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It was funny how familiar death had felt for Emilios. As a soldier, it was not so foreign concept that only came around on occasion. You were well acquainted with the idea that men were sent over the river by your own hand. You learned how to look a man in the eye, bright with the light of life, and be the reason it faded from his face.You came to terms with creating widows and orphans in order to protect the interests of your own people. And you ignored the ever-present guilt that ate away at you, until it became a part of your psyche.
And yet, when death hit so close to home, it feels like an invading force of its own.
Still in the old room he occupied at the manor, Emilios was staring at the elegant script of Fotios in one hand and the keys to his father’s office, heavier than the iron they were made from.
The manor felt a juxtaposition. Cold, even with a fire burning. Empty, even with the soft steps of slaves and servants filling the hall. Dark, even with the warm sun begging for entrance through the windows. He wondered if his brother felt the same in the palati, even with the greater concerns of war lingering over his head.
He was such a bastard that he would die at his own son’s wedding.
Standing, he knew that he was avoiding the inevitable. There were things that needed to be done, expectations that he had as head of house that could not be put off. The letter from Fotios was a reminder of that. Putting on a deep burgundy shirt over the black pants he was in, Emilios padded barefoot from his room, past the suite of rooms his father and mistress had once occupied, past the room his brother once stayed in. He was sure that he looked like a wreck, from the sidelong glances from the servants were giving him as he moved through the halls.
His father probably never left his room looking as he did— barefoot, hair still tousled from a restless night of sleep. But Emilios tried not to care about what they were thinking as he moved from his room. All at once, he found himself standing in front of the door to his father’s office. There was the urge to knock, like he used to do- a short tap on the door, a pause, then three quick taps. But there would be no one telling him to enter already from the other side. Still, he didn’t enter. Everything in the house was his, and yet, he didn’t feel as if he could cross the threshold.
He was unsure how long he stood at the door. It was obvious that it wasn’t going to open, that he wasn’t going to step through and find his father at his desk, busy with whatever affairs he was in the middle of. Staring down at the key, Emilios finally sighed, slipping the iron into the lock with a twist, the bolt of the door deafening as it clicked against metal and wood. The door was heavy as he pushed it open, much like his heart.
There was no way to prepare for the stabbing pain that shot through him as took in the room. It was left with the expectation that he would return to it, that whatever documents were stacked in neat piles would be resumed once the wedding had occurred. Things so inconsequential that he hadn’t thought to bring them to the palati for him to work on. The carafe of wine sat half filled, covered to protect the contents inside. The room was cold, and rightly so.
Had it ever really felt warm to him?
Stepping into the room, he didn’t bother to close the door behind as he surveyed the room closer. There was still the gash in front of his desk, left from where a 6 year old Emilios had decided to pick up his father’s sword to swing it, leaving a mark from his accident. Did his father ever look at the mark with fondness, like he was now? Did he ever reminisce about his children in their youth? Or was he too preoccupied with the disappointment in their current failures to think back on their childhood?
Gods, there was even a glass of wine on the table, as if he was going to come back and finish it.
Moving to the large chair that sat behind the desk, he stopped just short of the arm. He’d never seen the room from this side, he realized as he looked around. Did his father feel any weight of his responsibility, like he felt now? Had he felt this way when he became the head of house? Or was he anxious for the opportunity and prepared to do his duty.
This was never supposed to be his duty.
Even after his father’s death, the role of Head of House had always been destined for his brother. Achilleas has always been the one who would have taken this role and done it justice. He would have been able to sit behind this desk with pride, and Emilios knew that his father would have been proud of the man. He was, had always been, best used in his military training. He was best commanding troops, and even then he wasn’t phenomenal at it. Setting the keys on the desk, he looked down at his hands, at the calluses on his fingers that indicated his weapon of choice. In his father’s eyes, he had always been a failure. Wasn’t even good enough to properly use a blade.
How dare he die now, leaving him with the responsibility that came with it.
How dare he force a future on his sons that neither of them wanted.
He was a bastard, even in death.
Rage swelled inside him. Grabbing the first thing he could wrap his fingers around, he hurled the goblet against the wall, metal clanging against the stone floor. But that wasn’t enough either. There was no satisfaction in that action. The decanter went across the room next, shattering as it hit the wall with a far more acceptable response. There was little that he could do to stop the anger as it grew. Parchment was shoved to the ground, inkwells staining the floor as they joined the pile. The chairs were heavy, but not so much that he couldn’t throw them, too.
It wasn’t until the room was a mess of overturned furniture and scattered papers that Emilios stopped his destruction. Exhaustion washed over him as he finally stopped to realize exactly what he’d done. And why he’d done it.
Even the desk was on its side.
He dropped to the ground, legs askew as he tried to gather his thoughts, to rein in his anger as his actions became obvious. Pulling his legs in close, his head laid on top of them. Emilios felt like a child, waiting for his father to walk in and reprimand him for the damage. But the man would never walk these halls again. Would never cuff the back of his neck in approval or disappointment.
Regardless of how much Emilios blamed his father for his current situation, he didn’t wish the man dead.
The truth died with him. The chance to make him proud was gone.
His last thought of his youngest son had to have been a disappointment in his actions at the wedding. Dear Gods, had his actions been what killed him in the end?
His mind was racing against its own accusation, so much that he didn’t hear the footfall of company.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was funny how familiar death had felt for Emilios. As a soldier, it was not so foreign concept that only came around on occasion. You were well acquainted with the idea that men were sent over the river by your own hand. You learned how to look a man in the eye, bright with the light of life, and be the reason it faded from his face.You came to terms with creating widows and orphans in order to protect the interests of your own people. And you ignored the ever-present guilt that ate away at you, until it became a part of your psyche.
And yet, when death hit so close to home, it feels like an invading force of its own.
Still in the old room he occupied at the manor, Emilios was staring at the elegant script of Fotios in one hand and the keys to his father’s office, heavier than the iron they were made from.
The manor felt a juxtaposition. Cold, even with a fire burning. Empty, even with the soft steps of slaves and servants filling the hall. Dark, even with the warm sun begging for entrance through the windows. He wondered if his brother felt the same in the palati, even with the greater concerns of war lingering over his head.
He was such a bastard that he would die at his own son’s wedding.
Standing, he knew that he was avoiding the inevitable. There were things that needed to be done, expectations that he had as head of house that could not be put off. The letter from Fotios was a reminder of that. Putting on a deep burgundy shirt over the black pants he was in, Emilios padded barefoot from his room, past the suite of rooms his father and mistress had once occupied, past the room his brother once stayed in. He was sure that he looked like a wreck, from the sidelong glances from the servants were giving him as he moved through the halls.
His father probably never left his room looking as he did— barefoot, hair still tousled from a restless night of sleep. But Emilios tried not to care about what they were thinking as he moved from his room. All at once, he found himself standing in front of the door to his father’s office. There was the urge to knock, like he used to do- a short tap on the door, a pause, then three quick taps. But there would be no one telling him to enter already from the other side. Still, he didn’t enter. Everything in the house was his, and yet, he didn’t feel as if he could cross the threshold.
He was unsure how long he stood at the door. It was obvious that it wasn’t going to open, that he wasn’t going to step through and find his father at his desk, busy with whatever affairs he was in the middle of. Staring down at the key, Emilios finally sighed, slipping the iron into the lock with a twist, the bolt of the door deafening as it clicked against metal and wood. The door was heavy as he pushed it open, much like his heart.
There was no way to prepare for the stabbing pain that shot through him as took in the room. It was left with the expectation that he would return to it, that whatever documents were stacked in neat piles would be resumed once the wedding had occurred. Things so inconsequential that he hadn’t thought to bring them to the palati for him to work on. The carafe of wine sat half filled, covered to protect the contents inside. The room was cold, and rightly so.
Had it ever really felt warm to him?
Stepping into the room, he didn’t bother to close the door behind as he surveyed the room closer. There was still the gash in front of his desk, left from where a 6 year old Emilios had decided to pick up his father’s sword to swing it, leaving a mark from his accident. Did his father ever look at the mark with fondness, like he was now? Did he ever reminisce about his children in their youth? Or was he too preoccupied with the disappointment in their current failures to think back on their childhood?
Gods, there was even a glass of wine on the table, as if he was going to come back and finish it.
Moving to the large chair that sat behind the desk, he stopped just short of the arm. He’d never seen the room from this side, he realized as he looked around. Did his father feel any weight of his responsibility, like he felt now? Had he felt this way when he became the head of house? Or was he anxious for the opportunity and prepared to do his duty.
This was never supposed to be his duty.
Even after his father’s death, the role of Head of House had always been destined for his brother. Achilleas has always been the one who would have taken this role and done it justice. He would have been able to sit behind this desk with pride, and Emilios knew that his father would have been proud of the man. He was, had always been, best used in his military training. He was best commanding troops, and even then he wasn’t phenomenal at it. Setting the keys on the desk, he looked down at his hands, at the calluses on his fingers that indicated his weapon of choice. In his father’s eyes, he had always been a failure. Wasn’t even good enough to properly use a blade.
How dare he die now, leaving him with the responsibility that came with it.
How dare he force a future on his sons that neither of them wanted.
He was a bastard, even in death.
Rage swelled inside him. Grabbing the first thing he could wrap his fingers around, he hurled the goblet against the wall, metal clanging against the stone floor. But that wasn’t enough either. There was no satisfaction in that action. The decanter went across the room next, shattering as it hit the wall with a far more acceptable response. There was little that he could do to stop the anger as it grew. Parchment was shoved to the ground, inkwells staining the floor as they joined the pile. The chairs were heavy, but not so much that he couldn’t throw them, too.
It wasn’t until the room was a mess of overturned furniture and scattered papers that Emilios stopped his destruction. Exhaustion washed over him as he finally stopped to realize exactly what he’d done. And why he’d done it.
Even the desk was on its side.
He dropped to the ground, legs askew as he tried to gather his thoughts, to rein in his anger as his actions became obvious. Pulling his legs in close, his head laid on top of them. Emilios felt like a child, waiting for his father to walk in and reprimand him for the damage. But the man would never walk these halls again. Would never cuff the back of his neck in approval or disappointment.
Regardless of how much Emilios blamed his father for his current situation, he didn’t wish the man dead.
The truth died with him. The chance to make him proud was gone.
His last thought of his youngest son had to have been a disappointment in his actions at the wedding. Dear Gods, had his actions been what killed him in the end?
His mind was racing against its own accusation, so much that he didn’t hear the footfall of company.
It was funny how familiar death had felt for Emilios. As a soldier, it was not so foreign concept that only came around on occasion. You were well acquainted with the idea that men were sent over the river by your own hand. You learned how to look a man in the eye, bright with the light of life, and be the reason it faded from his face.You came to terms with creating widows and orphans in order to protect the interests of your own people. And you ignored the ever-present guilt that ate away at you, until it became a part of your psyche.
And yet, when death hit so close to home, it feels like an invading force of its own.
Still in the old room he occupied at the manor, Emilios was staring at the elegant script of Fotios in one hand and the keys to his father’s office, heavier than the iron they were made from.
The manor felt a juxtaposition. Cold, even with a fire burning. Empty, even with the soft steps of slaves and servants filling the hall. Dark, even with the warm sun begging for entrance through the windows. He wondered if his brother felt the same in the palati, even with the greater concerns of war lingering over his head.
He was such a bastard that he would die at his own son’s wedding.
Standing, he knew that he was avoiding the inevitable. There were things that needed to be done, expectations that he had as head of house that could not be put off. The letter from Fotios was a reminder of that. Putting on a deep burgundy shirt over the black pants he was in, Emilios padded barefoot from his room, past the suite of rooms his father and mistress had once occupied, past the room his brother once stayed in. He was sure that he looked like a wreck, from the sidelong glances from the servants were giving him as he moved through the halls.
His father probably never left his room looking as he did— barefoot, hair still tousled from a restless night of sleep. But Emilios tried not to care about what they were thinking as he moved from his room. All at once, he found himself standing in front of the door to his father’s office. There was the urge to knock, like he used to do- a short tap on the door, a pause, then three quick taps. But there would be no one telling him to enter already from the other side. Still, he didn’t enter. Everything in the house was his, and yet, he didn’t feel as if he could cross the threshold.
He was unsure how long he stood at the door. It was obvious that it wasn’t going to open, that he wasn’t going to step through and find his father at his desk, busy with whatever affairs he was in the middle of. Staring down at the key, Emilios finally sighed, slipping the iron into the lock with a twist, the bolt of the door deafening as it clicked against metal and wood. The door was heavy as he pushed it open, much like his heart.
There was no way to prepare for the stabbing pain that shot through him as took in the room. It was left with the expectation that he would return to it, that whatever documents were stacked in neat piles would be resumed once the wedding had occurred. Things so inconsequential that he hadn’t thought to bring them to the palati for him to work on. The carafe of wine sat half filled, covered to protect the contents inside. The room was cold, and rightly so.
Had it ever really felt warm to him?
Stepping into the room, he didn’t bother to close the door behind as he surveyed the room closer. There was still the gash in front of his desk, left from where a 6 year old Emilios had decided to pick up his father’s sword to swing it, leaving a mark from his accident. Did his father ever look at the mark with fondness, like he was now? Did he ever reminisce about his children in their youth? Or was he too preoccupied with the disappointment in their current failures to think back on their childhood?
Gods, there was even a glass of wine on the table, as if he was going to come back and finish it.
Moving to the large chair that sat behind the desk, he stopped just short of the arm. He’d never seen the room from this side, he realized as he looked around. Did his father feel any weight of his responsibility, like he felt now? Had he felt this way when he became the head of house? Or was he anxious for the opportunity and prepared to do his duty.
This was never supposed to be his duty.
Even after his father’s death, the role of Head of House had always been destined for his brother. Achilleas has always been the one who would have taken this role and done it justice. He would have been able to sit behind this desk with pride, and Emilios knew that his father would have been proud of the man. He was, had always been, best used in his military training. He was best commanding troops, and even then he wasn’t phenomenal at it. Setting the keys on the desk, he looked down at his hands, at the calluses on his fingers that indicated his weapon of choice. In his father’s eyes, he had always been a failure. Wasn’t even good enough to properly use a blade.
