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[legendarypiratecheesecake]

5 posts!

[legendarypiratecheesecake]

The Girl in the Market

Part 5:

Hector of Troy x fem!reader

Warning:!!mentions of violence and blood!!

The night had teeth.

It bit with sharp winds that howled through the crags, with jagged rocks that scraped like claws, with a cold that wrapped itself around the bones and squeezed. The moon, wan and distant, spilled a ghostly light over the desolate mountain pass barely enough to see the path, yet too much to hide the horrors it revealed.

And in that pale light, a nightmare was unfolding.

Hector stood frozen for the briefest of moments, breath caught in his throat. The sight before him carved itself into the core of his being.

She was still standing , barely , clothes torn and covered in soot and dried blood. Her hair clung to her face in wild strands, her cheek bruised, her wrists scraped raw. She was clutching a flaming torch in both hands, shaking, her entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm. But she stood her ground. Her voice tore through the silence as she screamed, not out of helplessness, but rage. The kind born from a soul that had nothing left to lose.

And in front of her the thing she dared to challenge was no ordinary beast.

Its massive form shimmered between shadow and flesh, each movement leaving trails of smoke behind. Its eyes glowed like twin rubies carved from fire. Its snarl rumbled through the stones, low and guttural, filled with something worse than rage: amusement.

It was toying with her.

Hector’s eyes burned. He gripped his sword harder, knuckles bloodless. Every fiber in his body screamed to move but there was something about her, this girl who only spoke to people in glances and silence, now throwing herself at the embodiment of war, howling at it like a madwoman with nothing but a branch aflame.

And gods, she was magnificent.

The Makhai lunged, and Hector launched forward without another breath, his body moving before his mind could follow. The wind tore at him as he threw himself between her and the beast, steel clashing against monstrous claws in a blinding shower of sparks. The creature shrieked as his blade found flesh, its cry echoing through the mountains like thunder tearing the sky.

It reared back, furious, and swiped Hector barely ducked in time, but its claws raked across his shoulder. He bit back the cry, vision blurring with the sudden burst of pain. His feet skidded against the rocks, but he kept upright, sword raised, heart pounding in his ears like a war drum.

She didn’t run. She should have he expected her to.

But when he caught a glimpse of her face, he saw no fear, only raw, primal fury.

She looked at the wound he’d carved into the creature’s side.

She understood.

Torch in hand, she lunged.

Hector had no time to stop her, she rammed the flaming stick straight into the bleeding gash. The Makhai let out a piercing, unholy scream that split the night in two. Its body convulsed, smoke exploding from its mouth and eyes, fire consuming it from within. The rocks trembled beneath their feet. Hector shielded her with his arm as the beast thrashed, clawing at the earth and sky.

Then, silence.

It was gone.

Not dead or bleeding. Gone. As if it had never been there. Not a body, not even ash remained.

Only the crackle of the dying torch at their feet.

Only the firelight painting their exhausted faces.

Only the echo of horror, still lingering in the air like a curse.

She stood for a second longer then collapsed to her knees. Her breath hitched, and then, violently, she leaned forward and vomited into the dirt.

Her entire body convulsed with the force of it, trembling from head to toe, fingers digging into the earth. Her sobs followed, ugly, raw sounds pulled from the deepest part of her. She clutched her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together, like if she let go, she’d dissolve into nothingness.

Hector couldn’t move. His sword hung in his hand, forgotten. His shoulder throbbed where the beast had cut him, blood running down his arm. But the only thing he saw , the only thing his eyes refused to leave was her.This girl who had fought a creature of death with fire and fury.

This girl who now knelt in the dust, breaking.

He took a step forward slowly, carefully, as if afraid the earth might crumble beneath them.

Another step.Then another.

She didn’t look up. Her arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders heaving as her breath came in choking gasps.

Hector knelt beside her. Not close, not touching. Just near enough for her to know she wasn’t alone.

She flinched as he stepped forward, startled by the crunch of stone beneath his boots. Her legs shifted, trying to lift her away from him, but they gave out.

"Don’t! " she rasped. "Don’t come any closer."

He halted. Hands raised not in surrender, but in calm reassurance.

"I won’t harm you," he said, voice barely above the wind.

Her eyes met his bloodshot, swollen, cracked with pain. Her chest heaved from the effort of breathing through the sobs. She wiped her mouth with the back of her shaking hand.

"What…" Her voice was gravel. "What was that thing?"

