Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus Book 3)

I’m so nervous, I feel like I’m going to puke. No matter how I acted with Patroclus last night—and I refuse to think about that self-destructive behavior too closely—the fact remains that I’m having second thoughts about the intelligence of my decision. It seemed like a good idea when I was riding a wave of fury and indignation, spurred on by Callisto’s tempting words. Even Athena didn’t blink when I showed up at her office and put my name forward.

In the cold light of day, doubt creeps in.

Even though the announcement of the tournament was televised, this is the official opening ceremony. It’s held where the rest of the tournament will be—in the arena next to the barracks. I pace back and forth between the concrete walls. I can hear the murmur of the audience creeping in from the arched doorway leading to the arena floor itself. I’m sure my brother and sister will be with Athena in the box seats specifically for announcers and the like. The other candidates will come in through the arch opposite mine, so this entrance is blessedly empty.

Once I step out and declare myself a champion, there’s no going back.

I move to the arch and peer out. This building is a traditional arena format, the flat oval in the middle deceptively small compared to the tiered seating rising around it. I’ve seen it converted to a stage for concerts and even an ice rink sometimes in the winter. Right now, it’s covered in sand with a line of thirty-six short podiums that are obviously for the champions to stand on.

The last Ares had a thing for the arena, and he put on regular events and tournaments showing off his people’s expertise. They’re great entertainment; when I was little, my favorite thing was watching his soldiers stage mock battles or one-on-one fights. Seeing those powerful people at the height of martial competence woke something in me.

Maybe that was when I started down this path, though it’s been rocky from the start. My father had strong opinions about the kinds of activities his daughters should participate in. Any kind of martial arts was right out. Eris chose ballet, which proves she’s an asshole with a masochistic streak. I’m not much better, though, because I chose gymnastics. I competed when I was in high school, but I was never going to be one of the greats. Still, it served its purpose in keeping me in peak physical condition. I kept up a good portion of the training even after I graduated, which means my upper body strength is deceptively good for my frame, and my endurance is top notch.

Both helped when I took up mixed martial arts. Six months is nowhere near long enough to come close to mastering it, but between my physical skills and the basics, I can manage. I hope.

Right now, it’s all theory. I have an idea of what the trials will be since they seem to follow a similar format each time the title of Ares switches over, but there are too many variables. Besides, guessing at what the trials may be is all well and good, but the true wild cards are the champions themselves.

The lights dim and a roar goes up from the crowd. I lean a little farther out and follow the spotlight to where my brother and Athena stand in the box. He’s wearing a suit that’s, naturally, perfectly tailored and the exact right shade of gray to play up his lighter coloring. She’s wearing a three-piece suit as well, deep maroon and with shoulders sharp enough to cut.

If Perseus is bothered by my absence, no one unfamiliar with him would be able to tell, but I know him well enough to see evidence of his displeasure in the way his eyes have gone ice cold. If my public mask is being aggressively bubbly, Perseus’s is the exact opposite. The more he’s feeling, the less he shows. Right now, his expression might as well have been carved from stone. He’s furious.

Callisto stands at Perseus’s shoulder and Eris at Athena’s, both wearing black dresses. The perfect unified foursome. The box seats circling the arena all belong to the various members of the Thirteen, but none of them are currently being spotlit on the giant screens strategically positioned around the area.

My brother holds up a hand and the arena instantly quiets. “The trials begin the day after tomorrow. Tonight is for you to get to know your champions.” He glances at Athena. “But first, let’s show our support for the woman running this whole enterprise. Athena.” He politely claps as the arena goes wild.

Athena is one of the members of the Thirteen who usually avoids the public eye. As the commander of Olympus’s special forces, she prefers to do her work in the shadows without showing her hand.

Her reluctance to preen and pose for the cameras has created a cultlike following among Olympus residents. There are entire message boards devoted to people who want her to step on them or who write fanfic about all the Thirteen, but her in particular. She prefers to pretend they don’t exist, but the side effect is that her popularity is among the highest of the Thirteen.

