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Before the sun’s rays began to shine through her bedroom, she was dressed and out the door. Her horse was saddled, and her quiver loaded with the arrows she was blessed with. No matter how many times she used them in hunts, they maintained their silvery glow. Them, the lighter coloring of the horse she rode, and the whites of her eyes were the only signs she was out and about, as they glowed in the moonlight.
It wasn’t often she rode out alone. Her bodyguard was almost always at her side, but when she could, she snuck out by herself. After all, she was armed, and she believed she could handle most challenges and challengers that stumbled across her path. Besides, the trail through the woods was so familiar, Dorothea could’ve walked or ridden it in her sleep.
Over many years, the Dimitrou’s had carved the path into the woods, their horses and sandals imprinting the trail. There was something powerful in thinking she was among them if she traveled at different time slots backwards in time. It made her feel connected to those that came before her, those that often came beside her, and those that would come after her in the future.
It ended at a cliffside, where she tied off the horse to a nearby tree and watched the sun rise above the glistening water. The experience was always serene, watching the dangerous and quiet night transform into lit and bustling day. With her feet dangling over the rocky edge, she felt at one with the nature around her. Wind tossed the occasional curl across her face or over her shoulder; Dorothea let it do what it wished with the dark tresses.
The forest behind her began to sing as soon as the sun’s rays hit it. Birds’ chirping rang out from high canopies. A beam slowly found her lips. There was little more the woman loved than the feeling that hit her in that moment: Excitement.
Was there ever an ounce of guilt that came in killing creatures during a hunt? Surely. Never did she show it when hunting with another, especially not a male counterpart. But when alone, she would pray aloud for forgiveness. Entrusted with a weapon directly from a goddess did not mean that she took for granted what she was allowed to harvest from the Earth.
And so, she took the bow allotted to her, silver in coloring and comfortable in weight, from behind her after boarding her horse once more. The animal roared to life under her at her signal, and off they raced back into the forest.
Several hours later, Dorothea was required to take a break, not by her body, but by her horse's. The downside to hunting alone was requiring one horse to haul both herself and her hunt, and she could tell that the animal below her was tiring. Her brother, Iason, often pulled off at a place nearby for training. While he often did so with members of other royal houses, the brunette expected the clearing to be sans people. Not many would find themselves here at this hour, and the female hoped to utilize the space for herself without the ego of a man clouding up the space.
Dismounting from her horse, tying it to a tree, and then relieving if of the heavy load, she ensured the horse found water and drank at the pool, too, so that it could restore energy in due time. Then, she added an arrow to her bow's string, pulled back, and sent it flying towards the target many hundreds of yards way.
The silver-tipped arrow hit its intended spot on the target: The very middle.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Before the sun’s rays began to shine through her bedroom, she was dressed and out the door. Her horse was saddled, and her quiver loaded with the arrows she was blessed with. No matter how many times she used them in hunts, they maintained their silvery glow. Them, the lighter coloring of the horse she rode, and the whites of her eyes were the only signs she was out and about, as they glowed in the moonlight.
It wasn’t often she rode out alone. Her bodyguard was almost always at her side, but when she could, she snuck out by herself. After all, she was armed, and she believed she could handle most challenges and challengers that stumbled across her path. Besides, the trail through the woods was so familiar, Dorothea could’ve walked or ridden it in her sleep.
Over many years, the Dimitrou’s had carved the path into the woods, their horses and sandals imprinting the trail. There was something powerful in thinking she was among them if she traveled at different time slots backwards in time. It made her feel connected to those that came before her, those that often came beside her, and those that would come after her in the future.
It ended at a cliffside, where she tied off the horse to a nearby tree and watched the sun rise above the glistening water. The experience was always serene, watching the dangerous and quiet night transform into lit and bustling day. With her feet dangling over the rocky edge, she felt at one with the nature around her. Wind tossed the occasional curl across her face or over her shoulder; Dorothea let it do what it wished with the dark tresses.
The forest behind her began to sing as soon as the sun’s rays hit it. Birds’ chirping rang out from high canopies. A beam slowly found her lips. There was little more the woman loved than the feeling that hit her in that moment: Excitement.
Was there ever an ounce of guilt that came in killing creatures during a hunt? Surely. Never did she show it when hunting with another, especially not a male counterpart. But when alone, she would pray aloud for forgiveness. Entrusted with a weapon directly from a goddess did not mean that she took for granted what she was allowed to harvest from the Earth.
And so, she took the bow allotted to her, silver in coloring and comfortable in weight, from behind her after boarding her horse once more. The animal roared to life under her at her signal, and off they raced back into the forest.
Several hours later, Dorothea was required to take a break, not by her body, but by her horse's. The downside to hunting alone was requiring one horse to haul both herself and her hunt, and she could tell that the animal below her was tiring. Her brother, Iason, often pulled off at a place nearby for training. While he often did so with members of other royal houses, the brunette expected the clearing to be sans people. Not many would find themselves here at this hour, and the female hoped to utilize the space for herself without the ego of a man clouding up the space.
Dismounting from her horse, tying it to a tree, and then relieving if of the heavy load, she ensured the horse found water and drank at the pool, too, so that it could restore energy in due time. Then, she added an arrow to her bow's string, pulled back, and sent it flying towards the target many hundreds of yards way.
The silver-tipped arrow hit its intended spot on the target: The very middle.
Before the sun’s rays began to shine through her bedroom, she was dressed and out the door. Her horse was saddled, and her quiver loaded with the arrows she was blessed with. No matter how many times she used them in hunts, they maintained their silvery glow. Them, the lighter coloring of the horse she rode, and the whites of her eyes were the only signs she was out and about, as they glowed in the moonlight.
It wasn’t often she rode out alone. Her bodyguard was almost always at her side, but when she could, she snuck out by herself. After all, she was armed, and she believed she could handle most challenges and challengers that stumbled across her path. Besides, the trail through the woods was so familiar, Dorothea could’ve walked or ridden it in her sleep.
Over many years, the Dimitrou’s had carved the path into the woods, their horses and sandals imprinting the trail. There was something powerful in thinking she was among them if she traveled at different time slots backwards in time. It made her feel connected to those that came before her, those that often came beside her, and those that would come after her in the future.
It ended at a cliffside, where she tied off the horse to a nearby tree and watched the sun rise above the glistening water. The experience was always serene, watching the dangerous and quiet night transform into lit and bustling day. With her feet dangling over the rocky edge, she felt at one with the nature around her. Wind tossed the occasional curl across her face or over her shoulder; Dorothea let it do what it wished with the dark tresses.
The forest behind her began to sing as soon as the sun’s rays hit it. Birds’ chirping rang out from high canopies. A beam slowly found her lips. There was little more the woman loved than the feeling that hit her in that moment: Excitement.
Was there ever an ounce of guilt that came in killing creatures during a hunt? Surely. Never did she show it when hunting with another, especially not a male counterpart. But when alone, she would pray aloud for forgiveness. Entrusted with a weapon directly from a goddess did not mean that she took for granted what she was allowed to harvest from the Earth.
And so, she took the bow allotted to her, silver in coloring and comfortable in weight, from behind her after boarding her horse once more. The animal roared to life under her at her signal, and off they raced back into the forest.
Several hours later, Dorothea was required to take a break, not by her body, but by her horse's. The downside to hunting alone was requiring one horse to haul both herself and her hunt, and she could tell that the animal below her was tiring. Her brother, Iason, often pulled off at a place nearby for training. While he often did so with members of other royal houses, the brunette expected the clearing to be sans people. Not many would find themselves here at this hour, and the female hoped to utilize the space for herself without the ego of a man clouding up the space.
Dismounting from her horse, tying it to a tree, and then relieving if of the heavy load, she ensured the horse found water and drank at the pool, too, so that it could restore energy in due time. Then, she added an arrow to her bow's string, pulled back, and sent it flying towards the target many hundreds of yards way.
The silver-tipped arrow hit its intended spot on the target: The very middle.
The air was cool and still as he stood on the balcony of his room, looking out into the courtyard below. He watched slaves wander back and forth across the white stone, carrying pots of water, bundles of cloth, and small stacks of wood among other things necessary to keep the palace running smoothly. It was early yet. From here he could see out over the island and out to the sea where dawn was a faint gray whisper on the horizon.
Zacharias was supposed to train with him at the circus. They met almost every day, driving their chariots, trying to best one another. His elder brother was better but not by much. He would not get the satisfaction of besting his brother this morning, however as word had been sent that Zacharias was needed at the palace.
Stephanos sighed and pushed away from the railing. He pushed aside the gauzy ivory curtains that served to shield him from prying eyes and stepped back into his sparsely furnished room. His eyes wandered over the armor stand in the corner and from there to the short sword affixed to the wall above it. Perhaps he would not be racing chariots, but he certainly could find combat elsewhere.
Three long strides took him over to the sword. He lifted it off the hooks and secured it to his waist with a long leather strap. Turning, he reached for the shield to the armor stand’s right but pulled his hand back. He would not need a shield. Doubtless no one would be up this early to practice with anyway.
Within half an hour he was out on the dirt road, a waterskin on one hip, with a loaf of bread tucked under one arm, and a cluster of grapes in his hand. A horse was not necessary to take him the one mile distance from the palace to the wooded training area. It was not a hard walk and he liked the feeling of the sea breeze ruffling his hair.
By the time he made it to the treeline, the grapes were gone and he’d drunk a little of the water before replacing the plug. Today would no doubt be hot and he would be wanting more of the water soon.
At the treeline, the road passed from light into shadow as the boughs protected the forest floor from most of the sun’s rays as it started to climb up from its place just above the rippling sea. Birds flitted from branch to branch above him but he wasn’t paying them any attention. He was looking down at his leather bracer, still buckling it around his wrist when he entered the arena clearing.
A dull thud made him snap his head up. He took in the clearing; the large dirt ring, the wooden dummies mounted on poles for sparring, the huge archery targets. From here he could not see her arrows buried in the center of the target but he didn’t need to. Dorothea had been the one to fire them and that meant the aim was true.
From his place at the training area’s boarder, he could just make her out. She was tall with dark hair and athletic frame. Despite her lack of softness, she was beautiful and that made his sudden irritation more of a shame. If he’d decided to meet anyone at this hour and in this place, he would not have chosen her.
He rolled his shoulders as though preparing and started forward again. Regret wormed its way into his thoughts. This would have been an ideal time to have his horse. It would have given him something to do as he crossed the clearing other than giving her side glances and pretending to check his bracer buckles several times.
When at last he reached the dirt ring, he was eyeing her again, though this time with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The last time he’d seen her, their encounter had been unpleasant with the result on his side, at least, of not wanting to share the same air. His idea was a simple one. He was a prince of this realm and she was not. Therefore, it was up to her to leave.
He stepped into the ring, clapping his hands together and giving her a sardonic smile. “Good morning, Dorothea,” he said. Gesturing to the targets he kept his gaze fixed on her. “Why practice if you’re never going to miss?” Her skills with the bow were known to everyone in Tangea. Since she had made it perfectly evident the last time they’d met that she did not like him, he’d decided to play her game. He’d get her to leave one way or another.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The air was cool and still as he stood on the balcony of his room, looking out into the courtyard below. He watched slaves wander back and forth across the white stone, carrying pots of water, bundles of cloth, and small stacks of wood among other things necessary to keep the palace running smoothly. It was early yet. From here he could see out over the island and out to the sea where dawn was a faint gray whisper on the horizon.
Zacharias was supposed to train with him at the circus. They met almost every day, driving their chariots, trying to best one another. His elder brother was better but not by much. He would not get the satisfaction of besting his brother this morning, however as word had been sent that Zacharias was needed at the palace.
Stephanos sighed and pushed away from the railing. He pushed aside the gauzy ivory curtains that served to shield him from prying eyes and stepped back into his sparsely furnished room. His eyes wandered over the armor stand in the corner and from there to the short sword affixed to the wall above it. Perhaps he would not be racing chariots, but he certainly could find combat elsewhere.
Three long strides took him over to the sword. He lifted it off the hooks and secured it to his waist with a long leather strap. Turning, he reached for the shield to the armor stand’s right but pulled his hand back. He would not need a shield. Doubtless no one would be up this early to practice with anyway.
Within half an hour he was out on the dirt road, a waterskin on one hip, with a loaf of bread tucked under one arm, and a cluster of grapes in his hand. A horse was not necessary to take him the one mile distance from the palace to the wooded training area. It was not a hard walk and he liked the feeling of the sea breeze ruffling his hair.
By the time he made it to the treeline, the grapes were gone and he’d drunk a little of the water before replacing the plug. Today would no doubt be hot and he would be wanting more of the water soon.
At the treeline, the road passed from light into shadow as the boughs protected the forest floor from most of the sun’s rays as it started to climb up from its place just above the rippling sea. Birds flitted from branch to branch above him but he wasn’t paying them any attention. He was looking down at his leather bracer, still buckling it around his wrist when he entered the arena clearing.
A dull thud made him snap his head up. He took in the clearing; the large dirt ring, the wooden dummies mounted on poles for sparring, the huge archery targets. From here he could not see her arrows buried in the center of the target but he didn’t need to. Dorothea had been the one to fire them and that meant the aim was true.
From his place at the training area’s boarder, he could just make her out. She was tall with dark hair and athletic frame. Despite her lack of softness, she was beautiful and that made his sudden irritation more of a shame. If he’d decided to meet anyone at this hour and in this place, he would not have chosen her.
He rolled his shoulders as though preparing and started forward again. Regret wormed its way into his thoughts. This would have been an ideal time to have his horse. It would have given him something to do as he crossed the clearing other than giving her side glances and pretending to check his bracer buckles several times.
When at last he reached the dirt ring, he was eyeing her again, though this time with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The last time he’d seen her, their encounter had been unpleasant with the result on his side, at least, of not wanting to share the same air. His idea was a simple one. He was a prince of this realm and she was not. Therefore, it was up to her to leave.
He stepped into the ring, clapping his hands together and giving her a sardonic smile. “Good morning, Dorothea,” he said. Gesturing to the targets he kept his gaze fixed on her. “Why practice if you’re never going to miss?” Her skills with the bow were known to everyone in Tangea. Since she had made it perfectly evident the last time they’d met that she did not like him, he’d decided to play her game. He’d get her to leave one way or another.
The air was cool and still as he stood on the balcony of his room, looking out into the courtyard below. He watched slaves wander back and forth across the white stone, carrying pots of water, bundles of cloth, and small stacks of wood among other things necessary to keep the palace running smoothly. It was early yet. From here he could see out over the island and out to the sea where dawn was a faint gray whisper on the horizon.
Zacharias was supposed to train with him at the circus. They met almost every day, driving their chariots, trying to best one another. His elder brother was better but not by much. He would not get the satisfaction of besting his brother this morning, however as word had been sent that Zacharias was needed at the palace.
Stephanos sighed and pushed away from the railing. He pushed aside the gauzy ivory curtains that served to shield him from prying eyes and stepped back into his sparsely furnished room. His eyes wandered over the armor stand in the corner and from there to the short sword affixed to the wall above it. Perhaps he would not be racing chariots, but he certainly could find combat elsewhere.
Three long strides took him over to the sword. He lifted it off the hooks and secured it to his waist with a long leather strap. Turning, he reached for the shield to the armor stand’s right but pulled his hand back. He would not need a shield. Doubtless no one would be up this early to practice with anyway.
Within half an hour he was out on the dirt road, a waterskin on one hip, with a loaf of bread tucked under one arm, and a cluster of grapes in his hand. A horse was not necessary to take him the one mile distance from the palace to the wooded training area. It was not a hard walk and he liked the feeling of the sea breeze ruffling his hair.