How dare he die now, leaving him with the responsibility that came with it.
How dare he force a future on his sons that neither of them wanted.
He was a bastard, even in death.
Rage swelled inside him. Grabbing the first thing he could wrap his fingers around, he hurled the goblet against the wall, metal clanging against the stone floor. But that wasn’t enough either. There was no satisfaction in that action. The decanter went across the room next, shattering as it hit the wall with a far more acceptable response. There was little that he could do to stop the anger as it grew. Parchment was shoved to the ground, inkwells staining the floor as they joined the pile. The chairs were heavy, but not so much that he couldn’t throw them, too.
It wasn’t until the room was a mess of overturned furniture and scattered papers that Emilios stopped his destruction. Exhaustion washed over him as he finally stopped to realize exactly what he’d done. And why he’d done it.
Even the desk was on its side.
He dropped to the ground, legs askew as he tried to gather his thoughts, to rein in his anger as his actions became obvious. Pulling his legs in close, his head laid on top of them. Emilios felt like a child, waiting for his father to walk in and reprimand him for the damage. But the man would never walk these halls again. Would never cuff the back of his neck in approval or disappointment.
Regardless of how much Emilios blamed his father for his current situation, he didn’t wish the man dead.
The truth died with him. The chance to make him proud was gone.
His last thought of his youngest son had to have been a disappointment in his actions at the wedding. Dear Gods, had his actions been what killed him in the end?
His mind was racing against its own accusation, so much that he didn’t hear the footfall of company.
It had been two days since the wedding. Two days in which Theodora had been focused on ensuring that the Mikaelidas estate had been cleaned of all remnants of what had been supposed to be a joyous day and happy reminiscence for two of the most powerful families in Taengea. Two days, which it had turned out was the maximum time required to pack up and move an entire life and world to a new home.
Not that Achilleas had ever made much of a home for himself in the Mikaelidas archontiko in the last few years. The moved of his belongings from his barony in Euttica would take far more time than the shifting of a few temporary measures of comfort that he had kept here. All childhood memoirs and such had long since been moved out of the capital.
For other members of the family, however, this had always been and would always be their home. A building that held chambers that held memories, without an escape to avoid the shadows of those who had walked the corridors before them.
It was a saddening and frustrating notion to consider as Theo walked those hallways herself, aiming for the informal sitting room that she and Achilleas had spent their wedding evening within. For she had only realised in the early hours of that morning that she had missed the collection of one of her pieces of jewellery. The item of raiment meant nothing to her on a sentimental level but it was traditional to keep the jewellery a woman wore to her wedding and help to pass it down to others in the familial line.
As such, she had felt it was her duty to Achilleas to ensure that she picked up the items and kept them safe back within the royal palace. Just as it had been her duty to ensure the estate was cleaned of wedding decor and the royal palace was secured and prepared for the arrival of a new king.
All such plans had been small and seemed infinitely pathetic in terms of all that a Queen should do. And now that servants and slaves addressed her as 'Your Majesty' she felt that the level of authority she was given was even less deserved.
It chewed in her gut, along with several other elements of shame and guilt that she held buried deep.
Finding the sitting room in question and slipping the ring she found knocked from the little table to the floor, Theodora was careful to slide the piece upon the middle finger of her right hand to ensure its security and then left the room and the suite of chambers it belonged to.
As the trip to the archontiko was a small moment of digression on a journey intended to return her from the Leventi estate where she had been visiting her youngest sister, Theo had left her guards waiting for her outside the manor and walked the corridors upon her quest alone.
As such, it was only she who heard an almighty crash coming from somewhere else in the estate.
With a sharp inhale of surprise, Theodora's dark brow drew low and with a handful of her skirts in her curled fingers, she hurried the marble corridors to seek out the source of the disruption, the soles of her silver sandals slapping lightly upon the stone.
By the time she reached the chamber in question - the late King Irakles' study, Theodora was not the only one to have arrived with curiosity. Several servants were approaching from the other end of the corridor, expressions of worry on their faces despite the noise no longer issuing from the room.
Spotting a frame and shoulder in the cracked opening of the doorway, Theodora was instantly aware of the culprit of the noise and turned to instruct the servants away in a tone that brokered no argument but was kept low so as not to alert more curious onlookers.
The new Head of the House of Mikaelidas did not need to be seen for an emotional tyrant and rumours to spread before he had time to establish his new role within his House.
Expecting to see a few chalices of wine or perhaps a box of clay tablets thrown about the room, Theodora's reaction was one of purest startlement and outrage at the destruction she encountered.
"What is Hera's name?!" She declared, hastily stepping to one side and lifting the hem of her chiton - purest white with gold filigree edging - away from a blossoming pool of wine to one side of the door. She stepped on a scattered collection of papers, one a shattered and broken corner of a clay report... Her eyes fell upon the upturned desk, the chairs flung across the space and landed upon their sides.
Emilios sat in amongst the chaos, his body curled up as if he were the focal point of the storm that had struck the office. Which, in a way, he was.
Standing there, staring down at him, Theodora felt her heart break a little but her angry sense of resilience taking its place. For, if she couldn't hold him in his torment... she could at least yell at him.
"Emilios! What in the Hades? Get up." Stomping across the room, Theo reached out and moved to wrap a hand around his bicep and pull him to his feet by force if necessary but something in her mind had her backtracking and rethinking the idea, her hand stopping a few inches from his arm, pausing, and then settling with tapping the underside of her knuckles upon the side of his shoulder. "Come on. A Head of House does not behave this way. Get up." She did not yell, but her tone was firm and disapproving.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It had been two days since the wedding. Two days in which Theodora had been focused on ensuring that the Mikaelidas estate had been cleaned of all remnants of what had been supposed to be a joyous day and happy reminiscence for two of the most powerful families in Taengea. Two days, which it had turned out was the maximum time required to pack up and move an entire life and world to a new home.
Not that Achilleas had ever made much of a home for himself in the Mikaelidas archontiko in the last few years. The moved of his belongings from his barony in Euttica would take far more time than the shifting of a few temporary measures of comfort that he had kept here. All childhood memoirs and such had long since been moved out of the capital.
For other members of the family, however, this had always been and would always be their home. A building that held chambers that held memories, without an escape to avoid the shadows of those who had walked the corridors before them.
It was a saddening and frustrating notion to consider as Theo walked those hallways herself, aiming for the informal sitting room that she and Achilleas had spent their wedding evening within. For she had only realised in the early hours of that morning that she had missed the collection of one of her pieces of jewellery. The item of raiment meant nothing to her on a sentimental level but it was traditional to keep the jewellery a woman wore to her wedding and help to pass it down to others in the familial line.
As such, she had felt it was her duty to Achilleas to ensure that she picked up the items and kept them safe back within the royal palace. Just as it had been her duty to ensure the estate was cleaned of wedding decor and the royal palace was secured and prepared for the arrival of a new king.
All such plans had been small and seemed infinitely pathetic in terms of all that a Queen should do. And now that servants and slaves addressed her as 'Your Majesty' she felt that the level of authority she was given was even less deserved.
It chewed in her gut, along with several other elements of shame and guilt that she held buried deep.
Finding the sitting room in question and slipping the ring she found knocked from the little table to the floor, Theodora was careful to slide the piece upon the middle finger of her right hand to ensure its security and then left the room and the suite of chambers it belonged to.
As the trip to the archontiko was a small moment of digression on a journey intended to return her from the Leventi estate where she had been visiting her youngest sister, Theo had left her guards waiting for her outside the manor and walked the corridors upon her quest alone.
As such, it was only she who heard an almighty crash coming from somewhere else in the estate.
With a sharp inhale of surprise, Theodora's dark brow drew low and with a handful of her skirts in her curled fingers, she hurried the marble corridors to seek out the source of the disruption, the soles of her silver sandals slapping lightly upon the stone.
By the time she reached the chamber in question - the late King Irakles' study, Theodora was not the only one to have arrived with curiosity. Several servants were approaching from the other end of the corridor, expressions of worry on their faces despite the noise no longer issuing from the room.
Spotting a frame and shoulder in the cracked opening of the doorway, Theodora was instantly aware of the culprit of the noise and turned to instruct the servants away in a tone that brokered no argument but was kept low so as not to alert more curious onlookers.
The new Head of the House of Mikaelidas did not need to be seen for an emotional tyrant and rumours to spread before he had time to establish his new role within his House.
Expecting to see a few chalices of wine or perhaps a box of clay tablets thrown about the room, Theodora's reaction was one of purest startlement and outrage at the destruction she encountered.
"What is Hera's name?!" She declared, hastily stepping to one side and lifting the hem of her chiton - purest white with gold filigree edging - away from a blossoming pool of wine to one side of the door. She stepped on a scattered collection of papers, one a shattered and broken corner of a clay report... Her eyes fell upon the upturned desk, the chairs flung across the space and landed upon their sides.
Emilios sat in amongst the chaos, his body curled up as if he were the focal point of the storm that had struck the office. Which, in a way, he was.
Standing there, staring down at him, Theodora felt her heart break a little but her angry sense of resilience taking its place. For, if she couldn't hold him in his torment... she could at least yell at him.
"Emilios! What in the Hades? Get up." Stomping across the room, Theo reached out and moved to wrap a hand around his bicep and pull him to his feet by force if necessary but something in her mind had her backtracking and rethinking the idea, her hand stopping a few inches from his arm, pausing, and then settling with tapping the underside of her knuckles upon the side of his shoulder. "Come on. A Head of House does not behave this way. Get up." She did not yell, but her tone was firm and disapproving.
It had been two days since the wedding. Two days in which Theodora had been focused on ensuring that the Mikaelidas estate had been cleaned of all remnants of what had been supposed to be a joyous day and happy reminiscence for two of the most powerful families in Taengea. Two days, which it had turned out was the maximum time required to pack up and move an entire life and world to a new home.
Not that Achilleas had ever made much of a home for himself in the Mikaelidas archontiko in the last few years. The moved of his belongings from his barony in Euttica would take far more time than the shifting of a few temporary measures of comfort that he had kept here. All childhood memoirs and such had long since been moved out of the capital.
For other members of the family, however, this had always been and would always be their home. A building that held chambers that held memories, without an escape to avoid the shadows of those who had walked the corridors before them.
It was a saddening and frustrating notion to consider as Theo walked those hallways herself, aiming for the informal sitting room that she and Achilleas had spent their wedding evening within. For she had only realised in the early hours of that morning that she had missed the collection of one of her pieces of jewellery. The item of raiment meant nothing to her on a sentimental level but it was traditional to keep the jewellery a woman wore to her wedding and help to pass it down to others in the familial line.
As such, she had felt it was her duty to Achilleas to ensure that she picked up the items and kept them safe back within the royal palace. Just as it had been her duty to ensure the estate was cleaned of wedding decor and the royal palace was secured and prepared for the arrival of a new king.
All such plans had been small and seemed infinitely pathetic in terms of all that a Queen should do. And now that servants and slaves addressed her as 'Your Majesty' she felt that the level of authority she was given was even less deserved.
It chewed in her gut, along with several other elements of shame and guilt that she held buried deep.
Finding the sitting room in question and slipping the ring she found knocked from the little table to the floor, Theodora was careful to slide the piece upon the middle finger of her right hand to ensure its security and then left the room and the suite of chambers it belonged to.
As the trip to the archontiko was a small moment of digression on a journey intended to return her from the Leventi estate where she had been visiting her youngest sister, Theo had left her guards waiting for her outside the manor and walked the corridors upon her quest alone.
As such, it was only she who heard an almighty crash coming from somewhere else in the estate.
With a sharp inhale of surprise, Theodora's dark brow drew low and with a handful of her skirts in her curled fingers, she hurried the marble corridors to seek out the source of the disruption, the soles of her silver sandals slapping lightly upon the stone.
By the time she reached the chamber in question - the late King Irakles' study, Theodora was not the only one to have arrived with curiosity. Several servants were approaching from the other end of the corridor, expressions of worry on their faces despite the noise no longer issuing from the room.
Spotting a frame and shoulder in the cracked opening of the doorway, Theodora was instantly aware of the culprit of the noise and turned to instruct the servants away in a tone that brokered no argument but was kept low so as not to alert more curious onlookers.
The new Head of the House of Mikaelidas did not need to be seen for an emotional tyrant and rumours to spread before he had time to establish his new role within his House.
Expecting to see a few chalices of wine or perhaps a box of clay tablets thrown about the room, Theodora's reaction was one of purest startlement and outrage at the destruction she encountered.
"What is Hera's name?!" She declared, hastily stepping to one side and lifting the hem of her chiton - purest white with gold filigree edging - away from a blossoming pool of wine to one side of the door. She stepped on a scattered collection of papers, one a shattered and broken corner of a clay report... Her eyes fell upon the upturned desk, the chairs flung across the space and landed upon their sides.
Emilios sat in amongst the chaos, his body curled up as if he were the focal point of the storm that had struck the office. Which, in a way, he was.
Standing there, staring down at him, Theodora felt her heart break a little but her angry sense of resilience taking its place. For, if she couldn't hold him in his torment... she could at least yell at him.
"Emilios! What in the Hades? Get up." Stomping across the room, Theo reached out and moved to wrap a hand around his bicep and pull him to his feet by force if necessary but something in her mind had her backtracking and rethinking the idea, her hand stopping a few inches from his arm, pausing, and then settling with tapping the underside of her knuckles upon the side of his shoulder. "Come on. A Head of House does not behave this way. Get up." She did not yell, but her tone was firm and disapproving.
He hadn’t realized he had an audience. But of course he did— his grief was center stage now, his life hardly his own anymore. They were looking in on it, just as he was. None of this felt real, not when he had been alive just two days prior.
His life was spiraling, and there was little he could do to stop it.
Emilios, honestly, couldn’t have cared who saw him. This had always been his home, and now that it was his, he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. He had never cared about the opinions of others. Why start now?
He didn't realize the note from Fotios was still in hand when Theo walked in, her touch causing him to jump more than her words. He looked up at her, wishing that his eyes weren't wet from grief. Emilios jerked his arm away, staying where he was on the ground. ”I would, but that chair is missing an arm and the other one has no legs. Where would we sit?” His words carried his normal sense of humor, but lacked any of his normal, jovial tone. They were flat, bitter.
