Pherenike - Chapter 123

Deucalion’s fingers were broken at every joint. Both arms had their tendons ruined. Legs mangled by torture and rot. Everything the former king had inflicted on his second son, all for the sake of his beloved heir.

Even a rotting corpse would have looked gentler than he did then. On such nights, anger sometimes devoured her thoughts so completely that nothing else could squeeze its way in. For her, it was a pain that stabbed and tore at her very core.

But in those days, Deucalion never used his own suffering to make her feel indebted to him. He simply told her, as he left Evdokia, that sometimes she should allow herself to smile. He told her to never force herself to endure things she hated or that made her miserable.

He cherished his honor more than his own life, and yet valued her more than either. As if, for him, it was just a matter of order—loving her was a given.

Unlike herself, who, the moment she had his life in her hands, behaved like a master buying a new slave.

“Weren’t you at the sanctuary late last night? I told them not to wake you this morning.”

“It seems the maid didn’t get the message.”

“I didn’t think any grand farewell was needed, but it turns out I was wrong—and happily so.”

His voice was steady and detached, but he couldn’t quite hide the emotion beneath it.

How pathetic. He was, in his own way, so much like Deucalion. Pherenike looked up at his reddened ears. At the face of a man blinded by love, for what would be the last time.

She gently brushed back his black hair. Like a man following someone else’s footsteps, his lips curved under her fingertips, and she smiled too. When he left, she would never see him again. He would hate her forever.

She still wanted him to die—so that all the twisted pieces of her life might finally mean something. Yet part of her wished he could run far away and survive. It was such a small wish that she felt it didn’t matter if it never came true.

He was nothing more than a tiny crack in the surface of her life. One day, she’d pack that crack with clay, fire it in a kiln, and never let anything seep out again.

It was, after all, just like her impulse that morning to send Lara away. As the smile she had forced for him faded into something more self-mocking, Pherenike lowered her gaze.

“Pherenike, is there anything you want?”

“…Aren’t you going to hunt beasts, not see the merchants?”

“I could bring you pretty fur, perhaps.”

“I don’t need anything like that.”

“Are you sure you won’t feel envious when Leuce gets her spoils?”

“I’m not sure at all, actually. So don’t bring anything for her, either.”

“…”

“Bring nothing home for us, Actor.”

She whispered the words, each one catching in her throat like a thorn. Actor let out a quiet laugh.

“Imagine you betraying your own daughter—what an impossible thing!”

“If you know, why are you laughing?”

“Even as a joke, it’s adorable and funny.”

Pherenike slipped from his embrace, but he gently drew her back in.

“…Leuce loves every animal, so even if her father brings her something from the hunt, I doubt she’ll be all that pleased.”

“I see.”

“She prefers living things over anything dead, always.”

She added that last bit belatedly, as if to explain herself for lingering in his arms. Actor nodded, then pressed a kiss to her ear. It was such a tender moment between king and queen that even the nearby courtiers and guards, startled, found themselves staring before awkwardly looking away.

Among the onlookers, she spotted a few vaguely familiar faces. But far more would be people she didn’t truly recognize—spies from Paetusa, hiding among the servants of Lykke, were everywhere.

Suddenly, the gaze of one of the guards felt eerily like Deucalion’s. Pherenike tightened her grip on Actor’s collar and slowly pushed him away.

“Ino was right after all. A mother’s thoughts are always deeper.”

“…Enough flattery. Time for me to go, Actor Pelagon. The guards are waiting.”

“I’ll only let you leave if you kiss me first.”

He made his demand with his usual bluntness, refusing to let her go otherwise. Pherenike, eyes lowered, brushed a light kiss across his lips. That was all, but Actor, as if fulfilling a promise, withdrew from her without another glance.

Leuce, having slipped from Ino’s grasp, ran to him, and the king lifted his little daughter as if she were weightless and kissed her. The bright, open smile he gave his daughter was a face her mother would never see.

For that brief moment, Leuce was his entire world.

Mounting his horse, the king prepared to depart, his guards assembling behind him, leaving the princess behind. Ino struggled to hold on as the child wriggled free, racing after her father’s horse.

“Don’t go! Don’t go!”

“Princess Leuce!”

“Actor Nikandros Pelagon!”

Actor turned his horse and, before Leuce could stumble, jumped to the ground. With a grave face, he bent down, whispered something to his daughter, and kissed her head again.

At last, he lifted the girl and handed her—like precious baggage—into the arms of her nanny, and departed. From a distance, the queen, who had watched the farce between father and daughter, received a single respectful nod from the king.