By the time he made it to the treeline, the grapes were gone and he’d drunk a little of the water before replacing the plug. Today would no doubt be hot and he would be wanting more of the water soon.
At the treeline, the road passed from light into shadow as the boughs protected the forest floor from most of the sun’s rays as it started to climb up from its place just above the rippling sea. Birds flitted from branch to branch above him but he wasn’t paying them any attention. He was looking down at his leather bracer, still buckling it around his wrist when he entered the arena clearing.
A dull thud made him snap his head up. He took in the clearing; the large dirt ring, the wooden dummies mounted on poles for sparring, the huge archery targets. From here he could not see her arrows buried in the center of the target but he didn’t need to. Dorothea had been the one to fire them and that meant the aim was true.
From his place at the training area’s boarder, he could just make her out. She was tall with dark hair and athletic frame. Despite her lack of softness, she was beautiful and that made his sudden irritation more of a shame. If he’d decided to meet anyone at this hour and in this place, he would not have chosen her.
He rolled his shoulders as though preparing and started forward again. Regret wormed its way into his thoughts. This would have been an ideal time to have his horse. It would have given him something to do as he crossed the clearing other than giving her side glances and pretending to check his bracer buckles several times.
When at last he reached the dirt ring, he was eyeing her again, though this time with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The last time he’d seen her, their encounter had been unpleasant with the result on his side, at least, of not wanting to share the same air. His idea was a simple one. He was a prince of this realm and she was not. Therefore, it was up to her to leave.
He stepped into the ring, clapping his hands together and giving her a sardonic smile. “Good morning, Dorothea,” he said. Gesturing to the targets he kept his gaze fixed on her. “Why practice if you’re never going to miss?” Her skills with the bow were known to everyone in Tangea. Since she had made it perfectly evident the last time they’d met that she did not like him, he’d decided to play her game. He’d get her to leave one way or another.
Thud.
There was no need for her to look at where the arrow landed, but her family prized modesty. It showed in her reaction to the arrow soaring with a perfect twist and right into the middle. Not to the right in the middle-most circle, and not to the left either. The dead center. There was no cheer or lowering of her jaw to show surprise. Why would there be? She had done this time, and time, and time again. Shooting a bow was as fluid of a motion to her as walking was.
Her capabilities were well known throughout the island, and perhaps all of Greece. After all, being granted a bow and arrows by the gods was no quiet occurrence. It was obvious that such was true when a guest, an unwanted one at that, decided to comment.
It took a great deal of effort for the woman to not scrunch her nose, roll her eyes, or show any other sign of displeasure with his presence. She hid her distaste well, and didn’t bother pretending to be elated. They had a bit of a past, one that Dorothea wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t remember.
Seeing as he was pissing himself drunk, that was, so drunk he could barely even walk by himself. It had been some city celebration- Right. For Dionysus. With every godly commemoration, in which alcohol played a large part, but there was a line, and Stephanos had crossed it. That wasn’t very surprising either. He lacked in self-control when it came to indulging, be it women or alcohol or any other thing that could be addicting. Dorothea had a reputation, and so did the man approaching her.
“That is like asking a chariot racer why continue to practice,” she informed him as she loaded her bow once more. “Or why a winning sword must be sharpened. Continuing to perform ensures remaining in top condition, to be able to give your best.” She didn’t often grow snobby, but when it came to holding a grudge, Dorothea found herself capable.
She at long last gave him the time of day with her gaze. All the man got was a look over, just one. One movement of her bright eyes down, and another back up- That was all. His clapping had ended, lucky for her, but that stupid smile was still on his face. The woman sucked in a deep breath through her nose, pulled the arrow back with the string all the way to her lips, and exhaled.
A moment passed, and then the fingers released. The arrow flew across the field. Once more, it hit its target- Just slightly above the last one, angled to be just barely hitting the same mark. She lowered her arms from a structured form and reached behind to grab yet another arrow.
“With your mentality, Stephanos, then why are you here? From what I hear, you never miss with your sword.” A little smirk found her lips as she loaded up again. The woman knew not of his intentions to get her to leave, but there was little the woman would give up for her ability to practice.
There was also a bit of stubbornness in the humble woman, and so if she had known, she would be that less willing to give in to his wish for her to leave.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
There was no need for her to look at where the arrow landed, but her family prized modesty. It showed in her reaction to the arrow soaring with a perfect twist and right into the middle. Not to the right in the middle-most circle, and not to the left either. The dead center. There was no cheer or lowering of her jaw to show surprise. Why would there be? She had done this time, and time, and time again. Shooting a bow was as fluid of a motion to her as walking was.
Her capabilities were well known throughout the island, and perhaps all of Greece. After all, being granted a bow and arrows by the gods was no quiet occurrence. It was obvious that such was true when a guest, an unwanted one at that, decided to comment.
It took a great deal of effort for the woman to not scrunch her nose, roll her eyes, or show any other sign of displeasure with his presence. She hid her distaste well, and didn’t bother pretending to be elated. They had a bit of a past, one that Dorothea wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t remember.
Seeing as he was pissing himself drunk, that was, so drunk he could barely even walk by himself. It had been some city celebration- Right. For Dionysus. With every godly commemoration, in which alcohol played a large part, but there was a line, and Stephanos had crossed it. That wasn’t very surprising either. He lacked in self-control when it came to indulging, be it women or alcohol or any other thing that could be addicting. Dorothea had a reputation, and so did the man approaching her.
“That is like asking a chariot racer why continue to practice,” she informed him as she loaded her bow once more. “Or why a winning sword must be sharpened. Continuing to perform ensures remaining in top condition, to be able to give your best.” She didn’t often grow snobby, but when it came to holding a grudge, Dorothea found herself capable.
She at long last gave him the time of day with her gaze. All the man got was a look over, just one. One movement of her bright eyes down, and another back up- That was all. His clapping had ended, lucky for her, but that stupid smile was still on his face. The woman sucked in a deep breath through her nose, pulled the arrow back with the string all the way to her lips, and exhaled.
A moment passed, and then the fingers released. The arrow flew across the field. Once more, it hit its target- Just slightly above the last one, angled to be just barely hitting the same mark. She lowered her arms from a structured form and reached behind to grab yet another arrow.
“With your mentality, Stephanos, then why are you here? From what I hear, you never miss with your sword.” A little smirk found her lips as she loaded up again. The woman knew not of his intentions to get her to leave, but there was little the woman would give up for her ability to practice.
There was also a bit of stubbornness in the humble woman, and so if she had known, she would be that less willing to give in to his wish for her to leave.
Thud.
There was no need for her to look at where the arrow landed, but her family prized modesty. It showed in her reaction to the arrow soaring with a perfect twist and right into the middle. Not to the right in the middle-most circle, and not to the left either. The dead center. There was no cheer or lowering of her jaw to show surprise. Why would there be? She had done this time, and time, and time again. Shooting a bow was as fluid of a motion to her as walking was.
Her capabilities were well known throughout the island, and perhaps all of Greece. After all, being granted a bow and arrows by the gods was no quiet occurrence. It was obvious that such was true when a guest, an unwanted one at that, decided to comment.
It took a great deal of effort for the woman to not scrunch her nose, roll her eyes, or show any other sign of displeasure with his presence. She hid her distaste well, and didn’t bother pretending to be elated. They had a bit of a past, one that Dorothea wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t remember.
Seeing as he was pissing himself drunk, that was, so drunk he could barely even walk by himself. It had been some city celebration- Right. For Dionysus. With every godly commemoration, in which alcohol played a large part, but there was a line, and Stephanos had crossed it. That wasn’t very surprising either. He lacked in self-control when it came to indulging, be it women or alcohol or any other thing that could be addicting. Dorothea had a reputation, and so did the man approaching her.
“That is like asking a chariot racer why continue to practice,” she informed him as she loaded her bow once more. “Or why a winning sword must be sharpened. Continuing to perform ensures remaining in top condition, to be able to give your best.” She didn’t often grow snobby, but when it came to holding a grudge, Dorothea found herself capable.
She at long last gave him the time of day with her gaze. All the man got was a look over, just one. One movement of her bright eyes down, and another back up- That was all. His clapping had ended, lucky for her, but that stupid smile was still on his face. The woman sucked in a deep breath through her nose, pulled the arrow back with the string all the way to her lips, and exhaled.
A moment passed, and then the fingers released. The arrow flew across the field. Once more, it hit its target- Just slightly above the last one, angled to be just barely hitting the same mark. She lowered her arms from a structured form and reached behind to grab yet another arrow.
“With your mentality, Stephanos, then why are you here? From what I hear, you never miss with your sword.” A little smirk found her lips as she loaded up again. The woman knew not of his intentions to get her to leave, but there was little the woman would give up for her ability to practice.
There was also a bit of stubbornness in the humble woman, and so if she had known, she would be that less willing to give in to his wish for her to leave.
He quirked his eyebrows at her sword comment. “I swung and missed with you,” he retorted, leaning on the wooden railing that encircled the training ring. Tilting his head, he considered her for a moment. The last time they’d spoken, she’d been cold too. What exactly he’d done that had been so offensive was a mystery but it was clear to him she wasn’t over it.
The sun climbed higher into the sky overhead, glaring uncomfortably warm on the back of his neck. Today would be very hot. Without taking his eyes off her, he unhooked the water skin from his belt and took a long drink. From this morning to now, the water was no longer as cool as it had been. By an hour from now, he imagined it would be undrinkable.
A grin crossed his features and he reached down, patting the sheathed sword at his hip. “You’re right, Dorothea. You’re right. Constant practice.” Pushing away from the railing, he pointed to her bow. “It is good, I suppose to stick with what you’re good at.” Stephanos took hold of the hilt of his sword and withdrew it. It came free with a ringing in the air.
He turned his back on Dorothea and walked toward the sword dummies at the end of the ring. “I’d offer to practice with you but there’s little point.” Glancing over his shoulder he smirked at her. “Your brother says you’re too weak for swordplay. And I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your horse.”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He quirked his eyebrows at her sword comment. “I swung and missed with you,” he retorted, leaning on the wooden railing that encircled the training ring. Tilting his head, he considered her for a moment. The last time they’d spoken, she’d been cold too. What exactly he’d done that had been so offensive was a mystery but it was clear to him she wasn’t over it.
The sun climbed higher into the sky overhead, glaring uncomfortably warm on the back of his neck. Today would be very hot. Without taking his eyes off her, he unhooked the water skin from his belt and took a long drink. From this morning to now, the water was no longer as cool as it had been. By an hour from now, he imagined it would be undrinkable.
A grin crossed his features and he reached down, patting the sheathed sword at his hip. “You’re right, Dorothea. You’re right. Constant practice.” Pushing away from the railing, he pointed to her bow. “It is good, I suppose to stick with what you’re good at.” Stephanos took hold of the hilt of his sword and withdrew it. It came free with a ringing in the air.
He turned his back on Dorothea and walked toward the sword dummies at the end of the ring. “I’d offer to practice with you but there’s little point.” Glancing over his shoulder he smirked at her. “Your brother says you’re too weak for swordplay. And I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your horse.”
He quirked his eyebrows at her sword comment. “I swung and missed with you,” he retorted, leaning on the wooden railing that encircled the training ring. Tilting his head, he considered her for a moment. The last time they’d spoken, she’d been cold too. What exactly he’d done that had been so offensive was a mystery but it was clear to him she wasn’t over it.
The sun climbed higher into the sky overhead, glaring uncomfortably warm on the back of his neck. Today would be very hot. Without taking his eyes off her, he unhooked the water skin from his belt and took a long drink. From this morning to now, the water was no longer as cool as it had been. By an hour from now, he imagined it would be undrinkable.
A grin crossed his features and he reached down, patting the sheathed sword at his hip. “You’re right, Dorothea. You’re right. Constant practice.” Pushing away from the railing, he pointed to her bow. “It is good, I suppose to stick with what you’re good at.” Stephanos took hold of the hilt of his sword and withdrew it. It came free with a ringing in the air.
He turned his back on Dorothea and walked toward the sword dummies at the end of the ring. “I’d offer to practice with you but there’s little point.” Glancing over his shoulder he smirked at her. “Your brother says you’re too weak for swordplay. And I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your horse.”
Her double entendre’s meanings were understood- Both of them, which surprised Dorothea. Her smirking lips parted slightly, and her gaze abandoned the target in front of her and wandered to him. At his words, however, they quirked, tightening into a small scowl. It was true: His “sword” had missed her. Dorothea could not comprehend the handfuls of women who tripped over themselves for a chance at merely speaking with Stephanos. All of them seemed to see something she did not, and when he had attempted to get her to become like the women, Dorothea was left with a strange feeling in her stomach.
Yes, she hadn’t ever been with a man, but maidenhood was not entirely the awfulness people often painted it to be. Without a man, Dorothea was still allowed to do as she wished, when she wished it. If she wanted to rise before the sun and go on a hunt by her lonesome, she could. And yet, despite her preserved freedom, something in her heart screamed to be heard. It was loneliness. She’d by lying if she said she hadn’t ever felt it before. On that night, however, the one in which the man before her had been drunk off his chariot and flirting with her, something else crept into her heart: What if she would never have the opportunity again?
Her family prized love, but to obtain it, one had to actually fall in love with another- And the brunette had yet to do it. At age twenty-three, it felt as if her future was slowly losing options and paths. As she stood there in front of him again, the feeling of anxiety returned to her. What if she never would fall in love?
Gaze frosting over with thought, it fell off of him. Her head turned away as well, and as he began to speak again, Dorothea remained in her own world. Once more, her lips parted, and she used a few moments before the ringing of a sword hit her ears. It called her back to the scene, to the present, and when she returned, her eyes followed Stephanos’ figure to the training figurines. They narrowed upon him as she watched, and at his words, a flame bubbled in the pit of her stomach.
She was not one to let pride get to her very often. Men battling over stupid things such as their honor or a lady’s was something she would roll her eyes at. But there was something about when Stephanos provoked her. She was not sure what. Perhaps it was their past together, the times he had jabbed at her prior. Perhaps it was the fact that he never had apologized for all the things he had said to her, all of his lust-soaked compliments and alcohol-induced flirting. Whatever it was, it was strong enough for the woman to lower her loaded bow, strip it of an arrow, and shrug off her weapon all together.
“Does he now? Iason is not the type to say such things about anyone, much less about me to you.” After all, Iason knew of her dislike for the man across the pit. He would not talk poorly about her to someone like that, or to anyone at all. Leaving her weaponry behind her, the woman crossed the training arena in the same manner he had: Confidently. Chin high, arms folded, she approached him. “I’ve only got my bow on me, Stephanos. Surely you’ve got another sword on you somewhere for me to practice with. And since it is you that wield it, I should be able to too- Even with my lacking strength.” It was yet another subtle jab at him, calling him just as weak as he thought her to be.
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Her double entendre’s meanings were understood- Both of them, which surprised Dorothea. Her smirking lips parted slightly, and her gaze abandoned the target in front of her and wandered to him. At his words, however, they quirked, tightening into a small scowl. It was true: His “sword” had missed her. Dorothea could not comprehend the handfuls of women who tripped over themselves for a chance at merely speaking with Stephanos. All of them seemed to see something she did not, and when he had attempted to get her to become like the women, Dorothea was left with a strange feeling in her stomach.
Yes, she hadn’t ever been with a man, but maidenhood was not entirely the awfulness people often painted it to be. Without a man, Dorothea was still allowed to do as she wished, when she wished it. If she wanted to rise before the sun and go on a hunt by her lonesome, she could. And yet, despite her preserved freedom, something in her heart screamed to be heard. It was loneliness. She’d by lying if she said she hadn’t ever felt it before. On that night, however, the one in which the man before her had been drunk off his chariot and flirting with her, something else crept into her heart: What if she would never have the opportunity again?
