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As the doors came in and the dark figures slipped through, Zanon braced for the impact of battle, ready to hurl himself in front of Vangelis if necessary. He had lost a father, nearly lost this brother, and he would not allow any further harm to come to his family. But no harm came, and the silence of the hall was far more uncomfortable than the cries of battle. He felt as if he was holding his breath, but as the identity of the leader of the troops was revealed suddenly his world turned upside down for the second time that day.
Athanasia threw herself at their father before Zanon could speak, his sword set onto the table behind them as he gave a shaky laugh at the sight of a man he'd thought he'd never see again. Turning to Vangelis, he grinned and gave his eldest brother a squeeze on his shoulder. Now they could hear the strange tale that had brought them round to this, and Vang could get to the business of healing from this attack. Speaking of, the second prince turned to look for Ariah, to see where the slave had been held after setting down the plate. He had no reason to believe she would ever do what she'd done, indeed he'd watched as she had been handed the plate, kept his eye on her until it had been set in front of his brother. She had done nothing, but perhaps she would know who had.
Any pondering was halted further as suddenly chaos broke loose once again. With horror, Zanon moved before Vangelis as if to prevent another attack but he was misguided on the intended victim. His father-in-law hurtling toward his father and sister drew a snarl of rage and he took two steps before Stephanos had surpassed him and it was over. Dionysios' arm hung useless, though the blood blooming over the Taengean king's arm was concerning. He looked to his father and sister, then the Thanasi patriarch, rage boiling in him that was not contained by his brother's hand on his arm.
"Let me have him." Zan growled the words under his breath to Vang without taking his eyes from the villain before him, chest twisting as Evras moved to defend her father who had just tried to kill his own. His hands clenched in fists and another rumble of disgust as Vangelis ordered that the old man was to be taken unharmed. There was nothing Zanon wanted more than to have the head of Dionysios of Thanasi on a pike, but as his brother ordered so would he follow. Jaw clenched, he gave a nod and turned to his father as the elder king gave an order of his own.
Tython of Kotas looked as alive and well as he ever had, and for a moment the shock of his father's return wore off and he was just pleased to see him again. The order was met with a bow, and then he reached out to clasp the king's shoulder, meeting the older man's gaze with a bit of a smile before letting him go and stepping away. Reaching out for his sister, he put an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and tucked his son under his other arm when Dion returned to his side, holding the boy close as he met Selene's gaze.
He had been tasked with getting them home, but there was one he did not look about for. The Thanasi wife he had foolishly wed had chosen her father, and had made it blatantly clear before him and the entire court could trail behind for all he cared in this moment. Tonight he would not share her bed, nor did he suppose he would sleep. There was a poisoning to investigate, and a culprit to find. Releasing Dion and Athanasia, he turned to where Ariah was being held by guards and waving them off of her.
"Ariah. With me. We're going home." He waited until the girl was freed to walk back to the others, making sure she was at his side before taking his small flock back to the Kotas manor to await further instruction.
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As the doors came in and the dark figures slipped through, Zanon braced for the impact of battle, ready to hurl himself in front of Vangelis if necessary. He had lost a father, nearly lost this brother, and he would not allow any further harm to come to his family. But no harm came, and the silence of the hall was far more uncomfortable than the cries of battle. He felt as if he was holding his breath, but as the identity of the leader of the troops was revealed suddenly his world turned upside down for the second time that day.
Athanasia threw herself at their father before Zanon could speak, his sword set onto the table behind them as he gave a shaky laugh at the sight of a man he'd thought he'd never see again. Turning to Vangelis, he grinned and gave his eldest brother a squeeze on his shoulder. Now they could hear the strange tale that had brought them round to this, and Vang could get to the business of healing from this attack. Speaking of, the second prince turned to look for Ariah, to see where the slave had been held after setting down the plate. He had no reason to believe she would ever do what she'd done, indeed he'd watched as she had been handed the plate, kept his eye on her until it had been set in front of his brother. She had done nothing, but perhaps she would know who had.
Any pondering was halted further as suddenly chaos broke loose once again. With horror, Zanon moved before Vangelis as if to prevent another attack but he was misguided on the intended victim. His father-in-law hurtling toward his father and sister drew a snarl of rage and he took two steps before Stephanos had surpassed him and it was over. Dionysios' arm hung useless, though the blood blooming over the Taengean king's arm was concerning. He looked to his father and sister, then the Thanasi patriarch, rage boiling in him that was not contained by his brother's hand on his arm.
"Let me have him." Zan growled the words under his breath to Vang without taking his eyes from the villain before him, chest twisting as Evras moved to defend her father who had just tried to kill his own. His hands clenched in fists and another rumble of disgust as Vangelis ordered that the old man was to be taken unharmed. There was nothing Zanon wanted more than to have the head of Dionysios of Thanasi on a pike, but as his brother ordered so would he follow. Jaw clenched, he gave a nod and turned to his father as the elder king gave an order of his own.
Tython of Kotas looked as alive and well as he ever had, and for a moment the shock of his father's return wore off and he was just pleased to see him again. The order was met with a bow, and then he reached out to clasp the king's shoulder, meeting the older man's gaze with a bit of a smile before letting him go and stepping away. Reaching out for his sister, he put an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and tucked his son under his other arm when Dion returned to his side, holding the boy close as he met Selene's gaze.
