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The rust silk of her chiton’s short train slid softly across the priceless marble floor of the Great Gallery as she weaved through the various guests awaiting the coronation. It wasn’t the climactic show that King Stephanos had for his but it seemed much more fitting for King Achilleas. Her dark eyes skimmed around the room slowly, it was a smaller affair but that seemed like a wise choice considering they were on the brink of war. King Achilleas needed to show that he was putting Taengea first, it was quite possible the lavishness that their small country was used to would dip as their resources would soon be needed to keep the strength up of their army. It’d be rather poor taste to waste that lavishness on a coronation when it might be needed in the future.
A servant approached her with a platter with wine glasses. Taking a glass, she took a sip and tilted her head wondering where her aunt and cousins had disappeared too. Her parents had sent their respects and apologies for not attending but it was a rather busy time of year for the estate as they prepared for winter to settle upon them, even if the winters were mild there were still things that had to be done. Sighing inwardly, she’d wished they’d showed up but then again… she was there in their stead.
She’d spent most of the morning trying to prepare herself in order. It seemed she’d been the center of the gossip as of late, and if they thought they were going to intimidate her. Even if it took the not so subtle reminder that she was a Leventi. The reddish-brown silk clung to her soft feminine curves and accented with a brass pin causing the neckline to dip just low enough for her to thumb her nose at the gossip. Her dark chestnut hair loosely held up with a decorative small silk rose hairpin. Eyes were softly darkened, she wasn’t in the mood to listen to someone else come up and tell her they didn’t believe the terrible things being said. She’d had to fight a hard eye roll with ever lie.
Taking another sip of her wine, she paused in front of one of the large glass windows and stared outside. How long was this going to take? The quiet voice in her head chasted her, King Achilleas needed to see as many friendly faces in the crowd as possible. She sighed, looking at the changing of seasons and letting her mind drift to just how long she’d been here in the capitol. Her mind was lost until she saw her uncle and the Princess Xene reappear along with Lord Condos. It was time to start. Stepping away from the window, she looked around again for her aunt and cousins to join.
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The rust silk of her chiton’s short train slid softly across the priceless marble floor of the Great Gallery as she weaved through the various guests awaiting the coronation. It wasn’t the climactic show that King Stephanos had for his but it seemed much more fitting for King Achilleas. Her dark eyes skimmed around the room slowly, it was a smaller affair but that seemed like a wise choice considering they were on the brink of war. King Achilleas needed to show that he was putting Taengea first, it was quite possible the lavishness that their small country was used to would dip as their resources would soon be needed to keep the strength up of their army. It’d be rather poor taste to waste that lavishness on a coronation when it might be needed in the future.
A servant approached her with a platter with wine glasses. Taking a glass, she took a sip and tilted her head wondering where her aunt and cousins had disappeared too. Her parents had sent their respects and apologies for not attending but it was a rather busy time of year for the estate as they prepared for winter to settle upon them, even if the winters were mild there were still things that had to be done. Sighing inwardly, she’d wished they’d showed up but then again… she was there in their stead.
She’d spent most of the morning trying to prepare herself in order. It seemed she’d been the center of the gossip as of late, and if they thought they were going to intimidate her. Even if it took the not so subtle reminder that she was a Leventi. The reddish-brown silk clung to her soft feminine curves and accented with a brass pin causing the neckline to dip just low enough for her to thumb her nose at the gossip. Her dark chestnut hair loosely held up with a decorative small silk rose hairpin. Eyes were softly darkened, she wasn’t in the mood to listen to someone else come up and tell her they didn’t believe the terrible things being said. She’d had to fight a hard eye roll with ever lie.
Taking another sip of her wine, she paused in front of one of the large glass windows and stared outside. How long was this going to take? The quiet voice in her head chasted her, King Achilleas needed to see as many friendly faces in the crowd as possible. She sighed, looking at the changing of seasons and letting her mind drift to just how long she’d been here in the capitol. Her mind was lost until she saw her uncle and the Princess Xene reappear along with Lord Condos. It was time to start. Stepping away from the window, she looked around again for her aunt and cousins to join.
The rust silk of her chiton’s short train slid softly across the priceless marble floor of the Great Gallery as she weaved through the various guests awaiting the coronation. It wasn’t the climactic show that King Stephanos had for his but it seemed much more fitting for King Achilleas. Her dark eyes skimmed around the room slowly, it was a smaller affair but that seemed like a wise choice considering they were on the brink of war. King Achilleas needed to show that he was putting Taengea first, it was quite possible the lavishness that their small country was used to would dip as their resources would soon be needed to keep the strength up of their army. It’d be rather poor taste to waste that lavishness on a coronation when it might be needed in the future.
A servant approached her with a platter with wine glasses. Taking a glass, she took a sip and tilted her head wondering where her aunt and cousins had disappeared too. Her parents had sent their respects and apologies for not attending but it was a rather busy time of year for the estate as they prepared for winter to settle upon them, even if the winters were mild there were still things that had to be done. Sighing inwardly, she’d wished they’d showed up but then again… she was there in their stead.
She’d spent most of the morning trying to prepare herself in order. It seemed she’d been the center of the gossip as of late, and if they thought they were going to intimidate her. Even if it took the not so subtle reminder that she was a Leventi. The reddish-brown silk clung to her soft feminine curves and accented with a brass pin causing the neckline to dip just low enough for her to thumb her nose at the gossip. Her dark chestnut hair loosely held up with a decorative small silk rose hairpin. Eyes were softly darkened, she wasn’t in the mood to listen to someone else come up and tell her they didn’t believe the terrible things being said. She’d had to fight a hard eye roll with ever lie.
Taking another sip of her wine, she paused in front of one of the large glass windows and stared outside. How long was this going to take? The quiet voice in her head chasted her, King Achilleas needed to see as many friendly faces in the crowd as possible. She sighed, looking at the changing of seasons and letting her mind drift to just how long she’d been here in the capitol. Her mind was lost until she saw her uncle and the Princess Xene reappear along with Lord Condos. It was time to start. Stepping away from the window, she looked around again for her aunt and cousins to join.
Gianna wound her way through the markedly small crowd of nobles gathered in the great gallery of the Paláti. In the days since her uncle’s death, she had felt lighter, no longer weighed down by the fear of Irakles setting his sights on Zenon’s remaining two children. While she welcomed the respite from the months of sorrow and torment she had endured, however briefly it might last, Gianna had to admit a growing sense of guilt that gnawed at her very core.
Irakles had not been a good man despite how meticulously he may have kept his image. But he had been her uncle, the blood of her blood and the princess was finding it difficult to reconcile her feelings about the man. He may not have doted upon her as he had when she was a child, but the man had never gone out of his way to directly mistreat her. In fact, until Stephanos had opened her eyes to his duplicitous ways—until she had truly seen their uncle in action during the Senate meet—she had harbored great affection for Irakles. He had made it clear that day that their relationship was very much one-sided.
With his death came immediate relief and the secret shame over that comfort. She had already found sleep to be less elusive in the days since her cousin had taken up the mantle left behind, first by her brother and now her uncle. The perception of unyielding loyalty to Achilleas, and in turn Theodora, had been impressed upon Gianna by both of her elder siblings. She smoothed the pale blue skirts of her gown as she took her place amongst the spectators, her own show of support for her cousin and his new wife.
She had asked her retainer to keep her hair simple. Per Gianna’s instruction, Elpis had opted for a series of delicate braids that were gathered at the nape of her neck while the rest of her hair had been allowed to fall down her back in gentle waves. Gianna pulled a section of loose hair over her shoulder, mindlessly twisting the curl around her finger as she scanned the faces in the small crowd. With a war on the horizon, Achilleas had chosen a smaller, relatively informal coronation in lieu of the grand celebration he should have been able to enjoy, but her cousin was nothing if not practical.
The sound of bells and horns pulled Gianna from her thoughts and sent her stomach into a flutter of nerves. She was suddenly aware of just how alone she was. She had little faith her mother would make an appearance despite Xene’s intervention. The dowager queen was a notorious example of the Mikaelidas temper and Gianna knew better than to attempt to assuage the woman in the midst of a tantrum. With her mother deemed something of a lost cause, the young blonde was hoping for the company of a slightly older blonde.
The moments that passed between the summoning of the coronation’s attendees and the emergence of her sister were brief in nature, but felt as though they dragged on for hours. Gianna watched as Xene was into the great gallery by Lord Leventi, a man who had become increasingly present in their lives. Relief washed over Gianna when her sister eventually settled next to her, warding off the apprehension the doe-eyed girl had failed to notice. With Xene’s familiar and comforting presence by her side and her cousin taking the crown, she could finally believe there was an end in sight.
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Gianna wound her way through the markedly small crowd of nobles gathered in the great gallery of the Paláti. In the days since her uncle’s death, she had felt lighter, no longer weighed down by the fear of Irakles setting his sights on Zenon’s remaining two children. While she welcomed the respite from the months of sorrow and torment she had endured, however briefly it might last, Gianna had to admit a growing sense of guilt that gnawed at her very core.
Irakles had not been a good man despite how meticulously he may have kept his image. But he had been her uncle, the blood of her blood and the princess was finding it difficult to reconcile her feelings about the man. He may not have doted upon her as he had when she was a child, but the man had never gone out of his way to directly mistreat her. In fact, until Stephanos had opened her eyes to his duplicitous ways—until she had truly seen their uncle in action during the Senate meet—she had harbored great affection for Irakles. He had made it clear that day that their relationship was very much one-sided.
With his death came immediate relief and the secret shame over that comfort. She had already found sleep to be less elusive in the days since her cousin had taken up the mantle left behind, first by her brother and now her uncle. The perception of unyielding loyalty to Achilleas, and in turn Theodora, had been impressed upon Gianna by both of her elder siblings. She smoothed the pale blue skirts of her gown as she took her place amongst the spectators, her own show of support for her cousin and his new wife.
She had asked her retainer to keep her hair simple. Per Gianna’s instruction, Elpis had opted for a series of delicate braids that were gathered at the nape of her neck while the rest of her hair had been allowed to fall down her back in gentle waves. Gianna pulled a section of loose hair over her shoulder, mindlessly twisting the curl around her finger as she scanned the faces in the small crowd. With a war on the horizon, Achilleas had chosen a smaller, relatively informal coronation in lieu of the grand celebration he should have been able to enjoy, but her cousin was nothing if not practical.
The sound of bells and horns pulled Gianna from her thoughts and sent her stomach into a flutter of nerves. She was suddenly aware of just how alone she was. She had little faith her mother would make an appearance despite Xene’s intervention. The dowager queen was a notorious example of the Mikaelidas temper and Gianna knew better than to attempt to assuage the woman in the midst of a tantrum. With her mother deemed something of a lost cause, the young blonde was hoping for the company of a slightly older blonde.
The moments that passed between the summoning of the coronation’s attendees and the emergence of her sister were brief in nature, but felt as though they dragged on for hours. Gianna watched as Xene was into the great gallery by Lord Leventi, a man who had become increasingly present in their lives. Relief washed over Gianna when her sister eventually settled next to her, warding off the apprehension the doe-eyed girl had failed to notice. With Xene’s familiar and comforting presence by her side and her cousin taking the crown, she could finally believe there was an end in sight.
Gianna wound her way through the markedly small crowd of nobles gathered in the great gallery of the Paláti. In the days since her uncle’s death, she had felt lighter, no longer weighed down by the fear of Irakles setting his sights on Zenon’s remaining two children. While she welcomed the respite from the months of sorrow and torment she had endured, however briefly it might last, Gianna had to admit a growing sense of guilt that gnawed at her very core.
Irakles had not been a good man despite how meticulously he may have kept his image. But he had been her uncle, the blood of her blood and the princess was finding it difficult to reconcile her feelings about the man. He may not have doted upon her as he had when she was a child, but the man had never gone out of his way to directly mistreat her. In fact, until Stephanos had opened her eyes to his duplicitous ways—until she had truly seen their uncle in action during the Senate meet—she had harbored great affection for Irakles. He had made it clear that day that their relationship was very much one-sided.
With his death came immediate relief and the secret shame over that comfort. She had already found sleep to be less elusive in the days since her cousin had taken up the mantle left behind, first by her brother and now her uncle. The perception of unyielding loyalty to Achilleas, and in turn Theodora, had been impressed upon Gianna by both of her elder siblings. She smoothed the pale blue skirts of her gown as she took her place amongst the spectators, her own show of support for her cousin and his new wife.
