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Lukos whistled as he wandered across the open field, barefoot, sleeves of his billowy, muted red shirt rolled up to leave his forearms exposed. His boots were clutched in one hand and over his other arm, he carried a rather pretty basket. The basket was evidently well loved, from the cracked wicker at the bottom and had been painted an alarming shade of pink. Across the sides and over the top, a medley of little flower blossoms in various hues of yellow, purple, and white, looped their way around the basket’s outside. A slip of blue fabric flapped in the warm breeze and every so often, Lukos caught the scent of what promised to be a succulent meal.
He faced a wide expanse of field, heading in no particular direction. The waist high grasses whispered at his hips and he found he was actually enjoying this landlocked experience. At least for today. The scents here didn’t carry much of the salty air of the sea. There were hints of sweetness, of grass bending beneath his feet, the swishing of trees in the distance, and everywhere, he saw vibrant life. The most vibrant and active life was several hundred yards behind him in the form of two women, who were no longer going to be enjoying an afternoon’s leisure or lunch. Having decided that he wanted whatever was in the basket more than they did, it was a simple matter of sauntering toward them, plucking up the basket, and walking off with it. Other than hurling unladylike insults behind him as he walked, nothing else was done to force him to give it back.
Not fearing them or any serious repercussions, Lukos didn’t pick up his pace, and he did not look back. Just as he’d thought, they didn’t come running after him, even though, if the truth were to be known, they could have bested him together at the present moment. Possibly even one or the other of them on their own. He was still recovering from being stabbed and while he could walk and bend and twist if he wanted, all of these things had to be done slowly, and respect had to be given to his side that he didn’t usually like to do. Keeping a large, loose fitting shirt like this made it easy to hide the bandages that were still wrapped around his torso just in case the sutures came open. Unlike before, they didn’t need changed every day anymore, but if he was too active, who was to say?
The ground sloped gently upwards and Lukos followed it until he crested a small hill, ending at the base of an impossibly huge oak tree. He idly wondered if it was older than Vasiliadon and wouldn’t have been surprised if that was so. Easing himself down by placing his back against the tree trunk, he slid slowly until his butt reached the grassy ground and sighed, wincing as he held his side a bit. The muscle had only twinged but he was growing a little paranoid that it wouldn’t ever heal. Or if it did, maybe it wouldn’t heal properly? Kreios was no fucking help and Neena was as hard to pin down on this shit as a piece of the west wind.
“Now then,” he said to himself, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him and pulling the basket onto his lap. “Let’s see what we’ve got in here...mmmmmm, lamb.” Pulling out a haunch of roasted meat, he unwrapped it from its linen and searched around for the knife that the girls were presumably going to use to slice it. His fingers brushed against the telltale handle and he made quick work of getting himself some food. Whoever their cook was, Lukos thought he ought to steal that person and have them cook for him on his ship. This meat was amazing.
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Lukos whistled as he wandered across the open field, barefoot, sleeves of his billowy, muted red shirt rolled up to leave his forearms exposed. His boots were clutched in one hand and over his other arm, he carried a rather pretty basket. The basket was evidently well loved, from the cracked wicker at the bottom and had been painted an alarming shade of pink. Across the sides and over the top, a medley of little flower blossoms in various hues of yellow, purple, and white, looped their way around the basket’s outside. A slip of blue fabric flapped in the warm breeze and every so often, Lukos caught the scent of what promised to be a succulent meal.
He faced a wide expanse of field, heading in no particular direction. The waist high grasses whispered at his hips and he found he was actually enjoying this landlocked experience. At least for today. The scents here didn’t carry much of the salty air of the sea. There were hints of sweetness, of grass bending beneath his feet, the swishing of trees in the distance, and everywhere, he saw vibrant life. The most vibrant and active life was several hundred yards behind him in the form of two women, who were no longer going to be enjoying an afternoon’s leisure or lunch. Having decided that he wanted whatever was in the basket more than they did, it was a simple matter of sauntering toward them, plucking up the basket, and walking off with it. Other than hurling unladylike insults behind him as he walked, nothing else was done to force him to give it back.
Not fearing them or any serious repercussions, Lukos didn’t pick up his pace, and he did not look back. Just as he’d thought, they didn’t come running after him, even though, if the truth were to be known, they could have bested him together at the present moment. Possibly even one or the other of them on their own. He was still recovering from being stabbed and while he could walk and bend and twist if he wanted, all of these things had to be done slowly, and respect had to be given to his side that he didn’t usually like to do. Keeping a large, loose fitting shirt like this made it easy to hide the bandages that were still wrapped around his torso just in case the sutures came open. Unlike before, they didn’t need changed every day anymore, but if he was too active, who was to say?
The ground sloped gently upwards and Lukos followed it until he crested a small hill, ending at the base of an impossibly huge oak tree. He idly wondered if it was older than Vasiliadon and wouldn’t have been surprised if that was so. Easing himself down by placing his back against the tree trunk, he slid slowly until his butt reached the grassy ground and sighed, wincing as he held his side a bit. The muscle had only twinged but he was growing a little paranoid that it wouldn’t ever heal. Or if it did, maybe it wouldn’t heal properly? Kreios was no fucking help and Neena was as hard to pin down on this shit as a piece of the west wind.
“Now then,” he said to himself, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him and pulling the basket onto his lap. “Let’s see what we’ve got in here...mmmmmm, lamb.” Pulling out a haunch of roasted meat, he unwrapped it from its linen and searched around for the knife that the girls were presumably going to use to slice it. His fingers brushed against the telltale handle and he made quick work of getting himself some food. Whoever their cook was, Lukos thought he ought to steal that person and have them cook for him on his ship. This meat was amazing.
Lukos whistled as he wandered across the open field, barefoot, sleeves of his billowy, muted red shirt rolled up to leave his forearms exposed. His boots were clutched in one hand and over his other arm, he carried a rather pretty basket. The basket was evidently well loved, from the cracked wicker at the bottom and had been painted an alarming shade of pink. Across the sides and over the top, a medley of little flower blossoms in various hues of yellow, purple, and white, looped their way around the basket’s outside. A slip of blue fabric flapped in the warm breeze and every so often, Lukos caught the scent of what promised to be a succulent meal.
He faced a wide expanse of field, heading in no particular direction. The waist high grasses whispered at his hips and he found he was actually enjoying this landlocked experience. At least for today. The scents here didn’t carry much of the salty air of the sea. There were hints of sweetness, of grass bending beneath his feet, the swishing of trees in the distance, and everywhere, he saw vibrant life. The most vibrant and active life was several hundred yards behind him in the form of two women, who were no longer going to be enjoying an afternoon’s leisure or lunch. Having decided that he wanted whatever was in the basket more than they did, it was a simple matter of sauntering toward them, plucking up the basket, and walking off with it. Other than hurling unladylike insults behind him as he walked, nothing else was done to force him to give it back.
Not fearing them or any serious repercussions, Lukos didn’t pick up his pace, and he did not look back. Just as he’d thought, they didn’t come running after him, even though, if the truth were to be known, they could have bested him together at the present moment. Possibly even one or the other of them on their own. He was still recovering from being stabbed and while he could walk and bend and twist if he wanted, all of these things had to be done slowly, and respect had to be given to his side that he didn’t usually like to do. Keeping a large, loose fitting shirt like this made it easy to hide the bandages that were still wrapped around his torso just in case the sutures came open. Unlike before, they didn’t need changed every day anymore, but if he was too active, who was to say?
The ground sloped gently upwards and Lukos followed it until he crested a small hill, ending at the base of an impossibly huge oak tree. He idly wondered if it was older than Vasiliadon and wouldn’t have been surprised if that was so. Easing himself down by placing his back against the tree trunk, he slid slowly until his butt reached the grassy ground and sighed, wincing as he held his side a bit. The muscle had only twinged but he was growing a little paranoid that it wouldn’t ever heal. Or if it did, maybe it wouldn’t heal properly? Kreios was no fucking help and Neena was as hard to pin down on this shit as a piece of the west wind.
“Now then,” he said to himself, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him and pulling the basket onto his lap. “Let’s see what we’ve got in here...mmmmmm, lamb.” Pulling out a haunch of roasted meat, he unwrapped it from its linen and searched around for the knife that the girls were presumably going to use to slice it. His fingers brushed against the telltale handle and he made quick work of getting himself some food. Whoever their cook was, Lukos thought he ought to steal that person and have them cook for him on his ship. This meat was amazing.
It was late afternoon before Achilleas had taken his leave of Krysto, and of the gathering forces on the sands of Serenn. He felt somewhat comforted in seeing the evidence of their hastily made plans beginning to take shape, it gave him some confidence that they would be ready and able to launch the ships as planned. Assured then that all was progressing as it should be, the new King was riding back to Vasiliadon, accompanied by two of the King’s guard. He did not know the men overly well, but aside from one momentary slip, Achilleas had proven an even tempered monarch thus far, and his reputation in battle was usually enough to ensure he found the respect of soldiers easily enough.
A little more relaxed after seeing that things were progressing as they should be, there had been some idle chatter on the way back to the city, a few moments where the Mikaelidas man had begun to feel more like himself and less like a bow string drawn overly tight. He was smiling then at some jest offered by the man to his left, when a cursory glance sweeping their surroundings passed over a figure then halted and drew back once more to inspect in more detail.
Still some way off, but the King boasted fair eyesight and his gaze narrowed as it alighted on the figure sitting at the foot of the old oak. The smile died away and Achilleas lifted a hand to halt the onwards progress of his party. Was that a...picnic basket? More pertinently, what in Hades was the man doing lounging around in Taengea when he should have been well on his way to Colchis to fulfill his end of the business arrangement he had made with the new King himself?
He squinted a little, brow furrowed in confusion as he considered what this meant, and then his lips pressed together in annoyance. This was what one got for trusting gutter rats with honest work. He had foolishly thought that perhaps the man’s connections might have lent him some echo of decency despite his findings to the contrary, but it would appear otherwise. Achilleas could hardly make the demands he wanted to in front of the audience of the two guards that flanked him, nor did he want to explain away why he would dismiss them so he might speak with such a man, alone. And even though his irritation surged, he knew as well that he ought to handle the matter more delicately than he was tempted to at that very moment. The small amount of peace he'd found was withering rapidly away, and a more familiar frustration making itself known.
Achilleas turned the nearest guard with a jerk of his head towards the man up ahead.
“Adrian,have that man brought to the Palati. I would speak with him” he said, without offering further explanation. He urged his horse onwards then, leaving the soldiers to make a hasty appraisal as to whether they should both attend to this ruffian the King wanted, or if, as they expected their Captain would prefer, one of them should stay with their monarch. After an exchange of looks, Adrian sighed and made to steer his horse over to the tree where this person of interest was lounging, whilst his fellow made haste to catch up with the King, who had set a quick pace with some new urgency to return to the patai.
“Not that it takes a genius to figure out why” the guard muttered to himself. Hades himself wouldn't slow him down if he had a wife like the Queen waiting for him at home. But that was not his luck, and instead he had to deal with some long-haired, bare-footed, fop who was by all appearances just trying to eat his lunch. With one hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, the palace guard reined to a halt and stared down at the man.
“By order of the King I have been instructed to bring you to the palati..master..uh….” Adrian realised too late he didn't have a name to attribute to the fellow. “By order of the King” he repeated, wondering if he should be expecting any trouble.
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It was late afternoon before Achilleas had taken his leave of Krysto, and of the gathering forces on the sands of Serenn. He felt somewhat comforted in seeing the evidence of their hastily made plans beginning to take shape, it gave him some confidence that they would be ready and able to launch the ships as planned. Assured then that all was progressing as it should be, the new King was riding back to Vasiliadon, accompanied by two of the King’s guard. He did not know the men overly well, but aside from one momentary slip, Achilleas had proven an even tempered monarch thus far, and his reputation in battle was usually enough to ensure he found the respect of soldiers easily enough.
A little more relaxed after seeing that things were progressing as they should be, there had been some idle chatter on the way back to the city, a few moments where the Mikaelidas man had begun to feel more like himself and less like a bow string drawn overly tight. He was smiling then at some jest offered by the man to his left, when a cursory glance sweeping their surroundings passed over a figure then halted and drew back once more to inspect in more detail.
Still some way off, but the King boasted fair eyesight and his gaze narrowed as it alighted on the figure sitting at the foot of the old oak. The smile died away and Achilleas lifted a hand to halt the onwards progress of his party. Was that a...picnic basket? More pertinently, what in Hades was the man doing lounging around in Taengea when he should have been well on his way to Colchis to fulfill his end of the business arrangement he had made with the new King himself?
He squinted a little, brow furrowed in confusion as he considered what this meant, and then his lips pressed together in annoyance. This was what one got for trusting gutter rats with honest work. He had foolishly thought that perhaps the man’s connections might have lent him some echo of decency despite his findings to the contrary, but it would appear otherwise. Achilleas could hardly make the demands he wanted to in front of the audience of the two guards that flanked him, nor did he want to explain away why he would dismiss them so he might speak with such a man, alone. And even though his irritation surged, he knew as well that he ought to handle the matter more delicately than he was tempted to at that very moment. The small amount of peace he'd found was withering rapidly away, and a more familiar frustration making itself known.
Achilleas turned the nearest guard with a jerk of his head towards the man up ahead.
“Adrian,have that man brought to the Palati. I would speak with him” he said, without offering further explanation. He urged his horse onwards then, leaving the soldiers to make a hasty appraisal as to whether they should both attend to this ruffian the King wanted, or if, as they expected their Captain would prefer, one of them should stay with their monarch. After an exchange of looks, Adrian sighed and made to steer his horse over to the tree where this person of interest was lounging, whilst his fellow made haste to catch up with the King, who had set a quick pace with some new urgency to return to the patai.
“Not that it takes a genius to figure out why” the guard muttered to himself. Hades himself wouldn't slow him down if he had a wife like the Queen waiting for him at home. But that was not his luck, and instead he had to deal with some long-haired, bare-footed, fop who was by all appearances just trying to eat his lunch. With one hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, the palace guard reined to a halt and stared down at the man.
“By order of the King I have been instructed to bring you to the palati..master..uh….” Adrian realised too late he didn't have a name to attribute to the fellow. “By order of the King” he repeated, wondering if he should be expecting any trouble.
It was late afternoon before Achilleas had taken his leave of Krysto, and of the gathering forces on the sands of Serenn. He felt somewhat comforted in seeing the evidence of their hastily made plans beginning to take shape, it gave him some confidence that they would be ready and able to launch the ships as planned. Assured then that all was progressing as it should be, the new King was riding back to Vasiliadon, accompanied by two of the King’s guard. He did not know the men overly well, but aside from one momentary slip, Achilleas had proven an even tempered monarch thus far, and his reputation in battle was usually enough to ensure he found the respect of soldiers easily enough.
A little more relaxed after seeing that things were progressing as they should be, there had been some idle chatter on the way back to the city, a few moments where the Mikaelidas man had begun to feel more like himself and less like a bow string drawn overly tight. He was smiling then at some jest offered by the man to his left, when a cursory glance sweeping their surroundings passed over a figure then halted and drew back once more to inspect in more detail.
Still some way off, but the King boasted fair eyesight and his gaze narrowed as it alighted on the figure sitting at the foot of the old oak. The smile died away and Achilleas lifted a hand to halt the onwards progress of his party. Was that a...picnic basket? More pertinently, what in Hades was the man doing lounging around in Taengea when he should have been well on his way to Colchis to fulfill his end of the business arrangement he had made with the new King himself?
