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The evening had settled down, with the rest of the house finding their beds early. It seemed as if they were shaken by what had happened, and it wasn’t as if he could blame them. There was a large uncertainty of who to trust, who to believe, and he found himself at the center of it all. While he had always said that he was an unbiased party, Elias had exposed him as otherwise. And he had used that information to use the man to hurt the women he cared about. For while he did think that Persephone was the real and true ruler, it was true that Aimias would have supported the Xanthos house.
They had been there for him, and now he was ripping it apart at the last two seams.
The change in his character was obvious to anyone who knew him. He was always a quiet man, one who watched from the outside to gather as much information as possible. Now, he was hardly seen within his own home. He kept to the small office he’d made his own, afraid that he might overhear something that would make the situation worse. He was not a strong man, and he knew that it would not take much to break him. As hard as he tried to conceal the truth, he would put everyone in danger by saying more, by being present. He had made no real attempt to heal the wound between him and Iris.
She was safer apart from him. The less she was seen with him, the safer she would be.
He was toxic. Destroying everything he loved seemed to be the only thing he was good at. And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep lying to his Queen, couldn’t keep lying to his wife. He knew her to be a salve on his heart, and if he was going to lose his life by the end of this, he would at least do so on good terms with those who mattered. He could not be afraid of telling those who mattered what he had done. He would come clean of his actions, at least to his wife. And if she wished him to leave, he would.
It would be painful, but he would do as she asked. And would meet his death before betraying anyone in the house.
His heart ached for his daughter, who had been gone for so long, safely tucked away with her cousins and aunt and uncle. She was young, and he was hopeful that he would be gone before she could really remember him. Perhaps it would be easier for her to cope if she couldn’t remember the man. His thoughts circled in dark territory, but he was too much of a coward to end his own life to save those who mattered.
He’d spent most nights in the chambers that had been given to Phillipa, taking comfort in the linger smell of his precocious 2 year old. But tonight, he could not bury himself in her sheets. Instead, he made his way to the room he was supposed to share with his wife. Freshly bathed, he didn’t bother to knock, instead pushing the door open to find the space empty. Aimias was glad for the moment alone, where he could look about and take in the small pieces of his wife that scattered about the room. His hand touched the pillows on her side of the bed, moving towards the table that held small, precious stones on it.
He breathed her in, unable to do this alone anymore.
Dressed in his robe, the belt tightly around his waist, Aimias dropped to the bed. Elbows on his knees, he let his head fall into his hands, the beard still feeling foreign to his normally clean face. Eyes closed, he didn’t realize that he’d been joined, too consumed with his own worry and frustrations to know that his wife was now with him. If he had know, he might have made his excuses and left.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The evening had settled down, with the rest of the house finding their beds early. It seemed as if they were shaken by what had happened, and it wasn’t as if he could blame them. There was a large uncertainty of who to trust, who to believe, and he found himself at the center of it all. While he had always said that he was an unbiased party, Elias had exposed him as otherwise. And he had used that information to use the man to hurt the women he cared about. For while he did think that Persephone was the real and true ruler, it was true that Aimias would have supported the Xanthos house.
They had been there for him, and now he was ripping it apart at the last two seams.
The change in his character was obvious to anyone who knew him. He was always a quiet man, one who watched from the outside to gather as much information as possible. Now, he was hardly seen within his own home. He kept to the small office he’d made his own, afraid that he might overhear something that would make the situation worse. He was not a strong man, and he knew that it would not take much to break him. As hard as he tried to conceal the truth, he would put everyone in danger by saying more, by being present. He had made no real attempt to heal the wound between him and Iris.
She was safer apart from him. The less she was seen with him, the safer she would be.
He was toxic. Destroying everything he loved seemed to be the only thing he was good at. And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep lying to his Queen, couldn’t keep lying to his wife. He knew her to be a salve on his heart, and if he was going to lose his life by the end of this, he would at least do so on good terms with those who mattered. He could not be afraid of telling those who mattered what he had done. He would come clean of his actions, at least to his wife. And if she wished him to leave, he would.
It would be painful, but he would do as she asked. And would meet his death before betraying anyone in the house.
His heart ached for his daughter, who had been gone for so long, safely tucked away with her cousins and aunt and uncle. She was young, and he was hopeful that he would be gone before she could really remember him. Perhaps it would be easier for her to cope if she couldn’t remember the man. His thoughts circled in dark territory, but he was too much of a coward to end his own life to save those who mattered.
He’d spent most nights in the chambers that had been given to Phillipa, taking comfort in the linger smell of his precocious 2 year old. But tonight, he could not bury himself in her sheets. Instead, he made his way to the room he was supposed to share with his wife. Freshly bathed, he didn’t bother to knock, instead pushing the door open to find the space empty. Aimias was glad for the moment alone, where he could look about and take in the small pieces of his wife that scattered about the room. His hand touched the pillows on her side of the bed, moving towards the table that held small, precious stones on it.
He breathed her in, unable to do this alone anymore.
Dressed in his robe, the belt tightly around his waist, Aimias dropped to the bed. Elbows on his knees, he let his head fall into his hands, the beard still feeling foreign to his normally clean face. Eyes closed, he didn’t realize that he’d been joined, too consumed with his own worry and frustrations to know that his wife was now with him. If he had know, he might have made his excuses and left.
The evening had settled down, with the rest of the house finding their beds early. It seemed as if they were shaken by what had happened, and it wasn’t as if he could blame them. There was a large uncertainty of who to trust, who to believe, and he found himself at the center of it all. While he had always said that he was an unbiased party, Elias had exposed him as otherwise. And he had used that information to use the man to hurt the women he cared about. For while he did think that Persephone was the real and true ruler, it was true that Aimias would have supported the Xanthos house.
They had been there for him, and now he was ripping it apart at the last two seams.
The change in his character was obvious to anyone who knew him. He was always a quiet man, one who watched from the outside to gather as much information as possible. Now, he was hardly seen within his own home. He kept to the small office he’d made his own, afraid that he might overhear something that would make the situation worse. He was not a strong man, and he knew that it would not take much to break him. As hard as he tried to conceal the truth, he would put everyone in danger by saying more, by being present. He had made no real attempt to heal the wound between him and Iris.
She was safer apart from him. The less she was seen with him, the safer she would be.
He was toxic. Destroying everything he loved seemed to be the only thing he was good at. And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep lying to his Queen, couldn’t keep lying to his wife. He knew her to be a salve on his heart, and if he was going to lose his life by the end of this, he would at least do so on good terms with those who mattered. He could not be afraid of telling those who mattered what he had done. He would come clean of his actions, at least to his wife. And if she wished him to leave, he would.
It would be painful, but he would do as she asked. And would meet his death before betraying anyone in the house.
His heart ached for his daughter, who had been gone for so long, safely tucked away with her cousins and aunt and uncle. She was young, and he was hopeful that he would be gone before she could really remember him. Perhaps it would be easier for her to cope if she couldn’t remember the man. His thoughts circled in dark territory, but he was too much of a coward to end his own life to save those who mattered.
He’d spent most nights in the chambers that had been given to Phillipa, taking comfort in the linger smell of his precocious 2 year old. But tonight, he could not bury himself in her sheets. Instead, he made his way to the room he was supposed to share with his wife. Freshly bathed, he didn’t bother to knock, instead pushing the door open to find the space empty. Aimias was glad for the moment alone, where he could look about and take in the small pieces of his wife that scattered about the room. His hand touched the pillows on her side of the bed, moving towards the table that held small, precious stones on it.
He breathed her in, unable to do this alone anymore.
Dressed in his robe, the belt tightly around his waist, Aimias dropped to the bed. Elbows on his knees, he let his head fall into his hands, the beard still feeling foreign to his normally clean face. Eyes closed, he didn’t realize that he’d been joined, too consumed with his own worry and frustrations to know that his wife was now with him. If he had know, he might have made his excuses and left.
Iris had long assumed that there would be no intimacy between she and her new husband for the forseeable future. For now, it felt like forever, but whether that was true or not she wouldn't know. Not until she was twenty years into her marriage or something and had little connection left with the man she had married. It was such an odd thing, honestly. To love someone for so long, to agree to marry them when it felt like time was running out to both please your father and find a husband, and then withstand that stark separation that she would not have chosen for herself.
Her household had been affectionate with one another. It was not uncommon to find her cousins close, her aunt playing with her curls, and even her father sitting close to her in the library. With none of those people in this home anymore, it felt... it felt lonelier than she remembered. It felt like the home she had valued for so long now was empty and without the love and passion that had resided within its walls for years upon years. Iris missed Hanna's lilting laugh, Elpis' calculating expressions, the way Leda sniffed when she was done with a conversation, and Zoe's laughing as she trained the hunting dogs out by the stables. And now, Iris had come to miss the giggling whirlwind that was Phillipa.
But she could not grieve her loss the way that she wanted because her husband had taken up residence there. Iris had been given a small taste at what it was to be a mother and now the sharp loss of that wild heart and those little curls made her heartsick. Though she slept in the room that was supposed to be shared with her husband, Iris spent as much time outside of that room that she could. Most of her time was spent in the study or the library, with Gaios close by so that the two of them could go over budgets and requests from Aetaea's people. The people that were crying for help that was not being given by the capitol. It frustrated Iris to the ends of this earth that there was so little she could do for them.
Her mind had wandered to the idea of setting up a larger hunting party in order to bring some more game and pelts down to the village close by. They would need it before winter hit, Iris was sure. But it was almost too much of a risk, and despite her overwhelming want and need to do more, she had, thus far, opted not to. Especially after the arrival of her cousin and her husband. It was... not so ideal any longer.
Bidding her steward goodnight, Iris trailed her way back toward her chambers, dreading the idea of sleeping alone again. Sure, she had been long used to it when she was not married, but now there had been some expectation that they were to be sleeping in the same bed in the same room. That had happened very little since her marriage, and even her previous seduction of her own husband had truly netted her nothing but more loneliness when he had opted to keep an even further distance from her. Though, all of that had started when he had bullied her into secluding herself in Aetaea with Phillipa. In all fairness, the child had been ill, but Iris couldn't forgive such harsh tones or words so easily.
She entered the room silently, pausing at the sight of Aimias sitting on the edge of their bed. With the door still half open, Iris watched in a stilted silence, wondering if she should leave now that was here. She would not, so she steeled herself a little, trying to put a calm expression on her features. "I think," Iris said very softly as she entered the room fully and closed the door behind her, "That before you lay in my bed with me," she murmured, crossing to him, "we should do something about this beard," she mused finally. Putting a very soft smile on her lips, she reached down with both of her hands to cup Aimias' jaw, trying to get him to look at her. "Whatever is on your mind, we can talk in the baths. Come," Iris murmured, now trailing her hands to his wrists in order to try and direct him to his feet.
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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Iris had long assumed that there would be no intimacy between she and her new husband for the forseeable future. For now, it felt like forever, but whether that was true or not she wouldn't know. Not until she was twenty years into her marriage or something and had little connection left with the man she had married. It was such an odd thing, honestly. To love someone for so long, to agree to marry them when it felt like time was running out to both please your father and find a husband, and then withstand that stark separation that she would not have chosen for herself.
Her household had been affectionate with one another. It was not uncommon to find her cousins close, her aunt playing with her curls, and even her father sitting close to her in the library. With none of those people in this home anymore, it felt... it felt lonelier than she remembered. It felt like the home she had valued for so long now was empty and without the love and passion that had resided within its walls for years upon years. Iris missed Hanna's lilting laugh, Elpis' calculating expressions, the way Leda sniffed when she was done with a conversation, and Zoe's laughing as she trained the hunting dogs out by the stables. And now, Iris had come to miss the giggling whirlwind that was Phillipa.
But she could not grieve her loss the way that she wanted because her husband had taken up residence there. Iris had been given a small taste at what it was to be a mother and now the sharp loss of that wild heart and those little curls made her heartsick. Though she slept in the room that was supposed to be shared with her husband, Iris spent as much time outside of that room that she could. Most of her time was spent in the study or the library, with Gaios close by so that the two of them could go over budgets and requests from Aetaea's people. The people that were crying for help that was not being given by the capitol. It frustrated Iris to the ends of this earth that there was so little she could do for them.
Her mind had wandered to the idea of setting up a larger hunting party in order to bring some more game and pelts down to the village close by. They would need it before winter hit, Iris was sure. But it was almost too much of a risk, and despite her overwhelming want and need to do more, she had, thus far, opted not to. Especially after the arrival of her cousin and her husband. It was... not so ideal any longer.
Bidding her steward goodnight, Iris trailed her way back toward her chambers, dreading the idea of sleeping alone again. Sure, she had been long used to it when she was not married, but now there had been some expectation that they were to be sleeping in the same bed in the same room. That had happened very little since her marriage, and even her previous seduction of her own husband had truly netted her nothing but more loneliness when he had opted to keep an even further distance from her. Though, all of that had started when he had bullied her into secluding herself in Aetaea with Phillipa. In all fairness, the child had been ill, but Iris couldn't forgive such harsh tones or words so easily.
