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Calliope felt the shiver that the Fates send coursing through her lithe frame, the looming fear of an obedient girl seeking solace from the ever-present threat upon her body by a power she could not defy. Calliope of Aetaea was not born or raised a slave, and she bore no chains that showed that status to anyone. But, Calliope was enslaved nonetheless. The shiver grew as she felt the very real fingers pull away from her throat, the heated lips pull away from hers and tongues that unwound from one another. She'd learned not to cry, for Alector of Athenia relished in her tears. No, she kept herself pliant in his caresses until he pulled away. It was early morning in Athenia, and Alector was ready to leave for the Merchant Stores. He had business to conduct all day, but there was a need for Calliope to come with her. The slaves, three in number, were to tend to the house, lavish it with the adornments that befitted the position Alector found himself in.
Wealth and prestige had come to Alector in force since the two had married, his business growing larger and larger, and he was eager to show off to his wife. Not to convince her of his worth, or to assure her that their lives together would be comfortable. No, Alector of Athenia sought to boast, to wave his wealth at his slave-wife, to laud her beauty to the patronage that visited him. Calliope of Aetaea did not consider herself beautiful, but she also would not and could not fight the logic of his invitation. She absconded with her husband, her arm wrapped into his by his command as they stole away into the heart of the merchant core of Athenia. A deep breath pulled into Calliope's lungs and the beautiful bride made conversation, smiling and chattering with their guests until it was time for business to be done. She was dismissed with no signs of affection to accompany her departure.
Calliope did not need his affections. Already, deep within her mind she'd decided to leave him, plotting her escape from Athenia and the twisted hands of a man who did not deserve her. But, it was not yet the time. She allowed the thoughts of her escape to dwindle away, for such fantasies did not have room to be coddled in the event that they did not succeed.
And so, Calliope of Aetaea was alone. She had her freedom, for a time, and stole away with an eagerness that did not extend to her step. She carried herself with some semblance of dignity, her head bowed low but her gait slow, her hips shifting within her chiton with every step. The blue-dyed fabric was cut just below her knees, billowing at its opening in the faint breeze that tore through the merchant stores. And for once, she allowed herself to relish in it all. Her eyes fell shut as the wind soothed at the heated flesh of her back, slipping beneath her chiton in a cool embrace that brought a swell of affection within her chest. Calliope of Aetaea did not relish being in Athenia. It was her prison, but when she was alone there was an opportunity for her heart to be set at ease. Upon her dyed blue chiton, swollen with the native white of the linens in a portrayal of the daytime sky, were lavish adornments. Sapphires encrusted the hem of the garment, and a stark white sash kept the ensemble smoothly bound to her flesh.
Calliope's feet were masked by thick leather sandals, the material dark as night and seldom used. It'd look to whomever took the time to see them that she hardly ever wore them. For Calliope was a prisoner, bound within her home except for when her husband demanded her presence elsewhere; it was a cruel reality that stung her more than the lash of his tongue or the crash of his palm upon her ever could. The one adventurous Calliope, a huntress tamed into a slave, was lost in the tide of domination. The woman, however, carried herself with the subtle sway of her hips in her every step, her gait steadily gaining in pace as she moved farther and farther away from her husband. She allowed her gaze to fall upon the fabrics of a humble merchant, a small smile growing upon her lips as she admired not merely with her eyes, but her hands. She fondled the fabric, seeking out imperfections that did not exist.
However, Calliope remained silent. She did not address the merchant even as he welcomed her, at least verbally. She offered the curve of her lips to him, and to her, that was enough.
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The world is a cold place.
Calliope felt the shiver that the Fates send coursing through her lithe frame, the looming fear of an obedient girl seeking solace from the ever-present threat upon her body by a power she could not defy. Calliope of Aetaea was not born or raised a slave, and she bore no chains that showed that status to anyone. But, Calliope was enslaved nonetheless. The shiver grew as she felt the very real fingers pull away from her throat, the heated lips pull away from hers and tongues that unwound from one another. She'd learned not to cry, for Alector of Athenia relished in her tears. No, she kept herself pliant in his caresses until he pulled away. It was early morning in Athenia, and Alector was ready to leave for the Merchant Stores. He had business to conduct all day, but there was a need for Calliope to come with her. The slaves, three in number, were to tend to the house, lavish it with the adornments that befitted the position Alector found himself in.
Wealth and prestige had come to Alector in force since the two had married, his business growing larger and larger, and he was eager to show off to his wife. Not to convince her of his worth, or to assure her that their lives together would be comfortable. No, Alector of Athenia sought to boast, to wave his wealth at his slave-wife, to laud her beauty to the patronage that visited him. Calliope of Aetaea did not consider herself beautiful, but she also would not and could not fight the logic of his invitation. She absconded with her husband, her arm wrapped into his by his command as they stole away into the heart of the merchant core of Athenia. A deep breath pulled into Calliope's lungs and the beautiful bride made conversation, smiling and chattering with their guests until it was time for business to be done. She was dismissed with no signs of affection to accompany her departure.
Calliope did not need his affections. Already, deep within her mind she'd decided to leave him, plotting her escape from Athenia and the twisted hands of a man who did not deserve her. But, it was not yet the time. She allowed the thoughts of her escape to dwindle away, for such fantasies did not have room to be coddled in the event that they did not succeed.
And so, Calliope of Aetaea was alone. She had her freedom, for a time, and stole away with an eagerness that did not extend to her step. She carried herself with some semblance of dignity, her head bowed low but her gait slow, her hips shifting within her chiton with every step. The blue-dyed fabric was cut just below her knees, billowing at its opening in the faint breeze that tore through the merchant stores. And for once, she allowed herself to relish in it all. Her eyes fell shut as the wind soothed at the heated flesh of her back, slipping beneath her chiton in a cool embrace that brought a swell of affection within her chest. Calliope of Aetaea did not relish being in Athenia. It was her prison, but when she was alone there was an opportunity for her heart to be set at ease. Upon her dyed blue chiton, swollen with the native white of the linens in a portrayal of the daytime sky, were lavish adornments. Sapphires encrusted the hem of the garment, and a stark white sash kept the ensemble smoothly bound to her flesh.
Calliope's feet were masked by thick leather sandals, the material dark as night and seldom used. It'd look to whomever took the time to see them that she hardly ever wore them. For Calliope was a prisoner, bound within her home except for when her husband demanded her presence elsewhere; it was a cruel reality that stung her more than the lash of his tongue or the crash of his palm upon her ever could. The one adventurous Calliope, a huntress tamed into a slave, was lost in the tide of domination. The woman, however, carried herself with the subtle sway of her hips in her every step, her gait steadily gaining in pace as she moved farther and farther away from her husband. She allowed her gaze to fall upon the fabrics of a humble merchant, a small smile growing upon her lips as she admired not merely with her eyes, but her hands. She fondled the fabric, seeking out imperfections that did not exist.
However, Calliope remained silent. She did not address the merchant even as he welcomed her, at least verbally. She offered the curve of her lips to him, and to her, that was enough.
The world is a cold place.
Calliope felt the shiver that the Fates send coursing through her lithe frame, the looming fear of an obedient girl seeking solace from the ever-present threat upon her body by a power she could not defy. Calliope of Aetaea was not born or raised a slave, and she bore no chains that showed that status to anyone. But, Calliope was enslaved nonetheless. The shiver grew as she felt the very real fingers pull away from her throat, the heated lips pull away from hers and tongues that unwound from one another. She'd learned not to cry, for Alector of Athenia relished in her tears. No, she kept herself pliant in his caresses until he pulled away. It was early morning in Athenia, and Alector was ready to leave for the Merchant Stores. He had business to conduct all day, but there was a need for Calliope to come with her. The slaves, three in number, were to tend to the house, lavish it with the adornments that befitted the position Alector found himself in.
Wealth and prestige had come to Alector in force since the two had married, his business growing larger and larger, and he was eager to show off to his wife. Not to convince her of his worth, or to assure her that their lives together would be comfortable. No, Alector of Athenia sought to boast, to wave his wealth at his slave-wife, to laud her beauty to the patronage that visited him. Calliope of Aetaea did not consider herself beautiful, but she also would not and could not fight the logic of his invitation. She absconded with her husband, her arm wrapped into his by his command as they stole away into the heart of the merchant core of Athenia. A deep breath pulled into Calliope's lungs and the beautiful bride made conversation, smiling and chattering with their guests until it was time for business to be done. She was dismissed with no signs of affection to accompany her departure.
Calliope did not need his affections. Already, deep within her mind she'd decided to leave him, plotting her escape from Athenia and the twisted hands of a man who did not deserve her. But, it was not yet the time. She allowed the thoughts of her escape to dwindle away, for such fantasies did not have room to be coddled in the event that they did not succeed.
And so, Calliope of Aetaea was alone. She had her freedom, for a time, and stole away with an eagerness that did not extend to her step. She carried herself with some semblance of dignity, her head bowed low but her gait slow, her hips shifting within her chiton with every step. The blue-dyed fabric was cut just below her knees, billowing at its opening in the faint breeze that tore through the merchant stores. And for once, she allowed herself to relish in it all. Her eyes fell shut as the wind soothed at the heated flesh of her back, slipping beneath her chiton in a cool embrace that brought a swell of affection within her chest. Calliope of Aetaea did not relish being in Athenia. It was her prison, but when she was alone there was an opportunity for her heart to be set at ease. Upon her dyed blue chiton, swollen with the native white of the linens in a portrayal of the daytime sky, were lavish adornments. Sapphires encrusted the hem of the garment, and a stark white sash kept the ensemble smoothly bound to her flesh.
Calliope's feet were masked by thick leather sandals, the material dark as night and seldom used. It'd look to whomever took the time to see them that she hardly ever wore them. For Calliope was a prisoner, bound within her home except for when her husband demanded her presence elsewhere; it was a cruel reality that stung her more than the lash of his tongue or the crash of his palm upon her ever could. The one adventurous Calliope, a huntress tamed into a slave, was lost in the tide of domination. The woman, however, carried herself with the subtle sway of her hips in her every step, her gait steadily gaining in pace as she moved farther and farther away from her husband. She allowed her gaze to fall upon the fabrics of a humble merchant, a small smile growing upon her lips as she admired not merely with her eyes, but her hands. She fondled the fabric, seeking out imperfections that did not exist.
However, Calliope remained silent. She did not address the merchant even as he welcomed her, at least verbally. She offered the curve of her lips to him, and to her, that was enough.
At eighteen, some might have thought Rafail of Marikas would find his life overflowing with responsibility. To an extent, this was the truth. It wasn't a straightforward matter to be a baron without having to expel some degree of effort on the practice, and he was long past an age where others could be appointed to maintain the province in his name (though, in truth, this tended to prove much more efficient than forcing himself to pay attention to every tiny detail of the farming province). Thus, even in the brief periods during which he found himself away from Thesnia and back in his family home, those duties appeared to have no end. Papa would tirelessly question his second son about the place, about his politics and policies, as if he did not already know every little event that transpired, and there still seemed endless skills which Rafail was forced to study and perfect. Any chance for respite - not to mention to tend to his traditionally selfish interests - was a long-awaited one.
This day, finally freed from the tedium of his family matters, Rafail had opted to make a visit to the market, one of his favoured activities. It was a doubly enjoyable hobby: not only did it provide countless shopping opportunities, but there were typically myriad young ladies from all walks of life browsing the stalls just as he did, and the young Marikas had learned a long while ago now that women were his favourite hobby. Perhaps it was due to his having it so delightfully easy with the fairer sex, for they were typically and efficiently attracted to his superior looks and high-ranking titles, but there was a certain appeal to approaching a woman and engaging her in overly charming conversation that sometimes (though not often) proved more entertaining than sex itself.
As yet, no one had caught the steely-blue gaze of the blonde lord - at least, not so significantly that he felt any desire to approach them - and he wandered almost aimlessly through the crowds, pausing every so often to glance at the wares of some unnecessarily obsequious merchant or another. There were certain vendors for which he held particular favour, and Rafail directed himself towards one of them, intending to run that disdainful gaze over the man's selection of fabrics until something struck his fancy enough that he thought it would make a beautiful chiton. It was strange, in truth, that he favoured this stall so, for the owner was a humble man of the kind which did not usually draw Rafail's attention, and his wares did not scream of quality, though, in truth, they were far finer than most things which could be found in the market, which held the opposite problem: excellent appearance yet lacking craftsmanship.
He smiled at the man in a manner which implied relative familiarity, the gesture kinder than his usual contemptuous gaze, though the arrogance still glinted unyieldingly in his eyes, as if it were impossible to cover up entirely. A hand drifted absentmindedly over the selection of fabrics, caressing the smoothness of the silks as he considered the effect of each colour on his skin, though he knew full well that he still favoured those richer crimsons and golds of his mother's and cousins' house. They bore a certain regal quality which suited Rafail, harkening back to those Marikas days on the throne which he had never known but enjoyed imagining, and enticed women with a fantastic display of wealth.
His fingers dragged over a new curve of the silk, attention utterly elsewhere, but they met not with the softness of further fabric, but the warmth of another hand, and when he raised his gaze, his eyes fell upon the kind of beauty for which he had longed all day. It was the type of meeting which only imagined in girlish fantasies, and had he been interested in women's thoughts then Rafail might have wondered if she had often dreamed of such a chance encounter herself, but for now, he was only pleased that such an opportunity for conversation had arisen without the immediate need for his inherent charms.
