Free The Princess of Sparta: Heroes of the Trojan War by Aria Cunningham

best efforts of the powers that be.” He jested, knowing Agelaus would appreciate his talent for evading the knife. Paris had lost count of how many people wished to see him dead, from the common brigand who wanted his purse to some of the most powerful players in the world—people Agelaus had defended him against his whole life.
    Paris quelled a pang of sadness as the herdsman steadied himself on Paris’ shoulder. It was a shame the blindness had taken such a toll on the man. Soon even simple household tasks would be beyond his ability. Agelaus’ hands roamed Paris’ chest and face, ‘seeing’ what his eyes could not.
    “You’ve grown stronger, an ox in his prime. When will you finally settle down and marry?”
    Paris expected this question. As the second son of Priam, he was afforded more patience in regards to his duty to replenish the royal line. But that did not absolve him entirely. At eight and twenty, he was long overdue.
    “I’ll settle down when I find the right woman. These river girls are not pretty enough.” His laugh was forced. The excuse was a boldfaced lie. It did not matter if he found the most beautiful woman in the world, he could not marry her. No woman should marry a man who is cursed.
    “She is out there, Son.” Agelaus sighed. “The Gods spared you for a reason. You will find your mate, and she will fill your days with endless sunshine.”
    And I will bring her nothing but sorrow .
    It was insanity to dwell on matters he could not change. Paris quickly changed the topic, and they conversed of many things: the wool harvest, the spring calving, and the fallout of trade with the lands to the east. He soon said his goodbyes and headed back up the acropolis, taking a moment to marvel at the massive gates of the inner city and the thick defensive walls that had stood for a thousand years. He whispered a prayer to Athena as he passed that they would last another thousand.
    By the time he reached the Palace, news of his arrival had proceeded him. The trumpeters raised their bronze instruments to the sky, the banners of Troy billowing beneath the lead pipes. “Hail, Prince Paris, valiant Son of Troy!” the herald announced with a brass ringed voice.
    Paris groaned, brushing past the man and into the Palace proper. He suspected the announcement was meant to alert the courtiers as much as to honor a son of Priam. Sure enough, his reception was a different affair amongst the highborns in the palace than in the city proper. Telltale wisps of colored chitons disappeared down corridors as he strode through the courtyard, the mere mention of his name enough to send the queen’s sycophants running. Of the few courtiers who remained, their open sneers of disapproval were enough to quicken his steps.
    He turned down a corridor to the columned hall that led to the throne room. Light flooded in from a dozen balconies evenly spaced down the lengthy marble hall. Their long curtains of lavender and rose fluttered from the ocean breeze.
    The design of the palace was ingenious. Priam spared no expense when he reconstructed this wing of the acropolis after the last quake. King Rameses II sent architects all the way from Memphis to assist in the renovation, a show of respect from one great king to another. Paris had visited too many satrapies in his travels whose heavy fortresses were built of stone. One could not tell if it was night or day from the inside. In Troy, the buildings were as open as the spirit of its people.
    “He’s home!” the joyful voice of Prince Troilus announced. Paris quickly found himself tied up in the arms of his five-year-old brother. He lifted Troilus, spinning the child about, and quickly looked for further company. If Troilus was here, his other brothers could not be far.
    Sure enough, on a far balcony overlooking the city, prince Hector conversed quietly with his bride Andromache. Paris set Troilus back to the ground and released his built up tension. Besides Troilus, Hector was