Relief bloomed in Hector’s chest. She was speaking. A sign of life. A thread he could hold.

"A Makhai," he answered grimly. "A beast of war. A remnant of chaos, drawn to pain and strife."

Her eyes flickered, trying to comprehend.

"And why would it come for me?"

He didn’t look away. "They feed on suffering. Perhaps it sensed your anguish… or the strength beneath it."

She barked a humorless laugh. "I’m no warrior."

"No," he said, crouching beside her, voice steady. "But you didn’t run. Most would."

She studied him, narrowing her eyes. A shift.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why do you speak like you know me?"

He exhaled, jaw tight. "I am Hector. Son of Priam. Prince of Troy."

She reeled as if struck. She looked him over as if trying to recognize something in the dirt-caked man before her.

"But… why are you here?"

"Your servant, Tenna, came to Briseis," he said. "She told her everything. Briseis came to me."

"You shouldn't have come," she whispered.

"I had to."

She dropped her gaze. "I’m not going back."

"I didn’t say you were."

She frowned. "You’re not?"

"No."

"…Why?"

"Because I’ve seen enough to know it wouldn’t help you. And I won’t become another force against you."

Silence lingered, heavier than before.

"What’s your plan?" he asked.

She hesitated. "When the port opens, I’ll find a ship. Buy my way out. Anywhere is better than here."

He said nothing at first. Then: "That’s not a plan. That’s a prayer."

"I don’t care."

He didn’t argue. "Then it’s yours."

She eyed him. "What’s the catch?"

"No catch."

"And you?"

"I’m staying. That creature won’t be the last drawn to you."

She didn’t argue.

---

The silence stretched as they both sat beneath the stars. The fire between them crackled low. A heavy breath of wind curled around them, whispering through the mountain crags.

Hector sitting beside her, just a few feet away. Her cheeks were scraped. Her arms bore bruises. Her eyes looked hollow, like someone who had walked through death and come back staggering. But she was still here.

"Do you think he knows?" she asked. "My father?"

Hector didn’t turn to look at her. His gaze stayed on the mountains.

"Not yet. But he will soon."

She bit her lip. Her hands trembled in her lap. She was trying to breathe slowly, but the panic was rising again.

"He’ll send men," she whispered. "He’ll find me."

Hector finally looked at her. There was something in her tone that struck him not fear, but resignation.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he said quietly.

She scoffed, barely a laugh.

"You’re the prince of Troy, If something happens to you while protecting someone as unimportant as me... they’ll hang me at the gates."

He arched an eyebrow, slightly amused despite himself.

"Unimportant?" he said. "That creature attacked you like you were the last flame left in a dying world. I don’t know what that means, but I know it doesn’t spell unimportant."

She shook her head and looked away.

"You don’t understand..."

But before she could finish, a dry branch cracked in the distance. She jumped to her feet in one jerking motion, eyes wide with terror. Hector stood with her, already reaching for his sword.

It was nothing. Just the wind, or perhaps a fox. But the damage was done. She was trembling again, and he could see it this time the rawness, the exhaustion. This girl was frayed down to the threads.

He stepped forward and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You need to rest," he said.

She turned her head, eyes blazing.

"I can’t! I have to leave, I have to--"

"Go where?" he asked, voice still calm.

She hesitated. Then finally, reluctantly: "There’s a boat. One of the merchant fleets is leaving at sunrise. I was going to buy passage."

Hector raised a brow. "With what coin?"

"I took it. From my father."

Of course she did. Brave, reckless, desperate. He admired it. But he also saw every flaw in her plan, every crack waiting to swallow her whole.

He sighed, his mind running through options. The earlier fury, the one that told him to drag her father to the square and end him there, was fading. This was bigger. Political. Delicate.

Her father wasn’t just a man. He was a pillar of the city. Revered. Respected. And Troy had enough enemies without Hector creating one inside its walls.

But then another idea came to him. Her ceremony. The priesthood.

He turned back to her. "There’s another way."

She narrowed her eyes.

"If you still want to be a priestess..." he said slowly, "...I can see you into the temple at dawn. Once the rites are done, your father won’t be able to touch you."

After a pause he let out his second option: " but If you still wish to leave Troy and sail away somewhere farI’ll see to it myself. I’ll arrange the boat. I’ll make sure no one follows."

"Not even me." He turned his head I her direction and continued: "Whatever you choose… I’ll protect it."

She didn’t speak at first.

She just looked at him truly looked at him.

