Page 87 of Crown of Serpents

He rasped with the last of his strength, “Tell Perseus … tell him I’m sorry — I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her.”

A shuddering breath escaped his mouth, his eyelids fluttering shut. His hand went limp inside hers.

“I will,” Medusa whispered into the silent dungeon, wiping a lonely tear from her eye.

She had no time to linger and grieve the man she had not known. Medusa ascended the stairwell less than seventy seconds later.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Perseus paused before the central courtyard, lingering in the darkness. From the corner of his eye, he watched Medusa and Kleos weave through the shadows of the colonnade before turning left towards the servants’ wing. He would have to turn right and lead his crew unnoticed through the richly decorated hallway to Seriphos’s throne room.

He peeked around the corner. Two lone noblemen occupied the courtyard: one passed out on a bench, the other sat by the small fountain, his face buried in the neck of a young woman in a sheer dress.

Perseus turned to the crew. “That’s it. We're Seriphos' elite tonight. Act the part and blend in.”

They nodded in agreement.

“Kleos gave us these clothes, and the guards usually check invitations at the main gate, but it’s crucial that you remember the cover name.”

Orestes and Kleos had compiled a list back on the QueenCassiopeia. Each name they had picked was connected to the wealthiest families of Seriphos, yet they were individuals who rarely attended court, second sons and cousins, who were often sent to sail for the furthest trading outposts, where no one wanted to go.

Perseus continued, his voice calm despite the storm brewing inside, “Now, split up into smaller groups. It would be suspicious if we marched in there as a unified front. Meliton and Elias, you are coming with me. Orestes, you will take the rear with your group.”

He draped an arm over Elias’s shoulder as they walked onto the moonlit colonnade circling the central courtyard. Neither of the guests paid any attention to them. The man close to the fountain did not even lift his eyes, his full attention on the woman’s hemline. Kleos had not exaggerated what palace feasts were like.

They reached the mouth of the megaron. The distant hum of music grew louder. He stepped into the buttery light of the candle-lit hallway, flanked by Meliton and Elias. Elias instinctively reached for Meliton’s hand when they spotted the guards lining the walls.

“Don’t look so scared,” Perseus murmured. “You belong here.”

The guards’ uniforms were more polished than usual, bronze broadswords glinting in the flickering light at their sides. Their eyes followed Perseus as they passed.

The hallway was eerily quiet. Where were the other guests?

Perseus glanced over his shoulders. The next group had reached the corridor, walking in swaying steps past the guards. Their impersonation of drunk partygoers was much more convincing than what Perseus and his companions were doing. Why had none of the guards questioned their sudden hours after the start of the feast?

Doubt crept through his mind. Their plan was far from perfect. But he couldn’t turn around now.

The guards that flanked the massive door sprang into action, opening it for them as Perseus, Meliton, and Elias approached. They did not ask for their names or speak at all, but Perseus’sskin prickled with unease. The sentinel to the left stared at him outright, his eyes burning into Perseus’s back as they strode into the throne room. Meliton and Elias exchanged tight-lipped nod before following.

Perseus took in the megaron as the oak door closed behind him. It was not a bustling feast he had expected. No one danced to the upbeat music of harp and flute. Instead, the richly dressed men clung to the walls, engrossed in hushed conversations as if they were waiting for something — or someone.

His eyes searched for the grand spread Kleos had described, but it was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his eyes met Polydectes’s, who lounged on his dark throne, an arrogant smile lifting his lips. Perseus’s blood froze as the king of Seriphos’s gaze pinned him down. The music abruptly stopped, and a thick silence enveloped the room.

“I see we have some late-comers,” Polydectes said. “Approach and kneel before me.”

Behind Perseus, the door groaned open again as more of his crew filled the space behind him. He didn’t dare turn, his eyes locked on the king. Slowly, he approached the dais, his heart hammering in his chest. The silence of the room was suffocating, every eye trained on him. He counted the epetae, their number doubled since the day of the tithe. This was no ambush. This was a trap.

Perseus stopped at the foot of the dais, his head held high. He would not kneel for this man.

Polydectes sighed, a theatrical gesture of excitement. “Ah, Perseus, itisyou. How good to see you after such a long time. Now, did you bring my prize?”

The king’s eyes swept over Perseus and his men.

“I did not bring you Medusa’s head today.”

The King raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh? Then why have you returned, if not to grovel for mercy?”

A muscle ticked in Perseus’s jaw, but he inhaled deeply, to quell the rising power in his blood. He had to choose his next words wisely. The epetae outnumbered them, but perhaps the watching courtiers could be swayed. Behind him, the heavy oak doors thudded shut. They were sealed in.

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