He squinted a little, brow furrowed in confusion as he considered what this meant, and then his lips pressed together in annoyance. This was what one got for trusting gutter rats with honest work. He had foolishly thought that perhaps the man’s connections might have lent him some echo of decency despite his findings to the contrary, but it would appear otherwise. Achilleas could hardly make the demands he wanted to in front of the audience of the two guards that flanked him, nor did he want to explain away why he would dismiss them so he might speak with such a man, alone. And even though his irritation surged, he knew as well that he ought to handle the matter more delicately than he was tempted to at that very moment. The small amount of peace he'd found was withering rapidly away, and a more familiar frustration making itself known.
Achilleas turned the nearest guard with a jerk of his head towards the man up ahead.
“Adrian,have that man brought to the Palati. I would speak with him” he said, without offering further explanation. He urged his horse onwards then, leaving the soldiers to make a hasty appraisal as to whether they should both attend to this ruffian the King wanted, or if, as they expected their Captain would prefer, one of them should stay with their monarch. After an exchange of looks, Adrian sighed and made to steer his horse over to the tree where this person of interest was lounging, whilst his fellow made haste to catch up with the King, who had set a quick pace with some new urgency to return to the patai.
“Not that it takes a genius to figure out why” the guard muttered to himself. Hades himself wouldn't slow him down if he had a wife like the Queen waiting for him at home. But that was not his luck, and instead he had to deal with some long-haired, bare-footed, fop who was by all appearances just trying to eat his lunch. With one hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, the palace guard reined to a halt and stared down at the man.
“By order of the King I have been instructed to bring you to the palati..master..uh….” Adrian realised too late he didn't have a name to attribute to the fellow. “By order of the King” he repeated, wondering if he should be expecting any trouble.
Lukos was licking the tips of his fingers by the time the guard marched up to him. Legs stretched out, ankles crossed, Lukos lounged back against the tree, and dropped his hand into his lap, unwilling to suck his thumb with this other man standing that close. “Ordered, hmm?” his eyes wandered over the man, taking in his entirely forgettable features, wandering to the hand on the pommel of the sword, and then back up. A smirk tightened Lukos’s mouth and he shrugged, reaching into the lurid pink basket in search of more food.
“I think that’s where the problem is,” he said idly, pushing aside some grapes in favor of soft cheese wrapped in a cloth and bread. Drawing this out, he set it on his lap and used a knife he found in the basket to spread the cheese. Lukos shrugged one shoulder, took a massive bite out of the bread, and looked up at the guard again. “You,” he said around his mouthful. “Were ordered to take me in.” He swallowed and then continued. “But I wasn’t actually ordered to go. I think it’s obvious that your orders aren’t actually my problem to help you solve.”
He spread more cheese on another slice of bread and held it up to the guard. “Hungry?” he asked innocently.
Wounded as he was, he had no real intention of fighting this guard if it came down to that. Nor was he likely to have done so even if he was fully well. Killing a random thief in a back alley was one thing. Killing a royal guard? Something entirely different. For one thing, no one had ever bothered to solve the murder of that idiot young acrobat, but they most definitely would investigate a guard’s death or disappearance. And if King Achilleas knew that he was here in the field, which he evidently did, There would be no questions asked, very likely no trial. Probably just straight to the gallows and die he most certainly would.
That being the case, it was easier to get up and saunter on to the palati like the king wanted, but it was so nice out this afternoon, with the soft sea breezes and bright sun. It was such a shame to leave so quickly. “Come on,” Lukos waggled the bread and took another bite of his own, speaking around another mouthful. “I’ll bet it’s hard work walking around with that stick up your ass. Hard work means hungry soldier….”
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Lukos was licking the tips of his fingers by the time the guard marched up to him. Legs stretched out, ankles crossed, Lukos lounged back against the tree, and dropped his hand into his lap, unwilling to suck his thumb with this other man standing that close. “Ordered, hmm?” his eyes wandered over the man, taking in his entirely forgettable features, wandering to the hand on the pommel of the sword, and then back up. A smirk tightened Lukos’s mouth and he shrugged, reaching into the lurid pink basket in search of more food.
“I think that’s where the problem is,” he said idly, pushing aside some grapes in favor of soft cheese wrapped in a cloth and bread. Drawing this out, he set it on his lap and used a knife he found in the basket to spread the cheese. Lukos shrugged one shoulder, took a massive bite out of the bread, and looked up at the guard again. “You,” he said around his mouthful. “Were ordered to take me in.” He swallowed and then continued. “But I wasn’t actually ordered to go. I think it’s obvious that your orders aren’t actually my problem to help you solve.”
He spread more cheese on another slice of bread and held it up to the guard. “Hungry?” he asked innocently.
Wounded as he was, he had no real intention of fighting this guard if it came down to that. Nor was he likely to have done so even if he was fully well. Killing a random thief in a back alley was one thing. Killing a royal guard? Something entirely different. For one thing, no one had ever bothered to solve the murder of that idiot young acrobat, but they most definitely would investigate a guard’s death or disappearance. And if King Achilleas knew that he was here in the field, which he evidently did, There would be no questions asked, very likely no trial. Probably just straight to the gallows and die he most certainly would.
That being the case, it was easier to get up and saunter on to the palati like the king wanted, but it was so nice out this afternoon, with the soft sea breezes and bright sun. It was such a shame to leave so quickly. “Come on,” Lukos waggled the bread and took another bite of his own, speaking around another mouthful. “I’ll bet it’s hard work walking around with that stick up your ass. Hard work means hungry soldier….”
Lukos was licking the tips of his fingers by the time the guard marched up to him. Legs stretched out, ankles crossed, Lukos lounged back against the tree, and dropped his hand into his lap, unwilling to suck his thumb with this other man standing that close. “Ordered, hmm?” his eyes wandered over the man, taking in his entirely forgettable features, wandering to the hand on the pommel of the sword, and then back up. A smirk tightened Lukos’s mouth and he shrugged, reaching into the lurid pink basket in search of more food.
“I think that’s where the problem is,” he said idly, pushing aside some grapes in favor of soft cheese wrapped in a cloth and bread. Drawing this out, he set it on his lap and used a knife he found in the basket to spread the cheese. Lukos shrugged one shoulder, took a massive bite out of the bread, and looked up at the guard again. “You,” he said around his mouthful. “Were ordered to take me in.” He swallowed and then continued. “But I wasn’t actually ordered to go. I think it’s obvious that your orders aren’t actually my problem to help you solve.”
He spread more cheese on another slice of bread and held it up to the guard. “Hungry?” he asked innocently.
Wounded as he was, he had no real intention of fighting this guard if it came down to that. Nor was he likely to have done so even if he was fully well. Killing a random thief in a back alley was one thing. Killing a royal guard? Something entirely different. For one thing, no one had ever bothered to solve the murder of that idiot young acrobat, but they most definitely would investigate a guard’s death or disappearance. And if King Achilleas knew that he was here in the field, which he evidently did, There would be no questions asked, very likely no trial. Probably just straight to the gallows and die he most certainly would.
That being the case, it was easier to get up and saunter on to the palati like the king wanted, but it was so nice out this afternoon, with the soft sea breezes and bright sun. It was such a shame to leave so quickly. “Come on,” Lukos waggled the bread and took another bite of his own, speaking around another mouthful. “I’ll bet it’s hard work walking around with that stick up your ass. Hard work means hungry soldier….”
Adrian of Melis had achieved much in his life. Born the middle son of a farming family, he had enlisted as soon as he was old enough, served in his local unit until he was seventeen. Then the big city had beckoned and the young soldier had moved to the city, taken a job as a lowly gate guard, worked his way up through the ranks until he was part of the most trusted force in Vasiliadon: The King’s Guard.
He’d seen four Kings now in less than a year, had served each one faithfully, and now his illustrious career had brought him…to gathering stray pinicking vagrants and sheperding them to the palati? Earth brown eyes rested upon the man unhappily when it seemed as though the fellow was in no hurry to do as he was bid. The guard’s mouth turned down at the corners as he stared, unimpressed, at the other. If this idiot wanted to be dragged back to the city he was going the right way about it. Adrian was hungry, and he wasn’t going to get his dinner until he’d fulfilled his orders and delivered this man to the King.
He scowled as the scruff made a show of taking his leisurely time eating, and waited for him to have finished being a smart mouth before the guard made answer. “I’ll lay this out simply for ye, lad. We can do this simple, or we can do it hard. I don’t much care either way, and the King didn’t specify he wanted you there unharmed, so be a good boy and pack up your lunch and we can be on our way, eh?”
He didn’t make any move to draw the sword that his hand still rested on the hilt of, but rather shifted on the back of the horse like he was a little bored. Which he was. And sweaty, and tired after what had been an early start. Idly, he comsidered trussing the man up and slinging him over the saddle in front of him like a sack of grain. It’d be a bit of effort, but maybe rewarding in its own way.
“Whats it to be then sonny? You going to accept the King’s invitation with some grace, or do I need to drag you in behind this horse?”
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Check out their information page here.
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Adrian of Melis had achieved much in his life. Born the middle son of a farming family, he had enlisted as soon as he was old enough, served in his local unit until he was seventeen. Then the big city had beckoned and the young soldier had moved to the city, taken a job as a lowly gate guard, worked his way up through the ranks until he was part of the most trusted force in Vasiliadon: The King’s Guard.
He’d seen four Kings now in less than a year, had served each one faithfully, and now his illustrious career had brought him…to gathering stray pinicking vagrants and sheperding them to the palati? Earth brown eyes rested upon the man unhappily when it seemed as though the fellow was in no hurry to do as he was bid. The guard’s mouth turned down at the corners as he stared, unimpressed, at the other. If this idiot wanted to be dragged back to the city he was going the right way about it. Adrian was hungry, and he wasn’t going to get his dinner until he’d fulfilled his orders and delivered this man to the King.
He scowled as the scruff made a show of taking his leisurely time eating, and waited for him to have finished being a smart mouth before the guard made answer. “I’ll lay this out simply for ye, lad. We can do this simple, or we can do it hard. I don’t much care either way, and the King didn’t specify he wanted you there unharmed, so be a good boy and pack up your lunch and we can be on our way, eh?”
He didn’t make any move to draw the sword that his hand still rested on the hilt of, but rather shifted on the back of the horse like he was a little bored. Which he was. And sweaty, and tired after what had been an early start. Idly, he comsidered trussing the man up and slinging him over the saddle in front of him like a sack of grain. It’d be a bit of effort, but maybe rewarding in its own way.
“Whats it to be then sonny? You going to accept the King’s invitation with some grace, or do I need to drag you in behind this horse?”
Adrian of Melis had achieved much in his life. Born the middle son of a farming family, he had enlisted as soon as he was old enough, served in his local unit until he was seventeen. Then the big city had beckoned and the young soldier had moved to the city, taken a job as a lowly gate guard, worked his way up through the ranks until he was part of the most trusted force in Vasiliadon: The King’s Guard.
He’d seen four Kings now in less than a year, had served each one faithfully, and now his illustrious career had brought him…to gathering stray pinicking vagrants and sheperding them to the palati? Earth brown eyes rested upon the man unhappily when it seemed as though the fellow was in no hurry to do as he was bid. The guard’s mouth turned down at the corners as he stared, unimpressed, at the other. If this idiot wanted to be dragged back to the city he was going the right way about it. Adrian was hungry, and he wasn’t going to get his dinner until he’d fulfilled his orders and delivered this man to the King.
He scowled as the scruff made a show of taking his leisurely time eating, and waited for him to have finished being a smart mouth before the guard made answer. “I’ll lay this out simply for ye, lad. We can do this simple, or we can do it hard. I don’t much care either way, and the King didn’t specify he wanted you there unharmed, so be a good boy and pack up your lunch and we can be on our way, eh?”
He didn’t make any move to draw the sword that his hand still rested on the hilt of, but rather shifted on the back of the horse like he was a little bored. Which he was. And sweaty, and tired after what had been an early start. Idly, he comsidered trussing the man up and slinging him over the saddle in front of him like a sack of grain. It’d be a bit of effort, but maybe rewarding in its own way.
“Whats it to be then sonny? You going to accept the King’s invitation with some grace, or do I need to drag you in behind this horse?”
Lukos chewed, his mouth open intermittently, staring at the soldier the way a cow stares in perfect unconcern at the farmer attempting to get it to move out of the road. His brown eyes had that flat, dull appearance and his jaw moved from side to side, perfectly mimicking that bovine carelessness. “Grace,” he snorted in derision around his last mouthful. His bread was finished but there was still fruit left and strips of meat. He considered eating the rest of this and stringing out this encounter, but this man didn’t seem terribly intelligent, coupled with appearing a little too willing to use that sword. The last time he’d gotten into a fight in Taengea, the then lord Achilleas had had him thrown in a cell for a bit. He didn’t figure today would be any different and despite appearances, he was in a bit of a bind, timewise. He couldn’t afford the charade of sitting in a prison cell only to have his sister bail him out again.
With a long suffering sigh, Lukos carefully wrapped the food back up and placed them dutifully in the bottom of the pink basket. He closed the lid, stood, dusted off the back of his pants, and slid his feet into his boots. “I will come with you,” he hefted the basket onto one arm. “As a favor.” And with the greatest dignity a man could have, sauntering across the field with a stolen pink picnic basket, Lukos went with the soldier to the palace.
From here, the walk was long and a pain in the ass. Lukos kept up the nonchalant act until about the half way mark and from there it was a constant shifting of the pink basket from one arm to the other and taking digs at the soldier’s appearance, vocation, family. Even his horse. “Ugliest animal I’ve ever seen,” Lukos muttered as a parting jab when he was given to someone new at the palace steps. Handed from person to person, Lukos wouldn’t have been able to find his way back out of this monstrous structure if he tried.
It was a blur of white stone, enormous statues of gods and man, stately columns, brightly clad people, and many, many corridors, all of which looked remarkably the same, which gave the palace a labyrinth quality. This was the first time he’d ever set foot inside any palace and despite his own opinions on such places, he was awed into silence as he followed the servant leading him up the open halls, some of which looked out onto majestic gardens, the likes of which he hadn’t even imagined.
The walk to Achilleas’s study was both an eternity and the work of a moment. He stood in front of a new guard, found his name being passed on by the servant, and was then forcibly thrust through the door. That act of aggression gave him his sense back and he shook off the guard’s hand holding the back of his shirt. Straightening his clothes, Lukos checked his picnic basket before looking around the interior of the study. It wasn’t unlike the one he’d been in before, though larger. His attention finally found Achilleas and he sauntered up, setting the basket down on the desk’s pristine top.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he grinned and belatedly added, “Your majesty?”
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Lukos chewed, his mouth open intermittently, staring at the soldier the way a cow stares in perfect unconcern at the farmer attempting to get it to move out of the road. His brown eyes had that flat, dull appearance and his jaw moved from side to side, perfectly mimicking that bovine carelessness. “Grace,” he snorted in derision around his last mouthful. His bread was finished but there was still fruit left and strips of meat. He considered eating the rest of this and stringing out this encounter, but this man didn’t seem terribly intelligent, coupled with appearing a little too willing to use that sword. The last time he’d gotten into a fight in Taengea, the then lord Achilleas had had him thrown in a cell for a bit. He didn’t figure today would be any different and despite appearances, he was in a bit of a bind, timewise. He couldn’t afford the charade of sitting in a prison cell only to have his sister bail him out again.
With a long suffering sigh, Lukos carefully wrapped the food back up and placed them dutifully in the bottom of the pink basket. He closed the lid, stood, dusted off the back of his pants, and slid his feet into his boots. “I will come with you,” he hefted the basket onto one arm. “As a favor.” And with the greatest dignity a man could have, sauntering across the field with a stolen pink picnic basket, Lukos went with the soldier to the palace.
