Her mind had not been paying attention to the man that was acting as both her fiancé and rescuer. Persephone's thoughts had been down the corridor, around the corner and through three sets of doors, where her sister slept. Emilia was her only family. Her only relative. The only person with whom she shared blood on the whole of the known earth and she was down that corridor, just thirty seconds sprint away from her. Potentially in danger. Definitely in danger.
"No!" Persephone asserted when Iason insisted that they continue onwards. "No! I need to get to Emilia! She might be-" The rest of her words were cut off when Iason was clearly not listening and decided to take matters into his own hands. With a single motion, Persephone was bundled up inside his cloak and there was suddenly a powerful force digging into her middle, a sudden feeling of motion sickness and in seconds she was facing the floor, her fiancé having thrown her over his shoulder and started to run down the corridor.
A heavy exhale was squashed from her lungs as hair flew into her face and Persephone almost lost her grip on the bundle of papers she held. Her strong sense of duty and responsibility had her wrapping her fingers around them tighter and cuddling them to her chest where she bounced over Iason's shoulder.
"Put me down!" She insisted, all authority and insulted exclamation sucked from her voice to leave behind a breathless and winded tone to her words. Luckily, the lack of air in her lungs as she was knocked along his running pace meant that her instructions never reached a volume to attract the attention of others. "Iason, put me down! Emilia! I need my sister! Go back!"
Her words fell in entirely deaf ears and, unable to release her hands from around the important documents she held, she could only hit him with her elbows, her emotions starting to take control.
"I need my sister, Iason! I swear to the Gods, you put me down! I will not leave without her! I won't!" She insisted, hitting him again in the back with her elbow.
Her fight had nothing to do with Iason or his intentions - honourable as they were - and in a few hours when she recognised the logic - or lack thereof - in her behaviour she would have been ashamed of her behaviour. Right now, however, she had quickly morphed from Princess Persephone, into Persephone the older sister who needed to reach her younger.
Her legs kicked. Her body wriggled. She had limited movement from his cloak but she was able to make his run difficult if nothing else. His words assuring her of Emilia's safety fell on deaf ears as she didn't believe a word of it. Attacks on palaces had nothing to do with controlling kingdoms by force. They might appear as barbarous attacks by radical insurgents but no band of anarchists attacked royal residences. They would attack public places and created havoc and chaos that way - like the Creed did in Taengea just a few months past. Attacks on royal homes were for only one purpose - the assassination of royalty. And if Persephone was the target, Emilia was just as much in danger. The second Persephone was out of the picture, Emilia was next in line. If she was going to be killed, Emilia was immediately next before the new lineage of order was secured.
"Please, put me down!" Persephone insisted, her voice becoming less an order and more a pleading beg. Whilst no tears were falling from her eyes - perhaps she was still in shock from her sudden awakening, too surprised emotionally to physically react - her voice sounded desperate with emotion. "Please Iason, I can't lose my sister. Put me down!"
It was then that Iason moved Persephone from over his shoulder into his arms and, for a moment, Persephone thought he was yielding to her requests. Instead, however, she was now able to see the harsh flint of his eyes and the determination of his jawline and she knew that he was ignoring every plead she made. And he wasn't happy about it. Some semblance of logic entered Persephone's brain as she knew Iason wasn't a man of stone. That her begging would affect some part of him. But his expression stated clearly that he wasn't going to obey. And her words were simply hurtful at this point, making a decision he had already made still harder.
Instead, therefore, of fighting him on the point, Persephone simply hugged her paper bundle to her chest with one arm and wrapped the other around his neck to support herself against him. Keeping her body cuddled close to his chest to try and make herself easier to carry, Persephone pressed her face into the man's neck and tried to still her mind and stomach so that she would neither cry nor vomit.
The sounds of the palace attackers could be heard all around. The pounding of Iason's heart beneath her shoulder was strong. And the smell of burning had started to invade her senses. The insurgents had clearly lit something on fire - whether deliberately or accidentally. Whatever was happening around her, it was clear that Persephone was now in whatever version of hell the Gods had summoned for her; people wanting her dead, her home being destroyed and the man she was due to marry refusing to help her in the way she wanted. And yet, the greatest hell of all, was the acceptance that she could do nothing for her sister. Emilia was in danger. And there was nothing she could do about it...
Her grip on Iason tightened as she drew herself closer to his body, wanting to disappear.
