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About 10 bottles lay around his feet as Adrestus mumbled something under his breath. His mind felt jumbled, and his breath smelled full of the alcohol he had just consumed. The sailor was lying under some abandoned festival tables, legs and arms outstretched, his head rested against his shirt that had been torn away from his body. His voice hummed low as he forced his head back against the shirt to look out from under his table. All he could see were blurs. Movement slipped passed from rushing feet, but nothing made him feel like moving. Instead he just rested- he felt tired. He didn’t really think of anything while he just stared, letting the quiet sink into him. All was peaceful, as his drunk mind and body rested. He didn’t care about anything else. But then he got hungry. And then he remembered Ismene. He had walked away from her when she had been involved in another discussion, he hadn't seen her since.
One hand pushed off the hard ground as Adrestus grunted, and the sailor started to get up. The wine glasses chimed together as Adre’s feet kicked them, and suddenly his voice yelped in pain. He had hit him on the table. “Cursesssss.” Adrestus hissed as he started to crawl out into the open, leaving his shirt behind. His torso was fully exposed, but Adre didn’t care one bit about it. He was hungry, and he knew he probably needed to go home. A moan escaped Adre’s lips as the drunken sailor stood up, wavering as he tried to retake his balance. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped. “Gotta finmd Isie” Adrestus muttered as he lurched forward, thankfully grabbing a wall before falling on his face. How was he ever going to get home with this?? Maybe he should swim… swim home? Or maybe swim to his ship, which was closer….
Slowly, but surely, Adrestus reached the outskirts of the main party. Of course, between the time he had left and the time he came back, chaos had arisen. Adrestus didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he was too drunk to really care to figure it all out. What concerned him the most was that he couldn’t see Isi. Images flashed before his eyes, and he couldn’t tell which blurred colors were his dear friend or not. Adrestus led out a dramatic sigh. He let himself stumble into some dark shadows, and against a darker wall. He needed to get home, or at least a safer spot. At least his drunken mind could see he wasn’t in the ideal situation. He felt himself breathing heavily and his body swayed once more. Adrestus moved out of the shadows, and following the outline of a wall, rested himself against one of the corners. If only he could think better….
Adrestus took a deep breath. He was getting desperate. “ISMENE!” Adrestus called for his friend in the loudest voice possible he could muster. He wasn’t going to yell again, and even after he finished her name, he let out a cough. He wasn’t about to go searching through the crowd again- he could barely walk- and he had to at least try to get her to come over. If this didn’t work then…. Well, it looked like he’d be crawling- and swimming - home.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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About 10 bottles lay around his feet as Adrestus mumbled something under his breath. His mind felt jumbled, and his breath smelled full of the alcohol he had just consumed. The sailor was lying under some abandoned festival tables, legs and arms outstretched, his head rested against his shirt that had been torn away from his body. His voice hummed low as he forced his head back against the shirt to look out from under his table. All he could see were blurs. Movement slipped passed from rushing feet, but nothing made him feel like moving. Instead he just rested- he felt tired. He didn’t really think of anything while he just stared, letting the quiet sink into him. All was peaceful, as his drunk mind and body rested. He didn’t care about anything else. But then he got hungry. And then he remembered Ismene. He had walked away from her when she had been involved in another discussion, he hadn't seen her since.
One hand pushed off the hard ground as Adrestus grunted, and the sailor started to get up. The wine glasses chimed together as Adre’s feet kicked them, and suddenly his voice yelped in pain. He had hit him on the table. “Cursesssss.” Adrestus hissed as he started to crawl out into the open, leaving his shirt behind. His torso was fully exposed, but Adre didn’t care one bit about it. He was hungry, and he knew he probably needed to go home. A moan escaped Adre’s lips as the drunken sailor stood up, wavering as he tried to retake his balance. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped. “Gotta finmd Isie” Adrestus muttered as he lurched forward, thankfully grabbing a wall before falling on his face. How was he ever going to get home with this?? Maybe he should swim… swim home? Or maybe swim to his ship, which was closer….
Slowly, but surely, Adrestus reached the outskirts of the main party. Of course, between the time he had left and the time he came back, chaos had arisen. Adrestus didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he was too drunk to really care to figure it all out. What concerned him the most was that he couldn’t see Isi. Images flashed before his eyes, and he couldn’t tell which blurred colors were his dear friend or not. Adrestus led out a dramatic sigh. He let himself stumble into some dark shadows, and against a darker wall. He needed to get home, or at least a safer spot. At least his drunken mind could see he wasn’t in the ideal situation. He felt himself breathing heavily and his body swayed once more. Adrestus moved out of the shadows, and following the outline of a wall, rested himself against one of the corners. If only he could think better….
Adrestus took a deep breath. He was getting desperate. “ISMENE!” Adrestus called for his friend in the loudest voice possible he could muster. He wasn’t going to yell again, and even after he finished her name, he let out a cough. He wasn’t about to go searching through the crowd again- he could barely walk- and he had to at least try to get her to come over. If this didn’t work then…. Well, it looked like he’d be crawling- and swimming - home.
About 10 bottles lay around his feet as Adrestus mumbled something under his breath. His mind felt jumbled, and his breath smelled full of the alcohol he had just consumed. The sailor was lying under some abandoned festival tables, legs and arms outstretched, his head rested against his shirt that had been torn away from his body. His voice hummed low as he forced his head back against the shirt to look out from under his table. All he could see were blurs. Movement slipped passed from rushing feet, but nothing made him feel like moving. Instead he just rested- he felt tired. He didn’t really think of anything while he just stared, letting the quiet sink into him. All was peaceful, as his drunk mind and body rested. He didn’t care about anything else. But then he got hungry. And then he remembered Ismene. He had walked away from her when she had been involved in another discussion, he hadn't seen her since.
One hand pushed off the hard ground as Adrestus grunted, and the sailor started to get up. The wine glasses chimed together as Adre’s feet kicked them, and suddenly his voice yelped in pain. He had hit him on the table. “Cursesssss.” Adrestus hissed as he started to crawl out into the open, leaving his shirt behind. His torso was fully exposed, but Adre didn’t care one bit about it. He was hungry, and he knew he probably needed to go home. A moan escaped Adre’s lips as the drunken sailor stood up, wavering as he tried to retake his balance. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped. “Gotta finmd Isie” Adrestus muttered as he lurched forward, thankfully grabbing a wall before falling on his face. How was he ever going to get home with this?? Maybe he should swim… swim home? Or maybe swim to his ship, which was closer….
Slowly, but surely, Adrestus reached the outskirts of the main party. Of course, between the time he had left and the time he came back, chaos had arisen. Adrestus didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he was too drunk to really care to figure it all out. What concerned him the most was that he couldn’t see Isi. Images flashed before his eyes, and he couldn’t tell which blurred colors were his dear friend or not. Adrestus led out a dramatic sigh. He let himself stumble into some dark shadows, and against a darker wall. He needed to get home, or at least a safer spot. At least his drunken mind could see he wasn’t in the ideal situation. He felt himself breathing heavily and his body swayed once more. Adrestus moved out of the shadows, and following the outline of a wall, rested himself against one of the corners. If only he could think better….
Adrestus took a deep breath. He was getting desperate. “ISMENE!” Adrestus called for his friend in the loudest voice possible he could muster. He wasn’t going to yell again, and even after he finished her name, he let out a cough. He wasn’t about to go searching through the crowd again- he could barely walk- and he had to at least try to get her to come over. If this didn’t work then…. Well, it looked like he’d be crawling- and swimming - home.
Desperately trying to push her way through the crowd to get closer to her son before he made a stark and utter fool of himself, Circenia found her path blocked by none other than the Master Informer, who wore a mask of cool politeness over the disdain that clearly longed to simmer forth. Not that she necessarily blamed him for that disdain—were she in his position, she doubted she’d have any fondness for her or her kin.
“Cicero,” she greeted him in return, inclining her head politely in response to his bow. “Quite an interesting afternoon, eh?”
The young Lords make a good show. And yet I fear are a little unwise in their speech.
The princess’s mouth tightened imperceptibly at that, icy gaze resting briefly on her son and Lord Rafail. She didn’t disagree, but she couldn’t exactly say that, especially not about her own child. There were times she regretted not staying in the Palati with Elias; she hadn’t seen him in several days and perhaps if she had, she could have prevented… whatever this was. “The foibles of youth,” was her breezy excuse, even if the vestiges of disapproval still lingered in the tension around her eyes. “The harvest is always a time to celebrate, wouldn’t you agree?”
Before she could look to Cicero for his response, chaos started to break through the already tense crowd, shouts for and against the Xanthos fools echoing through the air. It all culminated in a half-rotted piece of fruit colliding with Emilia’s face, her son stepping up and demanding the guards do their damn jobs and actually protect their ward. Anger colored Circenia’s pale cheeks at the sight, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the frustration of the common folk descended into a full-on riot.
Might I suggest your highness moves to the edge of the crowd and keeps her guards close?
“An excellent suggestion,” was her response, nodding to the guards flanking her, who were already tightening into a protective position ahead of and behind her. She was no fool; it wouldn’t be long before the commoners’ anger spilled over to her and the rest of her family, and after the attack on the Stravos archontiko, she had no wish to repeat the experience.
However, she got no further to the edges of the mayhem when Elias made a most… unexpected… announcement. Freezing in place while her mouth dropped open in a rare expression of surprise, the Stravos matriarch stared at Elias and Emilia in patent disbelief. Circenia knew of her son’s machinations to ensnare the young princess, of course; after all, she’d been the one to suggest it in the first place. What she did not know was just how successful it seemed he’d been. An engagement? A reason for felicitations, indeed, but one she wished she’d known about ahead of time. Or at least had been revealed in better circumstances.
Recovering herself quickly, she turned again to Cicero with a brittle smile. His sincerity was about as believable as her smile. “An auspicious occasion if there ever was one. A shame to be announced in such circumstances, howev—hey!”
Interrupting her was a filthy hand tearing at the edge of her himation, pulling and scrabbling at the richly made cloth as the faceless stranger fought to pull her in closer. She’d wager to guess the majority of the crowd gathered knew who she was, and even if they were in doubt, the tiara resting among her elaborately dressed tresses would no doubt serve to confirm it. Slapping at the hand that dared to touch her, her guards made quick work of the offender, pushing him back none too gently with the butt end of their spears. This only served to anger those nearby, the men and women who had not yet noticed her presence turning to her with fury painting their features.
“Your Highness, we need to get you out of here before this gets any worse,” one of her guards murmured in her ear, Circenia nodding curtly in agreement. Already, the men gathered around her were pushing others back, shouting and demanding a path be cleared. She spared a brief glance for her husband, but he was too far away to help her, even if he could. What she wouldn’t have given to have him at her side at that moment, rather than simpering at the young princess’s side.
Gods, but what sort of mess have we gotten ourselves into now?
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Desperately trying to push her way through the crowd to get closer to her son before he made a stark and utter fool of himself, Circenia found her path blocked by none other than the Master Informer, who wore a mask of cool politeness over the disdain that clearly longed to simmer forth. Not that she necessarily blamed him for that disdain—were she in his position, she doubted she’d have any fondness for her or her kin.
“Cicero,” she greeted him in return, inclining her head politely in response to his bow. “Quite an interesting afternoon, eh?”
The young Lords make a good show. And yet I fear are a little unwise in their speech.
The princess’s mouth tightened imperceptibly at that, icy gaze resting briefly on her son and Lord Rafail. She didn’t disagree, but she couldn’t exactly say that, especially not about her own child. There were times she regretted not staying in the Palati with Elias; she hadn’t seen him in several days and perhaps if she had, she could have prevented… whatever this was. “The foibles of youth,” was her breezy excuse, even if the vestiges of disapproval still lingered in the tension around her eyes. “The harvest is always a time to celebrate, wouldn’t you agree?”
Before she could look to Cicero for his response, chaos started to break through the already tense crowd, shouts for and against the Xanthos fools echoing through the air. It all culminated in a half-rotted piece of fruit colliding with Emilia’s face, her son stepping up and demanding the guards do their damn jobs and actually protect their ward. Anger colored Circenia’s pale cheeks at the sight, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the frustration of the common folk descended into a full-on riot.
Might I suggest your highness moves to the edge of the crowd and keeps her guards close?
“An excellent suggestion,” was her response, nodding to the guards flanking her, who were already tightening into a protective position ahead of and behind her. She was no fool; it wouldn’t be long before the commoners’ anger spilled over to her and the rest of her family, and after the attack on the Stravos archontiko, she had no wish to repeat the experience.
However, she got no further to the edges of the mayhem when Elias made a most… unexpected… announcement. Freezing in place while her mouth dropped open in a rare expression of surprise, the Stravos matriarch stared at Elias and Emilia in patent disbelief. Circenia knew of her son’s machinations to ensnare the young princess, of course; after all, she’d been the one to suggest it in the first place. What she did not know was just how successful it seemed he’d been. An engagement? A reason for felicitations, indeed, but one she wished she’d known about ahead of time. Or at least had been revealed in better circumstances.
Recovering herself quickly, she turned again to Cicero with a brittle smile. His sincerity was about as believable as her smile. “An auspicious occasion if there ever was one. A shame to be announced in such circumstances, howev—hey!”
Interrupting her was a filthy hand tearing at the edge of her himation, pulling and scrabbling at the richly made cloth as the faceless stranger fought to pull her in closer. She’d wager to guess the majority of the crowd gathered knew who she was, and even if they were in doubt, the tiara resting among her elaborately dressed tresses would no doubt serve to confirm it. Slapping at the hand that dared to touch her, her guards made quick work of the offender, pushing him back none too gently with the butt end of their spears. This only served to anger those nearby, the men and women who had not yet noticed her presence turning to her with fury painting their features.
“Your Highness, we need to get you out of here before this gets any worse,” one of her guards murmured in her ear, Circenia nodding curtly in agreement. Already, the men gathered around her were pushing others back, shouting and demanding a path be cleared. She spared a brief glance for her husband, but he was too far away to help her, even if he could. What she wouldn’t have given to have him at her side at that moment, rather than simpering at the young princess’s side.
Gods, but what sort of mess have we gotten ourselves into now?
Desperately trying to push her way through the crowd to get closer to her son before he made a stark and utter fool of himself, Circenia found her path blocked by none other than the Master Informer, who wore a mask of cool politeness over the disdain that clearly longed to simmer forth. Not that she necessarily blamed him for that disdain—were she in his position, she doubted she’d have any fondness for her or her kin.
“Cicero,” she greeted him in return, inclining her head politely in response to his bow. “Quite an interesting afternoon, eh?”
The young Lords make a good show. And yet I fear are a little unwise in their speech.
The princess’s mouth tightened imperceptibly at that, icy gaze resting briefly on her son and Lord Rafail. She didn’t disagree, but she couldn’t exactly say that, especially not about her own child. There were times she regretted not staying in the Palati with Elias; she hadn’t seen him in several days and perhaps if she had, she could have prevented… whatever this was. “The foibles of youth,” was her breezy excuse, even if the vestiges of disapproval still lingered in the tension around her eyes. “The harvest is always a time to celebrate, wouldn’t you agree?”
Before she could look to Cicero for his response, chaos started to break through the already tense crowd, shouts for and against the Xanthos fools echoing through the air. It all culminated in a half-rotted piece of fruit colliding with Emilia’s face, her son stepping up and demanding the guards do their damn jobs and actually protect their ward. Anger colored Circenia’s pale cheeks at the sight, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the frustration of the common folk descended into a full-on riot.
Might I suggest your highness moves to the edge of the crowd and keeps her guards close?
“An excellent suggestion,” was her response, nodding to the guards flanking her, who were already tightening into a protective position ahead of and behind her. She was no fool; it wouldn’t be long before the commoners’ anger spilled over to her and the rest of her family, and after the attack on the Stravos archontiko, she had no wish to repeat the experience.
However, she got no further to the edges of the mayhem when Elias made a most… unexpected… announcement. Freezing in place while her mouth dropped open in a rare expression of surprise, the Stravos matriarch stared at Elias and Emilia in patent disbelief. Circenia knew of her son’s machinations to ensnare the young princess, of course; after all, she’d been the one to suggest it in the first place. What she did not know was just how successful it seemed he’d been. An engagement? A reason for felicitations, indeed, but one she wished she’d known about ahead of time. Or at least had been revealed in better circumstances.
Recovering herself quickly, she turned again to Cicero with a brittle smile. His sincerity was about as believable as her smile. “An auspicious occasion if there ever was one. A shame to be announced in such circumstances, howev—hey!”
Interrupting her was a filthy hand tearing at the edge of her himation, pulling and scrabbling at the richly made cloth as the faceless stranger fought to pull her in closer. She’d wager to guess the majority of the crowd gathered knew who she was, and even if they were in doubt, the tiara resting among her elaborately dressed tresses would no doubt serve to confirm it. Slapping at the hand that dared to touch her, her guards made quick work of the offender, pushing him back none too gently with the butt end of their spears. This only served to anger those nearby, the men and women who had not yet noticed her presence turning to her with fury painting their features.
