Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus Book 3)

I don’t hesitate. I fling myself forward, veering toward the left side of the course. Each of the routes available is gnarly, especially with the black-clothed opponents lying in wait, but this is my best bet. My upper body strength is great, but the taller champion’s longer legs will give them an advantage on the climbing wall. I have to aim for the shortest route instead. Or, rather, the shortest route that actually makes sense. The middle one is tempting because it’s basically a fancy rope swing, but I don’t like the angle. It’s a trap.

This whole fucking course is a trap.

One of the other champions, a guy I vaguely recognize from my father’s parties, shoves me aside with a laugh and starts across the raised platforms. He barely makes it through three before one of Athena’s people knocks him off. It’s not even a fancy move. They literally shove him and he goes flying, landing on the padded ground with a sound I can’t hear over the roar of the crowd.

“Helen.”

I glance over to find Atalanta standing at my shoulder. She’s fastened her locs back and is wearing a bodysuit of deep silver. She gives me a quick grin, the smile turning her scarred face from merely attractive into striking. “Temporary alliance to get through this?”

I should be able to do it on my own. The whole point of fighting for the title of Ares is so that everyone will be forced to take me seriously. But…I’m no fool. I give a jerky nod. “Through the first trial.”

“Let’s see what you can do.” She hops up onto the first platform, and I follow quickly. She’s quick, she’s strong, and she’s obviously well trained. Even seeing her coming, Athena’s person barely has a chance to tense before Atalanta sweeps their legs out from beneath them and sends them tumbling off the platforms. Then it’s a clear shot to the hanging rope ladder.

I fly over the column platforms in her wake. They’re deceptively far apart, which forces me to slow down, but it’s a small price to pay. I cross them quickly enough and land on the final one below the rope ladder. It sways and I look up in time to see another of Athena’s people dropping down from above.

I lurch back, nearly losing my footing, but manage to course-correct at the last moment. They land in front of me and slowly raise to stand. The all-black uniform, complete with mask, sends a shiver through me. They’re also quite a bit taller than me. That will work in my favor for once.

They lunge, obviously planning to shove me back off the platform. Instinct demands I scramble back, but I plant my feet and duck down just as they reach for me. From there, my muscle memory takes over. I grab their arm and use it as leverage to stand and send them flying past me… Right to the ground.

I don’t wait to watch them land. I’m already scrambling up the ladder after Atalanta. I haul myself to the top of the ladder and loop a leg over, starting down the other side. The majority of the other champions seem to have chosen the third path, and I catch sight of one of Athena’s people moving through a group of them, sending people flying left and right. Five champions eliminated by the time I descend the ladder.

My feet barely touch down on the next platform when I hear it. A loud whoop and a whizzing sound. I turn in time to see Ajax flying along the rope swing in the center route.

Atalanta shakes her head. “What a fool.”

I frown, trying to judge the momentum. “He might make it.” He’s certainly tall enough to force physics to work to his benefit.

“He won’t make it.”

“Neither will we if we don’t keep moving.”

Atalanta and I turn as one to the next obstacle. A series of panels is suspended just close enough that a person could use their feet and hands to wedge themselves along without falling. In theory. The trickiest part is going to be sticking the initial landing and the dismount, which requires jumping from the panels, grabbing a rope, and swinging myself over to the platform. Time it wrong, and I’ll be just as fucked as Ajax. At least I took off my shoes, so I don’t have to worry about the soles of them slipping.

“At least there are no opponents on this one.” There’s no place for them to lie in wait. I look around. We’re the only two left on this route. The rest of the champions are on the third, and it looks like most of Athena’s people have followed them there. Good.

Atalanta rolls her shoulders. “I’ll take the right one.”

It’s slightly wider, which would make it damn near impossible for me to move well. I glance at the taller woman. “Why help me?”

“I don’t need to fuck with you in order to win.” She shoots me a grin. “I’m currying favor with my future wife.” Atalanta blows me a kiss and then jumps, landing with her feet and arms spread to keep her in place in a way that looks effortless. Only the slight shake of her leg muscles betrays her, but that doesn’t stop her from moving forward.