She entered the room silently, pausing at the sight of Aimias sitting on the edge of their bed. With the door still half open, Iris watched in a stilted silence, wondering if she should leave now that was here. She would not, so she steeled herself a little, trying to put a calm expression on her features. "I think," Iris said very softly as she entered the room fully and closed the door behind her, "That before you lay in my bed with me," she murmured, crossing to him, "we should do something about this beard," she mused finally. Putting a very soft smile on her lips, she reached down with both of her hands to cup Aimias' jaw, trying to get him to look at her. "Whatever is on your mind, we can talk in the baths. Come," Iris murmured, now trailing her hands to his wrists in order to try and direct him to his feet.
Iris had long assumed that there would be no intimacy between she and her new husband for the forseeable future. For now, it felt like forever, but whether that was true or not she wouldn't know. Not until she was twenty years into her marriage or something and had little connection left with the man she had married. It was such an odd thing, honestly. To love someone for so long, to agree to marry them when it felt like time was running out to both please your father and find a husband, and then withstand that stark separation that she would not have chosen for herself.
Her household had been affectionate with one another. It was not uncommon to find her cousins close, her aunt playing with her curls, and even her father sitting close to her in the library. With none of those people in this home anymore, it felt... it felt lonelier than she remembered. It felt like the home she had valued for so long now was empty and without the love and passion that had resided within its walls for years upon years. Iris missed Hanna's lilting laugh, Elpis' calculating expressions, the way Leda sniffed when she was done with a conversation, and Zoe's laughing as she trained the hunting dogs out by the stables. And now, Iris had come to miss the giggling whirlwind that was Phillipa.
But she could not grieve her loss the way that she wanted because her husband had taken up residence there. Iris had been given a small taste at what it was to be a mother and now the sharp loss of that wild heart and those little curls made her heartsick. Though she slept in the room that was supposed to be shared with her husband, Iris spent as much time outside of that room that she could. Most of her time was spent in the study or the library, with Gaios close by so that the two of them could go over budgets and requests from Aetaea's people. The people that were crying for help that was not being given by the capitol. It frustrated Iris to the ends of this earth that there was so little she could do for them.
Her mind had wandered to the idea of setting up a larger hunting party in order to bring some more game and pelts down to the village close by. They would need it before winter hit, Iris was sure. But it was almost too much of a risk, and despite her overwhelming want and need to do more, she had, thus far, opted not to. Especially after the arrival of her cousin and her husband. It was... not so ideal any longer.
Bidding her steward goodnight, Iris trailed her way back toward her chambers, dreading the idea of sleeping alone again. Sure, she had been long used to it when she was not married, but now there had been some expectation that they were to be sleeping in the same bed in the same room. That had happened very little since her marriage, and even her previous seduction of her own husband had truly netted her nothing but more loneliness when he had opted to keep an even further distance from her. Though, all of that had started when he had bullied her into secluding herself in Aetaea with Phillipa. In all fairness, the child had been ill, but Iris couldn't forgive such harsh tones or words so easily.
She entered the room silently, pausing at the sight of Aimias sitting on the edge of their bed. With the door still half open, Iris watched in a stilted silence, wondering if she should leave now that was here. She would not, so she steeled herself a little, trying to put a calm expression on her features. "I think," Iris said very softly as she entered the room fully and closed the door behind her, "That before you lay in my bed with me," she murmured, crossing to him, "we should do something about this beard," she mused finally. Putting a very soft smile on her lips, she reached down with both of her hands to cup Aimias' jaw, trying to get him to look at her. "Whatever is on your mind, we can talk in the baths. Come," Iris murmured, now trailing her hands to his wrists in order to try and direct him to his feet.
He wondered if this would be the last time he was in their space. Hells, he hardly had spent time in it in the first place because of his guilt. The room was large, designed to be shared by a husband and wife. He had failed on that, too. How much of a husband had he been in all of this? Aimias had never considered himself a selfish man, but looking back on the last few weeks, his actions had been just that-- self-serving.
How much longer could he be this way without owning up to what he had done? How could he let his wife think him indifferent, when the opposite was true? He wanted her so much he ached, but he didn't deserve her.
The click of the door brought his head up, eyes falling on the breathtaking form of his wife. The ache in his chest intensified, wondering how long it would be before she asked him to leave. But instead, she moved towards him. His head dropped back to his hands, until her delicate hands embraced his face, drawing his gaze upward. His eyes were cast down, still too ashamed to meet hers. But at the mention of his beard, he looked up at her. He hadn't given the hair much thought, only knowing that he didn't care for his appearance now to worry about it. He wondered if the look bothered her, but didn't make mention of the sudden insecurity of his appearance and his wife’s desires. His eyes cast down to her hands, wrapped softly around his wrists to get him to his feet. He wanted to stop her, to confess everything here and now.
But he was a coward through and through.
Instead, he stood. His voice felt raw as he asked, “Do you not like the beard?” Small talk felt safe as he followed her lead, allowing her to almost introduce him to the space that should have been theirs from the beginning. Even though he was freshly bathed, he would indulge her in whatever she wished. He had vowed to refuse her nothing from this moment on, so if she wished him clean, he would do so. Perhaps the water would wash away the sins, once spoken. They could start fresh with no more lies between them.
He was at her mercy.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He wondered if this would be the last time he was in their space. Hells, he hardly had spent time in it in the first place because of his guilt. The room was large, designed to be shared by a husband and wife. He had failed on that, too. How much of a husband had he been in all of this? Aimias had never considered himself a selfish man, but looking back on the last few weeks, his actions had been just that-- self-serving.
How much longer could he be this way without owning up to what he had done? How could he let his wife think him indifferent, when the opposite was true? He wanted her so much he ached, but he didn't deserve her.
The click of the door brought his head up, eyes falling on the breathtaking form of his wife. The ache in his chest intensified, wondering how long it would be before she asked him to leave. But instead, she moved towards him. His head dropped back to his hands, until her delicate hands embraced his face, drawing his gaze upward. His eyes were cast down, still too ashamed to meet hers. But at the mention of his beard, he looked up at her. He hadn't given the hair much thought, only knowing that he didn't care for his appearance now to worry about it. He wondered if the look bothered her, but didn't make mention of the sudden insecurity of his appearance and his wife’s desires. His eyes cast down to her hands, wrapped softly around his wrists to get him to his feet. He wanted to stop her, to confess everything here and now.
But he was a coward through and through.
Instead, he stood. His voice felt raw as he asked, “Do you not like the beard?” Small talk felt safe as he followed her lead, allowing her to almost introduce him to the space that should have been theirs from the beginning. Even though he was freshly bathed, he would indulge her in whatever she wished. He had vowed to refuse her nothing from this moment on, so if she wished him clean, he would do so. Perhaps the water would wash away the sins, once spoken. They could start fresh with no more lies between them.
He was at her mercy.
He wondered if this would be the last time he was in their space. Hells, he hardly had spent time in it in the first place because of his guilt. The room was large, designed to be shared by a husband and wife. He had failed on that, too. How much of a husband had he been in all of this? Aimias had never considered himself a selfish man, but looking back on the last few weeks, his actions had been just that-- self-serving.
How much longer could he be this way without owning up to what he had done? How could he let his wife think him indifferent, when the opposite was true? He wanted her so much he ached, but he didn't deserve her.
The click of the door brought his head up, eyes falling on the breathtaking form of his wife. The ache in his chest intensified, wondering how long it would be before she asked him to leave. But instead, she moved towards him. His head dropped back to his hands, until her delicate hands embraced his face, drawing his gaze upward. His eyes were cast down, still too ashamed to meet hers. But at the mention of his beard, he looked up at her. He hadn't given the hair much thought, only knowing that he didn't care for his appearance now to worry about it. He wondered if the look bothered her, but didn't make mention of the sudden insecurity of his appearance and his wife’s desires. His eyes cast down to her hands, wrapped softly around his wrists to get him to his feet. He wanted to stop her, to confess everything here and now.
But he was a coward through and through.
Instead, he stood. His voice felt raw as he asked, “Do you not like the beard?” Small talk felt safe as he followed her lead, allowing her to almost introduce him to the space that should have been theirs from the beginning. Even though he was freshly bathed, he would indulge her in whatever she wished. He had vowed to refuse her nothing from this moment on, so if she wished him clean, he would do so. Perhaps the water would wash away the sins, once spoken. They could start fresh with no more lies between them.
He was at her mercy.
Iris stared down into the face of her husband, her expression softening when he finally spoke to her. The question was almost meak and she had to look him over fully. Her fingers trailed through his beard and she shook her head. “If only because I know you,” Iris said softly, “And I know that you normally would not let yourself grow unkempt if there was not something on your mind,” she continued, looking into his blue eyes. It worried her, honestly. He had seemed so tired and the distance between them had been so incredibly stark that there had to be something that he was hiding.
She would not force it out of him, but she would try to ease his mind. Ease him with the tenderness that she knew he would melt for if she really showed it to him. Their past fighting was almost forgotten in that moment, her focus entirely on her husband. With him up on his feet, she was not looking up at him, towering over her. “You smell nice,” she said softly after a moment, realizing that he had already bathed. She considered, for just a moment, changing her mind and what she had planned. Iris, however, was intent on the two of them baring themselves to one another.
Both emotionally and physically.
“I know that you already bathed,” she said softly, “But I would like you to keep me company,” Iris said softly, pulling him by the hand and out of the room. The lady said nothing else as they moved through the halls of the manor, pleased that everyone had already wandered to their own rooms. Acantha was coming down the hallway from the other direction, and Iris smiled softly at her retainer. “Make sure that no one disturbs us, Acantha. My husband and I are going to bathe,” Iris murmured before leaving the bowing woman behind.
The halls were warm and cozy and the halls were familiar. Breathing out slowly and mulling things mostly with herself. Iris pointedly kept her gaze off of her husband, not wanting him to start speaking until they were in private and until she could face him properly. The walk to the private baths was not long and Iris pulled him into the carefully crafted room with a soft smile on her lips. Her fingers had long laced with his, intent on feeling even the ridges of his hands and the warmth of his touch.
Letting him go, Iris turned to Aimias with her brows slightly furrowed. “We can talk… once you look more like yourself, my love. I promise you.”
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Iris stared down into the face of her husband, her expression softening when he finally spoke to her. The question was almost meak and she had to look him over fully. Her fingers trailed through his beard and she shook her head. “If only because I know you,” Iris said softly, “And I know that you normally would not let yourself grow unkempt if there was not something on your mind,” she continued, looking into his blue eyes. It worried her, honestly. He had seemed so tired and the distance between them had been so incredibly stark that there had to be something that he was hiding.
She would not force it out of him, but she would try to ease his mind. Ease him with the tenderness that she knew he would melt for if she really showed it to him. Their past fighting was almost forgotten in that moment, her focus entirely on her husband. With him up on his feet, she was not looking up at him, towering over her. “You smell nice,” she said softly after a moment, realizing that he had already bathed. She considered, for just a moment, changing her mind and what she had planned. Iris, however, was intent on the two of them baring themselves to one another.
Both emotionally and physically.
“I know that you already bathed,” she said softly, “But I would like you to keep me company,” Iris said softly, pulling him by the hand and out of the room. The lady said nothing else as they moved through the halls of the manor, pleased that everyone had already wandered to their own rooms. Acantha was coming down the hallway from the other direction, and Iris smiled softly at her retainer. “Make sure that no one disturbs us, Acantha. My husband and I are going to bathe,” Iris murmured before leaving the bowing woman behind.
The halls were warm and cozy and the halls were familiar. Breathing out slowly and mulling things mostly with herself. Iris pointedly kept her gaze off of her husband, not wanting him to start speaking until they were in private and until she could face him properly. The walk to the private baths was not long and Iris pulled him into the carefully crafted room with a soft smile on her lips. Her fingers had long laced with his, intent on feeling even the ridges of his hands and the warmth of his touch.
Letting him go, Iris turned to Aimias with her brows slightly furrowed. “We can talk… once you look more like yourself, my love. I promise you.”
Iris stared down into the face of her husband, her expression softening when he finally spoke to her. The question was almost meak and she had to look him over fully. Her fingers trailed through his beard and she shook her head. “If only because I know you,” Iris said softly, “And I know that you normally would not let yourself grow unkempt if there was not something on your mind,” she continued, looking into his blue eyes. It worried her, honestly. He had seemed so tired and the distance between them had been so incredibly stark that there had to be something that he was hiding.
She would not force it out of him, but she would try to ease his mind. Ease him with the tenderness that she knew he would melt for if she really showed it to him. Their past fighting was almost forgotten in that moment, her focus entirely on her husband. With him up on his feet, she was not looking up at him, towering over her. “You smell nice,” she said softly after a moment, realizing that he had already bathed. She considered, for just a moment, changing her mind and what she had planned. Iris, however, was intent on the two of them baring themselves to one another.
Both emotionally and physically.
“I know that you already bathed,” she said softly, “But I would like you to keep me company,” Iris said softly, pulling him by the hand and out of the room. The lady said nothing else as they moved through the halls of the manor, pleased that everyone had already wandered to their own rooms. Acantha was coming down the hallway from the other direction, and Iris smiled softly at her retainer. “Make sure that no one disturbs us, Acantha. My husband and I are going to bathe,” Iris murmured before leaving the bowing woman behind.
