After a full week in the palace of Knossos, Galea began to understand the complex social ecosystem that governed life within its painted walls. What had initially appeared as random interactions between courtiers now revealed itself as an intricate dance of alliances, betrayals, and carefully calculated moves for power.
Her status remained ambiguous—nominally a guest, treated with the respect due to a foreign dignitary, yet never without an "escort" to monitor her movements. Her chambers were luxurious by any standard, with frescoed walls depicting dolphins leaping through azure waves, a bed draped in finely woven linen, and a balcony overlooking an ornamental garden that consumed precious water while peasants thirsted beyond the palace walls.
Thais, the handmaiden assigned to her, appeared each morning to help Galea dress in the elaborate Cretan style—layered skirts with embroidered hems, bodices that left her breasts partially exposed in the fashion of court ladies, and jewelry that marked her status as someone of importance. Galea found the clothing restrictive compared to the simple garments she'd worn on Atlantea, but she recognized the social armor it provided.
"The Princess Ariadne has requested your company in the eastern gardens this afternoon," Thais announced as she arranged Galea's hair, weaving blue-dyed threads through the dark strands. "It's a great honor. She rarely seeks out new companions."
"Why me?" Galea asked, watching Thais's reflection in the polished bronze mirror. After seven days, she'd learned to interpret the subtle tells in the handmaiden's expression—the slight tightening around the eyes when she delivered messages that came with unspoken agendas.
"She finds you interesting, I imagine." Thais's fingers worked deftly, creating an elaborate style that would mark Galea as someone under royal favor. "Few women from the villages ever enter these walls, let alone those with your... unusual background."
Galea touched her pendant reflexively. It had become a habit whenever she felt uncertain, as if the crystal might somehow convey her thoughts back to Bobby. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Thais, whose eyes flickered to the glowing stone before quickly returning to her task.
"You should feel honored," the handmaiden continued. "Princess Ariadne is the king's favorite daughter. Her friendship carries significant weight at court."
And her interest carries significant implications, Galea thought but didn't say. Instead, she simply nodded. "I'll do my best not to disappoint her."
The eastern gardens proved to be the most excessive display of wealth Galea had encountered yet. While the countryside withered under relentless drought, here water flowed continuously through a series of channels and ornamental pools, feeding exotic plants imported from Egypt and lands further east. The scent of jasmine hung heavy in the air, almost cloying in its intensity.
Princess Ariadne reclined beneath a canopy of purple silk, attended by two female servants who waved large feather fans to create a cooling breeze. As Galea approached, she noted the princess's studied pose—arranged to display her profile to best advantage, her elaborate hairstyle adorned with gold pins that caught the sunlight.
"The island witch approaches," Ariadne announced, her voice carrying a musical lilt that somehow managed to make the potentially offensive term sound like a compliment. She dismissed her attendants with a flick of her wrist, waiting until they had retreated to a discreet distance before patting the cushioned bench beside her. "Come, sit with me. I've been longing for interesting company."
Galea obeyed, carefully arranging her skirts as she'd been taught. Up close, Ariadne was even more beautiful than palace gossip suggested—flawless olive skin, eyes the color of ripe olives, and features that combined her father's strength with a feminine delicacy. She couldn't be more than twenty, yet she carried herself with the confidence of someone fully aware of her power.
"Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness," Galea said, using the formal address Thais had drilled into her.
Ariadne laughed, the sound like silver bells. "Please, such formality isn't necessary when we're alone. Call me Ariadne." She leaned closer, her eyes fixed on Galea's face with undisguised curiosity. "I've heard such fascinating things about you and your island. Is it true the plants there move at your command?"
The direct question took Galea by surprise. Most courtiers approached the subject of her abilities obliquely, through veiled references and implications. "The plants of Atlantea respond differently than those of the mainland," she answered carefully. "They're more... responsive to intention."
"And this guardian everyone whispers about—what manner of man is he? A god in human form, as some claim? A sorcerer? Or something else entirely?" Ariadne's eyes glittered with interest.
"Bobby is..." Galea hesitated, unsure how to describe someone she'd spent a decade with yet never fully understood. "He's a caretaker of the island. Very knowledgeable. Very old, though he doesn't appear so."
"Bobby?" Ariadne repeated, her perfect brows arching in surprise. "Such a common name for a being of legend."
Galea found herself smiling despite her caution. "He would appreciate that observation. He dislikes being treated as anything extraordinary."
"Yet he created an island of healing and wonders," Ariadne pressed. "Surely that's extraordinary by any measure?"
"He says the island created itself, and he merely guided its development." The half-truth came easily to Galea's lips, practiced during her months in Kydonia when similar questions arose.
Ariadne studied her face for a moment, then abruptly changed tactics. "You must find our court very different from your island sanctuary. All these people playing their little games of power while pretending to serve the greater good." She gestured dismissively toward a group of courtiers strolling nearby, their voices carefully modulated to carry no further than their immediate circle.
"It's... educational," Galea admitted.
"Is that a diplomatic way of saying you find us corrupt?" Ariadne laughed again, but this time with a sharper edge. "Because you wouldn't be wrong. My father's court is a nest of vipers, each one waiting for the opportunity to strike." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Even the walls have ears here. That's why I prefer to speak in the gardens, where the fountains mask our words."
Galea glanced at the burbling water feature nearby, realizing its practical purpose beyond mere decoration. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're interesting." Ariadne plucked a grape from a silver bowl beside her. "You're neither a simpleton from the villages nor a schemer from the court. You've lived in isolation with supernatural powers developing in your veins, and yet you seem... unaffected by it all. Grounded, if you will."
"The island teaches perspective," Galea said simply.
"I imagine it does." Ariadne popped the grape into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "My father is besotted with the idea of your island, you know. He speaks of little else in private council meetings."
Galea felt a chill despite the warm afternoon. "The island isn't what people imagine. Its gifts come with conditions, with consequences."
"All power does," Ariadne replied, her voice suddenly serious. "The question is whether the consequences are worth the benefits gained." She straightened, her posture shifting subtly from confidante back to princess. "I should like us to be friends, Galea of Atlantea. I have precious few of those in this palace of masks."
Before Galea could formulate a response to this unexpected declaration, a new figure appeared at the edge of the garden—a tall man in the bronze-accented armor of a high-ranking military officer. Even from a distance, his commanding presence was evident in his straight-backed posture and confident stride.
Ariadne's entire demeanor transformed at the sight of him, her body tensing then relaxing in a way that spoke volumes about their relationship. "Ah, here comes my latest tutor in military strategy," she said, her voice carrying a warmth that hadn't been present before. "Father insists I understand the art of war if I'm to serve the kingdom's interests."
The man approached and bowed formally, though his eyes—startlingly blue against his sun-darkened skin—remained fixed on Ariadne's face with an intensity that violated all court protocol.
"Princess," he said, his voice deep and controlled. "I apologize for interrupting your afternoon."
"You're precisely on time, General," Ariadne replied, a secretive smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "May I present Galea of Atlantea? Galea, this is General Theseus, commander of my father's northern legions and my most dedicated instructor."