“Your Highness, we need to get you out of here before this gets any worse,” one of her guards murmured in her ear, Circenia nodding curtly in agreement. Already, the men gathered around her were pushing others back, shouting and demanding a path be cleared. She spared a brief glance for her husband, but he was too far away to help her, even if he could. What she wouldn’t have given to have him at her side at that moment, rather than simpering at the young princess’s side.
Gods, but what sort of mess have we gotten ourselves into now?
Emilia had not been expecting much to happen at the festival, to tell the truth. While recent events had shaken the young princess, Athenia showed signs of returning to normal after the upheaval of the king's death and Persephone's subsequent disappearance, that she really just wanted a nice day out to enjoy the sunshine and the ocean breeze, perhaps even catching up with some folks she had not seen in awhile ever since she had been sequestered in the palati. While she still had to be escorted, Emilia now saw it as a form of protection rather then a snipping of her wings.
"They do like to surprise us perhaps, my lord." she murmured, although curous by what sounded like disappointment in his tone. Was he not proud of his son no longer? That was the assumption Emilia had worked under for the longest time.
Her conversation with Keikelius, followed by Lesley, Danae and Ariadne, had paused when her eyes fell upon the machinations of the two young lords. So distracted as she was by their loud calls and the disagreeing voices of anger rising however, Emilia did not even realize what was happening. The young princess had been slightly taken aback by the amount of accusations of cowardice and weakness for Persephone. Was this what everyone thought of her now? Merely a few weeks and this was what happened?
Worry and tension found its way into her facial features, knotting her brow and worrying her hands at her waist when disgust was thrown to her name. Was she being lazy as they said? Was she as useless as they claim? Maybe she wasn't even fit for the title of princess. What use would she give if she couldn't even handle a few weeks? Her eyes blurred, her emotions swayed so easily that despite Lesley's tug at her to move and the movement of Keikelius to shield her, her bodyguard and uncle were both too slow that the rotten fruit splattered right the side of her head, before Lesley managed to pull her behind him.
Words failed her, stuck behind the growing lump in her throat. Without her father and her sister, perhaps that was exactly what she was, useless and unimportant. Undeserving of the crown.
She barely noticed that Elias had dabbed at the juice and foul splatters of fibre upon her face, and instead buried her face in his chest as he pulled her against him. Safety. That was what she had sought when she had agreed to his proposal, was it not? This was what Elias should give her. What he needed to give Athenia, because she was unfit to rule the kingdom and lead the people to glory and a good livelihood. She had no education, none suited for what she had to do now, and Elias was far more important right now.
Swallowing a sob at Elias's words, she meekly nodded and stepped back as Elias spoke to the crowd, she clutched the golden laurel to her chest, but barely heard his words addressed to the rioting citizens of Athenia. Her eyes seem to sink into his when he gazed at her, and while her hazel gaze widened at the presumptuous to the rest of Athenia, Emilia could not reject. She had agreed, the announcement was merely something that would happen eventually anyway. Perhaps she had wanted there to be more romance, flowers and beauty to it, but Emilia also recognized the necessity of it at this point.
The show of force shook Emilia to the core, to watch the guards use shields to beat the citizens down to submission, to watch them fight in return. Blood would spill, lives may be harmed...none of which sat well with Emilia. She winced when she turned and saw Lesley holding his weapons, the sharp crack against a skull making her jump like a startled rabbit. She felt almost claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in, and Emilia could feel the tears welling, her fear rising. In her anxiety, she blindly reached out and grabbed Lesley's wrist, tugging him towards her with eyes wide and obviously frightened, her head shaking repeatedly. "Bring me home. Please."
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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Emilia had not been expecting much to happen at the festival, to tell the truth. While recent events had shaken the young princess, Athenia showed signs of returning to normal after the upheaval of the king's death and Persephone's subsequent disappearance, that she really just wanted a nice day out to enjoy the sunshine and the ocean breeze, perhaps even catching up with some folks she had not seen in awhile ever since she had been sequestered in the palati. While she still had to be escorted, Emilia now saw it as a form of protection rather then a snipping of her wings.
"They do like to surprise us perhaps, my lord." she murmured, although curous by what sounded like disappointment in his tone. Was he not proud of his son no longer? That was the assumption Emilia had worked under for the longest time.
Her conversation with Keikelius, followed by Lesley, Danae and Ariadne, had paused when her eyes fell upon the machinations of the two young lords. So distracted as she was by their loud calls and the disagreeing voices of anger rising however, Emilia did not even realize what was happening. The young princess had been slightly taken aback by the amount of accusations of cowardice and weakness for Persephone. Was this what everyone thought of her now? Merely a few weeks and this was what happened?
Worry and tension found its way into her facial features, knotting her brow and worrying her hands at her waist when disgust was thrown to her name. Was she being lazy as they said? Was she as useless as they claim? Maybe she wasn't even fit for the title of princess. What use would she give if she couldn't even handle a few weeks? Her eyes blurred, her emotions swayed so easily that despite Lesley's tug at her to move and the movement of Keikelius to shield her, her bodyguard and uncle were both too slow that the rotten fruit splattered right the side of her head, before Lesley managed to pull her behind him.
Words failed her, stuck behind the growing lump in her throat. Without her father and her sister, perhaps that was exactly what she was, useless and unimportant. Undeserving of the crown.
She barely noticed that Elias had dabbed at the juice and foul splatters of fibre upon her face, and instead buried her face in his chest as he pulled her against him. Safety. That was what she had sought when she had agreed to his proposal, was it not? This was what Elias should give her. What he needed to give Athenia, because she was unfit to rule the kingdom and lead the people to glory and a good livelihood. She had no education, none suited for what she had to do now, and Elias was far more important right now.
Swallowing a sob at Elias's words, she meekly nodded and stepped back as Elias spoke to the crowd, she clutched the golden laurel to her chest, but barely heard his words addressed to the rioting citizens of Athenia. Her eyes seem to sink into his when he gazed at her, and while her hazel gaze widened at the presumptuous to the rest of Athenia, Emilia could not reject. She had agreed, the announcement was merely something that would happen eventually anyway. Perhaps she had wanted there to be more romance, flowers and beauty to it, but Emilia also recognized the necessity of it at this point.
The show of force shook Emilia to the core, to watch the guards use shields to beat the citizens down to submission, to watch them fight in return. Blood would spill, lives may be harmed...none of which sat well with Emilia. She winced when she turned and saw Lesley holding his weapons, the sharp crack against a skull making her jump like a startled rabbit. She felt almost claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in, and Emilia could feel the tears welling, her fear rising. In her anxiety, she blindly reached out and grabbed Lesley's wrist, tugging him towards her with eyes wide and obviously frightened, her head shaking repeatedly. "Bring me home. Please."
Emilia had not been expecting much to happen at the festival, to tell the truth. While recent events had shaken the young princess, Athenia showed signs of returning to normal after the upheaval of the king's death and Persephone's subsequent disappearance, that she really just wanted a nice day out to enjoy the sunshine and the ocean breeze, perhaps even catching up with some folks she had not seen in awhile ever since she had been sequestered in the palati. While she still had to be escorted, Emilia now saw it as a form of protection rather then a snipping of her wings.
"They do like to surprise us perhaps, my lord." she murmured, although curous by what sounded like disappointment in his tone. Was he not proud of his son no longer? That was the assumption Emilia had worked under for the longest time.
Her conversation with Keikelius, followed by Lesley, Danae and Ariadne, had paused when her eyes fell upon the machinations of the two young lords. So distracted as she was by their loud calls and the disagreeing voices of anger rising however, Emilia did not even realize what was happening. The young princess had been slightly taken aback by the amount of accusations of cowardice and weakness for Persephone. Was this what everyone thought of her now? Merely a few weeks and this was what happened?
Worry and tension found its way into her facial features, knotting her brow and worrying her hands at her waist when disgust was thrown to her name. Was she being lazy as they said? Was she as useless as they claim? Maybe she wasn't even fit for the title of princess. What use would she give if she couldn't even handle a few weeks? Her eyes blurred, her emotions swayed so easily that despite Lesley's tug at her to move and the movement of Keikelius to shield her, her bodyguard and uncle were both too slow that the rotten fruit splattered right the side of her head, before Lesley managed to pull her behind him.
Words failed her, stuck behind the growing lump in her throat. Without her father and her sister, perhaps that was exactly what she was, useless and unimportant. Undeserving of the crown.
She barely noticed that Elias had dabbed at the juice and foul splatters of fibre upon her face, and instead buried her face in his chest as he pulled her against him. Safety. That was what she had sought when she had agreed to his proposal, was it not? This was what Elias should give her. What he needed to give Athenia, because she was unfit to rule the kingdom and lead the people to glory and a good livelihood. She had no education, none suited for what she had to do now, and Elias was far more important right now.
Swallowing a sob at Elias's words, she meekly nodded and stepped back as Elias spoke to the crowd, she clutched the golden laurel to her chest, but barely heard his words addressed to the rioting citizens of Athenia. Her eyes seem to sink into his when he gazed at her, and while her hazel gaze widened at the presumptuous to the rest of Athenia, Emilia could not reject. She had agreed, the announcement was merely something that would happen eventually anyway. Perhaps she had wanted there to be more romance, flowers and beauty to it, but Emilia also recognized the necessity of it at this point.
The show of force shook Emilia to the core, to watch the guards use shields to beat the citizens down to submission, to watch them fight in return. Blood would spill, lives may be harmed...none of which sat well with Emilia. She winced when she turned and saw Lesley holding his weapons, the sharp crack against a skull making her jump like a startled rabbit. She felt almost claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in, and Emilia could feel the tears welling, her fear rising. In her anxiety, she blindly reached out and grabbed Lesley's wrist, tugging him towards her with eyes wide and obviously frightened, her head shaking repeatedly. "Bring me home. Please."
Olena felt like a milkmaid with her hair all tied back, and she hated it more than she could say. The idea of looking like a child after everything she’d gone through left a bitter taste on her tongue and yet there was little she could do about it now. The promise to do everything to hide her identity from the public was stronger than her need to let her hair down. And while she hadn’t spent any time previously in Athenia (that she knew of, anyway), the doubts that she would be recognized by anyone here were fresh in her mind. Why would anyone know of her? Unless Dima had been talking of her in his efforts to reclaim his finances so they could be free, she should have been perfectly safe in the rough and boring chiton she was currently wearing.
She was glad that no one spoke her native tongue, softly cursing both the tan scarf on her head and the brown dress wrapped around her body. There may have also been a few words about Persephone, feeling slightly aggravated that she had allowed her to convince her to come out at all. They were in hiding-- didn’t she appreciate what that meant? It felt silly to be confronting danger over a party, but from what Persephone had said about needing answers, Olena found herself quick to agree.
Where in all of Hades was Dima?
That was why she had agreed-- deep down, she was hoping that he would be in the crowds, making his way back to her. If she could find him again, be reunited with him, then perhaps the growing queasiness in her stomach would cease.
As they walked through the crowd, sticking close to each other, Olena couldn’t help but long for the chance to really browse the fabrics. Perhaps she could have made something better for Persephone to wear, something that would make her more comfortable but also give her the appearance of a peasant. Her fingers were itching to sew again, to create as many beautiful distractions as her hands would allow. But this trip was not one for her own pleasure, and if they were successful, Olena was certain that she would get a chance to shop like this again.
It was not difficult to overhear the cautious words of Iason, who was just as concerned about their presence here as she was. And yet, before she could address it, could agree and suggest they take better cover, she found a sharp, sudden weight on her own foot. She swore in her language, pulling the foot away from the offender as quickly as she was able. ”I think my foot will recover.” Her accent was thicker when she was frustrated or mad, so it was a wonder if the girl could understand her at all. Flexing her toes, she was glad to see that there was little actual damage to her sandaled foot. ”No harm done.” By the time she looked up, Persephone had vanished into the crowd without her. She hoped that at least Iason had stayed by her side. ”Excuse me, I must find my friend.” She forgot all about pleasantries as she turned back in the direction they’d been heading, hoping to be able to spot the two with relative ease.
But it was easier said than done.
It was impossible to ignore the rising anger that was growing within the crowd. Keeping her head down, Olena tried her best to maneuver through, but she was failing. There was no way she would be able to find them like this, not with the nondescript material the Queen wore. She swore again, the level of noise in the crowd growing, even with a loud male voice trying to break through to regain control.
Her focus was divided, part of her searching the crowd for her mistress, the other part keeping an eye out for the curled hair that belonged to Dima. He’d been gone far longer than she liked, even though AImias had tried to reassure her that it might take him longer to find the right time to slip her the note. Olena didn’t care about any of that-- she just wanted him back. The longer he was not in her bed, the more anxious she found herself. And the fact that her hair was covered would have made it more difficult for him to spot her in a crowd.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she resisted the urge to rip the cloth off her head and continued to push, though the tense situation had caused most of the people to push back. Again, she was swearing in the foreign tongue, not afraid to shove someone back to find the Queen. Whatever the man had said seemed to divide the crowd and make things worse, but she couldn’t hear it over the noise. As tensions grew, she knew that it was time for them to leave, before they were discovered. With one more shove, she was finally able to spot the familiar veil and basket. Reaching a hand out to Persephone’s arm, Olena let her green eyes burn with concern. ”We should get out of here. Now.” She warned over the noise of the crowd, wondering if they would be successful in this at all.
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Olena felt like a milkmaid with her hair all tied back, and she hated it more than she could say. The idea of looking like a child after everything she’d gone through left a bitter taste on her tongue and yet there was little she could do about it now. The promise to do everything to hide her identity from the public was stronger than her need to let her hair down. And while she hadn’t spent any time previously in Athenia (that she knew of, anyway), the doubts that she would be recognized by anyone here were fresh in her mind. Why would anyone know of her? Unless Dima had been talking of her in his efforts to reclaim his finances so they could be free, she should have been perfectly safe in the rough and boring chiton she was currently wearing.
She was glad that no one spoke her native tongue, softly cursing both the tan scarf on her head and the brown dress wrapped around her body. There may have also been a few words about Persephone, feeling slightly aggravated that she had allowed her to convince her to come out at all. They were in hiding-- didn’t she appreciate what that meant? It felt silly to be confronting danger over a party, but from what Persephone had said about needing answers, Olena found herself quick to agree.
Where in all of Hades was Dima?
That was why she had agreed-- deep down, she was hoping that he would be in the crowds, making his way back to her. If she could find him again, be reunited with him, then perhaps the growing queasiness in her stomach would cease.
As they walked through the crowd, sticking close to each other, Olena couldn’t help but long for the chance to really browse the fabrics. Perhaps she could have made something better for Persephone to wear, something that would make her more comfortable but also give her the appearance of a peasant. Her fingers were itching to sew again, to create as many beautiful distractions as her hands would allow. But this trip was not one for her own pleasure, and if they were successful, Olena was certain that she would get a chance to shop like this again.
It was not difficult to overhear the cautious words of Iason, who was just as concerned about their presence here as she was. And yet, before she could address it, could agree and suggest they take better cover, she found a sharp, sudden weight on her own foot. She swore in her language, pulling the foot away from the offender as quickly as she was able. ”I think my foot will recover.” Her accent was thicker when she was frustrated or mad, so it was a wonder if the girl could understand her at all. Flexing her toes, she was glad to see that there was little actual damage to her sandaled foot. ”No harm done.” By the time she looked up, Persephone had vanished into the crowd without her. She hoped that at least Iason had stayed by her side. ”Excuse me, I must find my friend.” She forgot all about pleasantries as she turned back in the direction they’d been heading, hoping to be able to spot the two with relative ease.
But it was easier said than done.
It was impossible to ignore the rising anger that was growing within the crowd. Keeping her head down, Olena tried her best to maneuver through, but she was failing. There was no way she would be able to find them like this, not with the nondescript material the Queen wore. She swore again, the level of noise in the crowd growing, even with a loud male voice trying to break through to regain control.
Her focus was divided, part of her searching the crowd for her mistress, the other part keeping an eye out for the curled hair that belonged to Dima. He’d been gone far longer than she liked, even though AImias had tried to reassure her that it might take him longer to find the right time to slip her the note. Olena didn’t care about any of that-- she just wanted him back. The longer he was not in her bed, the more anxious she found herself. And the fact that her hair was covered would have made it more difficult for him to spot her in a crowd.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she resisted the urge to rip the cloth off her head and continued to push, though the tense situation had caused most of the people to push back. Again, she was swearing in the foreign tongue, not afraid to shove someone back to find the Queen. Whatever the man had said seemed to divide the crowd and make things worse, but she couldn’t hear it over the noise. As tensions grew, she knew that it was time for them to leave, before they were discovered. With one more shove, she was finally able to spot the familiar veil and basket. Reaching a hand out to Persephone’s arm, Olena let her green eyes burn with concern. ”We should get out of here. Now.” She warned over the noise of the crowd, wondering if they would be successful in this at all.
