A/N: I have the general feeling that this will be everyone's least favorite chapter. It's certainly my least favorite. So far, at least. But things will get much better in the next chapter, I promise.
Chapter Five
A Taste of the Future
o0o
Over the next couple of days, Andromache's life developed a sort of routine. She would spend her early mornings with her brothers' children; her midday meals and afternoons with Cloris, Paris, and Corydon, or her family, by turns; her evenings either alone or with the aforementioned people; and her late evenings with Hector. During those two days, the Princess of Thebe and the Prince of Hector, already close thanks to the meetings before they each knew who the other was, grew closer; soon, Andromache felt comfortable telling him anything, and she believed that he felt the same way.
The problem of Prince Corydon became no easier to face; if anything, it became more difficult as he grew progressively more rude, colder, more arrogant. He only misses his home, was the mantra Andromache repeated to herself time and time again, but she could never bring herself to believe it.
Erastus was no better than he had been, he was simply better at hiding it. As Megara had promised, he had been repentant quickly, but his remorse had been for upsetting Andromache, not for his words. Andromache could accept this as a sister, but not as a princess, and told him so. He had taken it well, telling her that he expected no less, so long as she wasn't angry with him anymore. Erastus had reminded her so much of his son when the boy was upset that she had smiled and hugged him, assuring her brother that, no, she was not angry anymore. She simply couldn't condone his words as a princess.
Alexander and Demos had returned the day after she had learned of Hector's true identity. This had been an unusually short journey, and so she questioned her oldest brother.
"You were not gone long," Andromache had pointed out.
"For which I am thankful."
"But what does it mean?"
Alexander had sighed and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "It means that Mytilian encampments were found roughly fifteen miles from the city."
As she sat by the fish pond, Andromache closed her eyes against the memory of that conversation. Her caution had to be doubled: she could not offend the Prince of Mytilene in any way. The idea that her country's survival depended solely on her was incredibly frightening, but she had kept it tucked away throughout the rest of that day, and what had progressed of this day. The longer she was around Corydon, however, the more difficult it was to hide her anxiety.
The affect on her was an odd one: she jumped at sudden noises and movements, could not hold still, ate next to nothing, drank nothing but water, and watched Corydon constantly from the corners of her eyes. It became more and more difficult, however, to pretend to be at ease when she was so afraid of doing something that might bring harm to her country, and it began to show.
"Princess Andromache, that this the third time you have thrown perfectly good bread into the water," Corydon said condescendingly. Andromache ducked her head.
"I apologize," she murmured.
"That," the prince continued, "is a rather wasteful practice, don't you think, Prince Paris?"
Corydon looked to the Prince of Troy, and while he wasn't looking, Andromache nodded her head empathically to Paris. Please, simply agree with him!
Paris gave her a slightly odd look, which only Andromache herself noticed, and nodded to Corydon. "Yes," he said. "Very wasteful, indeed."
"It's settled them." Corydon looked to her and said, "You must not participate in such a wasteful practice again."
"But, my lord, we always use old bread-"
"Never again," Corydon stated, and Andromache fell silent.
"She is not your wife yet, Prince of Mytilene," Othello, her youngest brother, said icily.
Her head shot up, and when she saw that Corydon had turned his attention from her, she shook her head desperately. 'Don't argue with him!' she mouthed, but Othello was not watching her.
"She will be my wife soon, Prince of Thebe," Corydon countered with an arrogant smirk. "I would like her to practice following my command now so that our married life may be peaceful in Mytilene."
"Andromache is not a slave," Othello said dangerously, and his sister threw him a panicked look.
"No," Corydon agreed. "She is a woman." His unspoken words were, She is lower than a slave.
"Prince Corydon," Paris said suddenly, and Andromache's bones nearly melted with relief. "Let us go have discussions without the influence of women, shall we?"
It occurred to her that Paris was a wonderful play-actor. He copied a subdued version of Corydon's male arrogance that she almost believed him. But then she remembered that she knew better than to believe that, and cast Paris a grateful look.
"Let us." He looked at Andromache. "I expect you to make a productive use of your time."
She nodded deeply. "Of course."
They were gone within moments, and she wilted with the fierceness of her relief. When she noticed that Othello was about to speak angrily, she help up a hand to stop him. "Please, Othello," she said. "If only for a moment, I need peace."
Rash as he was, Othello was also the one who most quickly felt remorse. He frowned in regret and came over to her, gathering him to her like a little girl gathers her favorite doll. "I apologize, Andromache," he said into her hair. "I just hate him so much,"
She laughed humorlessly and pulled back, kissing her brother's cheeks. "Which one of you doesn't?" she asked. Then she looked to the Princess of Lampsascus. "Come, Cloris. Let us walk somewhere."
