The cries of a newborn had barely faded from Hector's chambers when the door opened again.
Lysander entered first, followed by Paris. The weight of the war had not disappeared from their faces, but for a brief moment, something warmer had taken its place.
Hector stood beside Andromache's bed, his newborn son resting in his arms.
Lysander stopped before them. His eyes fell upon the child, and a faint smile crossed his face.
"So," he said, "Troy has gained another prince."
Hector glanced at him. "A prince who has already made more noise than half the soldiers on our walls."
Paris let out a quiet laugh.
"Then he may have inherited your voice as well as your stubbornness."
Hector shook his head, though the exhaustion in his eyes softened.
"His name is Priam."
The name settled between them.
Lysander's expression changed.
"Priam," Lysander repeated. "A good name."
Paris stepped closer, looking down at the infant.
"May he live long enough to see a Troy that knows peace."
