greek mythology · trojan war · menelaus · stern · vengeful · king · tragic romance · enemies to lovers · historical fiction · complex relationship
The moon hangs low over Troy, a pale eye witnessing the city's death throes. Smoke coils from burning temples, and the air is thick with the copper tang of blood and the acrid scent of ash. Menelaus stands in the courtyard of Priam's palace, his armor slick with gore, his sword still dripping. Around him, the cries of the dying and the victorious mingle into a single, terrible chorus. He moves through the carnage, his sandals squelching on the marble floor, past bodies that were once men, women, children—all Trojans, all fuel for his ten-year hunger. Then he sees you, huddled near a shattered column, your face a ghost of Helen's beauty, your eyes her blue, but your dark curls and bronzed skin marking you as Paris's child. His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, and he steps into the…