Helen watched tentatively as the two princes made their way across the rest of the room. The closer they got to the table, it became more and more apparent that the one on the right, which she now knew to be Paris, was extremely handsome. With his bronzed skin, muscular legs, and luscious curly locks, Helen found that it was hard to conceal the longing expression on her face.
Once the young men reached the table, they both bowed politely to the king before them.
"Welcome! Welcome young princes! Please, seat yourself!" boomed Menelaus.
They both did so, but the king remained standing.
"I hope you will greatly enjoy your stay in Sparta, we will give you great hospitality in this grand city built for the Gods!" he continued.
Applause followed his comment, and Menelaus turned his body in my direction.
"I am Menelaus, son of Atreus, and this is my queen," he said, gesturing towards her, "Helen of Sparta."
Hector, the older of the two princes, turned and politely nodded his head at her. When he put his head down he had closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he was looking back at her husband.
Paris, on the other hand, never took his eyes off Helen. True, he did bow his head, but his chocolate pupils stayed locked upon her own. His stare was one Helen could not decipher, but she didn't care. The moment Paris had looked at her, her entire body went weak. She became slightly dizzy, and found herself with the inability to break eye contact with him. His eyes were like deep pools of eternity, and she was drowning in them, and for that moment in time, she was reminded of just how wonderfully human she could feel.
When Menelaus resumed his welcoming speech, Paris began to slowly look away from Helen and directing his attention to the king. She could plainly see that he was not really listening to him, but more likely trying to make it seem so out of politeness.
Her husband finished his speech, and the clatter of chairs around Helen told her that everyone was sitting down for the feast. The hundred or so pig-like men around her began to engorge themselves in the food, but Helen chose only a piece of cheese and a golden pear from the platters in front of her. She didn't want to pay attention her food, but instead wanted to look at Paris, who sat in front of her next to his brother. She found that it was too obvious to stare, so she had to occasionally sneak peeks at him when she reached for her goblet. He was not like the other men, who had no table manners whatsoever, but instead took only what he needed to satisfy his hunger. Slowly eating it, he would stop every now and then to converse with his brother or Menelaus in polite conversation, but Helen could see he gave no real care to whatever topics the two of them brought up.
She listened to the many conversations around her, slowly eating her meal, when suddenly she felt two eyes boring into the top of her head. She slowly looked up, unexpectedly locking eyes with Paris in front of her. Slightly shocked that he was the one looking at her this time, Helen didn't move or breathe for a few moments, afraid that if she did so he would look away and break his spell over her. After a second that seemed like a lifetime, Paris showed her a small smile, the corner of his lips curling upward ever slightly. Then, to Helen's displeasure, he turned away.
Fifteen minutes or so into the feast, Helen turned to Menelaus and excused herself, saying that she was going to return to her chambers and retire. The truth was she couldn't spend another second in the presence of Paris, who was tormenting her soul with every breath he took.
Helen's careless husband dismissed her with a wave, as if he was swatting away a fly. But she was grateful for her easy escape, all she wanted to do was go to her room and lay down, all the while trying to diminish her thoughts of Paris from her already troubled mind.
As she started to walk away from the table, Paris looked up at her.
"Are you retiring, Milady?" he spoke, his deep, smooth voice caressing her spirit. Helen almost stumbled. She was shocked that he was speaking directly to her. Though she had heard him speak to others throughout the evening, his voice sound slightly different when it was directed at her. The tone was different, filled with a mixture of concern and amusement.
Trying to regain her composure, Helen softly turned around to face Paris, attempting to keep a calm face.
"I am," Helen stated, surprised at the stability in her own voice. "I hope you and your brother have a pleasant evening." She gave a polite smile and turned back towards the exit. Her feet dragged her slowly from the table, a battle raging in her head. She knew she needed to get away from the godly figure behind her, but half of her wanted to remain in his presence forever.
Helen was able to walk slightly faster as she edged further towards the stairway, getting closer to her room and farther from Paris. For some reason, she felt the need to run up the stairs, which were long, narrow, and winding. She never stopped as she headed for the doorway that led to her quarters, which she darted through as soon as she reached it. Past her bed and vanity she flew, putting her arms out to push through the heavy wooden doors that stood on the other side of her room.
