The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  "Oh." Helen blushed.

  Paris tucked his hands behind his back and cleared his throat, drawing the queen's attention back onto him. "And how long will that take?"

  Nefertari laughed. "So eager, Alexandros?" Her soft voice echoed throughout the hall like a musical chime, but it was a passing pleasantry. Her expression quickly turned from mirth. "What troubles you, young man?" The queen caressed his face tenderly. "You carry more burdens than the boy I once knew."

  Paris cursed his carelessness. This was precisely the sort of attention he had been trying to avoid. If anyone suspected their true relationship, Helen and he would find themselves in the midst of a scandal. He pulled the queen's hand from his cheek, lifting it to his lips. "The world has many burdens, Nefertari, and I am the poor messenger who must deliver those tidings. Please, do not think poorly of Helen. The haste is my own. I am under oath to my king to make a swift return."

  "We would not dream of delaying you," Twosret chimed. Her hips swayed gracefully as she stepped down from the dais, and a sweet smile lifted her features into an alluring display. "King Priam is rightly eager for a speedy return. You carry precious cargo." She linked arms with Helen, tenderly tucking back a strand of Helen's hair as though her fingers lifted spun gold.

  Paris took an unconscious step back from the mixed-blood princess. She is not what you think, he scolded himself and tried to correct the move. "Forgive me, Princess. I don't believe I've had the pleasure...?" He gave her a courtly bow, waiting for her formal introduction.

  But Twosret turned to Helen, one eyebrow raised playfully. "Has he always spoken so formal?"

  Helen blushed, returning Twosret's warm smile with one of her own. The Egyptian princess was of an age similar to her, and for a brief moment, Twosret stirred happy memories of time spent in gossip with Helen's twin. "He is a prince," she stated plainly as if that simple fact explained it all. Twosret laughed, an infectious act that Helen could not help but join.

  "Princes come in many shapes and sizes." Nefertari severed their light moment, her studious frown for Twosret and Helen alike. "I have yet to meet one that is all that he seems." She stepped uncomfortably close to Paris.

  Helen's smile vanished, a vein of protectiveness arcing through her blood. "His character has been beyond reproach, Your Grace." She mimicked Nefertari's aloof manner. "Of the finest quality I have ever met. I could not ask for a better chaperone."

  "Is that so?" The queen folded her arms, one perfectly sculpted brow arched high at Helen's unexpected outburst.

  "I pray that is true, My Queen." Chancellor Bay wormed his way into their company, his voice oozing with insincerity. The remaining nobles and officials gathered close behind him. "These are dangerous times for an unattached woman to travel without proper protection."

  An unattached woman... Helen tensed, her heart skipping a beat, the threat of exposure pulling at her nerves. If not for Twosret's strong hold on her arm, she feared she'd burst apart.

  "Dangerous indeed. Pirates and mercenaries roaming our borders?" Nefertari leveled her dark gaze on the chancellor, her nose crinkling as though she caught scent of something unpleasant. "Isn't it your responsibility to safeguard those roads, Bay?"

  "Yes, well..." He flinched at the queen's harsh tone. "I do what I can, Your Grace."

  Twosret laughed again, the throaty sound diffusing the tension between the monarch and the simpering official. "Do not trouble our guests with your tales of woe, Chancellor." She patted Helen's hand softly. "You'll be safely back to your travels in no time, Princess. I am sure the temple will not keep you waiting long. A few days at most."

  "That is yet to be certain," Penanukis interjected, the priest growing their small company to an uncomfortable crowd. "I have yet to speak with the High Priest. We must consult the Gods. If they allow this flippancy to proceed, surely they will insist we wait until the Inundation—"

  Nefertari cut off the irate priest with a graceful wave of her long hand. "Do not concern yourself, Penanukis. I shall speak with Meryatum." Even her commands sounded musical.

  Penanukis' face puckered with unspoken insult. "As you wish, Great Queen." He ducked his head in deference and backed away, snapping orders to the other priests in Egyptian as he left.

