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Only having returned from his trip to Taengea a couple of days earlier - a journey which, ultimately, had provided him with nothing more than a new horse and a few additional notches on his bedpost - Rafail had been taking the past few days as the ideal opportunity to relax, especially after the nightmarish boat ride home. It hadn't taken long to get comfortably back into his daily routine.
The morning had dawned sunny and perfect for his favourite activity, just the sort of day when all the young ladies chose to venture out into the city, excited to shop and mingle and often feeling so lonely and neglected. Rafail had always done best in the summer months. However, beautiful as the weather might have been, a prior appointment had trapped him indoors for most of the day. While the second son had been away, a prominent painter by the name of Apelles had been hired and, in exchange for a substantial sum, he had been gracing the Marikas home with some stunning new frescoes. Today he had been working on a piece in Rafail's dressing room - one which was allegedly going to take a week or two at least - and as much as he enjoyed looking at his gorgeous form being imprinted onto that wall, he had not enjoyed sitting for the portrait, draped across a kline in all his finest for far too long.
Now the muscles in his back had painfully locked together, and he was heavily irritable. He had practically screamed the artist out of his chambers, stressed and bitter and in no mood to communicate with other people. It was one of those rare instances where Rafail was in such dark spirits that he could barely think up what ridiculous thing might cheer him up. Besides, after all the fuss and tantrum that had been, his rooms were looking an absolute mess, and mess only served to frustrate him further.
He'd called out to Barnabas as soon as Apelles had left, sending him to bring up wine and something to eat, with an added request that, whatever it was, it be sweet. He needed something sweet right now. Actually... "And, Barnabas, find me something pretty to play with later, hm? I'm in the mood for a blonde, I think," Rafail added once the man had returned with the requested foodstuffs. That should pass the rest of the afternoon for him sufficiently, and unless Pavlos suddenly had some crazy new ideas about how he should be spending his time and burst into his younger brother's chambers without warning, he would have the rest of the day to himself.
"Fetch me something to change into," he ordered the other of his attendants, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to loosen his joints. Rafail was undoubtedly vain enough to want his art completed, and yet a part of him could not help but wonder whether putting himself through the hardship of the pose for so many hours was truly worth it. He would have to find somebody to do the sittings for him because the sheer amount of effort currently involved was not exactly desirable. There were far more pressing matters to attend to during his days.
Rafail allowed Deucalion to help him change out of his silken chiton and the neatly embroidered himation he had been wearing and into a lighter chlamys in a pale blue shade, already admiring how even such a simple garment made him look striking. "I'll need a massage this evening," he decided, striding through into his bedchamber and seating himself on the edge of his bed, thoughtfully resting his head on his hands. "My back is killing me. Oh, and I'll want everything tidied. But you may leave me for now; I believe I am expecting a visitor." He waved him off and out of the room, reaching over with his spare hand to take a goblet of the wine which had been brought up only a few moments before. It would be a delightful afternoon.
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Only having returned from his trip to Taengea a couple of days earlier - a journey which, ultimately, had provided him with nothing more than a new horse and a few additional notches on his bedpost - Rafail had been taking the past few days as the ideal opportunity to relax, especially after the nightmarish boat ride home. It hadn't taken long to get comfortably back into his daily routine.
The morning had dawned sunny and perfect for his favourite activity, just the sort of day when all the young ladies chose to venture out into the city, excited to shop and mingle and often feeling so lonely and neglected. Rafail had always done best in the summer months. However, beautiful as the weather might have been, a prior appointment had trapped him indoors for most of the day. While the second son had been away, a prominent painter by the name of Apelles had been hired and, in exchange for a substantial sum, he had been gracing the Marikas home with some stunning new frescoes. Today he had been working on a piece in Rafail's dressing room - one which was allegedly going to take a week or two at least - and as much as he enjoyed looking at his gorgeous form being imprinted onto that wall, he had not enjoyed sitting for the portrait, draped across a kline in all his finest for far too long.
Now the muscles in his back had painfully locked together, and he was heavily irritable. He had practically screamed the artist out of his chambers, stressed and bitter and in no mood to communicate with other people. It was one of those rare instances where Rafail was in such dark spirits that he could barely think up what ridiculous thing might cheer him up. Besides, after all the fuss and tantrum that had been, his rooms were looking an absolute mess, and mess only served to frustrate him further.
He'd called out to Barnabas as soon as Apelles had left, sending him to bring up wine and something to eat, with an added request that, whatever it was, it be sweet. He needed something sweet right now. Actually... "And, Barnabas, find me something pretty to play with later, hm? I'm in the mood for a blonde, I think," Rafail added once the man had returned with the requested foodstuffs. That should pass the rest of the afternoon for him sufficiently, and unless Pavlos suddenly had some crazy new ideas about how he should be spending his time and burst into his younger brother's chambers without warning, he would have the rest of the day to himself.
"Fetch me something to change into," he ordered the other of his attendants, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to loosen his joints. Rafail was undoubtedly vain enough to want his art completed, and yet a part of him could not help but wonder whether putting himself through the hardship of the pose for so many hours was truly worth it. He would have to find somebody to do the sittings for him because the sheer amount of effort currently involved was not exactly desirable. There were far more pressing matters to attend to during his days.
Rafail allowed Deucalion to help him change out of his silken chiton and the neatly embroidered himation he had been wearing and into a lighter chlamys in a pale blue shade, already admiring how even such a simple garment made him look striking. "I'll need a massage this evening," he decided, striding through into his bedchamber and seating himself on the edge of his bed, thoughtfully resting his head on his hands. "My back is killing me. Oh, and I'll want everything tidied. But you may leave me for now; I believe I am expecting a visitor." He waved him off and out of the room, reaching over with his spare hand to take a goblet of the wine which had been brought up only a few moments before. It would be a delightful afternoon.
Only having returned from his trip to Taengea a couple of days earlier - a journey which, ultimately, had provided him with nothing more than a new horse and a few additional notches on his bedpost - Rafail had been taking the past few days as the ideal opportunity to relax, especially after the nightmarish boat ride home. It hadn't taken long to get comfortably back into his daily routine.
The morning had dawned sunny and perfect for his favourite activity, just the sort of day when all the young ladies chose to venture out into the city, excited to shop and mingle and often feeling so lonely and neglected. Rafail had always done best in the summer months. However, beautiful as the weather might have been, a prior appointment had trapped him indoors for most of the day. While the second son had been away, a prominent painter by the name of Apelles had been hired and, in exchange for a substantial sum, he had been gracing the Marikas home with some stunning new frescoes. Today he had been working on a piece in Rafail's dressing room - one which was allegedly going to take a week or two at least - and as much as he enjoyed looking at his gorgeous form being imprinted onto that wall, he had not enjoyed sitting for the portrait, draped across a kline in all his finest for far too long.
Now the muscles in his back had painfully locked together, and he was heavily irritable. He had practically screamed the artist out of his chambers, stressed and bitter and in no mood to communicate with other people. It was one of those rare instances where Rafail was in such dark spirits that he could barely think up what ridiculous thing might cheer him up. Besides, after all the fuss and tantrum that had been, his rooms were looking an absolute mess, and mess only served to frustrate him further.
He'd called out to Barnabas as soon as Apelles had left, sending him to bring up wine and something to eat, with an added request that, whatever it was, it be sweet. He needed something sweet right now. Actually... "And, Barnabas, find me something pretty to play with later, hm? I'm in the mood for a blonde, I think," Rafail added once the man had returned with the requested foodstuffs. That should pass the rest of the afternoon for him sufficiently, and unless Pavlos suddenly had some crazy new ideas about how he should be spending his time and burst into his younger brother's chambers without warning, he would have the rest of the day to himself.
"Fetch me something to change into," he ordered the other of his attendants, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to loosen his joints. Rafail was undoubtedly vain enough to want his art completed, and yet a part of him could not help but wonder whether putting himself through the hardship of the pose for so many hours was truly worth it. He would have to find somebody to do the sittings for him because the sheer amount of effort currently involved was not exactly desirable. There were far more pressing matters to attend to during his days.
Rafail allowed Deucalion to help him change out of his silken chiton and the neatly embroidered himation he had been wearing and into a lighter chlamys in a pale blue shade, already admiring how even such a simple garment made him look striking. "I'll need a massage this evening," he decided, striding through into his bedchamber and seating himself on the edge of his bed, thoughtfully resting his head on his hands. "My back is killing me. Oh, and I'll want everything tidied. But you may leave me for now; I believe I am expecting a visitor." He waved him off and out of the room, reaching over with his spare hand to take a goblet of the wine which had been brought up only a few moments before. It would be a delightful afternoon.
The spider crawled to the corner where floor met wall and began its upward climb along the seam. She watched its progress from the bed. Only her eyes were visible from between the covers and pillow. Her skin itched as though the spider walked along her arms instead of making its way toward the ceiling. Its legs were long and its body thick and black in the gray early morning.
Behind her, Xenia slept on, blithely unaware of the disgusting creature. She wriggled until her back pressed lightly to the other girl’s. Xenia stirred but did not wake. It would be time to get up soon. The thought made her groan and pull the blanket up over her head, hiding her completely.
Then she thought of the spider. Throwing off the covers, she sat up and wondered if it would keep crawling up all the way to the ceiling, and from there come to hover over the bed. She shuddered. Xenia sat up, rubbing her eyes and glaring.
“What are you doing?” she demanded but quieted once shushed.
“Help me kill it,” Cyrene pointed to the corner.
Xenia squinted for a moment and then her eyes widened. “Oh, ew, no! Go kill it!” All at once, Xenia’s hands found her back and shoved her hard. She stumbled upright, just barely avoiding landing face first on the floor. Momentary anger bloomed in her cheeks but a small shriek from Xenia made her glance at the corner again. The spider was moving quicker now and nearly to the ceiling.
“Kill it!” the other girl bunched up the blankets to her chest, eyes locked on the creepy little demon.
“Give me a second,” Cyrene cast about for anything with a long reach. She needed something that would crush it instantly and not allow it to fall. Or, Hera forbid, jump. There was nothing. The room housed their shared bed, a trunk at its foot, a wardrobe filled with their clothes, and a looking glass. A little table stood next to the door but there was nothing with a long handle. Nothing with any kind of reach.
“Oh Cyrene! It’s on the ceiling!” Xenia darted out of bed and took her by the shoulders, crouching behind her. “Gross!”
“Xenia quit pushing me.”
“Ugh I hate spiders. Maybe…”
“We should get someone else?”
“Yeah, good idea,” Xenia immediately agreed.
As they both walked out into the corridor, she knew they were being foolish. When not in the spider’s lethal presence, it was easier to remember that she was much bigger than it was. And far more likely to win. But Xenia was right. It was gross and it was too early to do battle with an arachnid.
The two of them burst into the next room where two other ladies in waiting slept. One of the women, an amazonian by the look of her, eyed them through narrowed, half lidded eyes. “Are you serious?” she propped herself up on her elbows. “You woke us up for a spider?”
“It’s big,” Xenia’s breath was hot on her shoulder as the two of them looked imploringly at the amazon woman, Phaeron.
“Phaeron, if you come, we’ll do your stitching today,” Cyrene promised.
“And mine?” Phaeron’s bedmate, Phoebe asked from under her pillow. Phoebe was the oldest of the ladies in waiting and had never married. Privately, Cyrene felt that this was the saddest outcome of a life she could conceive. There had to be more than just devoting her life to Sera Marikas and her whims. She was not sad she’d left home to come here and serve, but this wasn’t her destiny. This was a stepping stone to something else; someone else.
“Yes,” she tried to keep the hesitation out of her voice. “Now please? Come?”
With a huff, Phaeron shoved back the coverlet and swung out of bed. Standing flat footed, she was as tall as a man. On tiptoe? She could most certainly touch the ceiling.
Cyrene followed her closely with Xenia trailing behind as Phaeron led the way back to their room. The large woman formed a fist, strode up to the side of the bed, and stared up at the spider as it quivered its body. Without hesitation, Phaeron rammed her fist upward, squishing the spider.
Yelping in disgust, Cyrene leapt backward, colliding with Xenia. Xenia pushed her forward with a screech of her own and the two toppled into Phaeron.
“There,” Phaeron looked down at them without emotion. “I’m going back to sleep. If Lady Sera asks, both Phoebe and I are ill.” Cyrene watched as Phaeron wiped the crushed spider body on the bedpost. The woman then walked out the door, not bothering to shut it.
“I...kind of hate her?” Xenia said, also eyeing the crumbled bit of spider that looked for all the world like a snarl of stitching thread.
“Me too. I think we have an hour of sleep left…” Cyrene was halfway to the bed before Xenia tugged on her arm. She knew what the other girl was doing. They might as well get up and start their day. With a groan, she made a pouty face at Xenia and then sank down on the bed. “Fine. Braid my hair, will you?”
Xenia clambered onto the bed behind her and took up the task of braiding. This was their morning ritual and it did not take long before it was her turn to braid Xenia’s hair into an intricate crown on her head. Afterward, they dressed and made their way to the courtyard. The courtyard was still mostly shadowed but in the far corner, a woman sat kneading dough. Little caked were already made and set out beside her with a petal pressed into the center of each.
“Good morning, Fronia,” Cyrene smiled at the woman who served as both cook and tender of the chickens that clucked around the courtyard.
Fronia looked up and smoothed hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You two are up earlier than usual,” she said.
Cyrene looked at Xenia. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to admit the reason. “My we offer those?” she pointed to the little cakes beside Fronia’s knee. The cook glanced at them as though she’d forgotten they were there and then nodded.
“Thank you,” she bent down and scooped them up, handing one to Xenia. They spoke with Fronia for a few minutes, discussing whether or not breakfast would be taken to Sera, or if their Lady would deign to come with the rest of the family before they turned and walked back into the house. Near Sera’s room, in an alcove, stood a statue of Hera. It was to this that they made their way, coming to kneel before it.
The statue was beautifully carved and was one of the largest in a home that she’d ever seen. At the statue’s base, a little altar sat, curving at the edges to form a shallow bowl. Its center was blackened from hundreds of previous offerings. Cyrene set her cake in the bowl, next to Xenia’s. She reached for the tongs beside the small brazier that was kept burning at all times beside Hera’s statue. Dipping the tongs in, she withdrew a glowing ember and set it on top of one of the dry cakes.
It took a little doing, but she managed to coax a flame and ignored the grumbling in her stomach as fire began to consume the offering to the goddess. She bent forward and pressed her forehead to the ground, praying for not only a marriage for herself, but for Xenia as well. Perhaps she should have prayed for Sera’s marriage to Lord Pavlos to improve, but she couldn’t bring herself. Even the gods had limits.
“If you two are done?” A silky voice issued softly from the direction of Lady Sera’s bedroom. Cyrene couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran along her spine. That tone meant only one thing; Lady Sera was in a foul mood. She locked eyes with Xenia who gave her a wide, silent plea to be the one to speak first. Pressing her lips together, she took a steadying breath and turned toward her lady.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said brightly but Sera merely narrowed her eyes at her and then slipped back through the doorway.
“You’re doing her hair,” Xenia said under her breath and stood up.
Sera wasn’t a cruel woman, per se but time and life had not been particularly kind to her, in Cyrene’s opinion. One husband dead and her child gone to live elsewhere, then married to a handsome young man like Lord Pavlos, only to fail in her one duty to give him sons...and now, because her lady had failed in this one crucial area, her husband had all but abandoned her. It was cruel of the gods to treat a noble woman such as Sera this way but she was hardly the first.
Other women in Athenia and probably all of Greece had to endure the same. It was why she was such a devout follower of Hera. Surely, when the time came, her goddess would not abandon her? If she just prayed enough, sacrificed enough, proved herself good enough, then she would gain a fine husband and give him sons. There was nothing more that she wanted. Well...nothing more that she dared say aloud.
For all her misfortune, Sera did have some blessings; namely that her husband did not stray. The woman did not have to deal with rivals or strange women in her house and in his bed. For this, he had Cyrene’s respect. Far too many men, like Lord Rafail, bedded women and discarded them as though they were disposable. It made her nervous.
She entered the room to find Sera sitting down on a cushion, brushing her own hair. It was pulled over the front of her shoulder and she would follow the brush with her fingers, smoothing the long brown locks. After a moment she looked up. Without a word, she held out the brush, handle first.
The task of braiding Sera’s hair was never an easy one. Either the braids were too small, or they were too tight, or she wanted a crown instead of something simple. If Cyrene dared to craft an elaborate hairstyle without permission, all the work must be undone and changed to something less ostentatious. However, Sera did not like to be asked what she wanted. This made morning preparations take an extraordinary length of time.
