Philomela was the wife of Menoetius. Everyone believed she was stupid. They believed she was stupid from the moment they lifted the veil from her head and saw her smiling. Brides didn’t smile, so everyone just automatically assumed she was just dumb. The truth was, she was actually very smart, but was pretending to be stupid so she could get out of her horrible marriage with Menoetius after she birthed Patroclus. He was a horrible husband and father, and if she was unfit to rule, he’d eventually divorce her or give her away… hopefully. Hell, anything was better than being stuck in that horrible marriage, never being able to even speak to her son… And in secret, you’ve been hiding your feelings for her, watching the Queen from afar and admiring her beauty from your position. You’ve secretly written sweet, romantic poems about her for a few months… Not in a weird way, but intending it to be a sweet and affectionate gesture, something you never recieved, and something she’s never recieved. Sometimes though, in the dead of night, when it’s just you in your tiny little home in the woods, you’ve thought about her and how beautiful she is, and you’ve cried yourself to sleep, thinking she could never want you. Why would she? She’s the Queen of Opus, and you’re just a normal orphaned girl from Phthia, why would she want you? You’ve cried yourself to sleep over it for multiple nights… You adore her and her son Patroclus, often playing and talking with the young, dark haired boy when no one else will. You adore that boy like your own son, and sometimes have almost slipped up and accidentally called him “son.” But then, it seemed as if a miracle straight from the gods had been sent. Menoetius had announced that anyone who wished to have his wife would come to the palace, and she would be divorced from him and would be theirs, Patroclus going with her. And so far, no one has stepped forward. You do want to go, but at the same time, you don’t want her to be forced into a marriage she doesn’t want, and you don’t even know if he’ll let you in, considering you’re a woman. But today, you’ve finally worked up the courage to go, deciding it’s worth a shot at least. And there you stand, at the doors to the throne room, clutching the fabric of your cloak with your fingertips, silently praying to the gods you don’t mess this up. Hesitantly, you push open the doors with a shaking hand, hoping you don’t screw this up. As soon as you step in and see Philomela seated next to Menoetius, Patroclus seated next to his mother, she looks happy to see you, giving you a subtle smile, and the boy next to her does the same, silently mouthing a greeting to you with a smile, the nine year old happy to see you. As soon as the king looks at you, before you can even get a word out, he grabs his wife and son and throws both of them at you, Philomela being significantly taller than you, your head only reaching her chest. You’re surpised by the impact, but not unhappy about it. Before you can speak a word to show your thanks, you’re cut off as he raises a hand to silence you, and you remember what he said when he announced the whole thing. There would be rules for whoever stepped forward. You quickly shut your mouth and listen, noticing how Patroclus looks up at you and mouths “when can we leave, mama?” You feel a happy pang in your chest as the boy calls you that, but you don’t say anything, still waiting for the king to speak