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Death was no fun process, but the aftercare of the remains was even less so. Following the chaos that reigned, order had to be regained, and rites had to be followed upon nightfall. The question of what was to be done with the dead king's remains. With only the head to deal with, much of the official burial rites could not be done.
The Queen Mother had been rushed back, and by the next morning, the whole family was gathered in the throne room, the atmosphere sombre as the body was prepared for burial. Charon's obolus was placed on the mouth of the decapitated head, before it was washed to cleanse it of the dirt and blood, and anointed with perfumes, a process that was done by the slaves and female servants, the Queen at the head of the preparation. With the head at the top of the bier in which he was to be brought, urns and vases carrying honey-cakes for Cerberus and gifts for Hades were placed in lieu of a body, before a large cloth was used to cover it, imitating what would look like a proper body. A wreath of haphazardly made flowers was placed on the head. By right, the king's power meant he should have golden wreaths of laurel, but time did not permit such luxuries.
Irakles watched the whole procession from the side of the rooms, just behind his nephew and nieces, cladded in his darkest chitons, for once seen without the crown he always sported. Remaining silent unless called upon by the priestess to perform something for the body, the younger brother of the king remained silent throughout the whole process, until the rituals to prepare the body for burial was done.
With no time to permit for the lamentations to take place, the royal party was quick to proceed outside, the bier that held the remains of King Zenon carried upon the shoulders of eight slaves. Surrounded by a tight group of guards on horseback, Irakles took his spot behind the immediate family of his brother, sword strapped to his waist. With the priestess and the singers that had been summoned to lead the mourning chant, the procession that would bring King Zenon's body to the royal burial site began.
Outside, the atmosphere was just as sombre as it was inside. With uncertainty wrought in the air in light of the sudden ascension of the spare prince to a position of leadership, many people in Taengea could obviously be seen to be wary, watchful as they eyed the procession of the royal party. And Irakles saw it all. His beautiful kingdom, now wrought with chaos and strife. It was barely daybreak, the air still retaining the chill of the night, with Apollo just about to pull his chariot in to signal the start of the day, and yet many eyes looked upon the procession making its way to the royal burial site.
The large cemetery they arrived in had large, monumental earth mounds, with elaborate marble stelai and statues erected to signify who lay there, and it was around these sites that the procession moved around, to make its way to the one that had been prepared the day before by slaves who had worked the night through. The grave in which King Zenon would be laid in was unmarked as of yet - unbecoming, as a King was meant to be laid in the finest of burial sites, with stelai and finials marking his final resting place. Yet with the time constraint, none of that could be found, making it appear simple.
Dismounting, the fifty four year old made his way forward to take his place. His eyes watched, and if one saw him, one would almost think he was cold and unfeeling, the way his eyes followed the process of the bier being lowered to the ground by the slaves. If anything, most would discount it due to his many years of military training. One did not become a formidable general without learning how to detach emotions from reality. Irakles had spent the whole night with his family at the palace, comforting the Queen Mother and checking in on his nieces, while occasionally sending runners back to check on his family. The epitome of a doting uncle, father, and relative.
A job, basically.
With a blank look, he watched as the priestess called forward his nephew, nieces and sister-in-law one by one to do the ceremonial throwing of earth on to the body, one each. He stepped forward for his turn, letting his wife and sons do the same, before taking his spot next to Stephanos as the slaves began to pile the rest of the earth in, and the priestess began reciting the chants to the gods for the safe passage for Zenon to the Underworld, and for Hermes to guide him properly, for the River Styx to bring him to the afterlife in peace.
As the people began to disperse, Irakles murmured to his wife to return home before him, checking on the location of his sons, before he turned to his nephew, a contrite look arranged on his features as he addressed the Queen Mother, and then Stephanos simultaneously. "Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Death was no fun process, but the aftercare of the remains was even less so. Following the chaos that reigned, order had to be regained, and rites had to be followed upon nightfall. The question of what was to be done with the dead king's remains. With only the head to deal with, much of the official burial rites could not be done.
The Queen Mother had been rushed back, and by the next morning, the whole family was gathered in the throne room, the atmosphere sombre as the body was prepared for burial. Charon's obolus was placed on the mouth of the decapitated head, before it was washed to cleanse it of the dirt and blood, and anointed with perfumes, a process that was done by the slaves and female servants, the Queen at the head of the preparation. With the head at the top of the bier in which he was to be brought, urns and vases carrying honey-cakes for Cerberus and gifts for Hades were placed in lieu of a body, before a large cloth was used to cover it, imitating what would look like a proper body. A wreath of haphazardly made flowers was placed on the head. By right, the king's power meant he should have golden wreaths of laurel, but time did not permit such luxuries.
Irakles watched the whole procession from the side of the rooms, just behind his nephew and nieces, cladded in his darkest chitons, for once seen without the crown he always sported. Remaining silent unless called upon by the priestess to perform something for the body, the younger brother of the king remained silent throughout the whole process, until the rituals to prepare the body for burial was done.
With no time to permit for the lamentations to take place, the royal party was quick to proceed outside, the bier that held the remains of King Zenon carried upon the shoulders of eight slaves. Surrounded by a tight group of guards on horseback, Irakles took his spot behind the immediate family of his brother, sword strapped to his waist. With the priestess and the singers that had been summoned to lead the mourning chant, the procession that would bring King Zenon's body to the royal burial site began.
Outside, the atmosphere was just as sombre as it was inside. With uncertainty wrought in the air in light of the sudden ascension of the spare prince to a position of leadership, many people in Taengea could obviously be seen to be wary, watchful as they eyed the procession of the royal party. And Irakles saw it all. His beautiful kingdom, now wrought with chaos and strife. It was barely daybreak, the air still retaining the chill of the night, with Apollo just about to pull his chariot in to signal the start of the day, and yet many eyes looked upon the procession making its way to the royal burial site.
The large cemetery they arrived in had large, monumental earth mounds, with elaborate marble stelai and statues erected to signify who lay there, and it was around these sites that the procession moved around, to make its way to the one that had been prepared the day before by slaves who had worked the night through. The grave in which King Zenon would be laid in was unmarked as of yet - unbecoming, as a King was meant to be laid in the finest of burial sites, with stelai and finials marking his final resting place. Yet with the time constraint, none of that could be found, making it appear simple.
Dismounting, the fifty four year old made his way forward to take his place. His eyes watched, and if one saw him, one would almost think he was cold and unfeeling, the way his eyes followed the process of the bier being lowered to the ground by the slaves. If anything, most would discount it due to his many years of military training. One did not become a formidable general without learning how to detach emotions from reality. Irakles had spent the whole night with his family at the palace, comforting the Queen Mother and checking in on his nieces, while occasionally sending runners back to check on his family. The epitome of a doting uncle, father, and relative.
A job, basically.
With a blank look, he watched as the priestess called forward his nephew, nieces and sister-in-law one by one to do the ceremonial throwing of earth on to the body, one each. He stepped forward for his turn, letting his wife and sons do the same, before taking his spot next to Stephanos as the slaves began to pile the rest of the earth in, and the priestess began reciting the chants to the gods for the safe passage for Zenon to the Underworld, and for Hermes to guide him properly, for the River Styx to bring him to the afterlife in peace.
As the people began to disperse, Irakles murmured to his wife to return home before him, checking on the location of his sons, before he turned to his nephew, a contrite look arranged on his features as he addressed the Queen Mother, and then Stephanos simultaneously. "Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Death was no fun process, but the aftercare of the remains was even less so. Following the chaos that reigned, order had to be regained, and rites had to be followed upon nightfall. The question of what was to be done with the dead king's remains. With only the head to deal with, much of the official burial rites could not be done.
The Queen Mother had been rushed back, and by the next morning, the whole family was gathered in the throne room, the atmosphere sombre as the body was prepared for burial. Charon's obolus was placed on the mouth of the decapitated head, before it was washed to cleanse it of the dirt and blood, and anointed with perfumes, a process that was done by the slaves and female servants, the Queen at the head of the preparation. With the head at the top of the bier in which he was to be brought, urns and vases carrying honey-cakes for Cerberus and gifts for Hades were placed in lieu of a body, before a large cloth was used to cover it, imitating what would look like a proper body. A wreath of haphazardly made flowers was placed on the head. By right, the king's power meant he should have golden wreaths of laurel, but time did not permit such luxuries.
Irakles watched the whole procession from the side of the rooms, just behind his nephew and nieces, cladded in his darkest chitons, for once seen without the crown he always sported. Remaining silent unless called upon by the priestess to perform something for the body, the younger brother of the king remained silent throughout the whole process, until the rituals to prepare the body for burial was done.
With no time to permit for the lamentations to take place, the royal party was quick to proceed outside, the bier that held the remains of King Zenon carried upon the shoulders of eight slaves. Surrounded by a tight group of guards on horseback, Irakles took his spot behind the immediate family of his brother, sword strapped to his waist. With the priestess and the singers that had been summoned to lead the mourning chant, the procession that would bring King Zenon's body to the royal burial site began.
Outside, the atmosphere was just as sombre as it was inside. With uncertainty wrought in the air in light of the sudden ascension of the spare prince to a position of leadership, many people in Taengea could obviously be seen to be wary, watchful as they eyed the procession of the royal party. And Irakles saw it all. His beautiful kingdom, now wrought with chaos and strife. It was barely daybreak, the air still retaining the chill of the night, with Apollo just about to pull his chariot in to signal the start of the day, and yet many eyes looked upon the procession making its way to the royal burial site.
The large cemetery they arrived in had large, monumental earth mounds, with elaborate marble stelai and statues erected to signify who lay there, and it was around these sites that the procession moved around, to make its way to the one that had been prepared the day before by slaves who had worked the night through. The grave in which King Zenon would be laid in was unmarked as of yet - unbecoming, as a King was meant to be laid in the finest of burial sites, with stelai and finials marking his final resting place. Yet with the time constraint, none of that could be found, making it appear simple.
