Chapter Text
Kassandra rinsed her face of tears with water that the maids had left before running off again and pat her skin dry with clean linen. When she caught sight of herself in the polished bronze mirror, she found that her skin was still blotchy, and her eyes were still framed with dark circles just beneath her lower lashes. It didn't surprise her to see it. Dark circles, redness from crying, and the dull look that came from sleepless nights and worried days were near permanent features on her face now. As constant as the amber shade of her eyes and the red of her hair.
Then she stripped off her night clothes, letting the solid yellow colored fabric drop to the floor before kicking it away. Inside her chest of clothes were very few garments she actually wanted to wear. Nearly all of them had been purchased by her mother, who'd had new dresses made in light shades in an attempt to downplay just how pale the princess had become in her attempts to keep from spending excessive time in the sun. Finally, she settled on one of an indigo hue, slightly faded from a half decade of being washed and worn. But the fabric was soft now, the look of it familiar. She pulled it on and fastened it with her typical brooches at the shoulders. Around her waist, she loosely tied a woven belt of violet.
She left her hair untouched, aside from combing out the knots. The curls hung around her shoulders and back at various lengths in need of trimming and oiling. Kassandra loathed having it done, though. Being patronized for an hour or two while a serving girl dressed and washed her put her in a sour mood for the rest of the day or night. Better to be alone and untouched, better to avoid it altogether.
The notion made her happy to be unmarried, in brief moments when her mind wandered to the topic. Pleased that she never had to dress to please a man or endure his touch. But she didn't linger on it. She never really lingered on anything except for the sights and sounds of the future that swam around her mind.
A timid knock hit her doorframe, and one of the younger handmaids entered and bowed. "Princess, Eurypylus wishes to speak with you."
Kassandra's eyes narrowed in skepticism, and she found herself reaching for her shawl to cover herself, though she nodded. "Let him in. And you stay." She replied, watching carefully as the young woman opened the door and the Mysian stepped in.
"Princess." He gave a deep bow, keeping a distance between them. Their eyes met, and Kassandra looked away. "I've no doubt that by now, news has reached you that the Palladium is gone from our walls, and many of our guards lost their lives trying to thwart the theft."
Unconsciously, her head snapped up, and her eyes gazed directly into his. "I told you this would happen. I told all of you -"
As her voice grew louder, he raised a hand to silence her, and she had to avoid raising a hand to his face in response. "Yes, you said so. But did you know they were entering last night?"
"I foretold it, you fool!" She barked. "Yet you all refused to believe me, and now you come to my door with demands."
"Princess." He repeated the word, his tone veering closer to the placating one so often used by servants whenever she grew distressed by a prophecy. "I need the truth. Did you see anything last night? Is that why you were in such a fright?"
There was not a force in the universe, she thought, that could have kept her from striking him then. Swift and straight across his face, leaving an instant redness across his cheek and nose. And the resulting expression made her flinch, certain for a split second that he would retaliate, and one of his larger hands would give her tenfold what she had given him. But her handmaid shuffled closer, the quiet noise reminding each that they were not alone. After several charged moments of tense silence, the warrior sighed, his hands moving to his sides.
"If that is all, I shall leave."
"Ask the Greek." She said as she turned from him and back towards her chambers.
"Pardon?"
"Helen." She said, the sound rolling off her tongue reluctantly, like a bitter poultice. "Ask her."
~○~
"Had you grown tired of cutting down our ranks on the plains, Greek? You had to creep inside the walls to satisfy your bloodlust?"
In that moment, though, Diomedes didn't wish to confront the fact that he couldn't conjure a witty comeback or a biting remark to wound Aeneas in return. He felt dizzy, even when being escorted on either side by Trojan princes, like he would slip right through their grip by some divine force and crash onto the ground regardless. The only thing his head seemingly could get straight was just how very unlucky he was right now, and the only response his weakened mind could decide on was to internally beg the gray-eyed goddess for mercy. And when nothing occurred in that moment, he begged Artemis, and when there was still nothing, his mind's prayers moved to Hera.
"It would be unwisely to attempt to die before your time, Argive. We may have a use for you, after all."
"Not like this." A hoarse sound that hardly resembled his voice left his throat.
"So you can talk." Aeneas looked over him with his startlingly intense gaze. "Then you're useful after all. You can tell us what you know about last night."
He scoffed, which quickly devolved into a cough as his throat made its dryness known. "Torture? I thought you Trojans were planning on remaining honorable."
Deiphobus snorted, an obnoxious noise that vaguely resembled Ajax's noises of amusement. "It doesn't appear like we'll have to do much. You already need to be sewn together."
Sewn together. The prince was not wrong in saying so. If he were back at his own camp, outside the walls, anyone would have called for a medic upon seeing the sheer amount of blood that had spilled across his side. But he wasn't eager to admit he was in need of repairs in the same way that delicate gowns and dresses required work after being snagged at a party. He was a warrior, born and raised. He was the son of Tydeus, chosen by Athena, the proud descendant of a noble house. He was not fragile or delicate. He was not made of delicate strands of linen or wool. He was hardened bronze and muscle and resolve.
