Nestra walked for hours, roaming the halls of the palace, lost in a fog of shock. Helen would be killed for this. Agamemnon would find out. He’d make an example of the princess. And when Helen died, a piece of Clytemnestra would as well.
The sun lowered on the horizon, and still she roamed. Her maids tried to attend her. Administrators called her to council. Eventually the servants announced the evening meal. She ignored them one and all. They were insects buzzing around her head, annoying and insignificant. She had only room in her mind for Helen and the hopeless situation her sister had placed them all in.
Clytemnestra was nearing her own apartments when she finally ran into her. Helen was walking out of her chambers, looking fresh from the baths, a healthy glow on her cheeks. She smiled at Clytemnestra, a shadow of remorse on her lips.
A shadow? It should be a mountain.
Something snapped within Nestra. She stormed down the remaining space between them, grabbing her sister by the elbow and shoving her back into her apartments.
“Nestra? What are you doing?!”
Now Helen panicked? Now she showed the fear and concern she should have worn for her other dalliances? The hypocrisy fueled Nestra’s anger to new heights.
“Get out. All of you!” She screeched at the cadre of young maids filling Helen’s bedchamber. They scattered like rats before a torch.
She towed Helen to the bed and tossed her down on the mattress. “How could you...? Selfish... Traitorous...“ she sputtered, her mind swirling, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Helen cowered on the bed, shrouded in her doe-eyed innocence. Always the eternal victim. Rage boiled in Nestra.
Not this time!
She slapped her twin, knocking Helen over on her side. “Are you insane? Do you want to die? Do you care at all what that would do to me?”
Helen held her hand over her red-tinged cheek, tears streaming down her face. “Nestra, I... I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”
“I told you to end it. I warned you he was trouble. And what do you do? You open your legs to him like a common whore.”
Helen tried to back away from her, her panic-stricken face doubling in intensity. “I’d never—“
Nestra grabbed her arms, pulling Helen forward into another brutal slap, the ring on her hand cutting into her sister’s lip. “Don’t you lie to me. Don’t you ever lie to me.”
She hit her again, and again until Helen was a sobbing crumbled mess on the bed sheets. “I saw you together, fucking like two wild animals.” Nestra’s voice cracked, a wellspring of outrage pouring out of her by the betrayal. “Why, Helen? Why?”
Helen stopped trying to fight her. She pushed herself up, her round eyes—mirrors of Clytemnestra’s own—filled with tears. “Because I love him.”
The tears cascaded down Helen’s pink skin making her appearance lovelier despite her shame. It was unfair that even now, in the thick of her treachery, she could inspire tenderness in Nestra’s heart.
“I love him, Nestra.” Helen spoke with more confidence. “He is the other half of my soul. I... I am lost without him.”
A gaping emptiness of shock-induced fog returned to Clytemnestra. In that fog, her left hand, the flesh of her flesh, soul of her soul, took a dagger and plunged it into her beating heart. Inside the gaping wound, the meaty organ gushed fluid. Not blood, but pools of white-hot rage.
“NO!” She struck at Helen again, backhanding her hard across her head. “He is not your other half. I am!”
Helen cried out from the pain, again trying to flee her wrath. But Nestra scrambled onto the bed after her, clawing at her sister.
“Nestra, stop it. Please!” She put her hands helplessly out before her, backed up now to the wall.
Nestra grabbed her twin by the hair and shoved her back down on the mattress. “You stupid beautiful fool. These men desire you, fight to claim you, and you think it love?” She pressed her knee into Helen’s stomach, pinning her down. Helen tried to bat her hands away, but Nestra’s anger made her strong. She locked her sister’s arms above her head.
“I want to see it,” she growled, tearing at Helen’s chiton the same way she saw her twin doing with her lover. “I want to see what drives these men wild with lust. Kings and princes...,” she choked up, “my own husband... I want to see it!”
Helen’s clothes fell away in pieces. She squirmed under Nestra, naked and sobbing. “Please... stop.”
