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Xene could hardly fathom what was going on. Even Emilios pulling her back against his chest in an effort to force her to keep her composure was foreign. But calming. His words were firm. She was to remain calm and composed until everyone was gone. That was the rule of it. The princess had no other option because Emilios was correct. She could not lose herself here. She could not lose herself anywhere. There was no openness for her to feel her grief. Not within the walls of this Palati where she had hardly even grieved for her own father or brother past that one single moment of outright rage. Where she had shattered every valuable, beautiful piece of pottery and artwork in her own rooms.
This was yet another reminder that she was not allowed to feel the way that she wanted. Too many eyes were on her and Xene could not risk such things when anyone could pick apart her countenance with a single glance. Taking in slow, measured breaths, Xene slowly pressed against her cousin's chest, putting a distance between them that had always been there. The order was clear and Xene couldn't find it in herself to argue. Their mother must have been at the wedding. It was his son getting married, after all.
Queen Theodora's hands-on hers made the princess look up, her expression yielding little of anything. She did not argue the help in rising to her feet, carefully gripping the woman's hands and rising to her full height. The request was heard, but her mind was already focused on the order that Emilios had given her. She understood that Theodora's request succeeded Emilios', but she couldn't find it in herself to remain. Quietly, her voice was almost a whisper as she met Theodora's gaze, "I'm sorry, my queen," she murmured very carefully, "I must find Lady Myrto. She must know of her husband's passing." The princess released the new queen's hands.
Silently, Xene brushed her fingers down the front of her gown, as if that could settle her aching heart and the sickness she felt in the pit of her stomach.
Navigating through the crowd that had gathered while she and Krysto worked on the late King, Xene let her gaze trail over each person, finding not the lady she was looking for, but everyone else that she was not. With a foggy mind, she trailed past the crowds and further into the gardens, not finding it in herself to grow frustrated with the fact that she could not initially find Myrto of Mikaelidas. If she were in the area, there would be no way that she could miss the way that her husband had dropped to the stone.
Before long, she had simply grown numb to the happenings behind her. With her mind hyperfocused on finding Myrto, she had to circle back toward the group and only then did she run into the woman. But the lady already seemed fixated on what was going on, rushing ahead of Xene to make it into the crowd. Unsure of what to do with herself, Xene paused away from the crowd, unsure of what she was to do with herself now. When people started to bow to the new King and Queen, Xene followed suit if only to give herself something to focus on other than the rumbling of grief and confusion under her skin.
With no one paying any mind to her any longer, Xene carefully backed away from the party, running straight into the chest of Heron. The man stared down at her and offered her his hand, "Let me take you somewhere quiet, my princess," her guard murmured quiet enough for only Xene to hear. Not hesitating and having no further direction to go, she put her hand in his and let him pull her off toward the exit of the gardens and into the manor.
She did not look back, and she did not approach to give her condolences and congratulations to her cousin. If she knew Achilleas at all, she knew that that would not be what he needed right now. Heron deposited Xene into a small room within the house, she really didn't care of know which, standing by the door to ward people away from the room in order to give her a moment of privacy. The princess dropped her head into her hands, not weeping, but not moving either. It would have been better to show her solidarity, but in that moment she found herself drowning in the months of grief she had not approached with any means or intentions of healing.
Once the princess was able to compose herself enough to be seen once more, she trailed out into the home where the King had been taken inside, resolved to be the supportive shoulder that her cousins would now need her to be.
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Xene could hardly fathom what was going on. Even Emilios pulling her back against his chest in an effort to force her to keep her composure was foreign. But calming. His words were firm. She was to remain calm and composed until everyone was gone. That was the rule of it. The princess had no other option because Emilios was correct. She could not lose herself here. She could not lose herself anywhere. There was no openness for her to feel her grief. Not within the walls of this Palati where she had hardly even grieved for her own father or brother past that one single moment of outright rage. Where she had shattered every valuable, beautiful piece of pottery and artwork in her own rooms.
This was yet another reminder that she was not allowed to feel the way that she wanted. Too many eyes were on her and Xene could not risk such things when anyone could pick apart her countenance with a single glance. Taking in slow, measured breaths, Xene slowly pressed against her cousin's chest, putting a distance between them that had always been there. The order was clear and Xene couldn't find it in herself to argue. Their mother must have been at the wedding. It was his son getting married, after all.
