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Persephone wasn't really sure she was thinking clearly. Not sure she was seeing everything correctly. Since the vote had been passed and Lord Votis - with the confirmation of her father - had declared the legislative change to be one of affirmation and had been passed... Persephone wasn't sure that her mind had been connected to her body ever since.
She didn't even remember the procession of getting from her throne in the Senate to the carriage outside. Nor did she speak or say anything on the journey from the Dikastirio to the Palace in the closed top vehicle with her father.
The King appeared to recognise that she needed some space - if not physical then at least mental. That she needed the cool and quiet of the carriage in order to collect her thoughts and reconnect mentality to physiology. Such a phenomenon did not occur on their short journey through the streets of the Inner City. Nor did it seem to have settled back into connection by the time the vehicle pulled up before the royal palace and offered the exit to, what was now, the King of Athenia and his heir apparent - the Crown Princess. A term not used in many a generation.
Persephone had expected to feel elated. To feel achievement. To feel sick, quite possibly.
Instead, she seemed to feel nothing as she descended from the carriage with the hand of a footman and then stood in the courtyard looking up at the Royal Palati's front visage.
For all her years of childhood, this building had been home. It held a familiarity that any common folk would feel for their own abode - no matter the size or expectations surrounding it. To Persephone the palati had been just that - a safe haven. Something small and cosy, no matter its size and impressive architecture.
It seemed only now that she was recognising it for what it was... A symbol. A dominant reminder of the power of the people who lived within it. The monarch of the kingdom. Which would now, some day, be her.
Suddenly, she felt dwarfed by the very notion. Dwarfed by the concept that she would one day wear a crown far different from the one on her own head right now. And one that held far more responsibilities and pressures. She felt dwarfed by the very building she had always been made to feel safe by; for it was a reminder of all tasks and duties to come.
When the liveried servant beside her tentatively cleared his thought, politely indicating that she had been standing and staring for several minutes - minutes enough that had had her father escorted inside and to his chambers - most likely where he would find Emilia and be able to tell her the news, Persephone walked forwards with no intent or knowledge of where she was going.
Up the steps to the palace and into the main foyer she walked, before heading through a doorway beneath the sweeping staircase and heading down a servants’ passage. For some reason her instinct was to keep out of sight and out of view. Perhaps she was subconsciously considering the hours of the day - all of which had been at the observation of others - or perhaps the concept that she was now about to take on a life that would be even less her own than the one she currently held. The privacy of the corridor being filled with only her own presence seemed comforting.
Her feet continued forwards without any instruction from her mind or intention of her heart and she found herself automatically nodding and smiling at the rare servant or slave who passed by, their minds likely curious as to what the princess was doing wandering the servant ways but their eyes always to the ground in devout respect, so that she might never see such speculation.
Out of the servants’ corridors and into the chambers at the back of the palace, Persephone went, her legs carrying her through several different meeting chambers before she found a particular solar room that was attached to the edge of the Xanthos private gardens.
The sunlight seemed to draw her onwards, back outside and Persephone now found herself in the private gardens of her family at the back of the palace. Which meant she now knew exactly where she was going.
Carrying on through the gardens, around particular beds of brightly coloured flowers that almost acted as guides or directional posts in the vast and pretty shrubberies, Persephone's face remained neutral, her steps calm and her back straight as she meandered through the plants and topiaries.
She found where she had been instinctively heading without issue. Somewhere in her subconscious she knew that here or her bed would have been either of the two places she would seek when emotional troubled.
"Here", was a small section of garden, masked from the palace and entirely private, hidden by a trellis of ivy and bougainvillea and offering a wide and comfortable bench on its other side, directly in the path of the afternoon sun. The little section of garden sported roses and camellias and a dozen other flowers, including her favourite crocuses, and created a balmy and relaxing atmosphere of pretty scents. The sun was hot and almost encroaching but in a pleasant way and Persephone enjoyed it, the heat on her skin reminding her of her own frame and body.
She sat upon the bench with its bright white cushions beneath and behind her as she allowed her posture to relax just slightly, supported by the fabric and stuffing. She closed her eyes and let the sun beat down. She felt it on her hair, as it turned the ebony mane hot, and on her skin, where she felt almost embraced by Helios' rays.
She closed her eyes.
What on earth would happen to her now?
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May 20, 2019 14:27:58 GMT
Posted In The Come Down on May 20, 2019 14:27:58 GMT
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Persephone wasn't really sure she was thinking clearly. Not sure she was seeing everything correctly. Since the vote had been passed and Lord Votis - with the confirmation of her father - had declared the legislative change to be one of affirmation and had been passed... Persephone wasn't sure that her mind had been connected to her body ever since.
She didn't even remember the procession of getting from her throne in the Senate to the carriage outside. Nor did she speak or say anything on the journey from the Dikastirio to the Palace in the closed top vehicle with her father.
The King appeared to recognise that she needed some space - if not physical then at least mental. That she needed the cool and quiet of the carriage in order to collect her thoughts and reconnect mentality to physiology. Such a phenomenon did not occur on their short journey through the streets of the Inner City. Nor did it seem to have settled back into connection by the time the vehicle pulled up before the royal palace and offered the exit to, what was now, the King of Athenia and his heir apparent - the Crown Princess. A term not used in many a generation.
Persephone had expected to feel elated. To feel achievement. To feel sick, quite possibly.
Instead, she seemed to feel nothing as she descended from the carriage with the hand of a footman and then stood in the courtyard looking up at the Royal Palati's front visage.
For all her years of childhood, this building had been home. It held a familiarity that any common folk would feel for their own abode - no matter the size or expectations surrounding it. To Persephone the palati had been just that - a safe haven. Something small and cosy, no matter its size and impressive architecture.
It seemed only now that she was recognising it for what it was... A symbol. A dominant reminder of the power of the people who lived within it. The monarch of the kingdom. Which would now, some day, be her.
Suddenly, she felt dwarfed by the very notion. Dwarfed by the concept that she would one day wear a crown far different from the one on her own head right now. And one that held far more responsibilities and pressures. She felt dwarfed by the very building she had always been made to feel safe by; for it was a reminder of all tasks and duties to come.
When the liveried servant beside her tentatively cleared his thought, politely indicating that she had been standing and staring for several minutes - minutes enough that had had her father escorted inside and to his chambers - most likely where he would find Emilia and be able to tell her the news, Persephone walked forwards with no intent or knowledge of where she was going.
Up the steps to the palace and into the main foyer she walked, before heading through a doorway beneath the sweeping staircase and heading down a servants’ passage. For some reason her instinct was to keep out of sight and out of view. Perhaps she was subconsciously considering the hours of the day - all of which had been at the observation of others - or perhaps the concept that she was now about to take on a life that would be even less her own than the one she currently held. The privacy of the corridor being filled with only her own presence seemed comforting.
Her feet continued forwards without any instruction from her mind or intention of her heart and she found herself automatically nodding and smiling at the rare servant or slave who passed by, their minds likely curious as to what the princess was doing wandering the servant ways but their eyes always to the ground in devout respect, so that she might never see such speculation.
Out of the servants’ corridors and into the chambers at the back of the palace, Persephone went, her legs carrying her through several different meeting chambers before she found a particular solar room that was attached to the edge of the Xanthos private gardens.
The sunlight seemed to draw her onwards, back outside and Persephone now found herself in the private gardens of her family at the back of the palace. Which meant she now knew exactly where she was going.
Carrying on through the gardens, around particular beds of brightly coloured flowers that almost acted as guides or directional posts in the vast and pretty shrubberies, Persephone's face remained neutral, her steps calm and her back straight as she meandered through the plants and topiaries.
She found where she had been instinctively heading without issue. Somewhere in her subconscious she knew that here or her bed would have been either of the two places she would seek when emotional troubled.
"Here", was a small section of garden, masked from the palace and entirely private, hidden by a trellis of ivy and bougainvillea and offering a wide and comfortable bench on its other side, directly in the path of the afternoon sun. The little section of garden sported roses and camellias and a dozen other flowers, including her favourite crocuses, and created a balmy and relaxing atmosphere of pretty scents. The sun was hot and almost encroaching but in a pleasant way and Persephone enjoyed it, the heat on her skin reminding her of her own frame and body.
She sat upon the bench with its bright white cushions beneath and behind her as she allowed her posture to relax just slightly, supported by the fabric and stuffing. She closed her eyes and let the sun beat down. She felt it on her hair, as it turned the ebony mane hot, and on her skin, where she felt almost embraced by Helios' rays.
She closed her eyes.
What on earth would happen to her now?
Persephone wasn't really sure she was thinking clearly. Not sure she was seeing everything correctly. Since the vote had been passed and Lord Votis - with the confirmation of her father - had declared the legislative change to be one of affirmation and had been passed... Persephone wasn't sure that her mind had been connected to her body ever since.
She didn't even remember the procession of getting from her throne in the Senate to the carriage outside. Nor did she speak or say anything on the journey from the Dikastirio to the Palace in the closed top vehicle with her father.
The King appeared to recognise that she needed some space - if not physical then at least mental. That she needed the cool and quiet of the carriage in order to collect her thoughts and reconnect mentality to physiology. Such a phenomenon did not occur on their short journey through the streets of the Inner City. Nor did it seem to have settled back into connection by the time the vehicle pulled up before the royal palace and offered the exit to, what was now, the King of Athenia and his heir apparent - the Crown Princess. A term not used in many a generation.
Persephone had expected to feel elated. To feel achievement. To feel sick, quite possibly.
Instead, she seemed to feel nothing as she descended from the carriage with the hand of a footman and then stood in the courtyard looking up at the Royal Palati's front visage.
For all her years of childhood, this building had been home. It held a familiarity that any common folk would feel for their own abode - no matter the size or expectations surrounding it. To Persephone the palati had been just that - a safe haven. Something small and cosy, no matter its size and impressive architecture.
It seemed only now that she was recognising it for what it was... A symbol. A dominant reminder of the power of the people who lived within it. The monarch of the kingdom. Which would now, some day, be her.
Suddenly, she felt dwarfed by the very notion. Dwarfed by the concept that she would one day wear a crown far different from the one on her own head right now. And one that held far more responsibilities and pressures. She felt dwarfed by the very building she had always been made to feel safe by; for it was a reminder of all tasks and duties to come.
When the liveried servant beside her tentatively cleared his thought, politely indicating that she had been standing and staring for several minutes - minutes enough that had had her father escorted inside and to his chambers - most likely where he would find Emilia and be able to tell her the news, Persephone walked forwards with no intent or knowledge of where she was going.
