'He must be one of the few people in the known world that's truly happy about the death of King Agamemnon,' decided Prince Paris of Troy as he watched his father, King Priam, preside over the feast. Not that Agamemnon was such a fantastic person and kind leader that everyone would be mourning him for years. In fact, Paris knew from nauseating personal experience during a visit three years prior that the dead king was obnoxious, vain, incapable of much subtly, and alarmingly unashamed of his wandering hands. Thankfully, the prince's older brother, Hector, had seen that the old man had cornered him (and was slobbering all over his neck) and intervened.

No, no one would be shedding any tears over Agamemnon the man. Agamemnon the king was another story. The thing that worried almost everyone was that, no matter how repulsive he had been, King Agamemnon was also the king of all the Greek kings and a very powerful man. Now that power would have to be claimed by either his weak younger brother, King Menelaus of Sparta, or by his infant son Orestes – and the boy's mother, who also happened to be Agamemnon's murderer. It would be better for Troy if Menelaus was the victor in the struggle, but Paris was secretly rooting for Clytemnestra. If he had to let the lecherous king paw at him all day and all night for years, he would've grabbed the nearest ax too.

Despite his disgust for the man, Paris certainly wasn't happy he was dead. Now political alliances would have to be redrawn and power structures rebuilt. That unfortunate fact had sent Hector abroad and had kept him away for quite a while. It was hard enough to see his brother when they were both in the palace, since Priam didn't seem to approve of them having any relationship whatsoever. The king claimed that they needed to concentrate on the different services they would perform for the city and not some childish bond. Privately, Paris suspected it was more because Priam was afraid of what Hector's reaction would be if he found out what services Paris would be performing when he turned eighteen in less than two years. In any case, Hector secretly visited him whenever he could manage it, but now those precious brief visits were impossible.

On top of all that, now there were a lot of Greeks in Troy as guests of the king while new alliances were negotiated. This meant there were nightly banquets for King Odysseus of Ithaca, the Lord Achilles, and the men of their armies. The sixteen-year-old boy was decidedly uncomfortable, as his only experience with Greeks was with Agamemnon and his groping, and embarrassed about his own lack of fighting skills. Paris would also have to spend every evening at these banquets seated between Priam and Lord Isidore, the king's right-hand man. And, as always, Lord Isidore's withered, wrinkled hand was stroking the prince's bare thigh. Knowing it would be useless to complain to his father, Paris tried to ignore both the lord and his hand.

Lord Isidore, however, would not be ignored. He lifted his other hand and caressed the boy's cheek is a disturbingly intimate way. "You're not smiling," he purred in a voice that made Paris sick to his stomach. "You're so pretty when you smile."

The older man turned his gaze to King Priam. "My king," he said in a too smooth voice. "Doesn't the prince look most fetching when he smiles?"

"Yes, he certainly does," agreed the king proudly. "Paris, smile. Show our guests how lovely you are."

"Father, I really don't" –

"Show them." His father's voice was hard. "Let them see."

Willing the bile to stay down, Paris forced a smile on his face. Priam beamed with approval. "Honorable guests," he called out. "Most esteemed King Odysseus, brave Lord Achilles, noble warriors of Ithaca, mighty Myrmidons! Your presence not only honors me, but also delights the prince – and makes Troy an even more beautiful place in the process. Look at my youngest child; is he not even more beautiful when he smiles?"

Paris' cheeks burned with humiliation as every eye in the room turned to him. Did his father really have to show him off like he was a new statue or vase? He glanced at Priam, but the king didn't notice; he was too busy swelling with pride. All of the Greeks agreed that, yes, his son was extremely attractive, though Odysseus gave him a strange look when he gave the compliment.

Finally, finally, the people stopped staring at him. He dropped the phony smile off of his face in an instant and lowered his head. Oh, how he hated the beads he wore in his hair right now; if his hair was loose, he could use it to at least partially obstruct his face from view. The Greeks must be getting a good laugh, he decided miserably. Look at the little prince who could contribute nothing more to his kingdom than a pretty smile.

Then he felt eyes on him again. Paris his eyes to find that the Lord Achilles was staring at him. This had been happening ever since he'd arrived, with stares that were always persistent but never threatening. But tonight, tonight there was an intensity in the Greek's eyes, as if he were trying to peel away the skin and see straight into the prince's soul. Paris couldn't look away; those blue eyes hold his brown ones, determined to look inside and know all there was to know about him...

