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The sun beat down on the men in the arena, sweat glistened, profanity laced the air as loudly as the clash of sword on shield. No audience for these rough men, paired off as they might be in more serious fights but for now without the extra tension that came with wondering how closely Thanatos was watching you for any mistake. Some of the men were stripped nearly naked, a loincloth tied more for comfort than modesty, some wore a minimum of light padding, while others laboured under more heavy armour than they would be given in a real fight, getting used to the weight.
“Keep your shield up Constans,” their trainer bellowed, as he prowled around the pairs, watching for any mistakes. The staff he carried swung out and smacked a fighter in the shin as he walked past. “Sloppy footwork there Patos.” Distracted, the man missed his next block entirely and yelped in pain. “You were supposed to block that,” his training partner informed him helpfully while he profaned several deities.
Another yelp of pain from another direction, this one accompanied by good natured laughter as well as a few choice words. These men might end up killing one another, but they also trained together, ate together, bathed together. Some stayed wary of each other; others, like Lesley himself had, made friends and absolved each other in advance for anything that might happen when they entered the arena to spill blood before their masters and their gods.
“Good job, you two. Have a drink, then you can run two laps, and then take your armour off.” So it went, correction, orders, occasional encouragement. “Emilios. I think he’s done learning you can beat him. Put a breastplate on, you’re pairing with me next. Grab some water, boy, then practice against the pole for a while.” They were all ‘boy’ to Lesley until they won a fight, regardless of age.
Emilios gave the Retarius an oh shit look, and the newer gladiator one of relief, before both scurried to do as they were told. Something caught his attention, one of the pairs taking a pause longer than usual, and he went to chivvy them into continuing or see what the problem was.
“Well hello, I didn’t know we’d earned a reward,” one of the gladiators leered, just as his trainer came up behind him, and Lesley’s staff smacked him solidly in the ribs. The punishment was for leaving off the exercise he’d been set, not for his manners, and his sparing partner growled at him to get back to work, as if he hadn’t been the one to notice the woman at the arena entrance first. It wasn’t terribly hard to set someone else up to take the fall for something in such a hypermasculine environment, not least because their supervisors rarely cared. If you were the one who got caught, your lack of situational awareness was worthy of punishment alone.
Lesley gave the woman a somewhat confused look, and took a few steps closer. The wrinkle between his brows as he evaluated someone and the quiet patience with himself as he sorted out how to deal with something social had fooled more than one young man into thinking he was either a softie or that he’d been hit in the head enough during his active career to be a bit slow, but Les didn’t mind being underestimated.
He was uncomfortably aware that he was in a sleeveless tunic today, and that his tattoos and deliberate scars could seem anywhere from simply barbaric to downright blasphemous to native born greeks, with their worship of the human body as reflection of divine perfection, but he refused to be at all ashamed - even if he did cover up most of the time and rarely bathed except alone or with other gladiators. That was just not wanting to deal with people’s... well, with people.
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The sun beat down on the men in the arena, sweat glistened, profanity laced the air as loudly as the clash of sword on shield. No audience for these rough men, paired off as they might be in more serious fights but for now without the extra tension that came with wondering how closely Thanatos was watching you for any mistake. Some of the men were stripped nearly naked, a loincloth tied more for comfort than modesty, some wore a minimum of light padding, while others laboured under more heavy armour than they would be given in a real fight, getting used to the weight.
“Keep your shield up Constans,” their trainer bellowed, as he prowled around the pairs, watching for any mistakes. The staff he carried swung out and smacked a fighter in the shin as he walked past. “Sloppy footwork there Patos.” Distracted, the man missed his next block entirely and yelped in pain. “You were supposed to block that,” his training partner informed him helpfully while he profaned several deities.
Another yelp of pain from another direction, this one accompanied by good natured laughter as well as a few choice words. These men might end up killing one another, but they also trained together, ate together, bathed together. Some stayed wary of each other; others, like Lesley himself had, made friends and absolved each other in advance for anything that might happen when they entered the arena to spill blood before their masters and their gods.
“Good job, you two. Have a drink, then you can run two laps, and then take your armour off.” So it went, correction, orders, occasional encouragement. “Emilios. I think he’s done learning you can beat him. Put a breastplate on, you’re pairing with me next. Grab some water, boy, then practice against the pole for a while.” They were all ‘boy’ to Lesley until they won a fight, regardless of age.
Emilios gave the Retarius an oh shit look, and the newer gladiator one of relief, before both scurried to do as they were told. Something caught his attention, one of the pairs taking a pause longer than usual, and he went to chivvy them into continuing or see what the problem was.
“Well hello, I didn’t know we’d earned a reward,” one of the gladiators leered, just as his trainer came up behind him, and Lesley’s staff smacked him solidly in the ribs. The punishment was for leaving off the exercise he’d been set, not for his manners, and his sparing partner growled at him to get back to work, as if he hadn’t been the one to notice the woman at the arena entrance first. It wasn’t terribly hard to set someone else up to take the fall for something in such a hypermasculine environment, not least because their supervisors rarely cared. If you were the one who got caught, your lack of situational awareness was worthy of punishment alone.
Lesley gave the woman a somewhat confused look, and took a few steps closer. The wrinkle between his brows as he evaluated someone and the quiet patience with himself as he sorted out how to deal with something social had fooled more than one young man into thinking he was either a softie or that he’d been hit in the head enough during his active career to be a bit slow, but Les didn’t mind being underestimated.
He was uncomfortably aware that he was in a sleeveless tunic today, and that his tattoos and deliberate scars could seem anywhere from simply barbaric to downright blasphemous to native born greeks, with their worship of the human body as reflection of divine perfection, but he refused to be at all ashamed - even if he did cover up most of the time and rarely bathed except alone or with other gladiators. That was just not wanting to deal with people’s... well, with people.
The sun beat down on the men in the arena, sweat glistened, profanity laced the air as loudly as the clash of sword on shield. No audience for these rough men, paired off as they might be in more serious fights but for now without the extra tension that came with wondering how closely Thanatos was watching you for any mistake. Some of the men were stripped nearly naked, a loincloth tied more for comfort than modesty, some wore a minimum of light padding, while others laboured under more heavy armour than they would be given in a real fight, getting used to the weight.
“Keep your shield up Constans,” their trainer bellowed, as he prowled around the pairs, watching for any mistakes. The staff he carried swung out and smacked a fighter in the shin as he walked past. “Sloppy footwork there Patos.” Distracted, the man missed his next block entirely and yelped in pain. “You were supposed to block that,” his training partner informed him helpfully while he profaned several deities.
Another yelp of pain from another direction, this one accompanied by good natured laughter as well as a few choice words. These men might end up killing one another, but they also trained together, ate together, bathed together. Some stayed wary of each other; others, like Lesley himself had, made friends and absolved each other in advance for anything that might happen when they entered the arena to spill blood before their masters and their gods.
“Good job, you two. Have a drink, then you can run two laps, and then take your armour off.” So it went, correction, orders, occasional encouragement. “Emilios. I think he’s done learning you can beat him. Put a breastplate on, you’re pairing with me next. Grab some water, boy, then practice against the pole for a while.” They were all ‘boy’ to Lesley until they won a fight, regardless of age.
Emilios gave the Retarius an oh shit look, and the newer gladiator one of relief, before both scurried to do as they were told. Something caught his attention, one of the pairs taking a pause longer than usual, and he went to chivvy them into continuing or see what the problem was.
“Well hello, I didn’t know we’d earned a reward,” one of the gladiators leered, just as his trainer came up behind him, and Lesley’s staff smacked him solidly in the ribs. The punishment was for leaving off the exercise he’d been set, not for his manners, and his sparing partner growled at him to get back to work, as if he hadn’t been the one to notice the woman at the arena entrance first. It wasn’t terribly hard to set someone else up to take the fall for something in such a hypermasculine environment, not least because their supervisors rarely cared. If you were the one who got caught, your lack of situational awareness was worthy of punishment alone.
Lesley gave the woman a somewhat confused look, and took a few steps closer. The wrinkle between his brows as he evaluated someone and the quiet patience with himself as he sorted out how to deal with something social had fooled more than one young man into thinking he was either a softie or that he’d been hit in the head enough during his active career to be a bit slow, but Les didn’t mind being underestimated.
He was uncomfortably aware that he was in a sleeveless tunic today, and that his tattoos and deliberate scars could seem anywhere from simply barbaric to downright blasphemous to native born greeks, with their worship of the human body as reflection of divine perfection, but he refused to be at all ashamed - even if he did cover up most of the time and rarely bathed except alone or with other gladiators. That was just not wanting to deal with people’s... well, with people.
Well now. She was lost.
Emilia of Xanthos did not always get lost. As the youngest daughter to the King of Athenia, the princess was always escorted by at least one guard and one handmaiden whenever she went out to the market or the Athenian capitol. That being said, she also tended to not pay attention as her handmaiden would guide her through the markets. In truth, Emilia's attention span was much like a magpie in that she was attracted to sparkly, shiny, new things. Her eyes was more focused on the merchants and their wares compared to where she was going.
Now usually, her handmaidens knew quite well that their duty was more ensuring Emilia did not go off course then it was helping her decided on colors and carrying her purchases. However, this current one happened to be new, a slave recently purchased who was just as enthralled with the sights and sounds of the new capitol she was in as Emilia was with the new wares the merchants had just brought in from a new shipment. It did not take long at all for both their attentions to be split, and the next thing she knew, Emilia looked up to hand over a new set of chains she had bought, only to find no one next to her.
Hazel eyes widened as she finally noticed being all alone, and for a brief moment, her heart rate increased. Clutching the chains to the chest of her emerald green chiton, the girl stood out like a sore thumb. The material of her knee-length chiton swayed in the gentle breeze of the afternoon, the young brunette girl wildly looking around. This did not seem at all like the usual streets she frequented. And what was that loud bellowing she heard?
Frowning, Emilia tried to catch the attention of a few, yet whether it was due to the rich silk she wore, or her fine manner of speech and curled brown locks, people seemed to hurry by her, too nervous by her rich outlook to even speak to her.
Biting her lips, the princess followed the only course of action she could think of. Surely someone could help her there, if they could yell so loudly?
With the chains jangling in her grasp, Emilia stepped forth despite the uncertainty in her eyes... eyes that widened the moment she reached the mouth of the Arcus and saw exactly who were the ones causing all the ruckus she had been hearing from a distance. Half-dressed men with no tops swung weapons around, growling and yellling at each other, pain and sweat mingling in the air.
Definitely not a sight Emilia was used to. She was a princess who was kept in the company of silks and dresses, fine words and gentle actions, not teh rough hewn edges of the men she saw now. Any gladiator fight she saw, she would observe from the same confines of the royal box available for herself and her family, even the one that had been to celebrate her sister's engagement with that Dimitrou lord. Shocked and stunned, the young girl gaped when a man covered in sweat and holding a staff came round nearer to where she stood, staring with a little confused look. When he took a few steps closer, instinct had Emilia backing away, even if her mind turned. Was he familiar? Somewhat. Where had she seen him before? Emilia met many people, from Athenian nobility to dignatories visiting her father, and her memory wasn't exactly stellar.
Thankfully, the one closest to her wasn't shirtless at least... but still, that it was sleeveless and displayed his scars and tattoo was a sight in itself that left Emilia quite speechless, a far cry from the smaller and finer lords she was used to keeping company. "I-I-I didn't mean to intrude." she stammered finally, feeling the silence as they exchanged eye contact growing awkward and stunted.
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Well now. She was lost.
Emilia of Xanthos did not always get lost. As the youngest daughter to the King of Athenia, the princess was always escorted by at least one guard and one handmaiden whenever she went out to the market or the Athenian capitol. That being said, she also tended to not pay attention as her handmaiden would guide her through the markets. In truth, Emilia's attention span was much like a magpie in that she was attracted to sparkly, shiny, new things. Her eyes was more focused on the merchants and their wares compared to where she was going.
Now usually, her handmaidens knew quite well that their duty was more ensuring Emilia did not go off course then it was helping her decided on colors and carrying her purchases. However, this current one happened to be new, a slave recently purchased who was just as enthralled with the sights and sounds of the new capitol she was in as Emilia was with the new wares the merchants had just brought in from a new shipment. It did not take long at all for both their attentions to be split, and the next thing she knew, Emilia looked up to hand over a new set of chains she had bought, only to find no one next to her.
Hazel eyes widened as she finally noticed being all alone, and for a brief moment, her heart rate increased. Clutching the chains to the chest of her emerald green chiton, the girl stood out like a sore thumb. The material of her knee-length chiton swayed in the gentle breeze of the afternoon, the young brunette girl wildly looking around. This did not seem at all like the usual streets she frequented. And what was that loud bellowing she heard?
