This was not his legend, not what Ikarus would be remembered for. His name would not be whispered with reverence behind cupped hands. It didn’t matter, if Ariadne was going to tempt the Fates, he wouldn’t let her do so in the arms of a strange prince who held doom in his gaze the way a mother cradled their newborn. He supposed he had his father to thank for making the intervention possible. Had Daedalus not forbidden him to attend the feast then he would’ve had no need for sneaking out.

The passages of the palace of Knossos stretched empty to either side, the last bellows of drunken laugher echoing from the grand hall. His father’s handiwork screamed from the walls. Ikarus ran his fingertips over the smooth mosaic of ocean waves to his back, the painted sea frothing in the torchlight. Beneath pristine plaster would be the labors of his father’s design, wooden beams and stone columns supporting the palace despite the quakes that trembled through the earth every so often. Deep in the confines of the palace was Daedalus’ most expansive work where the monster of Genesis roamed. Sometimes Ikarus wondered if it was the Minotaur who made the earth quiver and not the gods.

            The corner of the youth’s lips flickered at such a blasphemous thought.

            He turned the corner, forcing his spine straight and blowing dark blonde curls from his pale eyes. A chill ruffled his thick navy robe as he strode down an open-air hall. The rest of Knossos unfolded beyond the thick, colorful columns. The fresh breeze wafted the tang of salt from the sea. Ikarus’ ears pricked, his gaze fixed ahead. Sweat gathered in the creases of his calloused hands. Pretend like you’re supposed to be here. If you believe it so will everyone else. He clenched his square jaw.

            After the hall there was an intersection. Drunken, sloppy laughter spilled from one direction. The wine must’ve been sweet, Ikarus could taste the golden honey on the air. His stomach flipped as he pictured the libations poured at the alters of the gods. “May they look with favor on Genesis’ sacrifice,” he mouthed to himself as he rounded the opposite bend. Soon a set of stairs would open to him. He didn’t even think. His father had designed this palace on the ruins of a conquered kingdom. Ikarus knew its maze better than the contours of his own face.

            His mind was on the fourteen Athenian sacrifices, one tribute in particular.

            They’d sent their own prince to be slaughtered. His stomach did another uneasy flip. The memory of that morning sept into the present, casting light into the darkness of his thoughts. Ikarus lost himself in it.

            Sunlight bleached the courtyard gold. The grass was rich and soft against his bare feet. Dew still tinged the morning with a fragrant humidity. It sucked at his skin, made his stride lazy. The youngest princess, Phaedra, trotted at his side, her brown braid swaying thick as a rope. His smile was easy, routine, but his eyes were dull, thoughts drifting. She was two years his junior, her face open and round. A peplos swilled over her shoulders. A white lily was tucked behind her ear. He caught snatches of her chattering, “Will you be at the feast, Ikarus?” Her face was tipped up to him, though he wasn’t much taller, eyes shiny with hope.

            He paused and swallowed, expression not unkind but mouth twitching. “I would think so,” he answered without speed. His grip on the clay tablet, detailing the list of supplies his father was requesting, tightened.

            “Maybe I can arrange for your seat to be near mine,” she chirped. There was so much sincere hope in her expression that he hated to crush it.

Fondness for the girl formed a stone in his throat, barring his scoff. The son of a craftsman seated in a place of honor near a daughter of Minos? “Maybe,” his reply was gentle.

The happiness bleeding from her sparkling gaze was so bright he had to look away.

And that’s when the world stilled.

Knossos was always a hive of activity, servants and slaves bustling here and there. Even then the courtyard was full of people, rushing and streaming, organized as a colony of ants serving a single purpose. If anything, it was he and the princess who stood out, tarrying instead of performing their tasks. Ikarus occupied a precarious social stature due to his father. The son of Hellas’ most skilled inventor was awarded the privilege of being too high in stature to perform the work of servants and too low to mingle comfortably with the nobles. Only the princesses and his father looked upon him and saw any worth, everyone else looked through him. Though the king was a different beast all together. Minos saw Daedalus’ shackles when he looked at the inventor’s son, and maybe the possibility for another master craftsman.

It was too bad Minos never asked Ikarus outright. He would’ve admitted that he possessed none of his father’s talents.

None of that seemed to matter as time trickled to a halt. The servants froze and turned with the same opened-mouth shock, blurring together so that Ikarus couldn’t tell one from the other. The wind held it’s breath and the sunlight dimmed. Everything was dull in comparison to the prince of Athens.

The fourteen prisoners, chained at the ankles, had entered the yard, clanking and whimpering. All their faces were dark but one. Last in line. Not the tallest or the sturdiest. His muscles were wiry and abundant, pronounced through his thin robes. His hair was dark, tousled, and lose to his shoulders. Skin a melted bronze that Ikarus longed to touch. Was it as pristine as it appeared? How could such a heroic youth bare no scars? Even Ikarus had scars and he’d never been taught to use anything deadlier than a carving knife.

