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With her brother’s coronation only hours away, Gianna had a list of errands to attend to before her evening meal. Fortunately, Elpis had roused the princess early so she could travel to an artist she had met in the agorá the previous month. The man had been peddling a menagerie of marble figurines that caught Gianna’s eye. In their brief conversation, he had invited the young woman to his home to see his most recent project, a life-size sculpture of a pair of peacocks perching on a branch. The invitation inspired the princess so she had agreed to go that same day.
Upon seeing the sculpture, Gianna knew she must acquire it as a gift for Stephanos and Olympia. She left instructions with the artist, entrusting that the requested modifications would be made in time for the coronation. Not willing to leave anything to chance lest she fall back into Xene’s bad graces, Gianna spent the morning and much of the afternoon traveling to view and approve the gift. She had chosen the peacocks specifically because of their connection to Hera, hoping that Olympia would understand Gianna’s well wishes to the Queen in her marriage and impending childbirth.
As the youngest Mikaelidas returned to the palace, a stablehand caught Alcaeus by the reins and holding the agitated stallion in place long enough for Gianna to dismount. Apparently, the feverish energy that had electrified the palace dwellers for the past week was contagious, even amongst the animals. She straightened her chiton with an unappreciative glance to her four-legged companion before nodding to the servant to untack the horse, a task Gianna generally preferred to perform herself, but she simply could not spare the time the day before the coronation.
Gianna had barely set foot in the palace before she was swarmed by what felt like a dozen servants. In reality, it was perhaps four, but her creeping sense of claustrophobia seemed to multiply the cluster. With wide eyes, the woman tried to continue her path toward her chambers, ignoring the swathes of fabric that were shoved in front of her face and the succeeding questions regarding her preferences. She bit her tongue, holding back her sharp response about her preference to be left alone.
The women were unrelenting in their pursuit of answers. They were close, too close and she was suddenly conscious of her heartbeat as the drumming of her pulse drowned out their voices. Her skin prickled at her abrupt awareness of how uncomfortably warm she had become. She clenched her hands into fists, focusing on how easily her fingers slid across her palms with the help of the fresh coat of sweat. She desperately needed an escape, any escape. Without stopping to assess her location in the palace, Gianna made a break for the closest door, slamming it shut and dropping to the floor once she was safely inside.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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With her brother’s coronation only hours away, Gianna had a list of errands to attend to before her evening meal. Fortunately, Elpis had roused the princess early so she could travel to an artist she had met in the agorá the previous month. The man had been peddling a menagerie of marble figurines that caught Gianna’s eye. In their brief conversation, he had invited the young woman to his home to see his most recent project, a life-size sculpture of a pair of peacocks perching on a branch. The invitation inspired the princess so she had agreed to go that same day.
Upon seeing the sculpture, Gianna knew she must acquire it as a gift for Stephanos and Olympia. She left instructions with the artist, entrusting that the requested modifications would be made in time for the coronation. Not willing to leave anything to chance lest she fall back into Xene’s bad graces, Gianna spent the morning and much of the afternoon traveling to view and approve the gift. She had chosen the peacocks specifically because of their connection to Hera, hoping that Olympia would understand Gianna’s well wishes to the Queen in her marriage and impending childbirth.
As the youngest Mikaelidas returned to the palace, a stablehand caught Alcaeus by the reins and holding the agitated stallion in place long enough for Gianna to dismount. Apparently, the feverish energy that had electrified the palace dwellers for the past week was contagious, even amongst the animals. She straightened her chiton with an unappreciative glance to her four-legged companion before nodding to the servant to untack the horse, a task Gianna generally preferred to perform herself, but she simply could not spare the time the day before the coronation.
Gianna had barely set foot in the palace before she was swarmed by what felt like a dozen servants. In reality, it was perhaps four, but her creeping sense of claustrophobia seemed to multiply the cluster. With wide eyes, the woman tried to continue her path toward her chambers, ignoring the swathes of fabric that were shoved in front of her face and the succeeding questions regarding her preferences. She bit her tongue, holding back her sharp response about her preference to be left alone.
The women were unrelenting in their pursuit of answers. They were close, too close and she was suddenly conscious of her heartbeat as the drumming of her pulse drowned out their voices. Her skin prickled at her abrupt awareness of how uncomfortably warm she had become. She clenched her hands into fists, focusing on how easily her fingers slid across her palms with the help of the fresh coat of sweat. She desperately needed an escape, any escape. Without stopping to assess her location in the palace, Gianna made a break for the closest door, slamming it shut and dropping to the floor once she was safely inside.
With her brother’s coronation only hours away, Gianna had a list of errands to attend to before her evening meal. Fortunately, Elpis had roused the princess early so she could travel to an artist she had met in the agorá the previous month. The man had been peddling a menagerie of marble figurines that caught Gianna’s eye. In their brief conversation, he had invited the young woman to his home to see his most recent project, a life-size sculpture of a pair of peacocks perching on a branch. The invitation inspired the princess so she had agreed to go that same day.
Upon seeing the sculpture, Gianna knew she must acquire it as a gift for Stephanos and Olympia. She left instructions with the artist, entrusting that the requested modifications would be made in time for the coronation. Not willing to leave anything to chance lest she fall back into Xene’s bad graces, Gianna spent the morning and much of the afternoon traveling to view and approve the gift. She had chosen the peacocks specifically because of their connection to Hera, hoping that Olympia would understand Gianna’s well wishes to the Queen in her marriage and impending childbirth.
As the youngest Mikaelidas returned to the palace, a stablehand caught Alcaeus by the reins and holding the agitated stallion in place long enough for Gianna to dismount. Apparently, the feverish energy that had electrified the palace dwellers for the past week was contagious, even amongst the animals. She straightened her chiton with an unappreciative glance to her four-legged companion before nodding to the servant to untack the horse, a task Gianna generally preferred to perform herself, but she simply could not spare the time the day before the coronation.
Gianna had barely set foot in the palace before she was swarmed by what felt like a dozen servants. In reality, it was perhaps four, but her creeping sense of claustrophobia seemed to multiply the cluster. With wide eyes, the woman tried to continue her path toward her chambers, ignoring the swathes of fabric that were shoved in front of her face and the succeeding questions regarding her preferences. She bit her tongue, holding back her sharp response about her preference to be left alone.
The women were unrelenting in their pursuit of answers. They were close, too close and she was suddenly conscious of her heartbeat as the drumming of her pulse drowned out their voices. Her skin prickled at her abrupt awareness of how uncomfortably warm she had become. She clenched her hands into fists, focusing on how easily her fingers slid across her palms with the help of the fresh coat of sweat. She desperately needed an escape, any escape. Without stopping to assess her location in the palace, Gianna made a break for the closest door, slamming it shut and dropping to the floor once she was safely inside.
It was easy to believe that before the tragedy that now defined his existence, life had been without difficulty. To look back and remember with fondness, the days of leisure and boredom that had threatened to drive him mad. How lucky he’d been, when he’d only been concerned about finding a suitable lord for his latest passing fancy, who happened to be from a house of note. And said house of note would rather their daughter give birth to a prince than a lord; but he’d outsmarted them all.
His whole aim back then was to remain free to do as he pleased. Now? Invisible chains bound his wrists and ankles, with a millstone hanging from his neck and forcing him to remain not only indoors, but isolated from anything he cared about. What he’d assumed was madness before was nothing to now. Now he had to stand where someone else should have stood, and try to do as they would have done.
