Chapter 6
"A Fork in the Road"

A final moan was exhausted from her lips, so deep it rattled her chest, and his hips sunk into her to seal that burst of pleasure electrifying her through her nails. Her eyes nearly rolled behind her fluttering lashes as the wave crashed over her leaving her so sensitive, she shuddered as he pulled away and left her breathless, burning, and weary. Her amber eyes were unfocused, gazing up at the ceiling of their bedroom, and her fingers released their siege on the tangled bed covers, numb like the rest of her skin so satisfied and content she could feel nothing else –until his lips found her belly. The stubble was scratchy to the sensitive skin, and she grinned in a childishly indulgent way then letting her fingers cup his damp curls and massage his scalp.

Nereus charged forward and found his wife's lips, helping wake them to remember the indulgence of his kiss, and he was careful to keep his chest from crushing the curve between them. Sera grasped onto the muscles of his shoulders then sliding along the sweaty skin to the taut back, holding tight to him and missing the sensation of his weight upon her so fiercely in that moment.

"Why is it so hot?" she groaned against his lips, feeling their damp brows slide against one another and the moist curls stuck to her temples and cheeks.

He smiled and kissed her once more before settling into their bed beside her and allowing his palm to grasp onto her swollen belly. "He will be born in the fall," he said. "The heat will wane soon."

Sera smiled faintly despite the crease to her brow. "It's never cold," she grumbled and found her husband's gaze, then reaching out to cup his cheek, "but I will manage."

"Sacrificing yourself for our child. You're such a martyr, my love," he teased and grinned.

"I would smack that smile off your handsome face," she warned and reclined deeper into the support of the pillow where copper hair was tousled about her, and she fanned at her flushed features, lamenting again, "If I weren't so hot."

Nereus laughed and bowed his head, and he considered her suddenly appealing expression from beneath his brow. "Do you regret finding me?" he asked with his tone lowering to remind her of their encounter in the hallway when he returned from night patrol before they stumbled into the bedroom half-clothed and tangled in each other's arms. The peak in her desires was an effect of her pregnancy he would never complain about…

She sighed softly and closed her eyes even as the smile hiked up her lips. "I would take your head one moment and then have you the next," she said. "I can't control it."

His teasing subsided to a more subdued smile, and he pushed back the damp curls sticking to her forehead and cheeks as he recognized how they both were blind attempting to navigate the happiness and fears of their first child. It was easier for him to see the good in everything than to understand her pains, the false contractions, the mood swings, and above all, the heat.

"I will gladly offer the latter, but I'd like to keep my head so that I can see my child when his eyes open."

She turned to consider her husband, letting her eyes fall beyond his features to admire the rest of him, and she chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully in the way a merchant might appraise his goods. When her eyes found their way back to him, her lips curved with a sinful look, and she decided, "I suppose I'll allow it."

To receive such an expression, he fed on her lips once more while she stretched her neck to reach him, and his arm circled beneath her to help her weakened neck. The tide was poised to turn with the heat captured between their lips when a noise down the hall distracted them, and Nereus reluctantly released her to listen better the sounds travelling down the hall.

"Stay here," he murmured and stood, tying a piece of cloth around his waist and grabbing his dagger from the table. Sera was propped onto the pillows with one hand protectively gripping to their unborn child, and her eyes narrowed in concern as she watched her husband slip out of the door.

Nereus crept from their bedroom and followed the subtle sounds down the hall to the corner where the corridor opened to the kitchen. He held his breath, hearing the rummaging of someone inside, and all at once, sprung from his hiding spot with his dagger overhead and a cry from his tongue.

Ariston lifted both hands armed with a chalice in one and a loaf in the other. A piece of bread was latched between his teeth, and he grinned around the rugged edges and said, "Morning, brother."

Nereus abandoned his battle stance in a moment, rolling his eyes to see his youngest brother raiding their supplies though he shouldn't have been surprised. Each of the brothers had their role within the family, and Ariton was undoubtedly the cultivator of all things mischievous and brash. Even in the mild light, he could see the glossiness to his brother's eyes that hinted at the night Ariston had stumbled in from, and Nereus snatched away the cup of wine from his hand though Ariston complained, "I was drinking that!"

"You need water," Nereus said in a tone that left no room for questions. "It's too early in the day to be this drunk."

"Suppose the night's not ended?" he muttered while he chewed on the bread in his teeth, looked toward the window, and winced at the growing light.

