Deidameia stepped backwards, her eyes wide, her lips gone white. Her hands were trembling. She lifted one to her stomach and clutched the fabric of her dress there, as if to steady herself. Outside the palace, beyond the cliffs, we could hear huge waves breaking on the rocks, dashing the shoreline to pieces. “I am pregnant,” the princess whispered. I was watching Achilles when she said it, and I saw the horror on his face. Lycomedes made a noise of pain.