The halls were warm and cozy and the halls were familiar. Breathing out slowly and mulling things mostly with herself. Iris pointedly kept her gaze off of her husband, not wanting him to start speaking until they were in private and until she could face him properly. The walk to the private baths was not long and Iris pulled him into the carefully crafted room with a soft smile on her lips. Her fingers had long laced with his, intent on feeling even the ridges of his hands and the warmth of his touch.
Letting him go, Iris turned to Aimias with her brows slightly furrowed. “We can talk… once you look more like yourself, my love. I promise you.”
Guilt washed over him again as he realized that his wife was right-- she did know him. They had spent far too much time getting to know each other in their youth. And while he hadn’t changed, in all those years, she had. And he found himself feeling ashamed for how little he knew of her. Their marriage had been a quick affair, one that had been convenient and for the love of a daughter to her father-- he died knowing his daughter was matched and safe. But beyond that, Aimias had not taken much time to get to know his wife.
It was an excuse, but there just hadn’t been time. By the time the newlyweds had made it back to the city, the king had died. They both had responsibilities to manage, then Persephone had vanished and things had spiraled from there.
He knew he pushed her away to protect her, to keep her from seeking out the truth from him. And maybe he had been protecting his own heart, too. Perhaps it would be easier for her to hate him if she didn’t get to know him now. Or maybe he would be able to watch her walk away if he wasn’t in love with her. But it was too late-- for a little as he had given her, she had somehow taken his heart and he didn’t know how to cope with that either.
Aimias followed his wife down the path he’d recently taken, not really focusing on what she was telling anyone. The man had done little to make the house his home. He barely knew the staff, hadn’t made much of an impression on them beyond his quiet demeanor and seclusive attitude. And again, guilt hit him with the realization that he was turning into a horrible human being. Elias was winning, had turned a man of such integrity and honesty into one of lies and deception. The beard, it seemed, helped his perception of himself. He wore it because it made him sick to look in the mirror and know he was no longer a man to be proud of. It was easier to pretend he was looking at someone else.
But it would be fitting to remove it now. The removal would uncover the truth.
”If you wish my company, I will not deny you it. Though you may regret asking for it.” His warning was softly spoken, delayed until the doors to the baths were shut behind them. They were alone, the waters warm and steaming up the room. Her hands slipped into his, and his eyes followed the motion. Staring at the small, delicate fingers, he was unable to stop himself and he brought the back of her hand to his lips. The kiss was soft, as he found himself longing to shower her with the affection he’d been withholding. And from their previous encounters, he knew that she needed it, too. “If you are going to be taking a blade to my face, perhaps the conversation is best for after you’ve finished.”
He tried to smile, but it was not much of a joke.
With a sigh, he found himself settling into one of the cushioned seats with the warm room. He had always been one to shave his own beard, liking the way he looked with a clean face. She was right, that he had far too much on his mind to take the time to carefully remove the hair. And, when he did grow a beard, he was one to keep it neat and tidy. But it was far from that now. He wanted to ask if she had shaved a man before, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. Jealousy boiled in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down.
And then, she called him ‘love’.
He didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t know if she was saying that because of his title of husband or because she meant it. But the words humbled him, in a way he wasn’t prepared for. And it became apparent that he had failed to protect her from himself. Even with everything he had done, and failed to do, she still cared for him. How could he ever make it up to her?
“I’m sorry.” He said softly, not knowing where to start, or what to say. But above everything, he was unbelievably sorry for what he’d done. And he was sorry that she had to stand in the dark, wondering what she had done to make him angry or distant. But the words felt small, as if it was not enough to even scratch the surface.
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Guilt washed over him again as he realized that his wife was right-- she did know him. They had spent far too much time getting to know each other in their youth. And while he hadn’t changed, in all those years, she had. And he found himself feeling ashamed for how little he knew of her. Their marriage had been a quick affair, one that had been convenient and for the love of a daughter to her father-- he died knowing his daughter was matched and safe. But beyond that, Aimias had not taken much time to get to know his wife.
It was an excuse, but there just hadn’t been time. By the time the newlyweds had made it back to the city, the king had died. They both had responsibilities to manage, then Persephone had vanished and things had spiraled from there.
He knew he pushed her away to protect her, to keep her from seeking out the truth from him. And maybe he had been protecting his own heart, too. Perhaps it would be easier for her to hate him if she didn’t get to know him now. Or maybe he would be able to watch her walk away if he wasn’t in love with her. But it was too late-- for a little as he had given her, she had somehow taken his heart and he didn’t know how to cope with that either.
Aimias followed his wife down the path he’d recently taken, not really focusing on what she was telling anyone. The man had done little to make the house his home. He barely knew the staff, hadn’t made much of an impression on them beyond his quiet demeanor and seclusive attitude. And again, guilt hit him with the realization that he was turning into a horrible human being. Elias was winning, had turned a man of such integrity and honesty into one of lies and deception. The beard, it seemed, helped his perception of himself. He wore it because it made him sick to look in the mirror and know he was no longer a man to be proud of. It was easier to pretend he was looking at someone else.
But it would be fitting to remove it now. The removal would uncover the truth.
”If you wish my company, I will not deny you it. Though you may regret asking for it.” His warning was softly spoken, delayed until the doors to the baths were shut behind them. They were alone, the waters warm and steaming up the room. Her hands slipped into his, and his eyes followed the motion. Staring at the small, delicate fingers, he was unable to stop himself and he brought the back of her hand to his lips. The kiss was soft, as he found himself longing to shower her with the affection he’d been withholding. And from their previous encounters, he knew that she needed it, too. “If you are going to be taking a blade to my face, perhaps the conversation is best for after you’ve finished.”
He tried to smile, but it was not much of a joke.
With a sigh, he found himself settling into one of the cushioned seats with the warm room. He had always been one to shave his own beard, liking the way he looked with a clean face. She was right, that he had far too much on his mind to take the time to carefully remove the hair. And, when he did grow a beard, he was one to keep it neat and tidy. But it was far from that now. He wanted to ask if she had shaved a man before, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. Jealousy boiled in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down.
And then, she called him ‘love’.
He didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t know if she was saying that because of his title of husband or because she meant it. But the words humbled him, in a way he wasn’t prepared for. And it became apparent that he had failed to protect her from himself. Even with everything he had done, and failed to do, she still cared for him. How could he ever make it up to her?
“I’m sorry.” He said softly, not knowing where to start, or what to say. But above everything, he was unbelievably sorry for what he’d done. And he was sorry that she had to stand in the dark, wondering what she had done to make him angry or distant. But the words felt small, as if it was not enough to even scratch the surface.
Guilt washed over him again as he realized that his wife was right-- she did know him. They had spent far too much time getting to know each other in their youth. And while he hadn’t changed, in all those years, she had. And he found himself feeling ashamed for how little he knew of her. Their marriage had been a quick affair, one that had been convenient and for the love of a daughter to her father-- he died knowing his daughter was matched and safe. But beyond that, Aimias had not taken much time to get to know his wife.
It was an excuse, but there just hadn’t been time. By the time the newlyweds had made it back to the city, the king had died. They both had responsibilities to manage, then Persephone had vanished and things had spiraled from there.
He knew he pushed her away to protect her, to keep her from seeking out the truth from him. And maybe he had been protecting his own heart, too. Perhaps it would be easier for her to hate him if she didn’t get to know him now. Or maybe he would be able to watch her walk away if he wasn’t in love with her. But it was too late-- for a little as he had given her, she had somehow taken his heart and he didn’t know how to cope with that either.
Aimias followed his wife down the path he’d recently taken, not really focusing on what she was telling anyone. The man had done little to make the house his home. He barely knew the staff, hadn’t made much of an impression on them beyond his quiet demeanor and seclusive attitude. And again, guilt hit him with the realization that he was turning into a horrible human being. Elias was winning, had turned a man of such integrity and honesty into one of lies and deception. The beard, it seemed, helped his perception of himself. He wore it because it made him sick to look in the mirror and know he was no longer a man to be proud of. It was easier to pretend he was looking at someone else.
But it would be fitting to remove it now. The removal would uncover the truth.
”If you wish my company, I will not deny you it. Though you may regret asking for it.” His warning was softly spoken, delayed until the doors to the baths were shut behind them. They were alone, the waters warm and steaming up the room. Her hands slipped into his, and his eyes followed the motion. Staring at the small, delicate fingers, he was unable to stop himself and he brought the back of her hand to his lips. The kiss was soft, as he found himself longing to shower her with the affection he’d been withholding. And from their previous encounters, he knew that she needed it, too. “If you are going to be taking a blade to my face, perhaps the conversation is best for after you’ve finished.”
He tried to smile, but it was not much of a joke.
With a sigh, he found himself settling into one of the cushioned seats with the warm room. He had always been one to shave his own beard, liking the way he looked with a clean face. She was right, that he had far too much on his mind to take the time to carefully remove the hair. And, when he did grow a beard, he was one to keep it neat and tidy. But it was far from that now. He wanted to ask if she had shaved a man before, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. Jealousy boiled in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down.
And then, she called him ‘love’.
He didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t know if she was saying that because of his title of husband or because she meant it. But the words humbled him, in a way he wasn’t prepared for. And it became apparent that he had failed to protect her from himself. Even with everything he had done, and failed to do, she still cared for him. How could he ever make it up to her?
“I’m sorry.” He said softly, not knowing where to start, or what to say. But above everything, he was unbelievably sorry for what he’d done. And he was sorry that she had to stand in the dark, wondering what she had done to make him angry or distant. But the words felt small, as if it was not enough to even scratch the surface.
His words did not settle the anxiety that gripped her heart already. If anything, they made it worse and she found herself watching him a little closer. She was not a stupid woman. She knew that there was something he was hiding. A lie of some sort. Something he was avoiding revealing to her even though it seemed to affect him so harshly as to lead to him taking very little care of his own appearance. That was not a good sign, but Iris chose to keep her features sweet, soft, and not revealing at all that she was nervous about what it was that he had to speak with her about.
Aimias was right, however. If Iris was to take a blade to his face, it would be better to do it before he said a word that was on his mind. He settled himself into a seat and Iris trailed away from him to prepare the cream and the blade, trying to turn her mind away from her own anxieties. She had never done this before, but she was going to try. It was something intimate to share. Something she could do to try to give the impression that they were closer than they had been, even despite the feelings that settled into her chest every time she looked at her husband.
The years apart hadn't been wholly kind to either of them, but Iris would never deny that she still felt just as profoundly for her husband now as she did then. Now, she just wasn't afraid to admit it. Why should she be? She had given in, and though he likely did not love her in the way that she still loved him, she wasn't going to hide such a fact from him. He was hers, whether he had had any goals other than protecting Iris or his own daughter or not.
Bringing the small clay bowl of cream and knife over to him, she set both items on the small side table beside the seat her husband had settled into. "You'll have to guide me," Iris said softly, "I've never done this," she added, giving him an apologetic smile. Then his apology made that smile falter and she immediately tore her gaze away from him. She didn't want him to see that the distance hurt. He didn't feel the same way that she did, she was sure of that, but the purposeful distance from her was hurtful all the same. What was with her falling for men that never turned out to feel the same about her?
Instead of letting the slightly hardened expression remain on her features, she brought the smile back to her lips, shifting closer to him so that she could settle her knee on the seat beside his thigh. Leaning in toward Aimias, Iris trailed her fingers up under his chin and angled his head more toward her. Dropping a slow kiss on his lips, she pulled back fairly slowly and shook her head. "Don't apologize to me," she said simply, "And stop talking, or I might accidentally cut you," Iris murmured, reaching for the cream. Using her position and his still upturned head, she carefully spread some of the cream across his cheek, now focused on her task rather than looking into the depths of his blue eyes.
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His words did not settle the anxiety that gripped her heart already. If anything, they made it worse and she found herself watching him a little closer. She was not a stupid woman. She knew that there was something he was hiding. A lie of some sort. Something he was avoiding revealing to her even though it seemed to affect him so harshly as to lead to him taking very little care of his own appearance. That was not a good sign, but Iris chose to keep her features sweet, soft, and not revealing at all that she was nervous about what it was that he had to speak with her about.
Aimias was right, however. If Iris was to take a blade to his face, it would be better to do it before he said a word that was on his mind. He settled himself into a seat and Iris trailed away from him to prepare the cream and the blade, trying to turn her mind away from her own anxieties. She had never done this before, but she was going to try. It was something intimate to share. Something she could do to try to give the impression that they were closer than they had been, even despite the feelings that settled into her chest every time she looked at her husband.
The years apart hadn't been wholly kind to either of them, but Iris would never deny that she still felt just as profoundly for her husband now as she did then. Now, she just wasn't afraid to admit it. Why should she be? She had given in, and though he likely did not love her in the way that she still loved him, she wasn't going to hide such a fact from him. He was hers, whether he had had any goals other than protecting Iris or his own daughter or not.
Bringing the small clay bowl of cream and knife over to him, she set both items on the small side table beside the seat her husband had settled into. "You'll have to guide me," Iris said softly, "I've never done this," she added, giving him an apologetic smile. Then his apology made that smile falter and she immediately tore her gaze away from him. She didn't want him to see that the distance hurt. He didn't feel the same way that she did, she was sure of that, but the purposeful distance from her was hurtful all the same. What was with her falling for men that never turned out to feel the same about her?
