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Since that morning and the breakfast gone wrong with Achilleas, Theodora’s whole day had been a disaster. Annoyed and short with nearly everyone she spoke to, it was clear the Queen wasn’t herself, but she couldn’t even tell anyone why, no matter their gentle probing. Though she’d told Achilleas she would think and the act the way she wanted, she wasn’t truly so foolish as to go broadcasting her opinions on the late king and exiled prince, and so she remained tight-lipped when she was questioned on her foul mood. “Didn’t sleep well,” was the most she would say, and most were wise enough to stay quiet after that.
It was with an immense sense of relief that she retired to her chambers that evening, dismissing Eliana and Althaia early so she could be alone. She suspected it would be a while before Achilleas joined her—perhaps she might even manage to fall asleep before he did and thus delay the inevitable continuation of their argument until the next day. Gods knew she was in no mood to continue it tonight.
Sitting down in front of her looking glass, Theo began removing the pins that held her coiffed hair in place, momentarily regretting having dismissed Eliana already. She knew where all the dratted things were; the Queen would have to figure it out on her own and hope she didn’t wake with one embedded in her skull in the morning. Ah, well. It wasn’t like she was totally helpless, just impatient.
One by one, she pulled them free and set them on the surface in front of her. Gingerly running her fingers through the dark curls that fell free, she sighed in relief that she seemed to have gotten them all. Picking up her brush, she slowly ran it through to the ends, a soothing and repetitive motion that had her tense shoulders falling a little. After the frustration of the day, it was nice to snatch a few moments of quiet.
Had she overreacted that morning? Maybe. Theodora had always been one to speak first and think later, and she could admit that perhaps her words held more sting than they should have. She knew the position Achilleas occupied was an uneasy one, just as hers was. His was doubly so—should he believe Stephanos and Olympia’s story, it would mean his own father had set out to murder his cousin. And while Theo had no trouble believing such a thing, she could understand why Achilleas might.
But gods damn it, she hated when he spoke down to her like she was just an unruly child. She was a woman grown and the Queen—no matter that he was the King, it still chafed her that he should address her in such a way. Especially when she was right. It wasn’t her fault that he chose to be so blind.
Hearing the door push open, Theodora stiffened. Either it was later than she thought, or her husband was unusually early, but either way, her plan of being asleep when he returned was suddenly dashed to pieces. Her gaze cut toward him for a moment when he entered before it cut back away, continuing to run the brush through her hair as if she hadn’t even noticed him. She’d be damned if she would speak first.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Since that morning and the breakfast gone wrong with Achilleas, Theodora’s whole day had been a disaster. Annoyed and short with nearly everyone she spoke to, it was clear the Queen wasn’t herself, but she couldn’t even tell anyone why, no matter their gentle probing. Though she’d told Achilleas she would think and the act the way she wanted, she wasn’t truly so foolish as to go broadcasting her opinions on the late king and exiled prince, and so she remained tight-lipped when she was questioned on her foul mood. “Didn’t sleep well,” was the most she would say, and most were wise enough to stay quiet after that.
It was with an immense sense of relief that she retired to her chambers that evening, dismissing Eliana and Althaia early so she could be alone. She suspected it would be a while before Achilleas joined her—perhaps she might even manage to fall asleep before he did and thus delay the inevitable continuation of their argument until the next day. Gods knew she was in no mood to continue it tonight.
Sitting down in front of her looking glass, Theo began removing the pins that held her coiffed hair in place, momentarily regretting having dismissed Eliana already. She knew where all the dratted things were; the Queen would have to figure it out on her own and hope she didn’t wake with one embedded in her skull in the morning. Ah, well. It wasn’t like she was totally helpless, just impatient.
One by one, she pulled them free and set them on the surface in front of her. Gingerly running her fingers through the dark curls that fell free, she sighed in relief that she seemed to have gotten them all. Picking up her brush, she slowly ran it through to the ends, a soothing and repetitive motion that had her tense shoulders falling a little. After the frustration of the day, it was nice to snatch a few moments of quiet.
Had she overreacted that morning? Maybe. Theodora had always been one to speak first and think later, and she could admit that perhaps her words held more sting than they should have. She knew the position Achilleas occupied was an uneasy one, just as hers was. His was doubly so—should he believe Stephanos and Olympia’s story, it would mean his own father had set out to murder his cousin. And while Theo had no trouble believing such a thing, she could understand why Achilleas might.
But gods damn it, she hated when he spoke down to her like she was just an unruly child. She was a woman grown and the Queen—no matter that he was the King, it still chafed her that he should address her in such a way. Especially when she was right. It wasn’t her fault that he chose to be so blind.
Hearing the door push open, Theodora stiffened. Either it was later than she thought, or her husband was unusually early, but either way, her plan of being asleep when he returned was suddenly dashed to pieces. Her gaze cut toward him for a moment when he entered before it cut back away, continuing to run the brush through her hair as if she hadn’t even noticed him. She’d be damned if she would speak first.
Since that morning and the breakfast gone wrong with Achilleas, Theodora’s whole day had been a disaster. Annoyed and short with nearly everyone she spoke to, it was clear the Queen wasn’t herself, but she couldn’t even tell anyone why, no matter their gentle probing. Though she’d told Achilleas she would think and the act the way she wanted, she wasn’t truly so foolish as to go broadcasting her opinions on the late king and exiled prince, and so she remained tight-lipped when she was questioned on her foul mood. “Didn’t sleep well,” was the most she would say, and most were wise enough to stay quiet after that.
It was with an immense sense of relief that she retired to her chambers that evening, dismissing Eliana and Althaia early so she could be alone. She suspected it would be a while before Achilleas joined her—perhaps she might even manage to fall asleep before he did and thus delay the inevitable continuation of their argument until the next day. Gods knew she was in no mood to continue it tonight.
Sitting down in front of her looking glass, Theo began removing the pins that held her coiffed hair in place, momentarily regretting having dismissed Eliana already. She knew where all the dratted things were; the Queen would have to figure it out on her own and hope she didn’t wake with one embedded in her skull in the morning. Ah, well. It wasn’t like she was totally helpless, just impatient.
One by one, she pulled them free and set them on the surface in front of her. Gingerly running her fingers through the dark curls that fell free, she sighed in relief that she seemed to have gotten them all. Picking up her brush, she slowly ran it through to the ends, a soothing and repetitive motion that had her tense shoulders falling a little. After the frustration of the day, it was nice to snatch a few moments of quiet.
Had she overreacted that morning? Maybe. Theodora had always been one to speak first and think later, and she could admit that perhaps her words held more sting than they should have. She knew the position Achilleas occupied was an uneasy one, just as hers was. His was doubly so—should he believe Stephanos and Olympia’s story, it would mean his own father had set out to murder his cousin. And while Theo had no trouble believing such a thing, she could understand why Achilleas might.
But gods damn it, she hated when he spoke down to her like she was just an unruly child. She was a woman grown and the Queen—no matter that he was the King, it still chafed her that he should address her in such a way. Especially when she was right. It wasn’t her fault that he chose to be so blind.
Hearing the door push open, Theodora stiffened. Either it was later than she thought, or her husband was unusually early, but either way, her plan of being asleep when he returned was suddenly dashed to pieces. Her gaze cut toward him for a moment when he entered before it cut back away, continuing to run the brush through her hair as if she hadn’t even noticed him. She’d be damned if she would speak first.
Achilleas’ day had not gone much better. He’d not found anything of use in his father’s study, but being in there, surrounded by the man’s things had been oddly draining, and he’d spent the rest of the day losing focus in meetings, not being as attentive as he could be because his thoughts kept returning to his wife’s words.
And he absolutely wasn’t brooding over them as he sat in his own office, turning the stylus in his hand over and over repeatedly.
‘...But I know. That’s too hard.’
He huffed a sigh, scowled at the parchment in front of him which he was supposed to be reviewing, picked it up and scanned it again, reading the proposal for the fortifications of the city that the Master of War had redrafted that day after his earlier feedback. Achilleas tried to concentrate.
Who did she think she was? Nobody who knew him well would poke at his relationship with his father even at the best of times, and yet Theodora? She seemed to have no compunction about it all. Like he hadn’t just..like he wasn’t…
Dead.
Achilleas didn’t know why it was so difficult to apply the concept to his father. He’d seen enough death to have thought any such sensitivities around it long gone. He’d killed, had seen men die in front of him so many times. He’d seen his Uncle’s head paraded upon a stake in the circus for Hera’s sake.
Still, his father’s death had somehow knocked him sideways, and it was growing difficult to keep pretending otherwise, to keep on as if everything was fine. How was he supposed to grieve a man who might have been embroiled in a plan to hurt others he cared about? How was he supposed to be King when the roots of it were so tangled and twisted?
Running a hand through his hair, Achilleas set down the paper and glanced up when there was a rap on the door and then an immediate entry, whomever it was not waiting for an answer. His gaze met that of Petros with only a hint of exasperation, but there was little heat in it, and the king set down the paper he was failing at reading and raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Petros?”
The older man had a unique sort of indulgence, he’d been Achilleas’ retainer for more years than the young could count, but above and beyond, had been something of a treasure when the elder of Irakles son’s had first taken up his barony and been left alone in the running of it. Much more approachable than the boy’s own father, Petros had earned himself the liberties he took with decorum now. A fact Achilleas came to dislike in the next moment.
‘I just thought you might like to know the Queen has retired for the evening, your Majesty.’
Achilleas stared at him blankly.
‘In case you were to wanting to join her, your Majesty, instead of hiding in here?’
“I’m not hiding” the king asserted, waving expansively at the papers before him. “I’m working” But the older man just looked at him steadily, and Achilleas thought perhaps news of their uncomfortable breakfast had reached Petros’ ears. He hoped not.
‘There is a wise saying, my King, about not letting disagreements fester until morn. You might have heard it?
That confirmed it for him, and though he frowned, Achilleas made himself busy tidying the parchment before him, so he didn’t have to meet the too knowing gaze of his retainer. He’d sorted into it three distinct piles in order of urgency before he tired of the loaded silence and looked up once more.
He found the older man's somewhat gentle expression somehow harder to stomach, and with an uncustomary curtness, Achilleas dismissed him. He wasn’t going to discuss that any further.
It was only after the man had gone and he could almost pretend that it was his own idea that the king sighed and pushed to his feet, straightened the last few things on his desk before he recognised that he was procrastinating and hating himself for it.
By the time he reached the chambers that they had so recently acquired, Achilleas had prepared himself to receive her apology graciously and to draw a line under it as a misunderstanding. He would tell her of the conversations he’d had with Lord Gavriil, with the Colchian master informer and she would know that he wasn’t as oblivious to things as she thought him. He’d played out the entire interaction in his head to a satisfactory conclusion, which was why he was so unprepared for the somewhat stony silence that greeted him as he entered their private quarters.
Theodora looked at him,saw him, and then let her gaze slide away without as much as a hello, and Achilleas realised that the apology he’d been expecting was not going to be an imminent occurrence. The thought had him bristle, because what did she have to be so angry about still?
He’d paused in the doorway and stood there for a moment watching the repetitive motion of his wife drawing the brush through the long lengths of her hair, waiting her out, but when the silence pervaded Achilleas gave a quietly exasperated sigh. He moved across the room and removed the gold cuff bearing the lion’s head, let it settle on the wooden table with a clang.
This was ridiculous.
Bracing his knuckles on the edge of the small table, he drew a breath and shook his head slightly before he turned. Theodora continued brushing her hair, and he watched and waited for some acknowledgement even, unsure what to do in the face of her persistent silence.
This was not the sort of disagreement he was equipped to deal with. Generally, senators in the dikastirio did not just refuse to speak, and soldiers knew better than to ignore their Commander. Achilleas felt out of his depth.
After a few long moments, he eventually came to stand beside Theodora, addressing her reflection in the looking glass as he held his hand out for the brush.
“May I?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Achilleas’ day had not gone much better. He’d not found anything of use in his father’s study, but being in there, surrounded by the man’s things had been oddly draining, and he’d spent the rest of the day losing focus in meetings, not being as attentive as he could be because his thoughts kept returning to his wife’s words.
And he absolutely wasn’t brooding over them as he sat in his own office, turning the stylus in his hand over and over repeatedly.
‘...But I know. That’s too hard.’
He huffed a sigh, scowled at the parchment in front of him which he was supposed to be reviewing, picked it up and scanned it again, reading the proposal for the fortifications of the city that the Master of War had redrafted that day after his earlier feedback. Achilleas tried to concentrate.
Who did she think she was? Nobody who knew him well would poke at his relationship with his father even at the best of times, and yet Theodora? She seemed to have no compunction about it all. Like he hadn’t just..like he wasn’t…
Dead.
Achilleas didn’t know why it was so difficult to apply the concept to his father. He’d seen enough death to have thought any such sensitivities around it long gone. He’d killed, had seen men die in front of him so many times. He’d seen his Uncle’s head paraded upon a stake in the circus for Hera’s sake.
Still, his father’s death had somehow knocked him sideways, and it was growing difficult to keep pretending otherwise, to keep on as if everything was fine. How was he supposed to grieve a man who might have been embroiled in a plan to hurt others he cared about? How was he supposed to be King when the roots of it were so tangled and twisted?
