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An entire week had passed before there was adequate time in the calendar for Cyrus and Persephone to meet. Many impatient noblemen like Rafail of Marikas and Elias of Stravos may have been irritated by the long wait, but Cyrus thought it more than beneficial. He was speaking with many different parties, and with the senate vote only a week out, it meant there would be little to no time for those parties to communicate effectively with one another. Not that they would, though. They knew the playing board was a free-for-all. The votes in the senate would go to the highest bidder.
With his trusted bodyguard, Iraklis, in tow, Cyrus climbed the steps to the magnificent doors of the royal palace of Athenia. Four regal guards stood vigilant, the Xanthos uniform of silver and black glittering in the midday sun. “Name and title,” one of the guards ordered, his voice slightly muffled beneath his helmet.
“Lord Cyrus of Karsalis, Baron of Arcasis,” the nobleman replied, shooting a quick glance toward Iraklis. The guardsman that had spoken ushered one of his comrades inside. A few moments passed before that guard returned, and with a smaller, more finely dressed man at his side.
“Good afternoon Lord Cyrus. I am Sir Baros of Merass, Head Steward of Her Royal Highness. We have been in touch,” the little man said.
“Yes, yes, we have,” Cyrus retorted, his eyes lazily combing over the courtier. “Where will I be meeting Her Royal Highness today?”
“In one of the meeting rooms. Follow me.”
Cyrus gave a quick nod before the steward turned on his heel and led the baron of Arcasis into the Great Hall at a leisurely pace. The Marikas vassal’s eyes wandered about the room and all of its grandeur. He never tired of its sight, and in his own mind, a glimpse of fantasy always surfaced: the Xanthos silver being altered to a Karsalis gold, for the black was the same. A dream was a dream, however.
Soon, the visage of the throne hall was behind them and they began winding through the corridors, Iraklis’ armor rattling with each step. “I am afraid that your bodyguard will have to remain outside the designated meeting room,” the steward said as they walked.
“Of course,” Cyrus muttered.
One last bend and the trio would arrive at their destination. “Here it is,” the steward proclaimed, arm outstretching to a set of double doors that was protected by two royal sentinels that stood on either side. The guards pushed the doors abroad, revealing an image of a fine solar room where the princess sat in wait. Once she saw the doors open, though, she stood to her full spectrum.
“Greetings, Your Royal Highness,” Cyrus stated with a slightly raised voice as he entered the room proper and fell into a modest bow that concluded with a soft kiss on the back of the princess’ hand. He hated granting so much deference to a woman, but he knew his place. He stood back to his full height, only a few inches taller than the daughter of Minas.
As he stood within a few feet of the princess, his nostrils became filled with an aroma that befit her station. He was not one to give compliments often, but if he favored something, he would make it known. “Before we delve into business, I have to say… your perfume is intoxicating. May I ask the ingredients? My wife would be grateful, I’m sure.”
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
An entire week had passed before there was adequate time in the calendar for Cyrus and Persephone to meet. Many impatient noblemen like Rafail of Marikas and Elias of Stravos may have been irritated by the long wait, but Cyrus thought it more than beneficial. He was speaking with many different parties, and with the senate vote only a week out, it meant there would be little to no time for those parties to communicate effectively with one another. Not that they would, though. They knew the playing board was a free-for-all. The votes in the senate would go to the highest bidder.
With his trusted bodyguard, Iraklis, in tow, Cyrus climbed the steps to the magnificent doors of the royal palace of Athenia. Four regal guards stood vigilant, the Xanthos uniform of silver and black glittering in the midday sun. “Name and title,” one of the guards ordered, his voice slightly muffled beneath his helmet.
“Lord Cyrus of Karsalis, Baron of Arcasis,” the nobleman replied, shooting a quick glance toward Iraklis. The guardsman that had spoken ushered one of his comrades inside. A few moments passed before that guard returned, and with a smaller, more finely dressed man at his side.
“Good afternoon Lord Cyrus. I am Sir Baros of Merass, Head Steward of Her Royal Highness. We have been in touch,” the little man said.
“Yes, yes, we have,” Cyrus retorted, his eyes lazily combing over the courtier. “Where will I be meeting Her Royal Highness today?”
“In one of the meeting rooms. Follow me.”