Olena felt like a milkmaid with her hair all tied back, and she hated it more than she could say. The idea of looking like a child after everything she’d gone through left a bitter taste on her tongue and yet there was little she could do about it now. The promise to do everything to hide her identity from the public was stronger than her need to let her hair down. And while she hadn’t spent any time previously in Athenia (that she knew of, anyway), the doubts that she would be recognized by anyone here were fresh in her mind. Why would anyone know of her? Unless Dima had been talking of her in his efforts to reclaim his finances so they could be free, she should have been perfectly safe in the rough and boring chiton she was currently wearing.
She was glad that no one spoke her native tongue, softly cursing both the tan scarf on her head and the brown dress wrapped around her body. There may have also been a few words about Persephone, feeling slightly aggravated that she had allowed her to convince her to come out at all. They were in hiding-- didn’t she appreciate what that meant? It felt silly to be confronting danger over a party, but from what Persephone had said about needing answers, Olena found herself quick to agree.
Where in all of Hades was Dima?
That was why she had agreed-- deep down, she was hoping that he would be in the crowds, making his way back to her. If she could find him again, be reunited with him, then perhaps the growing queasiness in her stomach would cease.
As they walked through the crowd, sticking close to each other, Olena couldn’t help but long for the chance to really browse the fabrics. Perhaps she could have made something better for Persephone to wear, something that would make her more comfortable but also give her the appearance of a peasant. Her fingers were itching to sew again, to create as many beautiful distractions as her hands would allow. But this trip was not one for her own pleasure, and if they were successful, Olena was certain that she would get a chance to shop like this again.
It was not difficult to overhear the cautious words of Iason, who was just as concerned about their presence here as she was. And yet, before she could address it, could agree and suggest they take better cover, she found a sharp, sudden weight on her own foot. She swore in her language, pulling the foot away from the offender as quickly as she was able. ”I think my foot will recover.” Her accent was thicker when she was frustrated or mad, so it was a wonder if the girl could understand her at all. Flexing her toes, she was glad to see that there was little actual damage to her sandaled foot. ”No harm done.” By the time she looked up, Persephone had vanished into the crowd without her. She hoped that at least Iason had stayed by her side. ”Excuse me, I must find my friend.” She forgot all about pleasantries as she turned back in the direction they’d been heading, hoping to be able to spot the two with relative ease.
But it was easier said than done.
It was impossible to ignore the rising anger that was growing within the crowd. Keeping her head down, Olena tried her best to maneuver through, but she was failing. There was no way she would be able to find them like this, not with the nondescript material the Queen wore. She swore again, the level of noise in the crowd growing, even with a loud male voice trying to break through to regain control.
Her focus was divided, part of her searching the crowd for her mistress, the other part keeping an eye out for the curled hair that belonged to Dima. He’d been gone far longer than she liked, even though AImias had tried to reassure her that it might take him longer to find the right time to slip her the note. Olena didn’t care about any of that-- she just wanted him back. The longer he was not in her bed, the more anxious she found herself. And the fact that her hair was covered would have made it more difficult for him to spot her in a crowd.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she resisted the urge to rip the cloth off her head and continued to push, though the tense situation had caused most of the people to push back. Again, she was swearing in the foreign tongue, not afraid to shove someone back to find the Queen. Whatever the man had said seemed to divide the crowd and make things worse, but she couldn’t hear it over the noise. As tensions grew, she knew that it was time for them to leave, before they were discovered. With one more shove, she was finally able to spot the familiar veil and basket. Reaching a hand out to Persephone’s arm, Olena let her green eyes burn with concern. ”We should get out of here. Now.” She warned over the noise of the crowd, wondering if they would be successful in this at all.
Everything was happening so quickly. Ariadne made her way trailing behind Emilia slightly towards Elias of Stravos. She would have been naïve to think that he had left the princess alone while they were both in the palace. That would be foolish. But now Ari was starting to wonder how far it had all gone. What had he said to her? Was she convinced to join his side?
In a flash, before Ariadne had a moment to realize what was happening, the princess was hit on the side of her head by a piece of fruit. Ariadne let out an audible gasp, instantly rummaging through her small bag to find something to clean the girl up. She was always prepared for any situation as a lady’s maid and although Persephone wasn’t here at the moment, that didn’t stop Ari. She found a cloth that could be used to clean Emilia’s face but before she could use it, the princess was already being taken in by Elias. Ari was careful to keep her facial features composed, but she was both shocked and confused at what was happening. Although she had decided to stick by Emilia’s side, she was beginning to wonder if she might want to think about making an escape. The princess was so intertwined in this situation and Ari knew it would be an impossibility for the two of them to leave together. Besides, where would she take the girl? To her father’s house in Arcana? That was foolish and would be the first place people would look. They could not be on the run – Ari had some street skills from her childhood, but Emilia had none and it was almost certain to be a disaster. The lady’s maid ran through various scenarios in her head, but kept coming back to the idea that she must slip away now, before it was too late. Even though she didn’t want to leave the princess behind, there were no other options. Ari had to trust that others would guarantee the girl’s safety and not let herself be put into danger.
Moments later, Elias’ sudden proclamation cemented her plan. It seemed that he had somehow convinced Emilia to join with him and there would be no escape in this moment. Ari bit back her surprise at what was happening and looked for the best way to make her escape. She was quiet and good at being unobtrusive. Nobody would notice her leaving, even from near Emilia’s side.
Just as Ariadne chose her escape plan, there were cries against the pronouncements and more urgent sounds of violence. She had heard these sounds before and all she could do now was pray to the gods that Emilia would be kept safe. Ari had to make her own way now. She darted away from the couple and into a path of people that were quickly becoming rowdy, pushing and shoving each other. Her small frame allowed her to move through the crowd easily, but it meant that she had no good sightline for finding her father. She had to hope that he would meet her in a safe spot. Ari sent up another prayer for safety for all of her family and friends today. Please let them be safe, she thought.
It was then, against all odds, that she caught sight of a familiar figure. Someone she thought she might never see again. He was doing his best to stay hidden, but Ariadne had spent enough time in his presence the past few months that she would recognize him, despite a new look. And if Iason was here, that could only mean that her princess was too.
Ariadne abandoned all plans of finding her father in this moment, sending him a gentle apology, and moved in the direction of Iason and, she hoped, Persephone. “Iason!” she called when close, knowing that his name would turn far fewer heads than their missing Queen’s. She didn’t want to lose them. Could it be, that person next to him was her queen?
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Everything was happening so quickly. Ariadne made her way trailing behind Emilia slightly towards Elias of Stravos. She would have been naïve to think that he had left the princess alone while they were both in the palace. That would be foolish. But now Ari was starting to wonder how far it had all gone. What had he said to her? Was she convinced to join his side?
In a flash, before Ariadne had a moment to realize what was happening, the princess was hit on the side of her head by a piece of fruit. Ariadne let out an audible gasp, instantly rummaging through her small bag to find something to clean the girl up. She was always prepared for any situation as a lady’s maid and although Persephone wasn’t here at the moment, that didn’t stop Ari. She found a cloth that could be used to clean Emilia’s face but before she could use it, the princess was already being taken in by Elias. Ari was careful to keep her facial features composed, but she was both shocked and confused at what was happening. Although she had decided to stick by Emilia’s side, she was beginning to wonder if she might want to think about making an escape. The princess was so intertwined in this situation and Ari knew it would be an impossibility for the two of them to leave together. Besides, where would she take the girl? To her father’s house in Arcana? That was foolish and would be the first place people would look. They could not be on the run – Ari had some street skills from her childhood, but Emilia had none and it was almost certain to be a disaster. The lady’s maid ran through various scenarios in her head, but kept coming back to the idea that she must slip away now, before it was too late. Even though she didn’t want to leave the princess behind, there were no other options. Ari had to trust that others would guarantee the girl’s safety and not let herself be put into danger.
Moments later, Elias’ sudden proclamation cemented her plan. It seemed that he had somehow convinced Emilia to join with him and there would be no escape in this moment. Ari bit back her surprise at what was happening and looked for the best way to make her escape. She was quiet and good at being unobtrusive. Nobody would notice her leaving, even from near Emilia’s side.
Just as Ariadne chose her escape plan, there were cries against the pronouncements and more urgent sounds of violence. She had heard these sounds before and all she could do now was pray to the gods that Emilia would be kept safe. Ari had to make her own way now. She darted away from the couple and into a path of people that were quickly becoming rowdy, pushing and shoving each other. Her small frame allowed her to move through the crowd easily, but it meant that she had no good sightline for finding her father. She had to hope that he would meet her in a safe spot. Ari sent up another prayer for safety for all of her family and friends today. Please let them be safe, she thought.
It was then, against all odds, that she caught sight of a familiar figure. Someone she thought she might never see again. He was doing his best to stay hidden, but Ariadne had spent enough time in his presence the past few months that she would recognize him, despite a new look. And if Iason was here, that could only mean that her princess was too.
Ariadne abandoned all plans of finding her father in this moment, sending him a gentle apology, and moved in the direction of Iason and, she hoped, Persephone. “Iason!” she called when close, knowing that his name would turn far fewer heads than their missing Queen’s. She didn’t want to lose them. Could it be, that person next to him was her queen?
Everything was happening so quickly. Ariadne made her way trailing behind Emilia slightly towards Elias of Stravos. She would have been naïve to think that he had left the princess alone while they were both in the palace. That would be foolish. But now Ari was starting to wonder how far it had all gone. What had he said to her? Was she convinced to join his side?
In a flash, before Ariadne had a moment to realize what was happening, the princess was hit on the side of her head by a piece of fruit. Ariadne let out an audible gasp, instantly rummaging through her small bag to find something to clean the girl up. She was always prepared for any situation as a lady’s maid and although Persephone wasn’t here at the moment, that didn’t stop Ari. She found a cloth that could be used to clean Emilia’s face but before she could use it, the princess was already being taken in by Elias. Ari was careful to keep her facial features composed, but she was both shocked and confused at what was happening. Although she had decided to stick by Emilia’s side, she was beginning to wonder if she might want to think about making an escape. The princess was so intertwined in this situation and Ari knew it would be an impossibility for the two of them to leave together. Besides, where would she take the girl? To her father’s house in Arcana? That was foolish and would be the first place people would look. They could not be on the run – Ari had some street skills from her childhood, but Emilia had none and it was almost certain to be a disaster. The lady’s maid ran through various scenarios in her head, but kept coming back to the idea that she must slip away now, before it was too late. Even though she didn’t want to leave the princess behind, there were no other options. Ari had to trust that others would guarantee the girl’s safety and not let herself be put into danger.
Moments later, Elias’ sudden proclamation cemented her plan. It seemed that he had somehow convinced Emilia to join with him and there would be no escape in this moment. Ari bit back her surprise at what was happening and looked for the best way to make her escape. She was quiet and good at being unobtrusive. Nobody would notice her leaving, even from near Emilia’s side.
Just as Ariadne chose her escape plan, there were cries against the pronouncements and more urgent sounds of violence. She had heard these sounds before and all she could do now was pray to the gods that Emilia would be kept safe. Ari had to make her own way now. She darted away from the couple and into a path of people that were quickly becoming rowdy, pushing and shoving each other. Her small frame allowed her to move through the crowd easily, but it meant that she had no good sightline for finding her father. She had to hope that he would meet her in a safe spot. Ari sent up another prayer for safety for all of her family and friends today. Please let them be safe, she thought.
It was then, against all odds, that she caught sight of a familiar figure. Someone she thought she might never see again. He was doing his best to stay hidden, but Ariadne had spent enough time in his presence the past few months that she would recognize him, despite a new look. And if Iason was here, that could only mean that her princess was too.
Ariadne abandoned all plans of finding her father in this moment, sending him a gentle apology, and moved in the direction of Iason and, she hoped, Persephone. “Iason!” she called when close, knowing that his name would turn far fewer heads than their missing Queen’s. She didn’t want to lose them. Could it be, that person next to him was her queen?
The woman whose foot Hebe had stepped on did not look familiar at all. Hebe didn’t even hear her words. Her attention was distracted by the second woman, who quickly turned away from her. In that moment, she recognized her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Queen Persephone! What was she doing here? Wasn’t she supposed to be dead? She didn't look like a ghost. Could she be disguised as a commoner because she didn't want anyone to know she was alive? But why? Maybe she was scoping things out before taking back her throne. The young girl would have curtsied if the queen had not hidden her face from her.
Princess Emilia was going to be elated that her sister was alive. But … Hebe couldn’t tell her. She would have to keep this secret even after Persephone revealed herself. It was going to be difficult to look her mistress in the eye and not blurt out what she knew, but somehow she would manage. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before the queen announced that she had returned to take her rightful place. But what if she disappeared again and this time, she never came back?
Hebe blinked and returned her attention to her companion. She saw her flex her toes and heard her say that there was no harm done. Her accent was thick. She was obviously not Greek. Was she a companion the queen had picked up on her journey to … wherever it was she had gone? Maybe she was someone important and not the peasant woman she seemed to be.
The foreigner said something about finding her friend. “Of course,” Hebe replied. “I’m glad that my clumsiness didn’t hurt you.” How much of that, she wondered, would the woman understand? Watching her walk away, she began following at a discreet distance, wanting to see the queen again. There was obviously something going up ahead on but she closed her mind to the chaos all around her, unwilling for more knowledge to cram unwanted into her head and give her a terrible headache.
She watched the foreigner join the queen, keeping to the shadows and continuing to follow the group, stopping every now and then to look at the merchandise in some of the stalls so that the queen’s party wouldn’t realize that they were being trailed.
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The woman whose foot Hebe had stepped on did not look familiar at all. Hebe didn’t even hear her words. Her attention was distracted by the second woman, who quickly turned away from her. In that moment, she recognized her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Queen Persephone! What was she doing here? Wasn’t she supposed to be dead? She didn't look like a ghost. Could she be disguised as a commoner because she didn't want anyone to know she was alive? But why? Maybe she was scoping things out before taking back her throne. The young girl would have curtsied if the queen had not hidden her face from her.
Princess Emilia was going to be elated that her sister was alive. But … Hebe couldn’t tell her. She would have to keep this secret even after Persephone revealed herself. It was going to be difficult to look her mistress in the eye and not blurt out what she knew, but somehow she would manage. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before the queen announced that she had returned to take her rightful place. But what if she disappeared again and this time, she never came back?
Hebe blinked and returned her attention to her companion. She saw her flex her toes and heard her say that there was no harm done. Her accent was thick. She was obviously not Greek. Was she a companion the queen had picked up on her journey to … wherever it was she had gone? Maybe she was someone important and not the peasant woman she seemed to be.
The foreigner said something about finding her friend. “Of course,” Hebe replied. “I’m glad that my clumsiness didn’t hurt you.” How much of that, she wondered, would the woman understand? Watching her walk away, she began following at a discreet distance, wanting to see the queen again. There was obviously something going up ahead on but she closed her mind to the chaos all around her, unwilling for more knowledge to cram unwanted into her head and give her a terrible headache.
She watched the foreigner join the queen, keeping to the shadows and continuing to follow the group, stopping every now and then to look at the merchandise in some of the stalls so that the queen’s party wouldn’t realize that they were being trailed.
The woman whose foot Hebe had stepped on did not look familiar at all. Hebe didn’t even hear her words. Her attention was distracted by the second woman, who quickly turned away from her. In that moment, she recognized her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Queen Persephone! What was she doing here? Wasn’t she supposed to be dead? She didn't look like a ghost. Could she be disguised as a commoner because she didn't want anyone to know she was alive? But why? Maybe she was scoping things out before taking back her throne. The young girl would have curtsied if the queen had not hidden her face from her.
Princess Emilia was going to be elated that her sister was alive. But … Hebe couldn’t tell her. She would have to keep this secret even after Persephone revealed herself. It was going to be difficult to look her mistress in the eye and not blurt out what she knew, but somehow she would manage. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before the queen announced that she had returned to take her rightful place. But what if she disappeared again and this time, she never came back?
Hebe blinked and returned her attention to her companion. She saw her flex her toes and heard her say that there was no harm done. Her accent was thick. She was obviously not Greek. Was she a companion the queen had picked up on her journey to … wherever it was she had gone? Maybe she was someone important and not the peasant woman she seemed to be.
The foreigner said something about finding her friend. “Of course,” Hebe replied. “I’m glad that my clumsiness didn’t hurt you.” How much of that, she wondered, would the woman understand? Watching her walk away, she began following at a discreet distance, wanting to see the queen again. There was obviously something going up ahead on but she closed her mind to the chaos all around her, unwilling for more knowledge to cram unwanted into her head and give her a terrible headache.
She watched the foreigner join the queen, keeping to the shadows and continuing to follow the group, stopping every now and then to look at the merchandise in some of the stalls so that the queen’s party wouldn’t realize that they were being trailed.