This man who had ridden into the mountains in the dead of night, bloodied his hands to fend off a creature from another world, and now sat before her like a soldier waiting for orders. Like a friend offering refuge.

Like something she couldn’t define.

End of Part 5.

[legendarypiratecheesecake]

The Girl in the Market

Part 4:

Hector of troy x fem!read

Warning: !!! mention of violence, abuse, blood and wounds !!!

The sun had risen high above Troy, bathing the ancient city in golden warmth. Light glinted off marble columns, filtered through silk canopies in the bustling streets, and gleamed across the domes of the temple district. But for one girl, the light felt like something sacred.

She walked toward the Temple of Apollo with her head lowered and her hands clenched within her sleeves. Dressed in soft linen and a veil to shield her from the sun, she moved like a ghost careful not to draw attention, though her heart beat wildly with anticipation.

The priestesses greeted her kindly, and she was guided into the inner sanctum where time seemed to stop. There, among golden statues and flickering incense, the world outside faded away.

An elder priestess, draped in white , welcomed her into a quiet chamber adorned with cushions and carved altars. "You’ve come a long way," the woman said gently. "Are you prepared for what lies ahead?"

She nodded, her voice quiet. "More than anything."

"Good," the priestess smiled. "Today would be the last day of your preparation. You’ll begin the rites tomorrow when the sun will rise. Once your vows are spoken, you’ll belong to the god. And to no one else."

The girl let out a shaky breath. Relief, fragile and tentative, warmed her from within. She spent hours inside the temple, performing purification rituals, preparing offerings, and helping with chores. There was laughter among the priestesses, soft music, and prayers spoken in rhythm with the rustling of robes. For the first time in years, she felt peace.

But peace is a fragile thing.

As the sun began to go a little down in the sky , she stepped out from the temple gates, intending only to return home briefly to gather a few things. She thought foolishly, perhaps that she had a little more time, she never expected to find him waiting.

Her father stood just outside the gates, flanked by two guards who didn’t meet her eyes. His fine robes shimmered with wealth, but his expression was carved from fury.

She froze.

"How poetic," he sneered. "Running to a temple to beg protection. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t be watching you?"

Her mouth opened, but no words came. A flicker of fear passed through her gaze.

"You little fool," he hissed, stepping closer. "You shame me. You plot behind my back like a whore in a brothel and think you can hide under a priestess’s skirt? How dare you.

You think the gods care? You think Apollo wants a spoiled little brat who defies her father’s will? No, girl. You’ll come home, and you’ll do as you’re told. And today you’ll learn the cost of defiance."

He grabbed her arm with iron strength and yanked her toward the waiting carriage. She didn’t resist, she couldn’t. Her limbs went numb. Her eyes stayed fixed on the stones beneath her feet as she was shoved into the seat.

The doors closed. The darkness fell.

---

The villa loomed cold and indifferent as she was dragged inside. The servants turned their eyes away. No one spoke. No one moved.

Her father’s rage echoed through the stone halls, though no one dared respond. When it was over, when the storm had finally passed, he left her there, silent, trembling, discarded like something broken.

She lay on the cold floor of her chamber, her breath ragged. Moonlight leaked through the high windows, casting silver lines across the polished stone.

She didn’t cry. Not right away. At first, there was only silence. Emptiness. Her body ached. Her skin burned. Her thoughts were a blur of nothing. Her lips moved without sound, searching for prayer, for clarity, for anything that would make sense of this.

Then came the awareness.

She was alone.

Her mother was gone; visiting her sister in a neighboring island, Lesbos . She had left days ago, after yet another argument with her husband. She always left when things became too loud, too cruel. And this time, she had taken the last bit of warmth in the house with her.

There would be no one coming to help. No hand to reach for. No voice to say, "Enough."

He would return again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. But he always returned.

The thought came suddenly sharp, cold and clear.

I cannot survive this.

She sat up slowly, her arms shaking beneath her. Her knees protested as she crawled toward the wall, using it for support until she stood. Every movement was pain.

She stared at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror above her table. Bruises. Dried blood. Swollen lips. Empty eyes.

And then she saw something else.

Not just pain.

Determination.

Her heart beat once, heavy and loud.

Run.

---

She didn’t have a plan. She didn’t need one. The goal was simple: to run away. Away from this house, this city, this name. Away from him.

She moved slowly at first, quietly. The servants were tucked away. The halls empty. Her father, of course, had gone out again, off to drink and flatter and laugh among men who wore cruelty like perfume.