She flicks out a hand, her expression even. Immediately, the crowd’s cheering cuts off as if something hit a dial. Impressive. She might not do the public thing often, but she’s certainly got the presence and command for it. Athena sweeps a look across the arena. “Shall we begin? Good. Our first champion is Paris Chloros.”

I flinch, my stomach twisting as I watch my ex walk out of the entrance opposite me and wave to the crowd as he heads for the short podium on the far right. Overhead, the screen flashes clips of him from various gossip sites, and I feel a little sick when I notice how many of them feature me as well. The pit in my stomach only gets worse at how happy I look in those videos. Some of it was a lie—dealing with the paparazzi means learning to project the image you want them to run with—but I really was happy with Paris…until I realized that my nice-guy boyfriend was an even bigger liar than I was.

Paris provided this video; I know because I was asked to provide the same thing for my entrance. What the fuck is he trying to prove? Surely this isn’t all a bid to get me back? I shake my head. No, with Paris, this is more likely some kind of pissing contest, reminding everyone that I was his before I was the next Ares’s wife. I shudder. There’s a reason I broke things off with him, and I’ll commit truly outstanding acts of violence before I let him near me again.

Out of everyone in Olympus, he’s the one person I thought I could trust. The one I confessed my doubts and fears to. Instead of providing a soft place to land, he sharpened those same doubts and fears and shot them right into the heart of me, all with a smile on his handsome face.

By the time I ended things with him and managed to make the breakup stick, he’d brutalized my instincts and ruined most of my close friendships. I hadn’t even realized he was isolating me until the relationship ended and I was left standing alone.

“Our second champion is Hector Chloros.”

I smile despite myself as Hector moves easily across the sand to the second platform. All the good genes in that family went to the elder brother, a fact proven by his video. Ninety percent of it is of him and his wife, Andromache, and their daughter. It would be a strange choice if he were actually here to win, but this video feels like a declaration of a different sort. He’s obviously acting as support to Paris.

That’s going to be a problem.

It stands to reason that alliances are a possibility, but I’d been so focused on getting around my family to accomplish this that I hadn’t thought much farther than getting into the tournament and competing in the trials. Now that I’m thinking about it, though… I have three sets of allies to worry about who are significantly more dangerous than the rest of the champions. Hector and Paris. The two strangers who arrived together. And Achilles and Patroclus. Ajax will likely fall in with either Hector or Achilles, based on his history with them. Possibly even Atalanta, which would make a fourth pair to deal with. Each of those champions is a challenge on their own. Together? Things just got significantly more complicated.

“Fuck,” I murmur. Maybe I can approach Atalanta before Ajax or the others get a chance and see if she’d be willing to work together to get past the first two trials. I won’t have much time to work my charm, and I don’t really know her at all, but surely the bond of sisterhood is enough to work in my favor.

I grimace. Not likely.

While I was waffling, Athena has run through a good number of the champions. They file in, one after another. Some slump alone with their shoulders bowed, obviously not here because they want to be. Others strut and wave at the crowd. I know most of them on sight, but it’s clear that after Paris and Hector, Athena is saving the true contenders for last.

Sure enough, Ajax and Atalanta were announced next. Then comes the Minotaur—seriously, what kind of name is that—and Theseus. They look even bigger when lined up with the others. Hector and Ajax are no joke, but these two have several inches and quite a few pounds of muscle on both. Which means they positively tower over everyone else. Hopefully that means they’ll be slow and we can knock them out in the first trial.

“Patroclus Fotos.”

My attention drags back to the entrance as Patroclus walks through. The others have all dressed to impress, but he’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, which is somehow endearing. I can’t help comparing him to the boy I knew once upon a time, sweet and quiet and positively nerdy. He doesn’t look the same, but he’s familiar despite that. Not to mention the man is hot now. No one is going to look at him and decide he’s an easy mark, not with those broad shoulders and big hands. And he’s so damn smart, too. I could practically see his impressive brain whirling and spinning out from being so close to me. My personal taste these days leans more toward pretty and vapid, but I can’t deny that I loved ruffling his feathers.

