The Princess of Sparta: Heroes of the Trojan War (39 page)

Everyone loved Helen best. Their father, her citizens, even her own husband. It was a bitter truth Clytemnestra had long learned how to cope with. But none of those outsiders could lay claim to Helen’s love. Only Clytemnestra held that honor. And no one—
no man
—was going to take that away from her.

Helen’s cries had stopped. She had grown still, her head rolling listlessly on her shoulders like a rag doll. Her jeweled eyes became flat mirrors, reflecting nothing. Only small gasps escaped her otherwise motionless lips.

There was a quickening in Nestra’s loins as an orgasm rolled over her, the pulsing waves of heat soaking through her body. Exhausted, she leaned into Helen’s limp legs. An eerie silence dominated the room.

“You’re mine, Helen,” Clytemnestra whispered with a growl. “
Mine
.”

Chapter 24

Abduction

HELEN’S BODY shut off when her sister touched her. She retreated into a corner of her mind, a silent witness to the violation of her heart and soul. It was a terribly dark corner, the shadows pressing down around her threatened to swallow her whole. Helen huddled in that blackness, waiting for it to all be over. What could not be stopped must be endured. A lesson her father had taught her and Menelaus had perfected.

But all was not quiet in those dark shadows. As Nestra ripped the innocence from her body, she was reminded of another rape, one long forgotten. Helen, a girl of eight, and Theseus, a king four times her age. And the faces of her saviors, her older brothers Polydeuces and Castor, who died bravely in the war to reclaim her. A locked cabinet in her mind burst open, flooding her with memories which she neither wanted nor knew how to cope.

It was never-ending, this cycle of rape and brutality. One king led to another, Agamemnon shamelessly abusing her body whenever Menelaus was away. Her husband, in his own cruel way, was a blessing. The absence of his affections was preferable to the lecherous taking the others had subjected her to.

And now Nestra, her twin, her confidante, her safe harbor in a turbulent sea.
Nestra
sought to possess her, too. Helen was adrift in her sister’s betrayal, unable to speak or react. She felt more than saw her twin leave her chambers. And she saw more than heard Aethra’s cries when she found Helen on the bed, bruised and bloody.

Her matron draped a robe around her shoulders, hiding her nakedness. But Helen was too numb to be shamed by modesty. She stared at Aethra, her pain as naked as her body.

“I was a child. How could he?”

Aethra gasped, a shudder of guilt constricting her face. Theseus was her son, a noble warrior king of many great adventures. And yet he kidnapped Helen to fulfill his sick desires, claiming she was a daughter of Zeus and her innocence a notch on the list of wonders he wanted to possess.

“There is no excuse,” Aethra stammered. “It is a madness that takes men when they see your beauty. Your father tried to protect you, as I do now. But some men are... beyond my ability to deflect.”

A madness? Helen nearly cried from rage. Her lauded beauty—this supposed gift from Aphrodite that inspired lust and depravation—was no gift.
It was a curse.
She was merely an object, a possession to be tossed back and forth between powerful men.

“Helen, please—“ Aethra reached out for her.

“Get away from me!” She kicked off the bed, a dark terror giving her speed.

The room spun. The air was too thick. She needed to get away. Far away. Helen backed up to the sally door of her apartments, spun on her heel, and ran.

“The ship is prepped, our men assembled, but the tide won’t turn till after the moon sets.” Glaucus informed Paris, the last of their personal affects having long since been packed.

Paris paced their apartments, his hands wringing his cape in knots. They were under royal commands to depart. If he missed the tide, the idle tongue of gossip would wag, and he was under enough suspicion as it was. But Helen had not given her consent to stay or go, and he wasn’t going anywhere without her.

Paris had hoped to see her at supper, but she was strangely absent. He had an overwhelming urge to seek her out, that she needed him. But Helen had been explicit; she needed time to consider his proposition. He had to respect her boundaries.

“Tell them to wait.” He wrung the fabric tight. “I want them at their stations all night if needs be.”

“It will be done.” The captain turned to deliver the message.

“And Glaucus, make sure they are all armed. If this turns for the worse, I expect three dead for every Trojan casualty.”

“The death toll will be far higher than that.” Glaucus cast him a grim smile. He tossed open their chamber door and stumbled chest first into Helen’s maid. “My Lady?” Glaucus helped her back to her feet. The poor woman was beside herself.

Paris rushed to her side. “Aethra? What are you doing here? Where’s Helen?”

