Nathan exchanged glances with the crowd, feeling their energy as it mixed with his own. He could see in their faces that this daily march, though simple, worked a quiet magic, lifting the spirits of all who watched. Soldiers, too, absorbed the atmosphere, the cheers infusing them with renewed strength to face the uncertainties of the next dawn.
As they made their way further into the city, Aeneas, who had been walking with the column, turned his head toward Heiron, a grin lighting up his face. “Hey, Heiron! Are you coming to the feast of tonight?”
The feast was an exclusive gathering, a nightly tribute to the finest soldiers of Troy. Only those who had proven their strength and valor against the Greeks were granted entry, and among them were the commanders whose names were already whispered with awe. Heiron, as Nathan was known to the Trojans, had earned his place at these feasts countless times. His performance on the battlefield that day, cutting down a Greek commander with astonishing ease, had once again secured his invitation.
Yet, despite the honor, Nathan felt an exhaustion that went beyond the weariness of battle. In the two months he had been in Troy, he had attended his fair share of these banquets, and the routine of them had begun to wear thin. It wasn’t that he disliked the feasts themselves; the food and wine were abundant, the halls filled with laughter and song, and the camaraderie was genuine. But the questions—endless and prying—wore on his patience.
There was always a curious face, eager to know more about this mysterious warrior. People asked about his origins, pressing him for tales of his homeland and family. Others wanted to know where he had fought before, why he was so skilled, or whether the beautiful woman who had once accompanied him was married. Nathan had spun countless tales, weaving layers of fabricated history, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the lies straight. Details slipped through his memory, and he couldn’t remember half the stories he’d told a month prior.
So, he had learned to avoid the feasts whenever he could. But tonight, his presence would be hard to refuse; his recent feat had stirred up a storm of admiration, and he had little choice but to attend, lest he appear suspicious or aloof. Aeneas, now one of Nathan’s closest friends in Troy, had extended the invitation personally, and Nathan had declined his requests too many times already. Hector, too, would have appreciated his company, though he never pushed Nathan to attend.
Sensing his reluctance, Aeneas leaned in, his voice low and reassuring. “Don’t worry,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ll keep the others at bay tonight.”
Nathan exhaled, feeling a flicker of gratitude. Aeneas had quickly picked up on his discomfort with all the prying questions, understanding how out of place Nathan felt beneath their scrutiny.
“Fine,” Nathan replied, allowing a small smile. “I’ll take a bath and be there soon.”
He had already sent Charybdis ahead without him, hoping for a quiet evening to himself, but he knew he could not escape tonight’s gathering. With a nod to Aeneas, he turned back toward his quarters, hoping this would be one of the quieter nights, free from the ceaseless questions and curious stares. A whole day of battle had already drained his mental reserves, and all he wished for was a moment’s peace amidst the feast’s lively chaos.
Nathan made his way back to his quarters in the castle. Once inside, he took a long, calming bath, letting the warm water wash away the sweat and blood from his skin, remnants of yet another brutal day of fighting. He sank lower into the bath, savoring the soothing relief it brought to his tired muscles and bruised body. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, craving the thought of collapsing into bed and surrendering to sleep.
Yet duty called. As much as he wished to rest, he knew he had to make an appearance at the evening feast, if only to pay respect to King Priam. With a resigned sigh, Nathan stepped out of the bath, toweling off before reaching for the fresh set of clothing provided for him. The attire was richly made, finely woven garments befitting a high-ranking nobleman—generous gifts from Aeneas himself, seeing as Nathan had come to Troy with limited belongings. He dressed himself slowly, the weight of the coming evening settling over him.
Just as he buttoned up the top of his tunic, he sensed another presence in the room. Without even turning, Nathan spoke, his tone cool and knowing. “What are you doing here?”
Behind him, the goddess Aphrodite stood with a warm, admiring smile. “You fought well again today,” she remarked, her voice filled with a subtle, almost playful pride.