He had been tasked with getting them home, but there was one he did not look about for. The Thanasi wife he had foolishly wed had chosen her father, and had made it blatantly clear before him and the entire court could trail behind for all he cared in this moment. Tonight he would not share her bed, nor did he suppose he would sleep. There was a poisoning to investigate, and a culprit to find. Releasing Dion and Athanasia, he turned to where Ariah was being held by guards and waving them off of her.
"Ariah. With me. We're going home." He waited until the girl was freed to walk back to the others, making sure she was at his side before taking his small flock back to the Kotas manor to await further instruction.
As the doors came in and the dark figures slipped through, Zanon braced for the impact of battle, ready to hurl himself in front of Vangelis if necessary. He had lost a father, nearly lost this brother, and he would not allow any further harm to come to his family. But no harm came, and the silence of the hall was far more uncomfortable than the cries of battle. He felt as if he was holding his breath, but as the identity of the leader of the troops was revealed suddenly his world turned upside down for the second time that day.
Athanasia threw herself at their father before Zanon could speak, his sword set onto the table behind them as he gave a shaky laugh at the sight of a man he'd thought he'd never see again. Turning to Vangelis, he grinned and gave his eldest brother a squeeze on his shoulder. Now they could hear the strange tale that had brought them round to this, and Vang could get to the business of healing from this attack. Speaking of, the second prince turned to look for Ariah, to see where the slave had been held after setting down the plate. He had no reason to believe she would ever do what she'd done, indeed he'd watched as she had been handed the plate, kept his eye on her until it had been set in front of his brother. She had done nothing, but perhaps she would know who had.
Any pondering was halted further as suddenly chaos broke loose once again. With horror, Zanon moved before Vangelis as if to prevent another attack but he was misguided on the intended victim. His father-in-law hurtling toward his father and sister drew a snarl of rage and he took two steps before Stephanos had surpassed him and it was over. Dionysios' arm hung useless, though the blood blooming over the Taengean king's arm was concerning. He looked to his father and sister, then the Thanasi patriarch, rage boiling in him that was not contained by his brother's hand on his arm.
"Let me have him." Zan growled the words under his breath to Vang without taking his eyes from the villain before him, chest twisting as Evras moved to defend her father who had just tried to kill his own. His hands clenched in fists and another rumble of disgust as Vangelis ordered that the old man was to be taken unharmed. There was nothing Zanon wanted more than to have the head of Dionysios of Thanasi on a pike, but as his brother ordered so would he follow. Jaw clenched, he gave a nod and turned to his father as the elder king gave an order of his own.
Tython of Kotas looked as alive and well as he ever had, and for a moment the shock of his father's return wore off and he was just pleased to see him again. The order was met with a bow, and then he reached out to clasp the king's shoulder, meeting the older man's gaze with a bit of a smile before letting him go and stepping away. Reaching out for his sister, he put an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and tucked his son under his other arm when Dion returned to his side, holding the boy close as he met Selene's gaze.
He had been tasked with getting them home, but there was one he did not look about for. The Thanasi wife he had foolishly wed had chosen her father, and had made it blatantly clear before him and the entire court could trail behind for all he cared in this moment. Tonight he would not share her bed, nor did he suppose he would sleep. There was a poisoning to investigate, and a culprit to find. Releasing Dion and Athanasia, he turned to where Ariah was being held by guards and waving them off of her.
"Ariah. With me. We're going home." He waited until the girl was freed to walk back to the others, making sure she was at his side before taking his small flock back to the Kotas manor to await further instruction.
It was times like these that Maleos did his best work, times of high stress and potential threats always cleared his head and caused him to fall to action with an ease that he could not explain. He did not know what it was that allowed him to remain so calm, but he didn’t second guess it. The ability to stay cool under pressure had served him well in the past, as it did currently. Noting the approving look from the Queen herself, he felt his pride swell within him once more. A feeling that he had been sorely lacking lately, and one that he would hold on to for as long as he could. Though he wished he could have done more earlier when both the poison and the dagger nearly found their marks, he knew that he could not change that. Instead he would focus on what he could do.
He was surprised when he saw a knife in Leto’s hand as she took his offered hand and stood, and inside he felt a bit of a warm feeling. She had planned on defending herself any way she could. More than what could be said about Silanos, a man cowering among the women and children. A coward. His eyes briefly landed on the entitled Lord, remembering just a short while ago how he pouted like a child when he had been sent to the barracks to attempt to be taught a lesson. Maleos did not think the lesson would sink in.
Maleos’ attention turned back to Leto as she spoke, and then made mention of his wound. He looked down at his arm, he hadn’t even noticed it. As Leto pressed a napkin to his wound, he moved to take over for her, his hand brushing hers as he did so, he held the cloth to his arm for only a short moment before pulling it away and setting it aside. The wound was nothing major, something that would stop bleeding soon and heal on its own eventually. He had suffered worse in his younger years and had the scars to prove it.
When he was introduced to Leto’s companion, he hardly paid attention, though he enjoyed Leto’s company, he had more pressing matters on his mind.
“My lady.” He greeted, giving her a respectful bow. “I do not mean to be impolite, but I must return to my duties.” He said, then directed the next part at Leto, keeping his voice low as he did.
“We will speak again soon. If the guards question you, tell them that I have cleared you to leave. There is no reason you should be held up longer than you have already.” He said, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm as he spoke. When he finished what he was saying he turned and disappeared into the crowd again, barking orders at guards that were slacking off instead of doing as he had commanded them.
