Alexis of Troy (Book I)

ιθ′ - Dekaeneah

Nineteen

I remembered the first time my ex met my parents. Leading up to dinner, I hadn't felt nervous. The second we heard a knock on the door, I realized that the knot in my stomach, the fussing, and constantly asking my partner if "they were sure they were up for it" constituted nervousness.

That's exactly how I felt sitting across from Paris's parents as we waited to be served lunch.

I was expecting a frenzy over Paris's sudden arrival, but everyone was calm and acted as if a long-lost prince showing up was an everyday occurrence. The only one who showed any reaction otherwise was Hecuba. She wouldn't stop staring at her son. If she blinked he would disappear. It was obvious that her staring made Paris uncomfortable, but he was too polite to say anything.

"I thought for sure you were gone," the queen said as slaves brought out platters of food and jugs of wine. "We... we didn't want to do what we did..."

She trailed off, her glossy eyes searching for any sort of reassurance. Everyone shifted, the topic of Paris' supposed fate not something they want to relive.

Zoisme had been recruited to serve. I threw her an apologetic look as she poured my wine. The deal was on hold until I could persuade Paris to let her go. Later, I'd make sure she'd have a proper meal and we'd figure out how to get her out of the palace.

We were seated in a small, luscious courtyard at the very heart of the palace. The scent of freshly watered plants mingled with the sweetness of the wines, fruits and meat, creating a pleasant ambience. Priam sat at the head of the marble table, while Hecuba and Hector sat to his left. Paris and I were seated to his right. Paris had insisted I joined them, insisted that I wasn't another of his slaves, but that I wasn't a bride-to-be either. Despite that, I was not prepared for a meal with the royal family. After hours of walking at the mercy of the Anatolian sun, I was sticky with old sweat, my skin was tender and stiff with sunburn, and dirt was stuck between the leather of my sandals and my skin. The last thing I wanted to do was play nice with royals, who all smelled like they bathed in essential oils daily.

The roof was open and perfectly placed so that when the sun was at its highest, it basked the courtyard in a glorious warmth. The walls were made with blue-dyed tiles, creating an oceanic shimmer when the sun hit them. At one end was a stone fountain shaped into the head of a god, presumably Poseidon's. Water spilled out from his mouth, his hair rolling in soft waves, his stony beard darkened by the splash of water droplets.

"Well, gone he is not," Priam huffed at no one in particular. "The sentimentalism of women. They are soft and emotional."

"He is my son," Hecuba pointed out, "is a mother not allowed to love her son?"

"Of course, he is your son, but there is no point in dwelling on what was. We must focus on what is." A slave placed bread with oil on our plates, followed by another servant who dished up some meat. (Goat, Paris had mumbled to me, under his breath.) "And what is, is that Alexandros has come home to us, so what does that mean for our kingdom?"

"It's Paris," Paris breathed so faintly, only I could hear him.

Under the table, I nudged him with my knee gently, and he smiled at me out of the corner of his eye. Only Hector noticed our small interaction, and the older prince's eyes narrowed on me. My eyes found my lap. His staring was starting to make me as uncomfortable as Paris was with his mother.

"I meant what I said about you travelling to Sparta with Hector," Priam continued.

He was the only one who dined casually. The rest of us moved mechanically. Even though I was starving, I felt like all eyes would be on me if I moved. Hector already didn't trust me, but the king and queen had yet to give me more than a bat of an eye. That was fine by me. I wasn't exactly taught how to address royalty in school, and I knew I would say something and mess up this momentous meeting for Paris.