It was not often that Panos entertained the ideas of allowing people to make their way to the inner confines of his estate with little prior notice, but, even a man who was known for seldom entertaining exceptions could be inclined to do so when the person making such an unexpected request was the Crown Princess of the Realm. Persephone of Xanthos, a name that he was extensively aware of out of years of carefully cultivated inter-house relations aimed at bridging the gap between the old crowned ones and the new ones. He supposed that, if her name had not been Xanthos he would have respected her far more than he did, for he had not, throughout decades of ferocious industry, found cause to consider her less-than-capable in the least.

Yet, be that as it may, there were very noticeable elements of her background that still did not settle well with him, and occasionally turned his stomach. She had the name of Omiros, and that, by itself, was a capital sin before the Marikas elder’s eyes, and for as capable and useful as she had proved herself, their still would be that impossible-to-clean stain attached to her. Begrudging acceptance was not amity after all, but, if it was any balm to old wounds, he supposed that Persephone’s diligence and apparent focus when it came to matters regal did soften his opinion of the Xanthos heiress. Besides, despite his personal opinions, the matter was still a political reality. Regardless of what he thought of her, she was a Princess, whereas he was not, and for as much as he distrusted those scions of that name, adherence to traditions still stood. Difference owed to a person did not, after all, have to be disregarded to their station.

Owing to the esteem he owed to the institution that is monarchy, Panos not only acquiesced to the audience request, but gave way for them to meet at the outer court of his legendary gardens, a favor that the Marikas patriarch did not extend to everyone. Garbed in robes of magnificent gold outlined with eminent black, the statesman made his way to the demesne of his property, quietly hovering over his meticulously polished marbled floors with a kingly disposition that could match that of any monarch. Once he stood proud and dignified before the main gates of his grounds, the grand doors were pushed open and the air around the gardens became stiff, overwhelming and autocratic, as if a spell of sorts had been cast over the verdurous paradise that demanded absolute obedience from everything, and everyone inside them.

His favor for their meeting in his gardens had not been unintentional. While Persephone and her kin may possibly take comfort behind the castled walls of the Royal Palace, within those breathtaking gardens Panos was not just a lord, or even a Master as his newest station implied, but rather, in his own way, a king, ruling over the vast grounds with unwavering certainty. Nothing inside those sprawling grounds escaped him, for all had been calculated well in-advance, and this was something that Panos was acutely aware of. One need not have the loudest voice or the most passionate speechcraft to governor ones surroundings, and, in his experience, regardless of rank or station, people often were uncomfortable and less likely to impose their own personal authority in a place that was foreign, alien and detached from them. This was precisely what the Great Owl had considered when he penned his reply to her request, allowing him, not Persephone to be the one in control of the conversation, and, most likely, that gave him power over her right then and now, whether she knew it or not.

Despite not bearing any regal titles himself, Panos was every bit the embodiment of kingly disposition. His sagacious eyes were stern and authoritarian, removed from warmth or softness, and instead filled with conviction and determination. Likewise his tall, slender figure was powerful and severe, with his back pushed rearward and his long, elegant fingers clasped behind him in an obvious sign of his silent arbitrations concerning his guest, channeling the long age of his high bloodline without saying anything. His sharp features were stoic, cold and emotionless, demonstrating the poise and temperance of his ancient nobility, one that, regardless of titles or positions, none could doubt. Slowly, he came upon her, never hurrying his steps, nor lowering his raised his head as he continued to walk towards the Xanthos heiress. Blue eyes, frigid and icy as the winds of winter, cast their gaze upon her as Panos stared at Persephone, silently judging the girl for every single one of her movements without any hesitation whatsoever. This too was a one of his calculations, for he knew that direct eye-contact and a languid pace demonstrated confidence, certainty and calmness, all of which the Marikas elder was sure to forward right then and there.

Ever obedient of rules and etiquette, Panos, wreathed in his eminence and finery, showed his reverence to Persephone’s station and bowed ever so slightly, keeping his intense eyes fixed upon the Crown Princess. Yet, while he bowed before her, the Marikas elder did not give way for her to exert her place before him, letting the mystical power of silence be his tool in that moment. Subsequently, he raised back to his intimidating stance and presented a voice that was unnerving, authoritarian and unspeakably ancient, as if the Great Owl had been a titan of old that stood before the Xanthos woman, speaking with a firm tone.

“Your Royal Highness, Crown Princess Persephone of House Xanthos…” He formally introduced, saying her name with a seriousness and deepness that could send shivers down one’s spine. There was a solemnity to his voice, one that contrasted deeply with the ethereal beauty that surrounded them, and his indomitable character was ever-present. “To what, pray tell, do I owe the honor of hosting you today, Your Royal Highness?” He asked a rather straightforward and direct answer, for Panos did not beat around the bush unless it was absolutely necessary, and his instincts all told him that today would not be an occasion where he would have to make polite conversation at all. Meanwhile, he kept his rigid posture and stiff appearance, never letting any part of him falter in his self-restraint and decorum.