Her skin was flawless, her hips perfectly round, a match for the swelling of her perky breasts. But there was nothing unique, nothing special about her twin’s body. It was identical to Nestra’s own. She trailed her hand down Helen’s chest and down between her legs, cupping her private parts in a tight grip.
“They do not love you, Sister. This—“ she tightened her grip, “is not love. It is lust. And when they are done with you they will discard you.”
But Helen still fought the truth, her whimpering cries fueling Nestra’s anger. “You don’t believe me? Are you really that naive?”
“No... please.”
Helen tried to escape again, but Nestra was too quick. She backhanded her twin.Helen spun from the blow and her head collided with the post of the bed. She fell on the mattress in a daze.
“This prince doesn’t love you.” Nestra snarled. “None of them love you. Only I do.” She shoved Helen’s legs apart, her fingers sliding into her twin’s wet crevice. She would show Helen, kicking and screaming if she must. That man was not special. The feelings he stirred were not unique. Anyone could do it.
Clytemnestra pressed harder, stroking deeper, some madness taking control of her faculties. This was her body, flesh of her flesh, it belonged to her, not that greedy prince. She pressed her mouth to Helen’s cleft, the folds of her rosebud moist and hot. This was hers, too. She plunged her tongue against the little flab of flesh, sucking and pulling, a warmth burning through her own body.
Some part of her heard Helen begging her to stop, crying and pleading. But those cries only inflamed Nestra to greater violence, to stroke harder, faster.
You’re mine... my twin, my love, my only love. The words became a mantra that she groaned as she laid claim to her twin.
Everyone loved Helen best. Their father, her citizens, even her own husband. It was a bitter truth Clytemnestra had long learned how to cope with. But none of those outsiders could lay claim to Helen’s love. Only Clytemnestra held that honor. And no one—no man—was going to take that away from her.
Helen’s cries had stopped. She had grown still, her head rolling listlessly on her shoulders like a rag doll. Her jeweled eyes became flat mirrors, reflecting nothing. Only small gasps escaped her otherwise motionless lips.
There was a quickening in Nestra’s loins as an orgasm rolled over her, the pulsing waves of heat soaking through her body. Exhausted, she leaned into Helen’s limp legs. An eerie silence dominated the room.
“You’re mine, Helen,” Clytemnestra whispered with a growl. “Mine.”
Chapter 24
Abduction
HELEN’S BODY shut off when her sister touched her. She retreated into a corner of her mind, a silent witness to the violation of her heart and soul. It was a terribly dark corner, the shadows pressing down around her threatened to swallow her whole. Helen huddled in that blackness, waiting for it to all be over. What could not be stopped must be endured. A lesson her father had taught her and Menelaus had perfected.
But all was not quiet in those dark shadows. As Nestra ripped the innocence from her body, she was reminded of another rape, one long forgotten. Helen, a girl of eight, and Theseus, a king four times her age. And the faces of her saviors, her older brothers Polydeuces and Castor, who died bravely in the war to reclaim her. A locked cabinet in her mind burst open, flooding her with memories which she neither wanted nor knew how to cope.
It was never-ending, this cycle of rape and brutality. One king led to another, Agamemnon shamelessly abusing her body whenever Menelaus was away. Her husband
, in his own cruel way, was a blessing. The absence of his affections was preferable to the lecherous taking the others had subjected her to.
And now Nestra, her twin, her confidante, her safe harbor in a turbulent sea. Nestra sought to possess her, too. Helen was adrift in her sister’s betrayal, unable to speak or react. She felt more than saw her twin leave her chambers. And she saw more than heard Aethra’s cries when she found Helen on the bed, bruised and bloody.
Her matron draped a robe around her shoulders, hiding her nakedness. But Helen was too numb to be shamed by modesty. She stared at Aethra, her pain as naked as her body.
“I was a child. How could he?”
Aethra gasped, a shudder of guilt constricting her face. Theseus was her son, a noble warrior king of many great adventures. And yet he kidnapped Helen to fulfill his sick desires, claiming she was a daughter of Zeus and her innocence a notch on the list of wonders he wanted to possess.