Running a hand through his hair, Achilleas set down the paper and glanced up when there was a rap on the door and then an immediate entry, whomever it was not waiting for an answer. His gaze met that of Petros with only a hint of exasperation, but there was little heat in it, and the king set down the paper he was failing at reading and raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Petros?”
The older man had a unique sort of indulgence, he’d been Achilleas’ retainer for more years than the young could count, but above and beyond, had been something of a treasure when the elder of Irakles son’s had first taken up his barony and been left alone in the running of it. Much more approachable than the boy’s own father, Petros had earned himself the liberties he took with decorum now. A fact Achilleas came to dislike in the next moment.
‘I just thought you might like to know the Queen has retired for the evening, your Majesty.’
Achilleas stared at him blankly.
‘In case you were to wanting to join her, your Majesty, instead of hiding in here?’
“I’m not hiding” the king asserted, waving expansively at the papers before him. “I’m working” But the older man just looked at him steadily, and Achilleas thought perhaps news of their uncomfortable breakfast had reached Petros’ ears. He hoped not.
‘There is a wise saying, my King, about not letting disagreements fester until morn. You might have heard it?
That confirmed it for him, and though he frowned, Achilleas made himself busy tidying the parchment before him, so he didn’t have to meet the too knowing gaze of his retainer. He’d sorted into it three distinct piles in order of urgency before he tired of the loaded silence and looked up once more.
He found the older man's somewhat gentle expression somehow harder to stomach, and with an uncustomary curtness, Achilleas dismissed him. He wasn’t going to discuss that any further.
It was only after the man had gone and he could almost pretend that it was his own idea that the king sighed and pushed to his feet, straightened the last few things on his desk before he recognised that he was procrastinating and hating himself for it.
By the time he reached the chambers that they had so recently acquired, Achilleas had prepared himself to receive her apology graciously and to draw a line under it as a misunderstanding. He would tell her of the conversations he’d had with Lord Gavriil, with the Colchian master informer and she would know that he wasn’t as oblivious to things as she thought him. He’d played out the entire interaction in his head to a satisfactory conclusion, which was why he was so unprepared for the somewhat stony silence that greeted him as he entered their private quarters.
Theodora looked at him,saw him, and then let her gaze slide away without as much as a hello, and Achilleas realised that the apology he’d been expecting was not going to be an imminent occurrence. The thought had him bristle, because what did she have to be so angry about still?
He’d paused in the doorway and stood there for a moment watching the repetitive motion of his wife drawing the brush through the long lengths of her hair, waiting her out, but when the silence pervaded Achilleas gave a quietly exasperated sigh. He moved across the room and removed the gold cuff bearing the lion’s head, let it settle on the wooden table with a clang.
This was ridiculous.
Bracing his knuckles on the edge of the small table, he drew a breath and shook his head slightly before he turned. Theodora continued brushing her hair, and he watched and waited for some acknowledgement even, unsure what to do in the face of her persistent silence.
This was not the sort of disagreement he was equipped to deal with. Generally, senators in the dikastirio did not just refuse to speak, and soldiers knew better than to ignore their Commander. Achilleas felt out of his depth.
After a few long moments, he eventually came to stand beside Theodora, addressing her reflection in the looking glass as he held his hand out for the brush.
“May I?”
Achilleas’ day had not gone much better. He’d not found anything of use in his father’s study, but being in there, surrounded by the man’s things had been oddly draining, and he’d spent the rest of the day losing focus in meetings, not being as attentive as he could be because his thoughts kept returning to his wife’s words.
And he absolutely wasn’t brooding over them as he sat in his own office, turning the stylus in his hand over and over repeatedly.
‘...But I know. That’s too hard.’
He huffed a sigh, scowled at the parchment in front of him which he was supposed to be reviewing, picked it up and scanned it again, reading the proposal for the fortifications of the city that the Master of War had redrafted that day after his earlier feedback. Achilleas tried to concentrate.
Who did she think she was? Nobody who knew him well would poke at his relationship with his father even at the best of times, and yet Theodora? She seemed to have no compunction about it all. Like he hadn’t just..like he wasn’t…
Dead.
Achilleas didn’t know why it was so difficult to apply the concept to his father. He’d seen enough death to have thought any such sensitivities around it long gone. He’d killed, had seen men die in front of him so many times. He’d seen his Uncle’s head paraded upon a stake in the circus for Hera’s sake.
Still, his father’s death had somehow knocked him sideways, and it was growing difficult to keep pretending otherwise, to keep on as if everything was fine. How was he supposed to grieve a man who might have been embroiled in a plan to hurt others he cared about? How was he supposed to be King when the roots of it were so tangled and twisted?
Running a hand through his hair, Achilleas set down the paper and glanced up when there was a rap on the door and then an immediate entry, whomever it was not waiting for an answer. His gaze met that of Petros with only a hint of exasperation, but there was little heat in it, and the king set down the paper he was failing at reading and raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Petros?”
The older man had a unique sort of indulgence, he’d been Achilleas’ retainer for more years than the young could count, but above and beyond, had been something of a treasure when the elder of Irakles son’s had first taken up his barony and been left alone in the running of it. Much more approachable than the boy’s own father, Petros had earned himself the liberties he took with decorum now. A fact Achilleas came to dislike in the next moment.
‘I just thought you might like to know the Queen has retired for the evening, your Majesty.’
Achilleas stared at him blankly.
‘In case you were to wanting to join her, your Majesty, instead of hiding in here?’
“I’m not hiding” the king asserted, waving expansively at the papers before him. “I’m working” But the older man just looked at him steadily, and Achilleas thought perhaps news of their uncomfortable breakfast had reached Petros’ ears. He hoped not.
‘There is a wise saying, my King, about not letting disagreements fester until morn. You might have heard it?
That confirmed it for him, and though he frowned, Achilleas made himself busy tidying the parchment before him, so he didn’t have to meet the too knowing gaze of his retainer. He’d sorted into it three distinct piles in order of urgency before he tired of the loaded silence and looked up once more.
He found the older man's somewhat gentle expression somehow harder to stomach, and with an uncustomary curtness, Achilleas dismissed him. He wasn’t going to discuss that any further.
It was only after the man had gone and he could almost pretend that it was his own idea that the king sighed and pushed to his feet, straightened the last few things on his desk before he recognised that he was procrastinating and hating himself for it.
By the time he reached the chambers that they had so recently acquired, Achilleas had prepared himself to receive her apology graciously and to draw a line under it as a misunderstanding. He would tell her of the conversations he’d had with Lord Gavriil, with the Colchian master informer and she would know that he wasn’t as oblivious to things as she thought him. He’d played out the entire interaction in his head to a satisfactory conclusion, which was why he was so unprepared for the somewhat stony silence that greeted him as he entered their private quarters.
Theodora looked at him,saw him, and then let her gaze slide away without as much as a hello, and Achilleas realised that the apology he’d been expecting was not going to be an imminent occurrence. The thought had him bristle, because what did she have to be so angry about still?
He’d paused in the doorway and stood there for a moment watching the repetitive motion of his wife drawing the brush through the long lengths of her hair, waiting her out, but when the silence pervaded Achilleas gave a quietly exasperated sigh. He moved across the room and removed the gold cuff bearing the lion’s head, let it settle on the wooden table with a clang.
This was ridiculous.
Bracing his knuckles on the edge of the small table, he drew a breath and shook his head slightly before he turned. Theodora continued brushing her hair, and he watched and waited for some acknowledgement even, unsure what to do in the face of her persistent silence.
This was not the sort of disagreement he was equipped to deal with. Generally, senators in the dikastirio did not just refuse to speak, and soldiers knew better than to ignore their Commander. Achilleas felt out of his depth.
After a few long moments, he eventually came to stand beside Theodora, addressing her reflection in the looking glass as he held his hand out for the brush.
“May I?”
It was clear to her that Achilleas was waiting for something as he stood there behind her—an apology, perhaps, or at the least, some type of explanation. He would soon find neither were forthcoming, Theodora ignoring him as profoundly as if he’d been nothing more than an errant fly on the wall. For a while, the only sound in the room was the soft and steady scrape of the brush through her curls. The tangles were long gone, but it gave her something to do with her hands and an excuse not to face him. She was in no mood for his surly attitude of the morning… no matter that she now portrayed quite a bit of surliness herself.
The only time she looked away from the looking glass was when he dropped his bangle on the table with a purposeful clang, her gaze cutting sideways with a slight tightening of her mouth. Her hand paused for a moment before she continued on, pulling her hair around to the other shoulder and brushing through it that way. No. She was not going to react. Let him think she hadn’t even noticed.
Surreptitiously, she glanced at him in the mirror a few times, a bit curious now as to what he would do. Was he going to continue to wait for her to say something? If that’s what he thought was going to happen, he’d be sorely mistaken. Having grown up with four sisters, she was well-acquainted with the silent treatment, and she’d be willing to wager a sizable amount of money she could outlast him on that one. Would he give up and just go to bed? Or would he cave and speak first?
There was a distinct sort of tension present in the room as the uncomfortable silence continued for several long moments, the Queen’s face stony and set in a carefully neutral expression. She heard rather than saw her husband as he came to stand next to her, returning his gaze in the mirror as the quiet rumble of his voice asked for the brush in her hand.
She paused and considered, the brush held still at the ends of her hair. She could continue on like he hadn’t said anything and thus attain a childish victory she’d likely regret in the morning. He’d accuse her of being petulant, and this time, he’d be right. Or she could hand it over, and maybe they could speak a little more maturely than they had that morning. After all, did she really want to remain cross with him when it was only mere days before he would set sail?
A soft sigh of defeat, and she hesitated for only a moment longer before placing the bone handle of the brush into his outstretched palm with a single nod. “You have to promise not to tug my hair, though,” she said with a quick glance up at him rather than the mirror, her words only half jest. “Or I’m taking it back.”
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It was clear to her that Achilleas was waiting for something as he stood there behind her—an apology, perhaps, or at the least, some type of explanation. He would soon find neither were forthcoming, Theodora ignoring him as profoundly as if he’d been nothing more than an errant fly on the wall. For a while, the only sound in the room was the soft and steady scrape of the brush through her curls. The tangles were long gone, but it gave her something to do with her hands and an excuse not to face him. She was in no mood for his surly attitude of the morning… no matter that she now portrayed quite a bit of surliness herself.
The only time she looked away from the looking glass was when he dropped his bangle on the table with a purposeful clang, her gaze cutting sideways with a slight tightening of her mouth. Her hand paused for a moment before she continued on, pulling her hair around to the other shoulder and brushing through it that way. No. She was not going to react. Let him think she hadn’t even noticed.
Surreptitiously, she glanced at him in the mirror a few times, a bit curious now as to what he would do. Was he going to continue to wait for her to say something? If that’s what he thought was going to happen, he’d be sorely mistaken. Having grown up with four sisters, she was well-acquainted with the silent treatment, and she’d be willing to wager a sizable amount of money she could outlast him on that one. Would he give up and just go to bed? Or would he cave and speak first?
There was a distinct sort of tension present in the room as the uncomfortable silence continued for several long moments, the Queen’s face stony and set in a carefully neutral expression. She heard rather than saw her husband as he came to stand next to her, returning his gaze in the mirror as the quiet rumble of his voice asked for the brush in her hand.
She paused and considered, the brush held still at the ends of her hair. She could continue on like he hadn’t said anything and thus attain a childish victory she’d likely regret in the morning. He’d accuse her of being petulant, and this time, he’d be right. Or she could hand it over, and maybe they could speak a little more maturely than they had that morning. After all, did she really want to remain cross with him when it was only mere days before he would set sail?
A soft sigh of defeat, and she hesitated for only a moment longer before placing the bone handle of the brush into his outstretched palm with a single nod. “You have to promise not to tug my hair, though,” she said with a quick glance up at him rather than the mirror, her words only half jest. “Or I’m taking it back.”
It was clear to her that Achilleas was waiting for something as he stood there behind her—an apology, perhaps, or at the least, some type of explanation. He would soon find neither were forthcoming, Theodora ignoring him as profoundly as if he’d been nothing more than an errant fly on the wall. For a while, the only sound in the room was the soft and steady scrape of the brush through her curls. The tangles were long gone, but it gave her something to do with her hands and an excuse not to face him. She was in no mood for his surly attitude of the morning… no matter that she now portrayed quite a bit of surliness herself.
The only time she looked away from the looking glass was when he dropped his bangle on the table with a purposeful clang, her gaze cutting sideways with a slight tightening of her mouth. Her hand paused for a moment before she continued on, pulling her hair around to the other shoulder and brushing through it that way. No. She was not going to react. Let him think she hadn’t even noticed.
Surreptitiously, she glanced at him in the mirror a few times, a bit curious now as to what he would do. Was he going to continue to wait for her to say something? If that’s what he thought was going to happen, he’d be sorely mistaken. Having grown up with four sisters, she was well-acquainted with the silent treatment, and she’d be willing to wager a sizable amount of money she could outlast him on that one. Would he give up and just go to bed? Or would he cave and speak first?
There was a distinct sort of tension present in the room as the uncomfortable silence continued for several long moments, the Queen’s face stony and set in a carefully neutral expression. She heard rather than saw her husband as he came to stand next to her, returning his gaze in the mirror as the quiet rumble of his voice asked for the brush in her hand.
