I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

235  Talking it out with Atalanta n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Nathan offered a faint smile in return, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The hall buzzed with laughter and song, but he couldn't shake the sensation of being watched.

A particular gaze burned into him.

He resisted the urge to turn his head, knowing all too well whose eyes followed him.

Kassandra of Troy.

The princess sat at the far end of the room, her posture regal yet detached from the revelry around her.

From the moment he returned, her eyes were on him. The intensity of her gaze was unsettling, but Nathan couldn't decipher her intent. He had never spoken to her before, not once since his arrival at Troy. Her sudden interest puzzled him, especially because it seemed tied to his recent victory.

It was Ajax—Ajax the Great, a titan among warriors, now slain by Nathan's hand. Yet her expression wasn't one of admiration or disdain; it was something far more complex. Shock, perhaps? As if she couldn't reconcile the image of him with the act of killing such a legendary figure.

Ultimately, Nathan decided to push the matter aside. There were more pressing concerns than the silent scrutiny of a stranger.

The grand hall of Troy was alive with the warmth of camaraderie. Golden torchlight flickered against the polished stone walls, casting shadows that danced with the movements of the assembled warriors. Nathan sat at a long wooden table among esteemed company: Hector, Aeneas, and Sarpedon, whose hearty laughter filled the air like a melody of goodwill.

"I'll say it again," Sarpedon declared, his grin wide as he raised his bronze cup. "I'm glad you're on our side, Heiron."

Nathan smiled faintly lifting his own cup in acknowledgment.

"To Heiron!" Aeneas called, his voice brimming with mirth. He raised his cup higher, and the others joined in the toast. Even Hector, reserved as ever, allowed a small smile to grace his face as he clinked his cup with the rest.

The atmosphere was infectious. Nathan couldn't help but feel a quiet satisfaction. From the moment he had stepped into Troy, they had treated him with respect, despite his status as a mercenary. Now, with his victories in battle, they regarded him as one of their own. For once, he felt valued. He contrasted this with his bitter memories of the Empire of Light, where he had been branded a threat without trial, hunted and nearly killed. Here in Troy, there was no such scorn. Instead, there was gratitude, admiration, and camaraderie.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Nathan allowed himself to think: Perhaps this journey to Troy was not a waste. Putting aside the matter of life and death for why he had come to Troy, he would have regretted not having come here for certain.

For now, he would protect the city. He would fight for its people, and he would wait for Apollo's promised return. Until then, his path seemed clearer than it had been in years.

"I offer my congratulations," a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Nathan turned to see her: Astynome, the priestess of Apollo. She stood with a grace that seemed otherworldly, her flowing robes of white and gold catching the flickering light. Her hair framed a face marked by quiet beauty. But it was her eyes that caught his attention most—warm and full of genuine pride.

"Your victory against Ajax the Great and Jason of the Argonauts is nothing short of extraordinary," she said, her voice carrying both reverence and joy.

Nathan offered a modest smile. "Thank you, Priestess."

Astynome's expression softened, her smile lingering as if she wanted to say more. Though their exchanges had been brief in the past, something in her demeanor tonight felt different. And indeed, over the coming weeks, their relationship deepened in ways neither had anticipated.

Under the cover of night, their connection grew into something more intimate. Astynome began to visit Nathan's quarters in secret, slipping past watchful eyes to steal moments of passion. By moonlight, their barriers fell away, revealing truths neither had dared voice in the daylight.

They chose to keep secret for now their relation. However, their attempts at discretion weren't entirely successful. The walls of Troy were old, and whispers carried easily through the stone corridors. On certain nights, muffled sounds f which were clearly moans of pleasure from Nathan's chambers reached curious ears. Fortunately, the Trojans had already come to associate such noises with Charybdis, Heiron's companion.

They had no doubts about Charybdis being Heiron's woman anyway.

"Where is Charys?" Astynome asked, her gaze sweeping across the room as if expecting Charybdis to materialize from the shadows.

Astynome had grown surprisingly close to Charybdis. Sharing Nathan's affections had forged an unusual bond between the two women—one built on intimacy and mutual understanding. In truth, Charybdis might have been Astynome's first true friend, a rarity for someone with the priestess's station. Their connection had deepened over shared moments, some of which were private escapades that Nathan knew all too well.

"She's resting," Nathan replied, his voice even but carrying a tinge of exhaustion.

Astynome's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then you should rest as well," she said, her tone laced with gentle insistence.

Tonight had been intended for another passionate rendezvous, one that would leave the walls of Nathan's chamber trembling with their fervor. But Astynome, ever perceptive, didn't wish to burden him. Nathan had fought a grueling battle, and she wanted him to have the rest he deserved.