Up the steps to the palace and into the main foyer she walked, before heading through a doorway beneath the sweeping staircase and heading down a servants’ passage. For some reason her instinct was to keep out of sight and out of view. Perhaps she was subconsciously considering the hours of the day - all of which had been at the observation of others - or perhaps the concept that she was now about to take on a life that would be even less her own than the one she currently held. The privacy of the corridor being filled with only her own presence seemed comforting.
Her feet continued forwards without any instruction from her mind or intention of her heart and she found herself automatically nodding and smiling at the rare servant or slave who passed by, their minds likely curious as to what the princess was doing wandering the servant ways but their eyes always to the ground in devout respect, so that she might never see such speculation.
Out of the servants’ corridors and into the chambers at the back of the palace, Persephone went, her legs carrying her through several different meeting chambers before she found a particular solar room that was attached to the edge of the Xanthos private gardens.
The sunlight seemed to draw her onwards, back outside and Persephone now found herself in the private gardens of her family at the back of the palace. Which meant she now knew exactly where she was going.
Carrying on through the gardens, around particular beds of brightly coloured flowers that almost acted as guides or directional posts in the vast and pretty shrubberies, Persephone's face remained neutral, her steps calm and her back straight as she meandered through the plants and topiaries.
She found where she had been instinctively heading without issue. Somewhere in her subconscious she knew that here or her bed would have been either of the two places she would seek when emotional troubled.
"Here", was a small section of garden, masked from the palace and entirely private, hidden by a trellis of ivy and bougainvillea and offering a wide and comfortable bench on its other side, directly in the path of the afternoon sun. The little section of garden sported roses and camellias and a dozen other flowers, including her favourite crocuses, and created a balmy and relaxing atmosphere of pretty scents. The sun was hot and almost encroaching but in a pleasant way and Persephone enjoyed it, the heat on her skin reminding her of her own frame and body.
She sat upon the bench with its bright white cushions beneath and behind her as she allowed her posture to relax just slightly, supported by the fabric and stuffing. She closed her eyes and let the sun beat down. She felt it on her hair, as it turned the ebony mane hot, and on her skin, where she felt almost embraced by Helios' rays.
She closed her eyes.
What on earth would happen to her now?
Iason had been as much in shock as the rest of the senate throughout the meeting. He had done his duty, remaining a silent and supportive witness as his betrothed argued for her right to take the throne after her father's passing. People had plenty to say about his support of Persephone, not the least of which centered around the fact that if she won he would be king. As much as he wished to raise his family name in glory and honor, he had no true desire to take a kingdom to his own. A barony, serving as the head of his family, certainly taking part of the senate of a country, but ruling as its king was beyond what he had ever thought of for himself. And now here they were, with their betrothal and her new position things that he had never anticipated would be changing their lives forever.
He had ridden separately from the palati to the dikastirio to give her time to think, to be alone with what she needed to process. In truth now that they had the verdict he needed a moment to do the same. This had always been a possibility, a likelihood even, and he was here to support her through it, but now that it was reality there was so much more to contend with. His head was spinning and as he handed his mount back over to one of the hostlers he couldn't imagine how she was feeling. They hadn't spent much time together outside of official engagements but she was to be his wife, and he admired her strength especially in response to the way the Stravos boy's behavior. Iason himself might not have gone quite so far, but this was the sort of thing he would back her on.
Inquiring after her, he was soon pointed in the right direction and headed down to the garden where he had been told she was hiding. No not hiding, musing, taking a moment. The gardens were beautiful, and had he not been on a mission he could have easily allowed himself to be distracted and spent a good deal of time studying the various plants, but she was his first priority. It took longer than he had anticipated to find where she had ensconced herself, and he paused a moment to take in the sight of her on the bench before stepping forward. She was truly beautiful, one of the most stunning women he'd ever seen, and so regal and steady that seeing her in a relaxed pose like this made him worry. In this posture she looked less like someone he simply needed to stand behind, more like someone he needed and wanted to protect at every turn.
"Persephone, are you alright?" It was the first time he'd called her by her name, a realization that hit him once it had already slipped from his mouth. Stepping closer, he knelt beside the bench, a hand landing on her knee in yet another far more familiar move than they had previously managed. "What can I do?"
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May 20, 2019 14:28:17 GMT
Posted In The Come Down on May 20, 2019 14:28:17 GMT
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Iason had been as much in shock as the rest of the senate throughout the meeting. He had done his duty, remaining a silent and supportive witness as his betrothed argued for her right to take the throne after her father's passing. People had plenty to say about his support of Persephone, not the least of which centered around the fact that if she won he would be king. As much as he wished to raise his family name in glory and honor, he had no true desire to take a kingdom to his own. A barony, serving as the head of his family, certainly taking part of the senate of a country, but ruling as its king was beyond what he had ever thought of for himself. And now here they were, with their betrothal and her new position things that he had never anticipated would be changing their lives forever.
He had ridden separately from the palati to the dikastirio to give her time to think, to be alone with what she needed to process. In truth now that they had the verdict he needed a moment to do the same. This had always been a possibility, a likelihood even, and he was here to support her through it, but now that it was reality there was so much more to contend with. His head was spinning and as he handed his mount back over to one of the hostlers he couldn't imagine how she was feeling. They hadn't spent much time together outside of official engagements but she was to be his wife, and he admired her strength especially in response to the way the Stravos boy's behavior. Iason himself might not have gone quite so far, but this was the sort of thing he would back her on.
Inquiring after her, he was soon pointed in the right direction and headed down to the garden where he had been told she was hiding. No not hiding, musing, taking a moment. The gardens were beautiful, and had he not been on a mission he could have easily allowed himself to be distracted and spent a good deal of time studying the various plants, but she was his first priority. It took longer than he had anticipated to find where she had ensconced herself, and he paused a moment to take in the sight of her on the bench before stepping forward. She was truly beautiful, one of the most stunning women he'd ever seen, and so regal and steady that seeing her in a relaxed pose like this made him worry. In this posture she looked less like someone he simply needed to stand behind, more like someone he needed and wanted to protect at every turn.
"Persephone, are you alright?" It was the first time he'd called her by her name, a realization that hit him once it had already slipped from his mouth. Stepping closer, he knelt beside the bench, a hand landing on her knee in yet another far more familiar move than they had previously managed. "What can I do?"
Iason had been as much in shock as the rest of the senate throughout the meeting. He had done his duty, remaining a silent and supportive witness as his betrothed argued for her right to take the throne after her father's passing. People had plenty to say about his support of Persephone, not the least of which centered around the fact that if she won he would be king. As much as he wished to raise his family name in glory and honor, he had no true desire to take a kingdom to his own. A barony, serving as the head of his family, certainly taking part of the senate of a country, but ruling as its king was beyond what he had ever thought of for himself. And now here they were, with their betrothal and her new position things that he had never anticipated would be changing their lives forever.
He had ridden separately from the palati to the dikastirio to give her time to think, to be alone with what she needed to process. In truth now that they had the verdict he needed a moment to do the same. This had always been a possibility, a likelihood even, and he was here to support her through it, but now that it was reality there was so much more to contend with. His head was spinning and as he handed his mount back over to one of the hostlers he couldn't imagine how she was feeling. They hadn't spent much time together outside of official engagements but she was to be his wife, and he admired her strength especially in response to the way the Stravos boy's behavior. Iason himself might not have gone quite so far, but this was the sort of thing he would back her on.
Inquiring after her, he was soon pointed in the right direction and headed down to the garden where he had been told she was hiding. No not hiding, musing, taking a moment. The gardens were beautiful, and had he not been on a mission he could have easily allowed himself to be distracted and spent a good deal of time studying the various plants, but she was his first priority. It took longer than he had anticipated to find where she had ensconced herself, and he paused a moment to take in the sight of her on the bench before stepping forward. She was truly beautiful, one of the most stunning women he'd ever seen, and so regal and steady that seeing her in a relaxed pose like this made him worry. In this posture she looked less like someone he simply needed to stand behind, more like someone he needed and wanted to protect at every turn.
"Persephone, are you alright?" It was the first time he'd called her by her name, a realization that hit him once it had already slipped from his mouth. Stepping closer, he knelt beside the bench, a hand landing on her knee in yet another far more familiar move than they had previously managed. "What can I do?"
At the sound of someone approaching, Persephone's body seemed to behave without her consent. Sitting straighter, her spine moving back into line and her posture changing to one of demure regality as the newcomer approached, she did not relax upon seeing it was Iason.
This was not because she distrusted him or because she thought he might judge her for her appearance but mostly because it had been ingrained into her for so many years to appear a certain way before everyone - regardless of who they were - aside from her immediate family members. And even then, she retained a sense of formality. For her father needed assurance that she could handle the mantel he was wishing to pass on to her and her sister needed a role model. Before no-one did Persephone ever truly relax, she suddenly realised. Not since her mother had died...
Surprising her as he used her first name without title or embellishment, Iason increased the shock by kneeling before her and offering a hand to her knee, asking what it was he could do to aid her.
Uncertainly and with a hint of timidity, Persephone reached forwards and gently placed her hand over his, just resting them there together on her knee. She opened her mouth for a moment, knowing that the polite amount of time to respond had lapsed but still no response came to mind.
What was she supposed to do? She was going to be Queen. He was going to be King. They were going to rule Athenia together. As soon as her father passed - which looked to be sooner rather than later - the two of them would be monarchs of the land she had loved since birth - he would be ruling a foreign kingdom...
Her eyes darted to his, unknowing if the fear she suddenly felt was clear in them or not.
It was bizarre.
She had been ruling in her father's place for months now and yet the idea of continuing to do so in a formal capacity was setting her stomach to stone and sucking the air from her lungs.
But Iason's presence here, in the garden, reminded her that she wasn't about to do it alone...
She had always thought of their engagement - for that's all it was so far, an engagement; it couldn't even be referred to as a relationship - was for the good of the vote and in securing the Xanthos future. But now she realised as secondary benefit to it. Once they were married, she would not be taking on the responsibilities of Athenia solo. Iason would be there with her.
And while she didn't know the man all that well, and they had yet to even have a conversation outside of that first meeting, the engagement negotiations and formal affairs, she had grown to understand that the man was one she would want at her side. He was strong, dependable, intelligent... He had already proven that he wanted to be her partner rather than her king.
A light frown coming over her face, as she lifted a hand - the one not rested over his - Persephone raised it half way to his face and then seemed to pause.
"Close your eyes." She told the man, finally answering his question of what it was he could do for her...
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May 20, 2019 14:28:44 GMT
Posted In The Come Down on May 20, 2019 14:28:44 GMT
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At the sound of someone approaching, Persephone's body seemed to behave without her consent. Sitting straighter, her spine moving back into line and her posture changing to one of demure regality as the newcomer approached, she did not relax upon seeing it was Iason.
