A/N: Too long between updates, but I'm on Spring Break now, so I'll be able to actually write more. I'm hoping the subject matter of this chapter will make up for my lack of updates- it's the chapter where Paris doesn't knock, just like I promised!

This chapter is dedicated to all the readers who stuck with this! Thank you so much!

This is chapter 6.9 because I hate sevens.

Chapter Six Point Nine: Fluctuating Heart

Though he had helped me so much with winning Andromache's friendship, Paris was no help once we were married. In fact, my brother ruined what could have become one of my most treasured memories.

It was early in the morning, almost a year after Andromache and I were wed. I was enjoying myself immensely. There had been trouble with bandits at Mount Ida, but instead of sending me to deal with it, Father had sent Paris and Aeneas. I had enjoyed the past four days because they were simple and free of any royal duties, and I savoring that lazy morning.

I woke with the dawn as I usually did, but instead of rolling out of bed to start my day, I shifted to my side to look at my wife. I only got to see her innocent sleeping face for a moment, though. I swear Andromache can sense when she's being stared at, even in sleep. Her eyes drifted open and caught me in my observation.

"Good morning," she mumbled hoarsely, stretching both arms and covering herself with the bed sheets.

"Morning," I replied softly, tracing the soft underside of her wrist with the back of one finger. She blessed me with an unrestrained smile, moving closer to me.

I grinned back at her, truly happy. Of all the moments in life, I think these must be the best. They are blissfully simple, nothing a bard would be bothered to sing about, but I remember them. When I think of her face, untouched by any cosmetics but kissed by the sun, and her hair fanned out on the pillow, I smile even now.

Of course, nothing good can last for long. The warm silence we were enveloped in was shattered as the door burst open.

"Hector!" I heard Paris shout excitedly, at the same time Andromache shrieked. In one swift move we both shoved ourselves off the bed, so we would be concealed from Paris. I dragged the bed sheets over us somewhere in the process, so we were entirely covered. The sunlight streamed through the tiny spaces in the weaving, filling the blue sheet with dim light.

Andromache was huddled next to me, with the tent the blanket made hanging from her head. She gave me a look that let me know she was not happy. I returned her look.

"Paris, if you don't learn to knock, I will burn you alive," I said, letting loose the words in a guttural growl.

"I'm sorry," he said in an offhand way. "But the most wonderful thing happened! Come out from under there, and I'll tell you."

I rolled my eyes at Andromache, and she shrugged, knowing it was a skirmish she couldn't win. "Toss me a tunic," I called to Paris, reaching one arm outside of our blanket. A moment later, I caught a bundle of cloth in my hand. At Andromache's raised eyebrow, I added to my request. "And something for Andromache, too," I commanded.

There was a chuckle before he threw more clothes. Pulling my arm back into our tent, I unfolded a very short tunic. "Not funny, Paris," Andromache hissed. I held up my hand again, this time catching a more suitable dress.

Dressing under a sheet while trying to guard both your wife's and your own modesty is difficult, to put it mildly. Andromache was so furious with Paris because of the incident that she wouldn't speak to him for a week. I, however, had the misfortune of conversing with him as soon as I had my clothes on. Freeing myself from the blanket, I stood up and faced Paris.

He had a look of absolute joy on his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glowed. "Well?" I asked. "Did you take care of the bandits?"

To me the question was important, but my brother could not be bothered with such trivial matters. He brushed it aside as easily as he would swat a fly. "I'm in love!" he announced, beaming.

There was a muffled comment from Andromache, who was still under the sheet. "Only the third time this week," she said sarcastically. Both my brother and I could forgive her comment. It was early in the morning, after all, and she had just been rudely forced out of bed.

"You shouldn't claim to love someone if you don't," I chided him, crossing my arms over my chest.

Paris was undeterred. "This is real, Hector! I love her with all my being," he declared. I distinctly heard a sigh of repulsion from the blanket.

He actually looked offended. "Andromache, I'll return shortly," I said, waving Paris out of the room as I followed.

"Tell me about this new love of yours," I said tiredly as we began walking to his manor.

"My only love," he corrected. "Her name is Oenone, and she's the sweetest maiden you'll ever meet. Her father is a priest of the Scamander river god. She's very skilled at the arts of healing- oh brother, you have to see her." He was becoming more excited with every word. "She's beautiful. She has eyes like honey, and brown hair; a bit of competition for your Andromache!"

He laughed at his own little joke and took a hopping step, but I was not amused. "I doubt that," I replied hotly. Paris realized his mistake and hastily mended it.

"I was only jesting. They're both wonderful," he apologized. "Never mind. Would you like to meet her?"

I halted. "You brought her here?"

Paris' grin grew, signaling that his following statement was the best part of his surprise. I waited calmly, bracing myself for the worst. "Of course I brought her back," he told me. "She's my wife!"

The sound that came from my mouth was a blend of laughter, choking, and a scream. Paris regarded me quizzically.

"You married a nymph," I said flatly. "You married someone. Some poor girl-"

"Some poor Oenone," he supplied forcefully.

"Some poor Oenone is now your wife! You were only gone for four days on a military expedition! How did this happen?"

