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“I’ve missed you!” the other Helen cried.
“A week is far too long,” he agreed softly.
The words were not English, but Helen understood them just the same. The meaning echoed in her head, just as the relief of being reunited with her love echoed through her—as if it was her body that was pressed against his. Suddenly, Helen knew that it was her body, or had been, once. She had spoken this language, and she had felt this kiss before. This wasn’t a dream. It felt more like a memory.
“So you’re coming with me?” he said urgently, catching her face in his hands and forcing her to look at him. His eyes glowed with hope. “You’ll do it?”
The other Helen’s face fell. “Why, always, do you talk of tomorrow? Can’t we just enjoy right now?”
“My ship leaves tomorrow.” He let her go and pulled away, hurt.
“Paris . . .”
“You are my wife!” he shouted, pacing in a circle and tugging his hand through his hair exactly like Lucas did when he was frustrated. “I gave Aphrodite the golden apple. I chose love—I chose you over everything that was offered to me. And you said you wanted me, too.”
“I did. I still do. But my sister has no head for politics. Aphrodite didn’t think it was important to mention that while you may have been tending sheep that day, you were not a shepherd boy as I believed, but a prince of Troy.” The other Helen spared an exasperated sigh for her sister and then shook her head, giving up. “Golden apples and stolen afternoons don’t matter. I cannot go with you to Troy.”
She reached for him again. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to resist, but he didn’t. He took her hand and pulled her to him as if he couldn’t bring himself to reject her, even when he was angry.
“Then let’s run away. Leave everything behind. We’ll stop being royalty and become shepherds.”
“There’s nothing I want more,” she said longingly. “But no matter where we go, I would still be a daughter of Zeus and you a son of Apollo.”
“And if we had children, they would have the blood of two Olympians,” he said, impatience making his voice harsh. Apparently, he’d heard this argument many times already. “Do you really believe that’s enough to create the Tyrant? The prophecy says something about mixing the blood of four houses that are descended from the gods. Whatever that means.”
“I don’t understand any of the prophecies, but the people fear any mixing of the blood of the gods,” she said. Her voice dropped suddenly. “They’d chase us to the ends of the Earth.”
He ran his hands over her belly, cupping it possessively. “You could be pregnant already, you know.”
She stopped his hands. Her face was sad and—for just a moment—desperate. “That’s the worst thing that could happen to us.”
“Or the best.”
“Paris, stop,” Helen said firmly. “It hurts me to even think about it.”
Paris nodded and touched his forehead to hers. “And what if your foster father, the king of Sparta, tries to marry you to one of those Greek barbarians like Menelaus? How many kings are asking for your hand now? Is it ten or twenty?”
“I don’t care. I’ll refuse them all,” the other Helen said. Then she cracked a smile. “It’s not like anyone can force me.”
Paris laughed and stared into her eyes. “No. Although, I’d like to see one or two of them try. I wonder if Greeks smell better after they’ve been struck by lightning. They certainly couldn’t smell worse.”
“I wouldn’t kill anyone with my lightning,” she said with a chuckle, twining her arms around his neck and molding her body closer to his. “Maybe just singe them a bit.”
“Oh, then please don’t! Singed Greek sounds like it would smell far worse than fully cooked,” Paris said, his voice growing heavy as he smiled at her. Suddenly, the humor ran out of their shared gaze and sorrow replaced it. “How am I going to sail away without you in the morning?”
The other Helen had no answer. His lips found hers, and he threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back and taking her weight as she gave herself up to him. Just like Lucas did.
Helen missed him so much she ached—even in her sleep. It hurt so much she woke up and rolled over, groaning as she accidentally put too much pressure on her healing bones.
“Helen?” Daphne asked softly, her voice inches away from Helen in the darkness. “Do you need anything?”
“No,” Helen replied, and let her swollen eyes drift shut again. The dream that greeted her made her wish she’d stayed awake, despite her injuries.
A terrified woman was struggling against a massive claw that was wrapped around her waist. Enormous wings, fringed with feathers each larger than a person, beat the air as the giant bird hauled her into the night sky. The skyline of New York City flashed past as the woman struggled.
Helen saw the bird tilt its beaked head to look down at the woman in its talons. For the briefest of moments, the menacing eye of the eagle rounded until it was shaped like a man’s. He had amber eyes. Blue lightning flashed in the black middle of his pupils. The eagle screamed, freezing Helen’s blood and sending shivers through her sleeping body.
The Empire State Building rose up in front of them, and then Helen saw no more.
