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When Sara had first begun attending the scholeío, it had been a bit of a difficult adjustment. Not because the coursework was tough or that the teachers were hard to understand. Mostly it was the other students who were.. unfriendly.
Maybe it was because of her carefree attitude or that she was more interested in learning than gossiping or staring at the boys. Maybe it was because she was a bastard. Sara could not understand their reasoning but she attributed it to their youth. It had always been easy to make friends before. Perhaps she should focus more fully on her studies and allow whatever was going to happen, to happen. Or perhaps it was all in her head. Everyone was friendly enough when she spoke to them but there was something.. wrong, around their eyes. A whisper or glance at another friend. A smirk. She thought that she heard comments about her lack of a slave or servant to follow her and carry her things. It all made Sara a little uncomfortable and for that reason she had begun to sit as close to the front during seminars as possible.
There were the sons and daughters of many high ranking citizens in the scholeío. Some of them were only present because their parents insisted and had a more relaxed attitude about what they were trying to learn. For her part Sara was happy to participate and assist teachers when they required it.
In between lectures she sat in a hall not often frequented by other students or the teachers. It was mostly slaves and servants who passed where she sat sketching, her fingers rubbing coal into the parchment and her eyes moving from the paper to the archway that she was copying. Sara had even managed to fit in the outline of a slave in the hall, and a table which held a vase.
It was quiet moments like these that made it worthwhile to study here. Not only because of the education it gave her should she ever end up anywhere other than her father's residence but because of how beautiful it was. In an area nearby there was a chorus practicing and Sara smiled, enjoying the atmosphere of the place. It caused her to reconsider the way her fellow students seemed disingenuous. What could ever go wrong if this was what her days were filled with? How could this ever be bad?
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
When Sara had first begun attending the scholeío, it had been a bit of a difficult adjustment. Not because the coursework was tough or that the teachers were hard to understand. Mostly it was the other students who were.. unfriendly.
Maybe it was because of her carefree attitude or that she was more interested in learning than gossiping or staring at the boys. Maybe it was because she was a bastard. Sara could not understand their reasoning but she attributed it to their youth. It had always been easy to make friends before. Perhaps she should focus more fully on her studies and allow whatever was going to happen, to happen. Or perhaps it was all in her head. Everyone was friendly enough when she spoke to them but there was something.. wrong, around their eyes. A whisper or glance at another friend. A smirk. She thought that she heard comments about her lack of a slave or servant to follow her and carry her things. It all made Sara a little uncomfortable and for that reason she had begun to sit as close to the front during seminars as possible.
There were the sons and daughters of many high ranking citizens in the scholeío. Some of them were only present because their parents insisted and had a more relaxed attitude about what they were trying to learn. For her part Sara was happy to participate and assist teachers when they required it.
In between lectures she sat in a hall not often frequented by other students or the teachers. It was mostly slaves and servants who passed where she sat sketching, her fingers rubbing coal into the parchment and her eyes moving from the paper to the archway that she was copying. Sara had even managed to fit in the outline of a slave in the hall, and a table which held a vase.
It was quiet moments like these that made it worthwhile to study here. Not only because of the education it gave her should she ever end up anywhere other than her father's residence but because of how beautiful it was. In an area nearby there was a chorus practicing and Sara smiled, enjoying the atmosphere of the place. It caused her to reconsider the way her fellow students seemed disingenuous. What could ever go wrong if this was what her days were filled with? How could this ever be bad?
When Sara had first begun attending the scholeío, it had been a bit of a difficult adjustment. Not because the coursework was tough or that the teachers were hard to understand. Mostly it was the other students who were.. unfriendly.
Maybe it was because of her carefree attitude or that she was more interested in learning than gossiping or staring at the boys. Maybe it was because she was a bastard. Sara could not understand their reasoning but she attributed it to their youth. It had always been easy to make friends before. Perhaps she should focus more fully on her studies and allow whatever was going to happen, to happen. Or perhaps it was all in her head. Everyone was friendly enough when she spoke to them but there was something.. wrong, around their eyes. A whisper or glance at another friend. A smirk. She thought that she heard comments about her lack of a slave or servant to follow her and carry her things. It all made Sara a little uncomfortable and for that reason she had begun to sit as close to the front during seminars as possible.
There were the sons and daughters of many high ranking citizens in the scholeío. Some of them were only present because their parents insisted and had a more relaxed attitude about what they were trying to learn. For her part Sara was happy to participate and assist teachers when they required it.
In between lectures she sat in a hall not often frequented by other students or the teachers. It was mostly slaves and servants who passed where she sat sketching, her fingers rubbing coal into the parchment and her eyes moving from the paper to the archway that she was copying. Sara had even managed to fit in the outline of a slave in the hall, and a table which held a vase.
It was quiet moments like these that made it worthwhile to study here. Not only because of the education it gave her should she ever end up anywhere other than her father's residence but because of how beautiful it was. In an area nearby there was a chorus practicing and Sara smiled, enjoying the atmosphere of the place. It caused her to reconsider the way her fellow students seemed disingenuous. What could ever go wrong if this was what her days were filled with? How could this ever be bad?
The city, and honestly the whole royal family in Taengea was up in a busy time. The famed festival of Dionysus was upon them, and in a week's time, the throngs of people from all across Taengea would descend upon them, as well as visitors from the other kingdoms, all to see the revelry and party planned for the most decorated festival that Taengeans were famous for. Everywhere on the streets, you see vendors readying their shops and wares for sale, palace slaves and servants decorating the streets, the large circus being cleaned and thoroughly maintained so it would be in top condition once the chariot races that were to take place would be held.
With the royal family busy, and the Leventi family readying their residence for the annual dining festivity that the Lady Evelli put together every eyar during the festivals, Irakles had been kept busy with various budgets to approve, overseeing arrangements and signing off extra expenditure for his mistress and Tasia to shop for their necessary new chitons and jewelry to adorn themselves as appropriate for the festivities.
As the general and Prince of the Taengean court, it was normal for the elder male of fifty four to be consulted on many topics, varying from military decisions to topics to be discussed in the senate, Irakles often found himself packed with many meetings in his study with various men of import. Today however, he had made an exception.