Elise paced about the room, glaring at him. “I don’t want to hear another word about this.” She closed her eyes. He could see her working to dismantle each of his accusations, one by one. “Irakles has been nothing but kind-”
“A liar,” he cut across her.
“A friend.”
“He murdered your husband!” This was madness. Arguing facts he could not prove with someone who had been most wronged and refusing to see reason.
“Calm down. You’re just looking to blame someone you’ve never lik-”
“He murdered your son!”
“No!” she screeched. “He didn’t! He wouldn't!”
The room to the private study opened and someone tumbled in but he paid no attention to Gianna. He shook with barely contained rage. Elise was in much the same state and she too, appeared not to have noticed her daughter. Mother and son stood almost chest to chest, red faced, nearly ready to tear each other apart in their need to prove themselves right.
“Are you in love with him, or something?” he hissed. “You’re being willfully blind.”
“Irakles is who you need, Stephanos! If you’d just trust him, then all our problems would go away!”
“So I am your problem then, am I?” He exploded, backing away from her to avoid potentially hitting her in a blind rage. “If I was stupid enough to trust him, he’d kill me too!”
“That’s it!” Elise shrieked, reaching blindly behind her on the desk for the first thing she could grab. “You ungrateful-” she lobbed a quill that fluttered uselessly to the floor without coming close to touching him.
“Open your eyes!” he shouted.
Elise burst into tears. “You could be a good king,” she sobbed. “If you weren’t such a child.”
He said nothing and she turned around to the desk. Her eyes fell on the cask of win and the half drunk cup. In a final fit, she grasped the cup and slung it at him. The cask she smashed on the floor between them. Shards skittered. Wine sprayed. Stephanose ducked, narrowly avoiding the cup that pinged off the wall behind him, raining red down onto his back.
“Who’s the child now, mother?” he asked quietly.
Elise shrieked incoherently, turned to the door, and stopped once she saw her daughter.
“Speak sense into him!” she couldn’t contain the crack at the end of her words as her voice threatened to break. Tears streamed down her face as she ripped open the door and slammed it shut.
Stephanos glanced at Gianna and then covered his face with one hand while hugging himself with his other arm. He turned away from her toward the open balcony. Any number of people could have, and did, hear that fight.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was easy to believe that before the tragedy that now defined his existence, life had been without difficulty. To look back and remember with fondness, the days of leisure and boredom that had threatened to drive him mad. How lucky he’d been, when he’d only been concerned about finding a suitable lord for his latest passing fancy, who happened to be from a house of note. And said house of note would rather their daughter give birth to a prince than a lord; but he’d outsmarted them all.
His whole aim back then was to remain free to do as he pleased. Now? Invisible chains bound his wrists and ankles, with a millstone hanging from his neck and forcing him to remain not only indoors, but isolated from anything he cared about. What he’d assumed was madness before was nothing to now. Now he had to stand where someone else should have stood, and try to do as they would have done.
Elise paced about the room, glaring at him. “I don’t want to hear another word about this.” She closed her eyes. He could see her working to dismantle each of his accusations, one by one. “Irakles has been nothing but kind-”
“A liar,” he cut across her.
“A friend.”
“He murdered your husband!” This was madness. Arguing facts he could not prove with someone who had been most wronged and refusing to see reason.
“Calm down. You’re just looking to blame someone you’ve never lik-”
“He murdered your son!”
“No!” she screeched. “He didn’t! He wouldn't!”
The room to the private study opened and someone tumbled in but he paid no attention to Gianna. He shook with barely contained rage. Elise was in much the same state and she too, appeared not to have noticed her daughter. Mother and son stood almost chest to chest, red faced, nearly ready to tear each other apart in their need to prove themselves right.
“Are you in love with him, or something?” he hissed. “You’re being willfully blind.”
“Irakles is who you need, Stephanos! If you’d just trust him, then all our problems would go away!”
“So I am your problem then, am I?” He exploded, backing away from her to avoid potentially hitting her in a blind rage. “If I was stupid enough to trust him, he’d kill me too!”
“That’s it!” Elise shrieked, reaching blindly behind her on the desk for the first thing she could grab. “You ungrateful-” she lobbed a quill that fluttered uselessly to the floor without coming close to touching him.
“Open your eyes!” he shouted.
Elise burst into tears. “You could be a good king,” she sobbed. “If you weren’t such a child.”
He said nothing and she turned around to the desk. Her eyes fell on the cask of win and the half drunk cup. In a final fit, she grasped the cup and slung it at him. The cask she smashed on the floor between them. Shards skittered. Wine sprayed. Stephanose ducked, narrowly avoiding the cup that pinged off the wall behind him, raining red down onto his back.
“Who’s the child now, mother?” he asked quietly.
Elise shrieked incoherently, turned to the door, and stopped once she saw her daughter.
“Speak sense into him!” she couldn’t contain the crack at the end of her words as her voice threatened to break. Tears streamed down her face as she ripped open the door and slammed it shut.
Stephanos glanced at Gianna and then covered his face with one hand while hugging himself with his other arm. He turned away from her toward the open balcony. Any number of people could have, and did, hear that fight.
It was easy to believe that before the tragedy that now defined his existence, life had been without difficulty. To look back and remember with fondness, the days of leisure and boredom that had threatened to drive him mad. How lucky he’d been, when he’d only been concerned about finding a suitable lord for his latest passing fancy, who happened to be from a house of note. And said house of note would rather their daughter give birth to a prince than a lord; but he’d outsmarted them all.
His whole aim back then was to remain free to do as he pleased. Now? Invisible chains bound his wrists and ankles, with a millstone hanging from his neck and forcing him to remain not only indoors, but isolated from anything he cared about. What he’d assumed was madness before was nothing to now. Now he had to stand where someone else should have stood, and try to do as they would have done.
Elise paced about the room, glaring at him. “I don’t want to hear another word about this.” She closed her eyes. He could see her working to dismantle each of his accusations, one by one. “Irakles has been nothing but kind-”
“A liar,” he cut across her.
“A friend.”
“He murdered your husband!” This was madness. Arguing facts he could not prove with someone who had been most wronged and refusing to see reason.
“Calm down. You’re just looking to blame someone you’ve never lik-”
“He murdered your son!”
“No!” she screeched. “He didn’t! He wouldn't!”
The room to the private study opened and someone tumbled in but he paid no attention to Gianna. He shook with barely contained rage. Elise was in much the same state and she too, appeared not to have noticed her daughter. Mother and son stood almost chest to chest, red faced, nearly ready to tear each other apart in their need to prove themselves right.
“Are you in love with him, or something?” he hissed. “You’re being willfully blind.”
“Irakles is who you need, Stephanos! If you’d just trust him, then all our problems would go away!”
“So I am your problem then, am I?” He exploded, backing away from her to avoid potentially hitting her in a blind rage. “If I was stupid enough to trust him, he’d kill me too!”
“That’s it!” Elise shrieked, reaching blindly behind her on the desk for the first thing she could grab. “You ungrateful-” she lobbed a quill that fluttered uselessly to the floor without coming close to touching him.
“Open your eyes!” he shouted.
Elise burst into tears. “You could be a good king,” she sobbed. “If you weren’t such a child.”