Theseus turned his attention to Galea, his gaze immediately dropping to the glowing pendant at her throat before rising to assess her face. "The island healer," he said, something lurking beneath his neutral tone. "Your reputation precedes you."
"As does yours, General," Galea replied, having heard whispers of Theseus's military exploits—and his rumored relationship with the princess—from palace servants.
"Galea has been telling me about Atlantea's remarkable properties," Ariadne said, the lie flowing smoothly from her lips. "Perhaps she would benefit from your perspective on how such natural advantages might be utilized in times of conflict."
Theseus's expression remained carefully neutral, but Galea sensed his immediate interest. "I would be honored to offer my thoughts on such matters," he said, taking a seat on a stone bench opposite them. "Strategic applications of natural resources can be the difference between victory and defeat."
What followed was a masterfully conducted interrogation disguised as casual conversation. Theseus probed for details about the island's geography, its defensive features, the guardian's capabilities, and the nature of the storms that surrounded it—all framed as theoretical military discussions that never quite crossed into obvious intelligence gathering.
Galea deflected where she could, provided vague answers where deflection would seem suspicious, and occasionally shared harmless truths to maintain credibility. Throughout the exchange, she noted the subtle communications between Ariadne and Theseus—glances that lingered too long, fingers that brushed "accidentally" while reaching for wine, the synchronized rhythm of their breathing when they sat close.
These were not merely princess and general, nor student and tutor. They were lovers, united in purpose beyond the bedchamber.
"It sounds as though this island would be nearly impenetrable to conventional forces," Theseus concluded after nearly an hour of conversation. "The storms alone would destroy any military fleet, even if they somehow knew the island's exact location."
"The island doesn't want to be found," Galea stated simply. "It reveals itself only to those in desperate need."
"Like yourself," Ariadne interjected. "Fleeing there as a child, deathly ill, guided by destiny to new purpose."
Galea blinked in surprise. "How did you know about my illness?"
"Court researchers have assembled quite a file on you," Theseus answered before Ariadne could speak. "From the moment word of your healing abilities reached Knossos, the king ordered an investigation into your background."
"They traced you back to your original village," Ariadne continued. "Found records of a man who lost his wife, then fled with his sickly daughter after spending his fortune on failed treatments." Her expression softened with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. "It must have been devastating to lose both parents so young."
Galea felt suddenly exposed, the carefully constructed narrative she'd built around herself peeled away by royal investigators she'd never even seen. "My father gave his life to save mine," she said quietly. "I honor his memory by using the island's gifts to help others."
"A noble sentiment," Theseus said, his tone suggesting he found such idealism quaint but impractical. "Though one wonders if those gifts might serve greater purposes than village healing."
"Theseus," Ariadne chided gently, "not everyone measures value in military advantage."
"But your father does," the general replied, his eyes never leaving Galea's face. "And ultimately, it's his assessment that matters most."
A cold sensation settled in Galea's stomach. They were being remarkably honest about the king's interest in her abilities, which suggested either great confidence or a calculated strategy to gain her trust.
"I should return to my chambers," Galea said, rising carefully. "The court dinner will begin soon, and I was advised not to be late."
"Of course," Ariadne said, extending her hand in the royal gesture of dismissal. "But we must continue our conversation tomorrow. I find your perspective refreshing, Galea of Atlantea."
As Galea walked away, she heard Theseus murmur something to Ariadne that made the princess laugh—a private joke shared between intimates. She wondered briefly if she had just been the subject of that joke, then dismissed the thought as paranoia.
The court was indeed turning her into a different person—more suspicious, more calculating. Bobby would be amused to see her now, she thought, finally understanding his cynicism about human nature.
That evening, as she prepared for the formal court dinner, Galea found herself unusually disturbed by the meeting with Ariadne and Theseus. There had been something performative about their interaction, as if they were acting out roles specifically designed for her benefit.
"You seem troubled," Thais observed as she fastened a ceremonial brooch to Galea's shoulder. "Did the princess displease you?"
"Not at all," Galea replied automatically. "She was most gracious."
"She can be charming when it suits her purposes," Thais said, then immediately looked alarmed at her own words. "Forgive me—I spoke out of turn."
Galea turned to face the handmaiden. "Does she have a reputation for being otherwise?"
Thais hesitated, clearly weighing the dangers of court gossip against the benefits of currying favor with Galea. "The princess has her father's cunning," she finally said. "She wears many faces for many audiences. The face she shows to you is calculated to achieve specific ends."
"And what ends might those be?"
"That would depend on her current alliance with General Theseus," Thais replied, then cursed softly under her breath. "Please forget I said that. My tongue runs ahead of my judgment today."
"Your secret is safe with me," Galea promised, then added casually, "Though I observed nothing improper between them."
Thais snorted delicately. "The entire palace knows of their affair, including the king. He tolerates it because Theseus is the finest military mind in three kingdoms and because the princess has always been his favorite."
"If the king knows, why must they pretend otherwise?"
"Because of the queen," Thais explained, lowering her voice despite them being alone. "Queen Pasiphae considers Theseus a threat to her sons' inheritance. Three times she has arranged accidents for him; three times he has survived through skill or fortune."
Galea absorbed this information, comparing it against her observations. "And where does the king stand on this inheritance question?"
Thais secured a final pin in Galea's elaborate hairstyle before answering. "King Minos has eight sons by various women, including three by the queen. He has never officially named an heir, preferring to keep them all competing for his favor." She stepped back to assess her work. "There—you look suitable for court presentation."
Suitable for the slaughter, Galea thought darkly, feeling like livestock being prepared for sacrifice. Aloud, she simply said, "Thank you, Thais. Your skills are appreciated."
The handmaiden curtsied. "Remember to speak only when addressed directly. Keep your eyes lowered in the king's presence unless commanded to look up. And whatever you do, don't refuse food or drink offered from the royal table—it's considered a grievous insult."
"Even if I suspect it might be poisoned?" Galea asked, only half joking.
Thais's expression remained deadly serious. "Especially then."
-------
The Great Hall of Knossos was an architectural marvel that showcased both the kingdom's wealth and its ruler's megalomaniacal tendencies. Massive columns painted deep crimson supported a ceiling adorned with gold leaf. Elaborate frescoes depicted King Minos leading armies to victory, receiving tribute from conquered peoples, and seated among divine figures as if he were their equal.
Hundreds of oil lamps cast wavering light across the assembled courtiers, who had arranged themselves according to a hierarchical system too complex for Galea to fully grasp. She was led to a position relatively close to the royal dais—a mark of favor that earned her jealous glances from established nobles seated further back.
Demetrios materialized beside her, dressed in finery that marked his recent elevation in status. "You've made quite an impression on the princess," he murmured. "The king is pleased."
"I did nothing to earn her interest," Galea replied coolly. Her initial anger at his deception had hardened into something colder, more calculated.
"Your very existence is interesting to those with vision," Demetrios said. "Remember that you serve Kydonia's interests by cooperating with the royal family. Already they've sent grain shipments to the village as a sign of goodwill."
"How generous," Galea said flatly. "A fraction of what's consumed at this single feast could feed Kydonia for a month."
