Rise of Princes (Homeric Chronicles Book 2)

by Janell Rhiannon

  THIRTY

  ABYDOS

  1246 BCE

  Holding of Troy

  An early breeze blew across the Dardanelles and the fading verdant fields of the Abydos plain, blowing gently over the balcony and through of the king’s chamber where Helen and Paris had taken up temporary residence. Of all the holdings in King Priam’s possession, the estranged queen of Sparta took the most pleasure here, far from the bitter and biting tongues of the royal citadel where she could never simply be Paris’ lover.

  “Do you think we are safe here?” Helen asked, pouring herself a cup of spiced wine.

  Paris gazed out across the land turning color with the coming cold. The pale late season sky dimmed with grey clouds rolling in from the sea. “The Greeks are far to the south now. Their attention turned toward Lyrnessus for supplies and slaves.” He turned to face his lover, finding her beauty more intoxicating in the muted light of Apollo. “Besides, my love, Troy stands between them and us.”

  “What if those Myrmidons under Achilles should bypass the citadel? Attack us by sea?”

  Paris pulled her into his embrace, kissing the top of her golden hair. “We are safe. I promise.”

  Helen allowed herself to lean into his hard chest, accepting his comforting arms and words. “Are you still considering dancing with the bulls?”

  The prince laughed lightly. “It has been years since I have entered the ring. I cannot deny, however, that the thought tempts me.”

  “So, you are ready to take up ranks with the old men who sit as spectators letting the younger men take risks?”

  “Woman, your words are salt in the stinging wound of middle age.”

  Helen’s fingers circled Paris’ nipples through his silky crimson tunic. “Your stamina is legendary, my lover.”

  Passion burned through his blood for her. Every touch inflamed him, his lust for her insatiable. “Do you ever miss Sparta? Hermione?”

  “I have nothing in Sparta except my daughter, and she is well cared for. She will have little need of me.” Helen remembered the tiny girl nuzzled gently against the nurse maid’s breast. “I was not the soft, maternal comfort she required,” she said, regret bittering her tongue. She sipped her wine, washing the unwanted emotion away.

  Paris pulled her away from the balcony to the king’s bed. “Marry me, Helen.”

  She lay back against the furs, pressing one dainty foot on his chest. “When?” she asked. She giggled and writhed with pleasure as his mouth devoured her toes, and his tongue swept across the pad of her foot and between each one.

  He licked down her calve, spreading her legs open with his hands. His kisses traveled higher, stopping momentarily at the sacred cross hidden beneath a golden patch of curls. “Here is Abydos.”

  Paris resumed his languid exploration of her pink tipped flesh. As his tongue pressed into her, the heat of her own need rose. She arched her hips to meet his lips, grabbing his dark curls in her hands, guiding his head so she could reach the peak of her pleasure.

  When Helen’s legs shook and pressed against his temples, Paris climbed on top of her and pushed into her with a single thrust. Helen moaned beneath him as he plunged harder and deeper into her wet softness. He pulled away, turning her over, and lifted her hips. He entered her slowly, coaxing her body to yet another release.

  “Please,” Helen begged finally, “please …”

  Paris grabbed her roughly by the hips, pushing his desire to the very end of her. When she finally cried out in ecstasy, he roared his own pleasure into the morning as his passion pulsed within her quivering body. He collapsed over her back, whispering into her ear, “You intoxicate me, Helen. You are my weakness, as Hektor claims. I cannot live parted from you.”

  Helen turned over beneath him, slipping from their sacred union, spilling its evidence between them on the fur and linen. “I will never leave you, Paris. Not even if the gods themselves tried to rip me from you.”

  And with her simple and naïve pronouncement, the guilt of his ancient decision consumed him like a moth caught in flame. It seemed an eternity ago when he’d passed judgment regarding the beauty of the goddesses. By trying to safeguard his world then, he’d destroyed it. He thought he could refuse Aphrodite’s gift when commanded to claim it, but once he’d met Helen there was no returning to the life he’d known before. Because he could not fight his base desires, he’d abandoned everyone he’d ever known or loved to live in a misery as overwhelming as his need for Helen. Aphrodite’s gift was a scourge that followed him wherever he went, whatever he thought, and whatever he did.