The poor girl looked as if she didn't know what to make of the whole situation; Andromache couldn't blame her. "Yes," she answered. "Let's."
The three of them walked silently through the gardens until they came to a clearing, where Demos, his wife, Callidora, and Prince Hector all sat at the edge of the decorative pond - fishless - in the center. Under normal circumstances, it would have been difficult for her to face Hector and not act as though she knew him as well as she did. However, all Andromache saw was that Callidora was up and out of her chambers, and she gasped and rushed over to her brother's wife, embracing the woman tightly.
"How are you feeling, my friend?" she asked, holing tightly to Callidora's hands as Othello and Cloris moved to greet the others.
"Much better, thank you. Though I had to threaten to not eat to get your brother to let me out here," Callidora said with a smile.
"He is quite overprotective. I know this from experience." She sat next to her sister-in-law, taking the seat Demos had vacated, and said to Othello and Cloris, "I feel I must depart from our walk. I am going to spend time with Callidora."
"Shouldn't we all?" Othello asked, coming over and tugging gently on one of Callidora's wavy locks.
"Yes," Cloris agreed, and she settled herself on the bench directly opposite of them. Demos sat on his wife's other side, and Othello sat on the bench beside Cloris, who was between the youngest prince of Thebe and her betrothed, who had yet to say a word, and had barely spared Andromache more than a passing glance. He was just as good at play-acting as his brother.
"I can't ask you all to stay on my account," Callidora said, looking around at them all.
"Nonsense. As it is, you never asked. We decided," Andromache countered, linking her arm through Callidora's.
"Tell me, Andromache," Cloris said, leaning forward with glowing eyes. "They say that the harvest festivals are advancing quickly. Is this true?"
"It is. Demeter has blessed us; we will soon be celebrating a very plentiful harvest," Andromache answered.
"Did the harvest advisor tell you this?" Demos asked.
"No, the farmer I spoke with at the market did."
Both of her brothers, Callidora, and Cloris all laughed, and Hector shook his head with a subdued smile. "Trust you to it," Othello said.
"I don't understand."
"Princess, you are probably the only one of your rank to go into the market for the sole purpose of speaking to the people there," Callidora told her.
Andromache rolled her eyes. "I have heard this before. Let us move on," she said dryly.
o0o
"It concerns me that he is already speaking to you thus," Hector said that evening as they sat on a bench deep within the gardens.
"It concerns everyone. I trust that things will improve," Andromache replied.
"This is what you tell them, of course," Hector pointed out. "I, however, know differently."
She sighed. "What would any of them have me do? I hold the blade the to Thebe's throat; one wrong move, and I could destroy everything."
There was silence for a moment before he said, "I do believe that no man who has ever lived has ever been in your situation."
"Why do you say this?"
"Your position is precarious. Your country is being threatened, and you are betrothed to the very man threatening it, and to cause him any offense could mean death for your people. And yet you handle the situation with aplomb."
"Do you think me foolish? For staying in a relationship that will eventually destroy me?"
"I can find no fault in wishing to protect your family and your country. But I believe I have already stated my feelings on the second matter."
"You are the only one who believes I will endure."
"Surely not," he said. When she simply looked at him, his expression grew grim and he looked away.
"Everything will work out in the end," Andromache said. "We must trust in that."
"How?" he demanded. "How will everything correct itself? Perhaps you can tell me, because I don't see it."
"I don't see it either, but I have resigned myself to watching for the opportunity. Something will happen, and we will know what to do then." She stood. "I must return."
He nodded and stood, offering his arm. Hector escorted her to the fish pond, and she continued on her own from there in order to not arouse suspicion. Things were more precarious than she had expected, to put Hector on edge like that. She knew that her friend was not easily ruffled; his upset just before was evidence that Andromache's situation was becoming worse.
o0o
The next afternoon, word came that the farmers would finish with the last of the harvest that day, and in three days the festivals would begin. This was much sooner than anyone had anticipated, and the thought threw Andromache into a kind of panic: Corydon wanted to leave a week after the festival, which was normally a week long.
She now had two weeks and three days left in her life, for surely it would end with her marriage.
Of course, she never showed anything but excitement for the upcoming festivities. She had always enjoyed the festival of the harvest, and to show any other emotion towards it would cause suspicion, something she could not do.
Andromache spent the next two days hidden within the safety of her family; she was never without a sibling or parent while the sun was awake; more often than not, her afternoons were also spent with Paris and Cloris. The only time she was outside the company of a family member were the times she spent with Hector. She was safe with her family and Hector: Corydon would never dare be too coarse with her in front of her family, and he never knew of her time with Hector.
Because of this, she fell into a false sense of security. She felt temporarily safe, even if that safety was frail. Thanks to the distractions of her family, Paris, Cloris, and Hector, she was able to avoid thinking of her imminent future. Corydon played only a minimal role in her life over the course of those three days. This, in turn, caused her to believe that perhaps things would turn out better than everyone precipitated.
