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Her brother returned from Sparta a married man.
That alone was unexpected. Odysseus had insisted, before setting sail, that Lady Helen would never choose him. In fact, he was so insistent that he brought no gifts to aid in his courtship, to their mother's chagrin – she thought it impolite of him. But as Odysseus was the king (and a stubborn one, too), his decision was final. He left Ithaca claiming he would be as empty-handed upon his return as he was during his departure, and they believed him.
So when, weeks later, he disembarked the galley hand in hand with a tall and bright-eyed woman, everyone was surprised. Even more surprised were they when Odysseus revealed he was correct about Lady Helen not wanting him, for the willowy woman was Helen's cousin, Penelope. With a grin so wide it wrapped around his head, he announced they had wed alongside Helen and her chosen husband Menelaus in Sparta, days prior to arriving in Ithaca.
Their mother was furious. Married? Without his family present? Outrageous! It took Odysseus half a day of sweet promises of a second ceremony to appease her. Ctimene’s fury was not as easily extinguished. She'd heard how Spartan weddings differed from the rest of Achaea, and would have liked to experience it. But her chance had come and gone, unbeknownst to her. All thanks to her thoughtless brother.
She refused to speak to him for three days. Three, because the first day he enjoyed her silence, and during the second he was snidely mocking her childishness. But come the third, he was remorseful, willing to beg for her voice. She relented once he appeared at her bedroom door carrying an apology in his arms: gilded sandals, a glass-bead necklace, and a plate of cheesecake. No one can resist forgiveness when it leads to cheesecake.
“What is married life like?” she asked later, having invited him inside to share the savory treat.
“Wondrous,” he replied with his mouth half-full. “Every moment is beautiful now that she is mine.”
“Why her?”
“When we first met, she…” He trailed off, smiling. “Actually, no. It shall remain between her and I. All you need to know is that her mind is sharp and her elegance is unparalleled. She makes me the happiest man in the world and I have sworn to reciprocate.”
Ctimene nodded, digesting his words while pressing cake against the roof of her mouth. Neverending beauty and eternal love sounded nice, if unrealistic. Odysseus had always possessed an idealistic streak, a certainty that life would bear fruit for him… and it did (of course, it did). But not everyone was as lucky as him. Still, when Ctimene beheld the happiness on her brother’s open face, she too needed to believe for a moment. She would give a lot to have what he and Penelope professed to have.
As if reading her mind, Odysseus said, “It's your turn now. You won't understand until you too have a spouse.”
“I suppose,” she said. It was time. She was growing up, growing older. Already seventeen, she needed to hurry lest she become an old maid. On one hand it was exciting. To finally become a bride and a woman. To assume the duties of a wife. To discover what a man's touch felt like.
On the other hand, it was terrifying, because she would leave her familiar home for her husband's unknown one. She would belong to a man who surely wouldn't be as lenient as Odysseus. Speaking of, Odysseus was the one choosing her husband. She would be allowed some input, but the final decision was his to make.
And Ctimene would've accepted it gladly. She would've been grateful for her brother taking care of her. She would've shed no tears while thinking of her husband to be, if it hadn't been for…
Him.
The day of the ceremony approached fast, the palace filling with guests in preparation. First to arrive, one week ahead of everyone else, was Polites; Eurylochus arrived one day later. It was thanks to Odysseus’ scheming. As king he required no fancy reasons to host his friends, but the wedding still created the perfect opportunity for all of them to meet simultaneously. Out of all the self-serving acts her brother committed throughout his life, having his friends arrive early to his wedding was among the most benign. Ctimene had no complaints. The two men might've been Odysseus’ friends first, but she’d known them almost as long. Their parents, too, were ecstatic. Eurylochus especially – who lived on a separate island and seldom visited due to his own responsibilities as prince – received a warm welcome, Laertes and Anticlea drowning him in hugs and kisses while marveling over how tall he was.
Ctimene impatiently awaited her turn, her hands fidgeting in her skirt as her eyes flickered over him. Yes, he was striking – he had been for as long as Ctimene could remember. But it was different now. Not just in how his frame had broadened and his face had chiseled its features, but also the manner he’d come to carry himself and learnt to school his expressions. Sturdier, in body and in mind. With his angular jaw and robust neck, sloping into his wide shoulders and rugged arms, he was the embodiment of masculinity. He was…
He was looking at her.
