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

his only friend at court. And when the young boy tired of Paris’ tales of faraway lands, he would succumb to their mother’s dark influence as his other brothers had. Only Hector’s favor was certain.
    “Did you bring me anything?” Troilus asked, his youthful face flushed with eagerness.
    “There was one thing. Oh, where did I put it?” Paris patted down the many pouches lining his belt. Troilus tugged at his leg as he continued to “search”.
    Hector gave Andromache a tender kiss goodbye and moved to join them. The princess was a stunning beauty and well loved by the commoners. Her soft brown hair fell in waves about her shoulders and her deep blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. Her courtship by Hector had already been spun into song.
    She deserves their love , Paris acknowledged, casting her a polite nod as she went. His sister-in-law was uncommonly kind and had shown him compassion when so many of his kin did not. She smiled demurely to him, disappearing down the hall on soundless steps.
    “So, the victorious son returns!” Hector hailed him, slapping Paris robustly on the back. “Your reputation grows little brother. Paris of Troy, an arbitrator of fairness that even the Gods would well acknowledge.” He announced in lofty tones.
    Paris eyed him suspiciously. Hector was terrible at playing coy. Once he came within arms’ reach, he shifted his weight and swiftly turned the friendly gesture into a headlock. Paris cursed himself for not paying better attention. But he was committed now, and the brothers tussled like they had when they were boys.
    “I’ll have you.” Paris warned, buried under the weight of Hector’s hold.
    “You’ve been too long in the company of sailors and thieves, little brother. You’ve forgotten the power of a real soldier.” Hector flexed his muscles.
    It was not an unfounded boast. Hector was a formidable opponent, easily twice the size of Paris’ build. But therein lay his flaw. Reliance on muscle alone was a mistake, a mistake Paris delighted in reminding Hector of on countless occasion.
    Paris pivoted using Hector’s weight against him. He leaned his shoulder into his brother’s torso and shoved hard, easily breaking the headlock and sending Hector tumbling on his back. Hector gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs.
    “I warned you.” Paris gloated, helping Hector to his feet. “And the Phoenicians are not thieves . There’s a lot even a solider like you can learn from a seafaring culture.” He pushed an unsteady Hector for emphasis. “Like how to stay on your feet?”
    “That only matters if I don’t pummel you first.” Hector cuffed him gently across the cheek. They shared a laugh as Paris danced out of his range.
    Olympus help any man who earns his ire . The man was as strong as an ox.
    “Seriously, Paris. Six months in Tyre?” Hector’s happy grin faded. “A year with the horse traders in Phrygia? Stay put for a while. I miss you.”
    Hector’s sincerity gave him pause. They were the two eldest sons, they trained together, and fought together. Paris always hoped they’d spend their lives at each other’s side, watching their children grow old and conquer the world. And now that Hector was happily married, it drew to the forefront all the things missing in Paris’ own life.
    “What about my present?” Troilus stamped his foot, upset at being forgotten.
    “It’s here!” Paris turned from Hector, happy to avoid the familiar argument. Hector knew why Paris could not stay. To pretend otherwise was a cruel form of denial.
    But still, he cast Paris a stubborn look. If there was a man who could bend the fates to his will, it would be Hector. This conversation was not over.
    Paris reached into his pouch and pulled out a parcel of crimson fabric the perfect length for a child-sized cloak. Troilus gasped when he saw the material, the rich color a deeper red than any to be found in the city.
    “It’s beautiful.” Troilus whispered. “However did