While she worked over Lady Sera’s hair, Xenia moved about the room, arranging pillows and pulling the blankets back up on the bed and positioning them just so as Sera began to talk about their day. It was going to be warm and wouldn’t it be nice if they walked down to the beach to collect shells? Oh, but it was going to be too sunny. Perhaps they’d better stay indoors and work on stitching more embroidery into Pavlos’s himations.
A looking glass stood in front of Sera’s cushion and she stared at Cyrene through it before dropping her eyes back to herself. Cyrene kept her own eyes fixed on Sera’s hair, pretending not to notice. She ignored the way Sera’s fingertips smoothed back the fine lines of her eyes and the deepening creases around her mouth.
“I need cream, Xenia,” Sera suddenly announced.
“Cream,” Xenia repeated, her eyes widening. “Cream, cream, cream,” she muttered under her breath as she scanned the long shelf where vials of colored glass and brightly painted little clay pots held various ointments and facial treatments.
“It’s the one with the...oh, which was it, Cyrene? That special one we got from Egypt?”
Without looking up from the braid, she smiled to herself. Despite Sera’s fussiness, it did feel nice to be called on as the one to know things. “It’s in a blue pot. About the size of your hand, Xenia.”
“There’s nothing like that here.” Bottles clinked together as Xenia moved them about.
“Help her,” Sera said wearily, as though the effort of having to deal with Xenia’s incompetence was draining enough that she might end up going back to bed.
Cyrene wound the last of the braids over Sera’s head and prayed that Sera was distracted enough not to demand she redo it all into something different. Xenia stepped back from the shelf to allow her access and she began to sort through the bottles herself. She frowned and bit her lower lip, turning back to Sera who was regarding them through the looking glass. “It’s gone, my lady. Perhaps this one?” She held up a brown clay pot that was the one her lady used almost every morning.
“That one didn’t promise as much potency as the other,” Sera looked at her nails. “Find it.” Her voice was barely above a murmur but it held an undertone that Cyrene knew only too well. It meant that if she could not locate the missing cream, everything she and Xenia did today would have something that needed fixing, redoing.
“Right away,” she nodded and considered where it might be. With an apologetic look to Xenia, she left the room in search of the most likely place for the cream to be; Agathe’s room. The walk to Agathe’s little corner of the villa wasn’t long but most of the servants were up by now. Sera did not usually have an early morning like the rest of the family. By the time she arrived in Agathe’s room, she found it unoccupied. This left her with plenty of time to peruse the shelves for what she needed...but there was no little blue clay pot.
“Hmm…” she tapped her chin. “Elena? Maybe?” Into the other sister’s room she went to find her gone too. But, as with the last sister, the shelves were filled with scents and all matter of what-nots, just not the one she needed. Daniil’s room was left but, she almost didn’t bother to check there. Daniil was the last of the Marikas girls who would take her mother’s face cream, much less use it. Still, as unlikely as it was, she had to check. This way, when Sera asked, she could tell her truthfully that she looked everywhere. The last thing she needed was telling her lady that she had, only to have Daniil bring it back later.
It was just as she’d thought though. Daniil’s room was just as guiltless, and therefore useless, as the other girls’ had been. Cyrene leaned against the doorframe, frowning and trying to think of where in the villa it could be. Creams don’t just disappear. Then, she rolled her eyes and felt silly. How could she not have thought of it before? Sofia.
Pushing away from the door, she walked with confident strides to Sofia’s room, only to be met with the woman herself at the doorway. She was not large but she seemed to fill the entire space. Sofia had never been outright mean but she made her nervous. Sometimes she thought she could feel the woman’s eyes on her whenever she was forced to interact with either Lord Pavlos or Lord Rafail. Personally, she wondered if maybe Sofia thought she was trying to tempt Lord Rafail into something but she needn’t have worried. He was safe.
“This is an odd place for you to be,” Sofia said cooly. The expression on her face wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but the way her icy eyes rested on her, she felt a little shiver run down her spine. She shouldn’t feel this way. Sofia wasn’t much older but she had a sort of presence that made her seem...more - somehow. Like she knew things and would do things that Cyrene would never know and would never accomplish.
A blush crept up into her cheeks. Yes. This was an odd place to be and it struck her that she and Sofia had never really conversed alone before. For this to be their first conversation, where she was essentially going to accuse the other girl of taking her sister in law’s things without permission was embarrassing. There was no avoiding it, however. She needed the clay pot and if she had to go through Sofia to get to it, then so be it.
“Lady Sera is missing her facial cream. Have you seen it?” she tried to sound bold but not impertinent.
Sofia raised her eyebrows as a half smile of disbelief crossed her pretty features. “I don’t have it.”
“Forgive me,” Cyrene wondered if her face was going to light itself on fire from the heat blazing in her cheeks. “But are you sure? It’s a little blue clay jar, about this big. It was expensive and Lady Sera is-”
“Sera thought I took it?” Sofia puffed up and stood aside. She held her arm out expansively and glared. “Well then. Clear my name for Lady Sera and see for yourself.”
“No,” Cyrene wanted to sink into the floor. “I didn’t mean to imply that Lady Sera told me to look in your room specifically. It’s just that it’s missing and I thought-”
“Oh, oh I see. You thought I was the thief.”
This had gone from bad to awful faster than she could process. She looked back behind her at the corridor as though someone was going to save her from this conversation. But no one did. When she turned around again, she was still faced with Sofia’s hard glare.
“I didn’t say thief,” she said quietly.
“But you thought it,” Sofia challenged.
“No, I promise. I just maybe assumed that perhaps you borrowed the jar and that Lady Sera might have forgotten she gave it to you.”
“So now your mistress is losing her mind?”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she watched in horror as Sofia’s expression shifted from anger to disgust. Anger rose up amid the embarrassment and she turned away briefly. Of all the people to cry in front of, of course it would be Sofia. What else could go wrong today? First a spider, then dealing with Sera pretty much on her own, and now being accused of saying any number of things that would get her sent back home to her family if anyone found out.
“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” she swiped at her eyes and arranged her features to be carefully blank. It felt like Sofia was baiting her. Trying to get her to slip up, which she’d already done a couple of times. Did Sofia not like Sera? Or was it just her she took offense to?
“I’m saying that perhaps, maybe unbeknownst to you, the cream might be in your room. Do you mind if I look? Or perhaps you would look?” It was forward. She knew it was but she was on the verge of crying again, not from fear or embarrassment, but from anger. She’d have to do better to control herself and not give Sofia so many weapons against her.
“I don’t have time to look,” Sofia hadn’t moved from her position. She still stood with her arm out, ushering Cyrene into the room. “You go ahead.” The way she said it made Cyrene think of someone daring her to step over a brood of vipers.
Lifting her skirts as though she really was stepping over snakes, she passed Sofia and stepped into the room. It wasn’t the largest of the house bedrooms but it was certainly interesting. Sofia’s interests varied widely, from the womanly pursuits of stitching to the more masculine philosophy. Several artistic scrolls were unfurled along her wall so that one could readily read the wisdom therein.
She would have liked to stop and read what kept Sofia’s interest but she didn’t dare linger for long with the woman standing in the doorway, staring her down. Instead, she walked over to a shelf beside the window and stopped in front of it. It was at hip level and held the same colorful assortment of bottles that Sera’s did; though there were fewer that were designated for aging. Instead, like Agathe and Elena, Sofia had expensive perfumes and ointments, as well as salves - her very own apothecary set up.
Cyrene glanced back at her, a little impressed. But she turned away quickly at the gloating cat smile that met her. “See what you were searching for?” Sofia asked, obviously perfectly aware that it wasn’t there.
“Thank you for allowing me to look,” Cyrene said stiffly.
“You’re welcome,” Sofia looked her over with the same cool expression that she’d used before. “Cyrene of Nikolaos…” she said her name as though testing it out. Whether that was a good or bad thing, she couldn’t quite tell. Despite the fact that Sofia had claimed she didn’t have time to look for the cream, she stayed in the doorway of her room, practically guarding it in case Cyrene should try to enter it again.
“I really didn’t mean any offense,” Cyrene said, attempting to smooth over the earlier spat. Sofia simply stared at her, that cat grin still in place. Would she try to get her dismissed? That new niggling fear made her take one step back, and then another until she turned around as elegantly as she could and walked back down the corridor.
“Would I rather a spider? Or Sofia?” she said under her breath, not quite sure of the answer.
“Spider. Definitely.”
Cyrene nearly jumped out of her skin as Elena materialized next to her. Her hand flew to her breast and she gave off a trilling giggle of alarm as Elena touched her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Cyrene,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I went to see mother and she sent me to fetch you. Something about cream?”
Her heart sank. If Lady Elena was sent out to look for her, that meant she’d taken too long. For Sera to send her beloved daughter to do anything…”Yes, I was looking for that new face cream Lady Sera bought. Last month. You remember? The one in the-”
“Blue jar, yes. I do, actually. I had it but I gave it back to mother,” Elena said, sliding her arm through Cyrene’s. Together the girls walked back toward Sera’s rooms. Relief coursed through her and she breathed a little easier. Well, if it was all a mistake, and if she could somehow magically come up with the jar, then the whole morning wouldn’t be a complete disaster.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’ve looked everywhere I could think of. That’s what I was doing back there, with Lady Sofia.”
“She wouldn’t have the cream,” Elena said confidently. “She doesn't need it. Far too pretty. And young.”
“So are you,” Cyrene wrinkled her nose at Elena. “Why did you have it?”
“I like the way it smells,” Elena shrugged. “Anyway, here’s where I break off. I’m going to Athena’s temple. Tell mother I’ll be back soon.”
They were standing in the villa’s center room. It was spacious and filled with natural light. This was also where the family usually took meals. A short table was being cleared away and Cyrene realized that somehow, she’d missed breakfast. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t taken that long to look for the cream, had she?
Elena waved to her and walked to the front door. She waved back and waited until the door closed again before moving toward Lady Sera’s rooms. The optimistic mood she’d been striving to maintain was dwindling. Despite this, she knew she was not permitted to have a scowl on her face, no matter her feelings.
As she neared Sera’s wing, Xenia hurried to meet her. The other girl frowned when she got close. “Why are you smiling like that? It’s weird. Lady Sera is not happy. She’s nearly done eating. Where is the face cream?” Xenia looked around as though the clay pot might be produced out of the air.
“Lady Elena had it but she said she put it back,” Cyrene side stepped Xenia and continued walking.
“When? This morning?”
“I don’t know but it’s apparently in Lady Sera’s room after all. Come help me look.”
When she entered the room, Lady Sera did not look up. Instead, she continued to sit on the same cushion she’d been occupying for the whole of the morning, and watch herself eat in the looking glass. The woman didn’t have to turn her head to keep her eyes on the whole of the room. She could continue to look straight forward, and still see that the little blue clay pot was not forthcoming. Sera’s lips tightened.
Cyrene walked back over to the shelf she’d checked earlier. She ran her fingers over each of the glass vials again but nothing had changed. Elena had not put back the cream. And there was no blue clay pot. Turning, she glanced about the room, half expecting it to have been left on a table top or perhaps even the bed. But it was nowhere.
“What are you doing, Cyrene?”
She glanced up to see Sera’s reflection speaking to her.
“Lady Elena said that she’d borrowed the cream and that it was back in your room,” she said distantly, still looking around.
“Yes,” Sera said slowly as she put aside her dishes. “She did. A week ago. I forgot to tell you before you left that Rafail has it.”
She wanted to scream. The smooth way that Sera spoke, and glanced at her in the looking glass almost made her appear to be doing this on purpose. But Sera was much too mature for those sort of games...wasn’t she?
“Ah...of course.” Cyrene bowed and risked a side look at Xenia who had the good sense to keep her own eyes on the stitching in her hands. “I’ll...go get it from him...then…”
Sera waved her off. Evidently, no matter how long this errand took, she would not be leaving her room without that cream on her face. This meant that whatever happened, if Zeus himself came down to distract her from her task, she must get that jar. And if Lord Rafail didn’t have it? She might as well go pack her things and return home.
The trek to Lord Rafail’s room at the far end of the villa wasn’t too terribly long but it was a place that Cyrene usually didn’t visit. For one, Lord Rafail lived there. For another reason, all sorts of women of unsavory reputation tended to walk over here. It wasn’t that she felt she would be tainted upon association, exactly but she had nothing in common with these women.
As she walked down the hallway, she saw a couple of men leaving Lord Rafail’s room. Dropping her eyes to her feet, she pressed herself against the wall to let them pass. She hadn’t ever spoken to them but she knew Barnabas and Deucalion by sight. They almost never left Lord Rafail’s side, as far as she’d seen but maybe that meant he was taking a nap? No. It was too early in the day for a nap. Surely that would be in a few hours.
She lingered in front of his door for a moment, trying to find the will to knock. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t spoken much to Lord Rafail, outside of a few pleasantries and whatever might be said while in the presence of Sera. It wasn’t as though the two of them were around each other often, save for meal times. And even then, especially on days like today when most everyone seemed to be eating alone, they could go days without seeing each other. All she really knew of the man was rumor. This would be her first time actually speaking to him alone.
Raising her hand, she gave a smart rap on the door and waited. After a moment, she pushed the door open, and tentatively poked her head in. “Hello?” she called. “Lord Rafail?”
Her eyes swept the whole of the room. It was a mess. Bright cushions lay strewn about, as well as fine chitons, jewelry. It looked to her as if his room was in a stage of disarray that came when someone tried on every single article of clothing that they owned but didn’t bother to put any of it back. She came fully into the room, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
All at once, she spotted him, sitting on the bed. How she could have missed him was a mystery but now that she’d seen him, she’d seen far too much of him. He wasn’t naked, exactly but from here, she could see almost his entire side. She turned around and put her fingers to her lips as a blush rose in her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t realize you were...in the midst of getting dressed.”
Under any other circumstances, she would have left immediately and told him she would come back later for the cream. But not now. Not after this horrible morning and everything she’d had to endure just to get this silly, expensive cream, which, in her opinion, probably didn’t work. Elena was right. It just smelled nice. Nothing would keep Lady Sera young forever - certainly not Egyptian facial cream.
“I came for...well, that is to say, my Lady Sera sent me for a jar?” she glanced over her shoulder at Lord Rafail and realized that not only had she interrupted him from dressing, but he was eating. Clearly she had impeccable timing. Two things he probably would like to be alone for. Still. She wasn’t moving without that jar. “She says she loaned it to you?”
Turning back around, she stared at the wall and clasped her hands in front of her. Was she going to embarrass herself in front of ever single member of this family? It certainly seemed so.
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The spider crawled to the corner where floor met wall and began its upward climb along the seam. She watched its progress from the bed. Only her eyes were visible from between the covers and pillow. Her skin itched as though the spider walked along her arms instead of making its way toward the ceiling. Its legs were long and its body thick and black in the gray early morning.
Behind her, Xenia slept on, blithely unaware of the disgusting creature. She wriggled until her back pressed lightly to the other girl’s. Xenia stirred but did not wake. It would be time to get up soon. The thought made her groan and pull the blanket up over her head, hiding her completely.
Then she thought of the spider. Throwing off the covers, she sat up and wondered if it would keep crawling up all the way to the ceiling, and from there come to hover over the bed. She shuddered. Xenia sat up, rubbing her eyes and glaring.
“What are you doing?” she demanded but quieted once shushed.
“Help me kill it,” Cyrene pointed to the corner.
Xenia squinted for a moment and then her eyes widened. “Oh, ew, no! Go kill it!” All at once, Xenia’s hands found her back and shoved her hard. She stumbled upright, just barely avoiding landing face first on the floor. Momentary anger bloomed in her cheeks but a small shriek from Xenia made her glance at the corner again. The spider was moving quicker now and nearly to the ceiling.
“Kill it!” the other girl bunched up the blankets to her chest, eyes locked on the creepy little demon.
“Give me a second,” Cyrene cast about for anything with a long reach. She needed something that would crush it instantly and not allow it to fall. Or, Hera forbid, jump. There was nothing. The room housed their shared bed, a trunk at its foot, a wardrobe filled with their clothes, and a looking glass. A little table stood next to the door but there was nothing with a long handle. Nothing with any kind of reach.
“Oh Cyrene! It’s on the ceiling!” Xenia darted out of bed and took her by the shoulders, crouching behind her. “Gross!”
“Xenia quit pushing me.”
“Ugh I hate spiders. Maybe…”
“We should get someone else?”
“Yeah, good idea,” Xenia immediately agreed.
