Nineteen

I remembered the first time my ex met my parents. Leading up to dinner, I hadn't felt nervous. The second we heard a knock on the door, I realized that the knot in my stomach, the fussing, and constantly asking my partner if "they were sure they were up for it" constituted nervousness.

That's exactly how I felt sitting across from Paris's parents as we waited to be served lunch.

I was expecting a frenzy over Paris's sudden arrival, but everyone was calm and acted as if a long-lost prince showing up was an everyday occurrence. The only one who showed any reaction otherwise was Hecuba. She wouldn't stop staring at her son. If she blinked he would disappear. It was obvious that her staring made Paris uncomfortable, but he was too polite to say anything.

"I thought for sure you were gone," the queen said as slaves brought out platters of food and jugs of wine. "We... we didn't want to do what we did..."

She trailed off, her glossy eyes searching for any sort of reassurance. Everyone shifted, the topic of Paris' supposed fate not something they want to relive.

Zoisme had been recruited to serve. I threw her an apologetic look as she poured my wine. The deal was on hold until I could persuade Paris to let her go. Later, I'd make sure she'd have a proper meal and we'd figure out how to get her out of the palace.

We were seated in a small, luscious courtyard at the very heart of the palace. The scent of freshly watered plants mingled with the sweetness of the wines, fruits and meat, creating a pleasant ambience. Priam sat at the head of the marble table, while Hecuba and Hector sat to his left. Paris and I were seated to his right. Paris had insisted I joined them, insisted that I wasn't another of his slaves, but that I wasn't a bride-to-be either. Despite that, I was not prepared for a meal with the royal family. After hours of walking at the mercy of the Anatolian sun, I was sticky with old sweat, my skin was tender and stiff with sunburn, and dirt was stuck between the leather of my sandals and my skin. The last thing I wanted to do was play nice with royals, who all smelled like they bathed in essential oils daily.

The roof was open and perfectly placed so that when the sun was at its highest, it basked the courtyard in a glorious warmth. The walls were made with blue-dyed tiles, creating an oceanic shimmer when the sun hit them. At one end was a stone fountain shaped into the head of a god, presumably Poseidon's. Water spilled out from his mouth, his hair rolling in soft waves, his stony beard darkened by the splash of water droplets.

"Well, gone he is not," Priam huffed at no one in particular. "The sentimentalism of women. They are soft and emotional."

"He is my son," Hecuba pointed out, "is a mother not allowed to love her son?"

"Of course, he is your son, but there is no point in dwelling on what was. We must focus on what is." A slave placed bread with oil on our plates, followed by another servant who dished up some meat. (Goat, Paris had mumbled to me, under his breath.) "And what is, is that Alexandros has come home to us, so what does that mean for our kingdom?"

"It's Paris," Paris breathed so faintly, only I could hear him.

Under the table, I nudged him with my knee gently, and he smiled at me out of the corner of his eye. Only Hector noticed our small interaction, and the older prince's eyes narrowed on me. My eyes found my lap. His staring was starting to make me as uncomfortable as Paris was with his mother.

"I meant what I said about you travelling to Sparta with Hector," Priam continued.

He was the only one who dined casually. The rest of us moved mechanically. Even though I was starving, I felt like all eyes would be on me if I moved. Hector already didn't trust me, but the king and queen had yet to give me more than a bat of an eye. That was fine by me. I wasn't exactly taught how to address royalty in school, and I knew I would say something and mess up this momentous meeting for Paris.

"He needs time to adjust," Hecuba argued. "He's only just arrived, and you want to send him away?"

"He'll have a few days." Priam washed down some of the meat with wine. My wine sat, untouched and taunting me. A drink would be amazing right about now. "But, I want those Spartan bastards to see that I have a strong lineage and two male heirs who will carry out this war if I die. They think they can wait me out and drag the war until my deathbed. The almighty Zeus has presented me with another chance to show them they won't be taking over Ilios any time soon. I cannot spurn that gift."

