The journey to the Marikas mansion was not far. In fact, the Marikas lands were so close to the palace after all their years and generations being a part of the royal line, that the house was practically included within the palace's backyard.

The missive that had Persephone on the road that morning was one of surprise. She knew little of Lord Rafail despite the fact that he was six years older than her and had been one of the dashing noble men in Court when she was a little girl. He had not limited his presence in the Court since and, though Persephone had been in attendance, running the show so to speak, since she was twelve years old, the ladies of her retinue (older more experienced women) had kept her hidden from the dark or salacious underbelly of the courtiers private affairs.

Now, at fifteen, Persephone was more aware of what was going on, but also harboured the romantic soul and optimism of a normal girl of her age. Without a mother to follow the lead of this past four years, she had become a manifestation of the ladies she witnesses in and out of the Courts. She was a little simpering, a little nervous and altogether confident that life would work out well, despite her childhood grief over losing her mother.

While her responsibilities within the palace, relating to the running of the country, gave Persephone a strong head for numbers, laws, facts and information, she had yet to really be allowed out into the world and become so understanding and knowledgeable regarding people.

And so it was with optimism and an uncharacteristic amount of naivete brought on by the ego stroke of having an elegant and handsome nobleman remember her favourite flower that he arrived at the Marikas manor.

Dressed in a beautiful mint green, light and refreshing in tone like the spray of the ocean, Persephone's gown was typically greek, fastened at her shoulders with fibulae that wove together both silver and gold and secured with a belt of similar colours tied around her miniature waste. At her age, her breasts had yet to full develop and her hips would always be lean, which meant her entire appearance was waif-like and delicate. Her hair hung loose as was befitting a girl of her age, with only its top layer spun into an elegant coil flat to the back of her head. The rest of her straight, glossy locks, fell to just past her shoulder blades.

One of the ladies maids assigned to Persephone over the last few years was carrying a basket of wine and fine foods that she was bringing as a gift unto the house in thanks for her visit - even though her own rank was higher than theirs (it never paid to be rude).

Holding her skirts out of the way of her steps in order to reach the front doors to the manor, Persephone was welcomed inside by two servants and stepped into a cool and finely decorated foyer or white marble. She looked around enchanted as she waited to be welcomed...

Persephone smiled as the lord kissed her hand and welcomed her to his home. She bowed her head and offered a light curtsy, her flattered pride reducing her arrogance in rank. She had been taught from a young age that the House of Xanthos was new to the world of the royals in Athenia - or rather, only a few generations old - which made them positively infantile compared to the legacies of Antonis and Marikas. It did not pay to consider yourself above others of nobility for the luck of being born to the one on the throne.

"Of course, Lord Rafail." She answered brightly at his thanks. "My mother always did impress upon me the importance of proper manners."

As the man took her arm like a gentleman, Persephone's smile remained and they headed out towards the back for the flower viewing he had promised in his missive.

"I thank you for your invitation, Lord Rafail." She told him. "I cannot think when I last mentioned that crocuses were my favourite flower but it must have been an off-hand comment at best... I find myself struggling not to be flattered by your memory and attention."

The second part of his statement, appealing directly to herself and her appearance was one that she blushed to but had no practice in responding to, and so she let it hand between them in the air.

As they stepped out into the back gardens of the Marikas manor the sun was bright and the sections of flowering shrubs bright with colour. She could not see any crocuses as yet, but she was also aware of how large the Marikas property was and how it might be a moment before they reached their particular section.

The word section was appropriate, for everything was grown in order in the Marikas lands. Each raised bed held a different plant or species or colour. The entire effect was both elegant and organised. It was bright and lovely.

"Oh, how beautiful..." She commented at her first glance of the impressive visage.

Persephone felt colour bloom over her cheeks as the lord commented on her beauty. It was not a compliment that had failed to be heard on numerous occasions before but such words were often spoken by those of decidedly lower rank than Lord Rafail was to her or in the public eye so as to flatter a known princess. This was a private audience and Rafail seemed intent on his answers - with a focus behind his words - that made Persephone both believe them and accept them in a self-conscious manner.