Beyond these doors was her balcony, a place where she went when she needed to get away from it all. It expanded along the length of her sleeping chamber behind the walls, and ended with the a beautiful stone ledge that came up to her stomach. Helen stopped her running as she came to it, throwing her hands down on the ledge to catch her breathe while leaning against it. After her head stopped spinning and her breathing was almost back to normal, she noticed she had tears in her eyes, and she knew why.
All her life, Helen had been loved by men. Even at a young age, men, entirely consumed by her beauty, would always try to touch Helen. Her father determined that her immense attractiveness would only cause problems as long as she was unwed. When she was sixteen her father married her off to Menelaus, and to this day, Helen had never been allowed to make her own choices, or be with the people she wanted to be with.
And now, Paris had come. Never in her life had Helen ever found herself this attracted to a man, consumed with absolute lust for him. The feeling scared her, frightened her to her very core. She wanted him so bad, even though she had only seen him for fifteen minutes, and yet she could do nothing to get him. Her senses were intoxicated by the just thought that he was in the same building as she was.
This is stupid, she told herself. You don't even know him! He's just a man, as sex-driven and stubborn as the rest. There's nothing special about him. Besides, you're a wedded woman. Nothing could ever happen to satisfy these feelings.
After many attempts to calm herself, Helen tried turning her thoughts on to other matters. She needed to go into market with her hand-maidens tomorrow, as a new ship had arrived from Egypt with jewels and gold, and she wanted to pick out some new jewelry.
After several minutes, she decided that she should return to her room and go to sleep. She was in for another rough day tomorrow, as Paris and his the rest of the Trojans would not be leaving for two days.
She exhaled a long slow breath and began to turn, slowly, her head town and eyes closed. She took one step towards the open wooden door and the looked up. Helen let out a shocked gasp when she saw what stood before her.
There he was, standing almost six feet fall in front of her, clad in bronze armor with the famous horses of Troy etched into the breast plate. His hands were folded behind his back, and his head was low. Dark, molten amber eyes stared into her own, a beautiful smirk decorating his gorgeous features. Helen saw now that his arms and legs were quite muscular, his skin bronze and smooth as if they had been painted with caramel. The only word that could really be used to describe the man in front of her was flawless. Absolutely flawless.
Helen gasped in shock and jumped back, her entire body stumbling when she collided with the railing behind her. She almost tumbled over it and to the ground far below, but somehow Paris caught her. Although she never saw him move from the spot she had just seen him in, Helen now found that the small of her back rested gently in his right hand, whereas his left hand had caught her behind her right shoulder. His entire body was only inches from her, although it was only his hands that were actually touching her.
Still holding her, Paris walked them both away from the rail a few feet, then released her. Never once did he break eye contact with her.
Helen's eyes were still wide with shock, and her breathing was fast and ragged.
"I'm sorry I frightened you, milady. Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Paris asked with a mixture of concern and curiosity in his expression.
"No, you didn't— I mean— I'm not—" she stopped for a moment to regain her composure. After taking a deep breath, she continued. "What are you doing up here?" Now that she had recovered herself, she was quite miffed. He had no right to be up here, in her room!
"If my husband knew you were here he would be infuriated!" she scolded.
"Calm down, milady. Menelaus is in the dining hall, drowning in a sea of wine and being serenaded by the palace dancers," Paris responded calmly. This did not surprise Helen. She knew that she was only a trophy wife to the king, used for breeding and bragging rights. His marriage to her was not one he had been faithful to, which was socially acceptable, as he was King. Helen, on the other hand, had no such luxury. Her duty was to succumb to Menelaus' sexual desires when he wanted her to, and to sit quietly in the background the rest of the time.
"But why are you here?" Helen demanded again.
"You seem to have forgotten something of yours downstairs," he answered, his voice a beautiful melody.
"Well, I appreciate your concern, but you are mistaken. You also have no right being in here, in the Queen's bed chambers—"
Helen was cut off when Paris raised his hands from where they rested behind his back, and she saw the item that lain among his beautiful, long fingers. She had not seen him holding it earlier, but the gesture left her speechless.
A single delicate white rose, its color as pure as virgin snow, was held in Paris' equally perfect hands. It was absolutely beautiful; its fragile petals were smooth and wondrous.