  And the jackals lie in wait. Paris grit his teeth, knowing they hadn't heard the last complaint from the Temple. Already his mind ached from keeping track of the various players in the Egyptian courtly game of intrigues. He was fortunate Glaucus was near. His captain was often more observant than he.

  But Paris didn't need special skills to recognize the danger at his side. While some jackals chose to scavenge, others were ill-content to wait. "Is there something you want, Chancellor?" He turned expectantly to Bay. "Why do you linger?"

  "Seti's orders, Your Highness." Bay wrung his hands suggestively. He eyed Helen like a man savoring a meal. "I am to see the princess to her chambers."

  Paris gripped his sword and advanced on the loathsome man. "Hades Hounds, you will not!" The words ripped free of his throat before he could think better.

  Bay backed off, his eyes wide with fear. "I am a servant of Egypt! Do you defy your host?"

  Paris pulled his hand from his weapon, those sober words dousing his anger like a chill rain. "Of course not," he stammered. "But surely there must be someone other than you." He did not trust the lecherous official, and he was not going to sit idly by while a man of questionable morals made familiar with the woman whose life he held more dear than his own.

  The insult was not lost on Bay. The chancellor simmered with repressed anger, and Paris knew he'd made his first enemy at the Egyptian court.

  "Boys! Boys!" Nefertari raised her voice, commanding them with the firm tone of a mother. "Unruffle your feathers. This is not the stockyard where cocks rule the roost. You are in Pharaoh's house!" She chastised them both. "Chancellor, your services are unnecessary. You are dismissed. The princess will be lodging with me and the other wives of Pharaoh."

  Paris whispered a silent thanks for Nefertari's foresight. Bay had no option but to do as she bid. The official turned to go, spinning on his slippered heel, but not before shooting Paris a venomous glare. He was relieved when he saw the man disappear down the palace corridors.

  Nefertari also followed the chancellor's retreat, her aged eyes narrowed shrewdly. Paris took a deep breath, reassured he was not the only one to consider the man a threat. Others, however, needed to be warned. He took advantage of that awkward moment, while his royal hosts were preoccupied, to pull Helen aside.

  Helen could tell the pressure was wearing heavily on Paris by the tightness of his grip. A portion of her could not help but feel responsible. These lies and maneuverings were all to keep her safe, and now her impulsiveness had forced undue attention upon them. "I'm so sorry." She blurted the words as soon as they had achieved a safe distance. "About the ritual. I should have asked you first."

  "That doesn't matter now." He waved down her apology, his eyes filled with worry. "These walls have eyes and ears, but I promise you, some of them will be mine. I won't be far. You won't be alone."

  A small smile tugged at her lips. How did he know exactly the right words to calm her? "I know." She wanted to touch him, but it was impossible now that they had returned to life at court. "I... I love you."

  "And I, you." His eyes teemed with emotion. He stroked the back of her hands with his thumbs, the only contact that seemed safe. "You have to be careful, Helen. Do what they ask of you, and it will all soon be over. Our future awaits us in Troy."

  Their absence had not gone unnoticed. A chill ran down Helen's spine when she realized Nefertari watched them closely. "Setnakhte," the queen called to the general, her lips pressed into a thin frown. "Will you see to Prince Alexandros and his men? I am sure he is weary from his travels."

  "It will be my pleasure, Great Queen." The general bowed. "Right this way, Your Highness." He motioned Paris to follow him out.

  As he took his leave, Nefertari leaned in cl
ose to Paris and spoke softly, "Have no fears, Alexandros. I will take care of your treasure." If she wished to evoke a response from Paris, she was pointedly denied. He left with the general, his royal guard trailing after him.

  Twosret and the queen waited patiently as Helen watched them go. For the past few weeks Paris had never been out of her sight for more than a few hours. She didn't want to be alone in this strange land. Now, more than ever, she felt the need for his strong presence. She knew her longing must be evident on her face, but she could mask her feelings for her prince no longer.

  Courage, Helen coached herself. If parting for this short time caused her such pain, how would she manage in Troy?

  It was difficult to know the correct course to follow. So many of her decisions of late had left her filled with guilt, abandoning one duty to follow another. But she and Paris belonged together, the Gods foretold it, and this purification was a vital step towards proving the purity of that love. Deep in her heart she knew that without this cleanse neither she nor Paris could live up to their true potential. They'd always be haunted by the stigma of events that brought them together.