As they both walked out into the corridor, she knew they were being foolish. When not in the spider’s lethal presence, it was easier to remember that she was much bigger than it was. And far more likely to win. But Xenia was right. It was gross and it was too early to do battle with an arachnid.
The two of them burst into the next room where two other ladies in waiting slept. One of the women, an amazonian by the look of her, eyed them through narrowed, half lidded eyes. “Are you serious?” she propped herself up on her elbows. “You woke us up for a spider?”
“It’s big,” Xenia’s breath was hot on her shoulder as the two of them looked imploringly at the amazon woman, Phaeron.
“Phaeron, if you come, we’ll do your stitching today,” Cyrene promised.
“And mine?” Phaeron’s bedmate, Phoebe asked from under her pillow. Phoebe was the oldest of the ladies in waiting and had never married. Privately, Cyrene felt that this was the saddest outcome of a life she could conceive. There had to be more than just devoting her life to Sera Marikas and her whims. She was not sad she’d left home to come here and serve, but this wasn’t her destiny. This was a stepping stone to something else; someone else.
“Yes,” she tried to keep the hesitation out of her voice. “Now please? Come?”
With a huff, Phaeron shoved back the coverlet and swung out of bed. Standing flat footed, she was as tall as a man. On tiptoe? She could most certainly touch the ceiling.
Cyrene followed her closely with Xenia trailing behind as Phaeron led the way back to their room. The large woman formed a fist, strode up to the side of the bed, and stared up at the spider as it quivered its body. Without hesitation, Phaeron rammed her fist upward, squishing the spider.
Yelping in disgust, Cyrene leapt backward, colliding with Xenia. Xenia pushed her forward with a screech of her own and the two toppled into Phaeron.
“There,” Phaeron looked down at them without emotion. “I’m going back to sleep. If Lady Sera asks, both Phoebe and I are ill.” Cyrene watched as Phaeron wiped the crushed spider body on the bedpost. The woman then walked out the door, not bothering to shut it.
“I...kind of hate her?” Xenia said, also eyeing the crumbled bit of spider that looked for all the world like a snarl of stitching thread.
“Me too. I think we have an hour of sleep left…” Cyrene was halfway to the bed before Xenia tugged on her arm. She knew what the other girl was doing. They might as well get up and start their day. With a groan, she made a pouty face at Xenia and then sank down on the bed. “Fine. Braid my hair, will you?”
Xenia clambered onto the bed behind her and took up the task of braiding. This was their morning ritual and it did not take long before it was her turn to braid Xenia’s hair into an intricate crown on her head. Afterward, they dressed and made their way to the courtyard. The courtyard was still mostly shadowed but in the far corner, a woman sat kneading dough. Little caked were already made and set out beside her with a petal pressed into the center of each.
“Good morning, Fronia,” Cyrene smiled at the woman who served as both cook and tender of the chickens that clucked around the courtyard.
Fronia looked up and smoothed hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You two are up earlier than usual,” she said.
Cyrene looked at Xenia. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to admit the reason. “My we offer those?” she pointed to the little cakes beside Fronia’s knee. The cook glanced at them as though she’d forgotten they were there and then nodded.
“Thank you,” she bent down and scooped them up, handing one to Xenia. They spoke with Fronia for a few minutes, discussing whether or not breakfast would be taken to Sera, or if their Lady would deign to come with the rest of the family before they turned and walked back into the house. Near Sera’s room, in an alcove, stood a statue of Hera. It was to this that they made their way, coming to kneel before it.
The statue was beautifully carved and was one of the largest in a home that she’d ever seen. At the statue’s base, a little altar sat, curving at the edges to form a shallow bowl. Its center was blackened from hundreds of previous offerings. Cyrene set her cake in the bowl, next to Xenia’s. She reached for the tongs beside the small brazier that was kept burning at all times beside Hera’s statue. Dipping the tongs in, she withdrew a glowing ember and set it on top of one of the dry cakes.
It took a little doing, but she managed to coax a flame and ignored the grumbling in her stomach as fire began to consume the offering to the goddess. She bent forward and pressed her forehead to the ground, praying for not only a marriage for herself, but for Xenia as well. Perhaps she should have prayed for Sera’s marriage to Lord Pavlos to improve, but she couldn’t bring herself. Even the gods had limits.
“If you two are done?” A silky voice issued softly from the direction of Lady Sera’s bedroom. Cyrene couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran along her spine. That tone meant only one thing; Lady Sera was in a foul mood. She locked eyes with Xenia who gave her a wide, silent plea to be the one to speak first. Pressing her lips together, she took a steadying breath and turned toward her lady.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said brightly but Sera merely narrowed her eyes at her and then slipped back through the doorway.
“You’re doing her hair,” Xenia said under her breath and stood up.
Sera wasn’t a cruel woman, per se but time and life had not been particularly kind to her, in Cyrene’s opinion. One husband dead and her child gone to live elsewhere, then married to a handsome young man like Lord Pavlos, only to fail in her one duty to give him sons...and now, because her lady had failed in this one crucial area, her husband had all but abandoned her. It was cruel of the gods to treat a noble woman such as Sera this way but she was hardly the first.
Other women in Athenia and probably all of Greece had to endure the same. It was why she was such a devout follower of Hera. Surely, when the time came, her goddess would not abandon her? If she just prayed enough, sacrificed enough, proved herself good enough, then she would gain a fine husband and give him sons. There was nothing more that she wanted. Well...nothing more that she dared say aloud.
For all her misfortune, Sera did have some blessings; namely that her husband did not stray. The woman did not have to deal with rivals or strange women in her house and in his bed. For this, he had Cyrene’s respect. Far too many men, like Lord Rafail, bedded women and discarded them as though they were disposable. It made her nervous.
She entered the room to find Sera sitting down on a cushion, brushing her own hair. It was pulled over the front of her shoulder and she would follow the brush with her fingers, smoothing the long brown locks. After a moment she looked up. Without a word, she held out the brush, handle first.
The task of braiding Sera’s hair was never an easy one. Either the braids were too small, or they were too tight, or she wanted a crown instead of something simple. If Cyrene dared to craft an elaborate hairstyle without permission, all the work must be undone and changed to something less ostentatious. However, Sera did not like to be asked what she wanted. This made morning preparations take an extraordinary length of time.
While she worked over Lady Sera’s hair, Xenia moved about the room, arranging pillows and pulling the blankets back up on the bed and positioning them just so as Sera began to talk about their day. It was going to be warm and wouldn’t it be nice if they walked down to the beach to collect shells? Oh, but it was going to be too sunny. Perhaps they’d better stay indoors and work on stitching more embroidery into Pavlos’s himations.
A looking glass stood in front of Sera’s cushion and she stared at Cyrene through it before dropping her eyes back to herself. Cyrene kept her own eyes fixed on Sera’s hair, pretending not to notice. She ignored the way Sera’s fingertips smoothed back the fine lines of her eyes and the deepening creases around her mouth.
“I need cream, Xenia,” Sera suddenly announced.
“Cream,” Xenia repeated, her eyes widening. “Cream, cream, cream,” she muttered under her breath as she scanned the long shelf where vials of colored glass and brightly painted little clay pots held various ointments and facial treatments.
“It’s the one with the...oh, which was it, Cyrene? That special one we got from Egypt?”
Without looking up from the braid, she smiled to herself. Despite Sera’s fussiness, it did feel nice to be called on as the one to know things. “It’s in a blue pot. About the size of your hand, Xenia.”
“There’s nothing like that here.” Bottles clinked together as Xenia moved them about.
“Help her,” Sera said wearily, as though the effort of having to deal with Xenia’s incompetence was draining enough that she might end up going back to bed.
Cyrene wound the last of the braids over Sera’s head and prayed that Sera was distracted enough not to demand she redo it all into something different. Xenia stepped back from the shelf to allow her access and she began to sort through the bottles herself. She frowned and bit her lower lip, turning back to Sera who was regarding them through the looking glass. “It’s gone, my lady. Perhaps this one?” She held up a brown clay pot that was the one her lady used almost every morning.
“That one didn’t promise as much potency as the other,” Sera looked at her nails. “Find it.” Her voice was barely above a murmur but it held an undertone that Cyrene knew only too well. It meant that if she could not locate the missing cream, everything she and Xenia did today would have something that needed fixing, redoing.
“Right away,” she nodded and considered where it might be. With an apologetic look to Xenia, she left the room in search of the most likely place for the cream to be; Agathe’s room. The walk to Agathe’s little corner of the villa wasn’t long but most of the servants were up by now. Sera did not usually have an early morning like the rest of the family. By the time she arrived in Agathe’s room, she found it unoccupied. This left her with plenty of time to peruse the shelves for what she needed...but there was no little blue clay pot.
“Hmm…” she tapped her chin. “Elena? Maybe?” Into the other sister’s room she went to find her gone too. But, as with the last sister, the shelves were filled with scents and all matter of what-nots, just not the one she needed. Daniil’s room was left but, she almost didn’t bother to check there. Daniil was the last of the Marikas girls who would take her mother’s face cream, much less use it. Still, as unlikely as it was, she had to check. This way, when Sera asked, she could tell her truthfully that she looked everywhere. The last thing she needed was telling her lady that she had, only to have Daniil bring it back later.
It was just as she’d thought though. Daniil’s room was just as guiltless, and therefore useless, as the other girls’ had been. Cyrene leaned against the doorframe, frowning and trying to think of where in the villa it could be. Creams don’t just disappear. Then, she rolled her eyes and felt silly. How could she not have thought of it before? Sofia.
Pushing away from the door, she walked with confident strides to Sofia’s room, only to be met with the woman herself at the doorway. She was not large but she seemed to fill the entire space. Sofia had never been outright mean but she made her nervous. Sometimes she thought she could feel the woman’s eyes on her whenever she was forced to interact with either Lord Pavlos or Lord Rafail. Personally, she wondered if maybe Sofia thought she was trying to tempt Lord Rafail into something but she needn’t have worried. He was safe.
“This is an odd place for you to be,” Sofia said cooly. The expression on her face wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but the way her icy eyes rested on her, she felt a little shiver run down her spine. She shouldn’t feel this way. Sofia wasn’t much older but she had a sort of presence that made her seem...more - somehow. Like she knew things and would do things that Cyrene would never know and would never accomplish.
A blush crept up into her cheeks. Yes. This was an odd place to be and it struck her that she and Sofia had never really conversed alone before. For this to be their first conversation, where she was essentially going to accuse the other girl of taking her sister in law’s things without permission was embarrassing. There was no avoiding it, however. She needed the clay pot and if she had to go through Sofia to get to it, then so be it.
“Lady Sera is missing her facial cream. Have you seen it?” she tried to sound bold but not impertinent.
Sofia raised her eyebrows as a half smile of disbelief crossed her pretty features. “I don’t have it.”
“Forgive me,” Cyrene wondered if her face was going to light itself on fire from the heat blazing in her cheeks. “But are you sure? It’s a little blue clay jar, about this big. It was expensive and Lady Sera is-”
“Sera thought I took it?” Sofia puffed up and stood aside. She held her arm out expansively and glared. “Well then. Clear my name for Lady Sera and see for yourself.”
“No,” Cyrene wanted to sink into the floor. “I didn’t mean to imply that Lady Sera told me to look in your room specifically. It’s just that it’s missing and I thought-”
“Oh, oh I see. You thought I was the thief.”
This had gone from bad to awful faster than she could process. She looked back behind her at the corridor as though someone was going to save her from this conversation. But no one did. When she turned around again, she was still faced with Sofia’s hard glare.
“I didn’t say thief,” she said quietly.
“But you thought it,” Sofia challenged.
“No, I promise. I just maybe assumed that perhaps you borrowed the jar and that Lady Sera might have forgotten she gave it to you.”
“So now your mistress is losing her mind?”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she watched in horror as Sofia’s expression shifted from anger to disgust. Anger rose up amid the embarrassment and she turned away briefly. Of all the people to cry in front of, of course it would be Sofia. What else could go wrong today? First a spider, then dealing with Sera pretty much on her own, and now being accused of saying any number of things that would get her sent back home to her family if anyone found out.
“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” she swiped at her eyes and arranged her features to be carefully blank. It felt like Sofia was baiting her. Trying to get her to slip up, which she’d already done a couple of times. Did Sofia not like Sera? Or was it just her she took offense to?
“I’m saying that perhaps, maybe unbeknownst to you, the cream might be in your room. Do you mind if I look? Or perhaps you would look?” It was forward. She knew it was but she was on the verge of crying again, not from fear or embarrassment, but from anger. She’d have to do better to control herself and not give Sofia so many weapons against her.
“I don’t have time to look,” Sofia hadn’t moved from her position. She still stood with her arm out, ushering Cyrene into the room. “You go ahead.” The way she said it made Cyrene think of someone daring her to step over a brood of vipers.
Lifting her skirts as though she really was stepping over snakes, she passed Sofia and stepped into the room. It wasn’t the largest of the house bedrooms but it was certainly interesting. Sofia’s interests varied widely, from the womanly pursuits of stitching to the more masculine philosophy. Several artistic scrolls were unfurled along her wall so that one could readily read the wisdom therein.
She would have liked to stop and read what kept Sofia’s interest but she didn’t dare linger for long with the woman standing in the doorway, staring her down. Instead, she walked over to a shelf beside the window and stopped in front of it. It was at hip level and held the same colorful assortment of bottles that Sera’s did; though there were fewer that were designated for aging. Instead, like Agathe and Elena, Sofia had expensive perfumes and ointments, as well as salves - her very own apothecary set up.
Cyrene glanced back at her, a little impressed. But she turned away quickly at the gloating cat smile that met her. “See what you were searching for?” Sofia asked, obviously perfectly aware that it wasn’t there.
“Thank you for allowing me to look,” Cyrene said stiffly.
“You’re welcome,” Sofia looked her over with the same cool expression that she’d used before. “Cyrene of Nikolaos…” she said her name as though testing it out. Whether that was a good or bad thing, she couldn’t quite tell. Despite the fact that Sofia had claimed she didn’t have time to look for the cream, she stayed in the doorway of her room, practically guarding it in case Cyrene should try to enter it again.
“I really didn’t mean any offense,” Cyrene said, attempting to smooth over the earlier spat. Sofia simply stared at her, that cat grin still in place. Would she try to get her dismissed? That new niggling fear made her take one step back, and then another until she turned around as elegantly as she could and walked back down the corridor.
“Would I rather a spider? Or Sofia?” she said under her breath, not quite sure of the answer.
“Spider. Definitely.”
Cyrene nearly jumped out of her skin as Elena materialized next to her. Her hand flew to her breast and she gave off a trilling giggle of alarm as Elena touched her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Cyrene,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I went to see mother and she sent me to fetch you. Something about cream?”
Her heart sank. If Lady Elena was sent out to look for her, that meant she’d taken too long. For Sera to send her beloved daughter to do anything…”Yes, I was looking for that new face cream Lady Sera bought. Last month. You remember? The one in the-”
“Blue jar, yes. I do, actually. I had it but I gave it back to mother,” Elena said, sliding her arm through Cyrene’s. Together the girls walked back toward Sera’s rooms. Relief coursed through her and she breathed a little easier. Well, if it was all a mistake, and if she could somehow magically come up with the jar, then the whole morning wouldn’t be a complete disaster.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’ve looked everywhere I could think of. That’s what I was doing back there, with Lady Sofia.”
“She wouldn’t have the cream,” Elena said confidently. “She doesn't need it. Far too pretty. And young.”
“So are you,” Cyrene wrinkled her nose at Elena. “Why did you have it?”
“I like the way it smells,” Elena shrugged. “Anyway, here’s where I break off. I’m going to Athena’s temple. Tell mother I’ll be back soon.”
They were standing in the villa’s center room. It was spacious and filled with natural light. This was also where the family usually took meals. A short table was being cleared away and Cyrene realized that somehow, she’d missed breakfast. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t taken that long to look for the cream, had she?
Elena waved to her and walked to the front door. She waved back and waited until the door closed again before moving toward Lady Sera’s rooms. The optimistic mood she’d been striving to maintain was dwindling. Despite this, she knew she was not permitted to have a scowl on her face, no matter her feelings.
As she neared Sera’s wing, Xenia hurried to meet her. The other girl frowned when she got close. “Why are you smiling like that? It’s weird. Lady Sera is not happy. She’s nearly done eating. Where is the face cream?” Xenia looked around as though the clay pot might be produced out of the air.
“Lady Elena had it but she said she put it back,” Cyrene side stepped Xenia and continued walking.
“When? This morning?”