She paused and considered, the brush held still at the ends of her hair. She could continue on like he hadn’t said anything and thus attain a childish victory she’d likely regret in the morning. He’d accuse her of being petulant, and this time, he’d be right. Or she could hand it over, and maybe they could speak a little more maturely than they had that morning. After all, did she really want to remain cross with him when it was only mere days before he would set sail?
A soft sigh of defeat, and she hesitated for only a moment longer before placing the bone handle of the brush into his outstretched palm with a single nod. “You have to promise not to tug my hair, though,” she said with a quick glance up at him rather than the mirror, her words only half jest. “Or I’m taking it back.”
Achilleas could not think of one moment when he had been so deliberately ignored. Not even by his father, who was so polished at showing a casual indifference to his presence when he felt like it. On top of her storming out on him at breakfast time, Achilleas was beginning to think that Theodora was the most vexing creature in the whole of Greece. Determined that he wasn’t going to be goaded into losing his temper - because they were adults, by the Gods- he pressed his lips together and prayed to Athena for patience and wisdom. Only no, this was not warfare. This was... a disagreement? That he couldn’t figure out exactly what his wife had to be so angered about was an issue to itself, but judging by her flinty expression and oh so deliberate silence, she clearly thought herself wounded by something he had done.
Which, to his mind, was rather rich considering she had been the one to accuse him of being a coward and to suggest that he believed his own cousin guilty of patricide...
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger he had to stop rehashing it because it wasn’t helping. And Petros’ words rang in his ears. If Theodora was going to persist in being difficult, then he would just have to be the one to rise above it. It took an awful lot of willpower to move over to her side and make the first move toward reconciliation.
At least, that was what Achilleas thought he was trying to do. He realised as she relented and set the handle of the brush in his hand that he hadn’t though this all the way through.
‘You have to promise not to tug my hair, though. Or I’m taking it back.’
He looked back up from the brush to her reflection in the mirror then, trying to read if she was serious. It was mildly perturbing that he wasn’t certain.
But given that he now had the brush in his hand there wasn’t much for him to do other than to draw it through her hair, and Achilleas swallowed before gingerly just doing that. He set to the task, concentrating on that even as he tried to decide on the right way to bridge the conversation. He still thought he was owed an apology, that his wife ought to show at least some contrition for the aspersions she’d cast upon him and then her ungracious manner. And yet she had made it abundantly clear that wasn’t about to be forthcoming. Indeed, his Queen seemed to be nursing some perceived offence of her own for no reason he could lay his hands upon.
“You’re upset with me” he stated after a few moments, brow furrowed as he focused on the repetitive motion of brushing her hair. His hand paused, and for a moment, Achilleas glanced up to meet her gaze in the looking glass once more. “Would you care to explain why?”
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Achilleas could not think of one moment when he had been so deliberately ignored. Not even by his father, who was so polished at showing a casual indifference to his presence when he felt like it. On top of her storming out on him at breakfast time, Achilleas was beginning to think that Theodora was the most vexing creature in the whole of Greece. Determined that he wasn’t going to be goaded into losing his temper - because they were adults, by the Gods- he pressed his lips together and prayed to Athena for patience and wisdom. Only no, this was not warfare. This was... a disagreement? That he couldn’t figure out exactly what his wife had to be so angered about was an issue to itself, but judging by her flinty expression and oh so deliberate silence, she clearly thought herself wounded by something he had done.
Which, to his mind, was rather rich considering she had been the one to accuse him of being a coward and to suggest that he believed his own cousin guilty of patricide...
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger he had to stop rehashing it because it wasn’t helping. And Petros’ words rang in his ears. If Theodora was going to persist in being difficult, then he would just have to be the one to rise above it. It took an awful lot of willpower to move over to her side and make the first move toward reconciliation.
At least, that was what Achilleas thought he was trying to do. He realised as she relented and set the handle of the brush in his hand that he hadn’t though this all the way through.
‘You have to promise not to tug my hair, though. Or I’m taking it back.’
He looked back up from the brush to her reflection in the mirror then, trying to read if she was serious. It was mildly perturbing that he wasn’t certain.
But given that he now had the brush in his hand there wasn’t much for him to do other than to draw it through her hair, and Achilleas swallowed before gingerly just doing that. He set to the task, concentrating on that even as he tried to decide on the right way to bridge the conversation. He still thought he was owed an apology, that his wife ought to show at least some contrition for the aspersions she’d cast upon him and then her ungracious manner. And yet she had made it abundantly clear that wasn’t about to be forthcoming. Indeed, his Queen seemed to be nursing some perceived offence of her own for no reason he could lay his hands upon.
“You’re upset with me” he stated after a few moments, brow furrowed as he focused on the repetitive motion of brushing her hair. His hand paused, and for a moment, Achilleas glanced up to meet her gaze in the looking glass once more. “Would you care to explain why?”
Achilleas could not think of one moment when he had been so deliberately ignored. Not even by his father, who was so polished at showing a casual indifference to his presence when he felt like it. On top of her storming out on him at breakfast time, Achilleas was beginning to think that Theodora was the most vexing creature in the whole of Greece. Determined that he wasn’t going to be goaded into losing his temper - because they were adults, by the Gods- he pressed his lips together and prayed to Athena for patience and wisdom. Only no, this was not warfare. This was... a disagreement? That he couldn’t figure out exactly what his wife had to be so angered about was an issue to itself, but judging by her flinty expression and oh so deliberate silence, she clearly thought herself wounded by something he had done.
Which, to his mind, was rather rich considering she had been the one to accuse him of being a coward and to suggest that he believed his own cousin guilty of patricide...
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger he had to stop rehashing it because it wasn’t helping. And Petros’ words rang in his ears. If Theodora was going to persist in being difficult, then he would just have to be the one to rise above it. It took an awful lot of willpower to move over to her side and make the first move toward reconciliation.
At least, that was what Achilleas thought he was trying to do. He realised as she relented and set the handle of the brush in his hand that he hadn’t though this all the way through.
‘You have to promise not to tug my hair, though. Or I’m taking it back.’
He looked back up from the brush to her reflection in the mirror then, trying to read if she was serious. It was mildly perturbing that he wasn’t certain.
But given that he now had the brush in his hand there wasn’t much for him to do other than to draw it through her hair, and Achilleas swallowed before gingerly just doing that. He set to the task, concentrating on that even as he tried to decide on the right way to bridge the conversation. He still thought he was owed an apology, that his wife ought to show at least some contrition for the aspersions she’d cast upon him and then her ungracious manner. And yet she had made it abundantly clear that wasn’t about to be forthcoming. Indeed, his Queen seemed to be nursing some perceived offence of her own for no reason he could lay his hands upon.
“You’re upset with me” he stated after a few moments, brow furrowed as he focused on the repetitive motion of brushing her hair. His hand paused, and for a moment, Achilleas glanced up to meet her gaze in the looking glass once more. “Would you care to explain why?”
The quiet stretched between them again for a couple long minutes, even when Achilleas took the brush and started drawing it through her hair. However, the rhythmic pull of the brush through her already smooth tresses had her shoulders relaxing in spite of herself, eyes even closing for a moment as she leaned back in her seat. That was, before she remembered who was doing it, and that she was mad, and that she ought not to be melting like a cat being petted.
Straightening back up a little and reopening her eyes, she met his gaze in the mirror when he spoke at last. ‘You’re upset with me.’ “I am,” she affirmed in the same tone he used—calm, quiet, and neutral as she tried not to repeat her reflexive tongue lashing of the morning. He then asked her to explain why, and she paused again. What was the best way to tell him without just inciting a further argument? Or was it just going to head that direction anyway?
“I didn’t—don’t—like the way you spoke to me at breakfast,” she said, dropping her gaze from the mirror to the little pots of powders and clays that sat on the table in front of her. “Like an unruly child. I will admit that… perhaps I should not have been so sharp, but it was only made worse by your… condescension.” Glancing back up again, her mouth twisted in a little moue of distaste. Did he even realize the way he spoke to people sometimes? “I’m an adult who is more than capable of thinking and speaking for herself. And I am your wife, not your charge or your child. I don’t appreciate being spoken down to or brushed off, particularly about something that affects me just as it does you.” Though she knew many men spoke to their wives in that fashion quite regularly, she had wanted to believe Achilleas was not one of them. If he was, well… the next years of their marriage were not bound to go well.
Sighing softly, she went on, “Olympia is my sister, just as Stephanos is your cousin. She’s a victim in all of this, and it hurts me that I can’t help her. It hurts me even more when I try to speak up, and my concern seems to be just… disregarded. Like all of this is out of our hands. But it’s not. And we shouldn’t let it be.”
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The quiet stretched between them again for a couple long minutes, even when Achilleas took the brush and started drawing it through her hair. However, the rhythmic pull of the brush through her already smooth tresses had her shoulders relaxing in spite of herself, eyes even closing for a moment as she leaned back in her seat. That was, before she remembered who was doing it, and that she was mad, and that she ought not to be melting like a cat being petted.
Straightening back up a little and reopening her eyes, she met his gaze in the mirror when he spoke at last. ‘You’re upset with me.’ “I am,” she affirmed in the same tone he used—calm, quiet, and neutral as she tried not to repeat her reflexive tongue lashing of the morning. He then asked her to explain why, and she paused again. What was the best way to tell him without just inciting a further argument? Or was it just going to head that direction anyway?
“I didn’t—don’t—like the way you spoke to me at breakfast,” she said, dropping her gaze from the mirror to the little pots of powders and clays that sat on the table in front of her. “Like an unruly child. I will admit that… perhaps I should not have been so sharp, but it was only made worse by your… condescension.” Glancing back up again, her mouth twisted in a little moue of distaste. Did he even realize the way he spoke to people sometimes? “I’m an adult who is more than capable of thinking and speaking for herself. And I am your wife, not your charge or your child. I don’t appreciate being spoken down to or brushed off, particularly about something that affects me just as it does you.” Though she knew many men spoke to their wives in that fashion quite regularly, she had wanted to believe Achilleas was not one of them. If he was, well… the next years of their marriage were not bound to go well.
Sighing softly, she went on, “Olympia is my sister, just as Stephanos is your cousin. She’s a victim in all of this, and it hurts me that I can’t help her. It hurts me even more when I try to speak up, and my concern seems to be just… disregarded. Like all of this is out of our hands. But it’s not. And we shouldn’t let it be.”
The quiet stretched between them again for a couple long minutes, even when Achilleas took the brush and started drawing it through her hair. However, the rhythmic pull of the brush through her already smooth tresses had her shoulders relaxing in spite of herself, eyes even closing for a moment as she leaned back in her seat. That was, before she remembered who was doing it, and that she was mad, and that she ought not to be melting like a cat being petted.
Straightening back up a little and reopening her eyes, she met his gaze in the mirror when he spoke at last. ‘You’re upset with me.’ “I am,” she affirmed in the same tone he used—calm, quiet, and neutral as she tried not to repeat her reflexive tongue lashing of the morning. He then asked her to explain why, and she paused again. What was the best way to tell him without just inciting a further argument? Or was it just going to head that direction anyway?
“I didn’t—don’t—like the way you spoke to me at breakfast,” she said, dropping her gaze from the mirror to the little pots of powders and clays that sat on the table in front of her. “Like an unruly child. I will admit that… perhaps I should not have been so sharp, but it was only made worse by your… condescension.” Glancing back up again, her mouth twisted in a little moue of distaste. Did he even realize the way he spoke to people sometimes? “I’m an adult who is more than capable of thinking and speaking for herself. And I am your wife, not your charge or your child. I don’t appreciate being spoken down to or brushed off, particularly about something that affects me just as it does you.” Though she knew many men spoke to their wives in that fashion quite regularly, she had wanted to believe Achilleas was not one of them. If he was, well… the next years of their marriage were not bound to go well.
Sighing softly, she went on, “Olympia is my sister, just as Stephanos is your cousin. She’s a victim in all of this, and it hurts me that I can’t help her. It hurts me even more when I try to speak up, and my concern seems to be just… disregarded. Like all of this is out of our hands. But it’s not. And we shouldn’t let it be.”
He supposed he should have been grateful that she answered him at all, but even though he knew the answer already, her quiet agreement to his statement had him sigh before he asked her why. And when she answered him, his eyes found her reflection, and he stared at her a moment, brow creased until her gaze dipped away. She did not stop speaking though, and Achilleas resumed his brushing of her hair even as he listened.
That she seemed offended at the way he’d spoken rather than what he said had him trying to recall the moment, replaying it and trying to hear what she had heard and his frown only deepened as Theodora spoke on.
He didn’t think he had meant to be condescending, but then he remembered how she had spoken as if he wasn’t all too aware of the situation as if he were ignoring some easy solution right in front of his face and he wondered if perhaps it had been a little intentional after all. It was hard being questioned on a subject that he didn’t have the answers for. It was harder still feeling that those who were supposed to know him the best would think so poorly of him. Achilleas set his teeth, felt his jaw pop and concentrated on the slow drag of the boar bristles through Theodora’s dark mane of hair.
He didn’t interject, let her speak and gave her words some consideration. He’d made the mistake of reacting earlier and look how that gone. This tentative truce, if it even was one, felt too fragile, the quick glance up to read her expression letting him know that he wasn’t wrong.
