"How—" she bit her tongue. "Forgive me, it's none of my business."
"The Hatti." He delivered the word devoid of emotion. It gave her the chills all the more for it. Without realizing she had done it, she placed a sympathetic hand on his arm, knowing too well the toll of war.
"And what of you? You do not strike me as a spinster." His gruff manner softened. By that, he was slightly less rigid than carved stone. She took her arm back, folding it beneath her bosom.
"I had a son. He is dead now." The captain had been forthright with her, he deserved an honest answer in return, but the window of openness closed shut within her, as any mention of Theseus was apt to do.
"Condolences, My Lady. No mother should have to bury her son."
She waved off his concerns, feigning indifference. "He earned his grave." She hardened her heart. "Please, pay him no mind."
He was not deterred. "The world is not so cold that a mother cannot mourn her own flesh. No child is born deserving death. Whatever sins he committed, that child was blameless."
Aethra clenched her mouth shut. His words were surprisingly kind, but they could not change the horrors her son committed, nor the obligations Theseus had left behind him. With lust in his heart, he had kidnapped an eight-year-old girl. It was only a matter of time until the Spartan army arrived in Athens to take Helen back. Aethra had lost her only child that day. But Tyndareus had lost two, and in recompense, he claimed Aethra as slave. A queen turned slave... Not once in the many years that followed, did she disagree with his decision.
She straightened her back, banishing those old memories to the past, her thin frown firmly back in place. Glaucus' words sparked a lingering curiosity in her. A child not deserving death... Aethra often wondered why this unforgiving man had devoted himself to Paris. Surely he knew of the dark omen foreshadowing the prince. Knew and did not care.
"You love him, don't you? The prince, I mean."
He cast her a too-knowing glance. "As much as you love your charge."
That was hardly possible. There were oceans of duty tying Aethra to Helen.
"He is the son I will never have," Glaucus added, refusing to elaborate further.
Aethra sighed. She had spent the past week in constant anxiety, unsure how to help her princess. If Glaucus was in the same position, perhaps it was best to combine their resources? "Then you should be as concerned as I. This mad flight from Greece? The bards might romanticize these antics, but it will not sit well in Troy."
The captain stiffened. "The king will see the necessity of it."
"I'm not talking about the king." Great Gaia! Were all men blind to the real power behind the throne? "Whatever life they hope to create, whatever happiness they seek to enjoy, will be poisoned the second they step off this boat. The nobility will never accept them."
The captain, however, was unmoved. "You are letting your fears get the best of you."
"Am I?" She rounded on the man. "What is Helen to Troy? An adulteress? Worse, a whore? They will not have the privilege of seeing her as the noble princess she is, or the horrible life she left behind. They will judge her."
A sliver of realization sparked in his eyes, but it wasn't enough.
"And Paris?" she continued on. "They will dub him a seducer and a thief. Forget his misaligned birth. For snatching another man's wife, they will shun him. This deed will confirm every bad thought they ever had of the prince."
"You will not dissuade him." Glaucus grimaced. "I know. I tried."
Aethra released a tense breath, relieved she was not alone in her concerns. "But he listens to you? He takes your counsel?" She was loath to admit that Helen would refuse her advice. There was a mountain of trust Aethra had to rebuild.
"What are you suggesting?"
"She cannot enter Troy as his lover."
Glaucus listened patiently as she explained the rest of her plan. With any hope, he could convince the prince it was the best course of action. If not... Aethra let her shawl slip, allowing the cool ocean air to caress her skin. If not, there were worse things than living out the remainder of her life at sea. The company was turning out to be better than expected, too.
The captain offered her his cape, refusing her protests for him to keep the garment. When he turned to drape the fabric over her shoulders, he froze, his gaze held fast by the waters behind them.
"It can't be..." His face drained of color.
"What is it?" She stared into the black abyss, but her aged eyes were unable to spot what gave him pause. His hand tightened on her shoulder, pushing her down behind the safety of the hull.