Demetrios's expression hardened. "Be careful with such observations. Gratitude serves you better than criticism here."
Before she could respond, trumpets blared announcing the royal entrance. The assembled crowd rose in unison as King Minos processed into the hall, Queen Pasiphae on his arm. They were followed by Princess Ariadne and her sisters, then the king's sons in order of age, and finally the highest-ranking military commanders—Theseus among them, his expression carefully neutral as he avoided looking directly at Ariadne.
The royal family took their places on the dais, with lesser members arranged on slightly lower levels to visually represent their standing in the hierarchy. Galea noted that Ariadne sat at her father's right hand, while the queen's eldest son was positioned significantly further away—a silent statement about royal favor that surely stoked the queen's resentment.
King Minos rose to deliver the traditional pre-feast address, his powerful voice easily carrying to the furthest corners of the hall without apparent effort.
"Noble lords and ladies of Crete," he began, "we feast tonight in celebration of continued prosperity despite the challenges nature has placed before us." He gestured expansively, taking in the ostentatious display of wealth around them. "While lesser kingdoms falter under drought's harsh hand, Knossos stands firm—our granaries full, our armies strong, our people secure in the knowledge that their king provides."
Galea fought to keep her expression neutral as she thought of the hollow-faced children she'd passed on the journey to the palace. If the granaries were indeed full, their contents were clearly not being distributed to those in greatest need.
"We are blessed by divine favor," Minos continued, his gaze sweeping the hall before settling briefly on Galea. "Signs and portents appear daily, confirming that Knossos is destined for grandeur beyond any civilization before it. Soon, we shall unveil a new source of power that will cement our dominance for generations to come."
A murmur rippled through the crowd—speculation about this mysterious new advantage. Galea felt dozens of eyes turn briefly in her direction before darting away, and she understood with chilling clarity that she was being presented as evidence of the king's divine mandate. Her very presence, her abilities, her connection to Atlantea—all were being woven into the mythology of Minos's rule.
The king raised his golden goblet. "To Knossos eternal!"
"Knossos eternal!" the crowd echoed, raising their own cups in salute.
The feast that followed was a display of excess that bordered on obscene. Servants staggered under the weight of platters laden with roasted meats, exotic fruits, delicacies imported at enormous expense from Egypt and lands beyond. Wine flowed freely, served by silent attendants who kept goblets filled without being summoned.
Galea ate sparingly despite Thais's warning, her stomach rebelling at the thought of such indulgence while people starved within sight of the palace walls. She observed the court dynamics unfolding around her—the subtle positioning for royal attention, the whispered conversations behind raised hands, the calculated displays of wealth through jewels and finery.
Queen Pasiphae watched everything with cold, assessing eyes, occasionally leaning to whisper in the ear of a severe-looking woman Galea learned was her chief handmaiden and rumored poisoner. Princess Ariadne maintained animated conversation with the nobles seated near her, careful to never let her gaze linger on General Theseus, who had been positioned at the far end of the hall.
Halfway through the interminable meal, a commotion erupted near one of the side tables. A middle-aged nobleman had risen suddenly, clutching at his throat, his face contorted in agony. He staggered two steps before collapsing, his body convulsing violently on the mosaic floor.
Guards moved swiftly to surround him, though it was immediately obvious that medical intervention would be futile. Foam bubbled from the man's lips as his eyes bulged grotesquely, his fingers clawing at the air before finally going still.
The hall fell silent save for the horrified weeping of a young woman who had been seated beside the victim. King Minos rose slowly, his expression more annoyed than concerned by the interruption to his feast.
"Remove him," he commanded, gesturing dismissively. "And bring Lord Nikandros's wife to my private chamber for questioning."
The woman's weeping turned to screams as guards seized her arms. "I didn't do this!" she shrieked, her face contorted in terror. "I shared his wine cup! I would never—"
"Silence her," the queen ordered coldly.
A guard clamped his hand over the woman's mouth, muffling her protests as she was dragged from the hall. Another team of servants efficiently removed the dead nobleman's body, while a third group hurriedly cleaned the floor where he had fallen.
Demetrios leaned close to Galea. "Lord Nikandros recently opposed the king's new tax on olive exports," he murmured. "But the poison was likely meant for General Kyrillos, who was originally assigned that seat."
Galea stared at him in horror. "And his wife?"
"Will be tortured until she confirms whatever narrative the king decides upon," Demetrios replied matter-of-factly. "By morning, the official account will be that she poisoned her husband for infidelity, or ambition, or whatever motivation seems most convenient."
"That's barbaric," Galea whispered.
"That's court politics." Demetrios shrugged. "The truth is irrelevant. What matters is the story that best serves the throne's interests."
The feast resumed with disturbing speed, the incident already being reframed in whispered conversations throughout the hall. Galea noted that the king's expression remained calculating as he surveyed the assembled courtiers, almost as if he were assessing their reactions to the death rather than the death itself.
His gaze eventually settled on her, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth when he noticed her disturbed expression. He raised his goblet in a small, private toast that made Galea's blood run cold.
She was witnessing a demonstration, she realized—a carefully orchestrated display of power and consequence, perhaps even arranged specifically for her benefit. The message was unmistakable: in the court of Knossos, lives were expendable in service to royal will.
The next morning, Galea was summoned to attend the king's public court—a formalized audience where Minos heard petitions and dispensed justice to both nobles and commoners. Thais explained that this, too, was a significant honor, as most foreign visitors were excluded from such proceedings.
"The king wishes you to understand how he maintains order in difficult times," the handmaiden explained as she dressed Galea in formal attire. "It's an educational opportunity."
Another demonstration, Galea thought, but merely nodded.
The throne room was arranged differently for public court, with the king seated on a massive chair carved from a single block of imported marble. The queen was absent, but Princess Ariadne sat on a smaller throne to her father's right, her expression one of practiced neutrality as supplicants approached in carefully regulated order.
Galea was positioned to one side with other favored observers, close enough to witness proceedings but separated from the general audience by ornate wooden screens. From this vantage point, she could see both the public face of royalty and the private reactions hidden from common view.
For the first hour, matters were routine—land disputes between noble families, petitions for tax relief due to drought conditions, requests for royal intervention in trade conflicts. Minos handled each with a combination of stern authority and occasional flashes of surprising insight, demonstrating why he had maintained control over such a vast territory for so long.
Then came a case that silenced the entire chamber. A minor nobleman was brought forward in chains, his once-fine clothing torn and soiled, his face bearing marks of recent beating. Behind him, four guards dragged heavy sacks that clinked metallically when placed before the throne.
"Lord Acastus," King Minos said, his voice deceptively mild. "You stand accused of hoarding grain while your district suffers famine. Of selling royal emergency supplies on the black market while reporting them distributed to the needy. Of enriching yourself through the suffering of those you were appointed to protect."
The nobleman fell to his knees. "Mercy, my king! The accusations are false—"
"Open the sacks," Minos interrupted.
Guards cut open the burlap containers, spilling their contents across the marble floor. Gold coins, silver jewelry, and precious gemstones scattered in a glittering display of illicit wealth. A collective gasp rose from the assembled observers.
