Free Helen of Sparta by Amalia Carosella Page A

easy, Princess, I would have told you already.”
    She reached out, uncoiling the orange peel, her lips pressed together. When she looked up at him again, she was not smiling, but there was a surprising new warmth in her expression. It was more than just gratitude, this time, as if he had passed some sor t of test.
    “Of all the men who climbed the dais, none showed the courtesy and kindness that you did, to me or to my sister.” She wound the peel back together again before meeting his eyes once more with a look that made his heart soar. “I will not f orget it.”
    He swallowed the words he could not say and struggled to keep his tone light. “That is a very fine answer, but I wonder if you will be as pleased to k now mine.”
    “Surely the great Hero of Attica does not fear a young woman’s opinion?”
    “You are not just any young woman, Princess. If I were afraid, it might be justified.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward her, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I confess to having seen forty-eight summers.”
    “Impossible!” She clapped her hand over her mouth the moment the word escaped, her eyes wide, though he was not certain if it was because she shouted, or because o f his age.
    He laughed. “The truth, I swear it by my father, Poseidon. Does it dis turb you?”
    Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, studying him more closely; then she shook her head. “I can hardly believe it’s possible. The gods must love you.”
    Theseus forced himself to smile. Beyond Helen, Clytemnestra had turned her attention to Menelaus, who looked as if he had tasted something bitter. The younger son of Atreus looked away, smiling at Helen’s sister the moment he realized Theseus’s attention. Just a heartbeat too late.
    “Somehow I do not think your sister would have responded to my confession with quite so mu ch grace.”
    Helen glanced down the table at Clytemnestra just as Menelaus stole a look in her direction. Helen’s face flushed. Theseus ducked his head, trying to catch her eyes, but she would no t look up.
    “It was meant to be a compliment, Princess.”
    Her smile was forced and distracted. “Forgive me, King Theseus. I think the wine has given me a headache.”
    “Of course.” He called for a servant. “You’ve had a long day.” A boy came forward with a jug, and he poured most of the wine from her cup into his own, refilling hers w ith water.
    “Thank you.” She took the cup but glanced down the ta ble again.
    “Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the evening? A good night’s sleep mi ght help.”
    Helen went white around the eyes and shook her head. “No. Thank you. Perhaps just some fresh air.” She set the cup down and rose.
    Theseus stood with her. “I’ll join you.”
    She smiled at him. “You are very attentive, King Theseus, but I won’t be gone lo ng. Stay.”
    He didn’t like it. Much as he would have enjoyed her company, his greater concern was the crowd of men deep in their cups with too few women to sate their appetites. Helen’s presence was temptation enough, but if she were alone in the dark—opportunity had been encouragement enough for worse than rape. Still, this was her home, her father’s palace. Imposing himself upon her would not do him a ny favors.
    She squeezed his hand, and when she left, he did not follow. But he caught Pirithous’s eye, where he sat at a lower table, and lifted his chin. Pirithous followed his gaze to Helen as she skirted the tables toward the main doors, thrown open to admit the cool night air and keep the smell of wine and sweat from overcoming the lavender tossed periodically into the he arth fire.
    Theseus retook his seat, his gaze traveling over the other men in the megaron. A few had watched Helen as she passed, but now that she was gone, they had returned to t heir wine.
    All but Menelaus. The son of Atreus had follo wed Helen.

CHAPTER FIVE
    M enelaus had stared at me throughout the banquet, his expression growing