Twenty-Three
I didn't see Paris much over the next couple of days. He was caught up in assuming his princely title as well as our upcoming trip to Greece. For the most part, then, I was left to my own devices. Mostly, I just explored the palace with Zoisme, who stuck close to me, or spent time with the other women in the palace. Aside from the first lunch and Paris' test, the men and women were completely segregated. I dined with Hecuba, Andromache and Cassandra.
Cassandra had taken it upon herself to teach me to sew and weave, which was a pleasant distraction and helped ease my nerves. Embroidering clothing and wall hangings required some degree of focus (at least for a newbie like myself), but Cassandra was effortless as she threaded the needle through the material, humming softly to herself. I'd believed priestesses were above doing such mundane chores, and were taken care of at her temple of residence. Even a priestess had to stitch her own attire and keep herself neat in appearance, she told me. Besides, how else would she spend her days at the palace.
The priestess never mentioned anything about what happened with Zoisme, feigning ignorance when I asked about it. I turned over the term savage again and again but didn't have the courage to pester Casssandra. She had an air around her not to question what she said.
Despite my initial reservations around her, Cassandra was probably the closest I had to a genuine friend in this world. When we weren't sitting around sewing, we would walk through the gardens, enjoying the comfortable silence that had developed between us. She wasn't much of a talker, and for once, I didn't feel the need to fill the air with words.
When Cassandra was off doing whatever it was that priestesses did, I spent my time with Zoisme. Zoisme and I avoided talking about that day as well. We came to some silent agreement that it hadn't happened, even though we both knew it had.
On the rare occasions the women did interact with the men, my presence was met with mixed reactions. Priam barely acknowledged me. Hector stared at me with open curiosity, as if I was some puzzle that couldn't be solved. I tried to ignore him, but he was a hard man to avoid. When he wasn't trying to figure me out, he spent most of his time either training with Paris, planning his convoy to Sparta, or spending time with his wife and child—Andromache, by the way, made her dislike for me known. She avoided me as much as she could, whisking her precious son off to her rooms whenever I greeted the palace women.
Despite my best efforts, I found myself lulled into a routine that was quiet and peaceful. There were no schedules, no clocking in and out at the beginning and end of a shift, no chaos of the modern world. Time flowed effortlessly along, the days bleeding together.
Regardless of the gentle routine that was forming, a restlessness like growing tides refusing to dissipate.
"Are you settling in alright?" Paris had asked once. Priam was vigilant in keeping Paris close to him, but the shepherd prince always managed to sneak away and find me.
"As well as anyone, I guess," I shrugged, smoothing down the creases in my robe.
We sat in one of the courtyards, a respite for both of us, Zoisme lingering near the entrance to alert us of anyone approaching. Paris' question set the restless waves in my gut in motion. Settling in was not something I was keen on doing, and yet, inevitably, that was exactly what I was doing.
"And you? Are you okay?"
Paris' sigh contained so much more than his answer. "Between Priam and Hector, I don't have a lot of time to myself," he sighed, staring at his hands.
I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. They had softened since we arrived. The years of toiling away on the farm had been smoothed away with bath oils and balms.
"We can still go our own way," I pointed out, keeping my voice low. "There's no shame in leaving."
I didn't want him to leave, but I desperately wanted him to. Caught between doing the right thing and the moral thing left me in a constant state of limbo. If Paris made the decision to leave on his own then I would not stop him. If he decided to go through with Hector's convoy, I wasn't going to stop him.
"No, I need to see this through," Paris said, setting his chin straight. The chocolate burned in his eyes with a fierce determination. "Besides, this is what I wanted, right? To see the world? What better place to start than our rivals across the sea?"
Overwhelmed and uncertain about the situation he'd gotten himself into, Paris still took everything in stride, and he remained excited about the trip. To him it seemed like a straightforward visit, and it would give the prince a chance to figure out his role while also getting the chance to see a new country.
Things were still tense between him and his royal parents, so he was probably happy to leave them behind for a while.
****
Two days before we sailed out, I found a balcony overlooking the palace grounds. It was still difficult to wrap my head around the fact that there weren't any smog or city noises polluting the air. The palace grounds were big and surrounded by a high enough wall that it was in its own bubble. It was quiet, peaceful, and utterly beautiful. Archaeologists would have a field day if they saw what they were really digging up. The ruins of fallen, ancient cities helped shape the ideas they had of what the ancient societies looked like, but this was the real deal.
There was a party later, a farewell event to send the two princes off on a safe journey.
I was so consumed in my thoughts that I didn't notice the man approaching until he was standing next to me, his body a giant tree next to me. He leaned down, resting his arms on the balcony railing with a sigh.
"My parents are delighted to see their precious baby boy return home," Hector said, "although I fear he's a little overwhelmed."
"Paris can handle it."
I glanced at the older prince who was watching me out of the corner of his eye.