She peeled off her fine robes and reached into the maid’s quarters for a servant’s dress. It was coarse and ill-fitting, but it would hide her. She wrapped her bruises tightly with linen. Bound her hair. Covered her face with a scarf.

From his study, she stole a pouch of coins.

From the kitchen, bread, figs, a waterskin.

From the guard’s quarters, a small blade.

She stepped into the night air, the stars above her the only witnesses.

And she walked.

Far from the palace. Past the sleeping houses. Through the market square. Through the gates.

Into the dark.

---

Tenna, her personal servant, came to her room not long after moonrise.

"My lady?" she called, knocking gently with a folded shawl in her arms.

Silence.

She stepped inside. The room was empty. The window open. A faint breeze stirred the curtains. Her eyes darted to the vanity—no jewelry. No silks. The bed unslept in.

She dropped the shawl. "No. No, no—"

She ran through the villa, panic rising like bile.

She knew.

She turned and sprinted through Troy’s winding alleys. Toward the only person who might help.

---

Briseis was in the lower wing of the palace when Tenna arrived, breathless and pale.

"Briseis! please," Tenna gasped. "It’s her. She’s gone."

Briseis’s heart stopped. "What happened?"

"She left.I don't know how bit she is nowhere in her house and she has nowhere else to go, not even the temple... not after what he did to her this evening, he discovered everything. "

Briseis stood at once. "Come with me."

---

Hector was in his study, hunched over parchment, a flickering oil lamp casting shadows over maps and written reports. His concentration had waned hours ago, but discipline kept him seated.

Until the door burst open.

Briseis entered, her face pale, her breath uneven. Behind her, Tenna trembled, eyes wide and tearful.

Hector stood immediately. "What is it?"

Briseis didn’t waste time. "She’s missing."

He of course understood whom she was talking about. His body went still. "Missing?"

Tenna stepped forward, voice failing her through each sentence: "She left my lord... I went to her chamber, there was nothing left."

Hector’s expression hardened. "Why didn’t you come sooner?"

"I- I came as s-soon--" she broke off.

Briseis filled for her . "Her father took her from the temple. Beat her. And now she’s gone."

A long, brutal pause.

Hector’s hand clenched into a fist, trembling with fury. "Where is that bastard?"

"He’s at a gathering," Tenna succeeded to say. "Celebrating something with the other nobles. No doubt drinking himself blind while she’s—"

Hector slammed his hand against the table, sending scrolls scattering. "I’ll have him dragged through the streets. I’ll have his blood on my sword before dawn."

Briseis stepped closer, voice sharp. "If you do that now, she will never be safe."

"What would you have me do?" Hector snapped. "Sit here while she hides like an animal? While he walks free?"

"If you send your men, if you make noise—she’ll think it’s him. She’ll think you’re bringing her back. And then she’ll vanish and never come back!"

Hector’s chest rose and fell rapidly. The torchlight caught in his eyes, now burning with something more than rage, fear.

Briseis’s voice lowered. "She’s terrified, Hector. And she ran because she believed no one would save her. Don’t prove her right."

Silence.

Then, quietly, he said, "Tell no one. Not the guards. Not my men."

Briseis nodded. "Go alone. Find her. Bring her back. Safe."

He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.

Moments later, he was gone.

---

Hector rode out into the night with only his sword and a satchel slung across his shoulder. Inside was the necklace, the one he’d bought without thinking, the one she had admired at the market. He didn’t know why he took it, he couldn't find any logic behind this action… but yet he took it with him, to search for her.

The city lights faded quickly behind him, swallowed by the mountains looming like giants in the distance. The moon was a cold eye above, barely enough to light the jagged trails ahead. The deeper he rode, the more he felt the chill seep into his bones, the weight of the silence pressing in on him.

He left the horse when the ground turned too unstable, leading it to a low grove and whispering to it to stay. From there, it was all rock and dark and bitter wind.

He climbed.

The terrain was cruel. Thorned roots slashed at his arms. Loose stones skidded underfoot. He scraped his palms catching himself, the sting of open skin joining the dull ache in his knees from repeated falls. His chest heaved with effort, sweat mingling with blood, dust clinging to his skin.

But he pressed on.

He had no certainty she was here. No trail. No firelight. Just a gut feeling, an unrelenting pull that she hadn’t gone east to the port or south to the fields. She would want to vanish. Hide.

And if he were her, broken and hunted, he’d seek the cold silence of the mountains.

