Alcestis by Katharine Beutner Page B

Was he nervous? I waited for him to exchange a glance with his men, to command them with his eyes, but he only looked at me, reddened above his beard, and looked away. “I should have thought he would have returned home by such a late hour.”
    So it would be hospitality. I opened my lips to let out a long thread of air. My chest felt like it might cave in, but I was on surer ground now, the words coming easily, my duty clear. I twined my hands together in front of my belly and looked down as I spoke. “Often he returns past sunset. Please, I bid you come in, and your men as well.”
    “I thank you.” The man knelt quickly before me, his eyes flicking up to make sure I was watching as he bent forward. His hair tumbled into his face. “I am Admetus, king of Pherae,” he said. “Your father is my uncle. I am come to earn your hand in marriage.”
    I looked down at the crown of his royal head. I wanted to put my hand in his hair and curl my fingers over the round of his skull. This was my cousin Admetus, son of Tyro’s mortal son, Pheres? This was the first man to court me? The syllables of his name were familiar, but that was all. I’d never seen him. I’d never imagined that he would come to woo me—or that he would be lovely. I took a short breath and the early fall air seemed to ignite in my chest.
    Admetus looked up and our eyes met again. I tore my gaze away, my cheeks gone so hot they felt chilled. I could not stare at him in the view of the men. “Welcome, my lord,” I said in a rush and retreated into the palace, the group of Iolcan guards parting to let me pass. “Make him wait just a moment,” I muttered, my fingers brushing a guard’s tunic. When they blocked the door behind me, I broke into a run, dashing among the pillars and beneath the great arch of the entry hall. The great hall was silent, the throne empty, and my voice echoed cold and high pitched off the stone walls as I called for the head maid, the kitchen slaves, Athena, any woman to serve as a chaperone. A male slave burst out from the kitchen hall, his hands pale and grimy with flour, and stopped, breathless, when he saw the shadows of men in the doorway.
    “Lady, who are these men?”
    “Men from Pherae, with their king. I require a chaperone— the head maid. Where is she? Tell the kitchen there are thirty men outside who’ll need food this evening. Good food, the best of what we have. Wine and meat for the sacrifice.” I looked toward the entry hall where Admetus now stood, waiting patiently behind two of my father’s men. He had a regal stance, though his smile just crested the men’s shoulders.
    “Go,” I said to the slave, not looking toward Admetus, not smiling. “Now.” The air beside me moved as the slave bolted into a run.
    “Come in, my lord,” I called, and, to the guards, “Let him pass. Welcome, Lord Admetus.”
    Admetus walked into the hall, and as he came forward I heard the slave barking orders in the kitchens and then a shriek—the head maid hearing news of strange men in her palace. Admetus looked toward the kitchens, confused by the sound. I bit down fiercely on the inside of my cheek and stared at the floor until the urge to laugh had passed. I felt dizzy and empty-headed with relief, giddiness bubbling in my belly.
    The head maid hurried over, patting at my arm as if to reassure herself that I was still alive, unharmed, unraped. She shot a suspicious look at Admetus, and her protectiveness warmed me, but distantly, like watching a bonfire from my chamber window. Already I was forgetting my own suspicions. I had imagined occasionally what it might be like to have a man court me in my father’s palace, and I’d guessed at my own feelings for a suitor, substituted Pisidice’s determination or Hippothoe’s childish distaste. In my mind the man had always been a vague shape, indistinct at the edges, built from bits of men I’d seen: a stable boy’s pretty mouth, a shepherd’s broad hands. Dark