. She looked like a force of nature.

He realized that his "strategy of irreplaceability" had worked, but not in the way he expected. He hadn't made himself irreplaceable to his mother or his sister through his incompetence. He had made himself irreplaceable to Menelaia simply by being the only person who dared to look her in the eye.

He walked over to where she stood at the wheel. The wind caught his hair, blowing it across his face, but he didn't care.

"Teach me," he said.

Menelaia looked at him, surprised. "Teach you what?"

"How to sail. How to lead. How to be a Spartan," Helenos said firmly. "If I am going to be your King, I won't just sit on a throne and look pretty. I want to be someone you can rely on when the storms come."

Menelaia’s face turned gloomy. that made Helenos feel uncomfortable.

I’ll compensate with another chapter.

My head hurt so bad sorry I’ll never do that again . I have another one fourth done i’l’l’l do tha’t late’r s’o pl’ea’s’e s’o’r’ry for the inconvenience of my head’ache

I m sorry please forgive meeee