The farther he went, the worse the air became. Sharp with the scent of rot and earth. The kind of place no man should walk alone. Where things moved at the edge of sight.

And then, a sound. Distant. High. A scream.

It didn’t sound human. Not entirely. But there was desperation in it. Fury.

He moved.

He half-ran, half-crawled. Rocks sliced his palms open. His ribs slammed into jagged stone. He stumbled more than once. His sword slapped against his hip as he moved, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

The scream came again. Closer.

And then light.

Fire. Faint and flickering.

He pulled himself up over a rise and froze.

She was there.

A girl in torn servant clothes, face bloodied, hair wild, holding a burning stick in one hand and hurling rocks with the other. Her arms trembled. Her voice was raw from screaming. But she didn’t back down.

Facing her was a monster of nightmares. Massive. Four-legged. Silver fur streaked with black. Eyes glowing crimson. Its growl reverberated through the stone.

A Makhai.

He drew his sword, jaw clenched.

But for a moment, he didn’t move.

Not because of fear, but because of her.

He had seen her poised and quiet. He had seen her on temple steps, in silence, behind veils.

But here, now, she was something else entirely. Bruised. Alone. Outmatched.

And still she fought.

He had no words for it.

Just a sharpened breath as he stepped into the clearing.

The beast turned.

Hector lifted his sword.

And ran straight for it.

End of part 4.

[legendarypiratecheesecake]

The Girl in The Market

Part 3:

Hector of Troy x Fem!reader

The morning sun was pale as it crept over the city of Troy, its light soft and muted, casting long shadows across the palace courtyards. Hector stood in the training grounds, sword in hand, sweat dripping from his brow as he faced Paris, who circled him lazily with a cocky grin. The clang of metal echoed in the air as their swords met, but Hector’s movements were slower than usual his timing off by fractions of a second, his footwork stiff.

Paris noticed. He always did. "Are you even trying, brother?" he taunted, deflecting Hector’s half-hearted strike with ease. "I might actually win today if you keep this up."

Hector gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. "Keep talking, Paris," he replied, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. He moved forward with a jab, only to overextend, and Paris dodged, landing a quick tap on Hector’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.

"Victory!" Paris exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "The mighty Hector, brought low by his little brother!"

Hector stepped back, lowering his sword. "You’ve done nothing of the sort," he muttered, but his tone lacked conviction. His heart wasn’t in it, and he could tell Paris knew it.

Paris tilted his head, studying him. "You’re distracted," he said, his teasing replaced with curiosity. "What’s going on? You’ve been off all morning. Not like you to miss a step."

Hector didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned toward the palace walls, watching the sunlight play against the stone. His grip tightened on his sword, the leather-wrapped hilt grounding him even as his thoughts spun. How could he explain something he didn’t fully understand himself? The girl’s face her posture, her voice, the pale set of her features flashed unbidden in his mind.

"It’s nothing," he said finally, forcing a neutrality he didn’t feel. "I’ve just been… preoccupied."

Paris raised an eyebrow. "Preoccupied? That’s a new one for you. Usually, you’re the one telling me to get my head out of the clouds." He paused, then smirked. "Is it a woman?"

Hector turned sharply, his expression a mix of irritation and embarrassment. "Don’t be ridiculous," he snapped, too quickly to sound convincing. Paris laughed, but Hector didn’t stay to hear more. He muttered an excuse about needing to see their father and left the training grounds, his steps heavy with frustration.

---

The afternoon dragged like a stone tied to his back. Hector moved from one duty to the next meeting with soldiers to review patrol routes, discussing trade shipments with counselors, and ensuring the defenses along the outer walls were in place. But none of it held his attention. His thoughts were like a restless tide, returning always to the temple, to her.

The girl in the market. The girl in white robes. The girl who had somehow unsettled the unshakable prince of Troy.

By the time the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, Hector’s patience had worn thin. He sat in his chambers, staring at the maps spread out before him, but the lines blurred together. His hands curled into fists on the table as he exhaled sharply, pushing the maps aside. Enough. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed answers, though he had no plan for how to get them.

---

Without thinking, he stood and strode toward the temple of Apollo.

The temple loomed ahead as the last rays of sunlight caught its marble columns, bathing them in gold. The air here was quieter, cooler, a reprieve from the noise of the city below. Hector’s boots echoed faintly against the stone as he entered, his steps slowing as the familiar scent of incense and aged wood surrounded him.

At first, he saw no one, and a part of him was relieved. What was he doing here? He had no excuse, no reason to intrude, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Then he saw her.