Queen Theodora's hands-on hers made the princess look up, her expression yielding little of anything. She did not argue the help in rising to her feet, carefully gripping the woman's hands and rising to her full height. The request was heard, but her mind was already focused on the order that Emilios had given her. She understood that Theodora's request succeeded Emilios', but she couldn't find it in herself to remain. Quietly, her voice was almost a whisper as she met Theodora's gaze, "I'm sorry, my queen," she murmured very carefully, "I must find Lady Myrto. She must know of her husband's passing." The princess released the new queen's hands.
Silently, Xene brushed her fingers down the front of her gown, as if that could settle her aching heart and the sickness she felt in the pit of her stomach.
Navigating through the crowd that had gathered while she and Krysto worked on the late King, Xene let her gaze trail over each person, finding not the lady she was looking for, but everyone else that she was not. With a foggy mind, she trailed past the crowds and further into the gardens, not finding it in herself to grow frustrated with the fact that she could not initially find Myrto of Mikaelidas. If she were in the area, there would be no way that she could miss the way that her husband had dropped to the stone.
Before long, she had simply grown numb to the happenings behind her. With her mind hyperfocused on finding Myrto, she had to circle back toward the group and only then did she run into the woman. But the lady already seemed fixated on what was going on, rushing ahead of Xene to make it into the crowd. Unsure of what to do with herself, Xene paused away from the crowd, unsure of what she was to do with herself now. When people started to bow to the new King and Queen, Xene followed suit if only to give herself something to focus on other than the rumbling of grief and confusion under her skin.
With no one paying any mind to her any longer, Xene carefully backed away from the party, running straight into the chest of Heron. The man stared down at her and offered her his hand, "Let me take you somewhere quiet, my princess," her guard murmured quiet enough for only Xene to hear. Not hesitating and having no further direction to go, she put her hand in his and let him pull her off toward the exit of the gardens and into the manor.
She did not look back, and she did not approach to give her condolences and congratulations to her cousin. If she knew Achilleas at all, she knew that that would not be what he needed right now. Heron deposited Xene into a small room within the house, she really didn't care of know which, standing by the door to ward people away from the room in order to give her a moment of privacy. The princess dropped her head into her hands, not weeping, but not moving either. It would have been better to show her solidarity, but in that moment she found herself drowning in the months of grief she had not approached with any means or intentions of healing.
Once the princess was able to compose herself enough to be seen once more, she trailed out into the home where the King had been taken inside, resolved to be the supportive shoulder that her cousins would now need her to be.
Xene could hardly fathom what was going on. Even Emilios pulling her back against his chest in an effort to force her to keep her composure was foreign. But calming. His words were firm. She was to remain calm and composed until everyone was gone. That was the rule of it. The princess had no other option because Emilios was correct. She could not lose herself here. She could not lose herself anywhere. There was no openness for her to feel her grief. Not within the walls of this Palati where she had hardly even grieved for her own father or brother past that one single moment of outright rage. Where she had shattered every valuable, beautiful piece of pottery and artwork in her own rooms.
This was yet another reminder that she was not allowed to feel the way that she wanted. Too many eyes were on her and Xene could not risk such things when anyone could pick apart her countenance with a single glance. Taking in slow, measured breaths, Xene slowly pressed against her cousin's chest, putting a distance between them that had always been there. The order was clear and Xene couldn't find it in herself to argue. Their mother must have been at the wedding. It was his son getting married, after all.
Queen Theodora's hands-on hers made the princess look up, her expression yielding little of anything. She did not argue the help in rising to her feet, carefully gripping the woman's hands and rising to her full height. The request was heard, but her mind was already focused on the order that Emilios had given her. She understood that Theodora's request succeeded Emilios', but she couldn't find it in herself to remain. Quietly, her voice was almost a whisper as she met Theodora's gaze, "I'm sorry, my queen," she murmured very carefully, "I must find Lady Myrto. She must know of her husband's passing." The princess released the new queen's hands.
Silently, Xene brushed her fingers down the front of her gown, as if that could settle her aching heart and the sickness she felt in the pit of her stomach.