From here, the walk was long and a pain in the ass. Lukos kept up the nonchalant act until about the half way mark and from there it was a constant shifting of the pink basket from one arm to the other and taking digs at the soldier’s appearance, vocation, family. Even his horse. “Ugliest animal I’ve ever seen,” Lukos muttered as a parting jab when he was given to someone new at the palace steps. Handed from person to person, Lukos wouldn’t have been able to find his way back out of this monstrous structure if he tried.
It was a blur of white stone, enormous statues of gods and man, stately columns, brightly clad people, and many, many corridors, all of which looked remarkably the same, which gave the palace a labyrinth quality. This was the first time he’d ever set foot inside any palace and despite his own opinions on such places, he was awed into silence as he followed the servant leading him up the open halls, some of which looked out onto majestic gardens, the likes of which he hadn’t even imagined.
The walk to Achilleas’s study was both an eternity and the work of a moment. He stood in front of a new guard, found his name being passed on by the servant, and was then forcibly thrust through the door. That act of aggression gave him his sense back and he shook off the guard’s hand holding the back of his shirt. Straightening his clothes, Lukos checked his picnic basket before looking around the interior of the study. It wasn’t unlike the one he’d been in before, though larger. His attention finally found Achilleas and he sauntered up, setting the basket down on the desk’s pristine top.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he grinned and belatedly added, “Your majesty?”
Lukos chewed, his mouth open intermittently, staring at the soldier the way a cow stares in perfect unconcern at the farmer attempting to get it to move out of the road. His brown eyes had that flat, dull appearance and his jaw moved from side to side, perfectly mimicking that bovine carelessness. “Grace,” he snorted in derision around his last mouthful. His bread was finished but there was still fruit left and strips of meat. He considered eating the rest of this and stringing out this encounter, but this man didn’t seem terribly intelligent, coupled with appearing a little too willing to use that sword. The last time he’d gotten into a fight in Taengea, the then lord Achilleas had had him thrown in a cell for a bit. He didn’t figure today would be any different and despite appearances, he was in a bit of a bind, timewise. He couldn’t afford the charade of sitting in a prison cell only to have his sister bail him out again.
With a long suffering sigh, Lukos carefully wrapped the food back up and placed them dutifully in the bottom of the pink basket. He closed the lid, stood, dusted off the back of his pants, and slid his feet into his boots. “I will come with you,” he hefted the basket onto one arm. “As a favor.” And with the greatest dignity a man could have, sauntering across the field with a stolen pink picnic basket, Lukos went with the soldier to the palace.
From here, the walk was long and a pain in the ass. Lukos kept up the nonchalant act until about the half way mark and from there it was a constant shifting of the pink basket from one arm to the other and taking digs at the soldier’s appearance, vocation, family. Even his horse. “Ugliest animal I’ve ever seen,” Lukos muttered as a parting jab when he was given to someone new at the palace steps. Handed from person to person, Lukos wouldn’t have been able to find his way back out of this monstrous structure if he tried.
It was a blur of white stone, enormous statues of gods and man, stately columns, brightly clad people, and many, many corridors, all of which looked remarkably the same, which gave the palace a labyrinth quality. This was the first time he’d ever set foot inside any palace and despite his own opinions on such places, he was awed into silence as he followed the servant leading him up the open halls, some of which looked out onto majestic gardens, the likes of which he hadn’t even imagined.
The walk to Achilleas’s study was both an eternity and the work of a moment. He stood in front of a new guard, found his name being passed on by the servant, and was then forcibly thrust through the door. That act of aggression gave him his sense back and he shook off the guard’s hand holding the back of his shirt. Straightening his clothes, Lukos checked his picnic basket before looking around the interior of the study. It wasn’t unlike the one he’d been in before, though larger. His attention finally found Achilleas and he sauntered up, setting the basket down on the desk’s pristine top.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he grinned and belatedly added, “Your majesty?”
By the time he had returned to the palati, Achilleas was second-guessing why he was even bothering to have Lukos brought in. He would be gone before the matter could be satisfactorily resolved anyway: he should have just left it to the Euttican steward to follow up. Unfortunately, that little realisation arrived too late, and so he headed to his study, sat and signed his way through some of the paperwork that had accumulated as he waited.
The room was one of the few in the palati that felt anything like his own. It was not overly grand, nor filled with things that had belonged to his cousin, and in truth had become somewhere Achilleas could retreat to when he wanted to create a little distance between him and the vastness of the palace that he was now supposed to call home.
There was no question that the Mikaelidas Palati was beautiful: a place of wonder and architectural prowess. But with that grandeur came formality, and beyond even that, the place was filled with ghosts. From those who had crossed the river to those who’d crossed the sea. Almost more difficult and awkward were those living and breathing whose home he had inadvertently usurped. Achilleas had tried to navigate the complexity of his Aunt and cousins with a delicate hand, they were, of course, welcome to stay in the palati as long as they wished to, their rooms were their own and would remain so. But even with that, it did not make it any easier, and there was always a slight sinking feeling whenever they would cross paths in one of the endless hallways. He should get everyone together for a dinner or something, try and mend some of the faultlines and smooth over that lingering awkwardness. Scribbling a note to that effect to himself, Achilleas looked up as the door opened and his...mostly unwanted guest was escorted in.
The Mikaelidas man raised an incredulous eyebrow at the pink basket that had also made its way to the palati and waved a hand for the guard to leave them. Confident in the knowledge that Lukos would have been summarily divested of any weaponry before getting this far, the new King set down his stylus, sat back and watched as the man smoothed his clothes, fiddled with his basket and made a lazy inspection of the place before he deigned to actually turn his eyes to his host.
The grin was met with a hard stare, and Achilleas didn’t say anything for a moment, just gestured for the man to take a seat, waiting until he had done so before he began to speak.
“Let us not waste time for I have the feeling you have done quite enough of that for the both of us” he sniped, glancing at the ridiculous basket that was on his desk, and resisting the urge to move it. It was distracting, and its presence irritated him. Was it even clean? Why hadn’t the guards relieved him of that also? Achilleas dragged his gaze away and back to the matter at hand.
“You are supposed to be on your way to Colchis fulfilling an arrangement we had, Lukos, and yet you are not, you are here in Taengea, lounging in fields. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why?”
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By the time he had returned to the palati, Achilleas was second-guessing why he was even bothering to have Lukos brought in. He would be gone before the matter could be satisfactorily resolved anyway: he should have just left it to the Euttican steward to follow up. Unfortunately, that little realisation arrived too late, and so he headed to his study, sat and signed his way through some of the paperwork that had accumulated as he waited.
The room was one of the few in the palati that felt anything like his own. It was not overly grand, nor filled with things that had belonged to his cousin, and in truth had become somewhere Achilleas could retreat to when he wanted to create a little distance between him and the vastness of the palace that he was now supposed to call home.
There was no question that the Mikaelidas Palati was beautiful: a place of wonder and architectural prowess. But with that grandeur came formality, and beyond even that, the place was filled with ghosts. From those who had crossed the river to those who’d crossed the sea. Almost more difficult and awkward were those living and breathing whose home he had inadvertently usurped. Achilleas had tried to navigate the complexity of his Aunt and cousins with a delicate hand, they were, of course, welcome to stay in the palati as long as they wished to, their rooms were their own and would remain so. But even with that, it did not make it any easier, and there was always a slight sinking feeling whenever they would cross paths in one of the endless hallways. He should get everyone together for a dinner or something, try and mend some of the faultlines and smooth over that lingering awkwardness. Scribbling a note to that effect to himself, Achilleas looked up as the door opened and his...mostly unwanted guest was escorted in.
The Mikaelidas man raised an incredulous eyebrow at the pink basket that had also made its way to the palati and waved a hand for the guard to leave them. Confident in the knowledge that Lukos would have been summarily divested of any weaponry before getting this far, the new King set down his stylus, sat back and watched as the man smoothed his clothes, fiddled with his basket and made a lazy inspection of the place before he deigned to actually turn his eyes to his host.
The grin was met with a hard stare, and Achilleas didn’t say anything for a moment, just gestured for the man to take a seat, waiting until he had done so before he began to speak.
“Let us not waste time for I have the feeling you have done quite enough of that for the both of us” he sniped, glancing at the ridiculous basket that was on his desk, and resisting the urge to move it. It was distracting, and its presence irritated him. Was it even clean? Why hadn’t the guards relieved him of that also? Achilleas dragged his gaze away and back to the matter at hand.
“You are supposed to be on your way to Colchis fulfilling an arrangement we had, Lukos, and yet you are not, you are here in Taengea, lounging in fields. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why?”
By the time he had returned to the palati, Achilleas was second-guessing why he was even bothering to have Lukos brought in. He would be gone before the matter could be satisfactorily resolved anyway: he should have just left it to the Euttican steward to follow up. Unfortunately, that little realisation arrived too late, and so he headed to his study, sat and signed his way through some of the paperwork that had accumulated as he waited.
The room was one of the few in the palati that felt anything like his own. It was not overly grand, nor filled with things that had belonged to his cousin, and in truth had become somewhere Achilleas could retreat to when he wanted to create a little distance between him and the vastness of the palace that he was now supposed to call home.
There was no question that the Mikaelidas Palati was beautiful: a place of wonder and architectural prowess. But with that grandeur came formality, and beyond even that, the place was filled with ghosts. From those who had crossed the river to those who’d crossed the sea. Almost more difficult and awkward were those living and breathing whose home he had inadvertently usurped. Achilleas had tried to navigate the complexity of his Aunt and cousins with a delicate hand, they were, of course, welcome to stay in the palati as long as they wished to, their rooms were their own and would remain so. But even with that, it did not make it any easier, and there was always a slight sinking feeling whenever they would cross paths in one of the endless hallways. He should get everyone together for a dinner or something, try and mend some of the faultlines and smooth over that lingering awkwardness. Scribbling a note to that effect to himself, Achilleas looked up as the door opened and his...mostly unwanted guest was escorted in.
The Mikaelidas man raised an incredulous eyebrow at the pink basket that had also made its way to the palati and waved a hand for the guard to leave them. Confident in the knowledge that Lukos would have been summarily divested of any weaponry before getting this far, the new King set down his stylus, sat back and watched as the man smoothed his clothes, fiddled with his basket and made a lazy inspection of the place before he deigned to actually turn his eyes to his host.
The grin was met with a hard stare, and Achilleas didn’t say anything for a moment, just gestured for the man to take a seat, waiting until he had done so before he began to speak.
“Let us not waste time for I have the feeling you have done quite enough of that for the both of us” he sniped, glancing at the ridiculous basket that was on his desk, and resisting the urge to move it. It was distracting, and its presence irritated him. Was it even clean? Why hadn’t the guards relieved him of that also? Achilleas dragged his gaze away and back to the matter at hand.
“You are supposed to be on your way to Colchis fulfilling an arrangement we had, Lukos, and yet you are not, you are here in Taengea, lounging in fields. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why?”
The new king’s hard stare didn’t phase Lukos. By now, he was used to the complete lack of humor. For a long moment after Achilleas gestured to the chair behind Lukos, the pirate kept standing, fingertips drumming on the basket’s weak surface, making hollow tapping noises. The problem for Lukos was two fold: Achilleas was a king, but not his king. That being said, the man before him still had the ability to remove his head from his shoulders with a snap of his royal fingers. That was a little grating. The other problem was that Lukos did not like being told what to do, no matter how trivial the order. Having tasted what true freedom felt like, to be beholden to nothing and no one but his own whims, he was addicted to it. Though, again, he liked his head to remain where it was. Common sense won out over pride and he finally backed his ass into the chair the king had indicated.
Like last time, he took his time about getting comfortable. Twisting around, he checked for a cushion he didn’t feel, remarking idly to Achilleas as he did it, - “You might want to consider a more comfortable chair for guests” - and testing the sturdiness of the chair. Again, like last time, he was satisfied after a few seconds. “This is a really nice chair, though. Well made.”
King Achilleas wasn’t having it, however and his curt tone made Lukos’s features slacken for a moment before a tight smile crept across his lips and his eyes narrowed. “Let us not waste time for I have the feeling you have done quite enough of that for the both of us.” Achilleas looked meaningfully at the pink basket and Lukos’s attention followed. It stayed there as Achilleas spoke again.
“You are supposed to be on your way to Colchis fulfilling an arrangement we had, Lukos, and yet you are not, you are here in Taengea, lounging in fields. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why?”
Maybe it was Achilleas’s tone. Maybe it was that he’d had to deal with Kreisos’s smug face for days on end. Maybe he was tired of people in general being snide. Maybe he was just cranky because he’d not been allowed to finish his stolen lunch, which was just rude. Could a man not be left alone to enjoy the fruits of his labor? Whatever the reason or reasons, Lukos sighed through his nose. His hands, which had been resting on the arms of the chair, gripped the armrests now and he pushed himself to his feet, slower than he’d have done the last time he and Achilleas had met.
He lifted the hem of his billowy shirt and pulled it straight up over his head, exposing his bare torso to Achilleas. The long scar that Achilleas himself had put there from their fight in the gardens of the temple was still visible, though healed. It was partially obscured by a long chain Lukos wore which had a pendent of Poseidon dangling on the end. The pendent rested against long strips of linen wrapped around Lukos’s stomach and sides. Plopping the mass of fabric on the desk’s top, Lukos turned his attention to the linen strips, wholly ignoring any protests the other might make. He unwound them with the quickness of someone who’d been doing this for a few weeks, but these bandages were clean, now. Only the bottom one held the littlest bit of blood and Lukos was already aware that gore probably didn’t bother the man before him.
Moving around the desk, he turned to his right side and presented Achilleas with a very personal view of his still healing, fairly brutal stab wound. The assailant had done a fairly thorough job of trying to make sure this one was permanent. “I’m not fucking sailing to Colchis to die of infection when my first mate can perfectly carry out your orders,” he said flatly. “You’re getting your fucking weapons. The contract is still in place. Now can I have my fucking lunch back?”
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The new king’s hard stare didn’t phase Lukos. By now, he was used to the complete lack of humor. For a long moment after Achilleas gestured to the chair behind Lukos, the pirate kept standing, fingertips drumming on the basket’s weak surface, making hollow tapping noises. The problem for Lukos was two fold: Achilleas was a king, but not his king. That being said, the man before him still had the ability to remove his head from his shoulders with a snap of his royal fingers. That was a little grating. The other problem was that Lukos did not like being told what to do, no matter how trivial the order. Having tasted what true freedom felt like, to be beholden to nothing and no one but his own whims, he was addicted to it. Though, again, he liked his head to remain where it was. Common sense won out over pride and he finally backed his ass into the chair the king had indicated.
Like last time, he took his time about getting comfortable. Twisting around, he checked for a cushion he didn’t feel, remarking idly to Achilleas as he did it, - “You might want to consider a more comfortable chair for guests” - and testing the sturdiness of the chair. Again, like last time, he was satisfied after a few seconds. “This is a really nice chair, though. Well made.”
King Achilleas wasn’t having it, however and his curt tone made Lukos’s features slacken for a moment before a tight smile crept across his lips and his eyes narrowed. “Let us not waste time for I have the feeling you have done quite enough of that for the both of us.” Achilleas looked meaningfully at the pink basket and Lukos’s attention followed. It stayed there as Achilleas spoke again.
“You are supposed to be on your way to Colchis fulfilling an arrangement we had, Lukos, and yet you are not, you are here in Taengea, lounging in fields. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why?”
Maybe it was Achilleas’s tone. Maybe it was that he’d had to deal with Kreisos’s smug face for days on end. Maybe he was tired of people in general being snide. Maybe he was just cranky because he’d not been allowed to finish his stolen lunch, which was just rude. Could a man not be left alone to enjoy the fruits of his labor? Whatever the reason or reasons, Lukos sighed through his nose. His hands, which had been resting on the arms of the chair, gripped the armrests now and he pushed himself to his feet, slower than he’d have done the last time he and Achilleas had met.