"My sincere apologies, my Lady," he exclaimed, as if thoroughly concerned by the way their hands had come together, drawing his fingers apart from hers with apparent yet endearing panic. "I did not mean to intrude upon your space in such a manner." He smiled in that so-sweet way he could feign, holding out his hand in a more formal manner, the intention to take her own and lay a greeting kiss upon it evident. "Lord Rafail of Marikas. An absolute pleasure to make your beautiful acquaintance."
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At eighteen, some might have thought Rafail of Marikas would find his life overflowing with responsibility. To an extent, this was the truth. It wasn't a straightforward matter to be a baron without having to expel some degree of effort on the practice, and he was long past an age where others could be appointed to maintain the province in his name (though, in truth, this tended to prove much more efficient than forcing himself to pay attention to every tiny detail of the farming province). Thus, even in the brief periods during which he found himself away from Thesnia and back in his family home, those duties appeared to have no end. Papa would tirelessly question his second son about the place, about his politics and policies, as if he did not already know every little event that transpired, and there still seemed endless skills which Rafail was forced to study and perfect. Any chance for respite - not to mention to tend to his traditionally selfish interests - was a long-awaited one.
This day, finally freed from the tedium of his family matters, Rafail had opted to make a visit to the market, one of his favoured activities. It was a doubly enjoyable hobby: not only did it provide countless shopping opportunities, but there were typically myriad young ladies from all walks of life browsing the stalls just as he did, and the young Marikas had learned a long while ago now that women were his favourite hobby. Perhaps it was due to his having it so delightfully easy with the fairer sex, for they were typically and efficiently attracted to his superior looks and high-ranking titles, but there was a certain appeal to approaching a woman and engaging her in overly charming conversation that sometimes (though not often) proved more entertaining than sex itself.
As yet, no one had caught the steely-blue gaze of the blonde lord - at least, not so significantly that he felt any desire to approach them - and he wandered almost aimlessly through the crowds, pausing every so often to glance at the wares of some unnecessarily obsequious merchant or another. There were certain vendors for which he held particular favour, and Rafail directed himself towards one of them, intending to run that disdainful gaze over the man's selection of fabrics until something struck his fancy enough that he thought it would make a beautiful chiton. It was strange, in truth, that he favoured this stall so, for the owner was a humble man of the kind which did not usually draw Rafail's attention, and his wares did not scream of quality, though, in truth, they were far finer than most things which could be found in the market, which held the opposite problem: excellent appearance yet lacking craftsmanship.
He smiled at the man in a manner which implied relative familiarity, the gesture kinder than his usual contemptuous gaze, though the arrogance still glinted unyieldingly in his eyes, as if it were impossible to cover up entirely. A hand drifted absentmindedly over the selection of fabrics, caressing the smoothness of the silks as he considered the effect of each colour on his skin, though he knew full well that he still favoured those richer crimsons and golds of his mother's and cousins' house. They bore a certain regal quality which suited Rafail, harkening back to those Marikas days on the throne which he had never known but enjoyed imagining, and enticed women with a fantastic display of wealth.
His fingers dragged over a new curve of the silk, attention utterly elsewhere, but they met not with the softness of further fabric, but the warmth of another hand, and when he raised his gaze, his eyes fell upon the kind of beauty for which he had longed all day. It was the type of meeting which only imagined in girlish fantasies, and had he been interested in women's thoughts then Rafail might have wondered if she had often dreamed of such a chance encounter herself, but for now, he was only pleased that such an opportunity for conversation had arisen without the immediate need for his inherent charms.
"My sincere apologies, my Lady," he exclaimed, as if thoroughly concerned by the way their hands had come together, drawing his fingers apart from hers with apparent yet endearing panic. "I did not mean to intrude upon your space in such a manner." He smiled in that so-sweet way he could feign, holding out his hand in a more formal manner, the intention to take her own and lay a greeting kiss upon it evident. "Lord Rafail of Marikas. An absolute pleasure to make your beautiful acquaintance."
At eighteen, some might have thought Rafail of Marikas would find his life overflowing with responsibility. To an extent, this was the truth. It wasn't a straightforward matter to be a baron without having to expel some degree of effort on the practice, and he was long past an age where others could be appointed to maintain the province in his name (though, in truth, this tended to prove much more efficient than forcing himself to pay attention to every tiny detail of the farming province). Thus, even in the brief periods during which he found himself away from Thesnia and back in his family home, those duties appeared to have no end. Papa would tirelessly question his second son about the place, about his politics and policies, as if he did not already know every little event that transpired, and there still seemed endless skills which Rafail was forced to study and perfect. Any chance for respite - not to mention to tend to his traditionally selfish interests - was a long-awaited one.
This day, finally freed from the tedium of his family matters, Rafail had opted to make a visit to the market, one of his favoured activities. It was a doubly enjoyable hobby: not only did it provide countless shopping opportunities, but there were typically myriad young ladies from all walks of life browsing the stalls just as he did, and the young Marikas had learned a long while ago now that women were his favourite hobby. Perhaps it was due to his having it so delightfully easy with the fairer sex, for they were typically and efficiently attracted to his superior looks and high-ranking titles, but there was a certain appeal to approaching a woman and engaging her in overly charming conversation that sometimes (though not often) proved more entertaining than sex itself.
As yet, no one had caught the steely-blue gaze of the blonde lord - at least, not so significantly that he felt any desire to approach them - and he wandered almost aimlessly through the crowds, pausing every so often to glance at the wares of some unnecessarily obsequious merchant or another. There were certain vendors for which he held particular favour, and Rafail directed himself towards one of them, intending to run that disdainful gaze over the man's selection of fabrics until something struck his fancy enough that he thought it would make a beautiful chiton. It was strange, in truth, that he favoured this stall so, for the owner was a humble man of the kind which did not usually draw Rafail's attention, and his wares did not scream of quality, though, in truth, they were far finer than most things which could be found in the market, which held the opposite problem: excellent appearance yet lacking craftsmanship.
He smiled at the man in a manner which implied relative familiarity, the gesture kinder than his usual contemptuous gaze, though the arrogance still glinted unyieldingly in his eyes, as if it were impossible to cover up entirely. A hand drifted absentmindedly over the selection of fabrics, caressing the smoothness of the silks as he considered the effect of each colour on his skin, though he knew full well that he still favoured those richer crimsons and golds of his mother's and cousins' house. They bore a certain regal quality which suited Rafail, harkening back to those Marikas days on the throne which he had never known but enjoyed imagining, and enticed women with a fantastic display of wealth.
His fingers dragged over a new curve of the silk, attention utterly elsewhere, but they met not with the softness of further fabric, but the warmth of another hand, and when he raised his gaze, his eyes fell upon the kind of beauty for which he had longed all day. It was the type of meeting which only imagined in girlish fantasies, and had he been interested in women's thoughts then Rafail might have wondered if she had often dreamed of such a chance encounter herself, but for now, he was only pleased that such an opportunity for conversation had arisen without the immediate need for his inherent charms.
"My sincere apologies, my Lady," he exclaimed, as if thoroughly concerned by the way their hands had come together, drawing his fingers apart from hers with apparent yet endearing panic. "I did not mean to intrude upon your space in such a manner." He smiled in that so-sweet way he could feign, holding out his hand in a more formal manner, the intention to take her own and lay a greeting kiss upon it evident. "Lord Rafail of Marikas. An absolute pleasure to make your beautiful acquaintance."
Calliope of Aetaea was careful with her purchases, intent upon finding the finest of craft she could purchase with the stipend granted to her by Alector. It was a call to both her own vanity and that of Alector's, for to impress others that laid eyes upon the girl would properly endear her to her husband and, perhaps, stay his hand from inflicting further harm upon her. If Calliope could, perhaps, earn the man's love, she could avoid the abuse at his hands and find a semblance of content in the life she was forced to live.
At least, she hoped it was the case.
However, she didn't keep her hopes up. Calliope would never love Alector. The man was brutal and rude, dismissing her as nothing but a trophy and perhaps she was just that. She lived a satisfying life, provided that her husband was busy with his dealings and left her alone. It was never the case, but certainly, the seventeen year old girl could be suffering starvation or be forced to hunt and live in a small, poorly insulated home in Aetaea as she used to. She shrugged off the thought as she felt the warmth of other fingers against her own.
Hazel eyes met the face of the young man in front of her, whose digits met with hers in a sort of cliche fantasy fulfillment. If Calliope was another girl, she might have done this thing on her own, brushing fingertips with the dashing young man of her dreams before striking up a conversation and attempting to woo him. There was no wedding band upon Calliope's fingers, for it was worn instead around her neck as a pendant. It was only when the young man spoke that she became all too aware of who he was. Calliope didn't need to hear his introduction to know. After all, the young merchant's wife had taken her time to investigate the royal families when she arrived from her province. She knew full well of the reputation of Lord Rafail of Marikas, a philanderer with the charming smile of a prince.
A red flush dusted against Calliope's expression as she nodded at his words. Perhaps she was dressed for the part, but being called a Lady, whether or not the lovely young man was being sincere or not, was rather high praise. The smile of before spread wider still, the hazel orbs, impassive in moments past, filled with life. She was amused, but moreover, she was enthralled by the young lord and his every bit of intention. If she took his hand, surely the charming lad would put a kiss upon it. And, when she did, she wasn't disappointed. She rather appreciated the treatment, and couldn't help herself as she felt the tick of her heart pick up in a moment of foolish sentiment.
After all, Lord Rafail's touch was the first male touch he'd had in some time that wasn't violent.
"Oh, no. My lord, the pleasure is all mine. My name is Calliope of Aetaea. For all of your lavish praise, I am no lady," she admitted, fingers rising up to brush into her own hair. She let the tresses fall over her shoulder, her gaze kept inexorably upon the lord before she asked,
"What brings you to the market, my lord? Surely as man as distinguished as yourself has servants to do this sort of shopping for you?"
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Calliope of Aetaea was careful with her purchases, intent upon finding the finest of craft she could purchase with the stipend granted to her by Alector. It was a call to both her own vanity and that of Alector's, for to impress others that laid eyes upon the girl would properly endear her to her husband and, perhaps, stay his hand from inflicting further harm upon her. If Calliope could, perhaps, earn the man's love, she could avoid the abuse at his hands and find a semblance of content in the life she was forced to live.
At least, she hoped it was the case.
However, she didn't keep her hopes up. Calliope would never love Alector. The man was brutal and rude, dismissing her as nothing but a trophy and perhaps she was just that. She lived a satisfying life, provided that her husband was busy with his dealings and left her alone. It was never the case, but certainly, the seventeen year old girl could be suffering starvation or be forced to hunt and live in a small, poorly insulated home in Aetaea as she used to. She shrugged off the thought as she felt the warmth of other fingers against her own.
Hazel eyes met the face of the young man in front of her, whose digits met with hers in a sort of cliche fantasy fulfillment. If Calliope was another girl, she might have done this thing on her own, brushing fingertips with the dashing young man of her dreams before striking up a conversation and attempting to woo him. There was no wedding band upon Calliope's fingers, for it was worn instead around her neck as a pendant. It was only when the young man spoke that she became all too aware of who he was. Calliope didn't need to hear his introduction to know. After all, the young merchant's wife had taken her time to investigate the royal families when she arrived from her province. She knew full well of the reputation of Lord Rafail of Marikas, a philanderer with the charming smile of a prince.
A red flush dusted against Calliope's expression as she nodded at his words. Perhaps she was dressed for the part, but being called a Lady, whether or not the lovely young man was being sincere or not, was rather high praise. The smile of before spread wider still, the hazel orbs, impassive in moments past, filled with life. She was amused, but moreover, she was enthralled by the young lord and his every bit of intention. If she took his hand, surely the charming lad would put a kiss upon it. And, when she did, she wasn't disappointed. She rather appreciated the treatment, and couldn't help herself as she felt the tick of her heart pick up in a moment of foolish sentiment.
After all, Lord Rafail's touch was the first male touch he'd had in some time that wasn't violent.
"Oh, no. My lord, the pleasure is all mine. My name is Calliope of Aetaea. For all of your lavish praise, I am no lady," she admitted, fingers rising up to brush into her own hair. She let the tresses fall over her shoulder, her gaze kept inexorably upon the lord before she asked,
"What brings you to the market, my lord? Surely as man as distinguished as yourself has servants to do this sort of shopping for you?"
Calliope of Aetaea was careful with her purchases, intent upon finding the finest of craft she could purchase with the stipend granted to her by Alector. It was a call to both her own vanity and that of Alector's, for to impress others that laid eyes upon the girl would properly endear her to her husband and, perhaps, stay his hand from inflicting further harm upon her. If Calliope could, perhaps, earn the man's love, she could avoid the abuse at his hands and find a semblance of content in the life she was forced to live.
At least, she hoped it was the case.
However, she didn't keep her hopes up. Calliope would never love Alector. The man was brutal and rude, dismissing her as nothing but a trophy and perhaps she was just that. She lived a satisfying life, provided that her husband was busy with his dealings and left her alone. It was never the case, but certainly, the seventeen year old girl could be suffering starvation or be forced to hunt and live in a small, poorly insulated home in Aetaea as she used to. She shrugged off the thought as she felt the warmth of other fingers against her own.
