Chapter 21
"Blood Shared"

Darkness breathed at their feet in the glistening, starry-eyed reflections of the waves rolling into shore. The moon at its breast stood swollen and unwavering, her milky complexion a more delicate hue than the brazen blazing of her brother sun. Where Apollo roared, she whispered so softly and sincerely that Aurora was sure Artemis spilled her secrets to the earth, but she didn't have the dexterity to understand the goddess' voice this night. It was the crashing of the waves on the shore, the wind whipping past, the sounds of animals brewing around them… Artemis commanded a subtle, rustling beauty, and it was the first time in a very long time that Aurora was seduced by the lull of night's mystery around her rather than fearful of the shadows in the dark. There was only the glow of Artemis' moon and the sway of the beach to keep them company.

"I've never touched the sea," Aurora murmured through lips numb with cold. It was a feverish sort of desire that appeared abruptly and ran its course through her, making her wish to reach out and feel the sea pulsing.

From their stance at the height of Alba Longa's lone watchtower, they were privy to the impressive sight of Latium sprawled at their feet. Iliana leaned comfortably against the support of a wooden beam and twirled a loose chestnut curl around her finger, accustomed to the view but no less enamored by her lands. Latium held its own wild magnificence, which was why she had stolen her soon-to-be sister away from the festivities to survey her new home.

"I would take you now," the Alban answered and smiled, "but I think Haemon would kill any who stole you from these walls."

The mention of her betrothed's name snatched her attention—and her mood. She bowed her head to the reminder of her current predicament. He was as turbulent and opaque as the dark sea in front of them. Pensive, she wondered, "Am I his prisoner then?"

"Of course not," Iliana replied at once. "We are now family, Princess. You have no need to fear us."

"I've not known family to be so honorable." She smiled weakly more from nerves for her brash honesty than any jest.

"It's terrible what you suffered at the hands of your uncle. But if I might tell you anything that you would truly believe, it is that family is everything to us. It's sacred in our eyes—unbreakable—something to be protected at all costs…" Iliana paused allowing those words to sit in the air and display their weight. "As Haemon's wife, you will not only enjoy his status in Alba Longa, but you will always be guarded as part of this family."

Aurora dropped her head toward her chest, monitoring how her fingers picked at the stitching in her robe. "It is very kind of you to say, Princess—"

"Iliana."

"Iliana," she remedied immediately and smiled at the younger woman.

The same one returned it and began to drum her fingers against the wooden post as she parried with the obvious undercurrent of their conversation. Impulsively, she began, "You and Haemon have quarreled recently…" Of course she had sensed it, as anyone with two eyes and mind between them would have, but she hadn't quite found the space to voice her curiosity until now.

Aurora reached forward to grasp the railing, stepping near it as if to brace herself for this turn of conversation. "Is it so obvious?"

"Yes."

She glanced in alarm at her companion's blunt response, but Iliana offered a gentle look that humbled Aurora once again. "I have my reasons," she offered.

"I don't doubt it." Iliana too took hold of the railing and stepped forward where the pair were on equal ground. "To tell you of Troy, he trusts you. And to bring you into his home, he cares for you. It may not be obvious, but he looks after you."

"He does," Aurora conceded with a leaden exhale. "He is good to me. He has protected me all this time—"

"Perhaps, but I don't mean food and clothing… I see the way he watches after you. When you leave, when you look away, when you ignore him."

The Apulian blanched immediately and struggled to respond, but once more Iliana didn't give her the opportunity.

"The way he looks at you is unlike anyone else," she said.

The color returned to Aurora's face all at once, pooling in her cheeks so that their fire fought against the cold breeze of the night. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I love my brother, but I know he is not an easy man to love."

Aurora huffed dryly and gazed off across the sea, confessing, "And I'm not an easy woman to love."

"My mother told me it takes strength to forgive and forgiveness to love," she said seeming to reference less the disturbance between Haemon and Aurora than her own personal experience. "When she forgave my father, Aeneas, for the mistakes of the past, she was terrified and angry and hurt. But she learned to love him again. She learned to trust him. And they were never stronger because of it."

The words seeped into Aurora's skin but didn't resonate any deeper. "It is not so simple."

"Perhaps not." She smiled again. "Or perhaps it is very simple, and we allow ourselves to complicate the matter."

Iliana's message artfully snuck past her guard, and like a skeleton key, unlocked what had taken weeks, months, years to build before Aurora even recognized her own disillusionment.

Long after the two women abandoned the watchtower and began their return to the festivities, Iliana's words continued to brew in Aurora's mind, equal in their turbulence only to the dark sea at their backs. Each step revealed a new undercurrent to her thoughts until Aurora stopped and excused herself from the princess' company with a comment about the long journey and the wine catching up to her.

Iliana was kind or wise enough to allow Aurora a graceful exit.