"It's morning, little brother, and you nearly convinced my wife there was someone in our home," he condemned, forcing a stern expression and pretending not to be amused by Ariston's swiveling gaze.

"Only Sera?" he challenged and jumped to mimic Nereus' stance moments ago, legs spread, dagger overhead. He burst into a roar laughter, but his older brother seemed less than amused.

"Go home and sleep this off."

"Good morning, Ariston," Sera commented from the hallway where she had drawn her sleeping gown around her and now dared to step beside her husband, placing her palm on his lower back as some unspoken soothing touch. She had been part of his family long enough to learn the politics which motivated it and the characters of each member. It was not the first time she had seen her brother-in-law in a less than honorable state, yet her patience was more extensive than that of Nereus'.

The latest addition caused Ariston to abruptly compose himself as best as his drunken state could allow to save what little dignity he could, but Sera looked at the loaf in his hand and quirked her brow. "Hungry I see?"

He grinned sheepishly and waved the loaf in front of him. "You caught me."

She smiled and winked from Nereus' side where he wouldn't be the wiser to her candid look, and she cupped the growing bump beneath her dress, confessing, "Me too." Without another word, she left her husband's side, found the bowl where the fruit was kept, and searched through its contents for a ripe, swollen fig.

"You're a goddess, Sera," Ariston decreed in a loud tone, and Sera peeked past the young man at her husband, knowing how easily his brother's affections were won with a little kindness and tolerance. "Lucky bastard's always been the wisest of us. It makes sense he would find you."

Nereus regarded his little brother unapologetically and eased his weight against the entryway between the kitchen and hall.

"Do you think I'll ever have a woman as beautiful, as gracious, as amusing as you?" Ariston asked emphatically and spun on his heels to face Sera.

"Perhaps if you stop these wild chases of yours," she replied and covered her full mouth to catch the juice in the corner of her mouth with her tongue then sweeping it across her lips. "Who was it this night?"

"Evios' daughter," he replied, tore off another piece of bread, and chewed it with a disgruntled grumble. "She knows how she taunts me with those…" His voice trailed off leaving his hands to extend into the air where they clutched onto something round and unmistakable. "They're enough to drive men to their knees. Ballads could be written about her-"

"Enough," Nereus prompted, annoyed how his brother had no respect for Sera's presence, and roughly rubbed a hand across his face. If only his brother had stumbled drunk into another home, he would still be in bed with his naked wife.

"She may be blessed," Sera said while finishing her snack, "but I've never thought much of her mind."

"Yes," Ariston confessed. "She's dumb as," he held up the bread in his hand and smirked sardonically, "this bread, but by the gods, she is beautiful."

"A man with your appeal deserves more than a witless beauty, I'd think," Sera decided sweetly, at once trying to appeal to Ariston's ego and subvert his usual motivations for something more honorable, and she plucked another fig from the bowl, "but that's not for me to say. I'll leave you men to speak while I lie down for a moment."

"Rest," Ariston agreed without question, completely charmed by his brother's pregnant wife in his drunken state, even seeming as though he might reach out to help her past him but decided better of it. "We won't disturb you."

Nereus granted his brother a loaded glance, then abandoning it to be sure his wife was not retreating out of illness, and she smiled at the mild concern in his eyes and touched his shoulder reassuringly as she passed.

In the void left behind her, Ariston looked at his brother and reiterated, "She's a goddess. I hope you realize that."

"I did marry her," he commented and moved from the threshold to sit at the table where their voices wouldn't carry down the hall as easily. This far into her pregnancy, she needed rest, and he wouldn't weaken her or his child just to sustain an unsolicited conversation with his drunk brother.

Ariston took his brother's cue and settled loudly onto the bench beside him, not sparing a guilty grimace for the clatter he made, but when nothing struck back to condemn him, he groaned low in his throat and stretched out his legs, leaning back to rest his elbows on the table behind him.

"Shouldn't you be home?" Nereus prompted and sipped at the cup he had stolen from his brother. Good wine shouldn't be wasted even this early in the day. It did little to quell his thirst, but the action relieved some of the agitation building in his shoulders.

"No, I hoped to speak with one of my brothers, and you're the only one still in Alba Longa."

Nereus understood that responsibility well enough considering how many times he had to restrain Ariston's eagerness for battle, and he eased his arms onto the table as he gazed at his little brother. "What about, Ariston?"