"Recovered from beneath your villa's floor," the king continued. "Along with detailed records of your transactions—very thorough accounting for a man claiming innocence."
"My father served your father," Lord Acastus pleaded, his voice cracking. "My family has been loyal for seven generations. Whatever mistakes I've made—"
"Were deliberate choices to enrich yourself while children starved," Minos cut in, his voice hardening. "Your family name might have earned you mercy for lesser crimes, but not for this."
Galea saw Princess Ariadne lean forward slightly, her expression showing the first genuine emotion of the proceedings—a strange mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.
"The sentence is death," Minos pronounced. "Not the quick death of the executioner's blade, but the slow death your victims suffered. You will be sealed in an empty granary with the wealth you valued above your people's lives. Gold makes poor nourishment, Lord Acastus. I wonder how many days it will sustain you."
The nobleman collapsed completely, sobbing and begging for mercy as guards dragged him backward from the throne room. His cries echoed down the corridor long after he had been removed from sight.
Most disturbing to Galea was the reaction of the general audience—not horror at the cruel sentence, but approval. Faces that had been impassive during earlier proceedings now showed grim satisfaction. Some even applauded quietly.
"The king understands symbolism," a voice murmured close to her ear.
Galea turned to find General Theseus had silently taken the position beside her. His blue eyes remained fixed on the throne as he continued speaking in tones too low for others to overhear.
"Lord Acastus's punishment will be legendary—a story repeated in every village and town to remind officials that corruption carries consequences. Minos knows when to be merciful and when a public example serves greater purpose."
"It seems excessive," Galea replied quietly.
"Perhaps by island standards," Theseus acknowledged. "But we are not protected by storms and isolation. Maintaining order during famine requires... decisive action."
Before Galea could respond, Theseus smoothly changed subjects. "Princess Ariadne requests your company again this afternoon. She found your insights on natural healing quite valuable and wishes to continue the discussion."
There was something beneath his words—a current of meaning Galea couldn't quite grasp. "Of course," she replied. "I'm honored by her continued interest."
Theseus's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "The princess has excellent judgment regarding character. She believes you can be trusted with... sensitive matters."
With that cryptic statement, he bowed slightly and moved away, leaving Galea to wonder what "sensitive matters" could possibly require her involvement. She glanced toward the royal dais to find Princess Ariadne watching her with that same calculating intelligence, a slight nod acknowledging the exchange with Theseus.
Whatever game they were playing, Galea had just been moved into position as a piece on their board—willing or not.
The meeting with Ariadne took place not in the public gardens but in a secluded chamber deep within the residential section of the palace. Thais led Galea through a bewildering series of corridors before delivering her to a small antechamber guarded by two women in lightweight armor—an unusual sight in a palace otherwise protected exclusively by male soldiers.
"The princess's personal guard," Thais explained in hushed tones. "Selected for absolute loyalty and sworn to serve her alone, not the king or queen."
The guards admitted Galea without comment, closing the door firmly behind her. The room beyond was intimate by palace standards—a private sitting area with comfortable furnishings, walls adorned with hunting scenes painted in vivid colors, and windows overlooking a small enclosed courtyard invisible from other parts of the palace.
Ariadne reclined on a couch, her formal court attire exchanged for a simpler dress that would have been scandalously revealing in public but seemed appropriate for private quarters. She gestured to a nearby chair.
"Thank you for coming, Galea. I trust the morning's court proceedings were educational?"
"They were... instructive," Galea replied carefully.
A knowing smile played across Ariadne's lips. "My father believes in theatrical justice. The punishment should tell a story that outlives the criminal." She reached for a silver pitcher, pouring amber liquid into two cups. "Wine? It's imported from Rhodes—much lighter than the heavy Cretan vintages."
Galea accepted the offered cup, remembering Thais's warning about refusing royal hospitality. "Your father's methods seem effective, if severe."
"Severity is sometimes necessary." Ariadne sipped her wine. "Especially in times of crisis, when the old rules no longer suffice."
The princess studied Galea over the rim of her cup, her dark eyes unreadable. "You witnessed death at my father's table last night. Did that disturb you?"
The direct question startled Galea. "Of course. Does casual murder not disturb you, Princess?"
Instead of taking offense, Ariadne laughed—a genuine sound of amusement. "How refreshing! Everyone else pretends Lord Nikandros's death was unfortunate but unremarkable." Her expression sobered. "To answer your question: yes, it disturbs me greatly. More so because I know it was my mother who arranged it."
"The queen?" Galea couldn't hide her surprise at this frank admission.
"The poison was meant for Theseus," Ariadne confirmed. "My mother has tried to eliminate him three times before. She's growing desperate." She set down her wine cup, leaning forward intently. "Which brings me to the reason I asked you here today. I need someone I can trust—someone outside the usual court factions, someone with unique skills."
Alarm bells rang in Galea's mind. "I'm not sure what you mean, Princess."
"Please, when we're alone, call me Ariadne." She rose gracefully, moving to ensure they couldn't be seen through the windows. "I know what my father wants from you—access to Atlantea, control of its healing properties, power beyond any king before him." Her voice dropped lower. "What you may not know is that he plans to send me north on a diplomatic mission to the warlord Tartaros."
The name struck Galea like a physical blow. "Tartaros?"
Ariadne's eyes narrowed at her reaction. "You know of him?"
"I've... heard the name," Galea admitted, trying to recover. In truth, she was shocked to hear Bobby's former subject mentioned in such a context. Bobby had spoken of Tartaros only once, describing him as an early experiment who had left the island with limited abilities but dangerous ambitions.
"He emerged from nowhere years ago," Ariadne explained, "gathering followers with promises of divine favor during the drought. He claims to be blessed by 'the island god' and says he can bring rain to those who pledge allegiance." Her mouth twisted in distaste. "Most dismiss him as another cult leader, but my father sees opportunity in his growing influence."
"What kind of opportunity?" Galea asked, though she feared she already knew.
"An alliance, ostensibly. Tartaros controls the northern territories where our grain supplies are weakest. My father would offer me as bride to secure those regions." Ariadne's hands clenched briefly. "But the true mission would be assassination once I've gained Tartaros's trust."
Galea stared at her in shock. "Your father would send you to murder on his behalf?"
"My father would use any tool at his disposal to maintain power," Ariadne replied without emotion. "Including his favorite daughter."
"And you're telling me this because...?"
"Because I have no intention of marrying a warlord or becoming my father's assassin." Ariadne's eyes flashed with sudden intensity. "Theseus and I have our own plans—plans that could bring genuine change to Crete, not just a continuation of the same corrupt system under a different name."
The pieces suddenly aligned in Galea's mind. "You're planning to overthrow your father."
Ariadne didn't flinch at the direct accusation. "We're planning to save Crete from both my father's excesses and my mother's poison. The kingdom deserves better leadership than either can provide." She moved closer, her voice urgent. "Your knowledge of healing could be invaluable to us. And your connection to Atlantea—to this guardian who may have taught Tartaros—could help us understand what we're truly facing in the north."
