He was still riding the high of victory. The walk to the palati was nothing and as he made his way with Xene and Olympia, he spoke in a steady stream, describing the battle for them, the kills he’d made, how the Creed had not uttered a single sound, even as some of them were engulfed in flames. The stories of nearly being killed, being saved by others, of himself saving some of his men, of the bravery of his soldiers and the fluid, ghostlike gracefulness of the Creed fighters. All his ideas were flowing out of him, bouncing from one to the next as he then realized that the Creed were amazing, even on the battlefield and that they had to have been trained. There weren’t too many in Taengea who could whip so many into shape like that.

It was the first time he was of the opinion that Irakles might not be the only one assisting the Creed. But who else might be and what they stood to gain was a different question entirely. Once they got to the palati, however, he stopped talking about the battle or any of his ideas outloud.

The king and queen parted from the princess and made their way to the baths. Now that they were close to washing off the day’s grime and gore, Stephanos was starting to actually feel the aches and pains of battle. When Olympia had removed his armor at the tents, the lightness that came with removing 70lbs of bronze was immeasurable and that had given him a new surge of strength to keep going. Now that servants were removing his torn tunic, he felt like a weight was somehow being added back on.

Pia ran the backs of her knuckles over his lower stomach and he covered her hand with his. He looked down at her fingers and raised them to his lips, really and truly glad that she was alive, that the baby was alive, and that she hadn’t preemptively poisoned herself. She pulled away from him then and moved toward the water. He watched her, admiring the way she looked. She was heavy with child but that enhanced her, knowing that she carried his heir.

As she settled in the water, he made his way to the edge of the pool and slipped into it once she opened her arms to him. He was only too happy to let her apply herself to the task of washing them both. His obedience to her command was only delayed by the time it took to dip under the water completely to wet his hair. Then he presented himself to her, turning his back and sitting down on the lowest step of the pool so that the water came up to just below his shoulders. He closed his eyes and let her work how she wanted.

Once all of the servants were out of the room and he knew they were well and truly alone, he spoke.

“That Creed leader I was telling you about...I don’t think he’ll talk if I go to him tonight. I’ll find out from him all I can and then I’m going to kill him.”

He turned to her then and stopped her hand in his hair for a second. His bright blue eyes searched her warm dark ones for a second. Taking a deep breath, he let it out and then said, “No matter what happens….or what I find out...I want you to trust me. Throw out those poisons. I can’t stomach the thought of you dying for no reason.”

The room was not a particularly big room. It was rectangle in shape with a low ceiling, comprising of a stone floor and walls, with a deep pool taking up most of the floor space. There were no windows and the room was built on the ground floor of the palati. To keep the water warm, scalding hot stones were placed at one end of the bath and the air was full of steam from fires constantly burning. The small fires were ensconced in protective little oven like structures built into the walls themselves at each corner of the room. Small funnels allowed smoke from the fires to escape but were domed so that the heated air could not escape through the funnels.

Because the air was continuously hot, the water stayed fairly warm and it was not a punishment to be completely naked in the open air. In the swirling steam, the features of her face took on a soft, feathered quality that only became more blurred as she leaned in to kiss his forehead. Her words immediately after were not reassuring. They’d had this conversation before. Yesterday, in fact, but that felt like a lifetime ago. He no more wanted her to use the poisons then, than he did now; though he’d reluctantly acquiesced to her reasoning last evening, and did the same now. He didn’t want her or the baby to be murdered, which was the more likely of the scenarios she’d presented him with.

Yesterday evening, both of them were making plans in case he was slain on the battlefield. Today, he was alive and well, and other than minor injuries, unharmed. It seemed silly, now that he’d eradicated the Creed, to actively fear for their lives. ...Save that Irakles was still breathing. Stephanos had yet to find out that his uncle had already moved his things into the palati to take up permanent residence. It was just as well. Such knowledge would have soured his ability to enjoy his wife’s presence.

“Nothing is going to happen,” he said confidently. “I promise…” Twisting even further, he settled his hands on her stomach. “I promise.” He pressed a kiss to the roundest part of her stomach and felt the baby move as he did it. Stephanos pulled back and smiled, then put his mouth back there. “Little king…” he waited for another kick before continuing. “You’re making your mother very uncomfortable. Be sweet.”

He didn’t care that what he was saying sounded a bit idiotic. He’d never talked to an unborn infant before and wasn’t entirely sure what to say. However, he glanced up at Pia and raised his eyebrows at her. “How much longer, do you think?” Part of him was glad that his son was still safely inside Pia. The other, more curious part wanted to meet the baby. To see this little person who would one day reign over Taengea when his time was finished.