"The threat of Umbria has made me think about our life in these lands," he responded, and his blue eyes seemed sharper without explanation, "and about our family." He tossed the remaining loaf onto the table and let his free hands now cup the base of his neck. "We've been lucky to have a father whose health has sustained him these long years, but I can't help wondering how much longer our good fortune will last." He looked at his older brother with open features searching to see if his words were reflected there, if they had ever occurred to Nereus as well.

He merely scratched his head and poorly stifled a yawn.

"Doesn't that concern you?" he asked impatiently.

"No," Nereus answered in a resolute tone, "there's no point to thinking about our father's death."

"What will we do when he is gone? He's the only connection we have left to our home."

"This is our home," he said evenly.

"Each day a new threat rises and wants to drive us out!"

"Stability takes years of work and an established legacy. There will be no immediate reward for us, but we've been raised to support and defend ourselves. Alba Longa can bear any threat so long as her sons stand."

"Yes," Ariston said bitterly. "We thought we could bear any threat once before. I think we all recall how well that went…"

"You still think of Troy?" he asked, unable to mask his surprise and reproaching look.

"Do you not? Have you already forgotten the way the walls looked in the morning when the first light hit them, or the secret passages in the palace that would take us anywhere, or how we would all crowd onto the balcony to look out at the sea?"

"I remember the first time I touched the sea," he responded, frowning deeply as he gazed at his brother. "I was nine, and we were fleeing with Aeneas across the Aegean before Agamemnon's men realized we weren't in the palace. I remember looking back at the shores, and even so far away, even a day's ride from Troy, I could see the smoke."

The weight of his brother's tone and expression were too heavy for Ariston to maintain, and his hands fell limply to his sides though his purpose was not diminished. "We are sons of Hector, Defender of Troy, and yet we hide in these lands like whipped dogs crouching from Agamemnon's hand. We ran so far, to lands so distant from Troy that no one knows our names or the legacy we carry. They think us arrogant, brash bastards invading their lands!"

"Quiet!" Nereus hissed irritably as Ariston's words grew louder and louder within the home. His blue eyes flashed at his brother's sudden impudence, and he reminded him, "We are safe. If Agamemnon or his mule of a brother Menelaus knew we survived, and even better, that we prospered, he would send the weight of Greece to crush us." His tone lowered to dangerous levels, sending all that power funneling into his eyes. "He would not kill us, brother. No, for years now he has thought of our demise, seen us as the final barrier to his victory, and he has planned how he will torture us, humiliate us, make us beg for death. That may not scare you, little brother. You might even think it noble." His gaze switched focus, shifting back and forth between his brother's severe eyes and taking a turn in piercing through the veil of wine in each. "But remember what he did to the wives of Troy. Remember what he did to the children… I will never let that happen to my family so long as I live."

Ariston had been doubly silenced, and his heavy head bowed for a moment to recognize the harsher memories. He had only been five when the city fell, and in his way, his childish mind rationalized their demise and their departure, glorifying the lands they left behind and even as man envisioning they might return with honor one day. But never again would they see those great walls built by gods' hands and torn down by men's greed.

"Truthfully," he muttered to break the quiet between them, "I can't even remember what the walls looked like." He smirked humorlessly and looked at his older brother, his blue eyes taking on a new sheen much sobered and disappointed. "Or the streets, or the palace, or Hector." He said their father's name in a distant way for he no longer recognized the man of legend as his father. It was Aeneas who had raised him. "Sometimes I look at Haemon because I know he's the most like him, and I try to see him. I try to remember something."

A warm hand found Ariston's shoulder, and he glanced at his brother's feeble attempt to console him. "It's better to forget."

"I know," he said and stood, letting his brother's hand fall away as he did so, and he rubbed at his nose where a sudden pricking had left it itching. Sucking back the emotion, he ended in a forced tone while avoiding Nereus' gaze, "Tell Sera I'm sorry I woke her."

Without another word, he let himself out of the home, and Nereus remained at the table for though Ariston left, the tortured energy remained long after him. So Nereus sat and nursed the remaining wine in the cup before he could calm his wandering thoughts and join his wife sleeping in their bed.

‡‡‡

By high noon, Ariston was still sleeping off the alcohol, Nereus rested from his late shift guarding their lands, and Aeneas was in conversation with his counselors and generals as to the continued preparations for engaging Umbria. For whatever reason, Scipio and his men had stopped their advance along the river, and the men strove to understand this shift in tactics when they were certain he marched to steal Port Sanna. With all three men occupied or incapacitated, they were none the wiser to Iliana's disappearance.