When she had finished speaking, Achilleas ceased his brushing, toyed with the bone-handled brush as he tried to pick his words carefully, stamping down on the instinctive urge to defend himself. He was tracing one finger over the engravings on the back of the brush when he finally responded.
“I know you have your own mind. You always have had...I like that about you.” That he hadn’t anticipated how often her own mind would not be in perfect alignment with his was something he was just beginning to see. “ I’ll...try and be mindful of how my words might seem. And I don’t disregard anything you say, whatever you might think.”
He very carefully leant forward to set the brush down, catching her eye once more before he continued. “ You think that I haven’t done enough? That it doesn’t pain me as well that we find ourselves here? I’m….I’m trying Theodora. I’ve spoken with those I can trust, but it’s not easy...I can’t just sign a piece of paper and have this whole thing reversed.”
He wished he could. How much simpler that would be. Without really intending to, his fingers danced over the trinket pots and jars that sat upon the surface, rearranging so the spacing was even, so there was some order there if not in his thoughts or in the uncomfortable feeling that was knotting up his throat once more. He caught himself though and pulled back his hand, folding it with its pair behind his back. He should be more composed than this.
“ I’m not so ignorant as you think,” he said quietly then, walking away just to sink down on to the edge of the bed. He suddenly felt very weary, the tension he’d been carrying around for the day catching up on him. “I know my father” Knew he corrected silently, suppressing a wince “...I know he wasn’t always a good man. That Stephanos thinks he..that there are things that do not make sense. But if he...if he was seriously able to construct this case against Stephanos then do you think he did it alone? More likely that whoever aided him is still here.” He scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. “ It’s so messy. But what I don’t need is you deciding that I don’t care. I am trying to prepare this country for war. And for now? Stephanos and Olympia and the child are safe where they are. I can’t promise that they would be here.”
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He supposed he should have been grateful that she answered him at all, but even though he knew the answer already, her quiet agreement to his statement had him sigh before he asked her why. And when she answered him, his eyes found her reflection, and he stared at her a moment, brow creased until her gaze dipped away. She did not stop speaking though, and Achilleas resumed his brushing of her hair even as he listened.
That she seemed offended at the way he’d spoken rather than what he said had him trying to recall the moment, replaying it and trying to hear what she had heard and his frown only deepened as Theodora spoke on.
He didn’t think he had meant to be condescending, but then he remembered how she had spoken as if he wasn’t all too aware of the situation as if he were ignoring some easy solution right in front of his face and he wondered if perhaps it had been a little intentional after all. It was hard being questioned on a subject that he didn’t have the answers for. It was harder still feeling that those who were supposed to know him the best would think so poorly of him. Achilleas set his teeth, felt his jaw pop and concentrated on the slow drag of the boar bristles through Theodora’s dark mane of hair.
He didn’t interject, let her speak and gave her words some consideration. He’d made the mistake of reacting earlier and look how that gone. This tentative truce, if it even was one, felt too fragile, the quick glance up to read her expression letting him know that he wasn’t wrong.
When she had finished speaking, Achilleas ceased his brushing, toyed with the bone-handled brush as he tried to pick his words carefully, stamping down on the instinctive urge to defend himself. He was tracing one finger over the engravings on the back of the brush when he finally responded.
“I know you have your own mind. You always have had...I like that about you.” That he hadn’t anticipated how often her own mind would not be in perfect alignment with his was something he was just beginning to see. “ I’ll...try and be mindful of how my words might seem. And I don’t disregard anything you say, whatever you might think.”
He very carefully leant forward to set the brush down, catching her eye once more before he continued. “ You think that I haven’t done enough? That it doesn’t pain me as well that we find ourselves here? I’m….I’m trying Theodora. I’ve spoken with those I can trust, but it’s not easy...I can’t just sign a piece of paper and have this whole thing reversed.”
He wished he could. How much simpler that would be. Without really intending to, his fingers danced over the trinket pots and jars that sat upon the surface, rearranging so the spacing was even, so there was some order there if not in his thoughts or in the uncomfortable feeling that was knotting up his throat once more. He caught himself though and pulled back his hand, folding it with its pair behind his back. He should be more composed than this.
“ I’m not so ignorant as you think,” he said quietly then, walking away just to sink down on to the edge of the bed. He suddenly felt very weary, the tension he’d been carrying around for the day catching up on him. “I know my father” Knew he corrected silently, suppressing a wince “...I know he wasn’t always a good man. That Stephanos thinks he..that there are things that do not make sense. But if he...if he was seriously able to construct this case against Stephanos then do you think he did it alone? More likely that whoever aided him is still here.” He scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. “ It’s so messy. But what I don’t need is you deciding that I don’t care. I am trying to prepare this country for war. And for now? Stephanos and Olympia and the child are safe where they are. I can’t promise that they would be here.”
He supposed he should have been grateful that she answered him at all, but even though he knew the answer already, her quiet agreement to his statement had him sigh before he asked her why. And when she answered him, his eyes found her reflection, and he stared at her a moment, brow creased until her gaze dipped away. She did not stop speaking though, and Achilleas resumed his brushing of her hair even as he listened.
That she seemed offended at the way he’d spoken rather than what he said had him trying to recall the moment, replaying it and trying to hear what she had heard and his frown only deepened as Theodora spoke on.
He didn’t think he had meant to be condescending, but then he remembered how she had spoken as if he wasn’t all too aware of the situation as if he were ignoring some easy solution right in front of his face and he wondered if perhaps it had been a little intentional after all. It was hard being questioned on a subject that he didn’t have the answers for. It was harder still feeling that those who were supposed to know him the best would think so poorly of him. Achilleas set his teeth, felt his jaw pop and concentrated on the slow drag of the boar bristles through Theodora’s dark mane of hair.
He didn’t interject, let her speak and gave her words some consideration. He’d made the mistake of reacting earlier and look how that gone. This tentative truce, if it even was one, felt too fragile, the quick glance up to read her expression letting him know that he wasn’t wrong.
When she had finished speaking, Achilleas ceased his brushing, toyed with the bone-handled brush as he tried to pick his words carefully, stamping down on the instinctive urge to defend himself. He was tracing one finger over the engravings on the back of the brush when he finally responded.
“I know you have your own mind. You always have had...I like that about you.” That he hadn’t anticipated how often her own mind would not be in perfect alignment with his was something he was just beginning to see. “ I’ll...try and be mindful of how my words might seem. And I don’t disregard anything you say, whatever you might think.”
He very carefully leant forward to set the brush down, catching her eye once more before he continued. “ You think that I haven’t done enough? That it doesn’t pain me as well that we find ourselves here? I’m….I’m trying Theodora. I’ve spoken with those I can trust, but it’s not easy...I can’t just sign a piece of paper and have this whole thing reversed.”
He wished he could. How much simpler that would be. Without really intending to, his fingers danced over the trinket pots and jars that sat upon the surface, rearranging so the spacing was even, so there was some order there if not in his thoughts or in the uncomfortable feeling that was knotting up his throat once more. He caught himself though and pulled back his hand, folding it with its pair behind his back. He should be more composed than this.
“ I’m not so ignorant as you think,” he said quietly then, walking away just to sink down on to the edge of the bed. He suddenly felt very weary, the tension he’d been carrying around for the day catching up on him. “I know my father” Knew he corrected silently, suppressing a wince “...I know he wasn’t always a good man. That Stephanos thinks he..that there are things that do not make sense. But if he...if he was seriously able to construct this case against Stephanos then do you think he did it alone? More likely that whoever aided him is still here.” He scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. “ It’s so messy. But what I don’t need is you deciding that I don’t care. I am trying to prepare this country for war. And for now? Stephanos and Olympia and the child are safe where they are. I can’t promise that they would be here.”
The Queen was grateful her husband allowed her to speak without interrupting, the slow pull of the brush calming her to the point her words came out measured and even, rather than angry as she had been earlier. He was quiet for a moment when she was done before he began to offer his own explanation in a far more reasonable tone than the one he had used that morning. She watched as he replaced the brush on the table, watched even more curiously as he started to absently arrange the mild chaos of her cosmetics. Did he even realize he was doing that? And why?
Apparently, he did realize it, drawing his hand back to him and holding it with the other. She declined to comment, though—that particular idiosyncrasy could be addressed another time. As he continued to speak, she felt a bit of guilt creep up her spine at her callousness earlier in the day. Though he had not helped the situation himself, she certainly hadn’t either, and perhaps should have taken time to consider his viewpoint before lashing out with her own.
‘I can’t just sign a piece of paper and have this whole thing reversed.’
“Why can’t you, though?” was the only time she interjected, a touch of a frown returning to her brow. “You’re the king. Can’t you do exactly that?” She understood the opinions of the Senate had to weighed, as well, but wasn’t the king’s word law? Wasn’t there some way to avoid the rest? Gods, what was the point of the crown, if neither could wield its power?
She finally turned to face him as he sat on the bed, giving him her attention, rather than the mirror. Theodora knew it couldn’t be easy for him to speak in such a way of his father, but she was glad to hear his own stance was not so dire as she had accused him of being. As angry as she was about the entire situation, as helpless as she felt, she didn’t want to admit he made rational points. She just wanted her sister back and for things to return to normal. Was that truly so much of an ask?
With a soft sigh, Theodora rose to her feet before sitting back down on the bed beside Achilleas. Tentatively, she reached out to rest her hand on his knee, seeking his gaze with her own. “I should not have been so quick to jump to conclusions,” she murmured, gently squeezing his leg. “I… I just reacted. This is all so… frustrating, so heartbreaking, and I lashed out at you because I… I guess I just need someone to blame.” She shook her head. “It’s not your fault, though, and I shouldn’t have. I just… I just want there to be something more we can do. Something I can do. I can’t bear the thought of leaving them there while we have to be here, pretending everything is all right.”
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The Queen was grateful her husband allowed her to speak without interrupting, the slow pull of the brush calming her to the point her words came out measured and even, rather than angry as she had been earlier. He was quiet for a moment when she was done before he began to offer his own explanation in a far more reasonable tone than the one he had used that morning. She watched as he replaced the brush on the table, watched even more curiously as he started to absently arrange the mild chaos of her cosmetics. Did he even realize he was doing that? And why?
Apparently, he did realize it, drawing his hand back to him and holding it with the other. She declined to comment, though—that particular idiosyncrasy could be addressed another time. As he continued to speak, she felt a bit of guilt creep up her spine at her callousness earlier in the day. Though he had not helped the situation himself, she certainly hadn’t either, and perhaps should have taken time to consider his viewpoint before lashing out with her own.
‘I can’t just sign a piece of paper and have this whole thing reversed.’
“Why can’t you, though?” was the only time she interjected, a touch of a frown returning to her brow. “You’re the king. Can’t you do exactly that?” She understood the opinions of the Senate had to weighed, as well, but wasn’t the king’s word law? Wasn’t there some way to avoid the rest? Gods, what was the point of the crown, if neither could wield its power?
She finally turned to face him as he sat on the bed, giving him her attention, rather than the mirror. Theodora knew it couldn’t be easy for him to speak in such a way of his father, but she was glad to hear his own stance was not so dire as she had accused him of being. As angry as she was about the entire situation, as helpless as she felt, she didn’t want to admit he made rational points. She just wanted her sister back and for things to return to normal. Was that truly so much of an ask?
With a soft sigh, Theodora rose to her feet before sitting back down on the bed beside Achilleas. Tentatively, she reached out to rest her hand on his knee, seeking his gaze with her own. “I should not have been so quick to jump to conclusions,” she murmured, gently squeezing his leg. “I… I just reacted. This is all so… frustrating, so heartbreaking, and I lashed out at you because I… I guess I just need someone to blame.” She shook her head. “It’s not your fault, though, and I shouldn’t have. I just… I just want there to be something more we can do. Something I can do. I can’t bear the thought of leaving them there while we have to be here, pretending everything is all right.”
The Queen was grateful her husband allowed her to speak without interrupting, the slow pull of the brush calming her to the point her words came out measured and even, rather than angry as she had been earlier. He was quiet for a moment when she was done before he began to offer his own explanation in a far more reasonable tone than the one he had used that morning. She watched as he replaced the brush on the table, watched even more curiously as he started to absently arrange the mild chaos of her cosmetics. Did he even realize he was doing that? And why?
Apparently, he did realize it, drawing his hand back to him and holding it with the other. She declined to comment, though—that particular idiosyncrasy could be addressed another time. As he continued to speak, she felt a bit of guilt creep up her spine at her callousness earlier in the day. Though he had not helped the situation himself, she certainly hadn’t either, and perhaps should have taken time to consider his viewpoint before lashing out with her own.
‘I can’t just sign a piece of paper and have this whole thing reversed.’
“Why can’t you, though?” was the only time she interjected, a touch of a frown returning to her brow. “You’re the king. Can’t you do exactly that?” She understood the opinions of the Senate had to weighed, as well, but wasn’t the king’s word law? Wasn’t there some way to avoid the rest? Gods, what was the point of the crown, if neither could wield its power?
She finally turned to face him as he sat on the bed, giving him her attention, rather than the mirror. Theodora knew it couldn’t be easy for him to speak in such a way of his father, but she was glad to hear his own stance was not so dire as she had accused him of being. As angry as she was about the entire situation, as helpless as she felt, she didn’t want to admit he made rational points. She just wanted her sister back and for things to return to normal. Was that truly so much of an ask?