Dismounting, the fifty four year old made his way forward to take his place. His eyes watched, and if one saw him, one would almost think he was cold and unfeeling, the way his eyes followed the process of the bier being lowered to the ground by the slaves. If anything, most would discount it due to his many years of military training. One did not become a formidable general without learning how to detach emotions from reality. Irakles had spent the whole night with his family at the palace, comforting the Queen Mother and checking in on his nieces, while occasionally sending runners back to check on his family. The epitome of a doting uncle, father, and relative.
A job, basically.
With a blank look, he watched as the priestess called forward his nephew, nieces and sister-in-law one by one to do the ceremonial throwing of earth on to the body, one each. He stepped forward for his turn, letting his wife and sons do the same, before taking his spot next to Stephanos as the slaves began to pile the rest of the earth in, and the priestess began reciting the chants to the gods for the safe passage for Zenon to the Underworld, and for Hermes to guide him properly, for the River Styx to bring him to the afterlife in peace.
As the people began to disperse, Irakles murmured to his wife to return home before him, checking on the location of his sons, before he turned to his nephew, a contrite look arranged on his features as he addressed the Queen Mother, and then Stephanos simultaneously. "Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Perhaps it was naive to assume he couldn’t sleep. A romantic notion born of the idea that one needs to be totally conscious and able to feel each blistering moment of reality. Instead, he’d slipped easily into oblivion, his head nestled against Pia’s chest. What he had not anticipated was how it felt to wake up inside this new nightmare. Olympia’s arms were still around him but a servant was bowed low at the foot of the bed, occasionally tapping the mattress beside his foot so as not to actually touch his royal person.
He stared blankly at the shadowed figure. Predawn filled the room with a black chill and stagnant, moist air. Two of the room’s four walls were open balcony with only thin, gauzy curtains to shield them from the elements. “It is time, sire,” the servant used hushed, reverent tones but his temper flared as though the man had shouted.
This bloom of rage clawed its way up his throat but he fought it back down, clenching his jaw. He was being irrational. No need to flay the man where he stood just because he’d done his job; rouse the king for the funeral.
“Yeah,” Stephanos shifted away from Olympia and slid to the side of the bed where he sat, trying to sort himself out. He didn’t want to stay in bed to hide, or be alone to cry. No foolish overwhelmed laughter threatened to erupt. He was simply angry. Ordinary, flat anger simmered just beneath the surface, dangerous because it was channeled at nothing and no one in particular.
“Have a guard take Lady Olympia home.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the servant moved to carry them out. Being king had that perk, at least. As the spare prince, sometimes he was obeyed, and sometimes not. Now his word was law. Unease settled over him at that realization.
Care would have to be taken now, where it had never been before. He was not a man who had ever needed to control his impulses. If he felt like sleeping the entire day and night away, he could. Drinking all night and sleeping into the afternoon? His mother would simply sit by his side, encouraging him to get up when he felt well enough. If he wanted a woman? He took her, not caring if she belonged to someone or not. The politics of it were left up to his father or brother to solve and they always had with no word said about it. His problems, if there were any, just seemed to disappear.
No one was cleaning things up now.
“I’ll send for you later?” he asked Pia when the guard came to escort her. The question came because he wanted to give her the opportunity to refuse. Up to now, he’d given her no choices about where she would be and who she would be with. Now that it was closer to morning, he felt less anxious about the Creed which was absurd since everything yesterday had been done in daylight.
After she responded and was gone, he shut the door, finally alone. He changed into mourning clothes that the servant had quietly laid out while he wasn’t paying attention. Once that was done, he found he didn’t want to stay locked up by himself. His first impulse was to go to Zacharias’s rooms but stopped right as he opened the door. Couldn’t do that anymore.
His next decision was to go to Xene’s rooms instead but his sister wasn’t there. Instead, he found all his remaining family gathered in the throne room, standing silently around a tall, dark haired figure. Their gazes were reverently fixed on a face so familiar that Stephanos knew Irakles’s expression without having to see it. The man’s eyes would be crinkled at the sides, the depths of his brown eyes exuding sympathy.
Stephanos clenched his fists and strode through the doorway. His echoing steps drew the attention of his mother and sisters. Elise broke away from the group and held her arms open for her remaining son. He allowed her to embrace him but his eyes never left his uncle. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep the accusing stare under control. He was many things, but a politician was not one of them.
They were prevented from speaking by the ritual being performed for his father’s remains. Stephanos allowed his attention to be diverted and eventually managed to mostly forget his uncle’s presence altogether. The head was prepared as best they could manage. His insides squirmed a bit at the thought that his father’s body had not been found - nor his brother’s. Who knew what they had done with the crown prince if they’d been this disrespectful to the king.
His mind was in chaos as they followed the body out of the palace and into the streets. There was silence or peace in his mind. Just the tumult of thoughts or ideas that slipped away as soon as he tried to focus on them. He ignored the eyes of the people on him as they rode. King Zenon would have done the same and he was attempting to project his father’s cold, aloof aura but it wasn’t working.
Sometimes a wailing woman would lay hands on his horse or his calf. Men murmured his name. None of it bespoke any fear of him; no fear of the new king.
When at last they made it to the gravesite, he was safely out of reach of the populace. The ceremony was a blur and before he quite realized what he was doing, it was his turn to toss dirt over his father. Without emotion he let the gritty crumbs fall and stepped back away. Now, at last, his father could begin his journey.
He was still staring at the dirt mound when the deep baritone of Irakles’s voice made him bristle.
"Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Stephanos pulled his gaze to his uncle’s face. Where Irakles was contrite, Stephanos was cold, though the smoldering embers of his temper burned in his chest, waiting to ignite. Perhaps his uncle had nothing to do with his father’s death. There was no proof he did. Only his odd absence yesterday but that could easily be explained away and likely would be.
He just didn’t trust the man.
“What help can you possibly be, uncle? Can you raise the dead?” he was being rude but he didn’t care.
“Stephanos!” Elise laid a hand over his and smiled tightly at her brother in law. “Irakles, you’ve been nothing but a balm in this awful tragedy.” She reached for Irakles’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “It would make me feel so much better if you would come to the palace every day. Advise Stephanos.”
His eyes widened as he gritted his teeth. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly but his mother shushed him.
“He’s being modest, Irakles. You know how sweet Stephanos is. How innocent of all the politics. It would mean a great deal if you would help him.”
Over his mother’s head, Stephanos glared at Irakles with a look that said: Don’t you dare accept her offer.
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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Perhaps it was naive to assume he couldn’t sleep. A romantic notion born of the idea that one needs to be totally conscious and able to feel each blistering moment of reality. Instead, he’d slipped easily into oblivion, his head nestled against Pia’s chest. What he had not anticipated was how it felt to wake up inside this new nightmare. Olympia’s arms were still around him but a servant was bowed low at the foot of the bed, occasionally tapping the mattress beside his foot so as not to actually touch his royal person.
He stared blankly at the shadowed figure. Predawn filled the room with a black chill and stagnant, moist air. Two of the room’s four walls were open balcony with only thin, gauzy curtains to shield them from the elements. “It is time, sire,” the servant used hushed, reverent tones but his temper flared as though the man had shouted.
This bloom of rage clawed its way up his throat but he fought it back down, clenching his jaw. He was being irrational. No need to flay the man where he stood just because he’d done his job; rouse the king for the funeral.
“Yeah,” Stephanos shifted away from Olympia and slid to the side of the bed where he sat, trying to sort himself out. He didn’t want to stay in bed to hide, or be alone to cry. No foolish overwhelmed laughter threatened to erupt. He was simply angry. Ordinary, flat anger simmered just beneath the surface, dangerous because it was channeled at nothing and no one in particular.
“Have a guard take Lady Olympia home.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the servant moved to carry them out. Being king had that perk, at least. As the spare prince, sometimes he was obeyed, and sometimes not. Now his word was law. Unease settled over him at that realization.
Care would have to be taken now, where it had never been before. He was not a man who had ever needed to control his impulses. If he felt like sleeping the entire day and night away, he could. Drinking all night and sleeping into the afternoon? His mother would simply sit by his side, encouraging him to get up when he felt well enough. If he wanted a woman? He took her, not caring if she belonged to someone or not. The politics of it were left up to his father or brother to solve and they always had with no word said about it. His problems, if there were any, just seemed to disappear.
No one was cleaning things up now.
“I’ll send for you later?” he asked Pia when the guard came to escort her. The question came because he wanted to give her the opportunity to refuse. Up to now, he’d given her no choices about where she would be and who she would be with. Now that it was closer to morning, he felt less anxious about the Creed which was absurd since everything yesterday had been done in daylight.
After she responded and was gone, he shut the door, finally alone. He changed into mourning clothes that the servant had quietly laid out while he wasn’t paying attention. Once that was done, he found he didn’t want to stay locked up by himself. His first impulse was to go to Zacharias’s rooms but stopped right as he opened the door. Couldn’t do that anymore.
His next decision was to go to Xene’s rooms instead but his sister wasn’t there. Instead, he found all his remaining family gathered in the throne room, standing silently around a tall, dark haired figure. Their gazes were reverently fixed on a face so familiar that Stephanos knew Irakles’s expression without having to see it. The man’s eyes would be crinkled at the sides, the depths of his brown eyes exuding sympathy.
Stephanos clenched his fists and strode through the doorway. His echoing steps drew the attention of his mother and sisters. Elise broke away from the group and held her arms open for her remaining son. He allowed her to embrace him but his eyes never left his uncle. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep the accusing stare under control. He was many things, but a politician was not one of them.
They were prevented from speaking by the ritual being performed for his father’s remains. Stephanos allowed his attention to be diverted and eventually managed to mostly forget his uncle’s presence altogether. The head was prepared as best they could manage. His insides squirmed a bit at the thought that his father’s body had not been found - nor his brother’s. Who knew what they had done with the crown prince if they’d been this disrespectful to the king.