The crowd was slowly dispersing, everyone being questioned by guards before taking their leave. Maleos would stay longer, ensuring that every guard did their duty and every guest was accounted for and questioned before leaving. He would not leave himself until everything was dealt with, and everyone was deemed safe for the time being.
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It was times like these that Maleos did his best work, times of high stress and potential threats always cleared his head and caused him to fall to action with an ease that he could not explain. He did not know what it was that allowed him to remain so calm, but he didn’t second guess it. The ability to stay cool under pressure had served him well in the past, as it did currently. Noting the approving look from the Queen herself, he felt his pride swell within him once more. A feeling that he had been sorely lacking lately, and one that he would hold on to for as long as he could. Though he wished he could have done more earlier when both the poison and the dagger nearly found their marks, he knew that he could not change that. Instead he would focus on what he could do.
He was surprised when he saw a knife in Leto’s hand as she took his offered hand and stood, and inside he felt a bit of a warm feeling. She had planned on defending herself any way she could. More than what could be said about Silanos, a man cowering among the women and children. A coward. His eyes briefly landed on the entitled Lord, remembering just a short while ago how he pouted like a child when he had been sent to the barracks to attempt to be taught a lesson. Maleos did not think the lesson would sink in.
Maleos’ attention turned back to Leto as she spoke, and then made mention of his wound. He looked down at his arm, he hadn’t even noticed it. As Leto pressed a napkin to his wound, he moved to take over for her, his hand brushing hers as he did so, he held the cloth to his arm for only a short moment before pulling it away and setting it aside. The wound was nothing major, something that would stop bleeding soon and heal on its own eventually. He had suffered worse in his younger years and had the scars to prove it.
When he was introduced to Leto’s companion, he hardly paid attention, though he enjoyed Leto’s company, he had more pressing matters on his mind.
“My lady.” He greeted, giving her a respectful bow. “I do not mean to be impolite, but I must return to my duties.” He said, then directed the next part at Leto, keeping his voice low as he did.
“We will speak again soon. If the guards question you, tell them that I have cleared you to leave. There is no reason you should be held up longer than you have already.” He said, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm as he spoke. When he finished what he was saying he turned and disappeared into the crowd again, barking orders at guards that were slacking off instead of doing as he had commanded them.
The crowd was slowly dispersing, everyone being questioned by guards before taking their leave. Maleos would stay longer, ensuring that every guard did their duty and every guest was accounted for and questioned before leaving. He would not leave himself until everything was dealt with, and everyone was deemed safe for the time being.
It was times like these that Maleos did his best work, times of high stress and potential threats always cleared his head and caused him to fall to action with an ease that he could not explain. He did not know what it was that allowed him to remain so calm, but he didn’t second guess it. The ability to stay cool under pressure had served him well in the past, as it did currently. Noting the approving look from the Queen herself, he felt his pride swell within him once more. A feeling that he had been sorely lacking lately, and one that he would hold on to for as long as he could. Though he wished he could have done more earlier when both the poison and the dagger nearly found their marks, he knew that he could not change that. Instead he would focus on what he could do.
He was surprised when he saw a knife in Leto’s hand as she took his offered hand and stood, and inside he felt a bit of a warm feeling. She had planned on defending herself any way she could. More than what could be said about Silanos, a man cowering among the women and children. A coward. His eyes briefly landed on the entitled Lord, remembering just a short while ago how he pouted like a child when he had been sent to the barracks to attempt to be taught a lesson. Maleos did not think the lesson would sink in.
Maleos’ attention turned back to Leto as she spoke, and then made mention of his wound. He looked down at his arm, he hadn’t even noticed it. As Leto pressed a napkin to his wound, he moved to take over for her, his hand brushing hers as he did so, he held the cloth to his arm for only a short moment before pulling it away and setting it aside. The wound was nothing major, something that would stop bleeding soon and heal on its own eventually. He had suffered worse in his younger years and had the scars to prove it.
When he was introduced to Leto’s companion, he hardly paid attention, though he enjoyed Leto’s company, he had more pressing matters on his mind.
“My lady.” He greeted, giving her a respectful bow. “I do not mean to be impolite, but I must return to my duties.” He said, then directed the next part at Leto, keeping his voice low as he did.
“We will speak again soon. If the guards question you, tell them that I have cleared you to leave. There is no reason you should be held up longer than you have already.” He said, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm as he spoke. When he finished what he was saying he turned and disappeared into the crowd again, barking orders at guards that were slacking off instead of doing as he had commanded them.
The crowd was slowly dispersing, everyone being questioned by guards before taking their leave. Maleos would stay longer, ensuring that every guard did their duty and every guest was accounted for and questioned before leaving. He would not leave himself until everything was dealt with, and everyone was deemed safe for the time being.
Her father had saved her life. He had been willing to die in order that she would live, even after all the grief she had given him over the years. Well, that was going to change, Athanasia vowed. She was going to be the daughter he expected her to be from now on. The princess didn't plan on ending her late night excursions into the city, but they were perfectly harmless and … so she told herself … helped her understand the people of the kingdom and their needs better than if she stayed in the manor all day dressed up in silk and jewels and working on embroidery.
She saw the rage on Zanon's face and knew that he wanted to kill his father-in-law for what he had just done. But Vangelis stopped him. Her eldest brother still looked weak but as always, he had his wits about him and began to issue orders, which included sending her home with the rest of her family. Her father kissed her head again and she smiled up at him before moving a bit to the side to speak with Mihail.