This was not because she distrusted him or because she thought he might judge her for her appearance but mostly because it had been ingrained into her for so many years to appear a certain way before everyone - regardless of who they were - aside from her immediate family members. And even then, she retained a sense of formality. For her father needed assurance that she could handle the mantel he was wishing to pass on to her and her sister needed a role model. Before no-one did Persephone ever truly relax, she suddenly realised. Not since her mother had died...
Surprising her as he used her first name without title or embellishment, Iason increased the shock by kneeling before her and offering a hand to her knee, asking what it was he could do to aid her.
Uncertainly and with a hint of timidity, Persephone reached forwards and gently placed her hand over his, just resting them there together on her knee. She opened her mouth for a moment, knowing that the polite amount of time to respond had lapsed but still no response came to mind.
What was she supposed to do? She was going to be Queen. He was going to be King. They were going to rule Athenia together. As soon as her father passed - which looked to be sooner rather than later - the two of them would be monarchs of the land she had loved since birth - he would be ruling a foreign kingdom...
Her eyes darted to his, unknowing if the fear she suddenly felt was clear in them or not.
It was bizarre.
She had been ruling in her father's place for months now and yet the idea of continuing to do so in a formal capacity was setting her stomach to stone and sucking the air from her lungs.
But Iason's presence here, in the garden, reminded her that she wasn't about to do it alone...
She had always thought of their engagement - for that's all it was so far, an engagement; it couldn't even be referred to as a relationship - was for the good of the vote and in securing the Xanthos future. But now she realised as secondary benefit to it. Once they were married, she would not be taking on the responsibilities of Athenia solo. Iason would be there with her.
And while she didn't know the man all that well, and they had yet to even have a conversation outside of that first meeting, the engagement negotiations and formal affairs, she had grown to understand that the man was one she would want at her side. He was strong, dependable, intelligent... He had already proven that he wanted to be her partner rather than her king.
A light frown coming over her face, as she lifted a hand - the one not rested over his - Persephone raised it half way to his face and then seemed to pause.
"Close your eyes." She told the man, finally answering his question of what it was he could do for her...
At the sound of someone approaching, Persephone's body seemed to behave without her consent. Sitting straighter, her spine moving back into line and her posture changing to one of demure regality as the newcomer approached, she did not relax upon seeing it was Iason.
This was not because she distrusted him or because she thought he might judge her for her appearance but mostly because it had been ingrained into her for so many years to appear a certain way before everyone - regardless of who they were - aside from her immediate family members. And even then, she retained a sense of formality. For her father needed assurance that she could handle the mantel he was wishing to pass on to her and her sister needed a role model. Before no-one did Persephone ever truly relax, she suddenly realised. Not since her mother had died...
Surprising her as he used her first name without title or embellishment, Iason increased the shock by kneeling before her and offering a hand to her knee, asking what it was he could do to aid her.
Uncertainly and with a hint of timidity, Persephone reached forwards and gently placed her hand over his, just resting them there together on her knee. She opened her mouth for a moment, knowing that the polite amount of time to respond had lapsed but still no response came to mind.
What was she supposed to do? She was going to be Queen. He was going to be King. They were going to rule Athenia together. As soon as her father passed - which looked to be sooner rather than later - the two of them would be monarchs of the land she had loved since birth - he would be ruling a foreign kingdom...
Her eyes darted to his, unknowing if the fear she suddenly felt was clear in them or not.
It was bizarre.
She had been ruling in her father's place for months now and yet the idea of continuing to do so in a formal capacity was setting her stomach to stone and sucking the air from her lungs.
But Iason's presence here, in the garden, reminded her that she wasn't about to do it alone...
She had always thought of their engagement - for that's all it was so far, an engagement; it couldn't even be referred to as a relationship - was for the good of the vote and in securing the Xanthos future. But now she realised as secondary benefit to it. Once they were married, she would not be taking on the responsibilities of Athenia solo. Iason would be there with her.
And while she didn't know the man all that well, and they had yet to even have a conversation outside of that first meeting, the engagement negotiations and formal affairs, she had grown to understand that the man was one she would want at her side. He was strong, dependable, intelligent... He had already proven that he wanted to be her partner rather than her king.
A light frown coming over her face, as she lifted a hand - the one not rested over his - Persephone raised it half way to his face and then seemed to pause.
"Close your eyes." She told the man, finally answering his question of what it was he could do for her...
As she resumed her regal posture he was almost disappointed, though they were still getting to know one another he did hope that eventually she wouldn't feel the need to be on guard with him. His hand remained on her knee, a thumb brushing gently across her skirts and gaze searching her face to see if he could find what she had yet to say and might be hiding in her expression. It had to be a huge relief, but also a gigantic upheaval in her life. He was just along for the ride as far as he was concerned, it was her country and her people she would be leading, he would only do what she asked of him.
A slight smile crossed his lips as her hand landed on top of his and he turned his palm upright so his fingers could twine with hers. Her hand was so much smaller and yet all of the power of a crown was held within it. He was no fool, he had seen how ill the king looked, how he had struggled and tried to hide his condition from the world at their engagement. It would be sooner rather than later that they would take their places on the throne.
He allowed her silence to sit between them, trying to make it a comfortable silence instead of expectations that couldn't be met by either of them. If she was feeling half as uncertain as him at the moment he couldn't imagine the mix of emotions swirling through her right now. It was the request she made of him that took him off guard, tipping his head slightly in a silent question and furrowing his brow slightly before taking a breath. If it was the one thing she could ask of him right then, it was an oddity he could comply with. Her other hand lifted and he braced his own on the other side of her hips on the bench, eyes closing as she asked.
With her hand still in his and resting on her lap it was by far the most intimate pose they had ever been in, and it was far easier than he had thought it might be. She was warm and soft to the touch, and he could easily spend time like this together, just silent moments of remembering to breathe and take a moment.
"Whatever you need. I'm here."
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May 20, 2019 14:29:04 GMT
Posted In The Come Down on May 20, 2019 14:29:04 GMT
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As she resumed her regal posture he was almost disappointed, though they were still getting to know one another he did hope that eventually she wouldn't feel the need to be on guard with him. His hand remained on her knee, a thumb brushing gently across her skirts and gaze searching her face to see if he could find what she had yet to say and might be hiding in her expression. It had to be a huge relief, but also a gigantic upheaval in her life. He was just along for the ride as far as he was concerned, it was her country and her people she would be leading, he would only do what she asked of him.
A slight smile crossed his lips as her hand landed on top of his and he turned his palm upright so his fingers could twine with hers. Her hand was so much smaller and yet all of the power of a crown was held within it. He was no fool, he had seen how ill the king looked, how he had struggled and tried to hide his condition from the world at their engagement. It would be sooner rather than later that they would take their places on the throne.
He allowed her silence to sit between them, trying to make it a comfortable silence instead of expectations that couldn't be met by either of them. If she was feeling half as uncertain as him at the moment he couldn't imagine the mix of emotions swirling through her right now. It was the request she made of him that took him off guard, tipping his head slightly in a silent question and furrowing his brow slightly before taking a breath. If it was the one thing she could ask of him right then, it was an oddity he could comply with. Her other hand lifted and he braced his own on the other side of her hips on the bench, eyes closing as she asked.
With her hand still in his and resting on her lap it was by far the most intimate pose they had ever been in, and it was far easier than he had thought it might be. She was warm and soft to the touch, and he could easily spend time like this together, just silent moments of remembering to breathe and take a moment.
"Whatever you need. I'm here."
As she resumed her regal posture he was almost disappointed, though they were still getting to know one another he did hope that eventually she wouldn't feel the need to be on guard with him. His hand remained on her knee, a thumb brushing gently across her skirts and gaze searching her face to see if he could find what she had yet to say and might be hiding in her expression. It had to be a huge relief, but also a gigantic upheaval in her life. He was just along for the ride as far as he was concerned, it was her country and her people she would be leading, he would only do what she asked of him.
A slight smile crossed his lips as her hand landed on top of his and he turned his palm upright so his fingers could twine with hers. Her hand was so much smaller and yet all of the power of a crown was held within it. He was no fool, he had seen how ill the king looked, how he had struggled and tried to hide his condition from the world at their engagement. It would be sooner rather than later that they would take their places on the throne.
He allowed her silence to sit between them, trying to make it a comfortable silence instead of expectations that couldn't be met by either of them. If she was feeling half as uncertain as him at the moment he couldn't imagine the mix of emotions swirling through her right now. It was the request she made of him that took him off guard, tipping his head slightly in a silent question and furrowing his brow slightly before taking a breath. If it was the one thing she could ask of him right then, it was an oddity he could comply with. Her other hand lifted and he braced his own on the other side of her hips on the bench, eyes closing as she asked.
With her hand still in his and resting on her lap it was by far the most intimate pose they had ever been in, and it was far easier than he had thought it might be. She was warm and soft to the touch, and he could easily spend time like this together, just silent moments of remembering to breathe and take a moment.
"Whatever you need. I'm here."
This man was to be her husband. Was the be her king. Was to be the man that she would live with for the rest of her life and rule beside until the day she died. Her heart felt elation as he capitulated to her request and allowed his lids to lower, despite a moment of clear confusion. While he had no idea what she was asking of him or why, she had done it anyway and knelt before her in a position that some men would consider degrading. Yet there was no sense of shame or humiliation in the man. His pose was one of servitude but there was nothing in the line of his body or the atmosphere of this frame that scream subservience. If anything, his gesture of taking her hand was one that was... gallant?... It was the best word she could find for the feeling of the moment.
When he closed his eyes, knelt before her, Persephone took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. She was determined, in that moment, for reasons unknown to her, to assess him as a man. Not as Lord Iason of Dimitrou, fiancé and future king. But as Iason. A male, human being who knelt before her with trust and respect in his frame. Her eyes wandered his face.
His hair was dark, curling and infinitely thick. It fell about his face a little, curled at his temples and the nape of his neck. His brows were strong too and his lashes overtly long. He had been clean shaven that morning but his jaw had started to hold a shadow, a shift in colour beneath the surface that suggested new growth. For a moment, she wondered what he would look like with a beard...
His features were as bold as his hair, his eyes large behind their lids, his nose prominent and his mouth wide enough to balance the rest of his face. His lips were almost square and were a little rugged in appearance.
She would be expected to have children with this man.
Careful and quiet, so as not to scare the man before he who could not see, Persephone kept her hand in his light and non-committal and leaned in close to the face she had been analysing.
Tilting her head slightly, her lids closed a little as her gaze dropped to his mouth again. Her fiancé. Her future husband. The future father of her children. And the man who was going to stand by her in all the frightening events now to come. Her natural instinct seemed to be to assure that of him.