It was the expression that caught the inventor’s son off guard. Theseus’ sea-foam green eyes skated over Ikarus, hollow and vacant as the empty cusp of a wave. Hard lines etched about his eyes and the depression of his cheeks. Darkness gathered under his eyelids like shadows under a torch. His gaze burned with ice. Desolate, bleak ice. It wasn’t hard for Ikarus to imagine that he wanted to die.

But his jaw was clenched, nose scrunched with thought. The prince’s eyes flared over the courtyard and every time they scanned over Ikarus his heart jolted. Theseus didn’t move like the others. He kept his chin up, striding as if he were not bound. Ikarus’ throat went dry, words bubbling to the surface of the haze time struggled through. He wanted to call out to this rugged boy, surely not the same as those who shuffled before him-

A guard, armed in Genesis’ livery, barked at the captives, “Get a move on!”

The strangle-hold the prince’s arrival produced on Kronos was broken. The servants ducked their heads. An Athenian girl tripped, and the guard tugged her chains forward. Theseus’ glare returned to the path. Ikarus’ jaws unhinged, a torrent of thoughts ready to spill forth, when fingers slipped into his.

Startling, Ikarus whipped about, ready to scold Phaedra. Her crush was endearing but she could not be so bold in the courtyard, lest Minos banish him from her presence altogether. For now, he was tolerated as an able chaperone for her. If that changed the rumors could leave her with ruin instead of a husband. One who was hopefully able to return her favor. “Princess-” he cut himself off.

He was met with Ariadne’s wide eyes and full, trembling lips. She was a year older than him and a fraction taller. Her raven tresses stirred about her shoulders, held in place only by an ivory comb. There was a dignified set to her spine and countenance that didn’t match the terror shimmering in her gaze. His hand tightened on hers and with a furtive glance he guided her into the shade of the palace wall. He stopped when his back scraped bricks.

“Hey!” Phaedra squealed, trailing them, little hands in fists.

Ikarus didn’t notice, he drowned everything out but the girl before him. “Ariadne, what has happened?”

She took his other hand and squeezed. “It’s awful, Ikarus.”

“Tell me.”

Her lips pressed tight, she shook her head. Phaedra buzzed about them like a gnat.

Ikarus stared at his closest friend, willing her with his liquid blue gaze. His big, drippy eyes she said were like a doe’s. He’d been offended at the time, he’d rather look like a stag, but now he used his earnest features to compel her. “Please.”

“The tributes-” came her strangled whisper, “they-”

“They are here. I’ve seen them.”

She shook her head again. That wasn’t all. The two of them had always been disturbed by the brutal sacrifices gone on for seven years now. Something else was responsible for the fear in her. A cold stone formed in Ikarus’ stomach. “Has it something to do with the boy?”

“Theseus,” she choked.

Ikarus’ mind whirled. “Theseus, wait, is that-”

“He’s their prince.”

The boy with death in his eyes was the prince of Athens.

Something in her eyes hardened then. When she opened her mouth, he saw her teeth crush together. “They sent their own prince.”

Ikarus clutched her hands, towed her closer. “It isn’t right.” Shock was written in his lips, inky in the shadows of his face. Slick and oily, it left a residue over his cheeks.

“No, it’s not.” Her words were harsh, a stony quality to them that belied her wet eyes. His gaze flickered over the courtyard at her back, his heart rushing at the thought that they may be overheard.

“Ariadne-”

“We shouldn’t talk here.”

A long sigh escaped him, and his shoulders slumped. “Later, then.”

“At the feast. I will be sure you are left a seat nearby.”

Ikarus just nodded while the youngest princess folded her arms, jutting out her bottom lip. Phaedra prodded Ariadne’s arm and muttered something he didn’t catch. When the eldest daughter of Minos wanted something, she usually found a way to get it. How, Ikarus didn’t know. The tributes would be at the feast, their last meal. If there was a chance of seeing the prince once more- and stopping whatever foolishness his friend had planned- then he’d be at that feast.

*****

The crash of flesh colliding jarred him from his memories. His long, straight nose bumped a muscled chest that sent Ikarus reeling. His arms pinwheeled, his feet stumbled over each other. A large, tan hand hooked from the shadows and wrapped around his forearm, yanking him upright. Ikarus found himself peering up into sea-foam green eyes, haunting and ensnaring all at once.

“Theseus,” Ikarus mumbled, stepping back. His eyes flew over the marble floor and spotted an ivory comb in a black ocean of smooth hair. Ariadne stood at Theseus’ back, a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes stretched at the sight of the inventor’s son.

“Ikarus!” She wove in front of the prince, forcing Ikarus to break eye contact. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you’d try something!” Ikarus reached for her hands and found them clammy. “Come, we must be gone before your father’s guards discover we’ve allowed the prisoner to escape.”