Maybe it was silly, perhaps not, but he liked when she ruffled his hair. It was comforting. So what if it was dirty at the moment? They’d been discussing yesterday that this might not even be a possibility. He was more than willing to let her touch him, dirty or not, especially if it meant that she had forgiven him for...everything. His host of mistakes, lately. The spitefulness that was not usual for him. Their fight had been severe and the repercussions of it numerous.

This was a nice time. One he didn’t want to leave. He’d stay here in this room as long as she wanted. When she beamed down at him, he gave her a wink and smiled back. Perhaps he should have been more demonstrative of his want for the baby, but the feeling was new. Of course he wanted an heir but their life hadn’t been conducive to thinking about the ‘future’ as it were. When he usually thought of the child growing in her womb, it was less of a person and more of a way to secure his father’s line. His line.

Now that he’d eradicated most of their near constant fears, had the leader of the Creed sitting in a dungeon under the Order house, and was sure to be rid of Irakles soon, he was thinking of the baby. And the mother in warmer terms than he’d ever stopped to do. Nothing about the last three or four months had been normal. Except this moment.

He put his arms around her and gently drew her deeper into the water with him until she was submerged to her shoulders as well. Again her hand came up into his hair and then down his neck to his shoulders, working the knots there. As she searched his features, he watched her deep brown eyes, finding himself wondering what she was thinking about. It soon became obvious when she asked him what they should name their son.

“I would have liked Zenon...but I don’t like to tempt fate…” he didn’t even bother to suggest his brother’s name for the same reason. “Leonine...it means lion…” he said but shrugged. He wasn’t attached to it. “Or...Apollos? Maybe curry favor from a god for him? Have at least one of our family noticed by the divine…”

His words trailed away and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. The way he’d moved her earlier, her back was to the wall and he faced her with his arms loose about her waist. Perhaps this was not the best moment to bring it up, but he was having an extreme prick of conscience. He deepened their kiss, keeping her mouth occupied until it became necessary to pull away so that both of them could breathe. With his forehead pressed against hers, and their noses touching, he opened his eyes and stared into what he could see of hers.

“Pia...that new lady in waiting of yours...I don’t think you need her, do you? You may send her away if you wish. She’s rather underfoot, perhaps?”

He ignored the sorrow that briefly marred her expression. Even though he’d brought up his father, he didn’t want to dwell on any one memory for too long. More than that, he didn’t want to dredge up a conversation. He wasn’t in danger of breaking down into violent sobs but that didn’t mean the pain was any less. Right now, on the heels of victory was the last place for sadness. Now was a happy time. Or at least, he’d force it to be.

Though she’d always loved or admired him from afar, he hadn’t sought her out. She was the fortunate accident that fate had thrown into his path. A happenstance that he was grateful for, especially since she was convinced, and had convinced him in the process, that she was carrying his son and heir. He did not allow for any other possibility. If she bore a girl, he did not think Irakles would allow him the chance to try again. No. Failure wasn’t an option and Olympia wouldn’t fail in her duty. She hadn’t yet. There was little enough reason to suspect she would when the time came.

“Zena,” he tested it and found that he quite liked it. It was close but not too close and more than that, it seemed like it would suit a child of his. For the boy, when she approved both names, he merely smiled at her. He did not think she was carrying twins but he didn’t bother to press her to pick either of the names yet. That would come when his son was born.

He gave nothing away when she sent a little dagger in his direction. There was no way to tell if she absolutely knew but suspicious? She’d be a fool not to be. After all, the woman was beautiful and Stephanos hadn’t been around her enough to know her particularly well. He wasn’t privy to the moods that she showed to Pia or to anyone else. All he’d seen was the happy bit of personality that anyone who wasn’t an idiot made sure a king saw. Being sad or otherwise angry in front of the reigning monarch just wasn’t done. Not unless by immediate family.

“How sad for her,” he said without any more thought to the maid at all. Perhaps that was a little cold but she was always meant to be temporary. His constant companion was in his arms right now and he didn’t want any more useless distractions. He wanted to be for Pia what she wanted and needed; a true husband. Not her lover who’d just happened to marry her to save the baby from being a bastard. There was nothing in the world he wanted to discuss less with her than her now former maid.

“Did you actually worry for me?” he planted a playful kiss on her nose, then her cheek, then her temple, all while his hands slid down her bare back. “You could show me how happy you are that I’m home.” Pulling back, he flashed a mischievous grin at her. “Unless you’re too tired…” He held her to him by her ass, not in the least caring that her stomach was between them. Her breasts had grown larger and rounder and quite took his attention away from anything else.

