Medusa: Fate's Game Ch. 04

The thoughts sickened him. The fact they also exhilarated him enraged him

He put on the helmet. Just as he calculated, the sun was starting to set. Shadows were long, heavy, and everyone in the palace was starting to head home. The servants would remain to clean up the messes of the king, and the guards would remain, switching shifts and walking the palace halls by candlelight. He knew where the servants slept, he knew where the guards walked. He knew this place all too well.

Biting into the dried meat again, he thought of Medusa. The fact she'd packed him food made him chuckle. Her sweet smile, her snake eyes and their innocent gazes, her voice when she giggled. She was such a nice woman. Why wasn't she like him? Why didn't she want revenge? He thought maybe a hundred years of solitude had broken her, but she was anything but broken. She was just... stronger than him. The sooner he could get back to her, the better.

He stuck to the shadows, and they were there to guide him. He knew where they'd be, where they always were. He knew how they'd behave this time in the evening, this time of the year. With his back to the walls, he sneaked toward the back of the palace, and pulled himself up onto the raised platform of the outer hallways. Sticking between the columns and behind them, the candlelight did not reach him, and as long as he was careful, his sandals were silent.

"That Amazon woman is scary."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Every time she looks at me, I think she's going to stab me."

A couple of servants walked by, jars on their heads held up with one hand, a basket of clothes held to the hip with the other.

Amazon? What was an Amazon doing in Tiryns? After what King Iobates did, he couldn't picture an Amazon working for Proetus. The memory of them sent a shiver up his spine. The servant's wariness was not unfounded, but unless there was an army of Amazons, Darian could handle her. He didn't want to, but if it came to it.

His journey took him between two great temples, and these he could not climb. The walls were smooth, the columns wide, dozens of feet tall, and the archway above them was a grand spectacle of solid mass. So he kept low, used the vast columns to block sight, and inched his way around them with painful slowness.

"The queen is in her private quarters again."

"Again?"

"She took three guards and her new Amazon friend this time."

"Weird."

A couple of guards, Artus and Romal if he guessed their voices right, walked by the columns. The idiots weren't supposed to be chatting when on night patrol. For a second, he considered punishing them, until he snapped back to reality, and stifled a chuckle. When they were gone, he ducked into the hallway, and through the first door on his left. The private wing of the king and queen consort.

Inside, the halls were simple, long hallways of smooth wall with the occasional single candle to light some of the darkness. He could see better than most in the dark, but now that the sun had fallen behind the walls of the palace, there was only the blackness of impending night. Candlelight and noise were all he had to go by, and his memory of the hallways.

Proetus would be coming to bed soon, with guards to stand watch, but not yet. Prowling, Darian worked his way down the dark hall, found the king's room, and stepped into the large, luxurious chamber. Vases with epic stories, candles pre-lit by servants, and walls covered in drapes of Eastern silk. All a beautiful display of wealth and greed. How had he not noticed it before? Coming from a fisherman's life, to this reckless spending on selfish and needless luxuries, it'd seemed like Elysium to him. Now it all made his insides churn.

He drifted around the room, and touched the various displays with his fingertips. He owed Proetus much. The king had given him a new life, away from humble beginnings. The king had betrayed him and tried to have his father-in-law kill him, because he'd sooner listen to his whore wife than his own guard captain. How much of that had been because of the Fates, or because humans were despicable creatures? Both?

Darian rolled his eyes, stepped aside, got behind one of the drapes, and waited. With any luck, he'd only have to stand there for the next twenty-four hours.

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~~Otrera~~

The small Amazon warrior leaned back against the wall, and waited.

The queen was making a lot of noise, and if Otrera wasn't seeing her orgasms with her own eyes, she would be sure the queen was faking it. But the curvy creature of lies and deceit was trembling, mewling, and leaking all too real fluids. Her heavy breasts jiggled with her bouncing movements, and her hands gripped the cocks on either side of her. Despite her enthusiastic bucking, she not only continued to stroke the two men beside her, but she leaned over to each of them, and sucked on their lengths in perfect rhythm. For the queen, it was a dance, to control three men and bathe in the sexuality of it — and the sin and taboo of her affair — while bringing herself to orgasmic bliss.

She didn't need to say any of it, Otrera could see it all on the bitch's face.