Instead of letting the slightly hardened expression remain on her features, she brought the smile back to her lips, shifting closer to him so that she could settle her knee on the seat beside his thigh. Leaning in toward Aimias, Iris trailed her fingers up under his chin and angled his head more toward her. Dropping a slow kiss on his lips, she pulled back fairly slowly and shook her head. "Don't apologize to me," she said simply, "And stop talking, or I might accidentally cut you," Iris murmured, reaching for the cream. Using her position and his still upturned head, she carefully spread some of the cream across his cheek, now focused on her task rather than looking into the depths of his blue eyes.
His words did not settle the anxiety that gripped her heart already. If anything, they made it worse and she found herself watching him a little closer. She was not a stupid woman. She knew that there was something he was hiding. A lie of some sort. Something he was avoiding revealing to her even though it seemed to affect him so harshly as to lead to him taking very little care of his own appearance. That was not a good sign, but Iris chose to keep her features sweet, soft, and not revealing at all that she was nervous about what it was that he had to speak with her about.
Aimias was right, however. If Iris was to take a blade to his face, it would be better to do it before he said a word that was on his mind. He settled himself into a seat and Iris trailed away from him to prepare the cream and the blade, trying to turn her mind away from her own anxieties. She had never done this before, but she was going to try. It was something intimate to share. Something she could do to try to give the impression that they were closer than they had been, even despite the feelings that settled into her chest every time she looked at her husband.
The years apart hadn't been wholly kind to either of them, but Iris would never deny that she still felt just as profoundly for her husband now as she did then. Now, she just wasn't afraid to admit it. Why should she be? She had given in, and though he likely did not love her in the way that she still loved him, she wasn't going to hide such a fact from him. He was hers, whether he had had any goals other than protecting Iris or his own daughter or not.
Bringing the small clay bowl of cream and knife over to him, she set both items on the small side table beside the seat her husband had settled into. "You'll have to guide me," Iris said softly, "I've never done this," she added, giving him an apologetic smile. Then his apology made that smile falter and she immediately tore her gaze away from him. She didn't want him to see that the distance hurt. He didn't feel the same way that she did, she was sure of that, but the purposeful distance from her was hurtful all the same. What was with her falling for men that never turned out to feel the same about her?
Instead of letting the slightly hardened expression remain on her features, she brought the smile back to her lips, shifting closer to him so that she could settle her knee on the seat beside his thigh. Leaning in toward Aimias, Iris trailed her fingers up under his chin and angled his head more toward her. Dropping a slow kiss on his lips, she pulled back fairly slowly and shook her head. "Don't apologize to me," she said simply, "And stop talking, or I might accidentally cut you," Iris murmured, reaching for the cream. Using her position and his still upturned head, she carefully spread some of the cream across his cheek, now focused on her task rather than looking into the depths of his blue eyes.
There was no making this easier for either of them. As much as he wished that the words would have already been out, Aimias knew that the Gods were not that kind. He would have to tell her, and would find himself at her mercy. But her desire to shave him made him wait, because she was so much better than he was.
There was no way she didn’t know that he had something important to tell her, something that he had been keeping secret from her for a while now. While he may have been a private man, he had done his best to be as attentive as he could be before death surrounded them. And then, with little warning, he distances herself. As highly intelligent as she was, he seriously doubted that she was oblivious enough to know that something wasn’t right. And he didn’t know what she thought it might be. There were varying degrees of betrayal like this-- he prayed to the Gods that she didn’t think he was having an affair.
That was not his style, and he would hope that something such as that was nowhere near her thoughts. But if it wasn’t that, then she must have known it was something bad.
Slowly, quietly, he began to instruct her on how to shave his face. It was difficult to try and explain it to someone when you had done it yourself most of your life. Legs spread so that she could get as close to his face as possible, Aimias let his hands rest on her hips as she went to work. It was all about the angle, he explained to her, positioning the blade in her hand so that she would remove the hair without removing skin as well. His eyes were focused on her, intense and loving.
He knew he did not deserve her. But he would keep her as long as she was willing to be with him.
As she worked, he moved his head to aid her goal, allowing her to be in control of it for the most part. Shaving a person was hard, but he did struggle a bit as he taught her. And with a steady hand, she worked slowly and methodically to make sure that not an inch was missed. Instead of what he needed to say, he instead changed the conversation topic for the moment. “I miss our daughter.” He said to her, eyes closing as he tried to remember the last time he’d heard her bells of laughter running through the halls. “I know she cannot be with us-- it’s too dangerous here. But still… I miss her.”
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There was no making this easier for either of them. As much as he wished that the words would have already been out, Aimias knew that the Gods were not that kind. He would have to tell her, and would find himself at her mercy. But her desire to shave him made him wait, because she was so much better than he was.
There was no way she didn’t know that he had something important to tell her, something that he had been keeping secret from her for a while now. While he may have been a private man, he had done his best to be as attentive as he could be before death surrounded them. And then, with little warning, he distances herself. As highly intelligent as she was, he seriously doubted that she was oblivious enough to know that something wasn’t right. And he didn’t know what she thought it might be. There were varying degrees of betrayal like this-- he prayed to the Gods that she didn’t think he was having an affair.
That was not his style, and he would hope that something such as that was nowhere near her thoughts. But if it wasn’t that, then she must have known it was something bad.
Slowly, quietly, he began to instruct her on how to shave his face. It was difficult to try and explain it to someone when you had done it yourself most of your life. Legs spread so that she could get as close to his face as possible, Aimias let his hands rest on her hips as she went to work. It was all about the angle, he explained to her, positioning the blade in her hand so that she would remove the hair without removing skin as well. His eyes were focused on her, intense and loving.
He knew he did not deserve her. But he would keep her as long as she was willing to be with him.
As she worked, he moved his head to aid her goal, allowing her to be in control of it for the most part. Shaving a person was hard, but he did struggle a bit as he taught her. And with a steady hand, she worked slowly and methodically to make sure that not an inch was missed. Instead of what he needed to say, he instead changed the conversation topic for the moment. “I miss our daughter.” He said to her, eyes closing as he tried to remember the last time he’d heard her bells of laughter running through the halls. “I know she cannot be with us-- it’s too dangerous here. But still… I miss her.”
There was no making this easier for either of them. As much as he wished that the words would have already been out, Aimias knew that the Gods were not that kind. He would have to tell her, and would find himself at her mercy. But her desire to shave him made him wait, because she was so much better than he was.
There was no way she didn’t know that he had something important to tell her, something that he had been keeping secret from her for a while now. While he may have been a private man, he had done his best to be as attentive as he could be before death surrounded them. And then, with little warning, he distances herself. As highly intelligent as she was, he seriously doubted that she was oblivious enough to know that something wasn’t right. And he didn’t know what she thought it might be. There were varying degrees of betrayal like this-- he prayed to the Gods that she didn’t think he was having an affair.
That was not his style, and he would hope that something such as that was nowhere near her thoughts. But if it wasn’t that, then she must have known it was something bad.
Slowly, quietly, he began to instruct her on how to shave his face. It was difficult to try and explain it to someone when you had done it yourself most of your life. Legs spread so that she could get as close to his face as possible, Aimias let his hands rest on her hips as she went to work. It was all about the angle, he explained to her, positioning the blade in her hand so that she would remove the hair without removing skin as well. His eyes were focused on her, intense and loving.
He knew he did not deserve her. But he would keep her as long as she was willing to be with him.
As she worked, he moved his head to aid her goal, allowing her to be in control of it for the most part. Shaving a person was hard, but he did struggle a bit as he taught her. And with a steady hand, she worked slowly and methodically to make sure that not an inch was missed. Instead of what he needed to say, he instead changed the conversation topic for the moment. “I miss our daughter.” He said to her, eyes closing as he tried to remember the last time he’d heard her bells of laughter running through the halls. “I know she cannot be with us-- it’s too dangerous here. But still… I miss her.”
Her hands didn't shake. Mostly because she knew that if they did, they would have a much bigger problem on their hands. Iris didn't want to make him bleed, she wanted to sew trust between them that hadn't seemed to cultivate in their first few weeks of their marriage. With everything so off-kilter and strange now, Iris was desperate to find some sort of balance with her husband. She needed it. She needed to feel as if she and Aimias were a united front far more than she needed anything else right then.
For all of the chaos, through all of the uncertainty, they still had one another. It didn't matter that there had been distance that separated them, now was the time to close the gap and ensure that they could be a team going forward. Iris didn't like secrets. She didn't like the distance, and her certainly didn't like feeling like she and her husband had little to keep them bonded. Except for this. This one step that she insisted on taking if it meant that the two of them going be on the same level. The same page.
His words made her a little heartsick and she paused, noting that she was done with shaving his face. His directions had been so soft, encouraging, and she hadn't entirely realized she was done until she fully pulled the blade away. Frowning lightly, she set the blade aside, grabbing a small towel and scrubbing as his cheeks and jaw with it to remove the cream. "I miss her too," Iris admitted quietly, "She made these halls feel less lonely," she added, dropping her gaze. Then she was stepping back and offering her husband both of her hands. "Come. Lets bathe, Aimias," she said softly, her green gaze trailing down his form. "Now that you don't look so wild," there was a teasing lilt to her voice.
"We can talk about how to bring Phillipa back here when its safe. But you know that it isn't. There is too much at stake to bring her back, only to see her hurt. Its too dangerous," she said softly, "Persephone's presence presents too much risk to bring her into the fray. We'll see her soon," Iris tried to soothe her husband, reaching up to her gown to work at the fibulae at her shoulders. "I promise you. We will."
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Her hands didn't shake. Mostly because she knew that if they did, they would have a much bigger problem on their hands. Iris didn't want to make him bleed, she wanted to sew trust between them that hadn't seemed to cultivate in their first few weeks of their marriage. With everything so off-kilter and strange now, Iris was desperate to find some sort of balance with her husband. She needed it. She needed to feel as if she and Aimias were a united front far more than she needed anything else right then.
For all of the chaos, through all of the uncertainty, they still had one another. It didn't matter that there had been distance that separated them, now was the time to close the gap and ensure that they could be a team going forward. Iris didn't like secrets. She didn't like the distance, and her certainly didn't like feeling like she and her husband had little to keep them bonded. Except for this. This one step that she insisted on taking if it meant that the two of them going be on the same level. The same page.
His words made her a little heartsick and she paused, noting that she was done with shaving his face. His directions had been so soft, encouraging, and she hadn't entirely realized she was done until she fully pulled the blade away. Frowning lightly, she set the blade aside, grabbing a small towel and scrubbing as his cheeks and jaw with it to remove the cream. "I miss her too," Iris admitted quietly, "She made these halls feel less lonely," she added, dropping her gaze. Then she was stepping back and offering her husband both of her hands. "Come. Lets bathe, Aimias," she said softly, her green gaze trailing down his form. "Now that you don't look so wild," there was a teasing lilt to her voice.
"We can talk about how to bring Phillipa back here when its safe. But you know that it isn't. There is too much at stake to bring her back, only to see her hurt. Its too dangerous," she said softly, "Persephone's presence presents too much risk to bring her into the fray. We'll see her soon," Iris tried to soothe her husband, reaching up to her gown to work at the fibulae at her shoulders. "I promise you. We will."
Her hands didn't shake. Mostly because she knew that if they did, they would have a much bigger problem on their hands. Iris didn't want to make him bleed, she wanted to sew trust between them that hadn't seemed to cultivate in their first few weeks of their marriage. With everything so off-kilter and strange now, Iris was desperate to find some sort of balance with her husband. She needed it. She needed to feel as if she and Aimias were a united front far more than she needed anything else right then.
For all of the chaos, through all of the uncertainty, they still had one another. It didn't matter that there had been distance that separated them, now was the time to close the gap and ensure that they could be a team going forward. Iris didn't like secrets. She didn't like the distance, and her certainly didn't like feeling like she and her husband had little to keep them bonded. Except for this. This one step that she insisted on taking if it meant that the two of them going be on the same level. The same page.
His words made her a little heartsick and she paused, noting that she was done with shaving his face. His directions had been so soft, encouraging, and she hadn't entirely realized she was done until she fully pulled the blade away. Frowning lightly, she set the blade aside, grabbing a small towel and scrubbing as his cheeks and jaw with it to remove the cream. "I miss her too," Iris admitted quietly, "She made these halls feel less lonely," she added, dropping her gaze. Then she was stepping back and offering her husband both of her hands. "Come. Lets bathe, Aimias," she said softly, her green gaze trailing down his form. "Now that you don't look so wild," there was a teasing lilt to her voice.
"We can talk about how to bring Phillipa back here when its safe. But you know that it isn't. There is too much at stake to bring her back, only to see her hurt. Its too dangerous," she said softly, "Persephone's presence presents too much risk to bring her into the fray. We'll see her soon," Iris tried to soothe her husband, reaching up to her gown to work at the fibulae at her shoulders. "I promise you. We will."
There was no mistaking his intentions when he so openly called her ‘theirs’. Phillipa was not of Iris’s blood, and yet the importance of her understanding just how much he trusted her with his child felt like it needed to be said. She had to know that everything he was, every decision he made, was for the betterment of her and of his wife.
