I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The Trojan capital was in chaos. A sense of dread filled the air as word spread—an army, the likes of which had never been seen, was marching toward them. Thousands of soldiers from the middle and western Achaean regions, united under the banner of the Olympian Gods, were closing in.

It was an alliance forged in fury, uniting states that had been bitter enemies only months before—Sparta and Athens, Corinth and Argos—all now driven by a singular purpose: the destruction of Troy.

Inside the royal palace, the throne room buzzed with the anxious murmurs of gathered nobles. Tension was palpable as they debated the looming threat, their voices echoing off the marble walls. Their usually composed faces were creased with worry, and their once confident stances seemed more hesitant with each passing hour.

King Priam, the ruler of Troy, sat upon his throne, his expression heavy with the weight of impending war. His regal posture belied the turmoil raging inside him. Next to him, Queen Hecuba, his devoted wife, sat with her hand clasped tightly in his, her knuckles white from the pressure. Her eyes darted nervously around the room, and the deep lines of anxiety etched across her face betrayed her fear.

She squeezed Priam's hand for reassurance, but even he, known for his unshakable demeanor, was visibly struggling to maintain composure.

The situation was dire.

"It's all your fault," a harsh voice broke through the tense discussion.

Hector, Troy's crown prince and eldest son of Priam, stood with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed in anger as he glared at his younger brother, Paris. Hector was the pride of Troy, standing tall and broad-shouldered, with a face that many considered a symbol of nobility and strength. His every move was filled with purpose, his dark eyes burning with fury.

He was the city's greatest warrior, revered by his people and the last hope for the survival of the kingdom.

But now, Hector's eyes blazed with something else: unrelenting rage.

For months, he had carried this anger inside him, and it showed no signs of dissipating. How could it? His brother's recklessness had brought war to their doorstep. Troy, once prosperous and secure, was now on the verge of ruin—all because Paris couldn't control his desires.

Paris, leaning against one of the columns, met Hector's glare with a defiant look of his own. He was every bit as striking as his older brother, though where Hector exuded strength, Paris was all grace and beauty. His lean frame, sharp features, and soft curls made him the envy of many. But where Hector had earned respect through valor on the battlefield, Paris was seen as the cause of their undoing.

His charm and good looks had been his greatest asset—and now, their greatest curse.

It was Paris who had ignited the flames of this war.

Sent to Sparta on a diplomatic mission, Paris had been tasked with paying respect to King Menelaus. But rather than honoring the king, Paris had set his sights on someone else—Queen Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world. Fueled by a mixture of lust and pride, Paris had taken Helen, using the girdle of Aphrodite—an enchanted artifact that granted its wearer irresistible allure.

The girdle's magic was meant for one use, and Paris had used it on Menelaus's wife.

In a single reckless act, Paris had kidnapped Helen and fled back to Troy.

The consequences were swift and brutal. King Menelaus, humiliated and enraged by the loss of his wife, called upon his powerful brothers, Agamemnon of Mycenae and the rest of the Achaean kings. United by the insult and their lust for war, they rallied their forces under a single cause: to bring Troy to its knees for Paris's arrogance.

Now, as the vast Achaean armies bore down on them, Hector could barely contain his fury. Every day he looked at Paris, and every day his anger grew. This war—this looming catastrophe—was all because his brother couldn't keep his lust and selfishness in check.

"You've doomed us all, Paris," Hector growled, his fists clenching. "Because of you, because of your... stupidity, we are now facing annihilation."

Paris's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing in response. He knew he had made a grave mistake, but his pride would not allow him to admit it openly, least of all in front of his brother.

Paris's eyes flashed with defiance as he responded to Hector's fury. "How long are you going to keep saying that, brother? We should focus on the war now, not on what's already been done," he retorted, his voice rising with frustration.

Hector's anger flared at Paris's stubbornness. "You idiot!" he barked, his voice echoing through the throne room. "We should have handed Helen back when the messenger came, asking for peace. Now it's too late!"

Two months ago, a messenger from Sparta had arrived in Troy, offering a peaceful solution—return Helen, and the conflict would end. But Paris, driven by pride and his so-called love for Helen, had refused, sealing Troy's fate and igniting the war that now loomed.

"I will never give back Helen!" Paris shouted, his voice filled with conviction. "What if I asked you to give back Andromache? Would you?!" He threw the words like a challenge, dragging Hector's beloved wife into the argument.

Hector's eyes burned with fury. How dare Paris compare his reckless act of lust with his marriage to Andromache? He clenched his fists, barely able to contain the urge to strike his brother. Andromache, standing beside Hector, glared at Paris with thinly veiled contempt. She had always disliked Paris, and now she despised him. His selfishness had plunged their city into chaos and peril.

Before Hector could lash out and strike Paris, their father, King Priam, raised his hand, his voice calm but commanding. "Enough."

The room fell silent as everyone turned their attention to the king. Priam's gaze was heavy with thought as he looked from Paris to Hector, his sons standing at odds like two forces of nature. His heart ached at the division between them, but he knew that a decision had to be made.

"We won't give Helen back to them," Priam declared firmly. "This war was inevitable. We all know Agamemnon's greed. He only needed an excuse, and now he has it. Even if we were to return Helen, Agamemnon would find another reason to attack us."

Priam's words settled over the throne room like a cold wind. He knew King Agamemnon all too well—a man driven by ambition, who lusted for power and wealth. Helen may have been the spark, but Agamemnon would have lit another fire if necessary. The war, Priam believed, was unavoidable.

"But, Father…" Hector protested, his fists clenched tightly. More than anything, he cared for his people—the soldiers who would die, the families who would suffer. The thought of sacrificing their lives for the reckless love of his spoiled brother was enough to drive him mad.

Before Hector could continue, the heavy doors of the throne room creaked open, drawing the attention of everyone inside. The room fell into a deep, hushed silence as the newcomer entered.

Standing in the doorway was a woman of breathtaking beauty, so otherworldly that mere words could hardly capture it. Her long, golden hair flowed like sunlight, reaching down to the small of her back, and her golden eyes gleamed with a mesmerizing allure. Every inch of her presence commanded attention, as if the gods themselves had sculpted her from the essence of beauty itself.

It was Helen.

Helen of Sparta, once the queen of Menelaus, but now... Helen of Troy.

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