His daughters, Tasia and Sara, were not hidden from the world. While not looked upon favorably, Irakles had long ousted his wife from the family palati, and in its place, installed his mistress Meena, along with his two daughters to reside in the Mikaelidas residence. Myrto was, and had always been a political marriage,and there was no blurred or unsatisfaction between the two. She had performed her duty in bearing him two sons, an heir and a spare, and that was all Irakles had any use for her. His eldest son did not favor his actions, and he knew Achilleas often was at loggerheads with his father for that one decision to have Myrto stay in his residences instead of the one she was supposed to be lady of.
But Irakles had no time for the whimsical fantasies of Achilleas and his hope for a happy family. It was one of Irakles's greatest disappointments in his eldest. Achilleas was a decorated military man, much like his father. Capable of holding his own in a fight, yet his soft heart would see many out for his blood that could easily be obtained if he did not harden up, gain more ambition, aim higher. Yet, he served his stupid cousin, and uncle, loyal as a blind bat.
His features twisted in irritation at the reminder of his eldest, and Irakles shook his head, as he dismounted from his retired war gelding, waving away the scholeio's stablehands to unbuckle Aeneus's saddle and hook up the beast himself. Trained and dangerous, even if he had mellowed ever since Irakles had him gelded upon retirement, that didn't mean he was any less dangerous. Spirited and restless, it took a firm hand as Irakles had to wind the reins on a nearby post, ensuring there was enough tautness so Aeneus wouldn't be able to yank himself free, before making his way in to the building.
There, his eyes wandered. Many avoided his presence after the required respectful greeting to a prince - Irakles cut an imposing figure. Many a story had been told of his greatness on the battlefield, and there was no doubt that the old general was a great hero in Taengean history. He was duly given much reverence and respect - and he found it frustrating that his daughter was not treated the same.
Oh, he knew why. Sara was no legitimate daughter of his. While he wanted to give her that status, he also knew that to do that, would firstly give Myrto the ultimate shame, and secondly would bring too much danger on his youngest in his precarious position, as well as for his future plans. Any favor he showed her, would be a danger to her presence. So he could not, under any circumstances show her that he cared.
But he had great plans for the festival. Plans that ensured the greatness of Taengea.
But plans that also brought danger on his family, and would reign terror on his beloved Taengea. He often convinced himself that it was a short term horror for long term benefit - but Irakles was a worrier, no matter what age he was.
The general's sharp eyes spied the familiar brunette head of his youngest daughter, and his booted feet brought him across the hall of the scholeio, where his eyes caught the sketch of the archway she was drawing. She was talented, he knew. It was why he had instructed Meena to allow Sara to attend on his coin. Both Tasia and herself were given chances at education, perhaps the only way they could find their place in the court.
"Sara." his deep baritone voice betrayed his silent arrival, as he strode nearer and stood next to her, the stoic face coupled with the way his hands laced to his back made for a formidable presence. "Did your mother tell you of your summons this evening, upon the ending of your class?" Irakles had always been serious with all of his children, none were ever given the pleasure of seeing kind words or kind manners. It was how he had always been.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The city, and honestly the whole royal family in Taengea was up in a busy time. The famed festival of Dionysus was upon them, and in a week's time, the throngs of people from all across Taengea would descend upon them, as well as visitors from the other kingdoms, all to see the revelry and party planned for the most decorated festival that Taengeans were famous for. Everywhere on the streets, you see vendors readying their shops and wares for sale, palace slaves and servants decorating the streets, the large circus being cleaned and thoroughly maintained so it would be in top condition once the chariot races that were to take place would be held.
With the royal family busy, and the Leventi family readying their residence for the annual dining festivity that the Lady Evelli put together every eyar during the festivals, Irakles had been kept busy with various budgets to approve, overseeing arrangements and signing off extra expenditure for his mistress and Tasia to shop for their necessary new chitons and jewelry to adorn themselves as appropriate for the festivities.
As the general and Prince of the Taengean court, it was normal for the elder male of fifty four to be consulted on many topics, varying from military decisions to topics to be discussed in the senate, Irakles often found himself packed with many meetings in his study with various men of import. Today however, he had made an exception.
His daughters, Tasia and Sara, were not hidden from the world. While not looked upon favorably, Irakles had long ousted his wife from the family palati, and in its place, installed his mistress Meena, along with his two daughters to reside in the Mikaelidas residence. Myrto was, and had always been a political marriage,and there was no blurred or unsatisfaction between the two. She had performed her duty in bearing him two sons, an heir and a spare, and that was all Irakles had any use for her. His eldest son did not favor his actions, and he knew Achilleas often was at loggerheads with his father for that one decision to have Myrto stay in his residences instead of the one she was supposed to be lady of.
But Irakles had no time for the whimsical fantasies of Achilleas and his hope for a happy family. It was one of Irakles's greatest disappointments in his eldest. Achilleas was a decorated military man, much like his father. Capable of holding his own in a fight, yet his soft heart would see many out for his blood that could easily be obtained if he did not harden up, gain more ambition, aim higher. Yet, he served his stupid cousin, and uncle, loyal as a blind bat.
His features twisted in irritation at the reminder of his eldest, and Irakles shook his head, as he dismounted from his retired war gelding, waving away the scholeio's stablehands to unbuckle Aeneus's saddle and hook up the beast himself. Trained and dangerous, even if he had mellowed ever since Irakles had him gelded upon retirement, that didn't mean he was any less dangerous. Spirited and restless, it took a firm hand as Irakles had to wind the reins on a nearby post, ensuring there was enough tautness so Aeneus wouldn't be able to yank himself free, before making his way in to the building.
There, his eyes wandered. Many avoided his presence after the required respectful greeting to a prince - Irakles cut an imposing figure. Many a story had been told of his greatness on the battlefield, and there was no doubt that the old general was a great hero in Taengean history. He was duly given much reverence and respect - and he found it frustrating that his daughter was not treated the same.
Oh, he knew why. Sara was no legitimate daughter of his. While he wanted to give her that status, he also knew that to do that, would firstly give Myrto the ultimate shame, and secondly would bring too much danger on his youngest in his precarious position, as well as for his future plans. Any favor he showed her, would be a danger to her presence. So he could not, under any circumstances show her that he cared.
But he had great plans for the festival. Plans that ensured the greatness of Taengea.
But plans that also brought danger on his family, and would reign terror on his beloved Taengea. He often convinced himself that it was a short term horror for long term benefit - but Irakles was a worrier, no matter what age he was.