Galea felt trapped between competing dangers. Refusing to help might turn Ariadne from potential ally to direct threat, but becoming involved in royal coup plotting was suicidal. "I'm a healer, not a revolutionist," she said finally. "My skills are for saving lives, not taking them."
"Sometimes the two aren't so different," Ariadne countered. "How many will die in my father's grandiose pursuits if nothing changes? How many have already died while he feasts and plots?"
A knock at the door interrupted their tense exchange. One of Ariadne's female guards entered and bowed deeply. "Forgive the intrusion, Princess, but General Theseus requests immediate audience on urgent matters."
Ariadne nodded. "Send him in."
Theseus entered moments later, his military posture loosening once the door closed behind him. Without ceremony, he crossed to Ariadne and kissed her fully on the mouth—a shocking display of intimacy that confirmed beyond doubt the true nature of their relationship.
"Your father has moved up the timeline," he said without preamble when they separated. "The northern mission is to begin within three weeks, not after the harvest as previously planned."
Ariadne paled slightly. "So soon? What's changed?"
"New reports about Tartaros." Theseus glanced at Galea, hesitating.
"She can hear this," Ariadne assured him. "I've explained our situation."
Theseus nodded, though Galea noted the slight reservation in his expression. "Tartaros has expanded his control over three more northern territories in less than a fortnight. Villages that resisted him for months suddenly opened their gates without resistance." His jaw tightened. "Commanders who swore they would defend to the death instead knelt and pledged fealty."
"Similar to the patterns we've seen before," Ariadne observed, her expression carefully neutral.
"Yes, but accelerating." Theseus ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Something has changed. His influence spreads faster now, requiring less direct contact." He looked directly at Galea. "The reports say men of strong will and known loyalty to Knossos change completely after merely being in his presence. They enter his tent as enemies and emerge as devoted followers."
Galea felt a chill run down her spine. "You believe he's controlling their minds somehow?"
"The common people certainly think so," Theseus replied. "They say his eyes can capture a man's soul, that his voice plants seeds in the mind that blossom into absolute devotion." His skeptical tone suggested he found such explanations superstitious, yet he lacked a better theory.
Ariadne's fingers tapped thoughtfully against her wine cup. "What do we actually know about Tartaros's time on Atlantea?" she asked, her casual tone belying the intensity of her gaze. "You confirmed he was there before you, Galea. What else can you tell us?"
Galea hesitated, weighing her words carefully. The truth was, she knew very little. "Bobby rarely spoke of him. He mentioned once that Tartaros had been saved from a shipwreck, as I was saved from illness. That he stayed on the island for some time, then chose to leave."
"Nothing about... abilities?" Theseus pressed. "Nothing about why he left?"
"Only that Tartaros had 'his own path to follow,'" Galea admitted. "Bobby doesn't speak much about those who came before me."
This wasn't entirely true. Bobby had occasionally mentioned others who had stayed on Atlantea temporarily—sailors, explorers, the occasional refugee—but Tartaros was different. The single conversation about him had been brief and uncharacteristically tense, ending when Bobby changed the subject abruptly. At the time, Galea hadn't thought to press for details. Now, she wished she had.
"Yet both of you emerged with extraordinary abilities," Ariadne observed, her eyes fixed on Galea's face. "You with healing powers, Tartaros with... whatever allows him to bend men's wills so completely."
"The island affects different people in different ways," Galea said, repeating what Bobby had told her many times. "It responds to what's already within us."
"And what was within Tartaros?" Theseus asked quietly.
Galea could only shake her head. "I never met him. I know only what little Bobby shared—that he was ambitious, intelligent, and unwilling to accept limitations."
Ariadne and Theseus exchanged a meaningful glance, some silent communication passing between them. "This confirms what we suspected," Ariadne said. "Tartaros's power isn't mere charisma or persuasion. It's something more—something unnatural that overwhelms even the strongest minds."
"Which makes my father's plan to marry you to him even more disturbing," Theseus added, his hand moving unconsciously to rest on the knife at his belt. "If he can control minds through proximity alone..."
"He could bend me to his will and thus secure legitimate claim to Knossos through marriage," Ariadne finished, her voice flat. "A much cleaner solution than military conquest."
Galea studied the princess's face, struck by how calmly she discussed such a terrifying prospect. There was no fear in her expression—only calculation, as if analyzing an opponent's move in a strategic game. For the first time, Galea glimpsed something beneath Ariadne's carefully cultivated charm—a core of steel-cold pragmatism that might be even more dangerous than her father's overt ruthlessness.
"Your father accelerating the marriage alliance makes sense now," Galea said slowly. "If Tartaros's power is as you describe, better to negotiate while he still sees value in peaceful transition."
"Precisely," Theseus confirmed. "The king believes he can control the situation—use Ariadne to establish influence over Tartaros, then eliminate him once his usefulness ends." He shook his head grimly. "He underestimates the threat."
"And overestimates his daughter's willingness to be sacrificed," Ariadne added, her voice carrying a new edge. "Which brings us back to our immediate problem. My father has moved up the timeline. The northern mission is to begin within three weeks, not after the harvest as previously planned."
Galea processed this information, mind racing. "And what do you need from me?"
Ariadne leaned forward, her ordinarily perfect composure showing the first signs of urgency. "My father believes your connection to Atlantea—to the same source that gave Tartaros his power—might provide protection or counterbalance. He plans to force your cooperation in his scheme."
"How could I possibly protect against abilities I don't understand?" Galea asked.
"He doesn't care whether you actually can," Theseus explained bluntly. "He needs only the appearance of supernatural advantage to maintain the loyalty of his commanders. Your presence—your glowing pendant, your healing demonstrations—would serve as proof that he, too, commands island magic."
The cynical calculation behind this plan left Galea momentarily speechless. King Minos would parade her as a mystical asset whether or not she could actually counter Tartaros's influence. The truth was irrelevant; only the perception mattered.
"And your alternative?" she finally asked.
Ariadne's expression softened into something that might have been genuine concern, though Galea now questioned every emotion the princess displayed. "We need to accelerate our own plans. The Feast of Bulls would be our best opportunity. Security will be focused on the arena rather than the palace."
"In two weeks, then," Theseus concluded. He turned to Galea. "We need your answer now. Are you with us or against us? There's no neutral ground in what's coming."
Caught between competing threats and uncertain loyalties, Galea found herself wishing desperately for Bobby's guidance. What would he advise in this tangled web of human ambition? Probably to walk away entirely, to return to the island and let these people resolve their own conflicts.
But the pendant around her neck carried responsibility as well as power. She had left Atlantea to help those in need—not to become entangled in royal power struggles, but to ease suffering where she found it. And suffering would surely increase under either Minos's continued rule or Tartaros's expanding influence.
"I won't participate in assassination," she said finally. "But I will help protect innocent lives caught in whatever conflict is coming." She touched her pendant, drawing strength from its familiar warmth. "My loyalty is to healing, not to any throne or claimant."
Ariadne studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "A principled position, if somewhat naïve. But acceptable for now." She extended her hand in a surprisingly formal gesture. "We are agreed, then. When the time comes, you will use your skills to minimize casualties among the common people, regardless of which side they've chosen."