He was turning into a family man, and it would be the downfall of the kingdom.
There was a nagging feeling in the bit of his soul that he would never see his daughter again. With everything he’d done, with every important bridge he had burned, there was little that could have saved him now. Elias was reckless and careless and to him, Aimias was most likely disposable. Knowing that much about the man made him even more sick— morals and the sense of right and wrong did not exist in the man. And with that, he knew he would be lucky to see his daughter’s third birthday.
Elias would see him dead, no matter what.
Perhaps it was because he knew this, felt like time was not on their side, that his hand reached up to stop Iris from undressing. “I can’t do this anymore.” He said to her, his hand firmly on her wrist. He brought her hand to his face, kissing the palm of it gently. “I cannot knowingly take you to bed again without lying the truth at your feet. I cannot…” he let his words fall with her hand, unsure if he could continue to hold her when he did not deserve her. “Iris… I have not been honest with you, and my soul cannot stand it anymore.”
He brought a hand up to her cheek, hesitant as it hovered before landing on the soft flesh. “All I want is you, to be consumed every moment of every day by the life we have created here. But I cannot knowingly be pressed against your body, tempted to have you, without telling you the truth. And begging for your forgiveness.” His hands found her, lacing the fingers together as if they belonged forever joint. “My apparent lack of want for you has nothing to do with faults you may think you have, but with my own obvious shortcoming.”
He let himself fall back into the seat he’d been in, one hand in hers, the other brushing his hair back from his face. “Shortly after Persephone disappeared, Elias approached me.” The words were thick on his tongue, causing him to swallow down the guilt and continue. “He… well, I do not think I need to go into detail with you about what specifically was said. But he made it very clear that my cooperation in his plans would keep you safe. He made no qualms about how far he would go, making it known that I am…” his hand dropped from hers. “That I am lacking as both a man and husband. He threatened Phillipa, threatened you, Emilia…”
His sigh was loud, his hands brought together to grip onto something, for he was certain she would leave him here by himself. “Power makes men do impossible things to keep hold of that power. And I suppose fear has just as much pull as power can.” He let out a bitter laugh, “I am no soldier, Iris. I have my books and my mind and no strength over a man who is desperate to keep the power he holds.” Aimias knew he could have kept this from her, could have pretended as if nothing happened. But he could not do that to anyone he cared about. “His conditions were to use my influence among the senate to discredit my own charges against him. To make Persephone appear as power hungry as he truly is. The consequences of going against him…”
He was a weak man.
“I call myself impartial, loyal to Athenia alone, and yet I was so simply turned by the love I have for my wife, for the family I have found in the Xanthos house.” His head was hung in shame, unable to meet her gaze as he confessed. “I did as he demanded I do, bettering his name for the sake of My Queen’s. Any time I tried to find the courage to do the opposite, I saw his hands on you and I…” It had been eating at him, “My only explanation is that my love for my wife has made me a weak man. I have no sword in which I can protect you, but if I could with my words, then I would. And I cannot say that I would make a different choice if It happened again.” He had done what he thought was right— too weak to sacrifice innocents for the sake of power. “I am a coward and a fool and I am so sorry. Sorry if you ever thought that my lack of desire to be in your bed ever stemmed from you, but from the knowledge that I was betraying everything I have ever fought for. Sorry that I have been distant, and distracted and angry. And I am sorry that I have betrayed the Queen.”
The words hung in the air, and now that he had gotten it off his chest, he felt a little better. At least she would have her say, and she could leave before he caused her further pain. “I have not been able to bring myself to your bed because I do not deserve you. I love you, and you deserve better than a penniless weak man.”
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There was no mistaking his intentions when he so openly called her ‘theirs’. Phillipa was not of Iris’s blood, and yet the importance of her understanding just how much he trusted her with his child felt like it needed to be said. She had to know that everything he was, every decision he made, was for the betterment of her and of his wife.
He was turning into a family man, and it would be the downfall of the kingdom.
There was a nagging feeling in the bit of his soul that he would never see his daughter again. With everything he’d done, with every important bridge he had burned, there was little that could have saved him now. Elias was reckless and careless and to him, Aimias was most likely disposable. Knowing that much about the man made him even more sick— morals and the sense of right and wrong did not exist in the man. And with that, he knew he would be lucky to see his daughter’s third birthday.
Elias would see him dead, no matter what.
Perhaps it was because he knew this, felt like time was not on their side, that his hand reached up to stop Iris from undressing. “I can’t do this anymore.” He said to her, his hand firmly on her wrist. He brought her hand to his face, kissing the palm of it gently. “I cannot knowingly take you to bed again without lying the truth at your feet. I cannot…” he let his words fall with her hand, unsure if he could continue to hold her when he did not deserve her. “Iris… I have not been honest with you, and my soul cannot stand it anymore.”
He brought a hand up to her cheek, hesitant as it hovered before landing on the soft flesh. “All I want is you, to be consumed every moment of every day by the life we have created here. But I cannot knowingly be pressed against your body, tempted to have you, without telling you the truth. And begging for your forgiveness.” His hands found her, lacing the fingers together as if they belonged forever joint. “My apparent lack of want for you has nothing to do with faults you may think you have, but with my own obvious shortcoming.”
He let himself fall back into the seat he’d been in, one hand in hers, the other brushing his hair back from his face. “Shortly after Persephone disappeared, Elias approached me.” The words were thick on his tongue, causing him to swallow down the guilt and continue. “He… well, I do not think I need to go into detail with you about what specifically was said. But he made it very clear that my cooperation in his plans would keep you safe. He made no qualms about how far he would go, making it known that I am…” his hand dropped from hers. “That I am lacking as both a man and husband. He threatened Phillipa, threatened you, Emilia…”
His sigh was loud, his hands brought together to grip onto something, for he was certain she would leave him here by himself. “Power makes men do impossible things to keep hold of that power. And I suppose fear has just as much pull as power can.” He let out a bitter laugh, “I am no soldier, Iris. I have my books and my mind and no strength over a man who is desperate to keep the power he holds.” Aimias knew he could have kept this from her, could have pretended as if nothing happened. But he could not do that to anyone he cared about. “His conditions were to use my influence among the senate to discredit my own charges against him. To make Persephone appear as power hungry as he truly is. The consequences of going against him…”
He was a weak man.
“I call myself impartial, loyal to Athenia alone, and yet I was so simply turned by the love I have for my wife, for the family I have found in the Xanthos house.” His head was hung in shame, unable to meet her gaze as he confessed. “I did as he demanded I do, bettering his name for the sake of My Queen’s. Any time I tried to find the courage to do the opposite, I saw his hands on you and I…” It had been eating at him, “My only explanation is that my love for my wife has made me a weak man. I have no sword in which I can protect you, but if I could with my words, then I would. And I cannot say that I would make a different choice if It happened again.” He had done what he thought was right— too weak to sacrifice innocents for the sake of power. “I am a coward and a fool and I am so sorry. Sorry if you ever thought that my lack of desire to be in your bed ever stemmed from you, but from the knowledge that I was betraying everything I have ever fought for. Sorry that I have been distant, and distracted and angry. And I am sorry that I have betrayed the Queen.”
The words hung in the air, and now that he had gotten it off his chest, he felt a little better. At least she would have her say, and she could leave before he caused her further pain. “I have not been able to bring myself to your bed because I do not deserve you. I love you, and you deserve better than a penniless weak man.”
There was no mistaking his intentions when he so openly called her ‘theirs’. Phillipa was not of Iris’s blood, and yet the importance of her understanding just how much he trusted her with his child felt like it needed to be said. She had to know that everything he was, every decision he made, was for the betterment of her and of his wife.
He was turning into a family man, and it would be the downfall of the kingdom.
There was a nagging feeling in the bit of his soul that he would never see his daughter again. With everything he’d done, with every important bridge he had burned, there was little that could have saved him now. Elias was reckless and careless and to him, Aimias was most likely disposable. Knowing that much about the man made him even more sick— morals and the sense of right and wrong did not exist in the man. And with that, he knew he would be lucky to see his daughter’s third birthday.
Elias would see him dead, no matter what.
Perhaps it was because he knew this, felt like time was not on their side, that his hand reached up to stop Iris from undressing. “I can’t do this anymore.” He said to her, his hand firmly on her wrist. He brought her hand to his face, kissing the palm of it gently. “I cannot knowingly take you to bed again without lying the truth at your feet. I cannot…” he let his words fall with her hand, unsure if he could continue to hold her when he did not deserve her. “Iris… I have not been honest with you, and my soul cannot stand it anymore.”
He brought a hand up to her cheek, hesitant as it hovered before landing on the soft flesh. “All I want is you, to be consumed every moment of every day by the life we have created here. But I cannot knowingly be pressed against your body, tempted to have you, without telling you the truth. And begging for your forgiveness.” His hands found her, lacing the fingers together as if they belonged forever joint. “My apparent lack of want for you has nothing to do with faults you may think you have, but with my own obvious shortcoming.”
He let himself fall back into the seat he’d been in, one hand in hers, the other brushing his hair back from his face. “Shortly after Persephone disappeared, Elias approached me.” The words were thick on his tongue, causing him to swallow down the guilt and continue. “He… well, I do not think I need to go into detail with you about what specifically was said. But he made it very clear that my cooperation in his plans would keep you safe. He made no qualms about how far he would go, making it known that I am…” his hand dropped from hers. “That I am lacking as both a man and husband. He threatened Phillipa, threatened you, Emilia…”
His sigh was loud, his hands brought together to grip onto something, for he was certain she would leave him here by himself. “Power makes men do impossible things to keep hold of that power. And I suppose fear has just as much pull as power can.” He let out a bitter laugh, “I am no soldier, Iris. I have my books and my mind and no strength over a man who is desperate to keep the power he holds.” Aimias knew he could have kept this from her, could have pretended as if nothing happened. But he could not do that to anyone he cared about. “His conditions were to use my influence among the senate to discredit my own charges against him. To make Persephone appear as power hungry as he truly is. The consequences of going against him…”
He was a weak man.
“I call myself impartial, loyal to Athenia alone, and yet I was so simply turned by the love I have for my wife, for the family I have found in the Xanthos house.” His head was hung in shame, unable to meet her gaze as he confessed. “I did as he demanded I do, bettering his name for the sake of My Queen’s. Any time I tried to find the courage to do the opposite, I saw his hands on you and I…” It had been eating at him, “My only explanation is that my love for my wife has made me a weak man. I have no sword in which I can protect you, but if I could with my words, then I would. And I cannot say that I would make a different choice if It happened again.” He had done what he thought was right— too weak to sacrifice innocents for the sake of power. “I am a coward and a fool and I am so sorry. Sorry if you ever thought that my lack of desire to be in your bed ever stemmed from you, but from the knowledge that I was betraying everything I have ever fought for. Sorry that I have been distant, and distracted and angry. And I am sorry that I have betrayed the Queen.”
The words hung in the air, and now that he had gotten it off his chest, he felt a little better. At least she would have her say, and she could leave before he caused her further pain. “I have not been able to bring myself to your bed because I do not deserve you. I love you, and you deserve better than a penniless weak man.”
The hand that reached out to stop her undressing was what caused her stomach to drop and her fears to be realized in that moment. He didn't want her. He had been avoiding her, and even her coaxing him to bed in the past hadn't been what he wanted. She remembered the agreement that they had made when Aimias offered to marry her. An arrangement of mutual benefir that did not include warming her bed or giving her comfort, it seemed. She could live with that, she supposed, but she would always wonder what it was she did or didn't do to win his love, his affection. His words further drove the point home and Iris felt herself pulling her hands more toward her chest so that she could protect her heart.
She had fallen too easily, it seemed. It would have been better if she'd kept her cool demeanor and tried to avoid any and all contact with a man that just held her name for the sake of benefit to himself and his daughter. That thought alone started to make her feel sick to her stomach. To think so poorly of a man that she had looked upon with so much admiration and adoration was nothing that Iris had ever wanted, and her mind was racing far faster than the words that he spoke to her.
It was true then. Her husband, her Aimias, didn't actually want her. Her doubts in herself only grew then, a rare moment of weakness gripping her and her usually confident green gaze dropping to her feet instead of resting on his face. A few fresh tears welled up in her eyes, though they did not drop. Gods above, she was a lovesick fool... and she had resolved years ago not to let another man hurt her heart the way that Elias initially had with his ambition.
"Right," Iris said quietly at first, barely registering his words until he admitted that he hadn't been honest with her. That much was true. There was a lot that he was hiding, and it would be a lie if she admitted to not having thought that maybe he had found someone more his pace. His speed. Someone who was better for him emotionally than she could ever be. Iris would never live up to his first wife, she was sure. The woman had been so good for him, and there was always going to be that longing in him with Phillipa around. Not that Iris resented the child, but Iris realized that he wouldn't really truly be hers. Not if he couldn't even stand to lay with her. To even do his duty as the baron of Aetaea.
But Iris was listening to him now, rather than the inner turmoil that gripped at her heart, shredding at it in the same way that she had felt when letting Elias go. What had it gotten her? What had that really done to her? Made her afraid to love. And here she was making the same mistake.