Frowning, Emilia tried to catch the attention of a few, yet whether it was due to the rich silk she wore, or her fine manner of speech and curled brown locks, people seemed to hurry by her, too nervous by her rich outlook to even speak to her.
Biting her lips, the princess followed the only course of action she could think of. Surely someone could help her there, if they could yell so loudly?
With the chains jangling in her grasp, Emilia stepped forth despite the uncertainty in her eyes... eyes that widened the moment she reached the mouth of the Arcus and saw exactly who were the ones causing all the ruckus she had been hearing from a distance. Half-dressed men with no tops swung weapons around, growling and yellling at each other, pain and sweat mingling in the air.
Definitely not a sight Emilia was used to. She was a princess who was kept in the company of silks and dresses, fine words and gentle actions, not teh rough hewn edges of the men she saw now. Any gladiator fight she saw, she would observe from the same confines of the royal box available for herself and her family, even the one that had been to celebrate her sister's engagement with that Dimitrou lord. Shocked and stunned, the young girl gaped when a man covered in sweat and holding a staff came round nearer to where she stood, staring with a little confused look. When he took a few steps closer, instinct had Emilia backing away, even if her mind turned. Was he familiar? Somewhat. Where had she seen him before? Emilia met many people, from Athenian nobility to dignatories visiting her father, and her memory wasn't exactly stellar.
Thankfully, the one closest to her wasn't shirtless at least... but still, that it was sleeveless and displayed his scars and tattoo was a sight in itself that left Emilia quite speechless, a far cry from the smaller and finer lords she was used to keeping company. "I-I-I didn't mean to intrude." she stammered finally, feeling the silence as they exchanged eye contact growing awkward and stunted.
Well now. She was lost.
Emilia of Xanthos did not always get lost. As the youngest daughter to the King of Athenia, the princess was always escorted by at least one guard and one handmaiden whenever she went out to the market or the Athenian capitol. That being said, she also tended to not pay attention as her handmaiden would guide her through the markets. In truth, Emilia's attention span was much like a magpie in that she was attracted to sparkly, shiny, new things. Her eyes was more focused on the merchants and their wares compared to where she was going.
Now usually, her handmaidens knew quite well that their duty was more ensuring Emilia did not go off course then it was helping her decided on colors and carrying her purchases. However, this current one happened to be new, a slave recently purchased who was just as enthralled with the sights and sounds of the new capitol she was in as Emilia was with the new wares the merchants had just brought in from a new shipment. It did not take long at all for both their attentions to be split, and the next thing she knew, Emilia looked up to hand over a new set of chains she had bought, only to find no one next to her.
Hazel eyes widened as she finally noticed being all alone, and for a brief moment, her heart rate increased. Clutching the chains to the chest of her emerald green chiton, the girl stood out like a sore thumb. The material of her knee-length chiton swayed in the gentle breeze of the afternoon, the young brunette girl wildly looking around. This did not seem at all like the usual streets she frequented. And what was that loud bellowing she heard?
Frowning, Emilia tried to catch the attention of a few, yet whether it was due to the rich silk she wore, or her fine manner of speech and curled brown locks, people seemed to hurry by her, too nervous by her rich outlook to even speak to her.
Biting her lips, the princess followed the only course of action she could think of. Surely someone could help her there, if they could yell so loudly?
With the chains jangling in her grasp, Emilia stepped forth despite the uncertainty in her eyes... eyes that widened the moment she reached the mouth of the Arcus and saw exactly who were the ones causing all the ruckus she had been hearing from a distance. Half-dressed men with no tops swung weapons around, growling and yellling at each other, pain and sweat mingling in the air.
Definitely not a sight Emilia was used to. She was a princess who was kept in the company of silks and dresses, fine words and gentle actions, not teh rough hewn edges of the men she saw now. Any gladiator fight she saw, she would observe from the same confines of the royal box available for herself and her family, even the one that had been to celebrate her sister's engagement with that Dimitrou lord. Shocked and stunned, the young girl gaped when a man covered in sweat and holding a staff came round nearer to where she stood, staring with a little confused look. When he took a few steps closer, instinct had Emilia backing away, even if her mind turned. Was he familiar? Somewhat. Where had she seen him before? Emilia met many people, from Athenian nobility to dignatories visiting her father, and her memory wasn't exactly stellar.
Thankfully, the one closest to her wasn't shirtless at least... but still, that it was sleeveless and displayed his scars and tattoo was a sight in itself that left Emilia quite speechless, a far cry from the smaller and finer lords she was used to keeping company. "I-I-I didn't mean to intrude." she stammered finally, feeling the silence as they exchanged eye contact growing awkward and stunted.
"Acantha!" Iris called, turning once more in irritation that her friend and lady in waiting had gotten distracted. Again. Iris' whole reasonf or being this far from the inner circle or market of the city was her need to explore. Her need to get out of the house, away from her work, and relearning the streets that she has spent so much time exploring when we was younger.
Maybe her father would have wanted her to take a male escort with her, but Iris was inclined not to bother Gaios or any of the servants. Besides, the woman was quiet sure that she could protect herself and her lady in waiting without having to put forth too much effort. Knowing how to protect herself had been absolutely vital for her. Serving Artemis, the huntress had made a point to learn while she was young.
Acantha, for her part, had been delighted to get out of the manor. She just hadn't expected to be lured down to the Arcus, of all places. She remembered sneaking into the seating area as a girl, following Iris to spy on the training gladiators. They were always able to stay out of sight, but Acantha wasn't sure that was Iris' intention today. "My lady," Acantha called back, "This is one of Princess Emilia's guards. They've lost her," the blonde tossed the words over her shoulder, giving the man a look up and down.
Pausing, Iris frowned slightly, turning to look at her friend with a lifted eyebrow. The only place she could have gone was further into the Arcus. Iris did, for a moment, think about the ineptitude of a guard who could not keep track of a young princess in her own city.
She didn't wait for Acantha to follow her, though she did hear her lady's protests at moving further into the structure alone. The shuffling of feet sounded behind her as Acantha rushed to catch up to Iris. With her hands resting peacefully behind her back, Iris glanced up once as they moved through the archway and into what appeared to be a training area. And of course, the young princess stood there, holding chains in her hands. Lifting her chin, her gaze was critical, tearing the man before her apart with a single look.
If he dared, she would not hesitate to bury him.
Waving for Acantha to remain behind, Iris took the first few steps forward. "My princess," Iris greeted smoothly as she slipped up beside Emilia. Iris bowed deeply and then straightened up. "Your ladies and guard lost you," she commented softly, glancing behind them toward the archway. "Are you alright? You aren't hurt?" Iris then tested, trying to get a better look at the princess to ensure that she had not, in fact, been injured.
Letting her gaze drift to the gladiator, the lady lifted her chin slowly. "May I be honored to introduce Princess Emilia of Xanthos?" she asked pointedly, silently hoping the man and the men behind him would take the hint and bend the knee as was expected of them in the presence of royalty. "I am Lady Iris of Argyris," she noted absently, then glanced back to Emilia, wondering if she should be firm with her princess in order to bring her to safety, or wait for an order of some sort.
Emilia certainly did not seem as... inclined to confidence as her elder sister. A friend of Iris herself.
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"Acantha!" Iris called, turning once more in irritation that her friend and lady in waiting had gotten distracted. Again. Iris' whole reasonf or being this far from the inner circle or market of the city was her need to explore. Her need to get out of the house, away from her work, and relearning the streets that she has spent so much time exploring when we was younger.
Maybe her father would have wanted her to take a male escort with her, but Iris was inclined not to bother Gaios or any of the servants. Besides, the woman was quiet sure that she could protect herself and her lady in waiting without having to put forth too much effort. Knowing how to protect herself had been absolutely vital for her. Serving Artemis, the huntress had made a point to learn while she was young.
Acantha, for her part, had been delighted to get out of the manor. She just hadn't expected to be lured down to the Arcus, of all places. She remembered sneaking into the seating area as a girl, following Iris to spy on the training gladiators. They were always able to stay out of sight, but Acantha wasn't sure that was Iris' intention today. "My lady," Acantha called back, "This is one of Princess Emilia's guards. They've lost her," the blonde tossed the words over her shoulder, giving the man a look up and down.
Pausing, Iris frowned slightly, turning to look at her friend with a lifted eyebrow. The only place she could have gone was further into the Arcus. Iris did, for a moment, think about the ineptitude of a guard who could not keep track of a young princess in her own city.
She didn't wait for Acantha to follow her, though she did hear her lady's protests at moving further into the structure alone. The shuffling of feet sounded behind her as Acantha rushed to catch up to Iris. With her hands resting peacefully behind her back, Iris glanced up once as they moved through the archway and into what appeared to be a training area. And of course, the young princess stood there, holding chains in her hands. Lifting her chin, her gaze was critical, tearing the man before her apart with a single look.
If he dared, she would not hesitate to bury him.
Waving for Acantha to remain behind, Iris took the first few steps forward. "My princess," Iris greeted smoothly as she slipped up beside Emilia. Iris bowed deeply and then straightened up. "Your ladies and guard lost you," she commented softly, glancing behind them toward the archway. "Are you alright? You aren't hurt?" Iris then tested, trying to get a better look at the princess to ensure that she had not, in fact, been injured.
Letting her gaze drift to the gladiator, the lady lifted her chin slowly. "May I be honored to introduce Princess Emilia of Xanthos?" she asked pointedly, silently hoping the man and the men behind him would take the hint and bend the knee as was expected of them in the presence of royalty. "I am Lady Iris of Argyris," she noted absently, then glanced back to Emilia, wondering if she should be firm with her princess in order to bring her to safety, or wait for an order of some sort.
Emilia certainly did not seem as... inclined to confidence as her elder sister. A friend of Iris herself.
"Acantha!" Iris called, turning once more in irritation that her friend and lady in waiting had gotten distracted. Again. Iris' whole reasonf or being this far from the inner circle or market of the city was her need to explore. Her need to get out of the house, away from her work, and relearning the streets that she has spent so much time exploring when we was younger.
Maybe her father would have wanted her to take a male escort with her, but Iris was inclined not to bother Gaios or any of the servants. Besides, the woman was quiet sure that she could protect herself and her lady in waiting without having to put forth too much effort. Knowing how to protect herself had been absolutely vital for her. Serving Artemis, the huntress had made a point to learn while she was young.
Acantha, for her part, had been delighted to get out of the manor. She just hadn't expected to be lured down to the Arcus, of all places. She remembered sneaking into the seating area as a girl, following Iris to spy on the training gladiators. They were always able to stay out of sight, but Acantha wasn't sure that was Iris' intention today. "My lady," Acantha called back, "This is one of Princess Emilia's guards. They've lost her," the blonde tossed the words over her shoulder, giving the man a look up and down.
Pausing, Iris frowned slightly, turning to look at her friend with a lifted eyebrow. The only place she could have gone was further into the Arcus. Iris did, for a moment, think about the ineptitude of a guard who could not keep track of a young princess in her own city.
She didn't wait for Acantha to follow her, though she did hear her lady's protests at moving further into the structure alone. The shuffling of feet sounded behind her as Acantha rushed to catch up to Iris. With her hands resting peacefully behind her back, Iris glanced up once as they moved through the archway and into what appeared to be a training area. And of course, the young princess stood there, holding chains in her hands. Lifting her chin, her gaze was critical, tearing the man before her apart with a single look.
If he dared, she would not hesitate to bury him.
Waving for Acantha to remain behind, Iris took the first few steps forward. "My princess," Iris greeted smoothly as she slipped up beside Emilia. Iris bowed deeply and then straightened up. "Your ladies and guard lost you," she commented softly, glancing behind them toward the archway. "Are you alright? You aren't hurt?" Iris then tested, trying to get a better look at the princess to ensure that she had not, in fact, been injured.
Letting her gaze drift to the gladiator, the lady lifted her chin slowly. "May I be honored to introduce Princess Emilia of Xanthos?" she asked pointedly, silently hoping the man and the men behind him would take the hint and bend the knee as was expected of them in the presence of royalty. "I am Lady Iris of Argyris," she noted absently, then glanced back to Emilia, wondering if she should be firm with her princess in order to bring her to safety, or wait for an order of some sort.
Emilia certainly did not seem as... inclined to confidence as her elder sister. A friend of Iris herself.
Lesley stopped when it seemed his advance had frightened the girl; he didn't have an obsequious respect for rank, but he did have manners. She was just outside the distance he could easily pick out details, and a wrinkle of concentration appeared between his brows as he squinted slightly. Not someone he'd seen often, or made a point of remembering their face, but few women or girls met that second criteria. Her dress gave more clues as to her identity, or at least her status. He couldn't tell the type of fabric at this distance, but he could certainly recognize the rich dyes and the glint of gold.