"He's a sheep among wolves," Hector said after a moment. "He might be a proficient shepherd, but he is not royalty. He'll see that when we go to Sparta."
I bit back a snarky reply and just stared out at the garden again. Hector still thought his younger brother was weak and, while I was worried about Paris, I had to get to Greece before it was too late. Paris needed to meet Helen and fall in love with her. Not me.
The force behind that thought made my chest ache.
"Who are you to him, exactly?" Hector asked, this time facing me directly. He leaned against the balcony railing, flexing his gorgeous biceps in such a way that made me almost swoon. Damn him. "It's rather strange for a young man to have a girl for a friend without any intentions of marriage."
I shrugged, heat crawling up my neck. The constant little jabs about women being property were still annoying, even if it was commonplace here. I thought of his confession to Cassandra and felt the burn in my chest again. "Not that it's any of your business, but we are just friends."
"And yet he looks at you like he wants more. You know you can't toy around with him forever." Hector's smile was chilling. I shrank away from him. "You're not of noble birth, so, of course, you will never have him. If he intends to stay a prince, he will need to marry someone fitting of his status."
"M-marriage?" I sputtered. "Oh, hell, no, I'm not marrying anyone, dude, okay? I have my own reasons for travelling with him, and it has nothing to do with marriage."
It was bad enough that Athena offered me up as a prize and all this nonsense about love, but marriage? Please.
"Whatever you say, but I'll be keeping my eye on you, Alexis," Hector said. He pushed away from the balcony with another smile. "You should get ready for the party. It'll be a night to remember."
Gripping the balcony railing, I watched him saunter away. I threw a couple of silent curses at him before spinning around to face the garden. Who did he think he was, spewing all that nonsense? Did he really think I was a gold digger? Prince of Troy, my butt, Hector was still a pompous jerk. The scary truth, though, was that he could snap his fingers, and I'd be hauled off to some dark dungeon somewhere.
I pushed away from the railing. The evening air was pushing out the afternoon, forcing its way to centre stage. The party was one where all members of the house and important public figures would attend. Hecuba and Andromache were expected to attend and, as priestess, Cassandra would be the one to give Paris and Hector a blessing. I had also been invited... well, more like "voluntold", to attend. As Paris' "consort" (shudder) I would be there by his side, ever the proper Trojan woman.
The women in the palace hadn't had any parties, aside from some religious ceremonies, though I'd heard the men held them frequently. As such, this would officially be my first Trojan party and I was both nervous and excited.
Zoisme found me and escorted me to my room. She was surprisingly adept at mastering the lay of the palace so she always tried to be close to help me navigate. I got lost in this maze of a palace, so her help was much appreciated.
The room was even bigger than my bedroom back home. Probably bigger than my living room too. Paris's home could fit in here at least three times. The slave had told me it was the guest room, and I could only imagine what the royal rooms looked like.
Like everything else, the room was made with white, polished stone, but colourful tapestries draped the walls. The scenes were standard, some showing battles between the gods and the titans, others modelled the gods. They were all so elaborate and beautiful. I wondered how long it took to stitch each one.
I sat in front of the vanity station as Zoisme got to work on dressing me up. I wasn't entirely clear on decorum or what to expect, so Zoisme gave me a brief rundown as she worked. Anatolians loved a party as much as the Greeks, and inhibitions were lost during such an affair. It was usually why men and women partied separately. Such levels of debauchery were unacceptable for women, who should remain pure and silent (I rolled my eyes). However, Priam was determined to have the family together one last time and insisted that the party include the women of the palace household.
I digested this as Zoisme slathered thick paint on my face, a type of concealer I strongly suspected contained lead. She lined my eyes with a black liner, probably created from charcoal, and rouged my cheeks and lips with a sweet smelling stain.
"I'm sorry you're still stuck as a slave," I said, glancing at her through the mirror.
She tugged on a strand, looping it around a hot, iron, wand shaped device. It was used to curl hair, by holding it over a flame to heat the iron. It made me nervous when Zoisme twisted it right up to my scalp but she seemed at ease handling it. Though I wanted to free her, I was forced to rely on her more than I cared to admit. I certainly would not have been able to dress myself for the party.
"It's not so bad," she admitted, "everyone seems to accept that I am despota's slave and I don't see him very much. He told me to stay with you and make sure your needs are taken care of. He said you're not too familiar with Trojan customs."
"He's not wrong," I grumbled. Chiron had given me a good foundation, but every day I learned something new. Every day there was another challenge the centaur had not prepared me for. It was a lot harder to blend in than I had anticipated. "Regardless, you shouldn't have to do all of this. We agreed that you'd be free once we arrived here."
"It's okay," she assured me with a shoulder squeeze. "It is as the gods commanded. My time for freedom will come. Ah, Alexis, you look incredible."