The heat and steam of the room had a sort of lulling, calming effect on him. He felt like as long as they were in here, the world could wait. They had the rest of the evening and on into the night if they wanted. There was no where he needed to be in the early morning and he planned to sleep with her in her room later, even if this turned into nothing at all. The stupid fight that had wedged itself between them was over and he wanted to be passed it and done with it. He wanted his wife.

The earnestness of the kiss took him a little by surprise. It shouldn’t have. Olympia never did anything halves. Whatever she did was done with as much energy and passion as she could muster. For some reason, he’d not grown used to knowing that she loved him, or that she loved him this much. It was a little humbling whenever he was confronted with her feelings.

He held her for as long as she wanted, kissing down her neck to the dip in her shoulder, then traveling back up to her lips. Were she not heavy with child, he’d have taken her there in the bath, but the way they would need to was uncomfortable for her and his muscles were in agony from fighting all day. Laying down with her was more appealing than the logistics of supporting them both in the water.

“His majesty wishes for us to retire to your chambers,” he finished her unsaid thought from earlier. They almost exited the bath right then except that the whole point of coming here had thus far not even been started on. There was a box of soaps and scented oils near to where Olympia had situated herself. Stephanos let her wash his hair and body, and found himself unsurprised with all the little nicks and cuts that made themselves apparent once the grime was washed away.

The backs of his hands were the worst. Partially from fending off sword attacks and partially from when he’d been knocked off his feet by one of the Creed. He’d had to catch himself with one arm. The bronze bracer he’d word had protected most of his forearm but his elbow and palm weren’t as lucky. The wound was very minor and nothing to the one up on the back of his shoulder from the throwing star making it through his armor. Still, even that wound and the one on his thigh were not life threatening and were more annoying than anything else.

Once he’d helped Olympia with her hair and had poured a little scented oil onto his fingers and brushed them through his hair, he sat patiently on the bath’s side and let her wrap clean linen strips around the wounds that needed them. Servants came with fresh clothing for the two of them. He ran his hands down his torso, amazed at how little it took to feel human again after so much bloodshed.

“Come on,” he said, taking her arm and threading it through his. “You need to be in bed.” She’d managed to make him forget that she was supposed to be resting; not walking from the palati and then all the way back, then down to the baths with him and from there to her rooms. This was how she got her way most of the time; just playing on his wants and desires - in this case, to see her.

As they walked to her chambers, he was simultaneously excited for her to have the baby, and wary of it. Once the infant was born, that was another Mikaelidas in front of Irakles for the throne, not to mention he could stop obsessing over her overall wellbeing. It was exhausting. He knew Pia could take care of herself but while carrying the heir to the kingdom, this was a little more important, and thus her body a little more sacred than it otherwise might be. They needed this baby. The wariness came because he was not convinced that Irakles would wait to make whatever move he was going to. It would be smartest to just have both of them poisoned; that’s what he’d do, at least.

Once settled in the bed together, they lay in the dark, half tangled together. Why he had assumed he’d be able to stay awake once he had a pillow under his head, he had no idea. He was asleep within minutes, his arms around her, having pulled her back, flush against his chest. Morning was when he was awake enough to give into her demands for affection.

They spent an almost pleasant three days in this way, but she was the only happy part of his life. As soon as he emerged from his own chambers after having gone there to change clothes, one of his advisors had told him what his mother had done behind his back. Irakles now lived in the palati. Within its walls. His eyes and ears on Stephanos at almost all times. It was as though his mother had the noose and Irakles was tightening it, ready to send him to a slow and excruciating death.

His days were mostly spent trying to figure out what his uncle was up to, in between trying to maintain control of his own court. Irakles’s greedy hands were in everything, always under the guise of helping but always publicly spreading around that he was ‘assisting’ the king. As though Stephanos were a child. It drove Stephanos mad. There were too many people in the palati who were either under Irakles’s sway or on his payroll. Stephanos could not keep up with what the prince was plotting.

The one secret he had from his uncle was the Creed Leader in the basement of the Order House. But even that went downhill fast. He’d gone there in the early afternoon and abruptly returned to the palati. He wore a dark crimson himation, hiding his hands in it. His old brotherhood hadn’t let him leave the scene without washing at least his face and lending him the himation to hide his clothes.

He didn’t go to his own rooms immediately. He went to his wife’s. Walking in the door unannounced, he ordered out her maids and ladies. He stood statue still, watching Pia as the women filed out around him. Not until the door clicked shut did he open his mouth to speak.

“I interrogated the Creed Leader just now,” he told her in a flat, detached voice. As he spoke, he unburied his hands and held out the bloody mess of his knuckles for her to see. Deep gouges from the man’s broken teeth and from the hard impact of fist meeting face made up most of the wounds there. Some of the blood was Stephanos’s, some of it wasn’t. If she moved the himation away from his body, she’d find blood spatters all over his chiton.