She had asked her retainer to keep her hair simple. Per Gianna’s instruction, Elpis had opted for a series of delicate braids that were gathered at the nape of her neck while the rest of her hair had been allowed to fall down her back in gentle waves. Gianna pulled a section of loose hair over her shoulder, mindlessly twisting the curl around her finger as she scanned the faces in the small crowd. With a war on the horizon, Achilleas had chosen a smaller, relatively informal coronation in lieu of the grand celebration he should have been able to enjoy, but her cousin was nothing if not practical.
The sound of bells and horns pulled Gianna from her thoughts and sent her stomach into a flutter of nerves. She was suddenly aware of just how alone she was. She had little faith her mother would make an appearance despite Xene’s intervention. The dowager queen was a notorious example of the Mikaelidas temper and Gianna knew better than to attempt to assuage the woman in the midst of a tantrum. With her mother deemed something of a lost cause, the young blonde was hoping for the company of a slightly older blonde.
The moments that passed between the summoning of the coronation’s attendees and the emergence of her sister were brief in nature, but felt as though they dragged on for hours. Gianna watched as Xene was into the great gallery by Lord Leventi, a man who had become increasingly present in their lives. Relief washed over Gianna when her sister eventually settled next to her, warding off the apprehension the doe-eyed girl had failed to notice. With Xene’s familiar and comforting presence by her side and her cousin taking the crown, she could finally believe there was an end in sight.
As some of the other nobles arrived for the coronation, Nikolias' thoughts were still elsewhere. He would have to be an idiot in order to think that anyone likedbeing ridiculed, whether it was painted in a veneer of politeness or not. To suspect that the king thought him inadequate in some way, especially when it came to his ability to defend Taengea, only intensified his own thoughts along the very same line. He didn't need life to prove him to be correct.
The question was, what to do about it, if anything could in fact be done?
Gianna and Xene arrived and took their seats, and he wondered if they, too, felt a little off balance today. Had he known it, he probably would have shared some of Gianna's feelings regarding Irakles. But he did not know, and even if he had, he doubted that now was the proper time to address the princesses. However, if anyone asked afterward, he would feel free to admit that he had thoht of Irakles today, too. It was still odd, to an extent, to Nikolias anyway, not to have him at events where the nobles were required to be present.
Just before he found his own seat, he had noticed a servant with glasses of wine, and was tempted to take one...or several. Perhaps the wine would revive him somewhat, though too much would undoubtedly have the opposite effect, as well as potentially causing a headache.
He wondered, too, just what exactly Fotios and Xene were doing together. Knowing what he knew of the man, it did not seem to bode well.
Well, he'd likely have time to talk- and perhaps also think more clearly- after the coronation was over.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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As some of the other nobles arrived for the coronation, Nikolias' thoughts were still elsewhere. He would have to be an idiot in order to think that anyone likedbeing ridiculed, whether it was painted in a veneer of politeness or not. To suspect that the king thought him inadequate in some way, especially when it came to his ability to defend Taengea, only intensified his own thoughts along the very same line. He didn't need life to prove him to be correct.
The question was, what to do about it, if anything could in fact be done?
Gianna and Xene arrived and took their seats, and he wondered if they, too, felt a little off balance today. Had he known it, he probably would have shared some of Gianna's feelings regarding Irakles. But he did not know, and even if he had, he doubted that now was the proper time to address the princesses. However, if anyone asked afterward, he would feel free to admit that he had thoht of Irakles today, too. It was still odd, to an extent, to Nikolias anyway, not to have him at events where the nobles were required to be present.
Just before he found his own seat, he had noticed a servant with glasses of wine, and was tempted to take one...or several. Perhaps the wine would revive him somewhat, though too much would undoubtedly have the opposite effect, as well as potentially causing a headache.
He wondered, too, just what exactly Fotios and Xene were doing together. Knowing what he knew of the man, it did not seem to bode well.
Well, he'd likely have time to talk- and perhaps also think more clearly- after the coronation was over.
As some of the other nobles arrived for the coronation, Nikolias' thoughts were still elsewhere. He would have to be an idiot in order to think that anyone likedbeing ridiculed, whether it was painted in a veneer of politeness or not. To suspect that the king thought him inadequate in some way, especially when it came to his ability to defend Taengea, only intensified his own thoughts along the very same line. He didn't need life to prove him to be correct.
The question was, what to do about it, if anything could in fact be done?
Gianna and Xene arrived and took their seats, and he wondered if they, too, felt a little off balance today. Had he known it, he probably would have shared some of Gianna's feelings regarding Irakles. But he did not know, and even if he had, he doubted that now was the proper time to address the princesses. However, if anyone asked afterward, he would feel free to admit that he had thoht of Irakles today, too. It was still odd, to an extent, to Nikolias anyway, not to have him at events where the nobles were required to be present.
Just before he found his own seat, he had noticed a servant with glasses of wine, and was tempted to take one...or several. Perhaps the wine would revive him somewhat, though too much would undoubtedly have the opposite effect, as well as potentially causing a headache.
He wondered, too, just what exactly Fotios and Xene were doing together. Knowing what he knew of the man, it did not seem to bode well.
Well, he'd likely have time to talk- and perhaps also think more clearly- after the coronation was over.
Gavriil arrived, finally with the entourage of his family in tow. If it was just himself he’d have been early. But with Dorotheos coming along with him, along with both Dorothea and Alexa, it had been quite the production. Normally, fathers had to wait for their wives or their daughters to endlessly beautify themselves, which these women seemed to take great pride in doing. Not his daughters. It had been a constant morning of telling them to go back to their rooms and to come out more formal. For his eldest, Gavriil had finally had to pick out the dress himself and made sure that, while her hair wasn’t exactly elaborate, it was presentable for court. In a rare show of care for their appearance, he’d also instructed her to wear some sort of makeup like he’d seen Persephone wear.
Alexa had been the same trial, only worse. Having taken up her elder sister’s banner, Alexa wanted absolutely nothing to do with finery, could not be persuaded that going to court was a good thing, and Gavriil had been so close to losing his temper that he’d tagged out and asked his brother to take over while the patriarch went to recover his patience by launching a few arrows deep into the hearts of targets. It was a bit soothing to know that you could be lethal if you chose to be so.
At long last, the four of them were in the carriage and trundling off to the palati, though no one spoke overly much. He and his eldest were a bit distant, lately, with his having not allowed her to accompany her brother to Athenia; a choice he still maintained to be a good and necessary one. Alexa was battling her own issues, coming into the body of a teenager and dealing with all the trauma of youth and being made to look presentable instead of the wild thing she’d rather have stayed.
It was nearly a relief to walk up the steps of the palati and to move into the hall. Dorotheos accepted wine but Gavriil did not. They moved as a unit through the crowd and stood, awaiting the new king and queen. At least this wouldn’t take as long as Stephanos’s had done, and thank the gods above they’d not had to suffer through Irakles’s coronation. Gavriil sincerely hoped this would be the last coronation he’d have to attend in his life time, what with the trouble his family had given him in even getting to this event. His sincere hope was that Achilleas would be a stable, steady king and that his queen gave him sons that were as moral and upright as their father. It was all any of them could hope for, and Gavriil felt that, of all the Mikaelidas, they finally had one who was worth something.
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Gavriil arrived, finally with the entourage of his family in tow. If it was just himself he’d have been early. But with Dorotheos coming along with him, along with both Dorothea and Alexa, it had been quite the production. Normally, fathers had to wait for their wives or their daughters to endlessly beautify themselves, which these women seemed to take great pride in doing. Not his daughters. It had been a constant morning of telling them to go back to their rooms and to come out more formal. For his eldest, Gavriil had finally had to pick out the dress himself and made sure that, while her hair wasn’t exactly elaborate, it was presentable for court. In a rare show of care for their appearance, he’d also instructed her to wear some sort of makeup like he’d seen Persephone wear.
Alexa had been the same trial, only worse. Having taken up her elder sister’s banner, Alexa wanted absolutely nothing to do with finery, could not be persuaded that going to court was a good thing, and Gavriil had been so close to losing his temper that he’d tagged out and asked his brother to take over while the patriarch went to recover his patience by launching a few arrows deep into the hearts of targets. It was a bit soothing to know that you could be lethal if you chose to be so.
At long last, the four of them were in the carriage and trundling off to the palati, though no one spoke overly much. He and his eldest were a bit distant, lately, with his having not allowed her to accompany her brother to Athenia; a choice he still maintained to be a good and necessary one. Alexa was battling her own issues, coming into the body of a teenager and dealing with all the trauma of youth and being made to look presentable instead of the wild thing she’d rather have stayed.
It was nearly a relief to walk up the steps of the palati and to move into the hall. Dorotheos accepted wine but Gavriil did not. They moved as a unit through the crowd and stood, awaiting the new king and queen. At least this wouldn’t take as long as Stephanos’s had done, and thank the gods above they’d not had to suffer through Irakles’s coronation. Gavriil sincerely hoped this would be the last coronation he’d have to attend in his life time, what with the trouble his family had given him in even getting to this event. His sincere hope was that Achilleas would be a stable, steady king and that his queen gave him sons that were as moral and upright as their father. It was all any of them could hope for, and Gavriil felt that, of all the Mikaelidas, they finally had one who was worth something.
Gavriil arrived, finally with the entourage of his family in tow. If it was just himself he’d have been early. But with Dorotheos coming along with him, along with both Dorothea and Alexa, it had been quite the production. Normally, fathers had to wait for their wives or their daughters to endlessly beautify themselves, which these women seemed to take great pride in doing. Not his daughters. It had been a constant morning of telling them to go back to their rooms and to come out more formal. For his eldest, Gavriil had finally had to pick out the dress himself and made sure that, while her hair wasn’t exactly elaborate, it was presentable for court. In a rare show of care for their appearance, he’d also instructed her to wear some sort of makeup like he’d seen Persephone wear.
Alexa had been the same trial, only worse. Having taken up her elder sister’s banner, Alexa wanted absolutely nothing to do with finery, could not be persuaded that going to court was a good thing, and Gavriil had been so close to losing his temper that he’d tagged out and asked his brother to take over while the patriarch went to recover his patience by launching a few arrows deep into the hearts of targets. It was a bit soothing to know that you could be lethal if you chose to be so.
At long last, the four of them were in the carriage and trundling off to the palati, though no one spoke overly much. He and his eldest were a bit distant, lately, with his having not allowed her to accompany her brother to Athenia; a choice he still maintained to be a good and necessary one. Alexa was battling her own issues, coming into the body of a teenager and dealing with all the trauma of youth and being made to look presentable instead of the wild thing she’d rather have stayed.
It was nearly a relief to walk up the steps of the palati and to move into the hall. Dorotheos accepted wine but Gavriil did not. They moved as a unit through the crowd and stood, awaiting the new king and queen. At least this wouldn’t take as long as Stephanos’s had done, and thank the gods above they’d not had to suffer through Irakles’s coronation. Gavriil sincerely hoped this would be the last coronation he’d have to attend in his life time, what with the trouble his family had given him in even getting to this event. His sincere hope was that Achilleas would be a stable, steady king and that his queen gave him sons that were as moral and upright as their father. It was all any of them could hope for, and Gavriil felt that, of all the Mikaelidas, they finally had one who was worth something.
Xene had to keep her gaze planted ahead, knowing that to look at him would be to give any prying eyes something to gossip about. The princess didn't even let a smirk settle on her lips, knowing that it would further incriminate the both of them. She wanted to, though, because his words set a flutter in her stomach and she couldn't make it stop. Refraining from biting her lip or clearing her throat, the only signal that she liked the idea of his offer was a very slight pat on his wrist with her hand.
"I think it would be best if you wrote me to express how I may truly deress the deficit of my lack of attention," the princess said slowly, "If that would not take too much time nor energy, Lord Leventi. I, too, have something that I should discuss with you at a later date," she said slowly, using that as her means of goodbye to her secret lover. "I wish you a happy event," the princess finally said when she parted from him as they reached the atrium of the great gallery. She could already see the vision that was her sister, Gianna, and knew she would soon be settling beside the woman.
"May the gods bless our King on this day," Xene excused herself with a slight nod of her head, parting from Fotios' touch without a glance backward. Instead, her gaze remained fixated on her little sister, who was clearly watching her from across the way. Taking her steps gracefully and letting a sweet smile slowly settle on her lips, the princess found herself settling in beside Gianna without wasting a single beat. Immediately, the woman took her sister's hand, cupping it and pulling it into her lap in order to keep the connection between the two of them firm.
With her blue gaze drifting toward Gianna, Xene nudged her lightly. "You look like an absolute vision," the princess gave her sister the customary compliment. "And I hope that you can forgive me, but I must speak with you after the coronation. It is of great importance, sweet sister," she whispered in Gianna's ear, hoping to keep their conversation primarily and only between the two of them.
