Priam watched the dancing from afar. Eetion had offered him many fine women and far more food than he could ever have managed, but he was content to simply rest and observe. Indeed, one particularly enticing slave girl had stayed with him to sit at his feet, but Priam had no desire to do much of anything with her; it was not his way to steal the innocence of young maidens or disparage his good reputation with his own wife.
Instead, he watched as his warriors frolicked and celebrated. It brought him joy to see their own bliss, even if it was but a vicarious joy. He figured his days of such carelessness were over; he was a father now, and more importantly a King.
He looked for Hector and his telltale mantle of bright blue, but he could not find him. He knew that his son had little care for these sort of gatherings.
However, he had high hopes for his eldest. At seventeen, the boy was no longer a boy. Soon, his initiation into manhood would begin, and it would be expected that marriage would come soon after. And Hector knew this; he was the brightest son his father could ever have prayed for. But Priam was not blind to his son's anxieties.
Time passed, and the fanfare continued. Priam spotted Eetion's daughter receiving offers from many men nearby a large couch of royal women. But she appeared to deny every suitor. It was then that Priam stood from his podium.
"My lord?" the young girl asked, resting a palm against his leg.
"No my, child. Go. Retire for the evening," he said, pressing his own hand against her head. He was wise enough to recognize that without him nearby, the girl would quickly be swept away by a less kind man.
The way was made for him as he walked; men parted almost instinctively as he strode forward. When he neared the couch, the women straightened and the men stepped back into the crowd of dancers. The young beauty he sought after at once bowed her head. Stepping before her, she reached for her hand.
"You are by far the loveliest of all maidens here tonight," he said to her. "Eetion must have a good deal of faith in these men to let you walk among them so,"
The maiden looked up at Priam for a moment. "Thank you, my lord,"
Priam studied her for a moment; rosy cheeks and strong chin, dark eyes and soft skin. She would make a fine wife, he thought, and she would carry strong children.
"What is your name?" he asked softly, sweeping aside her hair to one side to find a thin scar on her temple. She did not move from the touch, and Priam guessed that this was not the first time a man had coming looking for her hand.
"Andromache," she told him, still looking downward.
"You may meet my eyes, Andromache. I do not cling to such frivolous traditions. Women are joys in my house, not prizes to keep caged,"
He felt her shiver at this, perhaps in excitement. Indeed, few kings kept the same values as himself.
Andromache did look up, and in meeting Priam's eyes she revealed the steeliness there. There were fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and her brow seemed heavy in the way it domed her stare.
"You must be the oldest of your sisters," Priam noted, and the girl nodded. "And the mother of your family,"
Andromache looked down once more. "My mother passed some time ago. My responsibilities are what hers might have been if she had not passed,"
"And what of your sisters? Do they not share in such responsibilities?"
"My sisters are all married," she said quietly, suddenly blanching.
Priam leaned closer, unperturbed. "You would make a finer wife than the lot combined,"
Andromache's lips curled up on the left, and Priam smiled.
"Would you do me the honor of dancing with my son, Andromache?"
The girl nodded, taking Priam's extended hand.
Priam summoned two of his men to find Hector, and danced chastely with Andromache in the wait.
"Tell me of yourself, Andromache. I wish to know more of you,"
When the girl said nothing, clearly self-conscious, Priam squeezed her hand. "How old are you?"
"I am fifteen summers old, my lord,"
"And tell me of what you like to do,"
"I... I dye silk, my lord. And I study in our libraries when I can,"
"Ah, a scholar," Priam said, adding more enthusiasm into his voice than necessary so as to coax her into speech. "What are you studying now?"
"I have been reading many tales of the Amazons, my lord. I find them fascinating,"
"And indeed they are. I have had the pleasure of having several Amazons in court. They are as fierce in politics as they are in the art of war,"
Andromache smiled, and Priam smiled back.
"Are you afraid?" he asked, taking his hand from hers so as to lift up her chin.
"I should not be afraid, my lord," Her voice was wisp-like, and her eyes suddenly grew watery.
"And yet you are," he prompted.
"I...I am often called upon by men or their fathers," she said, "and the thought of leaving home or being made into a wife grows no easier for me to stomach,"
"Indeed, the end of one life and the birth into another is frightful. But it is the Gods' intention for all young women to serve and love a man,"
Andromache did not look convinced. "I have heard of the tales of young wives, my lord. My own sisters have told me of the hardships and heartbreaks they have faced,"
Priam nodded once; he knew of what she spoke. The rape and the violence, all mixed with a new world to live in and expectations to fulfill. Priam was no fool.
It was then that Hector appeared at his father's side, frantically looking between Priam and Andromache. Andromache stopped short at the sight of him, suddenly turning crimson.
"Have you met?" Priam asked, laughing quietly as the two looked each other up and down.
"We have not,"
"We have,"
Priam snorted once before reaching for a hand from both children. Placing Andromache's hand in Hectors, he leaned to kiss Andromache's temple. "Hector, this is Andromache of Thebes. Andromache, my son Hector, crown prince of Troy. Dance," he commanded, and then left the two with a thin smile on his face.
Hector took a deep breath and laid his free hand on Andromache's waist. He felt her tense and pulled his hand away.
"It is not my wish to make you uncomfortable, my lady. But my father...,"
"Your father would be ashamed to know what company you'd rather be keeping,"
"It was no choice of my own by which that woman harassed me!" he hissed, meeting Andromache's eyes squarely. For a moment, she studied him intently, her eyes darting over his face.
"You are not lying," she whispered after a time, and it was no question.
"I am not," Hector answered anyways, and he took her waist once more. "We do not have many harlots in Troy," he told her. "At least, not within the Court,"
Andromache nodded. "So I have heard,"
"Have you heard much of Troy, my lady?"
"I have read a good deal about it. About the temples and the Walls and its heroes,"
Hector laughed once. "Then you've heard perhaps all there is to hear,"
Andromache looked up into Hector's eyes, and suddenly realized that he was quite handsome. "Have you heard much of Thebes?"
Hector smiled. "I have. I've been there, actually,"
Andromache smiled, secretly appreciating that he at least had a sense of humor, and the sight made Hector gulp. Suddenly, he felt quite warm. And when he spun her out in a gentle twirl, he sighed at the sight of her hair catching the glow of the many candles strewn about the floor.
As she twirled back in, Hector threw his hands around her shoulders, holding her away from him. He watched the rhythmic shrug of her shoulders as she caught her breath and the drop of sweat rolling down her neck. The urge to lean down close and to run his lips over the gentle curve of her ear was magnetic.
But before he could either collect or lose himself, Andromache freed herself from his arms and turned to face him. "Hector, my lord?"
The crown prince bit his lip and reached back out to her, cursing himself for his obvious awkwardness. Hesitantly, she drew back into his arms -a little closer than before- and they danced once more.