The Amazon ignored the growing heat in her body. She was there to kill Bellerophontes, not indulge this queen her juvenile acts of defiance. But, there was no harm in watching the three handsome men and the beautiful, soft queen enjoying themselves, was there? Conflicted, definitely. Still, she let herself indulge just a little, and watched as Stheneboea leaned in, and sucked one of the men while groaning onto his member. Her hand on his length grew faster, earning moans from the guard, until the man reached out to hold the queen's shoulders for balance while he came inside her mouth.

And then she repeated it for the other guard. A grin was on her face, and it only brightened when she opened her eyes to look at Otrera while she drank the second man's cum. Then, the queen slipped herself off of the guard on the bed, and she reached down to line his member up to her mouth. Otrera could see the glistening wetness of the queen's fluids on his cock and abdomen. The third man came in mere moments when Stheneboea eased her mouth down the whole of his shaft until her lips found the base of him. And she did not stop looking at Otrera while she drank the third man dry.

Otrera frowned and looked away. She had to give it to the queen, she had talent, and flair. A demon in the sheets.

With the three guards drained and panting with blissful exhaustion, Stheneboea got up off the bed, and put her chiton back on. Otrera caught glimpses of the trickling juices along the queen's thighs, all her own; she probably drank the men to hide any evidence.

"And now my dear, I go to make sweet love to my loving husband. Be careful my darlings!" the queen consort said to her satisfied trio of men. "You're supposed to be on duty after all."

They chuckled. The queen chuckled. Otrera groaned.

With a deep breath that reeked of sexual afterglow, the queen needlessly dusted off her beautiful garb, and stepped back out into the hallway. Otrera followed.

"You realize that you're risking your life here?"

"Silly girl, a few guards away from their posts for an hour is hardly an exploitable hole in our defense." The queen gestured to the thick walls of stone in the hallway they walked down.

"I meant with Proetus. If he discovers what you're doing, then—"

"Then he'll forgive me, for I am his wife. And I am very, very good at what I do." Stheneboea looked over shoulder, winked at the small Amazon, and made her way down the hall. "As you'll see."

"Gods, are you going to fuck your husband right in front of me?" Otrera said, and she grinded her teeth until her jaw clicked.

"I am." The queen laughed, and glanced over her shoulder again as she put a hand out onto the door frame of the room. "You are welcome to join us. You are a delicious little thing! So muscular. I bet you could crush my poor husband's cock into pulp with your insides."

The Amazon rolled her eyes. "You're not even a little worried about Bellerophontes? Andromeda said he'd be coming."

"She was guessing, dear. Bellerophontes had ample opportunity to return when his fame rose and the land idolized him."

"He hadn't just escaped a year of prison quarry work then," Otrera said.

Stheneboea shrugged, stepped into her room, and motioned for her to follow. She did of course, spear in hand, frown on her face. This was not the assignment she wanted; she could feel herself growing softer by the minute just being in the presence of these people and their palace.

"My lovely wife."

Proetus was sitting on the bed facing them, legs off the side, and he was wearing a white chiton of similar fancy make to the queen's. He was a handsome man, for an older fellow, with black and white hair and beard, and deep, resonating eyes. He looked like a king, and a wise one at that. Surely the man could see what his wife was up to with her frequent disappearances?

"Darling! Otrera has agreed to join us tonight." Giggling like a silly girl, Stheneboea crawled onto the man's lap. In no time at all, she as rubbing her body against his, and kissing his neck.

And when she did, Proetus's eyes softened, his shoulders relaxed, and his hands found the woman's hips. Like a young boy at the whim of a woman, Proetus held her tight, and kissed her when she kissed him.

So that was it then. Proetus was a slave to Stheneboea because of her sexual allure and prowess. For a moment she thought it absurd, but then, watching the queen do her dance, Otrera reconsidered. She was a demon in human skin, manipulating her king with her hips and her cunt. Loathsome.

"Has she now? You'll have to forgive my wife, Otrera, she has no shame," the king said, and he kissed his wife on the neck while looking at Otrera. The wife had no shame, and the husband was happy for it. And then the king winked at the Amazon when Stheneboea looked away.