  Paris had never revealed to anyone what Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite had offered that day long ago, but he reasoned that Helen had a right to the truth. It had been her life in particular that he had bargained for without knowing who she was. “Helen?”

  She nuzzled into his arm. “Yes?”

  “I must tell you something,” he said quietly.

  Helen dragged her delicate hand across his chest and wrapped one leg over his hip. “What troubles you, my love?”

  Paris could feel the heat of passion pulsing once again. He loved her more than air, more than life. “The truth.”

  Propping herself up on an elbow, Helen looked down into Paris’ worried face. She smoothed the creases on his brow with tender kisses. “Unless you mean to tell me you no longer love me, which after our rigorous play I doubt ... what does either of us have to fear from the truth?”

  “Do you remember when we first met?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Paris’ crystal blue eyes met her emerald gaze. “It was fated that we should meet and fall in love.”

  Helen’s laughter sounded softly against his cheek. “Of course we have been fated for one another.”

  “I mean that you were promised to me by Aphrodite before you were born. I always knew you would be mine, I just did not know who you were.”

  “How could I be promised to you before I was conceived?”

  Paris closed his eyes, summoning the courage to tell her. “Aphrodite promised me the most beautiful woman in the world, if I awarded her the golden apple.”

  “The golden apple?” Helen asked, confusion pooling in her eyes.

  “It was a prize to the fairest goddess,” Paris said. “I was only given the name of Helen when you were born, but I still did not know who it was or where she would be from.”

  Helen pulled away from Paris. “I was promised to you as a prize?”

  Paris nodded. “Yes.”

  “And Aphrodite knew the entire time?” Helen asked, her confusion slowly giving way to anger as she recalled the rumors of her conception by Zeus. She’d always discounted such words, until now. Had she been purposely planted by the god for a wider purpose? Could Zeus and Aphrodite have conspired together? “Aphrodite has played us for pawns in her game? Does our love exist only because Aphrodite bewitched us both?” Pulling a fur around her shoulders, Helen got up from their bed and paced the floor. “This entire war … all the blood that has already been spilt … the bloodbath that will surely come has been on account of our counterfeit hearts?” Her voice reached a feverish pitch. “Our passion, which neither of us can control, is not even genuine?”

  Hot, angry tears slid down her cheeks. “I abandoned my kingdom, Paris! My daughter! For lies?” Helen paced again. “My entire life I have been restless, waiting for something I could not name. Now … now I understand why. That restlessness was meant to keep me from loving Sparta as I should have. All so that I would follow you when you came to claim me!” The revelation exhausted her and she collapsed on the floor, a pathetic heap of flesh and fur and tangled hair. “I am the wretched whore they say I am.”

  Paris couldn’t move to comfort her. He just lay there staring at her. The patches of her glowing skin showing through her covering ignited his passions. Her wretchedness was beautiful. He placed a firm hand against his cock to keep it from swelling yet again. What is wrong with me? She sits in misery, yet I can only think of
taking her. We are cursed. Our love is cursed.

  “Please, my love, do not cry,” Paris said, slowly rising now from the mattress. “We cannot help what the goddess has done to our hearts. What mortals can resist the will of the gods? Are we to be shamed because Aphrodite uses us for her own purpose, giving us pleasure in return?” He gently grabbed her shoulders, lifting her to her feet. The fur fell from her body, exposing her nakedness. His cock instantly rose at the sight.

  “Is it pleasure or only madness?” Helen felt his hardness pressing against her bare stomach and her need for him began to grow. “Aphrodite―”

  Paris’ smashed his mouth against hers. They embraced one another in desperation as they fell to the floor in a fury of love making. Their desires quickly extinguished, they lay entwined quietly weeping for everything they had lost because of Aphrodite—neither knowing why the goddess had condemned them to a fate of insatiable mortal obsession for each other.

  “Marry me,” Paris said again. “Marry me.”

  “I have no choice but to marry you.”