He was more used to recognizing people at any distance by their voices, anyway. Even that, though, didn't bring a name immediately to mind. "Don't worry about that. If these louts can't focus in the presence of a single woman I despair of their performance in front of a crowd." He offered her a soft smile, and leaned casually on his staff. "I'm Lesley. What did you intend, then?"
He was used to being easily recognized here, the tattoos were a dead giveaway being so vanishingly rare among greeks, but he wasn't going to assume she had, and anyway - manners. He was used to people who only knew of him by his exploits in the arena being nervous around him, too; sometimes he found it oddly flattering, other times simply annoying, but either way he didn't show it. He wasn't actually sure how he felt at the moment - curious, maybe. Lesley wasn't often closely in touch with his own emotions - he didn't try to suppress them, but he rarely felt a single thing clearly, and he rarely bothered to examine his muddled feelings.
He had no reason to deliberately intimidate a young lady - a cute young lady, he decided after a moment - so he kept his posture casual and relaxed, and his voice and expression gentle. Cute she might be, but he didn't feel the slightest impulse of wanting to hurt her, either; Lesley had a type, and shy wasn't it.
He glanced over, sensing someone approaching him from behind, and saw that the quiet footstep he'd heard was Emelios, properly armored up as ordered.
"Lady, -" but another woman arrived on the scene, her presence interrupting him as he was about to excuse himself, and he found himself smiling. Not a shy one at all, this one, and something about the way she carried herself made him wonder if she might be worth a fight. The gladiator was not fool enough to think all women were helpless; he'd faced one or two in the arena, and he knew the priestesses of Artemis, among a few others, were not to be underestimated either.
Lesley's face cleared in recognition at Emelia's name, as recognition set in. She'd bought a custom purple himation and chiton from his mother, he remembered, and offered to pay a king's ransom for their best display-piece. 'Princess' explained that, at least. He himself wasn't much impressed with titles, but some others were, and had overheard. He turned at the stilling of the clash of weapons behind him, and the slight rustle of movement as a few started to bend a knee, muttering only a quick "Excuse me" to the ladies before bellowing "BACK TO IT, YOU IMPOTENT BASTARD FUCKWADS! EYES ON YOUR OPPONENTS! YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH STANDING ABOUT VAPIDLY JUST BECAUSE THERE'S ROYALTY IN THE AUDIENCE?"
Turning back to the ladies in question, he gave them a dip of his head as the only thing remotely close to a bow he was willing to offer at the moment. "My apologies. They're a bit green, this lot." He'd been taught fancy manners, once - but those were for out there. On the arena sands? This was his domain. Well, his at the sufferance of the lord of the underworld. The men behind them certainly knew it; given the choice between offending their princess or their trainer, they quickly followed orders. "Lady Iris, I assure you of both your safety here. We're rather rough around the edges down here, but we're hardly bloodthirsty barbarians." His lips twitched at the assertion, good humor peeking out around the edges of what seemed obviously at least an effort at respectful manners. "I'm summa rudis Lesley, I assure you I'm quite able to keep them all in line." To the younger girl, he added, "Lady Emilia, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you. I trust the purple himation was up to your standards?" She'd smiled at him, a year ago, sympathized with his mother about his continuing to fight; hopefully that reminder of another context would let her relax.
No guards following them? Lady Iris must be capable of looking after them both, he concluded, adding that observation to his initial impression of her. "I can see why Rafael hates you," slipped out of his mouth towards Iris, and then he realized he probably shouldn't have said it. He could practically feel Pavlos smacking him upside the head for that, but he had said it, so he'd own it.
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Lesley stopped when it seemed his advance had frightened the girl; he didn't have an obsequious respect for rank, but he did have manners. She was just outside the distance he could easily pick out details, and a wrinkle of concentration appeared between his brows as he squinted slightly. Not someone he'd seen often, or made a point of remembering their face, but few women or girls met that second criteria. Her dress gave more clues as to her identity, or at least her status. He couldn't tell the type of fabric at this distance, but he could certainly recognize the rich dyes and the glint of gold.
He was more used to recognizing people at any distance by their voices, anyway. Even that, though, didn't bring a name immediately to mind. "Don't worry about that. If these louts can't focus in the presence of a single woman I despair of their performance in front of a crowd." He offered her a soft smile, and leaned casually on his staff. "I'm Lesley. What did you intend, then?"
He was used to being easily recognized here, the tattoos were a dead giveaway being so vanishingly rare among greeks, but he wasn't going to assume she had, and anyway - manners. He was used to people who only knew of him by his exploits in the arena being nervous around him, too; sometimes he found it oddly flattering, other times simply annoying, but either way he didn't show it. He wasn't actually sure how he felt at the moment - curious, maybe. Lesley wasn't often closely in touch with his own emotions - he didn't try to suppress them, but he rarely felt a single thing clearly, and he rarely bothered to examine his muddled feelings.
He had no reason to deliberately intimidate a young lady - a cute young lady, he decided after a moment - so he kept his posture casual and relaxed, and his voice and expression gentle. Cute she might be, but he didn't feel the slightest impulse of wanting to hurt her, either; Lesley had a type, and shy wasn't it.
He glanced over, sensing someone approaching him from behind, and saw that the quiet footstep he'd heard was Emelios, properly armored up as ordered.
"Lady, -" but another woman arrived on the scene, her presence interrupting him as he was about to excuse himself, and he found himself smiling. Not a shy one at all, this one, and something about the way she carried herself made him wonder if she might be worth a fight. The gladiator was not fool enough to think all women were helpless; he'd faced one or two in the arena, and he knew the priestesses of Artemis, among a few others, were not to be underestimated either.
Lesley's face cleared in recognition at Emelia's name, as recognition set in. She'd bought a custom purple himation and chiton from his mother, he remembered, and offered to pay a king's ransom for their best display-piece. 'Princess' explained that, at least. He himself wasn't much impressed with titles, but some others were, and had overheard. He turned at the stilling of the clash of weapons behind him, and the slight rustle of movement as a few started to bend a knee, muttering only a quick "Excuse me" to the ladies before bellowing "BACK TO IT, YOU IMPOTENT BASTARD FUCKWADS! EYES ON YOUR OPPONENTS! YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH STANDING ABOUT VAPIDLY JUST BECAUSE THERE'S ROYALTY IN THE AUDIENCE?"
Turning back to the ladies in question, he gave them a dip of his head as the only thing remotely close to a bow he was willing to offer at the moment. "My apologies. They're a bit green, this lot." He'd been taught fancy manners, once - but those were for out there. On the arena sands? This was his domain. Well, his at the sufferance of the lord of the underworld. The men behind them certainly knew it; given the choice between offending their princess or their trainer, they quickly followed orders. "Lady Iris, I assure you of both your safety here. We're rather rough around the edges down here, but we're hardly bloodthirsty barbarians." His lips twitched at the assertion, good humor peeking out around the edges of what seemed obviously at least an effort at respectful manners. "I'm summa rudis Lesley, I assure you I'm quite able to keep them all in line." To the younger girl, he added, "Lady Emilia, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you. I trust the purple himation was up to your standards?" She'd smiled at him, a year ago, sympathized with his mother about his continuing to fight; hopefully that reminder of another context would let her relax.
No guards following them? Lady Iris must be capable of looking after them both, he concluded, adding that observation to his initial impression of her. "I can see why Rafael hates you," slipped out of his mouth towards Iris, and then he realized he probably shouldn't have said it. He could practically feel Pavlos smacking him upside the head for that, but he had said it, so he'd own it.
Lesley stopped when it seemed his advance had frightened the girl; he didn't have an obsequious respect for rank, but he did have manners. She was just outside the distance he could easily pick out details, and a wrinkle of concentration appeared between his brows as he squinted slightly. Not someone he'd seen often, or made a point of remembering their face, but few women or girls met that second criteria. Her dress gave more clues as to her identity, or at least her status. He couldn't tell the type of fabric at this distance, but he could certainly recognize the rich dyes and the glint of gold.
He was more used to recognizing people at any distance by their voices, anyway. Even that, though, didn't bring a name immediately to mind. "Don't worry about that. If these louts can't focus in the presence of a single woman I despair of their performance in front of a crowd." He offered her a soft smile, and leaned casually on his staff. "I'm Lesley. What did you intend, then?"
He was used to being easily recognized here, the tattoos were a dead giveaway being so vanishingly rare among greeks, but he wasn't going to assume she had, and anyway - manners. He was used to people who only knew of him by his exploits in the arena being nervous around him, too; sometimes he found it oddly flattering, other times simply annoying, but either way he didn't show it. He wasn't actually sure how he felt at the moment - curious, maybe. Lesley wasn't often closely in touch with his own emotions - he didn't try to suppress them, but he rarely felt a single thing clearly, and he rarely bothered to examine his muddled feelings.
He had no reason to deliberately intimidate a young lady - a cute young lady, he decided after a moment - so he kept his posture casual and relaxed, and his voice and expression gentle. Cute she might be, but he didn't feel the slightest impulse of wanting to hurt her, either; Lesley had a type, and shy wasn't it.
He glanced over, sensing someone approaching him from behind, and saw that the quiet footstep he'd heard was Emelios, properly armored up as ordered.
"Lady, -" but another woman arrived on the scene, her presence interrupting him as he was about to excuse himself, and he found himself smiling. Not a shy one at all, this one, and something about the way she carried herself made him wonder if she might be worth a fight. The gladiator was not fool enough to think all women were helpless; he'd faced one or two in the arena, and he knew the priestesses of Artemis, among a few others, were not to be underestimated either.
Lesley's face cleared in recognition at Emelia's name, as recognition set in. She'd bought a custom purple himation and chiton from his mother, he remembered, and offered to pay a king's ransom for their best display-piece. 'Princess' explained that, at least. He himself wasn't much impressed with titles, but some others were, and had overheard. He turned at the stilling of the clash of weapons behind him, and the slight rustle of movement as a few started to bend a knee, muttering only a quick "Excuse me" to the ladies before bellowing "BACK TO IT, YOU IMPOTENT BASTARD FUCKWADS! EYES ON YOUR OPPONENTS! YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH STANDING ABOUT VAPIDLY JUST BECAUSE THERE'S ROYALTY IN THE AUDIENCE?"
Turning back to the ladies in question, he gave them a dip of his head as the only thing remotely close to a bow he was willing to offer at the moment. "My apologies. They're a bit green, this lot." He'd been taught fancy manners, once - but those were for out there. On the arena sands? This was his domain. Well, his at the sufferance of the lord of the underworld. The men behind them certainly knew it; given the choice between offending their princess or their trainer, they quickly followed orders. "Lady Iris, I assure you of both your safety here. We're rather rough around the edges down here, but we're hardly bloodthirsty barbarians." His lips twitched at the assertion, good humor peeking out around the edges of what seemed obviously at least an effort at respectful manners. "I'm summa rudis Lesley, I assure you I'm quite able to keep them all in line." To the younger girl, he added, "Lady Emilia, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you. I trust the purple himation was up to your standards?" She'd smiled at him, a year ago, sympathized with his mother about his continuing to fight; hopefully that reminder of another context would let her relax.
No guards following them? Lady Iris must be capable of looking after them both, he concluded, adding that observation to his initial impression of her. "I can see why Rafael hates you," slipped out of his mouth towards Iris, and then he realized he probably shouldn't have said it. He could practically feel Pavlos smacking him upside the head for that, but he had said it, so he'd own it.
Not at all used to being in such close contact with a man who not only had no responsibility to protect her, but very likely had no clue who she was, Emilia seemed at a lost for words as he spoke to her in a tone much rougher then she was used to. The men who spoke to her either referred to her as 'Princess', or spoke in a very respectful and courteous tone. Of course, this was in no fault of the gladiator she was in the presence of, but was entirely Emilia's own lack of experience when it came to others.
Nevertheless, she did remember that soft smile, and the name rang a bell to her. Her brows furrowed as she tried to search her mind for where exactly had she heard that name before, yet before she could come up with it, someone else came up behind her, a voice she was much more familiar with.
Lady Iris of Argyris was a friend of her sister's, and while the lady was often back in her province as compared to the capitol, she knew Persephone would occasionally see the young lady. Be that as it may, Emilia herself was no close confidant of the lady, but in her current situation, any friendly face was a face that was welcomed.