She awoke from her reverie just as Eurylochus bent to kiss her cheek in greeting. Her skin was hotter and redder after the contact; if he noticed he was too polite to point it out.
“It's good to see you again, Ctimene,” he said, his deep voice akin to a touch, making the fine hairs on her neck stand erect.
She couldn't reply – her smile was too broad, her lips unable to form the words – so she settled for nodding in agreement. He smiled back; for one moment there was only them. No other people, no animals, not even gods. Only them, and the lingering sensation of his lips on her cheekbone.
But the moment was fleeting, Eurylochus soon pulled away by her villainous brother. They all scattered, Ctimene following her mother and Penelope into the gynaeceum so the men could have their reunion in peace. She soothed her disappointment by telling herself her body needed the time away from Eurylochus, lest it incinerate itself.
He had caused reactions in her since they were children. Like a thrumming heartbeat and a stuttering so strong it rendered her incapable of speech, not that she ever knew what to say to him back then. All she could do was giggle uncontrollably when seeing him. Her child-self didn't know how to handle it. So, she did the most logical thing whenever he was near: she ran off and hid, usually among the pigs so Eumaeus could keep watch for her.
It was an effective strategy, one she might’ve continued to this day if Odysseus hadn’t cornered her one afternoon and told her to develop some courage. Eurylochus might be older and bigger, but she needn’t be afraid of him. She’d protested – she wasn’t afraid of him! She simply felt sick when he was too close.
“Well,” Odysseus had said. “You appear afraid. Eurylochus thinks so too. He’s upset about it.”
Ctimene didn’t want Eurylochus to be upset. Knowing that he was, and that she was the cause of it, triggered another reaction in her: her stomach squirmed, her chest clogged, and her face flushed so hot it itched. Since it was rather more unpleasant than the other reactions, she forced herself into his company. Or she would have, if Eurylochus hadn’t determined to thwart her by avoiding her!
She almost cried when she put together why he always found a reason to leave whenever she approached. Was that how he felt previously? How she wished to remedy things. Alas, she knew not how.
It took Odysseus’ scheming for them to become friends. It was a simple plan: asking Eurylochus to keep Ctimene company while Odysseus ran off to find Polites. Eurylochus meekly suggested he find Polites instead, but Odysseus wouldn’t have it. He left them alone for an hour and she came to despise him during it, convinced he orchestrated the awkwardness between them for his own amusement. And to be fair, Odysseus was ecstatic when he and Polites returned to find them engaged in stilted conversation.
“Finally friends, then!” he’d exclaimed.
Eurylochus faltered, but Ctimene was quick to lie: “We have always been friends”. Sharing a look with her, quietly communicating that the falsehood needn’t be false forever, Eurylochus had agreed.
And that was that.
Nowadays, she knew how to speak to him without stumbling over her words. Her heart still thumped, though, and her skin buzzed at the mere thought of him; if she focused on his image the area between her legs would tingle. Delightsome when she was alone in her room – less so when in polite company.
“Ctimene, are you feeling well?” her mother asked as she began setting up a game of petteia. “You seem agitated.”
“Oh, yes,” Ctimene said, taking a seat by her loom and turning her back on the rest of the room. “I’m fine.”
Pressing her fingers to her face – scorching – she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Her mother accepted the answer, eager to start playing, but Penelope met Ctimene’s gaze with a knowing expression. Ctimene held her breath, expecting a nettling. However, Penelope said nothing; she merely smiled and set about winning another game.
It appeared having a sister was different from having a brother.
The ceremony was beautiful. Penelope had no relatives in attendance, her family unable to make the trip on short notice. It didn’t sully her mood, however, and she acted the part of bride and queen to perfection. Ctimene wore her new sandals and necklace together with her best outfit, yet although she felt beautiful she knew she was unremarkable next to Penelope’s splendor. Clad in a purple dress, saffron veil, and a fresh flower crown, she captured everyone’s attention. During the dancing, some even forgot to join in, too preoccupied to watch their new queen merrily whirl around the floor.
Ctimene cheered Penelope on, determined to be her second most ardent supporter (Odysseus was of course the firstmost). However, it was during one moment that Ctimene ceased to watch her stunning sister-in-law. One moment where she took a breath to peruse the crowd, her eyes landing on Eurylochus. It wasn’t a choice – they were simply pulled that way. His frame taller than a tidal wave, he towered over everyone and demanded you look at him. Ctimene merely obeyed.
