Chapter 13
"Sharp Knife"

Recommended Songs: "Sharp Knife" – Third Eye Blind & "Lazy Eye" – Silversun Pickups

The Prince of Troy fell over onto the bed with an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes against the last waves of pleasure rolling through him in the wake of his release. The woman beside him breathed heavily from their exertions only moments earlier and sat up to kiss and nibble at the tan skin stretched across his chest. The tender gesture irritated him for some reason considering he generally enjoyed a certain amount of space afterward, but for the time being he clenched his jaw and pretended not to notice her presence beside him. With a mistress he would need to become accustomed to sharing his bed on occasion, and he briefly wondered why it bothered him in the first place. He opened his eyes to peer down at her, searching for some reason as to his sudden aversion to her company. Her light blonde curls were mussed from their actions, but even in such a state, they did not detract from her beauty. In the dim candlelight, beads of sweat glistened against her bronze skin, and he was afforded a look at the uninterrupted lines of her body, all curves and gentle slopes. She had the sort of shape that caused women envy and left men's mouths ajar in her wake. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to acknowledge his gaze with a playful smile on her lips. He was met with her pale green orbs which had enticed him the first time he had seen her. Without a doubt, she was the type of mortal beauty that Aphrodite cursed for her looks, and she served her purpose well in fulfilling the prince's more carnal desires; still, there was something missing as he considered her.

Earlier that day Myrina had innocently commented on the length of time between his visits, but she could not possibly guess what or rather who had kept the prince from her side. Staring at the culprit then, his mind began picking out subtle imperfections in response to his abrupt annoyance toward her. Her peach lips could be fuller to even out her face, the blonde of her hair seemed so dull and lackluster to the point that it almost washed out the tan of her skin, perhaps her frame was too heavy, and those pale green eyes were but a shadow in comparison to the stunning turquoise ones he knew so well. At the realization of what he was subconsciously doing, he sat up suddenly, pushing her off of him, and he grabbed a piece of blue material and hastily tied it about his waist as he stepped into the doorway of his balcony, feeling disgusted with himself. He placed his forearm up to the frame and leaned against it while he looked out over his beloved city where night had long since fallen. Torches and fires were scattered across the lands, flickering dimly in the distance almost like a reflection of the stars overhead.

Ismene sighed to herself and settled down on the bed, watching the Trojan prince who was possibly the most unpredictable man she had ever been with. One moment he was pursuing her and taking her as a mistress, and then the next he was tossing her aside as if he could not feign any less interest in her existence. Despite this, he was generally well-mannered toward her, and in the short time that they had been together, he granted her whatever she needed. What other reason was there to become a prince's mistress if not to simply enjoy the material perks? Needless to say, she had been all too pleased when the crown prince approached her. He was certainly handsome, and his reputation for being an honorable, brave man was known all throughout Troad. Though she knew it was quixotic to assume that a mistress could ever become anything more, she was his first and only one, and part of her wondered if perhaps he thought something more of her. On these nights, however, when he seemed as though he were aggravated with her mere presence, she was forced to acknowledge that she was only kept for one purpose.

"What keeps my lord from his bed this night?" she spoke up in a vain attempt to find some sort of solidarity with him beyond the bed. In the candlelight, she watched his muscular outline against the background of the dark night. Initially she had been somewhat surprised to see the various scars scattered across his skin though she supposed the mark on his face should have alerted her that there would be more. She did not expect such imperfections to taint a prince, and when she had commented on it days ago, he gave her some curt answer about war with the clear intent of dismissing the topic. In her time with him, she had come to realize that he was a private man, and furthermore that what he shared with her during the night had nothing truly to do with him. Even when joined together, he was as detached and distant to her as a stranger. Although he was polite, well spoken, and kind, Ismene had begun to notice that his underlying nature was much more dangerous. The scars lining his skin served as a warning sign, but she doubted any were perceptive enough in everyday situations to recognize his potential. He could be as lethal as a double-edged blade, balancing unsteadily somewhere between the prince and the warrior, and he could cut someone to pieces with one word or look should he so desire. Consequently, Ismene resolved to do what was necessary to remain in his good graces lest she become another victim of the rough, untamed beast lurking beneath the surface.

