To say Aeëtes was having a bad day would be a bit like saying Cerberus was "just a dog."
The king of Colchis sat on his obsidian throne, elbows on the armrests, fingers drumming the carved lion heads with barely restrained irritation. Across from him stood Jason—yes, that Jason—the golden boy of some prophecy or another, smiling like he'd just invented flattery and thought it still worked.
"…and with the fleece," Jason was saying, voice full of rehearsed bravado, "I swear to forge an unbreakable alliance between our kingdoms, with treasure, feasts, and songs in your honor—"
Aeëtes stifled a yawn. "You done?"
Jason blinked. "Uh. Almost?"
Aeëtes raised an eyebrow. "Then let me save you the rest of your breath, hero. No."
Jason paled slightly. "No… to which part?"
"To all of it." Aeëtes leaned forward, voice like cracked granite. "You think I'm handing over the Golden Fleece for promises of songs and vague political bromance? What happens when you sail off and your uncle decides he liked the throne after all?"
Jason opened his mouth—probably to spout more Olympian-certified diplomacy—but the king cut him off with a wave.
"However," Aeëtes said slowly, like tossing a fish just far enough out for the cat to leap, "if you really are a great hero, then you'll have no trouble proving it."
Jason straightened. "I can try!"
"Good." Aeëtes gave a wolfish smile. "Tame my fire-breathing bulls. Use them to plow a field. Then, plant these dragon's teeth in the soil and fight whatever grows. Alone."
Jason's expression shifted from confident to "someone just swapped my wine with poison" levels of alarm. "That's… a lot of teeth."
"You asked for a chance," Aeëtes said with a shrug. "Now you've got one."
And with that, the king stood and swept out of the room like a man who had already mentally started picking out Jason's funeral flowers.
Back on the Argo, Jason's face looked like he'd bitten into a Hydra. "We're so screwed," he muttered.
And frankly? He was right.
Aeëtes wasn't worried about Jason. He wasn't even worried about Hercules. He was worried about what Jason might do when he realized he couldn't win fair and square. Like asking for divine help. Or worse—sneaking into the palace for a hostage.
"Where's Medea?" he asked one of his guards.
"Still in her room, Your Majesty."
"Good," Aeëtes grunted. "Let's keep it that way."
Meanwhile, in said room…
Medusa was curled up under Medea's covers, snoring softly. Apparently, even monsters appreciated magically-heated mattresses and mint tea.
Medea, however, was wide awake, perched at her window, violet eyes gazing at the moon like it owed her an explanation. She looked peaceful, but inside? A whirlwind.
Jason was here. With his band of muscle-brained heroes and silver tongues. She'd heard the whispers—even if her father tried to hide it. Jason wanted the fleece. And if he didn't get it? Colchis might burn.
She sighed. "Maybe if I just had a little more power…"
Tap.
A hand slapped against the window frame.
Medea jumped so hard she knocked over her desk. Books and vials crashed in a chaotic avalanche.
"Sweet Hecate!" she shrieked.
Cyd—roguish grin in place, black cloak rippling like he'd just swung in from the moon—dropped inside with all the grace of someone who never used doors on principle. "Evening, princess. Miss me?"
"You—!" Medea fumbled for a potion. "You scared me half to death!"
"Relax." Cyd leaned against the wall like he owned it. "I already dealt with the guards. Thought we could talk. Y'know—privately."
Medea narrowed her eyes. "You're one of them, aren't you? With Jason."
"Technically, no." He smirked. "I'm not one of anything."
She didn't look convinced. "You want the fleece."
"Sure do."
"Well, tough. I'm not helping you. I'm not betraying my father."
Cyd looked at her, really looked, and something in his expression softened. "Funny thing is… you will."
Her hand tightened around a bottle labeled 'For Instant Feathering'. "I what?"
"Not right away," Cyd said. "But eventually. And you'll do it because you're too smart not to see where this ends."
Medea glared, bottle trembling in her grip. "I'll turn you into a pigeon."
"Cute," Cyd said, unfazed. "But you know what's really scary? The fact that you're already thinking about it. About helping. Not for Jason. But for Colchis. For your people. Because if the fleece stays here, more heroes will keep coming. Eventually, one of them won't ask nicely."
That hit something. Her grip on the bottle loosened.
Cyd tilted his head. "Besides… I'm not asking you to betray your father. Just to see the bigger picture."
She looked at him for a long time. "You're manipulative."
"I prefer persuasive."
"And annoying."
"Objectively true."
Medea sighed, shoulders slumping. "Fine. Let's say I were to help… What's your plan?"
Cyd's grin sharpened. "Simple. We let Jason win."
Medea blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Not really win," Cyd clarified. "Just… make it look like he passed the trial. You dose the bulls with a potion. I deal with the sprouted warriors. Jason gets the fleece. Everyone walks away."
"You want me to cheat for him?"
"I want you to keep Colchis safe." His voice turned serious, quiet. "And maybe—just maybe—save yourself too."
There was a long silence.
Then, finally, she asked, "And what do you get out of this?"
Cyd leaned in, smirk returning like a tide. "Oh, just the satisfaction of knowing I'm always right."
She rolled her eyes—but didn't argue.
Down in the temple district, Jason crept toward Aphrodite's shrine, his heart hammering with every step. Maybe if the love goddess took pity on him, he could charm his way through Aeëtes's trial—
WHACK.
Something hard smashed into the back of his head.
Jason hit the ground like a sack of ambrosia potatoes.
"Well," Cyd muttered, stepping out from the shadows, "that was embarrassingly easy."
Behind him, Medea peeked from under his cloak. "He's bleeding."
She uncorked a potion and dumped it on Jason's head. A puff of white smoke rose, and Jason stirred with a groan.
"Fixed," she said sweetly.
They dragged Jason into an alley. When he woke up, Cyd slapped him.
"Ow! What the Hades?!"
"Relax. I just saved you from an ambush."
"You did?" Jason rubbed his head, confused. "Wow. Thanks, Cyd. I guess I misjudged you."
Behind him, Medea squinted in disbelief.
You literally just knocked him out. she mouthed silently.
Cyd winked at her.
"I can't do this trial," Jason muttered. "I'm not Hercules."
"You don't need to be," Cyd said, clapping him on the back. "You just need to eat, sleep, and show up. The rest? Leave it to me."
Jason stared at him. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because I can't stand heroes who wear the name without the heart," Cyd said, tapping Jason's chest. "Prove me wrong."
Jason swallowed. Then, slowly, nodded.
"I will."
"Good." Cyd stood, brushing off his cloak. "Then get out there. Burn bright. Just… maybe change that shirt first. You look like you got dragged through a Cyclops convention."
Jason laughed nervously, then jogged off down the alley.
As his footsteps faded, Medea pressed her head against Cyd's back.
"You're lying to him," she said softly.
"I'm guiding him," Cyd replied, folding Jason's abandoned tunic.
"He trusts you."
"He shouldn't," Cyd said quietly. "That's why I have to make sure he survives."