The table fell silent. I watched Paris out of the corner of my eye. He gripped his goblet tightly as he brought it to his lips. This probably wasn't what he expected when he imagined meeting his parents, and I didn't blame him. He arrived on their doorstep, and his father was sending him off to war. I knew that would happen, but I didn't anticipate caring what happened to the shepherd prince.

The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. "What if Paris doesn't want to go to war?"

The spotlight fell on me so suddenly, I was blinded. Eight sets of eyes turned to me, and it was as if Hecuba and Priam were seeing me for the first time.

"Another mystery to solve. Who is this girl," Priam demanded, "to speak so boldly in front of her anax and queen?"

"You're not my king and queen," I said without thinking.

At the same time, Paris said, "she's a friend–"

"What is this about?" Hector snapped. "Is she a spy? Why would you bring a spy here?"

"I'm not a spy," I pouted. I wish I'd kept my big fat mouth shut. The spotlight was starting to burn.

"How much do you know about this strange girl?" Hecuba asked. "I have never heard an accent quite like hers, and she apparently comes from a land where women speak out. She has no regards for our customs—"

Paris stood suddenly, catching all of us off guard. His cheeks burned with irritation and embarrassment. "Alexis is my friend, and I trust her. She is no more a spy than I am."

I hadn't expected him to leap to my defence like that. Despite him proving me wrong at every turn, I still wondered if he didn't trust me. And yet, here he was, defending me. I was leading him down a dark path so I could get home. I didn't deserve his trust, no matter how much I wanted it.

Judging by the look in his eyes, Hector was thinking the same thing.

"And, she's right," Paris continued, glancing at me. Despite all the posturing, he was just as afraid as I was. "What if I don't want to go to war? I've never trained for battle, and I... I don't want to die. I came here because I thought this was something I had to do and learn about where I came from. But, you don't care about that, do you? You care about putting on a front against Sparta. What if I don't want to be a prince? What if I don't want any of this?"

And there it was. The heart of Paris. He wasn't a coward, but he was afraid. Afraid of what was to come out of this war, he had every right to be scared. He had no idea what was coming for him, the horrible end he would meet if all went according to plan. War wasn't pleasant anyway, but maybe on some level, Paris knew he wasn't going to survive.

My stomach twisted into a painful knot.

The rest of the table stared at the shepherd prince with mixed reactions. Hecuba placed a hand over her mouth in astonishment, while Priam turned a vicious shade of purple from anger. But it was Hector's reaction that really held my attention. Any trace of warmth in the older prince's gaze from earlier was gone and replaced by embarrassment. He was a warrior, no doubt trained from a young age to fight. The notion that he was related to someone pathetic and weak like Paris was probably horrific.

What a great first impression Paris was making.

"I think you're all being a little dramatic."

A young woman with a thin veil over her face approached the table, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. She wore the cleanest white gown I've seen since my arrival, and it trailed along after her. Her dark brown hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders and cascaded down her back. She was followed by a slave, who kept her eyes on the ground as they approached the table.

Hector rose with a smile. "Cassandra, I thought you would still be dining with Andromache."

He offered her the seat next to his, but she raised a hand in silent decline. I'd thought it was strange that Hecuba and I were seated at the table with the men, but I supposed this was an exception.

"She had to tend to your child, so I figured I would come and meet our brother," Cassandra said, turning so she could see us through her veil. Her features were blurred under the sheer material, but I could just make out round eyes and plump lips. Those round eyes bore into me, seeing something that made me squirm. "I also wanted to see if the vision rumours were true."

Everyone's demeanour had shifted when Cassandra walked into the room. The air turned to reverence, in the presence of someone touched by a god. It was admirable that she could turn the tides of the room just by walking into it.

I remembered the name Cassandra, but I'd forgotten she was Paris's sister. And a priestess, which explained the respect.

"We were just discussing matters of war, Cassandra. This isn't the place for a priestess," Priam said sternly. "You may meet your brother later, but for now, leave us to finish our lunch and discussions."

