A/N: Okay, so I kinda lied; things get better in the next chapter. I mean, they get better here, a bit, but things really improve in the next one. Anywho, just a quick thanks to all you kind people; I don't know where I'd be without you!

Chapter Six
The Beginning of the Festival
o0o

The next morning, Andromache's numbed mood had not diminished. She gazed about the world emotionlessly, and she was thankful for the lack of feeling. She pointedly ignored the concerned glances she received at her morning meal with her Erastus, Demos, Alexander, and their families as she smiled and laughed, and all the while no emotion spread to her eyes. To Andromache, she had placed a shield between herself and the emotions she knew could destroy her willpower. To everyone else, she had simply stopped feeling.

That afternoon was spent with acquaintances of the court, most of them daughters of her father's advisors. None of them questioned her lack of emotion, for none of them knew her well enough to know the difference. Around mid afternoon, she left to prepare for the first evening of festivities.

Metis was deeply troubled by the new attitude her mistress had taken on. "Princess, are you completely sure that everything is all right?"

"Of course everything is fine, Metis," she said carelessly, but her eyes were dull as she faced her distorted reflection. "Why would they not be?"

Metis did not reply, and Andromache did not supply further explanation. She changed into her dark, forest green clothing, put on her gold jewelry, and let Metis manipulate her curls and line her eyes with kohl. She looked exactly what her station was: future wife of Prince Corydon.

For that was now her station. Not Princess of Thebe, but future wife of Prince Corydon.

The festival was to be held in the square before the palace. There was a large platform on which two thrones sat, and below them were seats. But before anyone gathered there, a large parade through the streets of Thebe was to take place, and all members of the royal family were to be featured in it, as well as all the royal guests of the country.

They assembled at the entrance to the city. Andromache stood in a chariot beside her betrothed. Her parents were in the chariot ahead of them, and her brothers were arrayed behind them on horses. Behind them, Paris and Cloris were in a chariot as well, and behind them was Hector, riding Eros. She very quickly tucked away the memory of when Hector had introduced her to Eros; it was a particularly fond memory, and she did not want to taint it with her current mood.

Andromache adjusted her gown and her jewelry as she glanced around her. Cloris smiled and nodded to her, and she did the same in return, then nodded to Paris. She met Hector's gaze at one point, but neither of them made any movement otherwise. There was something in his gaze, something pointed - he was trying to tell her something, she knew. But she had no idea as to what that could have been, and, a part from that, she felt oddly guilty.

She looked away as Corydon picked up the reigns and, when her father's charioteer moved them forward, the Prince of Mytilene snapped the leather straps, and they were jolted forward. Sooner than Andromache had expected, they were within the crowds, who were cheering and dancing. Children ran alongside the envoy. Andromache smiled at them, but she could never bring much feeling into the display of emotion.

Suddenly Corydon looked at her. "You would do anything to protect these people, wouldn't you?" he asked.

What did he mean by it? "Yes," she answered.

"Tell me this, Princess. What would they do for you?"

She looked straight ahead once more.

"Refuse to answer for them?"

"Yes." She looked back to him. "What they would do for me is irrelevant. I would do anything for them, and for my family."

Her unspoken words were clear: even marry you.

His eyes narrowed. "You should watch what you say."

"I do not believe I said anything that would cause offense," she said innocently, facing ahead of them. "Please tell me if I have done so."

"Your words do not offend. It is your implications, Princess."

Andromache looked back at him, and this time, there was an actual emotion in her eyes: anger. "Do what you will to me, Prince of Mytilene," she said icily. "There is nothing that can be done against it, and I will accept it quietly. But if you hurt them, or anyone else I love, not even the gods will be able to protect you from me."

"Bold words from such a weak princess," he said coldly, but she saw the caution in his eyes.