Hector granted her his profile at her question and did not speak for several moments. "You should sleep," he finally decided and turned away from her once more. His thoughts consumed him, and he did not wish to be interrupted again.

The lone sentence spoke volumes, and Ismene was soon cursing herself for ever agreeing to be with this prince. Undoubtedly Hector wished to be alone, but Ismene had no intention of disappearing quite so soon. Though she was his mistress, she did not appreciate being treated like a common whore. Conversation was obviously not an option at that point, so she pushed herself onto her elbows and looked about the room with a bored yawn. Her eyes settled on an odd trinket sitting upon his bedside table. She stretched out her hand to grasp it, rolled onto her back so that her shadow was not cast across it, and brought it closer to her face for a better look. Her fair brow furrowed in mild confusion as she realized it was a pin from his robes. It would not be such a bizarre find in his quarters, but it was tarnished as though years old which left her curious. Why would he keep an old pin on his bedside table? At that moment, the pin was torn from her grasp, and she gasped in surprise when she noted that Hector was standing at the edge of the bed with a deep frown of disapproval displayed across his handsome face. She had not heard him approach, and seeing the immense irritation in his eyes, her heart picked up its pace. Clearly she had overstepped some unmarked boundary, and she knew well enough that it was not ideal to upset her keeper.

"Leave," the prince growled angrily, and Ismene scrambled out of the bed at the command, grabbed her discarded dress where it was crumpled on the floor, and slipped it back on. Hector didn't stray from his position and watched her with intense, dark, brooding eyes. Though she struggled to find something appropriate to say that might lessen his irritation toward her, a glance at his eyes assured her that silence was a better option. Consequently, she slipped away toward her chambers without a word, and Hector sighed in relief, releasing the tense anger from his muscles with the exhale, as he sat on the edge of his bed. His gaze fell to the pin in his hand, and he chided himself for being short-tempered. Seeing her carelessly hold something that was so personal to him ignited his fury without his even realizing it, but now that he was alone, he was able to think more clearly. Naturally she had no way of understanding the significance of the simple token, but he was defensive nonetheless.

Taking Ismene for a mistress had been an impulsive action spurred by his cousin Aeneas no less. After they returned from the war, Aeneas had been called to Troy to celebrate the victory, and he had stayed for a few days to spend time with his friend and to continue the celebrations on their own. It had been after too many cups of wine that Aeneas challenged Hector to see which man could win Ismene's favor first. The rest somehow spiraled out of his control even though he knew he was fully involved in the process. On some level, Hector enjoyed a competition, and when Ismene had acted coyly with him, he had pursued her with more fervor until he won. The chase was exciting enough and provided Hector with a certain amount of amusement. Now, however, that he had her, he noted that the reality of keeping a mistress was not quite as entertaining as he had once thought. Likewise, the prince harbored no misconceptions that the only reason he won and not Aeneas was his position. Aeneas was far more charming and handsome, but Hector was simply the crown prince of Troy. His status overshadowed Aeneas and had attracted Ismene like a moth to a flame more than anything else. Hector detested false characters, and yet he had exploited his position for the sheer purpose of claiming victory over his cousin. Unfortunately, that glory was already waning.

Once more, he approached his balcony and admired the expanse stretching out endlessly before him. The complicated, indistinct emotions twisted around his form until every movement was laced with the painful reminder of what had passed that afternoon. In a split second, his innocent friendship had been jeopardized by a threat the prince had not even realized was looming over them. Hector did not enjoy being disarmed so easily when in reality he didn't feel he had the foresight to prepare himself. It was new, unmarred territory that he had never anticipated seeing, nor did he know how to deal with it. Crossing over the invisible boundary was not an option no matter what, but the prince was unsure what exactly had even happened, let alone how to properly handle it. For hours, he stood there peering into that darkness, wondering, doubting, scouring, without speaking a single word. What he was searching for even he did not know.