Galea took the offered hand, feeling as though she'd just signed a contract whose fine print remained invisible. "Agreed."
Theseus watched this exchange with the calculating gaze of a military strategist assessing potential variables. "We should continue this discussion when security arrangements are finalized," he said. "For now, we've been together long enough to draw attention."
Ariadne nodded. "Return to your chambers, Galea. We'll summon you when necessary." Her expression softened slightly. "And thank you for your honesty. It's a rare quality in these walls."
As Galea was escorted back through the labyrinthine corridors, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just been maneuvered into position by players far more experienced at court intrigue than herself. Ariadne's apparent frankness, Theseus's military precision, the convenient timing of revelations about Tartaros—all seemed calculated to secure her cooperation through a combination of trust, fear, and moral obligation.
Bobby had warned her about the complexities of human politics, the layers of deception that governed interaction beyond Atlantea's shores. For the first time, she fully appreciated just how right he had been.
--------
Queen Pasiphae's summons arrived the following morning, delivered by her severe-faced chief handmaiden rather than Thais. The message was simple: Galea's presence was requested in the queen's private chambers to discuss matters of health and healing.
"Is this an invitation or a command?" Galea asked, noting the handmaiden's thinly veiled disdain.
"The queen does not issue invitations," the woman replied coldly. "She expects your presence within the hour."
After the messenger departed, Thais helped Galea dress appropriately for royal audience, her hands trembling slightly as she arranged Galea's hair. "Be careful with Her Majesty," she whispered. "She sees threats everywhere, especially in women who capture the king's interest."
"I have no intention of capturing any royal interest," Galea protested.
"Intention is irrelevant," Thais replied. "The queen has watched her husband take dozen of consorts over their marriage. Each one disappeared eventually—some sent away if they were politically connected, others meeting with unfortunate 'accidents' if they were not."
Galea's hand rose instinctively to her pendant. "I'm not a consort or a concubine. I'm here because of my knowledge."
"Knowledge is power," Thais said simply. "And the queen tolerates no power outside her control." She straightened Galea's formal chiton one last time. "Speak only when spoken to. Keep your eyes slightly downcast. Above all, reveal nothing about Princess Ariadne's activities or interests."
The queen's chambers occupied the most secure wing of the palace—an area with multiple guard checkpoints and architectural features designed for defense rather than aesthetics. Unlike the king's public spaces with their ostentatious displays of wealth, Pasiphae's domain projected a different kind of power: austere, disciplined, calculated.
The audience chamber itself was surprisingly spartan—functional furniture of excellent quality but minimal ornamentation, walls painted in subdued blue tones rather than the vivid murals found elsewhere in the palace. The queen sat at a simple wooden desk, reviewing documents that she did not set aside when Galea was announced.
"Approach," Pasiphae commanded without looking up.
Galea moved forward, stopping at the distance Thais had directed—close enough for conversation but not so close as to suggest equality of status. She waited silently as the queen continued reading, understanding this was another power play, a demonstration that her time was valuable while Galea's was not.
Finally, Pasiphae set the papyrus aside and looked up. Despite being at least forty, she remained strikingly beautiful—her features elegant rather than soft, her dark hair showing no trace of gray, her posture regal without artifice. She wore fewer jewels than most court ladies but of noticeably higher quality, each piece clearly selected for significance rather than mere adornment.
"So you are the island witch," she said, her voice cultured and controlled. "My husband speaks of little else these days."
"I'm a healer, Your Majesty," Galea corrected gently. "Not a witch."
"A matter of terminology," Pasiphae dismissed with a slight wave. "You've captured the king's imagination with tales of your mysterious island and its miraculous properties. He believes you are the key to extending Knossos's power throughout the Mediterranean and beyond."
She rose, moving to a side table where an assortment of small bowls contained dried herbs and powders. "I, however, maintain a more practical perspective. Miracles are rare; poisons and their antidotes are reliable." She selected a pinch of something reddish-brown, rubbing it between her fingers. "This, for instance, causes agonizing death when ingested, yet can cure certain fevers when applied to the skin."
Galea recognized the herb—Bobby had taught her its properties years ago. "Black meadow fennel," she said without thinking. "Dangerous in flower, beneficial in root."
Pasiphae's eyebrow rose slightly. "You know your plants. Good." She returned to her desk, studying Galea with new interest. "Perhaps we can speak plainly, then, as practitioners of similar arts."
"I'm honored by the comparison," Galea replied carefully.
"Don't be. It wasn't intended as flattery." Pasiphae leaned forward. "You've been spending considerable time with my stepdaughter. One might wonder what two women of such different backgrounds find to discuss at such length."
The trap was obvious—the queen fishing for information about Ariadne's activities. Galea kept her expression neutral. "The princess has shown kind interest in my experiences as a healer. She seems genuinely concerned about the drought's impact on the common people."
"How noble of her," Pasiphae said dryly. "And General Theseus? Does he share this humanitarian concern during your little garden conversations?"
So the queen had spies tracking their meetings. Galea chose her words with extreme care. "The general mostly inquired about defensive applications of plant knowledge—which species might be cultivated to secure vulnerable borders or protect water sources from contamination."
This wasn't entirely false, though it omitted the more pointed questions about Atlantea's defenses specifically. The half-truth seemed to satisfy Pasiphae, who nodded slightly.
"A soldier to his core," she noted. "Always seeing the strategic angle." She tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the desk. "I shall be direct, Galea of Atlantea. You have arrived at a delicate moment in our kingdom's history. Drought strains resources, northern warlords threaten our borders, and internal factions maneuver for advantage. In such times, choosing the wrong allies can prove... unhealthy."
The implication hung in the air between them. Pasiphae continued, her voice dropping to a more intimate register. "The king sees you as a tool to expand his power. The princess and her general see you as leverage in their own ambitions. I, however, see you as potentially useful in maintaining stability during unstable times."
"And how might I serve that purpose, Your Majesty?" Galea asked.
"By remembering who truly governs day-to-day life in this palace," Pasiphae replied coolly. "The king conquers, the princess schemes, but I endure. I have outlasted a dozen royal favorites and will outlast a dozen more." Her gaze hardened. "Including those who arrive with glowing pendants and fantastic tales."
Galea felt a chill despite the warm chamber. "I have no desire to interfere in palace governance, Your Majesty. My only wish is to share healing knowledge that might ease suffering during these difficult times."
"A commendable sentiment," Pasiphae said, though her tone suggested skepticism. "Then we understand each other. You will continue your healing work while keeping me informed of any... interesting conversations you might have with the princess or others regarding palace matters."
The request—or rather, command—was presented as a natural conclusion rather than a new demand. Galea realized she was being recruited as an informant, expected to betray Ariadne's confidence in exchange for royal protection.
"I fear I may disappoint Your Majesty," she replied carefully. "Most of my conversations involve plant properties and healing techniques, hardly matters of state importance."
Pasiphae's expression cooled noticeably. "Everyone in this palace serves some purpose, Galea of Atlantea. Those who forget this essential truth tend to meet with unfortunate circumstances." She rose, signaling the audience was concluding. "Consider carefully where your true interests lie. The wrong choice could find you experiencing the drought's effects much more... personally."
