Alexis of Troy (Book I)

κβ′ - Eikosi Dyo

"He will train with you, Hector, until you are ready to depart for Sparta. Get him ready, for things with Greece may turn at any time." His eyes drifted to Paris, who had climbed to his feet. "Regardless of what you may think, Alexandros is still a son of Ilios and will not be turned away again."

It was a moving speech, and kind of nice to hear, save for the part that Priam still insisted on calling Paris "Alexandros." It was frustrating beyond belief, but hey, baby steps, right? Paris had officially been recognized as a prince and even if he had lost a battle, he wasn't going anywhere. Even Hector couldn't deny his brother now. Though it didn't stop him from shooting daggers at Paris, who had gone glossy-eyed from shock.

The two princes moved away from the training ring as we all filed down the stairs to greet them. Andromache's warmth towards me had coolled once more, barely glancing at me as she led the way. I chewed the inside of my cheek, as if that helped bite back my irritation. I was relieved that Paris wasn't being turned away, but it was annoying that Hector thought he was better because he was built like a rock and could wield a sword. Big whoop.

And yet, somehow, I still felt like I was the only one in his corner.

"Are you alright?" I asked, approaching Paris.

"Fine," he shrugged. The glint in his eyes said otherwise but I didn't push him.

"You don't need a fight to prove your strength," I pointed out, nudging him playfully with my shoulder.

Paris shot me a sharp look, cutting through my optimism. There was something lining his brow, trying to cut its way through his gentleness. Being a prince waged war with his upbringing and he was just as bad as fighting it as he was fighting Hector. Which side would win? I had no idea.

"Just saying," I mumbled, just as his father spoke up again.

"We will have a celebration," Priam declared, "to welcome our son back and to have him officially declared a prince of Ilios."

His brown eyes, still bright and keen, met his youngest son's. For a moment, I saw the resemblance between them. Paris had his father's face, one that was soft at the edges, but sharpened when their chins lifted. His smile he got from his mother, though Paris' was less cautious and controlled than Hecuba's. His eyes, though, were the perfect blend of both his parents. Priam's colour but Hecuba's round, doe-eyed shape. It gave him the right amount of softness that neither Priam nor Hector could ever dream of accomplishing. Paris stood out starkly compared to his adoptive father, but standing among his biological family, he blended right in. A missing puzzle piece that had found its place.

Cassandra had disappeared, and Hector plucked his son out of Andromache's arms. He tossed him playfully in the air, eliciting an excited giggle from the baby. Priam and Hecuba watched their son and grandson with open adoration, and it was all so sickeningly picturesque. Like the credits should be rolling after ending on a happy note.

Paris wandered away and, after a moment, I followed.

"I'm sorry if what I said earlier made you uncomfortable," I said, catching him by the elbow. "But I'm not sorry for saying it. It's true, you don't need to prove your strength by fighting."

"That's not the point." Paris pulled away and ran a hand through his perfect curls. "It is a point of honour to fight in battle. Even more so as a prince." He glanced at me. "It is exactly what I need to do to prove my worth. How can I be a ruler if I can't even handle a simple test?"

"Your strength doesn't lie in your muscles," I persisted. "You're smart and you want to explore the world. You are willing to take on challenges without even batting an eye, even if it means failing." I stepped closer and placed my hand on his arm. "You aren't your brother, Paris, no matter how hard you try."