Gods, what am I doing? Checking out her thighs when I’m supposed to be racing.

I shake my head, take a breath, and leap into the left path. The landing vibrates through me, and I slide a few precious inches down toward the empty space below. I grit my teeth and start forward.

As I inch along, I watch Ajax’s momentum slow out of the corner of my eye. He stops a good twenty feet from the final platform and curses, swinging his body back and forth in an attempt to move closer to the platform. It won’t work, but I have my own problems to worry about.

I’m achingly aware of the time ticking down as I move forward. This is so much harder than it looks. I’m in the best shape of my life, but it takes concentration to ensure at least two opposing limbs are pressing against the panels while still moving forward. I grit my teeth and keep going.

I have not come this far to fail now. I have too many motherfuckers to prove wrong. My siblings. Paris. Achilles. Every single person in Olympus who thinks my value begins and ends with the family and face I was born with.

Atalanta is outpacing me, which tempts me to rush, but a single mistake means ruin. I concentrate on breathing as I move down the panel. Step, press, step, press. Over and over again. By the time I reach the end, my body is shaking. I eye the distance I’ll have to cross to reach the rope and swing to the next platform. It looks like miles. I could make it easily if my muscles were still fresh, but I’m exhausted.

“I can do this,” I mutter. It doesn’t matter if I can or can’t, because I don’t have time to waffle. Every second clicking by pushes me closer to ruin, to the time running out or my body giving out.

I leap.

The second my feet leave the panels, I know I’ve misjudged. I hit the rope several feet lower than I planned, too close to the bottom. The rope swings, but I slide down a few more precarious inches, my legs flailing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The platform is higher than I expected based on where I planned to grab the rope, and my momentum is less than anticipated. It doesn’t matter. I have to jump. I release myself at the pinnacle of the swing and slam into the platform, only my upper body clearing it. My breath whooshes out of me, but I don’t let myself freeze up. If I do, I fall.

I scramble for purchase against the flat surface, but I lose an inch, sliding back toward the floor. Back toward defeat. No, damn it. I have come too far. I’m not going to let a little thing like gravity beat me now. I force myself to go still, to think. If I can get a leg onto the platform…

A dark boot appears in my field of vision, and I look up in horror to find one of Athena’s people standing over me. They raise their foot, obviously intending to kick me in the face. Oh fuck, this is going to hurt.

They never get a chance.

Atalanta appears behind them. At first I think she’s simply going to shove them off the platform, but she’s more of a showwoman than that. She hauls them around and delivers a devastating punch to their face. They go boneless and fall to the platform. Holy shit, she just knocked them out with a single hit.

She grins at the crowd and gives a cheery wave before focusing on me. She leans over, medium-brown skin shining with sweat, and offers me a hand. I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”

“You really don’t.”

I hate that she might be right. My arms quiver, but I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”

She makes an impatient sound, her tone exasperated. “Stop wasting time and take my hand, or I’ll leave you and you’ll fall.”

When she puts it like that, there really is no other choice. I slap my hand into hers and let her pull me up onto the platform. The crowd goes wild in response, the very arena seeming to shake. Atalanta gives me a quick grin, and then I’m in her arms. She doesn’t give me a chance to react before she bends me back into a showy dip and gives me a quick kiss. She sets me on my feet and then she’s gone, racing up the last obstacle, a thick knotted rope that we’ll have to climb to reach the final platform.

There are three ropes, so I hurry to the one in the middle. My arms and legs protest violently at the thought of more, but I’ve worked through that kind of pain more times than I can count. Being a gymnast hurts, sure, but not more than growing up in my father’s house. Really, I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.

I start up the rope, fighting against gravity and my own weakness as I ascend. I’m halfway up when the opponent Atalanta knocked out stumbles to their feet and looks up. I can’t see their face through the black mask, but I feel our eyes meet. They start for my rope, staggering a little. “No,” I whisper.

I did not come this far only to fail now.