She tried to be unobtrusive. Though roaring by both nature and nurture, she tried to be soft for once. The crowd should’ve made it easier, but no. Subtlety wasn’t her forte. Her gaze was too searing, her thoughts too fervent, her desire too stifling. So, of course, Eurylochus felt her even from across the room.
He startled when their eyes met, surprised to realize it was her stare that burned the back of his head. Ctimene wondered for a second if her steaming his skin made him uncomfortable… until the surprise washed off him and he gifted her a sweet smile. How she wished to return it, to don a demure expression for him. Alas, she was roaring by both nature and nurture, and she didn’t know how to smile demurely. So she did what she knew: grinned while raising her cup. Her stomach ignited when he mimicked her, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tilted his own cup in her direction. She imagined the silver rims clinking together, then took a sip in tandem with him. She didn’t break eye contact while they drank, and neither did Eurylochus.
She could have kept going for the remainder of the night – sneaking glances and exchanging smiles – but a warm hand enfolded Ctimene’s wrist. Penelope’s face was pink from exertion; beaming, she gently tugged at Ctimene’s arm. Ctimene thrust her half-empty cup to a passing slave and followed her sister-in-law to the middle of the floor. Hand in hand they danced to vigorous applause, and while Odysseus was Penelope’s most ardent admirer, Ctimene indulged herself and imagined that the second most prominent voice in the room, deep and familiar, cheered for her.
“What do you see in him?” Ctimene asked, brow furrowed in genuine confusion. Sitting leaned against the balustrade of her brother’s balcony, she watched Odysseus and Polites frolic with one of the hunting dogs.
Odysseus rarely allowed her inside his room, but now the room also belonged to Penelope, and she appreciated the company as she sorted her wedding gifts. It was a nice room, with a huge balcony and a beautiful view; from here she could see the oak grove, the orchards, the spring, the flower garden, and even their favorite olive tree in the distance. And, obviously, Odysseus, resembling more a fool than a king as he answered Tyrbas’ bark with a bark of his own. Ctimene rolled her eyes at the buffoonery, though aborted the gesture halfway to instead smile as Eurylochus’ laughter flowed from the apple tree, beneath which he lounged.
Back to her question: it had burned the inside of Ctimene’s skull for a while. It was rude, questioning another woman’s tastes, but she and Penelope were sisters now – if you couldn’t speak openly with a sister, with whom could you? The answer ought to be good, considering Penelope had practically married Odysseus twice over.
In the center of the room, surrounded by everything from pots to hairpins, Penelope chuckled.
“Everything,” she said, uncorking a perfume bottle to catch its scent. “I see myself, and I see all parts of him – even the unlovely ones. And he sees the same.”
“What does that mean?”
“That if you get the chance to choose your husband… pick someone you know completely. Mustn’t have been for long, but completely.”
A man she knew completely.
Ctimene turned back to the apple tree. Odysseus, Polites, and Tyrbas had joined Eurylochus in its shade, the dog flopping onto the men’s legs. His head landed in Eurylochus’ lap, his tongue lolling out when Eurylochus scratched behind his floppy ear.
Ctimene chewed on the inside of her cheek. There were several men in this world she felt she knew well, but knew completely? She was less certain of that. Ah, well. It didn’t matter anyhow, did it. She wouldn’t have the final say.
Her mother entered the room then, but fortunately ignored her to address Penelope. Though in case her mother wanted a word with her too afterwards, Ctimene sneaked out while they still spoke. Directing her steps to the garden, she ambled over to the apple tree and plopped down. It wasn’t proper of her, but if Odysseus wouldn’t tell her off for it then no one else would. Ctimene was determined to enjoy her freedom for as long as possible – it would surely be limited when he began looking for husbands. And once she married? It’d vanish completely. Days like this one would be as distant as those of their childhood.