The parade was a short one, and at that moment they were brought to the square in which the main of the celebrations was to take place. Corydon stepped out of the chariot, and then helped Andromache, who assumed the cool, controlled air that was common of most princesses, but not of her. She allowed Corydon to escort her up to the dais

The seating was arranged according to gender and age. On the highest tier, of course, sat her parents. On the tier below that were her brothers, arranged according to birth order, with Alexander standing in the center, his wife seated before him, and from there the siblings radiated out by age, Demos to Alexander's right and Erastus to his left. The end result was the following arrangement: Orestes, Cohn, Demos, Alexander, Erastus, Talos, and Othello (in age order, they were: Alexander, Demos, Erastus, Cohn, Talos, Orestes, and Othello).

On the third tier, directly below Alexander and his wife, was stationed Andromache, with Corydon standing behind her. As the only daughter and youngest child, her parents had wished to give her a place of authority rather than placing her beside them, nearly hiding her from view. She had always been grateful for her place, for it commanded respect equal to that of her brothers, and it gave her a wonderful view of the festivities.

This night, however, she wanted nothing more than to hide.

The two Princes of Troy were seated on either side of Andromache, Hector to her right and Paris to her left; Cloris, of course, sat before Hector. Once everyone was seated, the villagers moved from the edges of the square to the center and looked to Eetion, who signaled the beginning of the festivities. There was a great, joyous shout, and a sudden flurry of movement, and before any of the spectators had a chance to absorb what was happening, there were ribbon dancers in the center of the square, and the musicians had begun their chanting, hauntingly lively tune.

There had once been a time that Andromache had wanted to be a ribbon dancer. At the age of nine summers, she had planned her runaway, disguise, and training. She would travel the world and perform for great kings. Unfortunately, she had made the mistake of confessing this to Erastus, who had taken her to see what the ribbon dancers' lives were really like.

She had been horrified, needless to say. The dancers lived in shacks that could barely be called houses, let alone homes, and were mistreated, starved, and abused horribly. To make everything worse, they were owned. Owned! Men owned them! Cruel men, no less.

Until then, it had never occurred to her to question slavery. But when she had seen the empty looks in those dancers' eyes, her heart had broken. To say that someone owned you, it would be worse than death. To be forced not only to do everything that an owner told you to do, but to be forced to say that you were not your own person. This thought horrified her worse than death.

She had immediately gone to her father and pleaded on behalf of freeing the dancers. Her father had said that there was little he could do, but that if she still felt the same way in two years, he would allow her to take action herself, however she saw fit.

Two years came and went, and at eleven summers she felt no differently than at nine. Eetion had followed through on his promise, and Andromache had undertaken the situation.

Her first thought had been to free the women and have the men killed for owning a human being. But then she realized how hypocritical that would be; her own family owned slaves. This had deeply troubled her, and she had asked every slave in the palace for his or her own view of slavery. Many of them, to her surprise, had testified indifferently or favorably. But to justify, they also said that if they were to serve any but the royal family of Thebe, they would wish for death - they owed whatever happiness they had in slavery to the kindness of the Theban family.

So, she had gone throughout the city and bought every dancer who was unwillingly enslaved, every slave that was unhappy. And then she had established guilds for each occupation that the slaves had an expertise in. Once they were established in these guilds, she gave them all the keys to their chains, giving them all their freedom.

Her father had applauded her well for it, and it became known that to mistreat a slave was to invoke the wrath of the princess. From then on, the slaves in Thebe were happy ones.

It had stirred within her a love for politics and government, and she had finally abandoned her thoughts of becoming a ribbon dancer. As she sat there, watching these women twist their banners and their limbs artfully, she decided that it was for the best that she had discovered her love for her country rather than dancing. Her ankles were too weak for such activities.

With a final flourish, the dancers finished and rushed out of the way, and a large cart was brought forward. It was a cart that had been used in the harvest and, to signify the end of the harvest, a farmer who had been elected by his fellows came forward bearing a torch and lit the cart.

There was a great cheer as the wood burst into flames, and the congregation, villagers and court members alike, rushed into the center to dance around the fire. It was an organized chaos, and Andromache longed to join them, but knew that she had to wait. The next night, she would be able to do all the joining she wished.