“I don’t know but it’s apparently in Lady Sera’s room after all. Come help me look.”
When she entered the room, Lady Sera did not look up. Instead, she continued to sit on the same cushion she’d been occupying for the whole of the morning, and watch herself eat in the looking glass. The woman didn’t have to turn her head to keep her eyes on the whole of the room. She could continue to look straight forward, and still see that the little blue clay pot was not forthcoming. Sera’s lips tightened.
Cyrene walked back over to the shelf she’d checked earlier. She ran her fingers over each of the glass vials again but nothing had changed. Elena had not put back the cream. And there was no blue clay pot. Turning, she glanced about the room, half expecting it to have been left on a table top or perhaps even the bed. But it was nowhere.
“What are you doing, Cyrene?”
She glanced up to see Sera’s reflection speaking to her.
“Lady Elena said that she’d borrowed the cream and that it was back in your room,” she said distantly, still looking around.
“Yes,” Sera said slowly as she put aside her dishes. “She did. A week ago. I forgot to tell you before you left that Rafail has it.”
She wanted to scream. The smooth way that Sera spoke, and glanced at her in the looking glass almost made her appear to be doing this on purpose. But Sera was much too mature for those sort of games...wasn’t she?
“Ah...of course.” Cyrene bowed and risked a side look at Xenia who had the good sense to keep her own eyes on the stitching in her hands. “I’ll...go get it from him...then…”
Sera waved her off. Evidently, no matter how long this errand took, she would not be leaving her room without that cream on her face. This meant that whatever happened, if Zeus himself came down to distract her from her task, she must get that jar. And if Lord Rafail didn’t have it? She might as well go pack her things and return home.
The trek to Lord Rafail’s room at the far end of the villa wasn’t too terribly long but it was a place that Cyrene usually didn’t visit. For one, Lord Rafail lived there. For another reason, all sorts of women of unsavory reputation tended to walk over here. It wasn’t that she felt she would be tainted upon association, exactly but she had nothing in common with these women.
As she walked down the hallway, she saw a couple of men leaving Lord Rafail’s room. Dropping her eyes to her feet, she pressed herself against the wall to let them pass. She hadn’t ever spoken to them but she knew Barnabas and Deucalion by sight. They almost never left Lord Rafail’s side, as far as she’d seen but maybe that meant he was taking a nap? No. It was too early in the day for a nap. Surely that would be in a few hours.
She lingered in front of his door for a moment, trying to find the will to knock. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t spoken much to Lord Rafail, outside of a few pleasantries and whatever might be said while in the presence of Sera. It wasn’t as though the two of them were around each other often, save for meal times. And even then, especially on days like today when most everyone seemed to be eating alone, they could go days without seeing each other. All she really knew of the man was rumor. This would be her first time actually speaking to him alone.
Raising her hand, she gave a smart rap on the door and waited. After a moment, she pushed the door open, and tentatively poked her head in. “Hello?” she called. “Lord Rafail?”
Her eyes swept the whole of the room. It was a mess. Bright cushions lay strewn about, as well as fine chitons, jewelry. It looked to her as if his room was in a stage of disarray that came when someone tried on every single article of clothing that they owned but didn’t bother to put any of it back. She came fully into the room, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
All at once, she spotted him, sitting on the bed. How she could have missed him was a mystery but now that she’d seen him, she’d seen far too much of him. He wasn’t naked, exactly but from here, she could see almost his entire side. She turned around and put her fingers to her lips as a blush rose in her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t realize you were...in the midst of getting dressed.”
Under any other circumstances, she would have left immediately and told him she would come back later for the cream. But not now. Not after this horrible morning and everything she’d had to endure just to get this silly, expensive cream, which, in her opinion, probably didn’t work. Elena was right. It just smelled nice. Nothing would keep Lady Sera young forever - certainly not Egyptian facial cream.
“I came for...well, that is to say, my Lady Sera sent me for a jar?” she glanced over her shoulder at Lord Rafail and realized that not only had she interrupted him from dressing, but he was eating. Clearly she had impeccable timing. Two things he probably would like to be alone for. Still. She wasn’t moving without that jar. “She says she loaned it to you?”
Turning back around, she stared at the wall and clasped her hands in front of her. Was she going to embarrass herself in front of ever single member of this family? It certainly seemed so.
The spider crawled to the corner where floor met wall and began its upward climb along the seam. She watched its progress from the bed. Only her eyes were visible from between the covers and pillow. Her skin itched as though the spider walked along her arms instead of making its way toward the ceiling. Its legs were long and its body thick and black in the gray early morning.
Behind her, Xenia slept on, blithely unaware of the disgusting creature. She wriggled until her back pressed lightly to the other girl’s. Xenia stirred but did not wake. It would be time to get up soon. The thought made her groan and pull the blanket up over her head, hiding her completely.
Then she thought of the spider. Throwing off the covers, she sat up and wondered if it would keep crawling up all the way to the ceiling, and from there come to hover over the bed. She shuddered. Xenia sat up, rubbing her eyes and glaring.
“What are you doing?” she demanded but quieted once shushed.
“Help me kill it,” Cyrene pointed to the corner.
Xenia squinted for a moment and then her eyes widened. “Oh, ew, no! Go kill it!” All at once, Xenia’s hands found her back and shoved her hard. She stumbled upright, just barely avoiding landing face first on the floor. Momentary anger bloomed in her cheeks but a small shriek from Xenia made her glance at the corner again. The spider was moving quicker now and nearly to the ceiling.
“Kill it!” the other girl bunched up the blankets to her chest, eyes locked on the creepy little demon.
“Give me a second,” Cyrene cast about for anything with a long reach. She needed something that would crush it instantly and not allow it to fall. Or, Hera forbid, jump. There was nothing. The room housed their shared bed, a trunk at its foot, a wardrobe filled with their clothes, and a looking glass. A little table stood next to the door but there was nothing with a long handle. Nothing with any kind of reach.
“Oh Cyrene! It’s on the ceiling!” Xenia darted out of bed and took her by the shoulders, crouching behind her. “Gross!”
“Xenia quit pushing me.”
“Ugh I hate spiders. Maybe…”
“We should get someone else?”
“Yeah, good idea,” Xenia immediately agreed.
As they both walked out into the corridor, she knew they were being foolish. When not in the spider’s lethal presence, it was easier to remember that she was much bigger than it was. And far more likely to win. But Xenia was right. It was gross and it was too early to do battle with an arachnid.
The two of them burst into the next room where two other ladies in waiting slept. One of the women, an amazonian by the look of her, eyed them through narrowed, half lidded eyes. “Are you serious?” she propped herself up on her elbows. “You woke us up for a spider?”
“It’s big,” Xenia’s breath was hot on her shoulder as the two of them looked imploringly at the amazon woman, Phaeron.
“Phaeron, if you come, we’ll do your stitching today,” Cyrene promised.
“And mine?” Phaeron’s bedmate, Phoebe asked from under her pillow. Phoebe was the oldest of the ladies in waiting and had never married. Privately, Cyrene felt that this was the saddest outcome of a life she could conceive. There had to be more than just devoting her life to Sera Marikas and her whims. She was not sad she’d left home to come here and serve, but this wasn’t her destiny. This was a stepping stone to something else; someone else.
“Yes,” she tried to keep the hesitation out of her voice. “Now please? Come?”
With a huff, Phaeron shoved back the coverlet and swung out of bed. Standing flat footed, she was as tall as a man. On tiptoe? She could most certainly touch the ceiling.
Cyrene followed her closely with Xenia trailing behind as Phaeron led the way back to their room. The large woman formed a fist, strode up to the side of the bed, and stared up at the spider as it quivered its body. Without hesitation, Phaeron rammed her fist upward, squishing the spider.
Yelping in disgust, Cyrene leapt backward, colliding with Xenia. Xenia pushed her forward with a screech of her own and the two toppled into Phaeron.
“There,” Phaeron looked down at them without emotion. “I’m going back to sleep. If Lady Sera asks, both Phoebe and I are ill.” Cyrene watched as Phaeron wiped the crushed spider body on the bedpost. The woman then walked out the door, not bothering to shut it.
“I...kind of hate her?” Xenia said, also eyeing the crumbled bit of spider that looked for all the world like a snarl of stitching thread.
“Me too. I think we have an hour of sleep left…” Cyrene was halfway to the bed before Xenia tugged on her arm. She knew what the other girl was doing. They might as well get up and start their day. With a groan, she made a pouty face at Xenia and then sank down on the bed. “Fine. Braid my hair, will you?”
Xenia clambered onto the bed behind her and took up the task of braiding. This was their morning ritual and it did not take long before it was her turn to braid Xenia’s hair into an intricate crown on her head. Afterward, they dressed and made their way to the courtyard. The courtyard was still mostly shadowed but in the far corner, a woman sat kneading dough. Little caked were already made and set out beside her with a petal pressed into the center of each.
“Good morning, Fronia,” Cyrene smiled at the woman who served as both cook and tender of the chickens that clucked around the courtyard.
Fronia looked up and smoothed hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You two are up earlier than usual,” she said.
Cyrene looked at Xenia. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to admit the reason. “My we offer those?” she pointed to the little cakes beside Fronia’s knee. The cook glanced at them as though she’d forgotten they were there and then nodded.
“Thank you,” she bent down and scooped them up, handing one to Xenia. They spoke with Fronia for a few minutes, discussing whether or not breakfast would be taken to Sera, or if their Lady would deign to come with the rest of the family before they turned and walked back into the house. Near Sera’s room, in an alcove, stood a statue of Hera. It was to this that they made their way, coming to kneel before it.
The statue was beautifully carved and was one of the largest in a home that she’d ever seen. At the statue’s base, a little altar sat, curving at the edges to form a shallow bowl. Its center was blackened from hundreds of previous offerings. Cyrene set her cake in the bowl, next to Xenia’s. She reached for the tongs beside the small brazier that was kept burning at all times beside Hera’s statue. Dipping the tongs in, she withdrew a glowing ember and set it on top of one of the dry cakes.
It took a little doing, but she managed to coax a flame and ignored the grumbling in her stomach as fire began to consume the offering to the goddess. She bent forward and pressed her forehead to the ground, praying for not only a marriage for herself, but for Xenia as well. Perhaps she should have prayed for Sera’s marriage to Lord Pavlos to improve, but she couldn’t bring herself. Even the gods had limits.
“If you two are done?” A silky voice issued softly from the direction of Lady Sera’s bedroom. Cyrene couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran along her spine. That tone meant only one thing; Lady Sera was in a foul mood. She locked eyes with Xenia who gave her a wide, silent plea to be the one to speak first. Pressing her lips together, she took a steadying breath and turned toward her lady.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said brightly but Sera merely narrowed her eyes at her and then slipped back through the doorway.
“You’re doing her hair,” Xenia said under her breath and stood up.
Sera wasn’t a cruel woman, per se but time and life had not been particularly kind to her, in Cyrene’s opinion. One husband dead and her child gone to live elsewhere, then married to a handsome young man like Lord Pavlos, only to fail in her one duty to give him sons...and now, because her lady had failed in this one crucial area, her husband had all but abandoned her. It was cruel of the gods to treat a noble woman such as Sera this way but she was hardly the first.
Other women in Athenia and probably all of Greece had to endure the same. It was why she was such a devout follower of Hera. Surely, when the time came, her goddess would not abandon her? If she just prayed enough, sacrificed enough, proved herself good enough, then she would gain a fine husband and give him sons. There was nothing more that she wanted. Well...nothing more that she dared say aloud.
For all her misfortune, Sera did have some blessings; namely that her husband did not stray. The woman did not have to deal with rivals or strange women in her house and in his bed. For this, he had Cyrene’s respect. Far too many men, like Lord Rafail, bedded women and discarded them as though they were disposable. It made her nervous.
She entered the room to find Sera sitting down on a cushion, brushing her own hair. It was pulled over the front of her shoulder and she would follow the brush with her fingers, smoothing the long brown locks. After a moment she looked up. Without a word, she held out the brush, handle first.
The task of braiding Sera’s hair was never an easy one. Either the braids were too small, or they were too tight, or she wanted a crown instead of something simple. If Cyrene dared to craft an elaborate hairstyle without permission, all the work must be undone and changed to something less ostentatious. However, Sera did not like to be asked what she wanted. This made morning preparations take an extraordinary length of time.
While she worked over Lady Sera’s hair, Xenia moved about the room, arranging pillows and pulling the blankets back up on the bed and positioning them just so as Sera began to talk about their day. It was going to be warm and wouldn’t it be nice if they walked down to the beach to collect shells? Oh, but it was going to be too sunny. Perhaps they’d better stay indoors and work on stitching more embroidery into Pavlos’s himations.
A looking glass stood in front of Sera’s cushion and she stared at Cyrene through it before dropping her eyes back to herself. Cyrene kept her own eyes fixed on Sera’s hair, pretending not to notice. She ignored the way Sera’s fingertips smoothed back the fine lines of her eyes and the deepening creases around her mouth.
“I need cream, Xenia,” Sera suddenly announced.
“Cream,” Xenia repeated, her eyes widening. “Cream, cream, cream,” she muttered under her breath as she scanned the long shelf where vials of colored glass and brightly painted little clay pots held various ointments and facial treatments.
“It’s the one with the...oh, which was it, Cyrene? That special one we got from Egypt?”
Without looking up from the braid, she smiled to herself. Despite Sera’s fussiness, it did feel nice to be called on as the one to know things. “It’s in a blue pot. About the size of your hand, Xenia.”
“There’s nothing like that here.” Bottles clinked together as Xenia moved them about.
“Help her,” Sera said wearily, as though the effort of having to deal with Xenia’s incompetence was draining enough that she might end up going back to bed.
Cyrene wound the last of the braids over Sera’s head and prayed that Sera was distracted enough not to demand she redo it all into something different. Xenia stepped back from the shelf to allow her access and she began to sort through the bottles herself. She frowned and bit her lower lip, turning back to Sera who was regarding them through the looking glass. “It’s gone, my lady. Perhaps this one?” She held up a brown clay pot that was the one her lady used almost every morning.
“That one didn’t promise as much potency as the other,” Sera looked at her nails. “Find it.” Her voice was barely above a murmur but it held an undertone that Cyrene knew only too well. It meant that if she could not locate the missing cream, everything she and Xenia did today would have something that needed fixing, redoing.
“Right away,” she nodded and considered where it might be. With an apologetic look to Xenia, she left the room in search of the most likely place for the cream to be; Agathe’s room. The walk to Agathe’s little corner of the villa wasn’t long but most of the servants were up by now. Sera did not usually have an early morning like the rest of the family. By the time she arrived in Agathe’s room, she found it unoccupied. This left her with plenty of time to peruse the shelves for what she needed...but there was no little blue clay pot.
“Hmm…” she tapped her chin. “Elena? Maybe?” Into the other sister’s room she went to find her gone too. But, as with the last sister, the shelves were filled with scents and all matter of what-nots, just not the one she needed. Daniil’s room was left but, she almost didn’t bother to check there. Daniil was the last of the Marikas girls who would take her mother’s face cream, much less use it. Still, as unlikely as it was, she had to check. This way, when Sera asked, she could tell her truthfully that she looked everywhere. The last thing she needed was telling her lady that she had, only to have Daniil bring it back later.
It was just as she’d thought though. Daniil’s room was just as guiltless, and therefore useless, as the other girls’ had been. Cyrene leaned against the doorframe, frowning and trying to think of where in the villa it could be. Creams don’t just disappear. Then, she rolled her eyes and felt silly. How could she not have thought of it before? Sofia.
Pushing away from the door, she walked with confident strides to Sofia’s room, only to be met with the woman herself at the doorway. She was not large but she seemed to fill the entire space. Sofia had never been outright mean but she made her nervous. Sometimes she thought she could feel the woman’s eyes on her whenever she was forced to interact with either Lord Pavlos or Lord Rafail. Personally, she wondered if maybe Sofia thought she was trying to tempt Lord Rafail into something but she needn’t have worried. He was safe.
“This is an odd place for you to be,” Sofia said cooly. The expression on her face wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but the way her icy eyes rested on her, she felt a little shiver run down her spine. She shouldn’t feel this way. Sofia wasn’t much older but she had a sort of presence that made her seem...more - somehow. Like she knew things and would do things that Cyrene would never know and would never accomplish.
A blush crept up into her cheeks. Yes. This was an odd place to be and it struck her that she and Sofia had never really conversed alone before. For this to be their first conversation, where she was essentially going to accuse the other girl of taking her sister in law’s things without permission was embarrassing. There was no avoiding it, however. She needed the clay pot and if she had to go through Sofia to get to it, then so be it.
