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It was reassuring to Theodora, to see the way that her words seemed to soothe her husband. If there was nothing else she could do to make this day easier on him, at least she had done that one thing. The sweet, somewhat hesitant smile that touched his lips when she drew back warmed her heart, and she nodded in response to his question. Yes, she was ready – as ready as she would ever be.
Pageantry was not something that Theo dreaded the way Achilleas seemed to. She had spent much of her life being admired and watched, and so this event, while unlike anything else she had ever experienced, was not altogether unfamiliar. She would need to be poised, elegant, both of which she had practiced her entire life; but now she would add regal to the list of things she must be, and that would certainly be a learning curve. And while the countless pairs of eyes that would be watching them did not make her nervous, the knowledge that she would be Queen did; if only because she knew it came with her sister losing the title and the crown, and the responsibilities that would come later, when Achilleas left for Egypt.
Again, she had to remind herself that now was not the time to think of Pia and Stephanos, nor the coming war – not when Achilleas was leading her toward the great gallery, toward a new day for all of Taengea.
A quick glance up at her husband, with his eyes closed so briefly and a sigh parting his lips, told her that she had brought him only a small moment of comfort. Surely, he would be more at ease when the ordeal was finished; or she hoped, at least. His murmured statement – that he would be there for her as she had offered to be there for him – made her smile, and she inclined her head in a silent thanks for the quiet and unexpected reassurance.
The sudden blare of the horn caused her to jump, just slightly – only noticeable to her husband, whose arm remained linked through her own. She could hear the people gathered on the other side of the doors as they fell silent in preparation for the arrival of the newlywed King- and Queen-to-be. “Here we go.” She repeated his words and, as the doors swept open, she squeezed his arm; a reassurance for herself and her husband both.
As they crossed the threshold, Theodora glanced around the room at the people gathered within. Keeping in tone with Achilleas and his own personality, the event was far quieter, much more reserved, than the one that had been held for his cousin. She saw more familiar faces than she had expected to see; in particular, Melina caught her attention, looking especially beautiful for the day’s events. She flashed her cousin a quick, warm smile, before she turned away to look elsewhere.
After a moment of her studying the crowd, her gaze came to rest upon Emilios just as his bright eyes found her. Automatically, she lifted her chin and offered him a faint smile when their eyes met; the man had a strange look on his face, but before she had enough time to study him and figure out what exactly it was, he had glanced away from her. So she turned her head away as well, and let her eyes come to rest upon the High Priest as she and Achilleas approached.
While her husband contemplated how it had seemed to take an eternity to reach the High Priest, Theo thought the opposite; how, one moment they had been entering the room, and the next they stood before the one who would crown them both. The unease in her belly only seemed to expand as they finally came to a halt, until it touched every part of her, and it was all she could do to keep her body from quivering where she stood – with both excitement and nervousness.
Yet, despite this, it all seemed to pass in a blur, and still, certain things stood out to the young woman; namely, the shift on Achilleas’ face as he went from pretending to be comfortable, to settling into his new role as the ceremony took place. Something shifted in her husband in that moment, and the change – although minute – was fascinating to her; and it was this change that seemed to calm her in turn.
And then they were kneeling, each to receive their own crown. The pride that she felt when the circlet touched her dark hair was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she found it impossible to resist the bright smile that touched her lips as she and her husband rose to greet the people gathered as the cheer rose up – led by none other than Emilios.
“Long may he reign.” The whispered words came from the woman’s lips soft enough that only Achilleas might hear her, and the smile she offered him after was radiant; pride in her husband, the King, shone in the woman's dark eyes as she regarded him and his newly-donned crown.
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It was reassuring to Theodora, to see the way that her words seemed to soothe her husband. If there was nothing else she could do to make this day easier on him, at least she had done that one thing. The sweet, somewhat hesitant smile that touched his lips when she drew back warmed her heart, and she nodded in response to his question. Yes, she was ready – as ready as she would ever be.
Pageantry was not something that Theo dreaded the way Achilleas seemed to. She had spent much of her life being admired and watched, and so this event, while unlike anything else she had ever experienced, was not altogether unfamiliar. She would need to be poised, elegant, both of which she had practiced her entire life; but now she would add regal to the list of things she must be, and that would certainly be a learning curve. And while the countless pairs of eyes that would be watching them did not make her nervous, the knowledge that she would be Queen did; if only because she knew it came with her sister losing the title and the crown, and the responsibilities that would come later, when Achilleas left for Egypt.
Again, she had to remind herself that now was not the time to think of Pia and Stephanos, nor the coming war – not when Achilleas was leading her toward the great gallery, toward a new day for all of Taengea.
A quick glance up at her husband, with his eyes closed so briefly and a sigh parting his lips, told her that she had brought him only a small moment of comfort. Surely, he would be more at ease when the ordeal was finished; or she hoped, at least. His murmured statement – that he would be there for her as she had offered to be there for him – made her smile, and she inclined her head in a silent thanks for the quiet and unexpected reassurance.
The sudden blare of the horn caused her to jump, just slightly – only noticeable to her husband, whose arm remained linked through her own. She could hear the people gathered on the other side of the doors as they fell silent in preparation for the arrival of the newlywed King- and Queen-to-be. “Here we go.” She repeated his words and, as the doors swept open, she squeezed his arm; a reassurance for herself and her husband both.
As they crossed the threshold, Theodora glanced around the room at the people gathered within. Keeping in tone with Achilleas and his own personality, the event was far quieter, much more reserved, than the one that had been held for his cousin. She saw more familiar faces than she had expected to see; in particular, Melina caught her attention, looking especially beautiful for the day’s events. She flashed her cousin a quick, warm smile, before she turned away to look elsewhere.
After a moment of her studying the crowd, her gaze came to rest upon Emilios just as his bright eyes found her. Automatically, she lifted her chin and offered him a faint smile when their eyes met; the man had a strange look on his face, but before she had enough time to study him and figure out what exactly it was, he had glanced away from her. So she turned her head away as well, and let her eyes come to rest upon the High Priest as she and Achilleas approached.
While her husband contemplated how it had seemed to take an eternity to reach the High Priest, Theo thought the opposite; how, one moment they had been entering the room, and the next they stood before the one who would crown them both. The unease in her belly only seemed to expand as they finally came to a halt, until it touched every part of her, and it was all she could do to keep her body from quivering where she stood – with both excitement and nervousness.
Yet, despite this, it all seemed to pass in a blur, and still, certain things stood out to the young woman; namely, the shift on Achilleas’ face as he went from pretending to be comfortable, to settling into his new role as the ceremony took place. Something shifted in her husband in that moment, and the change – although minute – was fascinating to her; and it was this change that seemed to calm her in turn.
And then they were kneeling, each to receive their own crown. The pride that she felt when the circlet touched her dark hair was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she found it impossible to resist the bright smile that touched her lips as she and her husband rose to greet the people gathered as the cheer rose up – led by none other than Emilios.
“Long may he reign.” The whispered words came from the woman’s lips soft enough that only Achilleas might hear her, and the smile she offered him after was radiant; pride in her husband, the King, shone in the woman's dark eyes as she regarded him and his newly-donned crown.
It was reassuring to Theodora, to see the way that her words seemed to soothe her husband. If there was nothing else she could do to make this day easier on him, at least she had done that one thing. The sweet, somewhat hesitant smile that touched his lips when she drew back warmed her heart, and she nodded in response to his question. Yes, she was ready – as ready as she would ever be.
Pageantry was not something that Theo dreaded the way Achilleas seemed to. She had spent much of her life being admired and watched, and so this event, while unlike anything else she had ever experienced, was not altogether unfamiliar. She would need to be poised, elegant, both of which she had practiced her entire life; but now she would add regal to the list of things she must be, and that would certainly be a learning curve. And while the countless pairs of eyes that would be watching them did not make her nervous, the knowledge that she would be Queen did; if only because she knew it came with her sister losing the title and the crown, and the responsibilities that would come later, when Achilleas left for Egypt.
Again, she had to remind herself that now was not the time to think of Pia and Stephanos, nor the coming war – not when Achilleas was leading her toward the great gallery, toward a new day for all of Taengea.
A quick glance up at her husband, with his eyes closed so briefly and a sigh parting his lips, told her that she had brought him only a small moment of comfort. Surely, he would be more at ease when the ordeal was finished; or she hoped, at least. His murmured statement – that he would be there for her as she had offered to be there for him – made her smile, and she inclined her head in a silent thanks for the quiet and unexpected reassurance.
The sudden blare of the horn caused her to jump, just slightly – only noticeable to her husband, whose arm remained linked through her own. She could hear the people gathered on the other side of the doors as they fell silent in preparation for the arrival of the newlywed King- and Queen-to-be. “Here we go.” She repeated his words and, as the doors swept open, she squeezed his arm; a reassurance for herself and her husband both.
As they crossed the threshold, Theodora glanced around the room at the people gathered within. Keeping in tone with Achilleas and his own personality, the event was far quieter, much more reserved, than the one that had been held for his cousin. She saw more familiar faces than she had expected to see; in particular, Melina caught her attention, looking especially beautiful for the day’s events. She flashed her cousin a quick, warm smile, before she turned away to look elsewhere.
After a moment of her studying the crowd, her gaze came to rest upon Emilios just as his bright eyes found her. Automatically, she lifted her chin and offered him a faint smile when their eyes met; the man had a strange look on his face, but before she had enough time to study him and figure out what exactly it was, he had glanced away from her. So she turned her head away as well, and let her eyes come to rest upon the High Priest as she and Achilleas approached.
While her husband contemplated how it had seemed to take an eternity to reach the High Priest, Theo thought the opposite; how, one moment they had been entering the room, and the next they stood before the one who would crown them both. The unease in her belly only seemed to expand as they finally came to a halt, until it touched every part of her, and it was all she could do to keep her body from quivering where she stood – with both excitement and nervousness.
Yet, despite this, it all seemed to pass in a blur, and still, certain things stood out to the young woman; namely, the shift on Achilleas’ face as he went from pretending to be comfortable, to settling into his new role as the ceremony took place. Something shifted in her husband in that moment, and the change – although minute – was fascinating to her; and it was this change that seemed to calm her in turn.
And then they were kneeling, each to receive their own crown. The pride that she felt when the circlet touched her dark hair was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she found it impossible to resist the bright smile that touched her lips as she and her husband rose to greet the people gathered as the cheer rose up – led by none other than Emilios.
“Long may he reign.” The whispered words came from the woman’s lips soft enough that only Achilleas might hear her, and the smile she offered him after was radiant; pride in her husband, the King, shone in the woman's dark eyes as she regarded him and his newly-donned crown.
Before Dorothea could make her great escape, she and her father were approached by Nikolias of Condos. While she was not all that excited about her father’s company at the moment, it didn’t really excuse her to be rude to others. She had nothing against the man, except for the fact that he was preventing her from making a clean escape. Dorothea gave him a curtsey and returned the greeting, though she wasn’t particularly verbose. After an excruciating minute, she excused herself before she could stay for any further conversation, especially with her father.
“Excuse me, my lord. I think I see someone calling to me.” She didn’t, but he didn’t have to know that. Without a backward glance at her father, she darted off, melting into the crowd.
She didn’t make it too far before it seemed that coronation was bound to start. Not wanting to be standing completely alone for the entire duration, she spotted her uncle close by with a glass of wine in hand. Dorothea quickly moved to stand by his side, giving him a smile. He hadn’t yet lectured her on her recent behavior, but she wasn’t entirely sure that he would. It seemed as if anyone in their family might understand, it was her namesake. He knew what it was like to leave home and explore and could understand why she might want the same thing. Yet, now was not the time for her to think about such things. There was a coronation to watch. And hopefully it would be far less eventful that the previous one.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Before Dorothea could make her great escape, she and her father were approached by Nikolias of Condos. While she was not all that excited about her father’s company at the moment, it didn’t really excuse her to be rude to others. She had nothing against the man, except for the fact that he was preventing her from making a clean escape. Dorothea gave him a curtsey and returned the greeting, though she wasn’t particularly verbose. After an excruciating minute, she excused herself before she could stay for any further conversation, especially with her father.
“Excuse me, my lord. I think I see someone calling to me.” She didn’t, but he didn’t have to know that. Without a backward glance at her father, she darted off, melting into the crowd.
She didn’t make it too far before it seemed that coronation was bound to start. Not wanting to be standing completely alone for the entire duration, she spotted her uncle close by with a glass of wine in hand. Dorothea quickly moved to stand by his side, giving him a smile. He hadn’t yet lectured her on her recent behavior, but she wasn’t entirely sure that he would. It seemed as if anyone in their family might understand, it was her namesake. He knew what it was like to leave home and explore and could understand why she might want the same thing. Yet, now was not the time for her to think about such things. There was a coronation to watch. And hopefully it would be far less eventful that the previous one.
Before Dorothea could make her great escape, she and her father were approached by Nikolias of Condos. While she was not all that excited about her father’s company at the moment, it didn’t really excuse her to be rude to others. She had nothing against the man, except for the fact that he was preventing her from making a clean escape. Dorothea gave him a curtsey and returned the greeting, though she wasn’t particularly verbose. After an excruciating minute, she excused herself before she could stay for any further conversation, especially with her father.