The general's sharp eyes spied the familiar brunette head of his youngest daughter, and his booted feet brought him across the hall of the scholeio, where his eyes caught the sketch of the archway she was drawing. She was talented, he knew. It was why he had instructed Meena to allow Sara to attend on his coin. Both Tasia and herself were given chances at education, perhaps the only way they could find their place in the court.
"Sara." his deep baritone voice betrayed his silent arrival, as he strode nearer and stood next to her, the stoic face coupled with the way his hands laced to his back made for a formidable presence. "Did your mother tell you of your summons this evening, upon the ending of your class?" Irakles had always been serious with all of his children, none were ever given the pleasure of seeing kind words or kind manners. It was how he had always been.
The city, and honestly the whole royal family in Taengea was up in a busy time. The famed festival of Dionysus was upon them, and in a week's time, the throngs of people from all across Taengea would descend upon them, as well as visitors from the other kingdoms, all to see the revelry and party planned for the most decorated festival that Taengeans were famous for. Everywhere on the streets, you see vendors readying their shops and wares for sale, palace slaves and servants decorating the streets, the large circus being cleaned and thoroughly maintained so it would be in top condition once the chariot races that were to take place would be held.
With the royal family busy, and the Leventi family readying their residence for the annual dining festivity that the Lady Evelli put together every eyar during the festivals, Irakles had been kept busy with various budgets to approve, overseeing arrangements and signing off extra expenditure for his mistress and Tasia to shop for their necessary new chitons and jewelry to adorn themselves as appropriate for the festivities.
As the general and Prince of the Taengean court, it was normal for the elder male of fifty four to be consulted on many topics, varying from military decisions to topics to be discussed in the senate, Irakles often found himself packed with many meetings in his study with various men of import. Today however, he had made an exception.
His daughters, Tasia and Sara, were not hidden from the world. While not looked upon favorably, Irakles had long ousted his wife from the family palati, and in its place, installed his mistress Meena, along with his two daughters to reside in the Mikaelidas residence. Myrto was, and had always been a political marriage,and there was no blurred or unsatisfaction between the two. She had performed her duty in bearing him two sons, an heir and a spare, and that was all Irakles had any use for her. His eldest son did not favor his actions, and he knew Achilleas often was at loggerheads with his father for that one decision to have Myrto stay in his residences instead of the one she was supposed to be lady of.
But Irakles had no time for the whimsical fantasies of Achilleas and his hope for a happy family. It was one of Irakles's greatest disappointments in his eldest. Achilleas was a decorated military man, much like his father. Capable of holding his own in a fight, yet his soft heart would see many out for his blood that could easily be obtained if he did not harden up, gain more ambition, aim higher. Yet, he served his stupid cousin, and uncle, loyal as a blind bat.
His features twisted in irritation at the reminder of his eldest, and Irakles shook his head, as he dismounted from his retired war gelding, waving away the scholeio's stablehands to unbuckle Aeneus's saddle and hook up the beast himself. Trained and dangerous, even if he had mellowed ever since Irakles had him gelded upon retirement, that didn't mean he was any less dangerous. Spirited and restless, it took a firm hand as Irakles had to wind the reins on a nearby post, ensuring there was enough tautness so Aeneus wouldn't be able to yank himself free, before making his way in to the building.
There, his eyes wandered. Many avoided his presence after the required respectful greeting to a prince - Irakles cut an imposing figure. Many a story had been told of his greatness on the battlefield, and there was no doubt that the old general was a great hero in Taengean history. He was duly given much reverence and respect - and he found it frustrating that his daughter was not treated the same.
Oh, he knew why. Sara was no legitimate daughter of his. While he wanted to give her that status, he also knew that to do that, would firstly give Myrto the ultimate shame, and secondly would bring too much danger on his youngest in his precarious position, as well as for his future plans. Any favor he showed her, would be a danger to her presence. So he could not, under any circumstances show her that he cared.
But he had great plans for the festival. Plans that ensured the greatness of Taengea.
But plans that also brought danger on his family, and would reign terror on his beloved Taengea. He often convinced himself that it was a short term horror for long term benefit - but Irakles was a worrier, no matter what age he was.
The general's sharp eyes spied the familiar brunette head of his youngest daughter, and his booted feet brought him across the hall of the scholeio, where his eyes caught the sketch of the archway she was drawing. She was talented, he knew. It was why he had instructed Meena to allow Sara to attend on his coin. Both Tasia and herself were given chances at education, perhaps the only way they could find their place in the court.
"Sara." his deep baritone voice betrayed his silent arrival, as he strode nearer and stood next to her, the stoic face coupled with the way his hands laced to his back made for a formidable presence. "Did your mother tell you of your summons this evening, upon the ending of your class?" Irakles had always been serious with all of his children, none were ever given the pleasure of seeing kind words or kind manners. It was how he had always been.
The problem with art was how easily one was lost in it. Often was the occasion that Sara would dive into completing a painting only to notice hours had gone by the next time she looked up from the canvas. The light would be low and her stomach alerting her to meals she had skipped. Today was no exception and she analyzed the sketch in her lap critically before the sound of her father’s voice jolted her from the reverie. Even with his boots and his domineering presence Sara had not heard his approach. It wasn’t so much of a surprise though as her father was a decorated warrior. Of course he could be silent when necessary.
“Your Majesty.” Sara said, standing too quickly. The charcoal she’d been using rolled from her grip and the parchment fluttered to the ground. If there were ever any doubt that her father made her nervous one only had to watch her body language in his presence. The tops of her cheeks colored from the sudden scene she’d made and Sara averted her eyes, taking a moment to fetch the parchment and the charcoal. Her fingers were black and she was suddenly overly conscious of her appearance.
The other young men and women who attended were more often found in finery – their colorful clothing and precious jewels abound when a glance was sent their way. Sara was more of a practical young lady and so dressed more appropriately for the work she was to do each day. Most of the time her medium was the charcoal she’d dropped to the floor but there were occasions she used paints. The linen she wore was fine – something that her mother insisted upon – but it was a dull gray color. Less susceptible to stains from her darkened fingertips. The dark hair around her face had been braided and pinned up and out of the way prettily though hidden amongst the braids were small sapphires. Sara was not obsessed with displaying the wealth her family possessed. Besides she was more likely to lose a necklace or bracelet or ring when she was on some adventure in the city or countryside.
