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

they make it?”
    “That’s a secret, Brother.” Paris winked, his crooked smile suggesting he withheld the information on purpose.
    “I suppose you are full of secrets by now.” Hector whispered in his ear, his words a bitter dart meant to shame Paris into staying.
    “I’ve picked up a fair few.” Paris shrugged, knowing better than to take the bait. He adopted a familiar grin, his forced gaiety the only weapon he possessed against Hector’s insistent demands. “The bath houses in Rhodes were most instructive. I daresay I learned a few things that would make even your hair curl.”
    Hector coughed, blushing to his roots.
    Troilus, however, gave up trying to follow their conversation. He took off, racing to the doors of the throne room. “Mother!” he cried. “Mother, look what Paris has brought me!”
    Paris’ smile vanished. “She is here?”
    He hated the pity lining Hector’s face, but it was unavoidable where Hecuba was concerned. The favored son linked arms with the disgraced. “Come,” he led Paris to the doors. “She cannot hurt you more than you allow. Face it like a man.”

    Troilus raced before them as they entered the throne room. The child laughed merrily as he ran, his melodic voice echoing across the cavernous hall and between the hundred pillars that supported its domed ceiling.
    Epic scenes of legend lined the throne room in brilliantly colored frescos: Zeus defeating the Titans, Prometheus’s gift of fire to Man, and Athena handing the ring of kingship to Ilus, the first of King Priam’s line. The heroes towered twenty feet over Paris. He suppressed the surge of awe the artwork inspired, reminded—as the artist intended—of his own petty mortality before the Great Kings of this realm. The greatest king was none other than his father, Priam.
    The king was not alone. The Royal Seer, Aesacus, hovered behind the throne whispering into his father’s ear. Aesacus’ pet monkey, Sosa, was leashed beside his leg. As the princes approached, it began to hop up and down, screeching like mad. Paris clenched his teeth against the piercing sound. Had the Fates been kind, that foul beast would have long since passed from this world to the next.
    Hecuba, beloved queen of Troy, stood beside the slick-tongued seer. Her back was washboard straight and stress lines showed along her aged but beautiful face. He wished her eyes would fill with love, as they did for Troilus, but they did not. Instead, he was greeted with eyes harder than stone and colder than ice. He continued forward, trying his best to ignore her chilly reception.
    “Troilus, come away from there,” she demanded, panic gripping at her high-pitched voice.
    The boy skipped up to the throne, ignorant of her concern. “Mother, look at the gift Paris has brought me!” He flourished the fabric, spinning it around for all to see.
    Hecuba snatched it from her son, inspecting the material on all sides. “Did you steal it?” she accused him, her eyes darting around nervously for some hidden danger.
    Paris knelt before the throne. He raised his head formally to his mother’s address. “It is a gift, Your Grace, from the Queen of Tyre. So that your sons will stand out as Prince of Princes and the honor of Priam’s house will be undisputed.”
    “It is not honor this child brings you.” Aesacus cut in. “But the ruin of your house. The ruin of Troy.”
    Hecuba moaned, tapping her brow with the ritual sign to beseech Athena’s favor. “Forgive me Goddess, forgive this curse of my loins.” Her voice cracked as she prayed.
    “What superstitious poison is this?” Hector glared at the graybeard seer with unveiled disgust.
    The monkey cackled and raced up his master’s back, clinging desperately to Aesacus’ head. The seer did not budge, even when Hector—bristling with youthful anger—stood toe to toe with the man.
    “You speak of ruin when Paris returns with bounteous tribute?” Hector spun toward the king. “Father?”
    Priam