With that thought to sustain her, she watched the festivities dispassionately, and when they went for the evening meal, she made her way through it in the same fashion. In fact, her lack of enthusiasm was gathering much attention to her, which she persistently ignored.

It was both forever and an instant before she was finally allowed to leave the first evening of the festival. Never in her life would she have believed it, if someone were to tell her a few days earlier that she would be eager to leave the festival of the harvest, but that evening, she did. She was very near to seclusion, and thus safety, when a hand grabbed her arm.

It was Hector. She gave him the same bland look she had given everyone else the entire day. "What is it?"

He seemed to hesitate. Then he released her, backed away a step, and said in an equally dispassionate voice, "Nothing. Rest well."

She nodded to him, doing her best to ignore the sudden pang she felt. "You as well."

Andromache did not sleep well that night. As she was lying there, staring by turns at the ceiling and walls, she contemplated many things; the thing foremost on her mind, however, was the elder Prince of Troy.

He had seemed… irked by her emotional apathy. Andromache was perplexed by this; surely he saw that it was her sole defense against Corydon. It disturbed her greatly to think that the man who had quickly become a friend was irritated with her. Though why he would be aggravated confused her just as greatly: he was the most perceptive person she knew, how was it possible that he couldn't see that she was hiding her emotions out of self-preservation?

Then it occurred to her: Why did she care? Friend he may have been, but it was a friendship that was not supposed to be even thought of, let alone exist. In fact, it was putting everything at an even greater risk! So, the question was not, "Why is he upset?" but rather, "Why am I upset that he is angry?"

o0o

Andromache was brooding as she sat, seemingly serene, at the edge of a large, decorative pool the next morning. Her arm was resting on a bench, and her head rested on her arm, as her other hand dangled into the water. She absently drew nonsense things on the surface of the pond as she sat there, exhausted and irritable; she had hardly slept at all, and any question that was brought up in her mind was still answerless, despite her lack of sleep.

More than anything, however, she wanted to smile and laugh again: she hated being unfeeling. She wanted to show that she was amused, or pleased, or whatever other emotion she might have been struck by. But emotions were the easiest way for Corydon to begin his domination of her; she had realized this, and had sacrificed feeling in order to save herself. It was the only way she could protect herself from her betrothed.

She was beginning to wonder, though, if it was worth the sacrifice.

"Andromache, love, you look somewhat less than amused."

She turned and looked up to see her mother. Immediately Andromache straightened and indicated the bench; Anatola sat there and laid her daughter's head gently in her lap. Much as she had when Andromache was a girl, she began to stroke the princess's hair gently and soothingly. Andromache let her eyes slide closed.

"Things are not going well, dearest."

It wasn't a question. "No," Andromache agreed.

"Your brothers stand by you, of course," her mother continued. "Talos even threatened to challenge your betrothed himself. All the rest of them, of course, protested that they wanted to be the one to kill him."

"They were always protective," Andromache murmured.

Anatola didn't speak for a quite some time, long enough that Andromache lifted her head and gazed up at her mother with concern. "Mother? What is it?"

The Queen of Thebe cupped her cheek. "I am so deeply sorry for the place your father and I have put you in."

Andromache was instantly concerned, and on the bench beside her mother before half a second had passed. "Never think if it," she said, grabbing Anatola's hand. "This is my duty to you and to Thebe."

"Your father and I never told you why you are marrying Corydon of Mytilene and not some other prince."

"I doesn't matter," Andromache insisted, clutching at her mother's hand in distress. "I don't ca-"

"Please, at least let me explain, Andromache."

Anatola of Thebe was a beautiful woman, even in her age. Graceful and willowy, her auburn-tinted waves were more silver than brown, and her hazel eyes seemed to have a perpetual sparkle of joy and intelligence. But more than this, she simply radiated an inner beauty that diminished any external beauty that might have been in her vicinity. She commanded love and respect by simply existing, let alone by her kind heart and gentle actions.

But at that moment, she radiated such a complete sadness that Andromache had no choice but to grant her mother her wish. So she nodded.