She shook her head at Iris's queries, turning to look over the noble's shoulders to find her lone guard and handmaiden looking quite worried. Would Minas and Persephone find out, Emilia was sure they would be scolded, but the young brunette did not intend for them to. Instead, she merely flashed them a comforting smile, and then returned her attention to Iris. "No, I simply lost my way, that is all." Her words were soft, but Emilia winced at the introduction of herself to the gladiator. She had never been on to flash her status and title, and to have herself be introduced in such a manner outside of court seemed oddly pompous to her ears, even if she was sure Iris did not mean it that way.
Her eyes were sheepish as she turned over, only to start when he suddenly bellowed loudly at the rest of the men behind him who had started staring at the presence of herself and Iris.
Looking awkward herself as Lesley turned back round and apologized, Emilia was completely untrained on how to behave in the face of such uncourtlike manners, but Persephone always had a fallback. When in doubt, merely be neutral, and that was what the young princess tried now as she attempted to straighten her back. His reference to the purple himation she had bought a year ago however, caused Emilia to pause, before a sudden glimmer of recognition appeared in her hazel eyes, the sheepish smile turning to one of delight as she nodded. "It was! The material was splendid, and I wish you could see how well it complemented my accessories." In there, her squealed words and excited nature, Emilia was no more then a young girl as compared to the shoes of the princess she was supposed to fill.
The sudden comment that slipped out made Emilia blink, her surprised look flickered over at Iris as she asked inadvertantly, "he does?" Rafael of Marikas had once upon a time been a suitor of his, his charming words and flattery easily buying Emilia's heart. Until she noticed how he used the same words on everyone he met. After that, Emilia never had much to do with the young Marikas lord, but to hear he disliked Iris was news to her.
Eyes flickering back to Lesley, a light flush colored her cheeks as she gazed at the fighting men in the background again, and asked in a manner that was slightly coy, but mixed with a dash of shyness. "Do you do this on a daily basis?"
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Not at all used to being in such close contact with a man who not only had no responsibility to protect her, but very likely had no clue who she was, Emilia seemed at a lost for words as he spoke to her in a tone much rougher then she was used to. The men who spoke to her either referred to her as 'Princess', or spoke in a very respectful and courteous tone. Of course, this was in no fault of the gladiator she was in the presence of, but was entirely Emilia's own lack of experience when it came to others.
Nevertheless, she did remember that soft smile, and the name rang a bell to her. Her brows furrowed as she tried to search her mind for where exactly had she heard that name before, yet before she could come up with it, someone else came up behind her, a voice she was much more familiar with.
Lady Iris of Argyris was a friend of her sister's, and while the lady was often back in her province as compared to the capitol, she knew Persephone would occasionally see the young lady. Be that as it may, Emilia herself was no close confidant of the lady, but in her current situation, any friendly face was a face that was welcomed.
She shook her head at Iris's queries, turning to look over the noble's shoulders to find her lone guard and handmaiden looking quite worried. Would Minas and Persephone find out, Emilia was sure they would be scolded, but the young brunette did not intend for them to. Instead, she merely flashed them a comforting smile, and then returned her attention to Iris. "No, I simply lost my way, that is all." Her words were soft, but Emilia winced at the introduction of herself to the gladiator. She had never been on to flash her status and title, and to have herself be introduced in such a manner outside of court seemed oddly pompous to her ears, even if she was sure Iris did not mean it that way.
Her eyes were sheepish as she turned over, only to start when he suddenly bellowed loudly at the rest of the men behind him who had started staring at the presence of herself and Iris.
Looking awkward herself as Lesley turned back round and apologized, Emilia was completely untrained on how to behave in the face of such uncourtlike manners, but Persephone always had a fallback. When in doubt, merely be neutral, and that was what the young princess tried now as she attempted to straighten her back. His reference to the purple himation she had bought a year ago however, caused Emilia to pause, before a sudden glimmer of recognition appeared in her hazel eyes, the sheepish smile turning to one of delight as she nodded. "It was! The material was splendid, and I wish you could see how well it complemented my accessories." In there, her squealed words and excited nature, Emilia was no more then a young girl as compared to the shoes of the princess she was supposed to fill.
The sudden comment that slipped out made Emilia blink, her surprised look flickered over at Iris as she asked inadvertantly, "he does?" Rafael of Marikas had once upon a time been a suitor of his, his charming words and flattery easily buying Emilia's heart. Until she noticed how he used the same words on everyone he met. After that, Emilia never had much to do with the young Marikas lord, but to hear he disliked Iris was news to her.
Eyes flickering back to Lesley, a light flush colored her cheeks as she gazed at the fighting men in the background again, and asked in a manner that was slightly coy, but mixed with a dash of shyness. "Do you do this on a daily basis?"
Not at all used to being in such close contact with a man who not only had no responsibility to protect her, but very likely had no clue who she was, Emilia seemed at a lost for words as he spoke to her in a tone much rougher then she was used to. The men who spoke to her either referred to her as 'Princess', or spoke in a very respectful and courteous tone. Of course, this was in no fault of the gladiator she was in the presence of, but was entirely Emilia's own lack of experience when it came to others.
Nevertheless, she did remember that soft smile, and the name rang a bell to her. Her brows furrowed as she tried to search her mind for where exactly had she heard that name before, yet before she could come up with it, someone else came up behind her, a voice she was much more familiar with.
Lady Iris of Argyris was a friend of her sister's, and while the lady was often back in her province as compared to the capitol, she knew Persephone would occasionally see the young lady. Be that as it may, Emilia herself was no close confidant of the lady, but in her current situation, any friendly face was a face that was welcomed.
She shook her head at Iris's queries, turning to look over the noble's shoulders to find her lone guard and handmaiden looking quite worried. Would Minas and Persephone find out, Emilia was sure they would be scolded, but the young brunette did not intend for them to. Instead, she merely flashed them a comforting smile, and then returned her attention to Iris. "No, I simply lost my way, that is all." Her words were soft, but Emilia winced at the introduction of herself to the gladiator. She had never been on to flash her status and title, and to have herself be introduced in such a manner outside of court seemed oddly pompous to her ears, even if she was sure Iris did not mean it that way.
Her eyes were sheepish as she turned over, only to start when he suddenly bellowed loudly at the rest of the men behind him who had started staring at the presence of herself and Iris.
Looking awkward herself as Lesley turned back round and apologized, Emilia was completely untrained on how to behave in the face of such uncourtlike manners, but Persephone always had a fallback. When in doubt, merely be neutral, and that was what the young princess tried now as she attempted to straighten her back. His reference to the purple himation she had bought a year ago however, caused Emilia to pause, before a sudden glimmer of recognition appeared in her hazel eyes, the sheepish smile turning to one of delight as she nodded. "It was! The material was splendid, and I wish you could see how well it complemented my accessories." In there, her squealed words and excited nature, Emilia was no more then a young girl as compared to the shoes of the princess she was supposed to fill.
The sudden comment that slipped out made Emilia blink, her surprised look flickered over at Iris as she asked inadvertantly, "he does?" Rafael of Marikas had once upon a time been a suitor of his, his charming words and flattery easily buying Emilia's heart. Until she noticed how he used the same words on everyone he met. After that, Emilia never had much to do with the young Marikas lord, but to hear he disliked Iris was news to her.
Eyes flickering back to Lesley, a light flush colored her cheeks as she gazed at the fighting men in the background again, and asked in a manner that was slightly coy, but mixed with a dash of shyness. "Do you do this on a daily basis?"
Iris wasn't entirely sure whether to trust the supposed safety that this gladiator promised the two of them. Especially with the princess being so young, trusting his word was easier said than done. But the lady was more inclined to give him and his men the benefit of the doubt, her green gaze taking him in in one critical sweep. Tilting her chin slightly, the woman settled her hands behind her back, glancing slightly to her back as Acantha made a move away from Emilia's guard and lady.
There was that familiar look in Acantha's eye, the one that said she was about to flirt with this random gladiator if given the chance, and Iris glanced toward the sky, praying for the gods to save her. Instead, she put a hand up, stopping Acantha in her tracks with the slightest shake of her head. Acantha did not move further and she did not move back, settled halfway between both groups with her hands behind her back and her blonde curls bouncing with the wind.
There was a time and place for Acantha's wild tendencies. Right then and there was not such a time and place. Because Iris had noted the grimace from the princess and felt as if she should have put her foot in her mouth. Clearly, the young woman was more inclined to being less formal despite it being quite below her station.
Iris could level with that. Pomp and circumstance were tiring. Propriety was boring.
It was just Lesley's comment about Rafail that seemed to make Iris tense a little. At first, she had to put a tight smile on her features, but when she couldn't hold it, her gaze narrowed slightly. The lady even had to clear her throat, trying not to chew on the inside of her cheek at the mentioning of the man and the way that Emilia looked up at her to ask her if that was really the case.
Did Rafail hate her? Yes.
Did she hate him in return? Absolutely.
The man was a letch not fit to call himself a lord. Pompus ass. Absolutely insufferable.
"Yes, well, while that is quite true, I hold no love for him either," Iris said easily, glancing to her princess and then the gladiator in return. "I have found that the Lord Marikas thinks more with his cock than his brain, my princess," Iris said very calmly.
Then she straightened up, giving the girl a bit of a playful smile when she realized she had slipped up with her wording. "Just between you and I. His ways are quite unbecoming of his station. He was exceedingly spoiled when he spent time at my home in Aetaea and he gave my home and myself great disrespect. He was displeased because I both rejected his advances and required him to leave my grounds for his behavior."
When Emilia asked about the gladiators and their training, Iris let her own gaze dart behind them. All her type, surely, though she would say nothing on the matter. Especially after speaking so poorly of a lord with royal blood. Not that she cared what either of them thought of that. Iris could asume others were displeased with Lord Marikas as well. So she kept her mouth shut, equally curious about the practices of the gladiators and their training schedule.
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Iris wasn't entirely sure whether to trust the supposed safety that this gladiator promised the two of them. Especially with the princess being so young, trusting his word was easier said than done. But the lady was more inclined to give him and his men the benefit of the doubt, her green gaze taking him in in one critical sweep. Tilting her chin slightly, the woman settled her hands behind her back, glancing slightly to her back as Acantha made a move away from Emilia's guard and lady.
There was that familiar look in Acantha's eye, the one that said she was about to flirt with this random gladiator if given the chance, and Iris glanced toward the sky, praying for the gods to save her. Instead, she put a hand up, stopping Acantha in her tracks with the slightest shake of her head. Acantha did not move further and she did not move back, settled halfway between both groups with her hands behind her back and her blonde curls bouncing with the wind.
There was a time and place for Acantha's wild tendencies. Right then and there was not such a time and place. Because Iris had noted the grimace from the princess and felt as if she should have put her foot in her mouth. Clearly, the young woman was more inclined to being less formal despite it being quite below her station.
Iris could level with that. Pomp and circumstance were tiring. Propriety was boring.
It was just Lesley's comment about Rafail that seemed to make Iris tense a little. At first, she had to put a tight smile on her features, but when she couldn't hold it, her gaze narrowed slightly. The lady even had to clear her throat, trying not to chew on the inside of her cheek at the mentioning of the man and the way that Emilia looked up at her to ask her if that was really the case.
Did Rafail hate her? Yes.
Did she hate him in return? Absolutely.
The man was a letch not fit to call himself a lord. Pompus ass. Absolutely insufferable.
"Yes, well, while that is quite true, I hold no love for him either," Iris said easily, glancing to her princess and then the gladiator in return. "I have found that the Lord Marikas thinks more with his cock than his brain, my princess," Iris said very calmly.
Then she straightened up, giving the girl a bit of a playful smile when she realized she had slipped up with her wording. "Just between you and I. His ways are quite unbecoming of his station. He was exceedingly spoiled when he spent time at my home in Aetaea and he gave my home and myself great disrespect. He was displeased because I both rejected his advances and required him to leave my grounds for his behavior."
When Emilia asked about the gladiators and their training, Iris let her own gaze dart behind them. All her type, surely, though she would say nothing on the matter. Especially after speaking so poorly of a lord with royal blood. Not that she cared what either of them thought of that. Iris could asume others were displeased with Lord Marikas as well. So she kept her mouth shut, equally curious about the practices of the gladiators and their training schedule.
Iris wasn't entirely sure whether to trust the supposed safety that this gladiator promised the two of them. Especially with the princess being so young, trusting his word was easier said than done. But the lady was more inclined to give him and his men the benefit of the doubt, her green gaze taking him in in one critical sweep. Tilting her chin slightly, the woman settled her hands behind her back, glancing slightly to her back as Acantha made a move away from Emilia's guard and lady.
