you shouldn't be here. paris closes the door behind him.
last night was a mistake.
i've made many mistakes this week. he approaches her.
yes. paris kisses her neck, her ears, her closed eyes. the tightness we saw in her face when she sat by her husband's side is gone, replaced by ecstasy.
away. far away. in a moment the white gown slips to her feet. he stares at her naked body in wonder. he opens his mouth to speak but she kisses him full on the lips. they sink onto the bed.
they're beautiful. but i can't wear them. menelaus would kill us both.
i'm not afraid of dying. i'm afraid of tomorrow, watching you sail away and knowing you'll never come back. she runs her fingers across his jaw line.
before you came to sparta i was a ghost. i walked and i ate and i swam in the sea, but i was a ghost.
don't play with me, prince of troy. don't play. the sounds of footsteps and laughter outside the door startle them. paris halfway unsheathes a knife hanging from his belt. whoever's walking by the door passes without stopping. paris sheathes his knife, kneels beside the bed and takes her hand.
we'll never have peace.
thank you, good king.
they're coming for me. the wind is bringing them closer. paris stops pacing and stares at her.
and go where?
this is your home --
sparta was never my home. my parents sent me there when i was sixteen to marry menelaus, but it was never my home. paris, excited with his new-hatched plan, barely listens.
and your family?
menelaus won't give up. he'll track us to the end of the world.
you don't know menelaus. you don't know his brother. they'll burn every house in troy to find us. they'll never believe we've left -- and even if they do, they'll burn troy for spite. paris considers her words and finally nods.
you're very young, my love.
you're younger than i ever was.
let me go.
let me go! helen, still struggling, begins to cry. hector pulls her to his chest. she cries for real now, violently sobbing, her mouth muffled against hector's body.
i saw them burn. i saw them burning on the pyres. it's my fault.
it is. you know it is. all those widows. i still hear them screaming. helen takes a deep breath. she manages to control herself.
their husbands died because i'm here. hector can't deny this. helen pushes herself out of his grip.
i'm going down to the ships.
i'll give myself back to menelaus. he can do what he wants -- kill me, make me his slave. anything's better than this.
paris is going to fight in the morning.
menelaus will kill him. hector looks away, the words hurting him.
i won't let that happen.
no. no. i can't ask anyone to fight for me. i'm no longer queen of sparta. hector bows to helen and kisses her hand.
yes, my king.
forgive me, father. for.  she pauses, staring out at the vast greek army.
bringing this. priam shakes his head and smiles sadly.
you challenged a great warrior. that took courage.
menelaus was brave. he lived for fighting. and i hated him from the day i married him until the day he died.
i don't want a hero, my love. i want a man to grow old with. she kisses him and there is great tenderness in her kiss. a knock on the door. helen looks up. another knock.
come in. hector enters the room. he examines paris's leg.
let's go inside. andromache allows helen to pull her to her feet. helen, holding the baby in one arm, guides andromache away.
you're their prince. make your brother proud. her comment echoes the words hector spoke to him before his death. paris nods solemnly. helen rests her head on his shoulder. they sit quietly as the crowds sing in the street.
where?
come, my love. come with us.
no --
the city is dead! they're burning it to the ground! paris looks at the huddled refugees. they're a timid lot, terrified and weak. aeneas looks stronger and braver than the rest. he's supporting his elderly father.
i'll stay with you. paris pushes her gently toward the door.
don't leave me. please don't leave me.
please --