Athanasia winced at the warning glance Tython gave the young Thanasi lord. He wanted Mihail to stay away from her. That look was unmistakable. Considering that Mihail's father had just tried to kill him, she could understand his concern. Maybe when the issue with Dionysios was dealt with, she could tell him how kind Mihail had been to her and that he had been ready to defend her against the invaders they thought were attacking the Dikastírio. Maybe it wouldn't change his mind, but at least he would listen to her. He always did.
She probably shouldn't have lashed out at her cousin, but her nerves were on edge. Her brother had been poisoned, they had almost been attacked, her father wasn't dead, but he had almost lost his life on her account. Athanasia was too distraught to think straight and she would have apologized if Imeeya hadn’t' snapped right back at her, vehemently denying those rumors loudly enough so that everyone in the room could hear. If there was no truth to them, then why should she be so defensive? And anyway …
Before she could voice her thoughts, her father reprimanded Imeeya and told her to go with his family. As the princess moved toward Zanon, she glared at her cousin. “How do I know what to believe anymore?" she hissed. "You were sitting with Lord Silanos, even though I warned you to stay away from him.”
Her second-eldest brother pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing her on the top of her head, just as her father had done. “I'm ready to go home,” she said to him. “But please keep Imeeya away from me. I don’t even want to ride in the carriage with her.” If she had not been so upset by the events of the evening, she would have realized how childish she sounded. The young princess fumed all the way home and when they arrived, went to her room and locked the door. If she was needed for anything else, she knew that a servant would be sent to fetch her.
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Her father had saved her life. He had been willing to die in order that she would live, even after all the grief she had given him over the years. Well, that was going to change, Athanasia vowed. She was going to be the daughter he expected her to be from now on. The princess didn't plan on ending her late night excursions into the city, but they were perfectly harmless and … so she told herself … helped her understand the people of the kingdom and their needs better than if she stayed in the manor all day dressed up in silk and jewels and working on embroidery.
She saw the rage on Zanon's face and knew that he wanted to kill his father-in-law for what he had just done. But Vangelis stopped him. Her eldest brother still looked weak but as always, he had his wits about him and began to issue orders, which included sending her home with the rest of her family. Her father kissed her head again and she smiled up at him before moving a bit to the side to speak with Mihail.
Athanasia winced at the warning glance Tython gave the young Thanasi lord. He wanted Mihail to stay away from her. That look was unmistakable. Considering that Mihail's father had just tried to kill him, she could understand his concern. Maybe when the issue with Dionysios was dealt with, she could tell him how kind Mihail had been to her and that he had been ready to defend her against the invaders they thought were attacking the Dikastírio. Maybe it wouldn't change his mind, but at least he would listen to her. He always did.
She probably shouldn't have lashed out at her cousin, but her nerves were on edge. Her brother had been poisoned, they had almost been attacked, her father wasn't dead, but he had almost lost his life on her account. Athanasia was too distraught to think straight and she would have apologized if Imeeya hadn’t' snapped right back at her, vehemently denying those rumors loudly enough so that everyone in the room could hear. If there was no truth to them, then why should she be so defensive? And anyway …
Before she could voice her thoughts, her father reprimanded Imeeya and told her to go with his family. As the princess moved toward Zanon, she glared at her cousin. “How do I know what to believe anymore?" she hissed. "You were sitting with Lord Silanos, even though I warned you to stay away from him.”
Her second-eldest brother pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing her on the top of her head, just as her father had done. “I'm ready to go home,” she said to him. “But please keep Imeeya away from me. I don’t even want to ride in the carriage with her.” If she had not been so upset by the events of the evening, she would have realized how childish she sounded. The young princess fumed all the way home and when they arrived, went to her room and locked the door. If she was needed for anything else, she knew that a servant would be sent to fetch her.
Her father had saved her life. He had been willing to die in order that she would live, even after all the grief she had given him over the years. Well, that was going to change, Athanasia vowed. She was going to be the daughter he expected her to be from now on. The princess didn't plan on ending her late night excursions into the city, but they were perfectly harmless and … so she told herself … helped her understand the people of the kingdom and their needs better than if she stayed in the manor all day dressed up in silk and jewels and working on embroidery.
She saw the rage on Zanon's face and knew that he wanted to kill his father-in-law for what he had just done. But Vangelis stopped him. Her eldest brother still looked weak but as always, he had his wits about him and began to issue orders, which included sending her home with the rest of her family. Her father kissed her head again and she smiled up at him before moving a bit to the side to speak with Mihail.
Athanasia winced at the warning glance Tython gave the young Thanasi lord. He wanted Mihail to stay away from her. That look was unmistakable. Considering that Mihail's father had just tried to kill him, she could understand his concern. Maybe when the issue with Dionysios was dealt with, she could tell him how kind Mihail had been to her and that he had been ready to defend her against the invaders they thought were attacking the Dikastírio. Maybe it wouldn't change his mind, but at least he would listen to her. He always did.
She probably shouldn't have lashed out at her cousin, but her nerves were on edge. Her brother had been poisoned, they had almost been attacked, her father wasn't dead, but he had almost lost his life on her account. Athanasia was too distraught to think straight and she would have apologized if Imeeya hadn’t' snapped right back at her, vehemently denying those rumors loudly enough so that everyone in the room could hear. If there was no truth to them, then why should she be so defensive? And anyway …
Before she could voice her thoughts, her father reprimanded Imeeya and told her to go with his family. As the princess moved toward Zanon, she glared at her cousin. “How do I know what to believe anymore?" she hissed. "You were sitting with Lord Silanos, even though I warned you to stay away from him.”
