“Silence, please.”
I turned my head as King Priam rose from his seat, his aged but powerful presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
The feast stilled. The murmurs ceased.
And in the heavy silence that followed, I knew something important was about to be said.
Finally.
It was time for me to ask Kassandra’s hand.
A hush fell over the grand hall the moment Priam raised his hand, signaling for silence. The lively chatter and bursts of laughter faded almost instantly as all eyes turned toward him. The air, once filled with the clinking of cups and the murmur of victorious revelry, now grew still in anticipation.
Priam stood tall, his regal bearing emphasized by the flickering torchlight that illuminated the chamber. A bright smile graced his face—a stark contrast to the man I had first met. Back then, he had appeared weary, burdened by the looming specter of war, his every step weighed down by the fear of Troy’s downfall. Yet now, with victory secured, those worries seemed to have melted away, replaced by a triumphant radiance befitting a king.
“We have triumphed against the invaders—the Greeks!” Priam’s voice rang out, strong.
A thunderous roar of approval erupted from the gathered Trojans, their voices rising in unison. Cups were lifted high, wine spilling over the edges in their enthusiasm. The hall trembled with the force of their joy, the echoes of their celebration bouncing off the marble columns and high, vaulted ceilings.
Priam chuckled at their enthusiasm, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He raised a hand once more, allowing the cheers to settle before continuing.
“We have crushed the mighty Greek kings! We have stood victorious against Agamemnon himself—the ruler of Mycenae—whose armies were once feared as the strongest force on the continent!”
Another wave of cheers surged forth, louder than before, shaking the very foundations of the palace. The Trojans, their pride shining through, laughed heartily, relishing their triumph.
From the moment I arrived, I had sensed the deep-rooted rivalry between the Greeks and the Trojans. Even before the war, the two nations had long harbored a competitive animosity. The Greeks prided themselves on their military prowess, their warriors trained from birth for battle. The Trojans, on the other hand, had always been known for their impregnable walls, their city heralded as an unbreakable bastion. But their soldiers? Their commanders? Many had believed them to be inferior to the disciplined Greek forces.
And in some ways, they weren’t wrong.
The Greeks produced warriors of unparalleled discipline—hardened veterans, tacticians, and commanders who had spent decades perfecting the art of war. Compared to them, Troy’s army had seemed weaker, less fearsome.
But they hadn’t counted on Hector. And they certainly hadn’t counted on me.
While I had done much to turn the tides of war, I knew that without Hector, Troy would have fallen. Whenever exhaustion forced me to rest, Hector stood alone on the battlefield, his sword carving a path through the enemy ranks. He carried the weight of Troy’s survival on his shoulders, never faltering, never yielding. Even when I fell—when I was taken from this world—he alone had kept the city standing.
He was everything a prince should be. Everything a king must be.
And one day, he would wear the crown of Troy.
Priam’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “First, I will honor the great commanders who protected our city!” His gaze swept across the gathered warriors before he called their names.
“Atalanta! Penthesilea! Aeneas! Pollux!”
At his summons, four figures stepped forward.
Atalanta, fierce and unyielding, stood with the grace of a huntress, her golden hair catching the firelight. Penthesilea, the Amazonian queen, exuded an aura of quiet strength, her piercing gaze unwavering. Aeneas, ever steadfast, carried himself with the dignity of a man who had fought not for glory, but for the future of his people. And Pollux, battle-hardened and unshakable, met the king’s eyes with the silent pride of a warrior who had faced the worst and emerged victorious.
“They have fought with valor,” Priam declared. “They have stood as unshakable shields, guarding our walls, leading our warriors, and turning the tides of battle in our favor. Because of them, Troy still stands!”
A new wave of cheers erupted, this one laced with gratitude and admiration.
“Now,” Priam continued, his expression warm, “speak your desires, and you shall be rewarded.”
Penthesilea was the first to step forward, her movements filled with confidence and purpose. A knowing grin played on her lips, her sharp eyes gleaming with an untamed fire. The Queen of the Amazons was not one to hesitate, and as she stood before Priam, her presence alone commanded attention.
She and her Amazons had joined this war not for conquest or glory but for the thrill of battle itself. They sought worthy opponents, and what better stage than a war against the famed Greek kings? That was why I found myself particularly curious about what she would ask for now that the war was over.
Penthesilea was no ordinary warrior pleading for a reward—she was a queen, equal to any ruler standing in this hall. There was no need for nervousness, no place for meekness. She had earned her due.
With a clear and unwavering voice, she spoke.
“King Priam,” she began, her tone bold, “I ask that my Amazons and I be granted the finest armor and weapons Troy has to offer. In addition, we require provisions of food for the next month to sustain us on our journey back. And lastly, I ask for capable hands to help us transport and bury our fallen sisters, so they may rest as warriors should.”