"It is time for the evening's festivities to begin!" a loud voice announced, startling Paris enough to break his eye contact with Achilles. The Trojan prince sucked in a deep breath to regain his composure as the court prostitutes filtered into the room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Achilles was never the type of person who had a weakness for the beauty of anyone else. He was, after all, the son of a sea goddess, Thetis – what kind of mortal beauty could hold a candle to that ideal? He was also accounted the most powerful warrior in the world and the leader of the skilled Myrmidons. War was ever on his mind and nothing was pretty in the context of war. He'd also seen too many intelligent men be turned into blubbering idiots at the first sight of anything even halfway enticing. All in all, Achilles was quite happy to remain immune to the temptation of anyone's beautiful features.

That was before he'd laid eyes on Prince Paris of Troy. On the journey across the sea to the city, Achilles had concentrated on the matters at hand and what had to be discussed, ignoring the eager murmurs about the boy's beauty that circulated among even his most battle-hardened men. So what if Troy had a prince whose beauty rivaled that of even Helen's? He'd met the queen of Sparta once and quickly concluded that it was a good thing she was pretty because she wasn't much else. He expected Prince Paris to be just as useless – why, he was sixteen-years-old and not even training with the Trojan army!

When they'd reached the shores outside the city, Paris was standing a little ways behind King Priam to greet them. Maybe it was annoyance at all the talk he'd endured; maybe it was simple curiosity about what everyone found so fascinating; whatever the reason, Achilles looked long and hard at the boy and was stunned at what he found there. Those incredibly deep brown eyes were the first things that ever took his breath away. The misery that shone through them didn't belong to a pampered prince but to an abused slave. They were supposed to be a part of the face of someone that's had the life suffocated out of him for years; leaving him with no hope left for escape, nor strength enough to cry.

Now tonight Achilles continued to stare as everyone else turned back to their meals. Paris had lost that horrible fake smile as soon as he could and tried in vain to hide his face behind his hair. He silently willed the boy to look at him, hoping that he could understand how he could possess seemingly unending sadness through diligent observation. Whey they'd finally locked eyes, the Grecian warrior was almost overwhelmed by the emotions that Paris held deep inside. Yes, he decided; the young prince was most intriguing, even if he was a reputed beauty.

When the banquet ended with the arrival of the prostitutes, Achilles didn't waste any time. He marched right up to Paris, who was still flanked on either side by King Priam and Lord Isidore. "Prince Paris," he greeted stately, nodding his head as a substitute for a bow since Achilles never bowed to anyone. Paris inclined his own head a little hesitantly in acknowledgment.

"I've heard rumors about the magnificence of Troy's gardens," he continued. "Would you care to show them to me?"

Priam bristled at the warrior's boldness. "You should have addressed that question to me and not my son!" he growled indignantly.

Achilles merely rolled his eyes. "King Priam, I don't want you to show me the gardens," he said in a straightforward tone. "I'd prefer the prince's company."

"I'm sure you would," said Lord Isidore snidely, placing one of his hands on the juncture of Paris' neck and shoulder, rubbing the long neck with a finger. Achilles didn't miss how the prince went still at the touch. "However, Prince Paris cannot be good company for anything you have in mind. May I suggest one of our more entertaining young men from the harem?"

"I wish to see the gardens with the prince, not bed a whore!" snapped Achilles, truly insulted.

Priam's expression twisted. "I don't see what you'd want from him besides a tight hole," he said nastily.

Achilles was too infuriated to consider that the insult wasn't just meant for him and to see the way Paris' eyes snapped shut as his faced paled. "Will I be allowed to see the gardens with the prince?" he said evenly, his voice low and dangerous. "Because if you dare insult my honor again tonight, I'll leave with my Myrmidons tomorrow at first light with no treaty, no alliance, and the memory of this outrage forever foremost on my mind."

He turned his head slowly towards Paris. "My prince," he said, trying to banish the threat from his voice. "Will you do me the honor of showing me the gardens of the city?"

"Fine!" Priam spat out. "Paris, show Lord Achilles the gardens but don't be too long about it."

"Yes Father," said Paris with weary obedience. "If you would please come with me, my lord, I will show you the way."

Achilles and Paris walked together in silence though the hallways of the palace until they reached the main garden. It was secluded and indeed very lovely – if Achilles cared at all about gardens, which he certainly did not. "It's nice," he observed, trying to feign enthusiasm and failing miserably. He just wasn't interested in saying things he didn't mean for the sake of politeness!

Paris sighed with exhaustion. "It's been a long day," he said candidly, staring out over the garden wall and refusing to look at the Greek. "I don't feel like playing any more games tonight. We both know that you have no interest in this or any other garden so, for the sake of time, why don't you just tell me what you want with me?"

To be continued...