Xene's mind had drifted back to the conversation she had had with their cousin, Emilios, the night before and it was something that Xene understood would need to come out eventually. Especially because it was to affect both their lives and their mother's life for years to come. Nerves suddenly twisted in her gut and she had to look forward again, squeezing her sister's hand in a way that was meant to be reassuring to the other princess, rather than stirring up anxiety where it wasn't needed.
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Xene had to keep her gaze planted ahead, knowing that to look at him would be to give any prying eyes something to gossip about. The princess didn't even let a smirk settle on her lips, knowing that it would further incriminate the both of them. She wanted to, though, because his words set a flutter in her stomach and she couldn't make it stop. Refraining from biting her lip or clearing her throat, the only signal that she liked the idea of his offer was a very slight pat on his wrist with her hand.
"I think it would be best if you wrote me to express how I may truly deress the deficit of my lack of attention," the princess said slowly, "If that would not take too much time nor energy, Lord Leventi. I, too, have something that I should discuss with you at a later date," she said slowly, using that as her means of goodbye to her secret lover. "I wish you a happy event," the princess finally said when she parted from him as they reached the atrium of the great gallery. She could already see the vision that was her sister, Gianna, and knew she would soon be settling beside the woman.
"May the gods bless our King on this day," Xene excused herself with a slight nod of her head, parting from Fotios' touch without a glance backward. Instead, her gaze remained fixated on her little sister, who was clearly watching her from across the way. Taking her steps gracefully and letting a sweet smile slowly settle on her lips, the princess found herself settling in beside Gianna without wasting a single beat. Immediately, the woman took her sister's hand, cupping it and pulling it into her lap in order to keep the connection between the two of them firm.
With her blue gaze drifting toward Gianna, Xene nudged her lightly. "You look like an absolute vision," the princess gave her sister the customary compliment. "And I hope that you can forgive me, but I must speak with you after the coronation. It is of great importance, sweet sister," she whispered in Gianna's ear, hoping to keep their conversation primarily and only between the two of them.
Xene's mind had drifted back to the conversation she had had with their cousin, Emilios, the night before and it was something that Xene understood would need to come out eventually. Especially because it was to affect both their lives and their mother's life for years to come. Nerves suddenly twisted in her gut and she had to look forward again, squeezing her sister's hand in a way that was meant to be reassuring to the other princess, rather than stirring up anxiety where it wasn't needed.
Xene had to keep her gaze planted ahead, knowing that to look at him would be to give any prying eyes something to gossip about. The princess didn't even let a smirk settle on her lips, knowing that it would further incriminate the both of them. She wanted to, though, because his words set a flutter in her stomach and she couldn't make it stop. Refraining from biting her lip or clearing her throat, the only signal that she liked the idea of his offer was a very slight pat on his wrist with her hand.
"I think it would be best if you wrote me to express how I may truly deress the deficit of my lack of attention," the princess said slowly, "If that would not take too much time nor energy, Lord Leventi. I, too, have something that I should discuss with you at a later date," she said slowly, using that as her means of goodbye to her secret lover. "I wish you a happy event," the princess finally said when she parted from him as they reached the atrium of the great gallery. She could already see the vision that was her sister, Gianna, and knew she would soon be settling beside the woman.
"May the gods bless our King on this day," Xene excused herself with a slight nod of her head, parting from Fotios' touch without a glance backward. Instead, her gaze remained fixated on her little sister, who was clearly watching her from across the way. Taking her steps gracefully and letting a sweet smile slowly settle on her lips, the princess found herself settling in beside Gianna without wasting a single beat. Immediately, the woman took her sister's hand, cupping it and pulling it into her lap in order to keep the connection between the two of them firm.
With her blue gaze drifting toward Gianna, Xene nudged her lightly. "You look like an absolute vision," the princess gave her sister the customary compliment. "And I hope that you can forgive me, but I must speak with you after the coronation. It is of great importance, sweet sister," she whispered in Gianna's ear, hoping to keep their conversation primarily and only between the two of them.
Xene's mind had drifted back to the conversation she had had with their cousin, Emilios, the night before and it was something that Xene understood would need to come out eventually. Especially because it was to affect both their lives and their mother's life for years to come. Nerves suddenly twisted in her gut and she had to look forward again, squeezing her sister's hand in a way that was meant to be reassuring to the other princess, rather than stirring up anxiety where it wasn't needed.
He should have arrived sooner, should have made his presence known long before he did. But he didn’t want to focus on what this day meant. It meant that if Stephanos ever returned to Taengea, there was a chance that fighting could take place. He would be forced to choose between his brother and cousin. Why was that something he would have to do? There was no reason that he should have to choose. But this would only magnify what would happen when that time came. He would have to pick a side, and he wasn’t sure which side it would be.
Nevermind the fact that he didn’t even want a crown to begin with. And yet, he had one on his head anyway.
He had almost opted out of the damn thing. He didn’t like the weight of it, didn’t like how it felt against his brow. But if there was ever a time to show his brother is loyalty, this was it. He knew Achilleas’s heart, knew how much he didn’t want this either. War was on the horizon, and he would need to rely on his brother to keep things in order. So Emilios thought the crown would be a way to prove to his brother that he was willing and determined to do as he asked. He would respect the king, even knowing that there would be a knife stabbed in his back.
He was dressed as he should be, in the finest attire that would have made his father proud. The white chiton was a thicker material, expertly woven with gold threads to give it a shine. The red himation over the top was similarly done, although the piece that would show broadly across his back showed the shadows of a lion. The pin holding the cloth in place was a simple circlet, red stones like blood against it. Emilios didn’t even mind the uncomfortable sandals that looked far more proper than he was used to wearing. No, he would play the part, locks of dark hair curling over the golden crown on his own brow.
Instead of being in the room with his brother, he was directing the preparation of hall. He was not a planner of parties, but he had made sure that all of Myrtos directions were followed. Large vases of flowers and plants were positioned tastefully around the room, the large vases painted gold and red. The tapestries were that of Mikaelidas red, all draped with black that was appropriate for the state of morning they were in. His mother was swathed in black, as she should have been as the widow of a king, but Emilios had been the one who plucked a white flower from one of the vases to tuck behind her ear with a kiss. He shooed her towards greeting the first guests who entered.
As much as he wanted to hide from this, Emilios slapped a smile on his face and did the same.
It was Gavriil and his broad that he gravitated to, always having had a soft spot for the man. He wished his father had been more like him, for then perhaps his accomplishments would have made the man proud. Instead, he was just a disappointment to him. Still, he made his way towards the head of the Dimitrou house with a small bow. ”Lord Dimitrou, it is good to see you here. Your support has always been welcomed within the Mikaelidas family.” He held out a hand to him, wanting to clasp the man’s. ”Should be a small affair, given the political climate.”
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He should have arrived sooner, should have made his presence known long before he did. But he didn’t want to focus on what this day meant. It meant that if Stephanos ever returned to Taengea, there was a chance that fighting could take place. He would be forced to choose between his brother and cousin. Why was that something he would have to do? There was no reason that he should have to choose. But this would only magnify what would happen when that time came. He would have to pick a side, and he wasn’t sure which side it would be.
Nevermind the fact that he didn’t even want a crown to begin with. And yet, he had one on his head anyway.
He had almost opted out of the damn thing. He didn’t like the weight of it, didn’t like how it felt against his brow. But if there was ever a time to show his brother is loyalty, this was it. He knew Achilleas’s heart, knew how much he didn’t want this either. War was on the horizon, and he would need to rely on his brother to keep things in order. So Emilios thought the crown would be a way to prove to his brother that he was willing and determined to do as he asked. He would respect the king, even knowing that there would be a knife stabbed in his back.
He was dressed as he should be, in the finest attire that would have made his father proud. The white chiton was a thicker material, expertly woven with gold threads to give it a shine. The red himation over the top was similarly done, although the piece that would show broadly across his back showed the shadows of a lion. The pin holding the cloth in place was a simple circlet, red stones like blood against it. Emilios didn’t even mind the uncomfortable sandals that looked far more proper than he was used to wearing. No, he would play the part, locks of dark hair curling over the golden crown on his own brow.
Instead of being in the room with his brother, he was directing the preparation of hall. He was not a planner of parties, but he had made sure that all of Myrtos directions were followed. Large vases of flowers and plants were positioned tastefully around the room, the large vases painted gold and red. The tapestries were that of Mikaelidas red, all draped with black that was appropriate for the state of morning they were in. His mother was swathed in black, as she should have been as the widow of a king, but Emilios had been the one who plucked a white flower from one of the vases to tuck behind her ear with a kiss. He shooed her towards greeting the first guests who entered.
As much as he wanted to hide from this, Emilios slapped a smile on his face and did the same.
It was Gavriil and his broad that he gravitated to, always having had a soft spot for the man. He wished his father had been more like him, for then perhaps his accomplishments would have made the man proud. Instead, he was just a disappointment to him. Still, he made his way towards the head of the Dimitrou house with a small bow. ”Lord Dimitrou, it is good to see you here. Your support has always been welcomed within the Mikaelidas family.” He held out a hand to him, wanting to clasp the man’s. ”Should be a small affair, given the political climate.”
He should have arrived sooner, should have made his presence known long before he did. But he didn’t want to focus on what this day meant. It meant that if Stephanos ever returned to Taengea, there was a chance that fighting could take place. He would be forced to choose between his brother and cousin. Why was that something he would have to do? There was no reason that he should have to choose. But this would only magnify what would happen when that time came. He would have to pick a side, and he wasn’t sure which side it would be.
Nevermind the fact that he didn’t even want a crown to begin with. And yet, he had one on his head anyway.
He had almost opted out of the damn thing. He didn’t like the weight of it, didn’t like how it felt against his brow. But if there was ever a time to show his brother is loyalty, this was it. He knew Achilleas’s heart, knew how much he didn’t want this either. War was on the horizon, and he would need to rely on his brother to keep things in order. So Emilios thought the crown would be a way to prove to his brother that he was willing and determined to do as he asked. He would respect the king, even knowing that there would be a knife stabbed in his back.
He was dressed as he should be, in the finest attire that would have made his father proud. The white chiton was a thicker material, expertly woven with gold threads to give it a shine. The red himation over the top was similarly done, although the piece that would show broadly across his back showed the shadows of a lion. The pin holding the cloth in place was a simple circlet, red stones like blood against it. Emilios didn’t even mind the uncomfortable sandals that looked far more proper than he was used to wearing. No, he would play the part, locks of dark hair curling over the golden crown on his own brow.
Instead of being in the room with his brother, he was directing the preparation of hall. He was not a planner of parties, but he had made sure that all of Myrtos directions were followed. Large vases of flowers and plants were positioned tastefully around the room, the large vases painted gold and red. The tapestries were that of Mikaelidas red, all draped with black that was appropriate for the state of morning they were in. His mother was swathed in black, as she should have been as the widow of a king, but Emilios had been the one who plucked a white flower from one of the vases to tuck behind her ear with a kiss. He shooed her towards greeting the first guests who entered.
As much as he wanted to hide from this, Emilios slapped a smile on his face and did the same.
It was Gavriil and his broad that he gravitated to, always having had a soft spot for the man. He wished his father had been more like him, for then perhaps his accomplishments would have made the man proud. Instead, he was just a disappointment to him. Still, he made his way towards the head of the Dimitrou house with a small bow. ”Lord Dimitrou, it is good to see you here. Your support has always been welcomed within the Mikaelidas family.” He held out a hand to him, wanting to clasp the man’s. ”Should be a small affair, given the political climate.”
Melina was waiting in the main hall of the palati, hiding her nerves. For the wedding, Melina had been dressed up, and today was the second occasion where she was dressed up in such colorful finery. It was a bit overwhelming. Her chiton was of a rich periwinkle, much more of a contrast to her usual nude and natural tones she preferred. However, she had sought lessons from Basilides, and the man had told her that confidence was like acting. It took time to believe, but just as women decorated their faces, it could be applied with time and effort.
Thus, she found herself in the main hall dressed in finery, her hair done up in braids that wrapped around her head, meeting at the back of her neck. Her necklace, a hazel hue, paired complimentary with the soft material, much to Melina’s surprise. Of course, makeup was always an elusive procedure, but she had insisted that Xanthippe show her how. It had been a shame that the servant couldn’t come along, but this coronation was open to the nobility.
Still, she had to admit that Xanthippe had shown her well. Her eyes were accented with a light application of kohl and dove gray powder, and her lips were painted with a light rosy hue. All in all, she didn’t recognize herself. Even as she felt herself panicking at her reflection, fearing it would be too much, she hadn’t had enough time to protest. Instead, she forced herself to keep her head up and her shoulders back, taking slow steps down the stairs to go in the waiting carriage with her family.