Hazel eyes met the face of the young man in front of her, whose digits met with hers in a sort of cliche fantasy fulfillment. If Calliope was another girl, she might have done this thing on her own, brushing fingertips with the dashing young man of her dreams before striking up a conversation and attempting to woo him. There was no wedding band upon Calliope's fingers, for it was worn instead around her neck as a pendant. It was only when the young man spoke that she became all too aware of who he was. Calliope didn't need to hear his introduction to know. After all, the young merchant's wife had taken her time to investigate the royal families when she arrived from her province. She knew full well of the reputation of Lord Rafail of Marikas, a philanderer with the charming smile of a prince.
A red flush dusted against Calliope's expression as she nodded at his words. Perhaps she was dressed for the part, but being called a Lady, whether or not the lovely young man was being sincere or not, was rather high praise. The smile of before spread wider still, the hazel orbs, impassive in moments past, filled with life. She was amused, but moreover, she was enthralled by the young lord and his every bit of intention. If she took his hand, surely the charming lad would put a kiss upon it. And, when she did, she wasn't disappointed. She rather appreciated the treatment, and couldn't help herself as she felt the tick of her heart pick up in a moment of foolish sentiment.
After all, Lord Rafail's touch was the first male touch he'd had in some time that wasn't violent.
"Oh, no. My lord, the pleasure is all mine. My name is Calliope of Aetaea. For all of your lavish praise, I am no lady," she admitted, fingers rising up to brush into her own hair. She let the tresses fall over her shoulder, her gaze kept inexorably upon the lord before she asked,
"What brings you to the market, my lord? Surely as man as distinguished as yourself has servants to do this sort of shopping for you?"
Aetaea was a place that Rafail had visited many times in the past, usually on a laddish hunting trip with that group of friends made up of the minor Marikas lords who did not argue with his wants. He liked the place well enough, as the people there tended to be respectful of his title, and the brothels were open and inviting and filled with just the kinds of women that he liked best. To this day, he had never had a negative encounter in the place, and it seemed startingly unlikely that he ever would.
Nonetheless, no matter how much he might have liked the forested Antonis province, he had not been back in a while now, temporarily more concerned by his work - if one could label it as such - in Thesnia (though the majority of the tediousness was handed away to those who could do it better). And, even if he had visited recently enough, it was highly that he would have recalled stumbling across this particular lady during any of those trips, for his memory of specific women was hardly excellent unless they had been especially amazing in bed. Knowing their names created the risk of fostering feelings, and Rafail was rarely keen on attachment.
He played it otherwise, choosing to play the courteous gentlemen that women preferred rather than making apparent how little he really cared about most of his conquests.
"Please, though you might claim otherwise, you are certainly worthy of the title of lady, and it is only a shame that no nobleman has offered you that title you so clearly deserve." Rafail smiled that dazzling smile of his which had a habit of driving girls into such pathetic fits of frenzy, his eyes naturally drawn to the way her fingers played with her hair, seeing the action as a visible sign of flirtation. She was noticeably interested in his affection, and he straightened further in response, making the most imperceptible of steps closer to her. "I have been to Aetaea many times, but I must have been blind in doing so, for I never did once notice you, Calliope, despite your divine beauty. A shame, I think, don't you?"
For a moment, the Marikas turned his attention back towards the array of fabrics on the stall, expensive purple silk having momentarily caught his eye. He made a signal for the merchant to pack away the rest of the material for him, thoughts not on the girl for a moment, though his lips quirked upwards in response to her words. When you ignored women, then they tended to want you just that little bit more, and it was a tactic the blonde lord had used more than once over the years. Still, he answered her query despite his consideration being elsewhere. "Servants, of course, are plentiful in the Marikas estate, but I find that I cannot trust them to take charge of all trivial matters - some must remain personal, after all. Unfortunately, the selection of fabrics requires a mind which is rather more attuned to..." he paused, settling his gaze back on Calliope. "the finer things. If I had sent some servant, then I would not have run into you, and I am certain my day would be a lot worse."
With the fabric now packed away and a hand holding out the necessary payment as though he already knew it by heart as opposed to it being a random selection of coins which likely amounted to more than required, Rafail could focus entirely on the girl at his side, his spare hand coming to rest on his hip solely to show off his muscled arm. "Perhaps you could allow me the honour of paying for your purchases, so that we might retire from this stall? I find that conversation tends to dull when two individuals are trapped in one location for too long, and I do know some darling spots around the city that are rather more private."
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Aetaea was a place that Rafail had visited many times in the past, usually on a laddish hunting trip with that group of friends made up of the minor Marikas lords who did not argue with his wants. He liked the place well enough, as the people there tended to be respectful of his title, and the brothels were open and inviting and filled with just the kinds of women that he liked best. To this day, he had never had a negative encounter in the place, and it seemed startingly unlikely that he ever would.
Nonetheless, no matter how much he might have liked the forested Antonis province, he had not been back in a while now, temporarily more concerned by his work - if one could label it as such - in Thesnia (though the majority of the tediousness was handed away to those who could do it better). And, even if he had visited recently enough, it was highly that he would have recalled stumbling across this particular lady during any of those trips, for his memory of specific women was hardly excellent unless they had been especially amazing in bed. Knowing their names created the risk of fostering feelings, and Rafail was rarely keen on attachment.
He played it otherwise, choosing to play the courteous gentlemen that women preferred rather than making apparent how little he really cared about most of his conquests.
"Please, though you might claim otherwise, you are certainly worthy of the title of lady, and it is only a shame that no nobleman has offered you that title you so clearly deserve." Rafail smiled that dazzling smile of his which had a habit of driving girls into such pathetic fits of frenzy, his eyes naturally drawn to the way her fingers played with her hair, seeing the action as a visible sign of flirtation. She was noticeably interested in his affection, and he straightened further in response, making the most imperceptible of steps closer to her. "I have been to Aetaea many times, but I must have been blind in doing so, for I never did once notice you, Calliope, despite your divine beauty. A shame, I think, don't you?"
For a moment, the Marikas turned his attention back towards the array of fabrics on the stall, expensive purple silk having momentarily caught his eye. He made a signal for the merchant to pack away the rest of the material for him, thoughts not on the girl for a moment, though his lips quirked upwards in response to her words. When you ignored women, then they tended to want you just that little bit more, and it was a tactic the blonde lord had used more than once over the years. Still, he answered her query despite his consideration being elsewhere. "Servants, of course, are plentiful in the Marikas estate, but I find that I cannot trust them to take charge of all trivial matters - some must remain personal, after all. Unfortunately, the selection of fabrics requires a mind which is rather more attuned to..." he paused, settling his gaze back on Calliope. "the finer things. If I had sent some servant, then I would not have run into you, and I am certain my day would be a lot worse."
With the fabric now packed away and a hand holding out the necessary payment as though he already knew it by heart as opposed to it being a random selection of coins which likely amounted to more than required, Rafail could focus entirely on the girl at his side, his spare hand coming to rest on his hip solely to show off his muscled arm. "Perhaps you could allow me the honour of paying for your purchases, so that we might retire from this stall? I find that conversation tends to dull when two individuals are trapped in one location for too long, and I do know some darling spots around the city that are rather more private."
Aetaea was a place that Rafail had visited many times in the past, usually on a laddish hunting trip with that group of friends made up of the minor Marikas lords who did not argue with his wants. He liked the place well enough, as the people there tended to be respectful of his title, and the brothels were open and inviting and filled with just the kinds of women that he liked best. To this day, he had never had a negative encounter in the place, and it seemed startingly unlikely that he ever would.
Nonetheless, no matter how much he might have liked the forested Antonis province, he had not been back in a while now, temporarily more concerned by his work - if one could label it as such - in Thesnia (though the majority of the tediousness was handed away to those who could do it better). And, even if he had visited recently enough, it was highly that he would have recalled stumbling across this particular lady during any of those trips, for his memory of specific women was hardly excellent unless they had been especially amazing in bed. Knowing their names created the risk of fostering feelings, and Rafail was rarely keen on attachment.
He played it otherwise, choosing to play the courteous gentlemen that women preferred rather than making apparent how little he really cared about most of his conquests.
"Please, though you might claim otherwise, you are certainly worthy of the title of lady, and it is only a shame that no nobleman has offered you that title you so clearly deserve." Rafail smiled that dazzling smile of his which had a habit of driving girls into such pathetic fits of frenzy, his eyes naturally drawn to the way her fingers played with her hair, seeing the action as a visible sign of flirtation. She was noticeably interested in his affection, and he straightened further in response, making the most imperceptible of steps closer to her. "I have been to Aetaea many times, but I must have been blind in doing so, for I never did once notice you, Calliope, despite your divine beauty. A shame, I think, don't you?"
For a moment, the Marikas turned his attention back towards the array of fabrics on the stall, expensive purple silk having momentarily caught his eye. He made a signal for the merchant to pack away the rest of the material for him, thoughts not on the girl for a moment, though his lips quirked upwards in response to her words. When you ignored women, then they tended to want you just that little bit more, and it was a tactic the blonde lord had used more than once over the years. Still, he answered her query despite his consideration being elsewhere. "Servants, of course, are plentiful in the Marikas estate, but I find that I cannot trust them to take charge of all trivial matters - some must remain personal, after all. Unfortunately, the selection of fabrics requires a mind which is rather more attuned to..." he paused, settling his gaze back on Calliope. "the finer things. If I had sent some servant, then I would not have run into you, and I am certain my day would be a lot worse."
With the fabric now packed away and a hand holding out the necessary payment as though he already knew it by heart as opposed to it being a random selection of coins which likely amounted to more than required, Rafail could focus entirely on the girl at his side, his spare hand coming to rest on his hip solely to show off his muscled arm. "Perhaps you could allow me the honour of paying for your purchases, so that we might retire from this stall? I find that conversation tends to dull when two individuals are trapped in one location for too long, and I do know some darling spots around the city that are rather more private."
Lord Rafail was a reputed charmer, the sort of man that Alector of Athenia would've wanted kept away from his conquest at all cost. But, he was nowhere to be found and with the little slack on her leash that she had, the young woman was more than pleased to keep with the lord's company, for it meant a well enough distraction from the reality she faced. Amusement kept upon her lips as that smile of his kept upon his features. It was fascinating, really, how one could smile so much. Calliope hadn't found a reason to spin a genuine smile in quite a long time. The giggle that escaped her lips was telling, revealing how the young lord was worming his way into the woman's thoughts.
However little he might've cared, it was worth it for Calliope to be invested. She tilted her head just slightly, a soft hum of approval for his flattery. Calliope might've forgotten how nice it felt to be flattered. Often on the arm of her husband, it was a superficial thing at best, to be complimented. However, Rafail was more creative with his, clear flattery with an intention behind it that was so obvious. And yet... she wasn't the sort to rebuke it. She enjoyed having eyes on her, having talk whirling about her. She was intrigued, by this lord, and by the fact that he might work as a suitable enough distraction.
When he turned away, Calliope turned herself towards the fabrics she was intrigued by. They were, truly, nothing special, but she wasn't going to buy into Rafail's tactics. His motives were apparent, and while she wasn't in the slightest bit opposed to his attentions, she wouldn't fall into his ploys.
He's the sort that likes to hear himself talk, isn't he? she mused. However, she couldn't fault the lord for that fact. Once, Calliope enjoyed hearing the sound of her own voice. Perhaps, some day, she'd find that pleasure again. For the moment, however, she sought to be decisive, to keep her head bowed, her voice low and brief when it did emerge.
"Very sensible. Surely, your sense of style and following of the fashions is much better than theirs. Servants... sometimes they are given a pleasing ensemble to cover their ignorance and foul taste," she mused aloud. Calliope never experienced that sort of thing from her would-be master, trusted enough at the very least to pick through his goods and find a proper ensemble. It was funny how some things worked. At least to her, to whom humour was a very seldom experience. Calliope allowed the smile to return to her lips as Rafail shifted, bringing his hand to his hip and flexing his arm in an effort to impress her.
Should I play along? she wondered to herself, having listened to his words of flattery before and pairing them off with his intent of shooing them off to an unknown place after paying for her purchases. The money really didn't matter to her, it was scarcely hers to begin with. But, if it meant keeping some of Alector's money in her own pocket, she may as well accept, if only to encourage the lord into whisking her off. Gods knew she could use the distraction.
"Rather more private, my lord? How daring," she observed, letting a hint of a sultry intonation dive into her words. She allowed a playful touch to move along the bent arm at her distraction's hip, traveling from the forearm to his bicep before she added,
"Fine, then. You have my attention, Lord Rafail."
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Lord Rafail was a reputed charmer, the sort of man that Alector of Athenia would've wanted kept away from his conquest at all cost. But, he was nowhere to be found and with the little slack on her leash that she had, the young woman was more than pleased to keep with the lord's company, for it meant a well enough distraction from the reality she faced. Amusement kept upon her lips as that smile of his kept upon his features. It was fascinating, really, how one could smile so much. Calliope hadn't found a reason to spin a genuine smile in quite a long time. The giggle that escaped her lips was telling, revealing how the young lord was worming his way into the woman's thoughts.
However little he might've cared, it was worth it for Calliope to be invested. She tilted her head just slightly, a soft hum of approval for his flattery. Calliope might've forgotten how nice it felt to be flattered. Often on the arm of her husband, it was a superficial thing at best, to be complimented. However, Rafail was more creative with his, clear flattery with an intention behind it that was so obvious. And yet... she wasn't the sort to rebuke it. She enjoyed having eyes on her, having talk whirling about her. She was intrigued, by this lord, and by the fact that he might work as a suitable enough distraction.