He said nothing and she turned around to the desk. Her eyes fell on the cask of win and the half drunk cup. In a final fit, she grasped the cup and slung it at him. The cask she smashed on the floor between them. Shards skittered. Wine sprayed. Stephanose ducked, narrowly avoiding the cup that pinged off the wall behind him, raining red down onto his back.
“Who’s the child now, mother?” he asked quietly.
Elise shrieked incoherently, turned to the door, and stopped once she saw her daughter.
“Speak sense into him!” she couldn’t contain the crack at the end of her words as her voice threatened to break. Tears streamed down her face as she ripped open the door and slammed it shut.
Stephanos glanced at Gianna and then covered his face with one hand while hugging himself with his other arm. He turned away from her toward the open balcony. Any number of people could have, and did, hear that fight.
Respected for their gracious nature, every member of the Mikaelidas clan harbored a notorious temper, an ill humor that spared the vast majority of the kingdom while still making its presence known throughout. Even Gianna, arguably the gentlest of the family, could not escape the fiery tendrils of her own rage when it flared. This afternoon it would be Elise and Stephanos who fell victim to the Mikaelidas family’s worst quality.
Gianna pressed her back to the door, willing herself to disappear. Throwing herself out of the frying pan and evidently into the fire was the last thing the princess needed in this very moment. She had sought refuge in the private study, instead, she had happened upon her mother and her brother facing off faces red with the anger that permeated the atmosphere. Gianna shrank beneath the crushing emotion, curling away from her family members in an attempt to shield herself.
She kept a wary eye on the situation unfolding before her. Stephanos had convinced himself their uncle was behind the horrible events that had transpired during the Festival of Dionysus while Elise championed his innocence. The accusations being hurled made Gianna sick to her stomach and it was all she could do to fight back the tears that threatened to overcome the girl. The relief she felt when her mother attempted to throw a feather quill at Stephanos was short lived when the woman heaved a chalice at him and smashed the companion cask of wine on the floor.
Gianna leapt to her feet to avoid the ceramic shrapnel as the decanter exploded, the latest casualty of Elise’s outburst. She whirled around, the shock clear on her face, ready to chastise their mother when the very subject of her reprimand finally noticed her. Elise stopped short of the door as she began to comprehend her daughter’s presence and the implications of threatening her son. Her voice rough with raw emotion, Elise ordered Gianna, ”Speak sense into him!” before making a brisk exit.
Gianna’s gaze fixed on Stephanos as he turned from her to look out upon the courtyard. She cautiously approached her brother, how one might approach an injured beast. The man reeked of an overindulgence of wine. She was certain that sharp, fermented odor was not coming from the gathering pool of wine on the floor of the study. He was typically jovial when alcohol was involved, Gianna had never witnessed her brother drunk and angry before. This side of Stephanos was frightening and unpredictable, she hoped this incident was merely a fluke, but the voice inside her head told her this could not be the first time and certainly would not be the last.
”Stephanos...what—What happened?” Gianna kept her voice low, so as not to startle the man, and hugged herself as tears once more welled in the corners of her eyes.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Respected for their gracious nature, every member of the Mikaelidas clan harbored a notorious temper, an ill humor that spared the vast majority of the kingdom while still making its presence known throughout. Even Gianna, arguably the gentlest of the family, could not escape the fiery tendrils of her own rage when it flared. This afternoon it would be Elise and Stephanos who fell victim to the Mikaelidas family’s worst quality.
Gianna pressed her back to the door, willing herself to disappear. Throwing herself out of the frying pan and evidently into the fire was the last thing the princess needed in this very moment. She had sought refuge in the private study, instead, she had happened upon her mother and her brother facing off faces red with the anger that permeated the atmosphere. Gianna shrank beneath the crushing emotion, curling away from her family members in an attempt to shield herself.
She kept a wary eye on the situation unfolding before her. Stephanos had convinced himself their uncle was behind the horrible events that had transpired during the Festival of Dionysus while Elise championed his innocence. The accusations being hurled made Gianna sick to her stomach and it was all she could do to fight back the tears that threatened to overcome the girl. The relief she felt when her mother attempted to throw a feather quill at Stephanos was short lived when the woman heaved a chalice at him and smashed the companion cask of wine on the floor.
Gianna leapt to her feet to avoid the ceramic shrapnel as the decanter exploded, the latest casualty of Elise’s outburst. She whirled around, the shock clear on her face, ready to chastise their mother when the very subject of her reprimand finally noticed her. Elise stopped short of the door as she began to comprehend her daughter’s presence and the implications of threatening her son. Her voice rough with raw emotion, Elise ordered Gianna, ”Speak sense into him!” before making a brisk exit.
Gianna’s gaze fixed on Stephanos as he turned from her to look out upon the courtyard. She cautiously approached her brother, how one might approach an injured beast. The man reeked of an overindulgence of wine. She was certain that sharp, fermented odor was not coming from the gathering pool of wine on the floor of the study. He was typically jovial when alcohol was involved, Gianna had never witnessed her brother drunk and angry before. This side of Stephanos was frightening and unpredictable, she hoped this incident was merely a fluke, but the voice inside her head told her this could not be the first time and certainly would not be the last.
”Stephanos...what—What happened?” Gianna kept her voice low, so as not to startle the man, and hugged herself as tears once more welled in the corners of her eyes.
Respected for their gracious nature, every member of the Mikaelidas clan harbored a notorious temper, an ill humor that spared the vast majority of the kingdom while still making its presence known throughout. Even Gianna, arguably the gentlest of the family, could not escape the fiery tendrils of her own rage when it flared. This afternoon it would be Elise and Stephanos who fell victim to the Mikaelidas family’s worst quality.
Gianna pressed her back to the door, willing herself to disappear. Throwing herself out of the frying pan and evidently into the fire was the last thing the princess needed in this very moment. She had sought refuge in the private study, instead, she had happened upon her mother and her brother facing off faces red with the anger that permeated the atmosphere. Gianna shrank beneath the crushing emotion, curling away from her family members in an attempt to shield herself.
She kept a wary eye on the situation unfolding before her. Stephanos had convinced himself their uncle was behind the horrible events that had transpired during the Festival of Dionysus while Elise championed his innocence. The accusations being hurled made Gianna sick to her stomach and it was all she could do to fight back the tears that threatened to overcome the girl. The relief she felt when her mother attempted to throw a feather quill at Stephanos was short lived when the woman heaved a chalice at him and smashed the companion cask of wine on the floor.
Gianna leapt to her feet to avoid the ceramic shrapnel as the decanter exploded, the latest casualty of Elise’s outburst. She whirled around, the shock clear on her face, ready to chastise their mother when the very subject of her reprimand finally noticed her. Elise stopped short of the door as she began to comprehend her daughter’s presence and the implications of threatening her son. Her voice rough with raw emotion, Elise ordered Gianna, ”Speak sense into him!” before making a brisk exit.
Gianna’s gaze fixed on Stephanos as he turned from her to look out upon the courtyard. She cautiously approached her brother, how one might approach an injured beast. The man reeked of an overindulgence of wine. She was certain that sharp, fermented odor was not coming from the gathering pool of wine on the floor of the study. He was typically jovial when alcohol was involved, Gianna had never witnessed her brother drunk and angry before. This side of Stephanos was frightening and unpredictable, she hoped this incident was merely a fluke, but the voice inside her head told her this could not be the first time and certainly would not be the last.
”Stephanos...what—What happened?” Gianna kept her voice low, so as not to startle the man, and hugged herself as tears once more welled in the corners of her eyes.
