Paris and Helen
The palace garden was quieter than it had been in days.
Beyond its walls, Troy continued to prepare for another assault. Men carried weapons through the streets, messengers hurried between the gates, and the sound of hammers came from the northern defenses.
But inside the garden, the noise seemed distant.
Paris sat beside Helen beneath an old olive tree. A small table stood between them, holding bread, fruit, and a jug of water. For once, neither of them had been called away by an urgent message.
Helen broke a piece of bread and offered half to him.
"You haven't eaten properly today."
Paris accepted it. "You sound like Arsini."
"Then perhaps you should listen to us more often."
He smiled faintly.
For a while, they ate without speaking. Helen watched him, noticing how often his attention drifted toward the palace entrance.
"You're somewhere else," she said.
"Am I?"
"You have looked at that entrance four times since we sat down."