“It went poorly,” he said.

He hadn’t been looking at the women surrounding her or what they’d been doing. All of it had completely escaped his notice - his wife lounging on the bed, listening in near perfect serenity to the poems being read to her. Another woman had been fanning them with a long handled fan of vibrant white feathers, designed to keep air circulating through the room. Others had been cleaning, some playing music, some preparing the table for food to be brought up to the room. All of them going about their normal lives, heedless of what had just happened.

As each one bowed to him before passing by to leave, he finally glared at each woman in the face but the look softened by the last maid. Perhaps there were women in the Creed, perhaps not. He suspected that there wasn’t but he still did not want to relay the information he had to anyone other than those whom he trusted most. The only person that he wanted to speak to who fit that description was Pia.

The look on her face when she gingerly held his hands made him blink. He’d been in a flat daze since murdering the Creed leader. This wasn’t the first time he’d ever killed someone, but it was the first time he’d done it in cold blood, to a man who could not and would not defend himself. The skin of his hands stung in the open air but he didn’t jerk them away as Pia inspected them.

Across the room, near the balcony stood a short table with a wide, shallow bowl on its center. Beside the bowl was a pitcher of water. Pia led him to the table without hurry and without a word. He kept watching her for signs of distress or perhaps of fear. She showed none of this on the outside that he could see. Instead, she had him place his hands with their shredded knuckles in the bottom of the bowl as she poured water over them.

He watched as thin red ribbons of blood leaked out into the surrounding water. The ribbons curled and folded in on themselves until all of the crystal clear water was contaminated and pink. From beside the bowl’s other side, she took a linen towel and dabbed at his hands, asking if they were safe. For a few seconds, he didn’t really know how to answer that. It was easier to watch her clean his wounds than to tell her the truth.

“He’s dead,” he said in a low voice, his eyes on her face. Perhaps he was trying to gauge if she was as calm as she seemed. She was one of the only people who’d known about the Creed leader but he hadn’t told even her when he would be interrogating the man. Waiting the three days had been a game of how long he could hold out. Now, it didn’t matter.

“We….” he’d never wanted to lie to her so badly in his life. Not even when she’d caught him with other women. Now, he would have to put her back into that little box of fear they’d been huddled in and it made his insides twist. She’d been so calm and content these last few days. But if she didn’t know the truth, she would not be prepared.

“He claims that we still have someone in our home who will kill us.” It took every ounce of self control he had to leave his hands in the water; to not cup her face to force her to look him in the eye. “That’s as much confirmation that Irakles did it as I can get...and I’ve killed my only credible lead.” There was more. Once his hands were wrapped in linen strips, he told her about the Creed leader’s assertion that they hadn’t crushed the cult - not by a long shot. He also told her of his doubt as to the number of people that could possibly be. This, he felt, was either a lie or at the very least, stretching the truth on the leader’s part.

“Irakles will move soon,” Stephanos said, sitting down on the end of her bed, holding his head in his hands. “I don’t know how but he won’t let the baby be born if he can help it.”

He glanced up at her and saw what he had known would be there; fear. Her eyes were wide with it. The sunlit room they were in, warm and bright, did nothing to touch the chill that had gathered inside his chest. He hadn’t needed to tell her that she, herself, was in danger because that was inherent inside his assertion that Irakles would not leave the baby alone. Nor would his uncle rest until he was out of the way.

“I don’t trust anyone else either,” he said, hating that. “Maybe...maybe Achilleas...and Emilios but I can’t risk it. They’re too close.” He hated that he could not place absolute trust in Achilleas. Now there was a man in Taengea who’d never lost a single duel or fight in his life. If anyone could physically protect the queen and her unborn child, it was his cousin. Yet, that road led right next to Irakles and it was just somewhere Stephanos was not willing to go.

He rose from the bed and crossed the room to take her hands in his. She was much shorter than he and he bent just a little at the knee to see her face better. “Olympia,” his tone was the one he used when he didn’t want her to argue, only to obey. “No poisons this time. Our son needs to be born, and he needs to murder that son of a bitch if I die first.”

Hugging her to him, he wrapped his arms completely around her and rested his chin on top of her head. He stared at the opposite wall and absently toyed with the fabric of her gown. Obviously if he was dead, he couldn’t make her do what he said; but it was worth a try. The last thing he wanted was for the only heir to his line to be wiped out because the child’s mother was stricken with grief. Such things happened, but he needed it not to this time.

“I love you,” he said after a long pause.

The curtains shielding the room from the balcony swayed in the gentle breeze. Nothing moved in this room. It should have been peaceful but it wasn't. It almost felt like a prison because there was nowhere to go. With a sigh, he buried his face in her hair.