Navigating through the crowd that had gathered while she and Krysto worked on the late King, Xene let her gaze trail over each person, finding not the lady she was looking for, but everyone else that she was not. With a foggy mind, she trailed past the crowds and further into the gardens, not finding it in herself to grow frustrated with the fact that she could not initially find Myrto of Mikaelidas. If she were in the area, there would be no way that she could miss the way that her husband had dropped to the stone.
Before long, she had simply grown numb to the happenings behind her. With her mind hyperfocused on finding Myrto, she had to circle back toward the group and only then did she run into the woman. But the lady already seemed fixated on what was going on, rushing ahead of Xene to make it into the crowd. Unsure of what to do with herself, Xene paused away from the crowd, unsure of what she was to do with herself now. When people started to bow to the new King and Queen, Xene followed suit if only to give herself something to focus on other than the rumbling of grief and confusion under her skin.
With no one paying any mind to her any longer, Xene carefully backed away from the party, running straight into the chest of Heron. The man stared down at her and offered her his hand, "Let me take you somewhere quiet, my princess," her guard murmured quiet enough for only Xene to hear. Not hesitating and having no further direction to go, she put her hand in his and let him pull her off toward the exit of the gardens and into the manor.
She did not look back, and she did not approach to give her condolences and congratulations to her cousin. If she knew Achilleas at all, she knew that that would not be what he needed right now. Heron deposited Xene into a small room within the house, she really didn't care of know which, standing by the door to ward people away from the room in order to give her a moment of privacy. The princess dropped her head into her hands, not weeping, but not moving either. It would have been better to show her solidarity, but in that moment she found herself drowning in the months of grief she had not approached with any means or intentions of healing.
Once the princess was able to compose herself enough to be seen once more, she trailed out into the home where the King had been taken inside, resolved to be the supportive shoulder that her cousins would now need her to be.
Krysto was content to move away from the body of the King that he had not been able to save once Irakles took his last breaths. With Xene being taken care of by Emilios and then Theodora, there was little else for him to do. His job now was to ensure that the family had their space to grieve and take care of their deceased family members. Rising to his full height and pressing his arms firmly against his sides, the man let his striking blue gaze settle on each and every person in the room that was still in attendance.
Even stepping back and away from the crowd, he seemed to trail the sides and the back of the room, making mental note of each face and name of the nobility. While he had not spent much personal time within the noble circuit or within court, Krysto had an eye for faces and a mind for names and none of these people escaped him. Not even the servants that trailed the halls of the Mikaelidas manor, and had worked them for a number of years. Not one to mince words or take too much time doing any one task, Krysto quickly found himself once more in Achilleas' view. Part of it was to support his friend. Part of it was to be that silent threat against each and every person that may have had undue cause to linger once king Achilleas had given the order to leave the celebration.
No longer was it a celebration of a marriage. It would quickly turn into a celebration of a life, or the lack of it. Krysto was unsure of whether his friend would lament the loss of his father, or feel a different kind of relief for the loss in time. King Irakles was not known for his kindness or tolerance toward his family. There were a number of transgressions against his own children that Krysto knew to irk especially Achilleas. Would the loss of his father leave him feeling a freedom that he had never known, or would he find himself burdened under a crown he had never thought would be his? Krysto's stoic nature did not allow him to grimace as me may have wanted.
And Krysto would not allow Achilleas to fall apart, at least not yet. Maybe not ever. There was no longer room to scream and lament the wrong that had happened here today. His main concern was now his King, a bias he likely should not have held, but one he would take to nevertheless. Achilleas was his greatest friend. If he believed in soul mates, he might have thought Achilleas to be his. Truly, they were often two sides to the same coin.
He did not miss the way that Achilleas caught his eye, but he also did not move. The man had already scouted each and every person that he could. His critical eye even landed upon the servants who were now scrambling to clean up some of the celebration in order to keep themselves looking busy. Many clearly wanted to linger and bear witness to the death of the King, but it was Achilleas' order for everyone to leave that set Krysto in motion. Putting both of his arms out, he purposely motioned to everyone who wasn't part of the Mikaelidas family, "I will ensure that all of you leave safely," Krysto said a little too casually, his own gaze flicking toward Achilleas. "If you all won't exit the gardens in that direction," the man murmured, unyielding and not giving anyone any additional moments to linger.
The king was to be laid to rest, and this was not a spectator sport.