Shortly after that, her father had gone out of sight which left her with her sisters. In her moments of anxiety, she had noticed one of her youngest cousins nearby, the blonde head that she would recognize anywhere. She wondered what the teen would think as she saw one of her plainer cousins dolled up. Would she insist on painting a picture? Of drawing her again? Honestly, Melina didn’t mind the fact that Imma drew her, because, for all that was worth, her cousin never tried to make her more than she was.
Expectations weren’t dropped on her that she was expected to reach. The same could be said for Agape. Her eldest sister had always been protective of her. Something that filled Melina with relief even as it would gather their father’s ire. As the horns began to play, these thoughts were pushed away as she noticed Princess Xene being escorted by her father.
Confusion showed in her depths for a moment before she greeted the pair, a slight inclination of her head to extend her greeting to an approaching Gianna as well. “Your majesties. Father.” She was tempted to ask why he was escorting the woman, but she dismissed such thoughts as she began to reflect. Fotios had been invested in the Mikaelidas family a lot these days. However, surely it wasn’t for a bad purpose, considering it had resulted in two of her cousins being married to royalty. Maybe there was a possibility for a third.
Facing such royalty always made Melina feel overwhelmed, but she forced it down as she instead reached out a hand to grasp Agape’s, a gesture that could be seen as inclusiveness, but the periwinkle-garbed woman meant it to seek comfort and strength from her sister. To watch another coronation, the third in a year was overwhelming, and she hoped that she wouldn’t have to see the fourth one for a long time.
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Melina was waiting in the main hall of the palati, hiding her nerves. For the wedding, Melina had been dressed up, and today was the second occasion where she was dressed up in such colorful finery. It was a bit overwhelming. Her chiton was of a rich periwinkle, much more of a contrast to her usual nude and natural tones she preferred. However, she had sought lessons from Basilides, and the man had told her that confidence was like acting. It took time to believe, but just as women decorated their faces, it could be applied with time and effort.
Thus, she found herself in the main hall dressed in finery, her hair done up in braids that wrapped around her head, meeting at the back of her neck. Her necklace, a hazel hue, paired complimentary with the soft material, much to Melina’s surprise. Of course, makeup was always an elusive procedure, but she had insisted that Xanthippe show her how. It had been a shame that the servant couldn’t come along, but this coronation was open to the nobility.
Still, she had to admit that Xanthippe had shown her well. Her eyes were accented with a light application of kohl and dove gray powder, and her lips were painted with a light rosy hue. All in all, she didn’t recognize herself. Even as she felt herself panicking at her reflection, fearing it would be too much, she hadn’t had enough time to protest. Instead, she forced herself to keep her head up and her shoulders back, taking slow steps down the stairs to go in the waiting carriage with her family.
Shortly after that, her father had gone out of sight which left her with her sisters. In her moments of anxiety, she had noticed one of her youngest cousins nearby, the blonde head that she would recognize anywhere. She wondered what the teen would think as she saw one of her plainer cousins dolled up. Would she insist on painting a picture? Of drawing her again? Honestly, Melina didn’t mind the fact that Imma drew her, because, for all that was worth, her cousin never tried to make her more than she was.
Expectations weren’t dropped on her that she was expected to reach. The same could be said for Agape. Her eldest sister had always been protective of her. Something that filled Melina with relief even as it would gather their father’s ire. As the horns began to play, these thoughts were pushed away as she noticed Princess Xene being escorted by her father.
Confusion showed in her depths for a moment before she greeted the pair, a slight inclination of her head to extend her greeting to an approaching Gianna as well. “Your majesties. Father.” She was tempted to ask why he was escorting the woman, but she dismissed such thoughts as she began to reflect. Fotios had been invested in the Mikaelidas family a lot these days. However, surely it wasn’t for a bad purpose, considering it had resulted in two of her cousins being married to royalty. Maybe there was a possibility for a third.
Facing such royalty always made Melina feel overwhelmed, but she forced it down as she instead reached out a hand to grasp Agape’s, a gesture that could be seen as inclusiveness, but the periwinkle-garbed woman meant it to seek comfort and strength from her sister. To watch another coronation, the third in a year was overwhelming, and she hoped that she wouldn’t have to see the fourth one for a long time.
Melina was waiting in the main hall of the palati, hiding her nerves. For the wedding, Melina had been dressed up, and today was the second occasion where she was dressed up in such colorful finery. It was a bit overwhelming. Her chiton was of a rich periwinkle, much more of a contrast to her usual nude and natural tones she preferred. However, she had sought lessons from Basilides, and the man had told her that confidence was like acting. It took time to believe, but just as women decorated their faces, it could be applied with time and effort.
Thus, she found herself in the main hall dressed in finery, her hair done up in braids that wrapped around her head, meeting at the back of her neck. Her necklace, a hazel hue, paired complimentary with the soft material, much to Melina’s surprise. Of course, makeup was always an elusive procedure, but she had insisted that Xanthippe show her how. It had been a shame that the servant couldn’t come along, but this coronation was open to the nobility.
Still, she had to admit that Xanthippe had shown her well. Her eyes were accented with a light application of kohl and dove gray powder, and her lips were painted with a light rosy hue. All in all, she didn’t recognize herself. Even as she felt herself panicking at her reflection, fearing it would be too much, she hadn’t had enough time to protest. Instead, she forced herself to keep her head up and her shoulders back, taking slow steps down the stairs to go in the waiting carriage with her family.
Shortly after that, her father had gone out of sight which left her with her sisters. In her moments of anxiety, she had noticed one of her youngest cousins nearby, the blonde head that she would recognize anywhere. She wondered what the teen would think as she saw one of her plainer cousins dolled up. Would she insist on painting a picture? Of drawing her again? Honestly, Melina didn’t mind the fact that Imma drew her, because, for all that was worth, her cousin never tried to make her more than she was.
Expectations weren’t dropped on her that she was expected to reach. The same could be said for Agape. Her eldest sister had always been protective of her. Something that filled Melina with relief even as it would gather their father’s ire. As the horns began to play, these thoughts were pushed away as she noticed Princess Xene being escorted by her father.
Confusion showed in her depths for a moment before she greeted the pair, a slight inclination of her head to extend her greeting to an approaching Gianna as well. “Your majesties. Father.” She was tempted to ask why he was escorting the woman, but she dismissed such thoughts as she began to reflect. Fotios had been invested in the Mikaelidas family a lot these days. However, surely it wasn’t for a bad purpose, considering it had resulted in two of her cousins being married to royalty. Maybe there was a possibility for a third.
Facing such royalty always made Melina feel overwhelmed, but she forced it down as she instead reached out a hand to grasp Agape’s, a gesture that could be seen as inclusiveness, but the periwinkle-garbed woman meant it to seek comfort and strength from her sister. To watch another coronation, the third in a year was overwhelming, and she hoped that she wouldn’t have to see the fourth one for a long time.
To say Dorothea didn’t want to join her family on this trip was an understatement. Things had been frosty between her and her father recently over their disagreement about her going to Athenia. Their argument had been one Dorothea had never expected to win, but she was also surprised by how much of a stake she had in it. Once she started, it was like all of her dreams and passions had spilled forth like they never had before. It was both liberating and terrifying. Most of all, what it made her realize was that she couldn’t go back. Her father may have forbidden this trip, but she was bound and determined to find some way to make her mark. He probably wouldn’t like any future decisions she made around such an idea, but she cared little.
She wasn’t trying to be completely difficult this morning. She knew Gavriil would have preferred them to move faster, but it just seemed as though the Gods were against that plan. Perhaps for once they were siding with her and allowing her the proper time she needed to get ready. Dorothea knew that her choices in clothing could have been better, but as she didn’t particularly care, she put in no effort. Unfortunately, that meant her father picked out her outfit. At that, she bristled, wondering what other ways he could control her life.
Normally, she didn’t feel so...well, whatever she was feeling. Dorothea generally disliked going to such events, but she knew how to present herself and make the effort when necessary. Not only would she not embarrass herself, but she wouldn’t embarrass her father. He was stuck with her for a daughter, so it was the least she could do not to try. However, with all that had been going on, she didn’t feel inclined to try, despite the nature of the event they were attending.
Their ride was silent, with poor Uncle Dortheos attempting to make conversation every so often only to not have it returned. Normally Dorothea entertained her uncle, but she was still annoyed from the morning. And poor Alexa was barely in a state to attend such an event. She was quite unhappy to be dressed and done up at all. Dorothea understood her pain, having been there once, but she wasn’t in the right mood to tend to her sister today. All she wanted to do when they arrived was put some distance between herself and her family. It would be nice not to have to talk to someone in their household for a change.
And so, as they entered, she made a beeline across the room, hoping that she would find someone to pretend to talk to for awhile. Let her father at least think she was still capable of being friendly.
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To say Dorothea didn’t want to join her family on this trip was an understatement. Things had been frosty between her and her father recently over their disagreement about her going to Athenia. Their argument had been one Dorothea had never expected to win, but she was also surprised by how much of a stake she had in it. Once she started, it was like all of her dreams and passions had spilled forth like they never had before. It was both liberating and terrifying. Most of all, what it made her realize was that she couldn’t go back. Her father may have forbidden this trip, but she was bound and determined to find some way to make her mark. He probably wouldn’t like any future decisions she made around such an idea, but she cared little.
She wasn’t trying to be completely difficult this morning. She knew Gavriil would have preferred them to move faster, but it just seemed as though the Gods were against that plan. Perhaps for once they were siding with her and allowing her the proper time she needed to get ready. Dorothea knew that her choices in clothing could have been better, but as she didn’t particularly care, she put in no effort. Unfortunately, that meant her father picked out her outfit. At that, she bristled, wondering what other ways he could control her life.
Normally, she didn’t feel so...well, whatever she was feeling. Dorothea generally disliked going to such events, but she knew how to present herself and make the effort when necessary. Not only would she not embarrass herself, but she wouldn’t embarrass her father. He was stuck with her for a daughter, so it was the least she could do not to try. However, with all that had been going on, she didn’t feel inclined to try, despite the nature of the event they were attending.
Their ride was silent, with poor Uncle Dortheos attempting to make conversation every so often only to not have it returned. Normally Dorothea entertained her uncle, but she was still annoyed from the morning. And poor Alexa was barely in a state to attend such an event. She was quite unhappy to be dressed and done up at all. Dorothea understood her pain, having been there once, but she wasn’t in the right mood to tend to her sister today. All she wanted to do when they arrived was put some distance between herself and her family. It would be nice not to have to talk to someone in their household for a change.
And so, as they entered, she made a beeline across the room, hoping that she would find someone to pretend to talk to for awhile. Let her father at least think she was still capable of being friendly.
To say Dorothea didn’t want to join her family on this trip was an understatement. Things had been frosty between her and her father recently over their disagreement about her going to Athenia. Their argument had been one Dorothea had never expected to win, but she was also surprised by how much of a stake she had in it. Once she started, it was like all of her dreams and passions had spilled forth like they never had before. It was both liberating and terrifying. Most of all, what it made her realize was that she couldn’t go back. Her father may have forbidden this trip, but she was bound and determined to find some way to make her mark. He probably wouldn’t like any future decisions she made around such an idea, but she cared little.
She wasn’t trying to be completely difficult this morning. She knew Gavriil would have preferred them to move faster, but it just seemed as though the Gods were against that plan. Perhaps for once they were siding with her and allowing her the proper time she needed to get ready. Dorothea knew that her choices in clothing could have been better, but as she didn’t particularly care, she put in no effort. Unfortunately, that meant her father picked out her outfit. At that, she bristled, wondering what other ways he could control her life.
Normally, she didn’t feel so...well, whatever she was feeling. Dorothea generally disliked going to such events, but she knew how to present herself and make the effort when necessary. Not only would she not embarrass herself, but she wouldn’t embarrass her father. He was stuck with her for a daughter, so it was the least she could do not to try. However, with all that had been going on, she didn’t feel inclined to try, despite the nature of the event they were attending.
Their ride was silent, with poor Uncle Dortheos attempting to make conversation every so often only to not have it returned. Normally Dorothea entertained her uncle, but she was still annoyed from the morning. And poor Alexa was barely in a state to attend such an event. She was quite unhappy to be dressed and done up at all. Dorothea understood her pain, having been there once, but she wasn’t in the right mood to tend to her sister today. All she wanted to do when they arrived was put some distance between herself and her family. It would be nice not to have to talk to someone in their household for a change.