Spears, swords, slashing, piercing, the smell of smoke filling the air and the sounds of death in every direction -- this could very well be where Rodas made his final stand. He had, however, declared he would help General Lacides secure the Main Gate, and he meant it. Whatever it took, Rodas would ensure the insurgents lost control of the lock down and that the gates were opened so the expected reinforcements could help defend the palace.
It was still a wonder to Rodas how so many armed men had managed to sneak into the capital, break through the inner circle undetected, and lay siege to the palati without raising a single alarm -- and at a moment’s notice, no less. After all, it wasn’t as though they had known the exact time and day that the king would die… unless that had all been part of the plan? Which, if that were true, then worse betrayal was at work here than a mere attack.
Minas had been ill for months, though, and it had seemed only a matter of time that he would succumb to his illness. But even if these invaders had not had a hand in the King’s demise, their timing was impeccable. They had to have been planning this coup for weeks, maybe even months. And to be so organized and methodical in their tactics implied this was a move for strategic purposes.
To what end, though? Rodas found himself internally asking, as he lopped off the head of another traitorous fool.
These men were trained. Skilled. They wore no symbols associating them with any particular group or order, which implied that they were perhaps hired mercenaries, but their faces were covered -- as though hiding a secret. Yet the way they fought was… particular. Specific. Fighting styles varied between individual warriors, but where a man’s training came from often lended itself to that person’s combat style. Rodas clearly remembered, even after all this time, how his step-father and brother had practiced in the Taengean arts of war. Like the Taengeans, the Athenians also had their own way of teaching their warriors, and the style the raiders fought with mirrored how the Athenian army had trained Rodas himself.
These deviants weren’t making use of the down-and-dirty fighting typical of common thugs, brawlers, gladiators, or marauders. The captain recognized the insurgents for what they were: Athenian officers. Men who should have been allies, comrades, and brothers… but had become corrupted by rage and anger that, given the circumstances, Rodas could only infer must be related to the transfer of power onto Princess Persephone’s shoulders now that her father had passed.
From what region of Athenia these brutes hailed from was unknown, but if his theory was proven correct, their origins would certainly explain how they had managed to gather so quickly while the king’s ashes were still warm.
“You two! With me!” He barked at a pair of hoplites wearing Antonis blues stained with the blood of the fallen.
Rodas would need help in order to secure the main gate. The fighting, screaming, clashing of metal against metal, smoke in the air and cinders on the wind, even the pools of red that would never truly be wiped clean from the palati’s stones… it was all a blur to Rodas, his sense of self-preservation steeled his resolve, even as a spear dug into the flesh of his side.
He spat at his assailant before the man was slain by one of the hoplites he’d ordered to aid him. Rodas’s mind was focused. The gate must be opened. Even as they readily killed the insurgents, their own numbers were beginning to dwindle from losses, reinforcements were necessary.
Rodas thanked Ares and Athena that General Lacides had been able to keep any more raiders from further battering Rodas and his comrades while they disabled the lock and adjusted the gate’s mechanism to allow entrance to the battle for anyone that had responded to Lord Alehandros’s call to arms.
And no sooner did the gate open did a flood of reinforcements rush to Antonis’s aid. Rodas immediately recognized the presence of the Athenian Guardsmen, and among the bronze plate, were men armored with the wise Owl on their breast -- House Marikas. And those in red armor bearing the mythical bird that rose from the ashes -- Rodas knew that was Xanthos's barony, though he didn't remember their name. The Gods surely were with them, their numbers would now ensure the raid was quickly finished and the palati would be secured.
Rodas lowered to his knees, and a Marikas soldier hurried to dress his wounds and keep him alive even while the fires blazed and the fighting continued around them. If the Gods saw fit to take him now, he would go willingly. Rodas had done his duty.
On most days, Dianthe was a fairly deep sleeper. Most days, it was hard hard for the young redhead lady maid to get out of bed. However, something was different about this day. Wait, or was it even day? Rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed, she listened as she heard loud commotion coming from inside the palace walls. At first this did not startle her, that was until she started hearing the clanging of metal. That first thing that came to mind was if Persephone was okay. No doubt, the princ....Queen....was already alerted of the loud commotion in her home.
Rising from her bed, she grabbed the long robe like linen and wrapped it around herself. Her red hair falling over her shoulders in a unkempt yet neat manner. As she opened her door slightly to peer through, there were servants running and yelling, telling women to run for safety and for able bodied men to help. What was going on? Dianthe was still unable to really tell what was going on nor understand any of the shouting. Wait... did she just hear they were under attack? Oh Gods! She hoped into action just then, worried for the safety of her friend, the Queen.