“Escape?” Theseus’ voice rose and swelled and washed over Ikarus, at once cooling his nerves and hacking at his skull. “I am not escaping.”

He’s dumber than a full-bellied harpy. What time is this for humor? “Hurry,” Ikarus urged Ariadne with a swirl of his finest robes. Which, despite the rags of Theseus’ garb, looked dull in comparison. He was certain now that the prince must hold godblood in his veins. Another son of Zeus like the great Heracles or his forebearer, Perseus? It did not matter. Even they were men who could die.

Ariadne pulled back, shifting. “You are right, we should go while we can.”

“I cannot walk free while my people wear chains.”

Frustration simmered in Ikarus’ veins. “The longer we tarry the more likely it is that we will die before morning.”

“None of us will die before morning.” Theseus’ brows crinkled with confusion.

“If Minos catches us-”

“We won’t be caught.”

His easy speech made Ikarus burn with irritation. The princess still wavered, looking between the two boys. The inventor’s son made to snap, his jaw clicking open and then shut. In the prince’s eyes was that same vacant surety. He believed what he said. “What is your plan?”

“To kill the Minotaur,” Theseus pronounced, his stubborn wired jaw sincere. He reminded Ikarus of one of his father’s automations, metal, moving statues that only he and Hephaestus knew the secret of crafting. There was something alive and inanimate about him at the same time. While he shared not Daedalus’ craftsmanship, Ikarus was a master at dismantling things. He once disassembled an ugly gilded chair of Ariadne’s as she marveled at his gentleness, easing one part from another, leg by leg, until each was separate. But when it came to reconfiguring it, he hadn’t been able to do it. It broke under the princess and he’d been punished with a week of kitchen duties for bruising her. For Ikarus the need to understand every part had made the venture worth it.

Now that desire to strip something down to the core was directed at Theseus. What made his eyes empty but his expression marble? What made his voice filled with warm concern for his people but his gaze cold? There had to be a reason…

But there was no time for Ikarus to learn it.

“I will kill the Minotaur and save my fellows,” Theseus repeated. Ariadne gasped, her fingers moving to hover over her soft lips. Pity twisted in Ikarus’ gut for the princess. The half-man, half-bull may’ve been a monster, sustained by the flesh of fourteen virginal Athenian youths every year, but he was also her brother. She’d been one of the only people who tried to show the beast any kindness, to foster any sort of humanity within his unnatural breast. Daedalus was the only other. Not even the creature’s mother, Queen Pasiphae, regarded the creature with affection. Though she derived more wicked pride from her freakish offspring than any other. Stealing glimpses of the shining queen during errand runs it was not hard to think that she was immortal, descended from the mighty titans themselves, who reigned before the gods.

A muscle in Theseus’ cheek twitched at the pathetic sound, as if he thought to comfort her, to placate her with empty promises to subdue the beast if he could. An emotion that Ikarus couldn’t place flashed in his gaze, something like regret, like guilt or perhaps the missing of someone. That itch to know the prince’s mind smoldered like incense under Ikarus’ skin, threatening to envelope him in smoke.

In the end, Theseus didn’t waste his breath on lying. Ikarus could respect that. He softened his eyes at the princess. “I must do what I’ve come to do.”

“Must,” Ariadne echoed, gulping. She pressed a lock of darkness behind her ear and offered a nod.

“How do you know you can kill the Minotaur?” Ikarus remained pressed to the shadowy wall. Sea air spilled into the hall he arrived from, and brine stung the back of his throat. “Have you been to an oracle? Do you speak the will of the gods?”

Theseus returned to facing him, tipping his noble head. Ikarus lifted his chin, his shoulders tensing. Would the prince chide him for speaking so boldly to one above his station?  His sandals gave minute squeaks as he shifted his weight from heel to heel. Ariadne’s eyes tracked between the two boys, her expression resigned. He was a prince, foreign, but it still counted. It was the tribute who held the power here.

“I don’t pretend to know the gods’ will,” Theseus said without contempt, “but I feel it is only right for me to try to free my country of this horror. Enough children have been lost, enough innocent blood spilled in gross libation to Minos, wouldn’t you agree?” His gaze was clear and questioning, interest momentarily replacing the vacant hollow. There was an edge of passion in his tone that shook through Ikarus as an earthquake.

“Yes,” the princess spoke in an adoring whisper. “There has been enough sacrifice.”

Theseus’ lips curled into a grim smile, but his gaze didn’t leave Ikarus’ face.

Ikarus didn’t look away as he said, “Fine. Enough is enough. You will kill the Minotaur or die in the attempt.”

Ariadne’s cheeks drained of color at my words but she remained silent. Theseus angled his body to draw them nearer. “Yes, and I believe you can help me.” Ikarus held up a hand to protest, his pulse spiking, but Theseus continued, “both of you.”