Her second-eldest brother pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing her on the top of her head, just as her father had done. “I'm ready to go home,” she said to him. “But please keep Imeeya away from me. I don’t even want to ride in the carriage with her.” If she had not been so upset by the events of the evening, she would have realized how childish she sounded. The young princess fumed all the way home and when they arrived, went to her room and locked the door. If she was needed for anything else, she knew that a servant would be sent to fetch her.
It was reassuring to find that Princess Athanasia did not seem to hold any ill will towards Mihail after what his father had done. It was not common to be so forgiving, and a part of him felt a flutter of appreciation that she had not immediately thrown him to one side as so many others may well have done. At her comment that she would say something to her father, he nodded in continued gratitude, though their brief conversation was broken apart by the appearance of Lady Imeeya. Mihail had never held many discussions with the light-haired woman, but there was little love lost between her and his family, and he expected the malice which left her lips and the harsh displeasure which glowed in her eyes, though he had done nothing.
It seemed he had inadvertently stumbled into a topic of annoyance for the two women, for, without a word on his behalf, they had fallen into a heated spat. His ears had naturally pricked at the gossip that Athanasia appeared to have unwittingly released, though there was little he could do with the information at present. He attempted to glance away, as if he were not involved in the conversation, but his gaze was forced to match that of the King's, and a stern glare was thrown upon him. Mihail had never been the most strong-minded individual, and he could not hold such a severe stare, his eyes falling back to the ground as if humiliated by the look. Evidently, his continued presence would not be wise, and a quick yet subtle escape would be the most sensible choice at present.
There was no further opportunity for Mihail to say much else to the princess, for any muttered comment would likely have been overheard by the people around them. He bit his lip tentatively, bowing his head in a final show of respect, then commented in parting: "Thank you for your kindness, my princess. Perhaps sometime we shall meet again in less unfortunate circumstances." It was less than he had intended to say, and twice as uncomfortably formal, but it was unlikely to be misconstrued as much else. He stepped aside from the small group, eyes scanning the crowds as he searched for the rest of his family. Evras would no doubt have been swept away by her husband, and his father was still in deserved custody (and, hopefully, would be for long enough).
His eyes caught Evras's as she mouthed at him to leave, then drifted to find his brother. Dysius was the sort of man that Mihail had never considered brave, nor that he thought deserved much attention, although he had stood inexplicably near the front lines when they had thought they were under attack only moments ago. Now, he had fallen back into place alongside their eldest sister, his calculating silence unnerving to the degree that warranted suspicion. Still, Mihail approached the pair without much comment, choosing to ignore his general distaste for his brother for a moment as he addressed them both.
"Perhaps it would be prudent that we leave." It had already been said, and was perhaps an understatement, but the repetition seemed a necessity. "Before things become further heated." That almost appeared impossible, but Mihail did not doubt the ability of his fellow Colchians to throw further unwarranted blame on the Thanasis, and he had already begun to turn away, not waiting to see if his siblings would follow. He longed for the tranquillity of home, particularly after the nightmare of this evening.
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It was reassuring to find that Princess Athanasia did not seem to hold any ill will towards Mihail after what his father had done. It was not common to be so forgiving, and a part of him felt a flutter of appreciation that she had not immediately thrown him to one side as so many others may well have done. At her comment that she would say something to her father, he nodded in continued gratitude, though their brief conversation was broken apart by the appearance of Lady Imeeya. Mihail had never held many discussions with the light-haired woman, but there was little love lost between her and his family, and he expected the malice which left her lips and the harsh displeasure which glowed in her eyes, though he had done nothing.
It seemed he had inadvertently stumbled into a topic of annoyance for the two women, for, without a word on his behalf, they had fallen into a heated spat. His ears had naturally pricked at the gossip that Athanasia appeared to have unwittingly released, though there was little he could do with the information at present. He attempted to glance away, as if he were not involved in the conversation, but his gaze was forced to match that of the King's, and a stern glare was thrown upon him. Mihail had never been the most strong-minded individual, and he could not hold such a severe stare, his eyes falling back to the ground as if humiliated by the look. Evidently, his continued presence would not be wise, and a quick yet subtle escape would be the most sensible choice at present.
There was no further opportunity for Mihail to say much else to the princess, for any muttered comment would likely have been overheard by the people around them. He bit his lip tentatively, bowing his head in a final show of respect, then commented in parting: "Thank you for your kindness, my princess. Perhaps sometime we shall meet again in less unfortunate circumstances." It was less than he had intended to say, and twice as uncomfortably formal, but it was unlikely to be misconstrued as much else. He stepped aside from the small group, eyes scanning the crowds as he searched for the rest of his family. Evras would no doubt have been swept away by her husband, and his father was still in deserved custody (and, hopefully, would be for long enough).
His eyes caught Evras's as she mouthed at him to leave, then drifted to find his brother. Dysius was the sort of man that Mihail had never considered brave, nor that he thought deserved much attention, although he had stood inexplicably near the front lines when they had thought they were under attack only moments ago. Now, he had fallen back into place alongside their eldest sister, his calculating silence unnerving to the degree that warranted suspicion. Still, Mihail approached the pair without much comment, choosing to ignore his general distaste for his brother for a moment as he addressed them both.