His initial admission that he did want her did not move her, her green eyes had settled on his face, not moving of flinching when he touched her. She was thinking about driving her fist against his gut for the insult that he had just done her, but she stayed her hand, a mixture of anger and betrayal already settled in her eyes. But everything changed so quickly. He spoke of begging forgiveness and then started to talk about... Persephone and Elias?
And the implications of what Elias had detailed to her husband. About her. Iris had already admitted that she had had a relationship with Elias, but she hadn't thought that Elias would have been so cruel as to detail it to her husband. The man who did not need to know about the skeletons of her past. Iris was not going to interrupt him, but her mind had quickly shifted from her own emotions to the words that Aimias spoke. All of it was... incriminating. Toward himself.
Aimias had betrayed her. Especially in not telling her any of this right away. Had she known, they could have manipulated a lot more between the both of them. Instead of her being left in the dark, she could have take steps to help and protect him. Instead, she had been left to guess, to wonder what was keeping her husband away and so stressed. When Aimias was done speaking, Iris could only look at him, her mouth slightly agape as she tried to come to terms with everything that he had just admitted.
"Give me... just one moment," Iris said very slowly, holding up both of her hands so that she could ward him off from coming any closer. She turned away, pressing her fingers against her jaw. And then the pacing started. Back and forth. Back and forth until she had settled on words that she thought might soothe him. Both of them, really. But there was still a few things that she needed to truly speak her mind on first.
When she finally turned back toward him, there was an almost feral glint in her eye. One that harkened back to her younger years when she had pursued him like prey in her want and quiet desire to have him for herself. The only man that she had truly chased on her own, who had truly satisfied her needs for intelligent and emotional company. Except there was a silent viciousness to her gaze, a begrudging shimmer to the ever-shifting green of her irises.
"Your first mistake, husband, is assuming that I could not take care of myself," Iris pointed out, taking a single step closer to him. "You devalue me and underestimate my abilities when you think you must take it upon yourself to keep me safe. There is a reason that I stepped away from my courtship with Elias, and it seems that you have come face to face with it. Firsthand, and blatant. The fact that you did not think to speak to me at all is a flagrant admission that you don't trust me to help you and that the partnership you touted in your proposal was not at the forefront of your mind," Iris admonished, baring her teeth just slightly in her quiet frustration with her husband.
"I am not angry with your betrayal of me or the queen," Iris then said, "I am angry that you couldn't trust me enough to speak to me about any of it. I like to think I have an excellent sense of cunning that could have helped you more than books and your own sleep-deprived mind. You insult me by taking everything into yourself instead of letting yourself lean on me. Why did you marry me if not to be my partner? You've done a sorry job of keeping that promise," she was almost seething, but all at once the anger seemed to melt off of her. And then she was stepping closer to Aimias, settling slowly on her knees before him and reaching for both of his hands.
"I think this is the first time you have admitted that you loved me outright," Iris said softly, looking at his much larger hands holding her own. "You need to tell the queen, if you have not already. Persephone may send you away, but you are too valuable to her for her to give up on you completely. You know that she will forgive you just for the fact that you did it to protect those she cares about," Iris said slowly, thinking very carefully through her next words.
"I can forgive your betrayal of my abilities if you can forgive my doubts of your character," the woman finally murmured, "And if you can start to trust me, not push me away and keep me wondering in the darkness of your shadow. You are my husband, and if I did not care- if I did not love you, I would not think twice about throwing you from my home. However, I feel that... after over ten years of knowing you, really knowing you, that you never do anything with malicious or salacious intent," she continued, not giving him a moment to speak until she was finished. "You love me, and I love you... but that is not enough if we are both to come out of this alive and holding onto one another."
Bringing his knuckles to her lips, she kissed one hand and then the other. "I married you because of your strength of character, Aimias. Your compassion and loyalty. I don't believe that you are lacking as a man, but I do believe you need to place more faith in both yourself and the people that inhabit your life," Iris finally murmured, bringing her gaze back to his face, "And you can start with trusting me. I am yours, through all of the good and bad. Through joy and terror. Elias will not tear you from me again. Do you understand me? These are my terms."
Here, a smile started to touch her lips, the hardness and ferocity of her gaze melting into something molten and full of affection and devotion. "Do you understand me, husband?' Iris repeated, her breath a whisper this time around.
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The hand that reached out to stop her undressing was what caused her stomach to drop and her fears to be realized in that moment. He didn't want her. He had been avoiding her, and even her coaxing him to bed in the past hadn't been what he wanted. She remembered the agreement that they had made when Aimias offered to marry her. An arrangement of mutual benefir that did not include warming her bed or giving her comfort, it seemed. She could live with that, she supposed, but she would always wonder what it was she did or didn't do to win his love, his affection. His words further drove the point home and Iris felt herself pulling her hands more toward her chest so that she could protect her heart.
She had fallen too easily, it seemed. It would have been better if she'd kept her cool demeanor and tried to avoid any and all contact with a man that just held her name for the sake of benefit to himself and his daughter. That thought alone started to make her feel sick to her stomach. To think so poorly of a man that she had looked upon with so much admiration and adoration was nothing that Iris had ever wanted, and her mind was racing far faster than the words that he spoke to her.
It was true then. Her husband, her Aimias, didn't actually want her. Her doubts in herself only grew then, a rare moment of weakness gripping her and her usually confident green gaze dropping to her feet instead of resting on his face. A few fresh tears welled up in her eyes, though they did not drop. Gods above, she was a lovesick fool... and she had resolved years ago not to let another man hurt her heart the way that Elias initially had with his ambition.
"Right," Iris said quietly at first, barely registering his words until he admitted that he hadn't been honest with her. That much was true. There was a lot that he was hiding, and it would be a lie if she admitted to not having thought that maybe he had found someone more his pace. His speed. Someone who was better for him emotionally than she could ever be. Iris would never live up to his first wife, she was sure. The woman had been so good for him, and there was always going to be that longing in him with Phillipa around. Not that Iris resented the child, but Iris realized that he wouldn't really truly be hers. Not if he couldn't even stand to lay with her. To even do his duty as the baron of Aetaea.
But Iris was listening to him now, rather than the inner turmoil that gripped at her heart, shredding at it in the same way that she had felt when letting Elias go. What had it gotten her? What had that really done to her? Made her afraid to love. And here she was making the same mistake.
His initial admission that he did want her did not move her, her green eyes had settled on his face, not moving of flinching when he touched her. She was thinking about driving her fist against his gut for the insult that he had just done her, but she stayed her hand, a mixture of anger and betrayal already settled in her eyes. But everything changed so quickly. He spoke of begging forgiveness and then started to talk about... Persephone and Elias?
And the implications of what Elias had detailed to her husband. About her. Iris had already admitted that she had had a relationship with Elias, but she hadn't thought that Elias would have been so cruel as to detail it to her husband. The man who did not need to know about the skeletons of her past. Iris was not going to interrupt him, but her mind had quickly shifted from her own emotions to the words that Aimias spoke. All of it was... incriminating. Toward himself.
Aimias had betrayed her. Especially in not telling her any of this right away. Had she known, they could have manipulated a lot more between the both of them. Instead of her being left in the dark, she could have take steps to help and protect him. Instead, she had been left to guess, to wonder what was keeping her husband away and so stressed. When Aimias was done speaking, Iris could only look at him, her mouth slightly agape as she tried to come to terms with everything that he had just admitted.
"Give me... just one moment," Iris said very slowly, holding up both of her hands so that she could ward him off from coming any closer. She turned away, pressing her fingers against her jaw. And then the pacing started. Back and forth. Back and forth until she had settled on words that she thought might soothe him. Both of them, really. But there was still a few things that she needed to truly speak her mind on first.
When she finally turned back toward him, there was an almost feral glint in her eye. One that harkened back to her younger years when she had pursued him like prey in her want and quiet desire to have him for herself. The only man that she had truly chased on her own, who had truly satisfied her needs for intelligent and emotional company. Except there was a silent viciousness to her gaze, a begrudging shimmer to the ever-shifting green of her irises.
"Your first mistake, husband, is assuming that I could not take care of myself," Iris pointed out, taking a single step closer to him. "You devalue me and underestimate my abilities when you think you must take it upon yourself to keep me safe. There is a reason that I stepped away from my courtship with Elias, and it seems that you have come face to face with it. Firsthand, and blatant. The fact that you did not think to speak to me at all is a flagrant admission that you don't trust me to help you and that the partnership you touted in your proposal was not at the forefront of your mind," Iris admonished, baring her teeth just slightly in her quiet frustration with her husband.
"I am not angry with your betrayal of me or the queen," Iris then said, "I am angry that you couldn't trust me enough to speak to me about any of it. I like to think I have an excellent sense of cunning that could have helped you more than books and your own sleep-deprived mind. You insult me by taking everything into yourself instead of letting yourself lean on me. Why did you marry me if not to be my partner? You've done a sorry job of keeping that promise," she was almost seething, but all at once the anger seemed to melt off of her. And then she was stepping closer to Aimias, settling slowly on her knees before him and reaching for both of his hands.
"I think this is the first time you have admitted that you loved me outright," Iris said softly, looking at his much larger hands holding her own. "You need to tell the queen, if you have not already. Persephone may send you away, but you are too valuable to her for her to give up on you completely. You know that she will forgive you just for the fact that you did it to protect those she cares about," Iris said slowly, thinking very carefully through her next words.
"I can forgive your betrayal of my abilities if you can forgive my doubts of your character," the woman finally murmured, "And if you can start to trust me, not push me away and keep me wondering in the darkness of your shadow. You are my husband, and if I did not care- if I did not love you, I would not think twice about throwing you from my home. However, I feel that... after over ten years of knowing you, really knowing you, that you never do anything with malicious or salacious intent," she continued, not giving him a moment to speak until she was finished. "You love me, and I love you... but that is not enough if we are both to come out of this alive and holding onto one another."
Bringing his knuckles to her lips, she kissed one hand and then the other. "I married you because of your strength of character, Aimias. Your compassion and loyalty. I don't believe that you are lacking as a man, but I do believe you need to place more faith in both yourself and the people that inhabit your life," Iris finally murmured, bringing her gaze back to his face, "And you can start with trusting me. I am yours, through all of the good and bad. Through joy and terror. Elias will not tear you from me again. Do you understand me? These are my terms."
Here, a smile started to touch her lips, the hardness and ferocity of her gaze melting into something molten and full of affection and devotion. "Do you understand me, husband?' Iris repeated, her breath a whisper this time around.
The hand that reached out to stop her undressing was what caused her stomach to drop and her fears to be realized in that moment. He didn't want her. He had been avoiding her, and even her coaxing him to bed in the past hadn't been what he wanted. She remembered the agreement that they had made when Aimias offered to marry her. An arrangement of mutual benefir that did not include warming her bed or giving her comfort, it seemed. She could live with that, she supposed, but she would always wonder what it was she did or didn't do to win his love, his affection. His words further drove the point home and Iris felt herself pulling her hands more toward her chest so that she could protect her heart.
She had fallen too easily, it seemed. It would have been better if she'd kept her cool demeanor and tried to avoid any and all contact with a man that just held her name for the sake of benefit to himself and his daughter. That thought alone started to make her feel sick to her stomach. To think so poorly of a man that she had looked upon with so much admiration and adoration was nothing that Iris had ever wanted, and her mind was racing far faster than the words that he spoke to her.
It was true then. Her husband, her Aimias, didn't actually want her. Her doubts in herself only grew then, a rare moment of weakness gripping her and her usually confident green gaze dropping to her feet instead of resting on his face. A few fresh tears welled up in her eyes, though they did not drop. Gods above, she was a lovesick fool... and she had resolved years ago not to let another man hurt her heart the way that Elias initially had with his ambition.
"Right," Iris said quietly at first, barely registering his words until he admitted that he hadn't been honest with her. That much was true. There was a lot that he was hiding, and it would be a lie if she admitted to not having thought that maybe he had found someone more his pace. His speed. Someone who was better for him emotionally than she could ever be. Iris would never live up to his first wife, she was sure. The woman had been so good for him, and there was always going to be that longing in him with Phillipa around. Not that Iris resented the child, but Iris realized that he wouldn't really truly be hers. Not if he couldn't even stand to lay with her. To even do his duty as the baron of Aetaea.
But Iris was listening to him now, rather than the inner turmoil that gripped at her heart, shredding at it in the same way that she had felt when letting Elias go. What had it gotten her? What had that really done to her? Made her afraid to love. And here she was making the same mistake.
His initial admission that he did want her did not move her, her green eyes had settled on his face, not moving of flinching when he touched her. She was thinking about driving her fist against his gut for the insult that he had just done her, but she stayed her hand, a mixture of anger and betrayal already settled in her eyes. But everything changed so quickly. He spoke of begging forgiveness and then started to talk about... Persephone and Elias?
And the implications of what Elias had detailed to her husband. About her. Iris had already admitted that she had had a relationship with Elias, but she hadn't thought that Elias would have been so cruel as to detail it to her husband. The man who did not need to know about the skeletons of her past. Iris was not going to interrupt him, but her mind had quickly shifted from her own emotions to the words that Aimias spoke. All of it was... incriminating. Toward himself.