When he turned away, Calliope turned herself towards the fabrics she was intrigued by. They were, truly, nothing special, but she wasn't going to buy into Rafail's tactics. His motives were apparent, and while she wasn't in the slightest bit opposed to his attentions, she wouldn't fall into his ploys.
He's the sort that likes to hear himself talk, isn't he? she mused. However, she couldn't fault the lord for that fact. Once, Calliope enjoyed hearing the sound of her own voice. Perhaps, some day, she'd find that pleasure again. For the moment, however, she sought to be decisive, to keep her head bowed, her voice low and brief when it did emerge.
"Very sensible. Surely, your sense of style and following of the fashions is much better than theirs. Servants... sometimes they are given a pleasing ensemble to cover their ignorance and foul taste," she mused aloud. Calliope never experienced that sort of thing from her would-be master, trusted enough at the very least to pick through his goods and find a proper ensemble. It was funny how some things worked. At least to her, to whom humour was a very seldom experience. Calliope allowed the smile to return to her lips as Rafail shifted, bringing his hand to his hip and flexing his arm in an effort to impress her.
Should I play along? she wondered to herself, having listened to his words of flattery before and pairing them off with his intent of shooing them off to an unknown place after paying for her purchases. The money really didn't matter to her, it was scarcely hers to begin with. But, if it meant keeping some of Alector's money in her own pocket, she may as well accept, if only to encourage the lord into whisking her off. Gods knew she could use the distraction.
"Rather more private, my lord? How daring," she observed, letting a hint of a sultry intonation dive into her words. She allowed a playful touch to move along the bent arm at her distraction's hip, traveling from the forearm to his bicep before she added,
"Fine, then. You have my attention, Lord Rafail."
Lord Rafail was a reputed charmer, the sort of man that Alector of Athenia would've wanted kept away from his conquest at all cost. But, he was nowhere to be found and with the little slack on her leash that she had, the young woman was more than pleased to keep with the lord's company, for it meant a well enough distraction from the reality she faced. Amusement kept upon her lips as that smile of his kept upon his features. It was fascinating, really, how one could smile so much. Calliope hadn't found a reason to spin a genuine smile in quite a long time. The giggle that escaped her lips was telling, revealing how the young lord was worming his way into the woman's thoughts.
However little he might've cared, it was worth it for Calliope to be invested. She tilted her head just slightly, a soft hum of approval for his flattery. Calliope might've forgotten how nice it felt to be flattered. Often on the arm of her husband, it was a superficial thing at best, to be complimented. However, Rafail was more creative with his, clear flattery with an intention behind it that was so obvious. And yet... she wasn't the sort to rebuke it. She enjoyed having eyes on her, having talk whirling about her. She was intrigued, by this lord, and by the fact that he might work as a suitable enough distraction.
When he turned away, Calliope turned herself towards the fabrics she was intrigued by. They were, truly, nothing special, but she wasn't going to buy into Rafail's tactics. His motives were apparent, and while she wasn't in the slightest bit opposed to his attentions, she wouldn't fall into his ploys.
He's the sort that likes to hear himself talk, isn't he? she mused. However, she couldn't fault the lord for that fact. Once, Calliope enjoyed hearing the sound of her own voice. Perhaps, some day, she'd find that pleasure again. For the moment, however, she sought to be decisive, to keep her head bowed, her voice low and brief when it did emerge.
"Very sensible. Surely, your sense of style and following of the fashions is much better than theirs. Servants... sometimes they are given a pleasing ensemble to cover their ignorance and foul taste," she mused aloud. Calliope never experienced that sort of thing from her would-be master, trusted enough at the very least to pick through his goods and find a proper ensemble. It was funny how some things worked. At least to her, to whom humour was a very seldom experience. Calliope allowed the smile to return to her lips as Rafail shifted, bringing his hand to his hip and flexing his arm in an effort to impress her.
Should I play along? she wondered to herself, having listened to his words of flattery before and pairing them off with his intent of shooing them off to an unknown place after paying for her purchases. The money really didn't matter to her, it was scarcely hers to begin with. But, if it meant keeping some of Alector's money in her own pocket, she may as well accept, if only to encourage the lord into whisking her off. Gods knew she could use the distraction.
"Rather more private, my lord? How daring," she observed, letting a hint of a sultry intonation dive into her words. She allowed a playful touch to move along the bent arm at her distraction's hip, traveling from the forearm to his bicep before she added,
"Fine, then. You have my attention, Lord Rafail."
It was the smile which convinced Rafail she was interested before anything else. There were plenty of girls who feigned enjoyment of his words but did not seem to match it with their actions, as if they only cared for the possibilities presented by his wealth and titles. This woman, however, had let the coy smile drift onto her features in a way which implied genuine beguilement, and followed his statement with her own take on the abilities of servants which matched his own entirely. He noted too the way that she seemed to have acknowledged his show of muscle, and his smile only widened in satisfaction. It was easier when there was a sense of certainty to the seduction.
Her tone implied further desire for his attention, which was just the way Rafail desired things. He allowed his eyes to follow the path of her fingers as they dropped to his forearm and ran its length to his sculpted bicep, an action which only implied want. His own mind flickered to the thought of everywhere else she could touch him, if only they could find themselves elsewhere, and he ran a discerning gaze over her exquisite body, as though imagining the look of it beneath her pretty clothes. Had they not been in the middle of the market, then there was no doubt the Marikas would already have pulled her aside and pressed his lips against her own, and there seemed no doubt either that she would have welcomed it, receptive as she was to the offer that the pair find somewhere else to go.
“How honoured I am to have garnered the attention of such a fine woman,” he answered, though, in reality, he was somewhat more pleased than his typically blasé attitude tended to imply. “Now, as for somewhere more private…” The man tossed his head over one shoulder in an overly exaggerated movement, suggesting that he had yet to decide which of his various hiding spots was ideal for their illicit rendezvous. It would have been a simple choice with a woman he thought of lesser birth, for those did not usually care whether he chose to kiss them in some darkened alley or a splendid palace, but this Calliope, albeit of no noble title, was deserving of finer things, and thus the ideal spot would have to be selected, else their meeting did not occur with the level of elegance it deserved.
They were not excessively far from the Athenian homes of some of the lesser lords of the Marikas provinces who were all too eager to pledge themselves into helping a member of their ruling family, and who likely would not mind a sudden appearance from Rafail himself. Besides, they would probably leave him and his guest alone, which was almost more than could be said for the members of his own home, who were prone to meddling in his affairs (no doubt Pavlos would somehow show up and humiliate him while he was otherwise occupied speaking with this lady).
Tossing down a generous selection of drachmae that was likely far more than whatever the total cost of Calliope’s purchases – whether they were complete or not – and offering the merchant a somewhat kind smile, Rafail turned back to the lady, an arm outstretched for her to take. “I know a fine place, if you would accept my offer, and I am sure our merchant friend here would find no trouble in holding your purchases a little while longer until we return.”
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It was the smile which convinced Rafail she was interested before anything else. There were plenty of girls who feigned enjoyment of his words but did not seem to match it with their actions, as if they only cared for the possibilities presented by his wealth and titles. This woman, however, had let the coy smile drift onto her features in a way which implied genuine beguilement, and followed his statement with her own take on the abilities of servants which matched his own entirely. He noted too the way that she seemed to have acknowledged his show of muscle, and his smile only widened in satisfaction. It was easier when there was a sense of certainty to the seduction.
Her tone implied further desire for his attention, which was just the way Rafail desired things. He allowed his eyes to follow the path of her fingers as they dropped to his forearm and ran its length to his sculpted bicep, an action which only implied want. His own mind flickered to the thought of everywhere else she could touch him, if only they could find themselves elsewhere, and he ran a discerning gaze over her exquisite body, as though imagining the look of it beneath her pretty clothes. Had they not been in the middle of the market, then there was no doubt the Marikas would already have pulled her aside and pressed his lips against her own, and there seemed no doubt either that she would have welcomed it, receptive as she was to the offer that the pair find somewhere else to go.
“How honoured I am to have garnered the attention of such a fine woman,” he answered, though, in reality, he was somewhat more pleased than his typically blasé attitude tended to imply. “Now, as for somewhere more private…” The man tossed his head over one shoulder in an overly exaggerated movement, suggesting that he had yet to decide which of his various hiding spots was ideal for their illicit rendezvous. It would have been a simple choice with a woman he thought of lesser birth, for those did not usually care whether he chose to kiss them in some darkened alley or a splendid palace, but this Calliope, albeit of no noble title, was deserving of finer things, and thus the ideal spot would have to be selected, else their meeting did not occur with the level of elegance it deserved.
They were not excessively far from the Athenian homes of some of the lesser lords of the Marikas provinces who were all too eager to pledge themselves into helping a member of their ruling family, and who likely would not mind a sudden appearance from Rafail himself. Besides, they would probably leave him and his guest alone, which was almost more than could be said for the members of his own home, who were prone to meddling in his affairs (no doubt Pavlos would somehow show up and humiliate him while he was otherwise occupied speaking with this lady).
Tossing down a generous selection of drachmae that was likely far more than whatever the total cost of Calliope’s purchases – whether they were complete or not – and offering the merchant a somewhat kind smile, Rafail turned back to the lady, an arm outstretched for her to take. “I know a fine place, if you would accept my offer, and I am sure our merchant friend here would find no trouble in holding your purchases a little while longer until we return.”
It was the smile which convinced Rafail she was interested before anything else. There were plenty of girls who feigned enjoyment of his words but did not seem to match it with their actions, as if they only cared for the possibilities presented by his wealth and titles. This woman, however, had let the coy smile drift onto her features in a way which implied genuine beguilement, and followed his statement with her own take on the abilities of servants which matched his own entirely. He noted too the way that she seemed to have acknowledged his show of muscle, and his smile only widened in satisfaction. It was easier when there was a sense of certainty to the seduction.
Her tone implied further desire for his attention, which was just the way Rafail desired things. He allowed his eyes to follow the path of her fingers as they dropped to his forearm and ran its length to his sculpted bicep, an action which only implied want. His own mind flickered to the thought of everywhere else she could touch him, if only they could find themselves elsewhere, and he ran a discerning gaze over her exquisite body, as though imagining the look of it beneath her pretty clothes. Had they not been in the middle of the market, then there was no doubt the Marikas would already have pulled her aside and pressed his lips against her own, and there seemed no doubt either that she would have welcomed it, receptive as she was to the offer that the pair find somewhere else to go.
“How honoured I am to have garnered the attention of such a fine woman,” he answered, though, in reality, he was somewhat more pleased than his typically blasé attitude tended to imply. “Now, as for somewhere more private…” The man tossed his head over one shoulder in an overly exaggerated movement, suggesting that he had yet to decide which of his various hiding spots was ideal for their illicit rendezvous. It would have been a simple choice with a woman he thought of lesser birth, for those did not usually care whether he chose to kiss them in some darkened alley or a splendid palace, but this Calliope, albeit of no noble title, was deserving of finer things, and thus the ideal spot would have to be selected, else their meeting did not occur with the level of elegance it deserved.
They were not excessively far from the Athenian homes of some of the lesser lords of the Marikas provinces who were all too eager to pledge themselves into helping a member of their ruling family, and who likely would not mind a sudden appearance from Rafail himself. Besides, they would probably leave him and his guest alone, which was almost more than could be said for the members of his own home, who were prone to meddling in his affairs (no doubt Pavlos would somehow show up and humiliate him while he was otherwise occupied speaking with this lady).
Tossing down a generous selection of drachmae that was likely far more than whatever the total cost of Calliope’s purchases – whether they were complete or not – and offering the merchant a somewhat kind smile, Rafail turned back to the lady, an arm outstretched for her to take. “I know a fine place, if you would accept my offer, and I am sure our merchant friend here would find no trouble in holding your purchases a little while longer until we return.”
It was a good thing that Lord Rafail seemed a man who knew what he wanted. Calliope did not seek to wax philosophical or waste time in the paltry meanderings of the moment. As the idea of absconding away with the lord grew steeper in her thoughts, she felt the righteous anger at her lot in life arise with it. Alector was throwing Calliope into the arms of another man, other men if she thought on it too deeply. Her plans were forming, the machinations that would lead to her escape from the merchant's clutches. But, more than that... she needed to free her mind from the constant reference to him. Alector wasn't the nemesis of her freedom merely because he was the one who held her as thinly-veiled property.
Alector wins because there is nothing to distract me from the thought of him.
She'd been the perfect doll, a tool to serve the man's fancies, both physical and social. She'd need to wrest herself from his dominion in more ways than one, and if throwing herself at someone like Rafail of Marikas was the way by which she could do that... then she was all for it. The smile grew wider as he answered, his tone lending further credence to it all. She was a fine woman, wasn't she? Not some waif to be mistreated and abused. Dressed well enough to impress, with a physique and face that should be coveted... It was a pleasure to see someone taking the fact of her beauty for what it was and not seeking to ruin it with violence.
Rafail of Marikas was a royal as well, the sort of man who would ordinarily look down at her too. But, not today. The smile graced her lips as he twisted his head, cocking it over his shoulder and showing the direction of his hiding place. Somewhere more private... it didn't seem like he wanted to throw them into an alley for a quick release. Truly, the thought excited her, of seeing the finer things in life. The smile became a true grin. Liberated, those hazel eyes followed the lord's gaze, then she collected her purchases and placed them neatly in a pack that slung over her shoulders up until Rafail suggested that she leave them there with the merchant.