Tasia and their mother were growing more and more excited each day for the festival. The house was ridiculously busy and in situations such as this Sara was happy that she was caught in the loophole of her lack of rank. How intense such plans must be! The young lady did not envy her father of his many responsibilities, nor the rest of her family theirs.
“No, My Lord, I..” She stumbled over the words in bafflement. Had Meena told her and she had forgot? Would her mother set her up for such a stumble in front of her father? In either case it wouldn’t do to blame her mother to the Prince and so Sara risked a glance up at him to gauge his mood. Had he come here to drag her home? Was she about to be cuffed and corrected? “It was my mistake. I must have forgotten, please forgive me.”
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
The problem with art was how easily one was lost in it. Often was the occasion that Sara would dive into completing a painting only to notice hours had gone by the next time she looked up from the canvas. The light would be low and her stomach alerting her to meals she had skipped. Today was no exception and she analyzed the sketch in her lap critically before the sound of her father’s voice jolted her from the reverie. Even with his boots and his domineering presence Sara had not heard his approach. It wasn’t so much of a surprise though as her father was a decorated warrior. Of course he could be silent when necessary.
“Your Majesty.” Sara said, standing too quickly. The charcoal she’d been using rolled from her grip and the parchment fluttered to the ground. If there were ever any doubt that her father made her nervous one only had to watch her body language in his presence. The tops of her cheeks colored from the sudden scene she’d made and Sara averted her eyes, taking a moment to fetch the parchment and the charcoal. Her fingers were black and she was suddenly overly conscious of her appearance.
The other young men and women who attended were more often found in finery – their colorful clothing and precious jewels abound when a glance was sent their way. Sara was more of a practical young lady and so dressed more appropriately for the work she was to do each day. Most of the time her medium was the charcoal she’d dropped to the floor but there were occasions she used paints. The linen she wore was fine – something that her mother insisted upon – but it was a dull gray color. Less susceptible to stains from her darkened fingertips. The dark hair around her face had been braided and pinned up and out of the way prettily though hidden amongst the braids were small sapphires. Sara was not obsessed with displaying the wealth her family possessed. Besides she was more likely to lose a necklace or bracelet or ring when she was on some adventure in the city or countryside.
Tasia and their mother were growing more and more excited each day for the festival. The house was ridiculously busy and in situations such as this Sara was happy that she was caught in the loophole of her lack of rank. How intense such plans must be! The young lady did not envy her father of his many responsibilities, nor the rest of her family theirs.
“No, My Lord, I..” She stumbled over the words in bafflement. Had Meena told her and she had forgot? Would her mother set her up for such a stumble in front of her father? In either case it wouldn’t do to blame her mother to the Prince and so Sara risked a glance up at him to gauge his mood. Had he come here to drag her home? Was she about to be cuffed and corrected? “It was my mistake. I must have forgotten, please forgive me.”
The problem with art was how easily one was lost in it. Often was the occasion that Sara would dive into completing a painting only to notice hours had gone by the next time she looked up from the canvas. The light would be low and her stomach alerting her to meals she had skipped. Today was no exception and she analyzed the sketch in her lap critically before the sound of her father’s voice jolted her from the reverie. Even with his boots and his domineering presence Sara had not heard his approach. It wasn’t so much of a surprise though as her father was a decorated warrior. Of course he could be silent when necessary.
“Your Majesty.” Sara said, standing too quickly. The charcoal she’d been using rolled from her grip and the parchment fluttered to the ground. If there were ever any doubt that her father made her nervous one only had to watch her body language in his presence. The tops of her cheeks colored from the sudden scene she’d made and Sara averted her eyes, taking a moment to fetch the parchment and the charcoal. Her fingers were black and she was suddenly overly conscious of her appearance.
The other young men and women who attended were more often found in finery – their colorful clothing and precious jewels abound when a glance was sent their way. Sara was more of a practical young lady and so dressed more appropriately for the work she was to do each day. Most of the time her medium was the charcoal she’d dropped to the floor but there were occasions she used paints. The linen she wore was fine – something that her mother insisted upon – but it was a dull gray color. Less susceptible to stains from her darkened fingertips. The dark hair around her face had been braided and pinned up and out of the way prettily though hidden amongst the braids were small sapphires. Sara was not obsessed with displaying the wealth her family possessed. Besides she was more likely to lose a necklace or bracelet or ring when she was on some adventure in the city or countryside.
Tasia and their mother were growing more and more excited each day for the festival. The house was ridiculously busy and in situations such as this Sara was happy that she was caught in the loophole of her lack of rank. How intense such plans must be! The young lady did not envy her father of his many responsibilities, nor the rest of her family theirs.
“No, My Lord, I..” She stumbled over the words in bafflement. Had Meena told her and she had forgot? Would her mother set her up for such a stumble in front of her father? In either case it wouldn’t do to blame her mother to the Prince and so Sara risked a glance up at him to gauge his mood. Had he come here to drag her home? Was she about to be cuffed and corrected? “It was my mistake. I must have forgotten, please forgive me.”
She was her youngest. And like the rest of his children, Irakles treated her with indifference, even more indifference then he did to Achilleas and Emilios, simply because of her gender. But no one would know of how he asked the servants on her progress, that he got the scholeio to send him monthly reports on her studies and how well (or not well) she was doing. He bestowed both her and Tasia chitons and gowns, but he always ensured to note that hers were of brighter colors, eyecatching jewelry. Irakles reasoned to himself that it was because Sara was unlike her elder sister. Where Tasia took chances as they came, his youngest would cower in a corner, and she needed the brighter tones to make her stand out - get a good husband and let him protect her, so he could do what Irakles could not once his age caught up to him.
Or his demons caught him first.
And yet, it worried and mildly irritated the elder male when he saw the muted, gray and dull tones his youngest preferred. His eyes trailed the fluttering parchment to the ground, and they picked up the stains and charcoal marks. She enjoyed sketching and the arts, that much Meena told him of. She was talented too. But Irakles never praised anyone.
Instead, he merely let his gaze linger a tad longer on the impressive sketch she had done, and then allowed it to flicker back to his youngest, eyes calculative and dimmed with his intentions. It would never do for her to know... for anyone to know, for that matter. He himself could not explain why, perhaps Sara reminded him of all Taengea could be if not for his desperate wishes for it to flourish. Reminded him of what he could be... if only his ambition would die down to contentment.