I fight against my exhausted muscles, fight against gravity itself, to pull my body up another six inches. It won’t be enough. They’re too tall. They reach the bottom of the rope and jump, grabbing my ankle. The contact almost rips me right off the rope. I slide down a few inches with a shriek that the screams of the crowd swallow up. Another yank rips me clean off the rope.

The platform rushes up to meet me, and I land flat on my face. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. But if I stay down, I’ll be eliminated, and that isn’t an option. I stagger to my feet, the arena spinning wildly around me. The crowd sounds like a feral beast baying for blood. They want to see me fail. Everyone wants to see me fail.

On the other side of the rope, Athena’s person is climbing to their feet as well. They still don’t look steady, but if they’re anything like Achilles and Patroclus, that won’t make them less dangerous. I’ll only get one shot at this.

I don’t stop to think about all the things that could go wrong. There’s no time for that. I take two quick steps and leap, grabbing the rope. It’s too heavy to swing much, but my momentum works in my favor. I straighten my legs just as my feet make contact with their chest. The impact nearly takes me off the rope again, but it sends them flying off the platform.

There’s no time to savor my victory. I haven’t won yet. Fuck, I haven’t even passed the first challenge yet. A quick glance at the clock has panic seizing me. If I fall again, I won’t get another chance.

Fear gives me strength. I haul myself up, hand over hand, with a speed I would have thought impossible. This time, no one assists me as I reach the final platform and scramble onto it. I look at the clock, barely daring to believe it. I did it. I’m here.

I passed the first trial.

You didn’t do it on your own. You needed help, and everyone saw that you weren’t strong enough.

The voice sounds horrifyingly like my father. I shudder, my chest going tight and throat trying to close. It doesn’t matter that I needed help. I won’t let it matter, even if it means I have to go above and beyond the next time.

All that matters is that I passed this trial, so there will be a next time.

I stretch my arms overhead and concentrate on breathing through the ache in my body. Easier to focus on that than the tumultuous emotions running riot inside me. I force myself to look around and take stock of those on the platform around me. Atalanta is nearby, looking barely winded. From the third route, there are ten people who passed the first trial, among them Hector, Paris, the two strangers…and Achilles and Patroclus.

Despite myself, my attention narrows on the latter two. Of course they made it. I doubt they needed help, either. Even more irritatingly, they both have a fine sheen of sweat on their skin and the sign of exertion only makes them both more attractive. A traitorous little zing jolts my body, and I force myself to look away.

Up to this point, I’ve done my best not to think about what happened yesterday. I can’t believe things got so out of control. I never would have slept with Achilles if I wasn’t already reeling from the events of the last couple of days. If he hadn’t tossed me over his shoulder like I truly was some princess a conquering knight happened across and ripped from her safe tower. If he hadn’t essentially offered himself as the perfect target. Someone to take all my ugly emotions out on without having to worry about the aftermath. I highly doubt I can do a single thing to hurt that man, either emotionally or physically.

He might not have been the safe choice of an outlet, but I can’t deny that he was the perfect one all the same. He took my blows and let me provoke him to do exactly what we both wanted. To fuck me like he hated me. Except…it didn’t entirely feel like that.

I know what it’s like to have sex with someone who hates you. Paris proved that toward the end of our relationship. He hurt me on purpose. Never physically, of course. He’s a gentleman. But he spilled poison into my ear when I was most vulnerable, when my barriers weren’t as strong as normal.

Gods, Helen, if you’re not going to do it right, you can leave and I’ll do it myself.

Sorry that you didn’t come, honey. You’re so damn hard to please.

You keep acting like I’m the problem. Have you ever thought that you’re the only one with an issue in this relationship?

Even when Achilles was tossing me around, even when he was growling at me, I still felt safe in a way I never felt with Paris. I didn’t have to worry about being called a selfish bitch because I was after my own pleasure. Achilles simply took it as fact. More than that, he made sure it was good for me. That orgasm wasn’t feigned, and he didn’t leave it up to me to get myself off. He didn’t act like it was a chore to make sure we both had a good time even while hate fucking, either.

