Sep 16, 2016

The journey of the princes begins…SONG OF PRINCES by @theravenangel #songofprinces #homericchronicles

Sing Muse. Sing of the shining citadel of Troy rising from the hot sands of Asia. Sing of the Greek palaces ascending from their rocky hilltops. Sing of one woman’s dream heralding the madness of men and the murder of innocents. From bull dancing rings and wild meadows, the Forgotten Prince must choose between love and a golden crown. From seclusion and safety, the Golden Warrior must choose between his honor and his life. From behind the Great Wall, the Golden Prince must choose between his family and his city. And from a rugged realm on the far side of Greece, the Warrior King must choose between his son’s life and certain exile. Here shepherds and princes, warriors and kings, and seers and lovers seek to conquer their passions, outwit destiny or surrender to it.


Where did their legends begin before their lives converged at Troy in one of the most famous battles of all time? The HOMERIC CHRONICLES tells the stories of Paris, Achilles, Hektor, and Odysseus in one chronological tale, beginning before the ILIAD and ending long after the ODYSSEY. Blending both history and myth, the Homeric Chronicles will satisfy your love of Greek mythology, while paying homage to the original storyteller, Homer.

SONGS OF PRINCES begins with the birth of Paris and Achilles, and introduces us to a young Hektor and Odysseus. The journey of the princes begins…

Janell Rhiannon has a Master’s degree in history. It was during her years studying Alexander the Great that she came to love the Greek and Roman myths. She loves warfare and romance. Visit her Amazon Author Page or visit her

Fall in love with Greek mythology for the first time or all over again.


Song of Princes
Series: Homeric Chronicles #1
Genre: Historical Adult Fantasy
Publication Date: June 22, 2016

1265 BCE
From Chapter 24

King Eetion smashed his bronze kylix on the table splashing wine everywhere and clattering the platters and shaking the nerves of those seated near him. “I would say something!” he bellowed. The conversation and laughter died down to an expectant silence. “When pale dawn pierces the morning sky, we make for Troy. The city of Titan walls. The city where men are breakers of fine horses. The palace where I will leave my daughter, Andromache, forever.” The assembled family and servants waited. King Eetion was known for his lengthy, boring orations. “King Priam and I have struck the bargain for her hand. And Troy pays fine tribute for our princess. She will be well received. If I am not mistaken, she has already won the heart of Prince Hektor.” The assembly cheered and clapped their free hands to their thighs.

He continued to the dismay of several who groaned out loud. “What?! What is this? Tired of an old man speaking for his daughter? Disgraceful!” A few voices mumbled. “Daughter, may your new life bring you as much joy as your mother has brought me.” The king winked at his wife, who shook her head in mild embarrassment. “True! We have had troubling years. Quit your gossip!” his grin widened, knowing that rumors of their tempestuous relationship had certainly reached the ears of everyone assembled for the farewell. “There is none as fair in form or heart than my Andromache. I would have agreed to nothing less than a royal prince for her.” The gathering cheered again. “It is time to make your offerings my girl.”

Andromache shyly stepped forward. Such a large and noisy gathering on her behalf unnerved her. She longed for a simpler life. A quiet life. She had hoped to serve the goddess Artemis or even the god Apollo, but she had not been selected. The high priestess of Apollo informed her parents that her fate would lead her elsewhere and to a more public existence. When her father came to her expressing his desire that she wed this golden prince of Troy, she resisted at first. He reminded her that it was a daughter’s duty to obey and contribute to her family’s honor. Andromache acquiesced to his request before ever laying eyes on Hektor.

When the Trojan prince arrived with the first gifts of betrothal, she’d barely spoken to him. He was a tall intimidating man. Dark curly hair hung to his shoulders, framing a perfectly chiseled jaw and his blue eyes sparkled like midnight stars. His skin was darkened from Apollo’s light. It was the look of surprise in his eyes when he was allowed to gaze on her unveiled face that warmed her to him. His face had softened, revealing a wide honest smile that reached his eyes. In that moment Andromache knew she could trust this man, perhaps even love him.

“I am ready, Father.”

She laid a small hand loom and a pair of her maiden sandals at the feet of the household shrine to Hera. “I apologize they are so worn,” she whispered. The princess pulled her himation over her head and spoke silently to the goddess. I have never lived on my own. And I am frightened. Help me to be a steadfast wife.