And so, as they entered, she made a beeline across the room, hoping that she would find someone to pretend to talk to for awhile. Let her father at least think she was still capable of being friendly.
The departure of her uncle and the Princess Xene was, admittedly, a small relief to Theodora. What she would give for a moment alone with Achilleas, to reassure him and have him return the favor; for she could see in his eyes the trouble he would not permit to affect any other part of him. His face, cleared of all but a polite interest in their company, betrayed nothing – but she knew better than to look for his true emotions there.
When he reached for her hand, she would take his without hesitation; her head would tilt to one side as he opened his mouth to speak, and then, again, he was cut off by the arrival of Nikolias. Her dark eyes would lift from her husband’s face to the other man as the pair exchanged pleasantries, though Achilleas’ smile was not true – something she suspected Nikolias could tell as easily as she could. She ducked her head for a moment to give them some privacy, speaking only to murmur a soft farewell to the man when he was ushered away a moment after by Petros.
It was only when Achilleas rose from his seat that she would do so as well, glancing up just in time to spot him rolling his eyes in exasperation. A somewhat disbelieving chuckle would escape the woman, unaccustomed to seeing him behave in such an open manner, and when he reached to trace the line of her jaw with a single finger, she would lift both hands to capture his between them. “Do not be sorry. We have the rest of our lives to have time to ourselves.”
Theo gave his hand a squeeze, and stepped nearer to press a soft kiss to his cheek – gently enough that the paint on her lips would not leave a mark on his skin. For only a moment, she enjoyed the proximity, and then she moved away; though she kept a tight grip on his hand with only one of hers. “I am with you, and you are with me. Together, Achilleas, we are ready for anything.” Here she paused, smiling radiantly at him, hoping against all odds that her words might quell whatever concerns caused her husband’s unconvincing smile.
“Come – you cannot be late for your own coronation.”
It was easier to pretend her nerves were not making her queasy with her husband at her side; easier to pretend that, with each step that took them closer to their destination, her heart was not pounding away in her chest. Achilleas was a steady, constant force, and how soothing it was to be in his presence in a time of turmoil – even when he felt the same as she, or perhaps even worse. Her thoughts mirrored his as they walked the corridors side-by-side, finding it difficult to push aside memories of their wedding and the chaos of the events that had come at the time.
But now was not the time for dwelling on such dark thoughts. Her husband was to be made King, and she would be his Queen; and, though that fact brought its own bitter thoughts with it, she would push that aside as well. The time for worrying about Stephanos and Pia would come – but not today, not now. Now, she would be here in this moment, if only to support her husband in such a trying time.
So, when they were almost where they needed to go, she would pause in her steps, turning to look up at the handsome man at her side. “I am here if you need me, Achilleas. Always. Never forget that.” She spoke earnestly, squeezing his hand as she did, and then she would take a deep breath, readying herself for the events that lay ahead of them.
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The departure of her uncle and the Princess Xene was, admittedly, a small relief to Theodora. What she would give for a moment alone with Achilleas, to reassure him and have him return the favor; for she could see in his eyes the trouble he would not permit to affect any other part of him. His face, cleared of all but a polite interest in their company, betrayed nothing – but she knew better than to look for his true emotions there.
When he reached for her hand, she would take his without hesitation; her head would tilt to one side as he opened his mouth to speak, and then, again, he was cut off by the arrival of Nikolias. Her dark eyes would lift from her husband’s face to the other man as the pair exchanged pleasantries, though Achilleas’ smile was not true – something she suspected Nikolias could tell as easily as she could. She ducked her head for a moment to give them some privacy, speaking only to murmur a soft farewell to the man when he was ushered away a moment after by Petros.
It was only when Achilleas rose from his seat that she would do so as well, glancing up just in time to spot him rolling his eyes in exasperation. A somewhat disbelieving chuckle would escape the woman, unaccustomed to seeing him behave in such an open manner, and when he reached to trace the line of her jaw with a single finger, she would lift both hands to capture his between them. “Do not be sorry. We have the rest of our lives to have time to ourselves.”
Theo gave his hand a squeeze, and stepped nearer to press a soft kiss to his cheek – gently enough that the paint on her lips would not leave a mark on his skin. For only a moment, she enjoyed the proximity, and then she moved away; though she kept a tight grip on his hand with only one of hers. “I am with you, and you are with me. Together, Achilleas, we are ready for anything.” Here she paused, smiling radiantly at him, hoping against all odds that her words might quell whatever concerns caused her husband’s unconvincing smile.
“Come – you cannot be late for your own coronation.”
It was easier to pretend her nerves were not making her queasy with her husband at her side; easier to pretend that, with each step that took them closer to their destination, her heart was not pounding away in her chest. Achilleas was a steady, constant force, and how soothing it was to be in his presence in a time of turmoil – even when he felt the same as she, or perhaps even worse. Her thoughts mirrored his as they walked the corridors side-by-side, finding it difficult to push aside memories of their wedding and the chaos of the events that had come at the time.
But now was not the time for dwelling on such dark thoughts. Her husband was to be made King, and she would be his Queen; and, though that fact brought its own bitter thoughts with it, she would push that aside as well. The time for worrying about Stephanos and Pia would come – but not today, not now. Now, she would be here in this moment, if only to support her husband in such a trying time.
So, when they were almost where they needed to go, she would pause in her steps, turning to look up at the handsome man at her side. “I am here if you need me, Achilleas. Always. Never forget that.” She spoke earnestly, squeezing his hand as she did, and then she would take a deep breath, readying herself for the events that lay ahead of them.
The departure of her uncle and the Princess Xene was, admittedly, a small relief to Theodora. What she would give for a moment alone with Achilleas, to reassure him and have him return the favor; for she could see in his eyes the trouble he would not permit to affect any other part of him. His face, cleared of all but a polite interest in their company, betrayed nothing – but she knew better than to look for his true emotions there.
When he reached for her hand, she would take his without hesitation; her head would tilt to one side as he opened his mouth to speak, and then, again, he was cut off by the arrival of Nikolias. Her dark eyes would lift from her husband’s face to the other man as the pair exchanged pleasantries, though Achilleas’ smile was not true – something she suspected Nikolias could tell as easily as she could. She ducked her head for a moment to give them some privacy, speaking only to murmur a soft farewell to the man when he was ushered away a moment after by Petros.
It was only when Achilleas rose from his seat that she would do so as well, glancing up just in time to spot him rolling his eyes in exasperation. A somewhat disbelieving chuckle would escape the woman, unaccustomed to seeing him behave in such an open manner, and when he reached to trace the line of her jaw with a single finger, she would lift both hands to capture his between them. “Do not be sorry. We have the rest of our lives to have time to ourselves.”
Theo gave his hand a squeeze, and stepped nearer to press a soft kiss to his cheek – gently enough that the paint on her lips would not leave a mark on his skin. For only a moment, she enjoyed the proximity, and then she moved away; though she kept a tight grip on his hand with only one of hers. “I am with you, and you are with me. Together, Achilleas, we are ready for anything.” Here she paused, smiling radiantly at him, hoping against all odds that her words might quell whatever concerns caused her husband’s unconvincing smile.
“Come – you cannot be late for your own coronation.”
It was easier to pretend her nerves were not making her queasy with her husband at her side; easier to pretend that, with each step that took them closer to their destination, her heart was not pounding away in her chest. Achilleas was a steady, constant force, and how soothing it was to be in his presence in a time of turmoil – even when he felt the same as she, or perhaps even worse. Her thoughts mirrored his as they walked the corridors side-by-side, finding it difficult to push aside memories of their wedding and the chaos of the events that had come at the time.
But now was not the time for dwelling on such dark thoughts. Her husband was to be made King, and she would be his Queen; and, though that fact brought its own bitter thoughts with it, she would push that aside as well. The time for worrying about Stephanos and Pia would come – but not today, not now. Now, she would be here in this moment, if only to support her husband in such a trying time.
So, when they were almost where they needed to go, she would pause in her steps, turning to look up at the handsome man at her side. “I am here if you need me, Achilleas. Always. Never forget that.” She spoke earnestly, squeezing his hand as she did, and then she would take a deep breath, readying herself for the events that lay ahead of them.
Nikolias was watching when Gavriil and Dorothea, among others, entered, and neither of them looked happy to him, either. In that, Nikolias found that there was a certain level of comfort, though it would hardly make a decent topic of conversation. He also noticed that Gavriil hadn't taken any wine either, and a certain kind of tight-lipped smile came to Nikolias' mouth. In addition to everything else too much wine might do to Nikolias himself, he had thought that it was a good idea, as a member of the Senate, to have a clear head today. Perhaps it was possible Gavriil had felt the same. Noticing that Dorothea did not seem entirely comfortable, Nikolias offered both Dimitrous a smile he hoped was at least a little bit comforting.
"Hello, Lord Gavriil, Lady Dorothea. You're both looking...well-dressed."
At least that much was true, for he could hardly have said that they looked well in countenance and truly meant it. Was it his imagination or did Dorothea look a little ill- or perhaps in pain? Maybe he'd ask her later, though often, illnesses weren't enough of an excuse not to attend an event such as this one, in many people's opinions. He still couldn't help thinking of the last time he'd been seriously ill, though, when he'd had to miss the meeting about that document of Irakles'....
In any case, now that he'd begun the conversation with them, perhaps Gavriil or Dorothea could come up with some way to continue it until the coronation officially started, for though the horns had been blown, it seemed as if the actual event was taking forever to begin. He was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who wanted it to be over already
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Nikolias was watching when Gavriil and Dorothea, among others, entered, and neither of them looked happy to him, either. In that, Nikolias found that there was a certain level of comfort, though it would hardly make a decent topic of conversation. He also noticed that Gavriil hadn't taken any wine either, and a certain kind of tight-lipped smile came to Nikolias' mouth. In addition to everything else too much wine might do to Nikolias himself, he had thought that it was a good idea, as a member of the Senate, to have a clear head today. Perhaps it was possible Gavriil had felt the same. Noticing that Dorothea did not seem entirely comfortable, Nikolias offered both Dimitrous a smile he hoped was at least a little bit comforting.
"Hello, Lord Gavriil, Lady Dorothea. You're both looking...well-dressed."
At least that much was true, for he could hardly have said that they looked well in countenance and truly meant it. Was it his imagination or did Dorothea look a little ill- or perhaps in pain? Maybe he'd ask her later, though often, illnesses weren't enough of an excuse not to attend an event such as this one, in many people's opinions. He still couldn't help thinking of the last time he'd been seriously ill, though, when he'd had to miss the meeting about that document of Irakles'....
In any case, now that he'd begun the conversation with them, perhaps Gavriil or Dorothea could come up with some way to continue it until the coronation officially started, for though the horns had been blown, it seemed as if the actual event was taking forever to begin. He was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who wanted it to be over already
Nikolias was watching when Gavriil and Dorothea, among others, entered, and neither of them looked happy to him, either. In that, Nikolias found that there was a certain level of comfort, though it would hardly make a decent topic of conversation. He also noticed that Gavriil hadn't taken any wine either, and a certain kind of tight-lipped smile came to Nikolias' mouth. In addition to everything else too much wine might do to Nikolias himself, he had thought that it was a good idea, as a member of the Senate, to have a clear head today. Perhaps it was possible Gavriil had felt the same. Noticing that Dorothea did not seem entirely comfortable, Nikolias offered both Dimitrous a smile he hoped was at least a little bit comforting.
"Hello, Lord Gavriil, Lady Dorothea. You're both looking...well-dressed."
At least that much was true, for he could hardly have said that they looked well in countenance and truly meant it. Was it his imagination or did Dorothea look a little ill- or perhaps in pain? Maybe he'd ask her later, though often, illnesses weren't enough of an excuse not to attend an event such as this one, in many people's opinions. He still couldn't help thinking of the last time he'd been seriously ill, though, when he'd had to miss the meeting about that document of Irakles'....
In any case, now that he'd begun the conversation with them, perhaps Gavriil or Dorothea could come up with some way to continue it until the coronation officially started, for though the horns had been blown, it seemed as if the actual event was taking forever to begin. He was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who wanted it to be over already
Fotios's expression was just as calm as the Princess Xene's, as he murmured a response to her request for a letter. If that was what she wished, then he would be able to produce such a thing without too much difficulty.
"As my princess wishes." He simply stated without volume or awkwardness. Such a murmur probably appeared to others as a simple apology for stepping on the hem of her gown or a reminder as to who someone in the hall was, as if she had asked their identity. Such discussions and his escorting of the princess in itself was hardly a subject for gossip when she had no other male around her.
Had Xene and he been followed into the room by another male of her family, then the choice of Fotios as her escort would indeed have been odd and worthy of wagging tongues. Instead, he was the only one to accompany her and it was his duty to take her arm.