As soon as the girl's voice rang out Iason stiffened, his disguise would not be enough to keep those of the court who knew him from recognizing him, and certainly neither was Persephone's. Would she be able to resist fighting against this crowd as they hurled fruit and barbs at her sister? Would she be able to finally see that the people of Athenia did not need her? There was so much vocal support for Elias, and it had been what they were expecting after all, would she finally be able to accept that it was not necessary for them to be here.
Somehow as the crowd shifted he no longer had his betrothed in his easy reach, and he looked about frantically until the betrothal of Emilia and Elias was loudly announced to the crowd. Even better. Now Emilia would be queen after all, and there was no need to fight. They could leave and return to Taengea safe in the knowledge that she would be queen, well cared for, and perhaps one day they could visit properly. After Persephone agreed to abdicate. To him, it was as if everything had fallen perfectly in place to allow them to slip away and go home.
His name being called caught his attention, and he tried not to whip around to see who it was, afraid to give himself away if anyone thought they knew him. It was a moment of slow motion before he saw who it was that had recognized him after all. Ariadne was familiar enough as Persephone's constant shadow when they had been at court, and he caught her eye with a subtle nod. Reaching out, he caught her by the hand and pulled her toward where he had last seen Persephone and Olena.
"Keep your voice down and cover yourself if you can if you wish to leave with us, otherwise act as if you don't know me and run away." His voice was low, eyes finally locking on the figures of the women he had come to the festival with and glancing back to Ariadne before letting go and instead taking hold of both Olena and Persephone. "We're leaving. No arguments. Just go. It's not safe for you right now." He kept a tight hold on their arms, keeping his head down and trying to navigate to the edge of the crowd and as far away from the crush of people and nobles as he could manage, prepared to have to lift Persephone and drag her out as he had carried her out of the palace. Perhaps the sight of Ariadne following would calm her for the moment.
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As soon as the girl's voice rang out Iason stiffened, his disguise would not be enough to keep those of the court who knew him from recognizing him, and certainly neither was Persephone's. Would she be able to resist fighting against this crowd as they hurled fruit and barbs at her sister? Would she be able to finally see that the people of Athenia did not need her? There was so much vocal support for Elias, and it had been what they were expecting after all, would she finally be able to accept that it was not necessary for them to be here.
Somehow as the crowd shifted he no longer had his betrothed in his easy reach, and he looked about frantically until the betrothal of Emilia and Elias was loudly announced to the crowd. Even better. Now Emilia would be queen after all, and there was no need to fight. They could leave and return to Taengea safe in the knowledge that she would be queen, well cared for, and perhaps one day they could visit properly. After Persephone agreed to abdicate. To him, it was as if everything had fallen perfectly in place to allow them to slip away and go home.
His name being called caught his attention, and he tried not to whip around to see who it was, afraid to give himself away if anyone thought they knew him. It was a moment of slow motion before he saw who it was that had recognized him after all. Ariadne was familiar enough as Persephone's constant shadow when they had been at court, and he caught her eye with a subtle nod. Reaching out, he caught her by the hand and pulled her toward where he had last seen Persephone and Olena.
"Keep your voice down and cover yourself if you can if you wish to leave with us, otherwise act as if you don't know me and run away." His voice was low, eyes finally locking on the figures of the women he had come to the festival with and glancing back to Ariadne before letting go and instead taking hold of both Olena and Persephone. "We're leaving. No arguments. Just go. It's not safe for you right now." He kept a tight hold on their arms, keeping his head down and trying to navigate to the edge of the crowd and as far away from the crush of people and nobles as he could manage, prepared to have to lift Persephone and drag her out as he had carried her out of the palace. Perhaps the sight of Ariadne following would calm her for the moment.
As soon as the girl's voice rang out Iason stiffened, his disguise would not be enough to keep those of the court who knew him from recognizing him, and certainly neither was Persephone's. Would she be able to resist fighting against this crowd as they hurled fruit and barbs at her sister? Would she be able to finally see that the people of Athenia did not need her? There was so much vocal support for Elias, and it had been what they were expecting after all, would she finally be able to accept that it was not necessary for them to be here.
Somehow as the crowd shifted he no longer had his betrothed in his easy reach, and he looked about frantically until the betrothal of Emilia and Elias was loudly announced to the crowd. Even better. Now Emilia would be queen after all, and there was no need to fight. They could leave and return to Taengea safe in the knowledge that she would be queen, well cared for, and perhaps one day they could visit properly. After Persephone agreed to abdicate. To him, it was as if everything had fallen perfectly in place to allow them to slip away and go home.
His name being called caught his attention, and he tried not to whip around to see who it was, afraid to give himself away if anyone thought they knew him. It was a moment of slow motion before he saw who it was that had recognized him after all. Ariadne was familiar enough as Persephone's constant shadow when they had been at court, and he caught her eye with a subtle nod. Reaching out, he caught her by the hand and pulled her toward where he had last seen Persephone and Olena.
"Keep your voice down and cover yourself if you can if you wish to leave with us, otherwise act as if you don't know me and run away." His voice was low, eyes finally locking on the figures of the women he had come to the festival with and glancing back to Ariadne before letting go and instead taking hold of both Olena and Persephone. "We're leaving. No arguments. Just go. It's not safe for you right now." He kept a tight hold on their arms, keeping his head down and trying to navigate to the edge of the crowd and as far away from the crush of people and nobles as he could manage, prepared to have to lift Persephone and drag her out as he had carried her out of the palace. Perhaps the sight of Ariadne following would calm her for the moment.
Emilia's tug on the guard's arm came at exactly the wrong moment, and Lesley took a solid punch in the face for his sins. Or something. Reflex turned his head enough to take it on the strongest part of his cheek rather than get his nose broken - every once in a while, it was better not to have completely lost the instinct to flinch - and he reacted to the girl pulling him that small, significant distance out of position by stepping back and twisting with it, shield raised and center of gravity lowered. He was pretty sure the man who'd hit him would have a significantly more impressive bruise tomorrow.
"Close ranks." The guards shifted to eliminate the sudden gap in the line as Lesley backed out. He'd have been annoyed, except right now he needed to focus, needed to react to everything going on too quickly to waste time on useless emotions. Annoyance would come later, if there was a later - as usual, Lesley wasn't actually thinking ahead, just reacting to the unfolding situation. Trained reflexes worked much better - and much faster - than actually thinking about a fight while you were in it.
Instead, he just recognized the fact that Emilia's training - as much as he'd tried to make it more about 'how to make your bodyguard's job easier' and less 'how to defend yourself' in an effort to see some reasonably-paced progress - wasn't reinforced enough to survive her current level of fear, simply another consideration on par with who was nearby and how well they were or weren't armed. At least panic wouldn't destroy the endurance he'd helped her build in the guise of romping around with her dog. As long as she didn't freeze.
At least the angry citizenry, determined as they were to fight back against they guards and possibly the noblemen, were mostly not interested in seriously hurting a teen girl, even the ones who really didn't like her. While he kept an eye out for anyone who'd managed to actually arm themselves, he otherwise shielded the slight girl with his body as well as his shield, directing her where to go with a steady hand on her shoulder as he hurried her away from the worst of it. He wasn't nearly as good and darting through a crowd as he'd been as a child, and she had no practice doing the same, but at least he still had the knack of noticing the gaps the moment before they appeared, and as soon as he felt they were out from the layers of the crowd that qualified as a mob, he looked around for a little nook or tiny alley they could duck into for a moment.
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Emilia's tug on the guard's arm came at exactly the wrong moment, and Lesley took a solid punch in the face for his sins. Or something. Reflex turned his head enough to take it on the strongest part of his cheek rather than get his nose broken - every once in a while, it was better not to have completely lost the instinct to flinch - and he reacted to the girl pulling him that small, significant distance out of position by stepping back and twisting with it, shield raised and center of gravity lowered. He was pretty sure the man who'd hit him would have a significantly more impressive bruise tomorrow.
"Close ranks." The guards shifted to eliminate the sudden gap in the line as Lesley backed out. He'd have been annoyed, except right now he needed to focus, needed to react to everything going on too quickly to waste time on useless emotions. Annoyance would come later, if there was a later - as usual, Lesley wasn't actually thinking ahead, just reacting to the unfolding situation. Trained reflexes worked much better - and much faster - than actually thinking about a fight while you were in it.
Instead, he just recognized the fact that Emilia's training - as much as he'd tried to make it more about 'how to make your bodyguard's job easier' and less 'how to defend yourself' in an effort to see some reasonably-paced progress - wasn't reinforced enough to survive her current level of fear, simply another consideration on par with who was nearby and how well they were or weren't armed. At least panic wouldn't destroy the endurance he'd helped her build in the guise of romping around with her dog. As long as she didn't freeze.
At least the angry citizenry, determined as they were to fight back against they guards and possibly the noblemen, were mostly not interested in seriously hurting a teen girl, even the ones who really didn't like her. While he kept an eye out for anyone who'd managed to actually arm themselves, he otherwise shielded the slight girl with his body as well as his shield, directing her where to go with a steady hand on her shoulder as he hurried her away from the worst of it. He wasn't nearly as good and darting through a crowd as he'd been as a child, and she had no practice doing the same, but at least he still had the knack of noticing the gaps the moment before they appeared, and as soon as he felt they were out from the layers of the crowd that qualified as a mob, he looked around for a little nook or tiny alley they could duck into for a moment.
Emilia's tug on the guard's arm came at exactly the wrong moment, and Lesley took a solid punch in the face for his sins. Or something. Reflex turned his head enough to take it on the strongest part of his cheek rather than get his nose broken - every once in a while, it was better not to have completely lost the instinct to flinch - and he reacted to the girl pulling him that small, significant distance out of position by stepping back and twisting with it, shield raised and center of gravity lowered. He was pretty sure the man who'd hit him would have a significantly more impressive bruise tomorrow.
"Close ranks." The guards shifted to eliminate the sudden gap in the line as Lesley backed out. He'd have been annoyed, except right now he needed to focus, needed to react to everything going on too quickly to waste time on useless emotions. Annoyance would come later, if there was a later - as usual, Lesley wasn't actually thinking ahead, just reacting to the unfolding situation. Trained reflexes worked much better - and much faster - than actually thinking about a fight while you were in it.
Instead, he just recognized the fact that Emilia's training - as much as he'd tried to make it more about 'how to make your bodyguard's job easier' and less 'how to defend yourself' in an effort to see some reasonably-paced progress - wasn't reinforced enough to survive her current level of fear, simply another consideration on par with who was nearby and how well they were or weren't armed. At least panic wouldn't destroy the endurance he'd helped her build in the guise of romping around with her dog. As long as she didn't freeze.
At least the angry citizenry, determined as they were to fight back against they guards and possibly the noblemen, were mostly not interested in seriously hurting a teen girl, even the ones who really didn't like her. While he kept an eye out for anyone who'd managed to actually arm themselves, he otherwise shielded the slight girl with his body as well as his shield, directing her where to go with a steady hand on her shoulder as he hurried her away from the worst of it. He wasn't nearly as good and darting through a crowd as he'd been as a child, and she had no practice doing the same, but at least he still had the knack of noticing the gaps the moment before they appeared, and as soon as he felt they were out from the layers of the crowd that qualified as a mob, he looked around for a little nook or tiny alley they could duck into for a moment.
The festival was a bizarre variation on what it had been for so many years passed. As royalty and a baroness of the nation, Persephone had attended the Harvest Festival every year since she was able to walk on her own two feet. Her oldest of memories were similar to those of more recent times: lots of people and lots of wares. The Harvest Festival was always a convergence of bodies and goods; so full within the central plateia of the capitol that it became almost dangerous. It was at events such as these - only a few in particular throughout the annual calendar - that Persephone was permitted to attend but with a strict entourage of powerful guardsmen. It wasn't often thought that such an event would bring out the darker souls of those who lived within the city - though that was perhaps a singular consideration amongst many - but more the idea that with many people came a crowd mentality; the risk of a mob collective, riled by passion or motive, could be dangerous to a single female of youthful age and fragile build. As such, she had always been surrounded by a contingency of the palace's finest guardsmen, with strict instructions that the slightest sin of mania or chaos was to ensure her return to the palace unharmed.
Now, on this day, the first of the festivals that Persephone had almost not been in attendance to, there was that same risk. The number of people, the stalls that impeded free movement. The mentality that was at risk of being created. It was all exactly as it had been for so many years. The deviation came from two simple elements that twisted the reality she had witnessed so many times into something foreign and alien. Firstly, the limited number of goods. Whilst the stalls around the plateia were plentiful in number and open to the same number of traders, the goods upon the wooden stands were minimal. Whilst Persephone might have suspected this to be the case at the end of the day, the sun was still high in the sky and there was no reason for traders to have diminished stock. Unless such a minimal supply was what the farmers and traders had brought with them at the start of the day. Persephone's mind easily enough filled in the blanks knowing that one of the easiest means to limit supplies was dangerous weather conditions. Which meant that taxes and legal requirements on those particular goods most at risk from such weather needed to be altered. Else the people that sold them would not be able to survive on the meagre earnings and the farms that produced them would be unable to yield goods the following year. The looks on the traders' faces suggested that no such alterations had been made. There was a desperate sort of look in their eye.
The eyes of those around her were not the only break with the normal tradition of such a festival either. Whilst, in Persephone's memories, this festival had been busy and potentially dangerous, the threat had always been mitigated by the fact that any and all that attended were in high spirits. The Harvest Festival was the very height of trade - when those from the countryside made the pilgrimage to the capitol in order to sell the very freshest and most varied yield of their crops for the entire year. It was a time of excitement and eagerness of patrons and customers, because so many options were available that might not be seen for another twelve months. It was a fresh and vibrant time of relaxation as all the hard work of bringing in the current horde was over and the new year of planting would not begin for another week. It was the final day of effort before a holiday and a fresh start. This attitude was always felt at the festival. It was bright and eager and happy and positive. The people meandered and smiled and engaged in ways that they might not have otherwise for an entire year. And yet now... there was a tension that had not existed in previous years. A darkness. An aggression. It was hard to place a finger upon the source or the reasonings behind it. Hard to identify it in one particular place. It was like a universal and collective sense of feeling that was so much sharper than it had ever been before... Like ice, ready to crack.
Where Iason saw stability in the number of people in the plateia, Persephone saw desperation. Unlike her betrothed, she knew what such an event was supposed to look like and how it was supposed to feel. The fact that it didn't, spoke volumes and set Persephone's teeth on edge.
Looking out across the crowds, Persephone was careful to hold the edge of her cowl so that no breeze - of the wind or of her own making in movement - could send it backward and have her appearance revealed to the people around her. She scanned the crowd, spotting faces that she recognised and wondering where others that were suspiciously absent might then be. It surprised her not that Rafail and Elias had taken themselves into the spotlight, offering food and goods to a people who were clearly starving. Why had those goods not been delivered to the merchants themselves? If they were going to be given away to the stomachs of the populace, why not to the traders so that they could then sell them on, keeping coin exchanging hands and the economy of the kingdom cycling and supporting itself? Charity was admirable but it was not sustainable long term, regardless of how many fields had been at Rafail's disposal in Thesnia. On top of which - what were the farmers of Thesnia bringing to this event if their produce had been taken by their baron as a peace offering to a starving people? This wasn't charity, or aid. It was the reallocation of hunger.
Swallowing, Persephone looked around at the faces of the populace, noting the divide in them. Some called out support and loyalty and thanks to the men that were their saviours, standing upon wagons of food. Otherwise cried out and refuted their supposed generosity and were given snarls of disregard in return. No opportunities for the people to speak, no moment of listening. Rafail and Elias were in fine form. And, Persephone realised, as she heard the gossip and passed-on comments as Elias made his voice known, drunk. Feeling aghast at such disregard for the duties of being in charge of a kingdom. Turning a little and taking several steps to her right, Persephone tried to see what it was that Elias kept looking towards. It was only as the crowds were parted a little by a line of stalls and permitted Persephone's view down between the bars of awnings that she realised who his gaze was returning to. Persephone felt her heartbeat accelerate and her breathing become shallow as her eyes filled with moisture.
Emilia.
Her sister was right there. Perhaps a hundred yards away from her, maybe less, across the plateia. Persephone only had to make a short run - a quick sprint - and she would be beside her little sister, able to hold her and pull her close. Able to breathe in her smell and feel her warmth and know that her family had not all disappeared into the Underworld leaving her alone. That they were here. In the form of a little sister that probably hated her for abandoning her to the wills and whiles of those around her. Those, who Persephone noticed, were a sizeable number that bore the Stravos name. For it was Lord Keikelius that escorted her sister by the arm through the crowds. And Elias to whom he seemed to be guiding her. There was also a large, brutish sort of man attending to Emilia. A man Persephone had never seen before. A bodyguard? A watcher that Elias had placed on her sister? The only saving grace was seeing the familiar blonde head of Ariadne joining her sister for a moment and speaking with her - a kind and trustworthy face that would give Emilia some grounding of familiarity. Not that, perhaps, she was not unfamiliar with the Stravos now... Persephone had no rights to assuming what had been done in her absence.
