Page 58 of Crown of Serpents

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Andromeda gave in to her curiosity as she bent to pick some lavender. “So,how did you know of this place? Do all Greek towns have orchards like this?”

“No,” Kleos answered, a nostalgic look on his face. “I’ve been here once with my father. He is a wealthy merchant and travels a lot.”

It was the second time Kleos had brought up his father.

Andromeda glanced at him. “Have you seen much of the world, then?”

A shadow once again fell over Kleos's face. “No, I mostly stayed on Seriphos with my mother and sisters. My father and I … he … I did not turn out how he wanted me to. He always had high expectations for all his children, but as his eldest son, he expects me — expected me to take over his spice trade one day. Only, I am terrible with numbers, I can’t sit still, and I’m a loudmouth who always says the wrong things at the wrong time. All I’m good for is drinking and fighting. That’s why I wanted to go on this quest with Perseus so badly, so he might see how my humble talents can be useful in some ways at least.”

His shoulders slumped, and he stared at the ground, a vulnerability Andromeda had never seen before. His constant need for approval and praise suddenly made sense.

Hesitantly, she touched his arm. “I’m sure he’s proud of you in his own way. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Kleos looked up, emotions swirling in his stormy blue eyes.

A wave of warmth washed over Andromeda as she gave him solace for the pain she couldn’t truly comprehend.

Kleos broke the spell with a boisterous grin. “How sweet of you to say! Careful, one might think you're starting to care for me, Princess.”

Andromeda swatted him playfully with her lavender sprigs. “This is precisely why I don’t talk to you. You’re insufferable.”

“I’m deeply sorry once again, Princess,” he chuckled.

„No, you’re not,” Andromeda chided, a smile tugging at her own lips as they continued their stroll through the fragrant orchard.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Perseus and Medusa stumbled the last steps to the small inn at the edge of the pine forest. The buttery light shining through the windows beckoned them in. Perseus's muscles ached, his skin caked with dirt and pine needles. Medusa, her hair a tangled mess of twigs and leaves, stood beside him, the veil still shrouding her face.

Perseus hesitated on the inn’s doorstep. She couldn’t enter unveiled, but the fabric would raise suspicions. Medusa would not be able to pose as one of Apollo’s acolytes here, or the other guests might wonder why she was travelling alone with Perseus. They might assume that he had stolen her from her temple or that she had run off with him. The punishment for either offence was brutal. Perseus gulped, glancing at Medusa, who hovered beside him on the threshold.

“What is it, godling?”

There was only one other justification for her veil — a reason Medusa would despise. A slow smile spread across his lips as heopened the door. “After you, my love.”

She cocked her head, her eyes full of suspicion, as she stepped into the warmth of the tavern. Perseus followed close behind, muttering in her ear before they reached the counter, where a heavy-set man handed out jugs of watered-down wine. “We’ll need to blend in, so I need you to follow my lead.”

Medusa said nothing. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the rustic tables, the flickering oil lamps, and the patrons hunched over their meals. The scent of mutton and thyme mingled with the lilting melody of a lyre. It had been a long time since she had walked among mortals, a lone wolf amongst a flock of sheep.

Perseus turned to the burly barkeeper, a practised smile on his face. “Good evening. My bride and I need a room for the night and something to eat and drink.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Medusa’s head snap toward him, her eyes flashing danger.

The stocky barkeep eyed their dishevelled appearance. “Interesting attire for a wedding night.”

“We celebrated at my father-in-law’s home,” Perseus explained smoothly. “But a wild boar spooked our horse, forcing us to walk the rest of the way. My wife is exhausted. Do you have a room?”

Perseus put a protective arm around Medusa’s shoulder, feeling her stiffen in protest.

“One room left,” the barkeep grunted. “Three drachmae, with dinner.” He eyed their attire again. “Upfront.”

The price was steep. Apparently, the sacred laws of hospitality were easily forgotten when the guests looked like wild beasts who had just crawled out of the underbrush — which Perseus and Medusa had. Still, Perseus didn’t argue over the outrageous sum, eager to get out of earshot before Medusa could erupt. He put three silver coins on the counter and guided hiswifetoward a table in the back, carefully placing his palm at the centre of her back.

She elbowed him as they walked, hissing, “Call me your wife one more time, and I will gut you with my bare hands.”

He fought back a grin, her threat like music to his ears. “Ineeded a plausible story,” he whispered, pulling out a chair for her. “Or would you rather sleep in the cold forest,my love?”

The green fire in Medusa’s eyes flared, and a giddy feeling washed over him.

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