“Excuse me, my lord. I think I see someone calling to me.” She didn’t, but he didn’t have to know that. Without a backward glance at her father, she darted off, melting into the crowd.
She didn’t make it too far before it seemed that coronation was bound to start. Not wanting to be standing completely alone for the entire duration, she spotted her uncle close by with a glass of wine in hand. Dorothea quickly moved to stand by his side, giving him a smile. He hadn’t yet lectured her on her recent behavior, but she wasn’t entirely sure that he would. It seemed as if anyone in their family might understand, it was her namesake. He knew what it was like to leave home and explore and could understand why she might want the same thing. Yet, now was not the time for her to think about such things. There was a coronation to watch. And hopefully it would be far less eventful that the previous one.
Curveball Third Place Takes Gold
As the ceremony comes to a conclusion, officially coronating King Achilleas and Queen Theodora, many clap, others cheer but there are still a few who do not support the latest change in rule. And they are beyond caring for the spectacle that they are about to make...
JD
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JD
Staff Team
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As the ceremony comes to a conclusion, officially coronating King Achilleas and Queen Theodora, many clap, others cheer but there are still a few who do not support the latest change in rule. And they are beyond caring for the spectacle that they are about to make...
Curveball Third Place Takes Gold
As the ceremony comes to a conclusion, officially coronating King Achilleas and Queen Theodora, many clap, others cheer but there are still a few who do not support the latest change in rule. And they are beyond caring for the spectacle that they are about to make...
She was a queen. Regardless of who now stood in the Great Gallery of the Palati that had been her home for nearly forty years, the Dowager Queen Elise of Mikaelidas was still a queen. But she was also human. The words spoken through her door less than a few hours before by her eldest daughter had been hurtful at best. Devastating at worst. No one seemed to understand and no one seemed to really check in on their mother. Elise was unsure as to why neither her own daughters really gave her much of their time, traipsing around in their sudden and newfound freedom, mingling with their cousins, the new leaders of the Mikaelidas house.
The dowager queen had thought that she could hold it all down. Prince Zacharias, her eldest child, was gone. King Zennon, the love of her life and former ruler of this Kingdom she so loved had been murdered in his own home. His disembodied head had been displayed to the masses, much to the queen's own horror. Her second son, who had taken the throne with at least the smallest bit of grace for a man who had had no formal training, had nearly immediately been displaced. And then exiled. The news that Lady Olympia had given birth to a daughter had become a tipping point.
A granddaughter she might never see. An heir to the Mikaelidas legacy that would never have a chance to know her own family.
Then there were her daughters. The old queen could see them from the back of the room, sitting together, as close as they always had since all of this started. Since their world had started to implode and their family had become obsolete. The bottom of a barrel of fine wine rather than the first, decadent sips. Gianna had not truly visited with her in all this time. Xene had seemed to make it her mission to avoid her own mother save for public events.
And now her rock, her friend, her voice of reason and the man that had done everything he could to hold her spine straighter and keep her mind sharp had died. At his son's own wedding. The son who, now standing with his new bride, was to take on the mantle of King. Beneath all of their feet. Ripped from the grasp of her own family through murder, exile, and happenstance. Elise's thoughts drifted back to Irakles. This should have been him. No, this should have been Zacharias. This should have been her blood standing on the dais, newly married to a proper lady, likely Lady Selene of Leventi, and taking on the title of King. It was as if the gods had suddenly found fault with her own flesh and blood and seen fit to eliminate them from any standing within their own Kingdom.
What future did her daughters have now?
She could feel it again, that overwhelming feeling of rage and grief gripping at her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe by the second. Her world had fallen apart and no one had thought it wise or proper to check on the people that should have mattered most. When their family mosaic seemed to crack apart, each piece falling away with every action or inaction of those around her, still no one had thought to look to the woman who had stood at the helm of Taengea for years. The intelligent, passionate woman who was now spiraling past a point she knew she would not be able to return from.
Starting forward, Elise felt the panic grip her harder as she stepped down the main aisle and closer to the dais. Everyone was so transfixed by King Achilleas and Queen Theodora that no one noticed their past coming back to bite them. Keeping her chin high, though her breath struggled to make it out in even strokes, Elise found herself standing to the middle of the crowd, her gown of crimson and gold the one claim to her name and family she felt that she still held. The words 'Long may he reign' finally did it for her.
"How dare you stand there," Elise spoke firmly, loudly, all of her grief and anger bubbling up to the surface in the span of only a few words. "How dare you stand there and don a crown that was stolen from the head of my husband and my sons," the venom dripped heavy and she could not get enough breath into her lungs as she stepped that much closer to the dais.
"Your father knew that he was sick. He wanted the crown for his own sons! It wasn't like it was a secret that he coveted the crown," Elise said before anyone could come for her, "Its why he took away my family's ability to rule. At every single step, every single man of my family systematically removed from power so that you could stand there, untrained and unworthy of the title of King!" Elise actually lifted her hand, pointing straight at Achilleas. "How dare you stand there. A thief. You are no King of mine, Achilleas of Mikaelidas. You have not earned your place here."
Elise's voice rose higher and her careful composure quickly started to crack, illustrating her rage and unadulterated judgment. Her weathered but still beautiful features holding all of the grief of the last months and what they had done to her.
"You have not paid your dues."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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She was a queen. Regardless of who now stood in the Great Gallery of the Palati that had been her home for nearly forty years, the Dowager Queen Elise of Mikaelidas was still a queen. But she was also human. The words spoken through her door less than a few hours before by her eldest daughter had been hurtful at best. Devastating at worst. No one seemed to understand and no one seemed to really check in on their mother. Elise was unsure as to why neither her own daughters really gave her much of their time, traipsing around in their sudden and newfound freedom, mingling with their cousins, the new leaders of the Mikaelidas house.
The dowager queen had thought that she could hold it all down. Prince Zacharias, her eldest child, was gone. King Zennon, the love of her life and former ruler of this Kingdom she so loved had been murdered in his own home. His disembodied head had been displayed to the masses, much to the queen's own horror. Her second son, who had taken the throne with at least the smallest bit of grace for a man who had had no formal training, had nearly immediately been displaced. And then exiled. The news that Lady Olympia had given birth to a daughter had become a tipping point.
A granddaughter she might never see. An heir to the Mikaelidas legacy that would never have a chance to know her own family.
Then there were her daughters. The old queen could see them from the back of the room, sitting together, as close as they always had since all of this started. Since their world had started to implode and their family had become obsolete. The bottom of a barrel of fine wine rather than the first, decadent sips. Gianna had not truly visited with her in all this time. Xene had seemed to make it her mission to avoid her own mother save for public events.
And now her rock, her friend, her voice of reason and the man that had done everything he could to hold her spine straighter and keep her mind sharp had died. At his son's own wedding. The son who, now standing with his new bride, was to take on the mantle of King. Beneath all of their feet. Ripped from the grasp of her own family through murder, exile, and happenstance. Elise's thoughts drifted back to Irakles. This should have been him. No, this should have been Zacharias. This should have been her blood standing on the dais, newly married to a proper lady, likely Lady Selene of Leventi, and taking on the title of King. It was as if the gods had suddenly found fault with her own flesh and blood and seen fit to eliminate them from any standing within their own Kingdom.
What future did her daughters have now?
She could feel it again, that overwhelming feeling of rage and grief gripping at her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe by the second. Her world had fallen apart and no one had thought it wise or proper to check on the people that should have mattered most. When their family mosaic seemed to crack apart, each piece falling away with every action or inaction of those around her, still no one had thought to look to the woman who had stood at the helm of Taengea for years. The intelligent, passionate woman who was now spiraling past a point she knew she would not be able to return from.
Starting forward, Elise felt the panic grip her harder as she stepped down the main aisle and closer to the dais. Everyone was so transfixed by King Achilleas and Queen Theodora that no one noticed their past coming back to bite them. Keeping her chin high, though her breath struggled to make it out in even strokes, Elise found herself standing to the middle of the crowd, her gown of crimson and gold the one claim to her name and family she felt that she still held. The words 'Long may he reign' finally did it for her.
"How dare you stand there," Elise spoke firmly, loudly, all of her grief and anger bubbling up to the surface in the span of only a few words. "How dare you stand there and don a crown that was stolen from the head of my husband and my sons," the venom dripped heavy and she could not get enough breath into her lungs as she stepped that much closer to the dais.
"Your father knew that he was sick. He wanted the crown for his own sons! It wasn't like it was a secret that he coveted the crown," Elise said before anyone could come for her, "Its why he took away my family's ability to rule. At every single step, every single man of my family systematically removed from power so that you could stand there, untrained and unworthy of the title of King!" Elise actually lifted her hand, pointing straight at Achilleas. "How dare you stand there. A thief. You are no King of mine, Achilleas of Mikaelidas. You have not earned your place here."
Elise's voice rose higher and her careful composure quickly started to crack, illustrating her rage and unadulterated judgment. Her weathered but still beautiful features holding all of the grief of the last months and what they had done to her.
"You have not paid your dues."
She was a queen. Regardless of who now stood in the Great Gallery of the Palati that had been her home for nearly forty years, the Dowager Queen Elise of Mikaelidas was still a queen. But she was also human. The words spoken through her door less than a few hours before by her eldest daughter had been hurtful at best. Devastating at worst. No one seemed to understand and no one seemed to really check in on their mother. Elise was unsure as to why neither her own daughters really gave her much of their time, traipsing around in their sudden and newfound freedom, mingling with their cousins, the new leaders of the Mikaelidas house.
The dowager queen had thought that she could hold it all down. Prince Zacharias, her eldest child, was gone. King Zennon, the love of her life and former ruler of this Kingdom she so loved had been murdered in his own home. His disembodied head had been displayed to the masses, much to the queen's own horror. Her second son, who had taken the throne with at least the smallest bit of grace for a man who had had no formal training, had nearly immediately been displaced. And then exiled. The news that Lady Olympia had given birth to a daughter had become a tipping point.
A granddaughter she might never see. An heir to the Mikaelidas legacy that would never have a chance to know her own family.
Then there were her daughters. The old queen could see them from the back of the room, sitting together, as close as they always had since all of this started. Since their world had started to implode and their family had become obsolete. The bottom of a barrel of fine wine rather than the first, decadent sips. Gianna had not truly visited with her in all this time. Xene had seemed to make it her mission to avoid her own mother save for public events.
And now her rock, her friend, her voice of reason and the man that had done everything he could to hold her spine straighter and keep her mind sharp had died. At his son's own wedding. The son who, now standing with his new bride, was to take on the mantle of King. Beneath all of their feet. Ripped from the grasp of her own family through murder, exile, and happenstance. Elise's thoughts drifted back to Irakles. This should have been him. No, this should have been Zacharias. This should have been her blood standing on the dais, newly married to a proper lady, likely Lady Selene of Leventi, and taking on the title of King. It was as if the gods had suddenly found fault with her own flesh and blood and seen fit to eliminate them from any standing within their own Kingdom.
What future did her daughters have now?
She could feel it again, that overwhelming feeling of rage and grief gripping at her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe by the second. Her world had fallen apart and no one had thought it wise or proper to check on the people that should have mattered most. When their family mosaic seemed to crack apart, each piece falling away with every action or inaction of those around her, still no one had thought to look to the woman who had stood at the helm of Taengea for years. The intelligent, passionate woman who was now spiraling past a point she knew she would not be able to return from.
Starting forward, Elise felt the panic grip her harder as she stepped down the main aisle and closer to the dais. Everyone was so transfixed by King Achilleas and Queen Theodora that no one noticed their past coming back to bite them. Keeping her chin high, though her breath struggled to make it out in even strokes, Elise found herself standing to the middle of the crowd, her gown of crimson and gold the one claim to her name and family she felt that she still held. The words 'Long may he reign' finally did it for her.
"How dare you stand there," Elise spoke firmly, loudly, all of her grief and anger bubbling up to the surface in the span of only a few words. "How dare you stand there and don a crown that was stolen from the head of my husband and my sons," the venom dripped heavy and she could not get enough breath into her lungs as she stepped that much closer to the dais.
"Your father knew that he was sick. He wanted the crown for his own sons! It wasn't like it was a secret that he coveted the crown," Elise said before anyone could come for her, "Its why he took away my family's ability to rule. At every single step, every single man of my family systematically removed from power so that you could stand there, untrained and unworthy of the title of King!" Elise actually lifted her hand, pointing straight at Achilleas. "How dare you stand there. A thief. You are no King of mine, Achilleas of Mikaelidas. You have not earned your place here."
Elise's voice rose higher and her careful composure quickly started to crack, illustrating her rage and unadulterated judgment. Her weathered but still beautiful features holding all of the grief of the last months and what they had done to her.
"You have not paid your dues."
It would have been too much to ask: for this day to pass by without strife. Whatever dice had been rolled had not landed in his favour, that Achilleas was certain of. For no sooner had his eyes fallen to his brother upon the man’s declaration of loyalty than the smattering of applause faded out to let a less congratulatory voice sound. One laden with vitriol and shocking in its conviction.