Cyrus gave a quick nod before the steward turned on his heel and led the baron of Arcasis into the Great Hall at a leisurely pace. The Marikas vassal’s eyes wandered about the room and all of its grandeur. He never tired of its sight, and in his own mind, a glimpse of fantasy always surfaced: the Xanthos silver being altered to a Karsalis gold, for the black was the same. A dream was a dream, however.
Soon, the visage of the throne hall was behind them and they began winding through the corridors, Iraklis’ armor rattling with each step. “I am afraid that your bodyguard will have to remain outside the designated meeting room,” the steward said as they walked.
“Of course,” Cyrus muttered.
One last bend and the trio would arrive at their destination. “Here it is,” the steward proclaimed, arm outstretching to a set of double doors that was protected by two royal sentinels that stood on either side. The guards pushed the doors abroad, revealing an image of a fine solar room where the princess sat in wait. Once she saw the doors open, though, she stood to her full spectrum.
“Greetings, Your Royal Highness,” Cyrus stated with a slightly raised voice as he entered the room proper and fell into a modest bow that concluded with a soft kiss on the back of the princess’ hand. He hated granting so much deference to a woman, but he knew his place. He stood back to his full height, only a few inches taller than the daughter of Minas.
As he stood within a few feet of the princess, his nostrils became filled with an aroma that befit her station. He was not one to give compliments often, but if he favored something, he would make it known. “Before we delve into business, I have to say… your perfume is intoxicating. May I ask the ingredients? My wife would be grateful, I’m sure.”
An entire week had passed before there was adequate time in the calendar for Cyrus and Persephone to meet. Many impatient noblemen like Rafail of Marikas and Elias of Stravos may have been irritated by the long wait, but Cyrus thought it more than beneficial. He was speaking with many different parties, and with the senate vote only a week out, it meant there would be little to no time for those parties to communicate effectively with one another. Not that they would, though. They knew the playing board was a free-for-all. The votes in the senate would go to the highest bidder.
With his trusted bodyguard, Iraklis, in tow, Cyrus climbed the steps to the magnificent doors of the royal palace of Athenia. Four regal guards stood vigilant, the Xanthos uniform of silver and black glittering in the midday sun. “Name and title,” one of the guards ordered, his voice slightly muffled beneath his helmet.
“Lord Cyrus of Karsalis, Baron of Arcasis,” the nobleman replied, shooting a quick glance toward Iraklis. The guardsman that had spoken ushered one of his comrades inside. A few moments passed before that guard returned, and with a smaller, more finely dressed man at his side.
“Good afternoon Lord Cyrus. I am Sir Baros of Merass, Head Steward of Her Royal Highness. We have been in touch,” the little man said.
“Yes, yes, we have,” Cyrus retorted, his eyes lazily combing over the courtier. “Where will I be meeting Her Royal Highness today?”
“In one of the meeting rooms. Follow me.”
Cyrus gave a quick nod before the steward turned on his heel and led the baron of Arcasis into the Great Hall at a leisurely pace. The Marikas vassal’s eyes wandered about the room and all of its grandeur. He never tired of its sight, and in his own mind, a glimpse of fantasy always surfaced: the Xanthos silver being altered to a Karsalis gold, for the black was the same. A dream was a dream, however.
Soon, the visage of the throne hall was behind them and they began winding through the corridors, Iraklis’ armor rattling with each step. “I am afraid that your bodyguard will have to remain outside the designated meeting room,” the steward said as they walked.
“Of course,” Cyrus muttered.
One last bend and the trio would arrive at their destination. “Here it is,” the steward proclaimed, arm outstretching to a set of double doors that was protected by two royal sentinels that stood on either side. The guards pushed the doors abroad, revealing an image of a fine solar room where the princess sat in wait. Once she saw the doors open, though, she stood to her full spectrum.
“Greetings, Your Royal Highness,” Cyrus stated with a slightly raised voice as he entered the room proper and fell into a modest bow that concluded with a soft kiss on the back of the princess’ hand. He hated granting so much deference to a woman, but he knew his place. He stood back to his full height, only a few inches taller than the daughter of Minas.
As he stood within a few feet of the princess, his nostrils became filled with an aroma that befit her station. He was not one to give compliments often, but if he favored something, he would make it known. “Before we delve into business, I have to say… your perfume is intoxicating. May I ask the ingredients? My wife would be grateful, I’m sure.”