In truth Aurora needed a breath of time alone to think and at last address these old feelings that she had avoided for so many years. Desperate to hide them, she had changed their shapes and given them new names, so that she was a tangle of nonsensical emotions inside. What was fear had turned to flight. Grief had twisted to anger. By the time her eyes fell on Haemon's home—your home, she chastised herself—she hardly knew what she was feeling or what she was thinking. Rather than enter those walls and all they stood for, she directed herself toward the village's well and sat on the edge of the stones gathered at the base. She crossed her arms, rested them on her knees, and balanced her chin atop her forearms. These thoughts needed space to breathe.

They might have spread to fill the village square were she not distracted by a pair of small, dirty bare feet entering her line of sight.

Lifting her head, she abruptly found a young boy's eyes. No more than five years old, he stood stiff like a dog on the hunt the whole of his attention concentrated and funneled toward Aurora. The blonde returned his gaze through wide eyes to reflect her surprise.

"He keeps hitting me," the boy said without provocation, his stern features crumpling into a dissatisfied frown, and he beat his fist to his chest.

Her brow furrowed with his as she tried to place his words within context since they seemed plucked from the air.

"He wants to follow me around. Why does he do that?" the boy persisted.

Only then did Aurora notice another boy, younger than the one standing before her, who was digging in the dirt not far behind him. Slowly, her gaze returned to the boy standing before her whose hair was combed back from his face so that the curls erupted like an explosion at the back of his head. Though his feet were bare, he was not poorly dressed, and he held a wooden play dagger in his left hand. The whole of him was the oddest of combinations, and Aurora grappled briefly with how to respond to him when he had the appearance of a little boy and sternness of a grown man.

"Perhaps he's jealous," she commented at last, voice soft though serious.

Dissatisfied with this response, the boy beat his chest again and repeated, "But he keeps hitting me!"

Aurora's lips flattened into a pensive, thin line, weighing how best to handle his unexpected attention, before deciding on the truth: "He's younger than you. You have to be patient with him."

As if on cue, the younger boy stumbled into the conversation and right up to the boy with the dagger. He wrapped his short arms around the boy's waist, and the boy likewise embraced him in return, dagger still clutched firmly in his grasp. His face remained directed toward Aurora where it shaded in utter abhorrence to have been dealt this cruel hand from fate.

Against her better nature, Aurora failed to restrain her smile. "Is he your brother?"

"Yes," the boy responded in annoyance.

"No, he isn't."

Both Aurora and the youngest boy jumped at the unexpected voice, made all the more surprising as each recognized Haemon looming over the two children. The youngest boy stumbled back uncertainly, and Haemon laid his hand upon the boy's head, cupping his small skull like a fruit that he turned easily in the direction of the celebration.

"Your mother calls, boy," he said flatly. "Run."

Aurora became aware of a woman's voice lifted on the breeze from the celebration, and the little boy took off without warning to meet his mother.

This left the odd boy with his dagger who had yet to turn his gaze away from Aurora.

"He wasn't your brother?" she asked him for lack of a more appropriate question.

He shrugged, deadpan.

"No," Haemon answered in his place and unexpectedly moved to sit beside Aurora where he was finally granted the boy's attention. "This is Adrian. He was told to return to his mother." Haemon's gaze slid over to the princess when he explained, "He found you instead."

Aurora frowned at such an odd turn of events, though when she considered the eccentric young boy standing before her, she believed it.

"Where are you from?" the boy asked, his attention fixed solely on Aurora once more.

"Far from here. A land called Apulia," she answered. With time, his odd affect and doggedly serious expression charmed her, so that a small smile accompanied her reply.

He pondered this briefly before drawing closer to Aurora, close enough that his tunic almost grazed her knees, and the princess sat up unexpectedly as if to meet him. "I'm going to fight with the army," he told her and raised his dagger as proof.

Her pale brows arched, though her tongue was lax to find the proper response. At length, she decided, "That's brave of you."

"I could beat him," the boy returned immediately, and Aurora hesitated as she recognized his audacity toward Haemon.

In a flash, Haemon was on his feet, and the two were sparring with the prince on the offensive slowly pushing the boy back several paces when the boy stabbed blindly with his dagger directly into Haemon's injured thigh. Aurora gasped when Haemon's knee buckled accompanied by the prince's short groan, and the little boy lunged at him planning to tackle him to the ground. Instead he hung limply from Haemon's neck, lacking the physical mass to topple the prince, and there was a pivotal, tense second where Aurora expected the latter to retaliate. Haemon inelegantly fell onto his back, arms splayed and appeared quite the loser.

"I've been bested by a mightier warrior," he lamented.

The boy began laughing in irregular hiccups until Haemon sat up and scooped the boy into one arm.

"And his blade," he commented as he took the dagger from the boy in order to admire it from all directions like it were a magnificently welded sword. "Sturdy. Well-balanced." He nodded appreciatively and tossed the wooden dagger lightly to catch its blade and offer the hilt to the boy once more. "It will serve you well."

The boy managed a small, shy smile as he proudly took his weapon to admire it as well. Then, he seemed to remember their company, and his attention darted nervously toward Aurora.