Yet he still couldn't pull against them and free himself. And his spear was long gone, lost in some corner or dark pathway. Right now, he could imagine it being passed around through the lower ranks or scrapped for the metal.
Soon, the ascended stairs, and he grunted with each step up, going silent for a short moment when he glimpsed the palace.
It was large, and that much could be seen from outside the walls. But to stand before it was a different story entirely. It was grandiose, splendor that lived up to the fairy tale-like stories that travelers so often told of Troy. On the pathway leading to the palace's main doors, colored stones formed patterns on the ground, and potted plants lined the way. Flowers bloomed, and the breeze carried the scent to his nose, the fragrance mixing with the stench of blood that hung on him.
As they drew nearer to the doors, he kept himself from going slackjawed, though his eyes combed the architecture, drinking it in like some dazed wanderer and not an enemy king. Though he wasn't looking, he could tell both Deiphobus and Aeneas were watching him with wary eyes. Waiting for the moment he might try to attack or attempt to break free. But no, he let himself be led into the palace, the very heart of it all.
Inside was richer than out. The walls bore elegant painted designs and scenes, and the floors were composed of vibrant colors of polished stone that caught the light with a brilliant shine. Along the path to the throne room, soft woven rugs lined the way. Each was made of colorful thread in a variety of dyed colors. And along the halls, great tapestries hung, the likes of which he was not certain he had ever seen before.
The furniture, though perhaps more sparse than expected, had furs and cushions atop it, with accents of brass around the edges and inlays along the legs of stools and tables. A pair of maids were busy cleaning, sweeping, rearranging, and tidying the space when he was dragged in. He might have felt sorry for just how startled they looked if he wasn't in agony and dizzy from all the blood and sleep he'd lost.
At that point, everything felt hazy. But he was seated near a table, and a small earthenware cup filled with water was left nearby. Swirling patterns wrapped around the cup, and throughout the fog and discomfort, he reached over and ran his thumb over them, tracing the design.
Diomedes heard the maids exit, and Aeneas ordering one of the guards to keep watch. Deiphobus called a younger one over and leaned closer to him. Though, Diomedes could still faintly hear him asking the boy to fetch Eurypylus. With a sigh, he slouched and held his face in his hands.
~○~
Helen sat upright upon waking. Now, her need for rest seemed to be satiated, though her muscles still ached as she moved. She did not know why she had suddenly felt compelled to be heroic last night, why she had insisted on helping Odysseus begin moving the statue while Diomedes fought and slayed the guards, but her body was none too pleased that she had put herself up to such physical labor.
Now that she was through the worst of the exhaustion, as she stood and stepped towards the windows, her stomach twisted with an odd feeling. The guards last night had not been fooled when she tried to convince them that nothing had been going on. They'd shared suspicious looks before rushing past and towards the pair of kings when Diomedes had to draw his spear and fight them off. But she wondered if they had truly tied up all their loose ends after she had hurried back to the palace or if there remained witnesses to speak her name.
She ran her fingers through strands of blonde hair and sighed, feeling her brows furrow of their own accord. Nearly ten years, and roughly the whole of Troy still saw her as a Greek. An outsider. She had not assimilated as she thought she might manage. Remaining plain and unremarkable was a struggle when there were men waging a war in your name outside the city walls. Whenever they discovered guards missing or the statue missing, her name would be spoken. Deiphobus might be the only person who didn't accuse her for the sake of preserving his own image. If soldiers didn't, she thought Priam or Hecuba might. Try as she did, her father and mother in marriage never did grow warm or fond of her. Nor she of them.
Her arms folded in front of her, and there was a knock on the doorway, the sound of a throat clearing. Think it to be her newest husband, she beckoned him to enter.
"Lady Helen." Eurypylus greeted as he stood near the doorway.
A chill feeling creeped up her spine, but she kept her expression as straight as she could manage when she turned to him. "Sir." She gave a nod. "I trust everything is...alright?"
"I'm afraid not, my lady. The city has woken up to news of a most alarming nature." He replied, watching her carefully.
Quickly, she gave her very best concerned face. Eyes widened, mouth falling open for a moment. "What sort of news? What has happened?"
Before he replied, he cleared his throat, much like she did when she had to stifle a laugh or a scoff for propriety's sake. "The Palladium is missing, my lady. And we have found the remains of night guards in the lower levels of the city."
She lifted her hands to cover her mouth, "All of them?" Her voice carried the mock surprise convincingly, though his face stayed unreadable.
"It appears so, yes. And there is no sign of the statue, either." He paused and let ther be silence for a short while. Helen lowered her hands, her eyes wondering to the redness on one side of his face in the vaguely defined shape of a handprint.
It caught her attention more than the regurgitated story of the night before, though she knew that to question it would make her priorities seem far too skewed for the distraught woman she was playing at being.