But Irakles was never a man who was simply just content. He needed to see justice served, glory to his kingdom returned in a way his spineless brother Zenon could never. And the argument they had had in recent weeks over Irakles being too eager to expand their hold on lands had further solidified his idea that Zenon was simply not the right person to lead his kingdom. His kingdom.
His brows raised - Sara stood at least a head and a half shorter then he was. No matter, for she would grow. But no doubt, Irakles posed an imposing figure to her, from the difference in height, to the pure fact that he was her father and a prince in Taengea all at the same time. "You are to present yourself to the seamstresses I have summoned from the Kingdom. They will outfit you for any outfit you will need for the week of the festival. You are to wear what they make." his tone was brisk, almost as if a warning to Sara to disobey. Letting his gaze linger to the carvings and statues in the hall, Irakles spoke in an offhand tone. "Do you have your work to show me, Sara?" Rare was it, for Irakles to show interest in work. He would explain that he needed to ensure the perfection in his daughter's work, if asked. But the real reason was much simpler. He was curious.
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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She was her youngest. And like the rest of his children, Irakles treated her with indifference, even more indifference then he did to Achilleas and Emilios, simply because of her gender. But no one would know of how he asked the servants on her progress, that he got the scholeio to send him monthly reports on her studies and how well (or not well) she was doing. He bestowed both her and Tasia chitons and gowns, but he always ensured to note that hers were of brighter colors, eyecatching jewelry. Irakles reasoned to himself that it was because Sara was unlike her elder sister. Where Tasia took chances as they came, his youngest would cower in a corner, and she needed the brighter tones to make her stand out - get a good husband and let him protect her, so he could do what Irakles could not once his age caught up to him.
Or his demons caught him first.
And yet, it worried and mildly irritated the elder male when he saw the muted, gray and dull tones his youngest preferred. His eyes trailed the fluttering parchment to the ground, and they picked up the stains and charcoal marks. She enjoyed sketching and the arts, that much Meena told him of. She was talented too. But Irakles never praised anyone.
Instead, he merely let his gaze linger a tad longer on the impressive sketch she had done, and then allowed it to flicker back to his youngest, eyes calculative and dimmed with his intentions. It would never do for her to know... for anyone to know, for that matter. He himself could not explain why, perhaps Sara reminded him of all Taengea could be if not for his desperate wishes for it to flourish. Reminded him of what he could be... if only his ambition would die down to contentment.
But Irakles was never a man who was simply just content. He needed to see justice served, glory to his kingdom returned in a way his spineless brother Zenon could never. And the argument they had had in recent weeks over Irakles being too eager to expand their hold on lands had further solidified his idea that Zenon was simply not the right person to lead his kingdom. His kingdom.
His brows raised - Sara stood at least a head and a half shorter then he was. No matter, for she would grow. But no doubt, Irakles posed an imposing figure to her, from the difference in height, to the pure fact that he was her father and a prince in Taengea all at the same time. "You are to present yourself to the seamstresses I have summoned from the Kingdom. They will outfit you for any outfit you will need for the week of the festival. You are to wear what they make." his tone was brisk, almost as if a warning to Sara to disobey. Letting his gaze linger to the carvings and statues in the hall, Irakles spoke in an offhand tone. "Do you have your work to show me, Sara?" Rare was it, for Irakles to show interest in work. He would explain that he needed to ensure the perfection in his daughter's work, if asked. But the real reason was much simpler. He was curious.
She was her youngest. And like the rest of his children, Irakles treated her with indifference, even more indifference then he did to Achilleas and Emilios, simply because of her gender. But no one would know of how he asked the servants on her progress, that he got the scholeio to send him monthly reports on her studies and how well (or not well) she was doing. He bestowed both her and Tasia chitons and gowns, but he always ensured to note that hers were of brighter colors, eyecatching jewelry. Irakles reasoned to himself that it was because Sara was unlike her elder sister. Where Tasia took chances as they came, his youngest would cower in a corner, and she needed the brighter tones to make her stand out - get a good husband and let him protect her, so he could do what Irakles could not once his age caught up to him.
Or his demons caught him first.
And yet, it worried and mildly irritated the elder male when he saw the muted, gray and dull tones his youngest preferred. His eyes trailed the fluttering parchment to the ground, and they picked up the stains and charcoal marks. She enjoyed sketching and the arts, that much Meena told him of. She was talented too. But Irakles never praised anyone.
Instead, he merely let his gaze linger a tad longer on the impressive sketch she had done, and then allowed it to flicker back to his youngest, eyes calculative and dimmed with his intentions. It would never do for her to know... for anyone to know, for that matter. He himself could not explain why, perhaps Sara reminded him of all Taengea could be if not for his desperate wishes for it to flourish. Reminded him of what he could be... if only his ambition would die down to contentment.
But Irakles was never a man who was simply just content. He needed to see justice served, glory to his kingdom returned in a way his spineless brother Zenon could never. And the argument they had had in recent weeks over Irakles being too eager to expand their hold on lands had further solidified his idea that Zenon was simply not the right person to lead his kingdom. His kingdom.
His brows raised - Sara stood at least a head and a half shorter then he was. No matter, for she would grow. But no doubt, Irakles posed an imposing figure to her, from the difference in height, to the pure fact that he was her father and a prince in Taengea all at the same time. "You are to present yourself to the seamstresses I have summoned from the Kingdom. They will outfit you for any outfit you will need for the week of the festival. You are to wear what they make." his tone was brisk, almost as if a warning to Sara to disobey. Letting his gaze linger to the carvings and statues in the hall, Irakles spoke in an offhand tone. "Do you have your work to show me, Sara?" Rare was it, for Irakles to show interest in work. He would explain that he needed to ensure the perfection in his daughter's work, if asked. But the real reason was much simpler. He was curious.
"Yes, my Lord." Sara said and swallowed hard while the blush across her cheeks deepened. Meena must have complained to the Prince that she did not often wear the pretty clothing that he paid for let alone the jewels that sat in her quarters. Part of her wanted to defend herself and another knew there was little point in doing so - the argument that they were simply too expensive for her to ever consider wearing when they might be ruined would be moot. After all, she should begin to act properly, as her mother said. Even if she was illegitimate for the time being there was no predicting what might happen in the future. It was better to simply do as her mother and father told her to. Perhaps she had been attempting to prolong her childhood. Some young ladies her age were married and pregnant already while she languished in relative freedom.
