The Princess of Sparta: Heroes of the Trojan War by Aria Cunningham

crested to the sky and vanished. Unsupported, the priestess collapsed to the ground.
    The room was utterly empty. Not a trace of incense remained, and the brazier coals burned low, its heat replaced with a bone chilling cold. The magic woven by the Divine Presence was gone.
    Helen rushed to Tryphosa’s side, lifting her head as the woman’s eyes rolled back into place. Helen soothed her brow as she regained her bearings, the priestess moaning as though she were entangled in a lover’s embrace. As an open vessel to the Goddess, Helen supposed she might have been.
    Slowly, her breathing calmed and Tryphosa’s luscious smile returned. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, her round eyes watching Helen with a naked expression of fear and awe.
    “A child no longer.” She trembled, pulling away from Helen’s touch.
    Helen shivered, equally frightened by the Goddess’ powerful foretelling. She had come seeking a solution to her marital dilemma and was now more uncertain than ever.
    “All things must end.” Helen whispered with a touch of remorse, her tremors tripping her voice. And tomorrow they would end, soul mate or not.
    “They must.” Tryphosa agreed, kneeling before her. “But they must also begin.” She raised Helen’s hand to her lips. “Long may you reign, My Queen.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 5

The Oath
     
    MORNING CAME all too soon for Helen. She waited outside the megaron, exhausted from her ordeal in the temple. She had hardly slept. What precious moments she claimed prior to dawn were robbed of her as Aethra stormed her apartments with an army of chambermaids. The world would be watching her today, and the princess must look the part.
    The matron had outdone herself with her preparations. Helen’s hair was gathered up into a pile of small coils draping over her bare right shoulder. A crown of parsley leaves and white blossoms of heliotrope lay atop her brow. Her ivory chiton had sashes of vermillion and rose criss-crossed over her torso and down the pleated folds of the dress. A net of hammered gold links rested on her collar, the adornment chiming ever so softly whenever Helen turned her head. The matron even pressed lavender oil to Helen’s lobes and wrists. Helen knew the effect must be dazzling. Still, she feared this armor of grace and beauty would not be enough protection in the battle ahead.
    Follow my heart?
    Those words played over and over again in her head. It was a simple instruction, but one she could not fathom. Her traitorous heart pulled in several directions, none of which aligned with the suitors gathered on the other side of those double doors. She was drowning in worry that the wrong path would be chosen, that she would prove herself unworthy for Aphrodite’s blessing.
    “I missed you last night.” Clytemnestra spoke softly beside her, a faint hint of hurt in her tone. Nestra had the uncanny ability to walk soundlessly when she wanted, and was equally talented at spotting anyone trying to sneak up on her. Their father could never catch her unawares.
    All of Helen’s frayed nerves seemed to explode at the sight of her lovely sister. Clytemnestra, looking every inch the queen, was resplendent in a heavy chiton of gold and saffron red. Helen impulsively wrapped her arms around her twin, a small sob escaping her lips.
    “Helen?” Nestra’s hard facade broke, real concern pouring out of her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
    But Helen couldn’t find words for what plagued her. The pressure of the imminent betrothal weighed down on her like the burdens of Atlas. She must uphold the honor of her father, of Sparta, of the Goddess, and in some small portion, her own heart. “I’m... scared .” She finally admitted out loud.
    “Shhhhh.” Nestra held her tight, soothing her shaking arms. “There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll walk inside. Father will make his decision, and it will be over. There’s nothing more to say or do.”
    It sounded so easy