”What are you doing here? Isn't your home in the Palati, My Queen?” He asked, his tone the same. But the moment he said it, he regretted it. Emilios knew this wasn't her fault. At least, for the most part. His head shook, a hand moving quickly through his hair in frustration. ”Can you…” The uncertainty and hesitation was out of character as well.
”I know I am horrible. And that you are madder than hell for what I did at the wedding. But…” His eyes locked onto hers. ”For a moment, can you just go back to being the woman I can tell everything to? The one who knows my soul better than I do?” He offered his hand out to her, pleading with her to sit down beside him. ”Can you go back to being mad at me tomorrow? Please, Theo?” He didn't know what she would say.
Never in his life had he felt so small.
”I miss my friend.” Before they were lovers, they had become friends with many common interests. He'd sneak her away for riding, or to help her with her bow. They'd sit and make arrows together, talking and laughing. The romance came easy, but so did the friendship.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He hadn’t realized he had an audience. But of course he did— his grief was center stage now, his life hardly his own anymore. They were looking in on it, just as he was. None of this felt real, not when he had been alive just two days prior.
His life was spiraling, and there was little he could do to stop it.
Emilios, honestly, couldn’t have cared who saw him. This had always been his home, and now that it was his, he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. He had never cared about the opinions of others. Why start now?
He didn't realize the note from Fotios was still in hand when Theo walked in, her touch causing him to jump more than her words. He looked up at her, wishing that his eyes weren't wet from grief. Emilios jerked his arm away, staying where he was on the ground. ”I would, but that chair is missing an arm and the other one has no legs. Where would we sit?” His words carried his normal sense of humor, but lacked any of his normal, jovial tone. They were flat, bitter.
”What are you doing here? Isn't your home in the Palati, My Queen?” He asked, his tone the same. But the moment he said it, he regretted it. Emilios knew this wasn't her fault. At least, for the most part. His head shook, a hand moving quickly through his hair in frustration. ”Can you…” The uncertainty and hesitation was out of character as well.
”I know I am horrible. And that you are madder than hell for what I did at the wedding. But…” His eyes locked onto hers. ”For a moment, can you just go back to being the woman I can tell everything to? The one who knows my soul better than I do?” He offered his hand out to her, pleading with her to sit down beside him. ”Can you go back to being mad at me tomorrow? Please, Theo?” He didn't know what she would say.
Never in his life had he felt so small.
”I miss my friend.” Before they were lovers, they had become friends with many common interests. He'd sneak her away for riding, or to help her with her bow. They'd sit and make arrows together, talking and laughing. The romance came easy, but so did the friendship.
He hadn’t realized he had an audience. But of course he did— his grief was center stage now, his life hardly his own anymore. They were looking in on it, just as he was. None of this felt real, not when he had been alive just two days prior.
His life was spiraling, and there was little he could do to stop it.
Emilios, honestly, couldn’t have cared who saw him. This had always been his home, and now that it was his, he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. He had never cared about the opinions of others. Why start now?
He didn't realize the note from Fotios was still in hand when Theo walked in, her touch causing him to jump more than her words. He looked up at her, wishing that his eyes weren't wet from grief. Emilios jerked his arm away, staying where he was on the ground. ”I would, but that chair is missing an arm and the other one has no legs. Where would we sit?” His words carried his normal sense of humor, but lacked any of his normal, jovial tone. They were flat, bitter.
”What are you doing here? Isn't your home in the Palati, My Queen?” He asked, his tone the same. But the moment he said it, he regretted it. Emilios knew this wasn't her fault. At least, for the most part. His head shook, a hand moving quickly through his hair in frustration. ”Can you…” The uncertainty and hesitation was out of character as well.
”I know I am horrible. And that you are madder than hell for what I did at the wedding. But…” His eyes locked onto hers. ”For a moment, can you just go back to being the woman I can tell everything to? The one who knows my soul better than I do?” He offered his hand out to her, pleading with her to sit down beside him. ”Can you go back to being mad at me tomorrow? Please, Theo?” He didn't know what she would say.
Never in his life had he felt so small.
”I miss my friend.” Before they were lovers, they had become friends with many common interests. He'd sneak her away for riding, or to help her with her bow. They'd sit and make arrows together, talking and laughing. The romance came easy, but so did the friendship.
If Emilios was attempting to settle issues and disputes from the wedding several days past he was going about it all wrong. At least, initially.
With a jerk of his arm and a grumpy insistence that her new duties as Queen should be keeping her elsewhere, all he managed to do was fan the flames of an irritation that had mostly dispersed in the surprise of the status of the chambers.
A woman hot to anger and quick to high levels of emotion, Theodora was also a little sparse when it came to commitment. She loved deeply, she hurt deeply, but she never managed to hold grudges or feelings of longevity - especially negatives ones - for long periods of time. In truth, yes, she was angry at Emilios and yes, she would probably always be angry at him on some level. He was the reason she had had to entirely adjust her life's plans. Only to then remind her of that painful redirect on a day that was supposed to be a high point on her new course of life. The fact that that course was one that had led her to be married to the perfect husband and become Queen was a balm to be sure. But it didn’t wipe clean the harm Emilios had done.
And yet the man was insufferably selfish at times and appeared to see nothing past his own nose when he was hurt or hysterical...
Theodora tried not to notice the very clear similarities between them. She was more than aware that it was their mutual passion and romanticism that had drawn them to one another in the first place. Everything was a dramatic adventure between them and it was intoxicating...
Something she was trying very hard to turn past tense.
So, when the man sniped at her for being the Queen and now living in the royal palace, she felt another little crack in her heart where he just carried on chipping away. Her face tried to crumple in the pain but she kept it from caving. She held far too much dignity to let him see her fall apart again. And she had no wine handy besides. It was all on the floor.
It didn’t stop her internally fuming though.
This was all his fault. He was the one who had abandoned her and left her to be married to another man. And now that she was living that life that he had defined for her and was working hard to find happiness with a wonderful, honourable man and find success in the position that that union gave her as Queen... here he was, making snarky, poisonous little barbs about it.
Swallowing down the desire to curl up her fists, bawl and stamp her foot like a small child, Theodora managed to maintain her dignity but not beyond the point of offering tantrum for tantrum.
When he changed his tune and reached out, his hand stretching out towards her, Theo hardened her heart, pushed aside memories of the shape of that hand, and the touch of his fingers, and pulled the same infantile reaction upon him. She moved her arm and skirts away from him so that he could not touch her.
And no, she wasn't about to sit down in the carnage either.
With a sigh at his childishness - one that was probably a little harsh given he had just lost his father - Theodora was unable to either notice or wonder at her difference in handling the brothers. Achilleas, she had wished to comfort. Emilios, she only desired to kick so hard up the rear end he wouldn't be able to sit down for a week, making the lack of available chairs a moot point!
Why the difference, she wasn't entirely sure, but had the thought entered her conscious mind, it might have had something to do with the differences in their reactions. Achilleas had turned his focus outwards. Sorrowful at the loss of his father, his emotions hadn't been hidden, yet he had wanted only to see to the preparations of his father's body, to ensure that the wedding was settled, to make sure that she was alright and had what she needed. He had kept his decorum for fear of appearing a weak king.
And Emilios...
Well, Emilios was - as Head of the House of Mikaelidas - throwing a temper tantrum all over his father's study and making a big, old mess of everything.
Which was generally his true to form behaviour.
The fact that the passionate display of emotion made him feel more real and accessible to her right now was a fact that only served to infuriate her further.
"I am not going to sit on the ground and feel sorry for myself with you." Theodora said with a sharpness she really needed to rein in. Yes, she was mad at him, but the man had just lost his father. She sighed and looked around the room with an assessing eye.
"If you want a friend, then listen to me being one... you need to clean this up before people come to investigate and discover the new Head of Mikaelidas is a… a. an insane person."
She was sure she could have come up with a more scathing title for him if she had thought about it, but right now she was distracted by the look in his eye and the tilt of his head. The man had the whole wounded animal look down so hard he was practically a new-born pup. And it was doing things to her insides she did not approve of.
Closing her eyes and trying to summon a moment of calm by blocking out the intense blue of his eyes - a blue she had come to memorise whilst in the most intimate of embraces - Theo licked at her lips and gave a slow exhale of controlled repose.
"Look..." Her tone had changed now... turned more comforting and supportive; more encouraging. "I will help you. Let's just..." She looked around the chamber having no idea where to start in the carnage his emotions had wrought upon the room. "Let's start with some of these papers before they get drenched in wine. They could still be salvageable and they might be important."
As she had been the last few days, Theodora was dressed in all the finery of being a newly appointed Queen and, as such, was not exactly gowned for cleaning duties. Taking her epiblema - a transparent silken strand of lavender - from where it hung in her elbows and winding it around her hand, Theo pressed the folds into place and then set it on one of the bookcases that had remained upright, despite much of its contents having been gutted. She then took hold of her long and trailing skirts - multiple layers of them in fact - and shifted them through the cinching belt at her waist. The hems of her dress drew up over her sandals and to her ankles, before she let them be, allowing her to move without tripping over. Her long sleeves she folded back upon themselves until the rolls were heavy enough to remain anchored in her elbows if she kept her arms mostly bent.
Bending over and low, Theodora reached for several clusters of parchment and then one of little clay tablet correspondences and started to collate them together in a little pile on the floor. She then lifted them and moved them to the edge of the room where she set the pile down. There was no clear surface to put them on until they had set the furniture to rights and there was no way of doing that when there was... well... stuff everywhere.
She turned quickly to find the next little area of business communication that might have originated from the same point, only this time she was less lucky in her dainty steps.
With parchment littering the floor like jagged and criss-crossed paving stone and no clear indicator of where anything was, Theo was unable to notice a clay missive she had missed; the shallow, square body of the piece hidden beneath several layers of paper.
Misjudging her step and catching her toes painfully on the edge of the hidden tablet, Theo gasped at the harsh smack of the soft top of her foot against the stonework and made a small hop away from that which had pained her.
That was her second mistake.
Reacting naturally in darting away from the source of pain, Theo didn't judge the placement of her other foot. The smooth underside of her sandal slid on the disgraced books beneath her and she tumbled backwards, ended up on the ground just as Emilios had wanted.
To add further injury to... well... injury... Theo's fall had her landing painfully on her bottom, followed by her back smacking into the bookcase already pulled away from the wall and unsettled in Emilios' flight of passion. The bookcase rocked on its narrow bottom and tilted, returning the smack upon her shoulder blades, being halted by her curled-up frame and then dumping its entirely contents upon her.
With a light cry of panic, Theo threw her arms over her head and protected herself as a storm of parchment, clay tablets, and tomes of leather-bound paperwork came down upon her head in a tidal wave of rustling papercuts and bruising stone slabs.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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If Emilios was attempting to settle issues and disputes from the wedding several days past he was going about it all wrong. At least, initially.
With a jerk of his arm and a grumpy insistence that her new duties as Queen should be keeping her elsewhere, all he managed to do was fan the flames of an irritation that had mostly dispersed in the surprise of the status of the chambers.
A woman hot to anger and quick to high levels of emotion, Theodora was also a little sparse when it came to commitment. She loved deeply, she hurt deeply, but she never managed to hold grudges or feelings of longevity - especially negatives ones - for long periods of time. In truth, yes, she was angry at Emilios and yes, she would probably always be angry at him on some level. He was the reason she had had to entirely adjust her life's plans. Only to then remind her of that painful redirect on a day that was supposed to be a high point on her new course of life. The fact that that course was one that had led her to be married to the perfect husband and become Queen was a balm to be sure. But it didn’t wipe clean the harm Emilios had done.
And yet the man was insufferably selfish at times and appeared to see nothing past his own nose when he was hurt or hysterical...
Theodora tried not to notice the very clear similarities between them. She was more than aware that it was their mutual passion and romanticism that had drawn them to one another in the first place. Everything was a dramatic adventure between them and it was intoxicating...
Something she was trying very hard to turn past tense.
So, when the man sniped at her for being the Queen and now living in the royal palace, she felt another little crack in her heart where he just carried on chipping away. Her face tried to crumple in the pain but she kept it from caving. She held far too much dignity to let him see her fall apart again. And she had no wine handy besides. It was all on the floor.
It didn’t stop her internally fuming though.
This was all his fault. He was the one who had abandoned her and left her to be married to another man. And now that she was living that life that he had defined for her and was working hard to find happiness with a wonderful, honourable man and find success in the position that that union gave her as Queen... here he was, making snarky, poisonous little barbs about it.
Swallowing down the desire to curl up her fists, bawl and stamp her foot like a small child, Theodora managed to maintain her dignity but not beyond the point of offering tantrum for tantrum.
When he changed his tune and reached out, his hand stretching out towards her, Theo hardened her heart, pushed aside memories of the shape of that hand, and the touch of his fingers, and pulled the same infantile reaction upon him. She moved her arm and skirts away from him so that he could not touch her.
And no, she wasn't about to sit down in the carnage either.
With a sigh at his childishness - one that was probably a little harsh given he had just lost his father - Theodora was unable to either notice or wonder at her difference in handling the brothers. Achilleas, she had wished to comfort. Emilios, she only desired to kick so hard up the rear end he wouldn't be able to sit down for a week, making the lack of available chairs a moot point!
Why the difference, she wasn't entirely sure, but had the thought entered her conscious mind, it might have had something to do with the differences in their reactions. Achilleas had turned his focus outwards. Sorrowful at the loss of his father, his emotions hadn't been hidden, yet he had wanted only to see to the preparations of his father's body, to ensure that the wedding was settled, to make sure that she was alright and had what she needed. He had kept his decorum for fear of appearing a weak king.
And Emilios...
Well, Emilios was - as Head of the House of Mikaelidas - throwing a temper tantrum all over his father's study and making a big, old mess of everything.
Which was generally his true to form behaviour.
The fact that the passionate display of emotion made him feel more real and accessible to her right now was a fact that only served to infuriate her further.
"I am not going to sit on the ground and feel sorry for myself with you." Theodora said with a sharpness she really needed to rein in. Yes, she was mad at him, but the man had just lost his father. She sighed and looked around the room with an assessing eye.
