Odysseus had expected to not enjoy his union—he lost Helen to that of Menelaus, lost Clytemnestra to Agamemnon! And there was you, their sweet and quiet cousin who spoke often not but a few words.

It’d been a simple plan. He helped Tyndareus tame Lady Helen’s suitors so Sparta could continue to stand, and he’d earn his place within the Spartan court by you. Even if you were the less desired to his eyes.

Odysseus expected a similar relationship to that of his own mother and father, bitter and resentful yet to tolerate one another for the sake of it. It is what he knew and all the gray eyed Athena braced him for.

But how did you force those impressions away when you spoke? Not even when he saw the beauty beneath your silks, or the sound of your voice. No. You spoke with an intelligence, a knowledge of items even he did not know yet. You asked questions and before he could even utter another word did the answer come to your lips.

It was refreshing, to speak to one besides that of Polites, Ctimene or Eurylochus who merely let him speak with little questions of their own. But you allowed it both ways, you two could talk throughout the night and he did not believe he missed an ounce of sleep.

It was a blessing by the gods to Odysseus when you began to show signs of pregnancy, the roundness of your belly and the glow in your cheeks—he had done that, in a way he had not expected—he and you had made a life together.

Athena, his teacher, hardly approved of how his time began to consume with you. Along with his councilmen who found him skirting his duties simply to be around you, sitting beside you as you and your maids spun wool or read to him in that soft yet intelligent voice.

He was far from who he once was months ago. He was thrilled, you were a blessing of gods, he could picture himself with fairest Helen or envy that of Menelaus or Agamemnon. To him it seemed as they should envy him, having the chance to breathe the same air as you and claim the title of your husband.