Was that the sort of influence nobility had? Could he just pay for things with the unquestioning fact that they'd do as he said? Certainly, the money he put on the table was enough to draw attention, but this spoke to a powerful confidence brought about by far more than money. The Marikas privilege was certainly something, wasn't it? She threw her head back in laughter, nodding in understanding. She placed the pack among the merchant's wares, offering him an almost apologetic smile before she said,
"As he wishes. I'll return to collect my things later on."
Then, Anastasia took hold of Rafail's hand. From what she understood, they were heading in was not his home. Not so ignorant as to forget the lay of the land, she was quite certain that the Marikas lords lived in a property adjacent to the palace. But... wherever he wanted to go was just fine with her.
"Take me away, my lord."
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It was a good thing that Lord Rafail seemed a man who knew what he wanted. Calliope did not seek to wax philosophical or waste time in the paltry meanderings of the moment. As the idea of absconding away with the lord grew steeper in her thoughts, she felt the righteous anger at her lot in life arise with it. Alector was throwing Calliope into the arms of another man, other men if she thought on it too deeply. Her plans were forming, the machinations that would lead to her escape from the merchant's clutches. But, more than that... she needed to free her mind from the constant reference to him. Alector wasn't the nemesis of her freedom merely because he was the one who held her as thinly-veiled property.
Alector wins because there is nothing to distract me from the thought of him.
She'd been the perfect doll, a tool to serve the man's fancies, both physical and social. She'd need to wrest herself from his dominion in more ways than one, and if throwing herself at someone like Rafail of Marikas was the way by which she could do that... then she was all for it. The smile grew wider as he answered, his tone lending further credence to it all. She was a fine woman, wasn't she? Not some waif to be mistreated and abused. Dressed well enough to impress, with a physique and face that should be coveted... It was a pleasure to see someone taking the fact of her beauty for what it was and not seeking to ruin it with violence.
Rafail of Marikas was a royal as well, the sort of man who would ordinarily look down at her too. But, not today. The smile graced her lips as he twisted his head, cocking it over his shoulder and showing the direction of his hiding place. Somewhere more private... it didn't seem like he wanted to throw them into an alley for a quick release. Truly, the thought excited her, of seeing the finer things in life. The smile became a true grin. Liberated, those hazel eyes followed the lord's gaze, then she collected her purchases and placed them neatly in a pack that slung over her shoulders up until Rafail suggested that she leave them there with the merchant.
Was that the sort of influence nobility had? Could he just pay for things with the unquestioning fact that they'd do as he said? Certainly, the money he put on the table was enough to draw attention, but this spoke to a powerful confidence brought about by far more than money. The Marikas privilege was certainly something, wasn't it? She threw her head back in laughter, nodding in understanding. She placed the pack among the merchant's wares, offering him an almost apologetic smile before she said,
"As he wishes. I'll return to collect my things later on."
Then, Anastasia took hold of Rafail's hand. From what she understood, they were heading in was not his home. Not so ignorant as to forget the lay of the land, she was quite certain that the Marikas lords lived in a property adjacent to the palace. But... wherever he wanted to go was just fine with her.
"Take me away, my lord."
It was a good thing that Lord Rafail seemed a man who knew what he wanted. Calliope did not seek to wax philosophical or waste time in the paltry meanderings of the moment. As the idea of absconding away with the lord grew steeper in her thoughts, she felt the righteous anger at her lot in life arise with it. Alector was throwing Calliope into the arms of another man, other men if she thought on it too deeply. Her plans were forming, the machinations that would lead to her escape from the merchant's clutches. But, more than that... she needed to free her mind from the constant reference to him. Alector wasn't the nemesis of her freedom merely because he was the one who held her as thinly-veiled property.
Alector wins because there is nothing to distract me from the thought of him.
She'd been the perfect doll, a tool to serve the man's fancies, both physical and social. She'd need to wrest herself from his dominion in more ways than one, and if throwing herself at someone like Rafail of Marikas was the way by which she could do that... then she was all for it. The smile grew wider as he answered, his tone lending further credence to it all. She was a fine woman, wasn't she? Not some waif to be mistreated and abused. Dressed well enough to impress, with a physique and face that should be coveted... It was a pleasure to see someone taking the fact of her beauty for what it was and not seeking to ruin it with violence.
Rafail of Marikas was a royal as well, the sort of man who would ordinarily look down at her too. But, not today. The smile graced her lips as he twisted his head, cocking it over his shoulder and showing the direction of his hiding place. Somewhere more private... it didn't seem like he wanted to throw them into an alley for a quick release. Truly, the thought excited her, of seeing the finer things in life. The smile became a true grin. Liberated, those hazel eyes followed the lord's gaze, then she collected her purchases and placed them neatly in a pack that slung over her shoulders up until Rafail suggested that she leave them there with the merchant.
Was that the sort of influence nobility had? Could he just pay for things with the unquestioning fact that they'd do as he said? Certainly, the money he put on the table was enough to draw attention, but this spoke to a powerful confidence brought about by far more than money. The Marikas privilege was certainly something, wasn't it? She threw her head back in laughter, nodding in understanding. She placed the pack among the merchant's wares, offering him an almost apologetic smile before she said,
"As he wishes. I'll return to collect my things later on."
Then, Anastasia took hold of Rafail's hand. From what she understood, they were heading in was not his home. Not so ignorant as to forget the lay of the land, she was quite certain that the Marikas lords lived in a property adjacent to the palace. But... wherever he wanted to go was just fine with her.
"Take me away, my lord."
Even without a verbal response, Calliope's actions - that laugh and that smile - were answer enough to his offer. It was a revelation which likely would have surprised, but it appeared that not every woman in Athenia was keen on retiring elsewhere for a quick dalliance: outside of the few who were not automatically keen on a first meeting affair, many did not want to disappear with him unless it was to the Marikas home. It seemed the prestige of the location almost appealed more than what they would do there. Such reluctance was absurd, and it made this response rather more exciting.
The Marikas offered the merchant the type of smile which was outwardly pleasant, but, when read between the lines, made clear that there was always the possibility that he could receive negative repercussions if he did not do as was being requested. It was quite rare, given that most preferred to garner favour with the royal families, and this was only a small request, but one always had to be prepared. Rafail did not wish to take any chances, lest this woman decided she did not care for him because her purchases had not been taken care of well enough.
Her hand took his own, and he turned his smile onto her instead, this time more genuine in the look's kindness. "It isn't all too far," he assured her, mentally considering the distance to the upper-class homes. "A few short minutes' walk, but enough, I think, for us to enjoy a little conversation on the way, no?" Anticipation was the heart of sexual enjoyment, so Rafail often found, and discovering more about one another would surely lead her heart to pump in desire for all that he could give her. "Once we arrive, we surely shan't be disturbed, and then I'm sure we'll be much too busy to consider conversation any further. I should like to get to know you in the while that I have."
Women liked that, even if Rafail did not. Talking about themselves meant that they felt their feelings were validated, which meant that they were usually far more eager to give themselves to him.
Their path already led them out of the marketplace and into the quieter residential streets of the city, though the blonde lord avoided any areas that felt too lower class for fear of worrying his temporary companion, and because he was not keen on getting mobbed by a gaggle of Athenia's more impoverished population. He glanced down to look at the woman on his arm, expression oddly protective. She was his, for the time being.
"How long have you been in Athenia?" Rafail questioned, referring more to the city than he did the kingdom itself. "And why, in all your time here, have I not stumbled across you already? It is quite a shame that I have not previously had the honour of your acquaintance." And then, as he led her around another corner, "I do hope we can remedy such a tragedy in the future. I would so love to see more of you."
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Even without a verbal response, Calliope's actions - that laugh and that smile - were answer enough to his offer. It was a revelation which likely would have surprised, but it appeared that not every woman in Athenia was keen on retiring elsewhere for a quick dalliance: outside of the few who were not automatically keen on a first meeting affair, many did not want to disappear with him unless it was to the Marikas home. It seemed the prestige of the location almost appealed more than what they would do there. Such reluctance was absurd, and it made this response rather more exciting.
The Marikas offered the merchant the type of smile which was outwardly pleasant, but, when read between the lines, made clear that there was always the possibility that he could receive negative repercussions if he did not do as was being requested. It was quite rare, given that most preferred to garner favour with the royal families, and this was only a small request, but one always had to be prepared. Rafail did not wish to take any chances, lest this woman decided she did not care for him because her purchases had not been taken care of well enough.
Her hand took his own, and he turned his smile onto her instead, this time more genuine in the look's kindness. "It isn't all too far," he assured her, mentally considering the distance to the upper-class homes. "A few short minutes' walk, but enough, I think, for us to enjoy a little conversation on the way, no?" Anticipation was the heart of sexual enjoyment, so Rafail often found, and discovering more about one another would surely lead her heart to pump in desire for all that he could give her. "Once we arrive, we surely shan't be disturbed, and then I'm sure we'll be much too busy to consider conversation any further. I should like to get to know you in the while that I have."
Women liked that, even if Rafail did not. Talking about themselves meant that they felt their feelings were validated, which meant that they were usually far more eager to give themselves to him.
Their path already led them out of the marketplace and into the quieter residential streets of the city, though the blonde lord avoided any areas that felt too lower class for fear of worrying his temporary companion, and because he was not keen on getting mobbed by a gaggle of Athenia's more impoverished population. He glanced down to look at the woman on his arm, expression oddly protective. She was his, for the time being.
"How long have you been in Athenia?" Rafail questioned, referring more to the city than he did the kingdom itself. "And why, in all your time here, have I not stumbled across you already? It is quite a shame that I have not previously had the honour of your acquaintance." And then, as he led her around another corner, "I do hope we can remedy such a tragedy in the future. I would so love to see more of you."
Even without a verbal response, Calliope's actions - that laugh and that smile - were answer enough to his offer. It was a revelation which likely would have surprised, but it appeared that not every woman in Athenia was keen on retiring elsewhere for a quick dalliance: outside of the few who were not automatically keen on a first meeting affair, many did not want to disappear with him unless it was to the Marikas home. It seemed the prestige of the location almost appealed more than what they would do there. Such reluctance was absurd, and it made this response rather more exciting.
The Marikas offered the merchant the type of smile which was outwardly pleasant, but, when read between the lines, made clear that there was always the possibility that he could receive negative repercussions if he did not do as was being requested. It was quite rare, given that most preferred to garner favour with the royal families, and this was only a small request, but one always had to be prepared. Rafail did not wish to take any chances, lest this woman decided she did not care for him because her purchases had not been taken care of well enough.
Her hand took his own, and he turned his smile onto her instead, this time more genuine in the look's kindness. "It isn't all too far," he assured her, mentally considering the distance to the upper-class homes. "A few short minutes' walk, but enough, I think, for us to enjoy a little conversation on the way, no?" Anticipation was the heart of sexual enjoyment, so Rafail often found, and discovering more about one another would surely lead her heart to pump in desire for all that he could give her. "Once we arrive, we surely shan't be disturbed, and then I'm sure we'll be much too busy to consider conversation any further. I should like to get to know you in the while that I have."
Women liked that, even if Rafail did not. Talking about themselves meant that they felt their feelings were validated, which meant that they were usually far more eager to give themselves to him.
Their path already led them out of the marketplace and into the quieter residential streets of the city, though the blonde lord avoided any areas that felt too lower class for fear of worrying his temporary companion, and because he was not keen on getting mobbed by a gaggle of Athenia's more impoverished population. He glanced down to look at the woman on his arm, expression oddly protective. She was his, for the time being.
"How long have you been in Athenia?" Rafail questioned, referring more to the city than he did the kingdom itself. "And why, in all your time here, have I not stumbled across you already? It is quite a shame that I have not previously had the honour of your acquaintance." And then, as he led her around another corner, "I do hope we can remedy such a tragedy in the future. I would so love to see more of you."
Driven to distraction.
The crucible that was Calliope's forced union with Alector would inevitably crumble. She was certain that using Adrestus of Nikolaos would serve her ends without jeapordizing the boy. So, why not live a little before her inevitable flight from the prison that was Athenia? Here, she died a little bit more every day, her identity crumbling apart little by little until all of the value in her existed purely as the vessel from which Alector's child would be born.
But, Alector hadn't wanted an heir just yet. He'd been busy, and the idea of rearing a child while growing his personal empire... the girl didn't really understand it, but she relented nonetheless. It was easier not to think about, not to care about... Everything about Alector revolted the woman, and the constancy of him in her thoughts was a poison that killed her desire to persist. She visibly shook her head, intent on banishing the darkness in there.
"It isn't all too far."
The assurance came easily from Rafail's lips, and she was so curious. Would they be sheltered in someone else's house? It suited the both of them for their discretions to be so secretive, and the young woman grew more and more elated by the premise of having something to show of her furthering rebellion. Soon, she'd be free.
Right?
Calliope's brow curved at the idea of telling Rafail more about herself. In the moment, she was anonymous, a nothing to be taken away and isolated, to enjoy a rapture of pleasure that presumably did not involve her being beaten in the act. Rafail of Marikas looked the sort to be far too concerned at how his hands looked to ever strike someone without cause.
"The kingdom or the capitol, my lord?" she asked, carefully measuring her steps, letting each footfall shift her hips ever so slightly in an effort to further catch the lord's eye. It was fun for her.
"I've lived in the kingdom my entire life, but the capitol for nearly two years now. My husband brought me here, which would explain why you've never seen me before."
