I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

As Priam and the others considered his words, two silent figures observed him with piercing intensity.

Helen of Troy and Princess Kassandra of Troy.

Nathan’s gaze swept the gathered royals without lingering. He paid little attention to the mixture of fascination and wariness directed his way, sparing only fleeting glances at those who watched him. Yet, despite his disinterest, he couldn’t deny the stunning beauty of Helen, who stood out even among her people. Her allure was transcendent, a beauty that seemed almost otherworldly, surpassing any he had ever encountered. Kassandra, on the other hand, had a different appeal, a mystique that marked her as an enigma—but her expression toward him was one of thinly veiled fear. Unlike Helen’s curious, almost impassive stare, Kassandra looked at him as though he were a monster cloaked in darkness.

Kassandra’s reaction wasn’t just discomfort; it was genuine terror. As a seer, her gift for divination was known to surpass even that of Astynome, a talent treasured by Apollo himself. Yet, when she looked upon Nathan, she saw nothing but an impenetrable void. Her power, which allowed her to peer far into the threads of fate, met a black wall when she tried to read him, similar to the darkness she had foreseen clouding the outcome of the Trojan War. In her mind, he was an entity tied as closely to hope as to disaster, a force capable of bringing either salvation or ruin to Troy. And for now, only Kassandra and Astynome could comprehend just how unpredictable and potentially dangerous he was.

Helen’s gaze, however, held none of Kassandra’s dread. Her eyes lingered on Nathan with an almost childlike curiosity, observing him as she might any other intriguing figure who had entered her world. Her interest was casual, perhaps sparked by the fact that he had saved Astynome, but no more. She didn’t appear to think deeply about him—at least not yet.

King Priam’s voice broke through the tension, drawing all eyes to the throne. “You have done more than I could have ever hoped, Heiron. Ask anything you desire, and I shall grant it,” Priam declared, his tone one of gratitude mingled with authority.

Nathan paused, pretending to consider his options, though his choice had already been made. He turned to face Priam, his eyes calm. “I would like to be granted a room within the castle,” he stated, his voice even, though a ripple of surprise coursed through the court.

The silence was punctuated by an outraged shout. “What! How arrogant you are!” Paris, who had stood quietly until now, snapped with indignation. It was clear he had been waiting for any excuse to lash out, his resentment simmering beneath the surface. More than resentment, it looked more like jealousy as his family seemed to consider Heiron more than him.

Nathan noted Paris’s reaction but paid him no mind, his face as impassive as stone as he awaited Priam’s response.

Astynome stepped forward, her tone steady and serious as she spoke up on Nathan’s behalf. “He is an ally, King Priam. He stands on our side,” she affirmed, her gaze shifting briefly to Nathan, who met her eyes in silent acknowledgment. She had spoken when she didn’t need to, and he felt a flicker of gratitude for her support.

Nathan’s request for a room was not one born of vanity or luxury but of strategic necessity. From within the castle walls, he could keep a pulse on the city’s defenses, access crucial information, and stay close to the heart of Troy’s power. To have access to the flow of intelligence and news would be invaluable for his plans, allowing him to stay one step ahead in this unfolding conflict.

Priam glanced at Hector, his expression thoughtful. There was a moment of quiet deliberation as Hector studied Nathan, his gaze weighing him with careful scrutiny. At last, Aeneas broke into a small, knowing smile. Nathan observed the subtle exchange between the two warriors; Aeneas seemed to carry an unexpected trust in him, a rarity for someone known for his caution. Hector finally nodded at his father, offering silent approval.

King Priam’s face softened into a thoughtful smile as he observed Astynome and Aeneas’s evident trust in Nathan. Their endorsement seemed to tip the scales, reinforcing his growing belief that perhaps this man deserved a place of significance within their ranks.

“Granted, Heiron,” Priam finally declared, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. “You will be given a room within our esteemed castle. However, it shall be a guest room on the lower floors. Access to the upper levels is restricted to the royal family.”

The higher floors, reserved for Troy’s royals, held an air of mystery and privilege that outsiders were rarely permitted to breach. Nathan, however, had no interest in reaching those heights; his goals lay in positioning himself close enough to hear whispers of war strategies, updates, and alliances. As long as he could converse with Hector or Aeneas and glean vital information, he was satisfied.

“Yes,” Nathan replied simply, his tone devoid of any hint of disappointment.

“But surely that alone cannot suffice,” Priam continued, casting an appraising look at Nathan. “Do you wish for gold or another token of our gratitude?”

Nathan shook his head. “This is more than enough,” he replied firmly. Unlike the typical mercenary, he cared little for wealth or trinkets. The promise of knowledge and proximity to the heart of Troy’s affairs was the true reward. However, noticing the slight bewilderment in Priam’s eyes, he added, “I will consider it and ask later, Your Majesty.”

