Twenty-Five

The waters were calm the entire journey back to Troy. Poseidon was in an amicable mood, which couldn't be said for Hector. Paris was thankful his older brother hadn't thrown him overboard when he learned what he'd done. Not that that was a productive way of handling the situation, but Paris would prefer the depths of the sea to the murderous air that haunted Hector everywhere he went.

By the time they'd docked, Hector's temper was frayed. He stepped off the ship, taking in the familiarities of his home and felt nothing but rage. Rage at what was to come for retribution. The peaceful docks of Troy wouldn't be peaceful for long. What awaited them in Greece was going to be swift and ruthless.

A figure shifted behind him and he turned to find her. Her hood was low, hiding her features, but the slight build gave her away. Her fine dress and travel cloak gave her away. The gold, intricate jewellery on her wrists, ears and neck gave her away. He wondered if his father had heard yet, or if he was to deliver the news.

"This is Troy?" came her melodious voice.

Hector gritted his teeth and trudged down the ramp. "Of course it is."

"I've never been."

Awe. There was awe in her tone. Under normal circumstances, Hector would be proud of such a reaction. As it were, he didn't trust himself to speak save for an affirmative grunt. He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He'd avoided her as much as one could on a small convoy ship—gods, even the ship belonged to Menelaus. His head was starting to ache.

"Where are you going?" she asked, reaching for him.

Hector stopped and glared at her. The sun was setting, twilight casting shadows around them. She was eerily beautiful, like a deceiving nymph.

"Don't act like this all normal," he growled, taking a step towards her. She took a step back, her shoulders tense. "I know all about the agreement made between all your potential suitors. You and that idiot brother of mine have brought doom to my kingdom." He leaned in close enough to see her blue eyes glittering like jewels under her hood. "You did this, Helen."

"Then why didn't you take me back?" she whispered back, her lips curling. "Why, Hector?"

"There you are," Paris called from the ship. "Is everything okay?"

His voice was like a knife slicing through their conversation. Hector pulled away and wandered to where a pair of chariots sat waiting for them. He threw the bag into his chariot and hopped on, not bothering to answer his brother. He collected the reins.

"Hurry up. They're expecting us," was all he said.

Paris opened his mouth to say something, but one look from the older prince made him think better of it. Instead, he helped Helen onto the second chariot, stuffed their bags next to her feet and then climbed on as well. Hector didn't wait to see if they were both ready. He flicked the reins and the horses lurched into action, rolling away from the docks and to the high-walled city. Now that he was home there was a desperation to his movements. Anger aside, there was one good thing to look forward to.

Hector pushed the horses, weaving through the familiar streets he used to run through when he was a boy. The wall would protect the city, he kept telling himself. Troy was impenetrable. No one had ever brought the walls down before and they wouldn't now.

He passed the agora, he passed the temples to the gods, he passed homes. No one would ever bring the walls of Troy down.

The palace was alive with a flurry of activity when Hector arrived. Surprisingly, Paris had managed to keep Hector's pace. They arrived moments after Hector, who was already hopping off the chariot and darting towards the stairs.

His parents were the first to greet him. Hecuba placed a hand on her chest, an elated gasp slipping through her composure. Hector smiled, truly smiled, and embraced her. She seemed so frail, so delicate in his arms. He was careful not to squeeze too hard as he stepped back.

Priam clapped his son's shoulder, pride swelling in his sharp, brown eyes. They hadn't heard, then, regarding Paris.

"Welcome home, my son," the Trojan king said.

"Thank you, father," Hector said, tilting his head in reverence. "There is something I need to tell you—"

Priam shook his head and gestured upwards, up the stairs, a coaxing smile on his weathered face. "Whatever it is can wait. You have a more pressing concern."

Hector frowned and followed his father's hand, his eyes widening. His heart leapt into his throat and pure, uninhibited joy overwhelmed him.

Standing at the top, her hair unbound under the veil, a bouncy, baby boy on her hip, was Andromache. Hector strode up the many steps between them and drew her into his arms, kissing her deeply. She laughed against his lips and placed her free hand on his chest. All his anger melted away and he broke their kiss to take in his beautiful wife. He tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"Did you miss me?" she teased. Her watery eyes suggested that she, too, missed him.

"I missed you more than I could bear," Hector sighed before turning to his son. "Oh, look at you. You have grown!" He hoisted the baby into the air. "A fine warrior you are going to be, my son, I know it."

"He can walk now," Andromache said, poking her son's cheek.

"He's growing so fast," Hector chuckled, kissing his son's head. "You must slow so I can experience the firsts as well, you little beast."

Astynax cooed and giggled. Andromache pressed a hand to her chest, fresh tears catching in the torchlight. Father and son reunited. The pride couldn't be more palpable around her. Then she noticed the two figures trailing behind her husband and her hand wandered up to her mouth. Questions lit her face but Hector shook his head. Now was not the time.

Paris led the Spartan queen to Priam and Hecuba. Hector sucked in a breath, the anger seeping through the pores of his elation. Paris brought a married woman into their home. A Greek woman, no less. One with a reputation. Gods help them all.