Swallowing, Persephone watched as the events unfolded before her. The people of the square became heated, became rowdy, became everything that Persephone's guardsmen had always been warned to look out for. A few things were thrown - most verbal allegations - until a piece of fruit hit her sister in the face! Persephone's instincts had her taking a step forward, regardless of any attention or notice. She was still wearing her cowl, still merged amongst the crowd as a simple citizen, so she was hardly spotted. But she had taken the step nonetheless, before her mind had come back into conscious logic. Her instinct was to jump before her sister, play defender, protector and comforter. Only the chance to do so was taken by another. And Persephone watched with horror as Elias was the one to fill that position. His arm snaked out and helped to clean Emilia up and then drew her close, Emilia going willingly! Persephone felt her cheeks burn and her gut twist. What was her sister thinking? The man who had been declared as treasonous to the crown! The man who no doubt had sent armed soldiers into their home and attacked them in their sleep?! What on earth was she thinking?
Feeling like her chest was being sat upon, crushed beneath the weight of a full human being, Persephone could only watch and witness as the following occurred... Elias took Emilia in hand and his voice rose above even the harshest of criers in the crowd. The words that lingered on the air and seemed to send the scent of manure into Persephone's nose were clear as day. And had her entirely unable to breathe. Emilia? To marry Elias? What on earth was going on? He had tried to kill them! If she was to marry the man, she wouldn't last the week. She'd be killed in her sleep or simply controlled and manipulated until she couldn't be any more. And then disposed of. Emilia was putting her life into the hands of a man who would not care to see it extinguished. And in doing so, placing the lives of all the people of Athenia into those same hands. Hands that were more selfish than caring, more promoting than considerate... More drunk than regal.
Angered beyond measure, Persephone had said nothing over a soft gasp at such an announcement - lost in the cries of those next to her, let alone the sounds of the entire crowd. Wrath burned away the unshed tears of relief she had harboured when first spotting Emilia and her hands shook with affront.
What did this all mean? What was she supposed to do with this information? What did this mean for her sister, for the kingdom? What if she was wrong and Elias really did seek the communal joining of the royal lines - the stability of the kingdom? What if she was right and he was simply consolidating his power in a move that would render her sister's superfluous to cause?
And how was she ever supposed to ensure that her letter would reach Emilia if Elias was sticking so close to her that he had managed, in the space of a month, to convince a hopeless romantic to a political match? She still had yet to hear from Demetrius on his delivery of just such a letter and Persephone now had the severest of worries that she had sent him into the lion's den. Not a young princess left alone in a luxurious chamber somewhere, Emilia was a future Queen on the arm of the very man Persephone did not wish reading her missives.
Shocked from her reverie by the call of Iason's name, Persephone looked around but could not spot either her betrothed or the speaker - though the voice had sounded familiar beneath the distortions of the noise of the crowd. Unable to spot her lady's maid Olena, or Iason, nor the caller, Persephone suddenly found herself pressed tight between two bodies, the crowd roused to the calling of angry rejections and passionate support of the new announcement. Persephone felt a hand reaching and grabbing her arm and turned, ready to pull it free when she spotted the face of Olena. She insisted that they needed to leave - that it was dangerous. And Persephone could only agree. Danger had come to the festival. As her father had always warned her guardsmen and protectors that it might. And that danger seemed to have come in the form of Elias... starving then rousing and manipulating the populace to his will.
A moment later and Iason was there, he stood before her insisted that they leave, not willing to hear arguments that would not be forthcoming and denying refutes that Persephone did not feel the need to make. It was true that it was becoming dangerous and they needed to leave - as soon as possible. Her eyes widening and her mouth opening at the side of Iason's companion - Ariadne! - Persephone tried not to look towards her and kept her hood up. She moved beneath Iason's arm and hurried forwards with the intention of leaving the crowd, hoping that Ariadne had the sense to leave the plateia in a slightly different route, in case she was recognised.
It was in a moment of jostling, as the crowd lurched and shifted, that a body knocked into Persephone hard. She shifted, tripped over Iason's feet and almost fell to the ground. Yet, her betrothed saved her from a hard fall, his arms coming around her and holding her close before she could hit marble stone. And, in doing so, jolted her so that the cowl of her cloak fell clean away from her face and head, hanging to the floor. Brought back to her feet, Persephone hurried to pull the cowl back into place, only it was too late. The damage had been done.
"It's Queen Persephone!" came a cry. Followed by a second... and then a third... And then, the crowd really did descend into chaos.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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The festival was a bizarre variation on what it had been for so many years passed. As royalty and a baroness of the nation, Persephone had attended the Harvest Festival every year since she was able to walk on her own two feet. Her oldest of memories were similar to those of more recent times: lots of people and lots of wares. The Harvest Festival was always a convergence of bodies and goods; so full within the central plateia of the capitol that it became almost dangerous. It was at events such as these - only a few in particular throughout the annual calendar - that Persephone was permitted to attend but with a strict entourage of powerful guardsmen. It wasn't often thought that such an event would bring out the darker souls of those who lived within the city - though that was perhaps a singular consideration amongst many - but more the idea that with many people came a crowd mentality; the risk of a mob collective, riled by passion or motive, could be dangerous to a single female of youthful age and fragile build. As such, she had always been surrounded by a contingency of the palace's finest guardsmen, with strict instructions that the slightest sin of mania or chaos was to ensure her return to the palace unharmed.
Now, on this day, the first of the festivals that Persephone had almost not been in attendance to, there was that same risk. The number of people, the stalls that impeded free movement. The mentality that was at risk of being created. It was all exactly as it had been for so many years. The deviation came from two simple elements that twisted the reality she had witnessed so many times into something foreign and alien. Firstly, the limited number of goods. Whilst the stalls around the plateia were plentiful in number and open to the same number of traders, the goods upon the wooden stands were minimal. Whilst Persephone might have suspected this to be the case at the end of the day, the sun was still high in the sky and there was no reason for traders to have diminished stock. Unless such a minimal supply was what the farmers and traders had brought with them at the start of the day. Persephone's mind easily enough filled in the blanks knowing that one of the easiest means to limit supplies was dangerous weather conditions. Which meant that taxes and legal requirements on those particular goods most at risk from such weather needed to be altered. Else the people that sold them would not be able to survive on the meagre earnings and the farms that produced them would be unable to yield goods the following year. The looks on the traders' faces suggested that no such alterations had been made. There was a desperate sort of look in their eye.
The eyes of those around her were not the only break with the normal tradition of such a festival either. Whilst, in Persephone's memories, this festival had been busy and potentially dangerous, the threat had always been mitigated by the fact that any and all that attended were in high spirits. The Harvest Festival was the very height of trade - when those from the countryside made the pilgrimage to the capitol in order to sell the very freshest and most varied yield of their crops for the entire year. It was a time of excitement and eagerness of patrons and customers, because so many options were available that might not be seen for another twelve months. It was a fresh and vibrant time of relaxation as all the hard work of bringing in the current horde was over and the new year of planting would not begin for another week. It was the final day of effort before a holiday and a fresh start. This attitude was always felt at the festival. It was bright and eager and happy and positive. The people meandered and smiled and engaged in ways that they might not have otherwise for an entire year. And yet now... there was a tension that had not existed in previous years. A darkness. An aggression. It was hard to place a finger upon the source or the reasonings behind it. Hard to identify it in one particular place. It was like a universal and collective sense of feeling that was so much sharper than it had ever been before... Like ice, ready to crack.
Where Iason saw stability in the number of people in the plateia, Persephone saw desperation. Unlike her betrothed, she knew what such an event was supposed to look like and how it was supposed to feel. The fact that it didn't, spoke volumes and set Persephone's teeth on edge.
Looking out across the crowds, Persephone was careful to hold the edge of her cowl so that no breeze - of the wind or of her own making in movement - could send it backward and have her appearance revealed to the people around her. She scanned the crowd, spotting faces that she recognised and wondering where others that were suspiciously absent might then be. It surprised her not that Rafail and Elias had taken themselves into the spotlight, offering food and goods to a people who were clearly starving. Why had those goods not been delivered to the merchants themselves? If they were going to be given away to the stomachs of the populace, why not to the traders so that they could then sell them on, keeping coin exchanging hands and the economy of the kingdom cycling and supporting itself? Charity was admirable but it was not sustainable long term, regardless of how many fields had been at Rafail's disposal in Thesnia. On top of which - what were the farmers of Thesnia bringing to this event if their produce had been taken by their baron as a peace offering to a starving people? This wasn't charity, or aid. It was the reallocation of hunger.
Swallowing, Persephone looked around at the faces of the populace, noting the divide in them. Some called out support and loyalty and thanks to the men that were their saviours, standing upon wagons of food. Otherwise cried out and refuted their supposed generosity and were given snarls of disregard in return. No opportunities for the people to speak, no moment of listening. Rafail and Elias were in fine form. And, Persephone realised, as she heard the gossip and passed-on comments as Elias made his voice known, drunk. Feeling aghast at such disregard for the duties of being in charge of a kingdom. Turning a little and taking several steps to her right, Persephone tried to see what it was that Elias kept looking towards. It was only as the crowds were parted a little by a line of stalls and permitted Persephone's view down between the bars of awnings that she realised who his gaze was returning to. Persephone felt her heartbeat accelerate and her breathing become shallow as her eyes filled with moisture.
Emilia.
Her sister was right there. Perhaps a hundred yards away from her, maybe less, across the plateia. Persephone only had to make a short run - a quick sprint - and she would be beside her little sister, able to hold her and pull her close. Able to breathe in her smell and feel her warmth and know that her family had not all disappeared into the Underworld leaving her alone. That they were here. In the form of a little sister that probably hated her for abandoning her to the wills and whiles of those around her. Those, who Persephone noticed, were a sizeable number that bore the Stravos name. For it was Lord Keikelius that escorted her sister by the arm through the crowds. And Elias to whom he seemed to be guiding her. There was also a large, brutish sort of man attending to Emilia. A man Persephone had never seen before. A bodyguard? A watcher that Elias had placed on her sister? The only saving grace was seeing the familiar blonde head of Ariadne joining her sister for a moment and speaking with her - a kind and trustworthy face that would give Emilia some grounding of familiarity. Not that, perhaps, she was not unfamiliar with the Stravos now... Persephone had no rights to assuming what had been done in her absence.
Swallowing, Persephone watched as the events unfolded before her. The people of the square became heated, became rowdy, became everything that Persephone's guardsmen had always been warned to look out for. A few things were thrown - most verbal allegations - until a piece of fruit hit her sister in the face! Persephone's instincts had her taking a step forward, regardless of any attention or notice. She was still wearing her cowl, still merged amongst the crowd as a simple citizen, so she was hardly spotted. But she had taken the step nonetheless, before her mind had come back into conscious logic. Her instinct was to jump before her sister, play defender, protector and comforter. Only the chance to do so was taken by another. And Persephone watched with horror as Elias was the one to fill that position. His arm snaked out and helped to clean Emilia up and then drew her close, Emilia going willingly! Persephone felt her cheeks burn and her gut twist. What was her sister thinking? The man who had been declared as treasonous to the crown! The man who no doubt had sent armed soldiers into their home and attacked them in their sleep?! What on earth was she thinking?
Feeling like her chest was being sat upon, crushed beneath the weight of a full human being, Persephone could only watch and witness as the following occurred... Elias took Emilia in hand and his voice rose above even the harshest of criers in the crowd. The words that lingered on the air and seemed to send the scent of manure into Persephone's nose were clear as day. And had her entirely unable to breathe. Emilia? To marry Elias? What on earth was going on? He had tried to kill them! If she was to marry the man, she wouldn't last the week. She'd be killed in her sleep or simply controlled and manipulated until she couldn't be any more. And then disposed of. Emilia was putting her life into the hands of a man who would not care to see it extinguished. And in doing so, placing the lives of all the people of Athenia into those same hands. Hands that were more selfish than caring, more promoting than considerate... More drunk than regal.
Angered beyond measure, Persephone had said nothing over a soft gasp at such an announcement - lost in the cries of those next to her, let alone the sounds of the entire crowd. Wrath burned away the unshed tears of relief she had harboured when first spotting Emilia and her hands shook with affront.
What did this all mean? What was she supposed to do with this information? What did this mean for her sister, for the kingdom? What if she was wrong and Elias really did seek the communal joining of the royal lines - the stability of the kingdom? What if she was right and he was simply consolidating his power in a move that would render her sister's superfluous to cause?
And how was she ever supposed to ensure that her letter would reach Emilia if Elias was sticking so close to her that he had managed, in the space of a month, to convince a hopeless romantic to a political match? She still had yet to hear from Demetrius on his delivery of just such a letter and Persephone now had the severest of worries that she had sent him into the lion's den. Not a young princess left alone in a luxurious chamber somewhere, Emilia was a future Queen on the arm of the very man Persephone did not wish reading her missives.
Shocked from her reverie by the call of Iason's name, Persephone looked around but could not spot either her betrothed or the speaker - though the voice had sounded familiar beneath the distortions of the noise of the crowd. Unable to spot her lady's maid Olena, or Iason, nor the caller, Persephone suddenly found herself pressed tight between two bodies, the crowd roused to the calling of angry rejections and passionate support of the new announcement. Persephone felt a hand reaching and grabbing her arm and turned, ready to pull it free when she spotted the face of Olena. She insisted that they needed to leave - that it was dangerous. And Persephone could only agree. Danger had come to the festival. As her father had always warned her guardsmen and protectors that it might. And that danger seemed to have come in the form of Elias... starving then rousing and manipulating the populace to his will.
A moment later and Iason was there, he stood before her insisted that they leave, not willing to hear arguments that would not be forthcoming and denying refutes that Persephone did not feel the need to make. It was true that it was becoming dangerous and they needed to leave - as soon as possible. Her eyes widening and her mouth opening at the side of Iason's companion - Ariadne! - Persephone tried not to look towards her and kept her hood up. She moved beneath Iason's arm and hurried forwards with the intention of leaving the crowd, hoping that Ariadne had the sense to leave the plateia in a slightly different route, in case she was recognised.
It was in a moment of jostling, as the crowd lurched and shifted, that a body knocked into Persephone hard. She shifted, tripped over Iason's feet and almost fell to the ground. Yet, her betrothed saved her from a hard fall, his arms coming around her and holding her close before she could hit marble stone. And, in doing so, jolted her so that the cowl of her cloak fell clean away from her face and head, hanging to the floor. Brought back to her feet, Persephone hurried to pull the cowl back into place, only it was too late. The damage had been done.
"It's Queen Persephone!" came a cry. Followed by a second... and then a third... And then, the crowd really did descend into chaos.
The festival was a bizarre variation on what it had been for so many years passed. As royalty and a baroness of the nation, Persephone had attended the Harvest Festival every year since she was able to walk on her own two feet. Her oldest of memories were similar to those of more recent times: lots of people and lots of wares. The Harvest Festival was always a convergence of bodies and goods; so full within the central plateia of the capitol that it became almost dangerous. It was at events such as these - only a few in particular throughout the annual calendar - that Persephone was permitted to attend but with a strict entourage of powerful guardsmen. It wasn't often thought that such an event would bring out the darker souls of those who lived within the city - though that was perhaps a singular consideration amongst many - but more the idea that with many people came a crowd mentality; the risk of a mob collective, riled by passion or motive, could be dangerous to a single female of youthful age and fragile build. As such, she had always been surrounded by a contingency of the palace's finest guardsmen, with strict instructions that the slightest sin of mania or chaos was to ensure her return to the palace unharmed.
Now, on this day, the first of the festivals that Persephone had almost not been in attendance to, there was that same risk. The number of people, the stalls that impeded free movement. The mentality that was at risk of being created. It was all exactly as it had been for so many years. The deviation came from two simple elements that twisted the reality she had witnessed so many times into something foreign and alien. Firstly, the limited number of goods. Whilst the stalls around the plateia were plentiful in number and open to the same number of traders, the goods upon the wooden stands were minimal. Whilst Persephone might have suspected this to be the case at the end of the day, the sun was still high in the sky and there was no reason for traders to have diminished stock. Unless such a minimal supply was what the farmers and traders had brought with them at the start of the day. Persephone's mind easily enough filled in the blanks knowing that one of the easiest means to limit supplies was dangerous weather conditions. Which meant that taxes and legal requirements on those particular goods most at risk from such weather needed to be altered. Else the people that sold them would not be able to survive on the meagre earnings and the farms that produced them would be unable to yield goods the following year. The looks on the traders' faces suggested that no such alterations had been made. There was a desperate sort of look in their eye.