As she knelt before a similar shrine to Artemis, a servant girl came up next to her carrying a small sharp knife on a bronze platter. Andromache took the blade in her hands and took a thin lock of her long black hair between her fingers. She cut the lock off mid-length and placed it at the painted wooden feet of Artemis’ statue. Help me to put aside my childish thoughts and become a woman my husband will respect and, if I do not ask for too much, that he will love me. Goddess, he will be my all in Troy. I will have no family, no friends except the ones I am able to make. Guide me in this passage from girl to woman. She pulled her himation closer over her head and remained in supplication. In the background she could hear her family talking and the wagons being loaded below. Artemis, I am frightened of marriage. I cannot tell my father or my mother. Their hopes are great that I will be a good wife, perhaps queen one day. Troy is...a great city. How will the nobles accept me? I have no desire to leave my family...I will be alone in Troy...a warm comforting hand weighed on her shoulder. Andromache tried to open her eyes and turn to see who had approached her, but found her eyes and body would not obey.

“Young daughter,” a golden honey voice sounded in her ear. “Calm your fears. Win the queen’s heart.”

“What if I am unable? I am just a girl,” Andromache whispered out loud.

“You are woman now. The way will come to you.”

The pressure on her shoulder released. The presence vanished. She stood up on shaky legs. Artemis. The goddess had spoken to her. She rubbed her shoulder where the goddess’s hand had rested. It ached. Andromache decided to keep the words of Artemis private. She would share her fears with no one. She did worry about Queen Hecuba. It was widely rumored she was a cold woman since the loss of the Forgotten Prince. She had no idea how she would gain the acceptance of such a woman, but the goddess had made it clear that was the path she must follow.

“Good! I see you are finished praying to Artemis,” her mother said behind her.

Andromache turned and flung herself into her mother’s soft bosom and loving arms. “I will miss you, Mother.”

The gentle woman kissed the top of her head and held her close. “Not as much as I shall miss you, my sweet child.”

“Must I go?” Andromache couldn’t help but say the words.

Her mother grabbed both of her shoulders and pushed her back far enough to meet her eyes. “All women must go to their husband. But you, my little dove, go to the most handsome man in the Troad. He is beyond compare, is he not?”

“He is old,” she said.

Her mother laughed. “Yes. Yes to you he must seem old. He is a man, no mere boy.”

“What if he will not love me?”

“Daughter, you are a young flower, eighteen winters have you blossomed in this household. Have you not caught a glimpse of yourself? Have you not earned the love and respect of your family?”

“But what—”

“Andromache, listen to me. Hektor is just a man. He will be helpless at your feet soon enough. He will protect you. If I am not mistaken, he will love you, if he does not already. Come child, stop this worrying. The carts are loaded. We wait only for the bride,” her mother patted her cheek playfully. “You know your father hates waiting.”



Hektor looked out from one of the south facing balconies, down into the streets of Troy. Women carried water to the walkways and steps lining the central plaza to wash the dust from the stone. Garlands of flowers woven into elegant greenery hung from balconies and adorned the main passage to the center of the citadel. His servant had sent word that the wedding entourage from Hypoplakia Thebe had arrived within the upper gates of the citadel and soon the gamos, the day of his wedding, would begin.

His stomach knotted as he watched the first wagon pull up to the palace entrance below.

“It is a fine day to take a wife,” Hecuba said behind him.

Without turning, Hektor said, “Do you think I will make a good husband?”

“Such a question, my golden prince. Of course. You will be the finest.”

The morning sun splashed the streets with golden light as the last wagon pulled into the crowded mess of carts and new comers. A heavily veiled figure stepped from a sheltered cart.

“That is her most likely,” Hektor whispered to his mother.

“I believe you are correct.”

“Do you think I have made a wise choice, Mother?”

“If you have chosen with your heart, you have made a wise decision.”

“I know not all brides love their husbands. I intend to make her love me.”

“My sweet, Hektor. You cannot force a woman’s heart. She must give it freely or it means little. If you woo her, Hektor, with gentle words and your fidelity, you will win her.”

Mother and son watched as the guests entered the through the palace doors below and fell from their sight.

“And so it begins, my son,” Hecuba said.

Janell always had her nose in a book, reading by flashlight when it was "lights out" time. Her love of reading turned to a curiosity about writing. She now writes in all the spare moments she can squeeze out of a day. She also writes fiction and fantasy with some romantic spice for good measure. Janell adores Mythology and Fantasy. Anything magical and mystical. And dragons. And gargoyles. Her guiding motto: "I tell stories, not genres." 

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