The scout Zenas had sent ahead returned, reporting that the area was clear of immediate threats.
Zenas relayed the information to Ceremus, who gave a curt nod. "We'll move further inland and find a place to rest for the night," he instructed.
With the king leading the way, his guard and the envoy followed, stepping onto the island's soil. They were immediately greeted by lush greenery, the crisp scent of damp earth and foliage filling the air. For many of the men, it was a welcome contrast to the crowded streets of the city. But for Hael, this was nothing new—he had spent most of his life surrounded by nature.
Yet something felt… off.
Hael's senses, honed by his time living in the wild, told him they were not alone. The rustling of leaves, the faint but steady disturbance in the air—he could feel the presence of unseen eyes watching them.
Beside him, Ceremus, though more accustomed to palaces than forests, was no fool. His instincts, sharpened by years of battle, detected the presence of others. He subtly shifted his stance, fingers flexing, ready to pummel anyone who got in their way.
Their eyes met.
Without a word, Hael's hand drifted toward his weapon, his grip firm.
The rest of the men, unaware of the tension brewing between their leaders, walked on in oblivious ease.
Then, just as they were about to press deeper into the island, a lone figure emerged from the shadows ahead, striding toward them.
The figure was a woman—tall, with long black hair cascading past her waist. She was shrouded in layers, her body concealed beneath a faded green tunic and a black cloak, with a shawl draped over her head. As she walked, a faint clinking sound accompanied her steps, and Ceremus's sharp eyes quickly noted that she was barefoot.
As she drew closer, her features became clearer. Though half-hidden behind the curtain of her dark hair, her beauty was undeniable—striking, almost ethereal. She appeared to be in her early to mid-thirties, exuding a quiet, enigmatic presence.
She didn't stop until she was mere feet away from them.
For a long moment, she kept her gaze lowered, unreadable. Then, slowly, she lifted her head, locking eyes with Ceremus, an indiscernible expression on her face.
"Welcome to Gynē Island, gentlemen." Her voice was soft yet grainy, carrying a weight of wisdom and secrecy. "What brings you here?"
Zenas, standing just behind Ceremus, cleared his throat, his eyes flicking toward the King in silent inquiry.
Ceremus made no indication that he had noticed—or, more likely, that he cared—leaving Zenas with little choice but to take the initiative himself.
Stepping forward cautiously, he addressed the woman. "Hello, Miss—" He hesitated, unsure of how to address her.
A flicker of amusement flashed in the older woman's eyes, though it quickly vanished beneath her cold exterior.
"Hypsipyle," she supplied.
"Right. Miss Hypsipyle." He recovered quickly, slipping into his usual smooth cadence. "We are an envoy sent by King Aeson to escort the King of Trojas to our lands."
Hypsipyle's gaze shifted, falling on Ceremus. He met her stare with unwavering intensity, his expression unreadable.
Zenas pressed on. "After six days at sea, we seek shelter on your island for a short time. Just a few days to rest before we continue our journey."
He spoke with practiced eloquence, every word calculated. It was no accident that King Aeson had chosen him for this task—his tongue was a weapon as sharp as any blade, and few could match his skill in negotiation. Ceremus, ever watchful, noted this.
Hypsipyle studied him for a long moment before answering. "I see. While I understand the toll of travel, I'm afraid accommodating you will be difficult. Especially with a king among you." Her voice remained calm, but there was an unmistakable firmness beneath it. "Our island does not make a habit of hosting men."
Zenas absorbed this without so much as a flicker of surprise. "I understand," he said smoothly. "Would there be anywhere secluded from the rest of the islanders where we might stay?"
Hypsipyle considered his request, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow nod, she relented. "There is one place." Though I'm not sure any of you would make it back alive.
Her eyes darted back to Ceremus. He remained silent, his face devoid of expression. But something in his gaze told her he was watching very closely.
She kept her gaze fixed on Ceremus for a long, strained moment before shifting to the man beside him.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she took in Hael's appearance—his striking white hair, the sharp angles of his face, the effortless way he carried himself. Something flickered across her face—recognition, perhaps? But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
"Perhaps it would be better to lodge you all somewhere more suitable," she said, her tone suddenly softer.
The unexpected offer caught Zenas off guard. He wasn't the only one—several of the men exchanged surprised glances.
"If it's not too much to ask," Zenas replied carefully, his voice betraying a hint of disbelief.
Hypsipyle merely turned on her heel. "Follow me."
