A/N: I hope you enjoy both the updated version and the new chapter. From here on, you get lots of juicy tension! Enjoy and please review!
Chapter 4: Cold Reception
"I am honored, your highness." Harry let go of Hermione's hand.
"No, the honor is mine. I must express how grateful I am towards you for allowing me to be a guest in your palace." Hermione put some distance between them. Things could not apparently get more awkward.
"I am afraid that was the queen's doing, Princess Hermione. She awaits you in the throne-room. Oliver can escort you," Harry suggested, his voice colder. He knew why she was here, so he might as well drop the niceties.
"That will not be necessary, Harry dear."
Hermione turned around to see the queen walking towards her.
Cassandra stood just a few steps from her, inspecting her appearance quietly.
"This is Helen's daughter?" she scoffed.
Hermione sighed. This was no time to lose patience. She should have expected a welcome like this. Quite frankly, she could not blame them. After all her father and uncle had done, it was a wonder she was still alive right now and inside the castle.
"My name is Hermione, your majesty." Hermione bowed politely.
"Mm," Cassandra inspected her again, "The apple does not fall far from the tree, I am sure."
Hermione grimaced. She really did not know if she was supposed to be offended by the statement or not. She supposed she did by the way the queen was looking at her. Was she calling both her and her mother whores?
Before she could say anything however, Fleur stepped forward, clearly not in a good mood. Surely she was going to say something to put the queen in her place. But before her half-sister could express herself, Hermione made her take a step back.
"And who are you?" The queen narrowed her eyes at Fleur. Apparently, she had noticed her earlier gesture.
"This is my sister, Fleur," said Hermione.
It was the first time she had referred to Fleur as her sister instead of her "half-sister," but she figured that in such a hostile environment as Troy was turning out to be, although she had expected it, they had better chances by sticking together.
"Really? A sister? Well, she looks more like Helen than you do." Cassandra stared at Hermione again. "I do not recall Helen having wavy hair."
"You knew my mother then?" Hermione smiled. As far as she was knew, all the Trojans who had interacted closely with her mother were dead. These were welcomed news indeed.
"Unfortunately yes. I do not know what Paris ever saw in her. Her presence was like a plague. But then again I must admit, Paris was not the intelligent type."
Hermione pursed her lips as hard as she could. It took all her strength not to slap the queen then and there. How dare she? Apparently, Fleur was thinking the same thing, for she took a step towards the queen again.
"Excuse me, your majesty, but I will not tolerate another insult towards my mother, even if we are in your castle," said Fleur.
"I beg your pardon?" Cassandra seemed offended and enraged, daring the blonde princess to give her an excuse to take out her rage on her.
"I said-"
But before Fleur could finish, Oliver took her arm and shifted her to his side. He knew what the queen was capable of and it was not wise to argue with her.
"Your Majesty, the princesses must certainly be tired from the trip. Perhaps we could show them to their quarters?" Oliver smiled diplomatically. However, his smile was replaced by a frown when he discovered that Fleur was holding his hand.
What was she doing? He hardly knew her, for they had been introduced a mere moment ago. Yet, he figured she had to be a little overwhelmed, and if holding his hand made her feel better, he supposed he could keep helping her. She was Hermione's sister after all, and he was sure he would develop a brotherly fondness for her as he had for her sister.
"Oh yes, of course. I imagine that the daughter of Helen does not want puffy eyes for dinner, does she?" Cassandra's tone did not conceal her sarcasm.
By this time, Hermione was enraged with fury. If this woman was not out of the throne yet, she would definitely get her out; now not merely because her father wanted her replaced, but because she wanted her out as well.
"Oliver, would you escort these ladies...no, wait. They are to have separate rooms. Herminia, you go with Harry there," Cassandra commanded.
"Pardon my intrusion your Majesty, my name is Hermione." The Spartan princess was trying her best not to scream.
"It sounds like the same name to me." Cassandra shrugged.
"I was hoping that...I assure you, my sister and I would not mind sharing a room. Less work for your servants," Hermione affirmed.
Frankly, she was scared to death of being alone in a big, old Trojan palace.
"So you can conspire against Troy once more? I will not have it," Cassandra muttered, but it did not go unheard by Hermione, who now had had the last straw.
"Pardon me, your Majesty, but I do not think it is polite to whisper in front of guests-"
"Excuse me Harmonia-"
"Hermione!"
"Whichever! Is this your castle? As long as you are a guest in Troy, you will follow my commands and you and your sister are to have separate bed chambers. Dinner is at 7:00. Do not be late. And for goodness sake, wear decent garments."
* * * *
Before Hermione knew it, she was following the prince of Troy to her chamber, cursing everything around her. Who did that queen think she was? She could be the mistress of the castle, but, like it or not, Troy was still under Spartan command, and it would be up to Hermione to decide the outcome of the country.
She did not want anything to do with the Trojan kingdom, so she resolved to do what was necessary to get Cassandra's heir, prince Harry, on the throne and get out of there faster than a bolt of lightning. After all, this was still her father's situation. She would let him worry about it.
"Princess, here is your room for the duration of your visit," Prince Harry's voice brought her back to reality, and she looked up to see him opening the door for her.
She entered a big, warm room; with wine-colored curtains and a large bed decorated with pearl-colored blankets. The bathroom was beautiful, with a tub made of expensive precious stones, and the armoire was full of Trojan dresses. It was an inviting room indeed. But it did not make her want to stay any longer.
"Remember, dinner is at 7:00 and you can choose any garment you like from the armoire," said Harry, snapping her from her room evaluation.
"But I brought my own garments." Hermione turned around and faced him. She had to admit, he was quite a sight.
"But they are Spartan garments. You will not wear them during your stay, queen's orders."
"She can go to…" Hermione began to curse. But she knew it was useless to fight. She would have it the way she wanted soon. "Fair enough. Thank you." She managed to smile politely at him, but the gesture was not returned.
"If you need anything, feel free to call and a servant will come to your aid. Until dinner, princess."
"Oh please, I do not like formalities, call me Hermione," she suggested in an unnaturally sweet tone.
If this was the heir to the throne, she would have to befriend him, and formalities meant coldness.
"I understand you are the sole heir to the throne, Sire." She drew closer to him.
"Look, Hermione, I know why you are here," Harry whispered in a cold tone.
The short distance between their bodies allowed Hermione to feel his hot breath tingling her skin, and she could not help the shiver that escaped her.
"Do you?" She raised her head to look into his eyes.
She wanted to give no hint of fear, no matter how nervous she was about this whole affair.
"Yes. Your father got tired of my aunt's complaints and of looking after Troy, so he sent Helen the Second to find a new puppet to rule Troy, and I am the guinea pig, because I happen to be the only prince left of the royal Trojan line and you do not want to dirty your perfectly taken care of hands with the land that despised your mother. Well, guess what? I am not some pawn. I will not take the throne, so if I were you, I would choose another puppet." With this said, Harry slammed the door shut.
Hermione sighed, landing face down on her new bed. So much for a pleasant trip.
However, for some reason she had a feeling that the prince was the least of her problems. After all, she was in charge, and she could choose whomever she wanted. Right now, she was more worried about the queen. She did not know how long she could keep her anger to herself. And although she had no idea what to expect from the royal banquet, one thing was certain: much like the prince's behaviour, it would not be pleasant.
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