Her family prized love, but to obtain it, one had to actually fall in love with another- And the brunette had yet to do it. At age twenty-three, it felt as if her future was slowly losing options and paths. As she stood there in front of him again, the feeling of anxiety returned to her. What if she never would fall in love?
Gaze frosting over with thought, it fell off of him. Her head turned away as well, and as he began to speak again, Dorothea remained in her own world. Once more, her lips parted, and she used a few moments before the ringing of a sword hit her ears. It called her back to the scene, to the present, and when she returned, her eyes followed Stephanos’ figure to the training figurines. They narrowed upon him as she watched, and at his words, a flame bubbled in the pit of her stomach.
She was not one to let pride get to her very often. Men battling over stupid things such as their honor or a lady’s was something she would roll her eyes at. But there was something about when Stephanos provoked her. She was not sure what. Perhaps it was their past together, the times he had jabbed at her prior. Perhaps it was the fact that he never had apologized for all the things he had said to her, all of his lust-soaked compliments and alcohol-induced flirting. Whatever it was, it was strong enough for the woman to lower her loaded bow, strip it of an arrow, and shrug off her weapon all together.
“Does he now? Iason is not the type to say such things about anyone, much less about me to you.” After all, Iason knew of her dislike for the man across the pit. He would not talk poorly about her to someone like that, or to anyone at all. Leaving her weaponry behind her, the woman crossed the training arena in the same manner he had: Confidently. Chin high, arms folded, she approached him. “I’ve only got my bow on me, Stephanos. Surely you’ve got another sword on you somewhere for me to practice with. And since it is you that wield it, I should be able to too- Even with my lacking strength.” It was yet another subtle jab at him, calling him just as weak as he thought her to be.
Her double entendre’s meanings were understood- Both of them, which surprised Dorothea. Her smirking lips parted slightly, and her gaze abandoned the target in front of her and wandered to him. At his words, however, they quirked, tightening into a small scowl. It was true: His “sword” had missed her. Dorothea could not comprehend the handfuls of women who tripped over themselves for a chance at merely speaking with Stephanos. All of them seemed to see something she did not, and when he had attempted to get her to become like the women, Dorothea was left with a strange feeling in her stomach.
Yes, she hadn’t ever been with a man, but maidenhood was not entirely the awfulness people often painted it to be. Without a man, Dorothea was still allowed to do as she wished, when she wished it. If she wanted to rise before the sun and go on a hunt by her lonesome, she could. And yet, despite her preserved freedom, something in her heart screamed to be heard. It was loneliness. She’d by lying if she said she hadn’t ever felt it before. On that night, however, the one in which the man before her had been drunk off his chariot and flirting with her, something else crept into her heart: What if she would never have the opportunity again?
Her family prized love, but to obtain it, one had to actually fall in love with another- And the brunette had yet to do it. At age twenty-three, it felt as if her future was slowly losing options and paths. As she stood there in front of him again, the feeling of anxiety returned to her. What if she never would fall in love?
Gaze frosting over with thought, it fell off of him. Her head turned away as well, and as he began to speak again, Dorothea remained in her own world. Once more, her lips parted, and she used a few moments before the ringing of a sword hit her ears. It called her back to the scene, to the present, and when she returned, her eyes followed Stephanos’ figure to the training figurines. They narrowed upon him as she watched, and at his words, a flame bubbled in the pit of her stomach.
She was not one to let pride get to her very often. Men battling over stupid things such as their honor or a lady’s was something she would roll her eyes at. But there was something about when Stephanos provoked her. She was not sure what. Perhaps it was their past together, the times he had jabbed at her prior. Perhaps it was the fact that he never had apologized for all the things he had said to her, all of his lust-soaked compliments and alcohol-induced flirting. Whatever it was, it was strong enough for the woman to lower her loaded bow, strip it of an arrow, and shrug off her weapon all together.
“Does he now? Iason is not the type to say such things about anyone, much less about me to you.” After all, Iason knew of her dislike for the man across the pit. He would not talk poorly about her to someone like that, or to anyone at all. Leaving her weaponry behind her, the woman crossed the training arena in the same manner he had: Confidently. Chin high, arms folded, she approached him. “I’ve only got my bow on me, Stephanos. Surely you’ve got another sword on you somewhere for me to practice with. And since it is you that wield it, I should be able to too- Even with my lacking strength.” It was yet another subtle jab at him, calling him just as weak as he thought her to be.
"Perhaps," Stephanos said with an air of false mystery. "You don't know your brother as well as you suppose? Everyone has their evil tendencies." He winked at her as a wicked grin spread across his face. He watched her enter the ring; haughty and full of contempt. It was so very unusual for anyone to openly despise him and he did not understand her dislike.
He was, however, equal to the task of equal distaste and every second under her cool glare intensified the feeling. Shaking his head at her, he tapped the flat of his sword against. his palm before letting it tip to the ground, resting its point in the sand. "Alas," he said with a casual shrug. "I fear no sword is good enough for you, Dorothea." He raised his chin at her. "I wouldn't want to offend you by offering mine."
He'd only brought one sword, having assumed that if he was not lucky enough to find a sparring partner, then he would practice on the sword dummies. Her taunt about his lacking sword abilities he ignored as trite condescension. Being a general of Vasiliádon, he could not hold such a position without considerable skill in most forms of combat. If he cared enough about her good opinion, he might have tried being sweeter with her. Toward women, his preference was to be easy and teasing. She was only succeeding in goading his temper.
His original intent to get her to leave the ring was quickly morphing into a desire to see her humbled. He walked forward, meeting her half way in the ring. "What say you to a game? A sort of...truce between us?" Reconciliation was the last thing on his mind. They needed a level playing field to make this game fair. She would never beat him in combat and he would never best her in archery. It would be nearly murder to spar hand to hand with her and he had no intentions of seeing her come to any actual harm. He waited for her reply before continuing.
"A race on horseback. You may choose a penalty for me if you win." He stepped a little closer to her, his eyes traveling over her pretty face. "If I win? A kiss." The kiss didn't have to lead to anything in particular. What it would do was see her pulled down from her mighty pedestal of self-righteousness. If he had to bet, he would say she had never kissed anyone and it was a wickedly pleasurable thought to be her first; he whom she seemed to hold with such loathing.
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"Perhaps," Stephanos said with an air of false mystery. "You don't know your brother as well as you suppose? Everyone has their evil tendencies." He winked at her as a wicked grin spread across his face. He watched her enter the ring; haughty and full of contempt. It was so very unusual for anyone to openly despise him and he did not understand her dislike.
He was, however, equal to the task of equal distaste and every second under her cool glare intensified the feeling. Shaking his head at her, he tapped the flat of his sword against. his palm before letting it tip to the ground, resting its point in the sand. "Alas," he said with a casual shrug. "I fear no sword is good enough for you, Dorothea." He raised his chin at her. "I wouldn't want to offend you by offering mine."
He'd only brought one sword, having assumed that if he was not lucky enough to find a sparring partner, then he would practice on the sword dummies. Her taunt about his lacking sword abilities he ignored as trite condescension. Being a general of Vasiliádon, he could not hold such a position without considerable skill in most forms of combat. If he cared enough about her good opinion, he might have tried being sweeter with her. Toward women, his preference was to be easy and teasing. She was only succeeding in goading his temper.
His original intent to get her to leave the ring was quickly morphing into a desire to see her humbled. He walked forward, meeting her half way in the ring. "What say you to a game? A sort of...truce between us?" Reconciliation was the last thing on his mind. They needed a level playing field to make this game fair. She would never beat him in combat and he would never best her in archery. It would be nearly murder to spar hand to hand with her and he had no intentions of seeing her come to any actual harm. He waited for her reply before continuing.
"A race on horseback. You may choose a penalty for me if you win." He stepped a little closer to her, his eyes traveling over her pretty face. "If I win? A kiss." The kiss didn't have to lead to anything in particular. What it would do was see her pulled down from her mighty pedestal of self-righteousness. If he had to bet, he would say she had never kissed anyone and it was a wickedly pleasurable thought to be her first; he whom she seemed to hold with such loathing.
"Perhaps," Stephanos said with an air of false mystery. "You don't know your brother as well as you suppose? Everyone has their evil tendencies." He winked at her as a wicked grin spread across his face. He watched her enter the ring; haughty and full of contempt. It was so very unusual for anyone to openly despise him and he did not understand her dislike.
He was, however, equal to the task of equal distaste and every second under her cool glare intensified the feeling. Shaking his head at her, he tapped the flat of his sword against. his palm before letting it tip to the ground, resting its point in the sand. "Alas," he said with a casual shrug. "I fear no sword is good enough for you, Dorothea." He raised his chin at her. "I wouldn't want to offend you by offering mine."
He'd only brought one sword, having assumed that if he was not lucky enough to find a sparring partner, then he would practice on the sword dummies. Her taunt about his lacking sword abilities he ignored as trite condescension. Being a general of Vasiliádon, he could not hold such a position without considerable skill in most forms of combat. If he cared enough about her good opinion, he might have tried being sweeter with her. Toward women, his preference was to be easy and teasing. She was only succeeding in goading his temper.
His original intent to get her to leave the ring was quickly morphing into a desire to see her humbled. He walked forward, meeting her half way in the ring. "What say you to a game? A sort of...truce between us?" Reconciliation was the last thing on his mind. They needed a level playing field to make this game fair. She would never beat him in combat and he would never best her in archery. It would be nearly murder to spar hand to hand with her and he had no intentions of seeing her come to any actual harm. He waited for her reply before continuing.
"A race on horseback. You may choose a penalty for me if you win." He stepped a little closer to her, his eyes traveling over her pretty face. "If I win? A kiss." The kiss didn't have to lead to anything in particular. What it would do was see her pulled down from her mighty pedestal of self-righteousness. If he had to bet, he would say she had never kissed anyone and it was a wickedly pleasurable thought to be her first; he whom she seemed to hold with such loathing.
When her brother’s alignment was called into question, a frown appeared on her lips. While she did believe that many did possess the evil tendencies that were mentioned, her brother had one of the most even tempers of anyone she had ever met. Not quick to anger, nor to hatred, Iason was levelheaded. He knew when to hold his tongue, and was skilled at it. It ran in the family, but Stephanos and people like him pushed her chiton’s fasteners, and loosened her tight tongue. It especially happened when a stupid grin was on his face.
Or when he twisted her edged words to use them against her. She knew what he hinted at, with "no sword being good enough for her”. While Dorothea herself had no qualms with her maidenhood remaining intact at her age, the people of Taengea were owners of looser morals, and so she seemed rather old fashioned in comparison. Her lips remained pursed at the sword commentary, no words escaping.
The met towards the center of the ring. His proposal for a game, a truce, surprised her. He did not see like the type to put grudges behind him easily. It seemed like he didn’t enjoy the fact that she not only did not like him, but that she felt no attraction towards him- Well, she did. She’d be lying to say she didn’t, but outwardly she had not shown any, and that seemed to put sand in his sandals. “I say I’m listening,” she responded back, arms still folded.
The proposal was a middle ground in skill. Dorothea was a gifted, blessed archer, and despite her prodding, Stephanos was talented with a sword. Horse racing was something she had done a few times prior, and she would be decent at it. With her horse, she was quite certain she had a decent chance at winning. Besides, housing such an attitude towards the man wasn’t the best allocation of her energy.
Spacing between them closed as he stepped up to her. The man lingered in her proximity, his scent mingling with hers in the small distance between them. Her chin remained raised so that she could look him in the eyes. Dorothea imagined how many women had been in this exact position, with Stephanos’ figure this close to their own, looking him directly in the eye. Any time it had happened prior, Dorothea imagined they were not as displeased with him as she was.
Nor were they being forced to kiss him if the lost the competition.
“If I win?” she said back, tone low. “You have to give me your sword- And its sheath. And perhaps even a lesson.” Eyebrows raised, the girl stuck out her hand to secure the deal. Once it was shaken, she watched the man walk off and move to contact a guard nearby. While they both had come alone, the city itself had many guards at its disposal. The man would have no difficulties summoning a horse from him. Dorothea took the time to return to her own equestrian companion, Abraxas. She unhooked the hunt from him and lead him to the nearby water source. Already he had gone through quite the strain that morning, but Dorothea had no doubt in his abilities.
When another horse was brought for Stephanos, Dorothea returned, this time mounted on the horse’s back. “What say you of our race’s path?” she called to him. “Shall we navigate through the forest? If it is not too difficult of a course, that is.” Grin on her features, she pulled the reigns of her horse and pointed the colt’s head toward the wooded area.
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When her brother’s alignment was called into question, a frown appeared on her lips. While she did believe that many did possess the evil tendencies that were mentioned, her brother had one of the most even tempers of anyone she had ever met. Not quick to anger, nor to hatred, Iason was levelheaded. He knew when to hold his tongue, and was skilled at it. It ran in the family, but Stephanos and people like him pushed her chiton’s fasteners, and loosened her tight tongue. It especially happened when a stupid grin was on his face.
Or when he twisted her edged words to use them against her. She knew what he hinted at, with "no sword being good enough for her”. While Dorothea herself had no qualms with her maidenhood remaining intact at her age, the people of Taengea were owners of looser morals, and so she seemed rather old fashioned in comparison. Her lips remained pursed at the sword commentary, no words escaping.
The met towards the center of the ring. His proposal for a game, a truce, surprised her. He did not see like the type to put grudges behind him easily. It seemed like he didn’t enjoy the fact that she not only did not like him, but that she felt no attraction towards him- Well, she did. She’d be lying to say she didn’t, but outwardly she had not shown any, and that seemed to put sand in his sandals. “I say I’m listening,” she responded back, arms still folded.
The proposal was a middle ground in skill. Dorothea was a gifted, blessed archer, and despite her prodding, Stephanos was talented with a sword. Horse racing was something she had done a few times prior, and she would be decent at it. With her horse, she was quite certain she had a decent chance at winning. Besides, housing such an attitude towards the man wasn’t the best allocation of her energy.
Spacing between them closed as he stepped up to her. The man lingered in her proximity, his scent mingling with hers in the small distance between them. Her chin remained raised so that she could look him in the eyes. Dorothea imagined how many women had been in this exact position, with Stephanos’ figure this close to their own, looking him directly in the eye. Any time it had happened prior, Dorothea imagined they were not as displeased with him as she was.
Nor were they being forced to kiss him if the lost the competition.
“If I win?” she said back, tone low. “You have to give me your sword- And its sheath. And perhaps even a lesson.” Eyebrows raised, the girl stuck out her hand to secure the deal. Once it was shaken, she watched the man walk off and move to contact a guard nearby. While they both had come alone, the city itself had many guards at its disposal. The man would have no difficulties summoning a horse from him. Dorothea took the time to return to her own equestrian companion, Abraxas. She unhooked the hunt from him and lead him to the nearby water source. Already he had gone through quite the strain that morning, but Dorothea had no doubt in his abilities.
When another horse was brought for Stephanos, Dorothea returned, this time mounted on the horse’s back. “What say you of our race’s path?” she called to him. “Shall we navigate through the forest? If it is not too difficult of a course, that is.” Grin on her features, she pulled the reigns of her horse and pointed the colt’s head toward the wooded area.
When her brother’s alignment was called into question, a frown appeared on her lips. While she did believe that many did possess the evil tendencies that were mentioned, her brother had one of the most even tempers of anyone she had ever met. Not quick to anger, nor to hatred, Iason was levelheaded. He knew when to hold his tongue, and was skilled at it. It ran in the family, but Stephanos and people like him pushed her chiton’s fasteners, and loosened her tight tongue. It especially happened when a stupid grin was on his face.