The threat was unmistakable. Galea bowed deeply, recognizing dismissal when she heard it. "I shall reflect on Your Majesty's wisdom," she said, backing away as protocol demanded.
As she was escorted from the queen's chambers, Galea felt the weight of competing loyalties pressing down upon her. In less than a week at court, she had been claimed as an asset by the king, recruited as an ally by the princess, and now threatened into service by the queen. Each royal family member saw her as a piece to be played in their separate games, with little concern for her own will or welfare.
Bobby's cynical assessments of human nature seemed increasingly prophetic. "They'll use you," he had warned. "They'll twist your intentions and exploit your knowledge." She had dismissed his concerns as the jaded perspective of someone who had seen too much of humanity's darker impulses.
Now she was learning firsthand just how right he had been.
---------
Over the next several days, Galea was deliberately exposed to the full spectrum of court intrigue—invitations to private gatherings where nobles whispered secret alliances behind ornate fans; "accidental" encounters with courtiers who casually revealed damaging information about rivals; seemingly innocuous garden walks that passed conspicuously close to meetings between military commanders and foreign emissaries.
She recognized these orchestrated experiences for what they were—tests of her discretion, assessments of which bits of information she might carry to which powerful ears. Every conversation became a potential trap, every casual interaction loaded with hidden significance.
Through careful observation and the gossip of palace servants—who spoke more freely around her than around established court figures—Galea began to assemble a clearer picture of the complex power dynamics at play within Knossos.
King Minos ruled through a combination of military might, strategic marriages, and carefully cultivated divine associations. His court religious officials proclaimed him blessed by the gods, pointing to Crete's prosperity relative to neighboring islands as evidence of supernatural favor. The drought had weakened this narrative but not destroyed it—which explained his fixation on Atlantea as a new source of miraculous legitimacy.
Queen Pasiphae maintained power through a network of informants, strategic application of poisons, and control of the palace household. While lacking formal authority, she effectively governed internal palace affairs and influenced which information reached the king's ears. Her primary concern was securing the succession for her sons, who were neither the oldest nor the most militarily accomplished of Minos's offspring.
Princess Ariadne occupied a unique position as the king's acknowledged favorite child—diplomatic enough to navigate court politics, intelligent enough to provide useful counsel, and beautiful enough to serve as a valuable marriage piece in international relations. Her affair with General Theseus was an open secret, tolerated because of his military value but watched closely for signs of political ambition.
Then there was the emerging threat of Tartaros—the northern warlord claiming connection to Atlantea's guardian. Reports of his activities grew more concerning each day, with messengers describing troubling displays of supernatural ability. Most disturbing were accounts of his seemingly inexplicable influence over others. Village elders who had vowed resistance would emerge from his tent transformed into devoted followers. Battle-hardened commanders who had sworn to fight to the death instead knelt in submission without a single blow exchanged.
Galea knew little about Tartaros beyond what court gossip provided, supplemented by the single, brief conversation when Bobby had mentioned him. He'd been saved from a shipwreck years ago, just as she had been saved from illness. But unlike her decade-long stay, Tartaros had remained on the island only briefly before departing to "follow his own path," as Bobby had cryptically put it. The conversation had ended abruptly then, with Bobby changing the subject in a way that, in retrospect, seemed deliberately evasive.
The court speculation about her own relationship with Bobby proved even more unsettling. Some whispered she was his lover, taught secret arts in exchange for her "companionship." Others suggested she was his daughter, or perhaps not fully human at all—some kind of creation he had fashioned from the island itself. The whispers followed her through corridors, suspended whenever she entered a room, resuming with greater intensity when she departed.
These rumors made Galea increasingly conscious of her own feelings toward Bobby. The relationship had been simple on Atlantea—mentor and student, guardian and ward. But distance provided clarity she hadn't expected. The safety she'd felt in his presence wasn't merely physical protection but something deeper, more complex. She found herself missing not just his guidance but his presence, his voice, the quiet moments they'd shared watching sunsets from the western cliffs.
----------
Ten days later, Galea found herself seated beside General Theseus at yet another elaborate court feast. This one celebrated some minor military victory, though the extravagance suggested deeper purpose—perhaps a demonstration that drought had not diminished royal resources.
"You've adapted well to court life," Theseus observed between courses. "Most visitors from the provinces remain perpetually bewildered by our customs."
"I observe more than I participate," Galea replied.
"A wise approach." He nodded toward a group of courtiers engaged in animated conversation. "They're discussing you, you know. Speculating on your influence with the king, your mysterious abilities, the precise nature of your relationship with the island guardian."
Galea sipped her watered wine, uncomfortable with this acknowledgment of the whispers that had followed her. "And what do they conclude?"
"Some believe you were his lover, taught secret arts in exchange for your... companionship." Theseus watched her reaction closely. "Others think you're his daughter, or perhaps his creation—not fully human but something he fashioned from the island itself."
The mention of being Bobby's lover brought unexpected warmth to Galea's cheeks. She found the idea both uncomfortable and strangely compelling in ways she wasn't prepared to examine. "People love mysteries more than truth," she said, keeping her voice steady. "The reality is far less dramatic."
"Is it?" Theseus leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Your guardian—this 'Bobby'—he took in a dying child and transformed her into something more. That seems rather dramatic from any perspective."
"He taught me, protected me. Nothing more." Yet even as she spoke, Galea wondered if that was entirely true. What had those years on Atlantea truly meant? The question lingered unexplored in her mind as she added, "Healing was always my focus. The island responded to that intention."
"And if your intention had been different? If you had sought power instead of healing knowledge?" Theseus pressed.
Galea touched her pendant, drawing comfort from its familiar warmth. "Bobby once told me that the island reveals different aspects of itself to different visitors. It responds to what's already within us—amplifying existing tendencies rather than creating new ones."
"Bobby." Theseus repeated the name with a hint of disbelief. "Such an ordinary name for a being of such power."
"He prefers it that way," Galea replied. "He dislikes being treated as extraordinary."
"Yet he created an island of wonders and shaped humans into something more than human," Theseus pointed out. "Those are not the actions of someone embracing ordinariness."
Before Galea could respond, a commotion at the main entrance drew their attention. A palace messenger rushed in, making directly for the king's table with obvious urgency. The man knelt, delivering his news in hushed tones that nevertheless carried enough for nearby listeners to catch fragments—"northern borders" and "advancing forces" among them.
King Minos's expression darkened. He rose abruptly, summoning his military advisors with a sharp gesture. Theseus excused himself immediately, moving to join the gathering commanders.
Across the hall, Queen Pasiphae watched the developing situation with calculated interest, while Princess Ariadne maintained perfect composure despite the obvious significance of the interruption. Only the slight whitening of her knuckles around her wine cup betrayed any reaction.
Within moments, the king and his military leaders had departed, leaving the feast to continue under a cloud of speculative murmurs. Galea observed how quickly factions formed—courtiers clustering together to share theories, servants exchanging meaningful glances as they continued serving, guards subtly repositioning to monitor specific groups.