After? Well, I can’t think about after too much. I need to dislike Achilles. He’s standing between me and what I want most in this world. I absolutely cannot afford to soften toward him.

Patroclus glances at me, and the second our eyes meet, guilt swarms me. Having sex with Achilles might or might not have been a mistake on its own, but I can’t help feeling extra bad because Patroclus is involved. I went from flirting with him and coming on to him to sleeping with his boyfriend. It doesn’t matter that they’re in an open relationship. The way I went about things is shitty.

Now’s not the time to think about this, though. Not when Athena is lifting her hands, once again calling for silence in the arena. “Congratulations to the champions who have passed the first trial. The second will begin in two days’ time.”

It’s over.

It seems almost underwhelming to be led down the ladder at the back of the platform and guided toward the exit. We were here less than ten minutes. Ten minutes to decide whether or not our dreams would be stopped short or allowed to continue. It makes me a little sick to my stomach to think about how close I came to elimination. If Atalanta hadn’t helped me…

I could have done it on my own…I think.

As we’re led back to the vans, I don’t miss how Achilles and Patroclus seem determined to keep as far away from me as possible. I’m so busy looking at them, I don’t realize Paris is beside me until he drops an arm around my shoulder. “That was quite the performance you put on, Helen.” He uses my surprise to tug me close.

“Let me go, Paris,” I say quietly. I have to speak quietly because if I start yelling, I might do something I’ll regret, something that will get me eliminated from the tournament. He’s not attacking me, for all that he’s touching me without permission. I have no outward justification to so much as slap him. “Right now.”

He, of course, ignores me. His arm probably doesn’t appear tight from the others’ point of view, but I can’t get away from him without making a scene. “You would have fallen if Atalanta didn’t step in. No matter what you look like—cute getup by the way, even if I prefer you in dresses—you’re the same old Helen. You can’t function without someone there to hold your hand and tell you what to do. It’s okay, honey. I’m more than happy to give you a guiding hand.”

His words sink deep into the raw spots I don’t show anyone. How fucking naive had I been to confess my darkest fears to Paris? He’s never missed a chance to sink the knife in deep and twist it.

He’s wrong, though. My fears are wrong, too.

I’m not helpless. I don’t need a savior. I don’t. It takes everything I have to keep a quiver from my voice, to offer only calm even as panic flutters in my chest. “Get your hands off me or I’ll remove them myself.”

“Do it.” He grins, every inch the charming prince. “I know how you like it rough. Daddy’s little princess in public and my little slut in private.” Words designed to hurt me, to turn something that I thought was a safe space dirty and unclean. I thought we were having fun and playing out fantasies I’d never admitted to anyone. Paris was simply adding more weapons to his arsenal.

My skin prickles and I have to concentrate in order not to drop my gaze. I will not back down from this man, will not let him undermine my confidence in myself, will not let him shame me for something he enjoyed just as much as I did. “Let go.”

“You liked protesting then, too.” He squeezes me tighter. “Keep going. I like it.”

A chill skitters down my spine. This is the scariest thing about Paris. He never actually threatens, hardly ever yells. But his unrelenting determination to see the world his way regardless of evidence to the contrary? His nice-guy smiles even as he’s calmly launching verbal assaults? It’s terrifying.

The panic fluttering in my chest gets stronger, and a little tremor flickers through my tone when I speak. “You don’t have the right to touch me.” Attacking another champion is strictly forbidden and he knows it. He’s using it against me. I try to duck out from beneath his arm, but he tightens his hold. I’m trapped. All the training and all the preparation and I’m held captive in the arms of a man who means me harm. I try to swallow past the way my throat closes. Not again. I will not do this with Paris again. I look around for help, but Achilles, Patroclus, and Atalanta have disappeared into the first van. Hector and the other four champions are nowhere to be seen, and Bellerophon is occupied arguing quietly with the Minotaur and Theseus. There’s no one coming to save me.

Wait.

I don’t need saving.

Godsdamn it, it took Paris all of a minute to slam me right back into the helpless skin I’ve worked so hard to escape. I am not helpless. I am more than capable of saving myself. I turn toward him until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Paris?”

