I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“It is a great honor to stand beside you, the legendary Amazon Queen,” Hector said, his voice carrying both admiration and respect. A warm smile spread across his face as he extended his hand toward the striking figure before him—a woman of rare and formidable beauty. Her blond hair, cropped to the nape of her neck and tied back in a practical fashion, glinted in the sunlight.

Her skin, bronzed by the sun, gleamed with a sheen of sweat, beads of moisture tracing their path down her toned, muscular form. Despite the armor she wore, it was impossible to overlook the sensual curves of her body, the lithe strength of her limbs, and the raw, untamed power she radiated. She was a warrior through and through, but there was no denying her femininity.

Her sculpted arms, the flat expanse of her stomach, and the long, powerful legs hinted at a beauty that rivaled even the most delicate of women, though hers was sharpened by years of battle.

This was Penthesilea, daughter of Ares, the God of War. Queen of the Amazons.

The name alone struck awe and fear in the hearts of her enemies. The Amazons, a tribe of fierce and unyielding female warriors, were known across the lands for their unparalleled prowess in combat. Agility, strength, and precision were their calling cards, and none wielded them more masterfully than Penthesilea herself. Their society, closed off to men, thrived in isolation.

The Amazons raised only their daughters; sons were returned to their fathers after brief, calculated encounters meant only to secure the survival of their people. Their lives were dedicated to battle, to honing their skills as archers, riders, and masters of the blade.

And Penthesilea was more than just their Queen by birthright—she was the embodiment of their strength, the spearhead of their fighting spirit.

To Hector, her presence here, in Troy, was a blessing beyond measure. With the Greek forces closing in, any edge they could gain was vital. And having Penthesilea on their side was a tremendous boon. Her reputation alone could inspire his soldiers, but her strength in battle would be nothing short of invaluable.

He clasped her hand firmly, feeling the solid grip of a warrior who had seen countless battles. “We are fortunate to have such a powerful ally join our cause.”

Penthesilea’s lips curled into a teasing smile as she shook his hand. “Don’t be so formal, Hector. My reasons for fighting here are far more personal than you might think,” she said with a chuckle that hinted at a deeper story, one she chose not to share.

Hector’s smile widened, though a flicker of curiosity passed through his eyes. Still, he respected her boundaries. “Nevertheless, welcome to Troy.”

She released his hand, her expression becoming more serious as she turned her attention to the scene before them. “How are the preparations?” she asked, her sharp eyes scanning the bustling soldiers below. From their vantage point atop the city walls, they could see the full extent of Troy’s defenses.

Men moved with purpose, reinforcing the already mighty walls, while others sharpened weapons, prepared catapults, and distributed supplies. The sound of hammers striking stone, the clatter of shields and swords being readied for war, filled the air. There was an almost palpable tension, the city itself brimming with anticipation for the coming battle.

“The preparations are progressing well,” Hector replied, crossing his arms as he, too, observed the frenzied activity. “The Greeks may have their champions, but we have our own warriors of renown. More importantly, we have the walls—built by the hands of Apollo and Poseidon themselves. They have stood strong against every siege and will protect us now, as they always have.”

Penthesilea nodded, her face stern but approving. “The gods protect the brave, yes,” she said, though her tone held a note of pragmatism. Her faith, perhaps, was not as blind as Hector’s. She had lived her life by the sword, and in her experience, it was one’s own strength that determined victory, not the whims of the divine.

“We are not in the wrong either,” Hector said, his voice filled with a bitter edge as he gazed into the distance. “A war over a single woman. It’s almost unbelievable. So much blood ready to be spilled over something so trivial. But then again…” He paused, his brow furrowing in thought. “She does share some blame.

I doubt Agamemnon would have ever let go of Troy so easily. He was looking for an excuse.”

Penthesilea, standing beside him with her arms crossed, let out a low hum of interest. “Queen Helen, hmm? They say her beauty rivals that of the Goddess of Love and Beauty herself, Aphrodite. Is it true?” Her lips curled into a smile as she licked them in anticipation. “I admit, I am eager to see her for myself.”