"We were fools, dearest," Anatola said as her voice started to waver. "The King of Mytilene proposed that he would grant us protection for three lifetimes, effective as soon as the terms were agreed to, so long as he was given all marriage rights to our firstborn daughter. Imbeciles that we were, we agreed. We never knew what our daughter would be marrying, never even dreamed of the possibility that our darling girl would be marrying a monster."

This pronouncement nearly drove Andromache to tears. "Never think on it again. You did what was best for Thebe, and I am happy to carry out the duty. It assures safety for our people, Mother." Perhaps it was wrong of her, but seeing her mother reduced to tears, when her mother was such a pillar of strength in her world, made Andromache desperate to assuage the heartbreaks that distressed her parent.

"I am not afraid," she told her mother. It was an outright lie - nothing could have been farther from the truth. But in that moment, she would have said anything to relieve her mother.

Anatola looked as if she didn't quite believe her daughter's words, but didn't question them. The Queen of Thebe reached up with her free hand and wiped her eyes, despite the fact that no tears had made it past her lashes. The older woman smiled at her daughter. "You are strong, dearest. I trust you will work things to your best interest."

The woman stood and, after kissing her daughter's forehead, left with the parting words, "I must go see your father. The advisors have been harassing him once more about Thebe's military, and he is not as young as he once was."

"Take care of him for me."

"I will."

Then she was gone, and Andromache was left with her thoughts. 'I trust you will work things to your best interest.' What did that mean? Her mother was a wise woman - she knew not to say exactly what she meant, for the risk of being overheard by the wrong ears was high.

At that moment, Andromache was too tired to work out the real meaning of her mother's words. And so she took the literal one. Work things to my best interest? she thought, getting slowly to her feet. I believe that is something I can do. To some extent, at least.

She found him in the stables - with Eros, naturally. Andromache stood patiently in the doorway, making no noise whatsoever, waiting for Hector to notice her. He seemed to be completely absorbed with his task of grooming the horse (or rather, she assumed that was what he was doing), and had no idea that she was even in the same country, let alone in the same stall.

"Are you going to speak?" he asked eventually, casting a quick glance at her.

Of course he would notice me, she thought, feeling foolish. He has been a soldier all his life, he told me himself. How could he not notice me?

"I have something I would like to show you," Andromache informed him.

Hector stopped and gave her his full attention, raising his brows. "Emotions, perhaps?" he inquired.

She frowned at him. "I have no choice. Corydon will only use emotions to demoralize me more quickly. It is an act of self-preservation."

"I realize that," he replied. "But it does not mean that I have to like it."

"What would you have me do?" she cried.

He tightened his mouth slightly and moved to look around her, making sure they were alone. To be safe, he pulled her into the stall and into a tucked-away corner. "What would I have you do?" he repeated. "I would have you act as yourself, not as this cold shell that you have been. I saw the woman staring dispassionately at the performers last night and I thought, this is not her. I would have you bring the woman I met back, that is what I would have you do. I would have you bring you back."

Andromache simply stared at him for a moment, and he straightened. After the silence, she said, "I cannot bring her back around Corydon." Her voice was quiet. "You know this. If he sees that woman you speak of, I will cease to exist in all forms."

"You needn't bring her back around him, so long as I see her. It concerns me, Andromache."

"I will bring her back, so long as Corydon is not in the vicinity," she promised. "I would like to show you something."

He returned to his task. "What is it that you would like to show me?"

"You can't see it until tonight. After the feast this evening, meet me at the secret entrance in the gardens. Come in what you wear to the feast, but wear something that will hide your identity over it."

He looked back at her, his gaze slightly suspicious. "Should I be wary?"

"Not unless you wish to insult my country's traditions." Andromache reached over and laid one small hand on his arm. "If I am late, don't leave. I'll be there."

Hector nodded. "I will wait for you."

Andromache smiled at him and left, feeling much better than she had earlier that morning. Despite this, she still went to her chambers and slept for three full hours. If she wanted to make it through the evening that lie ahead, she needed her rest.