His gaze drops to my lips and his voice deepens. “Yeah?”

I grab his cock in an iron grip and squeeze. He makes a pained noise and tries to jerk back, but I have too good a hold. All he manages to do is hurt himself. My body hides what I’m doing from Bellerophon, which is just as well. This would definitely qualify as an attack. I twist my wrist a little, enjoying the way Paris goes a sickly green. “If you touch me again without my permission, I’ll gut you.”

“Bitch.” His voice is a little too high. “You want to play rough? We’ll play rough.”

I ignore the wave of fear his words bring and twist harder. Hard enough that his knees buckle. “You will never, ever, play with me again, you bastard.”

“You’ll pay for this,” he wheezes.

“No, I won’t. Because you’re not going to win. I am.” I release him and take a quick step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.

He straightens slowly. “Helen.” Gone is the anger, quickly masked behind the charm. He’s always been able to tuck away his negative emotions like that. At least until the rare occasions when they explode without warning. Paris winces a little and smiles as if I just did something clever. “Always so reckless. Always so willing to hurt yourself to hurt me.”

“Shut up.” I realize my mistake the second I say the words. I might as well wave a red flag in front of a bull. Paris loves nothing more than getting beneath my skin.

Sure enough, his smile widens. “Do you really think your brother is going to let someone like you become Ares? Your temper alone will bring down Olympus. You’re not strategic; you never know when to fold or bend. You can’t even pass a simple obstacle course without help, and you think you can direct Olympus’s army? Don’t make me laugh. You’ll make us weak, easy to pick off for our enemies. Enemies like them.” He nods at the van that the two non-Olympians have disappeared into. “If you really want what’s good for the city, you’d step down now.”

Even as I try to come up with a response, his words burrow deep and plant poisonous roots. I am impulsive and reckless. I have been my entire life. How many times have my father, my brother, accused me of the very same thing? If I weren’t reckless and impulsive, I would never have had sex with Achilles last night. I wouldn’t have made a pass at Patroclus. I wouldn’t have done a lot of wild acts I’ve committed over the course of my life when the pressure beneath my skin becomes too much to bear.

I never would have dared attempt to become Ares.

I don’t care. Paris is wrong. He has to be wrong, and I will not let him make me doubt myself. Not ever again. I swallow past the thickness in my throat. “Next time you touch me without permission, I’ll cut off your arm and beat you to death with it.”

“Temper, temper.” He laughs and moves around me to climb into the nearest van.

I’d rather cut off my own arm than follow him, so I turn on my heel and head for the next one down the line. Bellerophon lifts their brows at me. “Problem?”

“Of course not.” I can’t quite manage a smile, so I duck around them and climb into the back of the van.

It’s not until I’m sitting there between the two strangers that I pause long enough to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by picking this van. Then the doors shut, and it’s too late. Damn it. I’m too raw to keep my shit together, practically vibrating out of my skin with feelings I don’t know what to do with. I’m not up to sparring with either of these men, verbally or otherwise.

The one with shorter hair, Theseus, stretches out his big legs and gives me a long look. “Back where I’m from, women know their place.”

Wow, he’s not even going to try to soften me up, is he? Weirdly enough, that’s almost a comfort. I don’t have to be sweet and sunny and political in my response. I blink slowly at him. “That must be so nice for you. Where you come from, do they also offer unsolicited opinions to strangers?”

He smiles briefly, but it’s not a happy look. “You’re not a stranger, though, are you? You’re the prize.”

Thanks for reminding me. I glance at the Minotaur. He watches both of us with an empty look in his blue eyes. Creepy. I give them both a mock sympathetic look. “You don’t stand a chance of winning, and our women know their place is equal to everyone else. Go home before you embarrass yourselves.” I feel sorry for the women in question if he’s telling the truth, but where could he possibly originate from? Mars?

Theseus shakes his head. “You’re proof that Olympus is soft. You and your people have lived in the lap of luxury for so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like in the real world.”

Cold slithers through me. “I suppose you’re here to teach us the error of our ways. Lucky us.”