Hector didn’t respond immediately. His silence spoke volumes, for even though he had a loving and devoted wife—Andromache, who waited for him within the walls of Troy—there was no denying that Helen’s beauty was something otherworldly. It transcended the realm of mortal women, captivating all who gazed upon her, and even Hector, as loyal as he was, had to steel himself in her presence.

Helen’s allure was like a force of nature—impossible to ignore, and dangerous to underestimate.

He shook his head slightly, refocusing his thoughts. “Don’t touch her, Penthesilea,” he warned, his tone firm, but not unkind. He knew the Amazon Queen too well. She had a taste for beauty, whether it be in the form of men or women, and her desires often led her to seek out those who caught her eye. “She’s under our protection, and that means yours as well.”

Penthesilea laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Hector’s spine. She took a step closer, her hand running lightly over Hector’s toned chest, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. Her voice dropped to a sensual whisper as she leaned in, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Are you jealous, Hector?” she purred, her breath warm against his skin.

Hector stiffened but did not pull away. “This isn’t about jealousy, Penthesilea,” he replied, his tone measured, though the tension in his muscles was apparent.

Penthesilea’s smile deepened as she looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Do you remember what I asked of you, Hector?”

Hector blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. “What?”

Her grin turned predatory, and she let out a low chuckle. “I told you,” she said, her voice rich with suggestion, “I want my future children to be strong. And for that, they need strong genes.

I wish to bear the children of the strongest man I know.” Her eyes gleamed as she took a step closer, her hand boldly reaching for his waist, her fingers tugging at his clothes as she reached toward him with intent. “Let’s not waste time. Let’s do it now.”

For a brief moment, Hector’s breath caught in his throat. The Amazon Queen was a force of nature in her own right—irresistible, dangerous, and alluring. She was the kind of woman most men would die for, and her confidence only made her more desirable. But Hector quickly regained his composure. His hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could go any further. His grip was firm but not harsh.

“No,” he said, his voice steady, though his pulse raced beneath his skin. “I told you before, Penthesilea. My answer is no.”

Penthesilea tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of amusement and disappointment, though the gleam in her eyes suggested that she enjoyed the challenge. “Hector, ever the loyal husband,” she mused, letting her fingers slide slowly out of his grasp. “Such restraint in the face of temptation. Admirable… and rare.”

Hector exhaled, his heart pounding as he tried to shake off the heat of the moment. The last thing he needed was to give in to such advances, especially now, with a war looming over them. His loyalty to Andromache, to Troy, and to his people outweighed any fleeting desire. “I won’t betray my wife, not even for you,” he said firmly.

Before Penthesilea could respond, a voice rang out from behind them.

“Hector!”

Both of them turned to see Aeneas sprinting toward them, his expression grim and his tone breathless. “What’s happening, Aeneas?” Hector asked, his voice tight with concern as he stepped toward his comrade.

“It’s the Greeks!” Aeneas replied, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. “They’ve reached Lyrnessus and begun their assault!”

“What?!” Hector’s voice was filled with shock and alarm. He had not expected the Greeks to arrive so soon, and worse yet, their scouts had failed to report the enemy’s movements. Lyrnessus was some distance away, far enough that any help would take time to arrive. But if they delayed, the city could be destroyed before they even had a chance to intervene. He couldn’t let that happen.

“We need to move quickly,” Hector muttered, his mind racing. “Aeneas, you’re with me. We’ll take a small force and make for Lyrnessus. There may still be time to save the survivors.”

“Finally, some action!” Penthesilea said, her lips curling into a fierce grin. “I’m coming with you.”

Hector nodded, knowing that her presence would be invaluable in the skirmish ahead. “Alright. Let’s move. We’ll need speed.” He turned, selecting ten of his fastest warriors to join them. He didn’t want to take too many of Troy’s best fighters in case the city was attacked in their absence. It was a delicate balance—saving Lyrnessus while ensuring Troy’s safety.

As they prepared to leave, a calm, resonant voice cut through the air. “I will join you as well.”

Hector, Aeneas, and Penthesilea all turned to see a man approaching. His hair was black as night, and his eyes, a piercing ice blue.