  He kissed her swollen lips. “We are prisoners of our lust, my love.”

  Helen looked up at Paris, her face wet with tears and blotchy with grief, and nodded her consent. “Together we are chained on rocks before the beast of Poseidon. Naked and bare and helpless.”

  “But we are more fortunate.”

  “How so?” Helen asked.

  “We have each other as comfort in our misery.”

  THIRTY ONE

  TROY

  1246 BCE

  Hecuba watched from the wall as Paris’ caravan streamed through the upper gate. Her heart darkened when Helen emerged from her palanquin, draped in waves of violet and a golden himation around her pale shoulders. She dares to wear the royal colors. Here. Under my roof. Has she no shame at all? Her fingers dug into the dusty stone.

  She recalled the day Paris had been ripped from her arms. The pain and suffering had rendered her a wraith moving about the palace for several years. She’d heard the rumors of the Dark Queen of Troy, who never smiled, who never laughed, and who floated about the city and foothills garbed in a flowing black gown haunting small children who misbehaved. It was true that she’d worn black for longer than required, or expected. It was also true she rarely smiled or laughed except with Hektor, and later the other children Priam forced upon her body. She’d loved them all, protected them fiercely and played their childhood games with them. But, it was hardly true that she’d haunted anyone, for if she could, she’d haunt that whore waving up at her now, until she fled back to Sparta in fear for her life. Priam is such a coward.

  From below, Paris caught sight of his mother and waved. She returned his greeting, he noticed, without a hint of warmth. He knew Queen Hecuba would be the most critical of his family regarding his decision to marry Helen. Only King Priam would welcome the news because of his divine dream years ago regarding his sister, Hesione, and the resultant secret pact he’d made with Paris because of it.

  Entering the hall, Paris with Helen following closely on his heel, was stopped by a fully armored guard. “The queen commands your presence immediately in her private chamber.”

  Paris could see the man’s dark eyes glittering behind the helm, and he made no attempt to hide the sneer on his face. I am hated in my own household. “Come, Helen, we will―”

  “No,” the guard said. “Queen Hecuba wishes to speak to you alone.”

  Helen squeezed Paris’ arm reassuringly. “I will be fine. Go. Speak with your mother. I will meet you in our chambers when you are able.”

  “I will come straight after,” Paris promised, kissing her cheek. “Rest, my love. The trip home was long.” Home. What home is this place? I am unwanted by all except my parents. I will never be accepted as a true Prince of Troy as Hektor is. He watched Helen sweep gracefully from the hall. Even under duress she was lovelier than any mortal woman alive.

  Paris followed his escort to his mother’s chamber. The guard posted himself across the hall, as he knocked on the heavy timbered door. It opened and Paris found himself face-to-face with Neola. “I am here as requested,” he said.

  “She is waiting.” Then, Neola opened the door wider, allowing the prince to enter.

  Paris saw his mother standing serenely on the far balcony. She didn’t turn to greet him, but remained gazing out across the city as he approached. He took a place at her side. “I have come, Mother.”

  “Have you ever considered that one day all of this will be under your protection?”

  Paris sighed and shook his head. “Never.”

  “And that is the difference between you and your brother, Hektor. He thinks of Troy the way Priam does. As a maiden to protect from the raping that will surely come when the western army breaches the maidenhead of Troy.” She looked at her second son, a hard line of warning etched on her mouth. “You must begin to think as they do, if you intend to win any sympathy for yourself.”

  “I want no man’s pity,” Paris said, sourly.

  “I speak not of pity, my son. I know you hear the whispers …”

  “I do.”

  “The whispers that you enjoy fucking the Spartan whore more than you enjoy holding the spear of war.”

  Paris bristled. He’d never heard his mother use the soldiers’ tongue. It shocked him. “I do exactly as Hektor commands.”

  Queen Hecuba scoffed. “Then run off to that woman.” She whirled from the balcony, angry that her son couldn’t understand the weight of his responsibility. “The enemy will destroy Troy because of Helen, and what you have done.”