Persephone made sure that she was ready and waiting for the Lord Cyrus' arrival at the royal palace that afternoon. While she made a point to never be tardy for the royal houses of the kingdom, there was also an element of being late that stated she was the one to be deferred to and that schedules were confirmed by her arrival - not by the movement of the sun. This was a tactic her father had taught her to use - if sparingly - and while she had never deliberately enacted it, it was a skill she used accidentally on occasion when her business affairs elsewhere in the palace ran later than intended.
For the baron of Arcasis, however, Persephone had ensured no such games of power were played - no matter how unintentional. It was the first time she was privately meeting with the Lord and a little bit of respect at any initial meeting always went a long way, in her experience.
As such, when the doors to the meeting room were opened, Persephone was already seated within, awaiting her guess. Standing at his entrance and then waiting as he approached, Persephone smiled with grace and friendliness as he took her hand to be kissed; all propriety and manners.
The solar room was bright and airy and open to the elements both from above and through the wall of columns that looked out onto one side of the royal gardens. The room was almost half as large as the royal throne room and yet furnished for private consultation, the furniture in the central lowered dais and the rest of the chamber open to the bright light of white marble.
Persephone herself appeared to glow with the light, dressed in a backless gown of palest yellow - a colour that would wash out any pale skinned beauty of the Athenian court, but only served to accentuate Persephone's tan skin and dark colouring - and adorned with her golden ivy crown, Persephone wore only one other piece of jewellery - a bracelet in the shape of a stag's head, the antlers wrapping around her wrist to hold it fast. It was an unrequired but polite indication to her new fiancé.
As the man commented on the scent she wore, she rose a carefully sculpted, dark brow in surprise at the query.
"Frankincense, my Lord." She told him without need to hide or be secretive. "I was a gift from a foreign dignitary from the East when I was younger." The man was back up to standing by this point in the conversation, so Persephone held out a hand, the sleeve of her gown opening like a wing, and indicated the seat across from hers, a clear invitation for him to sit. "I understand the wives of many Sheikhs, or the eastern empresses prefer the scent."
Waiting as one of her handmaidens filled two goblets of wine and transferred them to a tray, in the corner, Persephone accepted her own golden chalice with a smile of thanks and then, upon taking a sip, considered the man in front of her.
Lord Cyrus of Karsalis might have been ten years her senior, but he was new to the Court as a whole, having only recently taken over from his father as the baron. His father had been respectful if a little quiet in the Senate and Court, and Persephone had never had any issues regarding his loyalty to his royal House, nor to the crown itself.
The son, however, came across as for more active than the father, his eyes taking in the room they resided in, his confidence in approaching her at Court just a week ago and immediately requesting an audience. This man clearly had plans and ambitions; ones that he wanted to see out on a fast timescale.
"You requested this meet, Lord Cyrus..." She told the man, her tone calm and inquisitive. "I am at your mercy as to the subject and purpose..."
She nodded and offered a few fingers from the chalice of her cup, clearing prompting him to speak...
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Persephone made sure that she was ready and waiting for the Lord Cyrus' arrival at the royal palace that afternoon. While she made a point to never be tardy for the royal houses of the kingdom, there was also an element of being late that stated she was the one to be deferred to and that schedules were confirmed by her arrival - not by the movement of the sun. This was a tactic her father had taught her to use - if sparingly - and while she had never deliberately enacted it, it was a skill she used accidentally on occasion when her business affairs elsewhere in the palace ran later than intended.
For the baron of Arcasis, however, Persephone had ensured no such games of power were played - no matter how unintentional. It was the first time she was privately meeting with the Lord and a little bit of respect at any initial meeting always went a long way, in her experience.
As such, when the doors to the meeting room were opened, Persephone was already seated within, awaiting her guess. Standing at his entrance and then waiting as he approached, Persephone smiled with grace and friendliness as he took her hand to be kissed; all propriety and manners.
The solar room was bright and airy and open to the elements both from above and through the wall of columns that looked out onto one side of the royal gardens. The room was almost half as large as the royal throne room and yet furnished for private consultation, the furniture in the central lowered dais and the rest of the chamber open to the bright light of white marble.