The princess didn't notice his hopeful eyes seeking recognition when her own were distracted. Never had she seen Haemon laugh so easily or smile so widely or play. It was like she had never before seen him, and when she finally opened her eyes, the grey shades of her life focused, and it was so clear.

"Why are her eyes like that?" the boy spoke up suddenly.

Such an innocent question cut through her brief revelation. Too many years strangers had whispered about her eyes and the curse they carried. All at once, her head ducked to hide her mismatched gaze from sight.

She didn't notice, then, how Haemon drew the boy closer and whispered conspiratorially in his ear.

Whatever he said caused the boy to break free of the prince's grip and charge Aurora where he bent down to find her gaze. Frowning while his voice spoke of his awe, he asked, "You lied?"

Aurora mirrored his expression.

"You fell from Olympus," he pressed. "You saw the gods…"

Steadily, Aurora had straightened to reveal her features fully, although they offered nothing more than blank confusion.

When she didn't answer him, the boy twisted to look at Haemon suspiciously. The prince was resting his arms on his knees by this time. "That's enough, Adrian." He tilted his head toward the celebration. "Go find your mother now."

The boy stubbornly turned to look at Aurora once more, narrowing his young eyes near slits like he could focus his attention enough to peel away the layers and find the truth for himself.

Aurora remained mute.

At last, the boy huffed in surrender and drug his feet back toward the celebration but not without shooting Haemon a dissatisfied pout as he passed.

Were Aurora's attention not following them, she might have missed the wink that Haemon shared with the boy. The latter stopped abruptly and stiffened from head to toe as if struck by lightning. Then, without warning, he took off running toward the celebration.

Haemon chuckled under his breath and eased one hand back to support himself. He glanced at the princess and muttered, "I have competition."

"What did you tell him?"

Rather than answering, Haemon craned his neck back to gaze at the stars stretching out overhead. Whether their arrangement was familiar or foreign, his face didn't tell. "Sit with me," he beckoned.

After a moment's hesitation, Aurora approached, and the prince patted the ground meaningfully beside him. She gathered her skirts in her palms and eased onto the dirt with as much grace as she could muster.

Haemon bent near her, planting his palm on the ground behind her backside and reaching out with the other to draw her attention to the sky. Aurora unconsciously stiffened at his proximity; it had been weeks since they left Samnium; it had been weeks since they last…

"Look," Haemon interrupted her train of thought. "Do you see there… the brightest one?"

Her gaze followed the length of his arm, out through his extended finger, to the heavens and the stars situated within their black embrace. Her eyes probed the darkness sifting through the treasures they held until she found one shining more boldly than his brothers. "Yes, I think."

"Look how it falls into line with the others and the three that intersect it." His finger mapped out the pattern for her gaze to follow, but she found his hand more handsome. "That is Cygnus. He appears in the summer sky. They say it is Orpheus, who was immortalized in the stars by Zeus. See below him, the shape of his lyre?" That broad palm, fingers swollen from use, calluses—she could remember their feel more than she could see whatever Haemon was drawing in the night sky, and she had a sudden desire to take his hand and kill the distance between them. "I see them clearest from Alba Longa," Haemon commented distantly as his hand fell to his side, and the spell it held over Aurora was broken.

Recognizing her wandering mind, she looked back at Haemon. Her nose nearly brushed his considering their proximity. The princess swallowed uncomfortably and wondered, "Are you courting me, Prince?"

Haemon laughed under his breath but looked back at the stars in a way that felt dismissive and guilty at once. Silence permeated the next moments until Haemon said, "It's a poor sign when the man and woman honored at a celebration leave before the night's through."

Aurora opened her mouth on instinct thinking to tell him she didn't mean to be rude, that she had only paused for a moment here, that she planned to return, but none of it breached her lips. Those excuses belonged to the grey emptiness of her life. No more.

"Haemon."

His head twisted, and his face shaded to find the serious look awaiting him.

"I don't want you to go to war for me," she said.

His frown deepened.

Inhaling, she could breathe in the faint scent of him, and it struck her that she had to come to recognize something so insignificant yet so indigenous. "I don't want men to die for me... I'll stay here with you. I'll never speak of vengeance."

He examined her openly, acclimating to this new honesty, and answered it with his own, "It's too late for that, Princess."

Aurora's features fell.

Haemon clenched his jaw in the face of her disappointment. It relaxed when he confessed, "I am sorry… for the huntsman."

"I know." She worried for her response, but there was no turning back; now that these words had seen a glimpse of light they rushed to the surface. "I know there was nothing you could have done for him, and yet… I wanted to punish someone for Savas' cruelty."

He smiled emptily. "I'm a fair target."

"This is not your burden to carry," she corrected. "I never wished for another person to assume it."

"You did," he countered, "as I wanted to tell you of Troy and my father. You've carried the past too long on your own, Aurora. I tried to share the weight because I understand, and you've hated me for it."

His words seeped into her. Her gaze drifted. She admitted, "It's all that I have left."

"And it's all I can do to give your family justice."