She stood near the altar, her white robes catching the fading light, making her look almost ethereal. Two older priestesses flanked her, their voices calm yet firm as they gave instructions. Briseis was there too, standing beside the girl, her expression attentive but softer than the others. She glanced occasionally at the girl, her concern evident.

Hector stepped back instinctively, positioning himself near one of the massive pillars that lined the temple’s interior. He watched from the shadows, his eyes fixed on her. Her posture was straight, almost too straight, as though she carried a weight she couldn’t bear to let show. Her shoulders were tense, her movements measured. And her face Hector felt a pang in his chest. It was paler than he remembered, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes, though focused on the older women, seemed distant, clouded by something he couldn’t name.

The priestesses finished their speech, their voices fading into the quiet hum of the temple. They bowed their heads to Hector as they left, and he returned the gesture automatically, though his attention remained on her. She and Briseis moved closer to where he stood, and in a moment of panic, Hector ducked behind the pillar, his heart pounding.

What am I doing? he thought, scolding himself. This is ridiculous. I’m a prince of Troy, not some lovesick boy hiding in the shadows. He was about to step away, to leave before he made a fool of himself, when he heard it a quiet, broken sound.

Sobbing.

Hector turned, his body moving before his mind could catch up. She was in Briseis’s arms now, her shoulders shaking as she cried. Briseis held her tightly, one hand stroking her back, her own face a mixture of sadness and quiet strength. The girl looked as though she might collapse, leaning heavily against Briseis, her sobs muffled but heart-wrenching.

"I can’t," she choked out, her voice trembling. "I really can’t."

Hector’s chest tightened as he watched, helpless. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, none of them coherent. Why was she crying? What had brought her to this point? And why did it hurt him so much to see her like this?

Before he could step closer, a familiar figure entered the temple. It was the older woman he’d seen in the market the one who had hurried her away. She looked exhausted, her face pale and drawn, dark circles shadowing her eyes. She moved quickly to the two girls, taking the girl from Briseis and wrapping an arm around her.

Hector couldn’t hear what she said, but whatever it was made the girl nod slowly, her movements sluggish. The older woman guided her out of the temple, her hand firm on the girl’s back, and Hector found himself stepping out of his hiding place, following them instinctively.

He didn’t get far.

"Hector?"

He froze. Briseis stood behind him, her arms crossed, her expression accusatory. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice low but firm.

Hector hesitated, scrambling for an answer. "I was… here to pray," he said, the words sounding weak even to his own ears. He straightened, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I didn’t want to disturb."

Briseis’s eyes narrowed, but then her expression softened into something sadder. "You saw her, didn’t you?"

Hector nodded, his throat tightening. "Who is she?"

Briseis sighed, glancing toward the temple’s entrance. "She’s the daughter of Lord [Father’s Name]," she said. "A friend of our family."

Hector hesitated, then asked, "Why was she crying?"

Briseis’s gaze returned to him, and for a moment, she seemed to weigh her words carefully. "She’s… been struggling," she said finally. "Nothing in her life is going the way she wants. That’s all I can say."

What had brought her to this point? And why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

Hector wanted to press for more, but he knew better. Briseis’s tone left no room for argument, and he respected her too much to push. Still, her words only deepened his concern and his curiosity.

As they left the temple together, Hector’s mind was a storm of questions and emotions. He had come here to find answers, to put an end to this madness, but he was leaving with even more uncertainty. And now, worry gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.

Part 2:

The Girl in the Market Hector x Fem!reader It had been a week since Hector last saw her. A week since the moment that unsettled

[legendarypiratecheesecake]

The Girl in the Market

Part 2:

Hector of Troy x Fem!reader

It had been a week since Hector last saw her.

A week since the moment that unsettled his entire existence, the simple curve of a smile and the delicate brush of her fingers across that necklace haunting his thoughts like a dream he couldn’t wake from. He told himself it was foolish childish, even for a single, fleeting encounter to consume him so completely.

And yet, no matter how he tried to focus on the world around him, the girl from the market remained fixed in his mind.

Hector stood at the edge of the palace courtyard now, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the endless bustle of Troy unfold below. Merchants shouting, children playing, soldiers drilling it all felt the same as it always had. Unchanged.

But Hector? He felt different.

---

The hall was hot, the air thick with smoke from oil lamps and incense as the council gathered. The Senate, a collection of aging men draped in ceremonial robes, murmured among themselves as King Priam sat at the head of the chamber, his expression grave. Hector stood beside his father, his jaw set, his broad shoulders rigid.