For a moment, no one moved. The crew hesitated, their collective gaze shifting toward the King, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.
It was clear Ceremus had no intention of following—until Hael, without a word, placed a hand on his shoulder.
With an annoyed sigh, Ceremus relented, striding forward.
Zenas and the rest of the men followed, falling into step behind them.
One of the soldiers leaned toward Zenas. "Is it just me, or are King Ceremus and his guard... unusually close?" he murmured.
Zenas smirked. "Perhaps. They say both are demigods. Maybe that gives them a certain understanding of each other."
"Like kindred spirits?"
"Who knows."
Hypsipyle led them through a winding path, deeper into the heart of the village. As they stepped past the thick foliage, they were met with a sight that made them pause.
Neatly arranged in rows stood small, sturdy houses, each crafted from strong wood. Vines wove along their exteriors, adding an untamed beauty to the structures. Vibrant tapestries adorned the walls, their intricate patterns telling stories the men could not yet understand.
It was clear—the women of this island had built something more than just a home.
They had built a sanctuary.
And said sanctuary was nice to look at. The group was surprised to see how well structured the houses were.
Hypsipyle came to a halt, her gaze fixed on a particular spot ahead. Then, in a voice both soft and commanding, she called out:
"You can all come out now."
For a moment, the air was still. Then, from the shadows of the trees, figures emerged.
A group of women stepped forward, dressed similarly to Hypsipyle—though unlike her, they wore no scarves to cover their heads. Each bore their own striking beauty, their features unique yet equally captivating.
Ceremus took in the sight carefully, his sharp golden eyes sweeping over the crowd. Not a single man stood among them.
Thirty women in total gathered around Hypsipyle, their wary gazes now locked onto the unexpected visitors.
"Girls, we will be hosting His Majesty and his men for a few days," Hypsipyle announced, her voice leaving no room for protest. "Please treat them well and make them feel welcome."
A ripple of shock spread through the women.
"B-But Lady Hypsipyle, they are men! I thought they weren't allowed on our island!" one of them blurted out.
Her words earned her an immediate, piercing stare from Ceremus. His golden eyes locked onto her, unblinking, and the young woman visibly tensed. A chill ran down her spine, and without another word, she shrank back behind another woman—one who bore a striking resemblance to her but with a more composed, mature demeanor.
"Amah," the older woman said in a calm yet firm voice, "Lady Hypsipyle has already made her decision. You must respect that."
The young woman referred to as Ema hesitated but finally gave a small nod, though it was clear she was still uneasy.
Hypsipyle gave an approving nod before continuing, "Good. Cecilia, take the King and his guard to the north side of the village. Amah, you will escort the rest of the men to the east."
Ema stiffened but obeyed, casting a final wary glance at the newcomers before turning on her heel. Zenas met the King's gaze for a brief moment before following after her, his expression unreadable.
Cecilia lingered for a second longer, her gaze flickering between Amah and the two men she had been assigned to guide. Concern shadowed her eyes before she finally focused on Ceremus and Hael.
The King said nothing, his expression neutral as he watched Ema walk off.
Hael, however, offered Cecilia a warm, reassuring smile.
The two men stood out—not only because of their gender but because of their presence.
Ceremus exuded an undeniable air of power and authority, his royal lineage evident in every step he took. His beauty was almost otherworldly, sharp and commanding, like a blade forged by the gods themselves. A few of the women found themselves unable to look away, mesmerized yet intimidated by the sheer force of his presence.
Hael, by contrast, was a different kind of captivating. There was power in him, yes, but it was the quiet, steady kind—like the earth itself. He carried an air of ease, exuding warmth and assurance, a stark contrast to Ceremus' storm-like intensity. Though just as beautiful, he had a wild, untamed charm that resonated deeply with the women of the island.
They recognized something familiar in him.
Having lived their lives in harmony with nature, they could sense when someone else shared that connection. Hael felt like one of them, and their nerves—tightened by the presence of men—began to slowly unravel. The soft expression on his face, the gentle curiosity in his gaze, reassured them.
Cecilia, who had remained composed throughout the exchange, finally dipped her head in a small bow.
"If you'll follow me, Your Majesty," she said, voice steady and respectful.
Without waiting to see if they would comply, she turned and walked off.
Ceremus and Hael followed without hesitation.
Yet, as they moved, Ceremus was keenly aware of Hypsipyle's gaze lingering on them, like an unreadable weight against his back.
He ignored it.
The stares were to be expected. These women had not seen a man in years—perhaps, for some, ever.