The young woman struggled against the weight of the pot in her hands, limping across the square and toward the unassuming forge. She was forced to pause near the well halfway across the distance and rest for a moment, and she had the fortuitous opportunity to converse with their priestess –who promised numerous prayers for Iliana, her father, and her brothers– before she picked up her burden and continued on her way. Aeneas would not be distracted forever nor would Nereus and Ariston sleep all day, not with concerns of Umbria to rouse them.

At the threshold to his home, the door was propped open as always and held ajar by the same, butchered helmet, and only this time when she placed the pot beside the piece of armor did she wonder about it. Why was it forged so poorly, and why was it used as his doorstopper? The man who could answer her questions was nowhere to be seen, and remembering their last encounter, she beat loudly against the door to announce herself and waited with her heart gaining momentum inside her chest. The resounding silence that met her further added to its pace, and she dared to step into the home and consider its vacancy. The fire was dying out, barely even a crackle and simmer of glowing embers, and she wiped her palms, bruised and red from the handle, against her dress and took another step while searching about her.

"Damian?" she asked softly but heard no response.

Another step, and nothing stirred within the confines to suggest life. He's not here, she thought, pretending such a realization didn't disappoint her. Perhaps you can try again tomorrow… As her mind acclimated to this idea, there was movement behind her, and she spun to see him entering the home with a pile of wood under one arm. He took stock of her in a short glance before he picked up the pot with his free hand, kicked aside the helmet, and left the door to fall closed behind him. It rebounded off the frame with a loud smack, then bouncing slightly until it closed, and Damian tossed the freshly split wood beside the stone pit and carried the pot around her as she hurried out of his way.

"It's heavy," he observed though there was no visible sign the weight affected him for his stride was as composed and even as if nothing hindered him.

"I know," she returned in an apologetic tone. "It's the only pot I could spare."

He set it on the table and pulled aside the cloth to see the pieces of a roasted chicken with root vegetables in a clear broth. The aroma was released, and he sniffed faintly at the waves of steam and wondered, "You made this?"

"Yes…" Her hands clasped nervously in front of her, and she dared to approach the table near him. "Do you not like it?"

"Where I come from, princesses don't cook," he explained and found her anxious expression. "Not well anyway."

Within his words was some compliment though it took her a moment to find it, and she smiled in relief and stood beside him at the table. "My mother taught me when we first came to these lands. It's silly, but it reminds me of her. I think my brothers and father enjoy it for that reason as well."

His dark gaze remained on her, examining her in the way he had the last time they met, but this close the attention unnerved her. "You must take after her," he commented finally, and she smiled at his mistake, knowing the innocence in it even if it brought a dull pain to her chest.

"No," she answered gently, "I look just like my father, or so my mother told me."

His expression softened with understanding as he realized his error and the inadvertent discomfort he might have caused.

"He died in battle when I was barely a year old…" She looked to her fingers still twined like her bundled nerves weighing down her stomach and continued, "My mother told me stories of him –and in that way, I know him– but I don't remember anything." Idly examining one of her cuticles, her thoughts were enraptured with her honest explanation and the silence he granted her to fill. "Aeneas was his best friend. He swore to protect us if my father fell and-" She halted abruptly, seeming to realize she had spoken too much, and glanced at Damian whose attention rested solely on her. Twisting her hands, she faltered for a way out of the hole she had dug.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that made her too aware of the gap in years between them, and he changed the subject as a relief for her loose tongue. "I didn't expect you so soon, or I would have more to show you."

"Yes," she agreed and almost blushed a deeper shade as she recalled why she had even come here. By some grace of the gods, he didn't notice because he turned away and grabbed an untidy stack of papers all different lengths, glancing through them until he found what he was looking for.

"It is only a rough idea," he said and offered one of the sheets.

She took the paper from him and considered the rugged parchment where he had outlined his plan with the edge of a burnt piece of wood. It gave her no better sense of the blade, not of size or breadth, and she felt a bit foolish as she wondered, "How large will it be?"

"No greater than a usual sword, or it would be too heavy." Reconsidering, he added, "Unless you want it to be ornamental."

She looked at the rough sketch again and pursed her lips unconsciously.

"It is customary for the blade of a king to be wielded in battle and passed after him when he falls," he commented, no doubt sensing her ignorance on this matter.

She nodded then and decided, "I would like that." He reached past her to point out the small details following the right edge of the blade, and she flinched beyond her control, hoping he didn't take offense. "I can't read what it says," she confessed and squinted her eyes for a better view of the paper.