She hadn’t been supposed to play with them back then, either, but Odysseus always bent etiquette for her sake. He wouldn’t allow her to train with them, though. Fine by her – spectating was entertaining, especially when her brother dueled Eurylochus. Odysseus was faster and more agile but Eurylochus was stronger, which led to interesting bouts. She remembered once when Odysseus assumed to have the upper hand, only to be thoroughly humbled. Practice-sword held against Eurylochus’ throat, Odysseus haughtily declared himself victorious. Eurylochus raised a brow and grabbed the wooden blade with his hand, hoisting it into the air. Odysseus hoisted with it, feet kicking panicky before he remembered he could let go of the handle. On the sidelines, Ctimene and Polites howled with laughter. The duel turned into a wrestling match soon after, Odysseus winning through sheer pluck. Though his temper must've quickly cooled, because he lost the following two matches.
(Afterwards, Odysseus maintained he was victorious, because one couldn’t go about grabbing a real sword like that. Eurylochus pointed out they weren’t using real swords while Ctimene dared him to fetch an authentic pair and try again. Odysseus had declined.)
“Ctimene!”
She blinked, her daydream scattering like smoke in the air. Odysseus was glaring at her with feigned annoyance.
“You’re not listening!” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “I suppose I must blame myself for your bad manners. You will make a poor wife unless you learn to pay attention.”
She threw a pebble at him. “I am good at listening. You talk so much yet say so little; I need to ignore three fourths of it or else the noise will cause my ears to bleed.”
Eurylochus and Polites emitted a practiced gasp, far more dramatic than the situation warranted. Odysseus’ face sparked at her challenge – the verbal scrap was on!
Odysseus got off to a weak start by pointing out how unladylike she was, which she already knew. Everyone present knew. In this company, she was barely considered a girl, much less a lady, and she’d come to peace with it years ago. To compensate for his blunder, she went for the throat by reminding him of the time he dove from the rock formation in the bay and almost drowned.
They went back and forth for at least half an hour, Eurylochus and Polites a captive audience the whole time, alternating between spurring them on and offering sympathetic winces. At last, after she jabbed him particularly well, Odysseus grabbed his chest as if physically struck. Crying “Mercy!”, he collapsed. Ctimene let out a victory-cackle.
“I must find you a husband who can withstand mockery,” Odysseus muttered on the ground. “Or one you’ll never dare ridicule.”
Ctimene picked at the lawn, yanking the longest grass-blades loose. “Eager to be rid of me, are you?” she asked, managing an airy tone even though her throat felt so thick.
“I will begin building my and Penelope’s palace soon. I hope to have you at least betrothed by then, so I won’t be worrying about both at once.”
Humming in understanding, she sprinkled the grass onto his face until he sneezed.
The tragedy was, if Ctimene told him she had someone in mind, he would listen to her. And if she mentioned Eurylochus’ name, Odysseus would be thrilled. Not only did Eurylochus possess the appropriate status and wealth, he was also a close friend to their family. He was quite the perfect match.
But if she told Odysseus, he'd bring it up to Eurylochus. And then Odysseus would have to return to her, apologetic. Because no one better knew what an awful wife she'd be than Eurylochus. She'd proven it incessantly over the years. She proved it as recently as right now! Ctimene much preferred to avoid the shame of rejection.
The topic changed afterwards, although the tension still coagulated. Not because of Ctimene's discomfort, no, it was due to Eurylochus. At some point during the conversation his mood soured, evident by his contributions going from terse to nonexistent. Polites made several attempts at coaxing him back out of his shell, to no avail – he had withdrawn. Ctimene didn't know why Polites bothered; once Eurylochus decided to be wintry you had to let him be until he felt ready to thaw. It was tiresome of him, but it’s who he was. The better strategy was to gauge his temper for when it was tepid again, and first then extend a hand. So that’s what Ctimene did, scooting closer and casting glances his way every so often. A few instances she thought she caught him looking back, but each time his gaze surged elsewhere before she could begin to wonder why.
Before long, he was himself again. As she knew he would be.
Balancing on the rear legs of their mother's favorite chair, Odysseus tossed a petteia piece into the air over and over again.
“Perhaps… Gerasimos?” he mused. “He was recently widowed, you know.”
Whatever Ctimene’s ensuing expression looked like, it made Odysseus guffaw. Gerasimos was older than their father and had been wed twice already! She didn’t want to even joke about it.
“All right, then how about our cousin Sinon?” he asked while wiping away the tears.
Ctimene pursed her lips, but said nothing; she turned back to her loom, moving her shuttle through the warp threads. She was behind on work and would like to catch up at least a little before Helios’ chariot vanished for the day.
“He lives so far away, though. I don’t know if I can bear not seeing you whenever I want. Hm. I will deliberate on this.”