"We're not alone."
Paris led Helen to the hold, practically flying down the rope ladder into the darkened space below. The second Helen stepped down, he scooped her into his arms. A handful of ceramic oil lamps burned in carved-out nooks across the ribs of the ship, their shadows dancing in a flicking pattern. The dim light made it difficult to find a footing, but Paris didn't stumble. He stepped across the exposed beams in stride, trusting to his keen sense of balance, a trait he had been blessed with even as a child.
Not that Helen made it easy. She nuzzled his neck, her soft kisses driving him to distraction. Aside from a few sailors snoring in their hammocks, they were alone. It took all his willpower to continue on to the back of the ship and to the privacy of their royal quarters. Once inside, he laid her down on the blankets and secured the curtains behind them.
Paris was no stranger to what would follow next. But seeing Helen in his bed—languid and stretched out like a jungle cat—he felt like a virgin boy before a Goddess. His pulse raced. He had travelled the world over, and not once in his myriad of explorations had he seen her equal.
She rose to her feet, her chest, like his, rising and falling with heavy breaths. With an eager hand, he caressed her face, following the perfect line of her prominent cheekbones, tracing his fingers across her open lips. Those lips were a rich shade of pink, and full, like a spring rosebud. Lips that begged to be kissed. She was a vision. Any man would be lucky to simply worship at her feet.
Worship all they like, they cannot have her heart.
That heart was his. He could see it in her eyes as she stared deeply into his own. Trembling ever-so-slightly, she pulled the corners of her chiton off her shoulders, the woolen material dropping to the floor boards. Gathering his hand in hers, she pressed her lips to his open palm, then guided that hand down to her naked breast.
Paris could scarcely breathe. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling every voluptuous curve, every soft crevasse. Her skin was exquisitely soft. He could spend a lifetime discovering Helen's body, and it would be a life well spent.
He pulled her mouth to his, drinking of her lips, slowly at first, then with a thirst that could not be slackened. Infused through this influx of senses, was a deep and unequivocal knowledge that this love, this union, was right. He belonged with her. Every ounce of his being yearned for her. He always had, even before he knew she existed. Her body was bare, but he was the one standing naked before her.
She quickly rid him of those bothersome garments and they collapsed to the bedroll, bodies entwined. Instinct took over—he had no sense of conscious thought. He had only one purpose: to please this woman. And thus began the delectable game of yearning and fulfillment, of caressing, stroking and kissing. Each tantalizing contact hinting at something more.
Despite her best efforts to remain quiet, heavy moans escaped Helen's lips. Her cries were an inarticulate sound of longing. She pressed those luscious lips to his ear as he mounted her, her voice thick with passion as she moaned his name.
The bonding was the same as in Mycenae. With every thrust he felt himself melting into her, as though their bodies became one. He slowed his pace to a stop, savoring a moment of pure intimacy.
"I love you," he whispered into her ear, words he had never spoken to another soul. She trembled beneath him. He pulled back to gaze into her eyes—
And that was when he noticed she was c
rying.
"Helen? Are you alright?"
She smiled through her tears, pressing her lips to his. "I... I love you, too." But still the tears flowed.
"We don't have to do this. I can wait until you're ready—"
"No, I want to." She shifted beneath him, encouraging him onwards. "I need to."
He was worried about her. She held her secrets close, but not as well as she thought. Not to him. He could feel when she was near. He was beginning to suspect he could feel when she was hurting as well. When she kissed him again, it wasn't pain she was expressing, but a tender, bittersweet love. She held his face in her hands.
"Please. Don't stop."
He started again, slow, and in even rhythms. Helen raised her hips to met his, matching him. He let her set the pace. She was fighting, for what he couldn't say, but he knew he had to help her. So when she rose to meet him, he thrust deeper.