Aurora looked away, distracted by the implication of one man's justice.

This left her open to Haemon's scrutiny; he searched for the edges of her familiar guard only to find it absent. At last, he wondered, "Did the stars tame you?"

Her attention returned to him, and she cocked her head sardonically. "It's not so simple, Prince."

"I've well learned," he said with no jest. "So what is your secret, Princess?"

She struggled to articulate the intersection of Iliana's words and the picture of Haemon laughing with that young boy, and how it unraveled her like a sea that swept away her self-deceptions and left shards of the truth in its wake. She replied cautiously, "I don't want to fight anymore."

Haemon laughed.

Aurora almost jumped at the explosive sound before settling into an uneasy stance. "My honesty amuses you," she surmised.

Still grinning, the prince peeked at her from the corner of his eyes. "I laugh to think what we would do if not fight. It's our… bond."

Her gaze narrowed subtly. "You made it this way."

"No," he challenged, now turning to smile at her. "You've also had a warrior in you, Aurora. Your uncle and his men only convinced you otherwise."

And yet you showed me what I was capable of, she mused while she uncovered this latest shard among the sand. Perhaps that's why I fought you from the first moment we met. You were my mirror reflecting back all the darkness I'd come to fear in myself. Being with you brought it to light so that I could finally kill it. Unconsciously she leaned into him as she considered this line of thought, drawing nearer and seeing more clearly the truth in his gaze. "I would still be hiding from shadows without you."

All at once, Haemon bowed his head to duck her sincerity, and she was charmed. Progressively in unveiling herself, she realized she was stripping away his armor too.

"I don't need you to go to war," she spoke to his profile, never more brazen or surefooted at his side than this moment, "I've conquered my fears."

"You'll never have peace so long as Savas lives," he told her.

"I'll never have peace if you leave me."

The weight of those words hung in the air demanding attention, so that Haemon turned to look at his companion.

Her eyes searched his as she continued, "I lost my family once. I can't be left alone again."

His gaze softened around the corners in a way Aurora had never seen before. "Do you have so little faith in me?"

"If you were faced with only my uncle, pitted one man against the other, I have no doubt who would fall," she answered honestly. "But my uncle is not an honorable man. He has no code to guide him. There is only self-preservation and whatever he can gain; for that he would lie, cheat, steal, murder…" Her eyes lost focus of Haemon's face briefly while she was caught back in the dark net Savas had cast over her life years before.

"Aurora," Haemon called to her and brought her tumbling back to find his eyes again.

She felt steadied by his presence. "I loathe him and pray for the day he meets his just end, but you cannot know how he will try to crush you and your men," she explained. "There's no telling what evil he is planning even now."

"I've met his kind before," Haemon assured her though he was tempted by memories of Agamemnon and Menelaus snarling at Troy's gates.

"And you've seen the consequences of their campaigns," Aurora persisted. "I'm not questioning your prowess, Haemon. You are a powerful soldier and an enemy any man would shrink from. But Savas won't meet you on fair ground."

"He will plot as cowards do," he agreed and turned his attention out the homes circling the village square. "But when he sees my men marching on Apulia from the west and King Deidus' men from the north, his cunning won't protect him."

His resolution sifted through her and steadily turned the tides of her thoughts. In moments, she decided, "If you will march against Savas, then I will go with you."

"No," he answered swiftly, his concentration centering on her again.

"I deserve to see what awaits us in Apulia. Whether it be redemption or destruction, I will be there with you."

"Your place is here with the wives—"

"I'm not your wife, Haemon," she interrupted, her resolve cutting each word, "and until I am, I will decide where I go and when. If you plan to keep me from leaving, you'll have to… to imprison me."

One corner of his mouth flickered to life, and he replied dryly, "Don't tempt me."

She frowned.

Haemon stood then so that his height and breadth blocked the stars from sight, and Aurora was cast in his shadow. The distance seemed renewed between them, and the princess feared that she had overplayed her hand, trusting that Haemon thought any more of her than as his personal trophy. He pursued Apulia's crown, she realized, for his own gain to legitimize his family's presence, and Aurora was nothing more than a pawn. Her heart sunk in her chest.

The prince turned to face her and stretched out his hand.

Her head bobbed up, her eyes found his, and she accepted his hand before he could take it back. Feeling those strong fingers encircle her palm, she recognized the simultaneous roughness and gentleness in his touch. As he pulled her to her feet, her gaze remained tangled in his. Such a simple exchange that signaled a deeper shift in their relationship. They were on the same level—joined.

"I'm not consenting," Haemon said reluctantly. "But if I were, you would be under my command and follow my orders without question."

Aurora held firmly to his hand, likewise holding tightly to this pivotal moment between them. "So long as I accompany you to Apulia, I'm willing to respect your command—if you are agreeing, that is."

"I'm not," he assured her.

"Don't pretend to deny me this." Aurora exhaled, vexed by his stubbornness. "You know I should be there to see Savas fall. I won't stand idly by in Latium while you take revenge in my name. It's my kingdom, Haemon. I must be there!"