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Krysto was content to move away from the body of the King that he had not been able to save once Irakles took his last breaths. With Xene being taken care of by Emilios and then Theodora, there was little else for him to do. His job now was to ensure that the family had their space to grieve and take care of their deceased family members. Rising to his full height and pressing his arms firmly against his sides, the man let his striking blue gaze settle on each and every person in the room that was still in attendance.
Even stepping back and away from the crowd, he seemed to trail the sides and the back of the room, making mental note of each face and name of the nobility. While he had not spent much personal time within the noble circuit or within court, Krysto had an eye for faces and a mind for names and none of these people escaped him. Not even the servants that trailed the halls of the Mikaelidas manor, and had worked them for a number of years. Not one to mince words or take too much time doing any one task, Krysto quickly found himself once more in Achilleas' view. Part of it was to support his friend. Part of it was to be that silent threat against each and every person that may have had undue cause to linger once king Achilleas had given the order to leave the celebration.
No longer was it a celebration of a marriage. It would quickly turn into a celebration of a life, or the lack of it. Krysto was unsure of whether his friend would lament the loss of his father, or feel a different kind of relief for the loss in time. King Irakles was not known for his kindness or tolerance toward his family. There were a number of transgressions against his own children that Krysto knew to irk especially Achilleas. Would the loss of his father leave him feeling a freedom that he had never known, or would he find himself burdened under a crown he had never thought would be his? Krysto's stoic nature did not allow him to grimace as me may have wanted.
And Krysto would not allow Achilleas to fall apart, at least not yet. Maybe not ever. There was no longer room to scream and lament the wrong that had happened here today. His main concern was now his King, a bias he likely should not have held, but one he would take to nevertheless. Achilleas was his greatest friend. If he believed in soul mates, he might have thought Achilleas to be his. Truly, they were often two sides to the same coin.
He did not miss the way that Achilleas caught his eye, but he also did not move. The man had already scouted each and every person that he could. His critical eye even landed upon the servants who were now scrambling to clean up some of the celebration in order to keep themselves looking busy. Many clearly wanted to linger and bear witness to the death of the King, but it was Achilleas' order for everyone to leave that set Krysto in motion. Putting both of his arms out, he purposely motioned to everyone who wasn't part of the Mikaelidas family, "I will ensure that all of you leave safely," Krysto said a little too casually, his own gaze flicking toward Achilleas. "If you all won't exit the gardens in that direction," the man murmured, unyielding and not giving anyone any additional moments to linger.
The king was to be laid to rest, and this was not a spectator sport.
Krysto was content to move away from the body of the King that he had not been able to save once Irakles took his last breaths. With Xene being taken care of by Emilios and then Theodora, there was little else for him to do. His job now was to ensure that the family had their space to grieve and take care of their deceased family members. Rising to his full height and pressing his arms firmly against his sides, the man let his striking blue gaze settle on each and every person in the room that was still in attendance.
Even stepping back and away from the crowd, he seemed to trail the sides and the back of the room, making mental note of each face and name of the nobility. While he had not spent much personal time within the noble circuit or within court, Krysto had an eye for faces and a mind for names and none of these people escaped him. Not even the servants that trailed the halls of the Mikaelidas manor, and had worked them for a number of years. Not one to mince words or take too much time doing any one task, Krysto quickly found himself once more in Achilleas' view. Part of it was to support his friend. Part of it was to be that silent threat against each and every person that may have had undue cause to linger once king Achilleas had given the order to leave the celebration.
No longer was it a celebration of a marriage. It would quickly turn into a celebration of a life, or the lack of it. Krysto was unsure of whether his friend would lament the loss of his father, or feel a different kind of relief for the loss in time. King Irakles was not known for his kindness or tolerance toward his family. There were a number of transgressions against his own children that Krysto knew to irk especially Achilleas. Would the loss of his father leave him feeling a freedom that he had never known, or would he find himself burdened under a crown he had never thought would be his? Krysto's stoic nature did not allow him to grimace as me may have wanted.
And Krysto would not allow Achilleas to fall apart, at least not yet. Maybe not ever. There was no longer room to scream and lament the wrong that had happened here today. His main concern was now his King, a bias he likely should not have held, but one he would take to nevertheless. Achilleas was his greatest friend. If he believed in soul mates, he might have thought Achilleas to be his. Truly, they were often two sides to the same coin.