Paris' face took on a look of adoration and wisdom that only made him appear utterly stupid. "True love doesn't always happen when you expect it," he informed me. Every bit of patience I had tried to have deserted me with that comment.

"Do not act as if you know anything about true love. You have been bewitched by Aphrodite," I growled. Paris took a defiant stance of his own.

"Then you are under her spell too," he spat. "You are in love."

"Love has nothing to do with this," I countered, steering the argument back to him. "You've let your lust carry you away again!"

"This is not lust!" he cried, throwing his hands up in despair. "Stop doubting me, Hector!"

I bit back my words. Angry as I was, I had to trust him. Maybe this woman was different. Perhaps she had captured his heart and achieved what no other maiden had. Paris saw me weakening, and he leapt at the opening. "Please, let me introduce you to her," he begged. "You'll love her almost as much as I do."

"I'll meet her," I agreed reluctantly. What else could I do? At the very least, I could offer her the use of a horse for when she wanted to escape Paris and Troy.

His face lit up like a beacon. "She's the kindest girl in the world, brother," he said as he bounded forward. I followed more slowly as we entered his manor. At the door to his bedchamber, he motioned me forward impatiently, then quietly opened the door. "Oenone!" he called as he entered. I followed hesitantly, hoping I was wrong.

Oenone had answered to his call. She moved toward him, as a fragile flower clings to the fleeting sun. He smiled as he put an arm around her small shoulders. "This is my brother, Hector," he told her. "Hector, this is my wife."

She welcomed me with a small smile. Paris was right: she was beautiful, in a weak way. Her light brown hair was caught up in a knot, but wisps of it had escaped, unaccustomed to being restrained. Her amber eyes were as calm and sweet as a heifer's. She was short, thin, and small-boned. Her skin was white, but not the healthy white of most women; it was a slightly gray color. She looked too frail to touch; I wondered how Paris could sling his arm around her so carelessly. She looked as if the slightest breeze would crumple her. Windy Troy was no place for a girl like that.

"It's wonderful to meet you," she said in her thin voice. I replied in kind, and as soon as my greeting was through, her eyes returned to Paris. Already I pitied her. She adored him. He was her world, after only four days. Not only had he stolen her heart, he had blazed a trail that would not heal to get to it.

From that moment I believed it was love on her part; not a pure love born out of true caring and devotion, but created out of dependence and desire.

I think Paris meant well, too. But observing him with her, I felt sick. His eyes shone with lust, and his hands lingered on his body as if it were nothing more than a possession. Maybe he wanted to experience true love, or something about Oenone caught his eye, I do not know. But from that moment, I knew it would not last. On the same token, I hoped it would. Even without Andromache's wisdom to aid me, I knew he could break her heart as easily as he could snap a twig.

"What do you think of Troy, Oenone?" I asked politely. She sank into Paris' embrace even more, but answered me timidly.

"It is a beautiful city. I have never seen so many people in one place before!" she replied. Her statement gave me false hope. Maybe she was only so attached to Paris because he was the most familiar thing in Troy, but I doubted it.

"Yes, the people can be overwhelming," I agreed. Looking at Paris, I asked, "Have you introduced her to any of our sisters yet?"

He shook his head, still smiling a contented smile that seemed out of place on his impish face. "We only returned late last night," he said.

"Perhaps you would like to meet my wife, Andromache," I offered Oenone. "I'm afraid she isn't in a very good mood right now, but I'm sure she'd be eager to meet you this afternoon." I was pleased to see a look of guilt cross over my brother's face. At least he had the decency to look sorry.

"I would like to meet her," Oenone assured me. I smiled in what I hoped was a kind way, that would block out the growing feeling of unease I was experiencing.

"I will send her to your chambers this afternoon, then," I said. "But for now, I must go. May the gods bless your marriage," I called to the happy couple as I left.

Every step was more difficult than the last as I trudged back to my palace. Upon shoving the door to my chamber open, I sank down onto a large chair and massaged my temple. How had I been so happy earlier that morning, being blissfully unaware that a poor girl had fallen prey to my brother?

"What did he do?" Andromache asked from across the room, where she was working through the tangles in her hair. She didn't look like she was making much progress. At least the comb was still intact- she had broken quite a few combs by trying to tame my hair.

"He got married," I croaked.

"WHAT!"

"He tied an unfortunate maiden into a union with him, and when he leaves her, she'll never be the same I explained again. She rushed to my side.

"Who is she?"

I felt helpless, as if I had somehow condemned Oenone to her fate though I didn't know what it might be. "Her name is Oenone, and she's a frail young river nymph who adores him," I said flatly. Andromache's eyes reflected the distress I felt.

"Does he love her?" she asked cautiously.

I shrugged. "I think he means well. But I fear he'll grow bored with her as quickly as he grows bored with all the other girls, and toss her away."

There was an air of urgency to Andromache's tone. "We have to help her somehow, Hector. She doesn't know how long his interest lasts."

I could only shake my head. "I don't think she wants to be helped."

And that was the worst part. Oenone would never survive the fluctuating heart of Paris.

That's all for now, but I'll try to have more soon. Let me know what you thought!