Or when he twisted her edged words to use them against her. She knew what he hinted at, with "no sword being good enough for her”. While Dorothea herself had no qualms with her maidenhood remaining intact at her age, the people of Taengea were owners of looser morals, and so she seemed rather old fashioned in comparison. Her lips remained pursed at the sword commentary, no words escaping.
The met towards the center of the ring. His proposal for a game, a truce, surprised her. He did not see like the type to put grudges behind him easily. It seemed like he didn’t enjoy the fact that she not only did not like him, but that she felt no attraction towards him- Well, she did. She’d be lying to say she didn’t, but outwardly she had not shown any, and that seemed to put sand in his sandals. “I say I’m listening,” she responded back, arms still folded.
The proposal was a middle ground in skill. Dorothea was a gifted, blessed archer, and despite her prodding, Stephanos was talented with a sword. Horse racing was something she had done a few times prior, and she would be decent at it. With her horse, she was quite certain she had a decent chance at winning. Besides, housing such an attitude towards the man wasn’t the best allocation of her energy.
Spacing between them closed as he stepped up to her. The man lingered in her proximity, his scent mingling with hers in the small distance between them. Her chin remained raised so that she could look him in the eyes. Dorothea imagined how many women had been in this exact position, with Stephanos’ figure this close to their own, looking him directly in the eye. Any time it had happened prior, Dorothea imagined they were not as displeased with him as she was.
Nor were they being forced to kiss him if the lost the competition.
“If I win?” she said back, tone low. “You have to give me your sword- And its sheath. And perhaps even a lesson.” Eyebrows raised, the girl stuck out her hand to secure the deal. Once it was shaken, she watched the man walk off and move to contact a guard nearby. While they both had come alone, the city itself had many guards at its disposal. The man would have no difficulties summoning a horse from him. Dorothea took the time to return to her own equestrian companion, Abraxas. She unhooked the hunt from him and lead him to the nearby water source. Already he had gone through quite the strain that morning, but Dorothea had no doubt in his abilities.
When another horse was brought for Stephanos, Dorothea returned, this time mounted on the horse’s back. “What say you of our race’s path?” she called to him. “Shall we navigate through the forest? If it is not too difficult of a course, that is.” Grin on her features, she pulled the reigns of her horse and pointed the colt’s head toward the wooded area.
Stephanos raised his eyebrows at her challenge. His sword? No. Shaking his head, he took a step back from her, running his tongue over his lower lip and turning away, staring out at the trees. “This sword was crafted specifically for me,” he said over his shoulder. “What are you-” he had been about to ask what she was going to do with it but he smiled and looked back at the trees. Of course. She wasn’t going to use it. It wasn’t weighted for her. It was a man’s sword. The only thing she would likely do with it would be to hang it on her wall as a trophy.
He’d see about that.
“Alright,” Stephanos said turning around. “My sword. Deal.” He grasped her hand, sealing the bargain. His eyes lingered on her mouth and his lips quirked up in a half smile. It mattered little to him how much she disliked him. Hers were lips he’d wanted to taste for a long time and he finally had his chance.
Turning on his heel, he strode across the ring and out towards the edge of the trees where a guard stood. Stephanos did not like to feel as though he was being escorted anywhere the way Vangelis was. The main difference between the two men was Vangelis was directly in line for the throne, where as Stephanos was only the second son; the spare, which meant that he was afforded far more liberties with his behavior and safety than either his brother Zacharias, or Vangelis. He’d left his guard almost out of sight and it took a moment to reach him but at last he was sent away to fetch the horse.
Stephanos meandered back into the clearing but Dorothea had moved over to her own mount. He watched her remove her kill from earlier that morning with interest. She’d gone hunting alone? It was not unheard of but it was uncommon and he realized in that moment how little he knew about her.
He waited near the treeline until he heard the familiar clomping of hooves on dirt. His guard was returning with a servant leading a sleek horse the color of dark silver. Achnos was a special mount, bred specifically for speed and agility. He was never used for chariots which made him one of the horses Stephanos used least, but he was given exercise daily. Stephanos smoothed his hand over the animal’s powerful hindquarters, smiling to himself. Dorothea didn’t know it yet but she soon would that he was as able on horseback as he was in a chariot. There were very few things that Stephanos did not do well. His perfectionistic tendencies would be a blessing in this case.
Swinging up onto Achnos’s back, Stephanos rode toward Dorothea, one hand on his thigh while the other loosely held the reins. He nodded when she mentioned the forest. “Meet at the cliffs on the other side of the island?” he added. From here, the forest extended out across the part of the island until it came to a rather abrupt end at a cliffside. There was a small flat of land separating trees from the sheer drop, but the land was not wide enough for an olive grove or any real agricultural endeavors.
When she agreed, he waved her forward, Achnos following Abraxas with a swish of his white tail. The two of them lined up, attempting to make the race as far as one could, given that they would have to pick out their own paths to the cliffs. Glancing over at Dorothea, Stephanos arched an eyebrow. “I’ll wait for you,” he said, before hunching down and digging his heels into Achnos’s flanks. The stallion surged forward, streaking into the trees.
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Stephanos raised his eyebrows at her challenge. His sword? No. Shaking his head, he took a step back from her, running his tongue over his lower lip and turning away, staring out at the trees. “This sword was crafted specifically for me,” he said over his shoulder. “What are you-” he had been about to ask what she was going to do with it but he smiled and looked back at the trees. Of course. She wasn’t going to use it. It wasn’t weighted for her. It was a man’s sword. The only thing she would likely do with it would be to hang it on her wall as a trophy.
He’d see about that.
“Alright,” Stephanos said turning around. “My sword. Deal.” He grasped her hand, sealing the bargain. His eyes lingered on her mouth and his lips quirked up in a half smile. It mattered little to him how much she disliked him. Hers were lips he’d wanted to taste for a long time and he finally had his chance.
Turning on his heel, he strode across the ring and out towards the edge of the trees where a guard stood. Stephanos did not like to feel as though he was being escorted anywhere the way Vangelis was. The main difference between the two men was Vangelis was directly in line for the throne, where as Stephanos was only the second son; the spare, which meant that he was afforded far more liberties with his behavior and safety than either his brother Zacharias, or Vangelis. He’d left his guard almost out of sight and it took a moment to reach him but at last he was sent away to fetch the horse.
Stephanos meandered back into the clearing but Dorothea had moved over to her own mount. He watched her remove her kill from earlier that morning with interest. She’d gone hunting alone? It was not unheard of but it was uncommon and he realized in that moment how little he knew about her.
He waited near the treeline until he heard the familiar clomping of hooves on dirt. His guard was returning with a servant leading a sleek horse the color of dark silver. Achnos was a special mount, bred specifically for speed and agility. He was never used for chariots which made him one of the horses Stephanos used least, but he was given exercise daily. Stephanos smoothed his hand over the animal’s powerful hindquarters, smiling to himself. Dorothea didn’t know it yet but she soon would that he was as able on horseback as he was in a chariot. There were very few things that Stephanos did not do well. His perfectionistic tendencies would be a blessing in this case.
Swinging up onto Achnos’s back, Stephanos rode toward Dorothea, one hand on his thigh while the other loosely held the reins. He nodded when she mentioned the forest. “Meet at the cliffs on the other side of the island?” he added. From here, the forest extended out across the part of the island until it came to a rather abrupt end at a cliffside. There was a small flat of land separating trees from the sheer drop, but the land was not wide enough for an olive grove or any real agricultural endeavors.
When she agreed, he waved her forward, Achnos following Abraxas with a swish of his white tail. The two of them lined up, attempting to make the race as far as one could, given that they would have to pick out their own paths to the cliffs. Glancing over at Dorothea, Stephanos arched an eyebrow. “I’ll wait for you,” he said, before hunching down and digging his heels into Achnos’s flanks. The stallion surged forward, streaking into the trees.
Stephanos raised his eyebrows at her challenge. His sword? No. Shaking his head, he took a step back from her, running his tongue over his lower lip and turning away, staring out at the trees. “This sword was crafted specifically for me,” he said over his shoulder. “What are you-” he had been about to ask what she was going to do with it but he smiled and looked back at the trees. Of course. She wasn’t going to use it. It wasn’t weighted for her. It was a man’s sword. The only thing she would likely do with it would be to hang it on her wall as a trophy.
He’d see about that.
“Alright,” Stephanos said turning around. “My sword. Deal.” He grasped her hand, sealing the bargain. His eyes lingered on her mouth and his lips quirked up in a half smile. It mattered little to him how much she disliked him. Hers were lips he’d wanted to taste for a long time and he finally had his chance.
Turning on his heel, he strode across the ring and out towards the edge of the trees where a guard stood. Stephanos did not like to feel as though he was being escorted anywhere the way Vangelis was. The main difference between the two men was Vangelis was directly in line for the throne, where as Stephanos was only the second son; the spare, which meant that he was afforded far more liberties with his behavior and safety than either his brother Zacharias, or Vangelis. He’d left his guard almost out of sight and it took a moment to reach him but at last he was sent away to fetch the horse.
Stephanos meandered back into the clearing but Dorothea had moved over to her own mount. He watched her remove her kill from earlier that morning with interest. She’d gone hunting alone? It was not unheard of but it was uncommon and he realized in that moment how little he knew about her.
He waited near the treeline until he heard the familiar clomping of hooves on dirt. His guard was returning with a servant leading a sleek horse the color of dark silver. Achnos was a special mount, bred specifically for speed and agility. He was never used for chariots which made him one of the horses Stephanos used least, but he was given exercise daily. Stephanos smoothed his hand over the animal’s powerful hindquarters, smiling to himself. Dorothea didn’t know it yet but she soon would that he was as able on horseback as he was in a chariot. There were very few things that Stephanos did not do well. His perfectionistic tendencies would be a blessing in this case.
Swinging up onto Achnos’s back, Stephanos rode toward Dorothea, one hand on his thigh while the other loosely held the reins. He nodded when she mentioned the forest. “Meet at the cliffs on the other side of the island?” he added. From here, the forest extended out across the part of the island until it came to a rather abrupt end at a cliffside. There was a small flat of land separating trees from the sheer drop, but the land was not wide enough for an olive grove or any real agricultural endeavors.
When she agreed, he waved her forward, Achnos following Abraxas with a swish of his white tail. The two of them lined up, attempting to make the race as far as one could, given that they would have to pick out their own paths to the cliffs. Glancing over at Dorothea, Stephanos arched an eyebrow. “I’ll wait for you,” he said, before hunching down and digging his heels into Achnos’s flanks. The stallion surged forward, streaking into the trees.
His agreement did not come as a surprise to Dorothea. Who would Stephanos be if not one to never shy away from a challenge? She knew all about his headstrong nature, as well as its recklessness. If there was one thing she could count on throughout the day, it was the blond’s unwavering sense of pride. And if there was another, it would be that he was determined to claim his prize.
All she had to do was focus on the task ahead and not let her ego take ahold of her body’s reigns. Gripping the strips of leather tighter, the woman narrowed her eyes as her competitor responded. All the way to the island’s other side. At the speed one would travel at while racing, it wouldn’t take long. After all, living on the same island for all of one’s life made it feel rather small. With twenty-three years of navigation around Taengea’s capitol, the brunette had confidence in her abilities.
“At the cliffs,” she confirmed. Already she could picture the space in her mind. Between the forest’s edge and that of the cliffs’ rested a plot of land lacking life, sans a few brushes. The land would serve as a clear marker, a finish line for their competition. Dorothea had just been there that very morning, watching the sunrise. This time, she was determined to arrive a champion.
Prompted by the waving of Stephanos’ hand, the woman guided her horse into a space large enough for the two colts to stand side by side, white tails flicking this way and that. The pair’s eyes connected for a singular moment, and in it, Dorothea once more felt her heart stumble in its beatings. Her lips parted before pursing together once more, and at his words, she managed to formulate ones to quip back: “No need.”
Her chest rested to be hovering just over Abraxas’, reigns held tight. Already she knew the way in her mind, and was confident her horse knew it too. On either side of his body, her sandals’ heels dug in. The forest surrounding her immediately blurred, and there was little more to hear than the ground’s contact with the colt’s hooves and the wind in her ears. With the slightest of movements, Abraxas’ form weaved in and out of the trees, carrying her with the top speed. Rather than taking the path, Dorothea lead herself through the woods the way a crow would: directly heading for its location rather than turning this way and that. It was her strategy to arrive at the plot first.
This way and that, in and out, the brunette woman knew herself to be near, and neither Stephanos or his horse was in her bright gaze’s line of sight. Just as she was about to cross through the forest’s barrier and exit victorious, something moved on the outermost edge of her gaze. Her horse also spotted the dashing thing, and leapt to its back two legs, the front ones buckling in defense. Her legs clamped around the animal’s torso, desperately trying to avoid falling off of the scared animal. “Abraxas!” she cried, attempting to soothe him. The scurrying creature below headed underneath the frightened horse, resulting in the animal pouncing from its back legs to its front ones.
It was then Dorothea went airborne. Luckily, the close proximity of the flat plot of land meant that she crashed not into a tree, but rather into a bush. The leaves aided in softening her landing, but she still gave out a bit of a cry. Her bow and quiver of arrows landed nearby, and the startled colt bolted deep into the forest, deserting its thrown overboard rider.
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Staff Team
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This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
His agreement did not come as a surprise to Dorothea. Who would Stephanos be if not one to never shy away from a challenge? She knew all about his headstrong nature, as well as its recklessness. If there was one thing she could count on throughout the day, it was the blond’s unwavering sense of pride. And if there was another, it would be that he was determined to claim his prize.
All she had to do was focus on the task ahead and not let her ego take ahold of her body’s reigns. Gripping the strips of leather tighter, the woman narrowed her eyes as her competitor responded. All the way to the island’s other side. At the speed one would travel at while racing, it wouldn’t take long. After all, living on the same island for all of one’s life made it feel rather small. With twenty-three years of navigation around Taengea’s capitol, the brunette had confidence in her abilities.
“At the cliffs,” she confirmed. Already she could picture the space in her mind. Between the forest’s edge and that of the cliffs’ rested a plot of land lacking life, sans a few brushes. The land would serve as a clear marker, a finish line for their competition. Dorothea had just been there that very morning, watching the sunrise. This time, she was determined to arrive a champion.
Prompted by the waving of Stephanos’ hand, the woman guided her horse into a space large enough for the two colts to stand side by side, white tails flicking this way and that. The pair’s eyes connected for a singular moment, and in it, Dorothea once more felt her heart stumble in its beatings. Her lips parted before pursing together once more, and at his words, she managed to formulate ones to quip back: “No need.”
Her chest rested to be hovering just over Abraxas’, reigns held tight. Already she knew the way in her mind, and was confident her horse knew it too. On either side of his body, her sandals’ heels dug in. The forest surrounding her immediately blurred, and there was little more to hear than the ground’s contact with the colt’s hooves and the wind in her ears. With the slightest of movements, Abraxas’ form weaved in and out of the trees, carrying her with the top speed. Rather than taking the path, Dorothea lead herself through the woods the way a crow would: directly heading for its location rather than turning this way and that. It was her strategy to arrive at the plot first.