The morning she’d been born had been all confusion. Sometime in the night, while he, Zacharias, and Xene all slept, Elise had gone into labor. He was the first to wake, the first to go looking for his parents. He’d pushed into his mother’s room to find her surrounded by attendants and holding a tiny bundle of linen and a wrinkled, pink baby with a shock of downy fuzz on her head.
“Stephanos, come greet your new sister,” his mother had said proudly. His father had taken him by the shoulders and steered him around the bed until he stood looking down into the sleeping face of Gianna.
“She’s ugly.” He’d wrinkled his nose.
“She’s beautiful,” Elise had cooed and then held out Gianna to him. He’d taken her fragile little form into his arms and leaned against his mother, holding his sibling for the first time. It was in that moment, when he could feel how tiny and dependant she was, that he first loved her. And that feeling had never disappeared - that she was a baby that needed coddled and sheltered. She must never be allowed to grow up and to be hurt, the way adults hurt each other.
It had been a long time since he’d thought of that morning. But the way she’d stared at him, wide eyed and afraid as their mother swept passed her - he couldn’t face it.
She crept up to him and he refused to look at her. The way she was acting was perfectly rational; to be cautious, gentle. It made him side step her and move around to the desk Elise had taken the wine from. He dropped into the chair and stared at the table top.
He wasn’t going to answer her but his mouth moved without his brain’s permission. “She’s fucking Irakles. I guess. Or she might as well be.”
A harsh laugh escaped and then he found he couldn’t stop. Did he really think his mother was sleeping with his uncle? No. But her constant praise of Irakles was betrayal enough.
“She wants me to do as Irakles says. Exactly what he says. The way he says it.” Sitting up, he stopped laughing and glared at Gianna, suddenly angry again. “Who is king?” he demanded. “Me? Or Irakles?” after a second’s pause he shouted “Answer me!”
Shame descended on him again and he sank back, covering his face with his hands. He couldn’t seem to stop. Couldn’t control the rage that his uncle inspired. Not even to spare his sister the embarrassment of seeing him this way. And it was embarrassing. To lose control, to see the way she looked at him. He imagined her disappointment as a dagger twisting in his chest.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The morning she’d been born had been all confusion. Sometime in the night, while he, Zacharias, and Xene all slept, Elise had gone into labor. He was the first to wake, the first to go looking for his parents. He’d pushed into his mother’s room to find her surrounded by attendants and holding a tiny bundle of linen and a wrinkled, pink baby with a shock of downy fuzz on her head.
“Stephanos, come greet your new sister,” his mother had said proudly. His father had taken him by the shoulders and steered him around the bed until he stood looking down into the sleeping face of Gianna.
“She’s ugly.” He’d wrinkled his nose.
“She’s beautiful,” Elise had cooed and then held out Gianna to him. He’d taken her fragile little form into his arms and leaned against his mother, holding his sibling for the first time. It was in that moment, when he could feel how tiny and dependant she was, that he first loved her. And that feeling had never disappeared - that she was a baby that needed coddled and sheltered. She must never be allowed to grow up and to be hurt, the way adults hurt each other.
It had been a long time since he’d thought of that morning. But the way she’d stared at him, wide eyed and afraid as their mother swept passed her - he couldn’t face it.
She crept up to him and he refused to look at her. The way she was acting was perfectly rational; to be cautious, gentle. It made him side step her and move around to the desk Elise had taken the wine from. He dropped into the chair and stared at the table top.
He wasn’t going to answer her but his mouth moved without his brain’s permission. “She’s fucking Irakles. I guess. Or she might as well be.”
A harsh laugh escaped and then he found he couldn’t stop. Did he really think his mother was sleeping with his uncle? No. But her constant praise of Irakles was betrayal enough.
“She wants me to do as Irakles says. Exactly what he says. The way he says it.” Sitting up, he stopped laughing and glared at Gianna, suddenly angry again. “Who is king?” he demanded. “Me? Or Irakles?” after a second’s pause he shouted “Answer me!”
Shame descended on him again and he sank back, covering his face with his hands. He couldn’t seem to stop. Couldn’t control the rage that his uncle inspired. Not even to spare his sister the embarrassment of seeing him this way. And it was embarrassing. To lose control, to see the way she looked at him. He imagined her disappointment as a dagger twisting in his chest.
The morning she’d been born had been all confusion. Sometime in the night, while he, Zacharias, and Xene all slept, Elise had gone into labor. He was the first to wake, the first to go looking for his parents. He’d pushed into his mother’s room to find her surrounded by attendants and holding a tiny bundle of linen and a wrinkled, pink baby with a shock of downy fuzz on her head.
“Stephanos, come greet your new sister,” his mother had said proudly. His father had taken him by the shoulders and steered him around the bed until he stood looking down into the sleeping face of Gianna.
“She’s ugly.” He’d wrinkled his nose.
“She’s beautiful,” Elise had cooed and then held out Gianna to him. He’d taken her fragile little form into his arms and leaned against his mother, holding his sibling for the first time. It was in that moment, when he could feel how tiny and dependant she was, that he first loved her. And that feeling had never disappeared - that she was a baby that needed coddled and sheltered. She must never be allowed to grow up and to be hurt, the way adults hurt each other.
It had been a long time since he’d thought of that morning. But the way she’d stared at him, wide eyed and afraid as their mother swept passed her - he couldn’t face it.
She crept up to him and he refused to look at her. The way she was acting was perfectly rational; to be cautious, gentle. It made him side step her and move around to the desk Elise had taken the wine from. He dropped into the chair and stared at the table top.
He wasn’t going to answer her but his mouth moved without his brain’s permission. “She’s fucking Irakles. I guess. Or she might as well be.”
A harsh laugh escaped and then he found he couldn’t stop. Did he really think his mother was sleeping with his uncle? No. But her constant praise of Irakles was betrayal enough.
“She wants me to do as Irakles says. Exactly what he says. The way he says it.” Sitting up, he stopped laughing and glared at Gianna, suddenly angry again. “Who is king?” he demanded. “Me? Or Irakles?” after a second’s pause he shouted “Answer me!”
Shame descended on him again and he sank back, covering his face with his hands. He couldn’t seem to stop. Couldn’t control the rage that his uncle inspired. Not even to spare his sister the embarrassment of seeing him this way. And it was embarrassing. To lose control, to see the way she looked at him. He imagined her disappointment as a dagger twisting in his chest.
For as long as she could remember, Gianna had been shielded from many of the realities in life. As a youth, she was indignant at the treatment, feeling as though her siblings had been wrongly favored. She had spent many years begrudging the imaginary advantage Zenon and Elise’s other children held over her. As she grew, Gianna came to view her sheltered childhood as something of a blessing and a curse. While her struggle to access courtly politics frustrated her, she was nevertheless grateful for the freedom she was granted to explore the Taengean forests and beaches.
When the time came for Gianna to formally enter the court, Elise had warned her that the time for heedless exploration had come to an end. Her objectives had been dictated to her by Zenon’s advisor: she was to respect her family’s wishes and station at all times as her father would eventually secure a politically advantageous match for the girl and gods forbid she did anything to tarnish the Mikaelidas reputation. She had left that particular consultation with a newfound bitterness for the court and its attendants. Upon confiding her recent aversion to entering the court, her ever-protective siblings endeavored to cheer her up. It was Stephanos, however, who succeeded with his gift of an unbroken colt.