With a soft sigh, Theodora rose to her feet before sitting back down on the bed beside Achilleas. Tentatively, she reached out to rest her hand on his knee, seeking his gaze with her own. “I should not have been so quick to jump to conclusions,” she murmured, gently squeezing his leg. “I… I just reacted. This is all so… frustrating, so heartbreaking, and I lashed out at you because I… I guess I just need someone to blame.” She shook her head. “It’s not your fault, though, and I shouldn’t have. I just… I just want there to be something more we can do. Something I can do. I can’t bear the thought of leaving them there while we have to be here, pretending everything is all right.”
‘Why can’t you, though? You’re the king. Can’t you do exactly that?’
He’d looked up at that, exasperated at how simple she seemed to think it all to be and yet wary lest his explanations sound patronising. He didn’t doubt Theodora’s intelligence, but that she had not been exposed to the senate's inner workings was clear to him now more than ever.
“I could if we wanted to upset the entire senate and risk starting a war amongst our own people. These people that thought Stephanos guilty...they haven’t vanished. Nothing has happened to reverse their thinking; I have nothing to disprove the things he was condemned for. But yes, I could do that and then hand Stephanos a country fighting with itself as we are about to be at war with Egypt too. Does that...is that what you’d prefer me to do?” Achilleas shook his head a little. “I’m not trying to be difficult, I promise. I want the same thing you do.”
Bending to unfasten the sandals upon his feet, he felt the bed dip as she sat beside him and when he sat up again it was just in time for her hand to creep onto his knee and Achilleas barely held back a sigh of relief. He didn’t like fighting with Theodora. He didn’t like fighting with anyone, but it was particularly hard to bear right now, and when things finally seemed to have been settling between them into something that worked.
Covering her hand with his own, he met her gaze, worry and fatigue weighing the blue eyes that looked searchingly at her as she spoke. He understood well enough that feeling of helplessness...he’d been battling that even before his father had died. And now, whilst it was not the same impotence, his attention surely had to be with protecting Taengea from the most pressing threat?
“I shouldn’t have kept you at a distance regarding this; I see that now. Olympia is your sister, of course, you want her home.”
There was a heavy sigh as Achilleas considered again what they might do, but it had been a long day, and he was more exhausted than he realised. “Perhaps….maybe there are options I haven’t explored yet. I will give it some thought tomorrow.”
He squeezed her hand briefly before pushing to his feet and moving away to unpin the gold fibula that held his chiton in place. Frowning slightly as he set the peacock feather pin down, he wanted to chase away the lingering bad taste of their argument. Not a man who apologised terribly often - because Achilleas tended to believe himself in the right in most occasions - he thought it might go some way to preserve the peace here.
“I’m sorry. If you felt dismissed. I’m not used to…” Being spoken back to. Being pressed on subjects he had no wish to speak of “..this yet” He gestured between them.
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‘Why can’t you, though? You’re the king. Can’t you do exactly that?’
He’d looked up at that, exasperated at how simple she seemed to think it all to be and yet wary lest his explanations sound patronising. He didn’t doubt Theodora’s intelligence, but that she had not been exposed to the senate's inner workings was clear to him now more than ever.
“I could if we wanted to upset the entire senate and risk starting a war amongst our own people. These people that thought Stephanos guilty...they haven’t vanished. Nothing has happened to reverse their thinking; I have nothing to disprove the things he was condemned for. But yes, I could do that and then hand Stephanos a country fighting with itself as we are about to be at war with Egypt too. Does that...is that what you’d prefer me to do?” Achilleas shook his head a little. “I’m not trying to be difficult, I promise. I want the same thing you do.”
Bending to unfasten the sandals upon his feet, he felt the bed dip as she sat beside him and when he sat up again it was just in time for her hand to creep onto his knee and Achilleas barely held back a sigh of relief. He didn’t like fighting with Theodora. He didn’t like fighting with anyone, but it was particularly hard to bear right now, and when things finally seemed to have been settling between them into something that worked.
Covering her hand with his own, he met her gaze, worry and fatigue weighing the blue eyes that looked searchingly at her as she spoke. He understood well enough that feeling of helplessness...he’d been battling that even before his father had died. And now, whilst it was not the same impotence, his attention surely had to be with protecting Taengea from the most pressing threat?
“I shouldn’t have kept you at a distance regarding this; I see that now. Olympia is your sister, of course, you want her home.”
There was a heavy sigh as Achilleas considered again what they might do, but it had been a long day, and he was more exhausted than he realised. “Perhaps….maybe there are options I haven’t explored yet. I will give it some thought tomorrow.”
He squeezed her hand briefly before pushing to his feet and moving away to unpin the gold fibula that held his chiton in place. Frowning slightly as he set the peacock feather pin down, he wanted to chase away the lingering bad taste of their argument. Not a man who apologised terribly often - because Achilleas tended to believe himself in the right in most occasions - he thought it might go some way to preserve the peace here.
“I’m sorry. If you felt dismissed. I’m not used to…” Being spoken back to. Being pressed on subjects he had no wish to speak of “..this yet” He gestured between them.
‘Why can’t you, though? You’re the king. Can’t you do exactly that?’
He’d looked up at that, exasperated at how simple she seemed to think it all to be and yet wary lest his explanations sound patronising. He didn’t doubt Theodora’s intelligence, but that she had not been exposed to the senate's inner workings was clear to him now more than ever.
“I could if we wanted to upset the entire senate and risk starting a war amongst our own people. These people that thought Stephanos guilty...they haven’t vanished. Nothing has happened to reverse their thinking; I have nothing to disprove the things he was condemned for. But yes, I could do that and then hand Stephanos a country fighting with itself as we are about to be at war with Egypt too. Does that...is that what you’d prefer me to do?” Achilleas shook his head a little. “I’m not trying to be difficult, I promise. I want the same thing you do.”
Bending to unfasten the sandals upon his feet, he felt the bed dip as she sat beside him and when he sat up again it was just in time for her hand to creep onto his knee and Achilleas barely held back a sigh of relief. He didn’t like fighting with Theodora. He didn’t like fighting with anyone, but it was particularly hard to bear right now, and when things finally seemed to have been settling between them into something that worked.
Covering her hand with his own, he met her gaze, worry and fatigue weighing the blue eyes that looked searchingly at her as she spoke. He understood well enough that feeling of helplessness...he’d been battling that even before his father had died. And now, whilst it was not the same impotence, his attention surely had to be with protecting Taengea from the most pressing threat?
“I shouldn’t have kept you at a distance regarding this; I see that now. Olympia is your sister, of course, you want her home.”
There was a heavy sigh as Achilleas considered again what they might do, but it had been a long day, and he was more exhausted than he realised. “Perhaps….maybe there are options I haven’t explored yet. I will give it some thought tomorrow.”
He squeezed her hand briefly before pushing to his feet and moving away to unpin the gold fibula that held his chiton in place. Frowning slightly as he set the peacock feather pin down, he wanted to chase away the lingering bad taste of their argument. Not a man who apologised terribly often - because Achilleas tended to believe himself in the right in most occasions - he thought it might go some way to preserve the peace here.
“I’m sorry. If you felt dismissed. I’m not used to…” Being spoken back to. Being pressed on subjects he had no wish to speak of “..this yet” He gestured between them.
Theodora bristled a little at his initial response, nearly ready to be rankled again, but she was quickly calmed again by his assurance that he wasn’t trying to be difficult. She supposed she could see his point, even if she didn’t want to; she was just tired of sitting helplessly on her hands while disaster after disaster occurred around her. With this, at least, she felt maybe there was something she could do. Death and war were out of her grasp, but Stephanos and Olympia were still very much alive. As long as they were alive and relatively safe, there was still hope. Hope for what? On that, she still wasn’t sure.
The fight drained out of her completely when he relented that he shouldn’t have kept her at arm’s length when it came to this, then admitted that perhaps there were other paths to consider. His hand wrapped around hers with a gentle squeeze of her fingers before he stood to continue undressing. After a pause, he even apologized, and Theodora blinked up at him in surprise. Just as she had gone into the evening with no intent to apologize, she expected he had too, and to hear him say it now made her feel a bit guiltier than before. Maybe she was just being petty. Maybe it was time to start growing out of that.
Standing to join him, she gently pushed his hand away before he could remove the fibula from his other shoulder and placed a warm kiss against the skin she exposed. “I am… not used to this either,” she murmured quietly into his shoulder as her own sort of apology. Slowly, hesitantly, her arms slid around his now bare waist, pressing her cheek to his back. “I know I often speak before I think, and I will… try to be more careful of that.”
She couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, as it most certainly would, but she would try to make it a less frequent occurrence. If he could make concessions, so could she. A marriage shouldn’t go one way, not so much as it already had. Once she had come to terms with their situation, Theodora had vowed to herself that she would be a good wife to Achilleas, and she meant to keep that vow. There was no sense in intentionally making things harder than they had to be.
“I’m sorry, too,” she finally said, almost grudgingly. “For assuming the worst. It’s not a flattering habit.”
Her lips brushed lightly between his shoulder blades before she quietly added, “And thank you. For not brushing me off a second time.”
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Theodora bristled a little at his initial response, nearly ready to be rankled again, but she was quickly calmed again by his assurance that he wasn’t trying to be difficult. She supposed she could see his point, even if she didn’t want to; she was just tired of sitting helplessly on her hands while disaster after disaster occurred around her. With this, at least, she felt maybe there was something she could do. Death and war were out of her grasp, but Stephanos and Olympia were still very much alive. As long as they were alive and relatively safe, there was still hope. Hope for what? On that, she still wasn’t sure.
The fight drained out of her completely when he relented that he shouldn’t have kept her at arm’s length when it came to this, then admitted that perhaps there were other paths to consider. His hand wrapped around hers with a gentle squeeze of her fingers before he stood to continue undressing. After a pause, he even apologized, and Theodora blinked up at him in surprise. Just as she had gone into the evening with no intent to apologize, she expected he had too, and to hear him say it now made her feel a bit guiltier than before. Maybe she was just being petty. Maybe it was time to start growing out of that.
Standing to join him, she gently pushed his hand away before he could remove the fibula from his other shoulder and placed a warm kiss against the skin she exposed. “I am… not used to this either,” she murmured quietly into his shoulder as her own sort of apology. Slowly, hesitantly, her arms slid around his now bare waist, pressing her cheek to his back. “I know I often speak before I think, and I will… try to be more careful of that.”
She couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, as it most certainly would, but she would try to make it a less frequent occurrence. If he could make concessions, so could she. A marriage shouldn’t go one way, not so much as it already had. Once she had come to terms with their situation, Theodora had vowed to herself that she would be a good wife to Achilleas, and she meant to keep that vow. There was no sense in intentionally making things harder than they had to be.
“I’m sorry, too,” she finally said, almost grudgingly. “For assuming the worst. It’s not a flattering habit.”
Her lips brushed lightly between his shoulder blades before she quietly added, “And thank you. For not brushing me off a second time.”
Theodora bristled a little at his initial response, nearly ready to be rankled again, but she was quickly calmed again by his assurance that he wasn’t trying to be difficult. She supposed she could see his point, even if she didn’t want to; she was just tired of sitting helplessly on her hands while disaster after disaster occurred around her. With this, at least, she felt maybe there was something she could do. Death and war were out of her grasp, but Stephanos and Olympia were still very much alive. As long as they were alive and relatively safe, there was still hope. Hope for what? On that, she still wasn’t sure.
The fight drained out of her completely when he relented that he shouldn’t have kept her at arm’s length when it came to this, then admitted that perhaps there were other paths to consider. His hand wrapped around hers with a gentle squeeze of her fingers before he stood to continue undressing. After a pause, he even apologized, and Theodora blinked up at him in surprise. Just as she had gone into the evening with no intent to apologize, she expected he had too, and to hear him say it now made her feel a bit guiltier than before. Maybe she was just being petty. Maybe it was time to start growing out of that.
Standing to join him, she gently pushed his hand away before he could remove the fibula from his other shoulder and placed a warm kiss against the skin she exposed. “I am… not used to this either,” she murmured quietly into his shoulder as her own sort of apology. Slowly, hesitantly, her arms slid around his now bare waist, pressing her cheek to his back. “I know I often speak before I think, and I will… try to be more careful of that.”
She couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, as it most certainly would, but she would try to make it a less frequent occurrence. If he could make concessions, so could she. A marriage shouldn’t go one way, not so much as it already had. Once she had come to terms with their situation, Theodora had vowed to herself that she would be a good wife to Achilleas, and she meant to keep that vow. There was no sense in intentionally making things harder than they had to be.
“I’m sorry, too,” she finally said, almost grudgingly. “For assuming the worst. It’s not a flattering habit.”
Her lips brushed lightly between his shoulder blades before she quietly added, “And thank you. For not brushing me off a second time.”
He’d sensed her moving behind him so that the sudden touch of her hand upon his did not come entirely as a surprise, and Achilleas let her take over, sighing when the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips brushed over his skin. Still facing away from her, her voice drifted between them and for a moment he was quiet, dropping his head forward and processing for a moment quite how relieved he felt not to be fighting with her anymore. Perhaps Petros had been right, and despite the urge to be stubborn, swallowing his pride had been the right course of action after all.