Priam nodded, his smile warm and approving. “Very well, Heiron. I shall await your request.”

The atmosphere shifted as Hector, his commanding voice rising above the quiet hum of the room, addressed the assembly. “Now, let us move to discuss matters of true importance.”

At Hector’s words, the nobles and attendants who were uninvolved in the affairs of war, including Queen Hecuba and many of the other court women, began to file out, their soft murmurs filling the hall as they exited. Helen followed, her graceful presence lingering in the room a moment longer than most. Paris, as if unwilling to be left behind, quickly joined her, casting a final glance back at those who remained. Hector watched his younger brother depart with a flash of irritation in his eyes. As a prince of Troy, Paris should have stayed; these discussions were essential to the kingdom’s future, yet Paris seemed preoccupied with more personal matters.

Once the room had cleared, Hector turned to Nathan/ Aeneas and Sarpedon stepped forward to join the conversation. Aeneas’s expression was calm and discerning, while Sarpedon, the son of Zeus himself, radiated a fierce intensity. Tall and lean, with sharp, calculating eyes, Sarpedon embodied the strength of Troy’s army. He crossed his arms, nodding curtly at Nathan.

Nathan wasted no time. “The Greek forces are difficult to assess accurately,” he began. “But their recent victory at Lyrnessus has swelled their confidence, bolstering their sense of inevitable triumph.”

“As arrogant as ever, those Greeks,” Sarpedon scoffed, his voice laced with disdain as he crossed his arms tightly.

“They believe the gods are firmly on their side,” Aeneas added thoughtfully. “With Athena and Hera supporting them, they feel they’re in favor with the heavens.”

Sarpedon raised an eyebrow. “Yet we, too, have Apollo, Artemis, and Aphrodite lending us their strength,” he countered, his tone carrying a hint of pride and defiance.

Aeneas looked skeptical, his expression clouded. “Yes,” he admitted, “but is that truly enough? Their gods seem relentlessly determined to see the Greeks emerge victorious.”

“It won’t be enough,” Nathan spoke up, his voice slicing through the tense silence, drawing every gaze in the room toward him. His focus was sharp, his mind racing with strategies; more than ever, he felt the urge to end this war swiftly, and he harbored a quiet desire for the Trojans to emerge victorious.

“We can still weaken them significantly,” he continued, “by eliminating their most crucial leaders.”

Hector’s eyes gleamed as he nodded. “Agreed,” he said.

“Agamemnon,” Nathan began, listing the names that held the weight of Greek might, “commander of the Greek coalition. Menelaus, King of Sparta. Achilles, their greatest warrior. King Ajax the Great. Diomedes, the King of Argos. Odysseus, King of Ithaca. Heracles, and Jason, leader of the Argonauts.” Each name rolled off his tongue, laced with a confidence that matched the determination in his eyes. He had gathered every detail he could during his brief time within the Greek camp, listening to stories and whispered strategies.

“If we strike down these names,” Nathan explained, his voice resonating with resolve, “we will break the very spine of the Greek forces. Even if they outnumber us, they’ll lack leadership, unity, and morale. In fact, if we kill Agamemnon alone, the other kings will turn on each other, vying for dominance. The Greeks would fall into a civil war within their own ranks.”

Hector’s smile broadened, a rare glimmer of hope lighting up his stern expression. Beside him, Aeneas and Sarpedon shared approving glances, their respect for Nathan’s simple yet effective strategy. This man, unlike many who sought glory through grandiose gestures, had cut directly to the heart of what could bring them victory.

“Heiron is right,” Hector announced to the room, his tone brimming with conviction. “If any of us encounter these men on the battlefield, our priority is to end them. Even the death of one of these figures will strike a blow deep into the heart of the Greek resolve.”

“You can count on us, Hector,” Aeneas said, nodding, his eyes alight with purpose. Sarpedon gave a curt nod in agreement.

“This is beginning to sound quite thrilling,” came a vibrant voice from behind.

They turned to see Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, standing confidently with a fierce grin. Yet it wasn’t Penthesilea alone who captured Nathan’s attention; standing beside her was another beautiful woman.

Atalanta.

Nathan’s gaze lingered on her, a surge of memories rushing back from his encounter with her in Colchis. Back then, she had stood among the Greeks, united with Jason, Heracles, and Orpheus in their quest for the Golden Fleece. A warrior of Artemis, fierce and untamed, Atalanta’s skills in archery and her loyalty to her ideals had set her apart. But now, she was here, on the side of the Trojans, bound by her devotion to the Goddess Artemis.