“Troy cannot withstand another year of poor harvests and trade disputes,” one senator droned. “Our allies in Cilicia demand greater concessions if we are to maintain the flow of grain into the city.”

“And we cannot afford to appear weak,” another said, his tone clipped. “The Greeks are watching us, waiting for the first sign of fracture. If we offer too much, we invite the wolves to our door.”

Hector’s patience wore thin as the discussion dragged on. They had been debating this for hours the weight of Troy’s future hanging in the balance. Outside their walls, rival kings circled like vultures, eager for any opportunity to seize power. Greeks, Anatolians, even rogue tribes from the mountains all had their eyes on Troy’s gold and prosperity.

“Then let them wait,” Priam said finally, his voice calm but firm. “Troy does not barter its strength away.”

“And what of the people?” Hector’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. Heads turned toward him, surprise flickering across the faces of the senators. “Our pride won’t feed the families suffering through another year of shortages. Nor will it fend off the Greeks if they decide to sail upon our shores. What would you have me do, Father? Ignore the lives that depend on us?”

Priam’s gaze hardened. “You speak out of turn, Hector.”

“I speak as the man who will inherit the burdens of this kingdom!” Hector snapped. “And I will not be silent while you dismiss the realities of our position. Trade must flow. The people must eat. If it requires compromise, then so be it.”

“Compromise is weakness,” one of the older senators growled. “You would offer the enemy a knife to slit our throats.”

Hector turned to face him. “And you would rather watch Troy crumble out of stubborn pride?”

A murmur swept through the room, and Priam rose to his feet, his voice thundering. “Enough!” Silence fell instantly. Priam’s sharp gaze pinned Hector in place. “You are my son, and you will honor my decisions. Troy will endure as it always has.”

Hector stared at his father, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He opened his mouth to respond, but something held him back duty, perhaps, or the simple fact that he could not bring himself to challenge his father in front of the Senate. Instead, he inclined his head stiffly.

“As you say, Father.”

But as Hector turned to leave the hall, his thoughts seethed.

---

The sun had begun to sink below the horizon by the time Hector reached the temple of Apollo. The white marble structure rose high above the city, its columns bathed in the fiery glow of sunset. The air here was quieter, almost sacred a reprieve from the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders.

Hector dismounted his horse and climbed the temple steps, his armor whispering with every step. He had come for guidance, though whether he sought it from the god himself or merely the silence within these hallowed halls, he wasn’t sure.

Inside, the temple was cool and dim, the only light coming from flickering torches and the glow of offerings placed before the great statue of Apollo. The god’s form loomed above him, golden and serene, his lyre in hand as if ready to soothe the troubles of those who knelt before him.

Hector exhaled slowly, his steps echoing against the marble as he approached. He dropped to one knee before the altar, his head bowed.

“Great Apollo,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Grant me clarity. My people look to me for answers, and I cannot fail them. Show me the path that honors you, that preserves Troy.”

The words hung in the air, unanswered. Hector’s eyes remained closed, his hands braced against his knee as he fought to quiet the storm within him.

And then he heard it. A voice not a divine one, but human. Soft, melodic, carried by the faintest rustle of movement.

Hector’s eyes snapped open, and he turned his head toward the far end of the temple. There, near the great statue’s base, he saw her.

The girl from the market.

She moved quietly among the altar offerings, her white robe trailing behind her like mist. A priestess. The realization struck him like a blow, leaving him momentarily stunned. Her hair was gathered loosely over her shoulders, the golden light of the temple torches catching on the strands.

Hector could only stare, his mind reeling.

A priestess of Apollo.

It explained everything: her gentle grace, the air of quiet reverence that surrounded her. And yet the realization brought him no peace only confusion and frustration. Of all people, why had she been the one to linger in his thoughts? Why did it feel as though the gods themselves had placed her in his path only to pull her further from reach?

The girl had not seen him; she remained focused on her task, oblivious to his presence. Her hands moved with practiced ease as she rearranged offerings, her face serene, her gaze fixed on her work. Hector could not tear his eyes away.

What am I doing here? he thought bitterly. Why can’t I let this go?

He rose to his feet, his movements stiff and deliberate. With one last lingering glance at her, Hector turned and strode out of the temple, the weight of the day pressing down on him more heavily than ever before.