“Lady Sera is missing her facial cream. Have you seen it?” she tried to sound bold but not impertinent.
Sofia raised her eyebrows as a half smile of disbelief crossed her pretty features. “I don’t have it.”
“Forgive me,” Cyrene wondered if her face was going to light itself on fire from the heat blazing in her cheeks. “But are you sure? It’s a little blue clay jar, about this big. It was expensive and Lady Sera is-”
“Sera thought I took it?” Sofia puffed up and stood aside. She held her arm out expansively and glared. “Well then. Clear my name for Lady Sera and see for yourself.”
“No,” Cyrene wanted to sink into the floor. “I didn’t mean to imply that Lady Sera told me to look in your room specifically. It’s just that it’s missing and I thought-”
“Oh, oh I see. You thought I was the thief.”
This had gone from bad to awful faster than she could process. She looked back behind her at the corridor as though someone was going to save her from this conversation. But no one did. When she turned around again, she was still faced with Sofia’s hard glare.
“I didn’t say thief,” she said quietly.
“But you thought it,” Sofia challenged.
“No, I promise. I just maybe assumed that perhaps you borrowed the jar and that Lady Sera might have forgotten she gave it to you.”
“So now your mistress is losing her mind?”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she watched in horror as Sofia’s expression shifted from anger to disgust. Anger rose up amid the embarrassment and she turned away briefly. Of all the people to cry in front of, of course it would be Sofia. What else could go wrong today? First a spider, then dealing with Sera pretty much on her own, and now being accused of saying any number of things that would get her sent back home to her family if anyone found out.
“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” she swiped at her eyes and arranged her features to be carefully blank. It felt like Sofia was baiting her. Trying to get her to slip up, which she’d already done a couple of times. Did Sofia not like Sera? Or was it just her she took offense to?
“I’m saying that perhaps, maybe unbeknownst to you, the cream might be in your room. Do you mind if I look? Or perhaps you would look?” It was forward. She knew it was but she was on the verge of crying again, not from fear or embarrassment, but from anger. She’d have to do better to control herself and not give Sofia so many weapons against her.
“I don’t have time to look,” Sofia hadn’t moved from her position. She still stood with her arm out, ushering Cyrene into the room. “You go ahead.” The way she said it made Cyrene think of someone daring her to step over a brood of vipers.
Lifting her skirts as though she really was stepping over snakes, she passed Sofia and stepped into the room. It wasn’t the largest of the house bedrooms but it was certainly interesting. Sofia’s interests varied widely, from the womanly pursuits of stitching to the more masculine philosophy. Several artistic scrolls were unfurled along her wall so that one could readily read the wisdom therein.
She would have liked to stop and read what kept Sofia’s interest but she didn’t dare linger for long with the woman standing in the doorway, staring her down. Instead, she walked over to a shelf beside the window and stopped in front of it. It was at hip level and held the same colorful assortment of bottles that Sera’s did; though there were fewer that were designated for aging. Instead, like Agathe and Elena, Sofia had expensive perfumes and ointments, as well as salves - her very own apothecary set up.
Cyrene glanced back at her, a little impressed. But she turned away quickly at the gloating cat smile that met her. “See what you were searching for?” Sofia asked, obviously perfectly aware that it wasn’t there.
“Thank you for allowing me to look,” Cyrene said stiffly.
“You’re welcome,” Sofia looked her over with the same cool expression that she’d used before. “Cyrene of Nikolaos…” she said her name as though testing it out. Whether that was a good or bad thing, she couldn’t quite tell. Despite the fact that Sofia had claimed she didn’t have time to look for the cream, she stayed in the doorway of her room, practically guarding it in case Cyrene should try to enter it again.
“I really didn’t mean any offense,” Cyrene said, attempting to smooth over the earlier spat. Sofia simply stared at her, that cat grin still in place. Would she try to get her dismissed? That new niggling fear made her take one step back, and then another until she turned around as elegantly as she could and walked back down the corridor.
“Would I rather a spider? Or Sofia?” she said under her breath, not quite sure of the answer.
“Spider. Definitely.”
Cyrene nearly jumped out of her skin as Elena materialized next to her. Her hand flew to her breast and she gave off a trilling giggle of alarm as Elena touched her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Cyrene,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I went to see mother and she sent me to fetch you. Something about cream?”
Her heart sank. If Lady Elena was sent out to look for her, that meant she’d taken too long. For Sera to send her beloved daughter to do anything…”Yes, I was looking for that new face cream Lady Sera bought. Last month. You remember? The one in the-”
“Blue jar, yes. I do, actually. I had it but I gave it back to mother,” Elena said, sliding her arm through Cyrene’s. Together the girls walked back toward Sera’s rooms. Relief coursed through her and she breathed a little easier. Well, if it was all a mistake, and if she could somehow magically come up with the jar, then the whole morning wouldn’t be a complete disaster.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’ve looked everywhere I could think of. That’s what I was doing back there, with Lady Sofia.”
“She wouldn’t have the cream,” Elena said confidently. “She doesn't need it. Far too pretty. And young.”
“So are you,” Cyrene wrinkled her nose at Elena. “Why did you have it?”
“I like the way it smells,” Elena shrugged. “Anyway, here’s where I break off. I’m going to Athena’s temple. Tell mother I’ll be back soon.”
They were standing in the villa’s center room. It was spacious and filled with natural light. This was also where the family usually took meals. A short table was being cleared away and Cyrene realized that somehow, she’d missed breakfast. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t taken that long to look for the cream, had she?
Elena waved to her and walked to the front door. She waved back and waited until the door closed again before moving toward Lady Sera’s rooms. The optimistic mood she’d been striving to maintain was dwindling. Despite this, she knew she was not permitted to have a scowl on her face, no matter her feelings.
As she neared Sera’s wing, Xenia hurried to meet her. The other girl frowned when she got close. “Why are you smiling like that? It’s weird. Lady Sera is not happy. She’s nearly done eating. Where is the face cream?” Xenia looked around as though the clay pot might be produced out of the air.
“Lady Elena had it but she said she put it back,” Cyrene side stepped Xenia and continued walking.
“When? This morning?”
“I don’t know but it’s apparently in Lady Sera’s room after all. Come help me look.”
When she entered the room, Lady Sera did not look up. Instead, she continued to sit on the same cushion she’d been occupying for the whole of the morning, and watch herself eat in the looking glass. The woman didn’t have to turn her head to keep her eyes on the whole of the room. She could continue to look straight forward, and still see that the little blue clay pot was not forthcoming. Sera’s lips tightened.
Cyrene walked back over to the shelf she’d checked earlier. She ran her fingers over each of the glass vials again but nothing had changed. Elena had not put back the cream. And there was no blue clay pot. Turning, she glanced about the room, half expecting it to have been left on a table top or perhaps even the bed. But it was nowhere.
“What are you doing, Cyrene?”
She glanced up to see Sera’s reflection speaking to her.
“Lady Elena said that she’d borrowed the cream and that it was back in your room,” she said distantly, still looking around.
“Yes,” Sera said slowly as she put aside her dishes. “She did. A week ago. I forgot to tell you before you left that Rafail has it.”
She wanted to scream. The smooth way that Sera spoke, and glanced at her in the looking glass almost made her appear to be doing this on purpose. But Sera was much too mature for those sort of games...wasn’t she?
“Ah...of course.” Cyrene bowed and risked a side look at Xenia who had the good sense to keep her own eyes on the stitching in her hands. “I’ll...go get it from him...then…”
Sera waved her off. Evidently, no matter how long this errand took, she would not be leaving her room without that cream on her face. This meant that whatever happened, if Zeus himself came down to distract her from her task, she must get that jar. And if Lord Rafail didn’t have it? She might as well go pack her things and return home.
The trek to Lord Rafail’s room at the far end of the villa wasn’t too terribly long but it was a place that Cyrene usually didn’t visit. For one, Lord Rafail lived there. For another reason, all sorts of women of unsavory reputation tended to walk over here. It wasn’t that she felt she would be tainted upon association, exactly but she had nothing in common with these women.
As she walked down the hallway, she saw a couple of men leaving Lord Rafail’s room. Dropping her eyes to her feet, she pressed herself against the wall to let them pass. She hadn’t ever spoken to them but she knew Barnabas and Deucalion by sight. They almost never left Lord Rafail’s side, as far as she’d seen but maybe that meant he was taking a nap? No. It was too early in the day for a nap. Surely that would be in a few hours.
She lingered in front of his door for a moment, trying to find the will to knock. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t spoken much to Lord Rafail, outside of a few pleasantries and whatever might be said while in the presence of Sera. It wasn’t as though the two of them were around each other often, save for meal times. And even then, especially on days like today when most everyone seemed to be eating alone, they could go days without seeing each other. All she really knew of the man was rumor. This would be her first time actually speaking to him alone.
Raising her hand, she gave a smart rap on the door and waited. After a moment, she pushed the door open, and tentatively poked her head in. “Hello?” she called. “Lord Rafail?”
Her eyes swept the whole of the room. It was a mess. Bright cushions lay strewn about, as well as fine chitons, jewelry. It looked to her as if his room was in a stage of disarray that came when someone tried on every single article of clothing that they owned but didn’t bother to put any of it back. She came fully into the room, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
All at once, she spotted him, sitting on the bed. How she could have missed him was a mystery but now that she’d seen him, she’d seen far too much of him. He wasn’t naked, exactly but from here, she could see almost his entire side. She turned around and put her fingers to her lips as a blush rose in her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t realize you were...in the midst of getting dressed.”
Under any other circumstances, she would have left immediately and told him she would come back later for the cream. But not now. Not after this horrible morning and everything she’d had to endure just to get this silly, expensive cream, which, in her opinion, probably didn’t work. Elena was right. It just smelled nice. Nothing would keep Lady Sera young forever - certainly not Egyptian facial cream.
“I came for...well, that is to say, my Lady Sera sent me for a jar?” she glanced over her shoulder at Lord Rafail and realized that not only had she interrupted him from dressing, but he was eating. Clearly she had impeccable timing. Two things he probably would like to be alone for. Still. She wasn’t moving without that jar. “She says she loaned it to you?”
Turning back around, she stared at the wall and clasped her hands in front of her. Was she going to embarrass herself in front of ever single member of this family? It certainly seemed so.
If anything, Rafail had expected that the act of having sent out both Deucalion and Barnabas would have given him peace and quiet for some amount of time before his requested blonde guest graced him with her presence. He had not thought anyone else would burst in on him while he was attempting to enjoy a simple goblet of wine but, apparently, he had been wrong. It took only a few minutes before he heard the knock on his door and nonchalantly glanced in its direction as he raised the drink to his lips, saying nothing as he watched Cyrene make her way entirely into the room, an eyebrow lifting as she appeared not to have spotted him, instead seemingly taking her time to look over the entirety of his room. The way she glanced around almost made it seem as though he was invisible and that, he could not have, clearing his throat loudly so that she might turn to actually pay him some attention rather than admire the chitons that lay across his floor.
"Are you quite done looking around?" he demanded, frowning at the way the woman had been glancing around his chambers and ignoring her comment a moment as she turned around so as not to see him. Had she never seen a man wear anything less than a full chiton in the past? Honestly, this behaviour was nothing short of embarrassing. Nonetheless, Rafail decided he might as well humour her, for one particular reason.
Cyrene had been in the Marikas household for a while now and, although he had not had all too many opportunities to interact with her during that time, he would not deny that in the times he had found himself interacting with the young woman, he had thought her to be quite attractive. It was only natural, after all. She was blonde and blue-eyed, and that was just the kind of woman Rafail had always enjoyed the best. Some might have called it narcissistic as he himself possessed both of those features, and he would not have denied it. There was no doubt that he was a narcissist, but he did not care, in truth he embraced it, only thinking it natural for one as good-looking as he.
She might have turned away but, apparently, Cyrene was not done speaking with him just yet, as she continued talking about a jar of some sort that his brother's wife had lent him. It took him a moment to think of the one, though it was rare that he borrow things from Sera given that he was already in possession of his own extensive collection of cosmetics. "Yes, I know the one," he agreed, setting down his goblet on the small table beside his bed and rising from where he'd been sitting on his bed. Given that she had spent the entire time with her back to him, he assumed there was no need to change himself into anything more appropriate, instead directing himself immediately to the shelf where he kept all his cosmetics and creams and beginning to look amongst the pots and jars.
"The Egyptian cream, hm?" Rafail questioned, plucking out the blue pot from amongst the options, removing a moment to sniff the contents as though to confirm it was indeed the cream she had been requesting. The smell was absolutely delightful and, honestly, that was the entire reason why he had chosen it out of all that which his sister-in-law had to offer. "I don't particularly care for its alleged medical uses as I have no need to maintain myself 'young'." The second Marikas son chuckled, turning back to face the woman who had entered his chambers, replacing the lid on the jar. "But the smell is wonderful, as I'm sure you've noticed, and ladies, in particular, appear to adore it. I thought perhaps if I made use of it then perhaps it might...increase interest, you might say. Such a shame she wants it back, I have not yet had a chance to test it out fully. No matter, I shall simply have something else made for my needs."
Rafail crossed the room to where Cyrene still stood in such an awkwardly demure position, moving to stand almost directly behind the woman, one hand on his hip as he considered whether or not he wished to give her this jar as quickly as she was requesting. He might have just sent his attendant out on the quest to find him a blonde woman he might not already have had, but that did not mean he didn't have the time to spend with another who fit those specifications. He had spent his morning in such a dull manner, after all, that he was practically craving the sort of enjoyment only someone as she could provide him. Of course, these nobles ladies were usually far less willing than the others to give themselves up to his bed - he imagined Cyrene would likely be an especially difficult one to ease into his ways, if solely because she lived in his household and was hence more privy to his usual tricks - but it was never impossible, and Rafail was nothing if not persistent in these matters.
Holding the jar out in front of her, forced to reach around the girl's body in order to do so thanks to the inconvenient position he had placed himself in, Rafail questioned, "This one, yes?" It was a meaningless query, given that he had already confirmed it was indeed the Egyptian cream that Sera had been waiting for but Rafail enjoyed drawing these things out as long as possible. "I suppose I could part with it but, well, I would need a little something in return, I'm sure you understand. I've just been having the most stressful day so far. I had to spend all morning sitting for that painter Papa had brought in while I was away, and Barnabas is taking absolutely forever to bring me what I've requested. I honestly don't know why I bother keeping him around. But I digress.." He pressed himself just a tad closer to her in case she had yet to understand his intentions, close enough that their bodies were almost touching. "I am just dearly in need of a little entertainment...if you should be so willing...?"
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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If anything, Rafail had expected that the act of having sent out both Deucalion and Barnabas would have given him peace and quiet for some amount of time before his requested blonde guest graced him with her presence. He had not thought anyone else would burst in on him while he was attempting to enjoy a simple goblet of wine but, apparently, he had been wrong. It took only a few minutes before he heard the knock on his door and nonchalantly glanced in its direction as he raised the drink to his lips, saying nothing as he watched Cyrene make her way entirely into the room, an eyebrow lifting as she appeared not to have spotted him, instead seemingly taking her time to look over the entirety of his room. The way she glanced around almost made it seem as though he was invisible and that, he could not have, clearing his throat loudly so that she might turn to actually pay him some attention rather than admire the chitons that lay across his floor.
"Are you quite done looking around?" he demanded, frowning at the way the woman had been glancing around his chambers and ignoring her comment a moment as she turned around so as not to see him. Had she never seen a man wear anything less than a full chiton in the past? Honestly, this behaviour was nothing short of embarrassing. Nonetheless, Rafail decided he might as well humour her, for one particular reason.
Cyrene had been in the Marikas household for a while now and, although he had not had all too many opportunities to interact with her during that time, he would not deny that in the times he had found himself interacting with the young woman, he had thought her to be quite attractive. It was only natural, after all. She was blonde and blue-eyed, and that was just the kind of woman Rafail had always enjoyed the best. Some might have called it narcissistic as he himself possessed both of those features, and he would not have denied it. There was no doubt that he was a narcissist, but he did not care, in truth he embraced it, only thinking it natural for one as good-looking as he.
She might have turned away but, apparently, Cyrene was not done speaking with him just yet, as she continued talking about a jar of some sort that his brother's wife had lent him. It took him a moment to think of the one, though it was rare that he borrow things from Sera given that he was already in possession of his own extensive collection of cosmetics. "Yes, I know the one," he agreed, setting down his goblet on the small table beside his bed and rising from where he'd been sitting on his bed. Given that she had spent the entire time with her back to him, he assumed there was no need to change himself into anything more appropriate, instead directing himself immediately to the shelf where he kept all his cosmetics and creams and beginning to look amongst the pots and jars.