He did not miss the way that Achilleas caught his eye, but he also did not move. The man had already scouted each and every person that he could. His critical eye even landed upon the servants who were now scrambling to clean up some of the celebration in order to keep themselves looking busy. Many clearly wanted to linger and bear witness to the death of the King, but it was Achilleas' order for everyone to leave that set Krysto in motion. Putting both of his arms out, he purposely motioned to everyone who wasn't part of the Mikaelidas family, "I will ensure that all of you leave safely," Krysto said a little too casually, his own gaze flicking toward Achilleas. "If you all won't exit the gardens in that direction," the man murmured, unyielding and not giving anyone any additional moments to linger.
The king was to be laid to rest, and this was not a spectator sport.
Gavriil glanced and noted that many followed his example, and one did not. He was not a suspicious man, but he was an observant one. Fotios did not kneel to Achilleas. Instead, the lord touched the body of his friend, and in the guise of giving directions, managed not to pay homage at all. While Gavriil approved of Lord Fotios’s method of not displaying grief, for he himself had zero to give the man lying just feet from him, he did notice that Lord Fotios forgot to remedy his mistake to the new king, Achilleas. No one brought him to bear, either.
Then he was off his knees and reaching for Evangelina, but even as he laid a hand on her back, he was looking around for his own family. “We will speak later,” he said. “Now appears to be an inopportune time.” Even he knew that was an understatement but he was stuffing back down the giddy feeling that they wouldn’t have to suffer through Irakles’s tyrant reign. They would have a much more benevolent ruler in Irakles’s son and it was becoming difficult not to smile.
“I’ll see you to your parents and then I will depart with my family,” he said to Evangelina, not really offering her much of a choice as he started to shoulder his way through the crowds, but he shifted from hand on her back to just linked hands in order not to lose her in the sudden movement of bodies as the new king ordered them to disperse. In the confusion it was hard to keep track of who was where, but Evangelina was finally reunited with her family, and he found his easily enough. Being a hunter had its advantages. He’d known the most likely places his brother and daughters would each be. From there, it was a simple enough matter to gather them up and trundle them into the carriage.
”What a beautiful wedding,” Dorotheos said dryly as he climbed in ahead of his brother.
“Beautiful wedding indeed,” Gavriil agreed and then rapped his knuckles against the ceiling of the coach. It lurched and they rolled out of sight.
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Gavriil glanced and noted that many followed his example, and one did not. He was not a suspicious man, but he was an observant one. Fotios did not kneel to Achilleas. Instead, the lord touched the body of his friend, and in the guise of giving directions, managed not to pay homage at all. While Gavriil approved of Lord Fotios’s method of not displaying grief, for he himself had zero to give the man lying just feet from him, he did notice that Lord Fotios forgot to remedy his mistake to the new king, Achilleas. No one brought him to bear, either.
Then he was off his knees and reaching for Evangelina, but even as he laid a hand on her back, he was looking around for his own family. “We will speak later,” he said. “Now appears to be an inopportune time.” Even he knew that was an understatement but he was stuffing back down the giddy feeling that they wouldn’t have to suffer through Irakles’s tyrant reign. They would have a much more benevolent ruler in Irakles’s son and it was becoming difficult not to smile.
“I’ll see you to your parents and then I will depart with my family,” he said to Evangelina, not really offering her much of a choice as he started to shoulder his way through the crowds, but he shifted from hand on her back to just linked hands in order not to lose her in the sudden movement of bodies as the new king ordered them to disperse. In the confusion it was hard to keep track of who was where, but Evangelina was finally reunited with her family, and he found his easily enough. Being a hunter had its advantages. He’d known the most likely places his brother and daughters would each be. From there, it was a simple enough matter to gather them up and trundle them into the carriage.
”What a beautiful wedding,” Dorotheos said dryly as he climbed in ahead of his brother.
“Beautiful wedding indeed,” Gavriil agreed and then rapped his knuckles against the ceiling of the coach. It lurched and they rolled out of sight.
Gavriil glanced and noted that many followed his example, and one did not. He was not a suspicious man, but he was an observant one. Fotios did not kneel to Achilleas. Instead, the lord touched the body of his friend, and in the guise of giving directions, managed not to pay homage at all. While Gavriil approved of Lord Fotios’s method of not displaying grief, for he himself had zero to give the man lying just feet from him, he did notice that Lord Fotios forgot to remedy his mistake to the new king, Achilleas. No one brought him to bear, either.