Very gently and with a nervousness that was foreign to her, Persephone placed her mouth upon his.
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May 20, 2019 14:29:27 GMT
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This man was to be her husband. Was the be her king. Was to be the man that she would live with for the rest of her life and rule beside until the day she died. Her heart felt elation as he capitulated to her request and allowed his lids to lower, despite a moment of clear confusion. While he had no idea what she was asking of him or why, she had done it anyway and knelt before her in a position that some men would consider degrading. Yet there was no sense of shame or humiliation in the man. His pose was one of servitude but there was nothing in the line of his body or the atmosphere of this frame that scream subservience. If anything, his gesture of taking her hand was one that was... gallant?... It was the best word she could find for the feeling of the moment.
When he closed his eyes, knelt before her, Persephone took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. She was determined, in that moment, for reasons unknown to her, to assess him as a man. Not as Lord Iason of Dimitrou, fiancé and future king. But as Iason. A male, human being who knelt before her with trust and respect in his frame. Her eyes wandered his face.
His hair was dark, curling and infinitely thick. It fell about his face a little, curled at his temples and the nape of his neck. His brows were strong too and his lashes overtly long. He had been clean shaven that morning but his jaw had started to hold a shadow, a shift in colour beneath the surface that suggested new growth. For a moment, she wondered what he would look like with a beard...
His features were as bold as his hair, his eyes large behind their lids, his nose prominent and his mouth wide enough to balance the rest of his face. His lips were almost square and were a little rugged in appearance.
She would be expected to have children with this man.
Careful and quiet, so as not to scare the man before he who could not see, Persephone kept her hand in his light and non-committal and leaned in close to the face she had been analysing.
Tilting her head slightly, her lids closed a little as her gaze dropped to his mouth again. Her fiancé. Her future husband. The future father of her children. And the man who was going to stand by her in all the frightening events now to come. Her natural instinct seemed to be to assure that of him.
Very gently and with a nervousness that was foreign to her, Persephone placed her mouth upon his.
This man was to be her husband. Was the be her king. Was to be the man that she would live with for the rest of her life and rule beside until the day she died. Her heart felt elation as he capitulated to her request and allowed his lids to lower, despite a moment of clear confusion. While he had no idea what she was asking of him or why, she had done it anyway and knelt before her in a position that some men would consider degrading. Yet there was no sense of shame or humiliation in the man. His pose was one of servitude but there was nothing in the line of his body or the atmosphere of this frame that scream subservience. If anything, his gesture of taking her hand was one that was... gallant?... It was the best word she could find for the feeling of the moment.
When he closed his eyes, knelt before her, Persephone took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. She was determined, in that moment, for reasons unknown to her, to assess him as a man. Not as Lord Iason of Dimitrou, fiancé and future king. But as Iason. A male, human being who knelt before her with trust and respect in his frame. Her eyes wandered his face.
His hair was dark, curling and infinitely thick. It fell about his face a little, curled at his temples and the nape of his neck. His brows were strong too and his lashes overtly long. He had been clean shaven that morning but his jaw had started to hold a shadow, a shift in colour beneath the surface that suggested new growth. For a moment, she wondered what he would look like with a beard...
His features were as bold as his hair, his eyes large behind their lids, his nose prominent and his mouth wide enough to balance the rest of his face. His lips were almost square and were a little rugged in appearance.
She would be expected to have children with this man.
Careful and quiet, so as not to scare the man before he who could not see, Persephone kept her hand in his light and non-committal and leaned in close to the face she had been analysing.
Tilting her head slightly, her lids closed a little as her gaze dropped to his mouth again. Her fiancé. Her future husband. The future father of her children. And the man who was going to stand by her in all the frightening events now to come. Her natural instinct seemed to be to assure that of him.
Very gently and with a nervousness that was foreign to her, Persephone placed her mouth upon his.
The silence as he waited with his eyes closed on her command seemed to stretch on forever, and Iason tried to keep his expression still while he waited. Whatever reason she had asked this of him he felt determined to prove that he could do what she wished, after all he was bound to bend to her whims for the rest of their lives as much as she would be to his. His parents had a relationship of love that was built on respect and cooperation, and he hoped for no less from his own marriage. Kneeling before her was to him a gesture of that wish, it hadn't crossed his mind that he was doing something other men might not in placing himself in a more submissive pose. She was a princess, his fiancee, he would never be too proud to go down before her.
He could hear her shifting against the bench, the rustle of her skirts signaling some sort of movement. For a moment he was afraid she was leaving, getting up and walking away to leave him here like this, but that was more a childish game one of his sisters would try to play, he had to hope she didn't despise him that much. The last thing he expected was to feel the press of soft lips against his own. Iason froze in place, trying to determine how he ought to react.
It felt like an age as he rushed through different thoughts and scenarios, but it must have only been a few seconds. Should he kiss her back, should he pull away? He tried to remember the last time he'd kissed anyone, would she be disappointed in him and his lack of experience or would she find it honorable and appealing? He couldn't simply stay frozen like a fool, what would she think of him then.
There was a hint of awkwardness as he shifted, his lips parting slightly against hers and the grip of their hands tightening in her lap. It was a slight consolation that she seemed as uncertain as he was, from inexperience or nerves he couldn't tell, perhaps both. It would be nice if there was a learning curve for them both to share a bed, something they could do together and grow closer in that manner. His other hand lifted from the bench, tentatively reaching to touch her cheek before tipping his chin back slightly to part their lips. Opening his eyes, Iason kept his hand on her cheek and looked to her, searching her eyes for answers he wasn't entirely certain of.
"Is this how I can help?" There was a lighthearted amusement in his tone, and the corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile. If kissing and distracting her this way was what she needed, he found he wasn't entirely opposed. Touching her set off a warm sensation in his core, an affection for her and a desire to kiss her again that he would ordinarily be ashamed of and attempt to ignore. But if he had a want for her, his future wife, surely that was nothing to hide or be afraid of. They would be expected to share a bed, to behave as man and wife, and there would be no shame in anything that passed between them.
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May 20, 2019 14:29:54 GMT
Posted In The Come Down on May 20, 2019 14:29:54 GMT
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The silence as he waited with his eyes closed on her command seemed to stretch on forever, and Iason tried to keep his expression still while he waited. Whatever reason she had asked this of him he felt determined to prove that he could do what she wished, after all he was bound to bend to her whims for the rest of their lives as much as she would be to his. His parents had a relationship of love that was built on respect and cooperation, and he hoped for no less from his own marriage. Kneeling before her was to him a gesture of that wish, it hadn't crossed his mind that he was doing something other men might not in placing himself in a more submissive pose. She was a princess, his fiancee, he would never be too proud to go down before her.
He could hear her shifting against the bench, the rustle of her skirts signaling some sort of movement. For a moment he was afraid she was leaving, getting up and walking away to leave him here like this, but that was more a childish game one of his sisters would try to play, he had to hope she didn't despise him that much. The last thing he expected was to feel the press of soft lips against his own. Iason froze in place, trying to determine how he ought to react.
It felt like an age as he rushed through different thoughts and scenarios, but it must have only been a few seconds. Should he kiss her back, should he pull away? He tried to remember the last time he'd kissed anyone, would she be disappointed in him and his lack of experience or would she find it honorable and appealing? He couldn't simply stay frozen like a fool, what would she think of him then.
There was a hint of awkwardness as he shifted, his lips parting slightly against hers and the grip of their hands tightening in her lap. It was a slight consolation that she seemed as uncertain as he was, from inexperience or nerves he couldn't tell, perhaps both. It would be nice if there was a learning curve for them both to share a bed, something they could do together and grow closer in that manner. His other hand lifted from the bench, tentatively reaching to touch her cheek before tipping his chin back slightly to part their lips. Opening his eyes, Iason kept his hand on her cheek and looked to her, searching her eyes for answers he wasn't entirely certain of.
"Is this how I can help?" There was a lighthearted amusement in his tone, and the corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile. If kissing and distracting her this way was what she needed, he found he wasn't entirely opposed. Touching her set off a warm sensation in his core, an affection for her and a desire to kiss her again that he would ordinarily be ashamed of and attempt to ignore. But if he had a want for her, his future wife, surely that was nothing to hide or be afraid of. They would be expected to share a bed, to behave as man and wife, and there would be no shame in anything that passed between them.
The silence as he waited with his eyes closed on her command seemed to stretch on forever, and Iason tried to keep his expression still while he waited. Whatever reason she had asked this of him he felt determined to prove that he could do what she wished, after all he was bound to bend to her whims for the rest of their lives as much as she would be to his. His parents had a relationship of love that was built on respect and cooperation, and he hoped for no less from his own marriage. Kneeling before her was to him a gesture of that wish, it hadn't crossed his mind that he was doing something other men might not in placing himself in a more submissive pose. She was a princess, his fiancee, he would never be too proud to go down before her.
He could hear her shifting against the bench, the rustle of her skirts signaling some sort of movement. For a moment he was afraid she was leaving, getting up and walking away to leave him here like this, but that was more a childish game one of his sisters would try to play, he had to hope she didn't despise him that much. The last thing he expected was to feel the press of soft lips against his own. Iason froze in place, trying to determine how he ought to react.
It felt like an age as he rushed through different thoughts and scenarios, but it must have only been a few seconds. Should he kiss her back, should he pull away? He tried to remember the last time he'd kissed anyone, would she be disappointed in him and his lack of experience or would she find it honorable and appealing? He couldn't simply stay frozen like a fool, what would she think of him then.
There was a hint of awkwardness as he shifted, his lips parting slightly against hers and the grip of their hands tightening in her lap. It was a slight consolation that she seemed as uncertain as he was, from inexperience or nerves he couldn't tell, perhaps both. It would be nice if there was a learning curve for them both to share a bed, something they could do together and grow closer in that manner. His other hand lifted from the bench, tentatively reaching to touch her cheek before tipping his chin back slightly to part their lips. Opening his eyes, Iason kept his hand on her cheek and looked to her, searching her eyes for answers he wasn't entirely certain of.
"Is this how I can help?" There was a lighthearted amusement in his tone, and the corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile. If kissing and distracting her this way was what she needed, he found he wasn't entirely opposed. Touching her set off a warm sensation in his core, an affection for her and a desire to kiss her again that he would ordinarily be ashamed of and attempt to ignore. But if he had a want for her, his future wife, surely that was nothing to hide or be afraid of. They would be expected to share a bed, to behave as man and wife, and there would be no shame in anything that passed between them.