Helen's body spasmed as the first wave of the Goddess' touch rolled over her. She pressed a pillow over her mouth, trying to stifle her involuntary cries. Every muscle went taut as the quickening of her blood peaked. As quickly as it descended on her, it was gone, leaving her utterly spent. She fell back against their blankets unable to move. Unable and unwilling.
At first, when Paris touched her, she could not banish the image of Clytemnestra forcing herself on her. Her sister's face was replaced with that of Agamemnon, and Menelaus, ending finally with Theseus—the last more of a dim memory than vision of flesh and blood.
Then her fears of intimacy were lost in the torrent of love Paris evoked. With three heartfelt words, he burned away her shame and fear as surely as the blazing torch of his birth omen. He ignited her. She cursed herself for not giving herself to him sooner. The past week had felt so hollow without this embrace.
Paris lowered himself to her side, lifting the pillow just enough to see her face. There was a healthy flush to her cheeks, and on her lips was the dazzling smile that always left him speechless.
"Was I loud?" she asked.
"Not much," he lied.
She traced the lines of his face, the almond shaped curve of his eyes, those piercing dark orbs that saw right through to her soul. She kissed him tenderly and whispered a prayer of thanks. Aphrodite blessed their union. She was sure of it.
A deep grunt came from outside the curtains, the sound of a man clearing his throat - loudly.
"What is it?" Paris snapped, imagining a world of tortures for whoever decided to interrupt them.
"You're needed topside."
It was Glaucus. Paris had never wanted to throttle the man more than in that moment. "Can't it wait until morning?"
The captain cleared his throat again, answering with stoic cool. "There's a ship off our stern."
Both Helen and Paris instantly sat up.
"We're being followed."
Chapter 7
Safe Harbors
THE OARSMEN GLIDED the Trojan galley into a sheltered cove along the eastern coast of Crete. Paris stood at the prow surrounded by his advisors. A somber pall fell over the crew as they neared the small island. Glaucus had managed to slip their pursuer in the dark of night, but the sun was rising, and any ship out in the open would be easy to spot. They needed cover.
The oars dipped soundlessly into the turquoise waters, navigating their ship around towering pillars of limestone, stone megaliths that stretched from the ocean floor toward the heavens like the fingers of Poseidon. The porous rock was coated with white droppings from nesting falcons, the bird's mournful cries echoing down to the galley and reverberating off the tall cliffs of the nearing cove. To Paris, those cries were like trumpets warning anyone within earshot that strangers approached. He grit his teeth and tried to steady his nerves. His mind was playing tricks on him.
"How do we know the island is deserted?" He turned to Hyllos, the trade master deeply engrossed in studying the papyrus he acquired in the Mycenaean port.
"It's not." Hyllos rolled up the document, tucking the papyrus into his belt. "There's a Temple of Dionysus on the far side facing the Cretan coast. Two priests and a full cult contingent live and forage on the topside."
Glaucus glanced back to the stern, to the helmsman manning the rudder. Timon kept one eye behind them and the other in front as he guided the ship into hiding. The natural caverns along the steep limestone cliffs were favorite anchorage for pirates and thieves, a constant danger in these parts of the Great Sea. Now they would serve to keep the Trojan galley out of sight. "We shouldn't dally here, Paris." The captain tensed beside him. "I can evade one ship easy enough, but where there is one, there are bound to be others."
It was a chilling thought that stole sleep from Paris' night. Who was on this mystery ship? Was it simply another trading vessel, or had Agamemnon's wrath followed them already? Whatever the answer, he was now a marked man and would forevermore be looking over his shoulder for Mycenaean spears.
Paris shook those dark thoughts away. He didn't have the luxury to indulge in fear. He had sworn to protect Helen, to protect his crew, and that meant making all haste back to Troy. "If we must wait out this ship, then let's use that time wisely. We can't afford to stop at another Cretan port, not when there are hounds in pursuit. Send a team topside to forage for supplies."
