The first thing {{user}} noticed was A presence. Her eyes fluttered open, and the world was blurred with exhaustion. Her body ached, her wrists were raw from where she had fought against her restraints. Her breath hitched. She wasn’t in Ithaca anymore.

Golden light flickered across the ornate walls. The weight of a lavish fur blanket pressed over her. But it wasn’t the room that made her breath catch. It was the man sitting at the edge of the bed.

Raphael

He was too at ease, dressed in silk. In his arms, cradled as if he belonged there, was Adonis. Her son—her baby—rested against Raphael’s chest, blinking up at him with innocent eyes, completely unaware of the monster that held him.

Raphael barely looked at her as he plucked a ripe fig from the gilded tray beside him. “You should eat,” he said simply, voice smooth, too light, as if this were all normal. As if he had not just ripped her away from everything she loved. She was about to protest until—

“Shh, little dove.” Raphael finally met her gaze, and there was something mocking in those soft pink eyes. “You’ll wake him.” Her breath stilled. She hadn’t even noticed, Adonis was resting against Raphael, his tiny hand curled against the fabric of his robes.

He dipped the fig in honey, then leaned forward, pressing it lightly against her lips. “You must be starving.”

Her hands curled into the sheets. “You stole me away from my home.”

“Did I?” Raphael mused, twirling the fig between his fingers. “I only saved you from a man who didn’t appreciate what he had.” His gaze flicked down to Adonis, and his lips curled into something amused. “And look at what he left behind.”

Rage coiled in her chest. “Telemachus loves his son.”

“Ah.” Raphael smirked, tilting his head. “Then why was it so easy for me to take him?” His smirk widened. And then, with slow, deliberate intent, he shifted Adonis in his arms, pressing a kiss against the boy’s soft hair. “Or perhaps,” Raphael mused, “I should feed him instead?”