“Deliberate somewhere else. I'm busy.”
“Oh, but I want the company!”
The petteia piece hit the top of her tapestry, bouncing off the taut threads. Snatching the piece up, Ctimene whipped around and hurled it at his face. He dodged it; darn.
“That's your wife's job!”
Odysseus snickered. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“… no.”
None that she would voice.
He bothered her until the pink bled from the sky and the constellations appeared, upon which he announced he’d left Penelope without his ‘delightsome’ company for long enough. After ominously saying it didn’t matter that she disapproved of his other suggestions because he’d saved his best for last, he bid her good night and finally left her alone. Unfortunately, his comment kindled agitation in her. Rather than head to her room, she directed her steps to the courtyard for air and a chance to pace away her trepidations.
When she descended the staircase, a stately silhouette greeted her in the duskiness. Hearing the scuff of her sandals against the stone, Eurylochus ceased his own pacing and turned to her. Seeing her, his troubled expression vanished, replaced with a dazzling smile. His company was far superior to mere air.
It was also improper, very improper. Alone with a man? At night? No chaperone in sight? Improper.
But, she was only a maiden once.
She cleared the remaining half of the staircase in two large skips, dust whirling where she landed in front of him.
She said, “Awake this late?”
“I wished to clear my head. Why are you still up?”
“Odysseus wanted to talk,” she said, and Eurylochus snorted. An idea struck her then; she seized his arm, pressing it into her chest as she took a backwards-step. “Let’s go to the kitchen! You can make me something.”
“Oh, er, is… is that a wise idea?” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. However, he failed to conceal the worry underneath.
Ctimene held back a sigh. He could be such a fusspot sometimes. Luckily, all he should need was a tiny push.
“No one will catch us,” she said, donning a charming, wide-eyed face which always persuaded both her father and Odysseus to do what she wanted. It worked on Eurylochus, too – he melted. Hands sliding down his arm, relishing the firmness of his muscles, she gripped his hand and gave it a soft yet determined tug. “Now, come on!”
They needn’t negotiate their duties once in the kitchen, as they already knew them: Ctimene claimed a stool and Eurylochus claimed the remaining space. Seeing him cleanse himself of his concerns, self-assurance flooding his limbs as he procured what he needed, lit a spark in Ctimene’s chest. It was so similar yet unlike the first time he did this for her.
She wasn’t supposed to join. Awoken by a nightmare, she had traipsed downstairs to escape her humid room, when she heard commotion in the kitchen. Investigating it, she found three boys in the midst of making pancakes. Or, rather, one was making (the other two, she’s sure, were inconveniencing).
Eurylochus had jumped when she entered, his posture frozen with fear.
“Oh, it's only you,” he'd said, before cringing at himself. “Um, I mean–”
“Don't mind him, he's jittery,” Odysseus interrupted, and turned to Eurylochus. “I told you: no one will catch us.”
Eurylochus frowned. “Someone just did.”
“Ctimene doesn't count; she won't snitch.” Odysseus squinted at her. “Won't you?”
Ctimene had simpered. “Not if I can have some.”
Odysseus was going to say ‘no’, she could tell. However, Eurylochus was quicker. “Of course you can.”
Prior to that moment, Ctimene didn’t know how entertaining it was to watch someone cook. Eurylochus’ poise when stirring the flour and the water, the rippling in his forearm when he gripped the pan and perfectly flipped the cakes… it was mesmerizing.
He offered her the first pancake, garnished with honey and sesame seeds, even as Odysseus whined that ‘girls don’t get served first’. (He promptly got something else to whine about after Polites kicked his shin underneath the table.) Ctimene bit into the cake determined to savor it like it was the world’s most luxurious dish – her satisfied moans had only been slightly exaggerated to spite him. It truly was delicious, and Eurylochus was endearingly bashful when she told him as much.
Odysseus escorted her back to her room afterwards, ostensibly to make amends for his dastardly behavior, but it was really to ensure she went to sleep so he could socialize with his friends undisturbed. She asked him then if Eurylochus often cooked for them.
“Constantly. It's his way of showing he cares.”