Nathan nodded, a small sigh escaping him. As much as he loved Astynome's presence in his bed and the solace her warmth provided, he also needed solitude—moments to clear his mind and process the weight of his actions.

Astynome returned the nod, her understanding evident. She left his side gracefully, weaving through the warriors gathered in the hall. As the priestess of Apollo, the god who shielded Troy, her presence carried an aura of divine reassurance. She moved among the soldiers with purpose, offering words of encouragement that lifted their spirits like a flame dispelling the shadows of despair. The Trojans revered her, not just for her beauty but for her unwavering dedication. Her rounds throughout the city, speaking with citizens and soldiers alike, bolstered morale and instilled hope, even in the darkest of times.

Nathan watched her go, his gaze lingering momentarily before turning away.

"How are you, Heiron?" Hector's familiar voice broke through his thoughts, accompanied by a firm pat on his shoulder.

Nathan glanced at Troy's greatest warrior, his expression betraying his fatigue. "Tired," he admitted, his honesty unvarnished.

Hector gave a slow, understanding nod. The battle against Ajax had left its mark on Nathan, draining him both physically and mentally. Hector, ever perceptive, could see it clearly.

"For the next week, you should take it easy," Hector said firmly. "I'll handle things. Stay behind me rather than fighting on the front lines. You've done enough for now."

Nathan nodded. "I'll appreciate that."

He knew Hector was right. Though he hated to take a step back, Nathan was all too aware of his limits. The fight with Ajax had pushed his body to its edge, and he couldn't afford to strain himself further—not when he had to endure until Apollo's return.

Hector clapped him on the back once more, his gesture full of camaraderie. Though their paths had crossed under unusual circumstances, the two men had come to respect each other. Hector saw in Nathan a dependable ally, and Nathan appreciated the Trojan prince's integrity and pragmatism.

As the lively conversation among the warriors continued, Nathan's attention drifted. His gaze settled on Atalanta, standing alone in a quiet corner of the hall. Her posture was stiff, her expression distant, and her arms were crossed in a manner that suggested she was lost in thought.

Nathan understood what likely troubled her. She had pieced together the truth about his identity—of that, he was certain. The realization didn't surprise him.

Before, he might have brushed off such matters without a second thought. But things had changed. Nathan had come to appreciate Atalanta's character. She was nothing like those who had betrayed or scorned him in the past or just rotten women like Nancy. Atalanta was genuine, brave, and steadfast, qualities that had earned his respect. He didn't want this newfound camaraderie to sour due to misunderstanding or mistrust.

Resolving to address the matter, Nathan rose from his seat and crossed the room. His movements drew a few curious glances, but he paid them no mind.

"Atalanta," he called as he approached.

Her head turned, and her emerald eyes met his. "Oh... Heiron," she replied, her voice tinged with awkwardness. Her lips formed a faint smile, but it was clear she was uneasy.

Nathan wasted no time. "I think you know who I am by now," he said evenly, his tone neither accusatory nor defensive.

Atalanta hesitated, her silence confirming his suspicion. She looked away briefly, as if weighing her next words, but chose to say nothing.

"I have my reasons for taking part in this war," Nathan continued, his voice steady yet firm. "And for siding with Troy. But I ask that my identity remain a secret. I'd rather Tenebria not be involved in this conflict."

His words were more than a simple request. Revealing his position as Lord Commander of Tenebria could complicate matters dangerously. It would draw the ire of even more Greek gods and possibly unify the Greeks against Tenebria who was already in a dangerous spot because of the Demon King.

Atalanta regarded him with a thoughtful expression. She could see the burden Nathan carried, balancing his responsibilities as a leader with the personal connections he had formed here. Yet, she had no intention of betraying his trust.

"I won't say anything," she assured him, her voice steady and sincere.

Nathan nodded, relieved. "Thanks." He turned as if to leave but paused. Something weighed on his chest, something that needed to be said.

"I've never manipulated you," he said. "What I shared with you was mostly the truth—everything except my role as a mercenary. There were no lies in our exchanges, and I wasn't pretending. You don't need to feel awkward around me."

Atalanta's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she seemed surprised. But then her expression softened, and a genuine smile graced her lips. It was as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, the tension in her stance melting away.

"I believe you," she said warmly. "And it's the same for me. I've always been honest with you...Heiron. I'm happy to be one of your companions."

"Likewise," Nathan replied with a rare, heartfelt smile.

With that simple exchange, the misunderstandings and unspoken doubts were swept away, leaving only the mutual respect and trust they had cultivated.