This way and that, in and out, the brunette woman knew herself to be near, and neither Stephanos or his horse was in her bright gaze’s line of sight. Just as she was about to cross through the forest’s barrier and exit victorious, something moved on the outermost edge of her gaze. Her horse also spotted the dashing thing, and leapt to its back two legs, the front ones buckling in defense. Her legs clamped around the animal’s torso, desperately trying to avoid falling off of the scared animal. “Abraxas!” she cried, attempting to soothe him. The scurrying creature below headed underneath the frightened horse, resulting in the animal pouncing from its back legs to its front ones.
It was then Dorothea went airborne. Luckily, the close proximity of the flat plot of land meant that she crashed not into a tree, but rather into a bush. The leaves aided in softening her landing, but she still gave out a bit of a cry. Her bow and quiver of arrows landed nearby, and the startled colt bolted deep into the forest, deserting its thrown overboard rider.
His agreement did not come as a surprise to Dorothea. Who would Stephanos be if not one to never shy away from a challenge? She knew all about his headstrong nature, as well as its recklessness. If there was one thing she could count on throughout the day, it was the blond’s unwavering sense of pride. And if there was another, it would be that he was determined to claim his prize.
All she had to do was focus on the task ahead and not let her ego take ahold of her body’s reigns. Gripping the strips of leather tighter, the woman narrowed her eyes as her competitor responded. All the way to the island’s other side. At the speed one would travel at while racing, it wouldn’t take long. After all, living on the same island for all of one’s life made it feel rather small. With twenty-three years of navigation around Taengea’s capitol, the brunette had confidence in her abilities.
“At the cliffs,” she confirmed. Already she could picture the space in her mind. Between the forest’s edge and that of the cliffs’ rested a plot of land lacking life, sans a few brushes. The land would serve as a clear marker, a finish line for their competition. Dorothea had just been there that very morning, watching the sunrise. This time, she was determined to arrive a champion.
Prompted by the waving of Stephanos’ hand, the woman guided her horse into a space large enough for the two colts to stand side by side, white tails flicking this way and that. The pair’s eyes connected for a singular moment, and in it, Dorothea once more felt her heart stumble in its beatings. Her lips parted before pursing together once more, and at his words, she managed to formulate ones to quip back: “No need.”
Her chest rested to be hovering just over Abraxas’, reigns held tight. Already she knew the way in her mind, and was confident her horse knew it too. On either side of his body, her sandals’ heels dug in. The forest surrounding her immediately blurred, and there was little more to hear than the ground’s contact with the colt’s hooves and the wind in her ears. With the slightest of movements, Abraxas’ form weaved in and out of the trees, carrying her with the top speed. Rather than taking the path, Dorothea lead herself through the woods the way a crow would: directly heading for its location rather than turning this way and that. It was her strategy to arrive at the plot first.
This way and that, in and out, the brunette woman knew herself to be near, and neither Stephanos or his horse was in her bright gaze’s line of sight. Just as she was about to cross through the forest’s barrier and exit victorious, something moved on the outermost edge of her gaze. Her horse also spotted the dashing thing, and leapt to its back two legs, the front ones buckling in defense. Her legs clamped around the animal’s torso, desperately trying to avoid falling off of the scared animal. “Abraxas!” she cried, attempting to soothe him. The scurrying creature below headed underneath the frightened horse, resulting in the animal pouncing from its back legs to its front ones.
It was then Dorothea went airborne. Luckily, the close proximity of the flat plot of land meant that she crashed not into a tree, but rather into a bush. The leaves aided in softening her landing, but she still gave out a bit of a cry. Her bow and quiver of arrows landed nearby, and the startled colt bolted deep into the forest, deserting its thrown overboard rider.
Achnos plunged into the trees. At once he was swathed in shadow, blinded every so often by intermittent shafts of sunlight. Like Dorothea, he knew these woods. He and his siblings would come and get lost in games for whole afternoons during his youth. The trees were spaced out far enough that he was in little danger of colliding with one.
He dug his heels into Achnoses flanks. His heart drummed in time with the horse's hoofbeats. Trees slid by in vertical blurs of brown and green. Wind attacked his face but he hunched down low, allowing Achnos’s white mane to brush his cheek instead. They were a complimentary pair; a golden rider and a silver horse. They weaved in and out through the forest; reckless, daring, bent on victory at all costs.
More than once he looked around but he did not see his opponent. Either he was the leader or she had taken a different path. It did not occur to him that he could be last. From the view of the hawk that flew above them, he was right. He was not last. They were nearly parallel to each other, with the forest’s edge fast approaching. Between them, a fox dashed through the underbrush. It veered left, heading in Dorothea’s direction.
Perhaps one of the gods or a forest nymph was playing tricks. Had the fox turned right, and come up under Achnos, the silver stallion would not have shied. Instead, just as Stephanos broke the treeline, his eyes scanning the cliffs to make sure his sword was still his own and would not be on Dorothea’s wall by tonight, he saw her horse rear, then buck.
In an instant she was airborne. He urged Achnos into a trot, too late to save her from the bush. Her horse took off back into the trees. “Dorothea,” Stephanos swung off his mount’s back and jogged toward her. Her chiton was half twisted around her knees, exposing a good portion of her legs. She did not look injured but he couldn’t see all of her. No doubt she’d at least have gotten poked by branches and she was lucky if that was the least of it.
“Here,” he said as he neared her. He did not wait for permission. Bending down, he took her hand and moved it so that he wrapped her arm around his neck while he slipped his forearm beneath her legs and his other arm under her back. In one smooth motion, he lifted her up, holding her against his chest, and stepped back.
“That’s one way to try to get here before me,” he grinned but it faded as he looked her over. “Are you alright?”
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Achnos plunged into the trees. At once he was swathed in shadow, blinded every so often by intermittent shafts of sunlight. Like Dorothea, he knew these woods. He and his siblings would come and get lost in games for whole afternoons during his youth. The trees were spaced out far enough that he was in little danger of colliding with one.
He dug his heels into Achnoses flanks. His heart drummed in time with the horse's hoofbeats. Trees slid by in vertical blurs of brown and green. Wind attacked his face but he hunched down low, allowing Achnos’s white mane to brush his cheek instead. They were a complimentary pair; a golden rider and a silver horse. They weaved in and out through the forest; reckless, daring, bent on victory at all costs.
More than once he looked around but he did not see his opponent. Either he was the leader or she had taken a different path. It did not occur to him that he could be last. From the view of the hawk that flew above them, he was right. He was not last. They were nearly parallel to each other, with the forest’s edge fast approaching. Between them, a fox dashed through the underbrush. It veered left, heading in Dorothea’s direction.
Perhaps one of the gods or a forest nymph was playing tricks. Had the fox turned right, and come up under Achnos, the silver stallion would not have shied. Instead, just as Stephanos broke the treeline, his eyes scanning the cliffs to make sure his sword was still his own and would not be on Dorothea’s wall by tonight, he saw her horse rear, then buck.
In an instant she was airborne. He urged Achnos into a trot, too late to save her from the bush. Her horse took off back into the trees. “Dorothea,” Stephanos swung off his mount’s back and jogged toward her. Her chiton was half twisted around her knees, exposing a good portion of her legs. She did not look injured but he couldn’t see all of her. No doubt she’d at least have gotten poked by branches and she was lucky if that was the least of it.
“Here,” he said as he neared her. He did not wait for permission. Bending down, he took her hand and moved it so that he wrapped her arm around his neck while he slipped his forearm beneath her legs and his other arm under her back. In one smooth motion, he lifted her up, holding her against his chest, and stepped back.
“That’s one way to try to get here before me,” he grinned but it faded as he looked her over. “Are you alright?”
Achnos plunged into the trees. At once he was swathed in shadow, blinded every so often by intermittent shafts of sunlight. Like Dorothea, he knew these woods. He and his siblings would come and get lost in games for whole afternoons during his youth. The trees were spaced out far enough that he was in little danger of colliding with one.
He dug his heels into Achnoses flanks. His heart drummed in time with the horse's hoofbeats. Trees slid by in vertical blurs of brown and green. Wind attacked his face but he hunched down low, allowing Achnos’s white mane to brush his cheek instead. They were a complimentary pair; a golden rider and a silver horse. They weaved in and out through the forest; reckless, daring, bent on victory at all costs.
More than once he looked around but he did not see his opponent. Either he was the leader or she had taken a different path. It did not occur to him that he could be last. From the view of the hawk that flew above them, he was right. He was not last. They were nearly parallel to each other, with the forest’s edge fast approaching. Between them, a fox dashed through the underbrush. It veered left, heading in Dorothea’s direction.
Perhaps one of the gods or a forest nymph was playing tricks. Had the fox turned right, and come up under Achnos, the silver stallion would not have shied. Instead, just as Stephanos broke the treeline, his eyes scanning the cliffs to make sure his sword was still his own and would not be on Dorothea’s wall by tonight, he saw her horse rear, then buck.
In an instant she was airborne. He urged Achnos into a trot, too late to save her from the bush. Her horse took off back into the trees. “Dorothea,” Stephanos swung off his mount’s back and jogged toward her. Her chiton was half twisted around her knees, exposing a good portion of her legs. She did not look injured but he couldn’t see all of her. No doubt she’d at least have gotten poked by branches and she was lucky if that was the least of it.
“Here,” he said as he neared her. He did not wait for permission. Bending down, he took her hand and moved it so that he wrapped her arm around his neck while he slipped his forearm beneath her legs and his other arm under her back. In one smooth motion, he lifted her up, holding her against his chest, and stepped back.
“That’s one way to try to get here before me,” he grinned but it faded as he looked her over. “Are you alright?”
While there were many outcomes that could’ve taken place, this was the ones the gods and goddesses above chose. From their mutual challenge, only one could be successful, and for some reason unbeknownst to Dorothea, they had chosen Stephanos to be the successful challenger. The deities decided for her pride to be the one smote, and while the brunette was able to admit that she rarely allowed herself to become so bigheaded and needed the personality check, Stephanos had prided himself highly above others for as long as she had known him. Why they decided to allow him to continue his conceited, arrogant streak instead of bestowing her the one to crush it, Dorothea could not understand.
Nor was she given the time to be alone with her thoughts, for the winner of their competition was upon her. His rough to the touch hand slipped into hers, the palm soft but fingertips calloused with years of plucking bowstrings embedded into the skin. Their joint hands provided him the grip to pull her from the branch’s grasp and hoist her into the air, into his arms.
The woman did not wrap her arms around him, even if it would’ve been more comfortable for her, or it was the way his grip had pulled her to. Instead, she let her cut arms rest against her curled from, her eyes glancing over all of the scrapes administered by the bush upon her landing. Luckily, she had been on the downward half of her decent, and so it did not harm her as much as it could have if she had had more speed.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, despite not being so. Even if the scrapes were not as bad as they had the potential to be, they still hurt, and her body was already sore from the landing. Dorothea was certain that she’d have bruises speckled upon her legs and rear, almost as much as she was certain the Dimitrou seamstress would not be happy she had damaged yet another chiton, possibly beyond repair. His joking tone had been met with her usual seriousness, but this time, she did not have the courage to look him in the eye.
“Just a few scrapes,” she insisted, not one to wallow in her injuries in hopes of pity or comfort, especially not from the blond in front of her. “And none on my feet.” It was her way of insuating that she could still stand despite her injuries. When once more on her feet, Dorothea smoothed out the material of her ruined chiton, then turned toward the forest’s edge in an attempt to search for her horse. When she could not find the colt, she let out a heavy sigh and, for the first time since her injury, looked at the face of her successful challenger.
It was clear that her words that came next were not ones she enjoyed speaking. The last thing she wanted was to hand over her wellbeing to a man she had despised for years with great passion. “Now, take your prize, Stephanos, so that I may go on my way to find my horse, Abraxas, and return to my familial archontikó.” It was clear that she had every intention of setting off from the clifftop on foot, trekking back through the forest alone despite her injuries.
Dorothea had difficulties in admitting she had lost, and that would be enough for the day. She was not going to request his aid; it would be not only the humbling of her sudden burst of pride, but enough to prompt embarrassment, something the predominantly modest girl found herself rarely feeling.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
While there were many outcomes that could’ve taken place, this was the ones the gods and goddesses above chose. From their mutual challenge, only one could be successful, and for some reason unbeknownst to Dorothea, they had chosen Stephanos to be the successful challenger. The deities decided for her pride to be the one smote, and while the brunette was able to admit that she rarely allowed herself to become so bigheaded and needed the personality check, Stephanos had prided himself highly above others for as long as she had known him. Why they decided to allow him to continue his conceited, arrogant streak instead of bestowing her the one to crush it, Dorothea could not understand.
Nor was she given the time to be alone with her thoughts, for the winner of their competition was upon her. His rough to the touch hand slipped into hers, the palm soft but fingertips calloused with years of plucking bowstrings embedded into the skin. Their joint hands provided him the grip to pull her from the branch’s grasp and hoist her into the air, into his arms.
The woman did not wrap her arms around him, even if it would’ve been more comfortable for her, or it was the way his grip had pulled her to. Instead, she let her cut arms rest against her curled from, her eyes glancing over all of the scrapes administered by the bush upon her landing. Luckily, she had been on the downward half of her decent, and so it did not harm her as much as it could have if she had had more speed.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, despite not being so. Even if the scrapes were not as bad as they had the potential to be, they still hurt, and her body was already sore from the landing. Dorothea was certain that she’d have bruises speckled upon her legs and rear, almost as much as she was certain the Dimitrou seamstress would not be happy she had damaged yet another chiton, possibly beyond repair. His joking tone had been met with her usual seriousness, but this time, she did not have the courage to look him in the eye.
“Just a few scrapes,” she insisted, not one to wallow in her injuries in hopes of pity or comfort, especially not from the blond in front of her. “And none on my feet.” It was her way of insuating that she could still stand despite her injuries. When once more on her feet, Dorothea smoothed out the material of her ruined chiton, then turned toward the forest’s edge in an attempt to search for her horse. When she could not find the colt, she let out a heavy sigh and, for the first time since her injury, looked at the face of her successful challenger.
It was clear that her words that came next were not ones she enjoyed speaking. The last thing she wanted was to hand over her wellbeing to a man she had despised for years with great passion. “Now, take your prize, Stephanos, so that I may go on my way to find my horse, Abraxas, and return to my familial archontikó.” It was clear that she had every intention of setting off from the clifftop on foot, trekking back through the forest alone despite her injuries.
Dorothea had difficulties in admitting she had lost, and that would be enough for the day. She was not going to request his aid; it would be not only the humbling of her sudden burst of pride, but enough to prompt embarrassment, something the predominantly modest girl found herself rarely feeling.
While there were many outcomes that could’ve taken place, this was the ones the gods and goddesses above chose. From their mutual challenge, only one could be successful, and for some reason unbeknownst to Dorothea, they had chosen Stephanos to be the successful challenger. The deities decided for her pride to be the one smote, and while the brunette was able to admit that she rarely allowed herself to become so bigheaded and needed the personality check, Stephanos had prided himself highly above others for as long as she had known him. Why they decided to allow him to continue his conceited, arrogant streak instead of bestowing her the one to crush it, Dorothea could not understand.
Nor was she given the time to be alone with her thoughts, for the winner of their competition was upon her. His rough to the touch hand slipped into hers, the palm soft but fingertips calloused with years of plucking bowstrings embedded into the skin. Their joint hands provided him the grip to pull her from the branch’s grasp and hoist her into the air, into his arms.
The woman did not wrap her arms around him, even if it would’ve been more comfortable for her, or it was the way his grip had pulled her to. Instead, she let her cut arms rest against her curled from, her eyes glancing over all of the scrapes administered by the bush upon her landing. Luckily, she had been on the downward half of her decent, and so it did not harm her as much as it could have if she had had more speed.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, despite not being so. Even if the scrapes were not as bad as they had the potential to be, they still hurt, and her body was already sore from the landing. Dorothea was certain that she’d have bruises speckled upon her legs and rear, almost as much as she was certain the Dimitrou seamstress would not be happy she had damaged yet another chiton, possibly beyond repair. His joking tone had been met with her usual seriousness, but this time, she did not have the courage to look him in the eye.