She liked that answer. It sounded sweet. It sounded right, too. How better else could you care for someone? There was no superior way. She supposed that was the reason she found herself back in the kitchen the following evening, boiling flour into a paste that she cut up and fried in oil. She was so meticulous about cooking the sweets ‘til the perfect shade of golden-brown, about flawlessly drizzling the honey and pepper on top, about arranging them in the prettiest positions on the plate. With her organs doing somersaults around each other, she’d brought them to Eurylochus’ guest room.
She had to knock twice, the first attempt too weak. When he opened, she thrust the plate into his hands, blurting her words.
“HelloImadeyouthese!”
He floundered with the plate, agog eyes swishing between the sweets and her crazed countenance. Her embarrassment charred her skin. Had she less willpower, she would’ve hid behind her hands. Or ran away. But she was past that unacceptable behavior. She was a princess. She was Ctimene of Ithaca – she had inherited just as much of her grandfather’s cunning and daring as Odysseus had. Straightening her back and raising her chin, she’d said:
“Ah, I mean… I made too many. You can have the rest. Don't tell Odysseus or he'll want them. Unless you don't like them – then you can make him eat them instead.”
And Eurylochus’ shock had softened into fondness. The corners of his mouth ticked upwards; for the first time in her life, Ctimene was struck with the desire to know how soft a boy’s lips felt.
“They look delicious,” he said. “Thank you.”
And her grin had been too broad for her to reply, and his eyes had crinkled at the corners, and when their eyes met everything else in the world ceased to be. There was only them, and the delectable scent of honey and pepper. Ctimene didn’t break eye contact while they stood there, and neither did he.
A noise broke the moment. A slave cleaning, or a dog barking, or her family talking. She couldn’t remember. All she knew was that her courage got snuffed out.
“Well, good night!” she exclaimed, and turned on her heel.
Her heartbeat thumped too loudly in her ears to be certain, but if Ctimene wished to indulge herself she could imagine he had said ‘good night’ back as she left.
So many years ago it was. Things had been both simpler and harder back then. But some things – like watching Eurylochus pour honey into a pot and place it on the fire – stayed the same.
“What were you two discussing?” he asked, grabbing a cabbage and an iron blade while the honey boiled.
Ctimene grimaced. “Potential husbands.”
“Oh.”
He sliced through the cabbage, the force of his movements causing the blade to slam down.
“Mmhmm. I don’t want to think about it.”
“You’re not excited?” he asked, gaze briefly flicking to her before returning to the cabbage. The blade slammed again, twice, and he set about chopping the vegetable with a frenzy she didn’t know he had in him.
She shrugged. “I don’t like change. Look at mother and Penelope. They moved so far for their marriages. And I know they ended up fine, but… I don’t think I’m as strong as them.”
His movements stilled. The blade slipping from his grip, his hand flowed towards hers. With bated breath, she watched his fingertips lap at her knuckles.
Until the touch ended, she was breathless (she would gladly suffocate for him).
“You are strong,” he murmured. “But I also wish you won’t have to go. Far, I mean.”
With that said, he swiveled to add vinegar to the honey and to wash and drain the cabbage. Then he combined them both in a bowl, mixed in herbs, spice, a pinch of salt, and served it. They ate in serene silence, he giving her both the first and the last bite.
Their walk upstairs was slow but not slow enough; they would always part too soon. To prolong it, she didn’t bid him good night immediately. Stood there in the hallway, she waited and watched him. He miraculously allowed it without questioning her. She supposed he was accustomed to her strangeness.
His breaths were deep. His chest waxed and waned with a hypnotizing rhythm. She wanted to press her hand against him and feel his ribcage move; she wanted to run it up his torso and caress the hollow of his throat. Most of all she wanted to invite him into her room (she needn’t clarify why. He’d know. There was but one reason she’d want him there).
But she didn’t. She couldn't. He’d never agree. See, laying with a courtesan or a slave girl was fine, but a princess? His best friend’s little sister? Impossible; he was too proper. Simply asking would ruin his image of her. She couldn’t have that happen, could never handle it. She'd rather smother her feelings.
It was time to part; at this point, his presence was more temptation than solace. But when Ctimene looked up at him her heart stuttered, because Eurylochus was already looking at her, ember-eyed. His dark irises smoldered, the heat threatening to turn her into vapor.
His gaze cooled when their eyes locked, a candle rather than a bonfire. But it was too late. A flush already spread from her face down to her pelvis, dryness seizing her tongue and warmth pooling in her belly. His presence was no mere temptation – it was dangerous. If she stayed too long, she would do something regretful.