He knew. Of course he knew. Proetus was a smart man, Otrera could see it. A smart king who was letting his queen indulge in her defiance? Why? What—

A soft white glow started to grow from Otrera's neck. She didn't notice it at first, eyes locked onto the grinding queen, but the subtle light from Otrera's necklace started to fill the dark room. The necklace was just an innocent looking thing, a tiny white pebble looped with black string. But it glowed brighter, and after a while, Otrera looked down at it, and then around the room.

She ignored the giggling queen, her seduced husband, and scanned the walls. Her hand tightened on her spear until her knuckles cracked. Breathing deeply, slowly, she stepped a little further into the room, and looked around. Nothing but expensive luxury, draped silks, ornamental useless jars, and beautiful marble. One of the drapes was not as flat as the others though.

Gut instinct took over. She threw her spear, hard, hard as her body would let her. It went through the silk drape, collided against the stone with a loud crack, and stuck into wall; good, Andromeda's strength was very real.

"Otrera! What in Tartarus are you doing?" Proetus said.

Stheneboea giggled. "Maybe she's upset?"

Otrera growled, but did nothing. She waited, eyes on the spear. No movement, no blood.

"It was a good throw, Amazon, but if you were truly upset with our fun, you could have waited outside. Andromeda sent you here to guard us, not wait on us." Proetus squinted at her, but with a shrug, he got up off the bed, and walked over to the spear. He got his hands on it, and tugged. Nothing. With a groan, he yanked on the spear, and after a few good tries, the strong old man managed to yank the weapon from the wall, and held it in hand.

"Here," he said, "you can—"

The drape moved. One moment, Proetus was standing there, about to walk over to her, her spear in hand. The next, the spear was on the floor, rolling Otrera's way, and a blade was against Proetus's throat.

Stheneboea gasped, hand to her mouth. Otrera growled again, and reached for her sheathed sword.

"Ah-ah-ah, no touchy the sword," the warrior said.

The king turned his head to get a glimpse of the small assassin in the corner of his eyes. "... Bellerophon."

Stunned did not begin to describe Otrera's reaction. She had expected a man in tatters, rags, and covered in the grime of a prisoner. This warrior was dressed like a myth, a legend, with the most beautiful armor of black and silver she'd ever seen. She couldn't see his face well, not with his helmet on, but she recognized the cocky eyes of the bastard through the eye slots.

"You almost hit me. You have a good nose Amazon. Or is it that thing on your neck?"

"A bit of both," she said, and considered drawing her sword despite his warning. Not yet though. She stood up straight instead, and waited.

"Proetus. Stheneboea," he said, and he chuckled a little. "Who's your friend?"

No one said a thing. Stheneboea was frozen, but Proetus was grimacing, and his hands were in fists at his side. If he saw an opportunity, the king would take it. Otrera weighed on the option. Not that the king could do much against a Fate's Child.

"No one wants to talk? Fine." Bellerophontes slid his blade — what a beautiful blade, like gleaming silver — against Proetus's neck, until a drop of blood trickled down the king's throat and into his tunic. "I'm looking for something."

"You're... not here... to kill us?" Proetus said.

"Oh, believe me, I want to." Bellerophontes's voice came out heavier, darker, and a white shimmer was starting to enter his eyes. "You deserve it. Your wife deserves it. Worthless pond scum."

Otrera's heart started to race. That face. Those eyes. Ice walked down her spine. Lightning danced on her fingertips. The pebble on her neck glowed, and its soft white light was a hilarious contrast to the fire in her veins. Revenge was just twenty feet away.

"Bellerophontes!" Stheneboea said. "You deserve death, after what you did to me!"

The assassin groaned. "You know very well I never even touched you, whore." Bellerophontes kicked at the back of Proetus's leg, and the old man feel to his knees with a painful thud of bone on stone. The assassin held his blade against his neck still, and used his shield hand to pull back on the king's hair to point his head up. "You hear me, old friend? I never touched your wife."

"I... I know."

Hades would have been uncomfortable with the silence that followed. Stheneboea stopped breathing, Proetus looked up at his old guard captain with a sad frown, and the assassin's blade lowered. Not enough for the king to get away, but enough that its brilliant edge no longer drew red lines along the king's throat.

"You knew?" he said.

"Of course I knew. Stheneboea is no saint. She revels in dark delights and thinks she hides it from me." The king sighed, and his fists relaxed.