Persephone wasn't entirely certain where she was going with her actions or what she was intending them to mean. But as her lips came into contact with Iason's she strongly suspected it has something to do with intimacy. A desire for connection; for understanding and compassion. For intimacy did not have to be sensual. Nor did it have to include a desire for physical, carnality. Instead, it could be found in the embrace of a mother, in the hand on your shoulder from your father. It could be found through any touch or gesture from someone you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with.
And right now, Persephone felt vulnerable.
Then Iason had appeared before her. A man who was supposed to be her future husband. Who would stand beside her, rule her country with her and be the singular individual (in the whole of the world) who was supposed to know her the best and support her the most. So, her instinct had been to reach out.
There was nothing sexual or personal about the kiss in terms of seeking contact with a lover. It was more for emotional strength and an... affirmation that he was there to stand by her side in this moment where the future stretched out before her in frightening detail.
But then... this man was also supposed to be her future mate. The father of her children.
All kinds of thoughts, feelings and the ideas of what was appropriate and not were jumbled in Persephone's head, her confusion becoming apparent only once her mouth had touched his.
Everything became infinitely worse when the Taengean lord kissed her back. His lips moving against hers which were now still and his hand coming up to the side of her face. His palm was warm and comforting but entirely alien and strange. Which was only to be expected given that they had rarely held hands let alone showed any form of close contact tenderness.
Her lips moving a little against his in a sort of shadow of a kiss, as her mind was clearly removed from the entire situation, Persephone's eyes opened in time as Lord Iason broke away.
His words, though said lightly and clearly designed to be a friendly overture, shamed her.
"I'm sorry." She blurted out before she could stop herself and was, in a moment of humiliation and awkwardness, immediately on her feet, their hands breaking contact. Several quick paces took her away from the kneeling figure of Iason of Dimitrou and she kept her back towards him for a moment. It was clear from her shallow posture that one arm was wrapped across her own waist and the other, had her fingers to her lips in uncertainty.
There was a breath of quiet as Persephone felt the sun on her skin - no longer warm but cold, as she pulled her arm closer to her middle.
What in the name of the Gods was she doing?
She might have sought comfort - sought that which she instinctively craved now that she felt that towering isolation of what it meant to be ruler (or, in her case, future ruler)... but with a man such as Iason - a man who was expecting to marry and bed her - a kiss was horrendously leading. It had been what felt natural in the moment but she was being naive. The Lord Iason wasn't here to offer her a willing slave to enact every futile or folly wish on the part of her hormones or fears. He was here to marry her, to be her husband - for her to be his wife.
Gods it was all a mess.
Where was her sense of order? Her sense of role and propriety?
Her back straightening, Persephone felt her head rise a little as her spine lengthened and her full height was, once again, established.
She wasn't sure she could look at Iason, despite him being only a few strides away, and kept herself facing towards a dense green foliage wall over the trellis. She talked a little over her shoulder at the man, awkward in her own shame.
"You have my apologies, Lord Iason." She repeated her previous words in a manner more befitting her role. "It was inappropriate for me to behave as such without your permission, nor without concerns for your future intent."
Persephone closed her eyes, trying to will her heart to slow down and her mind to ease. Where was her calm? Where was her grace and poise? It wasn't like this development was a shock - she and Aimias and the king had been preparing for it for months. This was what everyone had wanted. Why was she now feeling sick to her stomach? Why were her fingers now starting to shake? This wasn't her. This wasn't Persephone of Xanthos.
Anger was boiling for the first time. Aimed at herself, rather than anyone else. She did not behave like this. The Princess of Xanthos behaved with more propriety than this. She never let her shell slip. She never let her mask fall.
She was better than this.
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May 20, 2019 14:30:25 GMT
Posted In The Come Down on May 20, 2019 14:30:25 GMT
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Persephone wasn't entirely certain where she was going with her actions or what she was intending them to mean. But as her lips came into contact with Iason's she strongly suspected it has something to do with intimacy. A desire for connection; for understanding and compassion. For intimacy did not have to be sensual. Nor did it have to include a desire for physical, carnality. Instead, it could be found in the embrace of a mother, in the hand on your shoulder from your father. It could be found through any touch or gesture from someone you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with.
And right now, Persephone felt vulnerable.
Then Iason had appeared before her. A man who was supposed to be her future husband. Who would stand beside her, rule her country with her and be the singular individual (in the whole of the world) who was supposed to know her the best and support her the most. So, her instinct had been to reach out.
There was nothing sexual or personal about the kiss in terms of seeking contact with a lover. It was more for emotional strength and an... affirmation that he was there to stand by her side in this moment where the future stretched out before her in frightening detail.
But then... this man was also supposed to be her future mate. The father of her children.
All kinds of thoughts, feelings and the ideas of what was appropriate and not were jumbled in Persephone's head, her confusion becoming apparent only once her mouth had touched his.
Everything became infinitely worse when the Taengean lord kissed her back. His lips moving against hers which were now still and his hand coming up to the side of her face. His palm was warm and comforting but entirely alien and strange. Which was only to be expected given that they had rarely held hands let alone showed any form of close contact tenderness.
Her lips moving a little against his in a sort of shadow of a kiss, as her mind was clearly removed from the entire situation, Persephone's eyes opened in time as Lord Iason broke away.
His words, though said lightly and clearly designed to be a friendly overture, shamed her.
"I'm sorry." She blurted out before she could stop herself and was, in a moment of humiliation and awkwardness, immediately on her feet, their hands breaking contact. Several quick paces took her away from the kneeling figure of Iason of Dimitrou and she kept her back towards him for a moment. It was clear from her shallow posture that one arm was wrapped across her own waist and the other, had her fingers to her lips in uncertainty.
There was a breath of quiet as Persephone felt the sun on her skin - no longer warm but cold, as she pulled her arm closer to her middle.
What in the name of the Gods was she doing?
She might have sought comfort - sought that which she instinctively craved now that she felt that towering isolation of what it meant to be ruler (or, in her case, future ruler)... but with a man such as Iason - a man who was expecting to marry and bed her - a kiss was horrendously leading. It had been what felt natural in the moment but she was being naive. The Lord Iason wasn't here to offer her a willing slave to enact every futile or folly wish on the part of her hormones or fears. He was here to marry her, to be her husband - for her to be his wife.
Gods it was all a mess.
Where was her sense of order? Her sense of role and propriety?
Her back straightening, Persephone felt her head rise a little as her spine lengthened and her full height was, once again, established.
She wasn't sure she could look at Iason, despite him being only a few strides away, and kept herself facing towards a dense green foliage wall over the trellis. She talked a little over her shoulder at the man, awkward in her own shame.
"You have my apologies, Lord Iason." She repeated her previous words in a manner more befitting her role. "It was inappropriate for me to behave as such without your permission, nor without concerns for your future intent."
Persephone closed her eyes, trying to will her heart to slow down and her mind to ease. Where was her calm? Where was her grace and poise? It wasn't like this development was a shock - she and Aimias and the king had been preparing for it for months. This was what everyone had wanted. Why was she now feeling sick to her stomach? Why were her fingers now starting to shake? This wasn't her. This wasn't Persephone of Xanthos.
Anger was boiling for the first time. Aimed at herself, rather than anyone else. She did not behave like this. The Princess of Xanthos behaved with more propriety than this. She never let her shell slip. She never let her mask fall.
She was better than this.
Persephone wasn't entirely certain where she was going with her actions or what she was intending them to mean. But as her lips came into contact with Iason's she strongly suspected it has something to do with intimacy. A desire for connection; for understanding and compassion. For intimacy did not have to be sensual. Nor did it have to include a desire for physical, carnality. Instead, it could be found in the embrace of a mother, in the hand on your shoulder from your father. It could be found through any touch or gesture from someone you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with.
And right now, Persephone felt vulnerable.
Then Iason had appeared before her. A man who was supposed to be her future husband. Who would stand beside her, rule her country with her and be the singular individual (in the whole of the world) who was supposed to know her the best and support her the most. So, her instinct had been to reach out.
There was nothing sexual or personal about the kiss in terms of seeking contact with a lover. It was more for emotional strength and an... affirmation that he was there to stand by her side in this moment where the future stretched out before her in frightening detail.
But then... this man was also supposed to be her future mate. The father of her children.
All kinds of thoughts, feelings and the ideas of what was appropriate and not were jumbled in Persephone's head, her confusion becoming apparent only once her mouth had touched his.
Everything became infinitely worse when the Taengean lord kissed her back. His lips moving against hers which were now still and his hand coming up to the side of her face. His palm was warm and comforting but entirely alien and strange. Which was only to be expected given that they had rarely held hands let alone showed any form of close contact tenderness.
Her lips moving a little against his in a sort of shadow of a kiss, as her mind was clearly removed from the entire situation, Persephone's eyes opened in time as Lord Iason broke away.
His words, though said lightly and clearly designed to be a friendly overture, shamed her.
"I'm sorry." She blurted out before she could stop herself and was, in a moment of humiliation and awkwardness, immediately on her feet, their hands breaking contact. Several quick paces took her away from the kneeling figure of Iason of Dimitrou and she kept her back towards him for a moment. It was clear from her shallow posture that one arm was wrapped across her own waist and the other, had her fingers to her lips in uncertainty.
There was a breath of quiet as Persephone felt the sun on her skin - no longer warm but cold, as she pulled her arm closer to her middle.
What in the name of the Gods was she doing?
She might have sought comfort - sought that which she instinctively craved now that she felt that towering isolation of what it meant to be ruler (or, in her case, future ruler)... but with a man such as Iason - a man who was expecting to marry and bed her - a kiss was horrendously leading. It had been what felt natural in the moment but she was being naive. The Lord Iason wasn't here to offer her a willing slave to enact every futile or folly wish on the part of her hormones or fears. He was here to marry her, to be her husband - for her to be his wife.
Gods it was all a mess.
Where was her sense of order? Her sense of role and propriety?
Her back straightening, Persephone felt her head rise a little as her spine lengthened and her full height was, once again, established.
She wasn't sure she could look at Iason, despite him being only a few strides away, and kept herself facing towards a dense green foliage wall over the trellis. She talked a little over her shoulder at the man, awkward in her own shame.
"You have my apologies, Lord Iason." She repeated her previous words in a manner more befitting her role. "It was inappropriate for me to behave as such without your permission, nor without concerns for your future intent."
Persephone closed her eyes, trying to will her heart to slow down and her mind to ease. Where was her calm? Where was her grace and poise? It wasn't like this development was a shock - she and Aimias and the king had been preparing for it for months. This was what everyone had wanted. Why was she now feeling sick to her stomach? Why were her fingers now starting to shake? This wasn't her. This wasn't Persephone of Xanthos.
