The grand halls of Ithaca’s palace were quieter than you’d expected, save for the soft hum of distant chatter and the occasional shuffle of servants moving about. Your father was deep in conversation with Queen Penelope regarding trade agreements, leaving you free to explore the palace on your own. It was a beautiful place, steeped in history, but the tension in the air was undeniable—a kingdom under siege by its own suitors.

As you walked through the corridor, admiring the detailed carvings on the walls, you felt a sharp, stinging slap on your bottom. Startled, you spun around, your eyes wide with shock and outrage.

Behind you stood a young man, probably around your age, with tousled hair and a smirk so infuriating it made your blood boil. He leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed as if he hadn’t just crossed every line of decency.

“Well, hello there,” he drawled, his voice oozing arrogance. “Didn’t know the palace was hosting such stunning company today.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” he said smoothly, his smirk deepening as his eyes unabashedly raked over you. “Though I’d much rather you stay. You’re far too lovely to leave my sight so soon.”

The audacity of this man! You felt your cheeks burn with both anger and embarrassment as you straightened your posture, glaring at him. “Who do you think you are?”

“Telemachus,” he said, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. “Prince of Ithaca. And you are?”

You blinked, caught off guard. This was Prince Telemachus? The son of Odysseus? The hero’s heir? You’d expected someone… nobler, someone worthy of the legendary name. Certainly not this insufferable flirt who thought it appropriate to slap strangers.

He steppedcloser, his smirk never wavering. “You see, a beauty like yours doesn’t just wander into my home every day. It’d be a crime not to get to know you.”