"The Egyptian cream, hm?" Rafail questioned, plucking out the blue pot from amongst the options, removing a moment to sniff the contents as though to confirm it was indeed the cream she had been requesting. The smell was absolutely delightful and, honestly, that was the entire reason why he had chosen it out of all that which his sister-in-law had to offer. "I don't particularly care for its alleged medical uses as I have no need to maintain myself 'young'." The second Marikas son chuckled, turning back to face the woman who had entered his chambers, replacing the lid on the jar. "But the smell is wonderful, as I'm sure you've noticed, and ladies, in particular, appear to adore it. I thought perhaps if I made use of it then perhaps it might...increase interest, you might say. Such a shame she wants it back, I have not yet had a chance to test it out fully. No matter, I shall simply have something else made for my needs."
Rafail crossed the room to where Cyrene still stood in such an awkwardly demure position, moving to stand almost directly behind the woman, one hand on his hip as he considered whether or not he wished to give her this jar as quickly as she was requesting. He might have just sent his attendant out on the quest to find him a blonde woman he might not already have had, but that did not mean he didn't have the time to spend with another who fit those specifications. He had spent his morning in such a dull manner, after all, that he was practically craving the sort of enjoyment only someone as she could provide him. Of course, these nobles ladies were usually far less willing than the others to give themselves up to his bed - he imagined Cyrene would likely be an especially difficult one to ease into his ways, if solely because she lived in his household and was hence more privy to his usual tricks - but it was never impossible, and Rafail was nothing if not persistent in these matters.
Holding the jar out in front of her, forced to reach around the girl's body in order to do so thanks to the inconvenient position he had placed himself in, Rafail questioned, "This one, yes?" It was a meaningless query, given that he had already confirmed it was indeed the Egyptian cream that Sera had been waiting for but Rafail enjoyed drawing these things out as long as possible. "I suppose I could part with it but, well, I would need a little something in return, I'm sure you understand. I've just been having the most stressful day so far. I had to spend all morning sitting for that painter Papa had brought in while I was away, and Barnabas is taking absolutely forever to bring me what I've requested. I honestly don't know why I bother keeping him around. But I digress.." He pressed himself just a tad closer to her in case she had yet to understand his intentions, close enough that their bodies were almost touching. "I am just dearly in need of a little entertainment...if you should be so willing...?"
If anything, Rafail had expected that the act of having sent out both Deucalion and Barnabas would have given him peace and quiet for some amount of time before his requested blonde guest graced him with her presence. He had not thought anyone else would burst in on him while he was attempting to enjoy a simple goblet of wine but, apparently, he had been wrong. It took only a few minutes before he heard the knock on his door and nonchalantly glanced in its direction as he raised the drink to his lips, saying nothing as he watched Cyrene make her way entirely into the room, an eyebrow lifting as she appeared not to have spotted him, instead seemingly taking her time to look over the entirety of his room. The way she glanced around almost made it seem as though he was invisible and that, he could not have, clearing his throat loudly so that she might turn to actually pay him some attention rather than admire the chitons that lay across his floor.
"Are you quite done looking around?" he demanded, frowning at the way the woman had been glancing around his chambers and ignoring her comment a moment as she turned around so as not to see him. Had she never seen a man wear anything less than a full chiton in the past? Honestly, this behaviour was nothing short of embarrassing. Nonetheless, Rafail decided he might as well humour her, for one particular reason.
Cyrene had been in the Marikas household for a while now and, although he had not had all too many opportunities to interact with her during that time, he would not deny that in the times he had found himself interacting with the young woman, he had thought her to be quite attractive. It was only natural, after all. She was blonde and blue-eyed, and that was just the kind of woman Rafail had always enjoyed the best. Some might have called it narcissistic as he himself possessed both of those features, and he would not have denied it. There was no doubt that he was a narcissist, but he did not care, in truth he embraced it, only thinking it natural for one as good-looking as he.
She might have turned away but, apparently, Cyrene was not done speaking with him just yet, as she continued talking about a jar of some sort that his brother's wife had lent him. It took him a moment to think of the one, though it was rare that he borrow things from Sera given that he was already in possession of his own extensive collection of cosmetics. "Yes, I know the one," he agreed, setting down his goblet on the small table beside his bed and rising from where he'd been sitting on his bed. Given that she had spent the entire time with her back to him, he assumed there was no need to change himself into anything more appropriate, instead directing himself immediately to the shelf where he kept all his cosmetics and creams and beginning to look amongst the pots and jars.
"The Egyptian cream, hm?" Rafail questioned, plucking out the blue pot from amongst the options, removing a moment to sniff the contents as though to confirm it was indeed the cream she had been requesting. The smell was absolutely delightful and, honestly, that was the entire reason why he had chosen it out of all that which his sister-in-law had to offer. "I don't particularly care for its alleged medical uses as I have no need to maintain myself 'young'." The second Marikas son chuckled, turning back to face the woman who had entered his chambers, replacing the lid on the jar. "But the smell is wonderful, as I'm sure you've noticed, and ladies, in particular, appear to adore it. I thought perhaps if I made use of it then perhaps it might...increase interest, you might say. Such a shame she wants it back, I have not yet had a chance to test it out fully. No matter, I shall simply have something else made for my needs."
Rafail crossed the room to where Cyrene still stood in such an awkwardly demure position, moving to stand almost directly behind the woman, one hand on his hip as he considered whether or not he wished to give her this jar as quickly as she was requesting. He might have just sent his attendant out on the quest to find him a blonde woman he might not already have had, but that did not mean he didn't have the time to spend with another who fit those specifications. He had spent his morning in such a dull manner, after all, that he was practically craving the sort of enjoyment only someone as she could provide him. Of course, these nobles ladies were usually far less willing than the others to give themselves up to his bed - he imagined Cyrene would likely be an especially difficult one to ease into his ways, if solely because she lived in his household and was hence more privy to his usual tricks - but it was never impossible, and Rafail was nothing if not persistent in these matters.
Holding the jar out in front of her, forced to reach around the girl's body in order to do so thanks to the inconvenient position he had placed himself in, Rafail questioned, "This one, yes?" It was a meaningless query, given that he had already confirmed it was indeed the Egyptian cream that Sera had been waiting for but Rafail enjoyed drawing these things out as long as possible. "I suppose I could part with it but, well, I would need a little something in return, I'm sure you understand. I've just been having the most stressful day so far. I had to spend all morning sitting for that painter Papa had brought in while I was away, and Barnabas is taking absolutely forever to bring me what I've requested. I honestly don't know why I bother keeping him around. But I digress.." He pressed himself just a tad closer to her in case she had yet to understand his intentions, close enough that their bodies were almost touching. "I am just dearly in need of a little entertainment...if you should be so willing...?"
In averting her gaze from Lord Rafail's half-exposed form, Cyrene glanced around the room, looking for anything else to look at, before stopping at a portrait on the wall: within its frame lived the likeness of an astonishingly beautiful woman, the subject of whom Cyrene was certain she'd never met. As she tried to discern the colour of her eyes, she could only wonder who this woman was, why her portrait hung on the--
She blinked upon hearing Lord Rafail speak once more and almost turned to look in his direction, before willfully turning her eyes to the door. Through his musing on the subject of the coveted cream, Cyrene remained silent, figuring that holding her tongue would prove the best route to hide her eagerness to leave Lord Rafail's chambers and stay in his good graces.
It wasn't until he approached from behind and she became acutely aware of his proximity that Cyrene physically stiffened. She could feel the heat emanating from him, his breath on the back of her neck sending a shiver down her spine. It was then that she realized she had stumbled into the den of a viper, who had just found the most opportune moment to strike its prey: her. Lord Rafail's reputation preceded him, and of course, Cyrene had been warned of his tricks, yet she'd still managed to be drawn into the trap. At least she could say that she hadn't come to Lord Rafail's chambers against her better judgment, and as her heart started to pound in her chest, she reminded herself that she was here on Lady Sera's behalf. And of course, she had no intention to give into the baron's whims, no matter how tightly his coils might have constricted around her. Her only goal was to retrieve Lady Sera's much-desired cream and get back to her lady before her mood soured further, and Cyrene would not fail. If she didn't return with haste, she would become a target of Lady Sera's mind games for the rest of the day, and considering how the day had gone so far, Cyrene was quite afraid that she would cry in front of Lady Sera, and she would sink her claws into her. She could only hope that Lord Rafail would be gracious enough to give up the cream and let her return sooner rather than later.
Cyrene's eyes locked on the blue jar when an arm reached around her to display it. Cyrene was almost tempted to snatch it out of Lord Rafail's hand and run, although she knew that angering her lady's brother-in-law would surely mark the end of her time in the Marikas household. It seemed that she was right to worry as she did, for it didn't take long at all for Cyrene to realize just what Lord Rafail was asking of her, and although she had a feeling he would do this, and that it would make her uncomfortable, she didn't realize until this moment just how nervous he would make her. It made sense, considering Lord Rafail was anything but subtle. Cyrene's eyes narrowed as she eyed the jar...all this trouble for a cream that certainly would not eliminate Lady Sera's deepening age lines.
As she felt warmth rising to her face, and became all the more aware that she was in fact blushing, her mind ran rampant, trying to think of something, anything to say to get herself out of this situation. Knowing the haste with which her lady requested she complete the task, and her absolute abhorrence of silence, Cyrene went with the first somewhat acceptable idea that popped into her mind: perhaps if she played the fool, he would find her a nuisance and give up the game faster.
Shifting to create a bit more space between herself and Lord Rafail, Cyrene lied, "My Lord Rafail, I'm afraid I find myself lost as to what you mean to ask of me." It didn't dawn on her until a moment after the words left her lips that she had given him further room to elaborate on what he wished her to do, and that he might take it as an opportunity to take further liberties with her, at which time she regretted her lack of careful consideration in conversation with, perhaps, the most notorious flirt in Athenia. Her lips drew into a thin line as she inwardly chastised herself for thinking she could try to be clever at a time such as this.
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In averting her gaze from Lord Rafail's half-exposed form, Cyrene glanced around the room, looking for anything else to look at, before stopping at a portrait on the wall: within its frame lived the likeness of an astonishingly beautiful woman, the subject of whom Cyrene was certain she'd never met. As she tried to discern the colour of her eyes, she could only wonder who this woman was, why her portrait hung on the--
She blinked upon hearing Lord Rafail speak once more and almost turned to look in his direction, before willfully turning her eyes to the door. Through his musing on the subject of the coveted cream, Cyrene remained silent, figuring that holding her tongue would prove the best route to hide her eagerness to leave Lord Rafail's chambers and stay in his good graces.
It wasn't until he approached from behind and she became acutely aware of his proximity that Cyrene physically stiffened. She could feel the heat emanating from him, his breath on the back of her neck sending a shiver down her spine. It was then that she realized she had stumbled into the den of a viper, who had just found the most opportune moment to strike its prey: her. Lord Rafail's reputation preceded him, and of course, Cyrene had been warned of his tricks, yet she'd still managed to be drawn into the trap. At least she could say that she hadn't come to Lord Rafail's chambers against her better judgment, and as her heart started to pound in her chest, she reminded herself that she was here on Lady Sera's behalf. And of course, she had no intention to give into the baron's whims, no matter how tightly his coils might have constricted around her. Her only goal was to retrieve Lady Sera's much-desired cream and get back to her lady before her mood soured further, and Cyrene would not fail. If she didn't return with haste, she would become a target of Lady Sera's mind games for the rest of the day, and considering how the day had gone so far, Cyrene was quite afraid that she would cry in front of Lady Sera, and she would sink her claws into her. She could only hope that Lord Rafail would be gracious enough to give up the cream and let her return sooner rather than later.
Cyrene's eyes locked on the blue jar when an arm reached around her to display it. Cyrene was almost tempted to snatch it out of Lord Rafail's hand and run, although she knew that angering her lady's brother-in-law would surely mark the end of her time in the Marikas household. It seemed that she was right to worry as she did, for it didn't take long at all for Cyrene to realize just what Lord Rafail was asking of her, and although she had a feeling he would do this, and that it would make her uncomfortable, she didn't realize until this moment just how nervous he would make her. It made sense, considering Lord Rafail was anything but subtle. Cyrene's eyes narrowed as she eyed the jar...all this trouble for a cream that certainly would not eliminate Lady Sera's deepening age lines.
As she felt warmth rising to her face, and became all the more aware that she was in fact blushing, her mind ran rampant, trying to think of something, anything to say to get herself out of this situation. Knowing the haste with which her lady requested she complete the task, and her absolute abhorrence of silence, Cyrene went with the first somewhat acceptable idea that popped into her mind: perhaps if she played the fool, he would find her a nuisance and give up the game faster.
Shifting to create a bit more space between herself and Lord Rafail, Cyrene lied, "My Lord Rafail, I'm afraid I find myself lost as to what you mean to ask of me." It didn't dawn on her until a moment after the words left her lips that she had given him further room to elaborate on what he wished her to do, and that he might take it as an opportunity to take further liberties with her, at which time she regretted her lack of careful consideration in conversation with, perhaps, the most notorious flirt in Athenia. Her lips drew into a thin line as she inwardly chastised herself for thinking she could try to be clever at a time such as this.
In averting her gaze from Lord Rafail's half-exposed form, Cyrene glanced around the room, looking for anything else to look at, before stopping at a portrait on the wall: within its frame lived the likeness of an astonishingly beautiful woman, the subject of whom Cyrene was certain she'd never met. As she tried to discern the colour of her eyes, she could only wonder who this woman was, why her portrait hung on the--
She blinked upon hearing Lord Rafail speak once more and almost turned to look in his direction, before willfully turning her eyes to the door. Through his musing on the subject of the coveted cream, Cyrene remained silent, figuring that holding her tongue would prove the best route to hide her eagerness to leave Lord Rafail's chambers and stay in his good graces.
It wasn't until he approached from behind and she became acutely aware of his proximity that Cyrene physically stiffened. She could feel the heat emanating from him, his breath on the back of her neck sending a shiver down her spine. It was then that she realized she had stumbled into the den of a viper, who had just found the most opportune moment to strike its prey: her. Lord Rafail's reputation preceded him, and of course, Cyrene had been warned of his tricks, yet she'd still managed to be drawn into the trap. At least she could say that she hadn't come to Lord Rafail's chambers against her better judgment, and as her heart started to pound in her chest, she reminded herself that she was here on Lady Sera's behalf. And of course, she had no intention to give into the baron's whims, no matter how tightly his coils might have constricted around her. Her only goal was to retrieve Lady Sera's much-desired cream and get back to her lady before her mood soured further, and Cyrene would not fail. If she didn't return with haste, she would become a target of Lady Sera's mind games for the rest of the day, and considering how the day had gone so far, Cyrene was quite afraid that she would cry in front of Lady Sera, and she would sink her claws into her. She could only hope that Lord Rafail would be gracious enough to give up the cream and let her return sooner rather than later.
Cyrene's eyes locked on the blue jar when an arm reached around her to display it. Cyrene was almost tempted to snatch it out of Lord Rafail's hand and run, although she knew that angering her lady's brother-in-law would surely mark the end of her time in the Marikas household. It seemed that she was right to worry as she did, for it didn't take long at all for Cyrene to realize just what Lord Rafail was asking of her, and although she had a feeling he would do this, and that it would make her uncomfortable, she didn't realize until this moment just how nervous he would make her. It made sense, considering Lord Rafail was anything but subtle. Cyrene's eyes narrowed as she eyed the jar...all this trouble for a cream that certainly would not eliminate Lady Sera's deepening age lines.
As she felt warmth rising to her face, and became all the more aware that she was in fact blushing, her mind ran rampant, trying to think of something, anything to say to get herself out of this situation. Knowing the haste with which her lady requested she complete the task, and her absolute abhorrence of silence, Cyrene went with the first somewhat acceptable idea that popped into her mind: perhaps if she played the fool, he would find her a nuisance and give up the game faster.
Shifting to create a bit more space between herself and Lord Rafail, Cyrene lied, "My Lord Rafail, I'm afraid I find myself lost as to what you mean to ask of me." It didn't dawn on her until a moment after the words left her lips that she had given him further room to elaborate on what he wished her to do, and that he might take it as an opportunity to take further liberties with her, at which time she regretted her lack of careful consideration in conversation with, perhaps, the most notorious flirt in Athenia. Her lips drew into a thin line as she inwardly chastised herself for thinking she could try to be clever at a time such as this.