Then he was off his knees and reaching for Evangelina, but even as he laid a hand on her back, he was looking around for his own family. “We will speak later,” he said. “Now appears to be an inopportune time.” Even he knew that was an understatement but he was stuffing back down the giddy feeling that they wouldn’t have to suffer through Irakles’s tyrant reign. They would have a much more benevolent ruler in Irakles’s son and it was becoming difficult not to smile.
“I’ll see you to your parents and then I will depart with my family,” he said to Evangelina, not really offering her much of a choice as he started to shoulder his way through the crowds, but he shifted from hand on her back to just linked hands in order not to lose her in the sudden movement of bodies as the new king ordered them to disperse. In the confusion it was hard to keep track of who was where, but Evangelina was finally reunited with her family, and he found his easily enough. Being a hunter had its advantages. He’d known the most likely places his brother and daughters would each be. From there, it was a simple enough matter to gather them up and trundle them into the carriage.
”What a beautiful wedding,” Dorotheos said dryly as he climbed in ahead of his brother.
“Beautiful wedding indeed,” Gavriil agreed and then rapped his knuckles against the ceiling of the coach. It lurched and they rolled out of sight.
Everything happened so quickly, the youngest of Zenon’s line was finding it difficult to focus on any one actor in the unfolding frenzy. She had been engrossed in polite conversation with a small group which had broken up when Evangelina announced her departure to search for the Leventi heir. As she watched her friend leave, her attention was caught by the commotion created by Emilios and the bride, Theodora. Her natural inclination bade her to assist and so Gianna was off, seeking her handmaid in the fray. But she would not find Elpis.
A voice, so familiar and yet so unrecognizable in tone, rose above the din and Gianna had turned on the ball of her foot to see her uncle’s knees buckle. A hand grasped at his chest as his slack jaw failed to communicate with those standing closest to him. The comfort she had found in her sister only moments ago drained from her body with her remaining color. She felt as though her blood had been replaced with the winter sea. The princess did not even register the gentle hand at her elbow or the words that may or may not have been spoken to her, much less by whom.
Her world had become consumed by death. All she knew in this moment as the blood roared in her ears was the man lying on the floor, his blue-tinged lips parted in a silent cry. Gianna watched with trepidation, paralyzed by the thought that even the slightest movement might seal her uncle’s fate. She was a helpless spectator, unable to offer anything but prayers as her elders took over for Irakles’s heart and lungs, performing the functions for his unwilling body. To the princess, it simultaneously felt like a lifetime and merely seconds had passed when the Captain made the call.
Irakles was dead.
Gianna supposed she should feel relieved. The man she had feared since Stephanos confided his suspicions and had subsequently been dethroned was finally neutralized. Perhaps she could even find sleep with her cousin on the throne. But he had been her uncle and while he had never given Zenon’s daughters much notice once they had entered the court, he had not outwardly mistreated them. She had to admit she had harbored some love for the man, perhaps residual from her childhood when he was more—in his way—doting. But it was there nonetheless.
And so the youngest Mikaelidas found herself feeling rather conflicted. She had not been in the circus the day her father and brother had been murdered. She had not seen Zenon’s head on a pike nor Zacharias’s bloodied cape. Perhaps witnessing her uncle’s demise firsthand had softened her feelings towards him? She could not dwell on these thoughts. Achilleas was in the midst of dismissing the noble families and Gianna’s feet were moving as her eyes trailed her sister and Heron. Xene would need her, she was sure of it, and so she followed the pair away from the reception. With her sister left to her grief, Gianna slipped wordlessly through the doors and settled at Xene’s feet, offering comfort the only way she could in a moment such as this.
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Everything happened so quickly, the youngest of Zenon’s line was finding it difficult to focus on any one actor in the unfolding frenzy. She had been engrossed in polite conversation with a small group which had broken up when Evangelina announced her departure to search for the Leventi heir. As she watched her friend leave, her attention was caught by the commotion created by Emilios and the bride, Theodora. Her natural inclination bade her to assist and so Gianna was off, seeking her handmaid in the fray. But she would not find Elpis.