“You have quite the mouth on you. We’ll work on that.”

The panic I experienced from that confrontation with Paris comes back—with interest. A single conversation with this man, and he’s quickly competing with my ex for the person I least want to win. It’s more than the threat he poses to me personally; it’s the way he’s calling Olympus soft as if he’ll have an opportunity to change it. Maybe I was too hasty in writing off a coup attempt. We cannot allow either of them to win. I shudder. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He leans forward, but the Minotaur grunts. Whatever the relationship between these two, that sound is enough to call Theseus off. He leans back and closes his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.

It’s just as well. I feel a bit like cracked glass at the moment. One wrong move will shatter me completely. It doesn’t make any sense. I passed the first trial; I should be ecstatic. I should be celebrating. Instead, I’m fighting the urge to cry.

What in the gods’ names is wrong with me?

I don’t have an answer by the time we arrive back at the dorms. I keep my gaze on the floor as we file back to our respective rooms. It’s only when I close the door between me and the rest of the world that I start to shake. At least I held it together until this moment when I can break down alone.

Which is right around the moment I realize I’m not actually alone.

Hermes and Dionysus lounge on my couch. She’s flipping through channels so quickly, there’s no way she’s registering each one. He’s supine on the couch, his head in her lap while she idly sifts her fingers through his hair.

I should be happy to see them. They’re my friends after all, and I was just thinking about how much I miss them last night when I was all alone and out of sorts. I sigh. I should stop using the word should. It doesn’t matter that they’re my friends, because they’re my friends second. As with my siblings, for Hermes and Dionysus, being a member of the Thirteen comes first. “What are you two doing here?”

“Silly question. We came to see you, bestie.” Hermes clicks off the television and angles her body to face me. Her hair bobs around her head in black ringlets, and she’s wearing bright-pink lipstick that sets off her dark-brown skin and matches her jumpsuit and shoes. Her style is flawless, as always.

Dionysus lets out a faint snore. He’s got on a graphic T-shirt from some band I’ve never heard of and a pair of faded jeans. His mustache is curled perfectly despite the nap, so he’s either faking it or he just fell asleep.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the energy for this right now. “I need a shower and a meal before I do anything remotely entertaining.” Not that I can leave the house or property while I’m a champion, but Hermes and Dionysus are more than capable of creating their own entertainment. Especially with the kinds of people the champions are comprised of.

“Oh fine, you caught me.” Hermes rolls her eyes, though she’s still smiling. Enjoying herself at my expense. No reason to take it personally; Hermes enjoys herself at everyone’s expense. “I have a message for you from your brother.”

Disappoint lashes me. Trust my brother to send Hermes in her official capacity instead of coming himself. I try to keep my feelings off my face. “How strange that he couldn’t make the time to have a polite little sit-down with me. It’s enough to make a sister doubt where she stands on his list of priorities.” Kind of like when he makes plans to marry off said sister without consulting her first.

“You know how it is.” She shrugs and starts braiding Dionysus’s hair. It’s short enough that she makes quick work of each braid, but they stand out straight from his head. “Zeus is busy being Zeus. Ruling Olympus, putting out fires, entertaining our out-of-town visitors.” She gives a mischievous smile. “And being married to that Hera is a full-time job on its own.”

I don’t comment on the fact that Hera is the one who suggested I join the tournament in spite of me being the prize. If Hermes doesn’t already know—and how could she?—I’m not about to be the one to tell her. I don’t think she’d run right to my brother with the information, but she likes to keep people on their toes, so I can’t guarantee it.

Besides, I’m certain Callisto’s motivation was simply to stir the pot and cause trouble, even if she indirectly helped me in the process. If Perseus finds out his wife prodded me into this action, it will cause even more drama. No matter her reasons, Callisto did me a favor by snapping me out of my self-pity spiral. I won’t out her. “No one twisted his arm and forced a ring on his finger.” Not like he’s done to me.

“You’d be surprised.” She finishes another braid. “Will you hear the message?”

As if I have a choice. “Yes.”