There was that familiar look in Acantha's eye, the one that said she was about to flirt with this random gladiator if given the chance, and Iris glanced toward the sky, praying for the gods to save her. Instead, she put a hand up, stopping Acantha in her tracks with the slightest shake of her head. Acantha did not move further and she did not move back, settled halfway between both groups with her hands behind her back and her blonde curls bouncing with the wind.
There was a time and place for Acantha's wild tendencies. Right then and there was not such a time and place. Because Iris had noted the grimace from the princess and felt as if she should have put her foot in her mouth. Clearly, the young woman was more inclined to being less formal despite it being quite below her station.
Iris could level with that. Pomp and circumstance were tiring. Propriety was boring.
It was just Lesley's comment about Rafail that seemed to make Iris tense a little. At first, she had to put a tight smile on her features, but when she couldn't hold it, her gaze narrowed slightly. The lady even had to clear her throat, trying not to chew on the inside of her cheek at the mentioning of the man and the way that Emilia looked up at her to ask her if that was really the case.
Did Rafail hate her? Yes.
Did she hate him in return? Absolutely.
The man was a letch not fit to call himself a lord. Pompus ass. Absolutely insufferable.
"Yes, well, while that is quite true, I hold no love for him either," Iris said easily, glancing to her princess and then the gladiator in return. "I have found that the Lord Marikas thinks more with his cock than his brain, my princess," Iris said very calmly.
Then she straightened up, giving the girl a bit of a playful smile when she realized she had slipped up with her wording. "Just between you and I. His ways are quite unbecoming of his station. He was exceedingly spoiled when he spent time at my home in Aetaea and he gave my home and myself great disrespect. He was displeased because I both rejected his advances and required him to leave my grounds for his behavior."
When Emilia asked about the gladiators and their training, Iris let her own gaze dart behind them. All her type, surely, though she would say nothing on the matter. Especially after speaking so poorly of a lord with royal blood. Not that she cared what either of them thought of that. Iris could asume others were displeased with Lord Marikas as well. So she kept her mouth shut, equally curious about the practices of the gladiators and their training schedule.
The amused smile grew a touch as the princess returned to simply being an innocent girl her age - not laughing at her, by any stretch, but simply finding the whole situation a pleasantly unexpected interlude in his daily routine. Les smirked at Lady Iris's first description of Raf, and refrained from rolling his eyes when she mellowed her language. He'd have called the man something ruder, but he was at least reminded that the princess might consider that shocking. He didn't terribly much want to talk about him anyway. Rafael of Merikas was a useless twit of the first order, in Lesley's opinion, and had an unreasonable dislike of anyone who wasn't - which made his thoughtless comment a compliment, more or less.
Lesley, too, recognized the younger girl would have been happier with less formality, and without the reveal of her rank; he recognized the look of someone who was trying to hold themselves to a level of manners and maturity they struggled with, and clearly it was the presence of the older woman who had prompted such, and Iris didn't seem inclined to relax much, though he couldn't tell if she was minding her manners due to the princess's presence in turn, or whether it was her normal behaviour. Either way, Lesley didn't give half a fig for what other people expected, and if the princess wasn't inclined to be snobbish, then he was inclined to be kind. It occurred to him that she might not have many people in her life who weren't directly beholden to her or awe of her, yet still low enough rank that she didn't feel the need to impress them.
"Not every day. Several times a week," he answered he question, then straightened away from leaning on his staff. He'd caught the blush, and the shy look; and he never objected to showing off. "I owe Emelios here a lesson, if you'd care to watch for a bit?" The gesture that accompanied the words was vague enough to be read as indicating either the stone benches or simply somewhere off to the side enough to be out of the way. "We're almost done for the day, if you'd like a guide back where you were intending to go." When she didn't immediately decline, he extended the staff to her. "Would you hold this for me?" The staff was the symbol of his authority and he would normally have simply set it aside while he drilled; he wondered if either woman would recognize what he had actually just conceded. He might refuse to bow and scrape like a foppish courtier, but he showed respect in his own way.
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The amused smile grew a touch as the princess returned to simply being an innocent girl her age - not laughing at her, by any stretch, but simply finding the whole situation a pleasantly unexpected interlude in his daily routine. Les smirked at Lady Iris's first description of Raf, and refrained from rolling his eyes when she mellowed her language. He'd have called the man something ruder, but he was at least reminded that the princess might consider that shocking. He didn't terribly much want to talk about him anyway. Rafael of Merikas was a useless twit of the first order, in Lesley's opinion, and had an unreasonable dislike of anyone who wasn't - which made his thoughtless comment a compliment, more or less.
Lesley, too, recognized the younger girl would have been happier with less formality, and without the reveal of her rank; he recognized the look of someone who was trying to hold themselves to a level of manners and maturity they struggled with, and clearly it was the presence of the older woman who had prompted such, and Iris didn't seem inclined to relax much, though he couldn't tell if she was minding her manners due to the princess's presence in turn, or whether it was her normal behaviour. Either way, Lesley didn't give half a fig for what other people expected, and if the princess wasn't inclined to be snobbish, then he was inclined to be kind. It occurred to him that she might not have many people in her life who weren't directly beholden to her or awe of her, yet still low enough rank that she didn't feel the need to impress them.
"Not every day. Several times a week," he answered he question, then straightened away from leaning on his staff. He'd caught the blush, and the shy look; and he never objected to showing off. "I owe Emelios here a lesson, if you'd care to watch for a bit?" The gesture that accompanied the words was vague enough to be read as indicating either the stone benches or simply somewhere off to the side enough to be out of the way. "We're almost done for the day, if you'd like a guide back where you were intending to go." When she didn't immediately decline, he extended the staff to her. "Would you hold this for me?" The staff was the symbol of his authority and he would normally have simply set it aside while he drilled; he wondered if either woman would recognize what he had actually just conceded. He might refuse to bow and scrape like a foppish courtier, but he showed respect in his own way.
The amused smile grew a touch as the princess returned to simply being an innocent girl her age - not laughing at her, by any stretch, but simply finding the whole situation a pleasantly unexpected interlude in his daily routine. Les smirked at Lady Iris's first description of Raf, and refrained from rolling his eyes when she mellowed her language. He'd have called the man something ruder, but he was at least reminded that the princess might consider that shocking. He didn't terribly much want to talk about him anyway. Rafael of Merikas was a useless twit of the first order, in Lesley's opinion, and had an unreasonable dislike of anyone who wasn't - which made his thoughtless comment a compliment, more or less.
Lesley, too, recognized the younger girl would have been happier with less formality, and without the reveal of her rank; he recognized the look of someone who was trying to hold themselves to a level of manners and maturity they struggled with, and clearly it was the presence of the older woman who had prompted such, and Iris didn't seem inclined to relax much, though he couldn't tell if she was minding her manners due to the princess's presence in turn, or whether it was her normal behaviour. Either way, Lesley didn't give half a fig for what other people expected, and if the princess wasn't inclined to be snobbish, then he was inclined to be kind. It occurred to him that she might not have many people in her life who weren't directly beholden to her or awe of her, yet still low enough rank that she didn't feel the need to impress them.
"Not every day. Several times a week," he answered he question, then straightened away from leaning on his staff. He'd caught the blush, and the shy look; and he never objected to showing off. "I owe Emelios here a lesson, if you'd care to watch for a bit?" The gesture that accompanied the words was vague enough to be read as indicating either the stone benches or simply somewhere off to the side enough to be out of the way. "We're almost done for the day, if you'd like a guide back where you were intending to go." When she didn't immediately decline, he extended the staff to her. "Would you hold this for me?" The staff was the symbol of his authority and he would normally have simply set it aside while he drilled; he wondered if either woman would recognize what he had actually just conceded. He might refuse to bow and scrape like a foppish courtier, but he showed respect in his own way.
Internally, Emilia had winced. The crass language was something that had been quickly trained out of her within the first few weeks of her beginning to attend court, and even way before that. Such words from a princess's mouth was unbecoming, and Persephone would likely have an aneurysm if she ever heard such words uttered within Emilia's vicinity. Of course, it wasn't that the brunette did not know of the word's existence, more that she simply did not use them, nor was it normally used in her company. But of course, the cirucmstances for Iris was different. Even in the capitol, Emilia had heard of Lord Rafail's behavior towards the Argyris lady, and to a certain extent, could see Iris's reason for behavior.
That Rafail was upset someone had rejected his advances was of no surprise to Emilia though, for the young Xanthos had done similar to Rafail once, and had witnessed the Marikas lord's unsightly disagreement with her guards, even after Emilia had clearly stated her not wanting Rafail's presence around her. It was clear that the young Marikas had much to learn still.
"That behavior you mention, Lady Iris, seems concurrent with what I have seen displayed myself from Lord Rafail, so I do not find myself surprised." the girl replied with a little smile.
Turning to Lesley when he responded to her, the hazel eyes of the young girl glimmered with interest listening to him speak. Nodding eagerly at his gesture, Emilia's smile was sweet and genuine, eyes widening when he extended the staff to her. For a brief moment, the princess appeared caught off guard, for she was quite not used to being asked to do things from a gladiator. But the man seemed to not mean any harm, and as such, Emilia gingerly reached out to pick up the staff he held out, testing its weight in her hand, before turning back to the gladiator with a smile. "Of course." she murmured.
Although Emilia may not know the significance of him handing over the staff, the girl knew better then to let it fall when it was a request by someone else to hold. So the princess gripped the staff with both hands as she took a step back, allowing Lesley to head off and finish his training. Tilting to Iris so the lady could hear her even whilst she kept her eyes on the half-naked men training, she hissed at the Argyris lady, "Not a word to my sister? Persephone wouldn't be happy I'm here."
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Internally, Emilia had winced. The crass language was something that had been quickly trained out of her within the first few weeks of her beginning to attend court, and even way before that. Such words from a princess's mouth was unbecoming, and Persephone would likely have an aneurysm if she ever heard such words uttered within Emilia's vicinity. Of course, it wasn't that the brunette did not know of the word's existence, more that she simply did not use them, nor was it normally used in her company. But of course, the cirucmstances for Iris was different. Even in the capitol, Emilia had heard of Lord Rafail's behavior towards the Argyris lady, and to a certain extent, could see Iris's reason for behavior.
That Rafail was upset someone had rejected his advances was of no surprise to Emilia though, for the young Xanthos had done similar to Rafail once, and had witnessed the Marikas lord's unsightly disagreement with her guards, even after Emilia had clearly stated her not wanting Rafail's presence around her. It was clear that the young Marikas had much to learn still.
"That behavior you mention, Lady Iris, seems concurrent with what I have seen displayed myself from Lord Rafail, so I do not find myself surprised." the girl replied with a little smile.
Turning to Lesley when he responded to her, the hazel eyes of the young girl glimmered with interest listening to him speak. Nodding eagerly at his gesture, Emilia's smile was sweet and genuine, eyes widening when he extended the staff to her. For a brief moment, the princess appeared caught off guard, for she was quite not used to being asked to do things from a gladiator. But the man seemed to not mean any harm, and as such, Emilia gingerly reached out to pick up the staff he held out, testing its weight in her hand, before turning back to the gladiator with a smile. "Of course." she murmured.
Although Emilia may not know the significance of him handing over the staff, the girl knew better then to let it fall when it was a request by someone else to hold. So the princess gripped the staff with both hands as she took a step back, allowing Lesley to head off and finish his training. Tilting to Iris so the lady could hear her even whilst she kept her eyes on the half-naked men training, she hissed at the Argyris lady, "Not a word to my sister? Persephone wouldn't be happy I'm here."
Internally, Emilia had winced. The crass language was something that had been quickly trained out of her within the first few weeks of her beginning to attend court, and even way before that. Such words from a princess's mouth was unbecoming, and Persephone would likely have an aneurysm if she ever heard such words uttered within Emilia's vicinity. Of course, it wasn't that the brunette did not know of the word's existence, more that she simply did not use them, nor was it normally used in her company. But of course, the cirucmstances for Iris was different. Even in the capitol, Emilia had heard of Lord Rafail's behavior towards the Argyris lady, and to a certain extent, could see Iris's reason for behavior.
That Rafail was upset someone had rejected his advances was of no surprise to Emilia though, for the young Xanthos had done similar to Rafail once, and had witnessed the Marikas lord's unsightly disagreement with her guards, even after Emilia had clearly stated her not wanting Rafail's presence around her. It was clear that the young Marikas had much to learn still.
"That behavior you mention, Lady Iris, seems concurrent with what I have seen displayed myself from Lord Rafail, so I do not find myself surprised." the girl replied with a little smile.
