After crisis, days always seemed to blend together. Despite her days being filled with little action besides fetching water and fresh linens for the crowned prince, the girl had trouble remembering just how long it had been since the cyclone crashed into the cliffs of Colchis. Her injuries remained internal mostly, her external ones having passed after a few hours of rest, even if the quality had been poor. She had planted herself at the feet of Vangelis’ bed. The second anything was requested, Euphemia was on her feet and out the door.

As she was fetching things most of the day, the girl found herself alone with her thoughts. Guilt over the entirety of the man’s injuries hung heavy upon her, as well as the injuries of some of the men who had aided in rescuing them, such as the commander who also never left the room and barely slept. Self-hatred had bubbled up, taking over her mind. She could do little to ease her pained emotions. Aiding in his care was a duty, even if Vangelis was not her master. Her debt to him felt unpaid.

It was with her heavy heart that she decided to utilize her sole day off to trek to the temple at the city’s centre. Repairs had begun across the city of Midas, the king’s soldiers assisting the citizens restore harmony. The main paths of the city were predominately cleared, allowing supplies to go to those within. Food for the hungry, wood for repairs, and strong soldiers and physicians pulling the carts meant that the city would soon be restored to its former glory.

Euphemia could only pray the same for the city’s crowned prince.

Due to her status, both of servant and of non-land owning, her offering was contained in a small ceremony jar rather than a carted animal. The piece of clay had been her father’s, one of the only items remaining from her short family line. Small red figures filled the space on either side, popping out from a black canvas. Pressed to her heart was the side consisting of a scene of domestic worship. The body of the piece facing outwards contained one of healing.

Nearly a lifetime ago, servants had made this trek with her at the orders of the royal family, aiding the young child in making a sacrifice for her deceased parents. This time, she came alone, presenting a liquid offering in hopes of receiving peace of mind and guidance on what her next course of action should be.

Once the wrath of the gods had subsided, and the winds began to calm, the people of Midas had entered the temple and repented for the actions that had angered the gods so. Offerings lined the inner border of the temple’s largest hall. The girl walked through the columned room, headed for one of the more private rooms so that she could worship in private.

Her journey for the day ended when she entered one of the smallest rooms the temple had to offer. Placing her offering upon the alter, the blonde fell to her knees and dipped her head in respect for the deities above. Calling out to any that would listen, her prayers requested for counsel in future endeavors, as well as for her service to be penance enough for her guilt. The girl also requested for the prince to receive supplementary treatment from the wise physician and his assistance, and for his recovery to be steadfast.

Only after she was certain her requests had been laid out and her proceedings completed with full veneration did she raise from her knees, properly discarded her liquid offering, and gave one final gesture of praise did she exit the room, jar in hand. Steps carried her out of the chamber and into the tall entry hall once more. Passing through columns, head bowed in respect, she moved to exit, clutching the item of clay close to her chest, this time with the depiction of healing pressed to her chest.

Although her status compared to the normal citizen of Greece was typically greater, Euphemia was undergoing a change of character, something she hoped would be for the better. While a servant, and a past slave, Euphemia had found herself among the likes of Princess Athenasia from a young age. Spoiled in nearly all the same ways at her request, the girl grew up carefree, and rarely had punishment for her less than exemplary service. In Euphemia’s mind, it had led to ignorance. Many others had thought the same, and told her so.

So, when she bumped into the man, apologies streamed from her lips without second thought- After a noise of surprise. “Oof! Oh, I-I’m so sorry, Sir.” The blonde did not just who it was her form had collided into, or rather, whose form had collided into hers. “You must forgive me. I was lost in my thoughts and was not as aware as I should have been with where . . .” Her thoughts trailed off as her eyes landed upon him. Stubble dusted his cheeks and chin, outlining already harsh jaw and cheek bones. His longer hair brushed across his shoulders covered in a deep jade colored chiton.

The material of the article of clothing shifted as his arm reached out to aid in keeping her upright. Euphemia did not even notice herself leaning into the touch, but she did feel a sense of relief flood her, calming the shock she felt with their run in. “Where I was going,” she said belatedly, pulling her gaze from his structured features. Her pot, luckily, had not dropped; if it had broken, she would not know what she would’ve done.

The feeling she had in that moment, the one that was making her heart race and her head a bit dizzy, was one she had had before. It was one she had had for years. Admiration in a romantic sense had been felt for one person for so long, it was beginning to make her heart heavy whenever she saw him, like she could no longer bear its burden. Yet, when she saw Mihail, the feeling didn’t seem hopeless anymore.