A voice, so familiar and yet so unrecognizable in tone, rose above the din and Gianna had turned on the ball of her foot to see her uncle’s knees buckle. A hand grasped at his chest as his slack jaw failed to communicate with those standing closest to him. The comfort she had found in her sister only moments ago drained from her body with her remaining color. She felt as though her blood had been replaced with the winter sea. The princess did not even register the gentle hand at her elbow or the words that may or may not have been spoken to her, much less by whom.
Her world had become consumed by death. All she knew in this moment as the blood roared in her ears was the man lying on the floor, his blue-tinged lips parted in a silent cry. Gianna watched with trepidation, paralyzed by the thought that even the slightest movement might seal her uncle’s fate. She was a helpless spectator, unable to offer anything but prayers as her elders took over for Irakles’s heart and lungs, performing the functions for his unwilling body. To the princess, it simultaneously felt like a lifetime and merely seconds had passed when the Captain made the call.
Irakles was dead.
Gianna supposed she should feel relieved. The man she had feared since Stephanos confided his suspicions and had subsequently been dethroned was finally neutralized. Perhaps she could even find sleep with her cousin on the throne. But he had been her uncle and while he had never given Zenon’s daughters much notice once they had entered the court, he had not outwardly mistreated them. She had to admit she had harbored some love for the man, perhaps residual from her childhood when he was more—in his way—doting. But it was there nonetheless.
And so the youngest Mikaelidas found herself feeling rather conflicted. She had not been in the circus the day her father and brother had been murdered. She had not seen Zenon’s head on a pike nor Zacharias’s bloodied cape. Perhaps witnessing her uncle’s demise firsthand had softened her feelings towards him? She could not dwell on these thoughts. Achilleas was in the midst of dismissing the noble families and Gianna’s feet were moving as her eyes trailed her sister and Heron. Xene would need her, she was sure of it, and so she followed the pair away from the reception. With her sister left to her grief, Gianna slipped wordlessly through the doors and settled at Xene’s feet, offering comfort the only way she could in a moment such as this.
Everything happened so quickly, the youngest of Zenon’s line was finding it difficult to focus on any one actor in the unfolding frenzy. She had been engrossed in polite conversation with a small group which had broken up when Evangelina announced her departure to search for the Leventi heir. As she watched her friend leave, her attention was caught by the commotion created by Emilios and the bride, Theodora. Her natural inclination bade her to assist and so Gianna was off, seeking her handmaid in the fray. But she would not find Elpis.
A voice, so familiar and yet so unrecognizable in tone, rose above the din and Gianna had turned on the ball of her foot to see her uncle’s knees buckle. A hand grasped at his chest as his slack jaw failed to communicate with those standing closest to him. The comfort she had found in her sister only moments ago drained from her body with her remaining color. She felt as though her blood had been replaced with the winter sea. The princess did not even register the gentle hand at her elbow or the words that may or may not have been spoken to her, much less by whom.
Her world had become consumed by death. All she knew in this moment as the blood roared in her ears was the man lying on the floor, his blue-tinged lips parted in a silent cry. Gianna watched with trepidation, paralyzed by the thought that even the slightest movement might seal her uncle’s fate. She was a helpless spectator, unable to offer anything but prayers as her elders took over for Irakles’s heart and lungs, performing the functions for his unwilling body. To the princess, it simultaneously felt like a lifetime and merely seconds had passed when the Captain made the call.
Irakles was dead.
Gianna supposed she should feel relieved. The man she had feared since Stephanos confided his suspicions and had subsequently been dethroned was finally neutralized. Perhaps she could even find sleep with her cousin on the throne. But he had been her uncle and while he had never given Zenon’s daughters much notice once they had entered the court, he had not outwardly mistreated them. She had to admit she had harbored some love for the man, perhaps residual from her childhood when he was more—in his way—doting. But it was there nonetheless.
And so the youngest Mikaelidas found herself feeling rather conflicted. She had not been in the circus the day her father and brother had been murdered. She had not seen Zenon’s head on a pike nor Zacharias’s bloodied cape. Perhaps witnessing her uncle’s demise firsthand had softened her feelings towards him? She could not dwell on these thoughts. Achilleas was in the midst of dismissing the noble families and Gianna’s feet were moving as her eyes trailed her sister and Heron. Xene would need her, she was sure of it, and so she followed the pair away from the reception. With her sister left to her grief, Gianna slipped wordlessly through the doors and settled at Xene’s feet, offering comfort the only way she could in a moment such as this.