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.”
As soon as my name was called, I stepped forward. The grand hall fell into a respectful silence, the air thick with anticipation. I could feel their gazes upon me—hundreds of eyes watching, evaluating, admiring. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the polished marble floors, reflecting the solemnity of the moment. Though the gathered lords, knights, and nobles smiled brightly, there was a reverence in their expressions, a silent acknowledgment of what had transpired on the battlefield.
King Priam, seated upon his grand throne, his regal presence commanding the room, finally spoke. His voice, though aged, carried the weight of wisdom and authority.
“Heiron,” he began, his gaze steady upon me. “You were once a mercenary, a blade for hire, and yet you have accomplished more for Troy than any could have foreseen.”
His words echoed through the vast chamber. Only a select few—Priam himself, the royal Trojan family, and a handful of trusted figures like Aeneas and Atalanta—knew my true identity. I had asked Priam to keep my origins a secret, at least for now. With so many Trojan knights and dignitaries gathered here, it would be unwise to reveal the truth.
“I only did my duty, Your Majesty,” I responded, my voice even and unwavering.
Priam smiled knowingly, his expression touched with something deeper than mere gratitude. “Perhaps,” he mused, “but the deeds you have performed transcend mere duty. What you have done is the stuff of legend. When the bards sing of this war, your name will be woven into their songs, carried on the lips of men across the world.” He let out a hearty laugh, and the nobles around him joined in, their voices filled with admiration rather than mockery.
“I am honored by your words,” I said, bowing slightly.
It was true—my name would likely spread across the entire Greek continent, spoken in awe and disbelief. But I cared little for such things. I had not fought for fame or for glory. My purpose in this war had always been my own.
Priam’s eyes gleamed with appreciation. “As you should be,” he continued, his voice carrying across the room. “Jason of the Argonauts. Ajax the Great. Heracles. Agamemnon. These are names that have shaken the world, names that inspire both fear and admiration.” He leaned forward slightly, his expression filled with wonder. “And yet… you, Heiron, have defeated them all.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles—some nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads in astonishment.
“To say it aloud feels almost absurd,” Priam chuckled, glancing at the other kings and warlords seated in attendance. They, too, smiled, their expressions ranging from disbelief to admiration.
“When this war began, and these names—these so-called giants of the world—were set against us, I will admit, I was afraid,” Priam confessed. “We all were. Though Troy boasted great warriors and mighty defenders, we were still outnumbered. The odds were stacked against us.” He exhaled, his voice growing softer. “And yet, you showed us something greater than numbers, greater than mere strength.”
He rose from his throne, his gaze locking onto mine with unwavering sincerity.
“Your power, your words, and your unwavering resolve… they have touched us all. They have shaped the course of history. Heiron, Troy will forever be in your debt.”
I nodded in acknowledgment. There was no need for modesty—not after everything Priam had just said. His words rang true, and I had no reason to refute them.
“And thus, we come to your reward,” Priam continued, his tone shifting slightly, carrying a note of amusement. “You have postponed far too many rewards that should have rightfully been yours. In truth, I never imagined that I would one day find myself in a position where I would have to beg someone to accept a reward.”
A hearty laugh escaped his lips, and soon Hector and the other gathered nobles joined in, their mirth echoing through the grand hall.
I allowed myself a small, knowing smile. It was true—I had already received enough gold to last several lifetimes. Transporting more would be an inconvenience, though that didn’t mean I would refuse it outright. Still, at this moment, I had no pressing need for wealth.
Priam, sensing my thoughts, smiled knowingly. “That is why,” he said, his voice carrying an air of anticipation, “I have a different kind of reward for you. I hope you will consider it worthy.”
I lifted my gaze in curiosity, my interest piqued. What could he possibly offer me that was not gold or titles?
No… I already knew what I wanted. Kassandra.
As if responding to my unspoken desire, Priam slowly extended his hand.
“My daughter, Kassandra.”
At the sound of her name, Kassandra rose to her feet. Her movements were graceful yet slightly hesitant, a mixture of nerves and anticipation evident in her expression. She smiled—softly at first, then brighter, her deep eyes locking onto mine.
“Would you accept my daughter, Kassandra, as your wife?” Priam asked, his tone both formal and earnest. “I have heard that you already have wives, but I have no doubt that you will care for her as deeply as you have cared for Troy itself. Since your arrival, you have protected her time and time again, and I can only imagine how well you would treat her as your wife.”