Only after several seconds had passed did the girl realize he had asked her a question. “Pardon? Oh, yes. I am alright. I-I’m quite well.” She flashed a hint of a smile, then took a small step back and tucked hair behind her ear, regaining herself. “Are you alright? I should’ve been paying more attention. I struggle with that,” she admitted softly, in a bit of a ramble. The comment was more of a self-criticism than a reason for her actions. Her previous guilt swarmed her emotions, mixing with the feelings she felt for the man.

“Thank you for asking,” she added, wrapping her arms around her offering jar once more. “I am appreciative of your concern.” The second her bright eyes were on him, her heart skipped and fluttered away.

What was she even supposed to say next?

Silence ticked on between them for a handful of seconds, her breath catching in her lungs, her heart paralyzed in her chest, and her words lost in her throat. It was only when the curly haired man spoke that flooded senses returned to somewhat proper function. “Euphemia,” she said back, exchanging her name in return for the divulgence of his. Even though no title or familial name had been provided, Euphemia was able to deduce from his apparel alone that he was of a higher class. However, the specific family he belonged to was unable to be deduced. It left her in ignorant bliss.

For some reason, he either did not recognize her appearance's lower status or intentionally chose to ignore it. His hand gripped hers, and she peeled her gaze away momentarily from his bewitching dark eyes to the fingers that pressed against hers. They were soft, even softer than hers, the hands of a man who had rarely done physical labor- perhaps never had a day in his life. When her eyes returned to his features, and she noted the tilted angle of his head. Was he bowing in respect? To her? Euphemia glanced around, expecting to find someone of much higher rank than she. When no one appeared, the blonde came to the conclusion that he was indeed showing her the respect that came from the gesture.

Returning the bowing of one’s frame, Euphemia dipped her head, as well as the majority of her upper body, making her gesture deeper to therefore show the man more respect. “Euphemia,” she exchanged, raising herself after a moment or two had passed. A wide smile graced her lips, and she hugged the ceremonial item of pottery closer to the curve of her figure with her free arm and hand. “The pleasure is mutual in our meeting,” she responded, her eyes taking the man in as if she would never have the chance to see him again.

It hurt her heart to think that that might just be the situation, them never meeting again. It made the moments between them all the more important.

“Despite the events surrounding our meeting, Mihail, I cannot deny the notion that it feels almost as if . . . As if I was meant to meet you here.” Shaking her head, the young woman laughed softly at her own words, casting her glance aside. “Forgive me, I’m one to think everything intentional, be it by the gods or some other form of fate, destiny.” Glancing back up to him, she slowly tightened the grip on his hand, wishing for their touch to carry on for as long as possible. “I was only granted permission the time to pray, Mihail. It would be shameful to abandon my post for any longer, even if the detour is as wonderful a one as this.”

But even as she spoke of needing to leave, she made no move to do so. If anything, she allowed her body to lean in closer to his, the varying in quality fabrics of their clothing beginning to brush together, an unseen gravitational force that, for a reason unbeknownst to Euphemia as anything other than fate or destiny, was pulling her closer to the man she had only just met.

Her name, the one of a commoner, was deemed beautiful by him. It made her heart flutter away in her chest, a wide smile on her lips that prompted the clustering of her rosy cheeks, tinting deeper with a blush at the compliment. As much as she was flustered by his compliments and embarrassed by his attention, she could not shy her gaze away from his. The color of rich wood, she found herself lost in his eyes, her own attempting to take in every amber fleck as if she would have to commit the patterns of his eyes to memory to recite as if her life depended upon it.

“Your sisters,” she repeated, soft in tone and nodding in agreement. Even though the girl did not know who his sisters were concurred nevertheless. She watched as her hand was raised to his lips, the gentlest brushing of them against the back of her hand administered. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she felt herself grow lightheaded, dizzy in the thought of him and his affectionate gesture.

Although fate, in her mind, had brought them together this time, she wanted something more definite to be the reason they’d meet again. “Two sunsets from now,” she began, looking over her shoulder as if suspecting her superiors were lurking, ready to drag her back the Kotas mansion to serve her duties. “Let us meet again, here, in the cover of the night. I-I want to see you again, Mihail, and not because destiny says so, but because we do.” Her gentle grip squeezed his hand tighter, desperate to be near and touching the man for as long as she possibly could.

But how would she be able to get away? That could be figured out later, be it with permission or lacking it. Her status did not seem to deter him from her, for he easily could have cast her aside and scolded her for their run in. Yet, he didn’t, so surely he did see something in her, something that she had been desperate for men before to see. Euphemia herself was beginning to doubt she had anything at all to offer, especially not the man she had loved from afar. Now, however, she could love and be loved in return, for never before had someone looked at her the way the brunet male did.

“Please, Mihail,” she begged once more, stepping away, letting her fingers slip through his until the distance between them was too great. “I’d give up everything if it meant seeing you here once more.” And with such a confession, the blonde turned, golden hair pooling over her shoulders, and utilized a brisk pace to return to her post.