Anger was boiling for the first time. Aimed at herself, rather than anyone else. She did not behave like this. The Princess of Xanthos behaved with more propriety than this. She never let her shell slip. She never let her mask fall.
She was better than this.
It was obvious in her face he'd said or done something wrong, and he was prepared to apologize profusely when she instead stole the words from his mouth. Iason frowned as she rushed away from him, still kneeling in his confusion and staring at her back as he tried to make any sort of sense of what was happening. He'd not kissed many women, but he was fairly certain he wasn't so bad at it that she would apologize and run from him. Watching her carefully, he noted the change in posture and his face fell somewhat. He had liked seeing a less guarded version of the proper princess he had met, had hoped perhaps that in kissing him she meant that she was beginning to see she could come to him for comfort.
Marriages were meant to be arranged, he had come to terms with that years ago and found no issues with the situation. Their families and goals could choose for them and all he wanted out of it was a companion who he could share a mutual respect and affection. He had never thought to ask for love or romance, didn't think for once that his marriage would be one full of passion, and he didn't need that from her. Was she afraid he would ask for more? Or did she find him repulsive and regret bringing him here to wed her?
The formal apology was what lifted him to his feet, pausing for the span of a breath before stepping toward her and reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't a possessive move, he didn't try to turn her or pull her in any direction she did not wish to turn, it was a simple gesture of support offered to her in her distress. He had no plan to ask her for more than she wanted to give, had no intentions to pressure her off a simple gesture of comfort. Her situation was unique, and nothing he could even begin to grasp except for what he had been able to glean from things he heard about the palace. It was beyond what he could handle on his own.
"Please don't apologize. I don't want any unhappiness between us." His voice was soft, a tone of apology in it in spite of his request. "I can't pretend to understand how you feel, but if you will let me I do want to try to help however I can."
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May 20, 2019 14:31:08 GMT
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It was obvious in her face he'd said or done something wrong, and he was prepared to apologize profusely when she instead stole the words from his mouth. Iason frowned as she rushed away from him, still kneeling in his confusion and staring at her back as he tried to make any sort of sense of what was happening. He'd not kissed many women, but he was fairly certain he wasn't so bad at it that she would apologize and run from him. Watching her carefully, he noted the change in posture and his face fell somewhat. He had liked seeing a less guarded version of the proper princess he had met, had hoped perhaps that in kissing him she meant that she was beginning to see she could come to him for comfort.
Marriages were meant to be arranged, he had come to terms with that years ago and found no issues with the situation. Their families and goals could choose for them and all he wanted out of it was a companion who he could share a mutual respect and affection. He had never thought to ask for love or romance, didn't think for once that his marriage would be one full of passion, and he didn't need that from her. Was she afraid he would ask for more? Or did she find him repulsive and regret bringing him here to wed her?
The formal apology was what lifted him to his feet, pausing for the span of a breath before stepping toward her and reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't a possessive move, he didn't try to turn her or pull her in any direction she did not wish to turn, it was a simple gesture of support offered to her in her distress. He had no plan to ask her for more than she wanted to give, had no intentions to pressure her off a simple gesture of comfort. Her situation was unique, and nothing he could even begin to grasp except for what he had been able to glean from things he heard about the palace. It was beyond what he could handle on his own.
"Please don't apologize. I don't want any unhappiness between us." His voice was soft, a tone of apology in it in spite of his request. "I can't pretend to understand how you feel, but if you will let me I do want to try to help however I can."
It was obvious in her face he'd said or done something wrong, and he was prepared to apologize profusely when she instead stole the words from his mouth. Iason frowned as she rushed away from him, still kneeling in his confusion and staring at her back as he tried to make any sort of sense of what was happening. He'd not kissed many women, but he was fairly certain he wasn't so bad at it that she would apologize and run from him. Watching her carefully, he noted the change in posture and his face fell somewhat. He had liked seeing a less guarded version of the proper princess he had met, had hoped perhaps that in kissing him she meant that she was beginning to see she could come to him for comfort.
Marriages were meant to be arranged, he had come to terms with that years ago and found no issues with the situation. Their families and goals could choose for them and all he wanted out of it was a companion who he could share a mutual respect and affection. He had never thought to ask for love or romance, didn't think for once that his marriage would be one full of passion, and he didn't need that from her. Was she afraid he would ask for more? Or did she find him repulsive and regret bringing him here to wed her?
The formal apology was what lifted him to his feet, pausing for the span of a breath before stepping toward her and reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't a possessive move, he didn't try to turn her or pull her in any direction she did not wish to turn, it was a simple gesture of support offered to her in her distress. He had no plan to ask her for more than she wanted to give, had no intentions to pressure her off a simple gesture of comfort. Her situation was unique, and nothing he could even begin to grasp except for what he had been able to glean from things he heard about the palace. It was beyond what he could handle on his own.
"Please don't apologize. I don't want any unhappiness between us." His voice was soft, a tone of apology in it in spite of his request. "I can't pretend to understand how you feel, but if you will let me I do want to try to help however I can."
Persephone felt the hand on her shoulder and tried to push away the fact that it felt foreign. How long had it been since she'd been physically touched in a gentle manner? Her father didn't count, nor her sister. And the moments in which her serving girls touched her physically were always brief and industrious as they dressed her. But just the notion of being physically touched in a way to convey sentiment? She couldn't remember a time, besides a singular interlude in a sculptor’s garden. And even then, there had been no emotion. Just heat and physical reaction. Something else she was strongly alien to.
What in the name of Gods was happening to her? Persephone couldn't help but think, her thoughts becoming fragmented as well as jumbled now. She didn't like being touched, she didn't know how to feel. Was she even real? Human? A Person?
She needed to get a grip. She could feel her chest rising and falling with speed, she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Everything the Lord Iason did was clearly designed to be in comfort and yet it just sent her further into a spiral.
She was panicking, she realised. A feeling as foreign to her as that of sensual attraction or desire. She had always been taught the path of calm. And while she had felt fear before - specifically at the hands of a gladiator who would remain nameless in her head - she had never felt panic. Panic was decidedly different. Fear was when you understood the danger and had already worked out that you did not have the means, skill or strength to avoid it. Panic was when you didn't understand the problem and therefore could not find a solution.
Even when someone was standing there, offering help in whatever way you needed.
"There is no unhappiness." She said. It was the first thing she could come up with - the first thing that was true in how she felt. For she didn't want him to feel like there was any negative feelings between them either. That was, in fact, the last thing she wanted to do. With the new law change she needed to marry the man - needed to be wed before she could be coronated post her father's demise. Logically, negative feelings between them wouldn't work at all - for either of their greater goods. She was displeased, however, when her voice shook a little. She swallowed to clear it. "And I thank you for the offer Lord Iason but I..."
She had been going to say that she didn't know what he could do the help in this scenario. Feeling a tightening in her throat and the rising sense of heat in her lower chest, Persephone turned very slightly, dislodging his hand from her shoulder and turning to almost face him.
Her mouth opened, her hands moved as it for illustrate - or indeed find - a point, but she couldn't seem to get the words out of her mouth.
As if giving up, she snapped her lips together and deliberately brought her hands together, interlocking the fingers in a vice-like grip. When she could find her breath, she looked up at the man and met his gaze only to break away from it again, her eyes skittering over his forehead, his cheekbones; his shoulder.... anything but his direct and astute stare.
"Can I..." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them but she paused. Then they seemed to let lose again. She spoke like she was trying to coral a horse - like her words were determined to be spoken no matter her feelings on the subject. "If I asked, Lord Iason, would you promise to not judge me for what I'm about to do next?"
Alarm bells started to go off inside her head the second the words were spoken but her features remained calm - not through careful collection of thought but through sheer numbness over the whole situation.
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May 20, 2019 14:31:33 GMT
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Persephone felt the hand on her shoulder and tried to push away the fact that it felt foreign. How long had it been since she'd been physically touched in a gentle manner? Her father didn't count, nor her sister. And the moments in which her serving girls touched her physically were always brief and industrious as they dressed her. But just the notion of being physically touched in a way to convey sentiment? She couldn't remember a time, besides a singular interlude in a sculptor’s garden. And even then, there had been no emotion. Just heat and physical reaction. Something else she was strongly alien to.
What in the name of Gods was happening to her? Persephone couldn't help but think, her thoughts becoming fragmented as well as jumbled now. She didn't like being touched, she didn't know how to feel. Was she even real? Human? A Person?
She needed to get a grip. She could feel her chest rising and falling with speed, she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Everything the Lord Iason did was clearly designed to be in comfort and yet it just sent her further into a spiral.
She was panicking, she realised. A feeling as foreign to her as that of sensual attraction or desire. She had always been taught the path of calm. And while she had felt fear before - specifically at the hands of a gladiator who would remain nameless in her head - she had never felt panic. Panic was decidedly different. Fear was when you understood the danger and had already worked out that you did not have the means, skill or strength to avoid it. Panic was when you didn't understand the problem and therefore could not find a solution.
Even when someone was standing there, offering help in whatever way you needed.
"There is no unhappiness." She said. It was the first thing she could come up with - the first thing that was true in how she felt. For she didn't want him to feel like there was any negative feelings between them either. That was, in fact, the last thing she wanted to do. With the new law change she needed to marry the man - needed to be wed before she could be coronated post her father's demise. Logically, negative feelings between them wouldn't work at all - for either of their greater goods. She was displeased, however, when her voice shook a little. She swallowed to clear it. "And I thank you for the offer Lord Iason but I..."
She had been going to say that she didn't know what he could do the help in this scenario. Feeling a tightening in her throat and the rising sense of heat in her lower chest, Persephone turned very slightly, dislodging his hand from her shoulder and turning to almost face him.
Her mouth opened, her hands moved as it for illustrate - or indeed find - a point, but she couldn't seem to get the words out of her mouth.
As if giving up, she snapped her lips together and deliberately brought her hands together, interlocking the fingers in a vice-like grip. When she could find her breath, she looked up at the man and met his gaze only to break away from it again, her eyes skittering over his forehead, his cheekbones; his shoulder.... anything but his direct and astute stare.
"Can I..." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them but she paused. Then they seemed to let lose again. She spoke like she was trying to coral a horse - like her words were determined to be spoken no matter her feelings on the subject. "If I asked, Lord Iason, would you promise to not judge me for what I'm about to do next?"
Alarm bells started to go off inside her head the second the words were spoken but her features remained calm - not through careful collection of thought but through sheer numbness over the whole situation.
Persephone felt the hand on her shoulder and tried to push away the fact that it felt foreign. How long had it been since she'd been physically touched in a gentle manner? Her father didn't count, nor her sister. And the moments in which her serving girls touched her physically were always brief and industrious as they dressed her. But just the notion of being physically touched in a way to convey sentiment? She couldn't remember a time, besides a singular interlude in a sculptor’s garden. And even then, there had been no emotion. Just heat and physical reaction. Something else she was strongly alien to.
