Chapter 5: Realization and Training(2)

Helenos turned ten. His routine was the same. He woke up, he endured washing, he was dressed in fabrics that felt stiff, and he was watched. Always watched.

results were mixed. It worked on Leda. She was less frantic. Her anxiety was still present, but she laughed more easily now when Helenos would hide her favorite silver stylus or pretend to forget the difference between Mycenae and Elis.

See? Dodo thought, enjoying his small moments of chaos. A stable, slightly annoying child is less likely to be traded than a silent, perfect, nervous one.

But the charm failed completely on the outside world.

As Helenos grew, his face did not soften into childhood roundness. It simply became sharper. It was a perfect, terrible structure of bone and skin. He moved with a natural grace that made the guards look clumsy. His eyes were clear. He had not done anything to earn this attention. He just had it.

And the Queens noticed.

The palace grounds, which should have been quiet, were constantly filled with activity. Dromo, the main courtyard, saw ships arrive every week. They came under the guise of trade negotiation. They brought expensive gifts: carved amber, chests of rare metal, bolts of deep purple dye.

But the visitors never looked at the bronze or the dye. They looked at Helenos.

He hated the inspections.

When a visiting Queen arrived, Helenos was required to be present. He was seated on a low stool next to Leda’s throne. He was told to be quiet. He was told to be still. He was, in effect, put on display.

It was never a casual glance. It was a professional appraisal. The Queens were calculating the value of the asset. They were women who commanded armies.

They knew the price of everything.

During the summer, Queen Hippolyte of Elis arrived. She commanded a formidable fleet and controlled the richest ports on the sea’s western edge.

Hippolyte was a woman of powerful authority. She moved with purpose. She spoke with a voice that carried.

The palace staff moved with a level of frantic nervousness Dodo had not seen since his earliest memories. Leda paced before the feast, adjusting her own gown, a sign of her unease.

We are definitely out of our league here, Dodo noted, watching Leda fuss over the floral arrangements. She smells like money and war.

The feast was held in the largest hall. The air was hot and sticky. Servants moved between the tables, carrying platters of roasted meats and wine. Helenos was seated, as always, next to Leda. Across the table, Clytemnestra sat. Her posture was stiff. She ate nothing. She watched Hippolyte.

Hippolyte ignored Leda for the first half of the meal. She spoke only of trade tariffs, of naval movements, of new fortress construction. She established her power.

Then, she stopped speaking. She set down her wine cup.

Her gaze fixed on Helenos. It was a long, unblinking assessment. It lasted long enough for the entire hall to fall quiet. Helenos hated the moment. He tried to focus on tearing a piece of tough bread.

"Queen Leda," Hippolyte stated, her voice deep and accustomed to command. "Your son is a profound statement. He is beyond compare. He is what every noble house dreams of. A perfect ornament."

He... Ornament, Dodo thought bitterly, rolling his eyes internally.

Leda gave a strained, proud smile. "He is guarded, Queen Hippolyte. We watches him closely."

Hippolyte leaned across the table. Her eyes remained locked on Helenos. She did not address him. She spoke over him, as if his chair was empty. "A man of that magnitude should not be merely guarded. He should be honored with a powerful wife. Imagine his beauty paired with my lineage. Imagine his sons. He would be the most sought-after consort in the Western Sea."

She paused, making her next words a public, calculated offer. "I would pay half my fleet for such a husband. Twenty fully equipped warships. And a pledge of loyalty for five years. That is my price, Queen Leda."

Helenos nearly choked on his wine. Half her fleet? So I'm currently valued at fifty warships... The transaction was humiliating. He looked at the meat on his plate. He felt less valuable than the cut of beef.

Clytemnestra, seated on the other side, was a portrait of rigid, contained fury. Her face was pale. Her hand, hidden beneath the table, was gripping a knife handle so hard her knuckles were white. The overt desire, the public bidding, enraged her proprietary heart. The Queen Hippolyte did not see her brother. She saw a thing to buy.