“There is no excuse,” Aethra stammered. “It is a madness that takes men when they see your beauty. Your father tried to protect you, as I do now. But some men are... beyond my ability to deflect.”
A madness? Helen nearly cried from rage. Her lauded beauty—this supposed gift from Aphrodite that inspired lust and depravation—was no gift. It was a curse. She was merely an object, a possession to be tossed back and forth between powerful men.
“Helen, please—“ Aethra reached out for her.
“Get away from me!” She kicked off the bed, a dark terror giving her speed.
The room spun. The air was too thick. She needed to get away. Far away. Helen backed up to the sally door of her apartments, spun on her heel, and ran.
“The ship is prepped, our men assembled, but the tide won’t turn till after the moon sets.” Glaucus informed Paris, the last of their personal affects having long since been packed.
Paris paced their apartments, his hands wringing his cape in knots. They were under royal commands to depart. If he missed the tide, the idle tongue of gossip would wag, and he was under enough suspicion as it was. But Helen had not given her consent to stay or go, and he wasn’t going anywhere without her.
Paris had hoped to see her at supper, but she was strangely absent. He had an overwhelming urge to seek her out, that she needed him. But Helen had been explicit; she needed time to consider his proposition. He had to respect her boundaries.
“Tell them to wait.” He wrung the fabric tight. “I want them at their stations all night if needs be.”
“It will be done.” The captain turned to deliver the message.
“And Glaucus, make sure they are all armed. If this turns for the worse, I expect three dead for every Trojan casualty.”
“The death toll will be far higher than that.” Glaucus cast him a grim smile. He tossed open their chamber door and stumbled chest first into Helen’s maid. “My Lady?” Glaucus helped her back to her feet. The poor woman was beside herself.
Paris rushed to her side. “Aethra? What are you doing here? Where’s Helen?”
“It was the queen, and my stupid mouth, I should never have said a word... Please, Your Grace. You have to go after her. I’m afraid she will hurt herself.” The words tumbled out of the woman like rocks cascading down a cliff, one crashing into another until there was only a piled mess.
“Whoa, slow down.” Paris set her down on a chair. “Tell me everything.”
The mist had returned. The humid air was so thick that even the western zephyrs blowing in strength did little to disperse it. Helen stood at the temple precipice, her toes hanging off the loose rock. Salt spray from the crashing waves below made her purchase more slippery. A gust of wind or shift of weight could send her to her death, each factor seemingly innocent but holding the power of life or death over the weary princess.
She toyed with it. How easy it would be to just fall, to let the rocks claim her. Her body would be crushed to powder, her soul returned to sea foam. There would be no more fighting on her behalf. Paris could return home. He would not have to squander his life in a never-ending battle over her. In time, he could be happy.
But not her. No amount of time or space could erase what Helen had been through. It was better to end it. Her beauty would reap no more ruin. She spread her arms and whispered a prayer to the Goddess, willing Her to make the final push. The wind gusted like a divine breath. The mist parted.
And Paris was there, an expression of love and concern on his face that pierced her heart.
“Paris!” she cried as she turned to him.
The twisting move crumbled the ground beneath her feet. She slipped over the edge, the wet rock sliding through her grasping hands.
He was at her side like lightning, grabbing her arms before she had fallen too far, and pulled her up to safety. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.” He cradled her to his chest. “I’ll protect you, my love. You don’t have to do this.”
Helen moaned, sobbing into his chest. “It won’t end.” She clung to his tunic, desperate for his heat to stop her ice-numbed shivers. “It doesn’t matter where we go. Agamemnon will find me. And if not him, there will be others.”
With bloodshed and destruction, they’d come for her, and she would be handed to whoever conquered. It felt like a ghostly prophecy riding on the vespers of the frost-laced fog. She shifted her gaze to look out over the precipice. It was only a short step...
