Page 82 of Crown of Serpents

“Because creeping through the street like you are hiding something is much less inconspicuous?”

He was right, of course, but Perseus struggled to relax his shoulders as he walked at his friend’s side. Their entire plan hinged on Perseus and Kleos going to the tavern and stealing guard uniforms so they could relieve the shift at the servants' entrance in three hours. If they failed, they would not be able to infiltrate Polydectes’s palace undetected, the element of surprise gone.

The two men reached the tavern door, the pounding music and raucous laughter wafting through the dimly lit windows.

Perseus pulled his friend aside. “You said you’ve been here many times, and we both know you are not exactly someone who is easily forgotten. What will we do if someone does recognise you?”

“Relax, Perseus,” Kleos responded calmly, brushing his hands off and opening the tavern door. Perseus glared at his friend, doubt gnawing at him from inside. There was no room for error, not when the lives ofhiscrew depended on them succeeding. Still, he followed after Kleos. “I haven’t been here for a while, so they might not remember me. And even if they do, no one knows that I have sailed with you, so —”

“Kleos!” A deep voice boomed from their right. “Fancy seeing you here after such a long time! Where have you been these past weeks?”

They both turned, and Perseus’s stomach plummeted. A tall, broad-shouldered man in gleaming armour stood before them, his face flushed with wine. Recognition hit Perseus like a thunderbolt. This guard had been in the megaron during the tithe, his face unreadable and without any of the warmth that lit up his rich brown eyes, but it was unmistakably the same man. He had proudly worn the captain’s helmet of the king’s guard.

Kleos, unfazed, greeted him with a broad smile. “Kyros? What are you doing here? Don’t you have a feast to attend?”

“It helps when you make the schedule!” Kyros raised his cup. “My second in command is in charge tonight.”

“Admirable how much effort you put into being a lazy drunkard,” Kleos chuckled.

Perseus watched the familiar exchange quietly, hoping his hood concealed his face.

Kyros's eyes narrowed as he finally registered Perseus, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “Who is your companion?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of menace.

Kleos's usual composure wavered as he awkwardly nudged Perseus. “Oh, him? He’s my bodyguard… Eustathius! My father insisted I bring him along for the expedition I just did for him. Don’t mind him; he is terribly dull company. Doesn’t drink or laugh, isn’t that right?” Kleos elbowed Perseus.

“I prefer to keep my senses sharp…Sir,” Perseus forcedhimself to play along.

Kleos’s eyes were sparkling with mischief as he slapped Perseus on the shoulder. “See? Such a killjoy!”

The captain’s eyes lingered on Perseus. “He looks familiar …”

Perseus’s heart began racing, his palms growing slick with sweat.

“Nonsense!” Kleos snorted. “He just has one of those faces.” He turned to Perseus. “Eustathius, why don’t you buy us a jug of wine? Make yourself useful.“

Kleos tossed a silver drachma at Perseus, who caught it with a glare. His friend was enjoying this little role-play too much. Still, Perseus welcomed the opportunity to escape Kyros's scrutiny. He approached the bar, his movements carefully measured.

“A jug of red wine, please,” Perseus said, slamming the coin on the counter and scanning the room as he waited.

Near the back, a group of sentinels were arm wrestling, betting with silver drachmae and spilling wine whenever an arm smashed into the table. To his left, men lounged, women with revealing necklines draped across their lap. But to his right, a conversation caught his attention.

“I’ve heard Polydectes plans to execute him tomorrow as the highlight of the festivities,” a guard with a thick black beard said.

“Do you really think he’ll make a spectacle of it?” A blonde-haired man countered. “It is the festival of harvest after all, and he is …”

“He is a traitor,” the bearded man interrupted grimly.

Who were they talking about? Perseus had not yet heard that Polydectes ordered public executions. He had never made a spectacle of killing his subjects before.

A younger guard spoke up. “Do you know what he got arrested for? Did the old man try to usurp the throne after all these years?”

Electricity hummed in Perseus’s blood as his heart thundered in his chest. It could not be.

The black-haired guard scoffed. “Usurp the throne? The king’s brother is too lazy for that. That’s why Polydectes had tostep in in the first place when Dictys neglected his duties after his wife died in childbirth.”

Perseus felt a storm surge within him. Polydectes had Dictys. Had he found Danae, too? His fists clenched, the power thrumming beneath his skin, threatening to break free. He drew a shaky breath, fighting for control.

But it was no use. The old fisherman, the closest thing Perseus had to a father, was to be executed tomorrow.

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