"If you want a friend, then listen to me being one... you need to clean this up before people come to investigate and discover the new Head of Mikaelidas is a… a. an insane person."
She was sure she could have come up with a more scathing title for him if she had thought about it, but right now she was distracted by the look in his eye and the tilt of his head. The man had the whole wounded animal look down so hard he was practically a new-born pup. And it was doing things to her insides she did not approve of.
Closing her eyes and trying to summon a moment of calm by blocking out the intense blue of his eyes - a blue she had come to memorise whilst in the most intimate of embraces - Theo licked at her lips and gave a slow exhale of controlled repose.
"Look..." Her tone had changed now... turned more comforting and supportive; more encouraging. "I will help you. Let's just..." She looked around the chamber having no idea where to start in the carnage his emotions had wrought upon the room. "Let's start with some of these papers before they get drenched in wine. They could still be salvageable and they might be important."
As she had been the last few days, Theodora was dressed in all the finery of being a newly appointed Queen and, as such, was not exactly gowned for cleaning duties. Taking her epiblema - a transparent silken strand of lavender - from where it hung in her elbows and winding it around her hand, Theo pressed the folds into place and then set it on one of the bookcases that had remained upright, despite much of its contents having been gutted. She then took hold of her long and trailing skirts - multiple layers of them in fact - and shifted them through the cinching belt at her waist. The hems of her dress drew up over her sandals and to her ankles, before she let them be, allowing her to move without tripping over. Her long sleeves she folded back upon themselves until the rolls were heavy enough to remain anchored in her elbows if she kept her arms mostly bent.
Bending over and low, Theodora reached for several clusters of parchment and then one of little clay tablet correspondences and started to collate them together in a little pile on the floor. She then lifted them and moved them to the edge of the room where she set the pile down. There was no clear surface to put them on until they had set the furniture to rights and there was no way of doing that when there was... well... stuff everywhere.
She turned quickly to find the next little area of business communication that might have originated from the same point, only this time she was less lucky in her dainty steps.
With parchment littering the floor like jagged and criss-crossed paving stone and no clear indicator of where anything was, Theo was unable to notice a clay missive she had missed; the shallow, square body of the piece hidden beneath several layers of paper.
Misjudging her step and catching her toes painfully on the edge of the hidden tablet, Theo gasped at the harsh smack of the soft top of her foot against the stonework and made a small hop away from that which had pained her.
That was her second mistake.
Reacting naturally in darting away from the source of pain, Theo didn't judge the placement of her other foot. The smooth underside of her sandal slid on the disgraced books beneath her and she tumbled backwards, ended up on the ground just as Emilios had wanted.
To add further injury to... well... injury... Theo's fall had her landing painfully on her bottom, followed by her back smacking into the bookcase already pulled away from the wall and unsettled in Emilios' flight of passion. The bookcase rocked on its narrow bottom and tilted, returning the smack upon her shoulder blades, being halted by her curled-up frame and then dumping its entirely contents upon her.
With a light cry of panic, Theo threw her arms over her head and protected herself as a storm of parchment, clay tablets, and tomes of leather-bound paperwork came down upon her head in a tidal wave of rustling papercuts and bruising stone slabs.
If Emilios was attempting to settle issues and disputes from the wedding several days past he was going about it all wrong. At least, initially.
With a jerk of his arm and a grumpy insistence that her new duties as Queen should be keeping her elsewhere, all he managed to do was fan the flames of an irritation that had mostly dispersed in the surprise of the status of the chambers.
A woman hot to anger and quick to high levels of emotion, Theodora was also a little sparse when it came to commitment. She loved deeply, she hurt deeply, but she never managed to hold grudges or feelings of longevity - especially negatives ones - for long periods of time. In truth, yes, she was angry at Emilios and yes, she would probably always be angry at him on some level. He was the reason she had had to entirely adjust her life's plans. Only to then remind her of that painful redirect on a day that was supposed to be a high point on her new course of life. The fact that that course was one that had led her to be married to the perfect husband and become Queen was a balm to be sure. But it didn’t wipe clean the harm Emilios had done.
And yet the man was insufferably selfish at times and appeared to see nothing past his own nose when he was hurt or hysterical...
Theodora tried not to notice the very clear similarities between them. She was more than aware that it was their mutual passion and romanticism that had drawn them to one another in the first place. Everything was a dramatic adventure between them and it was intoxicating...
Something she was trying very hard to turn past tense.
So, when the man sniped at her for being the Queen and now living in the royal palace, she felt another little crack in her heart where he just carried on chipping away. Her face tried to crumple in the pain but she kept it from caving. She held far too much dignity to let him see her fall apart again. And she had no wine handy besides. It was all on the floor.
It didn’t stop her internally fuming though.
This was all his fault. He was the one who had abandoned her and left her to be married to another man. And now that she was living that life that he had defined for her and was working hard to find happiness with a wonderful, honourable man and find success in the position that that union gave her as Queen... here he was, making snarky, poisonous little barbs about it.
Swallowing down the desire to curl up her fists, bawl and stamp her foot like a small child, Theodora managed to maintain her dignity but not beyond the point of offering tantrum for tantrum.
When he changed his tune and reached out, his hand stretching out towards her, Theo hardened her heart, pushed aside memories of the shape of that hand, and the touch of his fingers, and pulled the same infantile reaction upon him. She moved her arm and skirts away from him so that he could not touch her.
And no, she wasn't about to sit down in the carnage either.
With a sigh at his childishness - one that was probably a little harsh given he had just lost his father - Theodora was unable to either notice or wonder at her difference in handling the brothers. Achilleas, she had wished to comfort. Emilios, she only desired to kick so hard up the rear end he wouldn't be able to sit down for a week, making the lack of available chairs a moot point!
Why the difference, she wasn't entirely sure, but had the thought entered her conscious mind, it might have had something to do with the differences in their reactions. Achilleas had turned his focus outwards. Sorrowful at the loss of his father, his emotions hadn't been hidden, yet he had wanted only to see to the preparations of his father's body, to ensure that the wedding was settled, to make sure that she was alright and had what she needed. He had kept his decorum for fear of appearing a weak king.
And Emilios...
Well, Emilios was - as Head of the House of Mikaelidas - throwing a temper tantrum all over his father's study and making a big, old mess of everything.
Which was generally his true to form behaviour.
The fact that the passionate display of emotion made him feel more real and accessible to her right now was a fact that only served to infuriate her further.
"I am not going to sit on the ground and feel sorry for myself with you." Theodora said with a sharpness she really needed to rein in. Yes, she was mad at him, but the man had just lost his father. She sighed and looked around the room with an assessing eye.
"If you want a friend, then listen to me being one... you need to clean this up before people come to investigate and discover the new Head of Mikaelidas is a… a. an insane person."
She was sure she could have come up with a more scathing title for him if she had thought about it, but right now she was distracted by the look in his eye and the tilt of his head. The man had the whole wounded animal look down so hard he was practically a new-born pup. And it was doing things to her insides she did not approve of.
Closing her eyes and trying to summon a moment of calm by blocking out the intense blue of his eyes - a blue she had come to memorise whilst in the most intimate of embraces - Theo licked at her lips and gave a slow exhale of controlled repose.
"Look..." Her tone had changed now... turned more comforting and supportive; more encouraging. "I will help you. Let's just..." She looked around the chamber having no idea where to start in the carnage his emotions had wrought upon the room. "Let's start with some of these papers before they get drenched in wine. They could still be salvageable and they might be important."
As she had been the last few days, Theodora was dressed in all the finery of being a newly appointed Queen and, as such, was not exactly gowned for cleaning duties. Taking her epiblema - a transparent silken strand of lavender - from where it hung in her elbows and winding it around her hand, Theo pressed the folds into place and then set it on one of the bookcases that had remained upright, despite much of its contents having been gutted. She then took hold of her long and trailing skirts - multiple layers of them in fact - and shifted them through the cinching belt at her waist. The hems of her dress drew up over her sandals and to her ankles, before she let them be, allowing her to move without tripping over. Her long sleeves she folded back upon themselves until the rolls were heavy enough to remain anchored in her elbows if she kept her arms mostly bent.
Bending over and low, Theodora reached for several clusters of parchment and then one of little clay tablet correspondences and started to collate them together in a little pile on the floor. She then lifted them and moved them to the edge of the room where she set the pile down. There was no clear surface to put them on until they had set the furniture to rights and there was no way of doing that when there was... well... stuff everywhere.
She turned quickly to find the next little area of business communication that might have originated from the same point, only this time she was less lucky in her dainty steps.
With parchment littering the floor like jagged and criss-crossed paving stone and no clear indicator of where anything was, Theo was unable to notice a clay missive she had missed; the shallow, square body of the piece hidden beneath several layers of paper.
Misjudging her step and catching her toes painfully on the edge of the hidden tablet, Theo gasped at the harsh smack of the soft top of her foot against the stonework and made a small hop away from that which had pained her.
That was her second mistake.
Reacting naturally in darting away from the source of pain, Theo didn't judge the placement of her other foot. The smooth underside of her sandal slid on the disgraced books beneath her and she tumbled backwards, ended up on the ground just as Emilios had wanted.
To add further injury to... well... injury... Theo's fall had her landing painfully on her bottom, followed by her back smacking into the bookcase already pulled away from the wall and unsettled in Emilios' flight of passion. The bookcase rocked on its narrow bottom and tilted, returning the smack upon her shoulder blades, being halted by her curled-up frame and then dumping its entirely contents upon her.
With a light cry of panic, Theo threw her arms over her head and protected herself as a storm of parchment, clay tablets, and tomes of leather-bound paperwork came down upon her head in a tidal wave of rustling papercuts and bruising stone slabs.
Emilios felt every emotion openly, and perhaps that was truly his greatest weakness. He had never seen a need to hide them before, for his role in life had never required him to. As the second born, there was no need for him to be anything other than himself. He could be mad and not have to worry about the consequences. He loved openly, loved deeply and without resolve. There was no need for him to pretend he was something he wasn’t. Watching her, he knew he was pushing her own limits.
Limits he had come to intimately know.
His father’s death had left him angry, and he’d never been one to hide his emotions. Taking out his aggression on inanimate objects was far safer than desecrating a body, and this office had been just the place. It was everything he had hated about his father, and yet it held all the memories of a man who had raised him. He could almost feel the disappointment oozing from the walls. It hurt, and all he wanted was someone to talk to about it. His brother had internalized most of his grief, always feeling like there was too much to do to worry about his mind. Emilios preferred to sort out his own mind first, then focus on things that might need to happen.
How could he be such a horrible person? Watching her glare at him only made it obvious to him that he was hurting her, too. There had been a quiet hope that she would understand that he needed to talk. That she would need to talk, too. But after weeks of silence on his end, how could he blame her for ignoring his selfish needs? She berated him for his actions, calling him crazy. It brought the corner of his mouth up in a smile, ”A little gossip has never hurt me before.” But he knew that she was right. He needed to get this cleaned up, needed to pull himself together.
He watched her, remembering a time when he would watch her from his back as she shifted her clothes. It took him back to times when they were happier, to when he had been sure that she was going to be his wife. It made the ache in his heart stronger, wishing that he had done more. Emilios had wanted to run away with her, but hadn’t made that offer to her for fear of ruining them both. She looked breathtaking in her fineary, something he could never provide for her.
Theodora made quick work of adjusting her clothing, and he smiled softly as she started to pick up papers and tiles. Standing, he watched her quietly for a moment, with the grace and poise that seemed to come naturally to her. It made him remember a time when they had caused a smaller mess in his room, their bodies naked and laughter muffled to keep them from being found. But he kept that to himself, instead working on a small space of floor to be able to right one of the heavy chairs, giving them a place to put things.
It was then that he heard her cry out in pain, and he turned just in time to see the bookcase tip, showering her in the contents of paper and stone. He darted forward to catch the case before it fell to the floor on top of her. He pushed it back to its right position, pushing it back against the wall and out of the way before he scooped her up, settling her into the chair he’d just put back on its feet. Bending down to her view, he took her foot into his hand, inspecting it for any further damage. ”Are you alright, Theo?” He asked gently, attempting to rub any ache from it. ”I am sorry. I am an ass. You are right to be mad at me. I did everything wrong.” He stopped short of telling her everything, sighing as he set her foot back down. ”And I’m still doing it wrong.” He leaned forward, brushing her hair back behind her ears. ”And I’m sorry for that.”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Emilios felt every emotion openly, and perhaps that was truly his greatest weakness. He had never seen a need to hide them before, for his role in life had never required him to. As the second born, there was no need for him to be anything other than himself. He could be mad and not have to worry about the consequences. He loved openly, loved deeply and without resolve. There was no need for him to pretend he was something he wasn’t. Watching her, he knew he was pushing her own limits.
Limits he had come to intimately know.
His father’s death had left him angry, and he’d never been one to hide his emotions. Taking out his aggression on inanimate objects was far safer than desecrating a body, and this office had been just the place. It was everything he had hated about his father, and yet it held all the memories of a man who had raised him. He could almost feel the disappointment oozing from the walls. It hurt, and all he wanted was someone to talk to about it. His brother had internalized most of his grief, always feeling like there was too much to do to worry about his mind. Emilios preferred to sort out his own mind first, then focus on things that might need to happen.
How could he be such a horrible person? Watching her glare at him only made it obvious to him that he was hurting her, too. There had been a quiet hope that she would understand that he needed to talk. That she would need to talk, too. But after weeks of silence on his end, how could he blame her for ignoring his selfish needs? She berated him for his actions, calling him crazy. It brought the corner of his mouth up in a smile, ”A little gossip has never hurt me before.” But he knew that she was right. He needed to get this cleaned up, needed to pull himself together.
He watched her, remembering a time when he would watch her from his back as she shifted her clothes. It took him back to times when they were happier, to when he had been sure that she was going to be his wife. It made the ache in his heart stronger, wishing that he had done more. Emilios had wanted to run away with her, but hadn’t made that offer to her for fear of ruining them both. She looked breathtaking in her fineary, something he could never provide for her.