"Lady Helen, I do not wish to insult you, but I must ask you if you know anything about what happened." His voice was careful, in the way that it had to be as he used diplomatic words to accuse her of treachery.
But she wouldn't drop her act, even as he stepped closer, like any shared words would stay a secret between them.
"Had I heard a single word of this, I would've told my dear husband immediately." She insisted quietly, ignoring the way the word 'husband' made her skin crawl.
"I'm not accusing you, my lady." He took another step forward, his back straightening up and highlighting just how much height he had on her. The shuffle of his boots against the stone floor halted, and he leaned over her, just barely. "But perhaps there was something suspicious that you didn't know what to think of? Or one of your maids mentioned something odd?"
"No. No, of course not." She murmured, shaking her head. "None of them have said anything besides asking which dress I'd like to wear or asking how I'd like my bath." Intently, she held his gaze, her brows still knit together. "None of them would ever - I don't even wish to think of them betraying me or anyone else that way." She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself.
Eurypylus looked frustrated, that much was plain on his face, and in the way his shoulders remained tense, and his jaw clenched. But he didn't continue on trying to intimidate her, not physically. "If you hear anything in the proceding days, anything at all -"
A young man stood and knocked upon the open doorframe. "Sir, my lady." He bowed. "Prince Aeneas and Prince Deiphobus have asked for your presence, sir."
"It must be important, seeing that you barge in on a discussion like this." The warrior replied dryly, making the young man grow flustered with embarrassment. He checked the hall and took a step in, speaking in a low tone.
"They found a Greek king within the walls."
Helen felt the color drain from her face. Gods, please don't let it be her cousin's husband. Even she knew he was needed amongst the ranks for his mind alone. Still, she straightened her expression out as Eurypylus got over his initial surprise to look at her.
"Perhaps you ought to come along, my lady. He may be more willing to speak to you than to any of us. A familiar face is powerful, after all."
She frowned but moved to take a veil and draped it over herself anyway. "I'm pleased if I can be of service to the city." She said. "Please, lead the way."
~○~
Against her father's wishes, Kassandra did occasionally roam the palace. It was something aimless she did when she expected things to be still. After morning meetings, but before anyone would be sitting and taking an afternoon meal or seeking shelter from the sun at its highest point.
Eurypylus should still be with Helen. At least she hoped that was the case. He was unpleasant, as she often found soldiers and warriors. Cursed with their own sort of burden, always thinking about combat and strategy and nothing else. If she saw him again, she thought she would be compelled to strike him the moment he opened his mouth and began rambling about suspects.
Helen, on the other hand, did not often speak to her, even when they were in the same room. But there was no one else the princess could think of when she thought to the many funerals for her brothers and the years of fighting and bloodshed right outside the walls. Her appearance had given them reason, even if she seemed so very reluctant when Paris draped his arms around her and called her wife.
Time away from Helen and anyone else preoccupied with the war was time to eat, think, and do her very best to not let the sights of the future swallow her whole.
Once, not long after the ships had arrived at the hellespont, she had wondered into her mother's room. The following day, there was a new physician and four new handmaids hovering around her like nervous hens trying to keep her calm. After that, she often walked over to the side of the palace that housed her brothers. She still didn't speak much, but she found that Andromache didn't mind when she would sit quietly and watch her weave or tend her small array of potted plants that sat on the balcony.
In fact, she found herself wishing for that again, though her sister by marriage didn't weave any longer if the lack of new garments and tapestries was anything to go off of. There were no cut flowers around either. There was no blame in her mind, however. Even after proper funeral rights, it felt as though Hector's spirit were haunting his rooms. Barely tangible in glimpses of memory and split seconds of famiiar smells, As though if you turned around fast enough, he would still be standing there. No one saw much of Andromache, save for rare occasions when she appeared to have the appetite to take meals and drink wine with everyone else. Otherwise, she was much like Kassandra in her solitude, though she had Scamandrius to look after.
He was a dear little thing, who laughed so easily at the sight of a smile or his toys. But there was a sinking feeling that accompanied the thought of him in her mind. Something shy of a full prophecy or vision for him that made her relieved to still hear him cry or laugh in the far wing of the palace.
She found herself unconsciously seeking it out, looking for proof that both of them were alive and well, as her feet had carried her down the hall, towards the throne room, and the wing of the palace where Hector's rooms were. She halted as she saw a sudden gathering of guards standing towards the center of the room. With her fingers idly twisting one corner of her shawl, she stepped into the room, seeing Helen towards the other doorway, near Eurypylus.
"Mind your language, Greek. You are in the presence of royalty and ladies, not mere dogs." Aeneas spoke sternly. He stepped to the side to motion for Deiphobus to approach. When he did, Kassandra's eyes landed on who he had been addressing - a man bound to a chair.
When he looked up and their eyes met, she couldn't stifle the gasp of recognition that escaped through her parted lips. A Greek. A Greek king. One she had seen before in torturous visions, now staring at her with a harmless look on his face.