His mind was in chaos as they followed the body out of the palace and into the streets. There was silence or peace in his mind. Just the tumult of thoughts or ideas that slipped away as soon as he tried to focus on them. He ignored the eyes of the people on him as they rode. King Zenon would have done the same and he was attempting to project his father’s cold, aloof aura but it wasn’t working.
Sometimes a wailing woman would lay hands on his horse or his calf. Men murmured his name. None of it bespoke any fear of him; no fear of the new king.
When at last they made it to the gravesite, he was safely out of reach of the populace. The ceremony was a blur and before he quite realized what he was doing, it was his turn to toss dirt over his father. Without emotion he let the gritty crumbs fall and stepped back away. Now, at last, his father could begin his journey.
He was still staring at the dirt mound when the deep baritone of Irakles’s voice made him bristle.
"Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Stephanos pulled his gaze to his uncle’s face. Where Irakles was contrite, Stephanos was cold, though the smoldering embers of his temper burned in his chest, waiting to ignite. Perhaps his uncle had nothing to do with his father’s death. There was no proof he did. Only his odd absence yesterday but that could easily be explained away and likely would be.
He just didn’t trust the man.
“What help can you possibly be, uncle? Can you raise the dead?” he was being rude but he didn’t care.
“Stephanos!” Elise laid a hand over his and smiled tightly at her brother in law. “Irakles, you’ve been nothing but a balm in this awful tragedy.” She reached for Irakles’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “It would make me feel so much better if you would come to the palace every day. Advise Stephanos.”
His eyes widened as he gritted his teeth. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly but his mother shushed him.
“He’s being modest, Irakles. You know how sweet Stephanos is. How innocent of all the politics. It would mean a great deal if you would help him.”
Over his mother’s head, Stephanos glared at Irakles with a look that said: Don’t you dare accept her offer.
Perhaps it was naive to assume he couldn’t sleep. A romantic notion born of the idea that one needs to be totally conscious and able to feel each blistering moment of reality. Instead, he’d slipped easily into oblivion, his head nestled against Pia’s chest. What he had not anticipated was how it felt to wake up inside this new nightmare. Olympia’s arms were still around him but a servant was bowed low at the foot of the bed, occasionally tapping the mattress beside his foot so as not to actually touch his royal person.
He stared blankly at the shadowed figure. Predawn filled the room with a black chill and stagnant, moist air. Two of the room’s four walls were open balcony with only thin, gauzy curtains to shield them from the elements. “It is time, sire,” the servant used hushed, reverent tones but his temper flared as though the man had shouted.
This bloom of rage clawed its way up his throat but he fought it back down, clenching his jaw. He was being irrational. No need to flay the man where he stood just because he’d done his job; rouse the king for the funeral.
“Yeah,” Stephanos shifted away from Olympia and slid to the side of the bed where he sat, trying to sort himself out. He didn’t want to stay in bed to hide, or be alone to cry. No foolish overwhelmed laughter threatened to erupt. He was simply angry. Ordinary, flat anger simmered just beneath the surface, dangerous because it was channeled at nothing and no one in particular.
“Have a guard take Lady Olympia home.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the servant moved to carry them out. Being king had that perk, at least. As the spare prince, sometimes he was obeyed, and sometimes not. Now his word was law. Unease settled over him at that realization.
Care would have to be taken now, where it had never been before. He was not a man who had ever needed to control his impulses. If he felt like sleeping the entire day and night away, he could. Drinking all night and sleeping into the afternoon? His mother would simply sit by his side, encouraging him to get up when he felt well enough. If he wanted a woman? He took her, not caring if she belonged to someone or not. The politics of it were left up to his father or brother to solve and they always had with no word said about it. His problems, if there were any, just seemed to disappear.
No one was cleaning things up now.
“I’ll send for you later?” he asked Pia when the guard came to escort her. The question came because he wanted to give her the opportunity to refuse. Up to now, he’d given her no choices about where she would be and who she would be with. Now that it was closer to morning, he felt less anxious about the Creed which was absurd since everything yesterday had been done in daylight.
After she responded and was gone, he shut the door, finally alone. He changed into mourning clothes that the servant had quietly laid out while he wasn’t paying attention. Once that was done, he found he didn’t want to stay locked up by himself. His first impulse was to go to Zacharias’s rooms but stopped right as he opened the door. Couldn’t do that anymore.
His next decision was to go to Xene’s rooms instead but his sister wasn’t there. Instead, he found all his remaining family gathered in the throne room, standing silently around a tall, dark haired figure. Their gazes were reverently fixed on a face so familiar that Stephanos knew Irakles’s expression without having to see it. The man’s eyes would be crinkled at the sides, the depths of his brown eyes exuding sympathy.
Stephanos clenched his fists and strode through the doorway. His echoing steps drew the attention of his mother and sisters. Elise broke away from the group and held her arms open for her remaining son. He allowed her to embrace him but his eyes never left his uncle. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep the accusing stare under control. He was many things, but a politician was not one of them.
They were prevented from speaking by the ritual being performed for his father’s remains. Stephanos allowed his attention to be diverted and eventually managed to mostly forget his uncle’s presence altogether. The head was prepared as best they could manage. His insides squirmed a bit at the thought that his father’s body had not been found - nor his brother’s. Who knew what they had done with the crown prince if they’d been this disrespectful to the king.
His mind was in chaos as they followed the body out of the palace and into the streets. There was silence or peace in his mind. Just the tumult of thoughts or ideas that slipped away as soon as he tried to focus on them. He ignored the eyes of the people on him as they rode. King Zenon would have done the same and he was attempting to project his father’s cold, aloof aura but it wasn’t working.
Sometimes a wailing woman would lay hands on his horse or his calf. Men murmured his name. None of it bespoke any fear of him; no fear of the new king.
When at last they made it to the gravesite, he was safely out of reach of the populace. The ceremony was a blur and before he quite realized what he was doing, it was his turn to toss dirt over his father. Without emotion he let the gritty crumbs fall and stepped back away. Now, at last, his father could begin his journey.
He was still staring at the dirt mound when the deep baritone of Irakles’s voice made him bristle.
"Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Stephanos pulled his gaze to his uncle’s face. Where Irakles was contrite, Stephanos was cold, though the smoldering embers of his temper burned in his chest, waiting to ignite. Perhaps his uncle had nothing to do with his father’s death. There was no proof he did. Only his odd absence yesterday but that could easily be explained away and likely would be.
He just didn’t trust the man.
“What help can you possibly be, uncle? Can you raise the dead?” he was being rude but he didn’t care.
“Stephanos!” Elise laid a hand over his and smiled tightly at her brother in law. “Irakles, you’ve been nothing but a balm in this awful tragedy.” She reached for Irakles’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “It would make me feel so much better if you would come to the palace every day. Advise Stephanos.”
His eyes widened as he gritted his teeth. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly but his mother shushed him.
“He’s being modest, Irakles. You know how sweet Stephanos is. How innocent of all the politics. It would mean a great deal if you would help him.”
Over his mother’s head, Stephanos glared at Irakles with a look that said: Don’t you dare accept her offer.
She’d slept easily in the relative comfort and safety of Stephanos’ bed, brushing her fingers through his hair absently until both managed to escape the horrors of the day in a dreamless sleep. When the servant woke them she sat up to watch him go, nodding wordlessly at his promise to send for her later. Today she had to return home and pretend like nothing was amiss, as if the only reason she had stayed in the palace was for a sovereignly care for her well being instead of the much deeper secret growing within her.
Olympia left the destroyed chiton of the day before, she would never wear it again after the stains had set anyway, hiding her face as she left the palace and Stephanos behind. Hurrying through the burned remains of the city to her father’s house and trying not to look too closely at anything, the acrid scent of smoke and death that she had become so familiar with in the past day burning at her nostrils and causing her stomach to turn. When they had reached home, Pia went silently into her mother’s embrace, saying nothing to anyone, not even Desma as she returned to her room. The old doll on the bed brought tears to her eyes and she wept silently as she dressed in her darkest chiton for morning, covering her hair with a black veil and securing it in place with a simple gold band.
They would have to go back through the city to mourn the king, and she would watch from afar as one lover buried another. It was entirely surreal, and she kept her silence still even at the sight of her sisters, allowing Imma to hold her hand as they walked, standing among her family as she watched the procession. As Stephanos passed, she wished she could reach out to him, comfort him like she had in private last night. The Leventi party filed in behind the rest, a parade of mourning drawing them in their wake to then final resting place of the king. The old king.
Olympia watched in silence as the family sprinkled the dirt, the slaves filling in the rest felt wrong. Zenon should not be dead, Stephanos should not be king. In her perfect world she had never imagined what was to become of her after this day, but if her surviving lover was to be believed, she would be a queen. Her gaze fell upon the royal family, and the way the new king looked at her sister’s future father-in-law spelled a change in the winds of ever she saw one.
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She’d slept easily in the relative comfort and safety of Stephanos’ bed, brushing her fingers through his hair absently until both managed to escape the horrors of the day in a dreamless sleep. When the servant woke them she sat up to watch him go, nodding wordlessly at his promise to send for her later. Today she had to return home and pretend like nothing was amiss, as if the only reason she had stayed in the palace was for a sovereignly care for her well being instead of the much deeper secret growing within her.
Olympia left the destroyed chiton of the day before, she would never wear it again after the stains had set anyway, hiding her face as she left the palace and Stephanos behind. Hurrying through the burned remains of the city to her father’s house and trying not to look too closely at anything, the acrid scent of smoke and death that she had become so familiar with in the past day burning at her nostrils and causing her stomach to turn. When they had reached home, Pia went silently into her mother’s embrace, saying nothing to anyone, not even Desma as she returned to her room. The old doll on the bed brought tears to her eyes and she wept silently as she dressed in her darkest chiton for morning, covering her hair with a black veil and securing it in place with a simple gold band.
They would have to go back through the city to mourn the king, and she would watch from afar as one lover buried another. It was entirely surreal, and she kept her silence still even at the sight of her sisters, allowing Imma to hold her hand as they walked, standing among her family as she watched the procession. As Stephanos passed, she wished she could reach out to him, comfort him like she had in private last night. The Leventi party filed in behind the rest, a parade of mourning drawing them in their wake to then final resting place of the king. The old king.