He saw plainly the resolve in her mismatched eyes similarly echoed in her strong stance and firm grip. She was far removed from the woman he had met in Apulia, and he… He was the better for it. "You will not be at the battle," he said in a low, rushed tone. "You said yourself, Savas is cunning. If he catches word that you're among the army, he'll come for you. You're his last true threat to the throne."

"I'll stay out of his sight," she consented seeming agitated by the possibility, "but I won't hide so far as in Latium. You'll take me to Apulia, and when the time comes, I'll take cover wherever you deem appropriate." Her attention had strayed with her words, but it abruptly focused on Haemon again. "But if I go with you, you must promise me one last thing."

"That is?"

Their grips still locked, she felt even further emboldened as she answered, "You'll win."

The request had no impact on his expression for there was no doubt in his mind who would be the victor, yet he wondered, "And what will you do, Princess, after the war is over?"

Aurora drew a long, full breath, feeling the air stretch her lungs and broaden her shoulders and chest; she stood a little taller even after releasing the breath. Finally, she decided, "I'll tell you when you bring me Savas' head."

This time, Haemon bowed his head to her in the way a soldier accepts his charge.

Staring at the head of unruly curls bent to her, Aurora faltered. Her strength felt too shaky to make this man bow to her, and she was fascinated by the idea that he could yield to anything. The air between them felt different, perhaps the most paramount shift of the night, but his hand was heavy and warm and familiar in her own. Bending forward, her lips pressed into his crown of curls, and she inhaled the familiarity of his scent. He was the same, yet everything had changed. He raised his head to look at her and seemed to bask in the newfound alliance between them. Instinctively, Aurora reached up for the final test of the soldier capitulating to her. He tasted sweet like the wine, and she welcomed the dense aroma to overwhelm her senses as he wrapped himself around her.

His forehead kneaded blindly into hers, allowing her mouth the rare chance to breathe after a soft, brief kiss. Aurora blinked up at him. The tides were shifting in her eyes the longer she stared into his. "Everyone I care about is taken from me…" She inhaled shakily, her features shivering, and she couldn't seem to focus on his eyes any longer. "I won't let you go."

The more clouded her eyes became, the clearer he could see her. He watched the tears pool while she poorly angled her head to hold them at bay, but she blinked and the first one escaped from her inner corner to trace the edge of her nose. Another was on its tail though she caught it and hastily smeared it away. He watched almost mesmerized by something that had always been at his fingers but that he had been too blind to see before. Here she cried for him, fearing that he would leave her like her father, brothers, sister, mother, and soon, like her adopted father would, when Haemon had to protect her and give her vengeance. It was his duty to her, but he saw a brief flicker of a memory of a warrior in bronze armor, spear in hand, plume spilling from his helmet, shield stacked on his arm, waiting for the gates to open…

He didn't recognize the tears crushed under his grip or the way his fingers snarled in her hair, how her nose dug at his cheek or the sharp knock of her forehead against his. He knew the smell of her skin, the angles of her face fitted to his, the tenderness of her lips, and days spent away from her felt like he had hiked through the forests and mountains, fought off armies, and rode across the plains to find his way home again.

‡‡‡

A month later

Preparations for battle were commonplace in Alba Longa, owing to their persistent neighbors. But it had been far longer since its residents set their sights on war. That singular purpose had cast its shadow upon Alba Longa until every citizen felt its cool touch and rose to answer its call. Ariston and his men had returned scarcely a week earlier, and though there was no time to spare for celebrating the youngest prince's continued health, Iliana was overcome by the relief of her family reunited. Her own solace, however, paled in comparison to that of her brothers.

To this day, she could replay the scene again and again in her mind's eye: She saw the crowds parting to allow their crown prince passage. Haemon's stride neared a run when he caught sight of his youngest brother. Ariston likewise paled visibly as if he had been shown a ghost. Haemon swept his brother into a firm embrace, clapping him so firmly on his back that poor Ariston shook. At least, Iliana had thought it was Haemon who caused Ariston's tremors only to realize her brother was shaking from the effort to withhold his tears. Eventually, Haemon released Ariston and smiled warmly at his brother who now had begun weeping openly. He took the back of Ariston's curly head and brought their foreheads together.

"Welcome home, brother," Haemon told him before Ariston embraced him again.

That scene reminded Iliana of Haemon's power. Not only had he been a father to them in many ways, but he, who had been formed in Hector's image, had assumed the likeness of a totem. Haemon was their living, breathing connection to Hector. With Haemon lost, it was reliving the loss of their birth father and their home over again. By that same logic Haemon's miraculous return signaled the possibility of redemption for Troy's lost sons.

But what of its daughter? Iliana could not wield a sword in battle alongside her brothers, though she had pretended when she was young that they would all rush headlong into enemy lines in search of glory. That was not her fate. Her final battle lay far closer to home.