This was the memory Gianna clung to as her brother dodged her approach and retreated to the desk, his accusation and laugh causing a shiver to climb her spine. She could not even begin to fathom a relationship of that nature between Elise and Irakles, not with how distraught the woman had been since Zenon’s death. She would be well within her right to seek out a new partner, but Gianna could not prevent the ache of betrayal that momentarily gripped her heart. She hugged herself tighter, there could not be any truth in his words. Right?
“She wants me to do as Irakles says. Exactly what he says. The way he says it. Who is king? Me? Or Irakles?”
Gianna was yanked from her thoughts as a fresh anger entered Stephanos’s voice. She recoiled as though he had struck her across the face. Tears welled and she fought them, willing herself not to cry in front of him, not for this. She desperately reached for the recollection of happier times. She thought about the day she received her colt and the following week when she told Stephanos she would name him Alcaeus because she wanted to have her brother’s strength with her whenever she needed it. She could have sworn she had seen him glowing with pride that day. Today he glowed with anger.
“Answer me!”
Gianna flinched and a tear, finally free, traced its way to her chin. Against her better judgment, she found her feet carrying her closer to her brother in much the same manner as before. However, now he was trapped in the chair and there was nowhere to escape her approach. Gianna dropped to her knees, just in front of his feet, and looked up at the man through thick lashes as tears flowed freely from her dark eyes.
”Please, Stephanos,” she pleaded.
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For as long as she could remember, Gianna had been shielded from many of the realities in life. As a youth, she was indignant at the treatment, feeling as though her siblings had been wrongly favored. She had spent many years begrudging the imaginary advantage Zenon and Elise’s other children held over her. As she grew, Gianna came to view her sheltered childhood as something of a blessing and a curse. While her struggle to access courtly politics frustrated her, she was nevertheless grateful for the freedom she was granted to explore the Taengean forests and beaches.
When the time came for Gianna to formally enter the court, Elise had warned her that the time for heedless exploration had come to an end. Her objectives had been dictated to her by Zenon’s advisor: she was to respect her family’s wishes and station at all times as her father would eventually secure a politically advantageous match for the girl and gods forbid she did anything to tarnish the Mikaelidas reputation. She had left that particular consultation with a newfound bitterness for the court and its attendants. Upon confiding her recent aversion to entering the court, her ever-protective siblings endeavored to cheer her up. It was Stephanos, however, who succeeded with his gift of an unbroken colt.
This was the memory Gianna clung to as her brother dodged her approach and retreated to the desk, his accusation and laugh causing a shiver to climb her spine. She could not even begin to fathom a relationship of that nature between Elise and Irakles, not with how distraught the woman had been since Zenon’s death. She would be well within her right to seek out a new partner, but Gianna could not prevent the ache of betrayal that momentarily gripped her heart. She hugged herself tighter, there could not be any truth in his words. Right?
“She wants me to do as Irakles says. Exactly what he says. The way he says it. Who is king? Me? Or Irakles?”
Gianna was yanked from her thoughts as a fresh anger entered Stephanos’s voice. She recoiled as though he had struck her across the face. Tears welled and she fought them, willing herself not to cry in front of him, not for this. She desperately reached for the recollection of happier times. She thought about the day she received her colt and the following week when she told Stephanos she would name him Alcaeus because she wanted to have her brother’s strength with her whenever she needed it. She could have sworn she had seen him glowing with pride that day. Today he glowed with anger.
“Answer me!”
Gianna flinched and a tear, finally free, traced its way to her chin. Against her better judgment, she found her feet carrying her closer to her brother in much the same manner as before. However, now he was trapped in the chair and there was nowhere to escape her approach. Gianna dropped to her knees, just in front of his feet, and looked up at the man through thick lashes as tears flowed freely from her dark eyes.
”Please, Stephanos,” she pleaded.
For as long as she could remember, Gianna had been shielded from many of the realities in life. As a youth, she was indignant at the treatment, feeling as though her siblings had been wrongly favored. She had spent many years begrudging the imaginary advantage Zenon and Elise’s other children held over her. As she grew, Gianna came to view her sheltered childhood as something of a blessing and a curse. While her struggle to access courtly politics frustrated her, she was nevertheless grateful for the freedom she was granted to explore the Taengean forests and beaches.
When the time came for Gianna to formally enter the court, Elise had warned her that the time for heedless exploration had come to an end. Her objectives had been dictated to her by Zenon’s advisor: she was to respect her family’s wishes and station at all times as her father would eventually secure a politically advantageous match for the girl and gods forbid she did anything to tarnish the Mikaelidas reputation. She had left that particular consultation with a newfound bitterness for the court and its attendants. Upon confiding her recent aversion to entering the court, her ever-protective siblings endeavored to cheer her up. It was Stephanos, however, who succeeded with his gift of an unbroken colt.
This was the memory Gianna clung to as her brother dodged her approach and retreated to the desk, his accusation and laugh causing a shiver to climb her spine. She could not even begin to fathom a relationship of that nature between Elise and Irakles, not with how distraught the woman had been since Zenon’s death. She would be well within her right to seek out a new partner, but Gianna could not prevent the ache of betrayal that momentarily gripped her heart. She hugged herself tighter, there could not be any truth in his words. Right?
“She wants me to do as Irakles says. Exactly what he says. The way he says it. Who is king? Me? Or Irakles?”
Gianna was yanked from her thoughts as a fresh anger entered Stephanos’s voice. She recoiled as though he had struck her across the face. Tears welled and she fought them, willing herself not to cry in front of him, not for this. She desperately reached for the recollection of happier times. She thought about the day she received her colt and the following week when she told Stephanos she would name him Alcaeus because she wanted to have her brother’s strength with her whenever she needed it. She could have sworn she had seen him glowing with pride that day. Today he glowed with anger.
“Answer me!”
Gianna flinched and a tear, finally free, traced its way to her chin. Against her better judgment, she found her feet carrying her closer to her brother in much the same manner as before. However, now he was trapped in the chair and there was nowhere to escape her approach. Gianna dropped to her knees, just in front of his feet, and looked up at the man through thick lashes as tears flowed freely from her dark eyes.
”Please, Stephanos,” she pleaded.
“Gianna, get up.” The last place that his little sister should be was crying at his feet. He reached down and took hold of her wrist, gently but firmly insisting that she stand. “I suppose you’ve never seen our more glorious fights.” This was in reference to their mother and then wine she’d thrown at him. The shards still littered the floor and the wine pooled, looking for all the world like blood.
Nausea overtook him. Whether due to drink or the visceral images, the sight dredged up, he couldn’t say but it didn’t matter. He was up and out of his chair within seconds. Leaning bodily over the railing, he stood there, staring at the courtyard below, trying to decide if he was going to vomit or not.
He did not know whether she followed him or stayed where she was. His whole focus was inward, with his stomach. It churned and twisted. If he could just get enough air, take slow, deep breaths….The need to purge faded and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Gods,” he breathed and turned around so that he could slide to the floor with his back pressed to the railing. “I wish I could make you understand.” His gaze settled on her. The corners of his mouth turned up into what would have been a smile if the rest of his expression wasn’t so defeated.
“If I had a shred of...of proof...but he’s careful. He’s had time to plan. And he’s a coward. I bet he didn’t have the nerve to kill father himself.”