"Mother. Father." Paris extended his hand and Helen, still hooded, stepped forward. "This is Helen."

The Trojan king and queen exchanged a look, invisible to Hector at the top of the stairs. He drew Andromache closer when she gasped.

"It cannot be," she whispered, "Helen? Of Sparta?"

Hector only trusted himself to nod. He wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, taking comfort in the warmth of her body, the spiced scent of her perfumes.

"Welcome, Helen," Hecuba said, extending her arms, "you will enjoy the finest comforts we have to offer. After such a long journey it'll be good to have a bath and some food. Come, dear."

She exchanged a glance with her husband before leading the Spartan queen up the steps to the palace entrance. As they passed Hector and his family, Helen lifted her head and, under the lip of the hood, her eyes gleamed with gratitude and docility. There was no trace of the cunning girl from before. She was out of her world, among strangers. It would do her some good to be humbled.

Priam squeezed Paris' shoulder as he did Hector's, and then looked to his oldest son. "I know your journey has been long, but we have matters to discuss. Both of you."

Hector sighed but nodded. The arrival of Helen was unexpected, a shock. Why did he think that he would be given a night to put his head on properly before addressing the mad situation.

"I'll be in our palace," Andromache assured her husband. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and Hector brushed the hair back from his son's face. "Don't take too long, however. I want to give you a proper welcome."

Her coy smile flashed as she collected her skirts with her free hand and whirled on her feet. She moved as if she didn't carry a heavy child on her hip. Oh, how Hector missed her.

By the time Andromache had vanished into the palace, Priam and Paris had made it to the top of the stairs. Paris had been avoiding Hector ever since Helen had been discovered aboard the ship. Now, he caught Hector's eye and a fleeting look of nervousness passed through those brown eyes. Hector understood that his younger brother was a temptation. He had girls hanging off him throughout the duration of their stay in Greece. But Helen... Even their father wouldn't allow such a travesty to occur.

And yet...as they walked, Priam didn't speak of Helen, or the consequences that were sure to follow.

"Paris, give us a moment, please," the king said.

The oil lanterns were being lit as the shadows grew longer. Helios drove his chariot back home, its golden glow giving way to Selene's cold moon. The Mediterranean heat was heavier in Troy, Hector realised. The moisture almost dewy as they wandered between the pillars and the palace wall.

Paris and Hector exchanged a glance, the younger prince raising his eyebrows. Most of the communication happened between Hector and Menelaus, while Paris had kept himself occupied. That hadn't been the intention in bringing Paris along, but it was better to keep the inexperienced and moping prince out of the way. Although, in hindsight, it would have been prudent to keep the younger prince close.

And, ever the coward, Paris dipped his head without protest and slipped away. At least, he had the decency to look embarrassed as he retreated. Hector watched his brother, anger festering. In the eyes of his parents, Paris could do no wrong.

"When we departed, peace with Sparta was assured," Hector replied, his tone as even as possible. "However, I do not doubt that has changed."

"There is nothing we can do about that now," Priam said. "Now, we must continue to hold allegiance with Sparta. We do not want war with Greece."

"Then he should have thought of that before he stole Menelaus' wife," Hector snapped. "Paris ruined all the work we put into this alliance. Menelaus is going to want his wife back."

"Do we know that for certain?" Priam's dark eyes turned to his oldest son. "If she left on her own volition, it seems like a nuisance for him to take her back." He put up a hand to silence the argument Hector had on the tip of his tongue. "No one wants a war, not even the warrior state of Greece. And over a woman? It is absurd."

Absurd was the situation Hector faced now. His father wasn't taking the situation seriously. He was so determined not to see war that he was turning a blind eye to a potentially devastating catalyst.

"Helen's reputation is greater than a typical woman's," Hector sighed. "Men are bound to come to her husband's aid in the event she is harmed—"

"Enough." Priam's eyes glittered like obsidian. "If it is the will of the gods for war, then so be it. There is nothing more we can do. The girl is here. She is now our responsibility."

"She shouldn't even be here," Hector sighed.

They'd come to a halt on a balcony overlooking Troy. Until that moment, Hector hadn't noticed how much he missed his home. Sparta was a different world. The spice-filled air, the sounds of the city, the majesty of his kingdom...there was nothing else like it in the world. His kingdom.

The wall rose high above the tops of the buildings, a welcome reminder that, even if war were to come to their door, they were safe. No one had ever breached the wall and they never would.

"Be that as it may, she is." Priam folded his hands in front of him, staring out at his dominion. "I cannot say whether or not Paris did the right thing, but the gods have spoken. He was meant to bring her here, and the path we now face is the path we're meant to be on."

"You speak like a philosopher," Hector said, crossing his arms. "That will not help us when Menelaus is knocking at our door demanding retribution."

"We have coffers of gold and riches," Priam shrugged. "If it is ransom they seek, we will pay it."

That was not the answer Hector expected. He wanted his father to take up arms, to fortify his kingdom. Rather than that, he was turning away, embracing denial. That denial would be their downfall.