A hush fell over the hall. The weight of his words settled upon me.
It seemed that Kassandra had already spoken to Priam about this, and to my mild surprise, he had agreed without much hesitation. I had expected him to be more reluctant, given that I was neither of royal blood nor a native of Troy. Perhaps it was my status as a summoned hero that swayed him, or the fact that I held the rank of Lord Commander in another kingdom.
Or maybe, just maybe, he simply didn’t care for such formalities and only wished for his daughter’s happiness.
Regardless of his reasons, I found myself smiling.
“I will accept Kassandra with great pleasure,” I said, my voice steady and sincere. “I swear to cherish her, to protect her, and to ensure that she is even happier than she is now.”
At my declaration, a triumphant cheer erupted among the gathered Trojan soldiers. Hector and Aeneas, seated at the head of the warriors, were the first to raise their cups, leading the men in a celebratory toast. Their voices rang out, filled with approval and camaraderie.
Priam laughed, his expression warm. “I had no doubts that you would accept,” he said, his gaze flickering toward his daughter, who was now blushing lightly under the weight of so many approving eyes. “Then it is decided. I will prepare a grand wedding to take place in a month’s time. A union such as this deserves nothing less than a celebration worthy of Troy’s greatest hero.”
He paused before adding, “Can you wait until then?”
“Of course,” I nodded without hesitation.
I had planned to leave Troy in a few days, but I would not mind returning for Kassandra. No matter what awaited me beyond these walls, I would come back for her.
And when I did, she would be mine.
“Then perfect! Let us all raise our cups to Heiron, who is now officially a Trojan!” Priam declared, his deep voice echoing across the grand hall as he lifted his golden goblet high.
A thunderous roar of approval followed, the sound of hundreds of voices blending into one, shaking the very walls of the palace. The knights, nobles, and warriors of Troy cheered with renewed vigor, their cups clashing together as wine spilled over in celebration.
I took in the sight, letting the moment sink in. If I married Kassandra, I would no longer be just a mercenary or an outsider—I would be seen as a true Trojan, a member of their people. No longer a foreigner bound by temporary alliances but one of them, someone who would be welcomed within these walls whenever I returned.
Among the revelers, my gaze fell upon Queen Hecuba. Though her face bore the lingering traces of dried tears—a testament to the grief she still carried for the loss of Paris—there was something softer in her expression now, a quiet relief. Kassandra, her most unfortunate daughter, had found happiness. Perhaps that eased the sorrow in her heart, even if just a little.
To the side, I spotted Polyxena, a playful glint in her eye as she leaned toward Kassandra, whispering something in her ear. Whatever she said had Kassandra turning red.
The feast surged forward with even greater intensity. Servants rushed about, refilling goblets with honeyed wine, while musicians played their lyres and flutes in a wild, rhythmic harmony. Plates were filled, emptied, and filled again with roasted meats, fruits dripping in syrup, and fragrant loaves of bread. Laughter and song wove together in an unrelenting storm of revelry. It became clear that no one intended to sleep for the next few days.
But I had no desire to linger any longer.
After exchanging final pleasantries, I made my exit, bidding farewell to Atalanta, who was also preparing to leave. “Take care,” she said simply, though there was something thoughtful in her gaze, as if she had more to say.
I nodded. There were things I needed to deal with—Artemis, for one. But other pressing matters loomed on the horizon, demanding my attention.
The corridors were eerily empty as I walked through them, a stark contrast to the chaos of the feast. Laughter and the clinking of goblets echoed faintly from the great hall, but here, in the dimly lit passageways of the palace, there was only silence. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows against the stone walls as I made my way to my chambers.
When I pushed open the heavy wooden door, I wasn’t surprised to see her.
Helen.
She sat on my bed, illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the window. Dressed in a delicate white negligee, she looked ethereal—her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her gold eyes cast downward, filled with an emotion I could not quite name.
“You weren’t at the feast,” I remarked, closing the door behind me.
Helen didn’t look up immediately. She traced the fabric of the sheets with absent fingers, her posture hesitant. “I don’t think I deserve to be there…” she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness.
I sighed, stepping closer. “You deserve to be there as much as anyone else. Your sister was there.”
Helen let out a dry, humorless laugh. “She didn’t cause the war,” she whispered, her words heavy with self-reproach.
“HMM!”
Before she could continue lamenting, before she could once again let guilt consume her, I silenced her in the only way I knew how.
I leaned in, and kissed her.