What in the name of Gods was happening to her? Persephone couldn't help but think, her thoughts becoming fragmented as well as jumbled now. She didn't like being touched, she didn't know how to feel. Was she even real? Human? A Person?
She needed to get a grip. She could feel her chest rising and falling with speed, she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Everything the Lord Iason did was clearly designed to be in comfort and yet it just sent her further into a spiral.
She was panicking, she realised. A feeling as foreign to her as that of sensual attraction or desire. She had always been taught the path of calm. And while she had felt fear before - specifically at the hands of a gladiator who would remain nameless in her head - she had never felt panic. Panic was decidedly different. Fear was when you understood the danger and had already worked out that you did not have the means, skill or strength to avoid it. Panic was when you didn't understand the problem and therefore could not find a solution.
Even when someone was standing there, offering help in whatever way you needed.
"There is no unhappiness." She said. It was the first thing she could come up with - the first thing that was true in how she felt. For she didn't want him to feel like there was any negative feelings between them either. That was, in fact, the last thing she wanted to do. With the new law change she needed to marry the man - needed to be wed before she could be coronated post her father's demise. Logically, negative feelings between them wouldn't work at all - for either of their greater goods. She was displeased, however, when her voice shook a little. She swallowed to clear it. "And I thank you for the offer Lord Iason but I..."
She had been going to say that she didn't know what he could do the help in this scenario. Feeling a tightening in her throat and the rising sense of heat in her lower chest, Persephone turned very slightly, dislodging his hand from her shoulder and turning to almost face him.
Her mouth opened, her hands moved as it for illustrate - or indeed find - a point, but she couldn't seem to get the words out of her mouth.
As if giving up, she snapped her lips together and deliberately brought her hands together, interlocking the fingers in a vice-like grip. When she could find her breath, she looked up at the man and met his gaze only to break away from it again, her eyes skittering over his forehead, his cheekbones; his shoulder.... anything but his direct and astute stare.
"Can I..." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them but she paused. Then they seemed to let lose again. She spoke like she was trying to coral a horse - like her words were determined to be spoken no matter her feelings on the subject. "If I asked, Lord Iason, would you promise to not judge me for what I'm about to do next?"
Alarm bells started to go off inside her head the second the words were spoken but her features remained calm - not through careful collection of thought but through sheer numbness over the whole situation.
Iason had braced himself for being told to leave her alone, that there was nothing he could do. In all honesty though they'd been kind to one another and treated each other with respect in the past, he had no proof that she actually liked him all that much aside from the kiss she so clearly now regretted. He was ready to go prepare his ship to sail for Taengea in shame, somehow he'd clearly offended her. So her reassurance that there was no unhappiness was a relief but also confusion. If she wasn't unhappy with him, why would her reaction be this way?
He noticed after she spoke the slight shake in her voice, and as she turned and his hand was moved from her shoulder he could see why. If he stepped back to think of the bigger picture instead of just himself and how they behaved together in this moment, there was so much weighing on her he was amazed he wasn't more of a mess. She'd succeeded in winning her father's crown after his death, and no doubt she was proud but the weight of a crown like that, a regnant crown instead of one of a princess or other minor family member was entirely different. It must be even more overwhelming for her than the fears he'd held for himself being risen so high.
Shaking his head, Iason tried to prevent her from stumbling over any further words. She didn't owe him an apology or anything else. He met her gaze when she looked back at him, keeping his focus on her eyes even as her own wandered. The start of her question caused him to lift a brow slightly but again he shook his head.
"Whatever it is, it's not my place to judge you, your highness. You owe me nothing and if you wish to leave, or wish me to leave, I'm at your service."
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May 20, 2019 14:31:56 GMT
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Iason had braced himself for being told to leave her alone, that there was nothing he could do. In all honesty though they'd been kind to one another and treated each other with respect in the past, he had no proof that she actually liked him all that much aside from the kiss she so clearly now regretted. He was ready to go prepare his ship to sail for Taengea in shame, somehow he'd clearly offended her. So her reassurance that there was no unhappiness was a relief but also confusion. If she wasn't unhappy with him, why would her reaction be this way?
He noticed after she spoke the slight shake in her voice, and as she turned and his hand was moved from her shoulder he could see why. If he stepped back to think of the bigger picture instead of just himself and how they behaved together in this moment, there was so much weighing on her he was amazed he wasn't more of a mess. She'd succeeded in winning her father's crown after his death, and no doubt she was proud but the weight of a crown like that, a regnant crown instead of one of a princess or other minor family member was entirely different. It must be even more overwhelming for her than the fears he'd held for himself being risen so high.
Shaking his head, Iason tried to prevent her from stumbling over any further words. She didn't owe him an apology or anything else. He met her gaze when she looked back at him, keeping his focus on her eyes even as her own wandered. The start of her question caused him to lift a brow slightly but again he shook his head.
"Whatever it is, it's not my place to judge you, your highness. You owe me nothing and if you wish to leave, or wish me to leave, I'm at your service."
Iason had braced himself for being told to leave her alone, that there was nothing he could do. In all honesty though they'd been kind to one another and treated each other with respect in the past, he had no proof that she actually liked him all that much aside from the kiss she so clearly now regretted. He was ready to go prepare his ship to sail for Taengea in shame, somehow he'd clearly offended her. So her reassurance that there was no unhappiness was a relief but also confusion. If she wasn't unhappy with him, why would her reaction be this way?
He noticed after she spoke the slight shake in her voice, and as she turned and his hand was moved from her shoulder he could see why. If he stepped back to think of the bigger picture instead of just himself and how they behaved together in this moment, there was so much weighing on her he was amazed he wasn't more of a mess. She'd succeeded in winning her father's crown after his death, and no doubt she was proud but the weight of a crown like that, a regnant crown instead of one of a princess or other minor family member was entirely different. It must be even more overwhelming for her than the fears he'd held for himself being risen so high.
Shaking his head, Iason tried to prevent her from stumbling over any further words. She didn't owe him an apology or anything else. He met her gaze when she looked back at him, keeping his focus on her eyes even as her own wandered. The start of her question caused him to lift a brow slightly but again he shook his head.
"Whatever it is, it's not my place to judge you, your highness. You owe me nothing and if you wish to leave, or wish me to leave, I'm at your service."
Persephone wasn't sure how to react to his statements. All she heard was that he couldn't judge her. But the addition of her title in his words made her mind latch onto it and analyse it beyond necessary meaning. Did he mean that he couldn't judge her because of her rank? And that he might on a personal level? Persephone knew very well that there was a distinctive difference between what one could do and what one wanted to do.
But then... she was also Athenian. And Athenians were famed for their over-analysis, their clever word-play, their determined means of using language to trap and coerce others. Taengeans, Persephone had heard, were no less clever in their word choices but tended to be more open. More emotive and honest in their speech. So, perhaps Iason really didn't consider her someone to be judged?
Why he would think that she had no idea. In the grand scheme of things, they barely knew each other. He had only really associated with Persephone the princess of the kingdom. He had never spoken with Persephone the girl; she was sure of this because she was equally unsure that such a girl even existed. She had been princess and pseudo-Queen for so long, Persephone wasn't sure she knew who she was at this point.
Had Iason pushed. Had he demanded to know what was wrong. Had he been physically rough with her, shook her by the shoulders or put himself in her personal space, she would have reverted oh so easily back to princess Persephone. Her head would have come up, her spine straightened, her calm mask falling into place like a defence mechanism. Instead, he stood there totally generous with only a calm and open expression of his face. A cloud occasionally passed over his eyes with certain thoughts she wasn't privy to but, in general, he remained sombre. He offered no threat and no chastisement.
Which only made the emotions bubbling up in her chest all the more real...
When he offered that she could do what she wanted - ask him to leave, leave herself - she shook her head.
"No, I wasn't going to ask you to leave." She told him with utter confidence, swallowing against a hiccup in her throat. "I... I was going to..." She couldn't find the words... and it sounded as if her throat was closing up. "I didn't want you to think less of me for..." As she stood there, Persephone's eyes, wide with panic and bright with emotion started to fill with moisture. Tears pooled in their corners and sat poised on her lower lids, caught in the blackest of lashes. "...for doing this..." She finished pathetically, one finger gesturing to her eyes as the creases either side of her mouth deepened as her lips widened and her nose wrinkled. A crease formed between her brows as her features crumbled just a little.
It was as a tear rolled down her cheek that Persephone's hands came up - for just a second - as if to seek some kind of embrace or comfort but it was only a heartbeat before they were instantly dropped again. In the same moment she shook her head, her breath was drawn in quickly and her back straightened.
"No." She determined, to no-one in particular. "No, I'm sorry, I cannot." And with a quick and vicious wipe of her cheek to remove any evidence of crying from her face, aside from the tears still blooming in her eyes, Persephone couldn't even look at her future betrothed as she swiftly shifted her skirts, kept her head down and darted past the man.
"Forgive me, Lord Iason. I shall see you at dinner." She said, her voice quiet and cold - deadpan to fight against emotion - as her footsteps hurried her away from the garden and back towards the palace, her fear of breaking her mask of order and propriety rapidly taking control of her body once more.
Within a few steps, her back was straight, her head high and her pace appropriate once more. Her hands were by her sides and if anyone looked to her front visage her eyes would be as close to dry as they might have been able to get - enough to hide her moment of weakness, at least. She moved through the flowerbeds and up the main steps to the palace doors, never looking back, the sun shining on her golden ivy crown.
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May 20, 2019 14:32:20 GMT
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Persephone wasn't sure how to react to his statements. All she heard was that he couldn't judge her. But the addition of her title in his words made her mind latch onto it and analyse it beyond necessary meaning. Did he mean that he couldn't judge her because of her rank? And that he might on a personal level? Persephone knew very well that there was a distinctive difference between what one could do and what one wanted to do.
But then... she was also Athenian. And Athenians were famed for their over-analysis, their clever word-play, their determined means of using language to trap and coerce others. Taengeans, Persephone had heard, were no less clever in their word choices but tended to be more open. More emotive and honest in their speech. So, perhaps Iason really didn't consider her someone to be judged?
Why he would think that she had no idea. In the grand scheme of things, they barely knew each other. He had only really associated with Persephone the princess of the kingdom. He had never spoken with Persephone the girl; she was sure of this because she was equally unsure that such a girl even existed. She had been princess and pseudo-Queen for so long, Persephone wasn't sure she knew who she was at this point.