"There isn't much to discuss, though," Cassandra said. Her voice was smooth and gentle, but it also carried through the courtyard. "Paris will go to Sparta as it is written in his destiny. And the girl will go with him. She is trustworthy and, as Paris has said, a friend."

I felt her eyes on me again and heat warmed my cheeks. I didn't fail to notice that she called him Paris. I squinted to see through the veil, to make out any emotion but all it did was blur her features even more. She was a beautifully wrapped mystery.

"On whose authority?" Hector demanded. "The gods?" It came across as a mocking sneer.

"I've seen it." Cassandra turned to her older brother. "I have foreseen the events that will transpire, and Paris must go to Sparta."

"I'm glad we all agree on that," Priam sighed and stood. "But, I have told you, Cassandra, enough of that nonsense about foreseeing the future. No one can foresee what the gods have planned for us."

"I can," Cassandra said. Her calmness in the face of mockery was admirable. "though it doesn't matter. What matters is that Paris and the girl must go to Sparta with Hector."

Paris sat next to me, confused and crumpled. I think it was safe to say that Paris regretted leaving his little farm for the life of royalty. Biological parents or not, the king and queen were cold. The fact that they were talking about Paris as if he wasn't even there was bad enough, but their jubilations about his return had coolled. Where was the reunion? Where were the parties? Their prince, and son, had come home, wasn't that cause for celebration? Sending him away so soon after his arrival was heartless.

"We're just going to take the word of a priestess?" Hector asked, turning to the king.

"You had a vision from Aphrodite," Hecuba implored her son. "How is this any different?"

"Because Cassandra isn't a prophetess." Hector jabbed a finger at his younger brother accusingly. "She's a priestess. He's only just arrived and is already acting like a cowardly dog with his tail between his legs. I don't care what anyone says. He is no prince of Ilios."

Paris winced at the sudden aggression behind Hector's words, while my blood boiled. Oh, he did not just call sweet Paris a coward. The boy just wanted to live and see the world. There was no harm in that... except if you were a Trojan man living on the brink of war. Ugh, this world!

I leapt to my feet and stared down Hector, my heart racing so fast I wouldn't be surprised if everyone saw it slamming against my ribs. I wondered if the gods on Olympus were having a field day with tonight's episode of Alexis in Troy. Taking bets, throwing popcorn at the TV, the whole nine yards. Athena was no doubt watching with her smug smirk. She was probably thrilled with her decision to betray me.

"Take it back," I hissed, leaning towards the older prince. "You don't even know him. You have no right to make assumptions like that."

"You are feisty." Hector shook his head, his look murderous. "Feisty women are dangerous. Perhaps we should just get rid of her now and be done with this nonsense."

"I'll show you dangerous," I spat, hands curling into fists.

Not even five minutes after meeting him, but Hector had this way of getting under my skin. Nothing about my situation was a walk in the park, but Paris was the one constant. The one good thing in this shitty situation. If Hector couldn't see past his allusions about glory in war, that was his problem. Not his brother's.

Paris's hand rested on my shoulder, "Alexis, stop." He stared at his father, who was watching the scene with a bored expression. "I'll go to Sparta. I'll act like the prince you want me to be, but you will not lay a hand on Alexis. She is coming with me as well."

"She is no longer anything to you," Hecuba said, glaring at me. "You are a prince; you can't be fraternising with commoners."

"Commoner," I scoffed, crossing my arms. "You have no idea, lady."

Her glare turned murderous.

"Those are my terms." Paris jutted out his chin. "I will turn around and leave your war in the hands of Hector."

"Fine by me," Hector growled.

I had to hand it to him. Despite the tremble in his shoulders, Paris was holding his own well enough. I focused on controlling my own temper, on dousing the flames that stirred in my stomach.

"I accept those terms," Priam said after a moment. "But you must prove yourself in Sparta, Alexandros."

"My name is Paris." Paris grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the table. "If you'll excuse us, I need to speak to Alexis. Alone."

He glanced at his family once more before dragging me into the palace.

Well, I think that went well.