"Nothing yet," he admitted, "but I will engrave the symbols of Alba Longa's patron, whichever god or goddess you claim."

Her knit brow relaxed suddenly for she only then recognized how her ploy, a gift for her father and an avenue to speak with Damian, had morphed into the forging of a beacon for her people and her city. It filled her with the supreme purpose of her position, and she discovered herself sobered of anxiety and nerves at this realization. Through clear eyes, she considered the sheet, able to envision the blade within her mind's eye.

"Apollo," she decided and paused thoughtfully before adding, "and Aphrodite."

"Both?"

He guided her without humiliating her ignorance and helped her choose what would be best for her father, but on this point, she was certain. "Apollo has been our patron since we left our lands and found our new home, and Aphrodite-" she smiled mysteriously while turning the parchment in her fingers, "she protects Aeneas and his heirs."

"Then I will carve Apollo's on one side," he said while pointing to the markers where the Sun God's emblems would settle following the edge of the blade, "and when turned, Aphrodite's on the other."

"It will be beautiful…" she commented distantly, lost staring at the paper and imaging this sketch reaching fruition in a blade fit for the Alban king. What will Father say when I present this to him...

While she was resigned to her silent thoughts, his attention withdrew from his sketch to the young woman beside him. Tall enough that her head reached his nose where he merely needed to step forward to touch his lips to her temple. It was the easier for him to admire her profile as a result, the soft nose, large round eyes, feminine angle of her jaw-

"It will be ready in time?" she wondered and turned to consider Damian. All at once, she realized the weight of his gaze and proximity between them, and a fresh blush renewed in her cheeks, which she recognized more in the warmth of his eyes and subtle tremor of her heart.

"Yes," he promised. "I will begin forging it tomorrow at the latest."

She was enraptured with a new thought: the realization of how easily she could express a year's worth of pent of need, only tilt her head and reach forward. It seemed so simple, but the opportunity blindsided her, rousing such a tangled combination of emotions that she couldn't move to act out any of them. "Thank you," she mumbled out of habit more than recognizing what he had said.

He smiled and took the paper from her to return to the stack. "We have a deal, Princess," he reminded her.

Once free of his eyes, their spell was lost on her, and she gathered her wits as demurely as she could. "You can call me Iliana," she said. "I haven't felt like much of a princess my entire life."

He motioned for her to take a seat while he washed his hands in a small bowl. "That is why your family is admired," he spoke as he picked up a plate and sat across from her. He drew aside the cloth over the pot and spooned a hefty portion onto the plate while explaining, "You do not demand respect. You earn it."

"You've only lived here a year," she murmured, charmed but humbled. "A few more months and you might realize the arrogance of my brothers."

He smirked to himself, bending his head slightly while he pulled apart the chicken between his thumbs, the nails still stained black even cleaned.

"You think I'm jesting?"

"No... You remind me of how I behaved with my brothers."

She was immediately intrigued that he now offered some piece of his past to her when it was only the other day he had closed off at the mere proposition. In a calm tone, she asked, "Did you have many?"

"We were nine brothers and sisters in all." He lifted his brow, knowing well enough how large that was, and chewed on a tender morsel of roasted meat.

"How did you manage to get away?" Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were wide and curious.

He seemed to appraise their sincerity before wiping his hands on the rag. "You asked me if my father were a blacksmith," he recalled. "The man who bore me was a freed slave, but he had no money or birthright and so he worked for a wealthy family, much like a slave but for a small wage. My mother washed the family's clothes, and together they had enough to buy bread and some lentils every week." His jaw stiffened briefly, a sign of bitterness perhaps, before he continued, "When there were more mouths to feed than food to share, my father sold me to a blacksmith."

"How old were you?" she asked, unable to keep the disbelief from her knit features.

"Six," he answered. "I was raised in the forge. He treated me like a son."

She was quiet for a beat for she couldn't sense how to answer appropriately. "I'm sorry..."

"Why?" He looked at her sharply, and she regretted her sympathy. "It is better to work than to starve. I was fortunate he kept me."

Again, she was silent, and he began eating once more which she took to mean he wasn't angry. "What became of your family?"

He chewed a piece of vegetable and looked over her shoulder thoughtfully before returning his attention to her face. "I don't know." Her chin had fallen to her chest, burdened by such a tale and the understood implications, and only lifted once more when he sternly said, "You'll think twice now before calling your brothers arrogant."