Theodora made quick work of adjusting her clothing, and he smiled softly as she started to pick up papers and tiles. Standing, he watched her quietly for a moment, with the grace and poise that seemed to come naturally to her. It made him remember a time when they had caused a smaller mess in his room, their bodies naked and laughter muffled to keep them from being found. But he kept that to himself, instead working on a small space of floor to be able to right one of the heavy chairs, giving them a place to put things.
It was then that he heard her cry out in pain, and he turned just in time to see the bookcase tip, showering her in the contents of paper and stone. He darted forward to catch the case before it fell to the floor on top of her. He pushed it back to its right position, pushing it back against the wall and out of the way before he scooped her up, settling her into the chair he’d just put back on its feet. Bending down to her view, he took her foot into his hand, inspecting it for any further damage. ”Are you alright, Theo?” He asked gently, attempting to rub any ache from it. ”I am sorry. I am an ass. You are right to be mad at me. I did everything wrong.” He stopped short of telling her everything, sighing as he set her foot back down. ”And I’m still doing it wrong.” He leaned forward, brushing her hair back behind her ears. ”And I’m sorry for that.”
Emilios felt every emotion openly, and perhaps that was truly his greatest weakness. He had never seen a need to hide them before, for his role in life had never required him to. As the second born, there was no need for him to be anything other than himself. He could be mad and not have to worry about the consequences. He loved openly, loved deeply and without resolve. There was no need for him to pretend he was something he wasn’t. Watching her, he knew he was pushing her own limits.
Limits he had come to intimately know.
His father’s death had left him angry, and he’d never been one to hide his emotions. Taking out his aggression on inanimate objects was far safer than desecrating a body, and this office had been just the place. It was everything he had hated about his father, and yet it held all the memories of a man who had raised him. He could almost feel the disappointment oozing from the walls. It hurt, and all he wanted was someone to talk to about it. His brother had internalized most of his grief, always feeling like there was too much to do to worry about his mind. Emilios preferred to sort out his own mind first, then focus on things that might need to happen.
How could he be such a horrible person? Watching her glare at him only made it obvious to him that he was hurting her, too. There had been a quiet hope that she would understand that he needed to talk. That she would need to talk, too. But after weeks of silence on his end, how could he blame her for ignoring his selfish needs? She berated him for his actions, calling him crazy. It brought the corner of his mouth up in a smile, ”A little gossip has never hurt me before.” But he knew that she was right. He needed to get this cleaned up, needed to pull himself together.
He watched her, remembering a time when he would watch her from his back as she shifted her clothes. It took him back to times when they were happier, to when he had been sure that she was going to be his wife. It made the ache in his heart stronger, wishing that he had done more. Emilios had wanted to run away with her, but hadn’t made that offer to her for fear of ruining them both. She looked breathtaking in her fineary, something he could never provide for her.
Theodora made quick work of adjusting her clothing, and he smiled softly as she started to pick up papers and tiles. Standing, he watched her quietly for a moment, with the grace and poise that seemed to come naturally to her. It made him remember a time when they had caused a smaller mess in his room, their bodies naked and laughter muffled to keep them from being found. But he kept that to himself, instead working on a small space of floor to be able to right one of the heavy chairs, giving them a place to put things.
It was then that he heard her cry out in pain, and he turned just in time to see the bookcase tip, showering her in the contents of paper and stone. He darted forward to catch the case before it fell to the floor on top of her. He pushed it back to its right position, pushing it back against the wall and out of the way before he scooped her up, settling her into the chair he’d just put back on its feet. Bending down to her view, he took her foot into his hand, inspecting it for any further damage. ”Are you alright, Theo?” He asked gently, attempting to rub any ache from it. ”I am sorry. I am an ass. You are right to be mad at me. I did everything wrong.” He stopped short of telling her everything, sighing as he set her foot back down. ”And I’m still doing it wrong.” He leaned forward, brushing her hair back behind her ears. ”And I’m sorry for that.”
As the shower of tomes, parchment and a few clay tables cascaded down upon Theo, she curled up into a ball with her knees up towards her chest and her arms over her head, her face buried in her thighs in an attempt to protect herself from pain. But, while there were several sheaths to fall upon her and even a small tablet that hit her on her arm and smarted something terrible, there was significantly less to come crashing down upon her head than she had been braced to hold out against.
Shadows moved, the light that seeped from beneath her folded arms and curled legs, shifting about and there was a soft noise - like a grunt but far softer... an exhale of effort above her, as the weight of the bookcase was lifted from where it had struck against her shoulder blades and the waves of its contents was stemmed from falling onto her.
Lifting her head just a little to see what was happening, Theo was still half blinded by her own arms and hair that had come loose around her face, else she might have protested what Emilios was about to do. But, before she could even work out his intentions, Theo was up in his arms and being taken across the room to one of the few chairs that were still upright on all four legs.
A light yelp left her lips as Emilios hoisted her into his arms but then her voice and body became entirely paralysed. Immediately recognising the touch of his hands, the way his fingers spread across her curves and supported her beneath her legs and around her back, Theodora felt a rush of warmth that her only appropriate response to was to freeze, keep her muscles locked and attempt not to show her reaction. She could do nothing about her cheeks, however, which flared with colour, her eyes a little too bright.
By the time she was settled into the seat - in the work of only a few seconds - Theodora was tied into knots internally, her muscles aching from the way she had held herself totally rigid in his hold. She was frozen. Stiff as a board and unable to react to stop him from setting her down and taking her foot into his hands.
When he spoke, his tone was soft, comforting and sincere in a way that was infinitely worse than if he had yelled at her for being clumsy or stupid. That, she could have dealt with - yelled back at him that it was all his fault! That he was the one who had destroyed the office. That any injury she had would be his to be shamed for and that he was an idiot!
It would have been cathartic. Her able to yell at him for his poor performance as a Head of House, but really feeling everything that she held within for his poor performance as her lover. How he had left her to her fate of marrying another man - regardless of how wonderful that man was. How he didn't fight for her. How he could stand here and feel all these angry emotions now over the loss of his father but had none of that wrath and ire when he had lost her.
Where was her tantrum? Where was his grief as losing her, damnit?
All of which was simultaneously what her selfish heart wanted and what she would have been able to deal with. Because she would have straightened her spine, hardened her stomach and told him it was too late to be angry. That he had ruined them himself, and that he was the only one to blame. For she after all had at least tried to fight for them and refuse the engagement.
She could have handled that. She could have maintained her cool in front of that.
Instead, Emilios's touch wrapped around her foot, easing away the twisted ache that she had sparked in the ankle, and his words were soft, penitent and contrite.
'I did everything wrong.'
Yes, Theodora thought to herself. Yes you did. She thought to herself, her own sorrow for the life they could have had finding an empathetic partner in his. Her eyes already bright and watering from the sharp pain the bookcase had made upon her back, Theo was horrified to realise that her they were filling still further.
Unable to gain the catharsis of yelling at the man, apparently her emotions were finding another route. Unable to keep all her pain and frustration and anger at him bottled up anymore, where it had simply boiled and festered and waited to be prodded every time that he made some snide remark, Theodora felt the sensations bubbling up through her chest and setting her eyes stinging with tears.
It was his use of her nickname - the nickname she had banned Achilleas from using to avoid such memories - and the way in which he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear that completely unravelled her.
On his second apology, his fingertips curling around the shell of her ear, Theodora tensed, her shoulders curling in on herself, her knees lifting a little, and her hands braced against the sides of the chair's seat. She tensed and she turned her face down, her eyes closed and her teeth coming out to brace against her plump lower lid. Her body language looked like someone bracing for a body blow. As if she feared her would hurt her further. And whilst she would never think Emilios would harm her physically, he had mangled her heart worse than anyone else ever had. And for that, she couldn't bear to hear his apologies. Couldn't bear to have them chip away at the wall of anger she had constructed around her heart, reducing her to a crunched-up figure who sat in her chair silently... as the tears rolled from beneath her lashes and down over her cheeks.
She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. She just braced herself, her eyes closed and her tears flowing, unable to cope with the release of emotion that his apologies unlocked.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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As the shower of tomes, parchment and a few clay tables cascaded down upon Theo, she curled up into a ball with her knees up towards her chest and her arms over her head, her face buried in her thighs in an attempt to protect herself from pain. But, while there were several sheaths to fall upon her and even a small tablet that hit her on her arm and smarted something terrible, there was significantly less to come crashing down upon her head than she had been braced to hold out against.
Shadows moved, the light that seeped from beneath her folded arms and curled legs, shifting about and there was a soft noise - like a grunt but far softer... an exhale of effort above her, as the weight of the bookcase was lifted from where it had struck against her shoulder blades and the waves of its contents was stemmed from falling onto her.
Lifting her head just a little to see what was happening, Theo was still half blinded by her own arms and hair that had come loose around her face, else she might have protested what Emilios was about to do. But, before she could even work out his intentions, Theo was up in his arms and being taken across the room to one of the few chairs that were still upright on all four legs.
A light yelp left her lips as Emilios hoisted her into his arms but then her voice and body became entirely paralysed. Immediately recognising the touch of his hands, the way his fingers spread across her curves and supported her beneath her legs and around her back, Theodora felt a rush of warmth that her only appropriate response to was to freeze, keep her muscles locked and attempt not to show her reaction. She could do nothing about her cheeks, however, which flared with colour, her eyes a little too bright.
By the time she was settled into the seat - in the work of only a few seconds - Theodora was tied into knots internally, her muscles aching from the way she had held herself totally rigid in his hold. She was frozen. Stiff as a board and unable to react to stop him from setting her down and taking her foot into his hands.
When he spoke, his tone was soft, comforting and sincere in a way that was infinitely worse than if he had yelled at her for being clumsy or stupid. That, she could have dealt with - yelled back at him that it was all his fault! That he was the one who had destroyed the office. That any injury she had would be his to be shamed for and that he was an idiot!
It would have been cathartic. Her able to yell at him for his poor performance as a Head of House, but really feeling everything that she held within for his poor performance as her lover. How he had left her to her fate of marrying another man - regardless of how wonderful that man was. How he didn't fight for her. How he could stand here and feel all these angry emotions now over the loss of his father but had none of that wrath and ire when he had lost her.
Where was her tantrum? Where was his grief as losing her, damnit?
All of which was simultaneously what her selfish heart wanted and what she would have been able to deal with. Because she would have straightened her spine, hardened her stomach and told him it was too late to be angry. That he had ruined them himself, and that he was the only one to blame. For she after all had at least tried to fight for them and refuse the engagement.
She could have handled that. She could have maintained her cool in front of that.
Instead, Emilios's touch wrapped around her foot, easing away the twisted ache that she had sparked in the ankle, and his words were soft, penitent and contrite.
'I did everything wrong.'
Yes, Theodora thought to herself. Yes you did. She thought to herself, her own sorrow for the life they could have had finding an empathetic partner in his. Her eyes already bright and watering from the sharp pain the bookcase had made upon her back, Theo was horrified to realise that her they were filling still further.
Unable to gain the catharsis of yelling at the man, apparently her emotions were finding another route. Unable to keep all her pain and frustration and anger at him bottled up anymore, where it had simply boiled and festered and waited to be prodded every time that he made some snide remark, Theodora felt the sensations bubbling up through her chest and setting her eyes stinging with tears.
It was his use of her nickname - the nickname she had banned Achilleas from using to avoid such memories - and the way in which he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear that completely unravelled her.
On his second apology, his fingertips curling around the shell of her ear, Theodora tensed, her shoulders curling in on herself, her knees lifting a little, and her hands braced against the sides of the chair's seat. She tensed and she turned her face down, her eyes closed and her teeth coming out to brace against her plump lower lid. Her body language looked like someone bracing for a body blow. As if she feared her would hurt her further. And whilst she would never think Emilios would harm her physically, he had mangled her heart worse than anyone else ever had. And for that, she couldn't bear to hear his apologies. Couldn't bear to have them chip away at the wall of anger she had constructed around her heart, reducing her to a crunched-up figure who sat in her chair silently... as the tears rolled from beneath her lashes and down over her cheeks.
She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. She just braced herself, her eyes closed and her tears flowing, unable to cope with the release of emotion that his apologies unlocked.
As the shower of tomes, parchment and a few clay tables cascaded down upon Theo, she curled up into a ball with her knees up towards her chest and her arms over her head, her face buried in her thighs in an attempt to protect herself from pain. But, while there were several sheaths to fall upon her and even a small tablet that hit her on her arm and smarted something terrible, there was significantly less to come crashing down upon her head than she had been braced to hold out against.
Shadows moved, the light that seeped from beneath her folded arms and curled legs, shifting about and there was a soft noise - like a grunt but far softer... an exhale of effort above her, as the weight of the bookcase was lifted from where it had struck against her shoulder blades and the waves of its contents was stemmed from falling onto her.
Lifting her head just a little to see what was happening, Theo was still half blinded by her own arms and hair that had come loose around her face, else she might have protested what Emilios was about to do. But, before she could even work out his intentions, Theo was up in his arms and being taken across the room to one of the few chairs that were still upright on all four legs.
A light yelp left her lips as Emilios hoisted her into his arms but then her voice and body became entirely paralysed. Immediately recognising the touch of his hands, the way his fingers spread across her curves and supported her beneath her legs and around her back, Theodora felt a rush of warmth that her only appropriate response to was to freeze, keep her muscles locked and attempt not to show her reaction. She could do nothing about her cheeks, however, which flared with colour, her eyes a little too bright.
By the time she was settled into the seat - in the work of only a few seconds - Theodora was tied into knots internally, her muscles aching from the way she had held herself totally rigid in his hold. She was frozen. Stiff as a board and unable to react to stop him from setting her down and taking her foot into his hands.
When he spoke, his tone was soft, comforting and sincere in a way that was infinitely worse than if he had yelled at her for being clumsy or stupid. That, she could have dealt with - yelled back at him that it was all his fault! That he was the one who had destroyed the office. That any injury she had would be his to be shamed for and that he was an idiot!
It would have been cathartic. Her able to yell at him for his poor performance as a Head of House, but really feeling everything that she held within for his poor performance as her lover. How he had left her to her fate of marrying another man - regardless of how wonderful that man was. How he didn't fight for her. How he could stand here and feel all these angry emotions now over the loss of his father but had none of that wrath and ire when he had lost her.
Where was her tantrum? Where was his grief as losing her, damnit?