His face had gone very still, shuttered. Still standing upon the dais with Theo’s hand in his own, Achilleas let it go because he did not trust himself not to crush it in a tightening grip. Too aware of the painful quiet that had fallen, as if to showcase the bitter words that were being thrown at him, it was instinctive to smooth his expression of anything. Yet despite his efforts, there was tension in the set of his jaw and the blue of his eyes, usually bright like the sky on a clear day, was somehow cold, like meltwater. He was furious.
He knew he needed to speak, to cut through the terrible silence: the collective held breath of the court, but Achilleas found himself starved of words to make an answer to his Aunt. He had not asked for this, had not schemed his way to be standing where he was. And the woman before him had been his father’s greatest supporter. Over and above her own son, from what Stephanos had told him. How dare he? He might well turn the question round upon her, hypocrite that she was.
But as she came to the end of her little tyrade and the man glanced around the shocked faces of the Taengean nobility, Achilleas knew he could not. The Mikaelidas House had suffered enough blemishes to its name, enough in-fighting and enough destruction. He would not add to it here and give the gossips any more fodder than his Aunt had already done, no matter how she tried to goad him, no matter how he burned with silent indignation.
For whatever truths might have been tangled up with unfair and unjust accusations, she had gotten one thing wrong. He had been prepared for this. Since Achilleas was naught but a boy, Irakles of Mikaelidas had driven him hard to be the very best, to be a prince in nature even if the title had not been passed from father to son. He had run his barony since he’d been sixteen years old, served as a senator and as a commander in Taengea’s forces and fought for their Kingdom for years. He was no green, untested youth to wear the crown, and no matter the personal affront he might feel, no matter how her words carved deep into what was a soft heart, he was not untrained nor unpolished.
Thinking on his feet then, Achilleas had to be careful in how he responded. There was no denying that such an outburst could be rightly labeled as treasonous and punished by death. But Elise was his own family, and he could not see such a sentence meted out. They had all lost too much already. And so he held up a hand to stay the guards who hovered in their uncertainty, kept his voice level as he addressed the room at large.
“We will forgive the dowager Queen for her overwrought words. She has suffered much, and it saddens me that her grief has led to a sickness in her mind. I had hoped otherwise, but it appears this event is too trying for her and she should return to her rooms.”
Words constructed so as to best excuse the woman’s actions, Achilleas wondered if in part they were true. What else but madness would see her make such a scene, knowing full well how her actions ought to be repaid? He looked for his cousins Xene and Gianna then, a silent request that they take their mother away before the family had to deal with the ignominy of having to have her manhandled back to her quarters. And he prayed that she would go quietly and not force his hand in making harsher reprisals. He did not wish to, and yet he would not be made more of a fool of.
Turning his focus back to those nobles that watched on, Achilleas continued, his words clipped and concise “I thank you for your understanding. And though my Aunt speaks from a place of addled mind, her words have nevertheless been said and heard by you all. So allow me to address them in part. It has been a troublesome time for my family, and yet I stand before you today with only my promise that, however, this crown may have fallen to me, that I will do my utmost to honour it, and to honour you. If anyone else has anything to say about it, then say it now.”
He let the words hang, a challenge, for he was not predisposed to be so forgiving to all and in all honesty, there was a part of him that would have enjoyed being given the reason to lash out. Achilleas was a kind man, yes, but also one who had shouldered much in the past days, and now this? His tolerance was not neverending.
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It would have been too much to ask: for this day to pass by without strife. Whatever dice had been rolled had not landed in his favour, that Achilleas was certain of. For no sooner had his eyes fallen to his brother upon the man’s declaration of loyalty than the smattering of applause faded out to let a less congratulatory voice sound. One laden with vitriol and shocking in its conviction.
His face had gone very still, shuttered. Still standing upon the dais with Theo’s hand in his own, Achilleas let it go because he did not trust himself not to crush it in a tightening grip. Too aware of the painful quiet that had fallen, as if to showcase the bitter words that were being thrown at him, it was instinctive to smooth his expression of anything. Yet despite his efforts, there was tension in the set of his jaw and the blue of his eyes, usually bright like the sky on a clear day, was somehow cold, like meltwater. He was furious.
He knew he needed to speak, to cut through the terrible silence: the collective held breath of the court, but Achilleas found himself starved of words to make an answer to his Aunt. He had not asked for this, had not schemed his way to be standing where he was. And the woman before him had been his father’s greatest supporter. Over and above her own son, from what Stephanos had told him. How dare he? He might well turn the question round upon her, hypocrite that she was.
But as she came to the end of her little tyrade and the man glanced around the shocked faces of the Taengean nobility, Achilleas knew he could not. The Mikaelidas House had suffered enough blemishes to its name, enough in-fighting and enough destruction. He would not add to it here and give the gossips any more fodder than his Aunt had already done, no matter how she tried to goad him, no matter how he burned with silent indignation.
For whatever truths might have been tangled up with unfair and unjust accusations, she had gotten one thing wrong. He had been prepared for this. Since Achilleas was naught but a boy, Irakles of Mikaelidas had driven him hard to be the very best, to be a prince in nature even if the title had not been passed from father to son. He had run his barony since he’d been sixteen years old, served as a senator and as a commander in Taengea’s forces and fought for their Kingdom for years. He was no green, untested youth to wear the crown, and no matter the personal affront he might feel, no matter how her words carved deep into what was a soft heart, he was not untrained nor unpolished.
Thinking on his feet then, Achilleas had to be careful in how he responded. There was no denying that such an outburst could be rightly labeled as treasonous and punished by death. But Elise was his own family, and he could not see such a sentence meted out. They had all lost too much already. And so he held up a hand to stay the guards who hovered in their uncertainty, kept his voice level as he addressed the room at large.
“We will forgive the dowager Queen for her overwrought words. She has suffered much, and it saddens me that her grief has led to a sickness in her mind. I had hoped otherwise, but it appears this event is too trying for her and she should return to her rooms.”
Words constructed so as to best excuse the woman’s actions, Achilleas wondered if in part they were true. What else but madness would see her make such a scene, knowing full well how her actions ought to be repaid? He looked for his cousins Xene and Gianna then, a silent request that they take their mother away before the family had to deal with the ignominy of having to have her manhandled back to her quarters. And he prayed that she would go quietly and not force his hand in making harsher reprisals. He did not wish to, and yet he would not be made more of a fool of.
Turning his focus back to those nobles that watched on, Achilleas continued, his words clipped and concise “I thank you for your understanding. And though my Aunt speaks from a place of addled mind, her words have nevertheless been said and heard by you all. So allow me to address them in part. It has been a troublesome time for my family, and yet I stand before you today with only my promise that, however, this crown may have fallen to me, that I will do my utmost to honour it, and to honour you. If anyone else has anything to say about it, then say it now.”
He let the words hang, a challenge, for he was not predisposed to be so forgiving to all and in all honesty, there was a part of him that would have enjoyed being given the reason to lash out. Achilleas was a kind man, yes, but also one who had shouldered much in the past days, and now this? His tolerance was not neverending.
It would have been too much to ask: for this day to pass by without strife. Whatever dice had been rolled had not landed in his favour, that Achilleas was certain of. For no sooner had his eyes fallen to his brother upon the man’s declaration of loyalty than the smattering of applause faded out to let a less congratulatory voice sound. One laden with vitriol and shocking in its conviction.
His face had gone very still, shuttered. Still standing upon the dais with Theo’s hand in his own, Achilleas let it go because he did not trust himself not to crush it in a tightening grip. Too aware of the painful quiet that had fallen, as if to showcase the bitter words that were being thrown at him, it was instinctive to smooth his expression of anything. Yet despite his efforts, there was tension in the set of his jaw and the blue of his eyes, usually bright like the sky on a clear day, was somehow cold, like meltwater. He was furious.
He knew he needed to speak, to cut through the terrible silence: the collective held breath of the court, but Achilleas found himself starved of words to make an answer to his Aunt. He had not asked for this, had not schemed his way to be standing where he was. And the woman before him had been his father’s greatest supporter. Over and above her own son, from what Stephanos had told him. How dare he? He might well turn the question round upon her, hypocrite that she was.
But as she came to the end of her little tyrade and the man glanced around the shocked faces of the Taengean nobility, Achilleas knew he could not. The Mikaelidas House had suffered enough blemishes to its name, enough in-fighting and enough destruction. He would not add to it here and give the gossips any more fodder than his Aunt had already done, no matter how she tried to goad him, no matter how he burned with silent indignation.
For whatever truths might have been tangled up with unfair and unjust accusations, she had gotten one thing wrong. He had been prepared for this. Since Achilleas was naught but a boy, Irakles of Mikaelidas had driven him hard to be the very best, to be a prince in nature even if the title had not been passed from father to son. He had run his barony since he’d been sixteen years old, served as a senator and as a commander in Taengea’s forces and fought for their Kingdom for years. He was no green, untested youth to wear the crown, and no matter the personal affront he might feel, no matter how her words carved deep into what was a soft heart, he was not untrained nor unpolished.
Thinking on his feet then, Achilleas had to be careful in how he responded. There was no denying that such an outburst could be rightly labeled as treasonous and punished by death. But Elise was his own family, and he could not see such a sentence meted out. They had all lost too much already. And so he held up a hand to stay the guards who hovered in their uncertainty, kept his voice level as he addressed the room at large.
“We will forgive the dowager Queen for her overwrought words. She has suffered much, and it saddens me that her grief has led to a sickness in her mind. I had hoped otherwise, but it appears this event is too trying for her and she should return to her rooms.”
Words constructed so as to best excuse the woman’s actions, Achilleas wondered if in part they were true. What else but madness would see her make such a scene, knowing full well how her actions ought to be repaid? He looked for his cousins Xene and Gianna then, a silent request that they take their mother away before the family had to deal with the ignominy of having to have her manhandled back to her quarters. And he prayed that she would go quietly and not force his hand in making harsher reprisals. He did not wish to, and yet he would not be made more of a fool of.
Turning his focus back to those nobles that watched on, Achilleas continued, his words clipped and concise “I thank you for your understanding. And though my Aunt speaks from a place of addled mind, her words have nevertheless been said and heard by you all. So allow me to address them in part. It has been a troublesome time for my family, and yet I stand before you today with only my promise that, however, this crown may have fallen to me, that I will do my utmost to honour it, and to honour you. If anyone else has anything to say about it, then say it now.”
He let the words hang, a challenge, for he was not predisposed to be so forgiving to all and in all honesty, there was a part of him that would have enjoyed being given the reason to lash out. Achilleas was a kind man, yes, but also one who had shouldered much in the past days, and now this? His tolerance was not neverending.
Close. So close to being blessedly over. Gavriil applauded calmly with everyone else, his chest filled with pride at seeing Achilleas standing there, looking so stately, so calm. And then, movement drew his attention. A hushed murmur and he turned, along with everyone else, to see the Dowager Queen striding down the aisle like she still owned it. In utter disbelief, Gavriil watched, transfixed, as Elise practically harpooned herself in the chest with her words.
His sharp gaze swept up to Achilleas, then back to the Dowager Queen, concerned for both, but more so for the queen, than the king. Words were all that she was hurling at the king, but they were words of outright treason. Like she had lost her mind. And, he reflected in that moment, maybe she had. He’d never seen her like this before; a woman possessed by something else, spitting venom and malice. In public. The king would have had every right to have her executed on the spot, though Gavriil sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t.
Gavriil breathed a sigh of relief, exhaling through his nose when Achilleas chose mercy, rather than killing the queen where she stood. Though he’d fully seen Achilleas nodding to the princesses, Gavriil moved through the utterly silent crowd, heading to the dowager queen’s side. He did not think that Elise would go quietly after such a brazen outburst, nor did he think her daughters would be able to calm her sufficiently. He had two of his own and had had a wife besides. He was well familiar with how fractious an angry woman could be.
“Your majesty,” he said quietly, calmly, bowing to her, but did not presume to touch her. His hand merely hovered below her elbow, the way he’d seen Irakles do with her. The way someone’s hand would hover beside a flighty horse, ready to offer a gentle touch. “Allow me to take you to your rooms,” he kept his voice level. “As you value your head on your shoulders and the lives of your daughters, I would accept the merciful gesture by your nephew.” He purposefully did not use the word ‘king’. His purpose was to soothe her but make her understand the precariousness of her situation.
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Close. So close to being blessedly over. Gavriil applauded calmly with everyone else, his chest filled with pride at seeing Achilleas standing there, looking so stately, so calm. And then, movement drew his attention. A hushed murmur and he turned, along with everyone else, to see the Dowager Queen striding down the aisle like she still owned it. In utter disbelief, Gavriil watched, transfixed, as Elise practically harpooned herself in the chest with her words.
His sharp gaze swept up to Achilleas, then back to the Dowager Queen, concerned for both, but more so for the queen, than the king. Words were all that she was hurling at the king, but they were words of outright treason. Like she had lost her mind. And, he reflected in that moment, maybe she had. He’d never seen her like this before; a woman possessed by something else, spitting venom and malice. In public. The king would have had every right to have her executed on the spot, though Gavriil sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t.