A system preparing for crisis, she realized. A social organism responding to potential threat.
Thais appeared at her side, ostensibly refilling her wine cup but actually delivering a whispered message: "Return to your chambers immediately. All non-essential personnel are being cleared from the main palace. The princess advises you to remain there until summoned."
Galea nodded her understanding, rising as casually as possible to avoid drawing attention. As she walked the corridors toward her assigned rooms, she noted increased military presence throughout the palace—guards stationed at previously unmonitored junctions, officers conferring in hushed tones, servants moving with heightened urgency.
Something significant had occurred—something that disrupted the careful choreography of court life and activated emergency protocols. And based on the messenger's partially overheard news, it likely involved the northern borders where Tartaros's influence had been spreading.
Galea reached her chambers to find Thais already there, hastily gathering specific items of clothing and placing them in a travel bag. The handmaiden looked up, her expression grim.
"The northern garrisons have fallen," she said without preamble. "Three outposts overrun in a single night, without battle. Tartaros leads the force personally."
"How is that possible?" Galea asked, stunned. The northern garrisons were substantial fortifications, each housing hundreds of soldiers.
"They say the men simply opened the gates and knelt," Thais whispered, her voice strained with fear. "Commander Lycus, who swore blood oath against Tartaros after his brother's death, greeted him as a liberator. No one even raised a sword in resistance." Her hands trembled as she continued packing. "The princess believes you may be evacuated for your safety. The king doesn't want you falling into Tartaros's hands."
"Or he doesn't want to lose access to Atlantea," Galea observed dryly.
Thais didn't contradict her. "Either way, be prepared to move quickly if ordered." She finished with the bag, setting it beside the door. "I've included warm clothing. The mountain passes will be cold this time of year."
"You believe they'll send me south?"
"Away from Tartaros's advance, certainly." Thais hesitated, then added in a lower voice, "Though I've heard whispers of a different plan—that the king means to accelerate his expedition to your island, using this crisis as justification."
Galea felt a chill despite the warm evening. "Atlantea isn't a military resource," she said firmly. "Its power doesn't work that way."
"The king believes otherwise," Thais replied simply. "And in times of crisis, his beliefs become reality for everyone in his domain."
After the handmaiden departed, Galea moved to her balcony, gazing out at the palace grounds below. Torches illuminated increased military activity—formations assembling in courtyards, supply wagons being loaded, scouts returning through the main gates with mud-spattered cloaks that spoke of hard riding.
Overhead, stars glittered in the clear night sky, the same constellations she had observed countless times from Atlantea's shores. Sometimes during those evenings, Bobby would join her, naming celestial bodies with strange, foreign words that sounded nothing like the Greek names she knew. "There are worlds beyond counting out there," he'd told her once, his voice carrying that distant quality it sometimes held when speaking of the past. "Civilizations of such advancement that what humans call magic would be simple technology to them."
On those nights, sitting beside him in comfortable silence, she'd felt a contentment she couldn't fully articulate. It wasn't merely safety or belonging, but something deeper—a connection that transcended ordinary relationships. She'd never questioned it then, accepting his presence as natural as the island itself.
Now, with the distance of separation and the perspective of seeing other human relationships in Kydonia and Knossos, she found herself reexamining those feelings. The court's crude speculation about them being lovers had provoked an unexpectedly complex emotional response—initial discomfort followed by a disturbing sense that perhaps the idea wasn't as absurd as she'd first thought.
Bobby had never treated her as anything but a ward and student, maintaining appropriate boundaries as she matured. Yet she now recognized her own feelings had evolved in ways she hadn't acknowledged—moving from childish attachment to something warmer, more complicated, carrying currents of desire she hadn't fully identified until exposure to the passionate affairs of court life provided context.
Galea closed her hand around her pendant, feeling its reassuring warmth. For the first time since leaving the island, she deliberately attempted to reach out through the connection she had sometimes felt with Bobby—that tenuous mental link that occasionally manifested during moments of deep concentration.
"I need your guidance," she thought, focusing intently on the pendant. "Things are becoming dangerous here. The king wants Atlantea's power, and there's this warlord, Tartaros. Everyone seems to want what the island can provide without understanding its true nature."
The crystal pulsed once, warming briefly in her palm, but no clear response came. Perhaps the distance was too great, or perhaps Bobby simply chose not to answer. He had always emphasized that her path was hers to choose—that true growth came from making decisions without his intervention.
A sudden knock at her chamber door interrupted her concentration. Galea composed herself quickly, expecting Thais with further news about evacuation plans.
Instead, she found Princess Ariadne standing in the corridor, flanked by her female guards. The princess wore a simple dark cloak over her court attire, her expression unusually grim.
"We don't have much time," Ariadne said without preamble. "My father has ordered immediate preparation for an expedition to Atlantea. He believes your island holds the power to counter Tartaros."
"And does he plan to ask for this power, or simply take it?" Galea asked, already knowing the answer.
"He's beyond asking for anything," Ariadne replied. "Tartaros's advance has changed everything. Military commanders who were previously loyal to General Theseus have declared for my father out of fear. Our plans for gradual transition of power are no longer viable."
She glanced down the corridor, ensuring they weren't overheard. "Theseus believes our only remaining option is to secure you—and your access to Atlantea—before my father can deploy it for his purposes."
"Secure me?" Galea repeated, disliking the implications. "You mean abduct me?"
"I mean protect you," Ariadne corrected, though her expression suggested the distinction was largely semantic. "My father intends to force your compliance through whatever means necessary. He's already dispatched agents to Kydonia to gather hostages from among those you helped there."
The calculated cruelty of this move struck Galea like a physical blow. The innocent villagers who had welcomed her, the children she had treated—all to be used as leverage against her.
"When does the king plan to leave for Atlantea?" she asked.
"Three days hence, once the military situation in the north is temporarily stabilized." Ariadne's gaze was direct, challenging. "Theseus can have you safely away by morning, before anyone realizes you're gone."
Galea considered her options. Escaping with Theseus and Ariadne would mean aligning with their revolutionary ambitions—becoming a tool for their agenda rather than the king's. Remaining meant likely being forced to guide Minos to Atlantea against her will, using hostages from Kydonia as leverage for her cooperation.
Neither choice protected Atlantea. Neither served the healing purpose she had originally intended when leaving the island.
"I need time to think," she said finally.
"There is no time," Ariadne insisted. "By dawn, my father will have increased security around you to prevent exactly what we're proposing."
"One night," Galea countered. "Give me until tomorrow evening to consider my options."
Ariadne studied her face, clearly weighing the risks against the benefits of Galea's willing cooperation rather than forced compliance. "Until sunset tomorrow," she finally conceded. "Meet us at the small temple near the east wall if you decide to come with us. After that, we cannot guarantee your protection from my father's methods."
After the princess departed, Galea returned to her balcony, her thoughts in turmoil. The pendant felt unusually warm against her skin, almost as if responding to her emotional state. She cradled it between her palms, closing her eyes to focus on its energy.
"What would you do, Bobby?" she whispered to the night air. "What path would you choose when all options lead to suffering?"