Paris’ arms tightened around her and she knew if she took that step, he would follow after. “Don’t ask me to let you go.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Not like this. There might be a day when we both must jump, but it’s not today. Not when a kingdom and a new life waits for us across the sea.”
He sounded so confident, his hope a beacon of light she was afraid to take shelter in. But there was no safe harbor, no distant shore where her curse would not follow them.
“They’ll unite to reclaim me. They swore an oath...,” she cried. “You can’t stop them.”
“Yes, I can. Troy can.”
“You can’t!” She tore away from him. “Maybe you can deflect Agamemnon, but when it’s your brother or your father who tries to claim me? Will you kill them all? Can you?” Her body doubled over in guilt. She would be the death of this man. She turned to the cliff, a groan of despair on her lips. “How many will you fight to keep me free?”
“The whole world if needs be.” He shook with the weight of that promise.
She moaned again, her spirit broken. She didn’t have the strength to keep fighting. When he wrapped his arms around her again, she let him. He drew her close, buoying her spirit with his own.
“I’ve spent my entire life making other people happy,” he trembled as he confessed in her ear, “hoping, if I tried hard enough, they would love me the way a noble son deserved to be loved. It wasn’t until I met you that I realized it was for naught. I owed them nothing. And there was nothing they could give that would equal your love.”
He pulled her away from the cliff, forcing her to look at him. “You are my light, Helen. I dwelt in darkness before I met you, before you loved me. You are more precious to me than air, and I’ll follow you wherever you decide we must go. But there is a better way than death.
“You don’t belong to these people. You’re life is your own. You get to choose which roads to travel, which future to claim, not them. You only have to follow your heart. And when happiness is within your grasp, have the courage to reach for it.”
Follow your heart.
The hairs rose on her arms and neck. Helen felt herself at a crossroads, as vividly as she had on the eve of her betrothal. All the multitude of events in her life inevitably led her to this very moment.
Follow your heart... into the depths or to Troy?
She looked up at Paris, his eyes so filled with love, so hopeful. Was it worth risking his life; was it worth shaming everyone that she loved?
They don’t love you.
Nestra’s harsh voice leaked into Helen’s mind. Her twin was right. They didn’t lo
ve Helen. They loved the idea of Helen, not Helen herself. Only this man saw her for who she truly was, and his love was worth a lifetime of pain and suffering. The deep emptiness, that gulf of pain and fear, could not exist in his presence. He was a burning warmth that scorched those dark phantoms away.
“Yes,” she gasped, somehow knowing it was the right path to take. Paris’ arms tightened around her.
“I’ll come with you to Troy.”
Epilogue
A DISTANT SHORE
HELEN STOOD at the prow of the Trojan longship as fifty oars dipped quietly into the still waters of the Aegean. The moon had barely set below the horizon when she led the Trojan entourage out of the acropolis via the hidden cistern tunnels that burrowed beneath the fortress walls. The mist was an added blessing, masking their departure from the prying eyes of the palace. With any luck, no one would know of her departure until the morning meal.
Aethra sat at the stern, deep in conversation with the Trojan captain. There was no question that her maid would travel with them to Troy; Aethra had made that point clear to Paris before they left the palace grounds. She had a debt to repay and would not leave Helen’s side until those old wrongs had been atoned.
Paris joined her at the prow, wrapping his arms around her. The warmth of his cloak was a welcome respite from the chill of the night. Together, they watched in silence as the mist swallowed the tiny harbor lights of Mycenae.
“Do you think if we travelled far enough, it would be like this life never existed?” Helen mused, hoping it was true. “Where I didn’t have to be Helen of Sparta?”
A pang of empathy tightened Paris’ throat. He cradled her to his chest as the wind picked up. He had spent his entire life on such a journey. “You’re not Helen of Sparta any more.”
The mist lifted as they oared further out to sea. A dazzling field of stars filled the sky, their brilliant light reflecting back from the waters beneath them. The ship cut through those waters as though navigating the cosmos itself. Troy, and their unknown future, lay before them in the east.
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