"What occupies your thoughts so early in the day?"

Considering the magnitude of thoughts weighing down her mind, Myrina's response was delayed. Several moments after her father voiced the question, her eyes refocused on his face, and she allowed herself a brief period to wonder what he had said. Unfortunately, she did not have the slightest clue, so she simply granted him a partial smile, hoping that such a response would deflect any question or comment. Her obvious absentmindedness made her father chuckle, and he turned his attention to Isidora. "Might you have some intuition on the matter?"

The servant knew better than any of the men gathered in the house early that morning what or rather who was ruling the young woman's mind, but long ago she had taken an unannounced vow of silence on the matter when it concerned her father or brothers. Currently, she was regretting that brash decision, but she would not betray Myrina's trust so abruptly. The young woman needed her protection, not her spite. At length, Isidora shook her head and set the final pack of food in front of Diokles for the trip out to sea as she nonchalantly commented, "She does not look ill."

Myrina had naturally realized she was the subject of their conversation, and though she was still unsure of her father's initial query, she offered, "I am well, father… Sleep evaded me last night, but I will wake with the dawn. There is no need to be concerned." It was in fact a truthful statement, but the extent of her distraction stretched far beyond her lack of sleep. One moment in particular haunted her without pause, and she inadvertently grimaced each time she remembered her foolish behavior with Hector. She was absolutely mortified, and she could only imagine what he thought of her now after such an inane display. On occasion she could be so impetuous and foolhardy as to surprise even herself. It was not a pleasant feeling, and she cautiously placed her fingers against her cheek to be sure she was not blushing while thinking about it.

"I should hope you are not ill," her father said tenderly as he stood up to face the day. He was growing older, and Myrina worried about him exerting himself out upon the rough sea. Aeton and Alkaios handled the majority of the work as far as raw labor and strength, but still, the sun and heat of the day could overcome even the most seasoned fisherman. Her father had always been a strong man, and he held himself with a certain amount of dignity despite his status and poor economic position. He was a proud man, but pride could be a silent killer. Diokles bent over to kiss Myrina on the crown of her head as he passed, and she smiled at the ritual. "Aeton! Alkaios!" he called out for his boys.

"They have left," Isidora reminded him with a nod toward the door.

"Ah yes." Evidently Diokles had not recalled their departure which was a rare event, and he grumbled under his breath, likely perplexed by his momentary lapse in memory.

Isidora and Myrina exchanged a secret look and jointly noted that the signs of age were surfacing more and more often with him. They, however, did not speak a word on the matter out of respect for the proud, aging man, and Myrina said, "I pray the gods smile on you this day, and you return with a bountiful catch."

"Yes, yes. Poseidon cannot curse us each day. Surely he must grow bored." This caused the young woman to laugh, and Isidora nodded her head in silent amusement at the quip. Once the men were gone, there was unfortunately nothing to distract Myrina from her thoughts. Thus, she resumed her self-inflicted isolation from the world, punishing herself by replaying the scene over and over in her head. Though she was prone to erratic behavior around her friend, her latest stunt undoubtedly loomed over them all. The memory of it followed her around as though it were a dark cloud hanging above her head, falling down on her should her mind stray from the action for even the slightest moment. At this rate, she would drive herself mad.

"You are quiet today," Isidora noted once morning had fully arisen, and they were tidying up the rooms. She straightened the sheet lying over Aeton's bed until no crease could be seen. "Did something happen yesterday?" she asked, unable to keep the suspicious tone from her voice.