“It was the queen, and my stupid mouth, I should never have said a word... Please, Your Grace. You have to go after her. I’m afraid she will hurt herself.” The words tumbled out of the woman like rocks cascading down a cliff, one crashing into another until there was only a piled mess.

“Whoa, slow down.” Paris set her down on a chair. “Tell me everything.”

The mist had returned. The humid air was so thick that even the western zephyrs blowing in strength did little to disperse it. Helen stood at the temple precipice, her toes hanging off the loose rock. Salt spray from the crashing waves below made her purchase more slippery. A gust of wind or shift of weight could send her to her death, each factor seemingly innocent but holding the power of life or death over the weary princess.

She toyed with it. How easy it would be to just fall, to let the rocks claim her. Her body would be crushed to powder, her soul returned to sea foam. There would be no more fighting on her behalf. Paris could return home. He would not have to squander his life in a never-ending battle over her. In time, he could be happy.

But not her. No amount of time or space could erase what Helen had been through. It was better to end it. Her beauty would reap no more ruin. She spread her arms and whispered a prayer to the Goddess, willing Her to make the final push. The wind gusted like a divine breath. The mist parted.

And Paris was there, an expression of love and concern on his face that pierced her heart.

“Paris!” she cried as she turned to him.

The twisting move crumbled the ground beneath her feet. She slipped over the edge, the wet rock sliding through her grasping hands.

He was at her side like lightning, grabbing her arms before she had fallen too far, and pulled her up to safety. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.” He cradled her to his chest. “I’ll protect you, my love. You don’t have to do this.”

Helen moaned, sobbing into his chest. “It won’t end.” She clung to his tunic, desperate for his heat to stop her ice-numbed shivers. “It doesn’t matter where we go. Agamemnon will find me. And if not him, there will be others.”

With bloodshed and destruction, they’d come for her, and she would be handed to whoever conquered. It felt like a ghostly prophecy riding on the vespers of the frost-laced fog. She shifted her gaze to look out over the precipice. It was only a short step...

Paris’ arms tightened around her and she knew if she took that step, he would follow after. “Don’t ask me to let you go.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Not like this. There might be a day when we both must jump, but it’s not today. Not when a kingdom and a new life waits for us across the sea.”

He sounded so confident, his hope a beacon of light she was afraid to take shelter in. But there was no safe harbor, no distant shore where her curse would not follow them.

“They’ll unite to reclaim me. They swore an oath...,” she cried. “You can’t stop them.”

“Yes, I can.
Troy can.
”

“
You can’t!
” She tore away from him. “Maybe you can deflect Agamemnon, but when it’s your brother or your father who tries to claim me? Will you kill them all?
Can you?
” Her body doubled over in guilt. She would be the death of this man. She turned to the cliff, a groan of despair on her lips. “How many will you fight to keep me free?”

“The whole world if needs be.” He shook with the weight of that promise.

She moaned again, her spirit broken. She didn’t have the strength to keep fighting. When he wrapped his arms around her again, she let him. He drew her close, buoying her spirit with his own.

“I’ve spent my entire life making other people happy,” he trembled as he confessed in her ear, “hoping, if I tried hard enough, they would love me the way a noble son deserved to be loved. It wasn’t until I met you that I realized it was for naught.
I owed them nothing.
And there was nothing they could give that would equal your love.”

He pulled her away from the cliff, forcing her to look at him. “You are my light, Helen. I dwelt in darkness before I met you, before you loved me. You are more precious to me than air, and I’ll follow you wherever you decide we must go. But there is a better way than death.

“You don’t belong to these people. You’re life is your own. You get to choose which roads to travel, which future to claim,
not them
. You only have to follow your heart. And when happiness is within your grasp, have the courage to reach for it.”

Follow your heart
.

The hairs rose on her arms and neck. Helen felt herself at a crossroads, as vividly as she had on the eve of her betrothal. All the multitude of events in her life inevitably led her to this very moment.

Follow your heart
... into the depths or to Troy?

She looked up at Paris, his eyes so filled with love, so hopeful. Was it worth risking his life; was it worth shaming everyone that she loved?

They don’t love you
.

Nestra’s harsh voice leaked into Helen’s mind. Her twin was right. They didn’t love Helen. They loved the
idea of Helen
, not Helen herself. Only this man saw her for who she truly was, and his love was worth a lifetime of pain and suffering. The deep emptiness, that gulf of pain and fear, could not exist in his presence. He was a burning warmth that scorched those dark phantoms away.

“Yes,” she gasped, somehow knowing it was the right path to take. Paris’ arms tightened around her.

“I’ll come with you to Troy.”