"There are safer harbors. Ones not surrounded by our enemies," Glaucus pressed.
Paris resisted the urge to shake the man. They had been over the matter countless times. He was not going to risk the uncertain shores of Egypt, not unless Poseidon Himself forced his hand. "Ready the foraging team."
Glaucus stifled his dissent, the aged captain too tempered to let his irritation show beyond a grimace. Paris turned to go, but Glaucus halted him, grabbing him by the elbow. "There is another matter."
"Something more important than the safety of our crew?" Paris raised a brow, taken aback by his friend's strong grip.
"The Greeks are not the only danger we face." Glaucus shifted nervously, his reluctance to speak writ large on his broad face. "The vipers behind us are nothing compared to the those in Troy. You cannot lead us homeward with your eyes closed."
Paris flushed an angry red. Is that what Glaucus thought he did? Travel blindly and trust to hope? He opened his mouth to refute the claim just as his captain's next words chilled his blood.
"It's time to discuss what you plan to do about Helen..."
Helen gripped the railing of the ship as they dropped anchor in a cove, her knuckles blanched white as she clung tightly to the polished wood. Their ship was almost the full length of the depression in the coastline. With the rocky outcrops behind them, they would be invisible from any ships sailing the perimeter of the island. Yet still she felt exposed. No amount of land nor sea could keep her hidden from the powers that sought her.
The deck became a hive of activity. Helen, hoping to keep out of foot, crossed to the far side of the ship where Aethra stood at the aft-deck watching the brightening waters like a silent sentinel.
"I owe you an apology."
Aethra turned to her, a look of surprise stamped on her face. "You do?"
"I have been blaming you for something you did not do," Helen continued. "It's not fair to you. I've been angry and irrational, and you have been the one to suffer for it. I am sorry."
Her matron was completely taken back. Aethra covered her heart as though it might break. "I... I am sorry, as well. I should have come to you sooner, told you the truth. I honestly thought you chose not to speak of it, not that you had forgotten."
Helen waved her off. She had no desire to discuss the horrors Theseus inflicted on her. Not when a new danger literally loomed on the horizon. "I want you to know I harbor you no ill will. In case..." Her eyes drifted nervously back to the water, expecting to see a ship at any moment. "In case I never see you again." She tried to sound strong, but her voice cracked, betraying her true emotions lying beneath.
Aethra watched her with sorrow-filled eyes. "You know I've seen much of war."
Helen no
dded, too wound up to answer verbally.
"Then I want you to trust me, and see these events through my eyes." She took Helen by the arms and spun her around toward the milling Trojan troops. "That is a full contingent of Trojan warriors. They are disciplined, fierce and well trained. Any one of them is a match for a man of the Hellas. Whatever is following us—these men will turn back. The captain is talented; the ship is sound. No one is going to take you away."
"I suppose you're right." Helen forced a smile, but she couldn't stop shaking. Aethra meant well, but she had no way of knowing the future.
Her matron pulled her around again, holding firm to Helen's arms. "I'm serious, child. Men spoke of the might of Troy in my halls at Athens, and always with deep respect. You could not ask for a greater protector." She pulled Helen into a tight embrace. "You do not need to fear the fools of your past. The danger is in what lies ahead. It is your future you must be concerned with."
Helen froze. What did Aethra mean by that? She spun back to the main deck, searching for Paris, and was surprised to see him rushing in her direction. Glaucus, as ever, was at his side. The two men were in the middle of a heated argument.
"ENOUGH," Paris shouted at his captain. "I've heard all you've had to say. I don't need to hear another word."
She waited for him to catch his breath. Paris so rarely lost his temper. "What's wrong?"
"We're sending a team topside to forage for supplies."
But he was still fidgeting, his agitation raising her alarm. "What else?"
"I need to get off this ship. Clear my mind." He ran a hand through his hair. "Helen, we need to talk."
The Princess of Prophecy Page 7