Urgh. Some women were no fun in the slightest, and it seemed to Rafail that Cyrene was proving to be just another one of the duller women who roamed the streets of Athenia with no sense of adventure or desire to try anything (or anyone) new. At least he could rest assured that not all her fellow ladies in Sera's service shared the same outlook towards life, and he could always count on at least one of them to provide him with some pleasure in his times of need.
He was unsure as to whether the girl was inexplicably unwilling or simply had not had enough experience in life to identify the entertainment of which he spoke, and though her tone implied one possibility, the way she had subtly shifted her body away from his indicated the former may well be the case. A lesser man may well have considered this to be the greatest of inconveniences and given up the chase, but Rafail had never thought of himself as such, and he was almost wholly convinced that if a woman did not seem eager for his affections, then that only meant he had not done as much as he could, and there was still room for persuasion.
"You're lost?" he queried, an eyebrow quirked as though in mock concern for the girl's alleged plight as he attempted to decide exactly which type of woman this was and, as a result, which approach would suit her the best. She had not seemed fond of his physical contact - a shame, the girl had such a delightful shape that he would have loved to press himself against and examine more fully in the comforts of a bed - so he pulled away, shifted around her so that they were face to face. Cyrene of Nikolaos was one of the prettiest of Sera's ladies, petite and blonde and with eyes of a darling blue-green hue that almost reminded him of his own. It made her the almost ideal image of a woman in the Marikas lord's eyes. "Well, I would advise you not to worry. I hear many women find themselves quite easily lost when in my presence."
Setting the blue ceramic jar on the gilded table beneath the portrait of Mama, the original purpose of Cyrene's visit now long forgotten as he had a new objective in mind, Rafail placed hands on his hips, looking her over with no hint of subtlety. He did not see why any should hide their interest in a woman, nor why any woman should find a man's interest insulting: to be lusted after in any regard was, as far as he was concerned, a dear compliment, especially when such lust came from someone as illustrious as he.
"Perhaps I did not explain myself well enough?" He reached forwards, fingers brushing lightly across her cheek as he tucked a loose strand of the girl's hair behind her ear, an action which typically yielded a positive outcome. "I am only recently returned from Taengea and, although the women there are delightful in more ways than one, I have missed Athenia. Unfortunately, I have spent all day preoccupied and have not had the opportunity to entertain myself appropriately, until you did me the honour of entering my presence. Now, I am not so uncareful that I offer every woman who crosses my path the opportunity of an intimate experience, but I have noticed you in the past, dear Cyrene, and, I must say, I have always been eager to...see more of you."
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Urgh. Some women were no fun in the slightest, and it seemed to Rafail that Cyrene was proving to be just another one of the duller women who roamed the streets of Athenia with no sense of adventure or desire to try anything (or anyone) new. At least he could rest assured that not all her fellow ladies in Sera's service shared the same outlook towards life, and he could always count on at least one of them to provide him with some pleasure in his times of need.
He was unsure as to whether the girl was inexplicably unwilling or simply had not had enough experience in life to identify the entertainment of which he spoke, and though her tone implied one possibility, the way she had subtly shifted her body away from his indicated the former may well be the case. A lesser man may well have considered this to be the greatest of inconveniences and given up the chase, but Rafail had never thought of himself as such, and he was almost wholly convinced that if a woman did not seem eager for his affections, then that only meant he had not done as much as he could, and there was still room for persuasion.
"You're lost?" he queried, an eyebrow quirked as though in mock concern for the girl's alleged plight as he attempted to decide exactly which type of woman this was and, as a result, which approach would suit her the best. She had not seemed fond of his physical contact - a shame, the girl had such a delightful shape that he would have loved to press himself against and examine more fully in the comforts of a bed - so he pulled away, shifted around her so that they were face to face. Cyrene of Nikolaos was one of the prettiest of Sera's ladies, petite and blonde and with eyes of a darling blue-green hue that almost reminded him of his own. It made her the almost ideal image of a woman in the Marikas lord's eyes. "Well, I would advise you not to worry. I hear many women find themselves quite easily lost when in my presence."
Setting the blue ceramic jar on the gilded table beneath the portrait of Mama, the original purpose of Cyrene's visit now long forgotten as he had a new objective in mind, Rafail placed hands on his hips, looking her over with no hint of subtlety. He did not see why any should hide their interest in a woman, nor why any woman should find a man's interest insulting: to be lusted after in any regard was, as far as he was concerned, a dear compliment, especially when such lust came from someone as illustrious as he.
"Perhaps I did not explain myself well enough?" He reached forwards, fingers brushing lightly across her cheek as he tucked a loose strand of the girl's hair behind her ear, an action which typically yielded a positive outcome. "I am only recently returned from Taengea and, although the women there are delightful in more ways than one, I have missed Athenia. Unfortunately, I have spent all day preoccupied and have not had the opportunity to entertain myself appropriately, until you did me the honour of entering my presence. Now, I am not so uncareful that I offer every woman who crosses my path the opportunity of an intimate experience, but I have noticed you in the past, dear Cyrene, and, I must say, I have always been eager to...see more of you."
Urgh. Some women were no fun in the slightest, and it seemed to Rafail that Cyrene was proving to be just another one of the duller women who roamed the streets of Athenia with no sense of adventure or desire to try anything (or anyone) new. At least he could rest assured that not all her fellow ladies in Sera's service shared the same outlook towards life, and he could always count on at least one of them to provide him with some pleasure in his times of need.
He was unsure as to whether the girl was inexplicably unwilling or simply had not had enough experience in life to identify the entertainment of which he spoke, and though her tone implied one possibility, the way she had subtly shifted her body away from his indicated the former may well be the case. A lesser man may well have considered this to be the greatest of inconveniences and given up the chase, but Rafail had never thought of himself as such, and he was almost wholly convinced that if a woman did not seem eager for his affections, then that only meant he had not done as much as he could, and there was still room for persuasion.
"You're lost?" he queried, an eyebrow quirked as though in mock concern for the girl's alleged plight as he attempted to decide exactly which type of woman this was and, as a result, which approach would suit her the best. She had not seemed fond of his physical contact - a shame, the girl had such a delightful shape that he would have loved to press himself against and examine more fully in the comforts of a bed - so he pulled away, shifted around her so that they were face to face. Cyrene of Nikolaos was one of the prettiest of Sera's ladies, petite and blonde and with eyes of a darling blue-green hue that almost reminded him of his own. It made her the almost ideal image of a woman in the Marikas lord's eyes. "Well, I would advise you not to worry. I hear many women find themselves quite easily lost when in my presence."
Setting the blue ceramic jar on the gilded table beneath the portrait of Mama, the original purpose of Cyrene's visit now long forgotten as he had a new objective in mind, Rafail placed hands on his hips, looking her over with no hint of subtlety. He did not see why any should hide their interest in a woman, nor why any woman should find a man's interest insulting: to be lusted after in any regard was, as far as he was concerned, a dear compliment, especially when such lust came from someone as illustrious as he.
"Perhaps I did not explain myself well enough?" He reached forwards, fingers brushing lightly across her cheek as he tucked a loose strand of the girl's hair behind her ear, an action which typically yielded a positive outcome. "I am only recently returned from Taengea and, although the women there are delightful in more ways than one, I have missed Athenia. Unfortunately, I have spent all day preoccupied and have not had the opportunity to entertain myself appropriately, until you did me the honour of entering my presence. Now, I am not so uncareful that I offer every woman who crosses my path the opportunity of an intimate experience, but I have noticed you in the past, dear Cyrene, and, I must say, I have always been eager to...see more of you."
Cyrene wasn't sure how she had managed to stop herself from visibly cringing at the Marikas lord's words, but somehow, she did. For all that could be said about how meek she was, Cyrene was quite determined to stay at the Marikas household as long as possible. Better to suffer Lord Rafail's flirtations than to go home to an overly-critical mother and a distant father. She took a deep breath through her nose to try and keep her cool, though she was quite sure that the pink hue that her face had taken on betrayed her attempts. In this moment, Cyrene was utterly overwhelmed with embarrassment, and she couldn't help but blame Lord Rafail for it.
It seemed he had it out for her today, as she was given no other choice but to look at his face, or else risk seeing even more of him. It felt impertinent to do as such, but she found there was no other choice. So, she locked her gaze on his, disregarding the deep discomfort that settled like a weight on her chest and swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. While she did find him to be very attractive, like the majority of young women her age, she was all too aware that she looked like a deer in headlights. Cyrene had stared at herself in a looking-glass for just long enough to register that she her blank expression looked as such, but she dreaded the sinking feeling that came upon making eye contact with her superior: that Lord Rafail would see the shame in her eyes. And oh, how she hated them. Every attempt she had ever made to hide her feelings were completely betrayed by them. No matter how hard she tried to show strength, her eyes revealed exactly how she was feeling. It was almost as if they served as an oracle, revealing her secrets to anyone who asked.
Putting her vulnerability aside, Cyrene told herself that if she could get through this, she could get through anything. So, she soldiered on. But, she couldn't handle such a silence with this amount of eye contact. That would be too much for anyone, Cyrene was quite certain. So, she let out the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, yes, I'm sure that any woman would be, Lord Rafail." But, it seemed that her flattery had yet again brought about an undesired result. Cyrene froze when he reached forward and fixed her hair, lost as to what to do, and lost for words. It seemed he had some sort of effect on her, one she did not enjoy at all. She would have to quickly escape his grasp now, and avoid him as much as possible in future.
When she recovered from the shock that Lord Rafail had given her, Cyrene shifted yet again, stepping only the slightest bit further away from the Marikas. But, it seemed that he had more in store for Cyrene, exactly what she had feared.
Though she had expected him to put forward such a proposition to her, she hadn't expected him to be nearly as explicit as he was. Surely he had been raised to have some manners? Yes, he spoke honeyed words, but the frankness with which he delivered them surprised Cyrene, though she didn't know what she should have expected from possibly the most promiscuous man in Athenia, or all of Greece, even. Her eyes widened at his words, and for a moment she felt as if she would faint, but she managed to keep herself at least somewhat composed.
The blonde let out a shaky breath on fully absorbing his words, her eyes trained on his while she hid her discomfort with a smile, trying to buy herself time to come up with a response that wouldn't immediately send her out of the Marikas household. It seemed that those above her would always feel the need to keep her on her toes...
"As much as I am honored by your words, Lord Rafail, I am afraid that I cannot accept your proposal. Truly, I am flattered, but Lady Sera is in dire need of her cream and I mustn't keep her waiting, lest she become cross with me." Worrying that her words would not be enough to convince him to part with the jar, she tried to sweeten the deal. "I would be in your debt if you would do me this huge favor." Hopefully this would be enough to get her out his room quickly. Else, she wasn't sure what she would do. Cyrene could only hope that she would be blessed by the gods for all she had endured so far.
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Cyrene wasn't sure how she had managed to stop herself from visibly cringing at the Marikas lord's words, but somehow, she did. For all that could be said about how meek she was, Cyrene was quite determined to stay at the Marikas household as long as possible. Better to suffer Lord Rafail's flirtations than to go home to an overly-critical mother and a distant father. She took a deep breath through her nose to try and keep her cool, though she was quite sure that the pink hue that her face had taken on betrayed her attempts. In this moment, Cyrene was utterly overwhelmed with embarrassment, and she couldn't help but blame Lord Rafail for it.
It seemed he had it out for her today, as she was given no other choice but to look at his face, or else risk seeing even more of him. It felt impertinent to do as such, but she found there was no other choice. So, she locked her gaze on his, disregarding the deep discomfort that settled like a weight on her chest and swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. While she did find him to be very attractive, like the majority of young women her age, she was all too aware that she looked like a deer in headlights. Cyrene had stared at herself in a looking-glass for just long enough to register that she her blank expression looked as such, but she dreaded the sinking feeling that came upon making eye contact with her superior: that Lord Rafail would see the shame in her eyes. And oh, how she hated them. Every attempt she had ever made to hide her feelings were completely betrayed by them. No matter how hard she tried to show strength, her eyes revealed exactly how she was feeling. It was almost as if they served as an oracle, revealing her secrets to anyone who asked.
Putting her vulnerability aside, Cyrene told herself that if she could get through this, she could get through anything. So, she soldiered on. But, she couldn't handle such a silence with this amount of eye contact. That would be too much for anyone, Cyrene was quite certain. So, she let out the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, yes, I'm sure that any woman would be, Lord Rafail." But, it seemed that her flattery had yet again brought about an undesired result. Cyrene froze when he reached forward and fixed her hair, lost as to what to do, and lost for words. It seemed he had some sort of effect on her, one she did not enjoy at all. She would have to quickly escape his grasp now, and avoid him as much as possible in future.
When she recovered from the shock that Lord Rafail had given her, Cyrene shifted yet again, stepping only the slightest bit further away from the Marikas. But, it seemed that he had more in store for Cyrene, exactly what she had feared.
Though she had expected him to put forward such a proposition to her, she hadn't expected him to be nearly as explicit as he was. Surely he had been raised to have some manners? Yes, he spoke honeyed words, but the frankness with which he delivered them surprised Cyrene, though she didn't know what she should have expected from possibly the most promiscuous man in Athenia, or all of Greece, even. Her eyes widened at his words, and for a moment she felt as if she would faint, but she managed to keep herself at least somewhat composed.
The blonde let out a shaky breath on fully absorbing his words, her eyes trained on his while she hid her discomfort with a smile, trying to buy herself time to come up with a response that wouldn't immediately send her out of the Marikas household. It seemed that those above her would always feel the need to keep her on her toes...
"As much as I am honored by your words, Lord Rafail, I am afraid that I cannot accept your proposal. Truly, I am flattered, but Lady Sera is in dire need of her cream and I mustn't keep her waiting, lest she become cross with me." Worrying that her words would not be enough to convince him to part with the jar, she tried to sweeten the deal. "I would be in your debt if you would do me this huge favor." Hopefully this would be enough to get her out his room quickly. Else, she wasn't sure what she would do. Cyrene could only hope that she would be blessed by the gods for all she had endured so far.
Cyrene wasn't sure how she had managed to stop herself from visibly cringing at the Marikas lord's words, but somehow, she did. For all that could be said about how meek she was, Cyrene was quite determined to stay at the Marikas household as long as possible. Better to suffer Lord Rafail's flirtations than to go home to an overly-critical mother and a distant father. She took a deep breath through her nose to try and keep her cool, though she was quite sure that the pink hue that her face had taken on betrayed her attempts. In this moment, Cyrene was utterly overwhelmed with embarrassment, and she couldn't help but blame Lord Rafail for it.
It seemed he had it out for her today, as she was given no other choice but to look at his face, or else risk seeing even more of him. It felt impertinent to do as such, but she found there was no other choice. So, she locked her gaze on his, disregarding the deep discomfort that settled like a weight on her chest and swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. While she did find him to be very attractive, like the majority of young women her age, she was all too aware that she looked like a deer in headlights. Cyrene had stared at herself in a looking-glass for just long enough to register that she her blank expression looked as such, but she dreaded the sinking feeling that came upon making eye contact with her superior: that Lord Rafail would see the shame in her eyes. And oh, how she hated them. Every attempt she had ever made to hide her feelings were completely betrayed by them. No matter how hard she tried to show strength, her eyes revealed exactly how she was feeling. It was almost as if they served as an oracle, revealing her secrets to anyone who asked.
Putting her vulnerability aside, Cyrene told herself that if she could get through this, she could get through anything. So, she soldiered on. But, she couldn't handle such a silence with this amount of eye contact. That would be too much for anyone, Cyrene was quite certain. So, she let out the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, yes, I'm sure that any woman would be, Lord Rafail." But, it seemed that her flattery had yet again brought about an undesired result. Cyrene froze when he reached forward and fixed her hair, lost as to what to do, and lost for words. It seemed he had some sort of effect on her, one she did not enjoy at all. She would have to quickly escape his grasp now, and avoid him as much as possible in future.
When she recovered from the shock that Lord Rafail had given her, Cyrene shifted yet again, stepping only the slightest bit further away from the Marikas. But, it seemed that he had more in store for Cyrene, exactly what she had feared.
Though she had expected him to put forward such a proposition to her, she hadn't expected him to be nearly as explicit as he was. Surely he had been raised to have some manners? Yes, he spoke honeyed words, but the frankness with which he delivered them surprised Cyrene, though she didn't know what she should have expected from possibly the most promiscuous man in Athenia, or all of Greece, even. Her eyes widened at his words, and for a moment she felt as if she would faint, but she managed to keep herself at least somewhat composed.