He lifted the hem of his billowy shirt and pulled it straight up over his head, exposing his bare torso to Achilleas. The long scar that Achilleas himself had put there from their fight in the gardens of the temple was still visible, though healed. It was partially obscured by a long chain Lukos wore which had a pendent of Poseidon dangling on the end. The pendent rested against long strips of linen wrapped around Lukos’s stomach and sides. Plopping the mass of fabric on the desk’s top, Lukos turned his attention to the linen strips, wholly ignoring any protests the other might make. He unwound them with the quickness of someone who’d been doing this for a few weeks, but these bandages were clean, now. Only the bottom one held the littlest bit of blood and Lukos was already aware that gore probably didn’t bother the man before him.
Moving around the desk, he turned to his right side and presented Achilleas with a very personal view of his still healing, fairly brutal stab wound. The assailant had done a fairly thorough job of trying to make sure this one was permanent. “I’m not fucking sailing to Colchis to die of infection when my first mate can perfectly carry out your orders,” he said flatly. “You’re getting your fucking weapons. The contract is still in place. Now can I have my fucking lunch back?”
The new king’s hard stare didn’t phase Lukos. By now, he was used to the complete lack of humor. For a long moment after Achilleas gestured to the chair behind Lukos, the pirate kept standing, fingertips drumming on the basket’s weak surface, making hollow tapping noises. The problem for Lukos was two fold: Achilleas was a king, but not his king. That being said, the man before him still had the ability to remove his head from his shoulders with a snap of his royal fingers. That was a little grating. The other problem was that Lukos did not like being told what to do, no matter how trivial the order. Having tasted what true freedom felt like, to be beholden to nothing and no one but his own whims, he was addicted to it. Though, again, he liked his head to remain where it was. Common sense won out over pride and he finally backed his ass into the chair the king had indicated.
Like last time, he took his time about getting comfortable. Twisting around, he checked for a cushion he didn’t feel, remarking idly to Achilleas as he did it, - “You might want to consider a more comfortable chair for guests” - and testing the sturdiness of the chair. Again, like last time, he was satisfied after a few seconds. “This is a really nice chair, though. Well made.”
King Achilleas wasn’t having it, however and his curt tone made Lukos’s features slacken for a moment before a tight smile crept across his lips and his eyes narrowed. “Let us not waste time for I have the feeling you have done quite enough of that for the both of us.” Achilleas looked meaningfully at the pink basket and Lukos’s attention followed. It stayed there as Achilleas spoke again.
“You are supposed to be on your way to Colchis fulfilling an arrangement we had, Lukos, and yet you are not, you are here in Taengea, lounging in fields. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why?”
Maybe it was Achilleas’s tone. Maybe it was that he’d had to deal with Kreisos’s smug face for days on end. Maybe he was tired of people in general being snide. Maybe he was just cranky because he’d not been allowed to finish his stolen lunch, which was just rude. Could a man not be left alone to enjoy the fruits of his labor? Whatever the reason or reasons, Lukos sighed through his nose. His hands, which had been resting on the arms of the chair, gripped the armrests now and he pushed himself to his feet, slower than he’d have done the last time he and Achilleas had met.
He lifted the hem of his billowy shirt and pulled it straight up over his head, exposing his bare torso to Achilleas. The long scar that Achilleas himself had put there from their fight in the gardens of the temple was still visible, though healed. It was partially obscured by a long chain Lukos wore which had a pendent of Poseidon dangling on the end. The pendent rested against long strips of linen wrapped around Lukos’s stomach and sides. Plopping the mass of fabric on the desk’s top, Lukos turned his attention to the linen strips, wholly ignoring any protests the other might make. He unwound them with the quickness of someone who’d been doing this for a few weeks, but these bandages were clean, now. Only the bottom one held the littlest bit of blood and Lukos was already aware that gore probably didn’t bother the man before him.
Moving around the desk, he turned to his right side and presented Achilleas with a very personal view of his still healing, fairly brutal stab wound. The assailant had done a fairly thorough job of trying to make sure this one was permanent. “I’m not fucking sailing to Colchis to die of infection when my first mate can perfectly carry out your orders,” he said flatly. “You’re getting your fucking weapons. The contract is still in place. Now can I have my fucking lunch back?”
There was something about the man before him like the fool just existed to be irritating. He couldn’t just sit when he was asked to sit, he had to stand there drumming his fingers on that ridiculous basket until Achilleas realised he was imagining what it would feel like to snap those fingers and he made himself look away.
Then there was the performance with the chair as if the man were a dog trying to get comfortable, twisting and turning, offering up some entirely uninvited commentary upon the choice of furnishings. Achilleas had let his temper get the best of him once already this week, he was not about to be goaded into it again. Patience was a virtue came the silent litany in his head as the sailor went on with his little show. The Mikaelidas didn’t respond save a crisply arched eyebrow, just sat silently waiting for the fool to come to conclude himself that it would be better to answer the question put to him by the king, no less.
There was the briefest flicker of uncertainty that crossed Achilleas’ face, however, when after all of that performance getting comfortable, the man still did not speak but got back to his feet and began to undress. Brow creased, he watched the man carefully, eyes dropping briefly to take in the expanse of his chest, the scar, the pendant and the wrappings.
Oh
A press of his lips in distaste when the sorry fabric of the man’s shirt was dropped upon his desk and then the King decided he had seen enough when the other began to remove the linen wound around his torso. “I assure you, there is no need to…” he began but shut his mouth with a click when the sailor made no sign of stopping. He was insolent, and consistently chose to ignore what Achilleas asked of him, so those blue eyes rolled to the heavens and the King sat back with a frustrated rush of air through his nose. It seemed he was to endure all of this little pantomime. With little more than a cursory glance at the injury the sailor had been so keen to present to him, it was the man’s next words that pushed too far, Achilleas drawing to his feet far faster than Lukos had been able to do and turning on the other.
“You will watch your tongue or find yourself without it,” he said, cooly, calmly, though his eyes had narrowed somewhat and the sharp line of his jaw was rigid. What on earth had ever possessed him to engage with this man in anything? For a moment, Achilleas’ gaze strayed to the door as he debated calling for the guards and having this wretch removed from his sight. Back to the jail cell in the order house was a mildly pleasing thought, but petty. And really, he had bigger things to worry about than weapons that would arrive long after he was gone to Egypt. The man in front of him was an insubordinate good-for-nothing, and though it would make Achilleas happy to smack those unmannerly words right out of his mouth, he was King, and honestly, such efforts were below him.
And he held his ground, waited for Lukos to move away before he took his seat again and scrubbed a hand over his face. This was tiresome. He couldn’t be bothered with the man’s attitude any longer, and for whatever it was worth, the sailor had explained the status of their business dealings. Achilleas had no further use for him, and everything about the man made his skin itch with distaste. He wanted him gone. With a supreme exercise in control, he waved his hand dismissively. “Clothe yourself and get out.”
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There was something about the man before him like the fool just existed to be irritating. He couldn’t just sit when he was asked to sit, he had to stand there drumming his fingers on that ridiculous basket until Achilleas realised he was imagining what it would feel like to snap those fingers and he made himself look away.
Then there was the performance with the chair as if the man were a dog trying to get comfortable, twisting and turning, offering up some entirely uninvited commentary upon the choice of furnishings. Achilleas had let his temper get the best of him once already this week, he was not about to be goaded into it again. Patience was a virtue came the silent litany in his head as the sailor went on with his little show. The Mikaelidas didn’t respond save a crisply arched eyebrow, just sat silently waiting for the fool to come to conclude himself that it would be better to answer the question put to him by the king, no less.
There was the briefest flicker of uncertainty that crossed Achilleas’ face, however, when after all of that performance getting comfortable, the man still did not speak but got back to his feet and began to undress. Brow creased, he watched the man carefully, eyes dropping briefly to take in the expanse of his chest, the scar, the pendant and the wrappings.
Oh
A press of his lips in distaste when the sorry fabric of the man’s shirt was dropped upon his desk and then the King decided he had seen enough when the other began to remove the linen wound around his torso. “I assure you, there is no need to…” he began but shut his mouth with a click when the sailor made no sign of stopping. He was insolent, and consistently chose to ignore what Achilleas asked of him, so those blue eyes rolled to the heavens and the King sat back with a frustrated rush of air through his nose. It seemed he was to endure all of this little pantomime. With little more than a cursory glance at the injury the sailor had been so keen to present to him, it was the man’s next words that pushed too far, Achilleas drawing to his feet far faster than Lukos had been able to do and turning on the other.
“You will watch your tongue or find yourself without it,” he said, cooly, calmly, though his eyes had narrowed somewhat and the sharp line of his jaw was rigid. What on earth had ever possessed him to engage with this man in anything? For a moment, Achilleas’ gaze strayed to the door as he debated calling for the guards and having this wretch removed from his sight. Back to the jail cell in the order house was a mildly pleasing thought, but petty. And really, he had bigger things to worry about than weapons that would arrive long after he was gone to Egypt. The man in front of him was an insubordinate good-for-nothing, and though it would make Achilleas happy to smack those unmannerly words right out of his mouth, he was King, and honestly, such efforts were below him.
And he held his ground, waited for Lukos to move away before he took his seat again and scrubbed a hand over his face. This was tiresome. He couldn’t be bothered with the man’s attitude any longer, and for whatever it was worth, the sailor had explained the status of their business dealings. Achilleas had no further use for him, and everything about the man made his skin itch with distaste. He wanted him gone. With a supreme exercise in control, he waved his hand dismissively. “Clothe yourself and get out.”
There was something about the man before him like the fool just existed to be irritating. He couldn’t just sit when he was asked to sit, he had to stand there drumming his fingers on that ridiculous basket until Achilleas realised he was imagining what it would feel like to snap those fingers and he made himself look away.
Then there was the performance with the chair as if the man were a dog trying to get comfortable, twisting and turning, offering up some entirely uninvited commentary upon the choice of furnishings. Achilleas had let his temper get the best of him once already this week, he was not about to be goaded into it again. Patience was a virtue came the silent litany in his head as the sailor went on with his little show. The Mikaelidas didn’t respond save a crisply arched eyebrow, just sat silently waiting for the fool to come to conclude himself that it would be better to answer the question put to him by the king, no less.
There was the briefest flicker of uncertainty that crossed Achilleas’ face, however, when after all of that performance getting comfortable, the man still did not speak but got back to his feet and began to undress. Brow creased, he watched the man carefully, eyes dropping briefly to take in the expanse of his chest, the scar, the pendant and the wrappings.
Oh
A press of his lips in distaste when the sorry fabric of the man’s shirt was dropped upon his desk and then the King decided he had seen enough when the other began to remove the linen wound around his torso. “I assure you, there is no need to…” he began but shut his mouth with a click when the sailor made no sign of stopping. He was insolent, and consistently chose to ignore what Achilleas asked of him, so those blue eyes rolled to the heavens and the King sat back with a frustrated rush of air through his nose. It seemed he was to endure all of this little pantomime. With little more than a cursory glance at the injury the sailor had been so keen to present to him, it was the man’s next words that pushed too far, Achilleas drawing to his feet far faster than Lukos had been able to do and turning on the other.
“You will watch your tongue or find yourself without it,” he said, cooly, calmly, though his eyes had narrowed somewhat and the sharp line of his jaw was rigid. What on earth had ever possessed him to engage with this man in anything? For a moment, Achilleas’ gaze strayed to the door as he debated calling for the guards and having this wretch removed from his sight. Back to the jail cell in the order house was a mildly pleasing thought, but petty. And really, he had bigger things to worry about than weapons that would arrive long after he was gone to Egypt. The man in front of him was an insubordinate good-for-nothing, and though it would make Achilleas happy to smack those unmannerly words right out of his mouth, he was King, and honestly, such efforts were below him.
And he held his ground, waited for Lukos to move away before he took his seat again and scrubbed a hand over his face. This was tiresome. He couldn’t be bothered with the man’s attitude any longer, and for whatever it was worth, the sailor had explained the status of their business dealings. Achilleas had no further use for him, and everything about the man made his skin itch with distaste. He wanted him gone. With a supreme exercise in control, he waved his hand dismissively. “Clothe yourself and get out.”
Since the death of her father and the subsequent rise to power by her eldest brother, Sara had been a scarce presence. Most of it had been her mother’s quiet urging, trying to keep her well out of sight and thus hopefully out of mind. It was all an attempt to try to keep some kind of hold on the life that Sara had always known, as if Meena finally recognized the shaking ground that she had always been standing upon.
The young brunette had finally traded her clothes of mourning for something that was more typical for her daily life -- although it felt strange to return to such things. Even the thought of her father brought tears to her eyes, and she imagined that it would for many days to come. Although Irakles had been anything but an adoring father, she had idolized him somehow -- had found his gruff presence steadfast and reassuring. The abrupt end of his life had shaken her, and now she found that she too was standing on uneven ground.
She had slipped her mother’s leash and had come to seek comfort with the only person that she could think of, her beloved brother Emilios. She just needed to hear him say that things would work out in the end, that the pain in her would eventually fade away or at least dull to something manageable. She walked quietly through the halls of the palati, a beautiful but cold thing -- seeming to lack the warmth of life that had always been present within the archontikos. It was like walking through a hall of art, or through a temple. It was breathtaking, but not alive somehow. Her pace lacked its usual carefree sway, her eyes straight ahead and focused rather than allowing herself to take in the world around her.
She was not quite sure where he would be, so she wandered for a while -- stopping to exchange pleasantries with some of the servants who had been moved from the archontikos to the palati. Sara was fairly popular among them, perhaps because she had spent much of her childhood following them around as the rest of her family had gone about their lives. She was chatting with Liza, who was a maid -- the pair of them discussing the drastic changes occurring within the Mikaelidas family when a man was brought past them, escorted by another. She did not recognize either of them, admittedly, although she was struck by the very…pink picnic basket that one of them carried like a prize. Exchanging a look with Liza, the young woman waited until he was out of sight before excusing herself to follow.
Sara’s curiosity led her to a pair of large doors, a guard posted outside in an imposing figure. She could not approach while he stood there, so Sara ducked behind a statue in the hall -- waiting until he walked away before making her approach. She was not sure why the door had been guarded, or in truth what might be behind the door. She turned her head and brushed back her hair which hung loosely and trailed past her shoulders, leaning to press her ear against the cool expanse of the door. Nothing, she could hear nothing. She leaned a little harder, her hands resting on the handles for balance and without warning, the door opened and sent her sprawling forward.
Clothe yourself and get out.
”Oh!” She gasped, catching herself on the door handles, saving herself from the disgrace of the falling onto the floor. Her head jerked up, freezing as she took in the sight that had unfolded before her. She blinked once, then twice, as if unsure of what she was seeing before quickly averting her eyes -- a strangled sound of shock falling from her lips. Heat flooded her face, as she realized that she had been trying to spy on Achilleas’ new study -- and he looked, ahem...rather occupied at the moment. ”Forgive me!” She said loudly. Between her and Achilleas was the stranger that she had seen brought in, the broad expanse of his bare back to her. The curious pink basket was on her brother’s desk. Why was he shirtless? She asked herself embarrassed. ”I...I...have the wrong room.” She stammered, bowing deeping at the waist in apology. She pulled back, starting to draw the door quickly closed.
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Since the death of her father and the subsequent rise to power by her eldest brother, Sara had been a scarce presence. Most of it had been her mother’s quiet urging, trying to keep her well out of sight and thus hopefully out of mind. It was all an attempt to try to keep some kind of hold on the life that Sara had always known, as if Meena finally recognized the shaking ground that she had always been standing upon.
