Page 88 of Crown of Serpents

„No, I did not come to grovel,” Perseus retorted. “I should have never agreed to this bargain in the first place.”

He fixed Polydectes with a defiant glare. “It is not right for a king to exploit his citizens to enrich himself. It is not right that you would demand my mother as compensation for our debts … debts we only incurred because we were robbed weeks before the tithe.” Perseus turned, his voice echoing through the hall, addressing the silent noblemen lining the walls. “A true king cares for his people. A true king protects his people. A true king would have shown mercy — rather than use his citizens’ misfortune to send them on a deadly quest, all so he can boast about having overcome the gorgon at his next dinner part.” He met the men’s gazes, one by one, his voice ringing with conviction.

Polydectes’s eyes narrowed to slits, the knuckles of his clenched fists white.

Perseus turned back to him, his voice hardening. “And that is why I have come today to challenge you, Polydectes, in the name of Zeus, the lord of the skies, and Athena, goddess of warcraft and protector of heroes.”

A whisper rippled through the crowd as he invoked the names of the Olympians. The courtiers muttered beneath their breath in disbelief, but Polydectes only smiled, a slow, menacing curl of his lips. “I know why you have returned, Perseus.”

His icy tone sent shivers down Perseus’s spine. Behind him, his crew shifted restlessly.

Another voice, familiar and chilling, cut through the tension. “Seize the traitors. Barricade the door.” Kyros, the captain of the guard, stood at the dais, his armour gleaming.

The sentinels pushed off the walls, circling the crew of ragtag sailors who had recklessly put their faith in Perseus. They formed a barrier of swords and armour between his men and the noblemen watching the spectacle with hungry eyes. A boom erupted behind Perseus as a wooden beam barred the only exit from the megaron.

Kyros grinned, drawing his sword. But it was a broad-shouldered sentinel who lunged at Perseus first, swinging his blade for Perseus’s head. He rolled aside, barely avoiding thedeadly arc of the blade. Perseus drew his own rusty blade, parrying a second attack from his left. Sparks flew as bronze met bronze.

Four epetae circled him, their movements slowed by their heavy armour. Perseus lunged, his movement quick as lightning, as he jabbed his weapon between the chest and shoulder plate of his first assailant’s armour. When he pulled his bloody weapon free, the man wailed in pain.

An auburn-haired sentinel charged from the right. He aimed his blade at Perseus’s abdomen, forcing him to jump backwards, right where another sentinel waited for him. He twisted aside, but not fast enough. A sharp pain erupted in his left arm, the guard's blade piercing his tunic. Perseus ignored the sting as he whirled his weapon again, a bloody stain spreading on the sleeve of his tunic.

An agonising scream pierced through the noise of clashing metal. Perseus watched in horror as Elias rushed towards Meliton, a blade protruding from his lover's chest. Meliton toppled over, and Elias stretched out his arms as if to catch him.

But before Elias could reach him, a broad-shouldered soldier slammed him down, the sickening crack of his skull echoing through the hall.

Elias was undeterred, crawling towards Meliton, who lay crumpled on the floor, bleeding out slowly. He was two meters away when a guard’s swift swing cut Elias’s head off his shoulders. He collapsed, just out of reach of Meliton’s limp hand.

Tears burned in Perseus’s eyes; he would not lose another man. His eyes found Orestes, wounded but defiant, holding his ground against three soldiers.

“To the door! Retreat!” Perseus bellowed although the words tasted bitter in his mouth. It was an admission of defeat, but they needed to get out of here if they wanted to survive.

Orestes nodded, fighting towards the oak door.

Perseus's rusty sword whirled with renewed vigour despite the strain in his muscles. He ignored the biting pain and whirled his blade in a wild motion. He did not care about sparing the king’s epetae anymore. It did not matter that they only followedPolydectes’s orders, for they were butcheringhismen. Perseus spun and dug his blade into the side of a guard. Before the man hit the ground, Perseus had sunk his sword into the neck of another one. He would save his crew or die trying.

Amidst the carnage, Perseus tallied the dead: five of his men lay on the ground, each surrounded by a crimson pool of blood. Perseus gulped, his vision blurring as he bit back nausea.

His gaze Orestes, flanked by two men, fighting towards the oak door. Chares, on Orestes' right, crumpled under a lance. Fear tightened Perseus's throat. He had to help them.

But a wall of sentinels barred his path. At least twenty against one. Perseus knew that even he could do nothing to help his crew now. Still, he raised his sword as they slowly pushed him back, widening the gap between him and his men. They coordinated their attacks, lunging for him in groups of three or four. Sweat dripped from his forehead as his muscles grew more and more tired. It dawned upon him then that he might not get to keep his promise to Medusa. He might die before he could tell her that —

Perseus’s eyes widened as Orestes finally reached the oak door. The last guard that stood between him and the exit collapsed to his knees. But the heavy beam barring it would not budge. Orestes slammed against the wood again and again, desperation fuelling his efforts. But the beam held. He wasn’t strong enough to lift it on his own.

There was no escape. They were locked in here to die.

Orestes sank to his knees, his palm still against the oak door. Before Perseus could warn him, a guard broke rank, decapitating the veteran. Orestes' head rolled across the floor. A desperate wail ripped from Perseus's throat.

He gripped Dictys' old blade tighter, sweat and blood slicking the hilt. He might die today, but he would go down with a fight. At least some part of his family would be with him when he fell at last.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Kleos reached the top of the staircase, panting. Below him, the sounds of weapons clashing against one another echoed. It felt wrong to leave Medusa behind, even if he didn’t particularly care for the vicious woman. Their shared love for Andromeda and Perseus was the only thing that bound them. Kleos made a silent promise that Medusa’s sacrifice would not be in vain.

He hesitated briefly. The dark corridor to the left led to the megaron, where the kingdom's fate was being decided. Weeks ago, Kleos would have insisted on fighting alongside Perseus, defending his chosen brother. But to the right was Andromeda, trapped on a ship with only his dagger and two old sailors to defend her. This was precisely why he had insisted on Andromeda staying behind, to be spared having to pick between Perseus and the princess that owned his body, sword, and soul — even if she did not want it. With a heavy heart, Kleos turned right, abandoning his oldest friend. He muttered curses as his footsteps echoed through the dim corridor, each one a painfulreminder of the loyalty he was leaving behind.

Kleos dashed past the kitchens toward the third exit Orestes had mentioned — the one used for deliveries. It was their planned escape route for when their plan went south. So far, it had been a disaster.

He skidded to a halt on the top of the slippery steps leading to the pontoon, where Atticus was supposed to be waiting with a boat to ferry them back to the ship. The pier was empty.

---