The eyes of those around her were not the only break with the normal tradition of such a festival either. Whilst, in Persephone's memories, this festival had been busy and potentially dangerous, the threat had always been mitigated by the fact that any and all that attended were in high spirits. The Harvest Festival was the very height of trade - when those from the countryside made the pilgrimage to the capitol in order to sell the very freshest and most varied yield of their crops for the entire year. It was a time of excitement and eagerness of patrons and customers, because so many options were available that might not be seen for another twelve months. It was a fresh and vibrant time of relaxation as all the hard work of bringing in the current horde was over and the new year of planting would not begin for another week. It was the final day of effort before a holiday and a fresh start. This attitude was always felt at the festival. It was bright and eager and happy and positive. The people meandered and smiled and engaged in ways that they might not have otherwise for an entire year. And yet now... there was a tension that had not existed in previous years. A darkness. An aggression. It was hard to place a finger upon the source or the reasonings behind it. Hard to identify it in one particular place. It was like a universal and collective sense of feeling that was so much sharper than it had ever been before... Like ice, ready to crack.
Where Iason saw stability in the number of people in the plateia, Persephone saw desperation. Unlike her betrothed, she knew what such an event was supposed to look like and how it was supposed to feel. The fact that it didn't, spoke volumes and set Persephone's teeth on edge.
Looking out across the crowds, Persephone was careful to hold the edge of her cowl so that no breeze - of the wind or of her own making in movement - could send it backward and have her appearance revealed to the people around her. She scanned the crowd, spotting faces that she recognised and wondering where others that were suspiciously absent might then be. It surprised her not that Rafail and Elias had taken themselves into the spotlight, offering food and goods to a people who were clearly starving. Why had those goods not been delivered to the merchants themselves? If they were going to be given away to the stomachs of the populace, why not to the traders so that they could then sell them on, keeping coin exchanging hands and the economy of the kingdom cycling and supporting itself? Charity was admirable but it was not sustainable long term, regardless of how many fields had been at Rafail's disposal in Thesnia. On top of which - what were the farmers of Thesnia bringing to this event if their produce had been taken by their baron as a peace offering to a starving people? This wasn't charity, or aid. It was the reallocation of hunger.
Swallowing, Persephone looked around at the faces of the populace, noting the divide in them. Some called out support and loyalty and thanks to the men that were their saviours, standing upon wagons of food. Otherwise cried out and refuted their supposed generosity and were given snarls of disregard in return. No opportunities for the people to speak, no moment of listening. Rafail and Elias were in fine form. And, Persephone realised, as she heard the gossip and passed-on comments as Elias made his voice known, drunk. Feeling aghast at such disregard for the duties of being in charge of a kingdom. Turning a little and taking several steps to her right, Persephone tried to see what it was that Elias kept looking towards. It was only as the crowds were parted a little by a line of stalls and permitted Persephone's view down between the bars of awnings that she realised who his gaze was returning to. Persephone felt her heartbeat accelerate and her breathing become shallow as her eyes filled with moisture.
Emilia.
Her sister was right there. Perhaps a hundred yards away from her, maybe less, across the plateia. Persephone only had to make a short run - a quick sprint - and she would be beside her little sister, able to hold her and pull her close. Able to breathe in her smell and feel her warmth and know that her family had not all disappeared into the Underworld leaving her alone. That they were here. In the form of a little sister that probably hated her for abandoning her to the wills and whiles of those around her. Those, who Persephone noticed, were a sizeable number that bore the Stravos name. For it was Lord Keikelius that escorted her sister by the arm through the crowds. And Elias to whom he seemed to be guiding her. There was also a large, brutish sort of man attending to Emilia. A man Persephone had never seen before. A bodyguard? A watcher that Elias had placed on her sister? The only saving grace was seeing the familiar blonde head of Ariadne joining her sister for a moment and speaking with her - a kind and trustworthy face that would give Emilia some grounding of familiarity. Not that, perhaps, she was not unfamiliar with the Stravos now... Persephone had no rights to assuming what had been done in her absence.
Swallowing, Persephone watched as the events unfolded before her. The people of the square became heated, became rowdy, became everything that Persephone's guardsmen had always been warned to look out for. A few things were thrown - most verbal allegations - until a piece of fruit hit her sister in the face! Persephone's instincts had her taking a step forward, regardless of any attention or notice. She was still wearing her cowl, still merged amongst the crowd as a simple citizen, so she was hardly spotted. But she had taken the step nonetheless, before her mind had come back into conscious logic. Her instinct was to jump before her sister, play defender, protector and comforter. Only the chance to do so was taken by another. And Persephone watched with horror as Elias was the one to fill that position. His arm snaked out and helped to clean Emilia up and then drew her close, Emilia going willingly! Persephone felt her cheeks burn and her gut twist. What was her sister thinking? The man who had been declared as treasonous to the crown! The man who no doubt had sent armed soldiers into their home and attacked them in their sleep?! What on earth was she thinking?
Feeling like her chest was being sat upon, crushed beneath the weight of a full human being, Persephone could only watch and witness as the following occurred... Elias took Emilia in hand and his voice rose above even the harshest of criers in the crowd. The words that lingered on the air and seemed to send the scent of manure into Persephone's nose were clear as day. And had her entirely unable to breathe. Emilia? To marry Elias? What on earth was going on? He had tried to kill them! If she was to marry the man, she wouldn't last the week. She'd be killed in her sleep or simply controlled and manipulated until she couldn't be any more. And then disposed of. Emilia was putting her life into the hands of a man who would not care to see it extinguished. And in doing so, placing the lives of all the people of Athenia into those same hands. Hands that were more selfish than caring, more promoting than considerate... More drunk than regal.
Angered beyond measure, Persephone had said nothing over a soft gasp at such an announcement - lost in the cries of those next to her, let alone the sounds of the entire crowd. Wrath burned away the unshed tears of relief she had harboured when first spotting Emilia and her hands shook with affront.
What did this all mean? What was she supposed to do with this information? What did this mean for her sister, for the kingdom? What if she was wrong and Elias really did seek the communal joining of the royal lines - the stability of the kingdom? What if she was right and he was simply consolidating his power in a move that would render her sister's superfluous to cause?
And how was she ever supposed to ensure that her letter would reach Emilia if Elias was sticking so close to her that he had managed, in the space of a month, to convince a hopeless romantic to a political match? She still had yet to hear from Demetrius on his delivery of just such a letter and Persephone now had the severest of worries that she had sent him into the lion's den. Not a young princess left alone in a luxurious chamber somewhere, Emilia was a future Queen on the arm of the very man Persephone did not wish reading her missives.
Shocked from her reverie by the call of Iason's name, Persephone looked around but could not spot either her betrothed or the speaker - though the voice had sounded familiar beneath the distortions of the noise of the crowd. Unable to spot her lady's maid Olena, or Iason, nor the caller, Persephone suddenly found herself pressed tight between two bodies, the crowd roused to the calling of angry rejections and passionate support of the new announcement. Persephone felt a hand reaching and grabbing her arm and turned, ready to pull it free when she spotted the face of Olena. She insisted that they needed to leave - that it was dangerous. And Persephone could only agree. Danger had come to the festival. As her father had always warned her guardsmen and protectors that it might. And that danger seemed to have come in the form of Elias... starving then rousing and manipulating the populace to his will.
A moment later and Iason was there, he stood before her insisted that they leave, not willing to hear arguments that would not be forthcoming and denying refutes that Persephone did not feel the need to make. It was true that it was becoming dangerous and they needed to leave - as soon as possible. Her eyes widening and her mouth opening at the side of Iason's companion - Ariadne! - Persephone tried not to look towards her and kept her hood up. She moved beneath Iason's arm and hurried forwards with the intention of leaving the crowd, hoping that Ariadne had the sense to leave the plateia in a slightly different route, in case she was recognised.
It was in a moment of jostling, as the crowd lurched and shifted, that a body knocked into Persephone hard. She shifted, tripped over Iason's feet and almost fell to the ground. Yet, her betrothed saved her from a hard fall, his arms coming around her and holding her close before she could hit marble stone. And, in doing so, jolted her so that the cowl of her cloak fell clean away from her face and head, hanging to the floor. Brought back to her feet, Persephone hurried to pull the cowl back into place, only it was too late. The damage had been done.
"It's Queen Persephone!" came a cry. Followed by a second... and then a third... And then, the crowd really did descend into chaos.
She waited quietly, trusting Lesley to do as she had asked the moment he turned to command his men. Acting much like a mouse instead of the gregarious princess she had always been, Emilia had winced when Lesley had received the punch, but knew her apology would be drowned out in the furor of the crowd. Instead, the princess made a mental note to seek out and apologize to her guard for forgetting all of the training he had worked so hard to instill in her. Now however, the brunette merely wanted to return to the palati, where it was the only safe haven she knew anymore.
Practically plastered against Lesley's side, for there was the safest place she now knew more then anywhere else, the young teen followed his direction, eager to return to the safe haven of her carriage and then her room, so she could get the stickiness of the juice out of her hair and eyes, and remove the reminder of her failure.
They would be out, so close to leaving the crush of people eager to answers, wanting Elias and Emilia to answer for their sufferings they had endured over the last few weeks, demands the princess had no answers for, when the cry went up that made her freeze, despite Lesley's insistence at pulling her away.
Her eyes were wide, like hazel crystal orbs as she looked wildly back at the growing frenzy of the crowd, a gathering knot of people Emilia should, in normal circumstances, never go near. It would be too easy for her small frame to be lost, even trampled over. But after months of hoping and losing all hope of any of her family still being around, to hear her sister's name being called in such a manner made her breath catch. She could not see clearly, the exact person who they had called her sister, but was it truly her sister? Had they mistaken someone else for her? "Persephone!" Emilia cried out. Her sister wouldn't leave her if she knew she was here, right? Pulling against Lesley, she tried to run towards the chaotic crowd, completely forgetting that the anger of the people was targeted at her - so intent she was on verifying if it was indeed her sister someone had saw.
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She waited quietly, trusting Lesley to do as she had asked the moment he turned to command his men. Acting much like a mouse instead of the gregarious princess she had always been, Emilia had winced when Lesley had received the punch, but knew her apology would be drowned out in the furor of the crowd. Instead, the princess made a mental note to seek out and apologize to her guard for forgetting all of the training he had worked so hard to instill in her. Now however, the brunette merely wanted to return to the palati, where it was the only safe haven she knew anymore.
Practically plastered against Lesley's side, for there was the safest place she now knew more then anywhere else, the young teen followed his direction, eager to return to the safe haven of her carriage and then her room, so she could get the stickiness of the juice out of her hair and eyes, and remove the reminder of her failure.
They would be out, so close to leaving the crush of people eager to answers, wanting Elias and Emilia to answer for their sufferings they had endured over the last few weeks, demands the princess had no answers for, when the cry went up that made her freeze, despite Lesley's insistence at pulling her away.
Her eyes were wide, like hazel crystal orbs as she looked wildly back at the growing frenzy of the crowd, a gathering knot of people Emilia should, in normal circumstances, never go near. It would be too easy for her small frame to be lost, even trampled over. But after months of hoping and losing all hope of any of her family still being around, to hear her sister's name being called in such a manner made her breath catch. She could not see clearly, the exact person who they had called her sister, but was it truly her sister? Had they mistaken someone else for her? "Persephone!" Emilia cried out. Her sister wouldn't leave her if she knew she was here, right? Pulling against Lesley, she tried to run towards the chaotic crowd, completely forgetting that the anger of the people was targeted at her - so intent she was on verifying if it was indeed her sister someone had saw.
She waited quietly, trusting Lesley to do as she had asked the moment he turned to command his men. Acting much like a mouse instead of the gregarious princess she had always been, Emilia had winced when Lesley had received the punch, but knew her apology would be drowned out in the furor of the crowd. Instead, the princess made a mental note to seek out and apologize to her guard for forgetting all of the training he had worked so hard to instill in her. Now however, the brunette merely wanted to return to the palati, where it was the only safe haven she knew anymore.
Practically plastered against Lesley's side, for there was the safest place she now knew more then anywhere else, the young teen followed his direction, eager to return to the safe haven of her carriage and then her room, so she could get the stickiness of the juice out of her hair and eyes, and remove the reminder of her failure.
They would be out, so close to leaving the crush of people eager to answers, wanting Elias and Emilia to answer for their sufferings they had endured over the last few weeks, demands the princess had no answers for, when the cry went up that made her freeze, despite Lesley's insistence at pulling her away.
Her eyes were wide, like hazel crystal orbs as she looked wildly back at the growing frenzy of the crowd, a gathering knot of people Emilia should, in normal circumstances, never go near. It would be too easy for her small frame to be lost, even trampled over. But after months of hoping and losing all hope of any of her family still being around, to hear her sister's name being called in such a manner made her breath catch. She could not see clearly, the exact person who they had called her sister, but was it truly her sister? Had they mistaken someone else for her? "Persephone!" Emilia cried out. Her sister wouldn't leave her if she knew she was here, right? Pulling against Lesley, she tried to run towards the chaotic crowd, completely forgetting that the anger of the people was targeted at her - so intent she was on verifying if it was indeed her sister someone had saw.
Kalypso had been trying to disperse food as per drunken Elias’ orders. Although, some snarled bitterness at her as they accepted the food, while others outright refused it. “Would you rather starve, then? I’m no stranger to hunger’s maul.” Her words were bitter, as she had naïvely thought that she could use this excursion of the festival to learn more about the people of Athenia and the provinces, however, that clearly wasn’t going to work. However, she noted some of the conversations, plucking out people who she would question when this was over. Of course, she would take an amicable approach, because people were lured in by sweetness over bitterness, by seduction versus disgust.
However, she had noticed that the ones that were on edge were the royals, not the commoners. Indeed, the commoners seemed enraged, at Emilia for being such a soft flower, for not having a voice of her own on both sides, though Kalypso only knew some of the details. A disgrace, the princess was, someone not nearly fiery enough to handle Elias if they were indeed bethrothed.
Her gaze darkened slightly as she returned back to Elias, the drunken man rich on his chaotic victory, even if it meant the slaughter of his own people, then to Emilia, then to a cowled figure. It was only the wind that made her identity known, the cries of three voices calling for the past Queen. Persephone. What was that foolish woman doing in a lion’s pit? Athenia was no longer her place of refuge, not since her master had secured his place. Of course, Kalypso knew that there was more to the story, so she decided to watch the trio, a strange noble she hadn’t seen before, a foreigner of land’s afar, and the ex-Queen, as if trying to memorize their faces. It was obvious which had to be the Queen.
Though as she heard Emilia’s cry in the distance, she almost felt disgusted. Was that woman truly that cowardly that she wouldn’t try to see if her sister was truly the traitor to the crown? Of course, Kalypso was currently neutral, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t any good if the two royal sisters met. It would ruin Elias’ plans, possibly make Kalypso lose her standing. And it wasn’t as if Elias was doing anything about this. He was in his drunken world, celebrating the chaos that reigned havoc on what had once been a hopeful Harvest festival.
So, Kalypso did what she had to do, she took note of familiar faces, and decided her options. She could join the mob, but what good would that do her. Even if she could understand their anger, she was just as much an enabler of the situation as Elias was. She could also move to safety, but that meant she would have to go through the throng of people, hoping not to be ruffled in the progress. And of course, there was the ex-Queen and her companions. She needed to keep her eyes on them.
Remembering the fabric of the cowl, one that was indistinct, Kalypso dived into the crowd, searching for the tawny fabric. Distract them, her mind whispered. Don’t let the nobility mar your own plans. Of course, with the chaos, most of her well-thought out plans had to be reorganized, so while her initial plans had been to originally seek out the ex-Queen and keep her in place, motives that were quite neutral in her mind, she found herself instead barging through the crowd, elbowing the protesting men and women that she couldn’t weave around to instead end up right beside another pair. One who had to be Elias’ mother and another an unfamiliar face. Bowing her head in greeting, she was about to speak, when her gaze met the drunken one of another.
A friend of Elias. That would be safer to linger by than the Stravos matriarch and an unknown man known for scrutiny. So, she approached the drunken man, noticing how he was calling for another. “It’s no use going through this crowd, especially not in your state. Wait until it dies down and maybe your precious Ismene has gotten away.” It was cold to say it like that, but Kalypso was rather bitter at the circumstances. Her chiton and hair were ruffled from going through the crowd. “We need to go to safety, Lord Adrestus.”
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Kalypso had been trying to disperse food as per drunken Elias’ orders. Although, some snarled bitterness at her as they accepted the food, while others outright refused it. “Would you rather starve, then? I’m no stranger to hunger’s maul.” Her words were bitter, as she had naïvely thought that she could use this excursion of the festival to learn more about the people of Athenia and the provinces, however, that clearly wasn’t going to work. However, she noted some of the conversations, plucking out people who she would question when this was over. Of course, she would take an amicable approach, because people were lured in by sweetness over bitterness, by seduction versus disgust.