Myrina inhaled to keep herself from snapping rudely at the older woman, but the unspoken words lingered in her throat and mind until she was glaring fiercely at the wall in front of her. It was exhausting how often Isidora found any excuse to reference her blatant dislike for Myrina and Hector's friendship. She held the breath until her lungs burned, and she could not bear it another second and exhaled through her nose. All the while, she felt the older woman's eyes calmly boring a hole into the back of her head. The expectant silence in the room hung around them until Myrina eventually caved and spoke, "I do not know what you are referring to." It was a vain lie, but she prayed Isidora would leave it at that.

"You left the kitchen for some time," she pointed out and did not seem the least bit embarrassed admitting to her nosiness. "I wondered where you went."

The young woman could no longer hold her tongue, and she turned on her heel to face the servant and swiftly countered, "Have you nothing better to draw your attention than my private conversations?"

Isidora's gaze was steady and unyielding as she answered, "No." Myrina's eyes narrowed, and she nearly sprinted from the room, attempting to place as much distance between herself and Isidora as possible. Of course the old woman followed and called out to Myrina's retreating form, "I am only concerned for your well being. You are young. You trust too easily, too completely."

Without stopping, she twisted around to peer viciously back at the woman. "What have I to be suspicious of? He has been my dearest friend since I was a child. He deserves my trust more than any."

"Myrina… Has he touched you?"

The unwarranted question managed to stop Myrina dead in her tracks. Hoping she had simply misheard Isidora, she asked in an icy tone, "What?"

"Has he engaged in any improper actions?"

In response, the memory of their bodies pressed together behind the house flashed before her eyes, but she pushed it roughly away while her fury flared. "Have you gone mad? What possesses you to assume such sinister things? Do you enjoy creating false stories to taint the prince's name?"

Her abrupt, vehement defense only served to increase Isidora's conviction, and the older woman pressed with more force, "I have long seen the ways of eager, young men. They are crafty in their charm and aim to take advantage of unsuspecting girls."

"We are friends and nothing more," she snapped back, and her tone was a warning to drop the subject.

"Do not be so certain he shares that opinion," Isidora challenged, but it was the final straw for the young woman who continued her rapid pace away from the servant. The discussion took on a downward spiral as she sped away, and Isidora called after her, "Guard your virtue!"

Had Myrina any sort of object in hand to throw at the old woman, she undoubtedly would have. As it was, she nearly ran from the house and out to the old, untended courtyard. It seemed a fitting place in the wake of their conversation, and it gave her a sense of peace. Around her it felt as though her world were spinning, caught up in some violent tempest of unmastered and irreconcilable emotions, and there she sat in the eye of the storm: simultaneously calm and threatening. She wished she had never asked Hector to teach her to punch, or that she had held her tongue instead of inquiring about kissing. There were many things that she wanted to change about their encounter yesterday, but all she could do was attempt to console herself. Truthfully, beyond her embarrassment lay a much more pernicious threat. Had she unwittingly jeopardized their friendship?

The following afternoon, Hector strolled about the perimeter of the palace, enjoying the familiarity of its grandeur and space. Despite his distraught thoughts the night before, the Trojan prince felt quite composed. He recognized that it was ridiculous to allow their insignificant encounter to affect him so drastically. For a time, he had been confused and sought some understanding as to Myrina's motives, but he soon realized that suspecting her of feeling anything other than friendship toward him was absurd. She was far too young and innocent to consider him in such a light, and being a more mature, experienced person, he had assumed some greater purpose behind her actions. That was highly unlikely, and he further noted that allowing himself to stress over the insignificant event was behavior befitting of a woman. With that, he dismissed it from his thoughts and found his brother practicing his archery on the palace grounds. Initially, the older prince hung back in the shadows, scrutinizing Paris from afar, but even he was forced to admit the young man was a fair shot and had only gotten better during the three years while Hector was away. "Your archery has improved, but what of your sparring or sword fighting?"