The young brunette had finally traded her clothes of mourning for something that was more typical for her daily life -- although it felt strange to return to such things. Even the thought of her father brought tears to her eyes, and she imagined that it would for many days to come. Although Irakles had been anything but an adoring father, she had idolized him somehow -- had found his gruff presence steadfast and reassuring. The abrupt end of his life had shaken her, and now she found that she too was standing on uneven ground.
She had slipped her mother’s leash and had come to seek comfort with the only person that she could think of, her beloved brother Emilios. She just needed to hear him say that things would work out in the end, that the pain in her would eventually fade away or at least dull to something manageable. She walked quietly through the halls of the palati, a beautiful but cold thing -- seeming to lack the warmth of life that had always been present within the archontikos. It was like walking through a hall of art, or through a temple. It was breathtaking, but not alive somehow. Her pace lacked its usual carefree sway, her eyes straight ahead and focused rather than allowing herself to take in the world around her.
She was not quite sure where he would be, so she wandered for a while -- stopping to exchange pleasantries with some of the servants who had been moved from the archontikos to the palati. Sara was fairly popular among them, perhaps because she had spent much of her childhood following them around as the rest of her family had gone about their lives. She was chatting with Liza, who was a maid -- the pair of them discussing the drastic changes occurring within the Mikaelidas family when a man was brought past them, escorted by another. She did not recognize either of them, admittedly, although she was struck by the very…pink picnic basket that one of them carried like a prize. Exchanging a look with Liza, the young woman waited until he was out of sight before excusing herself to follow.
Sara’s curiosity led her to a pair of large doors, a guard posted outside in an imposing figure. She could not approach while he stood there, so Sara ducked behind a statue in the hall -- waiting until he walked away before making her approach. She was not sure why the door had been guarded, or in truth what might be behind the door. She turned her head and brushed back her hair which hung loosely and trailed past her shoulders, leaning to press her ear against the cool expanse of the door. Nothing, she could hear nothing. She leaned a little harder, her hands resting on the handles for balance and without warning, the door opened and sent her sprawling forward.
Clothe yourself and get out.
”Oh!” She gasped, catching herself on the door handles, saving herself from the disgrace of the falling onto the floor. Her head jerked up, freezing as she took in the sight that had unfolded before her. She blinked once, then twice, as if unsure of what she was seeing before quickly averting her eyes -- a strangled sound of shock falling from her lips. Heat flooded her face, as she realized that she had been trying to spy on Achilleas’ new study -- and he looked, ahem...rather occupied at the moment. ”Forgive me!” She said loudly. Between her and Achilleas was the stranger that she had seen brought in, the broad expanse of his bare back to her. The curious pink basket was on her brother’s desk. Why was he shirtless? She asked herself embarrassed. ”I...I...have the wrong room.” She stammered, bowing deeping at the waist in apology. She pulled back, starting to draw the door quickly closed.
Since the death of her father and the subsequent rise to power by her eldest brother, Sara had been a scarce presence. Most of it had been her mother’s quiet urging, trying to keep her well out of sight and thus hopefully out of mind. It was all an attempt to try to keep some kind of hold on the life that Sara had always known, as if Meena finally recognized the shaking ground that she had always been standing upon.
The young brunette had finally traded her clothes of mourning for something that was more typical for her daily life -- although it felt strange to return to such things. Even the thought of her father brought tears to her eyes, and she imagined that it would for many days to come. Although Irakles had been anything but an adoring father, she had idolized him somehow -- had found his gruff presence steadfast and reassuring. The abrupt end of his life had shaken her, and now she found that she too was standing on uneven ground.
She had slipped her mother’s leash and had come to seek comfort with the only person that she could think of, her beloved brother Emilios. She just needed to hear him say that things would work out in the end, that the pain in her would eventually fade away or at least dull to something manageable. She walked quietly through the halls of the palati, a beautiful but cold thing -- seeming to lack the warmth of life that had always been present within the archontikos. It was like walking through a hall of art, or through a temple. It was breathtaking, but not alive somehow. Her pace lacked its usual carefree sway, her eyes straight ahead and focused rather than allowing herself to take in the world around her.
She was not quite sure where he would be, so she wandered for a while -- stopping to exchange pleasantries with some of the servants who had been moved from the archontikos to the palati. Sara was fairly popular among them, perhaps because she had spent much of her childhood following them around as the rest of her family had gone about their lives. She was chatting with Liza, who was a maid -- the pair of them discussing the drastic changes occurring within the Mikaelidas family when a man was brought past them, escorted by another. She did not recognize either of them, admittedly, although she was struck by the very…pink picnic basket that one of them carried like a prize. Exchanging a look with Liza, the young woman waited until he was out of sight before excusing herself to follow.
Sara’s curiosity led her to a pair of large doors, a guard posted outside in an imposing figure. She could not approach while he stood there, so Sara ducked behind a statue in the hall -- waiting until he walked away before making her approach. She was not sure why the door had been guarded, or in truth what might be behind the door. She turned her head and brushed back her hair which hung loosely and trailed past her shoulders, leaning to press her ear against the cool expanse of the door. Nothing, she could hear nothing. She leaned a little harder, her hands resting on the handles for balance and without warning, the door opened and sent her sprawling forward.
Clothe yourself and get out.
”Oh!” She gasped, catching herself on the door handles, saving herself from the disgrace of the falling onto the floor. Her head jerked up, freezing as she took in the sight that had unfolded before her. She blinked once, then twice, as if unsure of what she was seeing before quickly averting her eyes -- a strangled sound of shock falling from her lips. Heat flooded her face, as she realized that she had been trying to spy on Achilleas’ new study -- and he looked, ahem...rather occupied at the moment. ”Forgive me!” She said loudly. Between her and Achilleas was the stranger that she had seen brought in, the broad expanse of his bare back to her. The curious pink basket was on her brother’s desk. Why was he shirtless? She asked herself embarrassed. ”I...I...have the wrong room.” She stammered, bowing deeping at the waist in apology. She pulled back, starting to draw the door quickly closed.
“You will watch your tongue or find yourself without it,” the king snapped, then ran an agitated hand over his face, betraying how much this bothered him. Good. ”Clothe yourself and get out.”
Two things were at war within Lukos. The first was that he really did want the king’s money and whatever trips the king might send him on. Those were extremely valuable. However, King Achilleas’s obvious unwillingness to be civil was provoking Lukos into the pettiest part of himself. The one that did as told but only just. The one that he did not tolerate in others. If one of his crew acted like he was doing now, he’d have had the man lashed to the mast and left there for a full day and night to see if that brought him around. Fortunately for Lukos, Achilleas didn’t seem inclined to creative punishments, nor did he appear to have the patience or relish for it.
“Your maj-” was all Lukos had out of his mouth when the doors flew open and the rest of whatever he’d been about to say was lost. The doors to the study crashed open and Lukos twisted in surprise, nearly doubled over from the pain that radiated up his entire torso from doing that, and leaned hard on Achilleas’s desk as he sucked in self soothing breaths through his teeth.
”Forgive me!” came the high pitched entreaty and it had Lukos’s eyes narrowing in minor confusion. The royalty of the three kingdoms was familiar enough by name to most all of the Greek populace and he was no exception. However, he didn’t think this girl was old enough to be Princess Gianna and definitely not Princess Xene. Maybe Achilleas had a bastard daughter? But her next ”I...I...have the wrong room,” coupled with her obvious fear, made Lukos wonder exactly what it was that the king got up to that inspired this much fear in someone so young. Perhaps the king wasn’t so objectionally moral after all. That made Lukos’s eyes slide to Achilleas in the beginnings of something close to approval.
Lukos moved around the desk as Sara picked herself up. His back was to her while she bowed and backed away to the door. “I would like to speak with you at a more convenient time for myself,” Lukos said to Achilleas as he stuffed his shirt into the pink picnic basket and balled up the loose bandages in his hand. Rather than bowing, which would be painful, he chose to dip into a curtsey, trailing bandages and keeping his pink basket in the crook of his elbow.
“Your Majesty,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. Lukos turned and moved past Sara and out into the hallway. He knew exactly which way he’d been brought in, but he chose to purposefully get lost and head in the complete opposite direction. When would he have the opportunity to explore?
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“You will watch your tongue or find yourself without it,” the king snapped, then ran an agitated hand over his face, betraying how much this bothered him. Good. ”Clothe yourself and get out.”
Two things were at war within Lukos. The first was that he really did want the king’s money and whatever trips the king might send him on. Those were extremely valuable. However, King Achilleas’s obvious unwillingness to be civil was provoking Lukos into the pettiest part of himself. The one that did as told but only just. The one that he did not tolerate in others. If one of his crew acted like he was doing now, he’d have had the man lashed to the mast and left there for a full day and night to see if that brought him around. Fortunately for Lukos, Achilleas didn’t seem inclined to creative punishments, nor did he appear to have the patience or relish for it.
“Your maj-” was all Lukos had out of his mouth when the doors flew open and the rest of whatever he’d been about to say was lost. The doors to the study crashed open and Lukos twisted in surprise, nearly doubled over from the pain that radiated up his entire torso from doing that, and leaned hard on Achilleas’s desk as he sucked in self soothing breaths through his teeth.
”Forgive me!” came the high pitched entreaty and it had Lukos’s eyes narrowing in minor confusion. The royalty of the three kingdoms was familiar enough by name to most all of the Greek populace and he was no exception. However, he didn’t think this girl was old enough to be Princess Gianna and definitely not Princess Xene. Maybe Achilleas had a bastard daughter? But her next ”I...I...have the wrong room,” coupled with her obvious fear, made Lukos wonder exactly what it was that the king got up to that inspired this much fear in someone so young. Perhaps the king wasn’t so objectionally moral after all. That made Lukos’s eyes slide to Achilleas in the beginnings of something close to approval.
Lukos moved around the desk as Sara picked herself up. His back was to her while she bowed and backed away to the door. “I would like to speak with you at a more convenient time for myself,” Lukos said to Achilleas as he stuffed his shirt into the pink picnic basket and balled up the loose bandages in his hand. Rather than bowing, which would be painful, he chose to dip into a curtsey, trailing bandages and keeping his pink basket in the crook of his elbow.
“Your Majesty,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. Lukos turned and moved past Sara and out into the hallway. He knew exactly which way he’d been brought in, but he chose to purposefully get lost and head in the complete opposite direction. When would he have the opportunity to explore?
“You will watch your tongue or find yourself without it,” the king snapped, then ran an agitated hand over his face, betraying how much this bothered him. Good. ”Clothe yourself and get out.”
Two things were at war within Lukos. The first was that he really did want the king’s money and whatever trips the king might send him on. Those were extremely valuable. However, King Achilleas’s obvious unwillingness to be civil was provoking Lukos into the pettiest part of himself. The one that did as told but only just. The one that he did not tolerate in others. If one of his crew acted like he was doing now, he’d have had the man lashed to the mast and left there for a full day and night to see if that brought him around. Fortunately for Lukos, Achilleas didn’t seem inclined to creative punishments, nor did he appear to have the patience or relish for it.
“Your maj-” was all Lukos had out of his mouth when the doors flew open and the rest of whatever he’d been about to say was lost. The doors to the study crashed open and Lukos twisted in surprise, nearly doubled over from the pain that radiated up his entire torso from doing that, and leaned hard on Achilleas’s desk as he sucked in self soothing breaths through his teeth.
”Forgive me!” came the high pitched entreaty and it had Lukos’s eyes narrowing in minor confusion. The royalty of the three kingdoms was familiar enough by name to most all of the Greek populace and he was no exception. However, he didn’t think this girl was old enough to be Princess Gianna and definitely not Princess Xene. Maybe Achilleas had a bastard daughter? But her next ”I...I...have the wrong room,” coupled with her obvious fear, made Lukos wonder exactly what it was that the king got up to that inspired this much fear in someone so young. Perhaps the king wasn’t so objectionally moral after all. That made Lukos’s eyes slide to Achilleas in the beginnings of something close to approval.
Lukos moved around the desk as Sara picked herself up. His back was to her while she bowed and backed away to the door. “I would like to speak with you at a more convenient time for myself,” Lukos said to Achilleas as he stuffed his shirt into the pink picnic basket and balled up the loose bandages in his hand. Rather than bowing, which would be painful, he chose to dip into a curtsey, trailing bandages and keeping his pink basket in the crook of his elbow.
“Your Majesty,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. Lukos turned and moved past Sara and out into the hallway. He knew exactly which way he’d been brought in, but he chose to purposefully get lost and head in the complete opposite direction. When would he have the opportunity to explore?
Achilleas had been gearing up for whatever impudence the man had left in him, his teeth set, the lines of his shoulders rigid. Of course, it would be too much to expect for Lukos to do as he was damn well told. More uncomfortably, if he were being objective - and Achilleas was trying very hard not to be - the lout was not displeasing to the eye, and the unnecessary proximity was making it difficult to ignore the fact. Thankfully his character was undesirable enough to dismiss the fact, the Mikaelidas man reminded himself, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk and counting down the moments until the man would be gone and that ridiculous basket with him.
What he hadn’t been prepared for was the sudden opening of the door and the person that all but fell through it. Achilleas head snapped upwards, eyes sharp upon the door, hand reaching instinctively for the sword at his belt as he half-way stood from his chair. The movement, of course, brought him closer to the half-naked man in his study, a fact that the King became uncomfortably aware of the moment he recognised the intruder and his thoughts dismissed the threat.
“Sara?” The confusion was evident in his tone as he stared at his half-sister, who was supposed to be away from the city by now he had thought. But the girl merely flushed, heat in her face that Achilleas feared was not absent on his own, made worse by the too-loud apology that she stuttered out. Like she thought she had been interrupting..something.
“What? hold on a moment..” he started, flustered, as she moved to just back out of the room taking whatever ridiculous assumptions she might have made with her. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Achilleas was perhaps more sensitive to the idea that she might draw incorrect conclusions from what she’d seen, only because it strayed a little close to a truth he had guarded closely. It would be too cruel to have his carefulness be ruined by some idiot who was too keen to remove his clothes.
And of course, the idiot chose that moment to open his mouth, drawing Achilleas’ attention from his half-sibling as the King looked incredulously at him. “I do not think we have anything further to discuss” the Mikaelidas man objected, glancing away from Lukos to find Sara again. He was half wondering how much he was willing to disclose about the dealings he had with the man, and the other half of him was annoyed at the idea that he had to explain himself at all as if he’d done something improper.
“What room were you looking for?” he asked Sara, barely sparing a glance for Lukos as he left, though the brief pass of his gaze was enough to signal his irritation at the man’s ridiculous curtsy and at how this had all fallen out. The guards would ensure he found is way to the gates, he was certain.
“You just happened to fall into my study?”Achilleas asked of the girl, trying to shake off how discomfited he felt at the non-interruption.
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Achilleas had been gearing up for whatever impudence the man had left in him, his teeth set, the lines of his shoulders rigid. Of course, it would be too much to expect for Lukos to do as he was damn well told. More uncomfortably, if he were being objective - and Achilleas was trying very hard not to be - the lout was not displeasing to the eye, and the unnecessary proximity was making it difficult to ignore the fact. Thankfully his character was undesirable enough to dismiss the fact, the Mikaelidas man reminded himself, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk and counting down the moments until the man would be gone and that ridiculous basket with him.
What he hadn’t been prepared for was the sudden opening of the door and the person that all but fell through it. Achilleas head snapped upwards, eyes sharp upon the door, hand reaching instinctively for the sword at his belt as he half-way stood from his chair. The movement, of course, brought him closer to the half-naked man in his study, a fact that the King became uncomfortably aware of the moment he recognised the intruder and his thoughts dismissed the threat.