Olympia watched in silence as the family sprinkled the dirt, the slaves filling in the rest felt wrong. Zenon should not be dead, Stephanos should not be king. In her perfect world she had never imagined what was to become of her after this day, but if her surviving lover was to be believed, she would be a queen. Her gaze fell upon the royal family, and the way the new king looked at her sister’s future father-in-law spelled a change in the winds of ever she saw one.
She’d slept easily in the relative comfort and safety of Stephanos’ bed, brushing her fingers through his hair absently until both managed to escape the horrors of the day in a dreamless sleep. When the servant woke them she sat up to watch him go, nodding wordlessly at his promise to send for her later. Today she had to return home and pretend like nothing was amiss, as if the only reason she had stayed in the palace was for a sovereignly care for her well being instead of the much deeper secret growing within her.
Olympia left the destroyed chiton of the day before, she would never wear it again after the stains had set anyway, hiding her face as she left the palace and Stephanos behind. Hurrying through the burned remains of the city to her father’s house and trying not to look too closely at anything, the acrid scent of smoke and death that she had become so familiar with in the past day burning at her nostrils and causing her stomach to turn. When they had reached home, Pia went silently into her mother’s embrace, saying nothing to anyone, not even Desma as she returned to her room. The old doll on the bed brought tears to her eyes and she wept silently as she dressed in her darkest chiton for morning, covering her hair with a black veil and securing it in place with a simple gold band.
They would have to go back through the city to mourn the king, and she would watch from afar as one lover buried another. It was entirely surreal, and she kept her silence still even at the sight of her sisters, allowing Imma to hold her hand as they walked, standing among her family as she watched the procession. As Stephanos passed, she wished she could reach out to him, comfort him like she had in private last night. The Leventi party filed in behind the rest, a parade of mourning drawing them in their wake to then final resting place of the king. The old king.
Olympia watched in silence as the family sprinkled the dirt, the slaves filling in the rest felt wrong. Zenon should not be dead, Stephanos should not be king. In her perfect world she had never imagined what was to become of her after this day, but if her surviving lover was to be believed, she would be a queen. Her gaze fell upon the royal family, and the way the new king looked at her sister’s future father-in-law spelled a change in the winds of ever she saw one.
In another one of the many rooms in the paláti just a hour or so before the new king was roused to attend the funerals of his father and elder brother, another member of the Mikaelidas clan prepared to face the day. Achilleas had opted to stay close should his cousin need him for any reason. While he was older by mere months, the burden of the crown had fallen to Stephanos’ shoulders rather than his own, which he was secretly grateful for. He was a loyal subject of the king, even if that hadn’t been his favorite cousin, so he’d been doing all that he could to share some of the burden the crown had put on his formerly carefree cousin.
When his aunt hugged Stephanos, Achilleas glanced away, his attention focused on nothing in particular, but he was prepared for anything. Like the rest of his family, he wore the darker colors of mourning, but he’d worn his sword though he’d had a sheath dyed to match the somber colors of his chiton.
When his turn came, Achilleas moved to the side of the grave, letting the soil trickle through his fingers, making a silent vow that he would seek out the men responsible for the murder of his uncle and cousin and make them pay. No matter who it was, for he was all too aware of the animosity that Stephanos has been displaying towards his father since the death of his brother and father at the circus. towards Achilleas’ father, Irakles. As rejected the bvery notion that Irakles could possibly have had any part in the murder of the king and crown princes, Achilleas felt that he owed it to Stephanos and Irakles both to investigate. As he'd expected, he'd discovered nothing to indicate his father had been part of the plot. What troubled him was how little he'd found as to the identity of those who were responsible.
Achilleas drew in a breath at the way the queen mother belittled her younger son’s fitness to rule, as if she didn't realize the Mikaelidas men’s and their ability to rise to any challenge, no matter their personal feelings on the matter. Achilleas moved closer to where his cousin stood, hoping that his presence would not be needed to hold his cousin back. “I’m sure his Majesty will make the right decision, in this as in all matters, Queen Mother.” Achilleas said quietly, bowing his head to Elise.
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In another one of the many rooms in the paláti just a hour or so before the new king was roused to attend the funerals of his father and elder brother, another member of the Mikaelidas clan prepared to face the day. Achilleas had opted to stay close should his cousin need him for any reason. While he was older by mere months, the burden of the crown had fallen to Stephanos’ shoulders rather than his own, which he was secretly grateful for. He was a loyal subject of the king, even if that hadn’t been his favorite cousin, so he’d been doing all that he could to share some of the burden the crown had put on his formerly carefree cousin.
When his aunt hugged Stephanos, Achilleas glanced away, his attention focused on nothing in particular, but he was prepared for anything. Like the rest of his family, he wore the darker colors of mourning, but he’d worn his sword though he’d had a sheath dyed to match the somber colors of his chiton.
When his turn came, Achilleas moved to the side of the grave, letting the soil trickle through his fingers, making a silent vow that he would seek out the men responsible for the murder of his uncle and cousin and make them pay. No matter who it was, for he was all too aware of the animosity that Stephanos has been displaying towards his father since the death of his brother and father at the circus. towards Achilleas’ father, Irakles. As rejected the bvery notion that Irakles could possibly have had any part in the murder of the king and crown princes, Achilleas felt that he owed it to Stephanos and Irakles both to investigate. As he'd expected, he'd discovered nothing to indicate his father had been part of the plot. What troubled him was how little he'd found as to the identity of those who were responsible.
Achilleas drew in a breath at the way the queen mother belittled her younger son’s fitness to rule, as if she didn't realize the Mikaelidas men’s and their ability to rise to any challenge, no matter their personal feelings on the matter. Achilleas moved closer to where his cousin stood, hoping that his presence would not be needed to hold his cousin back. “I’m sure his Majesty will make the right decision, in this as in all matters, Queen Mother.” Achilleas said quietly, bowing his head to Elise.
In another one of the many rooms in the paláti just a hour or so before the new king was roused to attend the funerals of his father and elder brother, another member of the Mikaelidas clan prepared to face the day. Achilleas had opted to stay close should his cousin need him for any reason. While he was older by mere months, the burden of the crown had fallen to Stephanos’ shoulders rather than his own, which he was secretly grateful for. He was a loyal subject of the king, even if that hadn’t been his favorite cousin, so he’d been doing all that he could to share some of the burden the crown had put on his formerly carefree cousin.
When his aunt hugged Stephanos, Achilleas glanced away, his attention focused on nothing in particular, but he was prepared for anything. Like the rest of his family, he wore the darker colors of mourning, but he’d worn his sword though he’d had a sheath dyed to match the somber colors of his chiton.
When his turn came, Achilleas moved to the side of the grave, letting the soil trickle through his fingers, making a silent vow that he would seek out the men responsible for the murder of his uncle and cousin and make them pay. No matter who it was, for he was all too aware of the animosity that Stephanos has been displaying towards his father since the death of his brother and father at the circus. towards Achilleas’ father, Irakles. As rejected the bvery notion that Irakles could possibly have had any part in the murder of the king and crown princes, Achilleas felt that he owed it to Stephanos and Irakles both to investigate. As he'd expected, he'd discovered nothing to indicate his father had been part of the plot. What troubled him was how little he'd found as to the identity of those who were responsible.
Achilleas drew in a breath at the way the queen mother belittled her younger son’s fitness to rule, as if she didn't realize the Mikaelidas men’s and their ability to rise to any challenge, no matter their personal feelings on the matter. Achilleas moved closer to where his cousin stood, hoping that his presence would not be needed to hold his cousin back. “I’m sure his Majesty will make the right decision, in this as in all matters, Queen Mother.” Achilleas said quietly, bowing his head to Elise.
Stephanos's gaze was sharp. If he had been sharper, he would see the anger Irakles simmered beneath his skin, the frustration at the fact that how could he still be alive?! But Irakles has had years of hiding what he truly felt, keeping his true motives hidden, so well that no one could guess. For all intents and purposes, Irakles played the part of the perfect younger brother and loyal subject.
He raised his brows, feigning a hurt look at Stephanos's sharp words. Once upon a time, his youngest nephew had looked up at him. But he had been playful, too childish of one for Irakles to even deem him as a useful tool. Now that the death of his brother and father has seemingly turned him into a bitter, more strong young man, Irakles had no need for him. Pity that the change had not happened years before, when the elder male still had hope. Too bad, he had other plans now.
A soft smile curled his lips upwards when his sister in law berated her son. He had always been polite and helpful in front of the Queen Mother, and true enough, she trusted Irakles with the lives of her husband and her son. Just as he wanted.
Allowing her wizened hand to take his veined one, he gave Elise a tight squeeze of her hand, and shook her head to dismiss her apology on behalf of her son. "It is no matter, sister." he called affectionately, ensuring his gaze was kind as he looked upon the monarch. His gaze flicked to Stephanos when the male dismissed his mother's invitation, and for a split second, just long enough for Stephanos but insufficient for anyone else to catch, Irakles gave a sly smile that immediately melted into one of kind consideration. "He is agitated, but tis to be expected. All of you must be going through a lot."
Enveloping Elise in a hug that looked warm and familial, he pulled apart after an appropriate time, and looked down at his sister in law. "I will be there every day until things settle down enough for Stephanos to comfortably take the reins, sister. I promise." The timbre of his voice sounded comfortable, soothing to anyone else who heard him.
When Achilleas approached, Irakles had to hold himself back from flashing his eldest son a warning look. His eldest was annoyingly loyal to the crown and his cousin, a fact that Irakles found himself frustrated with every time it reared its head. The fact that Achilleas had no ambition irked the elder, but he brushed it off, and merely chose to ignore Achilleas and his presence. Holding an arm up to allow himself to escort the Queen Mother as the burial ceremony wound to an end. The final part would allow anyone who wished to lay a flower or offerings on the fresh gravesite.
