A heavy gold earring hung from her ear, making soft tinkling sounds as the wind blew against the gold beads dangling from it. Carefully, Andromache pulled her dark brown hair back from her face, closing one eye as she began to apply a steady streak of kohl on her eyelid.
She blinked as the soft stick of colour lost contact with her skin and switching hands expertly, she applied another streak of kohl on the other eye. And then she was done.
Putting down the stick, she regarded herself in the mirror briefly before standing up, the long folds of her dress swishing into place.
Andromache stood still for a moment, finding herself unable to grasp the reality of the situation. The cold anger from the night before found its way to her throat again and she swallowed. For a moment her expression was blank and her eyes empty, staring straight ahead.
Then, almost as if there had been no hesitation, her eyes cleared and the corner of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. She walked briskly towards the wooden door of her room, and giving one last fleeting glance at the room she had lived in for four weeks, she pushed open the door and left.
As she climbed the stairs with slow steady steps, carefully holding up the delicate trail of dress, she willed herself to keep the smile on. Her stained lips were pressed tightly together and her eyes held dry excitement and anticipation. Inside her stomach was gradually churning itself into tight nervous knots and the insides of her mouth suddenly felt dry and sticky. Her long pale fingers were moist and warm and a staggering wave of nausea swept through her.
Andromache paused in her footsteps, breathing in deeply.
I can't do this! , She wanted to scream.
All the what if's and worries that she had, sprung out at her and she envisioned herself married to a dispassionate, cold man. All of a sudden an overpowering fear took hold of her and she leaned back against the wall, her knuckles turning white from her tight grip.
Her breathing was heavy and her eyes darted wildly around her. There was no escape, she had to do this, when all the truly wanted was her life back. Everything became so clear, so real and so painfully certain that she would have to get married no matter what happened later.
Just then, a young maiden with light brown hair came rushing down in a frantic manner, her eyes wide and hair in disarray. She gave a relieved sigh at the sight of Andromache and flew towards her. Quickly Andromache smoothened her hair and gave Chruse a weak smile as she reached her side.
"My Lady!"Chruse gasped loudly, " The horses are here! They've come to take you to the citadel now!"
Andromache paled slightly at the bit of news, staring desperately at the young girl in helplessness.
There's nothing she can do to help me either!
Chruse peered curiously at Andromache's stricken face for a moment, before remembering the urgency of the situation and her features snapped back into their flustered creases.
"Come My Lady, we must hurry! We cannot keep Prince Hector waiting!" Chruse said, grabbing Andromache's arm and pulling her towards the stairs.
"Wait! Your veil! It's not down yet!" she exclaimed. Andromache nodded numbly and reached with fumbling fingers at the back of her head for the thin wispy veil and placed it over her face.
With Chruse's help, she managed to make it up the wooden steps, across the deck and down the low ramp to the horses waiting without ruining her dress.
Two golden chariots stood proudly awaiting her arrival and a middle-aged man decked in royal robes of gold, blue and black came up to meet her.
Through her light veil she could see the large bulks of gold and precious stones that adorned his fingers, and the warm smile and welcoming eyes that he wore. Immediately, she was soothed and the fearful numbness paralyzing her slowly began to melt away.
Andromache bowed respectfully as he did the same and straightened up.
"My respects to you My Lady. King Priam has sent his finest horses and chariots to receive you. He is anxious to finally meet you after such high praises from you father, King Eetion."
After catching sight of the momentary flicker of uneasiness in her expression, he added, in a friendly, rumbling voice, "And our Prince too, I'm sure, is very anxious to meet his bride." He gave a hearty laugh and Andromache smiled.
"Thank you My Lord, for such a welcome." She said.
He gave a slight chuckle. "I trust your journey was smooth, Princess Andromache?" he inquired.
"Yes…it was a…pleasant journey. The seas were especially calm." She replied carefully.
"Ahh, we must thank Poseidon for that!"
They came to a stop in front of two magnificent gleaming chariots made of solid gold and embedded with glimmering gemstones. The smooth edges were carved with intricate designs while the wheels were made of wood polished so highly that they shone in the bright sunlight.
A young girl with gold brown hair stood waiting nearby, struggling to hold up a huge shade that was almost twice as tall as her. The rim of the shade was patterned with gold scalloped cloth and sewn with tiny sparkling stones.
The old feeling of nausea crept through her and she suddenly found the whole structure a monstrosity, a garish, gaudy affair that seemed so proud and arrogant in itself. Unknowingly, she found herself shaking her head and backing away from the chariot. The old man's smiling face morphed into one of utmost bewilderment and concern.
"Princess Andromache, is anything the matter?"
She did not really hear his words, only the repeated thought that she could not, and would not get onto that sickeningly ornate assemble.
Slowly she found herself uttering the words "No, I, I can't use that."
The old man looked at her, astounded at her words, not quite sure if he had indeed heard her correctly. Even Chruse was regarding her in a look of pure amazement and disbelief.
"I'm sorry, My Lady?" the Trojan man ventured uncertainly.
"Could I ride on one of the horses instead My Lord?" Andromache turned to ask him, a faint plea in her voice. She was certain she would vomit if she were to enter Troy in that chariot. The thing itself was a whole representation of the richness and wealth here in Troy, so different, so unfamiliar with everything in Thebe. An unwarranted feeling of hatred rose up in her and she struggled to force it down.
She could not take it; already her stomach and nerves had worked itself into a tight bundle of twisted knots.
The old man looked greatly shocked at her request, but nevertheless granted it graciously. After a brief exchange of words with the other officials, he led a tall chestnut coloured mare to her.
"Here My Lady. Nyx will not harm you, I can assure you that."
With Chruse's help once more, Andromache managed to haul herself up the horse's back without ripping the fine cloth of her dress. She managed quite well on top of the horse, much to the surprise of the old Trojan man and the officials. She had ridden a few horses in her life, and though not a spectacular rider, she was good at handling them.
However, the old man would not hear of Andromache riding atop the horse without assistance and so ordered a solider to lead the horse by the reins on foot.
In good time, they made their way up the beaches of Troy. The great stronghold with its mighty, impenetrable honey walls of stone and rock loomed before their well-sized procession like a formidable competitor, full of glory, honour and pride.
As the horses trotted up to the huge vast doors of Troy, Andromache took in a deep breath. She could hear the faint tunes of music and the sound of welcome and celebration from the people. As the great wooden doors started to pull open, revealing the dancing and laughing crowds inside, Andromache closed her eyes and thought of the last words her father had spoken to her.
"Be strong Andromache. Make your country proud. Make me proud."
She nodded silently to herself, gritting her teeth in renewed resolution. That was what she was going to do, regardless of how Hector looked and was like. Regardless of how Troy turned out to be. She squeezed her eyes tight, ignoring the hot tears that had sprung up behind her closed eyelids.
When she opened her eyes again, she gasped weakly.
Multitudes of people with smiling, twinkling eyes stared back at her, the snaking line lost behind an enormous stone building. And there, right ahead, at the very highest point, was the citadel. A small crowd of men stood overlooking the noisy crowds and one of them, she knew, was Hector.
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Thank you for your reviews. They are greatly appreciated. I hope you like this. Just incase you were wondering, Nyx means night. Thanks.