All of which was simultaneously what her selfish heart wanted and what she would have been able to deal with. Because she would have straightened her spine, hardened her stomach and told him it was too late to be angry. That he had ruined them himself, and that he was the only one to blame. For she after all had at least tried to fight for them and refuse the engagement.
She could have handled that. She could have maintained her cool in front of that.
Instead, Emilios's touch wrapped around her foot, easing away the twisted ache that she had sparked in the ankle, and his words were soft, penitent and contrite.
'I did everything wrong.'
Yes, Theodora thought to herself. Yes you did. She thought to herself, her own sorrow for the life they could have had finding an empathetic partner in his. Her eyes already bright and watering from the sharp pain the bookcase had made upon her back, Theo was horrified to realise that her they were filling still further.
Unable to gain the catharsis of yelling at the man, apparently her emotions were finding another route. Unable to keep all her pain and frustration and anger at him bottled up anymore, where it had simply boiled and festered and waited to be prodded every time that he made some snide remark, Theodora felt the sensations bubbling up through her chest and setting her eyes stinging with tears.
It was his use of her nickname - the nickname she had banned Achilleas from using to avoid such memories - and the way in which he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear that completely unravelled her.
On his second apology, his fingertips curling around the shell of her ear, Theodora tensed, her shoulders curling in on herself, her knees lifting a little, and her hands braced against the sides of the chair's seat. She tensed and she turned her face down, her eyes closed and her teeth coming out to brace against her plump lower lid. Her body language looked like someone bracing for a body blow. As if she feared her would hurt her further. And whilst she would never think Emilios would harm her physically, he had mangled her heart worse than anyone else ever had. And for that, she couldn't bear to hear his apologies. Couldn't bear to have them chip away at the wall of anger she had constructed around her heart, reducing her to a crunched-up figure who sat in her chair silently... as the tears rolled from beneath her lashes and down over her cheeks.
She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. She just braced herself, her eyes closed and her tears flowing, unable to cope with the release of emotion that his apologies unlocked.
The Lady Eirini had been very specific when she gave the set of instructions to Zenais - go to the Mikaelidas house, and inform them that her ladyship had sent her to help with the shifting of power and any necessary assistance they would need to deal with the funeral of the former King Irakles, as well as the changes that would happen as Lord Achilleas and Lady Theodora now took upon the mantle of King and Queen.But she was to listen, to watch, and to tell Eirini of everything that has happened, everyone she saw, and anything she heard - using anything she had at her disposal.
Of course, Zenais did not have to ask to know what she meant. Eirini had not been particularly secretive about the fact that Zenais had been hired for her immeasurable beauty, a kind of beauty she had spent years keeping under long locks and dowdy clothing. She was born of nobility, yet her history meant to be found out would be detrimental, so hiding had been her only course of action.
Until Eirini now presented her with a different course of action. Not wanting to dissapoint her mistress, the brunette had agreed, and dressed in one of the new dresses she had been presented, a forest green number that shone when the light hit it, she had presented herself on the front steps of the household, and was put to work. With brunette locks pulled up only halfway to accentuate the strikingly blue eyes she had, her sharp features, soft smile, and the way the green sleeves of the chiton fell just short of her elbow, all were designed to capture.
Because information spilled so much easier when one was captured.
With a box in hand as she traversed to the private wing of the Mikaelidas household, Zenais had been passing by the study, when a loud crash and falling of books stopped her pace. She strained her ears, and eyes widened when she heard first the voice of whom she knew to be Emilios of Mikaelidas, and then... was that the sound of a woman crying? Yet if she knew and had her facts straight, other then servants, the only other lady she knew to be in the house from the talk of servants ... would be Lady Theodora.
The young lady frowned, millions of thoughts running through her head. Lady Eirini had asked her to find out everything of what was happening afterall, did she not.
Placing the box down, Zenais quickly dusted her dress a little, before she opened the door a little quicker then one would, as if she had rushed in after hearing the crash, and feigned mild breathlessness as her eyes roamed, before landing on the two figures for the briefest of seconds, the lady on the chair and the man supposed to be her brother in law in an intimate position of brushing the Queen's hair back - before Zenais spoke. "Your Highness, My Lord, I heard a loud crash. Is any assistance needed?"
The part of an attentive, hardworking, exceedingly beautiful handmaiden. She could do that.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The Lady Eirini had been very specific when she gave the set of instructions to Zenais - go to the Mikaelidas house, and inform them that her ladyship had sent her to help with the shifting of power and any necessary assistance they would need to deal with the funeral of the former King Irakles, as well as the changes that would happen as Lord Achilleas and Lady Theodora now took upon the mantle of King and Queen.But she was to listen, to watch, and to tell Eirini of everything that has happened, everyone she saw, and anything she heard - using anything she had at her disposal.
Of course, Zenais did not have to ask to know what she meant. Eirini had not been particularly secretive about the fact that Zenais had been hired for her immeasurable beauty, a kind of beauty she had spent years keeping under long locks and dowdy clothing. She was born of nobility, yet her history meant to be found out would be detrimental, so hiding had been her only course of action.
Until Eirini now presented her with a different course of action. Not wanting to dissapoint her mistress, the brunette had agreed, and dressed in one of the new dresses she had been presented, a forest green number that shone when the light hit it, she had presented herself on the front steps of the household, and was put to work. With brunette locks pulled up only halfway to accentuate the strikingly blue eyes she had, her sharp features, soft smile, and the way the green sleeves of the chiton fell just short of her elbow, all were designed to capture.
Because information spilled so much easier when one was captured.
With a box in hand as she traversed to the private wing of the Mikaelidas household, Zenais had been passing by the study, when a loud crash and falling of books stopped her pace. She strained her ears, and eyes widened when she heard first the voice of whom she knew to be Emilios of Mikaelidas, and then... was that the sound of a woman crying? Yet if she knew and had her facts straight, other then servants, the only other lady she knew to be in the house from the talk of servants ... would be Lady Theodora.
The young lady frowned, millions of thoughts running through her head. Lady Eirini had asked her to find out everything of what was happening afterall, did she not.
Placing the box down, Zenais quickly dusted her dress a little, before she opened the door a little quicker then one would, as if she had rushed in after hearing the crash, and feigned mild breathlessness as her eyes roamed, before landing on the two figures for the briefest of seconds, the lady on the chair and the man supposed to be her brother in law in an intimate position of brushing the Queen's hair back - before Zenais spoke. "Your Highness, My Lord, I heard a loud crash. Is any assistance needed?"
The part of an attentive, hardworking, exceedingly beautiful handmaiden. She could do that.
The Lady Eirini had been very specific when she gave the set of instructions to Zenais - go to the Mikaelidas house, and inform them that her ladyship had sent her to help with the shifting of power and any necessary assistance they would need to deal with the funeral of the former King Irakles, as well as the changes that would happen as Lord Achilleas and Lady Theodora now took upon the mantle of King and Queen.But she was to listen, to watch, and to tell Eirini of everything that has happened, everyone she saw, and anything she heard - using anything she had at her disposal.
Of course, Zenais did not have to ask to know what she meant. Eirini had not been particularly secretive about the fact that Zenais had been hired for her immeasurable beauty, a kind of beauty she had spent years keeping under long locks and dowdy clothing. She was born of nobility, yet her history meant to be found out would be detrimental, so hiding had been her only course of action.
Until Eirini now presented her with a different course of action. Not wanting to dissapoint her mistress, the brunette had agreed, and dressed in one of the new dresses she had been presented, a forest green number that shone when the light hit it, she had presented herself on the front steps of the household, and was put to work. With brunette locks pulled up only halfway to accentuate the strikingly blue eyes she had, her sharp features, soft smile, and the way the green sleeves of the chiton fell just short of her elbow, all were designed to capture.
Because information spilled so much easier when one was captured.
With a box in hand as she traversed to the private wing of the Mikaelidas household, Zenais had been passing by the study, when a loud crash and falling of books stopped her pace. She strained her ears, and eyes widened when she heard first the voice of whom she knew to be Emilios of Mikaelidas, and then... was that the sound of a woman crying? Yet if she knew and had her facts straight, other then servants, the only other lady she knew to be in the house from the talk of servants ... would be Lady Theodora.
The young lady frowned, millions of thoughts running through her head. Lady Eirini had asked her to find out everything of what was happening afterall, did she not.
Placing the box down, Zenais quickly dusted her dress a little, before she opened the door a little quicker then one would, as if she had rushed in after hearing the crash, and feigned mild breathlessness as her eyes roamed, before landing on the two figures for the briefest of seconds, the lady on the chair and the man supposed to be her brother in law in an intimate position of brushing the Queen's hair back - before Zenais spoke. "Your Highness, My Lord, I heard a loud crash. Is any assistance needed?"
The part of an attentive, hardworking, exceedingly beautiful handmaiden. She could do that.
He knew that she was hurting. How often had they come to blows in passionate exchanges on theory or politics? How often had they made up just as passionately? Emilios had always burned hot, and Theo was a refined fire herself. They were explosive when they came together, and he always came back for more. But rarely had he actually hurt her. He always cherished her, always protected her heart as best as he could. Until her heart wasn't his to protect. So he backed away, wishing he could have fought for her. It seemed pointless, only because she did not know his father’s stance on marriage.
She would not understand it. Her parents were openly in love, devoted and focused on the family as a whole. His father saw marriage as a means to an end, creating a family for the sake of power. And then stopped viewing his wife as his emotional responsibility. His father saw the marriage between Achilleas and Theodora as the ultimate goal. He wouldn't care who slept with who, as long as the line would be maintained. Theodora was worth fighting for, but it was a fight that would have fallen on deaf ears. His mind was not one that was easily bent.
Emilios had hoped that her father may have a soft spot for his daughter, would hear her concerns and desires and would give her consideration. And when he had heard of the conversation, Emilios’s heart dropped and hardened against his own disappointment. How could he do anything more when their lives were not their own? The head of house made the decisions. And both had been at their mercy.
Still, seeing her tears mirroring his own known sorrow broke him.
”Theo…” He said as he brushed her tears, even knowing he had been the cause. ”I should have…” It was then that the pretty servant burst into the room, taking in the sight of the chaos and the current state. But he refused to be embarrassed about the condition of the room, even with a maid he was not that sure of. ”I do not think we asked for any assistance.” He said, standing to block Theodora from any further scrutiny from the girl. ”The Queen May have injured her foot. Why don't you fetch a healer, if you are so anxious to help? Then you can work to empty out my father’s room, and help my men move my things into it.” He turned, dismissing her quietly as his focus turned back to Theo once more. ”it would seem that this room still holds far too much danger for your dainty feet.” He gently teased her, unable to continue the conversation from before until he was certain the maid would do as he asked.
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He knew that she was hurting. How often had they come to blows in passionate exchanges on theory or politics? How often had they made up just as passionately? Emilios had always burned hot, and Theo was a refined fire herself. They were explosive when they came together, and he always came back for more. But rarely had he actually hurt her. He always cherished her, always protected her heart as best as he could. Until her heart wasn't his to protect. So he backed away, wishing he could have fought for her. It seemed pointless, only because she did not know his father’s stance on marriage.
She would not understand it. Her parents were openly in love, devoted and focused on the family as a whole. His father saw marriage as a means to an end, creating a family for the sake of power. And then stopped viewing his wife as his emotional responsibility. His father saw the marriage between Achilleas and Theodora as the ultimate goal. He wouldn't care who slept with who, as long as the line would be maintained. Theodora was worth fighting for, but it was a fight that would have fallen on deaf ears. His mind was not one that was easily bent.
Emilios had hoped that her father may have a soft spot for his daughter, would hear her concerns and desires and would give her consideration. And when he had heard of the conversation, Emilios’s heart dropped and hardened against his own disappointment. How could he do anything more when their lives were not their own? The head of house made the decisions. And both had been at their mercy.
Still, seeing her tears mirroring his own known sorrow broke him.
”Theo…” He said as he brushed her tears, even knowing he had been the cause. ”I should have…” It was then that the pretty servant burst into the room, taking in the sight of the chaos and the current state. But he refused to be embarrassed about the condition of the room, even with a maid he was not that sure of. ”I do not think we asked for any assistance.” He said, standing to block Theodora from any further scrutiny from the girl. ”The Queen May have injured her foot. Why don't you fetch a healer, if you are so anxious to help? Then you can work to empty out my father’s room, and help my men move my things into it.” He turned, dismissing her quietly as his focus turned back to Theo once more. ”it would seem that this room still holds far too much danger for your dainty feet.” He gently teased her, unable to continue the conversation from before until he was certain the maid would do as he asked.
He knew that she was hurting. How often had they come to blows in passionate exchanges on theory or politics? How often had they made up just as passionately? Emilios had always burned hot, and Theo was a refined fire herself. They were explosive when they came together, and he always came back for more. But rarely had he actually hurt her. He always cherished her, always protected her heart as best as he could. Until her heart wasn't his to protect. So he backed away, wishing he could have fought for her. It seemed pointless, only because she did not know his father’s stance on marriage.
She would not understand it. Her parents were openly in love, devoted and focused on the family as a whole. His father saw marriage as a means to an end, creating a family for the sake of power. And then stopped viewing his wife as his emotional responsibility. His father saw the marriage between Achilleas and Theodora as the ultimate goal. He wouldn't care who slept with who, as long as the line would be maintained. Theodora was worth fighting for, but it was a fight that would have fallen on deaf ears. His mind was not one that was easily bent.
Emilios had hoped that her father may have a soft spot for his daughter, would hear her concerns and desires and would give her consideration. And when he had heard of the conversation, Emilios’s heart dropped and hardened against his own disappointment. How could he do anything more when their lives were not their own? The head of house made the decisions. And both had been at their mercy.
Still, seeing her tears mirroring his own known sorrow broke him.
”Theo…” He said as he brushed her tears, even knowing he had been the cause. ”I should have…” It was then that the pretty servant burst into the room, taking in the sight of the chaos and the current state. But he refused to be embarrassed about the condition of the room, even with a maid he was not that sure of. ”I do not think we asked for any assistance.” He said, standing to block Theodora from any further scrutiny from the girl. ”The Queen May have injured her foot. Why don't you fetch a healer, if you are so anxious to help? Then you can work to empty out my father’s room, and help my men move my things into it.” He turned, dismissing her quietly as his focus turned back to Theo once more. ”it would seem that this room still holds far too much danger for your dainty feet.” He gently teased her, unable to continue the conversation from before until he was certain the maid would do as he asked.