“Just a few scrapes,” she insisted, not one to wallow in her injuries in hopes of pity or comfort, especially not from the blond in front of her. “And none on my feet.” It was her way of insuating that she could still stand despite her injuries. When once more on her feet, Dorothea smoothed out the material of her ruined chiton, then turned toward the forest’s edge in an attempt to search for her horse. When she could not find the colt, she let out a heavy sigh and, for the first time since her injury, looked at the face of her successful challenger.
It was clear that her words that came next were not ones she enjoyed speaking. The last thing she wanted was to hand over her wellbeing to a man she had despised for years with great passion. “Now, take your prize, Stephanos, so that I may go on my way to find my horse, Abraxas, and return to my familial archontikó.” It was clear that she had every intention of setting off from the clifftop on foot, trekking back through the forest alone despite her injuries.
Dorothea had difficulties in admitting she had lost, and that would be enough for the day. She was not going to request his aid; it would be not only the humbling of her sudden burst of pride, but enough to prompt embarrassment, something the predominantly modest girl found herself rarely feeling.
“Just a few scrapes,” she said, after a moment adding, “and none on my feet.”
“Right,” he said with an arched eyebrow as he looked her over; free to do so because she refused to look up at him. Her meaning was clear enough and, after a moment, he eased her down, keeping his hand on her lower back until he was sure that she could stand on her own. She was surprisingly light and he liked the feel of her while he had the chance. At once she turned away from him, smoothing out her dress and looking out into the forest.
Stephanos twisted to make sure that Achnose was still near and found the stallion with his velvet gray nose buried in the grass. “Hey,” he chided, moving away from her and forcing the horse’s head up, gently popping him on the jaw. “You know better.” His back was to her when she finally turned around. There was a tension between them that he allowed to linger. Both of them knew what would come next but on his part at least, the bet had been playful; mean, but playful. Now that she was mildly hurt, that took a little of the game out of it.
Achnos lifted his head and placed it over Stephanos’s shoulder, his large brown eyes resting on the woman as his master smoothed practiced hands over his mane and neck. At last, Stephanos turned, figuring he’d given her enough time to gather herself together. If there was one thing she could be, it was haughty and he wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of her temper; especially when his own tended to flare just as quickly.
She looked at him as though she was steeling herself against something massively unpleasant. He frowned, drifting closer as she spoke, telling him to come claim his kiss. With a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he walked over until he was close enough to touch her. His eyes moved over her face, taking in the hardness of her eyes, the unhappy twist of her mouth. Bringing up his hand, he ran the backs of his fingers down her bare neck and leaned down, his lips a breath away from hers and said, “I’d rather be romanced into it,” before pulling away with a wink.
Her skin was soft and it was with effort that he took back his hand and stepped back from her. He bit his lower lip to keep from smiling but it didn’t work and he had to turn around in an effort not to arouse her anger further. A few quick strides brought him back to Achnos. Reaching up, he gripped the horse’s reins and led him back over to Dorothea, his oceanic gaze slipping from her to the trees. “Don’t go looking for him,” he said seriously. “He’ll find his way home.”
For a moment, he looked her over and then he glanced out at the water to their left. The sun would soon be setting and if they weren’t careful, they’d get caught after dark. Not only that, but because of their race, Achnos still needed to rest before he would be able to allow a rider on his back again, let alone two.
“I’ll take you home,” Stephanos said but turned away from her to unbridle his horse so that the beast could graze for a few minutes. “Tell me,” he said conversationally over his shoulder. “Where does all this heated dislike for me come from? Is it jealousy over my riding skills?” he teased. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
He knew full well that the horses had nothing to do with her evident dislike but he was trying to get her to give him any other emotion besides anger. She was too beautiful not to smile more. After a moment he went over and picked up her bow and quiver, looking them over carefully. To him, they seemed perfectly ordinary. He wondered if he used them, would he have the same accuracy she did?
Achnos moved away from them, plucking up grass as he slowly edged further out. The ocean crashed against the cliffs, lending the waning afternoon a sense of calm as though they had nowhere to be except right here. The light took on a soft quality and the wind was still.
“Here,” he murmured, handing over the weapons, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. “They look to be alright but I’m no archer. You’d know better than I would.” Again his eyes lingered on her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. What did she taste like, he wondered?
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“Just a few scrapes,” she said, after a moment adding, “and none on my feet.”
“Right,” he said with an arched eyebrow as he looked her over; free to do so because she refused to look up at him. Her meaning was clear enough and, after a moment, he eased her down, keeping his hand on her lower back until he was sure that she could stand on her own. She was surprisingly light and he liked the feel of her while he had the chance. At once she turned away from him, smoothing out her dress and looking out into the forest.
Stephanos twisted to make sure that Achnose was still near and found the stallion with his velvet gray nose buried in the grass. “Hey,” he chided, moving away from her and forcing the horse’s head up, gently popping him on the jaw. “You know better.” His back was to her when she finally turned around. There was a tension between them that he allowed to linger. Both of them knew what would come next but on his part at least, the bet had been playful; mean, but playful. Now that she was mildly hurt, that took a little of the game out of it.
Achnos lifted his head and placed it over Stephanos’s shoulder, his large brown eyes resting on the woman as his master smoothed practiced hands over his mane and neck. At last, Stephanos turned, figuring he’d given her enough time to gather herself together. If there was one thing she could be, it was haughty and he wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of her temper; especially when his own tended to flare just as quickly.
She looked at him as though she was steeling herself against something massively unpleasant. He frowned, drifting closer as she spoke, telling him to come claim his kiss. With a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he walked over until he was close enough to touch her. His eyes moved over her face, taking in the hardness of her eyes, the unhappy twist of her mouth. Bringing up his hand, he ran the backs of his fingers down her bare neck and leaned down, his lips a breath away from hers and said, “I’d rather be romanced into it,” before pulling away with a wink.
Her skin was soft and it was with effort that he took back his hand and stepped back from her. He bit his lower lip to keep from smiling but it didn’t work and he had to turn around in an effort not to arouse her anger further. A few quick strides brought him back to Achnos. Reaching up, he gripped the horse’s reins and led him back over to Dorothea, his oceanic gaze slipping from her to the trees. “Don’t go looking for him,” he said seriously. “He’ll find his way home.”
For a moment, he looked her over and then he glanced out at the water to their left. The sun would soon be setting and if they weren’t careful, they’d get caught after dark. Not only that, but because of their race, Achnos still needed to rest before he would be able to allow a rider on his back again, let alone two.
“I’ll take you home,” Stephanos said but turned away from her to unbridle his horse so that the beast could graze for a few minutes. “Tell me,” he said conversationally over his shoulder. “Where does all this heated dislike for me come from? Is it jealousy over my riding skills?” he teased. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
He knew full well that the horses had nothing to do with her evident dislike but he was trying to get her to give him any other emotion besides anger. She was too beautiful not to smile more. After a moment he went over and picked up her bow and quiver, looking them over carefully. To him, they seemed perfectly ordinary. He wondered if he used them, would he have the same accuracy she did?
Achnos moved away from them, plucking up grass as he slowly edged further out. The ocean crashed against the cliffs, lending the waning afternoon a sense of calm as though they had nowhere to be except right here. The light took on a soft quality and the wind was still.
“Here,” he murmured, handing over the weapons, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. “They look to be alright but I’m no archer. You’d know better than I would.” Again his eyes lingered on her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. What did she taste like, he wondered?
“Just a few scrapes,” she said, after a moment adding, “and none on my feet.”
“Right,” he said with an arched eyebrow as he looked her over; free to do so because she refused to look up at him. Her meaning was clear enough and, after a moment, he eased her down, keeping his hand on her lower back until he was sure that she could stand on her own. She was surprisingly light and he liked the feel of her while he had the chance. At once she turned away from him, smoothing out her dress and looking out into the forest.
Stephanos twisted to make sure that Achnose was still near and found the stallion with his velvet gray nose buried in the grass. “Hey,” he chided, moving away from her and forcing the horse’s head up, gently popping him on the jaw. “You know better.” His back was to her when she finally turned around. There was a tension between them that he allowed to linger. Both of them knew what would come next but on his part at least, the bet had been playful; mean, but playful. Now that she was mildly hurt, that took a little of the game out of it.
Achnos lifted his head and placed it over Stephanos’s shoulder, his large brown eyes resting on the woman as his master smoothed practiced hands over his mane and neck. At last, Stephanos turned, figuring he’d given her enough time to gather herself together. If there was one thing she could be, it was haughty and he wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of her temper; especially when his own tended to flare just as quickly.
She looked at him as though she was steeling herself against something massively unpleasant. He frowned, drifting closer as she spoke, telling him to come claim his kiss. With a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he walked over until he was close enough to touch her. His eyes moved over her face, taking in the hardness of her eyes, the unhappy twist of her mouth. Bringing up his hand, he ran the backs of his fingers down her bare neck and leaned down, his lips a breath away from hers and said, “I’d rather be romanced into it,” before pulling away with a wink.
Her skin was soft and it was with effort that he took back his hand and stepped back from her. He bit his lower lip to keep from smiling but it didn’t work and he had to turn around in an effort not to arouse her anger further. A few quick strides brought him back to Achnos. Reaching up, he gripped the horse’s reins and led him back over to Dorothea, his oceanic gaze slipping from her to the trees. “Don’t go looking for him,” he said seriously. “He’ll find his way home.”
For a moment, he looked her over and then he glanced out at the water to their left. The sun would soon be setting and if they weren’t careful, they’d get caught after dark. Not only that, but because of their race, Achnos still needed to rest before he would be able to allow a rider on his back again, let alone two.
“I’ll take you home,” Stephanos said but turned away from her to unbridle his horse so that the beast could graze for a few minutes. “Tell me,” he said conversationally over his shoulder. “Where does all this heated dislike for me come from? Is it jealousy over my riding skills?” he teased. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
He knew full well that the horses had nothing to do with her evident dislike but he was trying to get her to give him any other emotion besides anger. She was too beautiful not to smile more. After a moment he went over and picked up her bow and quiver, looking them over carefully. To him, they seemed perfectly ordinary. He wondered if he used them, would he have the same accuracy she did?
Achnos moved away from them, plucking up grass as he slowly edged further out. The ocean crashed against the cliffs, lending the waning afternoon a sense of calm as though they had nowhere to be except right here. The light took on a soft quality and the wind was still.
“Here,” he murmured, handing over the weapons, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. “They look to be alright but I’m no archer. You’d know better than I would.” Again his eyes lingered on her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. What did she taste like, he wondered?
When the man spoke to his horse, Dorothea hadn’t been looking, and so she assumed the words were directed at her. Her gaze snapped over at him and her lips pursed, but when she saw that he was tending to his horse, she felt a bit of embarrassment strike. Needless to say, how the day was going was not how she would’ve preferred it to go. All she had wanted was to take part in her morning hunt, practice some in the arena, and then return home undisturbed. Instead, she was interrupted in her training and now injured due to her allowing her head to grow too large.
The insistence to have the kiss be over and done with prompted Stephanos to walk closer and closer to her until he was so close, the woman could feel the hair on her arms standing up. His bright gaze scanned her facial features while hers narrowed on the shimmering orbs. A few seconds passed before he reached out and touched her. Dorothea immediately straightened more, her chin jutting upward in defiance. Even if he was a prince and she was only a part of the nobility, she did not enjoy him doing as he pleased.
His lips grew to be so close to hers, the only thing that would’ve been able to slip into the space between them would’ve been thin spider’s silk. Something made her stomach feel heavier than usual, as if she were about to be sick. Dorothea thought it to be disgust, but little did she know her body was actually reacting in a totally different way. For reasons unbeknownst to her, it was not disgust sinking in her stomach; it was nervousness fluttering. His words intensified the feeling, and she closed her eyes for a moment to regain control over herself, for her head spun a bit.
Romanced? Dorothea had no idea how to romance a man. Never before had she wanted to, and yet, standing there with her thoughts returning from earlier, she realized that maybe she did want to romance him. Rumors moved fast in the courts, of how Stephanos was able to make any girl’s knees weak. A part of her wanted to return the gesture, to be able to make a swooner like the blond prince be swooned in return. The ability to do something like that was rare, and Dorothea felt her cheeks grow ablaze at the idea of wanting to. As if someone like her could make someone like him feel something so strong.
It was when he swayed away that her chin returned to its normal height and her eyes opened. A stupid smile took ahold of his lips, grounding Dorothea back to the present. He strode away from her, and she did the same, heading for the cliff’s edge. Even as she walked away and towards the blustery landscape, his words reached her ears. He advised that she should not look for her horse because Abraxas would be able to find his way home. Dorothea found that a likely outcome. She had taken the colt out on the same path many a time. Hopefully he would be able to remember his way home.
He would take her home. Her teeth gritted together some at the idea. Already she had lost to him, and so she had to surrender her lips. Now she was being forced to place her entire wellbeing into his hands so that he could take her home. It was not a pleasant thing in any regard, but neither was trekking back with minor injuries. It was a mutually known fact. Dorothea could not decline it, and so she did not accept it either.
She did not answer his next set of questions either. Instead, she walked to the cliff’s edge in silence and sat down so that her legs dangled over the edge, rocks pressing against the curve of her bent knee. The wind blew against her face, tossing her hair and sending the salty spray into her wounds. They stung on contact, but only for a moment or two, making it bearable. She sat alone for a handful of minutes until Stephanos appeared at her side, handing her the weapons she was bestowed by the gods. Reaching out, she took them, noticing the way his fingers lingered to touch hers longer.
And she let them.
“They are able to withstand high impact,” she assured him, pulling her hand away after a long moment. She rested the bow in her lap and the quiver at her hip, then looked back out to the sea, watching. The water was harsh against the cliff like she was against him, and yet, the water continued to push against it again and again and again. Despite the force the water utilized, it returned to be pressed against the cliff once more. Perhaps she would continue to as well, no matter how hard she pushed away. So perhaps she should not try so hard and waste her energy.
“Do you remember a few years prior? The Dionysus festival?” Her words were spoken after a period of silence, and in response to questions he asked many minutes before. “Probably not. You were rather drunk, you see, and decided to make me some target. And when I was not amused or swooning because you simply laid your eyes on me, you grew rude.” She glanced up at him, and then looked away. “I did not enjoy receiving such an attitude, and seeing as you never apologized, and still have not, I look upon you with distain."
Something else was beginning to slip into how she looked upon him, however.
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When the man spoke to his horse, Dorothea hadn’t been looking, and so she assumed the words were directed at her. Her gaze snapped over at him and her lips pursed, but when she saw that he was tending to his horse, she felt a bit of embarrassment strike. Needless to say, how the day was going was not how she would’ve preferred it to go. All she had wanted was to take part in her morning hunt, practice some in the arena, and then return home undisturbed. Instead, she was interrupted in her training and now injured due to her allowing her head to grow too large.
The insistence to have the kiss be over and done with prompted Stephanos to walk closer and closer to her until he was so close, the woman could feel the hair on her arms standing up. His bright gaze scanned her facial features while hers narrowed on the shimmering orbs. A few seconds passed before he reached out and touched her. Dorothea immediately straightened more, her chin jutting upward in defiance. Even if he was a prince and she was only a part of the nobility, she did not enjoy him doing as he pleased.
