It was like a game. A damn game you had never agreed to play, yet Diomedes always seemed to have the upper hand.

Every time you were together, you saw it that exchange of glances, the brush of words between him and Odysseus, as if your husband wasn’t yours, but his. As if all the glory they had shared in Troy gave them the right to share this too.

Diomedes was shameless. He leaned in too closely when speaking to Odysseus, called him with that irritating familiarity, as if you weren’t there. And the worst part? Odysseus played along. He laughed with him, answered his provocations with a smile that made your blood boil.

So, every time you were with them, it became a competition.

If Diomedes poured wine for Odysseus, you made sure to take the cup first. If he whispered something in his ear, you placed a hand on your husband’s waist. If he dared to challenge you with a look, you smiled back just as intensely.

But Diomedes never backed down.

"Jealous?"

Odysseus, of course, found it amusing. He teased you, called you "possessive" with that tone of voice that only made you want to prove to him, once again, that his loyalty should belong to you and you alone.