She finally admitted the fact, though if Rafail had noticed the ring on her finger, or did now, he'd surely see that she was married to someone with some amount of money. Her lips curved wider still, and as they drew closer and closer to their destination, she let the curl of shadow hide them before she turned and caught the lord by his waist. Her lips pressed just beneath his earlobe, one hand winding upward along the curve of his spine as she said,
"Let's not be concerned about the future and more, my lord. Distract me now and let nothing else come in the way of that."
The woman offered the lord a smile before she pulled them back along, bending her arm to take his once again. She bowed her head, intent on covering her face from the scrutiny of others. For the moment, only Rafail of Marikas would have that pleasure.
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Driven to distraction.
The crucible that was Calliope's forced union with Alector would inevitably crumble. She was certain that using Adrestus of Nikolaos would serve her ends without jeapordizing the boy. So, why not live a little before her inevitable flight from the prison that was Athenia? Here, she died a little bit more every day, her identity crumbling apart little by little until all of the value in her existed purely as the vessel from which Alector's child would be born.
But, Alector hadn't wanted an heir just yet. He'd been busy, and the idea of rearing a child while growing his personal empire... the girl didn't really understand it, but she relented nonetheless. It was easier not to think about, not to care about... Everything about Alector revolted the woman, and the constancy of him in her thoughts was a poison that killed her desire to persist. She visibly shook her head, intent on banishing the darkness in there.
"It isn't all too far."
The assurance came easily from Rafail's lips, and she was so curious. Would they be sheltered in someone else's house? It suited the both of them for their discretions to be so secretive, and the young woman grew more and more elated by the premise of having something to show of her furthering rebellion. Soon, she'd be free.
Right?
Calliope's brow curved at the idea of telling Rafail more about herself. In the moment, she was anonymous, a nothing to be taken away and isolated, to enjoy a rapture of pleasure that presumably did not involve her being beaten in the act. Rafail of Marikas looked the sort to be far too concerned at how his hands looked to ever strike someone without cause.
"The kingdom or the capitol, my lord?" she asked, carefully measuring her steps, letting each footfall shift her hips ever so slightly in an effort to further catch the lord's eye. It was fun for her.
"I've lived in the kingdom my entire life, but the capitol for nearly two years now. My husband brought me here, which would explain why you've never seen me before."
She finally admitted the fact, though if Rafail had noticed the ring on her finger, or did now, he'd surely see that she was married to someone with some amount of money. Her lips curved wider still, and as they drew closer and closer to their destination, she let the curl of shadow hide them before she turned and caught the lord by his waist. Her lips pressed just beneath his earlobe, one hand winding upward along the curve of his spine as she said,
"Let's not be concerned about the future and more, my lord. Distract me now and let nothing else come in the way of that."
The woman offered the lord a smile before she pulled them back along, bending her arm to take his once again. She bowed her head, intent on covering her face from the scrutiny of others. For the moment, only Rafail of Marikas would have that pleasure.
Driven to distraction.
The crucible that was Calliope's forced union with Alector would inevitably crumble. She was certain that using Adrestus of Nikolaos would serve her ends without jeapordizing the boy. So, why not live a little before her inevitable flight from the prison that was Athenia? Here, she died a little bit more every day, her identity crumbling apart little by little until all of the value in her existed purely as the vessel from which Alector's child would be born.
But, Alector hadn't wanted an heir just yet. He'd been busy, and the idea of rearing a child while growing his personal empire... the girl didn't really understand it, but she relented nonetheless. It was easier not to think about, not to care about... Everything about Alector revolted the woman, and the constancy of him in her thoughts was a poison that killed her desire to persist. She visibly shook her head, intent on banishing the darkness in there.
"It isn't all too far."
The assurance came easily from Rafail's lips, and she was so curious. Would they be sheltered in someone else's house? It suited the both of them for their discretions to be so secretive, and the young woman grew more and more elated by the premise of having something to show of her furthering rebellion. Soon, she'd be free.
Right?
Calliope's brow curved at the idea of telling Rafail more about herself. In the moment, she was anonymous, a nothing to be taken away and isolated, to enjoy a rapture of pleasure that presumably did not involve her being beaten in the act. Rafail of Marikas looked the sort to be far too concerned at how his hands looked to ever strike someone without cause.
"The kingdom or the capitol, my lord?" she asked, carefully measuring her steps, letting each footfall shift her hips ever so slightly in an effort to further catch the lord's eye. It was fun for her.
"I've lived in the kingdom my entire life, but the capitol for nearly two years now. My husband brought me here, which would explain why you've never seen me before."
She finally admitted the fact, though if Rafail had noticed the ring on her finger, or did now, he'd surely see that she was married to someone with some amount of money. Her lips curved wider still, and as they drew closer and closer to their destination, she let the curl of shadow hide them before she turned and caught the lord by his waist. Her lips pressed just beneath his earlobe, one hand winding upward along the curve of his spine as she said,
"Let's not be concerned about the future and more, my lord. Distract me now and let nothing else come in the way of that."
The woman offered the lord a smile before she pulled them back along, bending her arm to take his once again. She bowed her head, intent on covering her face from the scrutiny of others. For the moment, only Rafail of Marikas would have that pleasure.
Husband. Hm. Rafail allowed his gaze to drift ever-so-fleetingly down to his companion's dainty hand, as if to note whether there was a sign of the other, though he was not quite so concerned. He had enjoyed plenty of secret dalliances with other married women in the past, and had never been bothered about the sudden appearances of their husbands. After all, what could the men do to him? They could hardly find their way into the Marikas home, and even if they managed to find the young lord outside of the manor, then they would still be cornered by some burly guard who would not allow them anywhere near his charge. Besides, most of them tended to be substantially shorter than him, and there was little more amusing than watching them attempt to face up to him when they barely made it past his chin.
"It is rather a shame. I suppose I've spent far too long in Thesnia lately to have seen you." That said, the capital city was neatly surrounded by his family's provinces on all sides - a sad remnant of past prestige - so she must have passed through Marikas land at some point on her way in, even if she came from - what was it, Aetaea? Not the finest of the other territories in the kingdom, but far from the worst. "I think it's more than a little lucky that we bumped into one another today."
But she was eager, and not preoccupied with the required promise of something between them in the future, as so many ladies were before they agreed to any fun. Rafail felt her hand on his back before they had even arrived at his destination, and he hesitated as she laid a kiss upon him, almost surprised by the suddenness of the action, certainly not having expected anything so forward. Calliope of Aetaea seemed to be a woman cut from the same cloth as he, and he thought he would be more than glad to fulfil her request.
They were close enough to their intended address now that it was only another moment through the streets before the Marikas lord was pulling them both through the door and into the home of one Lord Makarios of Something-or-Other, the name entirely slipping his mind in the thrill of the moment. He had no need to find their unaware host, who was likely away at his family's other plot of land, given the season, but offered a passing servant who squeaked in surprise at their appearance a gentle smile and a request that she both bring them wine and leave his friend with a note and gift of thanks for the use of his home. Then, this half-important organised, he led his lady up the stairway to the guest bedroom he tended to use whenever he had come to stay in the past.
"I hope you don't mind that this isn't my own home," he told her, though he did not think it mattered, already gently reaching to tug away the sash which held her outfit together. There was little time to waste in their fully-dressed state. "But it is rather a lot farther to the Marikas estate, and I am much too keen to have a look at what further beauty you've hidden under these pretty garments." Rafail paused to meet her gaze now, his hand almost in the position to remove the white sash altogether, but waiting for a spoken confirmation that this was, indeed, what she desired from him.
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Husband. Hm. Rafail allowed his gaze to drift ever-so-fleetingly down to his companion's dainty hand, as if to note whether there was a sign of the other, though he was not quite so concerned. He had enjoyed plenty of secret dalliances with other married women in the past, and had never been bothered about the sudden appearances of their husbands. After all, what could the men do to him? They could hardly find their way into the Marikas home, and even if they managed to find the young lord outside of the manor, then they would still be cornered by some burly guard who would not allow them anywhere near his charge. Besides, most of them tended to be substantially shorter than him, and there was little more amusing than watching them attempt to face up to him when they barely made it past his chin.
"It is rather a shame. I suppose I've spent far too long in Thesnia lately to have seen you." That said, the capital city was neatly surrounded by his family's provinces on all sides - a sad remnant of past prestige - so she must have passed through Marikas land at some point on her way in, even if she came from - what was it, Aetaea? Not the finest of the other territories in the kingdom, but far from the worst. "I think it's more than a little lucky that we bumped into one another today."
But she was eager, and not preoccupied with the required promise of something between them in the future, as so many ladies were before they agreed to any fun. Rafail felt her hand on his back before they had even arrived at his destination, and he hesitated as she laid a kiss upon him, almost surprised by the suddenness of the action, certainly not having expected anything so forward. Calliope of Aetaea seemed to be a woman cut from the same cloth as he, and he thought he would be more than glad to fulfil her request.
They were close enough to their intended address now that it was only another moment through the streets before the Marikas lord was pulling them both through the door and into the home of one Lord Makarios of Something-or-Other, the name entirely slipping his mind in the thrill of the moment. He had no need to find their unaware host, who was likely away at his family's other plot of land, given the season, but offered a passing servant who squeaked in surprise at their appearance a gentle smile and a request that she both bring them wine and leave his friend with a note and gift of thanks for the use of his home. Then, this half-important organised, he led his lady up the stairway to the guest bedroom he tended to use whenever he had come to stay in the past.
"I hope you don't mind that this isn't my own home," he told her, though he did not think it mattered, already gently reaching to tug away the sash which held her outfit together. There was little time to waste in their fully-dressed state. "But it is rather a lot farther to the Marikas estate, and I am much too keen to have a look at what further beauty you've hidden under these pretty garments." Rafail paused to meet her gaze now, his hand almost in the position to remove the white sash altogether, but waiting for a spoken confirmation that this was, indeed, what she desired from him.
Husband. Hm. Rafail allowed his gaze to drift ever-so-fleetingly down to his companion's dainty hand, as if to note whether there was a sign of the other, though he was not quite so concerned. He had enjoyed plenty of secret dalliances with other married women in the past, and had never been bothered about the sudden appearances of their husbands. After all, what could the men do to him? They could hardly find their way into the Marikas home, and even if they managed to find the young lord outside of the manor, then they would still be cornered by some burly guard who would not allow them anywhere near his charge. Besides, most of them tended to be substantially shorter than him, and there was little more amusing than watching them attempt to face up to him when they barely made it past his chin.
"It is rather a shame. I suppose I've spent far too long in Thesnia lately to have seen you." That said, the capital city was neatly surrounded by his family's provinces on all sides - a sad remnant of past prestige - so she must have passed through Marikas land at some point on her way in, even if she came from - what was it, Aetaea? Not the finest of the other territories in the kingdom, but far from the worst. "I think it's more than a little lucky that we bumped into one another today."
But she was eager, and not preoccupied with the required promise of something between them in the future, as so many ladies were before they agreed to any fun. Rafail felt her hand on his back before they had even arrived at his destination, and he hesitated as she laid a kiss upon him, almost surprised by the suddenness of the action, certainly not having expected anything so forward. Calliope of Aetaea seemed to be a woman cut from the same cloth as he, and he thought he would be more than glad to fulfil her request.
They were close enough to their intended address now that it was only another moment through the streets before the Marikas lord was pulling them both through the door and into the home of one Lord Makarios of Something-or-Other, the name entirely slipping his mind in the thrill of the moment. He had no need to find their unaware host, who was likely away at his family's other plot of land, given the season, but offered a passing servant who squeaked in surprise at their appearance a gentle smile and a request that she both bring them wine and leave his friend with a note and gift of thanks for the use of his home. Then, this half-important organised, he led his lady up the stairway to the guest bedroom he tended to use whenever he had come to stay in the past.
"I hope you don't mind that this isn't my own home," he told her, though he did not think it mattered, already gently reaching to tug away the sash which held her outfit together. There was little time to waste in their fully-dressed state. "But it is rather a lot farther to the Marikas estate, and I am much too keen to have a look at what further beauty you've hidden under these pretty garments." Rafail paused to meet her gaze now, his hand almost in the position to remove the white sash altogether, but waiting for a spoken confirmation that this was, indeed, what she desired from him.
Ana could only figure that her little admission would do nothing to deter Rafail from his intentions with her, whatever they were. She could guess, of course, the young wife by no means new to the games that seduction opened the doors to. However, this bit, this act of defiance towards Alector was certainly a place she'd yet to go to. Isolated within Alector's home in the capitol, the man never hired men to serve in his home, never was Calliope given any sort of opportunity to peruse or admire.
So, crossing paths with Rafail or Marikas, a man so intent on getting the satisfaction he wanted, or claimed to deserve, was something she was rather new to. She wondered how Alector might punish her if he ever discovered it, but... he never would. She'd be careful, or not... A bit of punishment would be nothing new to the woman whose body was littered with healed scars. She might've considered herself lucky, that her husband hadn't marked her recently.
But, she didn't. Alector of Athenia's mercy only extended so far as the day that his important company parted from him. Tomorrow, or the day after. Then, his vile games would continue. It was best for her to suffer them meekly, to wait until the day she was absconded to another land altogether. A dalliance with lord Rafail would be her only glimmer of defiance in a crucible that lasted more than two years.
"Quite a shame," she agreed, nodding as he followed his observation with a declaration of luck. She wanted to chuckle at the notion. Luck was... certainly one way to put it. A distraction placed in her way in a moment of freedom, a way to spend hours and allow herself some notion of perspective on the dreary feelings she held for "pleasure" at the hands of a man.