As soon as she left his side in order to speak with her sister, Fotios permitted it with ease, his shallow bow in her wake respectful and curtly following of etiquette. He then refused to look after her or make any glances in that direction as he turned to witness his daughter.
As was appropriate, Melina spoke greetings to Xene and Gianna as she passed and then to himself as she joined in him the hall with her eldest sister. Fotios cast a sweeping look around the room for Dafni, hoping that she was not causing any trouble and spotted her talking to the daughters of a particular noble family that Fotios had strong business affiliates with. She would be safe from doing any harm there...
"Stand straight, Melina." Fotios reminded her, as she seemed to drift in upon herself through lack of confidence. The young girl had excellent posture when she wasn't nervous, but she allowed her anxiety to get the better of her in such events and her shoulders began to turn in. "Look to the other women in the room - how they hold their heads and their elegance. You can do so also." His eyes landed on the way Agape was frowning at such chastisement of her sister. It was just like her to see his advice and help as judgment. "Smile, Agape." He told her. "Today is a day of celebrations..."
It was as the words left his mouth that a single and commanding note drifted over the room as a caller blew a small horn to announce the beginning of the ceremony. The voice that followed was quick to instruct all those present to find their places, standing on either side of the room, creating a ceremonial path for the king and queen to take down the centre. At the head of the gallery, the High Priest of the Temple of Zeus was ready to bestow the ceremonial crown upon Achilleas' head, followed by a smaller version of the same piece in silver for Theodora...
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Fotios's expression was just as calm as the Princess Xene's, as he murmured a response to her request for a letter. If that was what she wished, then he would be able to produce such a thing without too much difficulty.
"As my princess wishes." He simply stated without volume or awkwardness. Such a murmur probably appeared to others as a simple apology for stepping on the hem of her gown or a reminder as to who someone in the hall was, as if she had asked their identity. Such discussions and his escorting of the princess in itself was hardly a subject for gossip when she had no other male around her.
Had Xene and he been followed into the room by another male of her family, then the choice of Fotios as her escort would indeed have been odd and worthy of wagging tongues. Instead, he was the only one to accompany her and it was his duty to take her arm.
As soon as she left his side in order to speak with her sister, Fotios permitted it with ease, his shallow bow in her wake respectful and curtly following of etiquette. He then refused to look after her or make any glances in that direction as he turned to witness his daughter.
As was appropriate, Melina spoke greetings to Xene and Gianna as she passed and then to himself as she joined in him the hall with her eldest sister. Fotios cast a sweeping look around the room for Dafni, hoping that she was not causing any trouble and spotted her talking to the daughters of a particular noble family that Fotios had strong business affiliates with. She would be safe from doing any harm there...
"Stand straight, Melina." Fotios reminded her, as she seemed to drift in upon herself through lack of confidence. The young girl had excellent posture when she wasn't nervous, but she allowed her anxiety to get the better of her in such events and her shoulders began to turn in. "Look to the other women in the room - how they hold their heads and their elegance. You can do so also." His eyes landed on the way Agape was frowning at such chastisement of her sister. It was just like her to see his advice and help as judgment. "Smile, Agape." He told her. "Today is a day of celebrations..."
It was as the words left his mouth that a single and commanding note drifted over the room as a caller blew a small horn to announce the beginning of the ceremony. The voice that followed was quick to instruct all those present to find their places, standing on either side of the room, creating a ceremonial path for the king and queen to take down the centre. At the head of the gallery, the High Priest of the Temple of Zeus was ready to bestow the ceremonial crown upon Achilleas' head, followed by a smaller version of the same piece in silver for Theodora...
Fotios's expression was just as calm as the Princess Xene's, as he murmured a response to her request for a letter. If that was what she wished, then he would be able to produce such a thing without too much difficulty.
"As my princess wishes." He simply stated without volume or awkwardness. Such a murmur probably appeared to others as a simple apology for stepping on the hem of her gown or a reminder as to who someone in the hall was, as if she had asked their identity. Such discussions and his escorting of the princess in itself was hardly a subject for gossip when she had no other male around her.
Had Xene and he been followed into the room by another male of her family, then the choice of Fotios as her escort would indeed have been odd and worthy of wagging tongues. Instead, he was the only one to accompany her and it was his duty to take her arm.
As soon as she left his side in order to speak with her sister, Fotios permitted it with ease, his shallow bow in her wake respectful and curtly following of etiquette. He then refused to look after her or make any glances in that direction as he turned to witness his daughter.
As was appropriate, Melina spoke greetings to Xene and Gianna as she passed and then to himself as she joined in him the hall with her eldest sister. Fotios cast a sweeping look around the room for Dafni, hoping that she was not causing any trouble and spotted her talking to the daughters of a particular noble family that Fotios had strong business affiliates with. She would be safe from doing any harm there...
"Stand straight, Melina." Fotios reminded her, as she seemed to drift in upon herself through lack of confidence. The young girl had excellent posture when she wasn't nervous, but she allowed her anxiety to get the better of her in such events and her shoulders began to turn in. "Look to the other women in the room - how they hold their heads and their elegance. You can do so also." His eyes landed on the way Agape was frowning at such chastisement of her sister. It was just like her to see his advice and help as judgment. "Smile, Agape." He told her. "Today is a day of celebrations..."
It was as the words left his mouth that a single and commanding note drifted over the room as a caller blew a small horn to announce the beginning of the ceremony. The voice that followed was quick to instruct all those present to find their places, standing on either side of the room, creating a ceremonial path for the king and queen to take down the centre. At the head of the gallery, the High Priest of the Temple of Zeus was ready to bestow the ceremonial crown upon Achilleas' head, followed by a smaller version of the same piece in silver for Theodora...
Achilleas was unused to receiving reassurance. There had been little offered throughout his growing years, and so the boy had learned to stamp down the crippling nerves that struck sometimes, so they at least were not visible to others. And over time, he’d become so well-practiced at the art that he almost convinced himself he did not feel nervous at all. It was all very believable until days like this day.
Theodora’s words then, though I looked for, settled like a balm over those persistent nerves that he could not ignore, and he thought if nothing else, he was glad that she was beside him today.
“I am with you, and you are with me. Together, Achilleas, we are ready for anything.”
He took a breath in as she stepped close to press a kiss to his cheek and enveloped him in the sweet scent of jasmine and almond blossom that he had already come to associate with her, and he felt his lips lift in a smile of their own accord. Perhaps she was right, perhaps they were ready. They would have to be. He nodded, bolstering himself for what lay ahead. “Or at least, ready for this?”
This brief moment of pageantry, muted though it was would be the first step in solidifying a new leadership, and Achilleas could only hope that it was not a thing that would cause disharmony. His bloodline, his house had been subject to attack from without, and perhaps even within. They had been slaughtered, exiled...And yet here was Achilleas, aiming to do everything in his power to demonstrate that Mikaeidas was not cowed nor crippled by such events. That they would still be the steadying hand of rule that they had been for generations. That was no small task, and the confidence that the gathered nobility could set in their new King and Queen after today would be key to success. His gaze searched the face of his wife to see if she understood that too. He thought she did.
“That would have my father crossing back over the Styx to chastise me I am sure” he joked at her concern over him being late, letting her arm slip through his as the royal couple made their way toward the great gallery. Closing his eyes briefly at how clumsy his words had sounded, Achilleas sighed. The man had been on his mind, this very occasion only necessitated due to his death, and it was uncomfortable. But there was not room to grieve, no hours allocated to such indulgence. It had felt that way since the wedding, with barely a moment to draw breath. And today more than ever, all eyes would be upon him and Achilleas could not afford to stumble, whatever personal feeling he might have around the event. Today he belonged to Taengea.
There was a shrill blast of a horn that echoed around the marble hallways and signified that already, their stolen moment was over, and Theodora once again spoke sweetly. He realised he had done little to assuage any nerves of her own, and turned to her.
“As I am for you” he answered, though the truth of it was that neither of them would have much time to be there for the other before they were parted by the duty that came with the crown. They had but days. The intent was pure though, and Achilleas once again was reminded how glad he was to have Theodora at his side. “Here we go then” he muttered, straightening his shoulders and stilling his features into the practiced, public-facing mask that he wore so well.
The doors to the great gallery were opened, a path through the gathered nobility left for the couple to walk through to where the High Priest waited, and an expectant hush fell before the musicians began to play once more,a gentle and refined accompaniment for Achilleas and Theodora to make their way through the great hall. There were not so many faces as might have been expected at such an event: certainly nothing in comparison to the spectacle that had been Stephanos’ coronation only months before.
Another person who played on his mind, even as he took the first of the steps forward, for this ceremony would only underscore the fact that he had - indirectly - usurped his cousin. It was yet another thing he had to shove away so he might get through this with a smile upon his face. Briefly, he sought out the faces of his family: his mother and brother, his cousins. The latter in particular he hoped could see that there was no choice in this.
It felt like an age and yet surely it was but a moment before he and Theodora were drawing to a halt at the front of the room, and he released her arm gently to allow him to greet the High Priest. Who else to preside over the crowning of a King than a servant of the King of Gods, and God of kingship?
There were words spoken to invoke the blessing of Zeus Olympios, wine poured in offering to him, grain scattered like a hail of gold across the table that served as an altar in the proceedings.
Achilleas looked on and felt the stirring of something in his breast, something that took him beyond nerves and left him instead calm and resolute. He might not have looked for this honour but for as long as it was his he would give his everything to be what was demanded of him. Royal blood flowed through his veins as it had run through those of his uncle, cousin, and father before him. Blood of the same line of the Gods themselves, or so it was said.
His voice when he recited the words of promise to his subjects and to Taengea was clear and did not falter, save for the slightest thickening in his throat when he vowed to honour those gone before. He took a deep breath through his nose and forged ahead anyway.
And when he knelt to receive the crown, Achilleas knew he would feel the weight of it keenly, as he had the moment Emilios had passed it to him at the wedding feast. But he also felt the brush of Theodora’s gown as she too knelt to receive the symbol of her regency, and thought that perhaps, amidst all the chaos, maybe they could bring some stability to their kingdom, restore some of what had been lost in the past months of mistrust.
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Achilleas was unused to receiving reassurance. There had been little offered throughout his growing years, and so the boy had learned to stamp down the crippling nerves that struck sometimes, so they at least were not visible to others. And over time, he’d become so well-practiced at the art that he almost convinced himself he did not feel nervous at all. It was all very believable until days like this day.
Theodora’s words then, though I looked for, settled like a balm over those persistent nerves that he could not ignore, and he thought if nothing else, he was glad that she was beside him today.
“I am with you, and you are with me. Together, Achilleas, we are ready for anything.”
He took a breath in as she stepped close to press a kiss to his cheek and enveloped him in the sweet scent of jasmine and almond blossom that he had already come to associate with her, and he felt his lips lift in a smile of their own accord. Perhaps she was right, perhaps they were ready. They would have to be. He nodded, bolstering himself for what lay ahead. “Or at least, ready for this?”
This brief moment of pageantry, muted though it was would be the first step in solidifying a new leadership, and Achilleas could only hope that it was not a thing that would cause disharmony. His bloodline, his house had been subject to attack from without, and perhaps even within. They had been slaughtered, exiled...And yet here was Achilleas, aiming to do everything in his power to demonstrate that Mikaeidas was not cowed nor crippled by such events. That they would still be the steadying hand of rule that they had been for generations. That was no small task, and the confidence that the gathered nobility could set in their new King and Queen after today would be key to success. His gaze searched the face of his wife to see if she understood that too. He thought she did.
“That would have my father crossing back over the Styx to chastise me I am sure” he joked at her concern over him being late, letting her arm slip through his as the royal couple made their way toward the great gallery. Closing his eyes briefly at how clumsy his words had sounded, Achilleas sighed. The man had been on his mind, this very occasion only necessitated due to his death, and it was uncomfortable. But there was not room to grieve, no hours allocated to such indulgence. It had felt that way since the wedding, with barely a moment to draw breath. And today more than ever, all eyes would be upon him and Achilleas could not afford to stumble, whatever personal feeling he might have around the event. Today he belonged to Taengea.
There was a shrill blast of a horn that echoed around the marble hallways and signified that already, their stolen moment was over, and Theodora once again spoke sweetly. He realised he had done little to assuage any nerves of her own, and turned to her.
“As I am for you” he answered, though the truth of it was that neither of them would have much time to be there for the other before they were parted by the duty that came with the crown. They had but days. The intent was pure though, and Achilleas once again was reminded how glad he was to have Theodora at his side. “Here we go then” he muttered, straightening his shoulders and stilling his features into the practiced, public-facing mask that he wore so well.