However, she had noticed that the ones that were on edge were the royals, not the commoners. Indeed, the commoners seemed enraged, at Emilia for being such a soft flower, for not having a voice of her own on both sides, though Kalypso only knew some of the details. A disgrace, the princess was, someone not nearly fiery enough to handle Elias if they were indeed bethrothed.
Her gaze darkened slightly as she returned back to Elias, the drunken man rich on his chaotic victory, even if it meant the slaughter of his own people, then to Emilia, then to a cowled figure. It was only the wind that made her identity known, the cries of three voices calling for the past Queen. Persephone. What was that foolish woman doing in a lion’s pit? Athenia was no longer her place of refuge, not since her master had secured his place. Of course, Kalypso knew that there was more to the story, so she decided to watch the trio, a strange noble she hadn’t seen before, a foreigner of land’s afar, and the ex-Queen, as if trying to memorize their faces. It was obvious which had to be the Queen.
Though as she heard Emilia’s cry in the distance, she almost felt disgusted. Was that woman truly that cowardly that she wouldn’t try to see if her sister was truly the traitor to the crown? Of course, Kalypso was currently neutral, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t any good if the two royal sisters met. It would ruin Elias’ plans, possibly make Kalypso lose her standing. And it wasn’t as if Elias was doing anything about this. He was in his drunken world, celebrating the chaos that reigned havoc on what had once been a hopeful Harvest festival.
So, Kalypso did what she had to do, she took note of familiar faces, and decided her options. She could join the mob, but what good would that do her. Even if she could understand their anger, she was just as much an enabler of the situation as Elias was. She could also move to safety, but that meant she would have to go through the throng of people, hoping not to be ruffled in the progress. And of course, there was the ex-Queen and her companions. She needed to keep her eyes on them.
Remembering the fabric of the cowl, one that was indistinct, Kalypso dived into the crowd, searching for the tawny fabric. Distract them, her mind whispered. Don’t let the nobility mar your own plans. Of course, with the chaos, most of her well-thought out plans had to be reorganized, so while her initial plans had been to originally seek out the ex-Queen and keep her in place, motives that were quite neutral in her mind, she found herself instead barging through the crowd, elbowing the protesting men and women that she couldn’t weave around to instead end up right beside another pair. One who had to be Elias’ mother and another an unfamiliar face. Bowing her head in greeting, she was about to speak, when her gaze met the drunken one of another.
A friend of Elias. That would be safer to linger by than the Stravos matriarch and an unknown man known for scrutiny. So, she approached the drunken man, noticing how he was calling for another. “It’s no use going through this crowd, especially not in your state. Wait until it dies down and maybe your precious Ismene has gotten away.” It was cold to say it like that, but Kalypso was rather bitter at the circumstances. Her chiton and hair were ruffled from going through the crowd. “We need to go to safety, Lord Adrestus.”
Kalypso had been trying to disperse food as per drunken Elias’ orders. Although, some snarled bitterness at her as they accepted the food, while others outright refused it. “Would you rather starve, then? I’m no stranger to hunger’s maul.” Her words were bitter, as she had naïvely thought that she could use this excursion of the festival to learn more about the people of Athenia and the provinces, however, that clearly wasn’t going to work. However, she noted some of the conversations, plucking out people who she would question when this was over. Of course, she would take an amicable approach, because people were lured in by sweetness over bitterness, by seduction versus disgust.
However, she had noticed that the ones that were on edge were the royals, not the commoners. Indeed, the commoners seemed enraged, at Emilia for being such a soft flower, for not having a voice of her own on both sides, though Kalypso only knew some of the details. A disgrace, the princess was, someone not nearly fiery enough to handle Elias if they were indeed bethrothed.
Her gaze darkened slightly as she returned back to Elias, the drunken man rich on his chaotic victory, even if it meant the slaughter of his own people, then to Emilia, then to a cowled figure. It was only the wind that made her identity known, the cries of three voices calling for the past Queen. Persephone. What was that foolish woman doing in a lion’s pit? Athenia was no longer her place of refuge, not since her master had secured his place. Of course, Kalypso knew that there was more to the story, so she decided to watch the trio, a strange noble she hadn’t seen before, a foreigner of land’s afar, and the ex-Queen, as if trying to memorize their faces. It was obvious which had to be the Queen.
Though as she heard Emilia’s cry in the distance, she almost felt disgusted. Was that woman truly that cowardly that she wouldn’t try to see if her sister was truly the traitor to the crown? Of course, Kalypso was currently neutral, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t any good if the two royal sisters met. It would ruin Elias’ plans, possibly make Kalypso lose her standing. And it wasn’t as if Elias was doing anything about this. He was in his drunken world, celebrating the chaos that reigned havoc on what had once been a hopeful Harvest festival.
So, Kalypso did what she had to do, she took note of familiar faces, and decided her options. She could join the mob, but what good would that do her. Even if she could understand their anger, she was just as much an enabler of the situation as Elias was. She could also move to safety, but that meant she would have to go through the throng of people, hoping not to be ruffled in the progress. And of course, there was the ex-Queen and her companions. She needed to keep her eyes on them.
Remembering the fabric of the cowl, one that was indistinct, Kalypso dived into the crowd, searching for the tawny fabric. Distract them, her mind whispered. Don’t let the nobility mar your own plans. Of course, with the chaos, most of her well-thought out plans had to be reorganized, so while her initial plans had been to originally seek out the ex-Queen and keep her in place, motives that were quite neutral in her mind, she found herself instead barging through the crowd, elbowing the protesting men and women that she couldn’t weave around to instead end up right beside another pair. One who had to be Elias’ mother and another an unfamiliar face. Bowing her head in greeting, she was about to speak, when her gaze met the drunken one of another.
A friend of Elias. That would be safer to linger by than the Stravos matriarch and an unknown man known for scrutiny. So, she approached the drunken man, noticing how he was calling for another. “It’s no use going through this crowd, especially not in your state. Wait until it dies down and maybe your precious Ismene has gotten away.” It was cold to say it like that, but Kalypso was rather bitter at the circumstances. Her chiton and hair were ruffled from going through the crowd. “We need to go to safety, Lord Adrestus.”
It was rare that Persephone felt true fear. A life of care and protection since she was a babe meant that even the most dangerous of threats throughout her life had been mitigated and removed before they were close enough that she might have felt terror. Even if they were immediately within her face, it took like for such emotions to take hold and most often such had been removed before she could register that she should be scared.
This, however, was different.
No longer surrounded by a large squadron of guards or a small group of ladies that would take her place in the chaos of danger at any moment, Persephone was far more exposed than she had ever been in her life. Iason was protective as normal, but he had only two hands and it was hard to ensure that Persephone continued to move away from the crowd, and ensure that no-one came upon her at the same time, all whilst carving a path through the people that descended.
There were pushes and shoves and Persephone felt her arm hit hard into her side and her back nudged harshly by an elbow, upsetting her step. She glanced around herself, keeping one hand on her cowl so that she might keep her face hidden once more, hoping that the calls would be dismissed as folly and she would return to anonymity.
But it didn't matter if the people thought the calls to be true or false. It didn't matter if Persephone was who she was or just a pretty girl someone had mistaken for royalty. It was simply the call of her name that had sparked the chaos around them - the potential of her presence - that was sending the people of Athenia into riots and chaos.
It was a total impossibility for a single voice to be heard over such a din. For one call to be recognised beyond so many voices clammering together. Perhaps it was the fact that it was her name. Perhaps it was the familiarity with which she knew that voice in the foundations of her heart - had heard it over and over again in her head since leaving Athenia, desperate never to forget it. Perhaps the Gods were simply meddling on the way they liked to by ensuring that Persephone heard one single call on the other side of the crowded plateia.
Emilia.
Persephone didn't mean to stop. She knew that she needed to leave the plateia as quickly as possible, hide herself away once more and wait for a quiet moment to be able to find a means of reaching her sister when there wasn't a rioting crowd between them. But she held no control over the way her feet suddenly ceased movement, her heels catching on the edge of cobbled slabs in the open courtyard and her head turned in the direction of her sister.
"Emilia." She said, not as a call in return but a name, practically breathed on her lips. There was a desperation and a heartbreak in so simple a word, her posture instantly turning towards the call of her little sister... her little sister who needed her...
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It was rare that Persephone felt true fear. A life of care and protection since she was a babe meant that even the most dangerous of threats throughout her life had been mitigated and removed before they were close enough that she might have felt terror. Even if they were immediately within her face, it took like for such emotions to take hold and most often such had been removed before she could register that she should be scared.
This, however, was different.
No longer surrounded by a large squadron of guards or a small group of ladies that would take her place in the chaos of danger at any moment, Persephone was far more exposed than she had ever been in her life. Iason was protective as normal, but he had only two hands and it was hard to ensure that Persephone continued to move away from the crowd, and ensure that no-one came upon her at the same time, all whilst carving a path through the people that descended.
There were pushes and shoves and Persephone felt her arm hit hard into her side and her back nudged harshly by an elbow, upsetting her step. She glanced around herself, keeping one hand on her cowl so that she might keep her face hidden once more, hoping that the calls would be dismissed as folly and she would return to anonymity.
But it didn't matter if the people thought the calls to be true or false. It didn't matter if Persephone was who she was or just a pretty girl someone had mistaken for royalty. It was simply the call of her name that had sparked the chaos around them - the potential of her presence - that was sending the people of Athenia into riots and chaos.
It was a total impossibility for a single voice to be heard over such a din. For one call to be recognised beyond so many voices clammering together. Perhaps it was the fact that it was her name. Perhaps it was the familiarity with which she knew that voice in the foundations of her heart - had heard it over and over again in her head since leaving Athenia, desperate never to forget it. Perhaps the Gods were simply meddling on the way they liked to by ensuring that Persephone heard one single call on the other side of the crowded plateia.
Emilia.
Persephone didn't mean to stop. She knew that she needed to leave the plateia as quickly as possible, hide herself away once more and wait for a quiet moment to be able to find a means of reaching her sister when there wasn't a rioting crowd between them. But she held no control over the way her feet suddenly ceased movement, her heels catching on the edge of cobbled slabs in the open courtyard and her head turned in the direction of her sister.
"Emilia." She said, not as a call in return but a name, practically breathed on her lips. There was a desperation and a heartbreak in so simple a word, her posture instantly turning towards the call of her little sister... her little sister who needed her...
It was rare that Persephone felt true fear. A life of care and protection since she was a babe meant that even the most dangerous of threats throughout her life had been mitigated and removed before they were close enough that she might have felt terror. Even if they were immediately within her face, it took like for such emotions to take hold and most often such had been removed before she could register that she should be scared.
This, however, was different.
No longer surrounded by a large squadron of guards or a small group of ladies that would take her place in the chaos of danger at any moment, Persephone was far more exposed than she had ever been in her life. Iason was protective as normal, but he had only two hands and it was hard to ensure that Persephone continued to move away from the crowd, and ensure that no-one came upon her at the same time, all whilst carving a path through the people that descended.
There were pushes and shoves and Persephone felt her arm hit hard into her side and her back nudged harshly by an elbow, upsetting her step. She glanced around herself, keeping one hand on her cowl so that she might keep her face hidden once more, hoping that the calls would be dismissed as folly and she would return to anonymity.
But it didn't matter if the people thought the calls to be true or false. It didn't matter if Persephone was who she was or just a pretty girl someone had mistaken for royalty. It was simply the call of her name that had sparked the chaos around them - the potential of her presence - that was sending the people of Athenia into riots and chaos.
It was a total impossibility for a single voice to be heard over such a din. For one call to be recognised beyond so many voices clammering together. Perhaps it was the fact that it was her name. Perhaps it was the familiarity with which she knew that voice in the foundations of her heart - had heard it over and over again in her head since leaving Athenia, desperate never to forget it. Perhaps the Gods were simply meddling on the way they liked to by ensuring that Persephone heard one single call on the other side of the crowded plateia.
Emilia.
Persephone didn't mean to stop. She knew that she needed to leave the plateia as quickly as possible, hide herself away once more and wait for a quiet moment to be able to find a means of reaching her sister when there wasn't a rioting crowd between them. But she held no control over the way her feet suddenly ceased movement, her heels catching on the edge of cobbled slabs in the open courtyard and her head turned in the direction of her sister.
"Emilia." She said, not as a call in return but a name, practically breathed on her lips. There was a desperation and a heartbreak in so simple a word, her posture instantly turning towards the call of her little sister... her little sister who needed her...
As tightly as he held to her, tried to protect her and keep everyone away, someone was still able to jostle them enough that his lover was thrown down. Catching her close to his chest the hood that kept her hidden was dragged down and Iason cursed under his breath. He'd hoped the way they righted the material was quick enough that her identity would be hidden, but the call of her name sped through the crowd faster than he could have ever anticipated. If they didn't get out and get out now there was no telling if they would make it through the crowd alive.
This time as they moved he was half carrying her, a voice nearly stopped him in his tracks that had haunted him since the night the palace had been raided. If he had only gone to get Emilia first, if he had taken the younger sister to the elder's room, gotten them both safe, they wouldn't have had to come back. The younger girl's cry was one of panic and relief, and he felt a sinking fear that Demetrius had not made it to the younger princess. If their man had fallen somewhere along the way or been discovered this whole thing could have been some sort of trap, and when he had time he would feel sorrow for Olena, but now they just had to make it out alive.
"No, Persephone we can't. We have to go."
Catching the woman he loved as she turned he felt his heart break to tear her away again from the sister she loved so much, but as the crowd turned slowly to a riot around them he was afraid he would have to fully carry her over his shoulder again like he had before. Iason kept a tight grip on Persephone as he shouldered and pushed through the crowd, praying to the gods that no one had really been keeping an eye on the form that was the queen's once they had gotten out the shout. Only once they were in a less congested side street did he allow himself a breath, though they were still not completely out of danger.
He held Persephone's arm in his own, shielding her with his cloak and staying as close to her as he could, subtly glancing about for the attendants that had been with them. They would need to find a way back to the Argyris house without any kind of transport, hiking back on the roads through the fields if necessary to avoid notice.
"We'll find a way to get her. Not now."
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As tightly as he held to her, tried to protect her and keep everyone away, someone was still able to jostle them enough that his lover was thrown down. Catching her close to his chest the hood that kept her hidden was dragged down and Iason cursed under his breath. He'd hoped the way they righted the material was quick enough that her identity would be hidden, but the call of her name sped through the crowd faster than he could have ever anticipated. If they didn't get out and get out now there was no telling if they would make it through the crowd alive.
This time as they moved he was half carrying her, a voice nearly stopped him in his tracks that had haunted him since the night the palace had been raided. If he had only gone to get Emilia first, if he had taken the younger sister to the elder's room, gotten them both safe, they wouldn't have had to come back. The younger girl's cry was one of panic and relief, and he felt a sinking fear that Demetrius had not made it to the younger princess. If their man had fallen somewhere along the way or been discovered this whole thing could have been some sort of trap, and when he had time he would feel sorrow for Olena, but now they just had to make it out alive.
"No, Persephone we can't. We have to go."
Catching the woman he loved as she turned he felt his heart break to tear her away again from the sister she loved so much, but as the crowd turned slowly to a riot around them he was afraid he would have to fully carry her over his shoulder again like he had before. Iason kept a tight grip on Persephone as he shouldered and pushed through the crowd, praying to the gods that no one had really been keeping an eye on the form that was the queen's once they had gotten out the shout. Only once they were in a less congested side street did he allow himself a breath, though they were still not completely out of danger.
He held Persephone's arm in his own, shielding her with his cloak and staying as close to her as he could, subtly glancing about for the attendants that had been with them. They would need to find a way back to the Argyris house without any kind of transport, hiking back on the roads through the fields if necessary to avoid notice.
"We'll find a way to get her. Not now."
As tightly as he held to her, tried to protect her and keep everyone away, someone was still able to jostle them enough that his lover was thrown down. Catching her close to his chest the hood that kept her hidden was dragged down and Iason cursed under his breath. He'd hoped the way they righted the material was quick enough that her identity would be hidden, but the call of her name sped through the crowd faster than he could have ever anticipated. If they didn't get out and get out now there was no telling if they would make it through the crowd alive.
This time as they moved he was half carrying her, a voice nearly stopped him in his tracks that had haunted him since the night the palace had been raided. If he had only gone to get Emilia first, if he had taken the younger sister to the elder's room, gotten them both safe, they wouldn't have had to come back. The younger girl's cry was one of panic and relief, and he felt a sinking fear that Demetrius had not made it to the younger princess. If their man had fallen somewhere along the way or been discovered this whole thing could have been some sort of trap, and when he had time he would feel sorrow for Olena, but now they just had to make it out alive.
"No, Persephone we can't. We have to go."
Catching the woman he loved as she turned he felt his heart break to tear her away again from the sister she loved so much, but as the crowd turned slowly to a riot around them he was afraid he would have to fully carry her over his shoulder again like he had before. Iason kept a tight grip on Persephone as he shouldered and pushed through the crowd, praying to the gods that no one had really been keeping an eye on the form that was the queen's once they had gotten out the shout. Only once they were in a less congested side street did he allow himself a breath, though they were still not completely out of danger.