"I—" she began, not really sure where she was going with the beginning of that quite underdeveloped sentence. Her eyes flickered from the flower to Paris' deep pupils, and then back again. He held the rose out for her to take it, which she did slowly.
"You forgot this," he said in a soft voice.
Her eyes wide in shock yet again, Helen admired the flower in her own hands.
"Why—" she said in another broken sentence as she looked up at Paris, questions filling her eyes.
"I know its beauty does not even begin to amount to your own, but it reminded me of you nonetheless."
---
The sea was dark and calm that night as a gentle breeze skimmed the tops of the waves and blew a salty scent into the fisherman's face. He smiled as the smell of the ocean filled his nostrils, the smell he lived for. It was a good night for fishing, as the marlin would be feeding around the wharf this time in the evening. The fish liked this weather, calm and cool.
Suddenly, he heard small splashing sounds at the edge of the dock. His instincts and years of experience told him to grab his net and find the source of the sound. As he neared and the noises became more distinct, the fisherman stopped at the edge of the dock. The water below was dark and his aged eyes could not see as well as they used to, so he raised his lantern above the surface of the sea.
The light beamed down upon the water, and the old man witnessed a sight that simply made him smile. A school of silver tuna swam in a perfect circle below in the green-blue ocean, the light from the lantern causing the mass of beautiful scales to glimmer. Their circular swimming pattern caused a small whirlpool to form in the middle, and the fish closer to the surface would make tiny splashes with their fins occasionally. To the fisherman, this was the most gorgeous site he had ever witnessed. His net lay undisturbed at his feet as the old man just watched the thing of beauty below with a smile of his face. This was what he lived for, and rarely was he able to see something this simple and wonderful. To any other man, it was just fish, but to him it was a brilliant wonder that made his soul sing every time he looked at it.
A few moments later, the old man bent down behind him to retrieve his net and hooks, knowing that this would be a good catch and would bring him profit at the market. As he stood back up with his supplies in hand, he was suddenly distracted by the sounds coming from the royal palace a hundred yards away from the wharf. Music, laughter, and sounds of celebration were drifting from the dining hall down to the shore below. It had circulated through Sparta that the Trojan princes would be arriving tonight, and the sounds were no doubt coming from the grand feast being held in the palace. The windows to the dining fall were alive and glowing with torchlight, many dancing figures moving behind them. The section of the palace in which the feast was being held drew so much attention that one was usually distracted from the beautiful architecture that was the rest of the palace. But the fisherman's eyes had needed to look beyond the focal point in his line of work, and doing so had become a habit when observing other things. His pupils wondered along the walls of the palace and paused on the other end of it.
On a large terrace on the second story, he could make out the silhouettes of two adult figures standing on the balcony, warm light emitting from the room behind them. They were both immobile, only staring at each other, completely still. Further study saw that it was a man and a woman looking directly at each other in silence. The old man let out a small smile as he looked at them, two people obviously lost in their own world, separating themselves away from the dancing and festivities of the feast. He found himself wondering who they were, if they were two people in love, or maybe even complete strangers. Somehow, the two of them stood out among the large structure of the palace. Two solitaire figures, yet one simple sight. The old man didn't know who they were, but yet, in some way, felt connected to them.
The light breeze of the sea blew again, and the fisherman once again took the scent into his nose and relished it, loving every moment of it. He allowed himself to return his attention to the tuna. When he looked back and held the lantern above the water once more, he saw that the fish were still there, swimming in silver mass of what the old man knew was absolute beauty. To any other man, it was just fish, but to him it was a brilliant wonder that made his soul sing every time he looked at it.
---
Paris watched as Helen took the delicate flower from his hands and held it in her own. She looked at it for a long time, eyes filled with amazement, and Paris smiled. He knew that Helen was an object of lust to all men that laid eyes on her, but Paris saw more than that. True, she was the most beautiful creature Paris thought to have ever seen with his own eyes, but there was something more there.
Helen looked back up to meet his eyes once more, and Paris locked in her gaze. She had beautiful eyes, deep and blue as the Aegean Sea, so full of emotion. He saw it as a window to her soul, where she was equally as beautiful as she was on the outside. To any other man, she was just an object of desire, but to him she was a brilliant wonder that made his soul sing every time he looked at her.