"Achilleas, you and Emilios ensure that your mother is returned to the family residence safely. You should also check in on the family of your betrothed. You do not want to seem remiss in your duties before you even become a relative to the family. I do not think Lord Georgios would be happy to see you neglecting his daughter. I will escort the Queen and our new King back to the Palace." Irakles smoothly dismissed his son, and returned full attention to the royal family, gesturing for the Queen to move ahead whenever she wanted, and he would follow.
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Stephanos's gaze was sharp. If he had been sharper, he would see the anger Irakles simmered beneath his skin, the frustration at the fact that how could he still be alive?! But Irakles has had years of hiding what he truly felt, keeping his true motives hidden, so well that no one could guess. For all intents and purposes, Irakles played the part of the perfect younger brother and loyal subject.
He raised his brows, feigning a hurt look at Stephanos's sharp words. Once upon a time, his youngest nephew had looked up at him. But he had been playful, too childish of one for Irakles to even deem him as a useful tool. Now that the death of his brother and father has seemingly turned him into a bitter, more strong young man, Irakles had no need for him. Pity that the change had not happened years before, when the elder male still had hope. Too bad, he had other plans now.
A soft smile curled his lips upwards when his sister in law berated her son. He had always been polite and helpful in front of the Queen Mother, and true enough, she trusted Irakles with the lives of her husband and her son. Just as he wanted.
Allowing her wizened hand to take his veined one, he gave Elise a tight squeeze of her hand, and shook her head to dismiss her apology on behalf of her son. "It is no matter, sister." he called affectionately, ensuring his gaze was kind as he looked upon the monarch. His gaze flicked to Stephanos when the male dismissed his mother's invitation, and for a split second, just long enough for Stephanos but insufficient for anyone else to catch, Irakles gave a sly smile that immediately melted into one of kind consideration. "He is agitated, but tis to be expected. All of you must be going through a lot."
Enveloping Elise in a hug that looked warm and familial, he pulled apart after an appropriate time, and looked down at his sister in law. "I will be there every day until things settle down enough for Stephanos to comfortably take the reins, sister. I promise." The timbre of his voice sounded comfortable, soothing to anyone else who heard him.
When Achilleas approached, Irakles had to hold himself back from flashing his eldest son a warning look. His eldest was annoyingly loyal to the crown and his cousin, a fact that Irakles found himself frustrated with every time it reared its head. The fact that Achilleas had no ambition irked the elder, but he brushed it off, and merely chose to ignore Achilleas and his presence. Holding an arm up to allow himself to escort the Queen Mother as the burial ceremony wound to an end. The final part would allow anyone who wished to lay a flower or offerings on the fresh gravesite.
"Achilleas, you and Emilios ensure that your mother is returned to the family residence safely. You should also check in on the family of your betrothed. You do not want to seem remiss in your duties before you even become a relative to the family. I do not think Lord Georgios would be happy to see you neglecting his daughter. I will escort the Queen and our new King back to the Palace." Irakles smoothly dismissed his son, and returned full attention to the royal family, gesturing for the Queen to move ahead whenever she wanted, and he would follow.
Stephanos's gaze was sharp. If he had been sharper, he would see the anger Irakles simmered beneath his skin, the frustration at the fact that how could he still be alive?! But Irakles has had years of hiding what he truly felt, keeping his true motives hidden, so well that no one could guess. For all intents and purposes, Irakles played the part of the perfect younger brother and loyal subject.
He raised his brows, feigning a hurt look at Stephanos's sharp words. Once upon a time, his youngest nephew had looked up at him. But he had been playful, too childish of one for Irakles to even deem him as a useful tool. Now that the death of his brother and father has seemingly turned him into a bitter, more strong young man, Irakles had no need for him. Pity that the change had not happened years before, when the elder male still had hope. Too bad, he had other plans now.
A soft smile curled his lips upwards when his sister in law berated her son. He had always been polite and helpful in front of the Queen Mother, and true enough, she trusted Irakles with the lives of her husband and her son. Just as he wanted.
Allowing her wizened hand to take his veined one, he gave Elise a tight squeeze of her hand, and shook her head to dismiss her apology on behalf of her son. "It is no matter, sister." he called affectionately, ensuring his gaze was kind as he looked upon the monarch. His gaze flicked to Stephanos when the male dismissed his mother's invitation, and for a split second, just long enough for Stephanos but insufficient for anyone else to catch, Irakles gave a sly smile that immediately melted into one of kind consideration. "He is agitated, but tis to be expected. All of you must be going through a lot."
Enveloping Elise in a hug that looked warm and familial, he pulled apart after an appropriate time, and looked down at his sister in law. "I will be there every day until things settle down enough for Stephanos to comfortably take the reins, sister. I promise." The timbre of his voice sounded comfortable, soothing to anyone else who heard him.
When Achilleas approached, Irakles had to hold himself back from flashing his eldest son a warning look. His eldest was annoyingly loyal to the crown and his cousin, a fact that Irakles found himself frustrated with every time it reared its head. The fact that Achilleas had no ambition irked the elder, but he brushed it off, and merely chose to ignore Achilleas and his presence. Holding an arm up to allow himself to escort the Queen Mother as the burial ceremony wound to an end. The final part would allow anyone who wished to lay a flower or offerings on the fresh gravesite.
"Achilleas, you and Emilios ensure that your mother is returned to the family residence safely. You should also check in on the family of your betrothed. You do not want to seem remiss in your duties before you even become a relative to the family. I do not think Lord Georgios would be happy to see you neglecting his daughter. I will escort the Queen and our new King back to the Palace." Irakles smoothly dismissed his son, and returned full attention to the royal family, gesturing for the Queen to move ahead whenever she wanted, and he would follow.
In the chaos that erupted at the circus in the previous twenty-four hours, Gianna had been rushed to the Dimitrou estate by Achilleas on Stephanos’s orders. She and her mother had been received; with open arms would be an overstatement, but they had been quietly ushered to private rooms where they were granted an opportunity to bathe and rest should Hypnos be so kind. Gianna had prayed for sleep to come, but she was plagued by images of the previous day’s events. At long last, she managed to seize a few agitated hours of sleep before her attendants arrived to collect her in the wee hours of the morning.
She dressed in borrowed clothes before allowing herself to be shepherded to the ship that had been chartered to return her to Vasiliádon and her fresh reality of a fractured family. An anxious fervor thrummed in time to Gianna’s heart as she willed the ship to cut the waves faster, to no avail. Seeing her father’s head and her brother’s cloak had understandably set the young woman on edge and being so far from the rest of her family was exacerbating that apprehension. After what felt like an eon, they finally made port and were rushed to the palace…for the funerals, Gianna reminded herself.
An unseen force took her heart in its unrelenting vice grip as her feet carried her to the throne room, leaving her attendants in their wake. They were late; she knew it, if only Stephanos had not sent her away, if only Achilleas had not carried out his orders, if only the ship had moved quicker! Unsteady hands reached for the doors only to reveal an empty throne room. Gianna’s breath hitched in her throat as she struggled to contain the rising sob. Her mother’s hand sent a wave of serenity through her, immediately stilling the girl’s trembling body. “I must prepare.” Gianna simply nodded in response and watched as her mother left her side to attend to her father’s remains.
She was reticent as the rest of her family gathered in the throne room, acknowledging their presence with brief eye contact accompanied by a terse nod. She had resigned herself to her private grief, saving the tongue-lashing she had prepared for Stephanos for a later date. This was hardly the time or the place to verbalize her frustration and sense of abandonment. Instead, she allowed fleeting glares directed in his direction to occasionally crack the mask of grief that had settled over her expression.
"Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Her uncle was the first to break the silence after the ceremony, coaxing Gianna from her daze with his words. And in them she found the comfort she did not realize she was missing. She instinctively gravitated to his side; just able to keep herself from clinging to his arm like the lost child she had been reduced to. She could only agree with her mother’s invitation to Irakles, as sudden dread threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of returning to their home, even if her brother thought it would be wholly unnecessary.
"Stephanos, please..." Gianna all but whimpered, tears threatening to break free. She needed that safety, whether it was real or imagined she didn't care as long as Irakles was close.
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In the chaos that erupted at the circus in the previous twenty-four hours, Gianna had been rushed to the Dimitrou estate by Achilleas on Stephanos’s orders. She and her mother had been received; with open arms would be an overstatement, but they had been quietly ushered to private rooms where they were granted an opportunity to bathe and rest should Hypnos be so kind. Gianna had prayed for sleep to come, but she was plagued by images of the previous day’s events. At long last, she managed to seize a few agitated hours of sleep before her attendants arrived to collect her in the wee hours of the morning.
She dressed in borrowed clothes before allowing herself to be shepherded to the ship that had been chartered to return her to Vasiliádon and her fresh reality of a fractured family. An anxious fervor thrummed in time to Gianna’s heart as she willed the ship to cut the waves faster, to no avail. Seeing her father’s head and her brother’s cloak had understandably set the young woman on edge and being so far from the rest of her family was exacerbating that apprehension. After what felt like an eon, they finally made port and were rushed to the palace…for the funerals, Gianna reminded herself.
An unseen force took her heart in its unrelenting vice grip as her feet carried her to the throne room, leaving her attendants in their wake. They were late; she knew it, if only Stephanos had not sent her away, if only Achilleas had not carried out his orders, if only the ship had moved quicker! Unsteady hands reached for the doors only to reveal an empty throne room. Gianna’s breath hitched in her throat as she struggled to contain the rising sob. Her mother’s hand sent a wave of serenity through her, immediately stilling the girl’s trembling body. “I must prepare.” Gianna simply nodded in response and watched as her mother left her side to attend to her father’s remains.
She was reticent as the rest of her family gathered in the throne room, acknowledging their presence with brief eye contact accompanied by a terse nod. She had resigned herself to her private grief, saving the tongue-lashing she had prepared for Stephanos for a later date. This was hardly the time or the place to verbalize her frustration and sense of abandonment. Instead, she allowed fleeting glares directed in his direction to occasionally crack the mask of grief that had settled over her expression.
"Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Her uncle was the first to break the silence after the ceremony, coaxing Gianna from her daze with his words. And in them she found the comfort she did not realize she was missing. She instinctively gravitated to his side; just able to keep herself from clinging to his arm like the lost child she had been reduced to. She could only agree with her mother’s invitation to Irakles, as sudden dread threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of returning to their home, even if her brother thought it would be wholly unnecessary.
"Stephanos, please..." Gianna all but whimpered, tears threatening to break free. She needed that safety, whether it was real or imagined she didn't care as long as Irakles was close.
In the chaos that erupted at the circus in the previous twenty-four hours, Gianna had been rushed to the Dimitrou estate by Achilleas on Stephanos’s orders. She and her mother had been received; with open arms would be an overstatement, but they had been quietly ushered to private rooms where they were granted an opportunity to bathe and rest should Hypnos be so kind. Gianna had prayed for sleep to come, but she was plagued by images of the previous day’s events. At long last, she managed to seize a few agitated hours of sleep before her attendants arrived to collect her in the wee hours of the morning.
She dressed in borrowed clothes before allowing herself to be shepherded to the ship that had been chartered to return her to Vasiliádon and her fresh reality of a fractured family. An anxious fervor thrummed in time to Gianna’s heart as she willed the ship to cut the waves faster, to no avail. Seeing her father’s head and her brother’s cloak had understandably set the young woman on edge and being so far from the rest of her family was exacerbating that apprehension. After what felt like an eon, they finally made port and were rushed to the palace…for the funerals, Gianna reminded herself.
An unseen force took her heart in its unrelenting vice grip as her feet carried her to the throne room, leaving her attendants in their wake. They were late; she knew it, if only Stephanos had not sent her away, if only Achilleas had not carried out his orders, if only the ship had moved quicker! Unsteady hands reached for the doors only to reveal an empty throne room. Gianna’s breath hitched in her throat as she struggled to contain the rising sob. Her mother’s hand sent a wave of serenity through her, immediately stilling the girl’s trembling body. “I must prepare.” Gianna simply nodded in response and watched as her mother left her side to attend to her father’s remains.
She was reticent as the rest of her family gathered in the throne room, acknowledging their presence with brief eye contact accompanied by a terse nod. She had resigned herself to her private grief, saving the tongue-lashing she had prepared for Stephanos for a later date. This was hardly the time or the place to verbalize her frustration and sense of abandonment. Instead, she allowed fleeting glares directed in his direction to occasionally crack the mask of grief that had settled over her expression.
"Please, do let me know if at all I can be of any help, I will not hesitate to come immediately. Tis a trying time, and myself and my family would be of immediate assistance."
Her uncle was the first to break the silence after the ceremony, coaxing Gianna from her daze with his words. And in them she found the comfort she did not realize she was missing. She instinctively gravitated to his side; just able to keep herself from clinging to his arm like the lost child she had been reduced to. She could only agree with her mother’s invitation to Irakles, as sudden dread threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of returning to their home, even if her brother thought it would be wholly unnecessary.
"Stephanos, please..." Gianna all but whimpered, tears threatening to break free. She needed that safety, whether it was real or imagined she didn't care as long as Irakles was close.
Fotios had never made it a secret that he cared little for the late king (or the current one for that matter). His reputation in the Court and Senate had been one of self-centeredness; the desire to see his own family grow and become a steadfast powerhouse within the Taengean nobility. He had never given the impression of someone who would commit acts of violence or push down another House to raise his own, however. And for the most part he was indeed no such man.
To achieve via the failures of others was simply to be the best of the losers. To achieve while moving forward in your own right was something that could truly be called a victory. Plus, while he might not have admitted it to himself as yet, his love for life was in the attempts and the plans - not in the aggression of taking.
And so, without guilt or responsibility for the plans Irakles had decided to take upon himself with regards to the death of the previous king, Fotios felt comfortable if a tad bored in attending the funeral of King Zenon.
Though it was a relief to this boredom in some ways to watch and assess the reactions and expressions of the Mikaelidas family from whom he stood a small distance away from. Not close family by any means - the engagement between his niece and Lord Achilleas was the closest the families had been in generations, Fotios felt it would be inappropriate and a tad gauche to have placed himself in the centre of the event. Instead, he kept to the back and to the side, where those of the nobility were used to seeing him. The whispers that his mind was strong but his heart was fearful, however, were whispers he would encourage. For no coward would ever consider such a rebellious an act as regicide.
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Fotios had never made it a secret that he cared little for the late king (or the current one for that matter). His reputation in the Court and Senate had been one of self-centeredness; the desire to see his own family grow and become a steadfast powerhouse within the Taengean nobility. He had never given the impression of someone who would commit acts of violence or push down another House to raise his own, however. And for the most part he was indeed no such man.
To achieve via the failures of others was simply to be the best of the losers. To achieve while moving forward in your own right was something that could truly be called a victory. Plus, while he might not have admitted it to himself as yet, his love for life was in the attempts and the plans - not in the aggression of taking.
And so, without guilt or responsibility for the plans Irakles had decided to take upon himself with regards to the death of the previous king, Fotios felt comfortable if a tad bored in attending the funeral of King Zenon.
Though it was a relief to this boredom in some ways to watch and assess the reactions and expressions of the Mikaelidas family from whom he stood a small distance away from. Not close family by any means - the engagement between his niece and Lord Achilleas was the closest the families had been in generations, Fotios felt it would be inappropriate and a tad gauche to have placed himself in the centre of the event. Instead, he kept to the back and to the side, where those of the nobility were used to seeing him. The whispers that his mind was strong but his heart was fearful, however, were whispers he would encourage. For no coward would ever consider such a rebellious an act as regicide.
Fotios had never made it a secret that he cared little for the late king (or the current one for that matter). His reputation in the Court and Senate had been one of self-centeredness; the desire to see his own family grow and become a steadfast powerhouse within the Taengean nobility. He had never given the impression of someone who would commit acts of violence or push down another House to raise his own, however. And for the most part he was indeed no such man.
To achieve via the failures of others was simply to be the best of the losers. To achieve while moving forward in your own right was something that could truly be called a victory. Plus, while he might not have admitted it to himself as yet, his love for life was in the attempts and the plans - not in the aggression of taking.
And so, without guilt or responsibility for the plans Irakles had decided to take upon himself with regards to the death of the previous king, Fotios felt comfortable if a tad bored in attending the funeral of King Zenon.
Though it was a relief to this boredom in some ways to watch and assess the reactions and expressions of the Mikaelidas family from whom he stood a small distance away from. Not close family by any means - the engagement between his niece and Lord Achilleas was the closest the families had been in generations, Fotios felt it would be inappropriate and a tad gauche to have placed himself in the centre of the event. Instead, he kept to the back and to the side, where those of the nobility were used to seeing him. The whispers that his mind was strong but his heart was fearful, however, were whispers he would encourage. For no coward would ever consider such a rebellious an act as regicide.
Eirini was more expressive than her husband. She allowed herself to shed tears, but not to wail. While the funeral of their king went through the city, the woman cried for their king. At least, publicly she did. On the inside, she was celebrating. The death of the oh-so-beloved King Zenon was a step on the path that her husband had so painstakingly set for her and their family. And there was nothing she loved more than her husband and his plans, even if she herself did not know them.
As the king's body was being put to rest in the earth, she stood next to Fotios, joining him in observing the royal family. Which, though tangentially, was also her family. She was not close to her niece, Olympia, and needed to rectify that. The girl was going to be the next queen, after all. It would be useful to at least be friendly with her, if not playing the girl to her advantage. She made a note to begin to spend far more time with Olympia.
She stayed silent, watching, observing. She had done her duty by attending, and mourning. This was an event, and this event had the possibility of having useful gossip. Her eyes scanned the mourners, taking Fotios' arms in hers, enjoying the feel of him next to her. Maybe contact with her could help alleviate this horrible boredom she could almost sense in him.
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Eirini was more expressive than her husband. She allowed herself to shed tears, but not to wail. While the funeral of their king went through the city, the woman cried for their king. At least, publicly she did. On the inside, she was celebrating. The death of the oh-so-beloved King Zenon was a step on the path that her husband had so painstakingly set for her and their family. And there was nothing she loved more than her husband and his plans, even if she herself did not know them.
As the king's body was being put to rest in the earth, she stood next to Fotios, joining him in observing the royal family. Which, though tangentially, was also her family. She was not close to her niece, Olympia, and needed to rectify that. The girl was going to be the next queen, after all. It would be useful to at least be friendly with her, if not playing the girl to her advantage. She made a note to begin to spend far more time with Olympia.
She stayed silent, watching, observing. She had done her duty by attending, and mourning. This was an event, and this event had the possibility of having useful gossip. Her eyes scanned the mourners, taking Fotios' arms in hers, enjoying the feel of him next to her. Maybe contact with her could help alleviate this horrible boredom she could almost sense in him.
Eirini was more expressive than her husband. She allowed herself to shed tears, but not to wail. While the funeral of their king went through the city, the woman cried for their king. At least, publicly she did. On the inside, she was celebrating. The death of the oh-so-beloved King Zenon was a step on the path that her husband had so painstakingly set for her and their family. And there was nothing she loved more than her husband and his plans, even if she herself did not know them.
As the king's body was being put to rest in the earth, she stood next to Fotios, joining him in observing the royal family. Which, though tangentially, was also her family. She was not close to her niece, Olympia, and needed to rectify that. The girl was going to be the next queen, after all. It would be useful to at least be friendly with her, if not playing the girl to her advantage. She made a note to begin to spend far more time with Olympia.
She stayed silent, watching, observing. She had done her duty by attending, and mourning. This was an event, and this event had the possibility of having useful gossip. Her eyes scanned the mourners, taking Fotios' arms in hers, enjoying the feel of him next to her. Maybe contact with her could help alleviate this horrible boredom she could almost sense in him.