His lips grew to be so close to hers, the only thing that would’ve been able to slip into the space between them would’ve been thin spider’s silk. Something made her stomach feel heavier than usual, as if she were about to be sick. Dorothea thought it to be disgust, but little did she know her body was actually reacting in a totally different way. For reasons unbeknownst to her, it was not disgust sinking in her stomach; it was nervousness fluttering. His words intensified the feeling, and she closed her eyes for a moment to regain control over herself, for her head spun a bit.
Romanced? Dorothea had no idea how to romance a man. Never before had she wanted to, and yet, standing there with her thoughts returning from earlier, she realized that maybe she did want to romance him. Rumors moved fast in the courts, of how Stephanos was able to make any girl’s knees weak. A part of her wanted to return the gesture, to be able to make a swooner like the blond prince be swooned in return. The ability to do something like that was rare, and Dorothea felt her cheeks grow ablaze at the idea of wanting to. As if someone like her could make someone like him feel something so strong.
It was when he swayed away that her chin returned to its normal height and her eyes opened. A stupid smile took ahold of his lips, grounding Dorothea back to the present. He strode away from her, and she did the same, heading for the cliff’s edge. Even as she walked away and towards the blustery landscape, his words reached her ears. He advised that she should not look for her horse because Abraxas would be able to find his way home. Dorothea found that a likely outcome. She had taken the colt out on the same path many a time. Hopefully he would be able to remember his way home.
He would take her home. Her teeth gritted together some at the idea. Already she had lost to him, and so she had to surrender her lips. Now she was being forced to place her entire wellbeing into his hands so that he could take her home. It was not a pleasant thing in any regard, but neither was trekking back with minor injuries. It was a mutually known fact. Dorothea could not decline it, and so she did not accept it either.
She did not answer his next set of questions either. Instead, she walked to the cliff’s edge in silence and sat down so that her legs dangled over the edge, rocks pressing against the curve of her bent knee. The wind blew against her face, tossing her hair and sending the salty spray into her wounds. They stung on contact, but only for a moment or two, making it bearable. She sat alone for a handful of minutes until Stephanos appeared at her side, handing her the weapons she was bestowed by the gods. Reaching out, she took them, noticing the way his fingers lingered to touch hers longer.
And she let them.
“They are able to withstand high impact,” she assured him, pulling her hand away after a long moment. She rested the bow in her lap and the quiver at her hip, then looked back out to the sea, watching. The water was harsh against the cliff like she was against him, and yet, the water continued to push against it again and again and again. Despite the force the water utilized, it returned to be pressed against the cliff once more. Perhaps she would continue to as well, no matter how hard she pushed away. So perhaps she should not try so hard and waste her energy.
“Do you remember a few years prior? The Dionysus festival?” Her words were spoken after a period of silence, and in response to questions he asked many minutes before. “Probably not. You were rather drunk, you see, and decided to make me some target. And when I was not amused or swooning because you simply laid your eyes on me, you grew rude.” She glanced up at him, and then looked away. “I did not enjoy receiving such an attitude, and seeing as you never apologized, and still have not, I look upon you with distain."
Something else was beginning to slip into how she looked upon him, however.
When the man spoke to his horse, Dorothea hadn’t been looking, and so she assumed the words were directed at her. Her gaze snapped over at him and her lips pursed, but when she saw that he was tending to his horse, she felt a bit of embarrassment strike. Needless to say, how the day was going was not how she would’ve preferred it to go. All she had wanted was to take part in her morning hunt, practice some in the arena, and then return home undisturbed. Instead, she was interrupted in her training and now injured due to her allowing her head to grow too large.
The insistence to have the kiss be over and done with prompted Stephanos to walk closer and closer to her until he was so close, the woman could feel the hair on her arms standing up. His bright gaze scanned her facial features while hers narrowed on the shimmering orbs. A few seconds passed before he reached out and touched her. Dorothea immediately straightened more, her chin jutting upward in defiance. Even if he was a prince and she was only a part of the nobility, she did not enjoy him doing as he pleased.
His lips grew to be so close to hers, the only thing that would’ve been able to slip into the space between them would’ve been thin spider’s silk. Something made her stomach feel heavier than usual, as if she were about to be sick. Dorothea thought it to be disgust, but little did she know her body was actually reacting in a totally different way. For reasons unbeknownst to her, it was not disgust sinking in her stomach; it was nervousness fluttering. His words intensified the feeling, and she closed her eyes for a moment to regain control over herself, for her head spun a bit.
Romanced? Dorothea had no idea how to romance a man. Never before had she wanted to, and yet, standing there with her thoughts returning from earlier, she realized that maybe she did want to romance him. Rumors moved fast in the courts, of how Stephanos was able to make any girl’s knees weak. A part of her wanted to return the gesture, to be able to make a swooner like the blond prince be swooned in return. The ability to do something like that was rare, and Dorothea felt her cheeks grow ablaze at the idea of wanting to. As if someone like her could make someone like him feel something so strong.
It was when he swayed away that her chin returned to its normal height and her eyes opened. A stupid smile took ahold of his lips, grounding Dorothea back to the present. He strode away from her, and she did the same, heading for the cliff’s edge. Even as she walked away and towards the blustery landscape, his words reached her ears. He advised that she should not look for her horse because Abraxas would be able to find his way home. Dorothea found that a likely outcome. She had taken the colt out on the same path many a time. Hopefully he would be able to remember his way home.
He would take her home. Her teeth gritted together some at the idea. Already she had lost to him, and so she had to surrender her lips. Now she was being forced to place her entire wellbeing into his hands so that he could take her home. It was not a pleasant thing in any regard, but neither was trekking back with minor injuries. It was a mutually known fact. Dorothea could not decline it, and so she did not accept it either.
She did not answer his next set of questions either. Instead, she walked to the cliff’s edge in silence and sat down so that her legs dangled over the edge, rocks pressing against the curve of her bent knee. The wind blew against her face, tossing her hair and sending the salty spray into her wounds. They stung on contact, but only for a moment or two, making it bearable. She sat alone for a handful of minutes until Stephanos appeared at her side, handing her the weapons she was bestowed by the gods. Reaching out, she took them, noticing the way his fingers lingered to touch hers longer.
And she let them.
“They are able to withstand high impact,” she assured him, pulling her hand away after a long moment. She rested the bow in her lap and the quiver at her hip, then looked back out to the sea, watching. The water was harsh against the cliff like she was against him, and yet, the water continued to push against it again and again and again. Despite the force the water utilized, it returned to be pressed against the cliff once more. Perhaps she would continue to as well, no matter how hard she pushed away. So perhaps she should not try so hard and waste her energy.
“Do you remember a few years prior? The Dionysus festival?” Her words were spoken after a period of silence, and in response to questions he asked many minutes before. “Probably not. You were rather drunk, you see, and decided to make me some target. And when I was not amused or swooning because you simply laid your eyes on me, you grew rude.” She glanced up at him, and then looked away. “I did not enjoy receiving such an attitude, and seeing as you never apologized, and still have not, I look upon you with distain."
Something else was beginning to slip into how she looked upon him, however.
When she didn't immediately rip her hand away, instead allowing their fingers to brush against each other, he smirked. She gazed at the sea and he took the opportunity to look her over once more. Of all the women at court, she was easily the coldest toward him. It was such a shame. If she could bring herself to thaw a little towards him....it would be all he needed.
Silence stretched between them but it wasn't uncomfortable, like it would have been if they were still back in the arena. Wind coasting off the ocean played in their hair, ruffling his and twisting hers about her face. He reached up, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. His hand dropped a she spoke, however.
"Do you remember a few years prior? The Dionysus festival?”
"I hardly remember any festival," he said with a laugh, leaning back on his hands. Stephanos was well loved by his people. He was everything the second son of the king should be; generous, brave, with an easy, open disposition. Unlike his father and brother, he was not cold or aloof, living sheltered inside the palace. Usually he was out among his people and at festivals, that meant he was plenty drunk with his people too. There were very few reserves with the Prince of Tangea; it was a blessing for some and, for women like Dorothea, a curse apparently.
“Probably not. You were rather drunk, you see, and decided to make me some target. And when I was not amused or swooning because you simply laid your eyes on me, you grew rude.”
He had no memory of what she was talking about, but he could well believe it. "Rude?" he echoed incredulously. Well, except that. In his opinion, he was hardly ever rude. Of course, since he couldn't remember the night in question, he was in no position to defend himself. For all he knew, he might have been extremely belligerent. She tended to push his buttons that way.
“I did not enjoy receiving such an attitude, and seeing as you never apologized, and still have not, I look upon you with distain."
An apology. Was that all it would take? He was about to flippantly give her one but the way she glanced up at him made him shut his arrogant mouth. She wanted a real one, he realized. Not just the words but truth behind them.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking away from her. "I'll tell you what," he said at last, his gaze on the waves cresting in the distance. "I will apologize to you when, and if I feel sorry." A playing smile crossed his features as he finally looked back at her, clearly joking. "And if I do that, you must promise to let go of this grudge in return."
Leaning over, he nudged her with his shoulder. "Grudges make people unhappy and you seem irritated all the time. Unless I just bring that out in you." Still the teasing tone continued but his smile faded into a real one after a moment and then he said, "You're too beautiful to frown all the time."
They sat together a little longer until he was satisfied Achnos was well rested. He got to his feet and went to re-bridle his horse before swinging into the saddle. Stephanos leaned down, holding out his arm for her to grip, lifting her onto the horse and settling her in front of him.
She seemed rigid against him, as they set off for home. He did his best to touch her as little as possible so as not to arouse her anger but his arms were starting to burn from keeping them out straight as he held the reins. Without apology, he finally let his arms sag against her thighs but he did nothing beyond that. She probably wouldn't like it but in his mind she could be civil about it and let him rest his arms...or she could walk. There was no way he was going to ride for almost an hour in that awkward position. This one was much nicer and more comfortable.
They broke through the trees. The afternoon was already fading. If she'd held onto her pride and walked on foot, she'd be at the arena well after dark and still outside of the city. "Almost rid of me," he said lightly, directing Achnos through the clearing and out onto the wide dirt path that would bring them to the edge of Vasiliadon. When they were just out of the ring of trees, clopping down the road, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered, "I apologize." He watched her dark hair a moment, adding, "For all of it." He leaned back again, giving her space, knowing she still didn't like him.
In the twilight, the white city houses were beautiful against the distant backdrop of the ocean. He smiled to himself. There was no city more beautiful than this one. Her family's home was no exception. It was large, being one of the older, and therefore richer homes in Vasiliadon. "Here," he let go of Achnos's reins and placed his hands around her waist as they drew up to her father's gates, lifting her easily from the saddle only to set her down on the ground.
He looked down at her, one hand holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh. "Good night, Dorothea." His tone was formal but he ruined the effect with his teasing expression. "I think you've had enough trauma for one day without the added pain of having to submit to me. Perhaps when you're feeling better?"
He might have been discussing the wet summer they'd had or asked if she thought the harvest might yield excellent crops instead of teasing her for what he suspected would be her first kiss. When she'd said whatever she would tell him, he winked at her, a smirk playing about his mouth, and kicked Achnos into motion. As he rode away, he resisted looking back. Perhaps he could convince her to hate him less a different day.
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When she didn't immediately rip her hand away, instead allowing their fingers to brush against each other, he smirked. She gazed at the sea and he took the opportunity to look her over once more. Of all the women at court, she was easily the coldest toward him. It was such a shame. If she could bring herself to thaw a little towards him....it would be all he needed.
Silence stretched between them but it wasn't uncomfortable, like it would have been if they were still back in the arena. Wind coasting off the ocean played in their hair, ruffling his and twisting hers about her face. He reached up, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. His hand dropped a she spoke, however.
"Do you remember a few years prior? The Dionysus festival?”
"I hardly remember any festival," he said with a laugh, leaning back on his hands. Stephanos was well loved by his people. He was everything the second son of the king should be; generous, brave, with an easy, open disposition. Unlike his father and brother, he was not cold or aloof, living sheltered inside the palace. Usually he was out among his people and at festivals, that meant he was plenty drunk with his people too. There were very few reserves with the Prince of Tangea; it was a blessing for some and, for women like Dorothea, a curse apparently.
“Probably not. You were rather drunk, you see, and decided to make me some target. And when I was not amused or swooning because you simply laid your eyes on me, you grew rude.”
He had no memory of what she was talking about, but he could well believe it. "Rude?" he echoed incredulously. Well, except that. In his opinion, he was hardly ever rude. Of course, since he couldn't remember the night in question, he was in no position to defend himself. For all he knew, he might have been extremely belligerent. She tended to push his buttons that way.
“I did not enjoy receiving such an attitude, and seeing as you never apologized, and still have not, I look upon you with distain."
An apology. Was that all it would take? He was about to flippantly give her one but the way she glanced up at him made him shut his arrogant mouth. She wanted a real one, he realized. Not just the words but truth behind them.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking away from her. "I'll tell you what," he said at last, his gaze on the waves cresting in the distance. "I will apologize to you when, and if I feel sorry." A playing smile crossed his features as he finally looked back at her, clearly joking. "And if I do that, you must promise to let go of this grudge in return."
Leaning over, he nudged her with his shoulder. "Grudges make people unhappy and you seem irritated all the time. Unless I just bring that out in you." Still the teasing tone continued but his smile faded into a real one after a moment and then he said, "You're too beautiful to frown all the time."
They sat together a little longer until he was satisfied Achnos was well rested. He got to his feet and went to re-bridle his horse before swinging into the saddle. Stephanos leaned down, holding out his arm for her to grip, lifting her onto the horse and settling her in front of him.
She seemed rigid against him, as they set off for home. He did his best to touch her as little as possible so as not to arouse her anger but his arms were starting to burn from keeping them out straight as he held the reins. Without apology, he finally let his arms sag against her thighs but he did nothing beyond that. She probably wouldn't like it but in his mind she could be civil about it and let him rest his arms...or she could walk. There was no way he was going to ride for almost an hour in that awkward position. This one was much nicer and more comfortable.
They broke through the trees. The afternoon was already fading. If she'd held onto her pride and walked on foot, she'd be at the arena well after dark and still outside of the city. "Almost rid of me," he said lightly, directing Achnos through the clearing and out onto the wide dirt path that would bring them to the edge of Vasiliadon. When they were just out of the ring of trees, clopping down the road, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered, "I apologize." He watched her dark hair a moment, adding, "For all of it." He leaned back again, giving her space, knowing she still didn't like him.
In the twilight, the white city houses were beautiful against the distant backdrop of the ocean. He smiled to himself. There was no city more beautiful than this one. Her family's home was no exception. It was large, being one of the older, and therefore richer homes in Vasiliadon. "Here," he let go of Achnos's reins and placed his hands around her waist as they drew up to her father's gates, lifting her easily from the saddle only to set her down on the ground.
He looked down at her, one hand holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh. "Good night, Dorothea." His tone was formal but he ruined the effect with his teasing expression. "I think you've had enough trauma for one day without the added pain of having to submit to me. Perhaps when you're feeling better?"
He might have been discussing the wet summer they'd had or asked if she thought the harvest might yield excellent crops instead of teasing her for what he suspected would be her first kiss. When she'd said whatever she would tell him, he winked at her, a smirk playing about his mouth, and kicked Achnos into motion. As he rode away, he resisted looking back. Perhaps he could convince her to hate him less a different day.
When she didn't immediately rip her hand away, instead allowing their fingers to brush against each other, he smirked. She gazed at the sea and he took the opportunity to look her over once more. Of all the women at court, she was easily the coldest toward him. It was such a shame. If she could bring herself to thaw a little towards him....it would be all he needed.
