Free Helen of Sparta by Amalia Carosella

seating. She smiled and laughed and flirted with Agamemnon as if they were alone in the room. For the banquet, Helen’s sister had changed into a gown that bared her breasts, her dress dyed pomegranate red and her black hair oiled to shining. Theseus did not let himself give her more than a flee ting look.
    “Menelaus has been a brother to me for most of my life,” Helen said, returning her attention to the figs on her plate. “He comes often from Mycenae as my father ’s guest.”
    “I can imagine. Agamemnon would be foolish not to take advantage of his brother’s easy manners as an am bassador.”
    “I do not think he does it for his brother.” The smile that he had only recently won back faded again, and a crease formed between her eyebrows. She picked an orange from the nearest fruit bowl, turning it over in her hands for a moment. It was a gift from one of the eastern princes, no doubt, for such fruits did not even grow so nea r as Troy.
    He took the orange from her fingers and scored the rind with his knife in one long motion, keeping the actions as casual as he could. Had she really never considered that Menelaus might serve as a spy on Tyndareus?
    “Agamemnon does not seem a very soci able man.”
    From the corner of his eye, he saw her brothers watching them, though they lacked the intensity of Mycenae’s prince. If Helen meant to know the men whom she might marry, Theseus would oblige her with more than the truth of his own character. He worked the peel free as he spoke, being careful to keep it all in one piece.
    “Menelaus, on the other hand, smiles more than he frowns, though tonight he seems too distracted for diversion. Agamemnon needs a man like him to forge alliances and build friendships if he plans to extend the influence of Mycenae.”
    “And how do you know so much, when you have only just encountered them tonight?”
    He smiled, passing her the fruit, free of its rind. The peel, he coiled back into its original form and set as if it were still whole onto the table b efore her.
    “Agamemnon is much too young to have lines carved so deep in his face if he is not a taciturn sort of man, and there has never been a king in Mycenae who did not grasp for more. Menelaus is loyal, or Agamemnon would not wear the crown at all. He will serve his brother. Though I think it likely Menelaus will not suffer his brother’s demands longer than he must.” He grinned when she stared at the orange peel, her eyes widening again just slightly before meeting his. “If you know what to look for in a man’s face, there is much to be told of his habits, and I have had many, many years to master the art.”
    “How old are you, to possess such wisdom?” Her good humor had returned, her mouth softening. She ate a piece of t he orange.
    “Do you really want to know?” He liked to tease her. When she played along, her eyes sparkled. But if she valued wisdom in a man, her choices were limited to those many years her senior. “I’m afraid if I tell you, it will frighten you away, and that will hardly help me to win your ha nd later.”
    She laughed. “You can’t be much more than thirty, even if you are a friend of Heracles.”
    He said nothing, taking a drink of his wine. Perhaps it was not fair to keep it from her, but he’d prefer to let her make up her mind before she realized how much older he was. He set down his cup and leane d forward.
    “Tell me, did anyone else think to bring you something to eat after I left? I thought to stay and watch, but I did not wish to offend your father by not paying respect to him before the banquet.”
    Helen broke off another section of the orange and offered it to him. “If I answer your question, will you tell me your age?”
    He accepted the fruit and pretended to consider while he ate it. “Perhaps if it is a very good answer, I might be persuaded to give u p my own.”
    “What would make it a good answer?” she asked , smiling.
    “If I had intended to make it