Their grain stores were tempered this far into the fall, and yet the walls held onto the sweet musty air. Oddly the wheat, a symbol of abundance, was juxtaposed against Alba Longa's sole dungeon tucked away into a back corner of the same space. She found the blacksmith standing not far from the door and staring distantly into its black interior. Time had healed Damian more than anyone anticipated, although Iliana wondered if it weren't a consequence of his Spartan blood. When he was not engrossed in making more weapons, he had begun training with the other soldiers under Haemon's watchful eye. He was slender still from his time spent imprisoned and his injury, but sinewy muscles began to harden his arms and his shoulders and bolster his frame.

Hearing her approach, he turned to consider her. His features already heavy from the memories of this space fell tellingly at the sight of her alone. "I made an agreement with your father, Iliana," Damian spoke in the stern way he would at times. "Not to meet you without a chaperone."

To this the princess quirked an eyebrow and smiled, almost proud in her defiance. "I'm well aware."

"And yet you stand before me." He approached her near enough that he could cup her face. "Disobedient," he murmured as he bent to kiss her, "and beautiful."

As if oblivious to his words, Iliana wrapped her arms around his waist without comment, and Damian exhaled his defeat while he held her in turn. He was wise enough to recognize what Iliana's abrupt demand for a meeting signaled although she had not spoken it. He tested this theory when bent his mouth near her ear and said, "I will return."

Silent Iliana tightened her grip on him.

The blacksmith leveraged his shoulders away from her enough to catch sight of her face and the tears dampening her cheeks. When she glanced up at him, he offered an offended look. "Do I appear so weak to you? These tears… They shame me."

She frowned in annoyance. "I don't know you as a soldier, but I've seen you practice with the men... Sparta breeds strong soldiers," she conceded but appeared perturbed by this fact. "Even Haemon has taken notice."

A proud smile began to warm his face no matter her discontent, but he was not deterred from his original question. "Then tell me what brings these tears."

"I do worry for you engaged in battle," she began indefinitely. A leaden exhale escaped her lips before she continued, "But I fear you will be at war long before you reach the battlefield. My brothers are not forgiving."

The reminder was unnecessary. If Haemon recognized his prowess, it was only to challenge it. Damian had been beaten many a time by each of Iliana's brothers under the guise of training. There was no kindness or leniency afforded to him in light of his injury or their little sister's preference for the man. Little did Hector's sons know Sparta hardened its soldiers through daunting, often brutal initiations. Their attacks were familiar at best. Still, he heard Iliana's concerns and sought to assuage them if only to dry her eyes.

"This is my punishment," he told her, "and I gladly accept it, knowing at the end that I may yet see your face and hold you in my arms and call you mine."

"I'm not a trophy," she countered sullenly and stepped away from him.

"No," Damian agreed in a strained tone, confused at her reaction to his candid reply. He was the more delayed as a result in releasing her.

"We are bound by blood, and you are not the only who has paid."

Her eye shaded in a dense look, and Damian could not sustain it. Instead, he turned guiltily to the bandage wrapping her neck. "A fact I can never forget."

"I would have the scales balanced before we part."

At this announcement, Damian abruptly snapped to consider her again. Her face was serious, almost stern staring back at him, and he promised, "Tell me what you require, and I will see it done."

"Your words..." she responded carefully. Her right hand moved to grasp the left shoulder of her dress. It slid down her arm with little provocation, and the other followed in turn. The dress pooled briefly around her waist before her hands coaxed it across her hips to fall to the ground. "Carried out by your hands."

In her imagination, Iliana hadn't progressed beyond this point, and so she had no expectations as to Damian's response. She was assured, though, in that moment that she could never have anticipated the pure shock that immobilized him. He could not have looked more dumbstruck had Zeus thrown a bolt from the heavens to strike him down. Those tense moments felt an eternity, and in the space Iliana's brash confidence fled. She looked down to peer through the valley of her naked breasts down her soft abdomen all the way to her sandaled feet. What a foolish thing, it occurred to her, to stand before him in her sandals and nothing else. Her face exploded in a sudden heat.

She flinched when she felt a touch on her arm, and her attention jumped to the blacksmith to realize Damian was standing close enough his tunic nearly brushed her breasts.

"Are these hands not too rough for you?" he wondered.

His voice had receded to a low grouse that stoked a fire in Iliana's belly far removed from the shame burning her face. She licked her lips anxiously and maintained his gaze even as her whole body began to radiate heat. Too eager to mince words, she promised, "I would have no one else's."

He kissed her then, and it was a fleeting relief that this time he would not rebuff her. The heat left her parched, and she drank him in as an oasis in the desert. She cradled his face to her own feeling her naked chest knead into his tunic and the muscle underneath. He touched her waist, sliding his hands around to cradle her lower back and allowing one to slip across her backside. The simple touch unleashed a renewed wave of need, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, hoisting herself onto her toes until their chests were pressed together. He exhaled a hot, sticky breath against her lips before trailing kisses along her cheek up to her ear. When his teeth bore down on her lobe, a pleasant shiver travelled down her spine. In its wake, she fretted to feel more of him against him and tore his shirt up his sides. He eased from her briefly to help remove his shirt before collapsing over her again. Iliana, however, was distracted by the bandages still encasing his chest and what they symbolized.