Silence stretched between them but it wasn't uncomfortable, like it would have been if they were still back in the arena. Wind coasting off the ocean played in their hair, ruffling his and twisting hers about her face. He reached up, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. His hand dropped a she spoke, however.
"Do you remember a few years prior? The Dionysus festival?”
"I hardly remember any festival," he said with a laugh, leaning back on his hands. Stephanos was well loved by his people. He was everything the second son of the king should be; generous, brave, with an easy, open disposition. Unlike his father and brother, he was not cold or aloof, living sheltered inside the palace. Usually he was out among his people and at festivals, that meant he was plenty drunk with his people too. There were very few reserves with the Prince of Tangea; it was a blessing for some and, for women like Dorothea, a curse apparently.
“Probably not. You were rather drunk, you see, and decided to make me some target. And when I was not amused or swooning because you simply laid your eyes on me, you grew rude.”
He had no memory of what she was talking about, but he could well believe it. "Rude?" he echoed incredulously. Well, except that. In his opinion, he was hardly ever rude. Of course, since he couldn't remember the night in question, he was in no position to defend himself. For all he knew, he might have been extremely belligerent. She tended to push his buttons that way.
“I did not enjoy receiving such an attitude, and seeing as you never apologized, and still have not, I look upon you with distain."
An apology. Was that all it would take? He was about to flippantly give her one but the way she glanced up at him made him shut his arrogant mouth. She wanted a real one, he realized. Not just the words but truth behind them.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking away from her. "I'll tell you what," he said at last, his gaze on the waves cresting in the distance. "I will apologize to you when, and if I feel sorry." A playing smile crossed his features as he finally looked back at her, clearly joking. "And if I do that, you must promise to let go of this grudge in return."
Leaning over, he nudged her with his shoulder. "Grudges make people unhappy and you seem irritated all the time. Unless I just bring that out in you." Still the teasing tone continued but his smile faded into a real one after a moment and then he said, "You're too beautiful to frown all the time."
They sat together a little longer until he was satisfied Achnos was well rested. He got to his feet and went to re-bridle his horse before swinging into the saddle. Stephanos leaned down, holding out his arm for her to grip, lifting her onto the horse and settling her in front of him.
She seemed rigid against him, as they set off for home. He did his best to touch her as little as possible so as not to arouse her anger but his arms were starting to burn from keeping them out straight as he held the reins. Without apology, he finally let his arms sag against her thighs but he did nothing beyond that. She probably wouldn't like it but in his mind she could be civil about it and let him rest his arms...or she could walk. There was no way he was going to ride for almost an hour in that awkward position. This one was much nicer and more comfortable.
They broke through the trees. The afternoon was already fading. If she'd held onto her pride and walked on foot, she'd be at the arena well after dark and still outside of the city. "Almost rid of me," he said lightly, directing Achnos through the clearing and out onto the wide dirt path that would bring them to the edge of Vasiliadon. When they were just out of the ring of trees, clopping down the road, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered, "I apologize." He watched her dark hair a moment, adding, "For all of it." He leaned back again, giving her space, knowing she still didn't like him.
In the twilight, the white city houses were beautiful against the distant backdrop of the ocean. He smiled to himself. There was no city more beautiful than this one. Her family's home was no exception. It was large, being one of the older, and therefore richer homes in Vasiliadon. "Here," he let go of Achnos's reins and placed his hands around her waist as they drew up to her father's gates, lifting her easily from the saddle only to set her down on the ground.
He looked down at her, one hand holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh. "Good night, Dorothea." His tone was formal but he ruined the effect with his teasing expression. "I think you've had enough trauma for one day without the added pain of having to submit to me. Perhaps when you're feeling better?"
He might have been discussing the wet summer they'd had or asked if she thought the harvest might yield excellent crops instead of teasing her for what he suspected would be her first kiss. When she'd said whatever she would tell him, he winked at her, a smirk playing about his mouth, and kicked Achnos into motion. As he rode away, he resisted looking back. Perhaps he could convince her to hate him less a different day.
Instantly, without little more than a second between, her honest words were met with a joke. Instantly her mouth twisted back into a scowl, and whatever she was beginning to develop crashed and burned. Her eyes moved away from him, and returned to the crashing sea and cliffside. He took a few moments to himself, and Dorothea did the same, resting her hands in her lap after smoothing out the ripped fabric of her chiton. When he spoke, it did nothing to change her mood.
Remaining silent, even as the man nudged her shoulder with his own, the girl kept her gaze frontward facing. She was certain that her previous emotions had been crushed and yet, when he spoke after another moment of silence, her lips parted and her features softened.
He had called her beautiful.
Dorothea looked over at him, and as she did, she felt her heartbeat reach galloping speed, the organ pounding away in her chest. His touch, although gone, lingered on her cheek and in her tresses. He thought she was beautiful. Not pretty, not sexy, nor any other provocative or demeaning term. He thought she was beautiful.
No one had ever called her beautiful before.
Unabashed in action, she let her eyes linger on his face until Stephanos rose and moved to once more ready his horse. She took a moment to gather herself, to allow the words to have meaning and rest inside of her chest to soak in. Dorothea couldn’t get the words out of her head. Someone really thought she was.
Maybe it was since no one had ever directly said it to her before that it took her so off guard. In her heart, she knew it had to do with the fact that she hadn’t ever thought herself beautiful. Pretty? Maybe, but beautiful? It meant much more than just looks, or at least, that was how the brunette interpreted it. Beautiful meant inner and outer. Could she have been wrong? Could all this time Stephanos been able to see past a face, or a woman’s chest, and be able to see what waited inside?
She was shocked when tears sprouted. Quickly she wiped them away and rose once more to her feet. If he was to ask, she would blame it on the sea’s spray, although it was unlikely that the cliff and water's collision would be able to reach as high as the cliff’s edge. The woman aided in anyway she could, loading up the horse with her own belongings. Once finished, Stephanos mounted first, and then assisted her to do the same.
They sat snuggly in the saddle, and as they did, she could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her face and now in her hand from when he had helped her up. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she attempted to keep her frame away from his even in their close proximity so that he could not feel it. His words continued to play on repeat, a mantra in her mind. Slowly, the arms on her thighs grew heavier in weight as he let the touch continue. Dorothea couldn’t lie to herself; she liked it there.
In silence they rode until he sun began to set, the sun poking through the space in between trees until at long last they cleared to make room for the architecture of the capital city. The noise of the bustling of Vasiliadon was near, and just before it consumed them, his words hit her ears.
“I apologize . . . For all of it.”
Little more than a whisper they were uttered into her ear, and yet, the power they held turned Dorothea’s cold heart and demeanor into something as hot as a fire: Passion. Her head swiveled on her neck to look behind her frame, allowing her eyes to land on him. Lips parted, expression soft, she studied his face for a moment before she allowed her lips to just barely curve upward. Her eyes looked into his, soft for the first time ever in landing on him, and she whispered back in a gentle, warm tone. “I forgive you.”
As the wind and noise picked up, Dorothea allowed her past anger to fly away on the breeze. It had been her reassurance, that if given an apology, the grudge would be dropped. Freed, the pair trekked through their home city until they reached the DImitrou’s gates. Upon doing so, his hands shifted from gripping the reigns to instead gripping her waist. Single handedly he lifted her built form from the saddle and placed her on the ground gently.
She took a step back so that she could bid him a proper goodbye. Her lips, still curved slightly, grew to be even more so. A true smile formed on her lips at the look on his face, and once he turned to teasing, she, oddly enough, found herself doing the same. “Perhaps,” she mused coyly, her anger dropped.
A single lid closed so that he could wink at her. Giving a roll of her eyes, she turned and strode through the gate and up the steps of her family home. As she reached the top of the staircase, before entering and retreating for the night, she glanced over her shoulder and looked to him.
He may have been able to resist doing so, but the girl with more self-control than any animal known to man found herself unable to lay her eyes upon him one last time.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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Instantly, without little more than a second between, her honest words were met with a joke. Instantly her mouth twisted back into a scowl, and whatever she was beginning to develop crashed and burned. Her eyes moved away from him, and returned to the crashing sea and cliffside. He took a few moments to himself, and Dorothea did the same, resting her hands in her lap after smoothing out the ripped fabric of her chiton. When he spoke, it did nothing to change her mood.
Remaining silent, even as the man nudged her shoulder with his own, the girl kept her gaze frontward facing. She was certain that her previous emotions had been crushed and yet, when he spoke after another moment of silence, her lips parted and her features softened.
He had called her beautiful.
Dorothea looked over at him, and as she did, she felt her heartbeat reach galloping speed, the organ pounding away in her chest. His touch, although gone, lingered on her cheek and in her tresses. He thought she was beautiful. Not pretty, not sexy, nor any other provocative or demeaning term. He thought she was beautiful.
No one had ever called her beautiful before.
Unabashed in action, she let her eyes linger on his face until Stephanos rose and moved to once more ready his horse. She took a moment to gather herself, to allow the words to have meaning and rest inside of her chest to soak in. Dorothea couldn’t get the words out of her head. Someone really thought she was.
Maybe it was since no one had ever directly said it to her before that it took her so off guard. In her heart, she knew it had to do with the fact that she hadn’t ever thought herself beautiful. Pretty? Maybe, but beautiful? It meant much more than just looks, or at least, that was how the brunette interpreted it. Beautiful meant inner and outer. Could she have been wrong? Could all this time Stephanos been able to see past a face, or a woman’s chest, and be able to see what waited inside?
She was shocked when tears sprouted. Quickly she wiped them away and rose once more to her feet. If he was to ask, she would blame it on the sea’s spray, although it was unlikely that the cliff and water's collision would be able to reach as high as the cliff’s edge. The woman aided in anyway she could, loading up the horse with her own belongings. Once finished, Stephanos mounted first, and then assisted her to do the same.
They sat snuggly in the saddle, and as they did, she could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her face and now in her hand from when he had helped her up. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she attempted to keep her frame away from his even in their close proximity so that he could not feel it. His words continued to play on repeat, a mantra in her mind. Slowly, the arms on her thighs grew heavier in weight as he let the touch continue. Dorothea couldn’t lie to herself; she liked it there.
In silence they rode until he sun began to set, the sun poking through the space in between trees until at long last they cleared to make room for the architecture of the capital city. The noise of the bustling of Vasiliadon was near, and just before it consumed them, his words hit her ears.
“I apologize . . . For all of it.”
Little more than a whisper they were uttered into her ear, and yet, the power they held turned Dorothea’s cold heart and demeanor into something as hot as a fire: Passion. Her head swiveled on her neck to look behind her frame, allowing her eyes to land on him. Lips parted, expression soft, she studied his face for a moment before she allowed her lips to just barely curve upward. Her eyes looked into his, soft for the first time ever in landing on him, and she whispered back in a gentle, warm tone. “I forgive you.”
As the wind and noise picked up, Dorothea allowed her past anger to fly away on the breeze. It had been her reassurance, that if given an apology, the grudge would be dropped. Freed, the pair trekked through their home city until they reached the DImitrou’s gates. Upon doing so, his hands shifted from gripping the reigns to instead gripping her waist. Single handedly he lifted her built form from the saddle and placed her on the ground gently.
She took a step back so that she could bid him a proper goodbye. Her lips, still curved slightly, grew to be even more so. A true smile formed on her lips at the look on his face, and once he turned to teasing, she, oddly enough, found herself doing the same. “Perhaps,” she mused coyly, her anger dropped.
A single lid closed so that he could wink at her. Giving a roll of her eyes, she turned and strode through the gate and up the steps of her family home. As she reached the top of the staircase, before entering and retreating for the night, she glanced over her shoulder and looked to him.
He may have been able to resist doing so, but the girl with more self-control than any animal known to man found herself unable to lay her eyes upon him one last time.
Instantly, without little more than a second between, her honest words were met with a joke. Instantly her mouth twisted back into a scowl, and whatever she was beginning to develop crashed and burned. Her eyes moved away from him, and returned to the crashing sea and cliffside. He took a few moments to himself, and Dorothea did the same, resting her hands in her lap after smoothing out the ripped fabric of her chiton. When he spoke, it did nothing to change her mood.
Remaining silent, even as the man nudged her shoulder with his own, the girl kept her gaze frontward facing. She was certain that her previous emotions had been crushed and yet, when he spoke after another moment of silence, her lips parted and her features softened.
He had called her beautiful.
Dorothea looked over at him, and as she did, she felt her heartbeat reach galloping speed, the organ pounding away in her chest. His touch, although gone, lingered on her cheek and in her tresses. He thought she was beautiful. Not pretty, not sexy, nor any other provocative or demeaning term. He thought she was beautiful.
No one had ever called her beautiful before.
Unabashed in action, she let her eyes linger on his face until Stephanos rose and moved to once more ready his horse. She took a moment to gather herself, to allow the words to have meaning and rest inside of her chest to soak in. Dorothea couldn’t get the words out of her head. Someone really thought she was.
Maybe it was since no one had ever directly said it to her before that it took her so off guard. In her heart, she knew it had to do with the fact that she hadn’t ever thought herself beautiful. Pretty? Maybe, but beautiful? It meant much more than just looks, or at least, that was how the brunette interpreted it. Beautiful meant inner and outer. Could she have been wrong? Could all this time Stephanos been able to see past a face, or a woman’s chest, and be able to see what waited inside?
She was shocked when tears sprouted. Quickly she wiped them away and rose once more to her feet. If he was to ask, she would blame it on the sea’s spray, although it was unlikely that the cliff and water's collision would be able to reach as high as the cliff’s edge. The woman aided in anyway she could, loading up the horse with her own belongings. Once finished, Stephanos mounted first, and then assisted her to do the same.
They sat snuggly in the saddle, and as they did, she could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her face and now in her hand from when he had helped her up. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she attempted to keep her frame away from his even in their close proximity so that he could not feel it. His words continued to play on repeat, a mantra in her mind. Slowly, the arms on her thighs grew heavier in weight as he let the touch continue. Dorothea couldn’t lie to herself; she liked it there.
In silence they rode until he sun began to set, the sun poking through the space in between trees until at long last they cleared to make room for the architecture of the capital city. The noise of the bustling of Vasiliadon was near, and just before it consumed them, his words hit her ears.
“I apologize . . . For all of it.”
Little more than a whisper they were uttered into her ear, and yet, the power they held turned Dorothea’s cold heart and demeanor into something as hot as a fire: Passion. Her head swiveled on her neck to look behind her frame, allowing her eyes to land on him. Lips parted, expression soft, she studied his face for a moment before she allowed her lips to just barely curve upward. Her eyes looked into his, soft for the first time ever in landing on him, and she whispered back in a gentle, warm tone. “I forgive you.”
As the wind and noise picked up, Dorothea allowed her past anger to fly away on the breeze. It had been her reassurance, that if given an apology, the grudge would be dropped. Freed, the pair trekked through their home city until they reached the DImitrou’s gates. Upon doing so, his hands shifted from gripping the reigns to instead gripping her waist. Single handedly he lifted her built form from the saddle and placed her on the ground gently.
She took a step back so that she could bid him a proper goodbye. Her lips, still curved slightly, grew to be even more so. A true smile formed on her lips at the look on his face, and once he turned to teasing, she, oddly enough, found herself doing the same. “Perhaps,” she mused coyly, her anger dropped.
A single lid closed so that he could wink at her. Giving a roll of her eyes, she turned and strode through the gate and up the steps of her family home. As she reached the top of the staircase, before entering and retreating for the night, she glanced over her shoulder and looked to him.
He may have been able to resist doing so, but the girl with more self-control than any animal known to man found herself unable to lay her eyes upon him one last time.