Nathan gave a faint nod, acknowledging her words without letting himself be flattered. “Yes, I did. But I’ve only three months left,” he replied, the reminder of his impending death falling from his lips with a grim finality.
Aphrodite’s smile faded, and her delicate lips formed a slight pout. “You know, you should already be dead,” she reminded him, her eyes flickering with a mix of exasperation and sympathy.
Nathan knew the truth of it all too well. By all rights, his life should have ended already, if not for Apollo’s intervention. The god had bent the laws of nature, granting Nathan a brief reprieve, a fragile extension that lingered over him like a shadow. And while he was undeniably grateful, the constant reminder of his borrowed time gnawed at him, a reminder that his fate was slipping closer with each passing day.
“Any news from Apollo?” Nathan asked, glancing over his shoulder at the goddess, his gaze probing.
Aphrodite shook her head, her expression turning somber. “He’s ventured into a dangerous place for your sake,” she murmured. “Not only for you, but for the sake of Troy—and Hector.”
Nathan’s expression hardened. “Troy won’t fall. Hector won’t fall. I’ve promised that,” he said, again.
Aphrodite laughed softly, amused by his boldness. Nathan was essentially claiming responsibility for Troy’s protection, as though Apollo himself were merely a lesser guardian in comparison. She admired his confidence, however brash it might have been.
“You’ve done well in guarding Hector up to now,” she said, her tone gentle yet cautious. “But be warned—Hera’s anger is rising. She might make her move soon, and she’ll stop at nothing to see Hector dead. Be on guard.”
Nathan’s face darkened at the mention of Hera, the troublesome goddess who had opposed him since his arrival in this strange world. To him, she was nothing but an incessant, omnipresent nuisance, constantly stirring trouble from her seat of power.
“That goddess will be dealt with soon enough,” he muttered darkly. Experience tales with m v|l e’m,p y r
Aphrodite’s eyes widened slightly, her lips quivering with the urge to laugh. Nathan spoke of Hera as if she were some common adversary, a mere mortal woman who could be dismissed and dealt with at his convenience. Yet Hera was no ordinary foe—she was the Queen of Olympus, wife to the mighty Zeus himself. Still, there was something irresistibly audacious about Nathan’s attitude, his willingness to defy even the highest gods.
One thing was certain—Nathan possessed a courage that bordered on reckless, but perhaps, in this world of capricious deities and ancient powers, it was precisely that fearlessness that set him apart.
“How’s Khione?” Nathan asked, his voice softening as he brought up the one woman who lingered in his mind, the one he yearned to see most. Memories of their last encounter flooded back—a stolen moment before he’d left for Uteska. She had given him a nice blowjob that day.
It felt like years had passed since that day, the longing sharpening within him.
Aphrodite observed his reaction with an understanding smile. “She’s fine, though she still has to stay hidden,” she replied. “Poseidon’s still hunting her down like a madman.” She chuckled lightly, though Nathan’s expression only darkened.
The thought of Poseidon pursuing Khione filled Nathan with a cold rage. If he could, he would have killed the sea god already—eliminated the threat that loomed over his woman. But Poseidon was strong, his strength leagues beyond what Nathan could currently handle. For now, he needed patience, a carefully crafted plan. He gritted his teeth. “Make sure she’s never found by that bastard.”
“I’ll do my best.” Aphrodite nodded, though her playful pout returned as she stepped closer, her delicate fingers trailing up his arm before settling around his waist. Without warning, she pressed her soft, warm body against his back, her arms wrapped around him in an intimate embrace. She leaned forward, her lips grazing his neck, leaving a series of lingering, featherlight kisses. “Why don’t you show the same worry for me, Nate?” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin.
Nathan tensed, feeling the heat of her touch and the intoxicating scent that clung to her. Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty, and every part of her was crafted to allure. His body responded immediately, an involuntary reaction to her closeness.