Had Iason pushed. Had he demanded to know what was wrong. Had he been physically rough with her, shook her by the shoulders or put himself in her personal space, she would have reverted oh so easily back to princess Persephone. Her head would have come up, her spine straightened, her calm mask falling into place like a defence mechanism. Instead, he stood there totally generous with only a calm and open expression of his face. A cloud occasionally passed over his eyes with certain thoughts she wasn't privy to but, in general, he remained sombre. He offered no threat and no chastisement.
Which only made the emotions bubbling up in her chest all the more real...
When he offered that she could do what she wanted - ask him to leave, leave herself - she shook her head.
"No, I wasn't going to ask you to leave." She told him with utter confidence, swallowing against a hiccup in her throat. "I... I was going to..." She couldn't find the words... and it sounded as if her throat was closing up. "I didn't want you to think less of me for..." As she stood there, Persephone's eyes, wide with panic and bright with emotion started to fill with moisture. Tears pooled in their corners and sat poised on her lower lids, caught in the blackest of lashes. "...for doing this..." She finished pathetically, one finger gesturing to her eyes as the creases either side of her mouth deepened as her lips widened and her nose wrinkled. A crease formed between her brows as her features crumbled just a little.
It was as a tear rolled down her cheek that Persephone's hands came up - for just a second - as if to seek some kind of embrace or comfort but it was only a heartbeat before they were instantly dropped again. In the same moment she shook her head, her breath was drawn in quickly and her back straightened.
"No." She determined, to no-one in particular. "No, I'm sorry, I cannot." And with a quick and vicious wipe of her cheek to remove any evidence of crying from her face, aside from the tears still blooming in her eyes, Persephone couldn't even look at her future betrothed as she swiftly shifted her skirts, kept her head down and darted past the man.
"Forgive me, Lord Iason. I shall see you at dinner." She said, her voice quiet and cold - deadpan to fight against emotion - as her footsteps hurried her away from the garden and back towards the palace, her fear of breaking her mask of order and propriety rapidly taking control of her body once more.
Within a few steps, her back was straight, her head high and her pace appropriate once more. Her hands were by her sides and if anyone looked to her front visage her eyes would be as close to dry as they might have been able to get - enough to hide her moment of weakness, at least. She moved through the flowerbeds and up the main steps to the palace doors, never looking back, the sun shining on her golden ivy crown.
Persephone wasn't sure how to react to his statements. All she heard was that he couldn't judge her. But the addition of her title in his words made her mind latch onto it and analyse it beyond necessary meaning. Did he mean that he couldn't judge her because of her rank? And that he might on a personal level? Persephone knew very well that there was a distinctive difference between what one could do and what one wanted to do.
But then... she was also Athenian. And Athenians were famed for their over-analysis, their clever word-play, their determined means of using language to trap and coerce others. Taengeans, Persephone had heard, were no less clever in their word choices but tended to be more open. More emotive and honest in their speech. So, perhaps Iason really didn't consider her someone to be judged?
Why he would think that she had no idea. In the grand scheme of things, they barely knew each other. He had only really associated with Persephone the princess of the kingdom. He had never spoken with Persephone the girl; she was sure of this because she was equally unsure that such a girl even existed. She had been princess and pseudo-Queen for so long, Persephone wasn't sure she knew who she was at this point.
Had Iason pushed. Had he demanded to know what was wrong. Had he been physically rough with her, shook her by the shoulders or put himself in her personal space, she would have reverted oh so easily back to princess Persephone. Her head would have come up, her spine straightened, her calm mask falling into place like a defence mechanism. Instead, he stood there totally generous with only a calm and open expression of his face. A cloud occasionally passed over his eyes with certain thoughts she wasn't privy to but, in general, he remained sombre. He offered no threat and no chastisement.
Which only made the emotions bubbling up in her chest all the more real...
When he offered that she could do what she wanted - ask him to leave, leave herself - she shook her head.
"No, I wasn't going to ask you to leave." She told him with utter confidence, swallowing against a hiccup in her throat. "I... I was going to..." She couldn't find the words... and it sounded as if her throat was closing up. "I didn't want you to think less of me for..." As she stood there, Persephone's eyes, wide with panic and bright with emotion started to fill with moisture. Tears pooled in their corners and sat poised on her lower lids, caught in the blackest of lashes. "...for doing this..." She finished pathetically, one finger gesturing to her eyes as the creases either side of her mouth deepened as her lips widened and her nose wrinkled. A crease formed between her brows as her features crumbled just a little.
It was as a tear rolled down her cheek that Persephone's hands came up - for just a second - as if to seek some kind of embrace or comfort but it was only a heartbeat before they were instantly dropped again. In the same moment she shook her head, her breath was drawn in quickly and her back straightened.
"No." She determined, to no-one in particular. "No, I'm sorry, I cannot." And with a quick and vicious wipe of her cheek to remove any evidence of crying from her face, aside from the tears still blooming in her eyes, Persephone couldn't even look at her future betrothed as she swiftly shifted her skirts, kept her head down and darted past the man.
"Forgive me, Lord Iason. I shall see you at dinner." She said, her voice quiet and cold - deadpan to fight against emotion - as her footsteps hurried her away from the garden and back towards the palace, her fear of breaking her mask of order and propriety rapidly taking control of her body once more.
Within a few steps, her back was straight, her head high and her pace appropriate once more. Her hands were by her sides and if anyone looked to her front visage her eyes would be as close to dry as they might have been able to get - enough to hide her moment of weakness, at least. She moved through the flowerbeds and up the main steps to the palace doors, never looking back, the sun shining on her golden ivy crown.
Seeing tears was nothing out of the normal for him. He had two younger sisters after all, and for Taengean women at least it seemed crying was a normal way to express feelings. In fact, he could even remember having seen his own father shed tears after his mother had died. The way she seemed to behave as if this was a shameful act, one that should be hidden, was extremely confusing and he was sure the incredulity showed on his face. This was normal, she had to know that she was able to be human at some point and not simply keep things hidden. With the amount of stress she'd been through lately it was a miracle he hadn't seen her cry before this.
"Why would I ever think less of you for this? There is no shame in tears."
As her arms lifted he stepped forward immediately, an automatic response to someone he cared for asking for comfort, but her hands dropped just as quickly and he stayed where he was, one hand reached out between them still in an offer of embrace. Her words were sharper than he'd hoped and he tried not to take any offense, she was as exhausted and scared as anyone had a right to be and it had no bearing on him as she'd already said. Slowly letting his arms drop back to his sides he watched her with a look of sadness, not pity but a desire to help and the helplessness of not knowing how.
He nodded instead, trying to think of words to say that might give her some comfort but unable to find a way for them to properly form. Iason watched as she straightened herself up, staying still and silent as if she was a horse that could be spooked by too much speech and touch and then followed the sight of her as she left him. It wasn't how he'd hoped the interaction would go, but at least now they had spoken to one another alone and it hadn't been an entirely failed interaction. Though he did wish that the next time they spoke she didn't leave him crying.
After allowing her time to get a distance, the Taengean lord slowly made his way back to his chambers to write news of the day to his father. And to get away from the gardens before the telltale itch in his throat had a chance to work its way into a fullblown fit of sneezing and coughing. That would endear him to absolutely no one. And after all, he would see her again at dinner.
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May 20, 2019 14:32:50 GMT
Posted In The Come Down on May 20, 2019 14:32:50 GMT
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Seeing tears was nothing out of the normal for him. He had two younger sisters after all, and for Taengean women at least it seemed crying was a normal way to express feelings. In fact, he could even remember having seen his own father shed tears after his mother had died. The way she seemed to behave as if this was a shameful act, one that should be hidden, was extremely confusing and he was sure the incredulity showed on his face. This was normal, she had to know that she was able to be human at some point and not simply keep things hidden. With the amount of stress she'd been through lately it was a miracle he hadn't seen her cry before this.
"Why would I ever think less of you for this? There is no shame in tears."
As her arms lifted he stepped forward immediately, an automatic response to someone he cared for asking for comfort, but her hands dropped just as quickly and he stayed where he was, one hand reached out between them still in an offer of embrace. Her words were sharper than he'd hoped and he tried not to take any offense, she was as exhausted and scared as anyone had a right to be and it had no bearing on him as she'd already said. Slowly letting his arms drop back to his sides he watched her with a look of sadness, not pity but a desire to help and the helplessness of not knowing how.
He nodded instead, trying to think of words to say that might give her some comfort but unable to find a way for them to properly form. Iason watched as she straightened herself up, staying still and silent as if she was a horse that could be spooked by too much speech and touch and then followed the sight of her as she left him. It wasn't how he'd hoped the interaction would go, but at least now they had spoken to one another alone and it hadn't been an entirely failed interaction. Though he did wish that the next time they spoke she didn't leave him crying.
After allowing her time to get a distance, the Taengean lord slowly made his way back to his chambers to write news of the day to his father. And to get away from the gardens before the telltale itch in his throat had a chance to work its way into a fullblown fit of sneezing and coughing. That would endear him to absolutely no one. And after all, he would see her again at dinner.
Seeing tears was nothing out of the normal for him. He had two younger sisters after all, and for Taengean women at least it seemed crying was a normal way to express feelings. In fact, he could even remember having seen his own father shed tears after his mother had died. The way she seemed to behave as if this was a shameful act, one that should be hidden, was extremely confusing and he was sure the incredulity showed on his face. This was normal, she had to know that she was able to be human at some point and not simply keep things hidden. With the amount of stress she'd been through lately it was a miracle he hadn't seen her cry before this.
"Why would I ever think less of you for this? There is no shame in tears."
As her arms lifted he stepped forward immediately, an automatic response to someone he cared for asking for comfort, but her hands dropped just as quickly and he stayed where he was, one hand reached out between them still in an offer of embrace. Her words were sharper than he'd hoped and he tried not to take any offense, she was as exhausted and scared as anyone had a right to be and it had no bearing on him as she'd already said. Slowly letting his arms drop back to his sides he watched her with a look of sadness, not pity but a desire to help and the helplessness of not knowing how.
He nodded instead, trying to think of words to say that might give her some comfort but unable to find a way for them to properly form. Iason watched as she straightened herself up, staying still and silent as if she was a horse that could be spooked by too much speech and touch and then followed the sight of her as she left him. It wasn't how he'd hoped the interaction would go, but at least now they had spoken to one another alone and it hadn't been an entirely failed interaction. Though he did wish that the next time they spoke she didn't leave him crying.
After allowing her time to get a distance, the Taengean lord slowly made his way back to his chambers to write news of the day to his father. And to get away from the gardens before the telltale itch in his throat had a chance to work its way into a fullblown fit of sneezing and coughing. That would endear him to absolutely no one. And after all, he would see her again at dinner.