  It has to work, she pleaded with the Gods. Helen could not bear to bring further shame upon him. She would face whatever challenges the Gods chose to put in her path if on the other side she could emerge a woman worthy of the great love and destiny Aphrodite had foretold. For the promise of a lifetime with Paris, she would endure anything.

  Behind her, the temple attendants led the Mnevis calf out of the hall to his new life in the Temple stables. He struggled against their bonds, his little legs trembling in fear, totally unaware of the privilege and luxury that awaited him. Helen shook her head in quiet disapproval. An animal treated as a God, pampered and worshipped until it scarcely resembled the creature of its birth...

  And when it is a man on that pedestal? What greater abomination is that?

  Helen's gaze lingered to the empty throne and a chill ran down her spine. She had suffered the vagaries of powerful kings, and even mad kings, but never a God-king.

  The Mnevis mewled. It was a pitiful cry that pierced Helen's heart. She felt a kinship with the beast. They were both marked by the Gods. But where the Mnevis would live his days in peace, she couldn't shake a feeling of foreboding, that she was a pawn maneuvered by the Immortals for greater purpose. Was the path she traveled predetermined, set by Divine Will?

  As the hall emptied, Helen turned to join the other wives, an ominous feeling rooting itself in her gut. Time would tell, but she sensed this foray into Egypt would affect far more than just matters of her heart.

  Chapter 15

  The Wives of Pharaoh

  THE PRIVATE QUARTERS of Merneptah, Pharaoh of the Two Lands, were as beautiful as the rest of the palace. Helen walked down the long corridors in amazement, soaking in every detail. Every inch of vertical space was covered in colorful paintings. In Sparta the halls of Helen's father were decorated with tapestry and fresco, the Greek artisans of her homeland taking great liberty to showcase their individual style. But in Egypt, the art was etched in stone, and one image flowed perfectly into the next. The Egyptian artisans adopted a uniform style, a strict standardization of form that was as grand as it was intimidating.

  "The Petitioner's Hall." Twosret pointed to another exceptional piece. Arm-in-arm with Helen, the princess pulled them to stop. Both Nefertari and Twosret watched over her and Aethra, acting as guides as they strolled the palace halls. Often Twosret paused to highlight the architectural details, dazzling Helen with stories of the Two Lands.

  Helen suspected the princess' true purpose was not to impress her visitors but to allow Nefertari to rest. It was quite some distance to the royal harem, and the exercise took a toll on the aged queen. Like the other nobles, Twosret doted on the matriarch and made special efforts to see to her comfort.

  Nefertari, however, never voiced a complaint. She leaned heavily on the arm of Memnut, the tall Egyptian manservant who assisted her, seemingly as formidable as a woman in her prime.

  "Do you like what you see?" Twosret prompted her.

  Helen studied the hieroglyphs. The hall they now entered was dominated by life-sized paintings displaying domestic scenes of women. In a long procession, a line of female petitioners presented themselves to a seated Pharaoh. Some carried urns and plates of food, some danced while musicians played harp and double flute. Great detail was given to the last panel of women who knelt before Pharaoh, their faces turned to each other with hands upheld as though the painted ladies "whispered" to one another. It was a playful scene, and for Helen it felt like the events were unfolding before her.

  "It's beautiful," she answered honestly.

  "The artists try," Twosret sighed, "but it is a pale shadow to the beauty that surrounds us. There is nothing between the heavens and earth as exquisite as a woman in possession of her true self. Men may claim to rule the world, but it is an illusion. They are all made helpless by our charms." She turned to the bench where Nefertari rested her legs, a pupil seeking the approval of her master tutor. "Isn't that right, Grandmare?"

  Nefertari pressed herself up, an unreadable expression on her ageless face. She studied Helen intently as she answered, "For some." She motioned Memnut onward and they continued their march.

  Helen resisted the urge to shiver, fearful that this powerful woman saw right through her. She felt naked before Nefertari's knowing gaze, her secrets exposed. She was grateful, in those moments of scrutiny, for Twosret's amiable presence.