Hippolyte smiled, a predator’s smile. "Tell me, Helenos," she suddenly addressed him, catching him off guard. "Do you like the sea?"

Helenos froze. This was the moment. He could be silent and perfect, confirming his role as the ornamental asset. Or he could stick to his strategy.

He chose the strategy.

He looked up, wide-eyed, slightly confused. "The sea?" Helenos asked, his voice still high, still sounding younger than his age. "It's wet. And salty. It gets everywhere. Do you mean the boats? I like the rope. The knots are clever."

Hippolyte paused. Her face softened with a flicker of adoration.

Leda quickly intervened. "He is preoccupied with small things," she said, managing a nervous laugh. "He is a child. A perfect child."

Hippolyte nodded slowly. The confusion passed. She dismissed his words. "He is young. But his features are set. The price stands, Queen Leda."

The conversation returned to trade. Helenos ate his bread, his insides churning with shame. His attempt at strategic idiocy had made him look harmless, but it hadn’t stopped the sale. It had only confirmed he was still just property, a thing whose intellect was irrelevant to its value.

***

The feast lasted another hour. Helenos remained silent. Clytemnestra remained a statue of contained wrath.

Finally, Hippolyte left, promising to send a formal contract regarding the asset acquisition.

As soon as the foreign guards left the inner court, Clytemnestra stood up. She did not look at her mother. She walked out of the hall, her movements stiff. She was a coiled spring.

Helenos knew he needed to follow. He had to neutralize the fury. If she was this angry, she would do something impulsive.

He caught up to her in the quiet, empty hallway near their chambers. The oil lamps cast long, uncertain shadows.

"Relax, Clyt," Helenos said, nudging her side lightly. He tried to project calm confidence. "It’s just talk. They’re never going to actually sell me. She was just posturing. Besides, Queen Hippolyte had very severe eyebrows. Terrible match."

Clytemnestra stopped dead. Her face, usually pale, was now flushed with a deep, volatile anger—a look Helenos had never seen directed at him. Her eyes, usually sharp with protective calculation, were wide with a deep sense of personal violation.

"You think this is funny?" she hissed, the word cutting the air. She spoke the name 'Clytemnestra' under her breath, a correction Helenos missed. "You stood there and smiled! You smiled at her while she valued you as a broodmare! You don't understand what is at stake! You don't understand that they want to take you!"

"I understand she wants a husband, Clyt," Helenos retorted, his voice slipping from sarcastic to dismissive. He was annoyed that his joke had failed. "And I don't want a wife who values me based on the price of her fleet. Relax, I'm not leaving you."

The last phrase—the casual reassurance of their bond—was what shattered her control. To Clytemnestra, his flippant disregard for the deadly seriousness of the external threat was a profound act of betrayal. It proved his mind wasn’t focused on maintaining his perfection for her.

"You are leaving me!" Clytemnestra screamed, the sound echoing in the stone hall. "You will leave me! Because you are not serious!"

Her hand moved. It moved swiftly. It moved without thought. She delivered a sharp, stinging slap across Helenos’s cheek. The sound was sharp in the quiet stone hall.

Helenos froze. The pain was immediate, sharp, and intense, but the shock was total. He had seen Clytemnestra command, he had seen her threaten, but he had never seen her lash out. His internal monologue ceased.

He touched his cheek. His smile was gone. He looked at Clytemnestra. Her breath was ragged. She stared at her own hand, as if it had moved without her permission.

"Stop lying!" she cried, a desperate, childish wail disguised as a threat. The violence scared her. But the need for control was greater than the fear. "You will not let them see you as a fool who can be taken away!"

Helenos didn't respond. He simply looked at her.

The slap, delivered by the sister he thought he had manipulated into harmless affection, was a cold, physical reminder.

The myth wasn't a joke.

He was silent. He was still. He was ten years old, and he knew now that the perfection he carried was a very heavy, very fragile chain, and that the person who loved him most was the one who had just struck him down.

.