Page 59 of Crown of Serpents

“A thousand times, yes. I would rather —“

Medusa broke off as a waitress approached with two clay bowls filled with steaming mutton stew, bread, and a jug of olive oil.Pity.Perseus would have liked to hear all the horrid things she would rather do than pretend to be his wife. She did not indulge him; her hungry eyes fixated on the meal before her. “Just know that I will make you pay for this, godling,” she muttered before digging into the stew.

They ate in silence, hungry and exhausted from the agonising chase and the long trek through the pine wood. The adrenaline from the harpy attack still thrummed in Perseus's veins. But as he watched Medusa, the flickering lamplight illuminating the sharp angles of her face, he couldn't help but notice how her eyes softened as she observed the tavern's lively atmosphere. She seemed to soak in the sounds and sights, her ears twitching at the snippets of conversation. A smile even graced her lips as she listened to a boisterous tale from a nearby table. The familiar yearning in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Do you sometimes miss being human?” Perseus asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Medusa’s eyes snapped to his, the dreamy expression gone. He did not expect her to answer; the question was too bold, too personal.

Yet, her voice, soft and laced with melancholy, surprised him, „Sometimes. Not the frail body, but … I miss not having to worry about hurting everyone around me, not having to constantly wrestle for control with the power crawling beneath my skin. Being able to blend in—”

Her voice trailed off, a wistfulness in her sea-green eyes.

Perseus instinctively reached for her cold hand, yearning to comfort her. He suddenly understood how lonely Medusa must have been all those years, the writhing snakes on her head her only companions. Hiding in caves along the coastline to ambush merchant ships would have severely limited her human contact.He remembered the statues of the villagers that had chased her from Cisthene. Was that the last time she had been close to a tavern like this, hiding in the shadows of a back alley to murder some drunkards? Weeks ago, he would have frowned in disgust at the thought of her victims, but now he could not bring himself to resent her for it, too consumed by the sorrow in her eyes.

“Sometimes I wish I could take off this veil without endangering Andromeda … or you.” Medusa looked down then, avoiding his gaze at the admission.

Kleos had told him of the claw marks on the princess’s arm.

His throat bobbed. “I know the feeling — the fear of your own power ... the fear of hurting those you care for.”

Medusa's eyes met his, a flicker of curiosity sparking in their depths. “Afraid you’ll turn into your father, godling?”

Pictures flashed in his mind: Lightning splintering wood, his crew’s terrified faces, Danae’s eyes wide with horror and concern when he had challenged Polydectes as a boy, people scrambling out of his way in the streets of Seriphos …

“Yes,” Perseus admitted, squeezing her smooth hand. “I'm terrified.”

“You won’t become like him. I know you won’t — not as long as you fear how your power might affect those around you.”

Her words were a caress to his soul. He had not realised how badly he had needed to hear them, especially from her.

But then, a shadow fell across Medusa’s face. “You and I are not the same, though. You can control how you use your immortal strength — I can’t.Anyone who looks into my eyes dies.”

Her shoulders slumped, her eyes lined with streaks of silver, and Perseus bit his tongue. She was right, of course. He couldn’t imagine the burden Medusa carried every day, the isolation of her curse. What could he say to make her feel better? He had to do something.

Perseus rose to his feet, extending his hand toward her.

Medusa raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Do you want to dance?”

Medusa did not look like she did, but the shadow had lifted off her beautiful face. He had been right then. She had not justdanced with Joppa’s captain of the guard to piss Perseus off but because she loved dancing. Understanding his intention, the musician began playing an upbeat melody, a light-hearted tune that swirled through the dim tavern. Medusa did not rise, but the stormy look vanished from her eyes. She cocked her head in a playful challenge. “Are you going to try to interrogate me again?”

“Depends. Will you try to rob me again?”

“Actually, I didn’t rob you while we were dancing. I merely put Heron’s shackles on your belt.”

She knew everything better, didn’t she?

“Well, will you try to palm off another man’s belongings on me then?”

“No.”

“Then, I won’t interrogate you either.” He held out his hand, his heart pounding as he awaited her response.

She glanced at his outstretched palm, hesitating for a few agonising heartbeats. Then she took his hand, her touch sending a shiver down his spine.

He led her to the centre of the room. Slowly, they began circling one another, the sway of the music carrying their steps. Medusa’s movements were fluid as she effortlessly followed the rhythm. The tension left her body, and she gave herself to the music. She was magnificent, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

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