Fotios had been at the stadium. Whilst the mania and chaos had taken place, unfolding before his eyes like a stage tragedy you couldn't help but watch from between separated fingers as your tried to hide the world from view, the head of the Leventi household had watched the domino effect as one horror led to another - first with one of his nieces being pulled out in front of the charioteers and then with the ensuing appearance of the masked men. He would say one thing for the Creed... they knew how to put on a show.

Having chosen as seat on the edge of stand reserved for nobility - a common sight to see for Fotios was hardly what you would call a "mingler", Fotios had been able to slip from an exit before the show had truly began. Part of him wanted to watch as the finale to the Creed's performance was still yet to come but, as had always been the rule of his life and choices, the minutiae of the overarching plan was paramount.

One might enjoy teasing an opponent with a few obvious pieces here and there but at the end of the day, it was the one still standing who was victor - not he who stood to gloat. Winning rarely meant standing in the spotlight. And reversing the concept normally meant any man's downfall, no matter their strength or conviction; people loved to pull down heroes.

The journey back to his home was quiet, as the soon to follow depravity had yet to seep from the walls of the circus and into the streets of the capital. Fotios made no steps beyond his plan... stopping to pick up a personal order from a crafter or specialised horse bridles (a task he would have normally left to slaves but that which he chose to do now) and then decided - apparently on a whim - to pick up a bag of apples from a street vendor who had set up shop just a handful of yards away from his manor's front door.

While in view of the old man whom he paid generously, Fotios rode back into the gates of his house and remained there, wiling away the afternoon hours while Vasiliadon was reduced to panic.

Fotios was unsurprised to see Eirini and his youngest daughter Dafni back at the house - the youngest of his children had been the only one to attend with their mother (she had refused to be left at home, the wilful girl) and had, as misfortune would have it, clearly eaten something in her rushed breakfast that morning when she was later that caused her to feel sick in the belly. Harmless the illness may have been it had turned her green enough at the gills to convince any that saw Eirini leave with the youngest Leventi girl that their departure was not of their making.

Upon being informed that his wife was in their bedchamber reading and Dafni was asleep in bed recovering (each piece of news he absorbed with differing levels of interest) Fotios confirmed that a messenger be sent to let Konstanos know that Agape and Melina would be staying with him the night. The two eldest products of his seed had gone to visit Evangelina that morning as none of them cared for the sport of charioteering (Evangelina had some odd notion of it being dangerous or damaging for the horses) and since Fotios could now hear screams in the street it was logical that he should instruct them to remain in their uncle's home.

For himself, Fotios found occupation in his paperwork. And it had been such for the last five days...

Previously the Master Informer of Taengea (before he was given the power of head of the Leventi House) Fotios still had a network of eyes and ears all over the kingdom. Loyal to him beyond measure - for he had found every one and trained them personally over the course of his seven years stint in the post - he was no longer official in his capacity of secret keeper, but still held the key to more information circulating in the kingdom than any other mortal.

Information was power... his father had always said. An axe with which to smite.

He was half way through his paperwork when the light outside began to dim and night finally fell. Standing to light the oil lamps and pull the drapes over his closed windows, Fotios picked up one of his recently purchased apples and bit cleanly into the skin as he sat back in his high-backed throne of a chair and continued perusing his latest report from the northern provinces. The snack was as juicy as the words on the parchment before him and he licked at his upper lip, wondering mildly whether the apple seller had survived the carnage the cultists had likely created in the streets.

It was as he was finishing the apple that Fotios's ears pricked at the sound of loud stomping strides coming down the hall outside his study door and soon enough it was flung open by an aggrieved prince of Taengea.

Irakles of Mikaelidas was a tall, powerful and harsh man who had been disrespected one too many times for his own piece of mind. Fotios had spoken with the man at great length over the last six months or so. Or rather, been spoken at as Irakles had felt the need to assuage the venom and disappointed he always held towards his peace-loving brother. Fotios had said very little in such meetings. But he had been the sounding board that Irakles clearly needed. Enough for the man to decide to kill his own brother, anyway.

As the man came storming into the room, with all the thunder and tyranny he would expect from a man so used to battlefields; where solutions were found with brute force and volume, Fotios stood from his chair and walked around the man to carefully shut the study door behind him, before removing a cloth from his pocket to wipe the apple juice from his fingers.