This wasn’t appropriate to be burdening his little sister with but he was drunk and he wasn’t concerned with her peace of mind at the moment. His mother didn’t believe that her beloved Irakles was capable of an ill word to someone, much less of murder. It was suddenly important that Gianna not be caught as unaware as their mother. She needed to know the truth. Truth he couldn’t provide evidence for. Only that damn smile Irakles flashed at him while everyone else’s heads were turned at the funeral.
The smile haunted him still. It was also the thing that sealed his suspicion of their uncle for the heinous crimes against the king and crown prince.
“And where is Zacharias’s body?” he blazed up again suddenly, gaining new momentum. “Burned, more than likely.” His voice broke and he sank back, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He can’t pay the ferryman…”
He was drunk. And angry. And grieving. In the month since the city was on fire, he hadn’t had time to really think on what had happened, much less properly process it. Now, with Gianna here, his words were thoughts made manifest. Anything that floated through his mind came out of his mouth. He had no control over himself and while he tomorrow he might be truly horrified of his display, for now, he didn’t care quite so much.
His eyes were glassy as he looked at his sister. The prospect of their brother wandering the river bank, with no way to pay his way to Hades, broke him. It was this sorrow that consumed him most. He’d held their father’s head in a bag. But had also been able to put two coins on the man’s eyes. For Zacharias, they had not been able to do this. His brother was stuck in the underworld. A lost soul. And there was no one to help him cross.
“Gianna….” He opened his arms to her, never stopping to consider that she might not want to come near him with his emotions vacillating wildly from one spectrum to the other, changeable with each new thought and feeling.
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“Gianna, get up.” The last place that his little sister should be was crying at his feet. He reached down and took hold of her wrist, gently but firmly insisting that she stand. “I suppose you’ve never seen our more glorious fights.” This was in reference to their mother and then wine she’d thrown at him. The shards still littered the floor and the wine pooled, looking for all the world like blood.
Nausea overtook him. Whether due to drink or the visceral images, the sight dredged up, he couldn’t say but it didn’t matter. He was up and out of his chair within seconds. Leaning bodily over the railing, he stood there, staring at the courtyard below, trying to decide if he was going to vomit or not.
He did not know whether she followed him or stayed where she was. His whole focus was inward, with his stomach. It churned and twisted. If he could just get enough air, take slow, deep breaths….The need to purge faded and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Gods,” he breathed and turned around so that he could slide to the floor with his back pressed to the railing. “I wish I could make you understand.” His gaze settled on her. The corners of his mouth turned up into what would have been a smile if the rest of his expression wasn’t so defeated.
“If I had a shred of...of proof...but he’s careful. He’s had time to plan. And he’s a coward. I bet he didn’t have the nerve to kill father himself.”
This wasn’t appropriate to be burdening his little sister with but he was drunk and he wasn’t concerned with her peace of mind at the moment. His mother didn’t believe that her beloved Irakles was capable of an ill word to someone, much less of murder. It was suddenly important that Gianna not be caught as unaware as their mother. She needed to know the truth. Truth he couldn’t provide evidence for. Only that damn smile Irakles flashed at him while everyone else’s heads were turned at the funeral.
The smile haunted him still. It was also the thing that sealed his suspicion of their uncle for the heinous crimes against the king and crown prince.
“And where is Zacharias’s body?” he blazed up again suddenly, gaining new momentum. “Burned, more than likely.” His voice broke and he sank back, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He can’t pay the ferryman…”
He was drunk. And angry. And grieving. In the month since the city was on fire, he hadn’t had time to really think on what had happened, much less properly process it. Now, with Gianna here, his words were thoughts made manifest. Anything that floated through his mind came out of his mouth. He had no control over himself and while he tomorrow he might be truly horrified of his display, for now, he didn’t care quite so much.
His eyes were glassy as he looked at his sister. The prospect of their brother wandering the river bank, with no way to pay his way to Hades, broke him. It was this sorrow that consumed him most. He’d held their father’s head in a bag. But had also been able to put two coins on the man’s eyes. For Zacharias, they had not been able to do this. His brother was stuck in the underworld. A lost soul. And there was no one to help him cross.
“Gianna….” He opened his arms to her, never stopping to consider that she might not want to come near him with his emotions vacillating wildly from one spectrum to the other, changeable with each new thought and feeling.
“Gianna, get up.” The last place that his little sister should be was crying at his feet. He reached down and took hold of her wrist, gently but firmly insisting that she stand. “I suppose you’ve never seen our more glorious fights.” This was in reference to their mother and then wine she’d thrown at him. The shards still littered the floor and the wine pooled, looking for all the world like blood.
Nausea overtook him. Whether due to drink or the visceral images, the sight dredged up, he couldn’t say but it didn’t matter. He was up and out of his chair within seconds. Leaning bodily over the railing, he stood there, staring at the courtyard below, trying to decide if he was going to vomit or not.
He did not know whether she followed him or stayed where she was. His whole focus was inward, with his stomach. It churned and twisted. If he could just get enough air, take slow, deep breaths….The need to purge faded and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Gods,” he breathed and turned around so that he could slide to the floor with his back pressed to the railing. “I wish I could make you understand.” His gaze settled on her. The corners of his mouth turned up into what would have been a smile if the rest of his expression wasn’t so defeated.
“If I had a shred of...of proof...but he’s careful. He’s had time to plan. And he’s a coward. I bet he didn’t have the nerve to kill father himself.”
This wasn’t appropriate to be burdening his little sister with but he was drunk and he wasn’t concerned with her peace of mind at the moment. His mother didn’t believe that her beloved Irakles was capable of an ill word to someone, much less of murder. It was suddenly important that Gianna not be caught as unaware as their mother. She needed to know the truth. Truth he couldn’t provide evidence for. Only that damn smile Irakles flashed at him while everyone else’s heads were turned at the funeral.
The smile haunted him still. It was also the thing that sealed his suspicion of their uncle for the heinous crimes against the king and crown prince.
“And where is Zacharias’s body?” he blazed up again suddenly, gaining new momentum. “Burned, more than likely.” His voice broke and he sank back, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He can’t pay the ferryman…”
He was drunk. And angry. And grieving. In the month since the city was on fire, he hadn’t had time to really think on what had happened, much less properly process it. Now, with Gianna here, his words were thoughts made manifest. Anything that floated through his mind came out of his mouth. He had no control over himself and while he tomorrow he might be truly horrified of his display, for now, he didn’t care quite so much.
His eyes were glassy as he looked at his sister. The prospect of their brother wandering the river bank, with no way to pay his way to Hades, broke him. It was this sorrow that consumed him most. He’d held their father’s head in a bag. But had also been able to put two coins on the man’s eyes. For Zacharias, they had not been able to do this. His brother was stuck in the underworld. A lost soul. And there was no one to help him cross.
“Gianna….” He opened his arms to her, never stopping to consider that she might not want to come near him with his emotions vacillating wildly from one spectrum to the other, changeable with each new thought and feeling.
“Gianna, get up. I suppose you’ve never seen our more glorious fights.”
She wiped her eyes with her free hand as her brother tugged at her wrist, urging her to her feet. She was well aware of their mother’s temper—she would have to be a fool to be so blind—but she had never seen it manifest in such a physical manner, a habit more often exhibited by their sister, Xene. She glanced once more to the discarded remnants of Elise’s outburst, her stomach tightening at the thought of the aging Queen Mother wielding her fiery rage with such a destructive outcome.