Everything. Absolutely everything had been one big fog. One big nothing. One big hole in her life and her memory. Thoughts remained hazy, and though her tears had stopped and her rage had ebbed into a gentle wave in the oceans of her emotions, Xene still felt... numb. She remembered being forcibly removed to her rooms by Stephanos' orders. It was there that she'd left the entire place in pieces, her slaves trying desperately to calm the irate and grieving princess. Guards at the door tried not to flinch at the sound of pottery hitting the floor.
Thankfully, she had been contained quickly, and little word of her grieving had reached the public. As of now, it was a rumor, and if the clean state of her rooms were any indication, they were just that. Rumors. It didn't matter that it was true, so long as no one else but her family knew the truth, she would be content. She had to keep her head high and support her brother in this trying time. This wasn't something any of them had expected to happen.
She barely remembered making her way to the burial site, remaining close to her mother. Close enough that if she truly wished, she would have been able to reach out and touch her. There was a moment when she was to throw a handful of dirt into the grave of her father that she nearly froze. Nearly broke at the thought of this being the last time she would ever see her father. In her eyes, he had been a kind and thoughtful man.
Zenon hadn't deserved the death he had been given.
But she had done it. Her fingers had let go of the earth with little hesitation on the outside. Only one person would have been able to tell the very slight change in expression, the shifting of color in her eyes, and the gentle hitch of breath as Xene implored herself to remain calm, serene, but somber. Thoughtful. As if she were saying a final prayer for the safe passage of her father.
When all was over, Xene lingered alone, her mind on everything but the conversation the rest of the family seemed to be gathered in. A slight glance to the side had blue eyes raking along the forms of her brother, sister, and mother.
This was enough.
Exactly this amount of interaction. This amount of grief. This amount of attentiveness to chatter, offers, and everything else that was so utterly unimportant in the wake of a funeral. Xene pulled her attention away, her gaze landing on Fotios and Eirini. Perfectly trained, she yielded nothing, though a single eyebrow lifted in mild interest. A piece of the family that Xene paid little attention to. Then again, part of her wondered if it weren't time to start. If this group was targeting royals, regardless of direct lineage...
The princess then turned to the small group close by, approaching silently.
Xene placed both hands on Gianna's shoulders, hoping to be somewhat soothing. "Ride beside me on the way back," she whispered into Gianna's ear, slowly lifting her gaze to her brother and her uncle. She would not inject herself into this conversation. Whatever was deterring Stephanos from accepting the help of their uncle was something only Stephanos would explain. For now, she would attempt to keep close to her sister and her mother, her gaze always watching, observing, analyzing.
Little escaped the princess and it made her feel more at ease to keep her family as close as possible.
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Everything. Absolutely everything had been one big fog. One big nothing. One big hole in her life and her memory. Thoughts remained hazy, and though her tears had stopped and her rage had ebbed into a gentle wave in the oceans of her emotions, Xene still felt... numb. She remembered being forcibly removed to her rooms by Stephanos' orders. It was there that she'd left the entire place in pieces, her slaves trying desperately to calm the irate and grieving princess. Guards at the door tried not to flinch at the sound of pottery hitting the floor.
Thankfully, she had been contained quickly, and little word of her grieving had reached the public. As of now, it was a rumor, and if the clean state of her rooms were any indication, they were just that. Rumors. It didn't matter that it was true, so long as no one else but her family knew the truth, she would be content. She had to keep her head high and support her brother in this trying time. This wasn't something any of them had expected to happen.
She barely remembered making her way to the burial site, remaining close to her mother. Close enough that if she truly wished, she would have been able to reach out and touch her. There was a moment when she was to throw a handful of dirt into the grave of her father that she nearly froze. Nearly broke at the thought of this being the last time she would ever see her father. In her eyes, he had been a kind and thoughtful man.
Zenon hadn't deserved the death he had been given.
But she had done it. Her fingers had let go of the earth with little hesitation on the outside. Only one person would have been able to tell the very slight change in expression, the shifting of color in her eyes, and the gentle hitch of breath as Xene implored herself to remain calm, serene, but somber. Thoughtful. As if she were saying a final prayer for the safe passage of her father.
When all was over, Xene lingered alone, her mind on everything but the conversation the rest of the family seemed to be gathered in. A slight glance to the side had blue eyes raking along the forms of her brother, sister, and mother.
This was enough.
Exactly this amount of interaction. This amount of grief. This amount of attentiveness to chatter, offers, and everything else that was so utterly unimportant in the wake of a funeral. Xene pulled her attention away, her gaze landing on Fotios and Eirini. Perfectly trained, she yielded nothing, though a single eyebrow lifted in mild interest. A piece of the family that Xene paid little attention to. Then again, part of her wondered if it weren't time to start. If this group was targeting royals, regardless of direct lineage...
The princess then turned to the small group close by, approaching silently.
Xene placed both hands on Gianna's shoulders, hoping to be somewhat soothing. "Ride beside me on the way back," she whispered into Gianna's ear, slowly lifting her gaze to her brother and her uncle. She would not inject herself into this conversation. Whatever was deterring Stephanos from accepting the help of their uncle was something only Stephanos would explain. For now, she would attempt to keep close to her sister and her mother, her gaze always watching, observing, analyzing.
Little escaped the princess and it made her feel more at ease to keep her family as close as possible.
Everything. Absolutely everything had been one big fog. One big nothing. One big hole in her life and her memory. Thoughts remained hazy, and though her tears had stopped and her rage had ebbed into a gentle wave in the oceans of her emotions, Xene still felt... numb. She remembered being forcibly removed to her rooms by Stephanos' orders. It was there that she'd left the entire place in pieces, her slaves trying desperately to calm the irate and grieving princess. Guards at the door tried not to flinch at the sound of pottery hitting the floor.
Thankfully, she had been contained quickly, and little word of her grieving had reached the public. As of now, it was a rumor, and if the clean state of her rooms were any indication, they were just that. Rumors. It didn't matter that it was true, so long as no one else but her family knew the truth, she would be content. She had to keep her head high and support her brother in this trying time. This wasn't something any of them had expected to happen.
She barely remembered making her way to the burial site, remaining close to her mother. Close enough that if she truly wished, she would have been able to reach out and touch her. There was a moment when she was to throw a handful of dirt into the grave of her father that she nearly froze. Nearly broke at the thought of this being the last time she would ever see her father. In her eyes, he had been a kind and thoughtful man.
Zenon hadn't deserved the death he had been given.
But she had done it. Her fingers had let go of the earth with little hesitation on the outside. Only one person would have been able to tell the very slight change in expression, the shifting of color in her eyes, and the gentle hitch of breath as Xene implored herself to remain calm, serene, but somber. Thoughtful. As if she were saying a final prayer for the safe passage of her father.
When all was over, Xene lingered alone, her mind on everything but the conversation the rest of the family seemed to be gathered in. A slight glance to the side had blue eyes raking along the forms of her brother, sister, and mother.
This was enough.
Exactly this amount of interaction. This amount of grief. This amount of attentiveness to chatter, offers, and everything else that was so utterly unimportant in the wake of a funeral. Xene pulled her attention away, her gaze landing on Fotios and Eirini. Perfectly trained, she yielded nothing, though a single eyebrow lifted in mild interest. A piece of the family that Xene paid little attention to. Then again, part of her wondered if it weren't time to start. If this group was targeting royals, regardless of direct lineage...
The princess then turned to the small group close by, approaching silently.
Xene placed both hands on Gianna's shoulders, hoping to be somewhat soothing. "Ride beside me on the way back," she whispered into Gianna's ear, slowly lifting her gaze to her brother and her uncle. She would not inject herself into this conversation. Whatever was deterring Stephanos from accepting the help of their uncle was something only Stephanos would explain. For now, she would attempt to keep close to her sister and her mother, her gaze always watching, observing, analyzing.
Little escaped the princess and it made her feel more at ease to keep her family as close as possible.
Fotios moved his arm to allow his wife to take hold of him. The shift in his stance seemed almost instinctive as he enjoyed feeling her presence whenever she was beside him. As he watched the crowd and then turned to assess his wife he noted that she was doing the same. He picked up in her eyes landing on the Lady Olympia and his lips quirked as he noted the way her mind was working.
Leaning around to his left, Fotios rested his cheek against hers, his lips by her ear. To all who witnessed them he was giving comfort to his crying wife, and yet the words he whispered in her ear were the exact opposite, his tone so low that no-one but Eirini would be able to hear.
"Look to your second niece my love, not the third..." He murmured, directing his wife's gaze towards Theodora over Olympia. "I fear that King Stephanos' rule shall be short-lived... I would not want you to waste your valuable time on a short-lived Queen."
His words whispered against her skin and he breathed in the scent of her hair...
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Fotios moved his arm to allow his wife to take hold of him. The shift in his stance seemed almost instinctive as he enjoyed feeling her presence whenever she was beside him. As he watched the crowd and then turned to assess his wife he noted that she was doing the same. He picked up in her eyes landing on the Lady Olympia and his lips quirked as he noted the way her mind was working.
Leaning around to his left, Fotios rested his cheek against hers, his lips by her ear. To all who witnessed them he was giving comfort to his crying wife, and yet the words he whispered in her ear were the exact opposite, his tone so low that no-one but Eirini would be able to hear.
"Look to your second niece my love, not the third..." He murmured, directing his wife's gaze towards Theodora over Olympia. "I fear that King Stephanos' rule shall be short-lived... I would not want you to waste your valuable time on a short-lived Queen."
His words whispered against her skin and he breathed in the scent of her hair...
Fotios moved his arm to allow his wife to take hold of him. The shift in his stance seemed almost instinctive as he enjoyed feeling her presence whenever she was beside him. As he watched the crowd and then turned to assess his wife he noted that she was doing the same. He picked up in her eyes landing on the Lady Olympia and his lips quirked as he noted the way her mind was working.
Leaning around to his left, Fotios rested his cheek against hers, his lips by her ear. To all who witnessed them he was giving comfort to his crying wife, and yet the words he whispered in her ear were the exact opposite, his tone so low that no-one but Eirini would be able to hear.
