Alexis of Sparta (Book II) - Unedited, first draft*

κε′ - Eíkosipente

Twenty-Five

The waters were calm the entire journey back to Troy. Poseidon was in an amicable mood, which couldn't be said for Hector. Paris was thankful his older brother hadn't thrown him overboard when he learned what he'd done. Not that that was a productive way of handling the situation, but Paris would prefer the depths of the sea to the murderous air that haunted Hector everywhere he went.

By the time they'd docked, Hector's temper was frayed. He stepped off the ship, taking in the familiarities of his home and felt nothing but rage. Rage at what was to come for retribution. The peaceful docks of Troy wouldn't be peaceful for long. What awaited them in Greece was going to be swift and ruthless.

A figure shifted behind him and he turned to find her. Her hood was low, hiding her features, but the slight build gave her away. Her fine dress and travel cloak gave her away. The gold, intricate jewellery on her wrists, ears and neck gave her away. He wondered if his father had heard yet, or if he was to deliver the news.

"This is Troy?" came her melodious voice.

Hector gritted his teeth and trudged down the ramp. "Of course it is."

"I've never been."

Awe. There was awe in her tone. Under normal circumstances, Hector would be proud of such a reaction. As it were, he didn't trust himself to speak save for an affirmative grunt. He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He'd avoided her as much as one could on a small convoy ship—gods, even the ship belonged to Menelaus. His head was starting to ache.

"Where are you going?" she asked, reaching for him.

Hector stopped and glared at her. The sun was setting, twilight casting shadows around them. She was eerily beautiful, like a deceiving nymph.

"Don't act like this all normal," he growled, taking a step towards her. She took a step back, her shoulders tense. "I know all about the agreement made between all your potential suitors. You and that idiot brother of mine have brought doom to my kingdom." He leaned in close enough to see her blue eyes glittering like jewels under her hood. "You did this, Helen."

"Then why didn't you take me back?" she whispered back, her lips curling. "Why, Hector?"

"There you are," Paris called from the ship. "Is everything okay?"

His voice was like a knife slicing through their conversation. Hector pulled away and wandered to where a pair of chariots sat waiting for them. He threw the bag into his chariot and hopped on, not bothering to answer his brother. He collected the reins.

"Hurry up. They're expecting us," was all he said.

Paris opened his mouth to say something, but one look from the older prince made him think better of it. Instead, he helped Helen onto the second chariot, stuffed their bags next to her feet and then climbed on as well. Hector didn't wait to see if they were both ready. He flicked the reins and the horses lurched into action, rolling away from the docks and to the high-walled city. Now that he was home there was a desperation to his movements. Anger aside, there was one good thing to look forward to.

Hector pushed the horses, weaving through the familiar streets he used to run through when he was a boy. The wall would protect the city, he kept telling himself. Troy was impenetrable. No one had ever brought the walls down before and they wouldn't now.

He passed the agora, he passed the temples to the gods, he passed homes. No one would ever bring the walls of Troy down.

The palace was alive with a flurry of activity when Hector arrived. Surprisingly, Paris had managed to keep Hector's pace. They arrived moments after Hector, who was already hopping off the chariot and darting towards the stairs.