"Perhaps it would be prudent that we leave." It had already been said, and was perhaps an understatement, but the repetition seemed a necessity. "Before things become further heated." That almost appeared impossible, but Mihail did not doubt the ability of his fellow Colchians to throw further unwarranted blame on the Thanasis, and he had already begun to turn away, not waiting to see if his siblings would follow. He longed for the tranquillity of home, particularly after the nightmare of this evening.
It was reassuring to find that Princess Athanasia did not seem to hold any ill will towards Mihail after what his father had done. It was not common to be so forgiving, and a part of him felt a flutter of appreciation that she had not immediately thrown him to one side as so many others may well have done. At her comment that she would say something to her father, he nodded in continued gratitude, though their brief conversation was broken apart by the appearance of Lady Imeeya. Mihail had never held many discussions with the light-haired woman, but there was little love lost between her and his family, and he expected the malice which left her lips and the harsh displeasure which glowed in her eyes, though he had done nothing.
It seemed he had inadvertently stumbled into a topic of annoyance for the two women, for, without a word on his behalf, they had fallen into a heated spat. His ears had naturally pricked at the gossip that Athanasia appeared to have unwittingly released, though there was little he could do with the information at present. He attempted to glance away, as if he were not involved in the conversation, but his gaze was forced to match that of the King's, and a stern glare was thrown upon him. Mihail had never been the most strong-minded individual, and he could not hold such a severe stare, his eyes falling back to the ground as if humiliated by the look. Evidently, his continued presence would not be wise, and a quick yet subtle escape would be the most sensible choice at present.
There was no further opportunity for Mihail to say much else to the princess, for any muttered comment would likely have been overheard by the people around them. He bit his lip tentatively, bowing his head in a final show of respect, then commented in parting: "Thank you for your kindness, my princess. Perhaps sometime we shall meet again in less unfortunate circumstances." It was less than he had intended to say, and twice as uncomfortably formal, but it was unlikely to be misconstrued as much else. He stepped aside from the small group, eyes scanning the crowds as he searched for the rest of his family. Evras would no doubt have been swept away by her husband, and his father was still in deserved custody (and, hopefully, would be for long enough).
His eyes caught Evras's as she mouthed at him to leave, then drifted to find his brother. Dysius was the sort of man that Mihail had never considered brave, nor that he thought deserved much attention, although he had stood inexplicably near the front lines when they had thought they were under attack only moments ago. Now, he had fallen back into place alongside their eldest sister, his calculating silence unnerving to the degree that warranted suspicion. Still, Mihail approached the pair without much comment, choosing to ignore his general distaste for his brother for a moment as he addressed them both.
"Perhaps it would be prudent that we leave." It had already been said, and was perhaps an understatement, but the repetition seemed a necessity. "Before things become further heated." That almost appeared impossible, but Mihail did not doubt the ability of his fellow Colchians to throw further unwarranted blame on the Thanasis, and he had already begun to turn away, not waiting to see if his siblings would follow. He longed for the tranquillity of home, particularly after the nightmare of this evening.
Upon revelation of who had been behind the perpetuating move against them, Damocles felt his face burn with disgust. As the Gods would have it, despite the ceremonious occasion for a crowning, his patron Lord Hades had not taken to welcome the company of Typhon, once declared taken by the boatman, as fulfilled. In him stood the true lord of the Kotas, the symbol of all that had stood against his past and the highest manifestation of disregard and care. His silver eyes turned cold and crude, reflecting his spite and anger at the revelation. Yet, before allowing his mask to crack under strain, the towering man turned to a joyous bellow, raising his arm so as to hail the man now returned to them as ruler. Never had his stomach churned so twistedly in his years of service.
“Hail King Typhon! Hail!” he announced, carrying to form a roar of accompanying voices that joined in the celebration of their once-throned, now still-crowned king. How cruel had the Fates been to him at this moment. Despite how wide and fanciful his dreams were, he still was no fool. Typhon’s presence changed everything. No longer had the Kotas been at a weakened position. With Typhon back at his falsely-ordained throne, Vangelis and his would-be shadow, Zanon, dually upheld their clan’s position. Politics and governance, he wagered, had never been the two brothers’ strongest suit, but war and defence, these were their cornerstone, prime areas of expertise. He would have words words with Nethis later on, for this would be a twist that required but the utmost care and consideration.
Nevertheless, as Damocles came to order the guards to stand down and join him in celebrating their newly arrived king, his silver eyes were snatched to attention. In an instant, and without any prior sort of explanation, a sudden burst of activity rushed through, Armed with clear intent and steely conviction, Nethis’s lord-father, Dionysios himself, came upon Typhon. His furrowed face did little to hide his intent, a cleared one aimed towards murder. Never had he experienced such a bewildering sight as an elder statesman of such an esteemed name lunge so aggressively and boldly against his target. His feet sprung to action, slamming against the polished floors as he came before the area, only taking a breath of relief whence he saw how too another took to reaction.