I want to do it again.

I want to ruffle them a whole lot.

“Achilles Kallis.”

Despite myself, my breath catches at the sight of Achilles in a deep-blue suit. He’s so damn attractive and he knows it, stalking across the sand with an intent that feels almost violent. Why is that so sexy? He’s exactly the kind of person I would have gone for in the past, the exact kind of person who would have seen my proximity to Zeus as a tool to be used to their benefit. Paris certainly did. I can practically feel Achilles’s intent and ambition. The others are dangerous, but he wants this more than anyone.

Except me.

Once the cheers die down, a small smile pulls at Athena’s mouth. “And our final champion. Helen Kasios.”

Chaos breaks loose as I smooth my hand over my short golden dress and stride down the walkway to the arena floor. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what the greater Olympus population thinks of any of the individual champions, because the victor is the one who becomes Ares. With all that said, only a fool wouldn’t start to curry favor from the very beginning. Achilles obviously has considered this, but he doesn’t have the kind of practice I do with manipulating public opinion.

I wink and blow a kiss at the camera pointed in my direction that’s feeding video to the large screens overhead. The chaos morphs into cheers. Perfect. I wave and head across the sand to my podium. Walking gracefully across sand in heels is harder than it looks, but I practically live in six-inch stilettos; I make it look easy.

Achilles moves before I reach the podium, jumping down and closing the distance between us. I tense but manage to keep my smile in place. Is he really going to try to stop me?

The asshole grins and offers his hand. “Fancy seeing you here, princess.”

I speak through gritted teeth. “You really don’t think I need help stepping up twelve inches, do you?”

His charming smile doesn’t slip. “Everyone loves a gentleman.”

Oh yeah, Achilles knows exactly how to play the game. I’d find it impressive that an orphan soldier had a better public persona than some children of the Thirteen I know, but I’m too irritated to give him any credit. With one move, he’s put me right back into damsel territory. I can’t ignore his hand or I’ll look like an asshole, which is something I can’t afford this early in the game.

I set my hand in his, a secret part of me thrilled by how he seems to dwarf me, even when I step up onto the podium and am technically taller than he is. He holds my hand a beat too long, his gaze coasting over me in a way that feels appreciative without being gross. “You know, last night I thought having you as a wife was just a side effect of getting the title I want.”

“You won’t have me as your wife,” I hiss.

“Oh yeah, I really will.” His grin widens, his dark eyes lighting up with something I could almost believe is desire. “You won’t win this, princess. Better to get some egg on your face now and keep those pretty features intact. Being married to me won’t be so bad. Trust me.”

I glare. “Take your hand off me.”

He releases me easily, turning that winning smile on the crowd as he jumps back onto his podium. I swear I can hear people actually swooning in the stands, which only makes my blood pressure rise. Maybe that’s the reason I forget myself and look up to the box seat where my brother stands. I can feel his glare from here, even if he’s not on any of the screens. I have to fight back a shiver.

It’s too late to go back. Not even Zeus himself can remove a champion once they’ve been announced. After this point, we’ll all be housed in a secondary location and cut off from everyone else in the city. It’s intended to avoid any meddling or attempts to cheat, but for me, it means that my siblings won’t be able to show up unannounced and try to convince me to back out. The only member of the Thirteen who can come and go freely from the champions’ quarters is Athena.

Athena waves an arm in our direction. “Greet your champions, Olympus.”

The cheers and screams are loud enough that I swear I feel the arena vibrate. It’s overwhelming in the extreme. Up until this point, my interactions with the general public have been through a carefully curated filter. I’m a public figure with a public persona and am often featured on MuseWatch, our resident gossip site. But I’ve never done anything like this. Even my gymnastics meets were with closed audiences, a stipulation my father put on me if I wanted to compete. It certainly didn’t earn me friends among my teammates and competitors.