The question as to her work surprised her and she couldn't help the smile that lit her features in the next beat as her unease was replaced by excitement. His interest was not something to be squandered with a meek response so instead she moved back to the table and paused to rinse her fingers in a solution followed by saltwater and then a moment was given to wiping much of the coal off. It wasn't perfect - the stuff still gathered around her finger nails. To be rid of the black would require a good scrubbing which she attended to in the evenings.
"Yes! Please follow me. The room I'm assigned is just down the corridor." Sara said, moving to gather her things and hoisting them up into her grip. The young woman paused to be sure he was following and then turned a corner. The walk was short enough and though Sara wanted to fill it with inane questions and considerations she kept quiet, pausing in the brisk pace only to open the door. Surely for him it was a leisurely stroll as his legs were longer than hers. "There are two students to a room." She spoke quietly, moving through the doorframe and holding the door open so that he could enter. A glance was sent towards the curtain that separated her area from the other's and then back to the figure her father cut with blue eyes lingering on his shoulders. Sara shut the door and then moved further into the room, shuffling the parchment in her hold and the rest of her belongings onto a work station. When Irakles looked about the area he'd find paintings sorted into slots depending on the size of their canvas. Sketches were in another area and also the beginnings of a small collection of sculptures she had completed. Sara wasn't excellent at them but it was better to have a wide range of talents. Paints had their own area and some of the paintings she was working on were propped on three easels.
The sun had not quite set yet though there were sconces along the wall which burned as well as two braziers to be lit when the slave came along. A number of windows lined one wall and Sara approached where her father stood which was nearest to her paintings. "These are not completed quite yet. I am still learning to mix the proper tones and shades to give depth to the painting." She explained, touching the edge of a few canvas. One was very clearly a painting of the room they were in and the view out of those windows. Another featured Pistos in all his regal glory, the mastiff giving her a withering look. The third was something more private and so had been covered. Sara did not want to detail the life her family lived though plenty of the other students and even some of the teachers asked. So she'd kept this covered but saw no reason to hide it from her father. Truthfully she had been intent on putting it in his office at the Estate without mentioning it - like she had with many sketches and paintings over the years. Irakles had never spoken to her of it but she liked to think he enjoyed them. The alternative was he tossed them out.
"I've spent a lot of time with this one. It is almost finished." Sara said as she pulled the cloth covering away and stepped back so he could consider it if he liked. It was an intimate family moment - Irakles and Meena had been dining in one of the parlors some months prior and Sara had asked to join them. They had consented and she'd seated herself a respectful distance away but had watched every movement with the intention of committing it to memory. The night sky in the background of the courtyard, a servant posted in such a way, how the table had been prepared.
In the painting, her mother was smiling and holding a date aloft while Irakles was grinning. The Prince might wear a certain smile for political purposes but the grin he reserved for her mother was genuine. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the light in them and his relaxed pose were details she'd focused on. As well as one hand on the table that had touched Meena's. They shared a type of connection that Sara had done her best to convey on the canvas though she was uncertain of what her father's reaction might be. In the painting, apart from a purple chiton he appeared as any man enjoying the company of a woman he adored.
He hadn't asked for an explanation and she found herself wondering if he wanted to speak at all. Perhaps he'd prefer to survey the work and deign she had made some progress and then leave without another word. It was difficult to say how her father would act but Sara was pleased he'd shown even a modicum of interest in how Meena was investing his money in their children.
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"Yes, my Lord." Sara said and swallowed hard while the blush across her cheeks deepened. Meena must have complained to the Prince that she did not often wear the pretty clothing that he paid for let alone the jewels that sat in her quarters. Part of her wanted to defend herself and another knew there was little point in doing so - the argument that they were simply too expensive for her to ever consider wearing when they might be ruined would be moot. After all, she should begin to act properly, as her mother said. Even if she was illegitimate for the time being there was no predicting what might happen in the future. It was better to simply do as her mother and father told her to. Perhaps she had been attempting to prolong her childhood. Some young ladies her age were married and pregnant already while she languished in relative freedom.
The question as to her work surprised her and she couldn't help the smile that lit her features in the next beat as her unease was replaced by excitement. His interest was not something to be squandered with a meek response so instead she moved back to the table and paused to rinse her fingers in a solution followed by saltwater and then a moment was given to wiping much of the coal off. It wasn't perfect - the stuff still gathered around her finger nails. To be rid of the black would require a good scrubbing which she attended to in the evenings.
"Yes! Please follow me. The room I'm assigned is just down the corridor." Sara said, moving to gather her things and hoisting them up into her grip. The young woman paused to be sure he was following and then turned a corner. The walk was short enough and though Sara wanted to fill it with inane questions and considerations she kept quiet, pausing in the brisk pace only to open the door. Surely for him it was a leisurely stroll as his legs were longer than hers. "There are two students to a room." She spoke quietly, moving through the doorframe and holding the door open so that he could enter. A glance was sent towards the curtain that separated her area from the other's and then back to the figure her father cut with blue eyes lingering on his shoulders. Sara shut the door and then moved further into the room, shuffling the parchment in her hold and the rest of her belongings onto a work station. When Irakles looked about the area he'd find paintings sorted into slots depending on the size of their canvas. Sketches were in another area and also the beginnings of a small collection of sculptures she had completed. Sara wasn't excellent at them but it was better to have a wide range of talents. Paints had their own area and some of the paintings she was working on were propped on three easels.
The sun had not quite set yet though there were sconces along the wall which burned as well as two braziers to be lit when the slave came along. A number of windows lined one wall and Sara approached where her father stood which was nearest to her paintings. "These are not completed quite yet. I am still learning to mix the proper tones and shades to give depth to the painting." She explained, touching the edge of a few canvas. One was very clearly a painting of the room they were in and the view out of those windows. Another featured Pistos in all his regal glory, the mastiff giving her a withering look. The third was something more private and so had been covered. Sara did not want to detail the life her family lived though plenty of the other students and even some of the teachers asked. So she'd kept this covered but saw no reason to hide it from her father. Truthfully she had been intent on putting it in his office at the Estate without mentioning it - like she had with many sketches and paintings over the years. Irakles had never spoken to her of it but she liked to think he enjoyed them. The alternative was he tossed them out.
"I've spent a lot of time with this one. It is almost finished." Sara said as she pulled the cloth covering away and stepped back so he could consider it if he liked. It was an intimate family moment - Irakles and Meena had been dining in one of the parlors some months prior and Sara had asked to join them. They had consented and she'd seated herself a respectful distance away but had watched every movement with the intention of committing it to memory. The night sky in the background of the courtyard, a servant posted in such a way, how the table had been prepared.