"Nothing could keep me from you," he assured her and swept her legs out from under her, laughing when Iliana yelped in surprise. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist like her arms holding tightly to his shoulders. She was tall for a woman and strong; being the youngest of three brothers had taught her the value of power, not demure femininity. She was startled, then, to discover Damian could bear her weight, carrying her without struggle to sit on the edge of the sole table. Feeling the security of something behind her, she released one arm from his shoulders to ground herself with her hand. The other remained stubbornly wrapped around him as if she might fall at any moment.

The sensation doubled when his mouth crept beneath her jawline. The stubble scratched at her thin skin. Her eyes fluttered, and she swore she felt the earth shifting underneath her. She gripped more forcefully to his shoulders seeking him to anchor her in the midst of the emotions making her dizzy. His lips were on her collarbone, diligently tracing a trail along its thin ledge. Her forehead blindly nuzzled against his dark curls inhaling his scent as he dared lower into the valley between her breasts, and she suddenly sucked in an uncertain breath when his hand cupped her breast. Her arm released his shoulders all at once to join the other in bracing her against the table. The callused skin coupled with his beard roused the blood beneath her skin. When his teeth found her, her head fell leaden between her shoulders, unwittingly offering all of herself to him.

His other hand gripped and released her backside. He fed off her until her skin was tender to his touch, and she tried to pull away from him with a short groan. He kissed the curve under her breast down to the soft fold of her stomach and lower still until he was kneeling before her, ever the devoted servant paying tribute. She froze. Her fingers painfully dug into the wood grain of the table ripe with anticipation, but she lacked the awareness to shyly fight him off.

She flinched at the feel of his lips smoothing across her inner thigh. The muscles there quivered to the extent that she was sure he felt her trembling. Impulsively, she tried to move away from him, but his hands held firm to her hips while he attended to the other thigh, matching touch for touch. An eternity of diligent attention created such a crescendo in her chest that she thought she might faint the moment his mouth found its mark. Her grip faltered on the table, and her head hung heavy between her shoulders once more. The timid sighs and groans she had offered earlier gave way to a low, throaty moan. A pleasure so specific it almost pained her when it racked through her body, and her legs shook uncontrollably, flexing her heels into his back like she were controlling a wild horse.

Her neck ached and protested when she bent back further, blindly reaching forward to grab a handful of his hair to anchor herself. It was a sensation as foreign as it was instinctual, and her body reacted in ways outside her mind's control. Her hips rolled against him. Like her heels in his back, her hand pulled and released to guide him. Every caress of his tongue and pressure of his lips was intoxicating. She swam in a thick, heady daze. It steadily rose within her, and she had suddenly never wanted anything as badly in that moment than the edge he was guiding her closer and closer to. The desire ached to be released, and when at last it came, satisfaction almost drowned her. But in its wake, she was so sensitive that even the soft press of his lips, which she had savored, was all at once too much.

She pushed him away with a short groan of protest, and finally he released her hips to grip the edge of the table and hoist himself onto his feet once more. Her sense returned to her as the pleasure faded into her blood, and she discovered she was abruptly embarrassed by the intimacy they had shared. Iliana avoided his gaze by nuzzling her face into the crook of his chin under his jaw, kissing and nibbling along his neck and shoulder in the way he had done to her. She could faintly feel his erratic pulse and listened to his short breaths, amazed almost by the want she had stirred in him. He untied the material at his waist without hesitation and stepped closer to her, spreading her knees to fit his hips. All at once, he grabbed her under her thighs and yanked her further across the edge of the table until scarcely supported her backside. The fear that he might lose his grip and allow her to tumble to the ground blindsided her. She clutched to his shoulders to balance her and startled to find them eye to eye. The man she had stared after longingly for more than a year gazing openly at her with a look she could never have imagined in her fantasies. The same one who had nearly killed her and in penance had offered his life. How had Aphrodite orchestrated this messy collision?

She kissed him holding tight to his shoulders and back and trusting that he wouldn't let her fall. She focused on the sensation of his lips against her even as she felt the pressure building between her legs. The pain bloomed in her belly. Unconsciously her lips stilled as she moved her attention to the pain slowly pushing deeper into her. Her brow crumpled, and she tried to adjust her hips though there was no relief from the pain. Tears contracted behind her eyes, that subtle pulsing joining the pain throbbing inside her. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, but the first few tears slipped past her lashes to line her cheeks. Damian was slow, more gentle than his callused hands or Spartan blood suggested he could be. He kissed her temple, moving along her hairline down to her ear. The first flickers of pleasure rippled through the pain. She hurt, but she had endured much worse to be by his side. Her arm at last relaxed from his shoulders, allowing her hand to run down his arm and thread around his waist. There she could feel the muscles flexing with the steady rhythm of him entering her again and again. He pushed deeper, and she moaned, broken and sharp with pain. That slow, even pace gave way to something more desperate. Her head fell back between her shoulders once more feeling the pleasure building in her womb. He sucked on her broken, swollen lip, and the pain and pleasure was even in their kiss.