She had not been courted before and yet Persephone was starting to feel, with the Lord's excessive praise that such a thing was certainly occurring. And she found herself ill-equipped to deal with it.

While he was her uncle's brother, by marriage, Persephone and Rafail had a limited age difference due to the glaring gap in years between her Aunt Sera and her second husband. As the second heir to the Marikas line - for Pavlos of Marikas had produced only girls so far - Persephone knew that Rafail was in a well-placed position for courting a princess. For his bloodline was assured enough for him to be a serious candidate in potential future plans.

A practical girl by half, Persephone had never been one to fantasise of love and romance. She knew she was the eldest daughter of a king and, as such, would be expected to marry fortuitously - not romantically. But it didn't stop her heart sputtering a little as Rafail watched her with an appreciative gaze.

Walking amongst the floor beds, Persephone was careful to tug at her gowns as she turned corners and adjust her pace to match that of the Lord, intent on causing him as little issue or pause as possible on the route he carved through the gardens.

He knew he way there specifically and Persephone silently congratulated either his own enjoyment of the gardens or his preparation for her visit - the two possible reasons for his assuredness for where the crocuses in particular were located.

Upon reaching the flock of purple that was the crocus bed, Persephone smiled brightly, her white teeth a sharp brightness in the smooth tan of her face.

Hurrying a step forward and then crouching low so that her skirts bloomed around her like water, Persephone rested her hands on her knees and lent in close to smell the blossoms.

In amongst the shades of purple were her favourites of the bunch - the pure white ones. She had always liked their grace and stubbornness - to grow between the bright and dominant petals of the standard crocus white.

When the lord offered to have some cut for her Persephone smiled at his suggestion but shook her head, the longer loose ends of her hair falling from her back to in front of her shoulders.

"No indeed, Lord Rafail - I wouldn't dream of it." She said. "As soon as they are cut, they only start to die." She reached out a hand though, and glanced up and over her shoulder at him with the look of a child uncertain of the reaction to her request. "I might, perhaps, take one though?" She smiled. "To note the visit?"

After waiting for his response, she reached further forwards with her slim fingers and with great gentleness broke the stem of one of the white crocuses, bringing the single flower to her nose.

With the bloom in hand, she rose back to her feet and, keeping the flower in front of her chest and occasionally spinning it between her fingers, Persephone shook her head with her next words.

"With regards to your appearance at court, Lord Rafail, do you trouble yourself." She smiled again. "Responsibility are just that and they come first. Though..." Persephone glanced down at the blossom self-consciously and then back up at him again. "I hope that you may attend the next meeting? If only to improve our friendship further, perhaps?"

Smiling at the man as he commented on her gown, she didn't answer him until after she stood up.

"It is of no import..." She commented when he mentioned that she might damage the chiton. "I have many back at the palace."

The words were not intended to be selfish or egotistical - simple fact - but Persephone was only fifteen and she had been raised with a limited understanding of the world around her and how beneficial and profitable her own standing in it was. While some morals, manners and lessons had been drilled into her by her mother, others had gone woefully under-taught and she would only learn such things in the years to come. She was far form arrogant and prideful but she had also to learn the finer points of humility.

Her smile bright as the Marikas lord encouraged a growing relationship between the two of them, the word did not have the same effect that Rafail may have hoped. Instead of seeing it as a word specifically associated with romantic connections, she saw it as a simple abstract term that failed to define any particular feelings on either party.

Either way she was respect of the apparent distance he was putting on their connection and was happy to allow their current meeting to reach its conclusions peacefully and a with feelings of satisfaction on both sides that their associations had been progressed adequately.

At least now, she thought, as the man bid her adieu and saw her to her carriage, their next meeting would have a foundation on which to build...