In the painting, her mother was smiling and holding a date aloft while Irakles was grinning. The Prince might wear a certain smile for political purposes but the grin he reserved for her mother was genuine. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the light in them and his relaxed pose were details she'd focused on. As well as one hand on the table that had touched Meena's. They shared a type of connection that Sara had done her best to convey on the canvas though she was uncertain of what her father's reaction might be. In the painting, apart from a purple chiton he appeared as any man enjoying the company of a woman he adored.
He hadn't asked for an explanation and she found herself wondering if he wanted to speak at all. Perhaps he'd prefer to survey the work and deign she had made some progress and then leave without another word. It was difficult to say how her father would act but Sara was pleased he'd shown even a modicum of interest in how Meena was investing his money in their children.
"Yes, my Lord." Sara said and swallowed hard while the blush across her cheeks deepened. Meena must have complained to the Prince that she did not often wear the pretty clothing that he paid for let alone the jewels that sat in her quarters. Part of her wanted to defend herself and another knew there was little point in doing so - the argument that they were simply too expensive for her to ever consider wearing when they might be ruined would be moot. After all, she should begin to act properly, as her mother said. Even if she was illegitimate for the time being there was no predicting what might happen in the future. It was better to simply do as her mother and father told her to. Perhaps she had been attempting to prolong her childhood. Some young ladies her age were married and pregnant already while she languished in relative freedom.
The question as to her work surprised her and she couldn't help the smile that lit her features in the next beat as her unease was replaced by excitement. His interest was not something to be squandered with a meek response so instead she moved back to the table and paused to rinse her fingers in a solution followed by saltwater and then a moment was given to wiping much of the coal off. It wasn't perfect - the stuff still gathered around her finger nails. To be rid of the black would require a good scrubbing which she attended to in the evenings.
"Yes! Please follow me. The room I'm assigned is just down the corridor." Sara said, moving to gather her things and hoisting them up into her grip. The young woman paused to be sure he was following and then turned a corner. The walk was short enough and though Sara wanted to fill it with inane questions and considerations she kept quiet, pausing in the brisk pace only to open the door. Surely for him it was a leisurely stroll as his legs were longer than hers. "There are two students to a room." She spoke quietly, moving through the doorframe and holding the door open so that he could enter. A glance was sent towards the curtain that separated her area from the other's and then back to the figure her father cut with blue eyes lingering on his shoulders. Sara shut the door and then moved further into the room, shuffling the parchment in her hold and the rest of her belongings onto a work station. When Irakles looked about the area he'd find paintings sorted into slots depending on the size of their canvas. Sketches were in another area and also the beginnings of a small collection of sculptures she had completed. Sara wasn't excellent at them but it was better to have a wide range of talents. Paints had their own area and some of the paintings she was working on were propped on three easels.
The sun had not quite set yet though there were sconces along the wall which burned as well as two braziers to be lit when the slave came along. A number of windows lined one wall and Sara approached where her father stood which was nearest to her paintings. "These are not completed quite yet. I am still learning to mix the proper tones and shades to give depth to the painting." She explained, touching the edge of a few canvas. One was very clearly a painting of the room they were in and the view out of those windows. Another featured Pistos in all his regal glory, the mastiff giving her a withering look. The third was something more private and so had been covered. Sara did not want to detail the life her family lived though plenty of the other students and even some of the teachers asked. So she'd kept this covered but saw no reason to hide it from her father. Truthfully she had been intent on putting it in his office at the Estate without mentioning it - like she had with many sketches and paintings over the years. Irakles had never spoken to her of it but she liked to think he enjoyed them. The alternative was he tossed them out.
"I've spent a lot of time with this one. It is almost finished." Sara said as she pulled the cloth covering away and stepped back so he could consider it if he liked. It was an intimate family moment - Irakles and Meena had been dining in one of the parlors some months prior and Sara had asked to join them. They had consented and she'd seated herself a respectful distance away but had watched every movement with the intention of committing it to memory. The night sky in the background of the courtyard, a servant posted in such a way, how the table had been prepared.
In the painting, her mother was smiling and holding a date aloft while Irakles was grinning. The Prince might wear a certain smile for political purposes but the grin he reserved for her mother was genuine. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the light in them and his relaxed pose were details she'd focused on. As well as one hand on the table that had touched Meena's. They shared a type of connection that Sara had done her best to convey on the canvas though she was uncertain of what her father's reaction might be. In the painting, apart from a purple chiton he appeared as any man enjoying the company of a woman he adored.
He hadn't asked for an explanation and she found herself wondering if he wanted to speak at all. Perhaps he'd prefer to survey the work and deign she had made some progress and then leave without another word. It was difficult to say how her father would act but Sara was pleased he'd shown even a modicum of interest in how Meena was investing his money in their children.
Unlike her sister, Sara had no want of fine chitons or jewels, at least that was what Meena reported to him when he asked on the updates of his two daughters. He rarely intercepted in the way in which their mother raised them, being the father that he is. One that raises his children in a very hands-off manner, Irakles only ever obtains updates of his children via reports or news.
Sara however, was perhaps the only one he deigned to visit within the scholeio. And for that one small admission, he had to maintain a very detached composure as she spoke, reining in the want to allow his eyes to travel from her head to toe, checking on every corner to ensure himself of her growth. Something about his youngest just made one felt an extra surge of protectiveness.
He expected no argument at his command - his children rarely defied him, with the exception of Achilleas on occasion. His eldest obviously had no like for the way Irakles had treated his mother, but then again, the old general rarely bothered with what other's thought of him. He was no ambassador, he was a military general. It would never do if he wanted to deal with emotions and feelings.
But he was curious.
With nary a word, Irakles followed Sara down the corridor, his long strides easily catching up with the corners she took until they entered the room that were separated by curtains. Making no response to her explanations, he remained standing off to a side as she sifted through her work lined along the wall, and then pulled them out to explain to her. His eyes fell first on the drawing of her dog, a pet of which Irakles had no wish to further his acquaintence of. The mastiff provided her companionship, and that was the only reason why Irakles allowed his existence.