So, Calliope followed quite eagerly, legs carrying her along as he pulled her forward by the wrist. He seemed excited, and the emotion might've even been infectious, a vestige of hope in the idea of anticipation returning to her once more.
Are we breaking into some lackey of his' home? she wondered as they spilled into a handsome estate, certainly much smaller and duller than anything that the Marikas themselves would own. But, suitable. Rafail's casual lackeys seemed to hold comparable wealth to the man she'd been sold to.
The irony of that made her laugh aloud, a sound that seemed so starkly out of place given where the conversation moved onto once they'd broken through the thresshold and he'd began to tug at the sash. The sash did put up a bit of a fuss, designed not to be undone so easily. But, undid it certainly became, and smooth, pale flesh was presented to Rafail, from her navel, pierced with a sapphire enclosed with silver, to the slight curves of her breasts and the peaks which hardened at the touch of a faint breeze that moved through the open-aired manor.
"You needn't be concerned with my opinions, my lord. This place is more than grand enough for someone like me," she assured him. Besides, he had a point. Too far and Calliope might've lost her nerve, tried to pull away. She wanted to cement her defiance and learn from Rafail just how satisfying a man's non-violent touch could be.
Calliope's fingers brushed between the fabric of Rafail's chiton, the tips tightening against the hem before her other hand moved to the material that held it together. A fibulae undone, a sash pried apart. The Aetaean woman pressed forward, her breasts pressing into the plane of Rafail's chest as she tipped head forward, standing on her toes so as to catch Rafail just beneath the jaw with her lips,
"Waiting is certainly.... inadvisable. You made the right decision."
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Ana could only figure that her little admission would do nothing to deter Rafail from his intentions with her, whatever they were. She could guess, of course, the young wife by no means new to the games that seduction opened the doors to. However, this bit, this act of defiance towards Alector was certainly a place she'd yet to go to. Isolated within Alector's home in the capitol, the man never hired men to serve in his home, never was Calliope given any sort of opportunity to peruse or admire.
So, crossing paths with Rafail or Marikas, a man so intent on getting the satisfaction he wanted, or claimed to deserve, was something she was rather new to. She wondered how Alector might punish her if he ever discovered it, but... he never would. She'd be careful, or not... A bit of punishment would be nothing new to the woman whose body was littered with healed scars. She might've considered herself lucky, that her husband hadn't marked her recently.
But, she didn't. Alector of Athenia's mercy only extended so far as the day that his important company parted from him. Tomorrow, or the day after. Then, his vile games would continue. It was best for her to suffer them meekly, to wait until the day she was absconded to another land altogether. A dalliance with lord Rafail would be her only glimmer of defiance in a crucible that lasted more than two years.
"Quite a shame," she agreed, nodding as he followed his observation with a declaration of luck. She wanted to chuckle at the notion. Luck was... certainly one way to put it. A distraction placed in her way in a moment of freedom, a way to spend hours and allow herself some notion of perspective on the dreary feelings she held for "pleasure" at the hands of a man.
So, Calliope followed quite eagerly, legs carrying her along as he pulled her forward by the wrist. He seemed excited, and the emotion might've even been infectious, a vestige of hope in the idea of anticipation returning to her once more.
Are we breaking into some lackey of his' home? she wondered as they spilled into a handsome estate, certainly much smaller and duller than anything that the Marikas themselves would own. But, suitable. Rafail's casual lackeys seemed to hold comparable wealth to the man she'd been sold to.
The irony of that made her laugh aloud, a sound that seemed so starkly out of place given where the conversation moved onto once they'd broken through the thresshold and he'd began to tug at the sash. The sash did put up a bit of a fuss, designed not to be undone so easily. But, undid it certainly became, and smooth, pale flesh was presented to Rafail, from her navel, pierced with a sapphire enclosed with silver, to the slight curves of her breasts and the peaks which hardened at the touch of a faint breeze that moved through the open-aired manor.
"You needn't be concerned with my opinions, my lord. This place is more than grand enough for someone like me," she assured him. Besides, he had a point. Too far and Calliope might've lost her nerve, tried to pull away. She wanted to cement her defiance and learn from Rafail just how satisfying a man's non-violent touch could be.
Calliope's fingers brushed between the fabric of Rafail's chiton, the tips tightening against the hem before her other hand moved to the material that held it together. A fibulae undone, a sash pried apart. The Aetaean woman pressed forward, her breasts pressing into the plane of Rafail's chest as she tipped head forward, standing on her toes so as to catch Rafail just beneath the jaw with her lips,
"Waiting is certainly.... inadvisable. You made the right decision."
Ana could only figure that her little admission would do nothing to deter Rafail from his intentions with her, whatever they were. She could guess, of course, the young wife by no means new to the games that seduction opened the doors to. However, this bit, this act of defiance towards Alector was certainly a place she'd yet to go to. Isolated within Alector's home in the capitol, the man never hired men to serve in his home, never was Calliope given any sort of opportunity to peruse or admire.
So, crossing paths with Rafail or Marikas, a man so intent on getting the satisfaction he wanted, or claimed to deserve, was something she was rather new to. She wondered how Alector might punish her if he ever discovered it, but... he never would. She'd be careful, or not... A bit of punishment would be nothing new to the woman whose body was littered with healed scars. She might've considered herself lucky, that her husband hadn't marked her recently.
But, she didn't. Alector of Athenia's mercy only extended so far as the day that his important company parted from him. Tomorrow, or the day after. Then, his vile games would continue. It was best for her to suffer them meekly, to wait until the day she was absconded to another land altogether. A dalliance with lord Rafail would be her only glimmer of defiance in a crucible that lasted more than two years.
"Quite a shame," she agreed, nodding as he followed his observation with a declaration of luck. She wanted to chuckle at the notion. Luck was... certainly one way to put it. A distraction placed in her way in a moment of freedom, a way to spend hours and allow herself some notion of perspective on the dreary feelings she held for "pleasure" at the hands of a man.
So, Calliope followed quite eagerly, legs carrying her along as he pulled her forward by the wrist. He seemed excited, and the emotion might've even been infectious, a vestige of hope in the idea of anticipation returning to her once more.
Are we breaking into some lackey of his' home? she wondered as they spilled into a handsome estate, certainly much smaller and duller than anything that the Marikas themselves would own. But, suitable. Rafail's casual lackeys seemed to hold comparable wealth to the man she'd been sold to.
The irony of that made her laugh aloud, a sound that seemed so starkly out of place given where the conversation moved onto once they'd broken through the thresshold and he'd began to tug at the sash. The sash did put up a bit of a fuss, designed not to be undone so easily. But, undid it certainly became, and smooth, pale flesh was presented to Rafail, from her navel, pierced with a sapphire enclosed with silver, to the slight curves of her breasts and the peaks which hardened at the touch of a faint breeze that moved through the open-aired manor.
"You needn't be concerned with my opinions, my lord. This place is more than grand enough for someone like me," she assured him. Besides, he had a point. Too far and Calliope might've lost her nerve, tried to pull away. She wanted to cement her defiance and learn from Rafail just how satisfying a man's non-violent touch could be.
Calliope's fingers brushed between the fabric of Rafail's chiton, the tips tightening against the hem before her other hand moved to the material that held it together. A fibulae undone, a sash pried apart. The Aetaean woman pressed forward, her breasts pressing into the plane of Rafail's chest as she tipped head forward, standing on her toes so as to catch Rafail just beneath the jaw with her lips,
"Waiting is certainly.... inadvisable. You made the right decision."
Her actions only secured Rafail the confirmation that she was ready for the pair of them to begin their sensual encounter, and he took a moment to admire the naked shape of her, tracing every aspect of her appearance with his gaze, wanting to commit it to memory in case this was to be the last time the pair of them ever met. A hand lifted to caress her soft skin, his long fingers running slowly down her bare chest to hesitate, almost thoughtful, at the piercing of her navel. He had seen plenty of attractive women in the few years in which he had found himself sexually active, but even he was of the mind that Calliope of Aetaea possessed one of the most pleasing forms he had had the satisfaction of noting in all that time. Rafail did not often do so, but he suddenly thought himself quite lucky indeed.
Waiting would most certainly have been inadvisable, especially now that Rafail had been offered the sight he had. He did not think he would have been able to bear the thought of having to wait much longer before they could embrace if they had been made to walk all the way back to his home. Patience was not a trait he had been properly taught, so much happier was he with the comfortable alternative of instant gratification in most things, though the lord was not so awful a man that he would have tried himself upon her in the street (besides, it was filthy). The fact that he had a friend with a house so close had only been a blessing, and, for a brief moment, Rafail was somewhat glad that he made the friends he did.
He let her undo the fibulae of his chiton, though his gaze was still fixed on Calliope's body, and he only half-noticed it fall around him as she stepped forward to plant that kiss on his jaw, his body naturally bending forward to allow her easier access. As he did, he caught her in the kiss, returning it more hungrily than she had given hers, his hands falling to wrap tightly around her waist and pull her closer, fingers pressing lightly into the small of her back as his other hand slipped further down. He let the kiss continue for a long while, savouring the moment between them.
You had to learn to appreciate the softer moments of sex; otherwise, the rest of the act was barely anywhere near as enjoyable. Rafail had noted that was the case for most matters: if you didn't care about the delicate things, then you would never be able to enjoy that which was intended to be appreciated as much as you could. It was precisely how he had worked out to live in the perfect level of hedonism thus far. That was the reason he liked to take his time with all the intricacies of relationships, taking his time to heighten the romantic experience as much as possible for any parties involved.
Once the moment had ended, he was slow to pull away, gaze fixated on hers as he bent down to run his hands behind her legs, carefully reaching to lift her up into his arms if she would so allow him, stepping backwards to carry her eagerly towards the bed. Rafail's lips connected back with hers, now ready and eager for them to get going. He angled to deposit her gently onto the bed, gradually leaning over the woman to treat her to more kisses, starting at her jawline and then trailing them along the side of her neck, making his way gladly down to her ample breasts. "You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
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Her actions only secured Rafail the confirmation that she was ready for the pair of them to begin their sensual encounter, and he took a moment to admire the naked shape of her, tracing every aspect of her appearance with his gaze, wanting to commit it to memory in case this was to be the last time the pair of them ever met. A hand lifted to caress her soft skin, his long fingers running slowly down her bare chest to hesitate, almost thoughtful, at the piercing of her navel. He had seen plenty of attractive women in the few years in which he had found himself sexually active, but even he was of the mind that Calliope of Aetaea possessed one of the most pleasing forms he had had the satisfaction of noting in all that time. Rafail did not often do so, but he suddenly thought himself quite lucky indeed.
Waiting would most certainly have been inadvisable, especially now that Rafail had been offered the sight he had. He did not think he would have been able to bear the thought of having to wait much longer before they could embrace if they had been made to walk all the way back to his home. Patience was not a trait he had been properly taught, so much happier was he with the comfortable alternative of instant gratification in most things, though the lord was not so awful a man that he would have tried himself upon her in the street (besides, it was filthy). The fact that he had a friend with a house so close had only been a blessing, and, for a brief moment, Rafail was somewhat glad that he made the friends he did.
He let her undo the fibulae of his chiton, though his gaze was still fixed on Calliope's body, and he only half-noticed it fall around him as she stepped forward to plant that kiss on his jaw, his body naturally bending forward to allow her easier access. As he did, he caught her in the kiss, returning it more hungrily than she had given hers, his hands falling to wrap tightly around her waist and pull her closer, fingers pressing lightly into the small of her back as his other hand slipped further down. He let the kiss continue for a long while, savouring the moment between them.
You had to learn to appreciate the softer moments of sex; otherwise, the rest of the act was barely anywhere near as enjoyable. Rafail had noted that was the case for most matters: if you didn't care about the delicate things, then you would never be able to enjoy that which was intended to be appreciated as much as you could. It was precisely how he had worked out to live in the perfect level of hedonism thus far. That was the reason he liked to take his time with all the intricacies of relationships, taking his time to heighten the romantic experience as much as possible for any parties involved.
Once the moment had ended, he was slow to pull away, gaze fixated on hers as he bent down to run his hands behind her legs, carefully reaching to lift her up into his arms if she would so allow him, stepping backwards to carry her eagerly towards the bed. Rafail's lips connected back with hers, now ready and eager for them to get going. He angled to deposit her gently onto the bed, gradually leaning over the woman to treat her to more kisses, starting at her jawline and then trailing them along the side of her neck, making his way gladly down to her ample breasts. "You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
Her actions only secured Rafail the confirmation that she was ready for the pair of them to begin their sensual encounter, and he took a moment to admire the naked shape of her, tracing every aspect of her appearance with his gaze, wanting to commit it to memory in case this was to be the last time the pair of them ever met. A hand lifted to caress her soft skin, his long fingers running slowly down her bare chest to hesitate, almost thoughtful, at the piercing of her navel. He had seen plenty of attractive women in the few years in which he had found himself sexually active, but even he was of the mind that Calliope of Aetaea possessed one of the most pleasing forms he had had the satisfaction of noting in all that time. Rafail did not often do so, but he suddenly thought himself quite lucky indeed.
Waiting would most certainly have been inadvisable, especially now that Rafail had been offered the sight he had. He did not think he would have been able to bear the thought of having to wait much longer before they could embrace if they had been made to walk all the way back to his home. Patience was not a trait he had been properly taught, so much happier was he with the comfortable alternative of instant gratification in most things, though the lord was not so awful a man that he would have tried himself upon her in the street (besides, it was filthy). The fact that he had a friend with a house so close had only been a blessing, and, for a brief moment, Rafail was somewhat glad that he made the friends he did.
