Achilles
A week has passed, and it went by in an agonizing blur. I know that this war is coming to an end, and it doesn't look good for Troy. If Hector accepts the horse of the hidden men inside, they are doomed, and the city will fall. All the men are concealed like a jungle animal stalking its prey.
I am consumed by a mix of dread and helplessness, knowing that the fate of the once-mighty city hangs by a thread. The burden of protecting Briseis while navigating the treacherous tides of war is overwhelming. My heart is heavy with the knowledge that love and duty are in a battle of their own, and I must tread carefully to preserve what little hope remains for Briseis and me coming out of this together.
Agamemnon enters my chambers; I can smell the whiskey on his breath before he even steps in. I have a strong dislike for that man. I know he is my only hope of seeing her again. I miss touching her and smelling her hair.
"Achilles," he says.
I roll my eyes at the sound of his voice.
"Today is the day. Tonight, we strike."
I nod. "And how does that concern me?"
"You never got revenge for Patroclus." I can see the malice on his face.
"Aye."
"So use this opportunity."
I still feel that deep hole in my heart. I miss him dearly, and I feel sick to my stomach hearing Agamemnon say his name, as if he were merely a game piece for his advantage.
"So you want me to kill Hector?"
"It's only fitting that you do so once we enter the city."
I need to gain something from this; no matter who I kill, Patroclus isn't coming back.
"I will kill Hector if you let me take Briseis and leave safely." The weight of pride has become irrelevant to me. I no longer crave being the most remembered, feared, or the bravest. All I want is her safety. That's what truly matters.
He wipes the sweat from his brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "This girl, why do you care so much? She's merely a war trophy, and there are plenty of others to claim."
"She is much more than that," I say, locking eyes with him. In that moment, I see the emptiness within him, his soul as hollow as an old oak tree that was left to rot.
He laughs, a sharp, mocking sound. "You're in love? Love is a weakness. You're too clever for such foolishness."
"Perhaps you should try to understand love. It might make you less evil."
"Is that your strategy? Insults won't get you what you want," he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Do we have a deal?" I extend my hand, determination flooding my veins.
As he shakes my hand, a wave of nausea rolls over me. What have I just agreed to?