She clears her throat, and a startling approximation of my brother’s deeper voice emerges from her lips. “You’ve had your fun. It’s over now. Resign before the next trial.”

I wait, but she seems to be finished. “That’s it? Normally he likes to threaten some kind of consequence.”

Hermes shrugs. “He’s a little distracted. The Minotaur and Theseus didn’t come to Olympus alone, and your brother has his hands full dealing with the leader of their little group, Minos.”

Easy enough to read between the lines. Their leader is here, watching me make a fool of my brother and the rest of the Thirteen. It’s undermining Zeus’s authority and doing the exact thing he doesn’t want—making us look weak. More like making him look weak.

Olympus needs a firm hand.

A sliver of regret goes through me. I might want to wring my brother’s neck right now, but even I can admit he’s likely doing the best he can in circumstances not of his own making. He hadn’t thought to take over the title of Zeus for years yet, but our father’s unexpected death changed the whole timeline. I do want Olympus safe and stable.

Maybe I should resign.

My stomach clenches at the thought, but I force myself to consider it. If I resign now… I shake my head. It won’t help. The damage was already done the moment I put my name forward and defied my brother publicly. More, now that I’m directly competing with the Minotaur and Theseus, I can’t afford to do anything but put on a good showing. I’m representing Olympus against their outsiders’ interests. I’m representing my brother, even if he’s furious about it.

I’m a Kasios, after all.

Humiliating me means humiliating him. Resigning now is weak, and it will make him appear weak. He’s not thinking clearly or he’d have realized that on his own. I take a deep breath. “Backing out now won’t change the fact that I participated in the first place. It won’t suddenly make him look better.”

“I don’t know that Zeus is thinking clearly at the moment,” Hermes says, mirroring my thoughts.

I suspect she’s right, but I won’t talk shit about my brother right now, not when he’s in a precarious position and I’m partly to blame. Instead I laugh, loud and giddy and fake. “Sure. As if he’s ever let emotions get the best of him even once in his life.” Even as the lie flies free, guilt pricks. Perseus wasn’t an effusive child, but he felt everything very deeply. Our father saw it as a flaw, a weakness to be exploited by future enemies, and spent most of our childhood carving that softness out of my brother, piece by piece.

Hermes considers me for a long moment, and I find myself holding my breath. I might have been friends with her for years, but in this moment, we stand almost as equals: her one of the Thirteen, me a contender for being a member of the Thirteen as well. She finishes a braid and sits back. “Are you sure about this?”

“Please inform my brother that while I appreciate his request, I’m seeing this through.”

“Will do.” Hermes pats Dionysus’s chest. “Time to go, love.”

He opens his eyes, blinking at me. “Hey, Helen. When did you get here?”

“Hey.” I manage a tired smile. “Have a nice nap?”

“Always do.” He sits up and stretches. The little braids in his hair give him the look of a startled bird. “Good show on the obstacle course. We’re rooting for you.”

“Thanks.” I don’t know what else to say. These are my friends, but if—when—I win this tournament, the dynamic of our relationship will have to change. I’ll be one of the Thirteen, too. I wave a tired hand at them. “Are you sticking around?”

“Nope.” Hermes jumps to her feet. “The night is young, and we’re off to have fun.”

Dionysus takes my hands and presses a kiss to each of my cheeks. “She means we’re off to get some of Minos’s people drunk and see what information we can mine from them.”

That pulls a laugh from me. “All in a day’s work.” I don’t tell them to be careful. Despite outward appearances, both Dionysus and Hermes are more than capable of taking care of themselves. And each other. Beyond that, this is part of Dionysus’s specialty. He might play the fool in public, but he didn’t win his title by accident. He’s got a cunning mind behind that ridiculous mustache.

I walk them out and lock the door behind them. Only then do my shoulders slump, weighed down by all the things both said and unsaid. No one believes I can pull this off. Not my enemies. Not my family. Not even my friends. No matter what words they mouth, they’re all waiting for me to fail. They’re sure of it.

I turn away from the door and plod down the hall with heavy steps. I need a shower and about eight hours of sleep.

Maybe the world will make sense in the morning.