Aimias had betrayed her. Especially in not telling her any of this right away. Had she known, they could have manipulated a lot more between the both of them. Instead of her being left in the dark, she could have take steps to help and protect him. Instead, she had been left to guess, to wonder what was keeping her husband away and so stressed. When Aimias was done speaking, Iris could only look at him, her mouth slightly agape as she tried to come to terms with everything that he had just admitted.
"Give me... just one moment," Iris said very slowly, holding up both of her hands so that she could ward him off from coming any closer. She turned away, pressing her fingers against her jaw. And then the pacing started. Back and forth. Back and forth until she had settled on words that she thought might soothe him. Both of them, really. But there was still a few things that she needed to truly speak her mind on first.
When she finally turned back toward him, there was an almost feral glint in her eye. One that harkened back to her younger years when she had pursued him like prey in her want and quiet desire to have him for herself. The only man that she had truly chased on her own, who had truly satisfied her needs for intelligent and emotional company. Except there was a silent viciousness to her gaze, a begrudging shimmer to the ever-shifting green of her irises.
"Your first mistake, husband, is assuming that I could not take care of myself," Iris pointed out, taking a single step closer to him. "You devalue me and underestimate my abilities when you think you must take it upon yourself to keep me safe. There is a reason that I stepped away from my courtship with Elias, and it seems that you have come face to face with it. Firsthand, and blatant. The fact that you did not think to speak to me at all is a flagrant admission that you don't trust me to help you and that the partnership you touted in your proposal was not at the forefront of your mind," Iris admonished, baring her teeth just slightly in her quiet frustration with her husband.
"I am not angry with your betrayal of me or the queen," Iris then said, "I am angry that you couldn't trust me enough to speak to me about any of it. I like to think I have an excellent sense of cunning that could have helped you more than books and your own sleep-deprived mind. You insult me by taking everything into yourself instead of letting yourself lean on me. Why did you marry me if not to be my partner? You've done a sorry job of keeping that promise," she was almost seething, but all at once the anger seemed to melt off of her. And then she was stepping closer to Aimias, settling slowly on her knees before him and reaching for both of his hands.
"I think this is the first time you have admitted that you loved me outright," Iris said softly, looking at his much larger hands holding her own. "You need to tell the queen, if you have not already. Persephone may send you away, but you are too valuable to her for her to give up on you completely. You know that she will forgive you just for the fact that you did it to protect those she cares about," Iris said slowly, thinking very carefully through her next words.
"I can forgive your betrayal of my abilities if you can forgive my doubts of your character," the woman finally murmured, "And if you can start to trust me, not push me away and keep me wondering in the darkness of your shadow. You are my husband, and if I did not care- if I did not love you, I would not think twice about throwing you from my home. However, I feel that... after over ten years of knowing you, really knowing you, that you never do anything with malicious or salacious intent," she continued, not giving him a moment to speak until she was finished. "You love me, and I love you... but that is not enough if we are both to come out of this alive and holding onto one another."
Bringing his knuckles to her lips, she kissed one hand and then the other. "I married you because of your strength of character, Aimias. Your compassion and loyalty. I don't believe that you are lacking as a man, but I do believe you need to place more faith in both yourself and the people that inhabit your life," Iris finally murmured, bringing her gaze back to his face, "And you can start with trusting me. I am yours, through all of the good and bad. Through joy and terror. Elias will not tear you from me again. Do you understand me? These are my terms."
Here, a smile started to touch her lips, the hardness and ferocity of her gaze melting into something molten and full of affection and devotion. "Do you understand me, husband?' Iris repeated, her breath a whisper this time around.
He was a man who watched people. It was in his very nature to simply stand back and let the actions of people speak for themselves. Aimias had always felt it was easier to learn people by watching them in all their actions. It was no surprise he had found himself in the position he’d been in prior to the King’s death. He didn’t need to speak or make friends to gather information about those in question. The advisor was usually a perceptive man.
But, up until now, he had very little personal life. Like most single fathers, he hadn’t been very effective with Phillipa until she was older. A wet nurse had been provided for her, and her schedule and his own were not compatible. It wasn’t until he had come to terms with his own grief that he was ready to accept her. And even then, it was not as if he’d ever found himself in a position to openly bring enemies to his door. And then he’d married Iris and was no longer just considered a background player, thrust into something he’d not had the constitution for.
Telling her what he’d done didn’t do anything to relieve his worry. No, laying it out on the table meant that he was at her mercy. He may have been the Baron, but it was in title only. Unless he gave up his position (which was not a bad idea after his latest situation), she held the power in both his life and marriage. So while he felt better now that she knew, it still caused his heart to drop as he watched her process the news.
There was something he’d never seen in her before. There was an unknown emotion on her face, one so sharp enough that it brought the strongest woman he knew close to tears. He had wanted to hold her, to tell her that he knew he was a fool but that he needed her. But she backed away from him, cracking his already breaking heart as she told him that he needed a moment. Did she know how much power she truly held over him? It had nothing to do with the title he gained by marrying her and had everything to do with the love he bore for her. He was hers, body and soul.
He could see the fire in her eyes as she paced, but he was good enough to hang his head, knowing that he would not fault her if she left now. Aimias waited until she stopped, straightening as she spoke. For while he was ashamed of his actions, he would listen to her, would respect her enough to allow her anger. And he would not cower from his wife. Even if he wanted to. He respected her too much to be afraid of her, though fear of her reaction was exactly what had gotten him in this mess in the first place. And she was right-- he had gravely insulted her with his own fears, instead of simply telling her the truth of the matter.
He let her finish speaking, because she had done just that for him. And he absorbed every word she said. And he was quiet as she confessed her love for him, knowing that the tear that ran down his cheek was the acknowledgment that he knew he didn’t deserve it. Aimias had no right to have her love, and yet she gave it, so willingly, after what he had done. His eyes were glassy as she brought herself before him, wanting nothing more than to forgive his sins to face the future head on. His forehead slowly moved to meet hers, his own look a bit more apologetic and uncertain.
“You had just lost your father.” He said, as if it had made perfect sense at the moment to do what he had done. “I did not wish for you to have to deal with that as well. You needed to mourn, which is part of the reason I am sure Elias did what he did.” His hand moved to her cheek, brushing the soft skin before wrapping around to the back of her neck to hold her place. “He knew you were my greatest concern, that I would not burden you with anything more.”
He thought of her terms, and knew that he would not refuse her again. “I will spend the rest of my life proving just how much you mean to me, Iris” His gaze locked with hers, intense and certain. His tongue was thick as he swallowed down his nerves. “Never once was this about my trust in you, my love. It was always a doubt in myself, in how lacking I am as a husband. I have no title, no sword and little power. You deserve so much more than I, and he fed into that fear. I was a pawn in his game and shame is what kept the truth from you, not trust.”
Aimias would not let her move, his legs locking around her so that she was stuck in place. “My greatest mistake was allowing Elias to make me think that loving you made me weak. With you, it makes me stronger. And I vow to do everything in my power to earn your trust again. Because I cannot be without you. I have just learned to live again with you in my life. I cannot lose you, not when you have my whole heart in your hands. I love you. Gods, how I love you” There was as much hunger in his eyes as were in hers, and he didn’t ask permission as his lips claimed her to seal his promise.
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He was a man who watched people. It was in his very nature to simply stand back and let the actions of people speak for themselves. Aimias had always felt it was easier to learn people by watching them in all their actions. It was no surprise he had found himself in the position he’d been in prior to the King’s death. He didn’t need to speak or make friends to gather information about those in question. The advisor was usually a perceptive man.
But, up until now, he had very little personal life. Like most single fathers, he hadn’t been very effective with Phillipa until she was older. A wet nurse had been provided for her, and her schedule and his own were not compatible. It wasn’t until he had come to terms with his own grief that he was ready to accept her. And even then, it was not as if he’d ever found himself in a position to openly bring enemies to his door. And then he’d married Iris and was no longer just considered a background player, thrust into something he’d not had the constitution for.
Telling her what he’d done didn’t do anything to relieve his worry. No, laying it out on the table meant that he was at her mercy. He may have been the Baron, but it was in title only. Unless he gave up his position (which was not a bad idea after his latest situation), she held the power in both his life and marriage. So while he felt better now that she knew, it still caused his heart to drop as he watched her process the news.
There was something he’d never seen in her before. There was an unknown emotion on her face, one so sharp enough that it brought the strongest woman he knew close to tears. He had wanted to hold her, to tell her that he knew he was a fool but that he needed her. But she backed away from him, cracking his already breaking heart as she told him that he needed a moment. Did she know how much power she truly held over him? It had nothing to do with the title he gained by marrying her and had everything to do with the love he bore for her. He was hers, body and soul.
He could see the fire in her eyes as she paced, but he was good enough to hang his head, knowing that he would not fault her if she left now. Aimias waited until she stopped, straightening as she spoke. For while he was ashamed of his actions, he would listen to her, would respect her enough to allow her anger. And he would not cower from his wife. Even if he wanted to. He respected her too much to be afraid of her, though fear of her reaction was exactly what had gotten him in this mess in the first place. And she was right-- he had gravely insulted her with his own fears, instead of simply telling her the truth of the matter.
He let her finish speaking, because she had done just that for him. And he absorbed every word she said. And he was quiet as she confessed her love for him, knowing that the tear that ran down his cheek was the acknowledgment that he knew he didn’t deserve it. Aimias had no right to have her love, and yet she gave it, so willingly, after what he had done. His eyes were glassy as she brought herself before him, wanting nothing more than to forgive his sins to face the future head on. His forehead slowly moved to meet hers, his own look a bit more apologetic and uncertain.
“You had just lost your father.” He said, as if it had made perfect sense at the moment to do what he had done. “I did not wish for you to have to deal with that as well. You needed to mourn, which is part of the reason I am sure Elias did what he did.” His hand moved to her cheek, brushing the soft skin before wrapping around to the back of her neck to hold her place. “He knew you were my greatest concern, that I would not burden you with anything more.”
He thought of her terms, and knew that he would not refuse her again. “I will spend the rest of my life proving just how much you mean to me, Iris” His gaze locked with hers, intense and certain. His tongue was thick as he swallowed down his nerves. “Never once was this about my trust in you, my love. It was always a doubt in myself, in how lacking I am as a husband. I have no title, no sword and little power. You deserve so much more than I, and he fed into that fear. I was a pawn in his game and shame is what kept the truth from you, not trust.”
Aimias would not let her move, his legs locking around her so that she was stuck in place. “My greatest mistake was allowing Elias to make me think that loving you made me weak. With you, it makes me stronger. And I vow to do everything in my power to earn your trust again. Because I cannot be without you. I have just learned to live again with you in my life. I cannot lose you, not when you have my whole heart in your hands. I love you. Gods, how I love you” There was as much hunger in his eyes as were in hers, and he didn’t ask permission as his lips claimed her to seal his promise.
He was a man who watched people. It was in his very nature to simply stand back and let the actions of people speak for themselves. Aimias had always felt it was easier to learn people by watching them in all their actions. It was no surprise he had found himself in the position he’d been in prior to the King’s death. He didn’t need to speak or make friends to gather information about those in question. The advisor was usually a perceptive man.
But, up until now, he had very little personal life. Like most single fathers, he hadn’t been very effective with Phillipa until she was older. A wet nurse had been provided for her, and her schedule and his own were not compatible. It wasn’t until he had come to terms with his own grief that he was ready to accept her. And even then, it was not as if he’d ever found himself in a position to openly bring enemies to his door. And then he’d married Iris and was no longer just considered a background player, thrust into something he’d not had the constitution for.
Telling her what he’d done didn’t do anything to relieve his worry. No, laying it out on the table meant that he was at her mercy. He may have been the Baron, but it was in title only. Unless he gave up his position (which was not a bad idea after his latest situation), she held the power in both his life and marriage. So while he felt better now that she knew, it still caused his heart to drop as he watched her process the news.
There was something he’d never seen in her before. There was an unknown emotion on her face, one so sharp enough that it brought the strongest woman he knew close to tears. He had wanted to hold her, to tell her that he knew he was a fool but that he needed her. But she backed away from him, cracking his already breaking heart as she told him that he needed a moment. Did she know how much power she truly held over him? It had nothing to do with the title he gained by marrying her and had everything to do with the love he bore for her. He was hers, body and soul.
He could see the fire in her eyes as she paced, but he was good enough to hang his head, knowing that he would not fault her if she left now. Aimias waited until she stopped, straightening as she spoke. For while he was ashamed of his actions, he would listen to her, would respect her enough to allow her anger. And he would not cower from his wife. Even if he wanted to. He respected her too much to be afraid of her, though fear of her reaction was exactly what had gotten him in this mess in the first place. And she was right-- he had gravely insulted her with his own fears, instead of simply telling her the truth of the matter.
He let her finish speaking, because she had done just that for him. And he absorbed every word she said. And he was quiet as she confessed her love for him, knowing that the tear that ran down his cheek was the acknowledgment that he knew he didn’t deserve it. Aimias had no right to have her love, and yet she gave it, so willingly, after what he had done. His eyes were glassy as she brought herself before him, wanting nothing more than to forgive his sins to face the future head on. His forehead slowly moved to meet hers, his own look a bit more apologetic and uncertain.