Turning to Lesley when he responded to her, the hazel eyes of the young girl glimmered with interest listening to him speak. Nodding eagerly at his gesture, Emilia's smile was sweet and genuine, eyes widening when he extended the staff to her. For a brief moment, the princess appeared caught off guard, for she was quite not used to being asked to do things from a gladiator. But the man seemed to not mean any harm, and as such, Emilia gingerly reached out to pick up the staff he held out, testing its weight in her hand, before turning back to the gladiator with a smile. "Of course." she murmured.
Although Emilia may not know the significance of him handing over the staff, the girl knew better then to let it fall when it was a request by someone else to hold. So the princess gripped the staff with both hands as she took a step back, allowing Lesley to head off and finish his training. Tilting to Iris so the lady could hear her even whilst she kept her eyes on the half-naked men training, she hissed at the Argyris lady, "Not a word to my sister? Persephone wouldn't be happy I'm here."
Her language would never really be something that she apologized for. Iris had been born wild. She preferred the forest and the trees and her hunting bow to the stuffiness of the court and the city of Athenia. Granted, the young woman had responsibilities. With an ailing father, she had taken it upon herself to care for the barony, taking over all of the work that her father had generally done after she turned seventeen. Her self-isolation to Aetaea had been purposeful. Learning to run a province was easier when she didn't have to worry about the functioning and gossip of the court.
"I am not sure that many other ladies may say the same, my princess," Iris conceded softly, giving the young woman a weak smile and then letting her gaze drift back to the gladiator when he handed the princess the staff. It did irk her that the man didn't seem to consider who he was speaking to, but Iris knew to keep her opinion to herself in this regard. The princess seemed to be enjoying the accidental outing.
Iris couldn't really blame her. This was much more exciting than what she had had planned for the day. With Acantha shifting up behind Iris, she said nothing, though the blonde did give the gladiator a very blatant once over. Iris subtly jabbed her lady in waiting with her elbow, pretending to brush some hair out of her face in the process. Acantha pinched Iris' lower back in retaliation, which only made Iris smirk to herself out of sheer amusement that they were being utterly childish.
When Emilia tilted her head slightly in her direction, giving her an order, Iris had to clear her throat and glance at the ground, trying to hide her smile from the princess. She failed, obviously, feeling too jovial in that moment to really care too much for the propriety she should have been showing in Emilia's presence. "Of course, Princess," Iris said smoothly, "I wouldn't dream of cutting the observation short," she lifted her chin, her green eyes glinting playfully. "The view is rather... admirable," Iris said lightly, "Besides. I cannot shame you when I so very clearly have been inappropriate in your presence. A fact I hope you will keep from your sister as well," Iris finished, glancing back at Acantha who had shifted to the princess' other side.
"Watching men train is one of my favorite past times," Iris whispered then, leaning a little closer to Emilia with her gaze on the gladiators, "I find their footwork of great interest." Acantha was trying to hide her smile, her blue eyes not drifting from the training men and silently imploring the Lady Argyris not to corrupt the princess.
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Her language would never really be something that she apologized for. Iris had been born wild. She preferred the forest and the trees and her hunting bow to the stuffiness of the court and the city of Athenia. Granted, the young woman had responsibilities. With an ailing father, she had taken it upon herself to care for the barony, taking over all of the work that her father had generally done after she turned seventeen. Her self-isolation to Aetaea had been purposeful. Learning to run a province was easier when she didn't have to worry about the functioning and gossip of the court.
"I am not sure that many other ladies may say the same, my princess," Iris conceded softly, giving the young woman a weak smile and then letting her gaze drift back to the gladiator when he handed the princess the staff. It did irk her that the man didn't seem to consider who he was speaking to, but Iris knew to keep her opinion to herself in this regard. The princess seemed to be enjoying the accidental outing.
Iris couldn't really blame her. This was much more exciting than what she had had planned for the day. With Acantha shifting up behind Iris, she said nothing, though the blonde did give the gladiator a very blatant once over. Iris subtly jabbed her lady in waiting with her elbow, pretending to brush some hair out of her face in the process. Acantha pinched Iris' lower back in retaliation, which only made Iris smirk to herself out of sheer amusement that they were being utterly childish.
When Emilia tilted her head slightly in her direction, giving her an order, Iris had to clear her throat and glance at the ground, trying to hide her smile from the princess. She failed, obviously, feeling too jovial in that moment to really care too much for the propriety she should have been showing in Emilia's presence. "Of course, Princess," Iris said smoothly, "I wouldn't dream of cutting the observation short," she lifted her chin, her green eyes glinting playfully. "The view is rather... admirable," Iris said lightly, "Besides. I cannot shame you when I so very clearly have been inappropriate in your presence. A fact I hope you will keep from your sister as well," Iris finished, glancing back at Acantha who had shifted to the princess' other side.
"Watching men train is one of my favorite past times," Iris whispered then, leaning a little closer to Emilia with her gaze on the gladiators, "I find their footwork of great interest." Acantha was trying to hide her smile, her blue eyes not drifting from the training men and silently imploring the Lady Argyris not to corrupt the princess.
Her language would never really be something that she apologized for. Iris had been born wild. She preferred the forest and the trees and her hunting bow to the stuffiness of the court and the city of Athenia. Granted, the young woman had responsibilities. With an ailing father, she had taken it upon herself to care for the barony, taking over all of the work that her father had generally done after she turned seventeen. Her self-isolation to Aetaea had been purposeful. Learning to run a province was easier when she didn't have to worry about the functioning and gossip of the court.
"I am not sure that many other ladies may say the same, my princess," Iris conceded softly, giving the young woman a weak smile and then letting her gaze drift back to the gladiator when he handed the princess the staff. It did irk her that the man didn't seem to consider who he was speaking to, but Iris knew to keep her opinion to herself in this regard. The princess seemed to be enjoying the accidental outing.
Iris couldn't really blame her. This was much more exciting than what she had had planned for the day. With Acantha shifting up behind Iris, she said nothing, though the blonde did give the gladiator a very blatant once over. Iris subtly jabbed her lady in waiting with her elbow, pretending to brush some hair out of her face in the process. Acantha pinched Iris' lower back in retaliation, which only made Iris smirk to herself out of sheer amusement that they were being utterly childish.
When Emilia tilted her head slightly in her direction, giving her an order, Iris had to clear her throat and glance at the ground, trying to hide her smile from the princess. She failed, obviously, feeling too jovial in that moment to really care too much for the propriety she should have been showing in Emilia's presence. "Of course, Princess," Iris said smoothly, "I wouldn't dream of cutting the observation short," she lifted her chin, her green eyes glinting playfully. "The view is rather... admirable," Iris said lightly, "Besides. I cannot shame you when I so very clearly have been inappropriate in your presence. A fact I hope you will keep from your sister as well," Iris finished, glancing back at Acantha who had shifted to the princess' other side.
"Watching men train is one of my favorite past times," Iris whispered then, leaning a little closer to Emilia with her gaze on the gladiators, "I find their footwork of great interest." Acantha was trying to hide her smile, her blue eyes not drifting from the training men and silently imploring the Lady Argyris not to corrupt the princess.
Unlike the man he had chosen to spar with, Lesley didn't bother with armour, simply took a shield from another man and told that pair to go get water and catch their breaths. The two 'swords' the younger gladiator carried were little more than sticks shaved down just enough to tell where the edge was meant to be, but the wooden blade the retarius carried on his hip properly carved sword, well balanced with a tapered blade, the fine-grained hardwood oiled to a soft shine.
He settled his grip on sword and shield, waiting for the other to set himself equally well into his starting stance. "Three quarter speed," he instructed. "No patterns." No hurried blows that couldn't be pulled back enough not to lay each other out if they failed to block, but otherwise a freestyle sparing session. Les intended to teach him more than just humility - in fact, he didn't tend to teach humility at all. Knowing your own limitations was important, but self-doubt got gladiators killed or worse. He wanted these men to fight well, impress the crowds, keep themselves in one piece, and eventually retire comfortably, as many of them as possible.
He breathed out, grounding himself, and focused, then nodded once to begin the bout. It was obvious within moments who was the better fighter, but the younger man was good enough to make Les work for it, at least. He hadn't said anything about half-power, and while the basic rules of training included not deliberately hitting head, hands, or ribs hard enough to break someone, the blows they were blocking were very obviously solidly thrown, and you could only tell they weren't going full speed if you had actually seen either of them in a real fight. Every time Les landed a blow, he immediately informed Emilios of what his mistake was, though the quiet advice of 'you stepped into that with the wrong foot' and 'the tell for that one comes from the left shoulder' and 'you know what your ideal range is, step back when you need to' was hardly a continuous stream and was interspersed with the occasional 'good recovery' and 'oof', which Emilios was minded to take as a solid compliment.
Muscles flexed under a thin sheen of sweat, and only watching the muscles in the back of Lesley's shoulder bulging showed the solid weight of the shield he'd chosen. Emelios was already good enough that he could immediately incorporate the advice he was given, and the advice tapered off. "Hah - you remembered that one. Good."
There was nothing at all shabby about Lesley's footwork.
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Unlike the man he had chosen to spar with, Lesley didn't bother with armour, simply took a shield from another man and told that pair to go get water and catch their breaths. The two 'swords' the younger gladiator carried were little more than sticks shaved down just enough to tell where the edge was meant to be, but the wooden blade the retarius carried on his hip properly carved sword, well balanced with a tapered blade, the fine-grained hardwood oiled to a soft shine.
He settled his grip on sword and shield, waiting for the other to set himself equally well into his starting stance. "Three quarter speed," he instructed. "No patterns." No hurried blows that couldn't be pulled back enough not to lay each other out if they failed to block, but otherwise a freestyle sparing session. Les intended to teach him more than just humility - in fact, he didn't tend to teach humility at all. Knowing your own limitations was important, but self-doubt got gladiators killed or worse. He wanted these men to fight well, impress the crowds, keep themselves in one piece, and eventually retire comfortably, as many of them as possible.
He breathed out, grounding himself, and focused, then nodded once to begin the bout. It was obvious within moments who was the better fighter, but the younger man was good enough to make Les work for it, at least. He hadn't said anything about half-power, and while the basic rules of training included not deliberately hitting head, hands, or ribs hard enough to break someone, the blows they were blocking were very obviously solidly thrown, and you could only tell they weren't going full speed if you had actually seen either of them in a real fight. Every time Les landed a blow, he immediately informed Emilios of what his mistake was, though the quiet advice of 'you stepped into that with the wrong foot' and 'the tell for that one comes from the left shoulder' and 'you know what your ideal range is, step back when you need to' was hardly a continuous stream and was interspersed with the occasional 'good recovery' and 'oof', which Emilios was minded to take as a solid compliment.
Muscles flexed under a thin sheen of sweat, and only watching the muscles in the back of Lesley's shoulder bulging showed the solid weight of the shield he'd chosen. Emelios was already good enough that he could immediately incorporate the advice he was given, and the advice tapered off. "Hah - you remembered that one. Good."
There was nothing at all shabby about Lesley's footwork.
Unlike the man he had chosen to spar with, Lesley didn't bother with armour, simply took a shield from another man and told that pair to go get water and catch their breaths. The two 'swords' the younger gladiator carried were little more than sticks shaved down just enough to tell where the edge was meant to be, but the wooden blade the retarius carried on his hip properly carved sword, well balanced with a tapered blade, the fine-grained hardwood oiled to a soft shine.
He settled his grip on sword and shield, waiting for the other to set himself equally well into his starting stance. "Three quarter speed," he instructed. "No patterns." No hurried blows that couldn't be pulled back enough not to lay each other out if they failed to block, but otherwise a freestyle sparing session. Les intended to teach him more than just humility - in fact, he didn't tend to teach humility at all. Knowing your own limitations was important, but self-doubt got gladiators killed or worse. He wanted these men to fight well, impress the crowds, keep themselves in one piece, and eventually retire comfortably, as many of them as possible.
He breathed out, grounding himself, and focused, then nodded once to begin the bout. It was obvious within moments who was the better fighter, but the younger man was good enough to make Les work for it, at least. He hadn't said anything about half-power, and while the basic rules of training included not deliberately hitting head, hands, or ribs hard enough to break someone, the blows they were blocking were very obviously solidly thrown, and you could only tell they weren't going full speed if you had actually seen either of them in a real fight. Every time Les landed a blow, he immediately informed Emilios of what his mistake was, though the quiet advice of 'you stepped into that with the wrong foot' and 'the tell for that one comes from the left shoulder' and 'you know what your ideal range is, step back when you need to' was hardly a continuous stream and was interspersed with the occasional 'good recovery' and 'oof', which Emilios was minded to take as a solid compliment.