Otrera clicked her teeth. What great weight had you just lifted from your shoulders, old king? Confessions of a dead man?

"Then why? Why did you send me to her father to be killed? Why did you lie to me?" Bellerophontes's voice teetered on yelling, but even as his eyes glowed white like a demon from the underworld, he managed to keep his voice from escaping the room.

"Because... I love my wife. I'd do anything to make her happy, old friend."

Everyone waited. Otrera was sure the king had sealed his fate with his words. What a sad, sorry reason to betray a friend. But it didn't happen. Bellerophontes lowered his sword, let go of the king's hair, and stared at him. The glowing white of his eyes vanished, doused like fire under water. His stance relaxed, faltered, and he blinked several times.

"You... you betrayed me because... you love your wife? That's it? That's—"

Enough of this sad display of ridiculous delusions and flaws.

Otrera walked over to Stheneboea. The queen consort was staring at her husband with the widest eyes. It was probably the first time the woman had ever experienced shock. She thought herself so smart, so brilliant in her deceptions and manipulations, all to indulge in her sexual appetite and need for rebelliousness.

All gone in a moment when Otrera reached out, took the queen's head, and twisted.

The snap of her neck was sickening in the silence of the men's reunion. Stheneboea managed to look at Otrera with parted mouth for only a moment, before she went limp and fell to the floor with the crunch of skull against stone. She would be dead in moments.

"Stheneboea!" the king cried out. Perfect. Someone must have heard that.

Otrera rolled forward, grabbed the spear, and halfway into a second roll, threw it at Proetus. It slammed into the king's chest with such force, it launched him backward and sent both he and the assassin onto their asses. Otrera got up with a jump, drew her sword, and walked forward.

Bellerophontes was already up though. The man was a small creature like her, quick, agile, and had no trouble jumping up onto his feet with a hard push of his hands, feet into the air, before landing on his sandals with grace. Otrera took a step back, window gone, but she smiled, and pointed her blade at the man.

Proetus reached up with one hand to clutch the wood sticking out of his chest. The spear's tip had been blunted by the stone wall. Only sheer force of impact had managed to drive it through his bones and into his organs. He groaned, coughed blood up, and used his other hand to reach for Bellerophontes's leg.

The black and silver warrior looked down at his 'old friend,' and went still. Otrera couldn't see his expression anymore with his head turned and helmet blocking his features, but the weight of hate on his shoulders was palpable.

"Bell... ero..." He coughed another splatter of blood, and another. His weak grip clawed at the warrior's greaves, and the warrior got down on a knee to grab his hand.

She had the opportunity to attack there. Her target wouldn't be able to defend himself as easily when on a knee. But she didn't. She wanted to, every voice in her head and every ounce of warrior training she had told her to take advantage and kill the man right there. But everyone deserved to say goodbye.

Bellerophontes squeezed the king's hand with his shield hand. "I... I..."

And then the king died. His hand went limp, his coughing and sputtering stopped, and his presence faded like a snuffed candle. The assassin went silent. He let go of the dead man's hand, and placed it on his chest. Sighing, he raised his hand to Proetus's face to slide his eyes closed with his fingertips.

Slowly, Bellerophontes stood back up, and turned to face her. The white glow returned to his eyes, like death staring her down.

"Why did you do that?"

"This way, even if you escape, you'll be labeled a murderer. You think you have trouble now, Bellerophontes, wait until every city and state know you're out there, killing kings and queens in their beds."

The black and silver warrior growled, and started to circle her. She returned in kind, and the two of them watched each other in the king's room, with two corpses on the stone floor. It was so poetic, Otrera could not have hoped for better.

"You don't even remember me, do you, Bellerophontes?"

"Amazon. I assume one of the Amazons I defeated who were assaulting Lycia."

"Assaulting? We were defending our lands from Iobates' advances!" She growled much like him, and pointed her sword at the dead queen next to her. "Her father was a greedy fool, like his daughter. Shame they didn't recognize me either, or they'd have never let me be their guard, even with Andromeda's word."

"Who's Andromeda?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Bellerophontes snarled. He sounded like an angry lion. It made her blood run fast and her fingers clench her sword grip with anticipation. This was it. This was the feeling.