The doors to the great gallery were opened, a path through the gathered nobility left for the couple to walk through to where the High Priest waited, and an expectant hush fell before the musicians began to play once more,a gentle and refined accompaniment for Achilleas and Theodora to make their way through the great hall. There were not so many faces as might have been expected at such an event: certainly nothing in comparison to the spectacle that had been Stephanos’ coronation only months before.
Another person who played on his mind, even as he took the first of the steps forward, for this ceremony would only underscore the fact that he had - indirectly - usurped his cousin. It was yet another thing he had to shove away so he might get through this with a smile upon his face. Briefly, he sought out the faces of his family: his mother and brother, his cousins. The latter in particular he hoped could see that there was no choice in this.
It felt like an age and yet surely it was but a moment before he and Theodora were drawing to a halt at the front of the room, and he released her arm gently to allow him to greet the High Priest. Who else to preside over the crowning of a King than a servant of the King of Gods, and God of kingship?
There were words spoken to invoke the blessing of Zeus Olympios, wine poured in offering to him, grain scattered like a hail of gold across the table that served as an altar in the proceedings.
Achilleas looked on and felt the stirring of something in his breast, something that took him beyond nerves and left him instead calm and resolute. He might not have looked for this honour but for as long as it was his he would give his everything to be what was demanded of him. Royal blood flowed through his veins as it had run through those of his uncle, cousin, and father before him. Blood of the same line of the Gods themselves, or so it was said.
His voice when he recited the words of promise to his subjects and to Taengea was clear and did not falter, save for the slightest thickening in his throat when he vowed to honour those gone before. He took a deep breath through his nose and forged ahead anyway.
And when he knelt to receive the crown, Achilleas knew he would feel the weight of it keenly, as he had the moment Emilios had passed it to him at the wedding feast. But he also felt the brush of Theodora’s gown as she too knelt to receive the symbol of her regency, and thought that perhaps, amidst all the chaos, maybe they could bring some stability to their kingdom, restore some of what had been lost in the past months of mistrust.
Achilleas was unused to receiving reassurance. There had been little offered throughout his growing years, and so the boy had learned to stamp down the crippling nerves that struck sometimes, so they at least were not visible to others. And over time, he’d become so well-practiced at the art that he almost convinced himself he did not feel nervous at all. It was all very believable until days like this day.
Theodora’s words then, though I looked for, settled like a balm over those persistent nerves that he could not ignore, and he thought if nothing else, he was glad that she was beside him today.
“I am with you, and you are with me. Together, Achilleas, we are ready for anything.”
He took a breath in as she stepped close to press a kiss to his cheek and enveloped him in the sweet scent of jasmine and almond blossom that he had already come to associate with her, and he felt his lips lift in a smile of their own accord. Perhaps she was right, perhaps they were ready. They would have to be. He nodded, bolstering himself for what lay ahead. “Or at least, ready for this?”
This brief moment of pageantry, muted though it was would be the first step in solidifying a new leadership, and Achilleas could only hope that it was not a thing that would cause disharmony. His bloodline, his house had been subject to attack from without, and perhaps even within. They had been slaughtered, exiled...And yet here was Achilleas, aiming to do everything in his power to demonstrate that Mikaeidas was not cowed nor crippled by such events. That they would still be the steadying hand of rule that they had been for generations. That was no small task, and the confidence that the gathered nobility could set in their new King and Queen after today would be key to success. His gaze searched the face of his wife to see if she understood that too. He thought she did.
“That would have my father crossing back over the Styx to chastise me I am sure” he joked at her concern over him being late, letting her arm slip through his as the royal couple made their way toward the great gallery. Closing his eyes briefly at how clumsy his words had sounded, Achilleas sighed. The man had been on his mind, this very occasion only necessitated due to his death, and it was uncomfortable. But there was not room to grieve, no hours allocated to such indulgence. It had felt that way since the wedding, with barely a moment to draw breath. And today more than ever, all eyes would be upon him and Achilleas could not afford to stumble, whatever personal feeling he might have around the event. Today he belonged to Taengea.
There was a shrill blast of a horn that echoed around the marble hallways and signified that already, their stolen moment was over, and Theodora once again spoke sweetly. He realised he had done little to assuage any nerves of her own, and turned to her.
“As I am for you” he answered, though the truth of it was that neither of them would have much time to be there for the other before they were parted by the duty that came with the crown. They had but days. The intent was pure though, and Achilleas once again was reminded how glad he was to have Theodora at his side. “Here we go then” he muttered, straightening his shoulders and stilling his features into the practiced, public-facing mask that he wore so well.
The doors to the great gallery were opened, a path through the gathered nobility left for the couple to walk through to where the High Priest waited, and an expectant hush fell before the musicians began to play once more,a gentle and refined accompaniment for Achilleas and Theodora to make their way through the great hall. There were not so many faces as might have been expected at such an event: certainly nothing in comparison to the spectacle that had been Stephanos’ coronation only months before.
Another person who played on his mind, even as he took the first of the steps forward, for this ceremony would only underscore the fact that he had - indirectly - usurped his cousin. It was yet another thing he had to shove away so he might get through this with a smile upon his face. Briefly, he sought out the faces of his family: his mother and brother, his cousins. The latter in particular he hoped could see that there was no choice in this.
It felt like an age and yet surely it was but a moment before he and Theodora were drawing to a halt at the front of the room, and he released her arm gently to allow him to greet the High Priest. Who else to preside over the crowning of a King than a servant of the King of Gods, and God of kingship?
There were words spoken to invoke the blessing of Zeus Olympios, wine poured in offering to him, grain scattered like a hail of gold across the table that served as an altar in the proceedings.
Achilleas looked on and felt the stirring of something in his breast, something that took him beyond nerves and left him instead calm and resolute. He might not have looked for this honour but for as long as it was his he would give his everything to be what was demanded of him. Royal blood flowed through his veins as it had run through those of his uncle, cousin, and father before him. Blood of the same line of the Gods themselves, or so it was said.
His voice when he recited the words of promise to his subjects and to Taengea was clear and did not falter, save for the slightest thickening in his throat when he vowed to honour those gone before. He took a deep breath through his nose and forged ahead anyway.
And when he knelt to receive the crown, Achilleas knew he would feel the weight of it keenly, as he had the moment Emilios had passed it to him at the wedding feast. But he also felt the brush of Theodora’s gown as she too knelt to receive the symbol of her regency, and thought that perhaps, amidst all the chaos, maybe they could bring some stability to their kingdom, restore some of what had been lost in the past months of mistrust.
Almost as soon as they entered, Nikolias of Condos drew near to them, greeting each of them in turn. Gavriil gave his old friend a look when Nikolias chose to compliment them on their clothes. Well-dressed. Hmph. Glancing at his daughter, he looked back at Nikolias, only to see Dorothea dart past them both and melt into the crowd before he could say a word. Sighing through his nose, the patriarch glanced at his brother who nodded and took Alexa by the hand, trailing after Dorothea, but, as Gavriil watched, his family was slowly separated by the crowd. Typical.
“Kind of you to notice,” Gavriil finally said to Nikolias. At that precise moment, Prince Emilios appeared near them, with a bit of the flourish his late father possessed. Gavriil bowed lightly and offered the new prince a polite smile that faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by respectful attention. Anyone who expected Gavriil of Dimitrou to fein and fawn would be highly disappointed.
”Lord Dimitrou, it is good to see you here. Your support has always been welcomed within the Mikaelidas family.”
“It is humbly given,” Gavriil bowed again, knowing that’d have been a total lie if Irakles still sat on the throne. Happily, it was not and Gavriil could most heartily give his loyalty to a man like Achilleas. His loyalty before then having been on the other Mikaelidas line and would have continued, but he was easier now that a steadier man wore the crown.
”Should be a small affair, given the political climate.”
“Appropriate,” Gavriil said shortly and said nothing more as his attention was drawn to the doors. Trumpets resounded through the room, a little too loud, but a hush fell over the populace as their beautiful queen and handsome king entered. Different than the previous couple and the previous coronation. More intimate. Less pomp. Fitting.
As the priest droned on, Gavriil shifted from one foot to the other, clearing his throat from time to time and letting his eyes skim the crowd. He sought Dorothea’s face, Evangelina’s, his brother’s, Alexa’s. People who were important to him. Then he looked back, giving respectful attention to Achilleas’s first speech as coronated king. At last this was done and at last it was official. The kingdom could now heal from the breach and, Gavriil thought to himself, pray that the exiled king would stay that way. If Achilleas was smart, he’d have had Stephanos assassinated. But, Gavriil did not think Achilleas was that sort of man and the spectre of Stephanos would always loom in the back of everyone’s minds as long as the man lived.
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Almost as soon as they entered, Nikolias of Condos drew near to them, greeting each of them in turn. Gavriil gave his old friend a look when Nikolias chose to compliment them on their clothes. Well-dressed. Hmph. Glancing at his daughter, he looked back at Nikolias, only to see Dorothea dart past them both and melt into the crowd before he could say a word. Sighing through his nose, the patriarch glanced at his brother who nodded and took Alexa by the hand, trailing after Dorothea, but, as Gavriil watched, his family was slowly separated by the crowd. Typical.
“Kind of you to notice,” Gavriil finally said to Nikolias. At that precise moment, Prince Emilios appeared near them, with a bit of the flourish his late father possessed. Gavriil bowed lightly and offered the new prince a polite smile that faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by respectful attention. Anyone who expected Gavriil of Dimitrou to fein and fawn would be highly disappointed.
”Lord Dimitrou, it is good to see you here. Your support has always been welcomed within the Mikaelidas family.”
“It is humbly given,” Gavriil bowed again, knowing that’d have been a total lie if Irakles still sat on the throne. Happily, it was not and Gavriil could most heartily give his loyalty to a man like Achilleas. His loyalty before then having been on the other Mikaelidas line and would have continued, but he was easier now that a steadier man wore the crown.
”Should be a small affair, given the political climate.”
“Appropriate,” Gavriil said shortly and said nothing more as his attention was drawn to the doors. Trumpets resounded through the room, a little too loud, but a hush fell over the populace as their beautiful queen and handsome king entered. Different than the previous couple and the previous coronation. More intimate. Less pomp. Fitting.
As the priest droned on, Gavriil shifted from one foot to the other, clearing his throat from time to time and letting his eyes skim the crowd. He sought Dorothea’s face, Evangelina’s, his brother’s, Alexa’s. People who were important to him. Then he looked back, giving respectful attention to Achilleas’s first speech as coronated king. At last this was done and at last it was official. The kingdom could now heal from the breach and, Gavriil thought to himself, pray that the exiled king would stay that way. If Achilleas was smart, he’d have had Stephanos assassinated. But, Gavriil did not think Achilleas was that sort of man and the spectre of Stephanos would always loom in the back of everyone’s minds as long as the man lived.
Almost as soon as they entered, Nikolias of Condos drew near to them, greeting each of them in turn. Gavriil gave his old friend a look when Nikolias chose to compliment them on their clothes. Well-dressed. Hmph. Glancing at his daughter, he looked back at Nikolias, only to see Dorothea dart past them both and melt into the crowd before he could say a word. Sighing through his nose, the patriarch glanced at his brother who nodded and took Alexa by the hand, trailing after Dorothea, but, as Gavriil watched, his family was slowly separated by the crowd. Typical.
“Kind of you to notice,” Gavriil finally said to Nikolias. At that precise moment, Prince Emilios appeared near them, with a bit of the flourish his late father possessed. Gavriil bowed lightly and offered the new prince a polite smile that faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by respectful attention. Anyone who expected Gavriil of Dimitrou to fein and fawn would be highly disappointed.
”Lord Dimitrou, it is good to see you here. Your support has always been welcomed within the Mikaelidas family.”
“It is humbly given,” Gavriil bowed again, knowing that’d have been a total lie if Irakles still sat on the throne. Happily, it was not and Gavriil could most heartily give his loyalty to a man like Achilleas. His loyalty before then having been on the other Mikaelidas line and would have continued, but he was easier now that a steadier man wore the crown.
”Should be a small affair, given the political climate.”
“Appropriate,” Gavriil said shortly and said nothing more as his attention was drawn to the doors. Trumpets resounded through the room, a little too loud, but a hush fell over the populace as their beautiful queen and handsome king entered. Different than the previous couple and the previous coronation. More intimate. Less pomp. Fitting.