On the third afternoon, however, Corydon gave her a taste of just how badly things could end.
She was walking through the Shrine of the Queens with Cloris, Hector, Corydon, Paris, and Othello, and things were progressing fairly well. Conversation was impersonal, but not awkward, and her betrothed had not shown the spiteful side she knew he possessed. When the tradition of the masked evening was brought up, however, she should have known that things would not be received well.
"Andromache, I have heard of an evening where women attend the festivities with their identities concealed, and the men chose them based on instinct alone. Could you explain this to me?" Cloris had asked. It occurred to her that, of all of Thebe's guests, Cloris was the one most interested in the happenings of the harvest festival. Perhaps it was because, as men, all of the others already knew much of the traditions. It was rarely deigned worth while to inform women of other counties' tradition.
"It is essentially as you say," Andromache replied. "Women attend anonymously, and the men choose who they will spend the evening with. At the end of the night, the women unveil themselves. It was originally practiced by the people as a form of matchmaking, for everything that each couple discusses has absolutely no boundaries. The higher members of society found the idea amusing, and so we practice it as well."
"Naturally, you will not be participating," Corydon said.
The whole of the group stopped, staring at the two of them. Andromache stared up at him, disbelief written plainly on her face. Perhaps the false security she had been held sway to emboldened her, or perhaps she was simply a lack wit, but before she realized what was happening, she said, "This is my home, Prince. I will be participating, just as I do every year."
Suddenly he looked dangerous, and Andromache wished she hadn't said anything. "You are betrothed to me, and will do as I instruct. You will not participate in this ritual like some common whore."
The insult to her people's traditions was astonishing. It was all she could do to simply stare up at him. He waved a hand at her dismissively. "Go to bed, Princess."
She finally managed to find her voice, if only barely, stuttering out, "But I-"
"To bed. Now."
There was nothing for it. Othello was helpless to protest, as the youngest son, Cloris was a woman, and Paris and Hector were uninvolved. Andromache looked down in order to hide the tears that stung at her eyes. She nodded and turned, walking between a pillar bearing a torch and a statue of a former queen. On impulse, she looked back.
Hector was the only one watching her, and she met his eyes. Her eyes were stinging, and she knew they were over bright, but she forced a smile for him despite this. His face was concerned. 'I'm all right,' she mouthed, but he only gave her a sad smile in return.
Andromache hid in the gardens the rest of the evening. Mother and Paris were correct, she thought once more. I will never survive in Mytilene.
"Andromache."
She turned and found Hector, looking unreadable, standing a few yards behind her. She wiped her eyes hurriedly and forced a smile. "I was wondering if I would see you," she said thickly.
He didn't reply, he only walked over and sat beside her. In a gestured that neither of them expected, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a friendly embrace. At first, Andromache didn't know what to make of it. If anyone were to find out…
But she threw caution to the four winds, risking everything and letting her weakness show for just a moment. She latched onto him, taking comfort in his protective strength shamelessly. After a moment, he pulled away and stood, helping her to her feet. In some odd way, she regretted that he had pulled away, but she was not stupid enough to ask for it back, nor would she willingly belittle her pride in such away. So she settled for their traditional walk.
They wandered the gardens in silence. It was quite some time before he abruptly turned to her, setting his hands on her shoulders, and said fiercely, "I will find a way for you to be free of him, Andromache."
She smiled sadly and reached up to cup his cheek fondly. "Don't bother yourself over it, Hector," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "My destiny is sealed, my fate resigned. There is nothing anyone can do, and I won't have you putting yourself in danger because of me."
She kissed his cheek and left, refusing to let the tears fall. "Andromache," he called after her.
Looking back, she smiled reassuringly, but her lips trembled. "I am a woman, Hector. There is nothing for it. Not even you, the greatest of men, can change the role of a woman."
She left him then. Andromache couldn't have him thinking that there was anything he could do for her situation, because, in the end, there was nothing he could do that would not put his life at risk. If he was injured, or worse, killed, in trying to rescue her from her fate, she would never forgive herself. When she returned to her rooms, she found Metis waiting for her. Andromache forced a smile for the younger girl and went over to sit before the vanity.
She looked at her slightly distorted reflection in the smooth, polished metal before her. Her face was neutral, but her eyes were sad. Metis came up to stand behind her.
"I heard about what happened today," the younger girl said quietly.
Andromache sighed, watching her own eyes in the mirror. "It was nothing, Metis," she replied, her voice betraying absolutely no emotion. "He is my betrothed. I must obey." Her eyes were now blank, every emotion she may have felt carefully tucked away behind a numb shield. She was resolved. "Corydon is wearing green to the first festival tomorrow. I must wear the same."