As he suspected, her eyes darted up to him in a guilty way and appeared the more hurt when he chuckled before he could stop himself.

"I'm joking, Iliana."

She exhaled a stifled breath and managed to smile weakly, but her cheeks seemed stained a permanent red as if the flush had been burned into her skin. He thought it suited her, visibly displaying the naive kindness to her nature that was so endearing. It seemed unending and untainted by age, and it was far more palpable than any false smile hung from a worn face.

"It's a poor joke," she countered and flashed her gaze at him though fighting away a smile of her own. Their regards locked sharing a moment of mutual appreciation and amusement, made the more tangible from the underlying tension feeding it. "I should leave before my brothers take notice..."

He stood with her, and she granted him a subdued look. "Sit," she prompted. "I'll let myself out."

Ignoring her request, he remained standing to at least follow her retreat across the small space with his dark eyes. "Thank you for the meal."

She glanced over her shoulder as she reached the threshold and smiled a final time. "We have a deal, blacksmith," she reminded him in a tone bolder than she usually held, and it heralded a new friction between them. But she ducked out the door before she could buckle beneath it.

‡‡‡

"When was this?"

"Last night," Galen answered and dipped his head, dabbing at the sweat beading across his brow. The incessant stress had him perspiring no matter the chill covering the lands and nearly shitting blood as another pummeling cramp reminded him, making him double over and lean more heavily upon the table. Between his gritting teeth, he finished, "After the feast, My Lord."

All at once, Savas' fist landed on the table top, sending a tremor across the wood which sent cups jostling and Galen recoiling. Still bent over his curled fist, Savas' icy eyes struck out at his subordinate, and one finger pointed accusingly. "I told you," he growled with his lips curling back.

Galen swallowed heavily and sputtered, "My Lord, I-"

"I told you!" he bellowed until the blood rushed into his face and spurred the fierce flash of his gaze. As soon as the gust of rage came, it receded like the King easing back into his chair. His eyes searched the darkness creeping around them, his head jerking from side to side, and he muttered, "The wolves around me… Do you hear them, Galen?"

"Highness…"

"They howl for the end. They would have me burn! They would have me fall!" His hands were claws on the arms of the chair, gripping so tightly the bones arched at severe angles like talons and his nails dug into the grain of the wood.

"No one would betray you. They're young –passionate," his counselor attempted through heaving breaths.

One word focused Savas' attention like dangling a fresh piece of meat before a hungry predator, and his head tilted with Galen in his sights, wholly engrossed and jaw quaking beneath his beard. "Tell me, Galen. Do you think me stupid?" His brows lifted sarcastically. "Do I look like an imbecile to you? Do you think I'm the sort of ass who would mistake a lover's tryst for a conspiracy!" His words drew him forward from his chair with the way they sucked the air out of him, making his waist contract to squeeze out the last searing breath, and he paused as though poised to strike out at his subordinate and suddenly retreated into the depth of his seat once more. Two fingers applied pressure to his temple where a flickering vein poked through the thin skin.

"The Princes favor you," he attempted a last time and felt sick with the tension wrought in the room. A flint could light the dense air. "Look how they agreed to the engagement, and-and… and the hunt! They want to please you, My King. They would never conspire against you!"

His counselor's words had an astonishing effect, causing Savas to withdraw completely into his chair as his face released its iron grip on his contorted fury, and with these few words, he seemed abruptly pacified.

Galen doubted himself so fortunate and dabbed at his brow once more while muttering a prayer to Zeus beneath his breath. Steal his rage and give him perception!


Author's Note: Hey dolls! This one was fast, but it is also the shortest of my chapters thus far :) I hope you all enjoyed the glimpse into Damian's past, and I doubt anyone can guess what will happen in the next chapter with he and Iliana... hehe

Thanks yet again to Miss AmyLNelson for the super sweet review! I'm really pleased to know you enjoyed the flashback with Haemon & Hector. There will be more to come, and some with Myrina too of course :) Savas is paranoid to say the least haha He has seen his stepbrother's family brutally murdered so maybe he's worried he's next. Aurora is after all the only one who survived and has more right to the throne than him (which I'll explain better in another chapter or two) so he's got reason to think she's plotting against him... Nothing's ever easy right? haha Sometimes a man's gotta be a dick to learn how not to be a dick -as you said, exhibit A: Hector hahaha He was a dick on multiple occasions, and well, like father like son is all I can say ;) Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well xoxo