“Sara?” The confusion was evident in his tone as he stared at his half-sister, who was supposed to be away from the city by now he had thought. But the girl merely flushed, heat in her face that Achilleas feared was not absent on his own, made worse by the too-loud apology that she stuttered out. Like she thought she had been interrupting..something.
“What? hold on a moment..” he started, flustered, as she moved to just back out of the room taking whatever ridiculous assumptions she might have made with her. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Achilleas was perhaps more sensitive to the idea that she might draw incorrect conclusions from what she’d seen, only because it strayed a little close to a truth he had guarded closely. It would be too cruel to have his carefulness be ruined by some idiot who was too keen to remove his clothes.
And of course, the idiot chose that moment to open his mouth, drawing Achilleas’ attention from his half-sibling as the King looked incredulously at him. “I do not think we have anything further to discuss” the Mikaelidas man objected, glancing away from Lukos to find Sara again. He was half wondering how much he was willing to disclose about the dealings he had with the man, and the other half of him was annoyed at the idea that he had to explain himself at all as if he’d done something improper.
“What room were you looking for?” he asked Sara, barely sparing a glance for Lukos as he left, though the brief pass of his gaze was enough to signal his irritation at the man’s ridiculous curtsy and at how this had all fallen out. The guards would ensure he found is way to the gates, he was certain.
“You just happened to fall into my study?”Achilleas asked of the girl, trying to shake off how discomfited he felt at the non-interruption.
Achilleas had been gearing up for whatever impudence the man had left in him, his teeth set, the lines of his shoulders rigid. Of course, it would be too much to expect for Lukos to do as he was damn well told. More uncomfortably, if he were being objective - and Achilleas was trying very hard not to be - the lout was not displeasing to the eye, and the unnecessary proximity was making it difficult to ignore the fact. Thankfully his character was undesirable enough to dismiss the fact, the Mikaelidas man reminded himself, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk and counting down the moments until the man would be gone and that ridiculous basket with him.
What he hadn’t been prepared for was the sudden opening of the door and the person that all but fell through it. Achilleas head snapped upwards, eyes sharp upon the door, hand reaching instinctively for the sword at his belt as he half-way stood from his chair. The movement, of course, brought him closer to the half-naked man in his study, a fact that the King became uncomfortably aware of the moment he recognised the intruder and his thoughts dismissed the threat.
“Sara?” The confusion was evident in his tone as he stared at his half-sister, who was supposed to be away from the city by now he had thought. But the girl merely flushed, heat in her face that Achilleas feared was not absent on his own, made worse by the too-loud apology that she stuttered out. Like she thought she had been interrupting..something.
“What? hold on a moment..” he started, flustered, as she moved to just back out of the room taking whatever ridiculous assumptions she might have made with her. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Achilleas was perhaps more sensitive to the idea that she might draw incorrect conclusions from what she’d seen, only because it strayed a little close to a truth he had guarded closely. It would be too cruel to have his carefulness be ruined by some idiot who was too keen to remove his clothes.
And of course, the idiot chose that moment to open his mouth, drawing Achilleas’ attention from his half-sibling as the King looked incredulously at him. “I do not think we have anything further to discuss” the Mikaelidas man objected, glancing away from Lukos to find Sara again. He was half wondering how much he was willing to disclose about the dealings he had with the man, and the other half of him was annoyed at the idea that he had to explain himself at all as if he’d done something improper.
“What room were you looking for?” he asked Sara, barely sparing a glance for Lukos as he left, though the brief pass of his gaze was enough to signal his irritation at the man’s ridiculous curtsy and at how this had all fallen out. The guards would ensure he found is way to the gates, he was certain.
“You just happened to fall into my study?”Achilleas asked of the girl, trying to shake off how discomfited he felt at the non-interruption.
If she could have died just from embarrassment, she thought that she would have. Her mind was burned with the image that she had seen, and there was not a single rational thought that she could come up with to justify what she had seen. Her brother’s confused tone made her cringe even further, and she was certain that she was dying a thousand slow deaths the longer that she stood here. Escape. Escape. Escape. She chanted, drawing back only to be stopped by the king’s flustered command.
Sara kept her eyes on the floor, risking a glance long enough to watch the shirtless man hoist the pink basket from Achilleas’ desk and give a curtsey that only bewildered her further. She stiffened, her back going straight as the unfamiliar man brushed past her on his way out. She couldn’t help it, briefly looking after him as he went -- and cringing again as Achilleas’ voice rolled over her. He sounded far too much like their father just now and it made her heart squeeze painfully.
The young woman wrapped her arms around herself, still trying to beat a hasty exit herself. Gods above, she had been too overzealous in her curiosity again. What was it that was said about cats and their curiosity? ”I’m so sorry.” She said, her voice quivering just a little. She forced it to even out, even as she could see the irritation in his eyes. ”I didn’t...I didn’t mean to.” That was very, very true.
She was still standing in the doorway, far more out of it than within it. ”I was looking for Emilios.” She answered his question with a half truth. She had been looking for Emilios. She just hadn’t been looking for him when she’d leaned against the doors trying to eavesdrop. Her dark hair made a curtain around her face, the heat from her cheeks warming her. She wanted to apologize for...interrupting whatever it was that she had seen, but somehow she knew that would make things worse.
”I do not know my way around this place very well. So..I...ah, apologize.” She said, which was also true enough. She had been here just a few times, shepherded to specific areas when she had set foot in the palati. She had not known that it was Achilleas’ study -- perhaps she wouldn’t have dared to risk it if she had known. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to upset Achilleas. He had so much more on his shoulders now. Her mother would be absolutely livid.
”I’ll just go.” She said unsure if she wanted to broach the subject of what she had seen with him. She was not sure he would tell her the truth of it, or if she would believe what he told her. So, instead of making them both suffer more awkwardness -- she took quick steps back. ”If you see Emilios before me, tell him I am looking for him.” She said by way of parting, going the way that the stranger had gone.
She walked fast, practically running by proper society’s standards. If she was running away from her brother, or running to catch up with the stranger -- she didn’t know. Either way, she was going too quickly to not find the stranger within sight again. A guard had caught up with him, but it wasn’t especially strange given how out of place he looked -- still shirtless and with the pink basket over his arm. Bandages flowed behind him like streamers and it looked like she was going to interrupt at just the right moment, this time at least.
”Excuse me,” She said, surprised by how authoritative her own voice sounded as she cut through the guard’s questioning. ”I apologize, but he’s with me. I was showing him back out, but I had to run an errand. Thank you for finding him, and taking such good care of my guest.” Her voice was warm, honeyed with the innocence of youth. The guard gave her a sidelong glance, and looked as if he would question her authority but as far as anyone knew -- she still had sway in the household. Irakles was not yet cold enough in the ground for her name to have been forgotten, illegitimate or not. So he nodded, and stepped back.
She offered the stranger a smile, not brave enough to touch him -- but gestured in a direction that was still away from her brother’s study. Once they had cleared prying ears, Sara flushed with embarrassment. ”Y-you should probably put your shirt back on.” She said, creating a little more distance between them so nothing could be misconstrued. ”I’m...Sara, by the way.” She smiled at him -- the thing reaching all the way to her blue eyes, as if she’d known him her whole life; her trust so freely given.
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If she could have died just from embarrassment, she thought that she would have. Her mind was burned with the image that she had seen, and there was not a single rational thought that she could come up with to justify what she had seen. Her brother’s confused tone made her cringe even further, and she was certain that she was dying a thousand slow deaths the longer that she stood here. Escape. Escape. Escape. She chanted, drawing back only to be stopped by the king’s flustered command.
Sara kept her eyes on the floor, risking a glance long enough to watch the shirtless man hoist the pink basket from Achilleas’ desk and give a curtsey that only bewildered her further. She stiffened, her back going straight as the unfamiliar man brushed past her on his way out. She couldn’t help it, briefly looking after him as he went -- and cringing again as Achilleas’ voice rolled over her. He sounded far too much like their father just now and it made her heart squeeze painfully.
The young woman wrapped her arms around herself, still trying to beat a hasty exit herself. Gods above, she had been too overzealous in her curiosity again. What was it that was said about cats and their curiosity? ”I’m so sorry.” She said, her voice quivering just a little. She forced it to even out, even as she could see the irritation in his eyes. ”I didn’t...I didn’t mean to.” That was very, very true.
She was still standing in the doorway, far more out of it than within it. ”I was looking for Emilios.” She answered his question with a half truth. She had been looking for Emilios. She just hadn’t been looking for him when she’d leaned against the doors trying to eavesdrop. Her dark hair made a curtain around her face, the heat from her cheeks warming her. She wanted to apologize for...interrupting whatever it was that she had seen, but somehow she knew that would make things worse.
”I do not know my way around this place very well. So..I...ah, apologize.” She said, which was also true enough. She had been here just a few times, shepherded to specific areas when she had set foot in the palati. She had not known that it was Achilleas’ study -- perhaps she wouldn’t have dared to risk it if she had known. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to upset Achilleas. He had so much more on his shoulders now. Her mother would be absolutely livid.
”I’ll just go.” She said unsure if she wanted to broach the subject of what she had seen with him. She was not sure he would tell her the truth of it, or if she would believe what he told her. So, instead of making them both suffer more awkwardness -- she took quick steps back. ”If you see Emilios before me, tell him I am looking for him.” She said by way of parting, going the way that the stranger had gone.
She walked fast, practically running by proper society’s standards. If she was running away from her brother, or running to catch up with the stranger -- she didn’t know. Either way, she was going too quickly to not find the stranger within sight again. A guard had caught up with him, but it wasn’t especially strange given how out of place he looked -- still shirtless and with the pink basket over his arm. Bandages flowed behind him like streamers and it looked like she was going to interrupt at just the right moment, this time at least.
”Excuse me,” She said, surprised by how authoritative her own voice sounded as she cut through the guard’s questioning. ”I apologize, but he’s with me. I was showing him back out, but I had to run an errand. Thank you for finding him, and taking such good care of my guest.” Her voice was warm, honeyed with the innocence of youth. The guard gave her a sidelong glance, and looked as if he would question her authority but as far as anyone knew -- she still had sway in the household. Irakles was not yet cold enough in the ground for her name to have been forgotten, illegitimate or not. So he nodded, and stepped back.
She offered the stranger a smile, not brave enough to touch him -- but gestured in a direction that was still away from her brother’s study. Once they had cleared prying ears, Sara flushed with embarrassment. ”Y-you should probably put your shirt back on.” She said, creating a little more distance between them so nothing could be misconstrued. ”I’m...Sara, by the way.” She smiled at him -- the thing reaching all the way to her blue eyes, as if she’d known him her whole life; her trust so freely given.
If she could have died just from embarrassment, she thought that she would have. Her mind was burned with the image that she had seen, and there was not a single rational thought that she could come up with to justify what she had seen. Her brother’s confused tone made her cringe even further, and she was certain that she was dying a thousand slow deaths the longer that she stood here. Escape. Escape. Escape. She chanted, drawing back only to be stopped by the king’s flustered command.
Sara kept her eyes on the floor, risking a glance long enough to watch the shirtless man hoist the pink basket from Achilleas’ desk and give a curtsey that only bewildered her further. She stiffened, her back going straight as the unfamiliar man brushed past her on his way out. She couldn’t help it, briefly looking after him as he went -- and cringing again as Achilleas’ voice rolled over her. He sounded far too much like their father just now and it made her heart squeeze painfully.
The young woman wrapped her arms around herself, still trying to beat a hasty exit herself. Gods above, she had been too overzealous in her curiosity again. What was it that was said about cats and their curiosity? ”I’m so sorry.” She said, her voice quivering just a little. She forced it to even out, even as she could see the irritation in his eyes. ”I didn’t...I didn’t mean to.” That was very, very true.
She was still standing in the doorway, far more out of it than within it. ”I was looking for Emilios.” She answered his question with a half truth. She had been looking for Emilios. She just hadn’t been looking for him when she’d leaned against the doors trying to eavesdrop. Her dark hair made a curtain around her face, the heat from her cheeks warming her. She wanted to apologize for...interrupting whatever it was that she had seen, but somehow she knew that would make things worse.
”I do not know my way around this place very well. So..I...ah, apologize.” She said, which was also true enough. She had been here just a few times, shepherded to specific areas when she had set foot in the palati. She had not known that it was Achilleas’ study -- perhaps she wouldn’t have dared to risk it if she had known. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to upset Achilleas. He had so much more on his shoulders now. Her mother would be absolutely livid.
”I’ll just go.” She said unsure if she wanted to broach the subject of what she had seen with him. She was not sure he would tell her the truth of it, or if she would believe what he told her. So, instead of making them both suffer more awkwardness -- she took quick steps back. ”If you see Emilios before me, tell him I am looking for him.” She said by way of parting, going the way that the stranger had gone.
She walked fast, practically running by proper society’s standards. If she was running away from her brother, or running to catch up with the stranger -- she didn’t know. Either way, she was going too quickly to not find the stranger within sight again. A guard had caught up with him, but it wasn’t especially strange given how out of place he looked -- still shirtless and with the pink basket over his arm. Bandages flowed behind him like streamers and it looked like she was going to interrupt at just the right moment, this time at least.
”Excuse me,” She said, surprised by how authoritative her own voice sounded as she cut through the guard’s questioning. ”I apologize, but he’s with me. I was showing him back out, but I had to run an errand. Thank you for finding him, and taking such good care of my guest.” Her voice was warm, honeyed with the innocence of youth. The guard gave her a sidelong glance, and looked as if he would question her authority but as far as anyone knew -- she still had sway in the household. Irakles was not yet cold enough in the ground for her name to have been forgotten, illegitimate or not. So he nodded, and stepped back.
She offered the stranger a smile, not brave enough to touch him -- but gestured in a direction that was still away from her brother’s study. Once they had cleared prying ears, Sara flushed with embarrassment. ”Y-you should probably put your shirt back on.” She said, creating a little more distance between them so nothing could be misconstrued. ”I’m...Sara, by the way.” She smiled at him -- the thing reaching all the way to her blue eyes, as if she’d known him her whole life; her trust so freely given.
Lukos had never been inside a palati before. Born to a slave mother in Colchis, his origins were nearly as low as any could be. As a child, he’d been used to dimly lit corridors that servants used, or, when the family was in Magnemea, being sent out to the mines to cart around water or baskets of rocks that needed to come up to the surface. When he was snatched from his mother at the age of eight, he’d been taken aboard the Aceton and lived aboard it and on an island populated by the crew and their families, where he’d grown up positively feral. He had seen so many beautiful things; the placid waters of a crescent shaped lagoon, waves taller than this very building. He’d seen lighting slice through towering ocean walls to illuminate the fish caught there; brief flashes of shadows amidst glass green water. Down in Egypt, he’d walked through the most magnificent temples where gold was etched into the very walls. But even Lukos was cowed a little by the glamor of the Mikaelidas palati.
The graceful white arches of marble ran floor to ceiling. Most of the outer hallways were open to the elements, letting natural light flood in and render the hallways nearly blinding. Gardens in hues of emerald green, dotted here and there with flowers of alabaster, cardamom, crimson, or starlight blue all fought for the attention of his dazzled senses. This palati was a testament to man made beauty and it was quite unlike anything Lukos had ever experienced. Its halls were all nearly identical to his eyes and he’d somehow gotten quite turned around so that he no longer looked like he knew what he was doing, which had gotten him past several guards up to this point. So long as one was confident enough, one could pull off nearly anything.
Trailing fluttering bandages and boasting freshly healed scars, Lukos’s bronzed skin was impossible to miss amongst the white stone. The lurid pink basket didn’t help and the coarse brown material of his pants, didn’t give the guard who spotted him any sort of favorable impression. Lukos’s attention wandered along the walls and he actually reached out, running his fingertips along the smooth stone, not paying the guard any more mind than he would have a stationary fly.
