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

shared Hector’s look of distaste, but not his boldness. He reclined on his throne, the strain of his rule wearing heavily on his shoulders. It was happening already. Paris sighed, regretting the burden his presence added to his father’s troubles. It was far better to keep these meetings brief.
    “Leave us, Soothsayer.” Priam dismissed the graybeard. “Preach your omens to those with weak wills.”
    “Even kings must heed the will of the Gods.” Aesacus warned.
    “GO!” Priam shouted, his powerful voice affording no argument.
    Aesacus disappeared down a nearby corridor. Hecuba quickly joined that retreat, gathering her youngest child as she went. She paused at the exit, watching Paris with a mixed look of fear and sorrow. As Paris expected, fear ruled out, and she left with no further comment.
    “Rise, Son, and give account of your travels,” Priam commanded him. The king ran his hand across his stout jaw, rubbing his fingers through his short-trimmed black beard. There was more grey in that beard than when Paris had left. A result, he suspected, of the ongoing hostilities in the East.
    “King Baal-Termeg accepts your offer of friendship and will stand with you against the Hatti. The tribute I returned with is a sign of his friendship and esteem he bears for your kingship. He pledges another shipment in two weeks time. He is eager as you to rid Anatolia of the rot of their empire.”
    A wave of relief washed over Priam’s face. He descended from the throne and swiftly embraced Paris in a hearty manner that shocked both Paris and Hector. “Ha, ha!” he shouted. “Well done, my son.”
    Paris straightened under his father’s praise. Any sign of favor was a rare event from Priam. He normally adopted a strict neutrality when dealing with his ill-favored son.
    “I only wish to honor you, Father.” Paris bowed his head.
    Hector stepped forward, his face still fuming from the seer’s disrespect. “Paris has done everything you have asked of him. Can you please denounce the omens and be done with it?”
    Paris stiffened. What Hector asked was an impossibility. As much as he wished his father’s love would prevail over politics, Paris understood the problem he represented. How could Priam claim to rule by divine right if he defied the divinities? Even if they denounced his own child.
    “Peace, Hector.” Paris waved his brother off. “He has his reasons.”
    “What reasons?” Hector demanded. “That rumor and whispers are more powerful than the king’s will? That is not how I would rule.”
    “BUT YOU DO NOT RULE YET!” Priam towered over his eldest son. “The boy-king of Hatti has called for my head. My bondsmen are falling beneath the fist of his armies, and you want me to start a battle at home? Are you mad?”
    Hector, shaken, bowed his head. With great effort, he held his tongue.
    “Your brother still lives. And he will continue to live under my rule. There is your victory over the power of superstition.” Priam grumbled and began to pace. “Now, go. I have business with Paris and I tire of your insolent tongue.”
    Paris whispered a prayer of relief when Hector ducked into a respectful bow without further comment. They both loved their father dearly, but that love was not the armor Hector mistook it for. Paris did not want his brother to say something he might regret, especially on his behalf.
    As he turned to depart, Hector grabbed his arm. “I will see you after?”
    Paris nodded, watching his brother leave with a pang of sorrow. He was touched by Hector’s concern, but it was a losing battle. He had long ago accepted his role as an outcast of the court. He only wished Hector would one day accept it as well.
    Priam resettled on his throne, also watching his eldest child with heavy-lidded eyes. “He was born to rule but does not have half your patience or discernment. Loyalty is a noble trait, but not when it clouds your mind from reason.”
    Paris joined him on the dais, allowing himself