Gavriil breathed a sigh of relief, exhaling through his nose when Achilleas chose mercy, rather than killing the queen where she stood. Though he’d fully seen Achilleas nodding to the princesses, Gavriil moved through the utterly silent crowd, heading to the dowager queen’s side. He did not think that Elise would go quietly after such a brazen outburst, nor did he think her daughters would be able to calm her sufficiently. He had two of his own and had had a wife besides. He was well familiar with how fractious an angry woman could be.
“Your majesty,” he said quietly, calmly, bowing to her, but did not presume to touch her. His hand merely hovered below her elbow, the way he’d seen Irakles do with her. The way someone’s hand would hover beside a flighty horse, ready to offer a gentle touch. “Allow me to take you to your rooms,” he kept his voice level. “As you value your head on your shoulders and the lives of your daughters, I would accept the merciful gesture by your nephew.” He purposefully did not use the word ‘king’. His purpose was to soothe her but make her understand the precariousness of her situation.
Close. So close to being blessedly over. Gavriil applauded calmly with everyone else, his chest filled with pride at seeing Achilleas standing there, looking so stately, so calm. And then, movement drew his attention. A hushed murmur and he turned, along with everyone else, to see the Dowager Queen striding down the aisle like she still owned it. In utter disbelief, Gavriil watched, transfixed, as Elise practically harpooned herself in the chest with her words.
His sharp gaze swept up to Achilleas, then back to the Dowager Queen, concerned for both, but more so for the queen, than the king. Words were all that she was hurling at the king, but they were words of outright treason. Like she had lost her mind. And, he reflected in that moment, maybe she had. He’d never seen her like this before; a woman possessed by something else, spitting venom and malice. In public. The king would have had every right to have her executed on the spot, though Gavriil sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t.
Gavriil breathed a sigh of relief, exhaling through his nose when Achilleas chose mercy, rather than killing the queen where she stood. Though he’d fully seen Achilleas nodding to the princesses, Gavriil moved through the utterly silent crowd, heading to the dowager queen’s side. He did not think that Elise would go quietly after such a brazen outburst, nor did he think her daughters would be able to calm her sufficiently. He had two of his own and had had a wife besides. He was well familiar with how fractious an angry woman could be.
“Your majesty,” he said quietly, calmly, bowing to her, but did not presume to touch her. His hand merely hovered below her elbow, the way he’d seen Irakles do with her. The way someone’s hand would hover beside a flighty horse, ready to offer a gentle touch. “Allow me to take you to your rooms,” he kept his voice level. “As you value your head on your shoulders and the lives of your daughters, I would accept the merciful gesture by your nephew.” He purposefully did not use the word ‘king’. His purpose was to soothe her but make her understand the precariousness of her situation.
As the ceremony progressed, Fotios witnessed the new king and queen promenade to the front of the Gallery with all the pomp and circumstance - the stately elegance and dignity - that was needed of the future rulers of Taengea. A small band of musicians in the corner took the moment to play a soft and quiet background accompaniment - almost too quiet to be heard and yet enough to stop the room falling into abject silence and awkward quiet. Instead, the faces of the nobility were kind, supportive and encouraging of the progress the newly married couple made as they headed towards the priests and the master of ceremonies who would anoint their rule upon the kingdom. Fotios was quick to note those who looked less than happy at the turn of events - for that could be useful later - but there were unsurprisingly few of them. Regardless of the divided opinion that Irakles of Mikaelidas had rout across the nobility, the general opinion of his son was that of his own man and far more unified. Achilleas had a sterling reputation as a military leader and as a gentleman of court. He had never caused a scandal, never been whispered about and never been seen to lose a duel or a particularly important battle. He had trained well, learned much and never offended those of import or significance. In short, he was the perfect son and heir, regardless of what his father had always thought. And the nobility of Taengea recognised that.
Add to the fact that the man was now newly married to a woman considered blessed by Aphrodite herself and the confidence that there would soon be an heir to rule in his stead once he was gone was sky high. In all ways but having a son already born, Achilleas was the perfect nomination for kingship. And everyone in the room knew it.
And yet, there were always those who went against public opinion. Those who were perhaps too close to a situation to truly see the benefits of a long-term plan - regardless of the sacrifices that needed to be made along the way. And the old Queen Dowager certainly had enough reason to fall into that category. With husband lost, two children gone and the man upon whom she had relied now considered a liar, she had broken with reality and lost all confidence in the Mikaelidas family. Not listening to her daughters, not supporting her nephew, she held no foundations or grounding. And so, her reasoning had gone down a dark path. It didn't matter how much of her screechings might have borne to be true. For truth never mattered. Only what was perceived to be true held any power or standing. And, unfortunately for Queen Elise, perceptions now painted her as raving.
Such an impression was cemented when the now crowned King Achilleas took the only route he could that wouldn't leave his cousins orphaned of both parents; he encouraged just such a visage of insanity painted over her words. By arguing madness, Achilleas removed the blame from Elise herself for her words and was able not to insist on the appropriate punishment for such slanderous treason.
Amused by the whole thing, Fotios remained where he was at the far side of the Gallery, leaning upon a marble column with arms and ankles crossed. His gaze was assured and quick to note Lord Gavriil attempting to lead Elise from the room, and then was just as sharp in finding the stare of Princess Xene. At which point he raised a finger to his lips and indicated for her to remain quiet. The less she said and the less she interfered, the more she would remain separate from the poor reputation her mother had just secured for herself. Folding his arms once more, Fotios watched with the rest of his features expressionless. Only his eyes trailed the happenings with bright curiosity and dark intellect.
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As the ceremony progressed, Fotios witnessed the new king and queen promenade to the front of the Gallery with all the pomp and circumstance - the stately elegance and dignity - that was needed of the future rulers of Taengea. A small band of musicians in the corner took the moment to play a soft and quiet background accompaniment - almost too quiet to be heard and yet enough to stop the room falling into abject silence and awkward quiet. Instead, the faces of the nobility were kind, supportive and encouraging of the progress the newly married couple made as they headed towards the priests and the master of ceremonies who would anoint their rule upon the kingdom. Fotios was quick to note those who looked less than happy at the turn of events - for that could be useful later - but there were unsurprisingly few of them. Regardless of the divided opinion that Irakles of Mikaelidas had rout across the nobility, the general opinion of his son was that of his own man and far more unified. Achilleas had a sterling reputation as a military leader and as a gentleman of court. He had never caused a scandal, never been whispered about and never been seen to lose a duel or a particularly important battle. He had trained well, learned much and never offended those of import or significance. In short, he was the perfect son and heir, regardless of what his father had always thought. And the nobility of Taengea recognised that.
Add to the fact that the man was now newly married to a woman considered blessed by Aphrodite herself and the confidence that there would soon be an heir to rule in his stead once he was gone was sky high. In all ways but having a son already born, Achilleas was the perfect nomination for kingship. And everyone in the room knew it.
And yet, there were always those who went against public opinion. Those who were perhaps too close to a situation to truly see the benefits of a long-term plan - regardless of the sacrifices that needed to be made along the way. And the old Queen Dowager certainly had enough reason to fall into that category. With husband lost, two children gone and the man upon whom she had relied now considered a liar, she had broken with reality and lost all confidence in the Mikaelidas family. Not listening to her daughters, not supporting her nephew, she held no foundations or grounding. And so, her reasoning had gone down a dark path. It didn't matter how much of her screechings might have borne to be true. For truth never mattered. Only what was perceived to be true held any power or standing. And, unfortunately for Queen Elise, perceptions now painted her as raving.
Such an impression was cemented when the now crowned King Achilleas took the only route he could that wouldn't leave his cousins orphaned of both parents; he encouraged just such a visage of insanity painted over her words. By arguing madness, Achilleas removed the blame from Elise herself for her words and was able not to insist on the appropriate punishment for such slanderous treason.
Amused by the whole thing, Fotios remained where he was at the far side of the Gallery, leaning upon a marble column with arms and ankles crossed. His gaze was assured and quick to note Lord Gavriil attempting to lead Elise from the room, and then was just as sharp in finding the stare of Princess Xene. At which point he raised a finger to his lips and indicated for her to remain quiet. The less she said and the less she interfered, the more she would remain separate from the poor reputation her mother had just secured for herself. Folding his arms once more, Fotios watched with the rest of his features expressionless. Only his eyes trailed the happenings with bright curiosity and dark intellect.
As the ceremony progressed, Fotios witnessed the new king and queen promenade to the front of the Gallery with all the pomp and circumstance - the stately elegance and dignity - that was needed of the future rulers of Taengea. A small band of musicians in the corner took the moment to play a soft and quiet background accompaniment - almost too quiet to be heard and yet enough to stop the room falling into abject silence and awkward quiet. Instead, the faces of the nobility were kind, supportive and encouraging of the progress the newly married couple made as they headed towards the priests and the master of ceremonies who would anoint their rule upon the kingdom. Fotios was quick to note those who looked less than happy at the turn of events - for that could be useful later - but there were unsurprisingly few of them. Regardless of the divided opinion that Irakles of Mikaelidas had rout across the nobility, the general opinion of his son was that of his own man and far more unified. Achilleas had a sterling reputation as a military leader and as a gentleman of court. He had never caused a scandal, never been whispered about and never been seen to lose a duel or a particularly important battle. He had trained well, learned much and never offended those of import or significance. In short, he was the perfect son and heir, regardless of what his father had always thought. And the nobility of Taengea recognised that.
Add to the fact that the man was now newly married to a woman considered blessed by Aphrodite herself and the confidence that there would soon be an heir to rule in his stead once he was gone was sky high. In all ways but having a son already born, Achilleas was the perfect nomination for kingship. And everyone in the room knew it.
And yet, there were always those who went against public opinion. Those who were perhaps too close to a situation to truly see the benefits of a long-term plan - regardless of the sacrifices that needed to be made along the way. And the old Queen Dowager certainly had enough reason to fall into that category. With husband lost, two children gone and the man upon whom she had relied now considered a liar, she had broken with reality and lost all confidence in the Mikaelidas family. Not listening to her daughters, not supporting her nephew, she held no foundations or grounding. And so, her reasoning had gone down a dark path. It didn't matter how much of her screechings might have borne to be true. For truth never mattered. Only what was perceived to be true held any power or standing. And, unfortunately for Queen Elise, perceptions now painted her as raving.
Such an impression was cemented when the now crowned King Achilleas took the only route he could that wouldn't leave his cousins orphaned of both parents; he encouraged just such a visage of insanity painted over her words. By arguing madness, Achilleas removed the blame from Elise herself for her words and was able not to insist on the appropriate punishment for such slanderous treason.
Amused by the whole thing, Fotios remained where he was at the far side of the Gallery, leaning upon a marble column with arms and ankles crossed. His gaze was assured and quick to note Lord Gavriil attempting to lead Elise from the room, and then was just as sharp in finding the stare of Princess Xene. At which point he raised a finger to his lips and indicated for her to remain quiet. The less she said and the less she interfered, the more she would remain separate from the poor reputation her mother had just secured for herself. Folding his arms once more, Fotios watched with the rest of his features expressionless. Only his eyes trailed the happenings with bright curiosity and dark intellect.
Noticing a darting Dorothea, Melina waved a hand to bid her friend some company. Of course, before she could do anything more than that, the coronation began. And it was a mostly uneventful coronation, one filled with the cheers led by one other Mikaelidas brother that she hadn’t made a complete embarrassment of herself in front of. Clapping politely, Melina made sure that her shoulders were straight, watching with eager anticipation as the crowns were lowered onto the royal couple’s heads.
Of course, before anything more could be witnessed, Melina let out a gasp as she watched the previous Queen enter. The words that she spoke, such vitriol frightened the woman. What if there was going to be blood spilled in these very halls? What came over that woman to show her grief in such an outburst that led to embarrassment in front of her own people?
Melina didn’t understand it. In fact, she feared that it would worsen, that riots would result from those who were loyal to the grieving queen, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Achilleas, granted her mercy, mercy that might very well be ignored by Queen Elise.
While Melina had her thoughts on the matter, how three coronations had taken place including this one in her lifetime, she knew better than to raise to Achilleas’ goading. In fact, her father would shame her because of it. So, she hid her thoughts behind a frown, one that she wasn’t willing to reveal her true thoughts.
As it was, she had already made an embarrassment of herself in front of the King, before he was crowned, and she didn’t want to worsen the situation. As the silence came into speculating whispers about the dowager Queen going made, Melina made her way towards Dorothea, deciding that she needed to be close to someone, especially such an outburst made the crowd unruly. Already, Melina could spot some discontent and resignation in some faces, and Melina was careful to make sure hers was clear of anything other than shock.
Gazing in the princess' direction, she felt her heart fill with sympathy. "I hope they will be okay. Your father is on well-terms with the dowager Queen, correct, Dorothea. Certainly, such an outburst won't hurt the princesses." Of course, Melina was uncertain, as she whispered the words, wondering what came over the woman. Then again, she could understand, if she placed herself in the woman's shoes. To lose her husband, her sons. It had to be a horrid affair to watch yet another coronation ceremony. Especially one so soon.