Before she could respond, Stephanos was out of his chair and hanging over the railing of the open balcony, his face blanched. Gianna took a cautious step towards her brother, looking between him and the door to the study. Should she send for the healer? He was pale, sweat beading on his forehead, it was obvious he was fighting an ill feeling or pain. Either way, she felt utterly useless in what comfort she could offer her brother. She had turned to call upon one of the servants undoubtedly listening at the door when her brother’s voice seized her attention once more.
“Gods. I wish I could make you understand. If I had a shred of...of proof...but he’s careful. He’s had time to plan. And he’s a coward. I bet he didn’t have the nerve to kill father himself.”
The man had slid to the floor of the balcony, his back against the railing as he contemplated Gianna with a hollow smile. Her heart ached to see him so overcome and demoralized and blaming it on their uncle without a scrap of evidence! If his coronation were not the following day, the people could have him tried and, gods forbid, executed for accusing treason so openly. But he too was grieving, Gianna reminded herself. Her expression softened as she assessed her brother, the man who would be crowned king in less than half a day’s time. She watched his eyes as a fire roared once more in their sky blue depths.
“And where is Zacharias’s body? Burned, more than likely. He can’t pay the ferryman…”
”Stephanos… What you speak of—if you speak the truth—you accuse our uncle of treason,” Gianna shook her head in disbelief, trying to process everything he had just told her. She could not even begin to think about Zacharias, unable to pay Charon and lost for eternity. Her eyes glazed over as her name slipped past Stephanos’s lips, his arms open and inviting. Without thinking, Gianna was on the floor next to her brother, wrapped in his arms seeking the comfort she did not realize she had been lacking. ”What can I do, brother?”
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“Gianna, get up. I suppose you’ve never seen our more glorious fights.”
She wiped her eyes with her free hand as her brother tugged at her wrist, urging her to her feet. She was well aware of their mother’s temper—she would have to be a fool to be so blind—but she had never seen it manifest in such a physical manner, a habit more often exhibited by their sister, Xene. She glanced once more to the discarded remnants of Elise’s outburst, her stomach tightening at the thought of the aging Queen Mother wielding her fiery rage with such a destructive outcome.
Before she could respond, Stephanos was out of his chair and hanging over the railing of the open balcony, his face blanched. Gianna took a cautious step towards her brother, looking between him and the door to the study. Should she send for the healer? He was pale, sweat beading on his forehead, it was obvious he was fighting an ill feeling or pain. Either way, she felt utterly useless in what comfort she could offer her brother. She had turned to call upon one of the servants undoubtedly listening at the door when her brother’s voice seized her attention once more.
“Gods. I wish I could make you understand. If I had a shred of...of proof...but he’s careful. He’s had time to plan. And he’s a coward. I bet he didn’t have the nerve to kill father himself.”
The man had slid to the floor of the balcony, his back against the railing as he contemplated Gianna with a hollow smile. Her heart ached to see him so overcome and demoralized and blaming it on their uncle without a scrap of evidence! If his coronation were not the following day, the people could have him tried and, gods forbid, executed for accusing treason so openly. But he too was grieving, Gianna reminded herself. Her expression softened as she assessed her brother, the man who would be crowned king in less than half a day’s time. She watched his eyes as a fire roared once more in their sky blue depths.
“And where is Zacharias’s body? Burned, more than likely. He can’t pay the ferryman…”
”Stephanos… What you speak of—if you speak the truth—you accuse our uncle of treason,” Gianna shook her head in disbelief, trying to process everything he had just told her. She could not even begin to think about Zacharias, unable to pay Charon and lost for eternity. Her eyes glazed over as her name slipped past Stephanos’s lips, his arms open and inviting. Without thinking, Gianna was on the floor next to her brother, wrapped in his arms seeking the comfort she did not realize she had been lacking. ”What can I do, brother?”
“Gianna, get up. I suppose you’ve never seen our more glorious fights.”
She wiped her eyes with her free hand as her brother tugged at her wrist, urging her to her feet. She was well aware of their mother’s temper—she would have to be a fool to be so blind—but she had never seen it manifest in such a physical manner, a habit more often exhibited by their sister, Xene. She glanced once more to the discarded remnants of Elise’s outburst, her stomach tightening at the thought of the aging Queen Mother wielding her fiery rage with such a destructive outcome.
Before she could respond, Stephanos was out of his chair and hanging over the railing of the open balcony, his face blanched. Gianna took a cautious step towards her brother, looking between him and the door to the study. Should she send for the healer? He was pale, sweat beading on his forehead, it was obvious he was fighting an ill feeling or pain. Either way, she felt utterly useless in what comfort she could offer her brother. She had turned to call upon one of the servants undoubtedly listening at the door when her brother’s voice seized her attention once more.
“Gods. I wish I could make you understand. If I had a shred of...of proof...but he’s careful. He’s had time to plan. And he’s a coward. I bet he didn’t have the nerve to kill father himself.”
The man had slid to the floor of the balcony, his back against the railing as he contemplated Gianna with a hollow smile. Her heart ached to see him so overcome and demoralized and blaming it on their uncle without a scrap of evidence! If his coronation were not the following day, the people could have him tried and, gods forbid, executed for accusing treason so openly. But he too was grieving, Gianna reminded herself. Her expression softened as she assessed her brother, the man who would be crowned king in less than half a day’s time. She watched his eyes as a fire roared once more in their sky blue depths.
“And where is Zacharias’s body? Burned, more than likely. He can’t pay the ferryman…”
”Stephanos… What you speak of—if you speak the truth—you accuse our uncle of treason,” Gianna shook her head in disbelief, trying to process everything he had just told her. She could not even begin to think about Zacharias, unable to pay Charon and lost for eternity. Her eyes glazed over as her name slipped past Stephanos’s lips, his arms open and inviting. Without thinking, Gianna was on the floor next to her brother, wrapped in his arms seeking the comfort she did not realize she had been lacking. ”What can I do, brother?”
It was treason. He was aware of what a huge accusation it was. What it would mean if proven true. A prince of the realm, brother to the king, had butchered his own family for power. What was worse, was this tale wasn’t unheard of. And Irakles had never been a patient man. His patience had limits.
For whatever reason, after years and years, that patience had reached its end, to the detriment of his relatives. It was so senseless. Though he didn’t want to die, his own death was the weakest part of Irakles’s plan. To leave it to chance. And Fate had protected him that day. It was that reason he couldn’t give up the notion that Irakles was the murderer even if it would have been easier.
“I want you to act like nothing has changed…” He settled his cheek atop her head and closed his eyes, thinking. “Go to lessons, greet Irakles if he speaks to you…” Not that their uncle had ever paid much attention to the girls. But Irakles did tend to at least nod to people if he passed them in the hallway and as Gianna was a princess, it would be rude to ignore her completely, whatever his inclinations.
“Do not tell mother what I’ve told you. Or that you believe it.” He hoped she did. For both their sakes. “I don’t trust her judgement. Irakles has so twisted her mind…” They sat there for a moment longer and then he pulled her away to look at her. “Go on.” A brief smile and then, “I drank a little too much..I’m going to go sleep it off...not like I can do much work in there.” His eyes slid to the ruined study.
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It was treason. He was aware of what a huge accusation it was. What it would mean if proven true. A prince of the realm, brother to the king, had butchered his own family for power. What was worse, was this tale wasn’t unheard of. And Irakles had never been a patient man. His patience had limits.