Choking out her ‘good night’, she scurried to her room. Perhaps she would learn not to flee from him once she became a married woman. She wasn’t eager to find out.
Ctimene was sick the next day. She made herself sick. Her mind imbalanced her humors, lowering her temperature and causing aches in her stomach and chest.
Her mother sent Eurycleia and four of their other best slaves to care for her; she was drawn hot baths and supplied with healing teas to drink. At another time, she would’ve enjoyed the pampering. But her mind, it was too turbulent. No matter which direction she brought it, it stormed. She wished to be well enough to see Eurylochus before he left; she never wanted to be in his presence again. She wanted Odysseus to pick a husband for her already so she could stop agonizing; she wanted to die unmarried.
During the worst of her pain, when she lay curled up and crying on her bed, both Eurycleia and her mother sat by her side to comfort and ply her with chamomile. Throat thick with phlegm, she almost choked on the tea. When they thought she’d fallen asleep, they whispered about sending for a physician. Ctimene realized she must cure herself then. She couldn’t risk being diagnosed with a broken heart – no one could know.
He could not know.
So she dried her tears and ignored the cracks in her heart. If she were to drown, she vowed to do it on land.
The day after she was healthy again, Odysseus requested for her to meet him. Ctimene dragged her feet there. The purpose of his summoning was either nonsense, which meant she needn’t hurry, or it was another slew of prospective husbands, which meant she didn’t want to hurry.
However, when entering the room she found both her brother and Eurylochus waiting for her. Which meant it was neither? What could the two of them want from her? Considering Odysseus’ smug grin and the fact Eurylochus was dripping sweat, it didn’t bode well.
“There she is!” Odysseus said. “Kept us waiting, of course, as she’s wont to do. I guess you get a kick out of that, huh?”
He nudged Eurylochus in the side, then threw his hands up in a placating gesture when Eurylochus glared at him.
“All right, all right, I’ll get on with it,” he said, and proceeded to yap about something entirely unrelated event from their childhood. As she knew the story well, Ctimene paid his voice little mind. Only the most important words made it through her mental sieve, such as…
“– your betrothal –”
“Wait, whose betrothal?”
Odysseus had the gall to roll his eyes.
“Your betrothal. I have decided Eurylochus is the best match for you. I declare that you marry, and Eurylochus has agreed,” Odysseus said, his voice muffled. As if they were in separate rooms, or one was underwater. Perhaps it was her, and that was why her vision blurred at the edges. Why she could hardly breathe.
She was a better swimmer than Odysseus. The same rocks that almost killed him never troubled her – she successfully dived from them since before she could walk. When diving, there’s a moment when time slowed and you were caught between earth and water. Windborn. Weightless. That was how Ctimene felt like now: suspended in the air, floating like a feather, like a raindrop.
Betrothed. To Eurylochus.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Well then. Things were starting to make sense now. Her brother had schemed again. He thought himself a genius when he in actuality was a menace. She’d forgive him, this once. Slowly returning to the ground, Ctimene sought Eurylochus’ attention, but he was looking at Odysseus, face darker than storm clouds.
He said, with a flat and frigid tone, “You swore you'd already spoken about this.”
Odysseus shrugged. “We have. I just never mentioned your name until now.”
Eurylochus scoffed, shaking his head. “No! No, you can’t– You swore that you– That she–”
Unlike watching them duel as children, this wasn’t entertaining. Ctimene didn’t want them to fight and she didn’t want Eurylochus to be upset. On impulse, she lunged for his touch, grabbing his clenched fist which hung taut and trembling by his side. Success! Eurylochus’ focus snapped from Odysseus to Ctimene. Now all that’s left was to reassure him, to promise him everything would be perfect, but she couldn’t – her smile was too broad, her lips unable to form the words. Still, his storm clouds dissipated; he became a clear sky above a calm sea. His fist loosened, allowing her to slip her hand inside and lace their fingers together. It was slick, his palm clammy; Ctimene was too in love to care.
“The bride price will be huge, of course,” Odysseus said. Ctimene thought she heard him smirk, but couldn’t know for sure – she’d need to tear her eyes off Eurylochus to check, and she refused. “You know she's worth it.”
Eurylochus laughed and nodded. His dark eyes glittered like when the warm sun hits the water surface just right.
“I do.”