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Noticing a darting Dorothea, Melina waved a hand to bid her friend some company. Of course, before she could do anything more than that, the coronation began. And it was a mostly uneventful coronation, one filled with the cheers led by one other Mikaelidas brother that she hadn’t made a complete embarrassment of herself in front of. Clapping politely, Melina made sure that her shoulders were straight, watching with eager anticipation as the crowns were lowered onto the royal couple’s heads.
Of course, before anything more could be witnessed, Melina let out a gasp as she watched the previous Queen enter. The words that she spoke, such vitriol frightened the woman. What if there was going to be blood spilled in these very halls? What came over that woman to show her grief in such an outburst that led to embarrassment in front of her own people?
Melina didn’t understand it. In fact, she feared that it would worsen, that riots would result from those who were loyal to the grieving queen, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Achilleas, granted her mercy, mercy that might very well be ignored by Queen Elise.
While Melina had her thoughts on the matter, how three coronations had taken place including this one in her lifetime, she knew better than to raise to Achilleas’ goading. In fact, her father would shame her because of it. So, she hid her thoughts behind a frown, one that she wasn’t willing to reveal her true thoughts.
As it was, she had already made an embarrassment of herself in front of the King, before he was crowned, and she didn’t want to worsen the situation. As the silence came into speculating whispers about the dowager Queen going made, Melina made her way towards Dorothea, deciding that she needed to be close to someone, especially such an outburst made the crowd unruly. Already, Melina could spot some discontent and resignation in some faces, and Melina was careful to make sure hers was clear of anything other than shock.
Gazing in the princess' direction, she felt her heart fill with sympathy. "I hope they will be okay. Your father is on well-terms with the dowager Queen, correct, Dorothea. Certainly, such an outburst won't hurt the princesses." Of course, Melina was uncertain, as she whispered the words, wondering what came over the woman. Then again, she could understand, if she placed herself in the woman's shoes. To lose her husband, her sons. It had to be a horrid affair to watch yet another coronation ceremony. Especially one so soon.
Noticing a darting Dorothea, Melina waved a hand to bid her friend some company. Of course, before she could do anything more than that, the coronation began. And it was a mostly uneventful coronation, one filled with the cheers led by one other Mikaelidas brother that she hadn’t made a complete embarrassment of herself in front of. Clapping politely, Melina made sure that her shoulders were straight, watching with eager anticipation as the crowns were lowered onto the royal couple’s heads.
Of course, before anything more could be witnessed, Melina let out a gasp as she watched the previous Queen enter. The words that she spoke, such vitriol frightened the woman. What if there was going to be blood spilled in these very halls? What came over that woman to show her grief in such an outburst that led to embarrassment in front of her own people?
Melina didn’t understand it. In fact, she feared that it would worsen, that riots would result from those who were loyal to the grieving queen, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Achilleas, granted her mercy, mercy that might very well be ignored by Queen Elise.
While Melina had her thoughts on the matter, how three coronations had taken place including this one in her lifetime, she knew better than to raise to Achilleas’ goading. In fact, her father would shame her because of it. So, she hid her thoughts behind a frown, one that she wasn’t willing to reveal her true thoughts.
As it was, she had already made an embarrassment of herself in front of the King, before he was crowned, and she didn’t want to worsen the situation. As the silence came into speculating whispers about the dowager Queen going made, Melina made her way towards Dorothea, deciding that she needed to be close to someone, especially such an outburst made the crowd unruly. Already, Melina could spot some discontent and resignation in some faces, and Melina was careful to make sure hers was clear of anything other than shock.
Gazing in the princess' direction, she felt her heart fill with sympathy. "I hope they will be okay. Your father is on well-terms with the dowager Queen, correct, Dorothea. Certainly, such an outburst won't hurt the princesses." Of course, Melina was uncertain, as she whispered the words, wondering what came over the woman. Then again, she could understand, if she placed herself in the woman's shoes. To lose her husband, her sons. It had to be a horrid affair to watch yet another coronation ceremony. Especially one so soon.
The first court event Imma had attended … her sister’s wedding to Prince Achilleas … had ended in disaster. His father had passed away at the reception, and her new brother-in-law had become King of Taengea. She had been in the garden at the time, feasting on the delicacies set out for the guests. At the announcement that the king was dead, most people had run inside. Why, she had wondered? Because they were concerned or to make sure he was dead? After all, King Irakles had taken the crown from his nephew Stephanos, who had married another of her sisters.
She knew that the former king wasn’t guilty of killing his father and brother and she was glad that he, Olympia, and her little niece were safe in Colchis. Imma suspected that they would not have attended this coronation even if Stephanos had been cleared of the charges against him and they had stayed in this kingdom. The young blonde had met Achilleas and liked him, and of course she was happy for Theodora. Hopefully, nothing would happen to spoil this event for either of them.
As she watched the coronation, she fiddled with the opal butterfly pendant on her pearl necklace and sighed. It seemed to go on forever and she shuffled her feet, feeling the fabric of her lavender silk chiton whisper against her legs. Catching her reflection in one of the large windows, she marveled at the genius of her handmaiden Corinna, who always managed to make her look her best, even if she didn't think she was as beautiful as her sisters.
Her chiton was lovely, the edges trimmed with wide bands of shimmering white silk. It was fastened at her shoulders and along her arms with pearl fibulae, and a belt made of white silk braided with pearls cinched it just below her bosom. The ends of the belt flowed to the chiton’s hem. Her hair was arranged in a coiffure composed of braids woven with pearls coiled atop her head with the back left loose to tumble free. She frowned when she noticed that a few curls had escaped from their confinement. Why wouldn’t her hair stay in place at least for one evening?
Turning away from the window and back to the ceremony, she watched as her sister and brother-in-law were crowned. Finally it was over. Maybe there would be food now, like there had been at the wedding. Imma was, as usual, hungry. The dowager queen, though, seemed to be thirsty … for revenge. The young girl listened to her venomous words with wide blue eyes. She must have gone completely mad. What his father had done was not her new brother-in-law’s fault, and it wasn’t as if the woman’s own children had been cast into the street. She felt sorry for Theo, subjected to such hatred.
King Achilleas had pity on his aunt and his words were kind and merciful, as well as eloquent. He quite deftly turned the situation to his advantage What would happen to the dowager queen now? Would she be locked away forever? Imma sighed and turned away, wandering over to one of the windows and peering outside. The second court event she had attended was becoming nearly as disastrous as the first. Idly, she wondered if they would all be like this. She wished everyone could just be happy and enjoy themselves.
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The first court event Imma had attended … her sister’s wedding to Prince Achilleas … had ended in disaster. His father had passed away at the reception, and her new brother-in-law had become King of Taengea. She had been in the garden at the time, feasting on the delicacies set out for the guests. At the announcement that the king was dead, most people had run inside. Why, she had wondered? Because they were concerned or to make sure he was dead? After all, King Irakles had taken the crown from his nephew Stephanos, who had married another of her sisters.
She knew that the former king wasn’t guilty of killing his father and brother and she was glad that he, Olympia, and her little niece were safe in Colchis. Imma suspected that they would not have attended this coronation even if Stephanos had been cleared of the charges against him and they had stayed in this kingdom. The young blonde had met Achilleas and liked him, and of course she was happy for Theodora. Hopefully, nothing would happen to spoil this event for either of them.
As she watched the coronation, she fiddled with the opal butterfly pendant on her pearl necklace and sighed. It seemed to go on forever and she shuffled her feet, feeling the fabric of her lavender silk chiton whisper against her legs. Catching her reflection in one of the large windows, she marveled at the genius of her handmaiden Corinna, who always managed to make her look her best, even if she didn't think she was as beautiful as her sisters.
Her chiton was lovely, the edges trimmed with wide bands of shimmering white silk. It was fastened at her shoulders and along her arms with pearl fibulae, and a belt made of white silk braided with pearls cinched it just below her bosom. The ends of the belt flowed to the chiton’s hem. Her hair was arranged in a coiffure composed of braids woven with pearls coiled atop her head with the back left loose to tumble free. She frowned when she noticed that a few curls had escaped from their confinement. Why wouldn’t her hair stay in place at least for one evening?
Turning away from the window and back to the ceremony, she watched as her sister and brother-in-law were crowned. Finally it was over. Maybe there would be food now, like there had been at the wedding. Imma was, as usual, hungry. The dowager queen, though, seemed to be thirsty … for revenge. The young girl listened to her venomous words with wide blue eyes. She must have gone completely mad. What his father had done was not her new brother-in-law’s fault, and it wasn’t as if the woman’s own children had been cast into the street. She felt sorry for Theo, subjected to such hatred.
King Achilleas had pity on his aunt and his words were kind and merciful, as well as eloquent. He quite deftly turned the situation to his advantage What would happen to the dowager queen now? Would she be locked away forever? Imma sighed and turned away, wandering over to one of the windows and peering outside. The second court event she had attended was becoming nearly as disastrous as the first. Idly, she wondered if they would all be like this. She wished everyone could just be happy and enjoy themselves.
The first court event Imma had attended … her sister’s wedding to Prince Achilleas … had ended in disaster. His father had passed away at the reception, and her new brother-in-law had become King of Taengea. She had been in the garden at the time, feasting on the delicacies set out for the guests. At the announcement that the king was dead, most people had run inside. Why, she had wondered? Because they were concerned or to make sure he was dead? After all, King Irakles had taken the crown from his nephew Stephanos, who had married another of her sisters.
She knew that the former king wasn’t guilty of killing his father and brother and she was glad that he, Olympia, and her little niece were safe in Colchis. Imma suspected that they would not have attended this coronation even if Stephanos had been cleared of the charges against him and they had stayed in this kingdom. The young blonde had met Achilleas and liked him, and of course she was happy for Theodora. Hopefully, nothing would happen to spoil this event for either of them.
As she watched the coronation, she fiddled with the opal butterfly pendant on her pearl necklace and sighed. It seemed to go on forever and she shuffled her feet, feeling the fabric of her lavender silk chiton whisper against her legs. Catching her reflection in one of the large windows, she marveled at the genius of her handmaiden Corinna, who always managed to make her look her best, even if she didn't think she was as beautiful as her sisters.
Her chiton was lovely, the edges trimmed with wide bands of shimmering white silk. It was fastened at her shoulders and along her arms with pearl fibulae, and a belt made of white silk braided with pearls cinched it just below her bosom. The ends of the belt flowed to the chiton’s hem. Her hair was arranged in a coiffure composed of braids woven with pearls coiled atop her head with the back left loose to tumble free. She frowned when she noticed that a few curls had escaped from their confinement. Why wouldn’t her hair stay in place at least for one evening?
Turning away from the window and back to the ceremony, she watched as her sister and brother-in-law were crowned. Finally it was over. Maybe there would be food now, like there had been at the wedding. Imma was, as usual, hungry. The dowager queen, though, seemed to be thirsty … for revenge. The young girl listened to her venomous words with wide blue eyes. She must have gone completely mad. What his father had done was not her new brother-in-law’s fault, and it wasn’t as if the woman’s own children had been cast into the street. She felt sorry for Theo, subjected to such hatred.
King Achilleas had pity on his aunt and his words were kind and merciful, as well as eloquent. He quite deftly turned the situation to his advantage What would happen to the dowager queen now? Would she be locked away forever? Imma sighed and turned away, wandering over to one of the windows and peering outside. The second court event she had attended was becoming nearly as disastrous as the first. Idly, she wondered if they would all be like this. She wished everyone could just be happy and enjoy themselves.
Dorothea was relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd and quickly answered her friend’s hail, moving to Melina’s side. She gave the woman a smile and an arm squeeze in greeting, but nothing much more could be said before the coronation began. It seemed that every courtly event she had attended lately resulted in some sort of drama and that this one would be no different. Dorothea watched in silence, clapping along with everyone else as crowns were bestowed, only to widen her eyes in shock as the dowager queen entered the scene. It was almost a scene out of a drama. No, it was exactly a scene out of a drama, Dorothea thought, listening as the dowager queen went on.
At least some of the drama was spared with the newly crowed king failed to execute her on the spot. That would have been too much for the kingdom, not to mention everyone in the room. Dorothea’s sharp eyes spotted her father moving through the still crowd, making his way to the dowager queen. Although they were angry at each other, she sent up a silent prayer to the gods that he knew what he was getting himself into. Leave it to Gavriil to purposely avoid getting involved in politics only to intervene at this precise moment.
Slowly, voices began to filter in again as the room recovered from the shock. Or began processing it at least. It took Dorothea a moment to puzzle out who Melina was speaking about. She caught her cause pointed at the princess and it fell into place. She didn’t have an answer for that. Who knew what was coming for anyone here at court these days. She hoped that their new king had a level head and that this was just his first step to showing that.
“I hope so,” she responded. “I’m not sure what sway my father can hold over that, but he can be rather persuasive in at least getting the dowager queen to leave. Oh, but what a time for him to get involved.” The last comment was more for herself than Melina, but she couldn’t let some of her exasperation with the man slip out a bit. She knew she still loved him, but he could be a bit much.