As the priest droned on, Gavriil shifted from one foot to the other, clearing his throat from time to time and letting his eyes skim the crowd. He sought Dorothea’s face, Evangelina’s, his brother’s, Alexa’s. People who were important to him. Then he looked back, giving respectful attention to Achilleas’s first speech as coronated king. At last this was done and at last it was official. The kingdom could now heal from the breach and, Gavriil thought to himself, pray that the exiled king would stay that way. If Achilleas was smart, he’d have had Stephanos assassinated. But, Gavriil did not think Achilleas was that sort of man and the spectre of Stephanos would always loom in the back of everyone’s minds as long as the man lived.
After he had greeted Gavriil and Dorothea and received Gavriil's reply in return, it seemed that the coronation was finally ready to actually happen.
Thank the gods.
Irrespective that this coronation was less elaborate than Stephanos' had been, pageantry was pageantry, and he found himself wondering how much any of those gathered here really cared. More precisely, how much did anything really matter anyway? To be honest, if Taengea did not survive the coming war, he'd rather it be because Zeus struck every Taengean dead out of mercy rather than because Egypt had the upper hand. Mercy, of course, was not generally one of Zeus' strong suits, from everything he'd ever read, but Nikolias couldn't help feeling that the gods should care about Greece. Or were Taengea and its citizens all cast members of a play the gods had made up to entertain themselves? Perhaps the other countries of the world and their gods were participants in the play as well.
And as far as all the ceremonies went, Nikolias had never heard of a ceremony having been properly executed keeping anyone from dying. Not that he would ever say such a thing if he could help it.
Then again, with what Achilleas had said to him, Nikolias did feel rather slighted. Perhaps an outward veneer of calmness did not always disguise a feeling of chagrin well. And when Nikolias was truly passionately angry, all but the barest minimum of decorum required by court etiquette evaporated, as did his sense of control over his temper. He had no filter at such times, and while he was distracted enough by the current goings on at the moment, who but the gods knew how he would react later? As the ceremony continued, Nikolias touched a finger to his chin in thought, wondering how he should deal with all of his own emotions, never mind those of Taengea as a whole.
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After he had greeted Gavriil and Dorothea and received Gavriil's reply in return, it seemed that the coronation was finally ready to actually happen.
Thank the gods.
Irrespective that this coronation was less elaborate than Stephanos' had been, pageantry was pageantry, and he found himself wondering how much any of those gathered here really cared. More precisely, how much did anything really matter anyway? To be honest, if Taengea did not survive the coming war, he'd rather it be because Zeus struck every Taengean dead out of mercy rather than because Egypt had the upper hand. Mercy, of course, was not generally one of Zeus' strong suits, from everything he'd ever read, but Nikolias couldn't help feeling that the gods should care about Greece. Or were Taengea and its citizens all cast members of a play the gods had made up to entertain themselves? Perhaps the other countries of the world and their gods were participants in the play as well.
And as far as all the ceremonies went, Nikolias had never heard of a ceremony having been properly executed keeping anyone from dying. Not that he would ever say such a thing if he could help it.
Then again, with what Achilleas had said to him, Nikolias did feel rather slighted. Perhaps an outward veneer of calmness did not always disguise a feeling of chagrin well. And when Nikolias was truly passionately angry, all but the barest minimum of decorum required by court etiquette evaporated, as did his sense of control over his temper. He had no filter at such times, and while he was distracted enough by the current goings on at the moment, who but the gods knew how he would react later? As the ceremony continued, Nikolias touched a finger to his chin in thought, wondering how he should deal with all of his own emotions, never mind those of Taengea as a whole.
After he had greeted Gavriil and Dorothea and received Gavriil's reply in return, it seemed that the coronation was finally ready to actually happen.
Thank the gods.
Irrespective that this coronation was less elaborate than Stephanos' had been, pageantry was pageantry, and he found himself wondering how much any of those gathered here really cared. More precisely, how much did anything really matter anyway? To be honest, if Taengea did not survive the coming war, he'd rather it be because Zeus struck every Taengean dead out of mercy rather than because Egypt had the upper hand. Mercy, of course, was not generally one of Zeus' strong suits, from everything he'd ever read, but Nikolias couldn't help feeling that the gods should care about Greece. Or were Taengea and its citizens all cast members of a play the gods had made up to entertain themselves? Perhaps the other countries of the world and their gods were participants in the play as well.
And as far as all the ceremonies went, Nikolias had never heard of a ceremony having been properly executed keeping anyone from dying. Not that he would ever say such a thing if he could help it.
Then again, with what Achilleas had said to him, Nikolias did feel rather slighted. Perhaps an outward veneer of calmness did not always disguise a feeling of chagrin well. And when Nikolias was truly passionately angry, all but the barest minimum of decorum required by court etiquette evaporated, as did his sense of control over his temper. He had no filter at such times, and while he was distracted enough by the current goings on at the moment, who but the gods knew how he would react later? As the ceremony continued, Nikolias touched a finger to his chin in thought, wondering how he should deal with all of his own emotions, never mind those of Taengea as a whole.
He hadn’t expected much from Gavriil in the way of conversation. It was rare that Emilios made a point to talk to the man in the first place, let alone that they were confidantes or anything of the sort. The dark haired prince was pretty sure that the older man thought the youngest Mikaelidas son just as foolish as Stephanos had been, but with war on the horizon, he knew that he had to make a good impression. He needed as many Lords on his side, especially if he was going to have to go toe to toe with Fotios at some point. So while he may have been tempted to further along the conversation, instead, he simply let it be.
As the horns sounded, Emilios simply gave a nod to the men around them and took his place, close to his mother and cousins. This was not his day, and he understood that. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a part to play, and that was showing his full support of his brother at this moment. The jealousy that he’d felt at the wedding seemed like a lifetime ago. As much as he still wanted Theo and the things that his brother had so easily been given, he didn’t wish for the separations that would take place. As much as he knew what he would have to do, Emilios couldn’t stomach the feeling at a time like this. He would be supportive, and as loyal as he could be.
The doors opened, and the youngest Mikaelidas could not help but hold his breath at the sight of Theo, in all her pageantry. While, yes, his brother was the one dressed in the role of King, there was no denying the beauty that was next to him to take the role of Queen. There was an incredible amount of grace in each step, and he had to ignore the pang that hit his heart with the way that she looked at him. That should have been for him, the quiet love that showed in her eyes, the open affection she gave to him without hesitation-- it was all things he had desired from her. He only had himself to blame, and would continue to blame himself. His gauze met Fotios’s and he had to look away, ignoring what he knew would happen.
There would be plenty of time for him to dwell on that in the future.
He forced his eyes to move from Theo to Achilleas, trying to give a reassuring smile to the man who seemed prepared for everything. While his brother may not have been ready to be King, there were few men who could accept the stressors of it like his brother could. Suddenly, without thinking, all the jealousy that had formed in their youth was gone. He was his big brother again, the one who could slay dragons and sneak out the treats in the dead of night. Pride swelled through him in the confident way that he was prepared to shoulder the mantle and lead the kingdom into glory.
Stephanos could have done this, too. But if it couldn’t be his cousin, he was glad that it was his brother.
He was never one for ceremonies, finding the pomp annoying and trivial. But he wanted to remember this one for the rest of his days as pride swelled even higher with the promises being made in front of his supporters and the Gods. As the crowns were placed on their heads, Emilios didn’t hesitate-- as soon as the pair stood, he was on his knee, head bent low in fealty. His actions would be followed by the rest of the room.
”Hail, King Achilleas! Long may he reign!” His voice was steady, eyes locked onto those of his brother. He hoped that his supported would be remembered in the days to come.
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He hadn’t expected much from Gavriil in the way of conversation. It was rare that Emilios made a point to talk to the man in the first place, let alone that they were confidantes or anything of the sort. The dark haired prince was pretty sure that the older man thought the youngest Mikaelidas son just as foolish as Stephanos had been, but with war on the horizon, he knew that he had to make a good impression. He needed as many Lords on his side, especially if he was going to have to go toe to toe with Fotios at some point. So while he may have been tempted to further along the conversation, instead, he simply let it be.
As the horns sounded, Emilios simply gave a nod to the men around them and took his place, close to his mother and cousins. This was not his day, and he understood that. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a part to play, and that was showing his full support of his brother at this moment. The jealousy that he’d felt at the wedding seemed like a lifetime ago. As much as he still wanted Theo and the things that his brother had so easily been given, he didn’t wish for the separations that would take place. As much as he knew what he would have to do, Emilios couldn’t stomach the feeling at a time like this. He would be supportive, and as loyal as he could be.
The doors opened, and the youngest Mikaelidas could not help but hold his breath at the sight of Theo, in all her pageantry. While, yes, his brother was the one dressed in the role of King, there was no denying the beauty that was next to him to take the role of Queen. There was an incredible amount of grace in each step, and he had to ignore the pang that hit his heart with the way that she looked at him. That should have been for him, the quiet love that showed in her eyes, the open affection she gave to him without hesitation-- it was all things he had desired from her. He only had himself to blame, and would continue to blame himself. His gauze met Fotios’s and he had to look away, ignoring what he knew would happen.
There would be plenty of time for him to dwell on that in the future.
He forced his eyes to move from Theo to Achilleas, trying to give a reassuring smile to the man who seemed prepared for everything. While his brother may not have been ready to be King, there were few men who could accept the stressors of it like his brother could. Suddenly, without thinking, all the jealousy that had formed in their youth was gone. He was his big brother again, the one who could slay dragons and sneak out the treats in the dead of night. Pride swelled through him in the confident way that he was prepared to shoulder the mantle and lead the kingdom into glory.
Stephanos could have done this, too. But if it couldn’t be his cousin, he was glad that it was his brother.
He was never one for ceremonies, finding the pomp annoying and trivial. But he wanted to remember this one for the rest of his days as pride swelled even higher with the promises being made in front of his supporters and the Gods. As the crowns were placed on their heads, Emilios didn’t hesitate-- as soon as the pair stood, he was on his knee, head bent low in fealty. His actions would be followed by the rest of the room.
”Hail, King Achilleas! Long may he reign!” His voice was steady, eyes locked onto those of his brother. He hoped that his supported would be remembered in the days to come.
He hadn’t expected much from Gavriil in the way of conversation. It was rare that Emilios made a point to talk to the man in the first place, let alone that they were confidantes or anything of the sort. The dark haired prince was pretty sure that the older man thought the youngest Mikaelidas son just as foolish as Stephanos had been, but with war on the horizon, he knew that he had to make a good impression. He needed as many Lords on his side, especially if he was going to have to go toe to toe with Fotios at some point. So while he may have been tempted to further along the conversation, instead, he simply let it be.
As the horns sounded, Emilios simply gave a nod to the men around them and took his place, close to his mother and cousins. This was not his day, and he understood that. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a part to play, and that was showing his full support of his brother at this moment. The jealousy that he’d felt at the wedding seemed like a lifetime ago. As much as he still wanted Theo and the things that his brother had so easily been given, he didn’t wish for the separations that would take place. As much as he knew what he would have to do, Emilios couldn’t stomach the feeling at a time like this. He would be supportive, and as loyal as he could be.
The doors opened, and the youngest Mikaelidas could not help but hold his breath at the sight of Theo, in all her pageantry. While, yes, his brother was the one dressed in the role of King, there was no denying the beauty that was next to him to take the role of Queen. There was an incredible amount of grace in each step, and he had to ignore the pang that hit his heart with the way that she looked at him. That should have been for him, the quiet love that showed in her eyes, the open affection she gave to him without hesitation-- it was all things he had desired from her. He only had himself to blame, and would continue to blame himself. His gauze met Fotios’s and he had to look away, ignoring what he knew would happen.
There would be plenty of time for him to dwell on that in the future.
He forced his eyes to move from Theo to Achilleas, trying to give a reassuring smile to the man who seemed prepared for everything. While his brother may not have been ready to be King, there were few men who could accept the stressors of it like his brother could. Suddenly, without thinking, all the jealousy that had formed in their youth was gone. He was his big brother again, the one who could slay dragons and sneak out the treats in the dead of night. Pride swelled through him in the confident way that he was prepared to shoulder the mantle and lead the kingdom into glory.
Stephanos could have done this, too. But if it couldn’t be his cousin, he was glad that it was his brother.
He was never one for ceremonies, finding the pomp annoying and trivial. But he wanted to remember this one for the rest of his days as pride swelled even higher with the promises being made in front of his supporters and the Gods. As the crowns were placed on their heads, Emilios didn’t hesitate-- as soon as the pair stood, he was on his knee, head bent low in fealty. His actions would be followed by the rest of the room.
”Hail, King Achilleas! Long may he reign!” His voice was steady, eyes locked onto those of his brother. He hoped that his supported would be remembered in the days to come.