Still, he let her speak now, not quite holding his breath for the apology that seemed on its way, but reserved all the same. Whatever blame he might take on to himself for having been stand-offish, she had played as big a part in their quarrel as he.
When it came, Achilleas nodded slightly, lifting one hand to settle atop hers where it curled at his hip. The second kiss was enough to send a small tremor down his spine, pressed where it was, but he wouldn’t let himself be distracted by it, not when he found himself with something to say.
Turning slowly in her embrace, blue eyes caught her own, and the man spoke, his big hands now coming to settle in the dip of her waist, steadying her or himself, one of the two.
“I don’t want to fight with you. Especially not about this. There enough rifts to heal without forming another here?” He leant in a little, tilting his head so his forehead pressed against hers and Achilleas let his eyes drift close a moment. “We’ll find a way to make things right by them, I promise. Just...give me a little time.”
That currency, of course, that did not seem to be theirs in abundance, With a quick -pressed, weary smile that acknowledged as much, he smoothed a hand through her hair, daring to enjoy the silk smooth slip of it through his fingers now he wasn’t so worried about her turning him to ash with a glare for doing so.
“Would you have slept without resolving this?” he asked, half-curious now. Would he have lingered unnecessarily over his work to avoid her and this conversation? Without the pointed words from his steward, Achilleas could not say for sure that he would not have. A lesson then, he admitted begrudgingly, and perhaps one of many that he would need to learn in navigating things with the woman before him.
There was only a momentary hesitation as he leant in to claim her lips in a kiss, fingers tangling the hair hed just spent so long brushing. There was a fierceness to it, relief and the unwinding of the tension he’d carried with him all day; a sense of triumph at having weathered what was their first proper disagreement.
Or was it? He wasn’t certain, but pushed the wondering aside, drawing her closer in an attempt to reaffirm that bond that they’d only just begun to learn.
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He’d sensed her moving behind him so that the sudden touch of her hand upon his did not come entirely as a surprise, and Achilleas let her take over, sighing when the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips brushed over his skin. Still facing away from her, her voice drifted between them and for a moment he was quiet, dropping his head forward and processing for a moment quite how relieved he felt not to be fighting with her anymore. Perhaps Petros had been right, and despite the urge to be stubborn, swallowing his pride had been the right course of action after all.
Still, he let her speak now, not quite holding his breath for the apology that seemed on its way, but reserved all the same. Whatever blame he might take on to himself for having been stand-offish, she had played as big a part in their quarrel as he.
When it came, Achilleas nodded slightly, lifting one hand to settle atop hers where it curled at his hip. The second kiss was enough to send a small tremor down his spine, pressed where it was, but he wouldn’t let himself be distracted by it, not when he found himself with something to say.
Turning slowly in her embrace, blue eyes caught her own, and the man spoke, his big hands now coming to settle in the dip of her waist, steadying her or himself, one of the two.
“I don’t want to fight with you. Especially not about this. There enough rifts to heal without forming another here?” He leant in a little, tilting his head so his forehead pressed against hers and Achilleas let his eyes drift close a moment. “We’ll find a way to make things right by them, I promise. Just...give me a little time.”
That currency, of course, that did not seem to be theirs in abundance, With a quick -pressed, weary smile that acknowledged as much, he smoothed a hand through her hair, daring to enjoy the silk smooth slip of it through his fingers now he wasn’t so worried about her turning him to ash with a glare for doing so.
“Would you have slept without resolving this?” he asked, half-curious now. Would he have lingered unnecessarily over his work to avoid her and this conversation? Without the pointed words from his steward, Achilleas could not say for sure that he would not have. A lesson then, he admitted begrudgingly, and perhaps one of many that he would need to learn in navigating things with the woman before him.
There was only a momentary hesitation as he leant in to claim her lips in a kiss, fingers tangling the hair hed just spent so long brushing. There was a fierceness to it, relief and the unwinding of the tension he’d carried with him all day; a sense of triumph at having weathered what was their first proper disagreement.
Or was it? He wasn’t certain, but pushed the wondering aside, drawing her closer in an attempt to reaffirm that bond that they’d only just begun to learn.
He’d sensed her moving behind him so that the sudden touch of her hand upon his did not come entirely as a surprise, and Achilleas let her take over, sighing when the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips brushed over his skin. Still facing away from her, her voice drifted between them and for a moment he was quiet, dropping his head forward and processing for a moment quite how relieved he felt not to be fighting with her anymore. Perhaps Petros had been right, and despite the urge to be stubborn, swallowing his pride had been the right course of action after all.
Still, he let her speak now, not quite holding his breath for the apology that seemed on its way, but reserved all the same. Whatever blame he might take on to himself for having been stand-offish, she had played as big a part in their quarrel as he.
When it came, Achilleas nodded slightly, lifting one hand to settle atop hers where it curled at his hip. The second kiss was enough to send a small tremor down his spine, pressed where it was, but he wouldn’t let himself be distracted by it, not when he found himself with something to say.
Turning slowly in her embrace, blue eyes caught her own, and the man spoke, his big hands now coming to settle in the dip of her waist, steadying her or himself, one of the two.
“I don’t want to fight with you. Especially not about this. There enough rifts to heal without forming another here?” He leant in a little, tilting his head so his forehead pressed against hers and Achilleas let his eyes drift close a moment. “We’ll find a way to make things right by them, I promise. Just...give me a little time.”
That currency, of course, that did not seem to be theirs in abundance, With a quick -pressed, weary smile that acknowledged as much, he smoothed a hand through her hair, daring to enjoy the silk smooth slip of it through his fingers now he wasn’t so worried about her turning him to ash with a glare for doing so.
“Would you have slept without resolving this?” he asked, half-curious now. Would he have lingered unnecessarily over his work to avoid her and this conversation? Without the pointed words from his steward, Achilleas could not say for sure that he would not have. A lesson then, he admitted begrudgingly, and perhaps one of many that he would need to learn in navigating things with the woman before him.
There was only a momentary hesitation as he leant in to claim her lips in a kiss, fingers tangling the hair hed just spent so long brushing. There was a fierceness to it, relief and the unwinding of the tension he’d carried with him all day; a sense of triumph at having weathered what was their first proper disagreement.
Or was it? He wasn’t certain, but pushed the wondering aside, drawing her closer in an attempt to reaffirm that bond that they’d only just begun to learn.
Theodora’s eyes closed for a moment as he turned in her grasp to press his forehead to hers, hands sliding up his torso to rest on his shoulders when his came to grip her waist. She listened to him speak, quiet voice rumbling through her body in their proximity, and nodded in acknowledgement. She didn’t want to fight, either, not really, but given who she was, who he was… these sorts of arguments were bound to crop up eventually. Strong-willed and stubborn, but in separate ways, the gods must have laughed as they placed them together.
For more reasons than one.
“I only wish there was more time to give you,” she murmured in response, her eyes opening again when he finished speaking. A sad sort of smile rested on the corner of her lips, leaning into the hand that caressed through her hair. “Every day, more gets taken from us. I will do what I can when you are gone, I just… wish I knew what to do.”
Such a statement had never been truer; Theodora was desperately out of her depth in so many ways. In this marriage, in her role as Queen, in her obligation as a sister and friend. She often felt she was drowning with no time to reach the surface; every kick she made toward it only seemed to push her further into the depths below. But, at least, there had been one victory today, however small. She could be grateful for that.
‘Would you have slept without resolving this?’
Though her mouth twisted a little sheepishly, she responded in the affirmative with a soft sigh, “I would have, yes. Honestly, I had every intention of being asleep by the time you even came to bed, but you rather thoroughly thwarted that plan.” Though she didn’t know for sure why it was he’d retired so early, she was quietly happy he did. In the few days that remained to them, they ought not to spend them at odds with each other. There’d be time enough for martial spats later, when he returned.
If he returned.
Shoving that thought to the back of her mind, a soft sound of mirth passed her lips as Theodora shook her head. “I’m glad you did, though. Ask any of my sisters; it’s very rare for me to be the first one to back down in a fight. Some stubborn desire to win, I suppose, even if it’s misplaced.”
It was then he pulled her in closer, fingers clutching at her hair as he drew her in for a kiss. She could feel the relief in that touch, coupled with a fierce heat that had her responding in kind. Returning the kiss, her hand reached to cup his cheek, thumb brushing along his cheekbone with a light nip at his bottom lip.
“You know, there are other ways to resolve arguments,” she said in a low tone as she clutched at his hip, drawing away the rest of the cloth that remained. A glimmer of mischief danced over her face as she pressed in close, kissing him again. “More fun ways than apologies and promises of change.” Her brow raised suggestively, mouth drawing up in an impish grin. “If you know what I mean…”
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Theodora’s eyes closed for a moment as he turned in her grasp to press his forehead to hers, hands sliding up his torso to rest on his shoulders when his came to grip her waist. She listened to him speak, quiet voice rumbling through her body in their proximity, and nodded in acknowledgement. She didn’t want to fight, either, not really, but given who she was, who he was… these sorts of arguments were bound to crop up eventually. Strong-willed and stubborn, but in separate ways, the gods must have laughed as they placed them together.
For more reasons than one.
“I only wish there was more time to give you,” she murmured in response, her eyes opening again when he finished speaking. A sad sort of smile rested on the corner of her lips, leaning into the hand that caressed through her hair. “Every day, more gets taken from us. I will do what I can when you are gone, I just… wish I knew what to do.”
Such a statement had never been truer; Theodora was desperately out of her depth in so many ways. In this marriage, in her role as Queen, in her obligation as a sister and friend. She often felt she was drowning with no time to reach the surface; every kick she made toward it only seemed to push her further into the depths below. But, at least, there had been one victory today, however small. She could be grateful for that.
‘Would you have slept without resolving this?’
Though her mouth twisted a little sheepishly, she responded in the affirmative with a soft sigh, “I would have, yes. Honestly, I had every intention of being asleep by the time you even came to bed, but you rather thoroughly thwarted that plan.” Though she didn’t know for sure why it was he’d retired so early, she was quietly happy he did. In the few days that remained to them, they ought not to spend them at odds with each other. There’d be time enough for martial spats later, when he returned.
If he returned.
Shoving that thought to the back of her mind, a soft sound of mirth passed her lips as Theodora shook her head. “I’m glad you did, though. Ask any of my sisters; it’s very rare for me to be the first one to back down in a fight. Some stubborn desire to win, I suppose, even if it’s misplaced.”
It was then he pulled her in closer, fingers clutching at her hair as he drew her in for a kiss. She could feel the relief in that touch, coupled with a fierce heat that had her responding in kind. Returning the kiss, her hand reached to cup his cheek, thumb brushing along his cheekbone with a light nip at his bottom lip.
“You know, there are other ways to resolve arguments,” she said in a low tone as she clutched at his hip, drawing away the rest of the cloth that remained. A glimmer of mischief danced over her face as she pressed in close, kissing him again. “More fun ways than apologies and promises of change.” Her brow raised suggestively, mouth drawing up in an impish grin. “If you know what I mean…”
Theodora’s eyes closed for a moment as he turned in her grasp to press his forehead to hers, hands sliding up his torso to rest on his shoulders when his came to grip her waist. She listened to him speak, quiet voice rumbling through her body in their proximity, and nodded in acknowledgement. She didn’t want to fight, either, not really, but given who she was, who he was… these sorts of arguments were bound to crop up eventually. Strong-willed and stubborn, but in separate ways, the gods must have laughed as they placed them together.
For more reasons than one.
“I only wish there was more time to give you,” she murmured in response, her eyes opening again when he finished speaking. A sad sort of smile rested on the corner of her lips, leaning into the hand that caressed through her hair. “Every day, more gets taken from us. I will do what I can when you are gone, I just… wish I knew what to do.”
Such a statement had never been truer; Theodora was desperately out of her depth in so many ways. In this marriage, in her role as Queen, in her obligation as a sister and friend. She often felt she was drowning with no time to reach the surface; every kick she made toward it only seemed to push her further into the depths below. But, at least, there had been one victory today, however small. She could be grateful for that.
‘Would you have slept without resolving this?’
Though her mouth twisted a little sheepishly, she responded in the affirmative with a soft sigh, “I would have, yes. Honestly, I had every intention of being asleep by the time you even came to bed, but you rather thoroughly thwarted that plan.” Though she didn’t know for sure why it was he’d retired so early, she was quietly happy he did. In the few days that remained to them, they ought not to spend them at odds with each other. There’d be time enough for martial spats later, when he returned.
If he returned.
Shoving that thought to the back of her mind, a soft sound of mirth passed her lips as Theodora shook her head. “I’m glad you did, though. Ask any of my sisters; it’s very rare for me to be the first one to back down in a fight. Some stubborn desire to win, I suppose, even if it’s misplaced.”
It was then he pulled her in closer, fingers clutching at her hair as he drew her in for a kiss. She could feel the relief in that touch, coupled with a fierce heat that had her responding in kind. Returning the kiss, her hand reached to cup his cheek, thumb brushing along his cheekbone with a light nip at his bottom lip.
“You know, there are other ways to resolve arguments,” she said in a low tone as she clutched at his hip, drawing away the rest of the cloth that remained. A glimmer of mischief danced over her face as she pressed in close, kissing him again. “More fun ways than apologies and promises of change.” Her brow raised suggestively, mouth drawing up in an impish grin. “If you know what I mean…”
Achilleas didn’t know whether he should be displeased or impressed with her resolve when Theodora revealed that she had every intention of being asleep before he retired for the night. His brows drew together even as he gave a husky chuckle, some dry amusement found in her commitment to her cause even if he did not think he would have liked it very much; coming to bed to be presented with a cold shoulder.