"Look to your second niece my love, not the third..." He murmured, directing his wife's gaze towards Theodora over Olympia. "I fear that King Stephanos' rule shall be short-lived... I would not want you to waste your valuable time on a short-lived Queen."
His words whispered against her skin and he breathed in the scent of her hair...
Stephanos sucked air through gritted teeth as Irakles flashed him a fleeting sly smile. It was a finger digging in the ragged wound he carried in his chest. This was as much admission as he needed. In his mind, no one would give that look to the grieving son of the dead king unless he was guilty.
His hands balled into fists at his sides. The conversation between his mother and uncle barely registered. He stepped back as Irakles wrapped his mother in a hug. It was the expression of bliss and comfort on her face as she snuggled down into the crook of his uncle’s shoulder that made his stomach turn.
Breath came fast and hard. A weird feeling of dizziness took over and he had the wild idea that maybe if he swung his fist hard enough, he could kill Irakles in one blow.
In his imagination, he stepped forward. His hand clamped down on Irakles’s wrist as he jerked that arm away from his mother. With his other hand he shoved the queen back. She stumbled but Achilleas caught her.
He spared Irakles one, arctic glare before he rammed his fist into the older man’s face. The bones of Irakles’s nose crunched under his fist. Rearing back, Stephanos punched him again, harder. What was left of the bridge of his uncle’s nose crumbled. Blood spurted out in a glittering ruby spray.
His fist bunched in the front of Irakles’s chiton. This alone held the old man up as his knees buckled. Stephanos smiled at the listless way his uncle’s head lolled from side to side, his eyes glassy as life left. After a few seconds of his mother wailing and general panic emerging all around him, he abruptly let go. Irakles dropped at his feet with a satisfying thump of heavy body and rustling fabric.
“Stephanos?” Elise rubbed the top of his bicep. Her fingers were smooth against his skin. He looked down at the veins on the back of her hand. They corded out like thin blue ropes underneath sheer, wrinkled fabric.
“I’m coming,” his voice was detached as though it belonged to someone else. He watched without expression as Irakles took his mother’s arm, leading them all back to the palace. If he did not have an audience, he would have knelt in the dirt beside his father’s grave and placed his hand on the cold earth.
Instead, he turned his back on the gravesite, put one arm around Gianna, and the other around Xene, and walked back with his family to the palace, not sparing a backward glance for Olympia, Achilleas, or anyone else.
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Stephanos sucked air through gritted teeth as Irakles flashed him a fleeting sly smile. It was a finger digging in the ragged wound he carried in his chest. This was as much admission as he needed. In his mind, no one would give that look to the grieving son of the dead king unless he was guilty.
His hands balled into fists at his sides. The conversation between his mother and uncle barely registered. He stepped back as Irakles wrapped his mother in a hug. It was the expression of bliss and comfort on her face as she snuggled down into the crook of his uncle’s shoulder that made his stomach turn.
Breath came fast and hard. A weird feeling of dizziness took over and he had the wild idea that maybe if he swung his fist hard enough, he could kill Irakles in one blow.
In his imagination, he stepped forward. His hand clamped down on Irakles’s wrist as he jerked that arm away from his mother. With his other hand he shoved the queen back. She stumbled but Achilleas caught her.
He spared Irakles one, arctic glare before he rammed his fist into the older man’s face. The bones of Irakles’s nose crunched under his fist. Rearing back, Stephanos punched him again, harder. What was left of the bridge of his uncle’s nose crumbled. Blood spurted out in a glittering ruby spray.
His fist bunched in the front of Irakles’s chiton. This alone held the old man up as his knees buckled. Stephanos smiled at the listless way his uncle’s head lolled from side to side, his eyes glassy as life left. After a few seconds of his mother wailing and general panic emerging all around him, he abruptly let go. Irakles dropped at his feet with a satisfying thump of heavy body and rustling fabric.
“Stephanos?” Elise rubbed the top of his bicep. Her fingers were smooth against his skin. He looked down at the veins on the back of her hand. They corded out like thin blue ropes underneath sheer, wrinkled fabric.
“I’m coming,” his voice was detached as though it belonged to someone else. He watched without expression as Irakles took his mother’s arm, leading them all back to the palace. If he did not have an audience, he would have knelt in the dirt beside his father’s grave and placed his hand on the cold earth.
Instead, he turned his back on the gravesite, put one arm around Gianna, and the other around Xene, and walked back with his family to the palace, not sparing a backward glance for Olympia, Achilleas, or anyone else.
Stephanos sucked air through gritted teeth as Irakles flashed him a fleeting sly smile. It was a finger digging in the ragged wound he carried in his chest. This was as much admission as he needed. In his mind, no one would give that look to the grieving son of the dead king unless he was guilty.
His hands balled into fists at his sides. The conversation between his mother and uncle barely registered. He stepped back as Irakles wrapped his mother in a hug. It was the expression of bliss and comfort on her face as she snuggled down into the crook of his uncle’s shoulder that made his stomach turn.
Breath came fast and hard. A weird feeling of dizziness took over and he had the wild idea that maybe if he swung his fist hard enough, he could kill Irakles in one blow.
In his imagination, he stepped forward. His hand clamped down on Irakles’s wrist as he jerked that arm away from his mother. With his other hand he shoved the queen back. She stumbled but Achilleas caught her.
He spared Irakles one, arctic glare before he rammed his fist into the older man’s face. The bones of Irakles’s nose crunched under his fist. Rearing back, Stephanos punched him again, harder. What was left of the bridge of his uncle’s nose crumbled. Blood spurted out in a glittering ruby spray.
His fist bunched in the front of Irakles’s chiton. This alone held the old man up as his knees buckled. Stephanos smiled at the listless way his uncle’s head lolled from side to side, his eyes glassy as life left. After a few seconds of his mother wailing and general panic emerging all around him, he abruptly let go. Irakles dropped at his feet with a satisfying thump of heavy body and rustling fabric.
“Stephanos?” Elise rubbed the top of his bicep. Her fingers were smooth against his skin. He looked down at the veins on the back of her hand. They corded out like thin blue ropes underneath sheer, wrinkled fabric.
“I’m coming,” his voice was detached as though it belonged to someone else. He watched without expression as Irakles took his mother’s arm, leading them all back to the palace. If he did not have an audience, he would have knelt in the dirt beside his father’s grave and placed his hand on the cold earth.
Instead, he turned his back on the gravesite, put one arm around Gianna, and the other around Xene, and walked back with his family to the palace, not sparing a backward glance for Olympia, Achilleas, or anyone else.
Why was it every time his father spoke to him these days, it was more in the tone of scolding a young child, rather than one man to another. Granted his father was a prince by birth, and had led armies so was used to command, but Irakles never seemed to remember that Achilleas too had led men through combat. Having long given up on any sort of paternal warmth from his father, Achilleas would’ve settled for some acknowledgement of his skills as a leader of men, but even that was denied him by his father.
Biting back the urge to sigh, or suggest that Emilios was more than capable to see their mother home safely even without him, or to remind his father than he had been to see Theodora and her family just yesterday, Achilleas inclined his head to Irakles, “Yes father.” He tried to catch his cousin’s eye, but the newly crowned king, put one of his arms around each of his two sister, moving off without so much as a backward glance for him or his betrothed.
“My lady.” Achilleas offered his arm to Pia with a smile for the woman who was to marry his cousin and become queen, sister to his own intended bride. He would see her safely back to her family home, and obey his father’s orders to boot. “It would an honor to escort you home.” Achilleas just knew his father would find fault in this gesture, but this time he didn’t care, Pia was his intended’s sister. She also was pregnant with his cousin the king’s child, so he would see her safely home.
JD
Staff Team
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This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Why was it every time his father spoke to him these days, it was more in the tone of scolding a young child, rather than one man to another. Granted his father was a prince by birth, and had led armies so was used to command, but Irakles never seemed to remember that Achilleas too had led men through combat. Having long given up on any sort of paternal warmth from his father, Achilleas would’ve settled for some acknowledgement of his skills as a leader of men, but even that was denied him by his father.
Biting back the urge to sigh, or suggest that Emilios was more than capable to see their mother home safely even without him, or to remind his father than he had been to see Theodora and her family just yesterday, Achilleas inclined his head to Irakles, “Yes father.” He tried to catch his cousin’s eye, but the newly crowned king, put one of his arms around each of his two sister, moving off without so much as a backward glance for him or his betrothed.
“My lady.” Achilleas offered his arm to Pia with a smile for the woman who was to marry his cousin and become queen, sister to his own intended bride. He would see her safely back to her family home, and obey his father’s orders to boot. “It would an honor to escort you home.” Achilleas just knew his father would find fault in this gesture, but this time he didn’t care, Pia was his intended’s sister. She also was pregnant with his cousin the king’s child, so he would see her safely home.
Why was it every time his father spoke to him these days, it was more in the tone of scolding a young child, rather than one man to another. Granted his father was a prince by birth, and had led armies so was used to command, but Irakles never seemed to remember that Achilleas too had led men through combat. Having long given up on any sort of paternal warmth from his father, Achilleas would’ve settled for some acknowledgement of his skills as a leader of men, but even that was denied him by his father.
Biting back the urge to sigh, or suggest that Emilios was more than capable to see their mother home safely even without him, or to remind his father than he had been to see Theodora and her family just yesterday, Achilleas inclined his head to Irakles, “Yes father.” He tried to catch his cousin’s eye, but the newly crowned king, put one of his arms around each of his two sister, moving off without so much as a backward glance for him or his betrothed.
“My lady.” Achilleas offered his arm to Pia with a smile for the woman who was to marry his cousin and become queen, sister to his own intended bride. He would see her safely back to her family home, and obey his father’s orders to boot. “It would an honor to escort you home.” Achilleas just knew his father would find fault in this gesture, but this time he didn’t care, Pia was his intended’s sister. She also was pregnant with his cousin the king’s child, so he would see her safely home.