Muscles flexed under a thin sheen of sweat, and only watching the muscles in the back of Lesley's shoulder bulging showed the solid weight of the shield he'd chosen. Emelios was already good enough that he could immediately incorporate the advice he was given, and the advice tapered off. "Hah - you remembered that one. Good."
There was nothing at all shabby about Lesley's footwork.
She had not meant for it to sound too much like an order, for despite having lived her whole life as a princess, Emilia still cared very much for someone else's feelings. Perhaps that was why most of her handmaidens treated her like one would a younger sister. Most people treated Emilia that way due to her naturally gentle disposition, but that also meant the young brunette was unexposed to the harsher side of life.
Turning to offer Iris a cheeky smile when she mentioned the view and then her own behavior, Emilia winked. "A deal is a deal then. And we can then enjoy the view together. I think I may come to enjoy your favorite past time, Lady Iris." she murmured as her eyes slid back to return to the half-dressed men working hard at their daily training. That their hard work meant sweat glistened off their skin wasn't something Emilia complained about at all, for it simply made it a prettier sight to her.
There was something about a man focused and working to achieve a goal that made Emilia's eyes zero in on them, but then again, the princess practically fell in love at every turn. She was infamous for it, and was probably the only reason why the young Marikas lord had managed to steal a kiss from her before Emilia wised up. Persephone knew too well, how often Emilia would unceremoniously toss herself on her sister's bed and complain or gush about her latest crush.
And now it seems like she's found another.
A small smile accompanied the flush on her cheeks as Emilia watched them, and as the footwork and moves got more complex, Emilia found herself clapping eagerly at every chance she got. "Why doesn't Persephone let me watch these more often?" she couldn't help but ask the noble lady next to her, even as they waited for the gladiators to be done. "This is way more interesting then taking stuffy lessons indoors."
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She had not meant for it to sound too much like an order, for despite having lived her whole life as a princess, Emilia still cared very much for someone else's feelings. Perhaps that was why most of her handmaidens treated her like one would a younger sister. Most people treated Emilia that way due to her naturally gentle disposition, but that also meant the young brunette was unexposed to the harsher side of life.
Turning to offer Iris a cheeky smile when she mentioned the view and then her own behavior, Emilia winked. "A deal is a deal then. And we can then enjoy the view together. I think I may come to enjoy your favorite past time, Lady Iris." she murmured as her eyes slid back to return to the half-dressed men working hard at their daily training. That their hard work meant sweat glistened off their skin wasn't something Emilia complained about at all, for it simply made it a prettier sight to her.
There was something about a man focused and working to achieve a goal that made Emilia's eyes zero in on them, but then again, the princess practically fell in love at every turn. She was infamous for it, and was probably the only reason why the young Marikas lord had managed to steal a kiss from her before Emilia wised up. Persephone knew too well, how often Emilia would unceremoniously toss herself on her sister's bed and complain or gush about her latest crush.
And now it seems like she's found another.
A small smile accompanied the flush on her cheeks as Emilia watched them, and as the footwork and moves got more complex, Emilia found herself clapping eagerly at every chance she got. "Why doesn't Persephone let me watch these more often?" she couldn't help but ask the noble lady next to her, even as they waited for the gladiators to be done. "This is way more interesting then taking stuffy lessons indoors."
She had not meant for it to sound too much like an order, for despite having lived her whole life as a princess, Emilia still cared very much for someone else's feelings. Perhaps that was why most of her handmaidens treated her like one would a younger sister. Most people treated Emilia that way due to her naturally gentle disposition, but that also meant the young brunette was unexposed to the harsher side of life.
Turning to offer Iris a cheeky smile when she mentioned the view and then her own behavior, Emilia winked. "A deal is a deal then. And we can then enjoy the view together. I think I may come to enjoy your favorite past time, Lady Iris." she murmured as her eyes slid back to return to the half-dressed men working hard at their daily training. That their hard work meant sweat glistened off their skin wasn't something Emilia complained about at all, for it simply made it a prettier sight to her.
There was something about a man focused and working to achieve a goal that made Emilia's eyes zero in on them, but then again, the princess practically fell in love at every turn. She was infamous for it, and was probably the only reason why the young Marikas lord had managed to steal a kiss from her before Emilia wised up. Persephone knew too well, how often Emilia would unceremoniously toss herself on her sister's bed and complain or gush about her latest crush.
And now it seems like she's found another.
A small smile accompanied the flush on her cheeks as Emilia watched them, and as the footwork and moves got more complex, Emilia found herself clapping eagerly at every chance she got. "Why doesn't Persephone let me watch these more often?" she couldn't help but ask the noble lady next to her, even as they waited for the gladiators to be done. "This is way more interesting then taking stuffy lessons indoors."
Settled beside the princess, Iris couldn't help but let a smile ghost her lips as the men began to work their their footing. As soon as they truly began to spar, Iris straightened up, rather interested in watching the way that they moved. The way that they shifted in an attempt to avoid having a blow landed upon them. Her gaze flicked to Emilia when the young princess spoke and Iris chuckled softly.
"I've spent a lot of time admiring the soldiers in my province while they practice," Iris admitted easily, smoothing her hands down along her legs and over her knees. "Its such a glorious practice to bear witness to," she hummed as an afterthought. She seemed to have two singular types that attracted her. Soldiers and scholars. And the lady had a rather wonderful tendency of taking a soldier here or a soldier there into her bed.
The act cured boredom. And killed two birds with one stone. Boredom and she was sated until the next time someone caught her eye. But... that wasn't conversation fit for the princess so Iris was inclined to keep those details to herself. One day the princess would know that joy, but Iris would not play a hand in allowing the princess to figure that out. If this situation became too dicey, she would request the attention of her guard at the very least.
As attractive as the men were, Iris still didn't trust them. They were men, after all.
Iris rather liked how excited Emilia was about getting to witness the training. That was honestly how Iris had felt when was much younger and had so desperately wanted to join in. She'd gotten her fair share of bruises when she did get to step into the ring, but honestly it was such an exciting and liberating event that she hadn't minded a single bit.
"Because fighting is a man's past time. Princess Persephone likely wants to shield you from the more brutal aspects of Athenian life," Iris soothed softly, "Though I do agree. I never liked my lessons, either. They do grow rather dull, don't they? Though... I find them much more useful now than I did then."
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Settled beside the princess, Iris couldn't help but let a smile ghost her lips as the men began to work their their footing. As soon as they truly began to spar, Iris straightened up, rather interested in watching the way that they moved. The way that they shifted in an attempt to avoid having a blow landed upon them. Her gaze flicked to Emilia when the young princess spoke and Iris chuckled softly.
"I've spent a lot of time admiring the soldiers in my province while they practice," Iris admitted easily, smoothing her hands down along her legs and over her knees. "Its such a glorious practice to bear witness to," she hummed as an afterthought. She seemed to have two singular types that attracted her. Soldiers and scholars. And the lady had a rather wonderful tendency of taking a soldier here or a soldier there into her bed.
The act cured boredom. And killed two birds with one stone. Boredom and she was sated until the next time someone caught her eye. But... that wasn't conversation fit for the princess so Iris was inclined to keep those details to herself. One day the princess would know that joy, but Iris would not play a hand in allowing the princess to figure that out. If this situation became too dicey, she would request the attention of her guard at the very least.
As attractive as the men were, Iris still didn't trust them. They were men, after all.
Iris rather liked how excited Emilia was about getting to witness the training. That was honestly how Iris had felt when was much younger and had so desperately wanted to join in. She'd gotten her fair share of bruises when she did get to step into the ring, but honestly it was such an exciting and liberating event that she hadn't minded a single bit.
"Because fighting is a man's past time. Princess Persephone likely wants to shield you from the more brutal aspects of Athenian life," Iris soothed softly, "Though I do agree. I never liked my lessons, either. They do grow rather dull, don't they? Though... I find them much more useful now than I did then."
Settled beside the princess, Iris couldn't help but let a smile ghost her lips as the men began to work their their footing. As soon as they truly began to spar, Iris straightened up, rather interested in watching the way that they moved. The way that they shifted in an attempt to avoid having a blow landed upon them. Her gaze flicked to Emilia when the young princess spoke and Iris chuckled softly.
"I've spent a lot of time admiring the soldiers in my province while they practice," Iris admitted easily, smoothing her hands down along her legs and over her knees. "Its such a glorious practice to bear witness to," she hummed as an afterthought. She seemed to have two singular types that attracted her. Soldiers and scholars. And the lady had a rather wonderful tendency of taking a soldier here or a soldier there into her bed.
The act cured boredom. And killed two birds with one stone. Boredom and she was sated until the next time someone caught her eye. But... that wasn't conversation fit for the princess so Iris was inclined to keep those details to herself. One day the princess would know that joy, but Iris would not play a hand in allowing the princess to figure that out. If this situation became too dicey, she would request the attention of her guard at the very least.
As attractive as the men were, Iris still didn't trust them. They were men, after all.
Iris rather liked how excited Emilia was about getting to witness the training. That was honestly how Iris had felt when was much younger and had so desperately wanted to join in. She'd gotten her fair share of bruises when she did get to step into the ring, but honestly it was such an exciting and liberating event that she hadn't minded a single bit.
"Because fighting is a man's past time. Princess Persephone likely wants to shield you from the more brutal aspects of Athenian life," Iris soothed softly, "Though I do agree. I never liked my lessons, either. They do grow rather dull, don't they? Though... I find them much more useful now than I did then."
Well, nothing put Lesley more at ease than an appreciative audience. Despite that, he managed not to go too hard on his student, though the look the man gave him when he finally called a halt might have suggested otherwise. Lesley pushed sodden hair out of his eyes and grinned at him, his smile only broadening at Emilios's Oh gods, what's next expression.
"Everyone break," he called to the other fighters. "I'm done arguing with Helios for the day. Grab water, put your gear away, and you can head for the baths. Here," he added more quietly to the man he'd just sparred with, and handed over the shield he'd been using. "And check if Mica's all right. He looks a bit wobbly from here."
Some of the gladiators thought to give the princess a quick bow before leaving her presence, but just as many simply jogged towards the shade as if afraid their trainer would change his mind if they dallied.
Lesley turned back to the women with a quiet smile. "You are welcome to come watch any time," he suggested, and pushed his bangs out of his face again with a sigh. Ah, well, it wasn't like it mattered if he wasn't fighting for real. "I offered an escort, but it looks like your guard has caught up with you - or did he help you get lost in the first place?" The glint in Lesley's eye was nothing sharper than good-natured teasing. "Either way, I'm happy to be of whatever assistance you would like." Just a trace, a hint, of something more refined than the rough-hewn barbarian-slave he presented himself as in the arena.
"Though I suspect," he admitted, "That if you'd like more than a minute or so more of my company it would be more civilized of me to grab a quick wash and a clean tunic first." Neither woman seemed particularly put off by the fact his light tunic was nearly soaked through and clinging to him, but there was a good deal of difference between fresh sweat and old sweat, and it was generally best to prevent the second as soon as practical.
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Well, nothing put Lesley more at ease than an appreciative audience. Despite that, he managed not to go too hard on his student, though the look the man gave him when he finally called a halt might have suggested otherwise. Lesley pushed sodden hair out of his eyes and grinned at him, his smile only broadening at Emilios's Oh gods, what's next expression.
"Everyone break," he called to the other fighters. "I'm done arguing with Helios for the day. Grab water, put your gear away, and you can head for the baths. Here," he added more quietly to the man he'd just sparred with, and handed over the shield he'd been using. "And check if Mica's all right. He looks a bit wobbly from here."
Some of the gladiators thought to give the princess a quick bow before leaving her presence, but just as many simply jogged towards the shade as if afraid their trainer would change his mind if they dallied.
Lesley turned back to the women with a quiet smile. "You are welcome to come watch any time," he suggested, and pushed his bangs out of his face again with a sigh. Ah, well, it wasn't like it mattered if he wasn't fighting for real. "I offered an escort, but it looks like your guard has caught up with you - or did he help you get lost in the first place?" The glint in Lesley's eye was nothing sharper than good-natured teasing. "Either way, I'm happy to be of whatever assistance you would like." Just a trace, a hint, of something more refined than the rough-hewn barbarian-slave he presented himself as in the arena.
"Though I suspect," he admitted, "That if you'd like more than a minute or so more of my company it would be more civilized of me to grab a quick wash and a clean tunic first." Neither woman seemed particularly put off by the fact his light tunic was nearly soaked through and clinging to him, but there was a good deal of difference between fresh sweat and old sweat, and it was generally best to prevent the second as soon as practical.
Well, nothing put Lesley more at ease than an appreciative audience. Despite that, he managed not to go too hard on his student, though the look the man gave him when he finally called a halt might have suggested otherwise. Lesley pushed sodden hair out of his eyes and grinned at him, his smile only broadening at Emilios's Oh gods, what's next expression.