Paris was startled by his brother's voice and turned to see Hector leaning against one of the pillars with his arm crossed over his chest. He grinned as he realized he had surprised Paris. It was a skill he had long employed with his younger brother, and it never ceased to amuse him. "I promised that I would surprise you, brother," Paris reminded him while drawing another arrow from his quiver. He notched the arrow, pulled back the sinew, took aim, and shot the straw target directly in the chest. It was a flawless hit.

"As I said, your archery is better." Hector stepped forward from his place beside the pillar, casually strolling toward his brother. "But you have not answered my question." Somehow he doubted Paris had the patience or discipline for any other fighting techniques. The only reason he adopted archery was a natural aptitude, and also, it was not a sport which Hector practiced. As a result, whenever Paris excelled at it, he did not have to worry about being compared to Hector. Competing with his older brother was often a losing game from Paris' position, and Hector pretended that he was not so selfish as to rob his brother of every victory. The reality simply was that Hector found archery boring. What glory was there to be had in killing a man when he stood such a distance away? He recognized the archers importance in times of war, but for Hector, there was no immediate challenge to engage him.

Now that he stood before Paris, Hector acknowledged how his brother had grown during their time apart. Though still slender, he had shot up quite a bit in terms of height and filled out his lanky limbs with lean muscles. His hair was longer, and the childish softness of his face was beginning to fade away. No longer was his brother an adolescent; rather, he was caught in the unforgiving limbo between boyhood and becoming a man. Hector was glad to have already passed through that doorway, but he imagined Paris would linger in between for years more, restricted by his juvenile behavior.

"I have practiced," Paris answered vaguely while he scratched the back of his head with the edge of the bow and considered the palace floor intently.

The overall image was not convincing. Thus, Hector lifted his brow and challenged, "Show me."

Paris stiffened at the prospect which only proved Hector's suspicions right, and he reluctantly wondered, "How?"

"How do you think?" the older prince countered with a chuckle. They had no practice swords gathered, so sparring it was. Hector stepped a few paces away from him and drew his shoulder blades together, cracking his upper back. It was a habit before any fight for it released the tension in the muscles of his back and extended his range of motion all the way down to his arms. Likewise, the prince tilted his head from side to side briefly, pulling at the taught muscles of his neck and shoulders, and Paris watched with stunned eyes as he clearly recognized what was about to take place. Once he had loosened up slightly, he asked, "Are you ready?"

"This is not a fair test," Paris sputtered and took a step away, hovering with his weight over his back leg. In such a state, he almost appeared poised to flee.

"Why is that?"

"You are not an appropriate opponent."

The response came off as an insult, and Hector rejoined, "I can assure you I am."

"You are not an appropriate opponent for me," Paris vainly attempted to explain. "I have not fought in war… This is not a fair test." He evidently only had a few objections available at that moment, and thus he repeated them over and over, hoping one of the times Hector would accept it. Paris was not so lucky.

"Attack me," Hector gruffly commanded, but to his annoyance, Paris' gaze drifted from his brother to some distraction behind him. His mouth fell ajar slightly, and he tilted his head for a better look around his brother's broad form. Hector turned to see what had captured his younger sibling's attention only to realize it was none other than Ismene. She purposely avoided Hector's gaze, and her voluptuous frame was lined with her evident irritability while she made her way down the corridor and toward her chambers. Hector sighed to himself as he noted he would need to make up for his rash behavior the night before, and he supposed he would send a dress to her or perhaps a new pair of earrings. Keeping a satisfied mistress was taxing -especially considering his brooding nature as of late. Hector returned his attention to Paris and smirked at the young man's obvious desire for Ismene. The older prince might as well have been invisible for as much attention Paris gave him, and Hector acknowledged his own wisdom in assuming Paris did not have the discipline to learn any more fighting techniques. Where Hector was a warrior, Paris was a lover. It was merely the way of thins, and he doubted anything would change that. "Should I call her back, or have you had your fill, brother?"