He held Persephone's arm in his own, shielding her with his cloak and staying as close to her as he could, subtly glancing about for the attendants that had been with them. They would need to find a way back to the Argyris house without any kind of transport, hiking back on the roads through the fields if necessary to avoid notice.
"We'll find a way to get her. Not now."
Ariadne was still processing that she was seeing Iason, even as she made her way to him. She scanned the people next to him, looking for signs of her queen. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Persephone was really alive? She wouldn’t feel satisfied until she saw the queen and maybe not even then. Not until she had heard the entire story. Of course, here was not the place for it. Perhaps soon. Ari was still in a state of disbelief when she finally reached Iason. His own expression betrayed surprise at seeing her and she nodded quickly at his instructions.
For her, there was nearly no hesitation. Although her father and twin were in the crowd, Ariadne knew that she had to go with him. She had to help Persephone if she could. They would understand, even if they worried. As she dug through her satchel for a scarf she always carried, Ari offered up a silent prayer for their protection and their forgiveness. Then, she was covering herself and following Iason as he led her to Persephone.
For a moment the two of them locked eyes – Ariadne hardly believing what was happening. It was all moving rather quickly. She knew there would be a time for a reunion later. They had to leave first. It was growing far too dangerous for them to be there. Ari gave Persephone a nod as the woman was shepherded under Iason’s arms, moving away. The young woman decided she would stay close this time and not leave her queen alone. Then, Persephone was on the ground and unfortunately there were a few too many onlookers. The queen was noticed, despite her quick recovery and the shouts rang out through the crowd. Ari felt a sense of urgency even greater than before. They must leave. She did not know what would happen if they stayed, but only that it would not be good.
However, Persephone’s pause at seeing her sister was enough hesitation for Ariadne to understand. They could not get Emilia now. She was under whatever net Elias had cast. Hopefully not too entangled, but even if so, the logistics of getting to her now would be impossible. Not if they wanted to escape. Emilia would be all right. The last thing Elias would do would be to harm her at this moment. Ariadne had seen enough to ascertain that. He needed her to get his throne.
Ariadne joined Iason at Persephone’s side, hoping to convince her away. “Please, Persephone, she’ll be safer there than with us for the moment.” The girl gave her friend’s hand a squeeze and followed closely behind as Iason managed to lead them away. There was no turning back now, she thought as she followed the pair. Her heart panged for her family, but she had to believe that it would all work out for the best. They would trust that she wouldn’t leave without a reason. And with shouts of Persephone’s name in the crowd, they had to know that was her reason.
They quickly reached a quieter side street, though Ari didn’t feel safe yet. They would do better moving further away and without delay. Although she had not grown up here, Ari had spent nearly half of her life in the capital, more so than Iason. He would not know the way.
“Where are you staying?” she asked quickly, looking at her companions, both familiar and unfamiliar. “If it’s still safe, we must get there as quickly as possible.” She motioned for them to keep moving away from the central square. They could change directions once they had a destination, but it was better to keep moving than to stay in place.
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Ariadne was still processing that she was seeing Iason, even as she made her way to him. She scanned the people next to him, looking for signs of her queen. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Persephone was really alive? She wouldn’t feel satisfied until she saw the queen and maybe not even then. Not until she had heard the entire story. Of course, here was not the place for it. Perhaps soon. Ari was still in a state of disbelief when she finally reached Iason. His own expression betrayed surprise at seeing her and she nodded quickly at his instructions.
For her, there was nearly no hesitation. Although her father and twin were in the crowd, Ariadne knew that she had to go with him. She had to help Persephone if she could. They would understand, even if they worried. As she dug through her satchel for a scarf she always carried, Ari offered up a silent prayer for their protection and their forgiveness. Then, she was covering herself and following Iason as he led her to Persephone.
For a moment the two of them locked eyes – Ariadne hardly believing what was happening. It was all moving rather quickly. She knew there would be a time for a reunion later. They had to leave first. It was growing far too dangerous for them to be there. Ari gave Persephone a nod as the woman was shepherded under Iason’s arms, moving away. The young woman decided she would stay close this time and not leave her queen alone. Then, Persephone was on the ground and unfortunately there were a few too many onlookers. The queen was noticed, despite her quick recovery and the shouts rang out through the crowd. Ari felt a sense of urgency even greater than before. They must leave. She did not know what would happen if they stayed, but only that it would not be good.
However, Persephone’s pause at seeing her sister was enough hesitation for Ariadne to understand. They could not get Emilia now. She was under whatever net Elias had cast. Hopefully not too entangled, but even if so, the logistics of getting to her now would be impossible. Not if they wanted to escape. Emilia would be all right. The last thing Elias would do would be to harm her at this moment. Ariadne had seen enough to ascertain that. He needed her to get his throne.
Ariadne joined Iason at Persephone’s side, hoping to convince her away. “Please, Persephone, she’ll be safer there than with us for the moment.” The girl gave her friend’s hand a squeeze and followed closely behind as Iason managed to lead them away. There was no turning back now, she thought as she followed the pair. Her heart panged for her family, but she had to believe that it would all work out for the best. They would trust that she wouldn’t leave without a reason. And with shouts of Persephone’s name in the crowd, they had to know that was her reason.
They quickly reached a quieter side street, though Ari didn’t feel safe yet. They would do better moving further away and without delay. Although she had not grown up here, Ari had spent nearly half of her life in the capital, more so than Iason. He would not know the way.
“Where are you staying?” she asked quickly, looking at her companions, both familiar and unfamiliar. “If it’s still safe, we must get there as quickly as possible.” She motioned for them to keep moving away from the central square. They could change directions once they had a destination, but it was better to keep moving than to stay in place.
Ariadne was still processing that she was seeing Iason, even as she made her way to him. She scanned the people next to him, looking for signs of her queen. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Persephone was really alive? She wouldn’t feel satisfied until she saw the queen and maybe not even then. Not until she had heard the entire story. Of course, here was not the place for it. Perhaps soon. Ari was still in a state of disbelief when she finally reached Iason. His own expression betrayed surprise at seeing her and she nodded quickly at his instructions.
For her, there was nearly no hesitation. Although her father and twin were in the crowd, Ariadne knew that she had to go with him. She had to help Persephone if she could. They would understand, even if they worried. As she dug through her satchel for a scarf she always carried, Ari offered up a silent prayer for their protection and their forgiveness. Then, she was covering herself and following Iason as he led her to Persephone.
For a moment the two of them locked eyes – Ariadne hardly believing what was happening. It was all moving rather quickly. She knew there would be a time for a reunion later. They had to leave first. It was growing far too dangerous for them to be there. Ari gave Persephone a nod as the woman was shepherded under Iason’s arms, moving away. The young woman decided she would stay close this time and not leave her queen alone. Then, Persephone was on the ground and unfortunately there were a few too many onlookers. The queen was noticed, despite her quick recovery and the shouts rang out through the crowd. Ari felt a sense of urgency even greater than before. They must leave. She did not know what would happen if they stayed, but only that it would not be good.
However, Persephone’s pause at seeing her sister was enough hesitation for Ariadne to understand. They could not get Emilia now. She was under whatever net Elias had cast. Hopefully not too entangled, but even if so, the logistics of getting to her now would be impossible. Not if they wanted to escape. Emilia would be all right. The last thing Elias would do would be to harm her at this moment. Ariadne had seen enough to ascertain that. He needed her to get his throne.
Ariadne joined Iason at Persephone’s side, hoping to convince her away. “Please, Persephone, she’ll be safer there than with us for the moment.” The girl gave her friend’s hand a squeeze and followed closely behind as Iason managed to lead them away. There was no turning back now, she thought as she followed the pair. Her heart panged for her family, but she had to believe that it would all work out for the best. They would trust that she wouldn’t leave without a reason. And with shouts of Persephone’s name in the crowd, they had to know that was her reason.
They quickly reached a quieter side street, though Ari didn’t feel safe yet. They would do better moving further away and without delay. Although she had not grown up here, Ari had spent nearly half of her life in the capital, more so than Iason. He would not know the way.
“Where are you staying?” she asked quickly, looking at her companions, both familiar and unfamiliar. “If it’s still safe, we must get there as quickly as possible.” She motioned for them to keep moving away from the central square. They could change directions once they had a destination, but it was better to keep moving than to stay in place.
Persephone was a competent woman. One who was skilled in assessing circumstances, intelligent in political negotiation and wielded a sense of elegance and grace to all that she did. She had protected and cared for her family in the stead of her late mother since she was twelve years old. She had ruled a kingdom in the stead of her late father for the last few years. She was far from a helpless child.
And yet the situation that devolved into chaos in the central plateia was far from what she was skilled in handling. Not a physical person, nor used to the bolshy and aggressive habits of a group of people sharing a mob mentality, none of Persephone's intellect nor grace nor political aplomb could offer her no behoof now. Instead, she was relegated to that of a rag doll, trusting in Iason to move her feet and Ariadne to protect her from behind. She was spirited away in a cloak of people that ensured her disappearance in a crowd of those dressed likewise.
It took several minutes for them to find themselves in a side street, almost half a mile from the central plateia were mayhem still reigned supreme. Unable to run, push or rush - for it would attract attention - they had had to play dumb and move with the general current of people until the crowds were sparse enough to allow them to be free without notice.
Iason led the way with Persephone under his arm, whilst Olena and Ariadne followed in their shadow. A small group and mostly unnoticed.
It wasn't until they brokered a stop, hidden between two buildings that were closely structured and, at this time of day, kept their dividing alleyway in shadow, that Persephone felt able to breathe once more.
She had said nothing in reply to Iason and Ariadne's behests to keep moving, but her lack of refusal and acceptance of Iason's lead had been clear enough of her conviction. For they had been right - there was nothing Persephone could have done for her sister in that moment. Nothing she could have done by save her own skin so that she would live to seek her out another day.
But something was bothering her in the back of her mind... something about the surprise in Emilia's voice that had claimed Persephone's notice. It could have been simple surprise to have seen her sister there, at that particular event... but it could have also been something else. Surprise that she was even alive? If so...
...then Demetrius had not reached her sister with her letter. And yet he had not returned to them...
Persephone's gaze looked towards Olena, unsure what to make of it and, of course, still not certain what Demetrius' continued absence meant. she had no idea if the man was safe and hiding, having perhaps been spotted and needing to wait out a moment for escape. Or if he was trapped in some way, unable to return to Olena. And if either were the case, his continued absence was Persephone's fault. For it had been in her name that he had gone to the capitol.
For a moment, depression overtook Persephone's mind as she wondered for a minute if she could do anything right... if Iason was right and she should just remove herself back to Taengea as quickly as she could...
It was in looking up from this idea, that Persephone spotted a familiar face in the form of... Hebe of Antonis!
Her eyes widened and she quickly turned away from the young girl who had reached the opening of the alley their group had occupied as their own and she hoped the young woman would turn away and continue onwards. The last thing she needed was another hunt upon her like back at the open courtyard. In the hopes of avoiding a repeat experience, Persephone kept her face tight against Iason's chest, hidden from view, the events of the last few minutes setting an uncharacteristic fear within her heart…
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Persephone was a competent woman. One who was skilled in assessing circumstances, intelligent in political negotiation and wielded a sense of elegance and grace to all that she did. She had protected and cared for her family in the stead of her late mother since she was twelve years old. She had ruled a kingdom in the stead of her late father for the last few years. She was far from a helpless child.
And yet the situation that devolved into chaos in the central plateia was far from what she was skilled in handling. Not a physical person, nor used to the bolshy and aggressive habits of a group of people sharing a mob mentality, none of Persephone's intellect nor grace nor political aplomb could offer her no behoof now. Instead, she was relegated to that of a rag doll, trusting in Iason to move her feet and Ariadne to protect her from behind. She was spirited away in a cloak of people that ensured her disappearance in a crowd of those dressed likewise.
It took several minutes for them to find themselves in a side street, almost half a mile from the central plateia were mayhem still reigned supreme. Unable to run, push or rush - for it would attract attention - they had had to play dumb and move with the general current of people until the crowds were sparse enough to allow them to be free without notice.
Iason led the way with Persephone under his arm, whilst Olena and Ariadne followed in their shadow. A small group and mostly unnoticed.
It wasn't until they brokered a stop, hidden between two buildings that were closely structured and, at this time of day, kept their dividing alleyway in shadow, that Persephone felt able to breathe once more.
She had said nothing in reply to Iason and Ariadne's behests to keep moving, but her lack of refusal and acceptance of Iason's lead had been clear enough of her conviction. For they had been right - there was nothing Persephone could have done for her sister in that moment. Nothing she could have done by save her own skin so that she would live to seek her out another day.
But something was bothering her in the back of her mind... something about the surprise in Emilia's voice that had claimed Persephone's notice. It could have been simple surprise to have seen her sister there, at that particular event... but it could have also been something else. Surprise that she was even alive? If so...
...then Demetrius had not reached her sister with her letter. And yet he had not returned to them...
Persephone's gaze looked towards Olena, unsure what to make of it and, of course, still not certain what Demetrius' continued absence meant. she had no idea if the man was safe and hiding, having perhaps been spotted and needing to wait out a moment for escape. Or if he was trapped in some way, unable to return to Olena. And if either were the case, his continued absence was Persephone's fault. For it had been in her name that he had gone to the capitol.
For a moment, depression overtook Persephone's mind as she wondered for a minute if she could do anything right... if Iason was right and she should just remove herself back to Taengea as quickly as she could...
It was in looking up from this idea, that Persephone spotted a familiar face in the form of... Hebe of Antonis!
Her eyes widened and she quickly turned away from the young girl who had reached the opening of the alley their group had occupied as their own and she hoped the young woman would turn away and continue onwards. The last thing she needed was another hunt upon her like back at the open courtyard. In the hopes of avoiding a repeat experience, Persephone kept her face tight against Iason's chest, hidden from view, the events of the last few minutes setting an uncharacteristic fear within her heart…
Persephone was a competent woman. One who was skilled in assessing circumstances, intelligent in political negotiation and wielded a sense of elegance and grace to all that she did. She had protected and cared for her family in the stead of her late mother since she was twelve years old. She had ruled a kingdom in the stead of her late father for the last few years. She was far from a helpless child.
And yet the situation that devolved into chaos in the central plateia was far from what she was skilled in handling. Not a physical person, nor used to the bolshy and aggressive habits of a group of people sharing a mob mentality, none of Persephone's intellect nor grace nor political aplomb could offer her no behoof now. Instead, she was relegated to that of a rag doll, trusting in Iason to move her feet and Ariadne to protect her from behind. She was spirited away in a cloak of people that ensured her disappearance in a crowd of those dressed likewise.
It took several minutes for them to find themselves in a side street, almost half a mile from the central plateia were mayhem still reigned supreme. Unable to run, push or rush - for it would attract attention - they had had to play dumb and move with the general current of people until the crowds were sparse enough to allow them to be free without notice.
Iason led the way with Persephone under his arm, whilst Olena and Ariadne followed in their shadow. A small group and mostly unnoticed.
It wasn't until they brokered a stop, hidden between two buildings that were closely structured and, at this time of day, kept their dividing alleyway in shadow, that Persephone felt able to breathe once more.
She had said nothing in reply to Iason and Ariadne's behests to keep moving, but her lack of refusal and acceptance of Iason's lead had been clear enough of her conviction. For they had been right - there was nothing Persephone could have done for her sister in that moment. Nothing she could have done by save her own skin so that she would live to seek her out another day.
But something was bothering her in the back of her mind... something about the surprise in Emilia's voice that had claimed Persephone's notice. It could have been simple surprise to have seen her sister there, at that particular event... but it could have also been something else. Surprise that she was even alive? If so...
...then Demetrius had not reached her sister with her letter. And yet he had not returned to them...
Persephone's gaze looked towards Olena, unsure what to make of it and, of course, still not certain what Demetrius' continued absence meant. she had no idea if the man was safe and hiding, having perhaps been spotted and needing to wait out a moment for escape. Or if he was trapped in some way, unable to return to Olena. And if either were the case, his continued absence was Persephone's fault. For it had been in her name that he had gone to the capitol.
For a moment, depression overtook Persephone's mind as she wondered for a minute if she could do anything right... if Iason was right and she should just remove herself back to Taengea as quickly as she could...
It was in looking up from this idea, that Persephone spotted a familiar face in the form of... Hebe of Antonis!
Her eyes widened and she quickly turned away from the young girl who had reached the opening of the alley their group had occupied as their own and she hoped the young woman would turn away and continue onwards. The last thing she needed was another hunt upon her like back at the open courtyard. In the hopes of avoiding a repeat experience, Persephone kept her face tight against Iason's chest, hidden from view, the events of the last few minutes setting an uncharacteristic fear within her heart…