He let her undo the fibulae of his chiton, though his gaze was still fixed on Calliope's body, and he only half-noticed it fall around him as she stepped forward to plant that kiss on his jaw, his body naturally bending forward to allow her easier access. As he did, he caught her in the kiss, returning it more hungrily than she had given hers, his hands falling to wrap tightly around her waist and pull her closer, fingers pressing lightly into the small of her back as his other hand slipped further down. He let the kiss continue for a long while, savouring the moment between them.
You had to learn to appreciate the softer moments of sex; otherwise, the rest of the act was barely anywhere near as enjoyable. Rafail had noted that was the case for most matters: if you didn't care about the delicate things, then you would never be able to enjoy that which was intended to be appreciated as much as you could. It was precisely how he had worked out to live in the perfect level of hedonism thus far. That was the reason he liked to take his time with all the intricacies of relationships, taking his time to heighten the romantic experience as much as possible for any parties involved.
Once the moment had ended, he was slow to pull away, gaze fixated on hers as he bent down to run his hands behind her legs, carefully reaching to lift her up into his arms if she would so allow him, stepping backwards to carry her eagerly towards the bed. Rafail's lips connected back with hers, now ready and eager for them to get going. He angled to deposit her gently onto the bed, gradually leaning over the woman to treat her to more kisses, starting at her jawline and then trailing them along the side of her neck, making his way gladly down to her ample breasts. "You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
To be admired so plainly and yet with the reservation given to a man in control of himself... it was a distinction for Calliope of Aetaea, who only knew vile aggression and broken resistance in all of the times since she'd first bled for a man. She enjoyed it, having his eyes upon her, in enrapturing the attentions of this man, who could have anyone he wanted in life. From the lowest of servants to the highest of royals, there was no limits to the options available to Rafail of Marikas. An attractive man in his own right, Calliope admired him as they spent a moment lapsed in his hesitation. Then, the moment withered away and the royal's chiton was loosed from his shoulders.
Calliope was pleased by his bending to her whim, placing supple lips upon her jawline only to be caught next by his own. Her own slow, deliberate efforts were replaced by an impatient desire. It was more than a bit amusing to see Rafail crane to meet her lips, his towering height far outclassing her. When his arm closed about her waist, the difference became all the more pronounced. Compelled to press into Rafail, the tight grasp upon her waist drew a low moan from her lips. Pressed up against his chest, the warmth that drew from her center ebbed and flowed with Rafail's own, her lips parting to allow his tongue, should he choose to do so, venture forth into her mouth.
Her moan was cut off, muffled by his lips, her own hands slid beneath the part of his arms, to drape her fingernails along the contours of his back. Rafail, unlike Alector, was a thinner man, without the excess of fat that covered over his musculature from her scrutiny. This man did not see manual labour, and she relished in the smoothness of his skin against hers, the strength in his grasp not exacerbated with gruff fingertips and wretched dirt under his fingernails. Compared to Rafail, Alector was a pig, toiling in the grime of items brought in from lands afar.
The kiss fell away after a long moment, and as Rafail drew away from her, she felt the ghost of his lips upon his own. Curved into a smile, the young woman peered up at Rafail with a heavy-lidded gaze, her digits grazing along the expanse of his back until he drew too far for her reach. She always found that Alector enjoyed her touch gearing towards that possessiveness, ardent enough to prove a (fake) attachment, but not so intense as to break the skin. Soft red lines might be left in their wake, but if that fleeting mark was hers to leave upon Rafail, she would take it.
"You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
What?
Rafail had lifted her up with no resistance, save for a low chirp of surprise that reverberated off the walls. Carried onward towards the bed, she reveled in his gentle actions, pushing her weight onto the bed. Her legs had wrapped around Rafail's waist, aiding in his efforts, then unfurling to allow him freedom of movement when he was done. The merchant's wife was stunned at that. He'd called her beautiful, and she could with some effort accept that to some, she would be such. But... a vision from a Goddess? Let alone the Goddess of Desire? It was flattery of the highest order, even bordering on blasphemy. And yet...
His words haunted her.
Calliope felt the fire burning in her chest. How she craved this sort of attention, denied the praises and gentle ravishment that might've been afforded to her by a better man. Despite being fully aware that it was a ploy, Calliope allowed herself to fall into it. His second kiss was a ghost upon her lips, her back arched into Rafail's attentions as his lips traversed the flesh of her jawline, to the path of her pulse, then lower until the warmth seeped into the curves of her breasts.
Calliope felt... alive.
"You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
She heard it as if it were repeated, echoing through her skull, swelling throughout the echelons of thought up until she felt her pulse race. It was the proximity, surely, that drew her desires from her. His gentle caresses, smooth lips lacking the cracks of an oceanic existence... Alector of Athenia, compared to a man like Rafail, was repugnant.
"I am a vision..." she agreed, allowing one hand to languidly rise, fingertips brushed along the flesh of his shoulder up until they knitted into his blonde locks. Gently, she pulled back on his head, intent on properly assessing the beguiling man above her.
"From Aphrodite herself..."
It was all she could do, to repeat his words. She felt the heat well within her chest, arching her back to raise her breasts to be nearer to the heat of his chest.
"Lord Marikas..." she let out, a salacious desire welling deeper in her dulcet tones. She was stunned by her ease in this. Rafail of Marikas, in a few moments, managed to claim a side of Calliope her husband would never know.
"Take me, please."
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To be admired so plainly and yet with the reservation given to a man in control of himself... it was a distinction for Calliope of Aetaea, who only knew vile aggression and broken resistance in all of the times since she'd first bled for a man. She enjoyed it, having his eyes upon her, in enrapturing the attentions of this man, who could have anyone he wanted in life. From the lowest of servants to the highest of royals, there was no limits to the options available to Rafail of Marikas. An attractive man in his own right, Calliope admired him as they spent a moment lapsed in his hesitation. Then, the moment withered away and the royal's chiton was loosed from his shoulders.
Calliope was pleased by his bending to her whim, placing supple lips upon her jawline only to be caught next by his own. Her own slow, deliberate efforts were replaced by an impatient desire. It was more than a bit amusing to see Rafail crane to meet her lips, his towering height far outclassing her. When his arm closed about her waist, the difference became all the more pronounced. Compelled to press into Rafail, the tight grasp upon her waist drew a low moan from her lips. Pressed up against his chest, the warmth that drew from her center ebbed and flowed with Rafail's own, her lips parting to allow his tongue, should he choose to do so, venture forth into her mouth.
Her moan was cut off, muffled by his lips, her own hands slid beneath the part of his arms, to drape her fingernails along the contours of his back. Rafail, unlike Alector, was a thinner man, without the excess of fat that covered over his musculature from her scrutiny. This man did not see manual labour, and she relished in the smoothness of his skin against hers, the strength in his grasp not exacerbated with gruff fingertips and wretched dirt under his fingernails. Compared to Rafail, Alector was a pig, toiling in the grime of items brought in from lands afar.
The kiss fell away after a long moment, and as Rafail drew away from her, she felt the ghost of his lips upon his own. Curved into a smile, the young woman peered up at Rafail with a heavy-lidded gaze, her digits grazing along the expanse of his back until he drew too far for her reach. She always found that Alector enjoyed her touch gearing towards that possessiveness, ardent enough to prove a (fake) attachment, but not so intense as to break the skin. Soft red lines might be left in their wake, but if that fleeting mark was hers to leave upon Rafail, she would take it.
"You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
What?
Rafail had lifted her up with no resistance, save for a low chirp of surprise that reverberated off the walls. Carried onward towards the bed, she reveled in his gentle actions, pushing her weight onto the bed. Her legs had wrapped around Rafail's waist, aiding in his efforts, then unfurling to allow him freedom of movement when he was done. The merchant's wife was stunned at that. He'd called her beautiful, and she could with some effort accept that to some, she would be such. But... a vision from a Goddess? Let alone the Goddess of Desire? It was flattery of the highest order, even bordering on blasphemy. And yet...
His words haunted her.
Calliope felt the fire burning in her chest. How she craved this sort of attention, denied the praises and gentle ravishment that might've been afforded to her by a better man. Despite being fully aware that it was a ploy, Calliope allowed herself to fall into it. His second kiss was a ghost upon her lips, her back arched into Rafail's attentions as his lips traversed the flesh of her jawline, to the path of her pulse, then lower until the warmth seeped into the curves of her breasts.
Calliope felt... alive.
"You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
She heard it as if it were repeated, echoing through her skull, swelling throughout the echelons of thought up until she felt her pulse race. It was the proximity, surely, that drew her desires from her. His gentle caresses, smooth lips lacking the cracks of an oceanic existence... Alector of Athenia, compared to a man like Rafail, was repugnant.
"I am a vision..." she agreed, allowing one hand to languidly rise, fingertips brushed along the flesh of his shoulder up until they knitted into his blonde locks. Gently, she pulled back on his head, intent on properly assessing the beguiling man above her.
"From Aphrodite herself..."
It was all she could do, to repeat his words. She felt the heat well within her chest, arching her back to raise her breasts to be nearer to the heat of his chest.
"Lord Marikas..." she let out, a salacious desire welling deeper in her dulcet tones. She was stunned by her ease in this. Rafail of Marikas, in a few moments, managed to claim a side of Calliope her husband would never know.
"Take me, please."
To be admired so plainly and yet with the reservation given to a man in control of himself... it was a distinction for Calliope of Aetaea, who only knew vile aggression and broken resistance in all of the times since she'd first bled for a man. She enjoyed it, having his eyes upon her, in enrapturing the attentions of this man, who could have anyone he wanted in life. From the lowest of servants to the highest of royals, there was no limits to the options available to Rafail of Marikas. An attractive man in his own right, Calliope admired him as they spent a moment lapsed in his hesitation. Then, the moment withered away and the royal's chiton was loosed from his shoulders.
Calliope was pleased by his bending to her whim, placing supple lips upon her jawline only to be caught next by his own. Her own slow, deliberate efforts were replaced by an impatient desire. It was more than a bit amusing to see Rafail crane to meet her lips, his towering height far outclassing her. When his arm closed about her waist, the difference became all the more pronounced. Compelled to press into Rafail, the tight grasp upon her waist drew a low moan from her lips. Pressed up against his chest, the warmth that drew from her center ebbed and flowed with Rafail's own, her lips parting to allow his tongue, should he choose to do so, venture forth into her mouth.
Her moan was cut off, muffled by his lips, her own hands slid beneath the part of his arms, to drape her fingernails along the contours of his back. Rafail, unlike Alector, was a thinner man, without the excess of fat that covered over his musculature from her scrutiny. This man did not see manual labour, and she relished in the smoothness of his skin against hers, the strength in his grasp not exacerbated with gruff fingertips and wretched dirt under his fingernails. Compared to Rafail, Alector was a pig, toiling in the grime of items brought in from lands afar.
The kiss fell away after a long moment, and as Rafail drew away from her, she felt the ghost of his lips upon his own. Curved into a smile, the young woman peered up at Rafail with a heavy-lidded gaze, her digits grazing along the expanse of his back until he drew too far for her reach. She always found that Alector enjoyed her touch gearing towards that possessiveness, ardent enough to prove a (fake) attachment, but not so intense as to break the skin. Soft red lines might be left in their wake, but if that fleeting mark was hers to leave upon Rafail, she would take it.
"You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
What?
Rafail had lifted her up with no resistance, save for a low chirp of surprise that reverberated off the walls. Carried onward towards the bed, she reveled in his gentle actions, pushing her weight onto the bed. Her legs had wrapped around Rafail's waist, aiding in his efforts, then unfurling to allow him freedom of movement when he was done. The merchant's wife was stunned at that. He'd called her beautiful, and she could with some effort accept that to some, she would be such. But... a vision from a Goddess? Let alone the Goddess of Desire? It was flattery of the highest order, even bordering on blasphemy. And yet...
His words haunted her.
Calliope felt the fire burning in her chest. How she craved this sort of attention, denied the praises and gentle ravishment that might've been afforded to her by a better man. Despite being fully aware that it was a ploy, Calliope allowed herself to fall into it. His second kiss was a ghost upon her lips, her back arched into Rafail's attentions as his lips traversed the flesh of her jawline, to the path of her pulse, then lower until the warmth seeped into the curves of her breasts.
Calliope felt... alive.
"You are a vision from Aphrodite herself."
She heard it as if it were repeated, echoing through her skull, swelling throughout the echelons of thought up until she felt her pulse race. It was the proximity, surely, that drew her desires from her. His gentle caresses, smooth lips lacking the cracks of an oceanic existence... Alector of Athenia, compared to a man like Rafail, was repugnant.
"I am a vision..." she agreed, allowing one hand to languidly rise, fingertips brushed along the flesh of his shoulder up until they knitted into his blonde locks. Gently, she pulled back on his head, intent on properly assessing the beguiling man above her.
"From Aphrodite herself..."
It was all she could do, to repeat his words. She felt the heat well within her chest, arching her back to raise her breasts to be nearer to the heat of his chest.
"Lord Marikas..." she let out, a salacious desire welling deeper in her dulcet tones. She was stunned by her ease in this. Rafail of Marikas, in a few moments, managed to claim a side of Calliope her husband would never know.