”You,” the guard said firmly, not at all threatened but wary just the same. Someone so deep in the palati probably wasn’t much of a threat but his presence at all was bewildering in his present state. When Lukos didn’t look up, the guard tapped the butt of his spear on the ground. ”I said you.”
Lukos glanced up. “What?” he asked articulately.
The guard was further halted in his purpose of finding out what in the name of Zeus was going on by the addition of a softer, higher voice ringing down the hall. ”Excuse me. I apologize, but he’s with me. I was showing him back out, but I had to run an errand. Thank you for finding him, and taking such good care of my guest.” Sara’s presence was finally noticed and both the guard and Lukos looked at her in unison, though one wore a frown and the other arched one brow, wondering her angle.
The guard was extraordinarily dubious but was loathe to give the king’s half sister too much trouble. She was not a noble, but she’d been so recently treated as a princess for a very short period of time that the servants and guards were still in a little bit of confusion as to how to proceed in future. Lukos followed after her without hesitation, knowing that if he didn’t do what this girl wanted, a fate with bars awaited him with the guard. He was fairly certain his sister wouldn’t free him from jail a second time.
Neither of them said anything to each other for at least two turns through the halls, but finally she worked up the nerve. ”Y-you should probably put your shirt back on.” Lukos looked down at himself.
“Eh,” he began. “I need to be bandaged back up, first.” Need was a bit of an overstatement. The bandages were no longer necessary to staunch blood. They were more to protect his stab wound from coming open again around the stitches. Truthfully, he was being a bit of an infant about the wound, as his ‘babysitter’ as he’d come to think of her, Neena, didn’t think the bandages needed tending to as much as they had been. She’d even suggested he didn’t need them at all. Which he had ignored.
”I’m...Sara, by the way.” she said and that made Lukos look over at her.
“Not Lady Sara?” he asked. Not from here, not involved in the politics, he didn’t piece together immediately her common name with her more uncommon parentage. Shockingly, the bastard children of the former prince were not overly concerning to Lukos whenever gossip started up in the market places.
“Lukos,” he introduced himself, delicately placing the fingertips of one hand against his bare chest. They’d reached a crossways in the halls and Lukos stopped, looking left and right. “So, Sara, which of these corridors takes us to your brother’s room?"
He'd just remembered who this Sara probably was and took a guess as to why she was in the palati, too, and why the guard might have listened to her if she didn't have a title. She looked a little full young to be a mistress. He might not have listened much to the gossip but he couldn't help but hear something, sometimes.
"He owes me some money. Doctor bills.” And here he gestured to the still-pink-gash along his chest that Achilleas had courteously given him during their fight at Aphrodite’s temple. That was possibly where Lukos’s bad luck in this hell hole country had started, now that he thought of it. Achilleas owed him for all the trouble.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Lukos had never been inside a palati before. Born to a slave mother in Colchis, his origins were nearly as low as any could be. As a child, he’d been used to dimly lit corridors that servants used, or, when the family was in Magnemea, being sent out to the mines to cart around water or baskets of rocks that needed to come up to the surface. When he was snatched from his mother at the age of eight, he’d been taken aboard the Aceton and lived aboard it and on an island populated by the crew and their families, where he’d grown up positively feral. He had seen so many beautiful things; the placid waters of a crescent shaped lagoon, waves taller than this very building. He’d seen lighting slice through towering ocean walls to illuminate the fish caught there; brief flashes of shadows amidst glass green water. Down in Egypt, he’d walked through the most magnificent temples where gold was etched into the very walls. But even Lukos was cowed a little by the glamor of the Mikaelidas palati.
The graceful white arches of marble ran floor to ceiling. Most of the outer hallways were open to the elements, letting natural light flood in and render the hallways nearly blinding. Gardens in hues of emerald green, dotted here and there with flowers of alabaster, cardamom, crimson, or starlight blue all fought for the attention of his dazzled senses. This palati was a testament to man made beauty and it was quite unlike anything Lukos had ever experienced. Its halls were all nearly identical to his eyes and he’d somehow gotten quite turned around so that he no longer looked like he knew what he was doing, which had gotten him past several guards up to this point. So long as one was confident enough, one could pull off nearly anything.
Trailing fluttering bandages and boasting freshly healed scars, Lukos’s bronzed skin was impossible to miss amongst the white stone. The lurid pink basket didn’t help and the coarse brown material of his pants, didn’t give the guard who spotted him any sort of favorable impression. Lukos’s attention wandered along the walls and he actually reached out, running his fingertips along the smooth stone, not paying the guard any more mind than he would have a stationary fly.
”You,” the guard said firmly, not at all threatened but wary just the same. Someone so deep in the palati probably wasn’t much of a threat but his presence at all was bewildering in his present state. When Lukos didn’t look up, the guard tapped the butt of his spear on the ground. ”I said you.”
Lukos glanced up. “What?” he asked articulately.
The guard was further halted in his purpose of finding out what in the name of Zeus was going on by the addition of a softer, higher voice ringing down the hall. ”Excuse me. I apologize, but he’s with me. I was showing him back out, but I had to run an errand. Thank you for finding him, and taking such good care of my guest.” Sara’s presence was finally noticed and both the guard and Lukos looked at her in unison, though one wore a frown and the other arched one brow, wondering her angle.
The guard was extraordinarily dubious but was loathe to give the king’s half sister too much trouble. She was not a noble, but she’d been so recently treated as a princess for a very short period of time that the servants and guards were still in a little bit of confusion as to how to proceed in future. Lukos followed after her without hesitation, knowing that if he didn’t do what this girl wanted, a fate with bars awaited him with the guard. He was fairly certain his sister wouldn’t free him from jail a second time.
Neither of them said anything to each other for at least two turns through the halls, but finally she worked up the nerve. ”Y-you should probably put your shirt back on.” Lukos looked down at himself.
“Eh,” he began. “I need to be bandaged back up, first.” Need was a bit of an overstatement. The bandages were no longer necessary to staunch blood. They were more to protect his stab wound from coming open again around the stitches. Truthfully, he was being a bit of an infant about the wound, as his ‘babysitter’ as he’d come to think of her, Neena, didn’t think the bandages needed tending to as much as they had been. She’d even suggested he didn’t need them at all. Which he had ignored.
”I’m...Sara, by the way.” she said and that made Lukos look over at her.
“Not Lady Sara?” he asked. Not from here, not involved in the politics, he didn’t piece together immediately her common name with her more uncommon parentage. Shockingly, the bastard children of the former prince were not overly concerning to Lukos whenever gossip started up in the market places.
“Lukos,” he introduced himself, delicately placing the fingertips of one hand against his bare chest. They’d reached a crossways in the halls and Lukos stopped, looking left and right. “So, Sara, which of these corridors takes us to your brother’s room?"
He'd just remembered who this Sara probably was and took a guess as to why she was in the palati, too, and why the guard might have listened to her if she didn't have a title. She looked a little full young to be a mistress. He might not have listened much to the gossip but he couldn't help but hear something, sometimes.
"He owes me some money. Doctor bills.” And here he gestured to the still-pink-gash along his chest that Achilleas had courteously given him during their fight at Aphrodite’s temple. That was possibly where Lukos’s bad luck in this hell hole country had started, now that he thought of it. Achilleas owed him for all the trouble.
Lukos had never been inside a palati before. Born to a slave mother in Colchis, his origins were nearly as low as any could be. As a child, he’d been used to dimly lit corridors that servants used, or, when the family was in Magnemea, being sent out to the mines to cart around water or baskets of rocks that needed to come up to the surface. When he was snatched from his mother at the age of eight, he’d been taken aboard the Aceton and lived aboard it and on an island populated by the crew and their families, where he’d grown up positively feral. He had seen so many beautiful things; the placid waters of a crescent shaped lagoon, waves taller than this very building. He’d seen lighting slice through towering ocean walls to illuminate the fish caught there; brief flashes of shadows amidst glass green water. Down in Egypt, he’d walked through the most magnificent temples where gold was etched into the very walls. But even Lukos was cowed a little by the glamor of the Mikaelidas palati.
The graceful white arches of marble ran floor to ceiling. Most of the outer hallways were open to the elements, letting natural light flood in and render the hallways nearly blinding. Gardens in hues of emerald green, dotted here and there with flowers of alabaster, cardamom, crimson, or starlight blue all fought for the attention of his dazzled senses. This palati was a testament to man made beauty and it was quite unlike anything Lukos had ever experienced. Its halls were all nearly identical to his eyes and he’d somehow gotten quite turned around so that he no longer looked like he knew what he was doing, which had gotten him past several guards up to this point. So long as one was confident enough, one could pull off nearly anything.
Trailing fluttering bandages and boasting freshly healed scars, Lukos’s bronzed skin was impossible to miss amongst the white stone. The lurid pink basket didn’t help and the coarse brown material of his pants, didn’t give the guard who spotted him any sort of favorable impression. Lukos’s attention wandered along the walls and he actually reached out, running his fingertips along the smooth stone, not paying the guard any more mind than he would have a stationary fly.
”You,” the guard said firmly, not at all threatened but wary just the same. Someone so deep in the palati probably wasn’t much of a threat but his presence at all was bewildering in his present state. When Lukos didn’t look up, the guard tapped the butt of his spear on the ground. ”I said you.”
Lukos glanced up. “What?” he asked articulately.
The guard was further halted in his purpose of finding out what in the name of Zeus was going on by the addition of a softer, higher voice ringing down the hall. ”Excuse me. I apologize, but he’s with me. I was showing him back out, but I had to run an errand. Thank you for finding him, and taking such good care of my guest.” Sara’s presence was finally noticed and both the guard and Lukos looked at her in unison, though one wore a frown and the other arched one brow, wondering her angle.
The guard was extraordinarily dubious but was loathe to give the king’s half sister too much trouble. She was not a noble, but she’d been so recently treated as a princess for a very short period of time that the servants and guards were still in a little bit of confusion as to how to proceed in future. Lukos followed after her without hesitation, knowing that if he didn’t do what this girl wanted, a fate with bars awaited him with the guard. He was fairly certain his sister wouldn’t free him from jail a second time.
Neither of them said anything to each other for at least two turns through the halls, but finally she worked up the nerve. ”Y-you should probably put your shirt back on.” Lukos looked down at himself.
“Eh,” he began. “I need to be bandaged back up, first.” Need was a bit of an overstatement. The bandages were no longer necessary to staunch blood. They were more to protect his stab wound from coming open again around the stitches. Truthfully, he was being a bit of an infant about the wound, as his ‘babysitter’ as he’d come to think of her, Neena, didn’t think the bandages needed tending to as much as they had been. She’d even suggested he didn’t need them at all. Which he had ignored.
”I’m...Sara, by the way.” she said and that made Lukos look over at her.
“Not Lady Sara?” he asked. Not from here, not involved in the politics, he didn’t piece together immediately her common name with her more uncommon parentage. Shockingly, the bastard children of the former prince were not overly concerning to Lukos whenever gossip started up in the market places.
“Lukos,” he introduced himself, delicately placing the fingertips of one hand against his bare chest. They’d reached a crossways in the halls and Lukos stopped, looking left and right. “So, Sara, which of these corridors takes us to your brother’s room?"
He'd just remembered who this Sara probably was and took a guess as to why she was in the palati, too, and why the guard might have listened to her if she didn't have a title. She looked a little full young to be a mistress. He might not have listened much to the gossip but he couldn't help but hear something, sometimes.
"He owes me some money. Doctor bills.” And here he gestured to the still-pink-gash along his chest that Achilleas had courteously given him during their fight at Aphrodite’s temple. That was possibly where Lukos’s bad luck in this hell hole country had started, now that he thought of it. Achilleas owed him for all the trouble.
Sara nodded, thinking that he was probably right about the bandages. She spent a good deal of her effort trying not to let her gaze drop down to the wounds, having already decided that she did not want to see them. What she really wanted was to know how he had gotten them, and better yet -- why he was showing them to her brother in such a… fashion. Raising an eyebrow, she tucked her hands behind her back to hold them as she often liked to do -- inclining towards him just slightly.
”Well then we probably should see about getting you bandaged back up, then.” She said sweetly, holding out a hand to take the basket from him. She doubted it was heavy, but if he was injured then she thought he shouldn’t be carrying much of anything. She waited for him to decide whether or not he wanted to give up his rosy pink basket. Her steps were light down the hall, the only sound being the soft rustling of her chiton as she half-guided, half-followed. ”I don’t have a room here, but I’m sure we could find somewhere. I know a thing or two about bandages, if you’d like.” She shrugged, knowing that she would not be offended if he decided to pass on such an offer.
Not Lady Sara? He had asked, and her smile faded just a little. Oh no, she had always known she was not a true lady -- even if her late father had treated them as such, had held them to standards as if they were such.
”No.” She said slowly, drawing out the word as she averted her gaze. ”I’m…” She hesitated, the word weighter than expected on her tongue. ”Well, the short of it is that I’m just a bastard.” She said, giving a small shrug as if it didn’t bother her. It most certainly did, especially now that her father was gone and all the veils of his protection were surely being ripped down around her. Her mother was worried about such as well, which is why she had tried to keep Sara away from the palati. Perhaps, she was sure her mother was thinking, if they pretended to be invisible then Achilleas and Emilios would let them continue to live in peace. The idea was laughable, given how much Sara knew that her mother was despised by not only her brothers, but also most of the royal family. It was truly just a matter of time. It would hurt all the same.
She forced her smile wider, her steps still not faltering. ”A pleasure, Lukos.” She said, inclining her head in his direction. She was walking them in aimless directions, which he seemed to notice when he stopped them at the next cross section. Her brows rose in surprise at his question, her gaze finally dropping down to the gash along his chest that she had been avoiding up till now. Her blue gaze, warm and trusting like the waters of a bath -- suddenly became the cold sea.
”If Achilleas gave you that,” She said slowly, inclining her head to his chest, her hands still tucked primly behind her back. ”Then you deserved it somehow. If he didn’t...well then why does he owe you money?” She gave him a more tepid smile, cocking her head slightly to the side. She was making a mighty fine assumption that Achilleas was the one who’d given him such a wound at all -- because if that were the case, then why would he be in the palati...let alone alive? Her brother hardly did anything without a good reason, which made her a little uneasy about the present company. ”Unfortunately, I don’t know where my brothers’ rooms are. I do know where the kitchens are though. ” She said then, sounding far more diplomatic. ”Perhaps we could get you something to eat, and I’ll help you bandage that up so you can put on your shirt.”
She turned on a heel, giving him her back as she went to the right. ”Are you from Vasiliadon, Lukos?” She asked, quite sure she’d never seen him before. She couldn’t know everyone in her city though, but perhaps she could glean something out of him that might let her get to know him a little more.
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Sara nodded, thinking that he was probably right about the bandages. She spent a good deal of her effort trying not to let her gaze drop down to the wounds, having already decided that she did not want to see them. What she really wanted was to know how he had gotten them, and better yet -- why he was showing them to her brother in such a… fashion. Raising an eyebrow, she tucked her hands behind her back to hold them as she often liked to do -- inclining towards him just slightly.
”Well then we probably should see about getting you bandaged back up, then.” She said sweetly, holding out a hand to take the basket from him. She doubted it was heavy, but if he was injured then she thought he shouldn’t be carrying much of anything. She waited for him to decide whether or not he wanted to give up his rosy pink basket. Her steps were light down the hall, the only sound being the soft rustling of her chiton as she half-guided, half-followed. ”I don’t have a room here, but I’m sure we could find somewhere. I know a thing or two about bandages, if you’d like.” She shrugged, knowing that she would not be offended if he decided to pass on such an offer.