Persephone herself appeared to glow with the light, dressed in a backless gown of palest yellow - a colour that would wash out any pale skinned beauty of the Athenian court, but only served to accentuate Persephone's tan skin and dark colouring - and adorned with her golden ivy crown, Persephone wore only one other piece of jewellery - a bracelet in the shape of a stag's head, the antlers wrapping around her wrist to hold it fast. It was an unrequired but polite indication to her new fiancé.
As the man commented on the scent she wore, she rose a carefully sculpted, dark brow in surprise at the query.
"Frankincense, my Lord." She told him without need to hide or be secretive. "I was a gift from a foreign dignitary from the East when I was younger." The man was back up to standing by this point in the conversation, so Persephone held out a hand, the sleeve of her gown opening like a wing, and indicated the seat across from hers, a clear invitation for him to sit. "I understand the wives of many Sheikhs, or the eastern empresses prefer the scent."
Waiting as one of her handmaidens filled two goblets of wine and transferred them to a tray, in the corner, Persephone accepted her own golden chalice with a smile of thanks and then, upon taking a sip, considered the man in front of her.
Lord Cyrus of Karsalis might have been ten years her senior, but he was new to the Court as a whole, having only recently taken over from his father as the baron. His father had been respectful if a little quiet in the Senate and Court, and Persephone had never had any issues regarding his loyalty to his royal House, nor to the crown itself.
The son, however, came across as for more active than the father, his eyes taking in the room they resided in, his confidence in approaching her at Court just a week ago and immediately requesting an audience. This man clearly had plans and ambitions; ones that he wanted to see out on a fast timescale.
"You requested this meet, Lord Cyrus..." She told the man, her tone calm and inquisitive. "I am at your mercy as to the subject and purpose..."
She nodded and offered a few fingers from the chalice of her cup, clearing prompting him to speak...
Persephone made sure that she was ready and waiting for the Lord Cyrus' arrival at the royal palace that afternoon. While she made a point to never be tardy for the royal houses of the kingdom, there was also an element of being late that stated she was the one to be deferred to and that schedules were confirmed by her arrival - not by the movement of the sun. This was a tactic her father had taught her to use - if sparingly - and while she had never deliberately enacted it, it was a skill she used accidentally on occasion when her business affairs elsewhere in the palace ran later than intended.
For the baron of Arcasis, however, Persephone had ensured no such games of power were played - no matter how unintentional. It was the first time she was privately meeting with the Lord and a little bit of respect at any initial meeting always went a long way, in her experience.
As such, when the doors to the meeting room were opened, Persephone was already seated within, awaiting her guess. Standing at his entrance and then waiting as he approached, Persephone smiled with grace and friendliness as he took her hand to be kissed; all propriety and manners.
The solar room was bright and airy and open to the elements both from above and through the wall of columns that looked out onto one side of the royal gardens. The room was almost half as large as the royal throne room and yet furnished for private consultation, the furniture in the central lowered dais and the rest of the chamber open to the bright light of white marble.
Persephone herself appeared to glow with the light, dressed in a backless gown of palest yellow - a colour that would wash out any pale skinned beauty of the Athenian court, but only served to accentuate Persephone's tan skin and dark colouring - and adorned with her golden ivy crown, Persephone wore only one other piece of jewellery - a bracelet in the shape of a stag's head, the antlers wrapping around her wrist to hold it fast. It was an unrequired but polite indication to her new fiancé.
As the man commented on the scent she wore, she rose a carefully sculpted, dark brow in surprise at the query.
"Frankincense, my Lord." She told him without need to hide or be secretive. "I was a gift from a foreign dignitary from the East when I was younger." The man was back up to standing by this point in the conversation, so Persephone held out a hand, the sleeve of her gown opening like a wing, and indicated the seat across from hers, a clear invitation for him to sit. "I understand the wives of many Sheikhs, or the eastern empresses prefer the scent."
Waiting as one of her handmaidens filled two goblets of wine and transferred them to a tray, in the corner, Persephone accepted her own golden chalice with a smile of thanks and then, upon taking a sip, considered the man in front of her.
Lord Cyrus of Karsalis might have been ten years her senior, but he was new to the Court as a whole, having only recently taken over from his father as the baron. His father had been respectful if a little quiet in the Senate and Court, and Persephone had never had any issues regarding his loyalty to his royal House, nor to the crown itself.
