Free The Trojan Princess by JJ Hilton

inhabitants of Troy came to welcome their new princess; wealthy
noblemen and their wives, adorned in their robes of bright colours; the women
themselves, with their tall headdresses and piercing eyes adorned with dark
black powder; even the poor street urchins in rags, smiling and giggling,
running barefoot to keep pace with the litter that carried her and hoping to be
graced by her attention - even their mothers, laden with wriggling babes in
their arms, robes stained and hair braided simply.
               
As much as they might be fascinated by Andromache, she knew that their
adulation went to Hector, their future King. They adored him and he seemed to
love each of his subjects as much, waving and shaking hands, smiling down upon
children, rich and poor alike. None was beneath the adoring smile of the eldest
prince.
               
When they returned to the palace, Andromache had a renewed devotion to her
betrothed and her heart beat fast, exhilarated as she was by the adoring masses
that they had greeted. It was then that Andromache understood the power of this
royal family; though they ruled justly, it was their popularity amongst all of
their citizens that kept them in power. She thought of her father; he had been
popular in Thebes, too, and it had seen him through all the trying times, the
years of poverty and famine, when food was scarce. She knew, as she dismounted
from the litter and received the congratulations of Hector and the other
members of the procession, that she was expected to continue this popularity
contest as the Heir’s wife. For the people who so loved them would be easier to
rule over if they loved their royals; if they grew out of love with them, it
would surely be another matter.
               
Andromache retreated to her chambers, exhausted but happy, with much to think
on. As she stood on her balcony and looked out on the city, a kingdom that
would one day be her realm, she thought of the people she had seen, who were at
this moment going about their lives in the buildings and streets that sprawled
beneath her, and felt awed once more.
     
    *
* *
     
               
“You are surely the most beautiful bride there ever was,” cried Iliana, as
Ilisa dabbed at the corner of her eyes, nodding fervently in agreement.
               
Andromache, though used to such flattery from those who wished to ask for
something, felt her own eyes brimming with tears. Iliana noticed and wagged a
finger at her, shaking her head disapprovingly.
               
“No, no, princess,” she swept across the floor to her, “You mustn’t cry and
spoil it.”
               
Andromache was not used to such things as the dark powder the Trojan women wore
around their eyes, and she did not understand it though she saw, when she
looked upon her reflection, that it did indeed have a certain allure to it and
that her eyes now stood out, dark and dazzling, in the paleness of her face.
She blinked rapidly to stifle any tears and pursed her lips, hoping that she
would not be overcome with emotion over the coming days.
               
The first day of her wedding had dawned and she could not find it within
herself to be nervous at the prospect of becoming Hector’s wife. The wedding
ceremony would last for three days in the Trojan tradition; the first of which
was for Andromache to visit the great temple in the centre of the city and make
her sacrifices, so that the gods and goddesses might look favourably upon her
in her married life and bless her. It was a ceremony only for women on this
day, and she would be accompanied to the great temple by her maids, her new
royal sisters, and Queen Hecuba herself. Her own mother was expected to be in
attendance, but her health was still fading and she had been deemed unable to
make the journey.
    It
hurt Andromache, for she longed for her mother to see her married, but she knew
that her mother had eyes and thoughts for her