His wound had begun burning against the sweat pooling beneath the bandage and the flexing of his waist. The fabric tightened and released with every motion. All at once he reached beneath her legs and wrenched her buttocks fully into his grip. This granted him greater access, more control when he changed pace, those sharp thrusts waning to him rolling into her. She massaged every inch of him unlike he had ever experienced, so that he lost his sense of pace and gentleness. Both the pleasure and pain magnified three-fold, and Iliana blindly gripped to his forearm, burying her nails into his arm while her throat contracted around a heavy moan. Another thrust rolled deep into her, too much for her to stand, and she pushed at his abdomen trying to force him to back off, allow her the space to breathe. Instead he careened inelegantly forward knocking his forehead into her own before their lips found the other's. He found a sharp, reckless pace that attacked her with renewed vigor, and she sensed his need. Her hips rocked with him even as the motion pushed her limits and reignited the pain. She could feel that familiar precipice beginning to take shape though it was muddled by the pain. His next thrust a vivid warmth spread within her and underlined her dizzy haze. Sweat dripped from his black hair and her elbows, and they shared the same haggard breath. He pulled out of her, and in his absence a dull ache pressed within her.

Her face fell past his to rest her head on his shoulder. Her body was limp against him. She trusted him now to support her weight, and he did so without complaint. Unconsciously kneading her forehead against his shoulder, she was granted to unique perspective to notice his bandages and the small red dots clouding one area. All at once she sat up straight as if forgetting her lifeless exhaustion and realized, "You're bleeding."

Damian glanced at the wound unfazed. "It's only a scratch."

"Have you seen the healer regularly?" she persisted as if he had not spoken. All the while she wriggled out of his grip to sit on the edge of table once more without his assistance. She tried to push him to stand back from her so that she could bend to better consider the wound. A dense frown crumpled her features. "It should be healing better."

The Spartan meanwhile tolerated her insistence more than he appreciated it. They had too little time to bother with such menial things. "If this is the price of having you," he commented to regain her attention, "then I would take a thousand lashings to know the inside of your thighs again."

Her cheeks warmed at his brazen tongue, stunned for the moment and distracted from fretting over him. When she could formulate a response, she answered honestly, "I would not see another injury to you. You are mine now, as I am yours. We share the same pain."

For a time he seemed to bask in the sincerity of her words before at last shaking his head. "Why have the gods brought you to this poor bastard?"

"Our fates were twined long before we entered this world," she acknowledged while at last sitting straight once more, "by war and greed and loss..."

At the mention, Damian regained his place stepping forward to gaze down at his woman with an indecipherable edge to his eyes. "And what would the mighty Hector say to know his daughter lay in the arms of his enemy's son?"

"I never-" Iliana startled quickly. Her attention darted back and forth between his eyes as if searching for an answer to an unnamed question. "I never told you his name."

"I heard the tales. How could I not?" He offered a hollow smile even as the guilt built behind his empty look. "How he faced the army of Assyria in single hand combat. How he cut down the giant Ajax... In death, he became a legend."

"Yes." Iliana looked down, the weight of distant memories settling around her. When she lifted her head once more, there were thick tears in her eyes. "I know only the legend. The man, the father, the husband he was... I never came to know and love."

He cradled her cheek looking pained to see the topic upset her.

"Please, please, remove the guilt from your eyes," she begged in a short plea. "I can't bear to stare into them knowing how you suffer for the deeds of another man."

"My father-"

"He was not your father," she interrupted without hesitation. "You share his blood, but that is all you share."

A beat of silence passed, thick and heavy. Damian swallowed densely before he murmured, "Is that not enough, Iliana?"

"It is nothing." Her answer was hasty but no less sincere. She gripped his face, holding him steady so that he would hear her words. "My will, my actions are my own. And I choose a life at your side." She searched his face for any sign that her message landed. "What do you choose, Damian?"

His gaze wavered, molten and uneasy staring back at her, but the longer he stared, the more his strength steadied. He cleared his throat, and Iliana was humbled by the tears building behind his eyes.

"I am yours," he swore, "until the final breath leaves my body. And I will meet Hector in the afterlife and tell him of his daughter, how fiercely she spoke, how kindly she ruled." He cupped tightly to her face bringing their eyes on level. "And how she brought a son of Sparta to his knees.


Author's Note: I don't know in what universe I thought this would be the final chapter. I literally stared at my story outline and at the chapter before this... It did not compute haha So next chapter may be the last... or second to last at the very most because naturally now that I've sat with the story line for longer I have more plans. It's been forever coming, I know.

Thanks to everyone who has been reading and waiting and following! Especially AmyLNelson, Guest, klandgraf2007, Lizzybeth, & HPuni101! Without your support, I would not have had the patience or motivation to sit down and make myself finish the chapter. I promise you all I will finish the story! much love! xoxo