The son, however, came across as for more active than the father, his eyes taking in the room they resided in, his confidence in approaching her at Court just a week ago and immediately requesting an audience. This man clearly had plans and ambitions; ones that he wanted to see out on a fast timescale.
"You requested this meet, Lord Cyrus..." She told the man, her tone calm and inquisitive. "I am at your mercy as to the subject and purpose..."
She nodded and offered a few fingers from the chalice of her cup, clearing prompting him to speak...
“Frankincense,” Cyrus echoed, digesting the name. It was interesting to hear that it was favored by eastern royals, and he nodded shortly. He took his seat across from her after she beckoned him to do so, and as he became comfortable, his eyes focused on the Xanthos beauty before him.
Her betrothal to Lord Iason Dimitrou had been announced recently, and personally, Cyrus scoffed at the idea of marriage between a royal Athenian princess and an aristocrat from the Dimitrou dynasty. They were one of, if not the, weakest royal houses in Taengea. Marrying one of theirs was like buying an old, dying horse. It would only last so long, and only provide so much. She was foolish to agree to such an arrangement, and if it had been based solely on love, she was even more the fool.
Wine was delivered to Cyrus’ open hand, and he bowed his head graciously at the princess. His eyes flicked down at the crimson alcohol, and the desire to have Iraklis taste it first, as he had done in his meeting with Elias Stravos, was beginning to build. He held it at bay, though. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. Then he took a sip.
Once the wine flowed freely down his throat and his paranoia began to leave him, he relaxed again. She had no reason to act against him. He knew that.
It was in that moment that Persephone’s voice would fill the silence, shedding light on the fact that it was he who had planned this meeting and not herself. He was to lead the conversation. Good; he would not have it any other way.
“I requested this meeting for one reason alone,” Cyrus began, setting his goblet on a small table next to him. He leaned back in his chair, regaining his previous level of comfort. “I wish to be the Hand of King Minas, and the Hand of Queen Persephone after that—should the senate vote lean your way, of course.”
He lowered his gaze for a moment, squinting his eyes downward at his hands. He was fingering the wedding band that symbolized his perpetual union with Vasia. “I understand I am but a vassal of House Marikas, but my father and I have done much to raise our station and our wealth in recent times. The position of advising the ruler of Athenia has been my ambition ever since I was a small boy, and I hope that my status of baron does not deter you from choosing me. It is my mind that you will use, not my army.”
Cyrus’ gaze raised to meet Persephone’s again. He had heard people speak of the largeness of her earthen eyes, and now he understood that those compliments held merit. “I am very knowledgeable concerning the political landscape of our kingdom, and I work diligently to garner knowledge of the landscapes of Colchis and Taengea,” he continued, reclaiming his chalice and taking another swig. Once his lips were stained red, he positioned the chalice closer to his lap. “My connections are broad, and my wealth more so. What information I do not have yet, I guarantee that I can acquire in the future. I hope that, among other things, is enough.”
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
“Frankincense,” Cyrus echoed, digesting the name. It was interesting to hear that it was favored by eastern royals, and he nodded shortly. He took his seat across from her after she beckoned him to do so, and as he became comfortable, his eyes focused on the Xanthos beauty before him.
Her betrothal to Lord Iason Dimitrou had been announced recently, and personally, Cyrus scoffed at the idea of marriage between a royal Athenian princess and an aristocrat from the Dimitrou dynasty. They were one of, if not the, weakest royal houses in Taengea. Marrying one of theirs was like buying an old, dying horse. It would only last so long, and only provide so much. She was foolish to agree to such an arrangement, and if it had been based solely on love, she was even more the fool.
Wine was delivered to Cyrus’ open hand, and he bowed his head graciously at the princess. His eyes flicked down at the crimson alcohol, and the desire to have Iraklis taste it first, as he had done in his meeting with Elias Stravos, was beginning to build. He held it at bay, though. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. Then he took a sip.
Once the wine flowed freely down his throat and his paranoia began to leave him, he relaxed again. She had no reason to act against him. He knew that.
It was in that moment that Persephone’s voice would fill the silence, shedding light on the fact that it was he who had planned this meeting and not herself. He was to lead the conversation. Good; he would not have it any other way.
“I requested this meeting for one reason alone,” Cyrus began, setting his goblet on a small table next to him. He leaned back in his chair, regaining his previous level of comfort. “I wish to be the Hand of King Minas, and the Hand of Queen Persephone after that—should the senate vote lean your way, of course.”