In her state of weakness, drawn to her lowest moment of self-control by the force of tears and the rising mastery of emotion, Theo could do nothing to resist the physical need to lean into Emilios' touch. He stroked back her hair, cupped her cheeks so as to brush away the tears that had escaped below her lashes and held her in a touch that was so very real compared to that of her husband.
Achilleas was everything a husband and lover should be, but the newness of their physical relationship had him touching her with a gentility and softness that spoke of her delicacy as a woman. It was tempting and sweet and considerate of him to handle her as if she were fragile and to treat her with such respect and honour. She had no complaints with the way in which her husband chose to love her.
But Emilios and she had been intimate for far longer. He touched her, held her, as if he had every familiarity and right to do so. His palm was not harsh but neither was it gentle. It was secure and determined and unafraid of what she would and would not like. He touched her, not as a delicate vase or beautiful wife, but as a person and being that he knew to the depths of his heart. As she had felt she once knew him.
In later moments, when she was alone, she would regret the touch. She would chastise herself for not pushing away her brother-in-law's hands, in not determining that he was not to break the boundaries of personal space between them with such casualness. She would taunt herself with the stupidity of allowing him to behave inappropriately and plant new memories in her mind that only served to dredge up the old and bring them to the forefront of her mind.
But, for now, when she had no such strength or logic on her side, Theo leant into his touch, her cheek warm in his hand and her eyes remaining shut as his words and voice soothed her soul in comfort.
"Emilios..." Her voice never left her mouth but her lips formed the name, the way in which they moulded around the word half brushing against the palm of his hand and setting them tingle with the familiarity of his kiss.
Lost to his touch, it was only when Emilios took his hand away, when he turned to shoo away an interloper upon their moment together that Theodora's eyes snapped open and all of those self-punishments and logical arguments of stupidity came pouring into her mind.
As if the hazy spell cast upon them by Aphrodite had lifted with the arrival of an ill-timed servant girl, Theodora's shoulders shook and her head came up, looking away and towards the wall so that her tears would not be obvious to the new arrival within the room. She felt her tension rise and her self-anger grow when Emilios stepped in to shield her from view - for how was she to refuse feelings for a man that protected her so? - and took the opportunity to scrub at her face with the palms and then backs of her hand.
When the man ordered the servant away to find a healer to ensure that Theodora's foot was seen to, she could not resist in retracting the order. Her shame had her insisting that no fuss was made of this moment in Emilios' study. She did not wish for news of her visit to this particular room and the events that had happened within it to be brought to anyone's attention more than they already had.
"No." She murmured, in a calm voice that she used her courtly training to ensure was devoid of the heightened emotions that had borne down on the both of them like a heavy desirous fog only moments ago. "No, I am perfectly fine Lord Mikaelidas." She said, keeping her tone tranquil and her use of names formal. In the efforts to prove it, she rose to her feet, suppressing a wince as to her stubbed toe and twisted ankle.
"I shall return to the royal palati and be attended to there." She said, with a resolve that was not to be argued with when they had an audience.
Walking in a manner that was slow - so as not to trip again - but determined, Theodora dismissed the servant from her view and refused to stare down her accusations. For, to show her tearful eyes more clearly would only lead to further whispers. Better to allow her to assume that they were from pain of injury rather than pain of heart.
Not knowing what else to say that would not risk further exposure of the interaction between her and her lost love, Theodora headed for the door of the chamber quickly, skirting around the servant before she could put into action Emilios' orders and simply paused in the doorway, unable to resist a look back towards the new Head of the House of Mikaelidas. Her chin rose and her lips parted as if she were to say something salient and regal. And yet words failed her, her eyes turned tender, vulnerable and then she turned and left the room and its occupants behind...
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In her state of weakness, drawn to her lowest moment of self-control by the force of tears and the rising mastery of emotion, Theo could do nothing to resist the physical need to lean into Emilios' touch. He stroked back her hair, cupped her cheeks so as to brush away the tears that had escaped below her lashes and held her in a touch that was so very real compared to that of her husband.
Achilleas was everything a husband and lover should be, but the newness of their physical relationship had him touching her with a gentility and softness that spoke of her delicacy as a woman. It was tempting and sweet and considerate of him to handle her as if she were fragile and to treat her with such respect and honour. She had no complaints with the way in which her husband chose to love her.
But Emilios and she had been intimate for far longer. He touched her, held her, as if he had every familiarity and right to do so. His palm was not harsh but neither was it gentle. It was secure and determined and unafraid of what she would and would not like. He touched her, not as a delicate vase or beautiful wife, but as a person and being that he knew to the depths of his heart. As she had felt she once knew him.
In later moments, when she was alone, she would regret the touch. She would chastise herself for not pushing away her brother-in-law's hands, in not determining that he was not to break the boundaries of personal space between them with such casualness. She would taunt herself with the stupidity of allowing him to behave inappropriately and plant new memories in her mind that only served to dredge up the old and bring them to the forefront of her mind.
But, for now, when she had no such strength or logic on her side, Theo leant into his touch, her cheek warm in his hand and her eyes remaining shut as his words and voice soothed her soul in comfort.
"Emilios..." Her voice never left her mouth but her lips formed the name, the way in which they moulded around the word half brushing against the palm of his hand and setting them tingle with the familiarity of his kiss.
Lost to his touch, it was only when Emilios took his hand away, when he turned to shoo away an interloper upon their moment together that Theodora's eyes snapped open and all of those self-punishments and logical arguments of stupidity came pouring into her mind.
As if the hazy spell cast upon them by Aphrodite had lifted with the arrival of an ill-timed servant girl, Theodora's shoulders shook and her head came up, looking away and towards the wall so that her tears would not be obvious to the new arrival within the room. She felt her tension rise and her self-anger grow when Emilios stepped in to shield her from view - for how was she to refuse feelings for a man that protected her so? - and took the opportunity to scrub at her face with the palms and then backs of her hand.
When the man ordered the servant away to find a healer to ensure that Theodora's foot was seen to, she could not resist in retracting the order. Her shame had her insisting that no fuss was made of this moment in Emilios' study. She did not wish for news of her visit to this particular room and the events that had happened within it to be brought to anyone's attention more than they already had.
"No." She murmured, in a calm voice that she used her courtly training to ensure was devoid of the heightened emotions that had borne down on the both of them like a heavy desirous fog only moments ago. "No, I am perfectly fine Lord Mikaelidas." She said, keeping her tone tranquil and her use of names formal. In the efforts to prove it, she rose to her feet, suppressing a wince as to her stubbed toe and twisted ankle.
"I shall return to the royal palati and be attended to there." She said, with a resolve that was not to be argued with when they had an audience.
Walking in a manner that was slow - so as not to trip again - but determined, Theodora dismissed the servant from her view and refused to stare down her accusations. For, to show her tearful eyes more clearly would only lead to further whispers. Better to allow her to assume that they were from pain of injury rather than pain of heart.
Not knowing what else to say that would not risk further exposure of the interaction between her and her lost love, Theodora headed for the door of the chamber quickly, skirting around the servant before she could put into action Emilios' orders and simply paused in the doorway, unable to resist a look back towards the new Head of the House of Mikaelidas. Her chin rose and her lips parted as if she were to say something salient and regal. And yet words failed her, her eyes turned tender, vulnerable and then she turned and left the room and its occupants behind...
In her state of weakness, drawn to her lowest moment of self-control by the force of tears and the rising mastery of emotion, Theo could do nothing to resist the physical need to lean into Emilios' touch. He stroked back her hair, cupped her cheeks so as to brush away the tears that had escaped below her lashes and held her in a touch that was so very real compared to that of her husband.
Achilleas was everything a husband and lover should be, but the newness of their physical relationship had him touching her with a gentility and softness that spoke of her delicacy as a woman. It was tempting and sweet and considerate of him to handle her as if she were fragile and to treat her with such respect and honour. She had no complaints with the way in which her husband chose to love her.
But Emilios and she had been intimate for far longer. He touched her, held her, as if he had every familiarity and right to do so. His palm was not harsh but neither was it gentle. It was secure and determined and unafraid of what she would and would not like. He touched her, not as a delicate vase or beautiful wife, but as a person and being that he knew to the depths of his heart. As she had felt she once knew him.
In later moments, when she was alone, she would regret the touch. She would chastise herself for not pushing away her brother-in-law's hands, in not determining that he was not to break the boundaries of personal space between them with such casualness. She would taunt herself with the stupidity of allowing him to behave inappropriately and plant new memories in her mind that only served to dredge up the old and bring them to the forefront of her mind.
But, for now, when she had no such strength or logic on her side, Theo leant into his touch, her cheek warm in his hand and her eyes remaining shut as his words and voice soothed her soul in comfort.
"Emilios..." Her voice never left her mouth but her lips formed the name, the way in which they moulded around the word half brushing against the palm of his hand and setting them tingle with the familiarity of his kiss.
Lost to his touch, it was only when Emilios took his hand away, when he turned to shoo away an interloper upon their moment together that Theodora's eyes snapped open and all of those self-punishments and logical arguments of stupidity came pouring into her mind.
As if the hazy spell cast upon them by Aphrodite had lifted with the arrival of an ill-timed servant girl, Theodora's shoulders shook and her head came up, looking away and towards the wall so that her tears would not be obvious to the new arrival within the room. She felt her tension rise and her self-anger grow when Emilios stepped in to shield her from view - for how was she to refuse feelings for a man that protected her so? - and took the opportunity to scrub at her face with the palms and then backs of her hand.
When the man ordered the servant away to find a healer to ensure that Theodora's foot was seen to, she could not resist in retracting the order. Her shame had her insisting that no fuss was made of this moment in Emilios' study. She did not wish for news of her visit to this particular room and the events that had happened within it to be brought to anyone's attention more than they already had.
"No." She murmured, in a calm voice that she used her courtly training to ensure was devoid of the heightened emotions that had borne down on the both of them like a heavy desirous fog only moments ago. "No, I am perfectly fine Lord Mikaelidas." She said, keeping her tone tranquil and her use of names formal. In the efforts to prove it, she rose to her feet, suppressing a wince as to her stubbed toe and twisted ankle.
"I shall return to the royal palati and be attended to there." She said, with a resolve that was not to be argued with when they had an audience.
Walking in a manner that was slow - so as not to trip again - but determined, Theodora dismissed the servant from her view and refused to stare down her accusations. For, to show her tearful eyes more clearly would only lead to further whispers. Better to allow her to assume that they were from pain of injury rather than pain of heart.
Not knowing what else to say that would not risk further exposure of the interaction between her and her lost love, Theodora headed for the door of the chamber quickly, skirting around the servant before she could put into action Emilios' orders and simply paused in the doorway, unable to resist a look back towards the new Head of the House of Mikaelidas. Her chin rose and her lips parted as if she were to say something salient and regal. And yet words failed her, her eyes turned tender, vulnerable and then she turned and left the room and its occupants behind...
Their words were neutral - of course they were. Unlike the former owner of this manor, Emilios was in no way familiar with the household help yet, with how little time he spent in the confines of his family home. And such was the case, or even more so for the new lady Theodora of Mikaelidas, who definitely had never spent any prolonged period of time within these walls. Zenais had practically expected the brusque, curt manner in which she was ignored - but she was not trained for nothing.
Her enchantingly blue eyes were as beautiful as they were sharp, and quick to pick up the way in which the lord of Mikaelidas and new Head of House was protective, maybe a little too protective of someone who was supposed to be his sister in law. What was this familiarity she saw between them, if she was married to his elder brother instead?
Submissively, Zenais nodded as the lord issued his instructions, to find the new Queen a healer first. But the lady was quick to intercept instead, and Zenais found herself further watching and storing away minute information regarding the interaction of the two as she watched - the lady had looked away. Was she hiding something? She had briefly caught the way in which Emilios had brushed the cheek of the newly crowned Queen. What happened with these two, that was obviously not so simple as a relationship of new sister in law and brother?
Not in a position to question however, the brunete simply nodded hesitantly when Theodora countered Emilios's instructions with her own, and silently watched as she left the room. Silence lingered for a moment - but Zenais was not so dumb to leave. She had watched out of the corner of her eye, the way Theodora lingered as she looked back. Clearly something brewed between the two that the new king did not know of... or at least, Zenais imagined he didn't. But just because the lady left, did not mean she should.
Cleaning a room would offer someone much chance, afterall.
Instead, she turned to the lord again, and did a small curtsy before allowing her eyes to meet his, a stroke of confidence no regular maid would have before she asked. "I shall empty out the posessions of the late King Irakles, my lord. Anything of import I should take note of in case?" Her tone was bright, a small smile playing on her lips as she offered the picture of friendliness. She was going to prove her worth to the lady Eirini, if only to prove she had been worthwhile in keeping.
Besides, the lord wasn't bad to look at.
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Their words were neutral - of course they were. Unlike the former owner of this manor, Emilios was in no way familiar with the household help yet, with how little time he spent in the confines of his family home. And such was the case, or even more so for the new lady Theodora of Mikaelidas, who definitely had never spent any prolonged period of time within these walls. Zenais had practically expected the brusque, curt manner in which she was ignored - but she was not trained for nothing.
Her enchantingly blue eyes were as beautiful as they were sharp, and quick to pick up the way in which the lord of Mikaelidas and new Head of House was protective, maybe a little too protective of someone who was supposed to be his sister in law. What was this familiarity she saw between them, if she was married to his elder brother instead?
Submissively, Zenais nodded as the lord issued his instructions, to find the new Queen a healer first. But the lady was quick to intercept instead, and Zenais found herself further watching and storing away minute information regarding the interaction of the two as she watched - the lady had looked away. Was she hiding something? She had briefly caught the way in which Emilios had brushed the cheek of the newly crowned Queen. What happened with these two, that was obviously not so simple as a relationship of new sister in law and brother?