Not Lady Sara? He had asked, and her smile faded just a little. Oh no, she had always known she was not a true lady -- even if her late father had treated them as such, had held them to standards as if they were such.
”No.” She said slowly, drawing out the word as she averted her gaze. ”I’m…” She hesitated, the word weighter than expected on her tongue. ”Well, the short of it is that I’m just a bastard.” She said, giving a small shrug as if it didn’t bother her. It most certainly did, especially now that her father was gone and all the veils of his protection were surely being ripped down around her. Her mother was worried about such as well, which is why she had tried to keep Sara away from the palati. Perhaps, she was sure her mother was thinking, if they pretended to be invisible then Achilleas and Emilios would let them continue to live in peace. The idea was laughable, given how much Sara knew that her mother was despised by not only her brothers, but also most of the royal family. It was truly just a matter of time. It would hurt all the same.
She forced her smile wider, her steps still not faltering. ”A pleasure, Lukos.” She said, inclining her head in his direction. She was walking them in aimless directions, which he seemed to notice when he stopped them at the next cross section. Her brows rose in surprise at his question, her gaze finally dropping down to the gash along his chest that she had been avoiding up till now. Her blue gaze, warm and trusting like the waters of a bath -- suddenly became the cold sea.
”If Achilleas gave you that,” She said slowly, inclining her head to his chest, her hands still tucked primly behind her back. ”Then you deserved it somehow. If he didn’t...well then why does he owe you money?” She gave him a more tepid smile, cocking her head slightly to the side. She was making a mighty fine assumption that Achilleas was the one who’d given him such a wound at all -- because if that were the case, then why would he be in the palati...let alone alive? Her brother hardly did anything without a good reason, which made her a little uneasy about the present company. ”Unfortunately, I don’t know where my brothers’ rooms are. I do know where the kitchens are though. ” She said then, sounding far more diplomatic. ”Perhaps we could get you something to eat, and I’ll help you bandage that up so you can put on your shirt.”
She turned on a heel, giving him her back as she went to the right. ”Are you from Vasiliadon, Lukos?” She asked, quite sure she’d never seen him before. She couldn’t know everyone in her city though, but perhaps she could glean something out of him that might let her get to know him a little more.
Sara nodded, thinking that he was probably right about the bandages. She spent a good deal of her effort trying not to let her gaze drop down to the wounds, having already decided that she did not want to see them. What she really wanted was to know how he had gotten them, and better yet -- why he was showing them to her brother in such a… fashion. Raising an eyebrow, she tucked her hands behind her back to hold them as she often liked to do -- inclining towards him just slightly.
”Well then we probably should see about getting you bandaged back up, then.” She said sweetly, holding out a hand to take the basket from him. She doubted it was heavy, but if he was injured then she thought he shouldn’t be carrying much of anything. She waited for him to decide whether or not he wanted to give up his rosy pink basket. Her steps were light down the hall, the only sound being the soft rustling of her chiton as she half-guided, half-followed. ”I don’t have a room here, but I’m sure we could find somewhere. I know a thing or two about bandages, if you’d like.” She shrugged, knowing that she would not be offended if he decided to pass on such an offer.
Not Lady Sara? He had asked, and her smile faded just a little. Oh no, she had always known she was not a true lady -- even if her late father had treated them as such, had held them to standards as if they were such.
”No.” She said slowly, drawing out the word as she averted her gaze. ”I’m…” She hesitated, the word weighter than expected on her tongue. ”Well, the short of it is that I’m just a bastard.” She said, giving a small shrug as if it didn’t bother her. It most certainly did, especially now that her father was gone and all the veils of his protection were surely being ripped down around her. Her mother was worried about such as well, which is why she had tried to keep Sara away from the palati. Perhaps, she was sure her mother was thinking, if they pretended to be invisible then Achilleas and Emilios would let them continue to live in peace. The idea was laughable, given how much Sara knew that her mother was despised by not only her brothers, but also most of the royal family. It was truly just a matter of time. It would hurt all the same.
She forced her smile wider, her steps still not faltering. ”A pleasure, Lukos.” She said, inclining her head in his direction. She was walking them in aimless directions, which he seemed to notice when he stopped them at the next cross section. Her brows rose in surprise at his question, her gaze finally dropping down to the gash along his chest that she had been avoiding up till now. Her blue gaze, warm and trusting like the waters of a bath -- suddenly became the cold sea.
”If Achilleas gave you that,” She said slowly, inclining her head to his chest, her hands still tucked primly behind her back. ”Then you deserved it somehow. If he didn’t...well then why does he owe you money?” She gave him a more tepid smile, cocking her head slightly to the side. She was making a mighty fine assumption that Achilleas was the one who’d given him such a wound at all -- because if that were the case, then why would he be in the palati...let alone alive? Her brother hardly did anything without a good reason, which made her a little uneasy about the present company. ”Unfortunately, I don’t know where my brothers’ rooms are. I do know where the kitchens are though. ” She said then, sounding far more diplomatic. ”Perhaps we could get you something to eat, and I’ll help you bandage that up so you can put on your shirt.”
She turned on a heel, giving him her back as she went to the right. ”Are you from Vasiliadon, Lukos?” She asked, quite sure she’d never seen him before. She couldn’t know everyone in her city though, but perhaps she could glean something out of him that might let her get to know him a little more.
He did not let her have the basket when she reached for it. At the sight of her pale, dainty hand reaching, Lukos had angled his body away from her, pretending to be more interested in the walls of the palati that boasted vases of fresh flowers or trophies from long past wars all fought by men now dead for longer than he’d been alive, or adorned with huge paintings. Anything to keep his basket in the crook of his own arm. The girls he’d lifted this from hadn’t the good sense to hang on it. He wouldn’t make that same mistake. Besides, he was growing rather attached to it.
The awfully sweet offer to rebandage him made him slow just the littlest bit. Keeping his body angled away from her so that she couldn’t make some kind of maniacal grab for the basket, he turned his head enough to keep her in view and mulled that over. She was good with bandages, huh? His gaze swept over her. She was small and in possession of the most adorable, childlike features. He had a hard time believing that she’d be one of the women tending to ill or wounded men on a regular basis. Her looks, coupled with her close proximity to the king put her into the ‘Do Not Trust Under Any Circumstances’ category. The more adorable and kindly someone was, the more suspicion they raised. People were not nice, no matter what they liked to pretend.
She did say something that he filed away for later, though: She didn’t have a room here. Interesting. But she could walk into the king’s quarters all on her own and guards obeyed her. Still more interesting and more useful. His eyes slid towards her again, calculating exactly how much she might be worth in the future. He eased his hold on the basket somewhat, willing to let her take it if it would lull her into some sense of companionship.
To his question of why she wasn’t Lady Sara, she said ”No. I’m - Well, the short of it is that I’m just a bastard.”
“Pedigrees are for horses,” he said offhandedly, looking around the cross section. Her low birth status was the same, if not a little higher than his own. Her only real misfortune was to be born female. Or was it an asset? A bastard son certainly wouldn’t be allowed to prance around these halls. He’d be considered a threat. Perhaps her real power lay in that she wasn’t one. If she was clever and ambitious, she’d learn that one day.
”If Achilleas gave you that,” Sara’s profoundly unhelpful tone drew his attention back to her. ”Then you deserved it somehow. If he didn’t...well then why does he owe you money?”
Lukos’s eyes narrowed, but a wolf’s grin slowly curved his lips upward. Cheeky chit. “Because Achilleas is a good person. He was interested in my welfare.” In any case, Sara was of very little help with the rooms situation.
”Unfortunately, I don’t know where my brothers’ rooms are. I do know where the kitchens are though. Perhaps we could get you something to eat, and I’ll help you bandage that up so you can put on your shirt.”
“I would love some food,” he patted his basket. “I was in the middle of lunch when the king summoned me.”
”Are you from Vasiliadon, Lukos?”
Her stride was a little quicker than he was prepared to walk. He absolutely did not want to show weakness around Achilleas but this girl? There was no harm. “Slower, princess,” he pressed a hand to his side. There was more than one wound on his torso. The one with more flare across his chest, gifted to him by Achilleas was the one immediately noticeable but the one on his side that had nearly killed him, that one was the one still giving him issues.
“Colchis,” he said after a few seconds, referring to her earlier question. To get to the kitchens he was going to have to entirely depend on her for directions. “I’m a merchant. Your brother tasked me with getting weapons.” That was no secret. He had a signed and sealed contract for that and it was public knowledge. Whatever Achilleas chose or did not choose to tell her was the man’s own affair. However, Lukos felt that explanation thoroughly explained his presence in the palati enough to get by. “Does the kitchen have chicken, perchance? The chicken in this basket is now cold.” The word ‘cold’ was a little pointed and he threw a look over his shoulder as though Achilleas might be able to feel that barb from this far away.
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He did not let her have the basket when she reached for it. At the sight of her pale, dainty hand reaching, Lukos had angled his body away from her, pretending to be more interested in the walls of the palati that boasted vases of fresh flowers or trophies from long past wars all fought by men now dead for longer than he’d been alive, or adorned with huge paintings. Anything to keep his basket in the crook of his own arm. The girls he’d lifted this from hadn’t the good sense to hang on it. He wouldn’t make that same mistake. Besides, he was growing rather attached to it.
The awfully sweet offer to rebandage him made him slow just the littlest bit. Keeping his body angled away from her so that she couldn’t make some kind of maniacal grab for the basket, he turned his head enough to keep her in view and mulled that over. She was good with bandages, huh? His gaze swept over her. She was small and in possession of the most adorable, childlike features. He had a hard time believing that she’d be one of the women tending to ill or wounded men on a regular basis. Her looks, coupled with her close proximity to the king put her into the ‘Do Not Trust Under Any Circumstances’ category. The more adorable and kindly someone was, the more suspicion they raised. People were not nice, no matter what they liked to pretend.
She did say something that he filed away for later, though: She didn’t have a room here. Interesting. But she could walk into the king’s quarters all on her own and guards obeyed her. Still more interesting and more useful. His eyes slid towards her again, calculating exactly how much she might be worth in the future. He eased his hold on the basket somewhat, willing to let her take it if it would lull her into some sense of companionship.
To his question of why she wasn’t Lady Sara, she said ”No. I’m - Well, the short of it is that I’m just a bastard.”
“Pedigrees are for horses,” he said offhandedly, looking around the cross section. Her low birth status was the same, if not a little higher than his own. Her only real misfortune was to be born female. Or was it an asset? A bastard son certainly wouldn’t be allowed to prance around these halls. He’d be considered a threat. Perhaps her real power lay in that she wasn’t one. If she was clever and ambitious, she’d learn that one day.
”If Achilleas gave you that,” Sara’s profoundly unhelpful tone drew his attention back to her. ”Then you deserved it somehow. If he didn’t...well then why does he owe you money?”
Lukos’s eyes narrowed, but a wolf’s grin slowly curved his lips upward. Cheeky chit. “Because Achilleas is a good person. He was interested in my welfare.” In any case, Sara was of very little help with the rooms situation.
”Unfortunately, I don’t know where my brothers’ rooms are. I do know where the kitchens are though. Perhaps we could get you something to eat, and I’ll help you bandage that up so you can put on your shirt.”
“I would love some food,” he patted his basket. “I was in the middle of lunch when the king summoned me.”
”Are you from Vasiliadon, Lukos?”
Her stride was a little quicker than he was prepared to walk. He absolutely did not want to show weakness around Achilleas but this girl? There was no harm. “Slower, princess,” he pressed a hand to his side. There was more than one wound on his torso. The one with more flare across his chest, gifted to him by Achilleas was the one immediately noticeable but the one on his side that had nearly killed him, that one was the one still giving him issues.
“Colchis,” he said after a few seconds, referring to her earlier question. To get to the kitchens he was going to have to entirely depend on her for directions. “I’m a merchant. Your brother tasked me with getting weapons.” That was no secret. He had a signed and sealed contract for that and it was public knowledge. Whatever Achilleas chose or did not choose to tell her was the man’s own affair. However, Lukos felt that explanation thoroughly explained his presence in the palati enough to get by. “Does the kitchen have chicken, perchance? The chicken in this basket is now cold.” The word ‘cold’ was a little pointed and he threw a look over his shoulder as though Achilleas might be able to feel that barb from this far away.
He did not let her have the basket when she reached for it. At the sight of her pale, dainty hand reaching, Lukos had angled his body away from her, pretending to be more interested in the walls of the palati that boasted vases of fresh flowers or trophies from long past wars all fought by men now dead for longer than he’d been alive, or adorned with huge paintings. Anything to keep his basket in the crook of his own arm. The girls he’d lifted this from hadn’t the good sense to hang on it. He wouldn’t make that same mistake. Besides, he was growing rather attached to it.
The awfully sweet offer to rebandage him made him slow just the littlest bit. Keeping his body angled away from her so that she couldn’t make some kind of maniacal grab for the basket, he turned his head enough to keep her in view and mulled that over. She was good with bandages, huh? His gaze swept over her. She was small and in possession of the most adorable, childlike features. He had a hard time believing that she’d be one of the women tending to ill or wounded men on a regular basis. Her looks, coupled with her close proximity to the king put her into the ‘Do Not Trust Under Any Circumstances’ category. The more adorable and kindly someone was, the more suspicion they raised. People were not nice, no matter what they liked to pretend.
She did say something that he filed away for later, though: She didn’t have a room here. Interesting. But she could walk into the king’s quarters all on her own and guards obeyed her. Still more interesting and more useful. His eyes slid towards her again, calculating exactly how much she might be worth in the future. He eased his hold on the basket somewhat, willing to let her take it if it would lull her into some sense of companionship.
To his question of why she wasn’t Lady Sara, she said ”No. I’m - Well, the short of it is that I’m just a bastard.”
“Pedigrees are for horses,” he said offhandedly, looking around the cross section. Her low birth status was the same, if not a little higher than his own. Her only real misfortune was to be born female. Or was it an asset? A bastard son certainly wouldn’t be allowed to prance around these halls. He’d be considered a threat. Perhaps her real power lay in that she wasn’t one. If she was clever and ambitious, she’d learn that one day.
”If Achilleas gave you that,” Sara’s profoundly unhelpful tone drew his attention back to her. ”Then you deserved it somehow. If he didn’t...well then why does he owe you money?”
Lukos’s eyes narrowed, but a wolf’s grin slowly curved his lips upward. Cheeky chit. “Because Achilleas is a good person. He was interested in my welfare.” In any case, Sara was of very little help with the rooms situation.
”Unfortunately, I don’t know where my brothers’ rooms are. I do know where the kitchens are though. Perhaps we could get you something to eat, and I’ll help you bandage that up so you can put on your shirt.”
“I would love some food,” he patted his basket. “I was in the middle of lunch when the king summoned me.”
”Are you from Vasiliadon, Lukos?”
Her stride was a little quicker than he was prepared to walk. He absolutely did not want to show weakness around Achilleas but this girl? There was no harm. “Slower, princess,” he pressed a hand to his side. There was more than one wound on his torso. The one with more flare across his chest, gifted to him by Achilleas was the one immediately noticeable but the one on his side that had nearly killed him, that one was the one still giving him issues.
“Colchis,” he said after a few seconds, referring to her earlier question. To get to the kitchens he was going to have to entirely depend on her for directions. “I’m a merchant. Your brother tasked me with getting weapons.” That was no secret. He had a signed and sealed contract for that and it was public knowledge. Whatever Achilleas chose or did not choose to tell her was the man’s own affair. However, Lukos felt that explanation thoroughly explained his presence in the palati enough to get by. “Does the kitchen have chicken, perchance? The chicken in this basket is now cold.” The word ‘cold’ was a little pointed and he threw a look over his shoulder as though Achilleas might be able to feel that barb from this far away.