Paris
"Were you thinking Paris?" When you killed a King?" Hector roared.
"They weren't leaving Hector; they had come for blood. I stared into his soul. I hoped he understood that I was on the right path. We had an objective meeting with all the soldiers, which everyone in the castle's dining room hated me. And I had saved us today. I had given us the upper hand.
"You didn't even give me a chance to reason with them," he yelled.
"They wanted war," I shouted back. My face was turning blue.
"Stop, both of you," my dad yelled, his voice filled with love. He loved both me and my brother just as much as he loved Troy.
"We chased them off today, and we sent them running, but they will be back. They will come back for blood. For war and for Helen. I watched as he pointed to Helen. You need to give her to Agamemnon now, brother," Hector said, his face flushed with anger.
"Are you crazy? I would never allow anyone to harm her, he will kill her."
"Do what's right for Troy, both of you," Hector said firmly, casting a glance at Helen, who sat beside Andromache, his beloved wife. Helen's cheeks flushed a deep guilt; it was clear to me that her embarrassment outweighed any hint of madness.
"Your lustful thoughts are leading you down a dangerous path," Hector tells me, with frustration and sadness in his voice. He stopped talking for a moment. "I refuse to let my son perish for your prize, Paris."
My heart ached as I looked at Astyanax, his little boy, with his innocent, perfect face. He is sweet and full of life.
"I will do everything in my power to protect my family," I vowed, determination and pride in my soul.
Moments later, I found myself lying in bed with Helen. The soft glow of the moonlight cast shadows around us. My fingers traced the pretty curves of her body. I saved every inch and flaw, burning them in my head. In my mind, she was a masterpiece, and I was proud she was mine. The depth of my love for her was overwhelming. It was true, I was obsessed. I could never fathom a life without her warmth beside me.
"Is he really right?" she asked. I feel a knot of unease begin to twist in my stomach. Just hearing her words ate me alive.
"Hector? No, he's not," I replied.
"I should give myself to Agamemnon," she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Think about it, Helen. It would be a waste. Agamemnon is selfish. All he cares about is his own power. He only cares about land, war, and money.. This isn't about love for him; it's about dominance and control, never about Menelaus." I could see the flicker of realization in her eyes and then her gaze drifting away, acknowledging the truth of my words, I bet.
"This war was always going to happen, wasn't it?" she murmured. I listen to the sadness in the tone of her voice. It sounded like her heart was broken in two.
"All we did was start the inevitable early." I moved the hair behind her ear.
Silence hung between her and me. My heart was heavy with the weight of our choices. At that time, lying there, I was reminded of the fierce bond that connected us.