  Trust no one, Paris' warning flared strongly in the back of her mind.

  But Twosret seemed genuinely fond her, and Helen felt strangely at ease in the princess' company, her carefree manner a welcome contrast to the soldiers and officials who had recently dominated Helen's life.

  "Perhaps such is true for the Two Lands," Helen conversed cordially with the dark-haired beauty, "but the men of the North care little for love. They dream of battle, not beauty."

  "Is that so?" The queen seemed amused by the prospect. "And what of Alexandros? Is he not also of the North?"

  Helen exchanged a tense look with her matron. Nefertari was prodding for details of her relationship with Paris, to which the answers presented the biggest danger she and her Trojan faced in Egypt. If anyone suspected what they had done...

  Twosret's husky laugh pulled Helen from those dark thoughts. "Something tells me the only battles that prince dreams about are in defense of your honor."

  "You flatter me, Princess." Helen forced a laugh, mimicking Twosret's playful manner. "If only I had that power. I would have spared myself no end of trouble."

  "But you do have that power, child," Nefertari added, the knowing glint in her eyes hinting she was not fooled by the deflection. "Any woman who could bend that stoic Trojan's reserve must have a natural talent."

  Twosret nodded with agreement. "Your skill is raw, but if you had been raised like a woman of the Two Lands, you would be a force to be reckoned with." Her eyes lit up with sudden inspiration and she turned to Nefertari excitedly. "You should teach her, Grandmare!"

  The queen did not respond right away. She took in Twosret's eagerness and nodded to herself as though making some internal decision. "Why not you, Twosret? You are, after all, my finest pupil."

  The princess' cheeks flushed from the praise, and she dropped her head demurely. "You honor me, Grandmare."

  Some prospect of the offer tantalized Helen. She made a habit not to envy other women, but seeing Nefertari and Twosret cow their detractors, the women a vision of grace and power, made Helen wish she could command a similar respect. "Can you show me?"

  "That depends," Twosret eyes narrowed mischievously. "How pure do you hope to be when you exit this land?" They both laughed, and for a moment Helen felt like she was back in her girlhood apartments gossiping with her handmaidens.

  They entered the royal harem, one room of many lining Pharaoh's private chambers. The tall ceiling was supported by fluted columns carved into the shape
of palm trees. An open portico faced the Nile, and a lovely afternoon breeze fluttered the gossamer curtains that lined the portal doors.

  The main hall of the harem was essentially one large room. Several of the wives had curtained off sections for private use, but the majority of the space was left open. Scented oils burned in bronze braziers, the smoky tendrils thickening the air and making it harder to breath. Dozens of women sat upon decorated cushions covering the floor, visiting with one another. Helen passed one such gathering where six young ladies, all within an age of her, lounged.

  She tried not to stare, but they were exquisite creatures. Their eyes were heavily painted with kohl and pigments, the sculpted designs lending an exotic aura to the women. And their dresses! The sheer wraps could scarcely be called material as far as Helen was concerned, and their nubile bodies were easily visible beneath the ivory fabric. They sat in positions that accentuated their lovely curves.

  "Hup, Hup!" Nefertari clapped her hands sharply, drawing the attention of all the women in the harem, both inside and out. "Daughters, we have a guest. This is Princess Helen of Sparta, Beloved of Hathor and Chosen of Amun-Re."

  The air filled with soft murmuring. Helen could not follow their foreign dialect, but she knew she was the object of their curiosity. Like in any court situation, they were determining her standing. She smoothed her chiton down around her hips, ruing the harsh conditions of weeks spent on the high seas. She wished she could present a more regal appearance. One of the wives even touched her soiled dress, pulling back as soon as Helen shot the woman a stern frown.

  But nobility was not skin deep. Helen tossed her hair back, the blonde strands a stark contrast to the hues of brown and black around her. These women were exotic to Helen, but she was equally exotic to them, a flower of a different breed. She would not be found lacking to these foreign princesses and queens. She met every eye that dared study her directly, challenging any notion that she did not belong. This flower had thorns.