Luckily for Irakles, Fotios had ensured that all of his servants baring the essentials were allowed to go back to check on their families during the "disaster" and there was no-one in the hall to hear the man.

With the door shut and his fingertips clean, Fotios made his way back to his desk, indicating with a calming hand gesture for the man to take that which sat opposite him.

"Be at ease, Irakles..." He told the man in his characteristic sombre tone. He was a quiet man by nature and his voice never rose beyond a standard pitch. But it held all the warmth of icy and the strength of crystal. "The plan was never to kill Prince Stephanos." He informed him - for the first time. "To kill three men in a single act would be boorish and unsophisticated, don't you think? Far too convenient for yourself by half. For who would you be able to concoct as the mastermind for this whole..." He waved a hand as if he were unsure what word to attribute to the terror their actions had caused out in the streets that afternoon. "Fiasco."

Fotios watched the man expel his anger and gradually lose his bluster. At his own words Prince Irakles fell into the wing backed chair across from his desk. The piece of made of Colchian leather and studded to perfection. But it was also tough and hardy - happy to accept the man's weight as he settled into it, finally a rest.

While Fotios analysed the prince's face, his heated colour, his narrowed eyes and his dry lips, he knew the hand to have rushed him, to have been angry, paranoid and ready to discuss deep into the night should it be required...

As the general of the Taengean armies, took a moment to catch his breath and demanded to know the next step of the plan, Fotios deliberately delayed his answer by standing. Running his fingertips along the length of his desk, he moved around to the side of the room, back towards his study door and carefully selected two silver cups. Pouring fresh wine into the goblets, the crimson rising almost to the rim of each, he then offered the second to his guest, before returning to his seat. His steps, his thoughts and his expressions were calculated as he took a sip from his chalice and then placed it to one side on the wooden surface. Bracing his elbows in front of him, knitting his fingers together and pressing the steeped knuckles against his lips, Fotios's sharp eyes stared back at the prince as he continued to insist that his nephew was by no means fit to be king.

"I am honestly of the same opinion as you, Irakles..." Fotios answered him while the man began to drink. "I have heard many a rumour of Prince Stephanos and his... escapades around the Court. It makes me shudder to think he will be ruling our kingdom. I would far rather see someone of more... discipline... more honour and valour take the crown that you brother seemed not to respect."

"Tell me again though..." He told the man... "Tell me such why you do not wish Stephanos to be king of Taengea... perhaps therein will lie our answers?"

His words were cold in pitch but encouraging in content and Fotios withdrew a piece of paper from his desk and stylus from a drawer. Carefully flipping over the lip of his ink well, so as not to cause it to make an ugly noise against the metal, Fotios allowed the man to continue with his wine, while abandoning his own for the sake of his attention to the parchment, his eyes on his guest... waiting to make notes.

Fotios made all the appropriate noises and gestures as Irakles spoke to keep him talking. He had heard much of this before from his old friend and therefore knew that the reasons he disliked the idea of any of his brother's line taking the throne would be quick to the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was make the appropriate nods and a raised eyebrow occasionally and Irakles would keep going, his words seeping out of him like puss from a disrespected wound.

Fotios knew what it was like to not be considered worthy of something you wanted. He knew it only too well thanks to daddy dearest. He was with Irakles all the way...

As the man spoke, Fotios jotted down his points and his complaints regarding Stephanos' character - or lack thereof - as the case was. His handwriting was not his own, but scrawled in a manner that was familiar to him and yet not. Fotios only ever wrote in his own handwriting when the words he was creating on parchment were ones he wanted be attributed to himself. The rest of the time, he adapted, his photographic memory allow the letters to be uniform and read like normal, instead of erratic, but being different enough from his own manner of text that it could never be traced back to him. Few people had ever seen his natural scrawl.

"I think..." Fotios stated calmly and quietly, as he turned the paper around and handed it to Irakles... "That you might want to leave out that last bit when talking to the Senators..." he advised, his meaning clear; for Irakles to tell the men he had spent the last fifty years impressing with his skills and heritage everything he had just told Fotios - just not the part about him being the deserving next heir.

"Oh." He also added, as if just remembering something. Fotios dug out another piece of paper that he had completed before Irakles' arrival, suspicious that it may be necessary. "This might also help."

And he handed the second piece over to Irakles. This one was much longer and was a significantly lengthy list of women's names...

"I'm sure Meena would find it helpful to know just who Stephanos might have loved and... lost... over time?"