“ Is that what I need to do?” he said, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger as she went on. “Ask your sisters for battle strategies so I might be better prepared?”
But not for the first time did he realise losing to Theodora was not quite as galling as losing in other situations. He was certainly not without his own fair share of pride, but keeping her favour somehow seemed more attractive a proposition than determining himself to be in the right. It was a novelty for one usually so rigid in clinging to his point of view.
He was glad too that he had not let his own stubbornness keep them apart, and kissed away any lingering explanations she might have had, only pulling away when he’d run out of air and was forced to, even then his gaze not straying from her own. Even if their thoughts had set them in opposition earlier that day, it seemed now at least they wandered a similar path, Achilleas only too happy to entertain the idea of a more physical reconciliation.
He hadn’t liked it when she walked away from him, that rejection stung more than just his pride, and so it was a balm of sorts to have her press herself willingly into his arms now. Eyes roving over her face as she stripped away the last of his clothes, he didn’t have words for her. They were hard to find in the face of her coaxing kisses and puckish smile, but he knew what she meant.
Achilleas was not entirely oblivious to how passion sometimes followed on the heels of anger. Still, there was something different, a yearning for Theodora that surpassed all those gone before, made them seem tawdry. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, wanted her smiles, her happiness, even her sharp tongue when it came down to it. What he didn’t want to be was to be ignored. She was his as he was hers; the Gods had witnessed it.
Kissing her back, his hands slid down from her hair, over the gentle curve of her shoulders, traced the plush contours of her body until they came to rest on the swell of her rear. As if she weighed nothing, he’d gathered her up into his arms, lifting her so her legs might wrap around his hips, ignoring the tangle of her chiton as he deepened the kiss.
He carried her toward the bed, stumbling a fraction as he kicked away the chiton left pooled on the floor. It was inefficient, she was still dressed, but he didn’t care, his lips pressing against her skin wherever he could reach as he laid her down beneath him. The muscles in his arms corded and bunched as he kissed up her throat and back to her lips whilst one hand fumbled blindly with the fibula at her shoulders.
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Achilleas didn’t know whether he should be displeased or impressed with her resolve when Theodora revealed that she had every intention of being asleep before he retired for the night. His brows drew together even as he gave a husky chuckle, some dry amusement found in her commitment to her cause even if he did not think he would have liked it very much; coming to bed to be presented with a cold shoulder.
“ Is that what I need to do?” he said, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger as she went on. “Ask your sisters for battle strategies so I might be better prepared?”
But not for the first time did he realise losing to Theodora was not quite as galling as losing in other situations. He was certainly not without his own fair share of pride, but keeping her favour somehow seemed more attractive a proposition than determining himself to be in the right. It was a novelty for one usually so rigid in clinging to his point of view.
He was glad too that he had not let his own stubbornness keep them apart, and kissed away any lingering explanations she might have had, only pulling away when he’d run out of air and was forced to, even then his gaze not straying from her own. Even if their thoughts had set them in opposition earlier that day, it seemed now at least they wandered a similar path, Achilleas only too happy to entertain the idea of a more physical reconciliation.
He hadn’t liked it when she walked away from him, that rejection stung more than just his pride, and so it was a balm of sorts to have her press herself willingly into his arms now. Eyes roving over her face as she stripped away the last of his clothes, he didn’t have words for her. They were hard to find in the face of her coaxing kisses and puckish smile, but he knew what she meant.
Achilleas was not entirely oblivious to how passion sometimes followed on the heels of anger. Still, there was something different, a yearning for Theodora that surpassed all those gone before, made them seem tawdry. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, wanted her smiles, her happiness, even her sharp tongue when it came down to it. What he didn’t want to be was to be ignored. She was his as he was hers; the Gods had witnessed it.
Kissing her back, his hands slid down from her hair, over the gentle curve of her shoulders, traced the plush contours of her body until they came to rest on the swell of her rear. As if she weighed nothing, he’d gathered her up into his arms, lifting her so her legs might wrap around his hips, ignoring the tangle of her chiton as he deepened the kiss.
He carried her toward the bed, stumbling a fraction as he kicked away the chiton left pooled on the floor. It was inefficient, she was still dressed, but he didn’t care, his lips pressing against her skin wherever he could reach as he laid her down beneath him. The muscles in his arms corded and bunched as he kissed up her throat and back to her lips whilst one hand fumbled blindly with the fibula at her shoulders.
Achilleas didn’t know whether he should be displeased or impressed with her resolve when Theodora revealed that she had every intention of being asleep before he retired for the night. His brows drew together even as he gave a husky chuckle, some dry amusement found in her commitment to her cause even if he did not think he would have liked it very much; coming to bed to be presented with a cold shoulder.
“ Is that what I need to do?” he said, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger as she went on. “Ask your sisters for battle strategies so I might be better prepared?”
But not for the first time did he realise losing to Theodora was not quite as galling as losing in other situations. He was certainly not without his own fair share of pride, but keeping her favour somehow seemed more attractive a proposition than determining himself to be in the right. It was a novelty for one usually so rigid in clinging to his point of view.
He was glad too that he had not let his own stubbornness keep them apart, and kissed away any lingering explanations she might have had, only pulling away when he’d run out of air and was forced to, even then his gaze not straying from her own. Even if their thoughts had set them in opposition earlier that day, it seemed now at least they wandered a similar path, Achilleas only too happy to entertain the idea of a more physical reconciliation.
He hadn’t liked it when she walked away from him, that rejection stung more than just his pride, and so it was a balm of sorts to have her press herself willingly into his arms now. Eyes roving over her face as she stripped away the last of his clothes, he didn’t have words for her. They were hard to find in the face of her coaxing kisses and puckish smile, but he knew what she meant.
Achilleas was not entirely oblivious to how passion sometimes followed on the heels of anger. Still, there was something different, a yearning for Theodora that surpassed all those gone before, made them seem tawdry. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, wanted her smiles, her happiness, even her sharp tongue when it came down to it. What he didn’t want to be was to be ignored. She was his as he was hers; the Gods had witnessed it.
Kissing her back, his hands slid down from her hair, over the gentle curve of her shoulders, traced the plush contours of her body until they came to rest on the swell of her rear. As if she weighed nothing, he’d gathered her up into his arms, lifting her so her legs might wrap around his hips, ignoring the tangle of her chiton as he deepened the kiss.
He carried her toward the bed, stumbling a fraction as he kicked away the chiton left pooled on the floor. It was inefficient, she was still dressed, but he didn’t care, his lips pressing against her skin wherever he could reach as he laid her down beneath him. The muscles in his arms corded and bunched as he kissed up her throat and back to her lips whilst one hand fumbled blindly with the fibula at her shoulders.
‘Is that what I need to do? Ask your sisters for battle strategies so I might be better prepared?’
Theodora couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking her head in her mirth. “Please don’t,” she said as Achilleas drew her in closer and twined her hair around his finger. “I quite like winning.” It was one thing they had in common, if little else, even if this was a markedly different sort of victory.
Had she really won tonight? She hadn’t apologized first, which had been her intention. But was that really a victory or just a lack of maturity? Now that she wore a crown, perhaps she ought to consider putting such pettiness to the side, but lifelong habits were not destroyed overnight. And besides, there was time enough to ponder on that later; now, the demanding press of her husband’s hands along her flesh commanded her attention, and she was happy enough to let the rest fall to the wayside.
There was a growing urgency in the way he kissed her, the restless way his touch roamed over her body. As she put forth her teasing suggestion, he seemed more than eager to comply; quite obviously, his thoughts already trod that same path. Lifting her as if she was nothing more than a doll, Theodora grinned in delight and twined her arms around his shoulders while her legs wound around his waist, returning his kisses with the same heat he bestowed.
Even if she hadn’t always found him to the be the most agreeable man, she couldn’t deny how attractive he was, sculpted muscle like stone under her probing hands. Idly, she wondered how often he trained to keep his physique as toned as it was and thought she might suggest joining him in the training yard one morning. She could shoot her bow, he could do… whatever it was he did to keep his muscles, and she could just keep eat up his abs and shoulders while she got some sorely needed practice herself. She tucked the thought in the back of her mind for when they were done and instead returned her attention to the here and now.
Assisting him in easing her clothes away, she tossed her chiton to the floor, her fingers twined in his hair as he kissed his way up her body and back to her mouth. Tongue teasing between his lips, she deepened the kiss, free hand travelling along his back, down to his hip, only to stop as it wrapped around his cock. Pausing, she pulled back just enough to speak.
“You remember that night at the pool?” she murmured, her hand idly stroking along his length as she nipped gently at his jaw. “When I said I would… you know…” Theodora’s freckled cheeks flushed a bit, clearing her throat. “I could… do that now.” She couldn’t imagine he would refuse, but the offer still had her a little shier than her wont. “If you wanted me to.”
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‘Is that what I need to do? Ask your sisters for battle strategies so I might be better prepared?’
Theodora couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking her head in her mirth. “Please don’t,” she said as Achilleas drew her in closer and twined her hair around his finger. “I quite like winning.” It was one thing they had in common, if little else, even if this was a markedly different sort of victory.
Had she really won tonight? She hadn’t apologized first, which had been her intention. But was that really a victory or just a lack of maturity? Now that she wore a crown, perhaps she ought to consider putting such pettiness to the side, but lifelong habits were not destroyed overnight. And besides, there was time enough to ponder on that later; now, the demanding press of her husband’s hands along her flesh commanded her attention, and she was happy enough to let the rest fall to the wayside.
There was a growing urgency in the way he kissed her, the restless way his touch roamed over her body. As she put forth her teasing suggestion, he seemed more than eager to comply; quite obviously, his thoughts already trod that same path. Lifting her as if she was nothing more than a doll, Theodora grinned in delight and twined her arms around his shoulders while her legs wound around his waist, returning his kisses with the same heat he bestowed.
Even if she hadn’t always found him to the be the most agreeable man, she couldn’t deny how attractive he was, sculpted muscle like stone under her probing hands. Idly, she wondered how often he trained to keep his physique as toned as it was and thought she might suggest joining him in the training yard one morning. She could shoot her bow, he could do… whatever it was he did to keep his muscles, and she could just keep eat up his abs and shoulders while she got some sorely needed practice herself. She tucked the thought in the back of her mind for when they were done and instead returned her attention to the here and now.
Assisting him in easing her clothes away, she tossed her chiton to the floor, her fingers twined in his hair as he kissed his way up her body and back to her mouth. Tongue teasing between his lips, she deepened the kiss, free hand travelling along his back, down to his hip, only to stop as it wrapped around his cock. Pausing, she pulled back just enough to speak.
“You remember that night at the pool?” she murmured, her hand idly stroking along his length as she nipped gently at his jaw. “When I said I would… you know…” Theodora’s freckled cheeks flushed a bit, clearing her throat. “I could… do that now.” She couldn’t imagine he would refuse, but the offer still had her a little shier than her wont. “If you wanted me to.”
‘Is that what I need to do? Ask your sisters for battle strategies so I might be better prepared?’
Theodora couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking her head in her mirth. “Please don’t,” she said as Achilleas drew her in closer and twined her hair around his finger. “I quite like winning.” It was one thing they had in common, if little else, even if this was a markedly different sort of victory.
Had she really won tonight? She hadn’t apologized first, which had been her intention. But was that really a victory or just a lack of maturity? Now that she wore a crown, perhaps she ought to consider putting such pettiness to the side, but lifelong habits were not destroyed overnight. And besides, there was time enough to ponder on that later; now, the demanding press of her husband’s hands along her flesh commanded her attention, and she was happy enough to let the rest fall to the wayside.
There was a growing urgency in the way he kissed her, the restless way his touch roamed over her body. As she put forth her teasing suggestion, he seemed more than eager to comply; quite obviously, his thoughts already trod that same path. Lifting her as if she was nothing more than a doll, Theodora grinned in delight and twined her arms around his shoulders while her legs wound around his waist, returning his kisses with the same heat he bestowed.
Even if she hadn’t always found him to the be the most agreeable man, she couldn’t deny how attractive he was, sculpted muscle like stone under her probing hands. Idly, she wondered how often he trained to keep his physique as toned as it was and thought she might suggest joining him in the training yard one morning. She could shoot her bow, he could do… whatever it was he did to keep his muscles, and she could just keep eat up his abs and shoulders while she got some sorely needed practice herself. She tucked the thought in the back of her mind for when they were done and instead returned her attention to the here and now.
Assisting him in easing her clothes away, she tossed her chiton to the floor, her fingers twined in his hair as he kissed his way up her body and back to her mouth. Tongue teasing between his lips, she deepened the kiss, free hand travelling along his back, down to his hip, only to stop as it wrapped around his cock. Pausing, she pulled back just enough to speak.
“You remember that night at the pool?” she murmured, her hand idly stroking along his length as she nipped gently at his jaw. “When I said I would… you know…” Theodora’s freckled cheeks flushed a bit, clearing her throat. “I could… do that now.” She couldn’t imagine he would refuse, but the offer still had her a little shier than her wont. “If you wanted me to.”