He lowered his gaze for a moment, squinting his eyes downward at his hands. He was fingering the wedding band that symbolized his perpetual union with Vasia. “I understand I am but a vassal of House Marikas, but my father and I have done much to raise our station and our wealth in recent times. The position of advising the ruler of Athenia has been my ambition ever since I was a small boy, and I hope that my status of baron does not deter you from choosing me. It is my mind that you will use, not my army.”
Cyrus’ gaze raised to meet Persephone’s again. He had heard people speak of the largeness of her earthen eyes, and now he understood that those compliments held merit. “I am very knowledgeable concerning the political landscape of our kingdom, and I work diligently to garner knowledge of the landscapes of Colchis and Taengea,” he continued, reclaiming his chalice and taking another swig. Once his lips were stained red, he positioned the chalice closer to his lap. “My connections are broad, and my wealth more so. What information I do not have yet, I guarantee that I can acquire in the future. I hope that, among other things, is enough.”
“Frankincense,” Cyrus echoed, digesting the name. It was interesting to hear that it was favored by eastern royals, and he nodded shortly. He took his seat across from her after she beckoned him to do so, and as he became comfortable, his eyes focused on the Xanthos beauty before him.
Her betrothal to Lord Iason Dimitrou had been announced recently, and personally, Cyrus scoffed at the idea of marriage between a royal Athenian princess and an aristocrat from the Dimitrou dynasty. They were one of, if not the, weakest royal houses in Taengea. Marrying one of theirs was like buying an old, dying horse. It would only last so long, and only provide so much. She was foolish to agree to such an arrangement, and if it had been based solely on love, she was even more the fool.
Wine was delivered to Cyrus’ open hand, and he bowed his head graciously at the princess. His eyes flicked down at the crimson alcohol, and the desire to have Iraklis taste it first, as he had done in his meeting with Elias Stravos, was beginning to build. He held it at bay, though. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. Then he took a sip.
Once the wine flowed freely down his throat and his paranoia began to leave him, he relaxed again. She had no reason to act against him. He knew that.
It was in that moment that Persephone’s voice would fill the silence, shedding light on the fact that it was he who had planned this meeting and not herself. He was to lead the conversation. Good; he would not have it any other way.
“I requested this meeting for one reason alone,” Cyrus began, setting his goblet on a small table next to him. He leaned back in his chair, regaining his previous level of comfort. “I wish to be the Hand of King Minas, and the Hand of Queen Persephone after that—should the senate vote lean your way, of course.”
He lowered his gaze for a moment, squinting his eyes downward at his hands. He was fingering the wedding band that symbolized his perpetual union with Vasia. “I understand I am but a vassal of House Marikas, but my father and I have done much to raise our station and our wealth in recent times. The position of advising the ruler of Athenia has been my ambition ever since I was a small boy, and I hope that my status of baron does not deter you from choosing me. It is my mind that you will use, not my army.”
Cyrus’ gaze raised to meet Persephone’s again. He had heard people speak of the largeness of her earthen eyes, and now he understood that those compliments held merit. “I am very knowledgeable concerning the political landscape of our kingdom, and I work diligently to garner knowledge of the landscapes of Colchis and Taengea,” he continued, reclaiming his chalice and taking another swig. Once his lips were stained red, he positioned the chalice closer to his lap. “My connections are broad, and my wealth more so. What information I do not have yet, I guarantee that I can acquire in the future. I hope that, among other things, is enough.”
Persephone did not speak as the Marikas vassal broached his subject of purpose and explained his thinking behind such a request. While it was important or a monarch or ruler to speak when their words were required, Persephone had learnt from her mother that silence could be just as an effective tool; ensuring that conversationalists either spoke pure truth as they added further detail or over played their hand when allowed to flounder in the quiet.
Lord Cyrus, however, was no flounderer. He clearly knew what his purpose in coming to the royal palace that day was and would not be fooled or deterred into doing more than providing reasons for his commendation to the role.
Taking a sip from her goblet before she was ready to consider his proposal, she watched the man intently as she spoke. For while her eyes had often been commented as pretty, they were also astute and she was curious as to his reaction upon her next words.