Paris gathered his wits in response, but he did not appear the least bit ashamed for staring longingly after the beauty. "Do you need her company every night?"

At the question, Hector burst out laughing when he realized Paris was asking to borrow her. Once he composed himself, he approached his brother and roughly patted his shoulder. "I doubt you could handle her." Not to mention, Hector did not enjoy sharing his things.

"It has been three years since you left, but you still treat me as a child," Paris angrily accused in a way that was too ironically immature to truly be amusing.

"Show me that you are a man, and I will treat you as such," he sharply retorted as though admonishing a child. "For now, focus on your training, and perhaps one day you will be ready for such a woman." It was clear by that point in the conversation that there would be no sparring that day, and Hector allowed himself to sit on the palace steps for a moment.

"How?" Paris' gaze had fallen to the ground, and his tone was much softer in the wake of Hector's reproach. The older prince recognized the awkward struggle ensuing within the young man where he was caught between the man he should become and the child lingering on the inside. It was a battle he had fought for years, and he attempted to be more understanding as a result. "Father does not train me as he did you." Was that jealousy in Paris' tone?

'That is a blessing,' Hector mentally rejoined, and he wondered how Paris could not realize he was the favored son. Priam granted Hector years of his attention in order to mold him into the perfect crown prince, but his relationship with Paris was entirely different. Paris knew his father loved him while Hector could never be certain. He hastily pushed away the thought before it consumed his attention and offered, "If you truly wish to train, I will teach you."

"You will?" Hector firmly nodded his head, and Paris shifted from foot to foot as he considered the offer. "I would like that, brother. There is none better to teach me than you."

The older prince granted him a partial smile at the compliment, but part of Hector still doubted the integrity of his vow. He stood from the steps then and instructed, "Meet me at the armory tomorrow around this time, and we will begin."

"I will. I won't disappoint you." Paris usually meant what he said when he said it, but that did not mean that tomorrow afternoon he would show up. His resolve had a way of coming and going like the waves. Hector, however, gave his brother the benefit of the doubt and turned away to head back into the palace and attend to his business for the remainder of the day.

Author's Note: Hello lovies! Sorry for the slight delay. I was being a girl and was completely indecisive about how I wanted to divide up these next few chapters! I know you all probably want to impale me for giving Hector a mistress but hold off on the pitchforks and angry mobs haha I promise she has her purpose :)

Just a heads up to you guys: I already have some later chapters planned which will require me to bump up the rating to M. I might just do it on one of the next chapters to get it over with, so I don't forget later. If anyone has any problems with this, feel free to comment or send me a PM :)

Thank you KawaiiHawaiian and AmyLNelson for the reviews! Kawaii: Kowabunga! :D Sorry to hear you had a long day at work, but then again, I think that working entails a long day haha I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and hopefully it gave you a little reprieve afterward :) I adore Isidora too haha Even though she can be a pain in the butt sometimes, her heart is in the right place, and she's the closest thing Myrina and her brothers have to a mother-figure. When I was thinking about her character, I was really inspired by the relationship between the Nurse and Juliet in Shakespeare's play. It's this weird balance between subservience and being motherly, and I almost want her blatant dislike of Hector to be comical at times. I'm planning on her having a bigger role in the coming chapters, so hopefully that pans out. Right. Well that was a longwinded response. Sorry for that! I hope you liked this chapter and will continue reading :D Amy: A little spark indeed, but sometimes it only takes a spark to ignite a flame (winkwink nudgenudge)… I don't know why I'm still acting like this is some big mystery when it's in the summary hahaha Oh well. I would like to keep you guessing as much as I can even though you already have an idea where it's headed! I like Korina too. I actually just brought her up for the kissing scene which was pretty important for Myrina, and when I was writing her, she just came out so sweet. I'll try to keep her around since you like her, and I think she could definitely add a fun element to the story on Myrina's side. Have a lovely day! xoxo