She held up the bronze mirror, my distorted reflection showed that I was no longer the girl from twenty-twenty but a passable Trojan noblewoman. My short hair had been curled and pinned back with a gold circlet, which went with the one that coiled around my bicep. The gown was a dark green to compliment my hair and a much better fit than the one Paris had loaned me. It was cinched at the waist by a finely polished gold belt. The heavy makeup did a good job hiding my sunburnt cheeks, though if I smiled I felt like my face would crack into pieces. I tried not to think too much about how this makeup was possibly toxic and spun around.
"Zoisme, you are amazing," I gasped, "you worked your magic and turned me into a bonafide Trojan!"
I couldn't wait to see the look on the king and queen's faces when I showed up to the party looking like a true ancient woman.
"I am no witch," Zoisme yelped, her distress palpable. "I hope you do not think I am. I can assure you I do not practice that..."
"A witch?" I raised my eyebrows. "I didn't mean it like that... it...it was a compliment. I just meant you have quite the talent."
She looked doubtful, so I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. It was reassuring when she didn't pull away. "I promise. I'm not going to tell anyone about what I said. You are safe with me."
A knock on the door pulled us apart. Another slave stepped in, stating that she would escort me to the hall. Zoisme would accompany me as well. She'd been given a nicer dress than the smock she'd worn before, and a bath had scrubbed away any lingering traces of her former life. Now her tightly coiled black hair was a lush, smooth mane held out of her face by a gold headband and she was starting to come out of her meekness.
We made our way to the great hall, which I'd only seen in passing during my exploration. It was the grandest room in the entire palace, with giant pillars surrounding an open, marble floor. Sculptures of the gods and goddesses dotted the hall, striking various poses. Among those sculptures were human ones, presumably slaves. They'd been painted and dressed in exquisite attire (or in nothing at all), creating a realistic and artistic effect. Some were dressed like nymphs, others like satyrs, others like other Greek mythical creatures. Not all the creatures stood on pedestals, but wandered through the crowd, serving and playing their role to precision. Pairing them with the vines and flowers that draped the walls and the flickering lights from the torches, the hall had been transformed into a fantastical wonder. The outfits of the attendees added a wondrous addition, and many of them wore masks to create an air of mystery.
It was unlike anything I'd ever seen and I found myself frozen at the entrance, trying to drink everything in. I was consumed by it all that I was blocking the entrance. Other guests glared at me as they bristled forward, women fanning themselves and hanging off Trojan dignitaries.
"Please follow me," the slave said, gesturing to the hall. "The beautiful Paris requests your company."
I'd come to learn that no one here actually referred to royalty by names like Your Highness or Your Majesty. They were terms that cropped up later in history. So, even though Priam was technically king and he very clearly had a distinct status, the word I heard often with his name was anax. When they spoke of Paris or Hector, they accompanied defining attributes to each of them. Hector the Mighty was common. Paris the Beautiful was another. Or, my personal favourite, Paris, Brother of Hector. Because if that didn't smack of preferential treatment nothing did. They rarely referred to women with their true names in public, merely resorting to calling them "woman" or "wife" or "girl". Though I had heard Hector call his wife Andromache when he spoke of her. His adoration for his wife and child really was admirable.
We weaved our way through the crowds of people and as we approached the head table, my eyes locked onto Paris. He'd been transformed from the shepherd with a gentle smile and buttery face. His features had been sharpened due to the light and, presumably, a dusting of makeup. He wore a flattering dark blue outfit that exposed his bare, muscular arms, with a plunging neckline. It was held up by two gold circles on his shoulders. His curly, brown hair had been tamed into delicate ringlets that caressed his temples. On either wrist was a gold cuff that glinted in the torch light behind him.
This was the Paris of Troy I'd been expecting to see. He looked surprisingly at ease among the elite, as if he hadn't confided in me his anxieties about it all the night before. One lady, dressed in a white gown, her blonde hair piled on top of her head in tight curls, said something in his ear, eliciting that warm laugh I'd come to love.
When our eyes met across the table, Paris' demeanour shifted and I once again saw the sweet young man I'd first met. He untangled himself from the blonde woman, who shot me an annoyed glare, and rushed over to me. Up close, I saw the faint pink on his cheeks and his breath smelled like wine. Ah, so that was how he managed to make himself comfortable. Dipping into the wine.
"There you are, Alexis," he breathed. His words were blurring at the edges, and I couldn't help but wonder just how much he'd had to drink.
"Looks like someone is having fun already," I smirked, crossing my arms.
"It's the only way I can deal with these people," he sighed, "they are insufferable." He looked at me, his eyes lighting in a way I hadn't seen before. "You look..."
"Funny?" I hugged myself tighter.
"Stunning."
His sloppy smile widened as he reached out to stroke my cheek. I wanted to pull away, there were too many prying eyes and I was trying to blend in. Plus, I couldn't let myself continue to fall under his spell.
But my body betrayed me and I stayed rooted where I was.