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Dorothea was relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd and quickly answered her friend’s hail, moving to Melina’s side. She gave the woman a smile and an arm squeeze in greeting, but nothing much more could be said before the coronation began. It seemed that every courtly event she had attended lately resulted in some sort of drama and that this one would be no different. Dorothea watched in silence, clapping along with everyone else as crowns were bestowed, only to widen her eyes in shock as the dowager queen entered the scene. It was almost a scene out of a drama. No, it was exactly a scene out of a drama, Dorothea thought, listening as the dowager queen went on.
At least some of the drama was spared with the newly crowed king failed to execute her on the spot. That would have been too much for the kingdom, not to mention everyone in the room. Dorothea’s sharp eyes spotted her father moving through the still crowd, making his way to the dowager queen. Although they were angry at each other, she sent up a silent prayer to the gods that he knew what he was getting himself into. Leave it to Gavriil to purposely avoid getting involved in politics only to intervene at this precise moment.
Slowly, voices began to filter in again as the room recovered from the shock. Or began processing it at least. It took Dorothea a moment to puzzle out who Melina was speaking about. She caught her cause pointed at the princess and it fell into place. She didn’t have an answer for that. Who knew what was coming for anyone here at court these days. She hoped that their new king had a level head and that this was just his first step to showing that.
“I hope so,” she responded. “I’m not sure what sway my father can hold over that, but he can be rather persuasive in at least getting the dowager queen to leave. Oh, but what a time for him to get involved.” The last comment was more for herself than Melina, but she couldn’t let some of her exasperation with the man slip out a bit. She knew she still loved him, but he could be a bit much.
Dorothea was relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd and quickly answered her friend’s hail, moving to Melina’s side. She gave the woman a smile and an arm squeeze in greeting, but nothing much more could be said before the coronation began. It seemed that every courtly event she had attended lately resulted in some sort of drama and that this one would be no different. Dorothea watched in silence, clapping along with everyone else as crowns were bestowed, only to widen her eyes in shock as the dowager queen entered the scene. It was almost a scene out of a drama. No, it was exactly a scene out of a drama, Dorothea thought, listening as the dowager queen went on.
At least some of the drama was spared with the newly crowed king failed to execute her on the spot. That would have been too much for the kingdom, not to mention everyone in the room. Dorothea’s sharp eyes spotted her father moving through the still crowd, making his way to the dowager queen. Although they were angry at each other, she sent up a silent prayer to the gods that he knew what he was getting himself into. Leave it to Gavriil to purposely avoid getting involved in politics only to intervene at this precise moment.
Slowly, voices began to filter in again as the room recovered from the shock. Or began processing it at least. It took Dorothea a moment to puzzle out who Melina was speaking about. She caught her cause pointed at the princess and it fell into place. She didn’t have an answer for that. Who knew what was coming for anyone here at court these days. She hoped that their new king had a level head and that this was just his first step to showing that.
“I hope so,” she responded. “I’m not sure what sway my father can hold over that, but he can be rather persuasive in at least getting the dowager queen to leave. Oh, but what a time for him to get involved.” The last comment was more for herself than Melina, but she couldn’t let some of her exasperation with the man slip out a bit. She knew she still loved him, but he could be a bit much.
Gianna’s hand rested in her sister’s lap, having been enfolded into Xene’s comforting touch as the older woman’s familiar greeting met her ears. But she did not stop there as she was wont to do. The elder princess’s breath was warm on Gianna’s ear and her whispered words sent a chill through the youngest Mikaelidas. She parted her lips to ask Xene to elaborate, but her words were lost in the blare of a horn signaling the official start of the ceremony. She settled back to observe, her only solace to be found in the gentle, but firm squeeze of her sister’s hand.
The ceremony itself was nothing she had not experienced before, unfortunately. Then again, Achilleas had not ordered a public execution to cement his power which was a welcome divergence from her brother’s coronation. The incantations were recited, the Gods’ blessings invoked, and offerings were made. Gianna found herself despising just how commonplace this particular exchange of power had become in Taengea in recent months. She found herself almost bored by what should otherwise be considered a weighty event.
Her mind was elsewhere as her cousin and his bride knelt to receive their crowns, though her free hand unconsciously reached for the diadem resting on her own head—a status symbol she had difficulty in deciding whether or not to wear given the standing of her father’s line. She had ultimately settled on wearing it to further present a united front should any onlookers be seeking to ferret out weaknesses within the Mikaelidas. She felt the rustling of the spectators around her before she heard their call. Long may he reign.
“Long may he—” Gianna would never get the chance to offer her support to her cousin for the vitriol laced she knew all too well. Pure shock writ plainly across her face, Gianna gripped her sister if only to control her own impulse to spring from her seat and close the distance to their mother. She wanted nothing more than to pull Elise back from the cliff she felt so compelled to throw herself over. But Gianna could do little more than sit and listen, frozen in place with a vise grip on Xene, as their mother continued to erupt in her treasonous display.
She could feel the eyes of the crowd as they looked between the Dowager Queen and the princesses, but she remained diligent in keeping her eyes forward, looking only to her King for guidance. Her jaw was set and beginning to ache and her spine was rigid, but she did not dare move a muscle lest she be associated with her mother’s sedition. Her eyes were wide as they searched Achilleas’s face for some hint, fearing the worst. She could not bear to lose her mother, much less by her own flesh and blood’s command.
Achilleas was calm and collected as he stayed the guards and addressed the crowd. His words released the breath she did not realize she had been holding. He would not have the Dowager Queen executed and Gianna suppressed a sob of relief. As she met his gaze, tears welled in her own. She wished nothing more than to run to her mother and comfort the woman who was so obviously grieving for those she had lost, but there was no strength to be found in her slender body.
A second wave of panic assailed her as she found herself to be utterly helpless in answering her cousin’s silent request. It was then that Lord Gavriil, the Head of Dimitrou emerged from the throng and placed himself by Elise’s side. Gianna watched, hesitant at first to believe that the woman would respond well to the man’s gentle and soothing tones. But Gavriil was a friend of the family, of Zenon’s line, even if he did everything in his power to avoid the halls of court and the politics that came with it. She sent a prayer to Athena, asking the grey-eyed goddess to grant her mother the wisdom to go with Gavriil.
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Gianna’s hand rested in her sister’s lap, having been enfolded into Xene’s comforting touch as the older woman’s familiar greeting met her ears. But she did not stop there as she was wont to do. The elder princess’s breath was warm on Gianna’s ear and her whispered words sent a chill through the youngest Mikaelidas. She parted her lips to ask Xene to elaborate, but her words were lost in the blare of a horn signaling the official start of the ceremony. She settled back to observe, her only solace to be found in the gentle, but firm squeeze of her sister’s hand.
The ceremony itself was nothing she had not experienced before, unfortunately. Then again, Achilleas had not ordered a public execution to cement his power which was a welcome divergence from her brother’s coronation. The incantations were recited, the Gods’ blessings invoked, and offerings were made. Gianna found herself despising just how commonplace this particular exchange of power had become in Taengea in recent months. She found herself almost bored by what should otherwise be considered a weighty event.
Her mind was elsewhere as her cousin and his bride knelt to receive their crowns, though her free hand unconsciously reached for the diadem resting on her own head—a status symbol she had difficulty in deciding whether or not to wear given the standing of her father’s line. She had ultimately settled on wearing it to further present a united front should any onlookers be seeking to ferret out weaknesses within the Mikaelidas. She felt the rustling of the spectators around her before she heard their call. Long may he reign.
“Long may he—” Gianna would never get the chance to offer her support to her cousin for the vitriol laced she knew all too well. Pure shock writ plainly across her face, Gianna gripped her sister if only to control her own impulse to spring from her seat and close the distance to their mother. She wanted nothing more than to pull Elise back from the cliff she felt so compelled to throw herself over. But Gianna could do little more than sit and listen, frozen in place with a vise grip on Xene, as their mother continued to erupt in her treasonous display.
She could feel the eyes of the crowd as they looked between the Dowager Queen and the princesses, but she remained diligent in keeping her eyes forward, looking only to her King for guidance. Her jaw was set and beginning to ache and her spine was rigid, but she did not dare move a muscle lest she be associated with her mother’s sedition. Her eyes were wide as they searched Achilleas’s face for some hint, fearing the worst. She could not bear to lose her mother, much less by her own flesh and blood’s command.
Achilleas was calm and collected as he stayed the guards and addressed the crowd. His words released the breath she did not realize she had been holding. He would not have the Dowager Queen executed and Gianna suppressed a sob of relief. As she met his gaze, tears welled in her own. She wished nothing more than to run to her mother and comfort the woman who was so obviously grieving for those she had lost, but there was no strength to be found in her slender body.
A second wave of panic assailed her as she found herself to be utterly helpless in answering her cousin’s silent request. It was then that Lord Gavriil, the Head of Dimitrou emerged from the throng and placed himself by Elise’s side. Gianna watched, hesitant at first to believe that the woman would respond well to the man’s gentle and soothing tones. But Gavriil was a friend of the family, of Zenon’s line, even if he did everything in his power to avoid the halls of court and the politics that came with it. She sent a prayer to Athena, asking the grey-eyed goddess to grant her mother the wisdom to go with Gavriil.
Gianna’s hand rested in her sister’s lap, having been enfolded into Xene’s comforting touch as the older woman’s familiar greeting met her ears. But she did not stop there as she was wont to do. The elder princess’s breath was warm on Gianna’s ear and her whispered words sent a chill through the youngest Mikaelidas. She parted her lips to ask Xene to elaborate, but her words were lost in the blare of a horn signaling the official start of the ceremony. She settled back to observe, her only solace to be found in the gentle, but firm squeeze of her sister’s hand.
The ceremony itself was nothing she had not experienced before, unfortunately. Then again, Achilleas had not ordered a public execution to cement his power which was a welcome divergence from her brother’s coronation. The incantations were recited, the Gods’ blessings invoked, and offerings were made. Gianna found herself despising just how commonplace this particular exchange of power had become in Taengea in recent months. She found herself almost bored by what should otherwise be considered a weighty event.
Her mind was elsewhere as her cousin and his bride knelt to receive their crowns, though her free hand unconsciously reached for the diadem resting on her own head—a status symbol she had difficulty in deciding whether or not to wear given the standing of her father’s line. She had ultimately settled on wearing it to further present a united front should any onlookers be seeking to ferret out weaknesses within the Mikaelidas. She felt the rustling of the spectators around her before she heard their call. Long may he reign.
“Long may he—” Gianna would never get the chance to offer her support to her cousin for the vitriol laced she knew all too well. Pure shock writ plainly across her face, Gianna gripped her sister if only to control her own impulse to spring from her seat and close the distance to their mother. She wanted nothing more than to pull Elise back from the cliff she felt so compelled to throw herself over. But Gianna could do little more than sit and listen, frozen in place with a vise grip on Xene, as their mother continued to erupt in her treasonous display.
She could feel the eyes of the crowd as they looked between the Dowager Queen and the princesses, but she remained diligent in keeping her eyes forward, looking only to her King for guidance. Her jaw was set and beginning to ache and her spine was rigid, but she did not dare move a muscle lest she be associated with her mother’s sedition. Her eyes were wide as they searched Achilleas’s face for some hint, fearing the worst. She could not bear to lose her mother, much less by her own flesh and blood’s command.
Achilleas was calm and collected as he stayed the guards and addressed the crowd. His words released the breath she did not realize she had been holding. He would not have the Dowager Queen executed and Gianna suppressed a sob of relief. As she met his gaze, tears welled in her own. She wished nothing more than to run to her mother and comfort the woman who was so obviously grieving for those she had lost, but there was no strength to be found in her slender body.
A second wave of panic assailed her as she found herself to be utterly helpless in answering her cousin’s silent request. It was then that Lord Gavriil, the Head of Dimitrou emerged from the throng and placed himself by Elise’s side. Gianna watched, hesitant at first to believe that the woman would respond well to the man’s gentle and soothing tones. But Gavriil was a friend of the family, of Zenon’s line, even if he did everything in his power to avoid the halls of court and the politics that came with it. She sent a prayer to Athena, asking the grey-eyed goddess to grant her mother the wisdom to go with Gavriil.
Having waited out the dramatics at the far side of the room, his back leant against a pillar and his frame diminished in attention, Fotios took a moment of calculation and then pressed into his shoulder blades to lever himself back up to his feet. Moving around the edge of the crowds and spectators, he was quiet and soft in his step so as not to draw attention to himself. He disliked the idea of stepping into the middle of a showcase - especially one that had been labelled as the hysteria some women fell into in old age - but he also saw an opportunity to bolster his support of the new king and queen.
Instead of allowing things to spiral - for Elise could reject Gavriil's well-meant offer and continue to make a spectacle of herself - Fotios stepped in beside the new king. As the crowds of witnesses had stood and shuffled to witness the former Queen Dowager and her expletives, the distance between new royalty and their guests had diminished to little and Fotios had not to step out into open space to murmur quietly to the king.