  “We can defeat them, Mother. I have no doubt. We have Hektor. He is a god among men in battle.”

  Hecuba stared Paris in the eye, boring her words into his skull. “Achilles has destroyed everything he has touched. Raped and plundered every city. Our allies are dwindling as we speak, killed or sold into slavery. Our coffers grow thin, while the westerner’s ships are heaped with gold and treasure. Do you think they will leave with Troy intact? You are more foolish than I supposed.”

  Paris stood, stunned by his mother’s vitriol. “I had no idea you held me in such low regard.”

  Hecuba glided to his side. “Paris, my dear son, I speak harshly only to reach you. To make you understand what you must do for yourself. For Troy.”

  “Yet behind your words, I hear your desire for me to give up Helen to the Greeks.”

  “Yes, that is true. You must give her up to win the respect due the second son of Troy.”

  Paris looked away from his mother, choosing not to see the disappointment in her eyes. “That I will never do. I intend to marry her.”

  “Get out,” the queen said. “Get out.”

  Paris sighed heavily. “I hope you will forgive me in time, Mother.” He quietly closed the door behind him.

  Hecuba stood in the center of her chamber, unmoving and distraught. “Never,” she whispered into the room. “Never.”

  Later, when the palace torches burned low, Hecuba summoned Helen to meet her under Athena’s household shrine alone, unaccompanied by Paris. The dark hours grew long, but the golden beauty arrived as she was commanded.

  Hecuba grabbed Helen’s arm, yanking her into a shadowy alcove hidden behind the shrine. Looking down into Helen’s emerald eyes, wide with fear, she hissed, “For years, I have watched as my husband took to the beds of whores. Women like you who hold no scrap of loyalty to blood and family. You have bewitched my son. You have brought the prophesied doom to Troy. Although, he will be blamed. This marriage, I will not rejoice in, nor give my blessing.” She squeezed Helen’s arm harder, digging her nails into her flesh.

  Helen’s entire body trembled with fear. She sputtered, “I-I did n-not intend―”

  “There is no absolution for what you did not intend. Behind you the enemy ships came to Troy. I gave up my son to the gods to avoid this very circumstance. When he was returned, I rejoiced for Troy yet stood strong. Then, he brought you here. The prophesy of doom i
s unfolding. And you are to blame. The blood of every man, woman, and child in Troy is on your head. May the gods curse you for the whore you are.” With that, she released Helen’s arm.

  Helen rubbed her arm, feeling the thin lines of blood drawn by Hecuba’s grip. She turned and ran from the queen with tears streaking down her face. She had escaped one prison for another. Aphrodite had certainly cursed her and Paris. There would be no escape from this. No harbor safe enough for them. I should have stayed on Sparta. The queen’s words haunted her. The blood of thousands was on her hands. I wanted only love. My life is a ruin. Paris, what have we done?

  She ran back to her chamber and fell into Paris’ arms, sobbing.

  Confused from sleep, Paris held her closely. “What has happened?”

  Helen kissed him furiously across his face and chest. She tore her clothes from her body. “Take me, Paris. Now!”

  Paris pulled her beneath him, pushing his cock deep inside of her, thrusting hard and quickly as her hips rose and fell, encouraging his pace. Their passion spilled within moments, yet Helen continued weeping. “Helen?” he whispered.

  “Say nothing,” she said. “Take me again. Promise you will never leave me.”

  “I promise,” Paris said.

  Helen’s tears sprang anew. Bewildered by his lover’s state, Paris took her again as she climbed on top of him. And then again. They passed the night in intimate embrace until he had no seed left to plant. Only then did they collapse, sore and miserable in each other’s arms, yet desiring to be no place else.

  Night darkened the camp and Menelaus tired of sitting alone in his tent. He didn’t want the company of his brother, either … nor any of the other captains who mocked him behind his back. The relentless humiliation of Helen’s betrayal itched and burned like stinging nettle. The only relief he ever had was to find a camp whore and take her until he was exhausted with the effort. He didn’t care if they were young or old, or beautiful or homely; he wanted to fuck them all in his twisted revenge against his dishonor.