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

when Nestra said it. Helen simply had to accept her fate, and go to whichever future shores the Zephyrs chose to send her. But something inside her rebelled against surrender. Down that path, she was noting but a prize to be handed out by others, not a person worthy of great love.
    “It will all be over.” Nestra cooed, wiping away Helen’s tears. “And you’ll find a way to be happy.”
    “But Tryphosa—“
    “The priestess did this to you?” A crease of anger shot across Clytemnestra’s face. “Helen, she’s nothing but a drug-addled zealot. You can’t take her advice to heart. You’re going to be queen, not some village house wife.”
    Clytemnestra’s words were harsh, and they cut right through the fog that paralyzed her. “That’s blasphemy, Nestra.”
    “That’s reality , Sister.” Nestra countered. “There’s a real world out there, filled with men, and kingdoms, and wars. And you and I have real responsibilities in it. You cannot be so easily manipulated.”
    Was I? Helen played through the events at the temple, looking for any instance where Tryphosa tried to influence her. She shook her head with the effort. There was none.
    “You’ll have to trust me.” Nestra asserted, holding Helen’s hand in a death grip. “ ‘Where you go, I follow’ , remember?”
    Nestra was so certain, so strong. With no real guidance from the priestess or her father, such confidence was a relief. Clytemnestra had survived her own betrothal and marriage. She knew, intimately knew , the path Helen would soon be forced to walk. Facing that unknown future, Nestra was the only person she could trust.
    “I remember.” Helen’s resolve returned, a warm wave of relief flooding over her. She clung to her twin’s hand, a lifeline in the torrent of her fears. Together, she felt strong. Together, she was safe.
    A great fanfare of horns trumpeted from inside the megaron. The double doors flew open and a pair of heralds stepped forward, both wearing the colors of Sparta, the same saffron red of the carpets beneath their feet. They carried polished wooden hoplon shields, their surface plated with a thick layer of bronze. In their other hands, the heralds lifted two long ox horns decorated with flags of ochre red and brownish yellow. They pressed the horns to their lips and trumpeted two short blasts, the regal notes hanging in the air, an invitation for Helen’s entrance.
    Inside, a crowd of dignitaries, both citizens of Sparta and Suitor alike, spread apart, carving a clear path for her to travel to the throne. Their heads bowed forward, each man and woman eager to catch a glimpse of the princess.
    Helen steeled herself. A confidence that previously eluded her snuffed out her fears. She lifted her chin, a defiant glint in her eyes. Fear does not exist. It will not be my master .
    Clytemnestra moved to disengage herself, but Helen held her fast. “Walk with me.” She placed a gentle hand on her sister’s forearm.
    Nestra’s smile was unforgettable. Reaching out, she tucked a stray hair out of Helen’s face. “I envy the man who lays claim to your heart. He will possess riches beyond the wealth of this world.”
    If Helen’s heart had wings it would have fluttered away. Together, they faced the megaron and began the long walk to her future. She set a stately pace.
    A solemn hush fell over the crowd as they passed. Fevered whispers of awe and admiration rose to the rafters. Her suitors could barely contain themselves. For a moment, Helen feared their aggressive behavior would return, but something more powerful held sway in the hall. Some crossover of her regal bearing fused into the men. They held themselves straight, more than one with a touch of embarrassment on his face for past behavior.
    Tyndareus faced the gathered men from where he sat upon his throne, his visage akin to engraved stone. Both she and Nestra curtsied low before him, and his stern eyes softened when they fell on her.As Helen straightened, her