"If I may, Your Majesty..." His tone was calm and quiet so that it neither lingered on the air nor echoed around the room. "I believe that refreshments and entertainment have been provided on the palati grounds." His gaze drifted to the gossamer curtains that had been drawn across the open archways, creating a well-lit but private environment for the ceremony. They had only to be opened by the servants that stood ready at each pillar, and the congregation might move into the lawns and greenery of the palace to enjoy the offerings laid out. "Perhaps, if the Queen Dowager is resistant to leave, you could relocate her audience..."
And with so singular a suggestion, Fotios bowed low, respectful in his gestures - as if embarrassed to have made a suggestion to the king - and took several steps backwards. He melted back into the crowd, not offering an expectation for Achilleas' action, nor making it obvious that he was the one to voice it. It would be down to the King how he wished to handle the situation onwards. And he would be given the full reaction and response deserving of it. Even if it was Fotios' wisdom that had been employed...
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Having waited out the dramatics at the far side of the room, his back leant against a pillar and his frame diminished in attention, Fotios took a moment of calculation and then pressed into his shoulder blades to lever himself back up to his feet. Moving around the edge of the crowds and spectators, he was quiet and soft in his step so as not to draw attention to himself. He disliked the idea of stepping into the middle of a showcase - especially one that had been labelled as the hysteria some women fell into in old age - but he also saw an opportunity to bolster his support of the new king and queen.
Instead of allowing things to spiral - for Elise could reject Gavriil's well-meant offer and continue to make a spectacle of herself - Fotios stepped in beside the new king. As the crowds of witnesses had stood and shuffled to witness the former Queen Dowager and her expletives, the distance between new royalty and their guests had diminished to little and Fotios had not to step out into open space to murmur quietly to the king.
"If I may, Your Majesty..." His tone was calm and quiet so that it neither lingered on the air nor echoed around the room. "I believe that refreshments and entertainment have been provided on the palati grounds." His gaze drifted to the gossamer curtains that had been drawn across the open archways, creating a well-lit but private environment for the ceremony. They had only to be opened by the servants that stood ready at each pillar, and the congregation might move into the lawns and greenery of the palace to enjoy the offerings laid out. "Perhaps, if the Queen Dowager is resistant to leave, you could relocate her audience..."
And with so singular a suggestion, Fotios bowed low, respectful in his gestures - as if embarrassed to have made a suggestion to the king - and took several steps backwards. He melted back into the crowd, not offering an expectation for Achilleas' action, nor making it obvious that he was the one to voice it. It would be down to the King how he wished to handle the situation onwards. And he would be given the full reaction and response deserving of it. Even if it was Fotios' wisdom that had been employed...
Having waited out the dramatics at the far side of the room, his back leant against a pillar and his frame diminished in attention, Fotios took a moment of calculation and then pressed into his shoulder blades to lever himself back up to his feet. Moving around the edge of the crowds and spectators, he was quiet and soft in his step so as not to draw attention to himself. He disliked the idea of stepping into the middle of a showcase - especially one that had been labelled as the hysteria some women fell into in old age - but he also saw an opportunity to bolster his support of the new king and queen.
Instead of allowing things to spiral - for Elise could reject Gavriil's well-meant offer and continue to make a spectacle of herself - Fotios stepped in beside the new king. As the crowds of witnesses had stood and shuffled to witness the former Queen Dowager and her expletives, the distance between new royalty and their guests had diminished to little and Fotios had not to step out into open space to murmur quietly to the king.
"If I may, Your Majesty..." His tone was calm and quiet so that it neither lingered on the air nor echoed around the room. "I believe that refreshments and entertainment have been provided on the palati grounds." His gaze drifted to the gossamer curtains that had been drawn across the open archways, creating a well-lit but private environment for the ceremony. They had only to be opened by the servants that stood ready at each pillar, and the congregation might move into the lawns and greenery of the palace to enjoy the offerings laid out. "Perhaps, if the Queen Dowager is resistant to leave, you could relocate her audience..."
And with so singular a suggestion, Fotios bowed low, respectful in his gestures - as if embarrassed to have made a suggestion to the king - and took several steps backwards. He melted back into the crowd, not offering an expectation for Achilleas' action, nor making it obvious that he was the one to voice it. It would be down to the King how he wished to handle the situation onwards. And he would be given the full reaction and response deserving of it. Even if it was Fotios' wisdom that had been employed...
The dowager queen's attempt to paint her nephew as a usurper backfired. Tragically. Because instead of him rising to her bait and admitting that the words she spoke held any truth at all, the man simply looked to the crowd and expressed to them that she had lost her mental faculties. That alone was enough to enrage the old woman further and she almost went to take another step forward, her eyes blazing and fresh anger residing there.
Elise had thought that her anger had dissipated when she had first spoke, but it hadn't, and King Achilleas only made it that much worse. Because now she had embarrassed herself and labelled herself unfit of mind. Such was insulting for a woman of her stature. For a woman that had stood where the newly minted Queen Theodora stood for years upon years.
Still, Queen Elise was very aware that the words that Achilleas spoke were to spare her from death. Though, she would have gladly taken it if he'd doled it out to her right then and there. Maybe it was just her own stubbornness, or maybe it was the overweight and bloated feelings of grief that still clung to her old bones, day after day after day. For a moment, she did not think about how her words would now affect her daughters and how they were seen in court. She should have been, and the arrival of Lord Gavriil at her side instead of Xene and Gianna as King Achilleas had instructed had the queen suddenly glancing across the crowd to find her two little girls.
Princess Gianna looked pained, embarrassed. Princess Xene looked as if she had been stabbed right in the back, her own blue gaze far darker and colder than Elise had ever witnessed before. Something akin to regret bloomed in the dowager queen's own gaze while she held Xene's. Then she felt dread when Xene looked entirely past her and then away from her completely, rising slowly and leaving Gianna at her seat while she navigated herself into the isle to join Lord Dimitrou.
Turning her blue gaze to Lord Dimitrou, Elise let her brows furrow. Her voice was much softer when she spoke next, "Yes," the queen murmured, the only permission that he would get to touch her. "I think you're right," Elise finally murmured. The overwhelming rush that had come with finally letting out what she had been feeling for days, weeks, maybe even months had been cathartic. It hadn't been practical, but now she knew that it would be best to distance herself from the situation.
Besides, the expression of Xene unnerved her, and though Elise did throw a glare over her shoulder at King Achilleas as Lord Gavriil guided her out of the great gallery and back to her rooms, she said not another word more so that she could not incriminate her branch of the family any further. That was what was for the best, after all. She wasn't yet ready for her head to leave her shoulders, but she also knew that this wouldn't be the last time she stood against Achilleas and his claim to the throne.
The dowager queen was simply lulled into silence. For the time being.
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The dowager queen's attempt to paint her nephew as a usurper backfired. Tragically. Because instead of him rising to her bait and admitting that the words she spoke held any truth at all, the man simply looked to the crowd and expressed to them that she had lost her mental faculties. That alone was enough to enrage the old woman further and she almost went to take another step forward, her eyes blazing and fresh anger residing there.
Elise had thought that her anger had dissipated when she had first spoke, but it hadn't, and King Achilleas only made it that much worse. Because now she had embarrassed herself and labelled herself unfit of mind. Such was insulting for a woman of her stature. For a woman that had stood where the newly minted Queen Theodora stood for years upon years.
Still, Queen Elise was very aware that the words that Achilleas spoke were to spare her from death. Though, she would have gladly taken it if he'd doled it out to her right then and there. Maybe it was just her own stubbornness, or maybe it was the overweight and bloated feelings of grief that still clung to her old bones, day after day after day. For a moment, she did not think about how her words would now affect her daughters and how they were seen in court. She should have been, and the arrival of Lord Gavriil at her side instead of Xene and Gianna as King Achilleas had instructed had the queen suddenly glancing across the crowd to find her two little girls.
Princess Gianna looked pained, embarrassed. Princess Xene looked as if she had been stabbed right in the back, her own blue gaze far darker and colder than Elise had ever witnessed before. Something akin to regret bloomed in the dowager queen's own gaze while she held Xene's. Then she felt dread when Xene looked entirely past her and then away from her completely, rising slowly and leaving Gianna at her seat while she navigated herself into the isle to join Lord Dimitrou.
Turning her blue gaze to Lord Dimitrou, Elise let her brows furrow. Her voice was much softer when she spoke next, "Yes," the queen murmured, the only permission that he would get to touch her. "I think you're right," Elise finally murmured. The overwhelming rush that had come with finally letting out what she had been feeling for days, weeks, maybe even months had been cathartic. It hadn't been practical, but now she knew that it would be best to distance herself from the situation.
Besides, the expression of Xene unnerved her, and though Elise did throw a glare over her shoulder at King Achilleas as Lord Gavriil guided her out of the great gallery and back to her rooms, she said not another word more so that she could not incriminate her branch of the family any further. That was what was for the best, after all. She wasn't yet ready for her head to leave her shoulders, but she also knew that this wouldn't be the last time she stood against Achilleas and his claim to the throne.
The dowager queen was simply lulled into silence. For the time being.
The dowager queen's attempt to paint her nephew as a usurper backfired. Tragically. Because instead of him rising to her bait and admitting that the words she spoke held any truth at all, the man simply looked to the crowd and expressed to them that she had lost her mental faculties. That alone was enough to enrage the old woman further and she almost went to take another step forward, her eyes blazing and fresh anger residing there.
Elise had thought that her anger had dissipated when she had first spoke, but it hadn't, and King Achilleas only made it that much worse. Because now she had embarrassed herself and labelled herself unfit of mind. Such was insulting for a woman of her stature. For a woman that had stood where the newly minted Queen Theodora stood for years upon years.
Still, Queen Elise was very aware that the words that Achilleas spoke were to spare her from death. Though, she would have gladly taken it if he'd doled it out to her right then and there. Maybe it was just her own stubbornness, or maybe it was the overweight and bloated feelings of grief that still clung to her old bones, day after day after day. For a moment, she did not think about how her words would now affect her daughters and how they were seen in court. She should have been, and the arrival of Lord Gavriil at her side instead of Xene and Gianna as King Achilleas had instructed had the queen suddenly glancing across the crowd to find her two little girls.
Princess Gianna looked pained, embarrassed. Princess Xene looked as if she had been stabbed right in the back, her own blue gaze far darker and colder than Elise had ever witnessed before. Something akin to regret bloomed in the dowager queen's own gaze while she held Xene's. Then she felt dread when Xene looked entirely past her and then away from her completely, rising slowly and leaving Gianna at her seat while she navigated herself into the isle to join Lord Dimitrou.
Turning her blue gaze to Lord Dimitrou, Elise let her brows furrow. Her voice was much softer when she spoke next, "Yes," the queen murmured, the only permission that he would get to touch her. "I think you're right," Elise finally murmured. The overwhelming rush that had come with finally letting out what she had been feeling for days, weeks, maybe even months had been cathartic. It hadn't been practical, but now she knew that it would be best to distance herself from the situation.
Besides, the expression of Xene unnerved her, and though Elise did throw a glare over her shoulder at King Achilleas as Lord Gavriil guided her out of the great gallery and back to her rooms, she said not another word more so that she could not incriminate her branch of the family any further. That was what was for the best, after all. She wasn't yet ready for her head to leave her shoulders, but she also knew that this wouldn't be the last time she stood against Achilleas and his claim to the throne.
The dowager queen was simply lulled into silence. For the time being.
"Long may he-" the words had started to fall of Xene's lips as the rest of the crowd spoke together. But the way that the crowd clipped off and the trailing of gazes toward the center isle had Xene growing tense. Especially because she could recognize her own mother's voice anywhere. At first, the princess had been intent on keeping her gaze set forward, not truly wanting to witness whatever embarrassment that her mother was to lay across both her's and Gianna's feet. Because that was what this would become. Utter embarrassment and humiliation for both princesses simply because their mother could not hold her tongue.
If it were not for Gianna's hand in her lap and Lord Fotios' pointed gaze from across the room telling her to say absolutely nothing, Xene was sure that she would have flown out of her seat in an effort to get to the dowager queen. The three of them did not need the further shame that this would create. But the princess did not move. Instead, she lifted her gaze to King Achilleas' face, her expression imploring her cousin not to leave her mother out to die. Though the former queen was speaking treason and laying waste to her own bloodline by speaking out, Xene couldn't imagine what life would be like if her mother were not with them.
How would Gianna fair? How would Xene? It was true that neither girl really ran to their mother any longer, but to know that she wouldn't be there with them, day after day, that would be the devestating part. So she silently begged her cousin to spare her mother's life. If that was the only thing that she could ever ask of Achilleas, it would have to be this. She would not see her branch of the family wither down to two princesses and an exiled king.
King Achilleas order that Elise be removed on account of her mind not being stable was a relief that Xene did not show. She did feel it, however, and carefully separated herself from Gianna. "Stay," she ordered her sister softly, "Enjoy the remainder of the coronation. I'll aid Lord Dimitrou," she whispered before she was walking along the row and coming down the isle. Xene's expression had hardened into one of silent contemplation and cold anger toward her own mother. Absolute disappointment was another word for it. Keeping her hands firmly at her sides, the princess glanced to Lord Dimitrou and nodded her thanks, prepared to follow her mother and the lord out of the room.