It was the drawing of himself, that had the male freezing in action, as she pulled the sheets away. His chest froze, his jaw tightened at the scene. It was rare for him to share intimate scenes with his mistress. Meena was an obsession of his, someone seductive, beautiful, youthful, and stroked his ego. She provided him the companionship and stimulation that his quiet wife would never quite be able to satisfy. But to be intimate and sweet with Meena? That was rare. But Sara managed to somehow convey a sense of softness that was otherwise not prevalent in the day to day interactions with his mistress.
And that in itself proved a lot in Irakles's mind. That his youngest had a very innocent, bright outlook in life. She wanted the best for everyone and out of everyone, and he knew that if she were to grow up with the same mindset, she would get eaten alive by the wolves of the court. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to let reality slap her in the face.
And he could only change things if he had the power to.
With a curt nod that hid all the mixed up tangle of emotions that swirled in his chest, the acknowledgement he gave was a short, brief one. "Continue as you are, Sara. I... Prepare yourself for the festival. I expect nothing less." Turning around, he swept away, meeting his retinue in the courtyard of the scholeio and allowing them to shuffle him to his horse and proceeding to ride back to the Mikaelidas mansion. His youngest would prove to be his downfall one day...but Irakles was doing his best to prevent that from happening. Detachment was the first step.
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Unlike her sister, Sara had no want of fine chitons or jewels, at least that was what Meena reported to him when he asked on the updates of his two daughters. He rarely intercepted in the way in which their mother raised them, being the father that he is. One that raises his children in a very hands-off manner, Irakles only ever obtains updates of his children via reports or news.
Sara however, was perhaps the only one he deigned to visit within the scholeio. And for that one small admission, he had to maintain a very detached composure as she spoke, reining in the want to allow his eyes to travel from her head to toe, checking on every corner to ensure himself of her growth. Something about his youngest just made one felt an extra surge of protectiveness.
He expected no argument at his command - his children rarely defied him, with the exception of Achilleas on occasion. His eldest obviously had no like for the way Irakles had treated his mother, but then again, the old general rarely bothered with what other's thought of him. He was no ambassador, he was a military general. It would never do if he wanted to deal with emotions and feelings.
But he was curious.
With nary a word, Irakles followed Sara down the corridor, his long strides easily catching up with the corners she took until they entered the room that were separated by curtains. Making no response to her explanations, he remained standing off to a side as she sifted through her work lined along the wall, and then pulled them out to explain to her. His eyes fell first on the drawing of her dog, a pet of which Irakles had no wish to further his acquaintence of. The mastiff provided her companionship, and that was the only reason why Irakles allowed his existence.
It was the drawing of himself, that had the male freezing in action, as she pulled the sheets away. His chest froze, his jaw tightened at the scene. It was rare for him to share intimate scenes with his mistress. Meena was an obsession of his, someone seductive, beautiful, youthful, and stroked his ego. She provided him the companionship and stimulation that his quiet wife would never quite be able to satisfy. But to be intimate and sweet with Meena? That was rare. But Sara managed to somehow convey a sense of softness that was otherwise not prevalent in the day to day interactions with his mistress.
And that in itself proved a lot in Irakles's mind. That his youngest had a very innocent, bright outlook in life. She wanted the best for everyone and out of everyone, and he knew that if she were to grow up with the same mindset, she would get eaten alive by the wolves of the court. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to let reality slap her in the face.
And he could only change things if he had the power to.
With a curt nod that hid all the mixed up tangle of emotions that swirled in his chest, the acknowledgement he gave was a short, brief one. "Continue as you are, Sara. I... Prepare yourself for the festival. I expect nothing less." Turning around, he swept away, meeting his retinue in the courtyard of the scholeio and allowing them to shuffle him to his horse and proceeding to ride back to the Mikaelidas mansion. His youngest would prove to be his downfall one day...but Irakles was doing his best to prevent that from happening. Detachment was the first step.
Unlike her sister, Sara had no want of fine chitons or jewels, at least that was what Meena reported to him when he asked on the updates of his two daughters. He rarely intercepted in the way in which their mother raised them, being the father that he is. One that raises his children in a very hands-off manner, Irakles only ever obtains updates of his children via reports or news.
Sara however, was perhaps the only one he deigned to visit within the scholeio. And for that one small admission, he had to maintain a very detached composure as she spoke, reining in the want to allow his eyes to travel from her head to toe, checking on every corner to ensure himself of her growth. Something about his youngest just made one felt an extra surge of protectiveness.
He expected no argument at his command - his children rarely defied him, with the exception of Achilleas on occasion. His eldest obviously had no like for the way Irakles had treated his mother, but then again, the old general rarely bothered with what other's thought of him. He was no ambassador, he was a military general. It would never do if he wanted to deal with emotions and feelings.
But he was curious.
With nary a word, Irakles followed Sara down the corridor, his long strides easily catching up with the corners she took until they entered the room that were separated by curtains. Making no response to her explanations, he remained standing off to a side as she sifted through her work lined along the wall, and then pulled them out to explain to her. His eyes fell first on the drawing of her dog, a pet of which Irakles had no wish to further his acquaintence of. The mastiff provided her companionship, and that was the only reason why Irakles allowed his existence.
It was the drawing of himself, that had the male freezing in action, as she pulled the sheets away. His chest froze, his jaw tightened at the scene. It was rare for him to share intimate scenes with his mistress. Meena was an obsession of his, someone seductive, beautiful, youthful, and stroked his ego. She provided him the companionship and stimulation that his quiet wife would never quite be able to satisfy. But to be intimate and sweet with Meena? That was rare. But Sara managed to somehow convey a sense of softness that was otherwise not prevalent in the day to day interactions with his mistress.
And that in itself proved a lot in Irakles's mind. That his youngest had a very innocent, bright outlook in life. She wanted the best for everyone and out of everyone, and he knew that if she were to grow up with the same mindset, she would get eaten alive by the wolves of the court. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to let reality slap her in the face.
And he could only change things if he had the power to.
With a curt nod that hid all the mixed up tangle of emotions that swirled in his chest, the acknowledgement he gave was a short, brief one. "Continue as you are, Sara. I... Prepare yourself for the festival. I expect nothing less." Turning around, he swept away, meeting his retinue in the courtyard of the scholeio and allowing them to shuffle him to his horse and proceeding to ride back to the Mikaelidas mansion. His youngest would prove to be his downfall one day...but Irakles was doing his best to prevent that from happening. Detachment was the first step.
