Pherenike - Chapter 82

For Dexikos, the last time he saw Pherenike was when she was pregnant with the princess. He had never seen the princess, even from a distance. Since he came to know the truth, Deucalion had never taken Dexikos to Lykke again.

He speculated about a secret agreement but could never fully grasp its depths. He knew all too well how much Pherenike despised her ‘second fiance’, even more so than Deucalion. Given he was her guard.

And yet, she bore a child with the man she loathed. A child who grew up in the queen’s embrace more arrogantly than the prince himself, never doing anything she disliked… Well, Deucalion must have ground his teeth and torn his heart out over it all.

In his view, the affairs between men and women were all the same anyway. Was there really anything to be jealous or hateful about before the princess was born?

But even knowing it all, the feeling of seeing undeniable proof could not be described. Dexikos shifted the conversation with a hint of sympathy.

“…I haven’t forgotten how you freaked out over a few drops of Althea you were given when you were unconscious last time. Why not give the patiently waiting priest something meaningful to do?”

“No need for that, get out.”

“…”

“I’ll handle it when it’s necessary.”

That irritating brat. Yet, Dexikos briefly recalled Deucalion’s leg in disarray and looked into his desolate eyes.

The eyes of the prince, once as brilliant as the verdant greenery of summer, now emitted light only with the peculiar vitality of vines overtaking ruins.

Eventually, the monster bite marks on his shoulder, the scars from his conquests on his back, and the numerous slashes on his legs would all amount to self-harm. All self-inflicted.

Dexikos left the room, leading the priest away while clicking his tongue.

[“You’re going to erase those scars before meeting Pherenike anyway. Why not heal that up now?”]

Atalanta nudged his arm with her nose and asked. Deucalion looked deeply into the lioness’s eyes and quietly replied.

“Because it’s not Pherenike’s Althea.”

[“If you’re not going to show her your wounds or get healed anyway.”]

“Still.”

[“It’s foolish.”]

“Pherenike dislikes it.”

Such a response was equally foolish. Of course, Atalanta had her own strong opinions regarding Pherenike’s terribly fierce possessiveness over the prince. The lioness had watched over them for an immensely long time since the day Pherenike rescued her from her mother.

Even when the prince, now a figure akin to the God of War, was just a young boy, Nike’s possessiveness towards him was no different. If anything, it was unfiltered and sometimes even fierce.

It was the little girl who, like a sentinel, guarded Deucalion during his long days in bed due to frequent injuries and poisonings. Pherenike, like a sensitive wild animal, forbade anyone from approaching the prince too closely and was wary of everything.

And she poured her Althea into his body all day long, as if to re-establish everything inside his body with her Althea.

It was only later that it became apparent this act transcended mere desperate healing.

For instance, when Atalanta first saw one of Deucalion’s friends meticulously engraving his name on wooden swords and bows, Atalanta realized what her master had been doing to the prince all along.

Ah. So that was it. Just as animals scratch the base of trees to declare their territory, humans engrave their names on anything of value to them.

Thus, from that time, the most valuable thing in Pherenike’s life was Deucalion Paetusa. As if engraving her name thousands of times would still not be enough.

As if to ensure that no one could ever take him from her again.

Pherenike is a woman who wishes her name to be inscribed in the flesh and blood of Deucalion. Just as God had marked her body, she planted her mark in every strand of the prince’s silver hair.

Atalanta had long noticed her master’s borderline madness. In fact, Deucalion was right.

Pherenike had always despised him for receiving healing from anyone else since he was young. She preferred perfection. There was no way she would happily allow inferior Althea to infiltrate and erase her mark on that body, which she had reconstructed dozens of times, like her own sanctuary.

Yet, she couldn’t possibly wish for him to be in such pain and agony while unreachable by her hands.

[“Pherenike hates seeing you in pain more than anything.”] the lioness earnestly conveyed. However, Deucalion had already closed his eyes, not reading the message offered by Atalanta.

Contrary to Dexikos’s memories that start from an earlier time, the young Deucalion remembered by Atalanta appeared a bit more refined, especially compared to Pherenike.

And even more so compared to the man now.

In truth, drawing distinctions between them hardly mattered. The boy and girl regarded each other with an almost eerie absoluteness from the start. They floundered in blind love early on, each desiring to monopolize the other from everything in the world.

It just so happened that the power each was born with was different. Orthea’s power was to harm, while Althea’s was to heal.

From very early on, Pherenike generously lavished her ‘harmless’ sacred Althea on the prince, claiming it as her territory of life. It served as both a fence to protect her love and a prison to confine it.

She nonchalantly used it as a leash to bind her love.