Before his arms could reach to deter and stop the patriarch’s movements, Stephanos of Miklaelidas, another former king, stepped forward, snatching Dionysios from his weapon and rendering him captured and demure. Without asking any questions, and knowing that such action would reflect positively on him, Damocles heeded the words of the royals, snatching the craven aristocrat in a tight hold that rendered his movements all but accessible. “Halt in the name of the King!” he snarled, tangling the basilisk king with his unmovable strength. Once he secured and handled the old man, the Captain of the Damned turned his attention to Nethis and her kinsmen, shooting at them a look of disbelief as he detained the elder with his encroaching hands. “Cease old viper!” he demanded, tightening his grip on the pale-skinned senator, before his mouth was struck by his thrashing limbs. Anger rushed towards him, making the towering militant fill with desire to squeeze even harder so as to deprive the man of breath. Still, this was still one of his closest patron’s father. Thus, rather than enacting direct retribution, Damocles hooked Dionysious’s arm in a lock, twisting ever-so-slightly so as to dis-motivate him into action once more.
For his harshness, Thea, being the faithful daughter that she was, came over to her captured father’s side, pleading her case whilst listening to her passionate words of sternness against his grip. In response to her words, Damocles saw little meaning in letting them justify a loosening of his grip. As far as he was concerned the old man had lost his mind and was in no condition to garner a defense for his actions. Madness, as it were, would not be an apt defense for this attempt on the king’s life. Still, as he paid no mind to the words of the Thanasi witch, Damocles once more felt himself struct by the writhing venomous man, this time landing an enfeebled hit on his mouth that only caught spit from him. In response, Damocles ironed his hold on the man, digging his hands against his frail, wrinkled skin so as to detain him properly and in full.
“Have you lost reason old man?” he snarled, finally making sure that his hold on the aristocrat was firm enough so that he would nevermore escape from his grip. In time however, assistance would come in the form of Nike of Acaris. Once the commander approach him, Damocles carefully gave the old viper to the militant officer, leaving him under the leader of the Red Knight’s supervision. Afterwards, once he was relieved of duty, the hulking man huffed in a disapproving grunt. Had it been up to him, he would had snuffed that viper’s life away at that instant. Yet, patience and mercy had been asked of him and his commanding officers. Thus, without anymore to do, the large, silver-eyed man stumbled upon an unused, but filled goblet of wine and chugged down its content, using its flavor as payment for his detainment of the Thanasi patriarch.
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Upon revelation of who had been behind the perpetuating move against them, Damocles felt his face burn with disgust. As the Gods would have it, despite the ceremonious occasion for a crowning, his patron Lord Hades had not taken to welcome the company of Typhon, once declared taken by the boatman, as fulfilled. In him stood the true lord of the Kotas, the symbol of all that had stood against his past and the highest manifestation of disregard and care. His silver eyes turned cold and crude, reflecting his spite and anger at the revelation. Yet, before allowing his mask to crack under strain, the towering man turned to a joyous bellow, raising his arm so as to hail the man now returned to them as ruler. Never had his stomach churned so twistedly in his years of service.
“Hail King Typhon! Hail!” he announced, carrying to form a roar of accompanying voices that joined in the celebration of their once-throned, now still-crowned king. How cruel had the Fates been to him at this moment. Despite how wide and fanciful his dreams were, he still was no fool. Typhon’s presence changed everything. No longer had the Kotas been at a weakened position. With Typhon back at his falsely-ordained throne, Vangelis and his would-be shadow, Zanon, dually upheld their clan’s position. Politics and governance, he wagered, had never been the two brothers’ strongest suit, but war and defence, these were their cornerstone, prime areas of expertise. He would have words words with Nethis later on, for this would be a twist that required but the utmost care and consideration.
Nevertheless, as Damocles came to order the guards to stand down and join him in celebrating their newly arrived king, his silver eyes were snatched to attention. In an instant, and without any prior sort of explanation, a sudden burst of activity rushed through, Armed with clear intent and steely conviction, Nethis’s lord-father, Dionysios himself, came upon Typhon. His furrowed face did little to hide his intent, a cleared one aimed towards murder. Never had he experienced such a bewildering sight as an elder statesman of such an esteemed name lunge so aggressively and boldly against his target. His feet sprung to action, slamming against the polished floors as he came before the area, only taking a breath of relief whence he saw how too another took to reaction.
Before his arms could reach to deter and stop the patriarch’s movements, Stephanos of Miklaelidas, another former king, stepped forward, snatching Dionysios from his weapon and rendering him captured and demure. Without asking any questions, and knowing that such action would reflect positively on him, Damocles heeded the words of the royals, snatching the craven aristocrat in a tight hold that rendered his movements all but accessible. “Halt in the name of the King!” he snarled, tangling the basilisk king with his unmovable strength. Once he secured and handled the old man, the Captain of the Damned turned his attention to Nethis and her kinsmen, shooting at them a look of disbelief as he detained the elder with his encroaching hands. “Cease old viper!” he demanded, tightening his grip on the pale-skinned senator, before his mouth was struck by his thrashing limbs. Anger rushed towards him, making the towering militant fill with desire to squeeze even harder so as to deprive the man of breath. Still, this was still one of his closest patron’s father. Thus, rather than enacting direct retribution, Damocles hooked Dionysious’s arm in a lock, twisting ever-so-slightly so as to dis-motivate him into action once more.