The blonde let out a shaky breath on fully absorbing his words, her eyes trained on his while she hid her discomfort with a smile, trying to buy herself time to come up with a response that wouldn't immediately send her out of the Marikas household. It seemed that those above her would always feel the need to keep her on her toes...
"As much as I am honored by your words, Lord Rafail, I am afraid that I cannot accept your proposal. Truly, I am flattered, but Lady Sera is in dire need of her cream and I mustn't keep her waiting, lest she become cross with me." Worrying that her words would not be enough to convince him to part with the jar, she tried to sweeten the deal. "I would be in your debt if you would do me this huge favor." Hopefully this would be enough to get her out his room quickly. Else, she wasn't sure what she would do. Cyrene could only hope that she would be blessed by the gods for all she had endured so far.
Rafail was not entirely sure what was occurring. He had initially targeted Cyrene solely because she had been the only woman foolish enough to enter his chambers when he had been so obviously eager for some carnal entertainment, and he had attempted everything with her which so usually worked with any woman, yet there she stood so motionless and unaffected. It was unnatural. Typically, his advances were rejected for reasons which he supposed could be understood - the women were married or betrothed and afraid of angering their husbands in some regard or, quite rarely, their hearts fluttered for the fairer sex (although this was often beneficial to him as well) - but this was not so common.
She appeared nervous, her breaths almost stuttered. It was a reaction Rafail was all too used to noting in the women who were in his presence, although he suspected that Cyrene's nerves were less out of awe and more from an incomprehensible discomfort. His hand trailed from her ear, lingering beside her neck, the tips of his fingers brushing against her soft skin, his intention to send shivers down the length of her spine and draw her closer.
"Oh, I'm sure my brother's wife would not mind it too dearly if you were to delay yourself a little with me," he objected, although that was likely far from the truth. Rafail may not have paid her much mind, but he knew his sister-in-law was not generally a patient woman, and he had already held Cyrene up for long enough that Sera was likely to be more than a little disappointed on the girl's eventual return. That said, he had never been all that interested in doing things to others' schedule - they had always seemed vastly unimportant when compared to his own splendid egotism - and whether or not the current object of his affections would be chastised for his advances did not concern him. "If you were to explain to her that you were held up only out of a desire to please me, well, I am positive she would have to understand."
He would have pushed further on the subject, determined to ensure that he get somewhere with the blonde girl on that day when she made him an offer which, admittedly, Rafail could not refuse. The promise that, were he to do as she wished, she would remain in his debt was an appealing one, and he could not help but take a step away from the girl then, the hand that had once rested on her moving to his hip and an eyebrow rising in mild suspicion. People were often quick to promise debts to others, but not always willing to continue through with their promises, and he did not intend this to be one of those scenarios where he was conned out of what he wanted.
"If I allow you to leave, you shall be in my debt?" The assurance was straightforward enough. Rafail nodded before she had the opportunity to answer, crossing the room to take a single dark rose from a ceramic pot and holding it out to Cyrene. "Normally, if you offer a girl flowers, she shows you her flower, but for now...take this as a simple reminder of your debt, hm? I wouldn't want you forgetting what you owe me. Now, do return to Sera. I don't want to hear that you've been keeping her waiting too long."
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Rafail was not entirely sure what was occurring. He had initially targeted Cyrene solely because she had been the only woman foolish enough to enter his chambers when he had been so obviously eager for some carnal entertainment, and he had attempted everything with her which so usually worked with any woman, yet there she stood so motionless and unaffected. It was unnatural. Typically, his advances were rejected for reasons which he supposed could be understood - the women were married or betrothed and afraid of angering their husbands in some regard or, quite rarely, their hearts fluttered for the fairer sex (although this was often beneficial to him as well) - but this was not so common.
She appeared nervous, her breaths almost stuttered. It was a reaction Rafail was all too used to noting in the women who were in his presence, although he suspected that Cyrene's nerves were less out of awe and more from an incomprehensible discomfort. His hand trailed from her ear, lingering beside her neck, the tips of his fingers brushing against her soft skin, his intention to send shivers down the length of her spine and draw her closer.
"Oh, I'm sure my brother's wife would not mind it too dearly if you were to delay yourself a little with me," he objected, although that was likely far from the truth. Rafail may not have paid her much mind, but he knew his sister-in-law was not generally a patient woman, and he had already held Cyrene up for long enough that Sera was likely to be more than a little disappointed on the girl's eventual return. That said, he had never been all that interested in doing things to others' schedule - they had always seemed vastly unimportant when compared to his own splendid egotism - and whether or not the current object of his affections would be chastised for his advances did not concern him. "If you were to explain to her that you were held up only out of a desire to please me, well, I am positive she would have to understand."
He would have pushed further on the subject, determined to ensure that he get somewhere with the blonde girl on that day when she made him an offer which, admittedly, Rafail could not refuse. The promise that, were he to do as she wished, she would remain in his debt was an appealing one, and he could not help but take a step away from the girl then, the hand that had once rested on her moving to his hip and an eyebrow rising in mild suspicion. People were often quick to promise debts to others, but not always willing to continue through with their promises, and he did not intend this to be one of those scenarios where he was conned out of what he wanted.
"If I allow you to leave, you shall be in my debt?" The assurance was straightforward enough. Rafail nodded before she had the opportunity to answer, crossing the room to take a single dark rose from a ceramic pot and holding it out to Cyrene. "Normally, if you offer a girl flowers, she shows you her flower, but for now...take this as a simple reminder of your debt, hm? I wouldn't want you forgetting what you owe me. Now, do return to Sera. I don't want to hear that you've been keeping her waiting too long."
Rafail was not entirely sure what was occurring. He had initially targeted Cyrene solely because she had been the only woman foolish enough to enter his chambers when he had been so obviously eager for some carnal entertainment, and he had attempted everything with her which so usually worked with any woman, yet there she stood so motionless and unaffected. It was unnatural. Typically, his advances were rejected for reasons which he supposed could be understood - the women were married or betrothed and afraid of angering their husbands in some regard or, quite rarely, their hearts fluttered for the fairer sex (although this was often beneficial to him as well) - but this was not so common.
She appeared nervous, her breaths almost stuttered. It was a reaction Rafail was all too used to noting in the women who were in his presence, although he suspected that Cyrene's nerves were less out of awe and more from an incomprehensible discomfort. His hand trailed from her ear, lingering beside her neck, the tips of his fingers brushing against her soft skin, his intention to send shivers down the length of her spine and draw her closer.
"Oh, I'm sure my brother's wife would not mind it too dearly if you were to delay yourself a little with me," he objected, although that was likely far from the truth. Rafail may not have paid her much mind, but he knew his sister-in-law was not generally a patient woman, and he had already held Cyrene up for long enough that Sera was likely to be more than a little disappointed on the girl's eventual return. That said, he had never been all that interested in doing things to others' schedule - they had always seemed vastly unimportant when compared to his own splendid egotism - and whether or not the current object of his affections would be chastised for his advances did not concern him. "If you were to explain to her that you were held up only out of a desire to please me, well, I am positive she would have to understand."
He would have pushed further on the subject, determined to ensure that he get somewhere with the blonde girl on that day when she made him an offer which, admittedly, Rafail could not refuse. The promise that, were he to do as she wished, she would remain in his debt was an appealing one, and he could not help but take a step away from the girl then, the hand that had once rested on her moving to his hip and an eyebrow rising in mild suspicion. People were often quick to promise debts to others, but not always willing to continue through with their promises, and he did not intend this to be one of those scenarios where he was conned out of what he wanted.
"If I allow you to leave, you shall be in my debt?" The assurance was straightforward enough. Rafail nodded before she had the opportunity to answer, crossing the room to take a single dark rose from a ceramic pot and holding it out to Cyrene. "Normally, if you offer a girl flowers, she shows you her flower, but for now...take this as a simple reminder of your debt, hm? I wouldn't want you forgetting what you owe me. Now, do return to Sera. I don't want to hear that you've been keeping her waiting too long."
If this deal didn't work, Cyrene was almost certain she'd have to run out of the room before Lord Rafail devoured her whole.
While the Marikas was known to be quite handsome, and Cyrene certainly wasn't blind, the way he stalked about her left her uneasy, as if he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike her down.
If only, she thought, she had not been born into the impossible dance that was Athenian court life, she would not have found herself in such a precarious position on this day. What Lord Rafail asked of her would practically ruin her chances of ever finding a good match, and yet, her subordinate status demanded she not be so outright in her rejection of his advances. If she had been, it would be almost certain that the Baron of Thesnia would complain to Lady Sera, and Cyrene would have to pack her belongings and go back to live with her family, which had never been a refuge for the blonde.
Instead, she would have to navigate the maze that was rejecting Lord Rafail of Marikas.
The Nikolaos almost expected the lord to send her out in a rage, yet, almost to her surprise, he was quite receptive of her offer, Cyrene only then realizing she'd played right into the royal's hand. In simply trying to do as asked of her by Lady Sera, Cyrene had become tangled up in her brother-in-law's web. She had given him even more of an upper hand over her, and Cyrene felt a premonition that this would not be the last time Rafail would invite her to bed. Only now, the blonde had made it even harder to free herself. It was at this moment Cyrene wanted strongest to leave the room and avoid any further contact with Lord Rafail of Marikas for the remainder of her living days. But, that was a dream too sweet to be reality.
She would most certainly bump into the man, seeing as they lived in the same manor. Cyrene could only hope she could manage to repay this debt she had created without losing her morality, or her virtue, for that matter.
When Lord Rafail seemed to take her offer into consideration, Cyrene was eager to get her way, nodding quickly in response to his question. "Yes, my lord, I shall be in your debt."
Yet, even with this cloud looming over her head, she felt a strong sense of relief come over her when the blond conceded defeat for today, handing Cyrene a rose... Was this meant to charm her? It seemed so. Even so, she still could not be so blunt as to state her resistance to what he suggested, so she accepted the flower with a prim, tight-lipped smile, trying to hide the discomfort she felt at his unabashed vulgarity.
Even so, she had escaped for today, and that would be enough.
Holding the rose gingerly as to avoid pricking her fingers on any thorns, Cyrene's gaze shifted to the blue jar she came to retrieve before looking back to the Marikas and giving a curt nod.
"Thank you, my lord."
With that, she quickly scooped the jar up from where Rafail had placed it on the table, before quickly exiting the room to return to Lady Sera, who would surely have questions about just why it had taken Cyrene so long to accomplish such a simple task.
Yet, Cyrene was sure that she would be in for worse if she showed up rose in hand, no doubt Sera would assume she welcomed Rafail's flirtations.
As the Nikolaos made her way back to Lady Sera, and passed the kitchens, she was quick to step in, dropping Rafail's little 'reminder' into the brightly burning fire in the hearth before exiting just as quickly and making her way back to Sera's chambers as if nothing had happened.
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If this deal didn't work, Cyrene was almost certain she'd have to run out of the room before Lord Rafail devoured her whole.
While the Marikas was known to be quite handsome, and Cyrene certainly wasn't blind, the way he stalked about her left her uneasy, as if he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike her down.
If only, she thought, she had not been born into the impossible dance that was Athenian court life, she would not have found herself in such a precarious position on this day. What Lord Rafail asked of her would practically ruin her chances of ever finding a good match, and yet, her subordinate status demanded she not be so outright in her rejection of his advances. If she had been, it would be almost certain that the Baron of Thesnia would complain to Lady Sera, and Cyrene would have to pack her belongings and go back to live with her family, which had never been a refuge for the blonde.
Instead, she would have to navigate the maze that was rejecting Lord Rafail of Marikas.
The Nikolaos almost expected the lord to send her out in a rage, yet, almost to her surprise, he was quite receptive of her offer, Cyrene only then realizing she'd played right into the royal's hand. In simply trying to do as asked of her by Lady Sera, Cyrene had become tangled up in her brother-in-law's web. She had given him even more of an upper hand over her, and Cyrene felt a premonition that this would not be the last time Rafail would invite her to bed. Only now, the blonde had made it even harder to free herself. It was at this moment Cyrene wanted strongest to leave the room and avoid any further contact with Lord Rafail of Marikas for the remainder of her living days. But, that was a dream too sweet to be reality.
She would most certainly bump into the man, seeing as they lived in the same manor. Cyrene could only hope she could manage to repay this debt she had created without losing her morality, or her virtue, for that matter.
When Lord Rafail seemed to take her offer into consideration, Cyrene was eager to get her way, nodding quickly in response to his question. "Yes, my lord, I shall be in your debt."
Yet, even with this cloud looming over her head, she felt a strong sense of relief come over her when the blond conceded defeat for today, handing Cyrene a rose... Was this meant to charm her? It seemed so. Even so, she still could not be so blunt as to state her resistance to what he suggested, so she accepted the flower with a prim, tight-lipped smile, trying to hide the discomfort she felt at his unabashed vulgarity.
Even so, she had escaped for today, and that would be enough.
Holding the rose gingerly as to avoid pricking her fingers on any thorns, Cyrene's gaze shifted to the blue jar she came to retrieve before looking back to the Marikas and giving a curt nod.
"Thank you, my lord."
With that, she quickly scooped the jar up from where Rafail had placed it on the table, before quickly exiting the room to return to Lady Sera, who would surely have questions about just why it had taken Cyrene so long to accomplish such a simple task.
Yet, Cyrene was sure that she would be in for worse if she showed up rose in hand, no doubt Sera would assume she welcomed Rafail's flirtations.
As the Nikolaos made her way back to Lady Sera, and passed the kitchens, she was quick to step in, dropping Rafail's little 'reminder' into the brightly burning fire in the hearth before exiting just as quickly and making her way back to Sera's chambers as if nothing had happened.
If this deal didn't work, Cyrene was almost certain she'd have to run out of the room before Lord Rafail devoured her whole.
While the Marikas was known to be quite handsome, and Cyrene certainly wasn't blind, the way he stalked about her left her uneasy, as if he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike her down.
If only, she thought, she had not been born into the impossible dance that was Athenian court life, she would not have found herself in such a precarious position on this day. What Lord Rafail asked of her would practically ruin her chances of ever finding a good match, and yet, her subordinate status demanded she not be so outright in her rejection of his advances. If she had been, it would be almost certain that the Baron of Thesnia would complain to Lady Sera, and Cyrene would have to pack her belongings and go back to live with her family, which had never been a refuge for the blonde.
Instead, she would have to navigate the maze that was rejecting Lord Rafail of Marikas.
The Nikolaos almost expected the lord to send her out in a rage, yet, almost to her surprise, he was quite receptive of her offer, Cyrene only then realizing she'd played right into the royal's hand. In simply trying to do as asked of her by Lady Sera, Cyrene had become tangled up in her brother-in-law's web. She had given him even more of an upper hand over her, and Cyrene felt a premonition that this would not be the last time Rafail would invite her to bed. Only now, the blonde had made it even harder to free herself. It was at this moment Cyrene wanted strongest to leave the room and avoid any further contact with Lord Rafail of Marikas for the remainder of her living days. But, that was a dream too sweet to be reality.
She would most certainly bump into the man, seeing as they lived in the same manor. Cyrene could only hope she could manage to repay this debt she had created without losing her morality, or her virtue, for that matter.
When Lord Rafail seemed to take her offer into consideration, Cyrene was eager to get her way, nodding quickly in response to his question. "Yes, my lord, I shall be in your debt."
Yet, even with this cloud looming over her head, she felt a strong sense of relief come over her when the blond conceded defeat for today, handing Cyrene a rose... Was this meant to charm her? It seemed so. Even so, she still could not be so blunt as to state her resistance to what he suggested, so she accepted the flower with a prim, tight-lipped smile, trying to hide the discomfort she felt at his unabashed vulgarity.
Even so, she had escaped for today, and that would be enough.
Holding the rose gingerly as to avoid pricking her fingers on any thorns, Cyrene's gaze shifted to the blue jar she came to retrieve before looking back to the Marikas and giving a curt nod.
"Thank you, my lord."
With that, she quickly scooped the jar up from where Rafail had placed it on the table, before quickly exiting the room to return to Lady Sera, who would surely have questions about just why it had taken Cyrene so long to accomplish such a simple task.
Yet, Cyrene was sure that she would be in for worse if she showed up rose in hand, no doubt Sera would assume she welcomed Rafail's flirtations.
As the Nikolaos made her way back to Lady Sera, and passed the kitchens, she was quick to step in, dropping Rafail's little 'reminder' into the brightly burning fire in the hearth before exiting just as quickly and making her way back to Sera's chambers as if nothing had happened.