For whatever reason, after years and years, that patience had reached its end, to the detriment of his relatives. It was so senseless. Though he didn’t want to die, his own death was the weakest part of Irakles’s plan. To leave it to chance. And Fate had protected him that day. It was that reason he couldn’t give up the notion that Irakles was the murderer even if it would have been easier.
“I want you to act like nothing has changed…” He settled his cheek atop her head and closed his eyes, thinking. “Go to lessons, greet Irakles if he speaks to you…” Not that their uncle had ever paid much attention to the girls. But Irakles did tend to at least nod to people if he passed them in the hallway and as Gianna was a princess, it would be rude to ignore her completely, whatever his inclinations.
“Do not tell mother what I’ve told you. Or that you believe it.” He hoped she did. For both their sakes. “I don’t trust her judgement. Irakles has so twisted her mind…” They sat there for a moment longer and then he pulled her away to look at her. “Go on.” A brief smile and then, “I drank a little too much..I’m going to go sleep it off...not like I can do much work in there.” His eyes slid to the ruined study.
It was treason. He was aware of what a huge accusation it was. What it would mean if proven true. A prince of the realm, brother to the king, had butchered his own family for power. What was worse, was this tale wasn’t unheard of. And Irakles had never been a patient man. His patience had limits.
For whatever reason, after years and years, that patience had reached its end, to the detriment of his relatives. It was so senseless. Though he didn’t want to die, his own death was the weakest part of Irakles’s plan. To leave it to chance. And Fate had protected him that day. It was that reason he couldn’t give up the notion that Irakles was the murderer even if it would have been easier.
“I want you to act like nothing has changed…” He settled his cheek atop her head and closed his eyes, thinking. “Go to lessons, greet Irakles if he speaks to you…” Not that their uncle had ever paid much attention to the girls. But Irakles did tend to at least nod to people if he passed them in the hallway and as Gianna was a princess, it would be rude to ignore her completely, whatever his inclinations.
“Do not tell mother what I’ve told you. Or that you believe it.” He hoped she did. For both their sakes. “I don’t trust her judgement. Irakles has so twisted her mind…” They sat there for a moment longer and then he pulled her away to look at her. “Go on.” A brief smile and then, “I drank a little too much..I’m going to go sleep it off...not like I can do much work in there.” His eyes slid to the ruined study.
“I want you to act like nothing has changed…”
For a moment Gianna could almost fool herself into thinking they had not. Wrapped in her brother’s encompassing arms with his cheek atop her head, she could almost believe that Zenon and Zacharias were waiting just on the other side of the study’s doors. But it was a cruel joke, a game played by ghosts on the hearts of the vulnerable and once more the weight of grief made its home. In a futile attempt to chase the happier memories, Gianna burrowed her head into the crook of Stephanos’s neck.
Wordlessly, she listened to her brother’s instructions. She would become a prisoner of her own making, unable to cry out to those closest to her for help. Is this how Stephanos felt? Had he felt like this since the Dionysus Festival? She had an unexpectedly harrowing revelation about just how resilient her brother truly was. Gianna was unsure if she would have lasted so long in such isolation, much less with the pressure of a coronation and a pregnant wife. Stephanos was undoubtedly the strongest person she had known.
For a moment longer they sat in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company before he pulled away to look at his sister. Upon his instructions to leave—he had imbibed too heavily and needed to rest—Gianna reluctantly left her brother’s warm embrace to rise from her seated position on the balcony. Her feet were sluggish as she made her way to the door of the study, perhaps weighed down with some fleeting hope to push off the inevitable if she could move slowly enough.
“Steph—” Gianna paused with her hand on the door, catching herself by how small, how young her voice sounded, even to her own ears. It had admittedly been years since she had referred to him by his diminutive, but she felt so hopelessly reduced by the information he had shared with her that she could not override her own instincts, instincts instilled in her since she had learned to speak. With the knowledge she must look like the child her voice resembled, Gianna turned her face to her brother. “I believe you. I believe in you.”
Without another word, the princess exited.
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“I want you to act like nothing has changed…”
For a moment Gianna could almost fool herself into thinking they had not. Wrapped in her brother’s encompassing arms with his cheek atop her head, she could almost believe that Zenon and Zacharias were waiting just on the other side of the study’s doors. But it was a cruel joke, a game played by ghosts on the hearts of the vulnerable and once more the weight of grief made its home. In a futile attempt to chase the happier memories, Gianna burrowed her head into the crook of Stephanos’s neck.
Wordlessly, she listened to her brother’s instructions. She would become a prisoner of her own making, unable to cry out to those closest to her for help. Is this how Stephanos felt? Had he felt like this since the Dionysus Festival? She had an unexpectedly harrowing revelation about just how resilient her brother truly was. Gianna was unsure if she would have lasted so long in such isolation, much less with the pressure of a coronation and a pregnant wife. Stephanos was undoubtedly the strongest person she had known.
For a moment longer they sat in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company before he pulled away to look at his sister. Upon his instructions to leave—he had imbibed too heavily and needed to rest—Gianna reluctantly left her brother’s warm embrace to rise from her seated position on the balcony. Her feet were sluggish as she made her way to the door of the study, perhaps weighed down with some fleeting hope to push off the inevitable if she could move slowly enough.
“Steph—” Gianna paused with her hand on the door, catching herself by how small, how young her voice sounded, even to her own ears. It had admittedly been years since she had referred to him by his diminutive, but she felt so hopelessly reduced by the information he had shared with her that she could not override her own instincts, instincts instilled in her since she had learned to speak. With the knowledge she must look like the child her voice resembled, Gianna turned her face to her brother. “I believe you. I believe in you.”
Without another word, the princess exited.
“I want you to act like nothing has changed…”
For a moment Gianna could almost fool herself into thinking they had not. Wrapped in her brother’s encompassing arms with his cheek atop her head, she could almost believe that Zenon and Zacharias were waiting just on the other side of the study’s doors. But it was a cruel joke, a game played by ghosts on the hearts of the vulnerable and once more the weight of grief made its home. In a futile attempt to chase the happier memories, Gianna burrowed her head into the crook of Stephanos’s neck.
Wordlessly, she listened to her brother’s instructions. She would become a prisoner of her own making, unable to cry out to those closest to her for help. Is this how Stephanos felt? Had he felt like this since the Dionysus Festival? She had an unexpectedly harrowing revelation about just how resilient her brother truly was. Gianna was unsure if she would have lasted so long in such isolation, much less with the pressure of a coronation and a pregnant wife. Stephanos was undoubtedly the strongest person she had known.
For a moment longer they sat in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company before he pulled away to look at his sister. Upon his instructions to leave—he had imbibed too heavily and needed to rest—Gianna reluctantly left her brother’s warm embrace to rise from her seated position on the balcony. Her feet were sluggish as she made her way to the door of the study, perhaps weighed down with some fleeting hope to push off the inevitable if she could move slowly enough.
“Steph—” Gianna paused with her hand on the door, catching herself by how small, how young her voice sounded, even to her own ears. It had admittedly been years since she had referred to him by his diminutive, but she felt so hopelessly reduced by the information he had shared with her that she could not override her own instincts, instincts instilled in her since she had learned to speak. With the knowledge she must look like the child her voice resembled, Gianna turned her face to her brother. “I believe you. I believe in you.”