I hope you can see this now, Father. In Tartarus or whatever hole the universe decided to shove you into. I hope it’s dark and horrible and you’re suffering greatly.

Things happen quickly after that. Several people dressed in Athena’s special forces uniform—black shirt, black pants, a swooping owl on the right shoulder—appear and usher us off the podiums and toward the entrance where the other champions came in. This time, Achilles doesn’t attempt to offer me a hand down, which is good because I don’t like my odds at keeping control of my expression.

The champions are led through a series of concrete hallways, through a locker room, and out into a waiting room with a single exit. The tallest of the soldiers guides us to a line of vans with blacked-out windows.

I lift my brows. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

In response, they open the door and give me an unreadable look. “It’s your choice.”

It’s really not a choice at all. Failing to follow protocol now means I’m eliminated before the trials even begin. I sigh and climb into the back of the second van. It doesn’t occur to me until far too late that I should have watched where everyone else was going and chosen accordingly. By that time, Paris is already climbing into my van and sitting next to me, too close. Hector follows, a resigned expression on his handsome face. Atalanta rounds out our foursome, her locs pulled back from her scarred face.

Paris leans close, his features so perfect that I have the sudden desire to break his nose and give him some character. Not that I minded his pretty face when we were dating. It’s what tricked me into going out with him in the first place. He gives a small smile that has goose bumps raising across my skin. “Helen, what are you doing?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Paris.” No matter how hard I try to control my tone, my words are strained by his proximity.

His smile widens, his eyes sympathetic. “I get that you weren’t happy about being the designated prize, but this is one step too far, don’t you think? You’re going to embarrass yourself and, more importantly, your family.”

I can’t help tensing. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t get me wrong. You look sexy as fuck in that little golden dress. Like a princess.” He makes a sympathetic noise. “But you can’t honestly expect to get past even the first trial. Honey, you’re too delicate for that.”

Delicate.

Just another word for weak.

I turn my face from him. “It’s not your business, Paris. Worry about yourself.”

He laughs. “I really look forward to being your husband, Helen. It will give us the fresh start we need.”

I think I hear Hector sigh over the roaring in my ears, but I can’t be sure. That’s the thing about Paris; to anyone who doesn’t know him, his charming, confident tone seems totally reasonable. Even his words aren’t overtly horrible. He used to keep that same patient look on his face when he’d burrow under my skin until I turned into a shrieking monster during our fights. He made me feel crazy, and that sensation is all too quick to rise again whenever I’m forced to interact with him.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Paris.” I keep my tone sweet and light, even though I feel like screaming. “If you win Ares and think that means you get a single marital privilege, you won’t live past the first time you touch me without my permission.”

He smiles, completely undaunted. I can’t believe I used to find his persistence sexy. It took me longer than I want to admit to realize there’s a fine line between a welcome pursuit and straight-up stalking. Paris has a nasty habit of only hearing what he wants. Obviously our time apart has not cured him of that habit. “When we’re married, I’ll have plenty of time to seduce you. You liked what we did together before, Helen. You will again.”

This time, Atalanta snorts. She crosses one long leg over the other and leans back against the wall of the van. “Take a hint, pretty boy. She’s about crawling out of her skin to get away from you right now.”

She’s right, but I hate that I’m being so transparent. I usually have a better poker face than this. I lift my chin. “I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

Atalanta gives a careless smile. “Maybe, but I’m going to marry you when I become Ares. I’d be a poor wife if I didn’t defend you against scum like this.”

“No one needs to defend Helen from me.” Paris leans in, crowding me. All I can smell is his cologne and my stomach lurches in response.

Atalanta’s smile goes sharp. “Touch her without her consent and that’s assault. Assault will get you eliminated.”

Paris sits back with a muttered curse, but I can’t appreciate the new space. My stomach drops out. I don’t know how I didn’t consider this in all my scrambling to put this plan into action. By entering as a champion, I’ve inserted myself into a group of people who fully intend to marry me. I’m the chum to their sharks, tossed into the water to drive them into a frenzy with my proximity.

Shit.