When the princess made it back to the wide-open doors of the great gallery, Xene turned slowly to face her cousin and his queen. Then she let her blue gaze trail the room once more, not liking how often that these eyes had landed upon her in the passing months. This was just another moment that she would shove down and attempt to file away for later. Not moving any further, Xene fell into a low bow toward her cousin and Queen Theodora, intent on showing her own support for both of them.
"Long may he reign," her voice carried down the isle, strong and reverent and supportive before the princess rose to her full height and turned to follow the path of her mother and her mother's momentary savior. The princess kept her chin up and her shoulders back until she was out of sight of the gallery, at which point she felt a bit faint, her mind spinning with anxiety and worry and panic and utter rage.
None of it she could deal with right then. She only prayed to the gods that King Achilleas would continue to be merciful in the coming days.
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"Long may he-" the words had started to fall of Xene's lips as the rest of the crowd spoke together. But the way that the crowd clipped off and the trailing of gazes toward the center isle had Xene growing tense. Especially because she could recognize her own mother's voice anywhere. At first, the princess had been intent on keeping her gaze set forward, not truly wanting to witness whatever embarrassment that her mother was to lay across both her's and Gianna's feet. Because that was what this would become. Utter embarrassment and humiliation for both princesses simply because their mother could not hold her tongue.
If it were not for Gianna's hand in her lap and Lord Fotios' pointed gaze from across the room telling her to say absolutely nothing, Xene was sure that she would have flown out of her seat in an effort to get to the dowager queen. The three of them did not need the further shame that this would create. But the princess did not move. Instead, she lifted her gaze to King Achilleas' face, her expression imploring her cousin not to leave her mother out to die. Though the former queen was speaking treason and laying waste to her own bloodline by speaking out, Xene couldn't imagine what life would be like if her mother were not with them.
How would Gianna fair? How would Xene? It was true that neither girl really ran to their mother any longer, but to know that she wouldn't be there with them, day after day, that would be the devestating part. So she silently begged her cousin to spare her mother's life. If that was the only thing that she could ever ask of Achilleas, it would have to be this. She would not see her branch of the family wither down to two princesses and an exiled king.
King Achilleas order that Elise be removed on account of her mind not being stable was a relief that Xene did not show. She did feel it, however, and carefully separated herself from Gianna. "Stay," she ordered her sister softly, "Enjoy the remainder of the coronation. I'll aid Lord Dimitrou," she whispered before she was walking along the row and coming down the isle. Xene's expression had hardened into one of silent contemplation and cold anger toward her own mother. Absolute disappointment was another word for it. Keeping her hands firmly at her sides, the princess glanced to Lord Dimitrou and nodded her thanks, prepared to follow her mother and the lord out of the room.
When the princess made it back to the wide-open doors of the great gallery, Xene turned slowly to face her cousin and his queen. Then she let her blue gaze trail the room once more, not liking how often that these eyes had landed upon her in the passing months. This was just another moment that she would shove down and attempt to file away for later. Not moving any further, Xene fell into a low bow toward her cousin and Queen Theodora, intent on showing her own support for both of them.
"Long may he reign," her voice carried down the isle, strong and reverent and supportive before the princess rose to her full height and turned to follow the path of her mother and her mother's momentary savior. The princess kept her chin up and her shoulders back until she was out of sight of the gallery, at which point she felt a bit faint, her mind spinning with anxiety and worry and panic and utter rage.
None of it she could deal with right then. She only prayed to the gods that King Achilleas would continue to be merciful in the coming days.
"Long may he-" the words had started to fall of Xene's lips as the rest of the crowd spoke together. But the way that the crowd clipped off and the trailing of gazes toward the center isle had Xene growing tense. Especially because she could recognize her own mother's voice anywhere. At first, the princess had been intent on keeping her gaze set forward, not truly wanting to witness whatever embarrassment that her mother was to lay across both her's and Gianna's feet. Because that was what this would become. Utter embarrassment and humiliation for both princesses simply because their mother could not hold her tongue.
If it were not for Gianna's hand in her lap and Lord Fotios' pointed gaze from across the room telling her to say absolutely nothing, Xene was sure that she would have flown out of her seat in an effort to get to the dowager queen. The three of them did not need the further shame that this would create. But the princess did not move. Instead, she lifted her gaze to King Achilleas' face, her expression imploring her cousin not to leave her mother out to die. Though the former queen was speaking treason and laying waste to her own bloodline by speaking out, Xene couldn't imagine what life would be like if her mother were not with them.
How would Gianna fair? How would Xene? It was true that neither girl really ran to their mother any longer, but to know that she wouldn't be there with them, day after day, that would be the devestating part. So she silently begged her cousin to spare her mother's life. If that was the only thing that she could ever ask of Achilleas, it would have to be this. She would not see her branch of the family wither down to two princesses and an exiled king.
King Achilleas order that Elise be removed on account of her mind not being stable was a relief that Xene did not show. She did feel it, however, and carefully separated herself from Gianna. "Stay," she ordered her sister softly, "Enjoy the remainder of the coronation. I'll aid Lord Dimitrou," she whispered before she was walking along the row and coming down the isle. Xene's expression had hardened into one of silent contemplation and cold anger toward her own mother. Absolute disappointment was another word for it. Keeping her hands firmly at her sides, the princess glanced to Lord Dimitrou and nodded her thanks, prepared to follow her mother and the lord out of the room.
When the princess made it back to the wide-open doors of the great gallery, Xene turned slowly to face her cousin and his queen. Then she let her blue gaze trail the room once more, not liking how often that these eyes had landed upon her in the passing months. This was just another moment that she would shove down and attempt to file away for later. Not moving any further, Xene fell into a low bow toward her cousin and Queen Theodora, intent on showing her own support for both of them.
"Long may he reign," her voice carried down the isle, strong and reverent and supportive before the princess rose to her full height and turned to follow the path of her mother and her mother's momentary savior. The princess kept her chin up and her shoulders back until she was out of sight of the gallery, at which point she felt a bit faint, her mind spinning with anxiety and worry and panic and utter rage.
None of it she could deal with right then. She only prayed to the gods that King Achilleas would continue to be merciful in the coming days.
Achilleas didn’t know if he was pleased or not that the room was silent after he opened up the floor to anyone else who wished to question the day’s proceedings. A well-veiled fury at his Aunt’s outburst simmered beneath his skin and it was as much as he could do to keep his expression neutral when his gaze met that of Gianna. Did she know of these feelings her mother had kept to herself until now? Did Xene?
Achilleas felt the sting of betrayal and let his eyes move on from his cousins to sweep over the rest of the room. Faces looked back at him, some still painted with shock, some kindly, others less so. There was little else he could do to appease them other than what he already offered, and Achilleas expelled a breath.
His gratitude would sit with Lord Gavriil of Dimitrou as the man moved to escort the dowager Queen from the hall, and by some blessed intervention, she condescended to go with him, though not without sending Achilleas a sharp look which he returned unwavering. They would talk: she would have the courtesy to hear him out whether she wanted to or not. That at least, amongst all of this mess, was something he would claim for himself.
That he had taken efforts to make this whole mess as gentle upon her line as he was able, that it had been him who had risked his father’s wrath to support Stephanos in the senate whilst she had followed the man about and questioned nothing...Achilleas could afford her some sympathy for all that she had lost, but she was truly a fool if she thought he would easily forget or forgive what had just transpired, whatever his public words might have been. Achilleas exchanged looks with his cousin Xene before she followed after her mother, there were a few echoes of her pledge of fealty, but the words rang somehow hollow in the wake of what had gone before.
Left watching the retreat of his Aunt and considering exactly what would be done with the woman now, Achilleas did not note how Lord Fotios managed to steal a spot at his elbow, and when the man began to speak, he turned his head, looking at the man blankly for a moment. But the Leventi Lord’s words broke through and he glanced toward the veiled columns and nodded minutely. Yes It was a sensible course of action and the new King shot a grateful glance at the older man before he raised a hand, and with a deft motion instructed the servants to draw back the silk screens so the Palati gardens were revealed to the guests. Taking a similar cue, the musicians began to play once more and Achilleas turned to Theodora, summoned a smile that did not quite reach his eyes and offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
Those in attendance would follow their new monarchs out into the sunshine, and it could only be hoped that at least some distraction might be offered in the fine wine and refreshments that awaited them, and that the autumn sunshine that bathed the elegant gardens would herald a brighter start to a new reign.
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Achilleas didn’t know if he was pleased or not that the room was silent after he opened up the floor to anyone else who wished to question the day’s proceedings. A well-veiled fury at his Aunt’s outburst simmered beneath his skin and it was as much as he could do to keep his expression neutral when his gaze met that of Gianna. Did she know of these feelings her mother had kept to herself until now? Did Xene?
Achilleas felt the sting of betrayal and let his eyes move on from his cousins to sweep over the rest of the room. Faces looked back at him, some still painted with shock, some kindly, others less so. There was little else he could do to appease them other than what he already offered, and Achilleas expelled a breath.
His gratitude would sit with Lord Gavriil of Dimitrou as the man moved to escort the dowager Queen from the hall, and by some blessed intervention, she condescended to go with him, though not without sending Achilleas a sharp look which he returned unwavering. They would talk: she would have the courtesy to hear him out whether she wanted to or not. That at least, amongst all of this mess, was something he would claim for himself.
That he had taken efforts to make this whole mess as gentle upon her line as he was able, that it had been him who had risked his father’s wrath to support Stephanos in the senate whilst she had followed the man about and questioned nothing...Achilleas could afford her some sympathy for all that she had lost, but she was truly a fool if she thought he would easily forget or forgive what had just transpired, whatever his public words might have been. Achilleas exchanged looks with his cousin Xene before she followed after her mother, there were a few echoes of her pledge of fealty, but the words rang somehow hollow in the wake of what had gone before.
Left watching the retreat of his Aunt and considering exactly what would be done with the woman now, Achilleas did not note how Lord Fotios managed to steal a spot at his elbow, and when the man began to speak, he turned his head, looking at the man blankly for a moment. But the Leventi Lord’s words broke through and he glanced toward the veiled columns and nodded minutely. Yes It was a sensible course of action and the new King shot a grateful glance at the older man before he raised a hand, and with a deft motion instructed the servants to draw back the silk screens so the Palati gardens were revealed to the guests. Taking a similar cue, the musicians began to play once more and Achilleas turned to Theodora, summoned a smile that did not quite reach his eyes and offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
Those in attendance would follow their new monarchs out into the sunshine, and it could only be hoped that at least some distraction might be offered in the fine wine and refreshments that awaited them, and that the autumn sunshine that bathed the elegant gardens would herald a brighter start to a new reign.
Achilleas didn’t know if he was pleased or not that the room was silent after he opened up the floor to anyone else who wished to question the day’s proceedings. A well-veiled fury at his Aunt’s outburst simmered beneath his skin and it was as much as he could do to keep his expression neutral when his gaze met that of Gianna. Did she know of these feelings her mother had kept to herself until now? Did Xene?
Achilleas felt the sting of betrayal and let his eyes move on from his cousins to sweep over the rest of the room. Faces looked back at him, some still painted with shock, some kindly, others less so. There was little else he could do to appease them other than what he already offered, and Achilleas expelled a breath.
His gratitude would sit with Lord Gavriil of Dimitrou as the man moved to escort the dowager Queen from the hall, and by some blessed intervention, she condescended to go with him, though not without sending Achilleas a sharp look which he returned unwavering. They would talk: she would have the courtesy to hear him out whether she wanted to or not. That at least, amongst all of this mess, was something he would claim for himself.
That he had taken efforts to make this whole mess as gentle upon her line as he was able, that it had been him who had risked his father’s wrath to support Stephanos in the senate whilst she had followed the man about and questioned nothing...Achilleas could afford her some sympathy for all that she had lost, but she was truly a fool if she thought he would easily forget or forgive what had just transpired, whatever his public words might have been. Achilleas exchanged looks with his cousin Xene before she followed after her mother, there were a few echoes of her pledge of fealty, but the words rang somehow hollow in the wake of what had gone before.
Left watching the retreat of his Aunt and considering exactly what would be done with the woman now, Achilleas did not note how Lord Fotios managed to steal a spot at his elbow, and when the man began to speak, he turned his head, looking at the man blankly for a moment. But the Leventi Lord’s words broke through and he glanced toward the veiled columns and nodded minutely. Yes It was a sensible course of action and the new King shot a grateful glance at the older man before he raised a hand, and with a deft motion instructed the servants to draw back the silk screens so the Palati gardens were revealed to the guests. Taking a similar cue, the musicians began to play once more and Achilleas turned to Theodora, summoned a smile that did not quite reach his eyes and offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
Those in attendance would follow their new monarchs out into the sunshine, and it could only be hoped that at least some distraction might be offered in the fine wine and refreshments that awaited them, and that the autumn sunshine that bathed the elegant gardens would herald a brighter start to a new reign.