For his harshness, Thea, being the faithful daughter that she was, came over to her captured father’s side, pleading her case whilst listening to her passionate words of sternness against his grip. In response to her words, Damocles saw little meaning in letting them justify a loosening of his grip. As far as he was concerned the old man had lost his mind and was in no condition to garner a defense for his actions. Madness, as it were, would not be an apt defense for this attempt on the king’s life. Still, as he paid no mind to the words of the Thanasi witch, Damocles once more felt himself struct by the writhing venomous man, this time landing an enfeebled hit on his mouth that only caught spit from him. In response, Damocles ironed his hold on the man, digging his hands against his frail, wrinkled skin so as to detain him properly and in full.
“Have you lost reason old man?” he snarled, finally making sure that his hold on the aristocrat was firm enough so that he would nevermore escape from his grip. In time however, assistance would come in the form of Nike of Acaris. Once the commander approach him, Damocles carefully gave the old viper to the militant officer, leaving him under the leader of the Red Knight’s supervision. Afterwards, once he was relieved of duty, the hulking man huffed in a disapproving grunt. Had it been up to him, he would had snuffed that viper’s life away at that instant. Yet, patience and mercy had been asked of him and his commanding officers. Thus, without anymore to do, the large, silver-eyed man stumbled upon an unused, but filled goblet of wine and chugged down its content, using its flavor as payment for his detainment of the Thanasi patriarch.
Upon revelation of who had been behind the perpetuating move against them, Damocles felt his face burn with disgust. As the Gods would have it, despite the ceremonious occasion for a crowning, his patron Lord Hades had not taken to welcome the company of Typhon, once declared taken by the boatman, as fulfilled. In him stood the true lord of the Kotas, the symbol of all that had stood against his past and the highest manifestation of disregard and care. His silver eyes turned cold and crude, reflecting his spite and anger at the revelation. Yet, before allowing his mask to crack under strain, the towering man turned to a joyous bellow, raising his arm so as to hail the man now returned to them as ruler. Never had his stomach churned so twistedly in his years of service.
“Hail King Typhon! Hail!” he announced, carrying to form a roar of accompanying voices that joined in the celebration of their once-throned, now still-crowned king. How cruel had the Fates been to him at this moment. Despite how wide and fanciful his dreams were, he still was no fool. Typhon’s presence changed everything. No longer had the Kotas been at a weakened position. With Typhon back at his falsely-ordained throne, Vangelis and his would-be shadow, Zanon, dually upheld their clan’s position. Politics and governance, he wagered, had never been the two brothers’ strongest suit, but war and defence, these were their cornerstone, prime areas of expertise. He would have words words with Nethis later on, for this would be a twist that required but the utmost care and consideration.
Nevertheless, as Damocles came to order the guards to stand down and join him in celebrating their newly arrived king, his silver eyes were snatched to attention. In an instant, and without any prior sort of explanation, a sudden burst of activity rushed through, Armed with clear intent and steely conviction, Nethis’s lord-father, Dionysios himself, came upon Typhon. His furrowed face did little to hide his intent, a cleared one aimed towards murder. Never had he experienced such a bewildering sight as an elder statesman of such an esteemed name lunge so aggressively and boldly against his target. His feet sprung to action, slamming against the polished floors as he came before the area, only taking a breath of relief whence he saw how too another took to reaction.
Before his arms could reach to deter and stop the patriarch’s movements, Stephanos of Miklaelidas, another former king, stepped forward, snatching Dionysios from his weapon and rendering him captured and demure. Without asking any questions, and knowing that such action would reflect positively on him, Damocles heeded the words of the royals, snatching the craven aristocrat in a tight hold that rendered his movements all but accessible. “Halt in the name of the King!” he snarled, tangling the basilisk king with his unmovable strength. Once he secured and handled the old man, the Captain of the Damned turned his attention to Nethis and her kinsmen, shooting at them a look of disbelief as he detained the elder with his encroaching hands. “Cease old viper!” he demanded, tightening his grip on the pale-skinned senator, before his mouth was struck by his thrashing limbs. Anger rushed towards him, making the towering militant fill with desire to squeeze even harder so as to deprive the man of breath. Still, this was still one of his closest patron’s father. Thus, rather than enacting direct retribution, Damocles hooked Dionysious’s arm in a lock, twisting ever-so-slightly so as to dis-motivate him into action once more.
For his harshness, Thea, being the faithful daughter that she was, came over to her captured father’s side, pleading her case whilst listening to her passionate words of sternness against his grip. In response to her words, Damocles saw little meaning in letting them justify a loosening of his grip. As far as he was concerned the old man had lost his mind and was in no condition to garner a defense for his actions. Madness, as it were, would not be an apt defense for this attempt on the king’s life. Still, as he paid no mind to the words of the Thanasi witch, Damocles once more felt himself struct by the writhing venomous man, this time landing an enfeebled hit on his mouth that only caught spit from him. In response, Damocles ironed his hold on the man, digging his hands against his frail, wrinkled skin so as to detain him properly and in full.
“Have you lost reason old man?” he snarled, finally making sure that his hold on the aristocrat was firm enough so that he would nevermore escape from his grip. In time however, assistance would come in the form of Nike of Acaris. Once the commander approach him, Damocles carefully gave the old viper to the militant officer, leaving him under the leader of the Red Knight’s supervision. Afterwards, once he was relieved of duty, the hulking man huffed in a disapproving grunt. Had it been up to him, he would had snuffed that viper’s life away at that instant. Yet, patience and mercy had been asked of him and his commanding officers. Thus, without anymore to do, the large, silver-eyed man stumbled upon an unused, but filled goblet of wine and chugged down its content, using its flavor as payment for his detainment of the Thanasi patriarch.