"Everyone break," he called to the other fighters. "I'm done arguing with Helios for the day. Grab water, put your gear away, and you can head for the baths. Here," he added more quietly to the man he'd just sparred with, and handed over the shield he'd been using. "And check if Mica's all right. He looks a bit wobbly from here."
Some of the gladiators thought to give the princess a quick bow before leaving her presence, but just as many simply jogged towards the shade as if afraid their trainer would change his mind if they dallied.
Lesley turned back to the women with a quiet smile. "You are welcome to come watch any time," he suggested, and pushed his bangs out of his face again with a sigh. Ah, well, it wasn't like it mattered if he wasn't fighting for real. "I offered an escort, but it looks like your guard has caught up with you - or did he help you get lost in the first place?" The glint in Lesley's eye was nothing sharper than good-natured teasing. "Either way, I'm happy to be of whatever assistance you would like." Just a trace, a hint, of something more refined than the rough-hewn barbarian-slave he presented himself as in the arena.
"Though I suspect," he admitted, "That if you'd like more than a minute or so more of my company it would be more civilized of me to grab a quick wash and a clean tunic first." Neither woman seemed particularly put off by the fact his light tunic was nearly soaked through and clinging to him, but there was a good deal of difference between fresh sweat and old sweat, and it was generally best to prevent the second as soon as practical.
She nodded eagerly, now clearly picking up a new hobby - watching men at practice. Not for learning though. With how Emilia had two left feet and a depth perception that could use a lot more work, the brunette got into more scrapes and accidents then her sister enjoyed, and if she owned a weapon... well, then lives would be in danger, and not the ones Emilia intended to hurt either. Everyone in her vicinity would have an equal chance of getting hurt. Persephone had just decided it would be in the interest of the public to just keep Emilia away from weapons in general, even bows and arrows after the last time she almost harpooned the cook in the forehead when she aimed for a target two feet away.
"Are they ever useful?" she murmured, glancing skeptically at Iris with a wry smile. Emilia herself never thought them useful, save for the names of the nobles she had to learn. Why did she need to learn the names of dead rulers and historians and warriors? And why should she need to learn different languages when she could just as well hire someone to translate for her? That was why her sister had her advisors, was it not? To Emilia, she did not think any of it was useful. Even dancing she enjoyed a little better, but she would enjoy it more if she wasn't tripping over herself half the time.
As they ended, Emilia returned each bow with a shallow curtsy and soft smile of her own, but only a familiar friend would notice the light sparkle in her eye as she gently appreciated each gladiator who came by, whose muscles all stood sculpted and clear in the harsh sunlight. Lesley's approach had the brunette smiling at him, and she lightly chuckled at his tease. "No, I'm afraid I'm not very attuned with my surroundings when I am engrossed. I am fully to blame for my getting lost." she replied with a laugh hinted in the undertone of her words. "But I thank you for your offer to escort, Lesley."
His suggestion of him going to get a wash and a tunic brought images Emilia was quite sure would be inappropriate for a princess, and she'd likely scandalize her sister if she told her such, but it did bring a light color dusting her cheeks as she shook her head. "No need, I think I should be fine now that I have my guard and maid. Although I suspect we're going right home now. Perhaps I shall visit you and your mother again soon? Your fabrics last time were a great joy to work with. Would your mother be opposed to bringing her wares to the palace?" Emilia asked, wondering if she could ask Persephone to see if her sister would want anything. Turning to the lady beside her, the princess turned a question to her as well. "Would you like some new fabrics as well, Lady Iris? Lesley's mother makes beautiful ones."
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She nodded eagerly, now clearly picking up a new hobby - watching men at practice. Not for learning though. With how Emilia had two left feet and a depth perception that could use a lot more work, the brunette got into more scrapes and accidents then her sister enjoyed, and if she owned a weapon... well, then lives would be in danger, and not the ones Emilia intended to hurt either. Everyone in her vicinity would have an equal chance of getting hurt. Persephone had just decided it would be in the interest of the public to just keep Emilia away from weapons in general, even bows and arrows after the last time she almost harpooned the cook in the forehead when she aimed for a target two feet away.
"Are they ever useful?" she murmured, glancing skeptically at Iris with a wry smile. Emilia herself never thought them useful, save for the names of the nobles she had to learn. Why did she need to learn the names of dead rulers and historians and warriors? And why should she need to learn different languages when she could just as well hire someone to translate for her? That was why her sister had her advisors, was it not? To Emilia, she did not think any of it was useful. Even dancing she enjoyed a little better, but she would enjoy it more if she wasn't tripping over herself half the time.
As they ended, Emilia returned each bow with a shallow curtsy and soft smile of her own, but only a familiar friend would notice the light sparkle in her eye as she gently appreciated each gladiator who came by, whose muscles all stood sculpted and clear in the harsh sunlight. Lesley's approach had the brunette smiling at him, and she lightly chuckled at his tease. "No, I'm afraid I'm not very attuned with my surroundings when I am engrossed. I am fully to blame for my getting lost." she replied with a laugh hinted in the undertone of her words. "But I thank you for your offer to escort, Lesley."
His suggestion of him going to get a wash and a tunic brought images Emilia was quite sure would be inappropriate for a princess, and she'd likely scandalize her sister if she told her such, but it did bring a light color dusting her cheeks as she shook her head. "No need, I think I should be fine now that I have my guard and maid. Although I suspect we're going right home now. Perhaps I shall visit you and your mother again soon? Your fabrics last time were a great joy to work with. Would your mother be opposed to bringing her wares to the palace?" Emilia asked, wondering if she could ask Persephone to see if her sister would want anything. Turning to the lady beside her, the princess turned a question to her as well. "Would you like some new fabrics as well, Lady Iris? Lesley's mother makes beautiful ones."
She nodded eagerly, now clearly picking up a new hobby - watching men at practice. Not for learning though. With how Emilia had two left feet and a depth perception that could use a lot more work, the brunette got into more scrapes and accidents then her sister enjoyed, and if she owned a weapon... well, then lives would be in danger, and not the ones Emilia intended to hurt either. Everyone in her vicinity would have an equal chance of getting hurt. Persephone had just decided it would be in the interest of the public to just keep Emilia away from weapons in general, even bows and arrows after the last time she almost harpooned the cook in the forehead when she aimed for a target two feet away.
"Are they ever useful?" she murmured, glancing skeptically at Iris with a wry smile. Emilia herself never thought them useful, save for the names of the nobles she had to learn. Why did she need to learn the names of dead rulers and historians and warriors? And why should she need to learn different languages when she could just as well hire someone to translate for her? That was why her sister had her advisors, was it not? To Emilia, she did not think any of it was useful. Even dancing she enjoyed a little better, but she would enjoy it more if she wasn't tripping over herself half the time.
As they ended, Emilia returned each bow with a shallow curtsy and soft smile of her own, but only a familiar friend would notice the light sparkle in her eye as she gently appreciated each gladiator who came by, whose muscles all stood sculpted and clear in the harsh sunlight. Lesley's approach had the brunette smiling at him, and she lightly chuckled at his tease. "No, I'm afraid I'm not very attuned with my surroundings when I am engrossed. I am fully to blame for my getting lost." she replied with a laugh hinted in the undertone of her words. "But I thank you for your offer to escort, Lesley."
His suggestion of him going to get a wash and a tunic brought images Emilia was quite sure would be inappropriate for a princess, and she'd likely scandalize her sister if she told her such, but it did bring a light color dusting her cheeks as she shook her head. "No need, I think I should be fine now that I have my guard and maid. Although I suspect we're going right home now. Perhaps I shall visit you and your mother again soon? Your fabrics last time were a great joy to work with. Would your mother be opposed to bringing her wares to the palace?" Emilia asked, wondering if she could ask Persephone to see if her sister would want anything. Turning to the lady beside her, the princess turned a question to her as well. "Would you like some new fabrics as well, Lady Iris? Lesley's mother makes beautiful ones."
Iris found herself brushing one of her brunette curls away from her face, her gaze bouncing between the princess and the men who were training. She had stopped admiring bodies and started to admire their footwork, imagining herself taking the same steps, making the same fluid movements. It reminded her of her years before she attended court. Before she hd grown into adulthood. When her father had let her wander among the Foxlights and allowed her the same training as many of the boys her age in her province.
She missed the freedom of such a life. When she hadn’t a need to worry about marriage or her future. When her father was at his healthiest and running the province on his own. Part of her missed her girlhood, but the other part of her was content with the position and the responsibility she had taken on her adulthood. While Iris had not been keen on returning to court from the quiet of her province, she had taken it in stride.
Takis rarely asked anything of her, so she could at least give him this.
With the men ceasing in their steps and their training, Iris found herself rising when the princess did, her hands pressed close to her abdomen. The two conversed and Iris let her gaze trail to the men who had run to the shade. She silently wished to join them, if only to see if one of them would spar with her. But she was no longer a child, nor was she in the privacy of her own home. Such an action would be unsightly.
Emilia drew her attention once more with a question of fabric and a polite smile lit her lips. “I would be keen on getting to observe the fabrics Lesley’s mother has for sale. It has been a long while since I have been able to purchase anything new,” she admitted. Her self-exile to Aetaea had left her lacking in some of the finer luxuries, but the lady couldn’t find it in herself to be cross about it.
Turning her gaze to Lesley, Iris gave a pleasant smile, “Will you be accompanying your mother, Lesley? Will we be seeing you again?” she asked with incredible ease and blatant curiosity.
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Iris found herself brushing one of her brunette curls away from her face, her gaze bouncing between the princess and the men who were training. She had stopped admiring bodies and started to admire their footwork, imagining herself taking the same steps, making the same fluid movements. It reminded her of her years before she attended court. Before she hd grown into adulthood. When her father had let her wander among the Foxlights and allowed her the same training as many of the boys her age in her province.
She missed the freedom of such a life. When she hadn’t a need to worry about marriage or her future. When her father was at his healthiest and running the province on his own. Part of her missed her girlhood, but the other part of her was content with the position and the responsibility she had taken on her adulthood. While Iris had not been keen on returning to court from the quiet of her province, she had taken it in stride.
Takis rarely asked anything of her, so she could at least give him this.
With the men ceasing in their steps and their training, Iris found herself rising when the princess did, her hands pressed close to her abdomen. The two conversed and Iris let her gaze trail to the men who had run to the shade. She silently wished to join them, if only to see if one of them would spar with her. But she was no longer a child, nor was she in the privacy of her own home. Such an action would be unsightly.
Emilia drew her attention once more with a question of fabric and a polite smile lit her lips. “I would be keen on getting to observe the fabrics Lesley’s mother has for sale. It has been a long while since I have been able to purchase anything new,” she admitted. Her self-exile to Aetaea had left her lacking in some of the finer luxuries, but the lady couldn’t find it in herself to be cross about it.
Turning her gaze to Lesley, Iris gave a pleasant smile, “Will you be accompanying your mother, Lesley? Will we be seeing you again?” she asked with incredible ease and blatant curiosity.
Iris found herself brushing one of her brunette curls away from her face, her gaze bouncing between the princess and the men who were training. She had stopped admiring bodies and started to admire their footwork, imagining herself taking the same steps, making the same fluid movements. It reminded her of her years before she attended court. Before she hd grown into adulthood. When her father had let her wander among the Foxlights and allowed her the same training as many of the boys her age in her province.
She missed the freedom of such a life. When she hadn’t a need to worry about marriage or her future. When her father was at his healthiest and running the province on his own. Part of her missed her girlhood, but the other part of her was content with the position and the responsibility she had taken on her adulthood. While Iris had not been keen on returning to court from the quiet of her province, she had taken it in stride.
Takis rarely asked anything of her, so she could at least give him this.
With the men ceasing in their steps and their training, Iris found herself rising when the princess did, her hands pressed close to her abdomen. The two conversed and Iris let her gaze trail to the men who had run to the shade. She silently wished to join them, if only to see if one of them would spar with her. But she was no longer a child, nor was she in the privacy of her own home. Such an action would be unsightly.
Emilia drew her attention once more with a question of fabric and a polite smile lit her lips. “I would be keen on getting to observe the fabrics Lesley’s mother has for sale. It has been a long while since I have been able to purchase anything new,” she admitted. Her self-exile to Aetaea had left her lacking in some of the finer luxuries, but the lady couldn’t find it in herself to be cross about it.
Turning her gaze to Lesley, Iris gave a pleasant smile, “Will you be accompanying your mother, Lesley? Will we be seeing you again?” she asked with incredible ease and blatant curiosity.