“You had just lost your father.” He said, as if it had made perfect sense at the moment to do what he had done. “I did not wish for you to have to deal with that as well. You needed to mourn, which is part of the reason I am sure Elias did what he did.” His hand moved to her cheek, brushing the soft skin before wrapping around to the back of her neck to hold her place. “He knew you were my greatest concern, that I would not burden you with anything more.”
He thought of her terms, and knew that he would not refuse her again. “I will spend the rest of my life proving just how much you mean to me, Iris” His gaze locked with hers, intense and certain. His tongue was thick as he swallowed down his nerves. “Never once was this about my trust in you, my love. It was always a doubt in myself, in how lacking I am as a husband. I have no title, no sword and little power. You deserve so much more than I, and he fed into that fear. I was a pawn in his game and shame is what kept the truth from you, not trust.”
Aimias would not let her move, his legs locking around her so that she was stuck in place. “My greatest mistake was allowing Elias to make me think that loving you made me weak. With you, it makes me stronger. And I vow to do everything in my power to earn your trust again. Because I cannot be without you. I have just learned to live again with you in my life. I cannot lose you, not when you have my whole heart in your hands. I love you. Gods, how I love you” There was as much hunger in his eyes as were in hers, and he didn’t ask permission as his lips claimed her to seal his promise.
She had just lost her father, but in those days, she'd also felt like she'd lost Aimias. So quickly after she had had him, he pulled away from her. Iris wasn't entirely sure if he realized how much that had hurt. The distance and the not wanting to bother him because surely he was just busy. But the comforting hand that had brushed between her shoulder blades in this few days after Takis had died had disappeared almost as soon as it had come to rest. It had left Iris struggling with a loneliness that she was not sure that she ever wanted to revisit. Not again. Never again. In fact, she had never been entirely sure that anyone could ever make her feel so lost and confused until he'd done it.
But it was Aimias' mouth on hers that pulled her next thoughts away, feeling him lock his legs back around her to keep her from moving away. Immediately distracted, her fingers worked their way through his beard, her breath coming in a sharp pant of sudden want. Want to be touched. Want to be loved. To feel loved. She could still smell the scent of the shaving lotion on his face, but that was the only distracting thing about the moment to her. Parting her lips slowly, Iris soon found her tongue brushing against her husband's as she slid herself carefully into his lap.
There was still much to talk about, Iris was very sure, but his admission of deep love was all she could really think about in that moment. And the taste of his mouth. The scent of his skin. The thought of the baths behind them. There was only one thing she wanted to address, and she did so as she pulled back to take a breath, resting her forehead against his. Sliding her hand into his hair, she sat up slightly and tugged his head back just slightly so that she could look more down into his face, taking the position of power in the moment.
"Elias is a bitter man that only used me against you because he could not have me for himself," Iris said slowly, "He is a weak man because he loves the ghost of what we had, and he's angry to see another man give me happiness where he could not. I do not think your proximity to the royal family had anything to do with Elias' motives. He's a selfish idiot and he would do anything to make you squirm. Let him play his game, husband," Iris murmured, brushing her lips against his again in a slow, measured manner before she was drawing back once more to brush her nose against his. "But always remember that you were the victor from the start," and then she nipped his bottom lip, her green gaze darting down to his clothes.
He was wearing far too much cloth and her free hand wandered down to trail beneath his chiton, aiming to feel heated skin under her fingertips. "We can talk our professions of love come morning, my heart," she breathed against his lips, "But I ache for your skin against mine. You left me in such a sour state in Athenia..."
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She had just lost her father, but in those days, she'd also felt like she'd lost Aimias. So quickly after she had had him, he pulled away from her. Iris wasn't entirely sure if he realized how much that had hurt. The distance and the not wanting to bother him because surely he was just busy. But the comforting hand that had brushed between her shoulder blades in this few days after Takis had died had disappeared almost as soon as it had come to rest. It had left Iris struggling with a loneliness that she was not sure that she ever wanted to revisit. Not again. Never again. In fact, she had never been entirely sure that anyone could ever make her feel so lost and confused until he'd done it.
But it was Aimias' mouth on hers that pulled her next thoughts away, feeling him lock his legs back around her to keep her from moving away. Immediately distracted, her fingers worked their way through his beard, her breath coming in a sharp pant of sudden want. Want to be touched. Want to be loved. To feel loved. She could still smell the scent of the shaving lotion on his face, but that was the only distracting thing about the moment to her. Parting her lips slowly, Iris soon found her tongue brushing against her husband's as she slid herself carefully into his lap.
There was still much to talk about, Iris was very sure, but his admission of deep love was all she could really think about in that moment. And the taste of his mouth. The scent of his skin. The thought of the baths behind them. There was only one thing she wanted to address, and she did so as she pulled back to take a breath, resting her forehead against his. Sliding her hand into his hair, she sat up slightly and tugged his head back just slightly so that she could look more down into his face, taking the position of power in the moment.
"Elias is a bitter man that only used me against you because he could not have me for himself," Iris said slowly, "He is a weak man because he loves the ghost of what we had, and he's angry to see another man give me happiness where he could not. I do not think your proximity to the royal family had anything to do with Elias' motives. He's a selfish idiot and he would do anything to make you squirm. Let him play his game, husband," Iris murmured, brushing her lips against his again in a slow, measured manner before she was drawing back once more to brush her nose against his. "But always remember that you were the victor from the start," and then she nipped his bottom lip, her green gaze darting down to his clothes.
He was wearing far too much cloth and her free hand wandered down to trail beneath his chiton, aiming to feel heated skin under her fingertips. "We can talk our professions of love come morning, my heart," she breathed against his lips, "But I ache for your skin against mine. You left me in such a sour state in Athenia..."
She had just lost her father, but in those days, she'd also felt like she'd lost Aimias. So quickly after she had had him, he pulled away from her. Iris wasn't entirely sure if he realized how much that had hurt. The distance and the not wanting to bother him because surely he was just busy. But the comforting hand that had brushed between her shoulder blades in this few days after Takis had died had disappeared almost as soon as it had come to rest. It had left Iris struggling with a loneliness that she was not sure that she ever wanted to revisit. Not again. Never again. In fact, she had never been entirely sure that anyone could ever make her feel so lost and confused until he'd done it.
But it was Aimias' mouth on hers that pulled her next thoughts away, feeling him lock his legs back around her to keep her from moving away. Immediately distracted, her fingers worked their way through his beard, her breath coming in a sharp pant of sudden want. Want to be touched. Want to be loved. To feel loved. She could still smell the scent of the shaving lotion on his face, but that was the only distracting thing about the moment to her. Parting her lips slowly, Iris soon found her tongue brushing against her husband's as she slid herself carefully into his lap.
There was still much to talk about, Iris was very sure, but his admission of deep love was all she could really think about in that moment. And the taste of his mouth. The scent of his skin. The thought of the baths behind them. There was only one thing she wanted to address, and she did so as she pulled back to take a breath, resting her forehead against his. Sliding her hand into his hair, she sat up slightly and tugged his head back just slightly so that she could look more down into his face, taking the position of power in the moment.
"Elias is a bitter man that only used me against you because he could not have me for himself," Iris said slowly, "He is a weak man because he loves the ghost of what we had, and he's angry to see another man give me happiness where he could not. I do not think your proximity to the royal family had anything to do with Elias' motives. He's a selfish idiot and he would do anything to make you squirm. Let him play his game, husband," Iris murmured, brushing her lips against his again in a slow, measured manner before she was drawing back once more to brush her nose against his. "But always remember that you were the victor from the start," and then she nipped his bottom lip, her green gaze darting down to his clothes.
He was wearing far too much cloth and her free hand wandered down to trail beneath his chiton, aiming to feel heated skin under her fingertips. "We can talk our professions of love come morning, my heart," she breathed against his lips, "But I ache for your skin against mine. You left me in such a sour state in Athenia..."
It would only be a matter of time before she revealed just how much he had hurt her in his actions. And once he found out, Aimias would be consumed with guilt. As much as he had tried to protect her, it would only make it obvious that he was incapable of truly protecting her as he needed to. He was lacking, and she had certainly been the victim of that. But as she accepted his kiss, as she melted into his skin, the man was quick to realize that she was a better person than he was.
Because he knew that she would not be kissing him like this if there was any reason for her not to forgive him. Because she would allow him the chance to resolve what happened between them. Because she felt the same as he, knowing that there was little life worth living without the other. It humbled him, to the point where his stomach was unable to settle. His hands wrapped around her, resting against the curves of her back.
The heat of his hands radiated through the material.
And as she slipped into his lap, his hands settled back on her hips so that she would not move. It was easy to brush her hair back, to rest forehead against hers. There was a need to touch her, to feel connected to her again. And he wanted nothing more than to validate their marriage. He had to prove to her that she did not make a mistake in accepting his offer of marriage. While he was sure that she would not have said as much, Aimias did not wish to give her reason to do just that.
Her words were soothing, reassuring to him. Elias had made him feel as if he would never be good enough, would never love her as she should be. He had pressed doubt into the dark corners of his mind that she should have been brightly lit in. And he had tried to poison him against her. But she was honest, and trustworthy and told him what he needed to hear. He was valued and loved and was not to blame. He wanted to push back, to speak once again about how wrong she was. But then she bit his lip, causing him to moan softly against her own. “I am grateful for such a valuable prize.” He told her, hands slipping in between the layers of her chiton to touch bare skin.
“Then I should do my best to soothe your mood.” He was not a man of great strength, but lifting her into his arms was easy. He stood with her tight in his arms, one under her knees with the other on her shoulder. “I am your servant, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, the tie on his robe coming loose, hung low on his hips. “And I am yours.”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It would only be a matter of time before she revealed just how much he had hurt her in his actions. And once he found out, Aimias would be consumed with guilt. As much as he had tried to protect her, it would only make it obvious that he was incapable of truly protecting her as he needed to. He was lacking, and she had certainly been the victim of that. But as she accepted his kiss, as she melted into his skin, the man was quick to realize that she was a better person than he was.
Because he knew that she would not be kissing him like this if there was any reason for her not to forgive him. Because she would allow him the chance to resolve what happened between them. Because she felt the same as he, knowing that there was little life worth living without the other. It humbled him, to the point where his stomach was unable to settle. His hands wrapped around her, resting against the curves of her back.
The heat of his hands radiated through the material.
And as she slipped into his lap, his hands settled back on her hips so that she would not move. It was easy to brush her hair back, to rest forehead against hers. There was a need to touch her, to feel connected to her again. And he wanted nothing more than to validate their marriage. He had to prove to her that she did not make a mistake in accepting his offer of marriage. While he was sure that she would not have said as much, Aimias did not wish to give her reason to do just that.
Her words were soothing, reassuring to him. Elias had made him feel as if he would never be good enough, would never love her as she should be. He had pressed doubt into the dark corners of his mind that she should have been brightly lit in. And he had tried to poison him against her. But she was honest, and trustworthy and told him what he needed to hear. He was valued and loved and was not to blame. He wanted to push back, to speak once again about how wrong she was. But then she bit his lip, causing him to moan softly against her own. “I am grateful for such a valuable prize.” He told her, hands slipping in between the layers of her chiton to touch bare skin.
“Then I should do my best to soothe your mood.” He was not a man of great strength, but lifting her into his arms was easy. He stood with her tight in his arms, one under her knees with the other on her shoulder. “I am your servant, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, the tie on his robe coming loose, hung low on his hips. “And I am yours.”
It would only be a matter of time before she revealed just how much he had hurt her in his actions. And once he found out, Aimias would be consumed with guilt. As much as he had tried to protect her, it would only make it obvious that he was incapable of truly protecting her as he needed to. He was lacking, and she had certainly been the victim of that. But as she accepted his kiss, as she melted into his skin, the man was quick to realize that she was a better person than he was.
Because he knew that she would not be kissing him like this if there was any reason for her not to forgive him. Because she would allow him the chance to resolve what happened between them. Because she felt the same as he, knowing that there was little life worth living without the other. It humbled him, to the point where his stomach was unable to settle. His hands wrapped around her, resting against the curves of her back.
The heat of his hands radiated through the material.
And as she slipped into his lap, his hands settled back on her hips so that she would not move. It was easy to brush her hair back, to rest forehead against hers. There was a need to touch her, to feel connected to her again. And he wanted nothing more than to validate their marriage. He had to prove to her that she did not make a mistake in accepting his offer of marriage. While he was sure that she would not have said as much, Aimias did not wish to give her reason to do just that.
Her words were soothing, reassuring to him. Elias had made him feel as if he would never be good enough, would never love her as she should be. He had pressed doubt into the dark corners of his mind that she should have been brightly lit in. And he had tried to poison him against her. But she was honest, and trustworthy and told him what he needed to hear. He was valued and loved and was not to blame. He wanted to push back, to speak once again about how wrong she was. But then she bit his lip, causing him to moan softly against her own. “I am grateful for such a valuable prize.” He told her, hands slipping in between the layers of her chiton to touch bare skin.
“Then I should do my best to soothe your mood.” He was not a man of great strength, but lifting her into his arms was easy. He stood with her tight in his arms, one under her knees with the other on her shoulder. “I am your servant, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, the tie on his robe coming loose, hung low on his hips. “And I am yours.”