The king’s brows lifted a little at her laughter. Whilst he would have liked to share in her amusement, the niggling worry that their shared personality trait of wanting to win would lead them back here again and again. Theodora was as stubborn as she was beautiful; he was coming to see.
But then, as she pressed herself against him and their lips met in a kiss, he began to wonder if this was such a bad place to be after all. The fighting, he didn’t like. But this reconciliation? Was not so bad at all. And if they could sweep the rest of it away into memory, then he’d be much happier. Perhaps he owed Petros his thanks.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Achilleas bracing himself on one arm so as not to crush her under his weight. Her hair fanned like a dark halo around her head, and the fabric that hid the rest of her from him was suddenly an insult that could not be born. His breath ghosted hot across the skin of her throat and jaw as he kissed her, fingers making clumsy progress at removing the fibula that surely deserved more care than the king was offering them at that moment.
There was a dull clink as he tossed one behind him to land upon the stone, the sound of skittering across marble not enough to dissuade him from sending its pair to join it a moment later. He swept the fabric away with more gentleness, though, his breath catching as it slithered from her, uncovering the gloriousness that was her body.
His was carved like stone, muscle-hardened and broad. Here and there lay scars that mapped various fights and memories, and his skin had been darkened by the sun.
Whilst Theodora might have been revelling in the form of her husband, it was nothing to the delight Achilleas found in her god-given curves. She was flawless. The chiton landed crumpled upon the floor next to the poorly treated fibula that had held it in place, and he had to pull back to look at her. Creamy skin, petal-soft, was still a wonder to explore, so much that he almost could not decide where to start.
Gods, he was lucky.
He swept a hand up her side, pausing to strafe his thumb over the generous curve of her breast, pressed a kiss to the edge of her collarbone before finding her lips again. He didn’t think he would ever tire of her kissing her, and now, with the ghost of their argument still waiting to be vanquished, he was determined to put it from both of their minds.
When her fingers closed around his length, Achilleas gave a soft grunt, pressing into her touch even as her lips broke away from his own, and his eye strafed hers as she spoke of their shared night a few days ago. He would hardly have forgotten and was about to say so when she went on, and for a second he froze, because...yes, he remembered that well enough too.
He blew out a breath and swallowed as he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, eyes following it until they came to settle upon hers again.
“I….if you want to” he said, keeping his tone mostly neutral. “ It’s not a requirement” Fuck, he’d be lying if said he didn’t want her to want to though. Even the thought was enough to have his cock give a traitorous twitch of interest.
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The king’s brows lifted a little at her laughter. Whilst he would have liked to share in her amusement, the niggling worry that their shared personality trait of wanting to win would lead them back here again and again. Theodora was as stubborn as she was beautiful; he was coming to see.
But then, as she pressed herself against him and their lips met in a kiss, he began to wonder if this was such a bad place to be after all. The fighting, he didn’t like. But this reconciliation? Was not so bad at all. And if they could sweep the rest of it away into memory, then he’d be much happier. Perhaps he owed Petros his thanks.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Achilleas bracing himself on one arm so as not to crush her under his weight. Her hair fanned like a dark halo around her head, and the fabric that hid the rest of her from him was suddenly an insult that could not be born. His breath ghosted hot across the skin of her throat and jaw as he kissed her, fingers making clumsy progress at removing the fibula that surely deserved more care than the king was offering them at that moment.
There was a dull clink as he tossed one behind him to land upon the stone, the sound of skittering across marble not enough to dissuade him from sending its pair to join it a moment later. He swept the fabric away with more gentleness, though, his breath catching as it slithered from her, uncovering the gloriousness that was her body.
His was carved like stone, muscle-hardened and broad. Here and there lay scars that mapped various fights and memories, and his skin had been darkened by the sun.
Whilst Theodora might have been revelling in the form of her husband, it was nothing to the delight Achilleas found in her god-given curves. She was flawless. The chiton landed crumpled upon the floor next to the poorly treated fibula that had held it in place, and he had to pull back to look at her. Creamy skin, petal-soft, was still a wonder to explore, so much that he almost could not decide where to start.
Gods, he was lucky.
He swept a hand up her side, pausing to strafe his thumb over the generous curve of her breast, pressed a kiss to the edge of her collarbone before finding her lips again. He didn’t think he would ever tire of her kissing her, and now, with the ghost of their argument still waiting to be vanquished, he was determined to put it from both of their minds.
When her fingers closed around his length, Achilleas gave a soft grunt, pressing into her touch even as her lips broke away from his own, and his eye strafed hers as she spoke of their shared night a few days ago. He would hardly have forgotten and was about to say so when she went on, and for a second he froze, because...yes, he remembered that well enough too.
He blew out a breath and swallowed as he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, eyes following it until they came to settle upon hers again.
“I….if you want to” he said, keeping his tone mostly neutral. “ It’s not a requirement” Fuck, he’d be lying if said he didn’t want her to want to though. Even the thought was enough to have his cock give a traitorous twitch of interest.
The king’s brows lifted a little at her laughter. Whilst he would have liked to share in her amusement, the niggling worry that their shared personality trait of wanting to win would lead them back here again and again. Theodora was as stubborn as she was beautiful; he was coming to see.
But then, as she pressed herself against him and their lips met in a kiss, he began to wonder if this was such a bad place to be after all. The fighting, he didn’t like. But this reconciliation? Was not so bad at all. And if they could sweep the rest of it away into memory, then he’d be much happier. Perhaps he owed Petros his thanks.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Achilleas bracing himself on one arm so as not to crush her under his weight. Her hair fanned like a dark halo around her head, and the fabric that hid the rest of her from him was suddenly an insult that could not be born. His breath ghosted hot across the skin of her throat and jaw as he kissed her, fingers making clumsy progress at removing the fibula that surely deserved more care than the king was offering them at that moment.
There was a dull clink as he tossed one behind him to land upon the stone, the sound of skittering across marble not enough to dissuade him from sending its pair to join it a moment later. He swept the fabric away with more gentleness, though, his breath catching as it slithered from her, uncovering the gloriousness that was her body.
His was carved like stone, muscle-hardened and broad. Here and there lay scars that mapped various fights and memories, and his skin had been darkened by the sun.
Whilst Theodora might have been revelling in the form of her husband, it was nothing to the delight Achilleas found in her god-given curves. She was flawless. The chiton landed crumpled upon the floor next to the poorly treated fibula that had held it in place, and he had to pull back to look at her. Creamy skin, petal-soft, was still a wonder to explore, so much that he almost could not decide where to start.
Gods, he was lucky.
He swept a hand up her side, pausing to strafe his thumb over the generous curve of her breast, pressed a kiss to the edge of her collarbone before finding her lips again. He didn’t think he would ever tire of her kissing her, and now, with the ghost of their argument still waiting to be vanquished, he was determined to put it from both of their minds.
When her fingers closed around his length, Achilleas gave a soft grunt, pressing into her touch even as her lips broke away from his own, and his eye strafed hers as she spoke of their shared night a few days ago. He would hardly have forgotten and was about to say so when she went on, and for a second he froze, because...yes, he remembered that well enough too.
He blew out a breath and swallowed as he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, eyes following it until they came to settle upon hers again.
“I….if you want to” he said, keeping his tone mostly neutral. “ It’s not a requirement” Fuck, he’d be lying if said he didn’t want her to want to though. Even the thought was enough to have his cock give a traitorous twitch of interest.
Her clothing was gone in moments, Achilleas’s presence more than making up for the lack of warmth in the room. His hands ghosted reverently along her skin, his mouth soon following, and Theodora’s fingers twined idly in his curls as he kissed his way back to her mouth. There was something to be said for the heat of passion following an argument, the steamy lust that had her go so quickly from angry to aroused. Again, she was glad Achilleas had come into the room when he did, that her own plans had been so thoroughly demolished. This was surely far more preferable than what she had intended to do.
The King’s response to the Queen’s shy and halting offer had Theo fighting to keep a smile off her face, lest he misconstrue it for something else. ‘I… if you want to.’ His member twitching in her hand as she posed her question somewhat belied his more neutral reply, smirking as she leaned in to kiss him again. It was sweet that he didn’t pressure her, but his body’s response was rather obvious. It wasn’t hard to figure out that was exactly what he wanted, even if he wouldn’t say it.
Gently and wordlessly, she pushed at his chest to urge him off of her and to switch their positions, her other hand still slowly working him as she kissed along his jaw and throat. Once he was laying back against the pillows, she leisurely kissed her way down his chest, her heart picking up its pace. While she had done this before, it was not with the man in front of her now, and so she held a touch of trepidation as her tongue lightly flicked along the toned muscles of his abdomen. What if she wasn’t really that good at it? What if he didn’t like it?
Then again, was it something that really required all that much finesse?
Swallowing her nerves, she paused as she reached his pelvis, glancing up to meet his eyes with a wicked grin. Slowly, her tongue ran from the base up to the tip, circled around the head and paused again before her lips wrapped around him in earnest. She was tentative at first, not taking him too deep while her hand worked in tandem with her mouth. When he seemed to be responding well, however, she gained more confidence, pulling him deeper into her mouth, chasing after the pleasured sounds she’d heard him make before.
The nails of her free hand curled into his hip as her head bobbed slowly up and down his length, glancing up every now and then to see the expression on his face. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she soldiered on, urging him toward the moment she’d feel him twitch and unravel beneath her.
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Her clothing was gone in moments, Achilleas’s presence more than making up for the lack of warmth in the room. His hands ghosted reverently along her skin, his mouth soon following, and Theodora’s fingers twined idly in his curls as he kissed his way back to her mouth. There was something to be said for the heat of passion following an argument, the steamy lust that had her go so quickly from angry to aroused. Again, she was glad Achilleas had come into the room when he did, that her own plans had been so thoroughly demolished. This was surely far more preferable than what she had intended to do.
The King’s response to the Queen’s shy and halting offer had Theo fighting to keep a smile off her face, lest he misconstrue it for something else. ‘I… if you want to.’ His member twitching in her hand as she posed her question somewhat belied his more neutral reply, smirking as she leaned in to kiss him again. It was sweet that he didn’t pressure her, but his body’s response was rather obvious. It wasn’t hard to figure out that was exactly what he wanted, even if he wouldn’t say it.
Gently and wordlessly, she pushed at his chest to urge him off of her and to switch their positions, her other hand still slowly working him as she kissed along his jaw and throat. Once he was laying back against the pillows, she leisurely kissed her way down his chest, her heart picking up its pace. While she had done this before, it was not with the man in front of her now, and so she held a touch of trepidation as her tongue lightly flicked along the toned muscles of his abdomen. What if she wasn’t really that good at it? What if he didn’t like it?
Then again, was it something that really required all that much finesse?
Swallowing her nerves, she paused as she reached his pelvis, glancing up to meet his eyes with a wicked grin. Slowly, her tongue ran from the base up to the tip, circled around the head and paused again before her lips wrapped around him in earnest. She was tentative at first, not taking him too deep while her hand worked in tandem with her mouth. When he seemed to be responding well, however, she gained more confidence, pulling him deeper into her mouth, chasing after the pleasured sounds she’d heard him make before.
The nails of her free hand curled into his hip as her head bobbed slowly up and down his length, glancing up every now and then to see the expression on his face. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she soldiered on, urging him toward the moment she’d feel him twitch and unravel beneath her.
Her clothing was gone in moments, Achilleas’s presence more than making up for the lack of warmth in the room. His hands ghosted reverently along her skin, his mouth soon following, and Theodora’s fingers twined idly in his curls as he kissed his way back to her mouth. There was something to be said for the heat of passion following an argument, the steamy lust that had her go so quickly from angry to aroused. Again, she was glad Achilleas had come into the room when he did, that her own plans had been so thoroughly demolished. This was surely far more preferable than what she had intended to do.
The King’s response to the Queen’s shy and halting offer had Theo fighting to keep a smile off her face, lest he misconstrue it for something else. ‘I… if you want to.’ His member twitching in her hand as she posed her question somewhat belied his more neutral reply, smirking as she leaned in to kiss him again. It was sweet that he didn’t pressure her, but his body’s response was rather obvious. It wasn’t hard to figure out that was exactly what he wanted, even if he wouldn’t say it.
Gently and wordlessly, she pushed at his chest to urge him off of her and to switch their positions, her other hand still slowly working him as she kissed along his jaw and throat. Once he was laying back against the pillows, she leisurely kissed her way down his chest, her heart picking up its pace. While she had done this before, it was not with the man in front of her now, and so she held a touch of trepidation as her tongue lightly flicked along the toned muscles of his abdomen. What if she wasn’t really that good at it? What if he didn’t like it?
Then again, was it something that really required all that much finesse?
Swallowing her nerves, she paused as she reached his pelvis, glancing up to meet his eyes with a wicked grin. Slowly, her tongue ran from the base up to the tip, circled around the head and paused again before her lips wrapped around him in earnest. She was tentative at first, not taking him too deep while her hand worked in tandem with her mouth. When he seemed to be responding well, however, she gained more confidence, pulling him deeper into her mouth, chasing after the pleasured sounds she’d heard him make before.
The nails of her free hand curled into his hip as her head bobbed slowly up and down his length, glancing up every now and then to see the expression on his face. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she soldiered on, urging him toward the moment she’d feel him twitch and unravel beneath her.