---

By the time Hector returned to the palace, night had fallen. The halls were quiet, but his thoughts were anything but. The image of her haunted him the priestess whose smile had undone him in a single moment.

I don’t even know her name.

As he reached his chambers, he unstrapped his armor piece by piece, the clang of bronze ringing in the silence. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and yet all he could think of was the girl in white robes.

It was madness. And yet it consumed him.

For the first time in his life, Hector the steady, unshakable prince of Troy felt utterly lost.

[legendarypiratecheesecake]

The Girl in the Market

Part I:

Hector of troy x fem!reader

The sun hung low over the city of Troy, casting a golden hue over its labyrinthine streets and bustling market. The air was rich with the scent of fresh bread and spices, mingled with the distant saltiness of the sea breeze. Hector walked purposefully among the crowds, his bronze armbands glinting as they caught the light. It was rare for him to come here unguarded, but today he sought respite from the weight of his duties.

The market thrummed with life, vendors shouting their wares while children darted through the maze of stalls. Hector moved through the crowd like a shadow, his stature commanding enough that people instinctively stepped aside. He passed stalls laden with bolts of fabric in every hue, baskets overflowing with pomegranates, and artisans showcasing finely crafted trinkets. He had no destination in mind, only the hope of a moment's peace.

And then he saw her.

She stood by a merchant’s stall, her head tilted slightly as she examined a delicate necklace the vendor held out for her. The polished gold chain shimmered like sunlight on water, and Hector could not help but think it paled in comparison to the glow of her presence.

Her hair, dark as the rich earth of the Trojan plains, was gathered loosely, a few stray strands framing her face. She was young, perhaps barely out of girlhood, with a softness to her features that held an unspoken grace. Yet it was her smile that struck him a quiet, polite curve of her lips as she spoke to the vendor. It wasn’t a smile of indulgence or pretense, but one of genuine kindness.

Hector felt the world narrow, the cacophony of the market fading into a distant hum. He watched her intently, unable to tear his gaze away. She was nothing like the courtly women of Troy, who masked their words with veils of intrigue. There was a simplicity about her that stirred something deep within him a longing he didn’t fully understand.

Who is she? The question burned in his mind, though he dared not approach.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the necklace. Hector noticed her hesitation, the way her hand lingered as if she yearned for the piece but couldn’t bring herself to take it. Her mother’s voice cut through the air, sharp but not unkind, calling her away. She turned swiftly, her skirts swaying as she retreated, leaving the necklace behind.

Hector’s chest tightened. As she disappeared into the throng, he felt an unexpected ache, as though a thread had been pulled loose from his very being. He moved closer to the stall, his eyes still fixed on the spot where she had stood.

“She seemed interested,” the merchant said, mistaking Hector’s approach for interest in the jewelry. The man held the necklace aloft, its golden pendant gleaming in the fading sunlight. “A fine piece, fit for a noblewoman.”

“I’ll take it,” Hector said, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts within him. He handed the merchant a few coins, hardly registering the transaction as the necklace was placed in his hand. The chain felt cool against his skin, the weight of it strangely significant.

As he walked away, he turned the necklace over in his fingers, the polished pendant catching the light. It was beautiful, but more than that, it was hers. She had looked at it with such quiet longing, and Hector found himself resolved he would find her.

But how? he wondered, frustration flickering in his chest. She was a shadow now, a fleeting figure in a sea of faces. Yet he could not forget her the way her smile had warmed the air, the quiet elegance in her every movement.

Hector made his way back toward the palace, the necklace safely tucked into the pouch at his belt. His thoughts swirled like a storm-tossed sea. He thought of her mother’s urgency, the way she had hurried the girl away. Was she the daughter of a nobleman? A merchant? A servant, perhaps? The possibilities only deepened his intrigue.

Why does she linger in my mind so? He frowned, shaking his head as if to clear it. He was Hector, Prince of Troy, commander of its armies, a man whose thoughts should dwell on strategy and strength not on the fleeting image of a girl in the market.

And yet, as the day waned and the city grew quiet, she remained vivid in his memory. Her smile, her timid grace, the way her fingers had brushed the necklace all of it played over and over in his mind like a song he could not forget.

By the time the stars had begun to dot the night sky, Hector had made a promise to himself: he would find her. Not for the necklace, though that would serve as his excuse. He needed to see her again, to learn her name, to discover why the sight of her had stirred something so fierce and unfamiliar in his chest.

For the first time in years, Hector felt as though the gods themselves had intervened, placing her in his path. And he would not rest until he knew why.