"Lord Vontis and Lord Aimias, have served us well as our Advisors to the Crown..." Persephone comments first, expecting that both she and Cyrus were fully aware that, while Lord Aimias was young still, Lord Vontis was growing old and nearing the age of retirement. The Lord of Arcasis had not chosen the timing of his proposal foolishly.
"And new advisors are rarely chosen from outside of the Royal Houses..." Persephone narrowed her eyes in thought as she tapped her fingers against her chalice, considering the idea. "You ask me... that if and when the time comes when an additional chief advisor to the crown position were to become vacant, you would like my support in choosing a vassal of Marikas over one of my own, or indeed one of the royal lords..." She paused. "I do not see a break in tradition as necessarily a poor choice... I might even be persuaded to stand by that assessment for a man that believes in the same. Do you see yourself as a progressive man, Lord Cyrus?"
Persephone waited for his response, and simply took a sip from her cup, her features expressionless despite the obvious indication in her words. The Senate meeting in which the line of succession would be decided was only a week away after all...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Persephone did not speak as the Marikas vassal broached his subject of purpose and explained his thinking behind such a request. While it was important or a monarch or ruler to speak when their words were required, Persephone had learnt from her mother that silence could be just as an effective tool; ensuring that conversationalists either spoke pure truth as they added further detail or over played their hand when allowed to flounder in the quiet.
Lord Cyrus, however, was no flounderer. He clearly knew what his purpose in coming to the royal palace that day was and would not be fooled or deterred into doing more than providing reasons for his commendation to the role.
Taking a sip from her goblet before she was ready to consider his proposal, she watched the man intently as she spoke. For while her eyes had often been commented as pretty, they were also astute and she was curious as to his reaction upon her next words.
"Lord Vontis and Lord Aimias, have served us well as our Advisors to the Crown..." Persephone comments first, expecting that both she and Cyrus were fully aware that, while Lord Aimias was young still, Lord Vontis was growing old and nearing the age of retirement. The Lord of Arcasis had not chosen the timing of his proposal foolishly.
"And new advisors are rarely chosen from outside of the Royal Houses..." Persephone narrowed her eyes in thought as she tapped her fingers against her chalice, considering the idea. "You ask me... that if and when the time comes when an additional chief advisor to the crown position were to become vacant, you would like my support in choosing a vassal of Marikas over one of my own, or indeed one of the royal lords..." She paused. "I do not see a break in tradition as necessarily a poor choice... I might even be persuaded to stand by that assessment for a man that believes in the same. Do you see yourself as a progressive man, Lord Cyrus?"
Persephone waited for his response, and simply took a sip from her cup, her features expressionless despite the obvious indication in her words. The Senate meeting in which the line of succession would be decided was only a week away after all...
Persephone did not speak as the Marikas vassal broached his subject of purpose and explained his thinking behind such a request. While it was important or a monarch or ruler to speak when their words were required, Persephone had learnt from her mother that silence could be just as an effective tool; ensuring that conversationalists either spoke pure truth as they added further detail or over played their hand when allowed to flounder in the quiet.
Lord Cyrus, however, was no flounderer. He clearly knew what his purpose in coming to the royal palace that day was and would not be fooled or deterred into doing more than providing reasons for his commendation to the role.
Taking a sip from her goblet before she was ready to consider his proposal, she watched the man intently as she spoke. For while her eyes had often been commented as pretty, they were also astute and she was curious as to his reaction upon her next words.
"Lord Vontis and Lord Aimias, have served us well as our Advisors to the Crown..." Persephone comments first, expecting that both she and Cyrus were fully aware that, while Lord Aimias was young still, Lord Vontis was growing old and nearing the age of retirement. The Lord of Arcasis had not chosen the timing of his proposal foolishly.
"And new advisors are rarely chosen from outside of the Royal Houses..." Persephone narrowed her eyes in thought as she tapped her fingers against her chalice, considering the idea. "You ask me... that if and when the time comes when an additional chief advisor to the crown position were to become vacant, you would like my support in choosing a vassal of Marikas over one of my own, or indeed one of the royal lords..." She paused. "I do not see a break in tradition as necessarily a poor choice... I might even be persuaded to stand by that assessment for a man that believes in the same. Do you see yourself as a progressive man, Lord Cyrus?"
Persephone waited for his response, and simply took a sip from her cup, her features expressionless despite the obvious indication in her words. The Senate meeting in which the line of succession would be decided was only a week away after all...