The hall fell silent for a brief moment. Priam’s brows lifted in slight surprise, perhaps expecting a demand of greater magnitude. I, too, had thought she might ask for something more—land, wealth, or even political influence in Troy. Yet, her request was simple, practical, and befitting a warrior.
“That is the least we can do for you, Queen Penthesilea,” Priam said, his voice warm with gratitude. “I shall order my men to assist you with all that you require. And beyond that, we will also gift you gold as a token of our appreciation.”
Penthesilea chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “We Amazons are not so greedy, King Priam. Gold does not sustain us in the forests we call home. But I will not refuse a gift freely given.” Her laughter was rich and full of life, and as she turned back toward her warriors, her request granted, there was a satisfied ease in her posture.
Next, Pollux stepped forward.
Unlike Penthesilea, whose pride lay in her people, Pollux stood alone. His steps were measured, his face composed, though the weight of loss still lingered in his expression. The war had taken much from him. His twin brother, Castor, was gone. Sparta, the land that should have been his, had been reclaimed by his distant uncle. With no kingdom to return to and no family left to embrace, he had chosen another path—the sea.
Standing before Priam, he bowed his head slightly before making his request.
“I wish for nothing more than a sturdy ship and a capable crew, my King,” he said. “Along with provisions to last three months and a set of weapons to defend myself.”
It was a simple request, but I understood the meaning behind it. Pollux had lost everything that tied him to land, and now, he sought solace in the vast, open ocean. A journey with no set destination—perhaps an escape, or perhaps a search for something yet unknown.
Truthfully, I had offered him a place in Tenebria, and even Helen had urged him to stay, hoping to give him a new home. But he had refused. There was something he needed to do alone.
Priam regarded him for a moment before nodding, a small smile forming on his lips. “You shall have them,” he said simply.
Pollux nodded in return, his expression unreadable, and with that, he stepped back into the crowd.
Finally, Aeneas stepped forward.
Unlike the others, there was no hesitation in his stance, no indecision in his eyes. He was a man who had already found his purpose. And so, when he spoke, his words carried the weight of unwavering loyalty.
“I ask for nothing, Your Majesty,” he said firmly. “Only the right to continue serving Troy and to stand by Prince Hector’s side.”
As he spoke, he turned his gaze toward Hector, a silent vow passing between them.
Hector’s smile widened, pride shining in his eyes. He gave a firm nod toward his father, as if to say that he welcomed Aeneas’ loyalty.
Priam chuckled softly, his expression betraying genuine joy. Aeneas was a man of honor, one who had proven himself time and time again, and knowing that such a warrior would remain at Hector’s side no doubt put the king’s heart at ease.
“We are grateful to have you with us,” Priam said, his tone warm. “But think carefully—surely there must be something else you desire. You have earned it.”
Aeneas simply nodded, but said nothing more, stepping back into his place.
Lastly, Atalanta stepped forward, her movements as fluid and graceful as ever. Unlike the others before her, there was no trace of hesitation or deep contemplation in her expression. She knew exactly what she wanted.
The air grew quiet as she faced King Priam, her green eyes gleaming under the flickering torchlight. No wealth, no land, no titles—none of those things mattered to her.
When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, steady, and without embellishment.
“I have nothing to ask for myself,” she said. “Only that a temple be built in honor of my Goddess, Artemis.”
A hushed murmur passed through the gathered Trojans. It was an unusual request, yet not entirely unexpected. Atalanta had always been fiercely devoted to the goddess of the hunt, a woman who had rejected the life of nobility and instead devoted herself to the wilds. Her victories in this war, her strength, and even her presence here—none of it was for personal gain. It was all for Artemis.
Priam regarded her with a thoughtful gaze before nodding.
“There was no need to ask,” he said. “We have already begun preparations to erect statues for both Aphrodite and Artemis. Your goddess shall be honored in Troy, as she deserves.”
Atalanta inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, her expression unchanging.
“Then I am already rewarded,” she said simply before stepping back, saying nothing more.
There was no need for further words. Priam, wise as he was, did not press her. He understood well enough the significance of her devotion. Atalanta was one of Artemis’ chosen, one of the goddess’ sacred huntresses. To handle her with care and respect was not just an act of diplomacy—it was a necessity.
With her request granted, the hall settled once more. The weight of the moment was not lost on anyone, for with Atalanta’s final words, the distribution of rewards had come to an end or not completely.
Priam, now standing at the center of it all, cast a glance toward Hector, who met his gaze with a small smile. There was a brief, silent exchange between father and son—an understanding passed between them that needed no words.
Then, together, they turned to face me.
Priam’s voice rang out, firm and clear.
“Heiron, step forward.”