Not in a position to question however, the brunete simply nodded hesitantly when Theodora countered Emilios's instructions with her own, and silently watched as she left the room. Silence lingered for a moment - but Zenais was not so dumb to leave. She had watched out of the corner of her eye, the way Theodora lingered as she looked back. Clearly something brewed between the two that the new king did not know of... or at least, Zenais imagined he didn't. But just because the lady left, did not mean she should.
Cleaning a room would offer someone much chance, afterall.
Instead, she turned to the lord again, and did a small curtsy before allowing her eyes to meet his, a stroke of confidence no regular maid would have before she asked. "I shall empty out the posessions of the late King Irakles, my lord. Anything of import I should take note of in case?" Her tone was bright, a small smile playing on her lips as she offered the picture of friendliness. She was going to prove her worth to the lady Eirini, if only to prove she had been worthwhile in keeping.
Besides, the lord wasn't bad to look at.
Their words were neutral - of course they were. Unlike the former owner of this manor, Emilios was in no way familiar with the household help yet, with how little time he spent in the confines of his family home. And such was the case, or even more so for the new lady Theodora of Mikaelidas, who definitely had never spent any prolonged period of time within these walls. Zenais had practically expected the brusque, curt manner in which she was ignored - but she was not trained for nothing.
Her enchantingly blue eyes were as beautiful as they were sharp, and quick to pick up the way in which the lord of Mikaelidas and new Head of House was protective, maybe a little too protective of someone who was supposed to be his sister in law. What was this familiarity she saw between them, if she was married to his elder brother instead?
Submissively, Zenais nodded as the lord issued his instructions, to find the new Queen a healer first. But the lady was quick to intercept instead, and Zenais found herself further watching and storing away minute information regarding the interaction of the two as she watched - the lady had looked away. Was she hiding something? She had briefly caught the way in which Emilios had brushed the cheek of the newly crowned Queen. What happened with these two, that was obviously not so simple as a relationship of new sister in law and brother?
Not in a position to question however, the brunete simply nodded hesitantly when Theodora countered Emilios's instructions with her own, and silently watched as she left the room. Silence lingered for a moment - but Zenais was not so dumb to leave. She had watched out of the corner of her eye, the way Theodora lingered as she looked back. Clearly something brewed between the two that the new king did not know of... or at least, Zenais imagined he didn't. But just because the lady left, did not mean she should.
Cleaning a room would offer someone much chance, afterall.
Instead, she turned to the lord again, and did a small curtsy before allowing her eyes to meet his, a stroke of confidence no regular maid would have before she asked. "I shall empty out the posessions of the late King Irakles, my lord. Anything of import I should take note of in case?" Her tone was bright, a small smile playing on her lips as she offered the picture of friendliness. She was going to prove her worth to the lady Eirini, if only to prove she had been worthwhile in keeping.
Besides, the lord wasn't bad to look at.
It took every ounce of his strength not to stop her, not to take a bit of personal hurt at the formal way she had addressed him. But this was not the time, nor the place. With an audience in tow and no clue to her allegiance, Emilios couldn’t risk further tongues wagging. They needed a united front, especially with the whispers of discontent around the kingdom. Who knew what would come of this, but he needed to do his best to clean up the mess he had made.
Both literally and figuratively.
His focus was on Theo and the maid, eyes bouncing between the two to gauge just how much she suspected. The way her eyes lingered on the Queen, quiet suspicion behind them, did nothing to ease his mind. If anyone suspected anything between them hell would be paid. And since learning of the engagement, he had been nothing but loyal and faithful to his brother. The time they’d shared after their reunion was not betrayal on his end-- he was unaware of the arrangement until after. He had been wronged then, but it was impossible for him to stay mad at her.
Love like that meant forgiveness, right?
With the maid’s back turned to him, Theo looking directly at him, he couldn’t help but wink at her as she retreated. By the time the maid focused back on him, he was giving a proper bow to her leave. If the maid wished to make it more than it was, then there was little that could be done with that. He had come to terms with the gossip that followed his every move a long time ago. Boredom often brewed gossip, and his looks and availability made it inevitable. Still, he would have to ensure that little gossip formed over the relationship with Theo.
He would not risk her reputation, even if the blackmail from Fotios hung over his head.
Once she was out of sight, his eyes focused back on the pretty maid who seemed eager to make herself useful. There would have been a time where he would have allowed himself to flirt with her, to attempt seduction as a distraction from his own sorrows. But as much as he desired some sort of release, Emilios would wait. There was far too much for him to do, with the wreckage in front of him. But he was human, and his gaze did trail the length of her body. Perhaps he would be able to make her think him interested, to take away any potential concern that the brother may be falling for the sister in law.
”Any of his writings should be left on the bedside table for me.” He said, knowing that was his first concern. If there was evidence of Stephanos’s innocence, he wanted it found. In his heart of hearts, he knew his cousin had not done as he was accused, but they needed proof. ”In fact, gather it all for me to see. I will sort through it myself.” He didn’t want anything missed by a servant who couldn’t read. And, because he was feeling petty, he wanted to make sure that any of Meena’s jewels went to his mother.
”That is all” He said, turning his back to her to begin picking up the heart-shaped wreckage that covered the room.
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It took every ounce of his strength not to stop her, not to take a bit of personal hurt at the formal way she had addressed him. But this was not the time, nor the place. With an audience in tow and no clue to her allegiance, Emilios couldn’t risk further tongues wagging. They needed a united front, especially with the whispers of discontent around the kingdom. Who knew what would come of this, but he needed to do his best to clean up the mess he had made.
Both literally and figuratively.
His focus was on Theo and the maid, eyes bouncing between the two to gauge just how much she suspected. The way her eyes lingered on the Queen, quiet suspicion behind them, did nothing to ease his mind. If anyone suspected anything between them hell would be paid. And since learning of the engagement, he had been nothing but loyal and faithful to his brother. The time they’d shared after their reunion was not betrayal on his end-- he was unaware of the arrangement until after. He had been wronged then, but it was impossible for him to stay mad at her.
Love like that meant forgiveness, right?
With the maid’s back turned to him, Theo looking directly at him, he couldn’t help but wink at her as she retreated. By the time the maid focused back on him, he was giving a proper bow to her leave. If the maid wished to make it more than it was, then there was little that could be done with that. He had come to terms with the gossip that followed his every move a long time ago. Boredom often brewed gossip, and his looks and availability made it inevitable. Still, he would have to ensure that little gossip formed over the relationship with Theo.
He would not risk her reputation, even if the blackmail from Fotios hung over his head.
Once she was out of sight, his eyes focused back on the pretty maid who seemed eager to make herself useful. There would have been a time where he would have allowed himself to flirt with her, to attempt seduction as a distraction from his own sorrows. But as much as he desired some sort of release, Emilios would wait. There was far too much for him to do, with the wreckage in front of him. But he was human, and his gaze did trail the length of her body. Perhaps he would be able to make her think him interested, to take away any potential concern that the brother may be falling for the sister in law.
”Any of his writings should be left on the bedside table for me.” He said, knowing that was his first concern. If there was evidence of Stephanos’s innocence, he wanted it found. In his heart of hearts, he knew his cousin had not done as he was accused, but they needed proof. ”In fact, gather it all for me to see. I will sort through it myself.” He didn’t want anything missed by a servant who couldn’t read. And, because he was feeling petty, he wanted to make sure that any of Meena’s jewels went to his mother.
”That is all” He said, turning his back to her to begin picking up the heart-shaped wreckage that covered the room.
It took every ounce of his strength not to stop her, not to take a bit of personal hurt at the formal way she had addressed him. But this was not the time, nor the place. With an audience in tow and no clue to her allegiance, Emilios couldn’t risk further tongues wagging. They needed a united front, especially with the whispers of discontent around the kingdom. Who knew what would come of this, but he needed to do his best to clean up the mess he had made.
Both literally and figuratively.
His focus was on Theo and the maid, eyes bouncing between the two to gauge just how much she suspected. The way her eyes lingered on the Queen, quiet suspicion behind them, did nothing to ease his mind. If anyone suspected anything between them hell would be paid. And since learning of the engagement, he had been nothing but loyal and faithful to his brother. The time they’d shared after their reunion was not betrayal on his end-- he was unaware of the arrangement until after. He had been wronged then, but it was impossible for him to stay mad at her.
Love like that meant forgiveness, right?
With the maid’s back turned to him, Theo looking directly at him, he couldn’t help but wink at her as she retreated. By the time the maid focused back on him, he was giving a proper bow to her leave. If the maid wished to make it more than it was, then there was little that could be done with that. He had come to terms with the gossip that followed his every move a long time ago. Boredom often brewed gossip, and his looks and availability made it inevitable. Still, he would have to ensure that little gossip formed over the relationship with Theo.
He would not risk her reputation, even if the blackmail from Fotios hung over his head.
Once she was out of sight, his eyes focused back on the pretty maid who seemed eager to make herself useful. There would have been a time where he would have allowed himself to flirt with her, to attempt seduction as a distraction from his own sorrows. But as much as he desired some sort of release, Emilios would wait. There was far too much for him to do, with the wreckage in front of him. But he was human, and his gaze did trail the length of her body. Perhaps he would be able to make her think him interested, to take away any potential concern that the brother may be falling for the sister in law.
”Any of his writings should be left on the bedside table for me.” He said, knowing that was his first concern. If there was evidence of Stephanos’s innocence, he wanted it found. In his heart of hearts, he knew his cousin had not done as he was accused, but they needed proof. ”In fact, gather it all for me to see. I will sort through it myself.” He didn’t want anything missed by a servant who couldn’t read. And, because he was feeling petty, he wanted to make sure that any of Meena’s jewels went to his mother.
”That is all” He said, turning his back to her to begin picking up the heart-shaped wreckage that covered the room.
She cocked her head, allowing her honeyed hair to flow over her shoulders. It was rare for a maid to allow their hair free, as it would usually get in the way of proper work being done. But such was not the case when it came to the maids working for Lady Eirini of Leventi. Other then just being regular lady's maids and helping their mistress dress up and follow her around, the maids working for Lady Eirini were also meant to be her eyes and ears, and their mistress knew firsthand how well a pretty face loosened someone's tongue and lowered the guard. It was partially why she had chosen Zenais to come and work for her afterall.
The brunette could feel his eyes trailing her body. It was a sensation she was familiar with, for she had been highly sought after in the tavern she worked for. Many had asked for her body, but it was a line Zenais staunchly refused to cross - at least then. Now, she wasn't so sure she would say no should her mistress suggest such a thing.
Not that they've actually went that far in terms of discussion of course, but Zenais had occasionally thought of it, and in the face of a newly crowned prince who was also formerly rumoured to be quite a philanderer on par with his own cousin, she couldn't help but think of the same thing yet again. The girl met his gaze head on as it trailed back to her cerulean depths, but gave no way to her mind's musings.
Instead, she merely nodded firmly, a look of determination and attentiveness as she listened to his instructions. "I shall make sure they are sent to you personally, my Prince." she murmured, doing the appropriate curtsy as he left the room. In turn, Zenais turned to begin sorting through what was left of the dead King's belongings, all while ensuring to keep a sharp eye on anything that may be of import and of interest to her mistress. She would pack it up and find out where the quarters of Prince Emilios was later - but that was a plan for later.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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She cocked her head, allowing her honeyed hair to flow over her shoulders. It was rare for a maid to allow their hair free, as it would usually get in the way of proper work being done. But such was not the case when it came to the maids working for Lady Eirini of Leventi. Other then just being regular lady's maids and helping their mistress dress up and follow her around, the maids working for Lady Eirini were also meant to be her eyes and ears, and their mistress knew firsthand how well a pretty face loosened someone's tongue and lowered the guard. It was partially why she had chosen Zenais to come and work for her afterall.
The brunette could feel his eyes trailing her body. It was a sensation she was familiar with, for she had been highly sought after in the tavern she worked for. Many had asked for her body, but it was a line Zenais staunchly refused to cross - at least then. Now, she wasn't so sure she would say no should her mistress suggest such a thing.
Not that they've actually went that far in terms of discussion of course, but Zenais had occasionally thought of it, and in the face of a newly crowned prince who was also formerly rumoured to be quite a philanderer on par with his own cousin, she couldn't help but think of the same thing yet again. The girl met his gaze head on as it trailed back to her cerulean depths, but gave no way to her mind's musings.
Instead, she merely nodded firmly, a look of determination and attentiveness as she listened to his instructions. "I shall make sure they are sent to you personally, my Prince." she murmured, doing the appropriate curtsy as he left the room. In turn, Zenais turned to begin sorting through what was left of the dead King's belongings, all while ensuring to keep a sharp eye on anything that may be of import and of interest to her mistress. She would pack it up and find out where the quarters of Prince Emilios was later - but that was a plan for later.
She cocked her head, allowing her honeyed hair to flow over her shoulders. It was rare for a maid to allow their hair free, as it would usually get in the way of proper work being done. But such was not the case when it came to the maids working for Lady Eirini of Leventi. Other then just being regular lady's maids and helping their mistress dress up and follow her around, the maids working for Lady Eirini were also meant to be her eyes and ears, and their mistress knew firsthand how well a pretty face loosened someone's tongue and lowered the guard. It was partially why she had chosen Zenais to come and work for her afterall.
The brunette could feel his eyes trailing her body. It was a sensation she was familiar with, for she had been highly sought after in the tavern she worked for. Many had asked for her body, but it was a line Zenais staunchly refused to cross - at least then. Now, she wasn't so sure she would say no should her mistress suggest such a thing.
Not that they've actually went that far in terms of discussion of course, but Zenais had occasionally thought of it, and in the face of a newly crowned prince who was also formerly rumoured to be quite a philanderer on par with his own cousin, she couldn't help but think of the same thing yet again. The girl met his gaze head on as it trailed back to her cerulean depths, but gave no way to her mind's musings.
Instead, she merely nodded firmly, a look of determination and attentiveness as she listened to his instructions. "I shall make sure they are sent to you personally, my Prince." she murmured, doing the appropriate curtsy as he left the room. In turn, Zenais turned to begin sorting through what was left of the dead King's belongings, all while ensuring to keep a sharp eye on anything that may be of import and of interest to her mistress. She would pack it up and find out where the quarters of Prince Emilios was later - but that was a plan for later.