She should have known, that with such an act like this, Persephone would have been taken away from all of it. But then, did that mean that princess Emilia was as well? That was good then right? Now she just had to worry about....herself. In a way that was even scarier. Most of her life she was told what she was to do and how to do it. But now....she was alone. And that was scarier than anything.
Pressing herself up against the wall as much as she could, Dianthe began making her way towards the Queens quarters. However, the closer she got, the more the it was clear something was going on. So far, no one was paying any attention to her as she dipped through the shadows and quickly made her way though hallways. It wasn't hard for her to know the way to get around the palace, she did grow up here.
Fear started to creep into her stomach as she left the royal quarters and started to make her way towards the servants wing. She needed to find someone that could tell her what was going on and what was being done about this. Dianthe wasn't about to go up to someone in the middle of fighting and .... ask for directions... that just seemed unwise.
However, just as she was about to turn a corner, she ran into a rather large and scary man. At first he didn't seem to care who she was or that he knocked her over, but he looked at her and noticed she was dressed rather well for a 'servant'. This intrigued him and as he moved towards her with an evil grin on his lips, Dianthe scooted herself across the floor, only to push herself right up into a wall. The color fell from her face and she looked up at the man, scared for her life.
Nic looked down when Emilia nudged his side, then nodded to the other guards who stood at the door, though he stepped so that he stood between the narrow opening and the princess, just in case. But as it would turn out his concern was groundless, since Kleio wasn’t here to cause Emilia harm, not yet anyway, since her treachery was far too subtle for so direct an attack. And certainly not under the watchful eyes of he and his men.
One of Nic’s arms swept Dawn back towards Emilia and Kleio as he moved his body so that he stood as a living shield between the three young women and the door. “She’s right. Barricade the door.” Nic ordered his men who jumped to obey, moving forward one to either side of Kleio as she struggled to move the chest full of drawers.
“You’re hurt.” Nic said, reaching for Kleio, guiding her out of the way of his guards who manhandled the heavy furniture forward until it came to rest against the doors. Nic looked around for something he could use to bandage the lady’s arm. “Quickly princess, a clean scarf I can use to bind this wound.” He could’ve asked Dawn of course, since she was one of the princess’ handmaidens, but he chose to ask Emilia since this was her room, her things and would give the shaken young royal something useful to do. When Emilia produced the scarf, Nic took it from her, then turned back to bandage Kleio’s arm, his hands gentle as he took care of the wound.
Even for him, this was chaos. He was used to marching without banners. Even trying to battle in a half-waking stupor wasn't quite foreign. But neither of those things were quite this. Not trying to sort between the panicky stampede of bodies that was pressed into the royal halls. Some trying to escape. A few clever enough to try concealing their penetration as the same. Swords flying. But equally candelabras, brooms, kitchen knives. Anything at hand that someone could wield as a weapon was in play. Most people thrashing out at anything that moved. It was either because they were too scared to control themselves, or too set on bloodlust to have wanted that in the first place.
Yiannis tried to press his way through. Here slapping someone with the flat face of his axe. Now shearing a spear shaft in half. Something brushed at his shoulder. Unthinking, his shoulder snapped back. Dug into flesh. He was spinning into a right hook from when something set his side aflame. In a more normal moment he might have lurched. Here he toppled to the floor outright. Trying to dodge pounding feet. Losing the thread of the sword that had cut him. He couldn't see anything. Couldn't hear over all the shrieking. Couldn't quite even breathe. Thirty seconds later he couldn't roll any longer, and he was somehow pressed up against a wall. He still had his axe.
Hard to see his enemies. His friends--at least some of them--were somewhat easier. If only for the sheer wonder of it. The moment was as clear in flickering torchlight as beneath the noonday sky. A skirt flapping in the wind. Raven-dark hair glistening as she danced with the grace of a nymph. Blade singing. It was as if Artemis herself had descended from Olympus to join the fray. She parried beautifully, letting one strike go wide of her torso. Meanwhile, a deft twist of her twist drove her own blade tip to the attacker's arm pit. As clean as anything you learned in the Krypteia. Except that wasn't the only assailant. The looming shadow was enough motivation for him to stop standing their, mouth agape.
It took three steps to sprint back to the center of the hall. Two body jabs to arrest his momentum. A single, surgical axe swing. Then the body slumped. It was over. Or at least enough of a pause for him to cry "Daniil!" as he pressed back-to-back with her.
Daniil took a long breath and yanked her sword out from under her green dress. She was Hades bent that her cousins were going to be safe and free of the chaos that was engulfing the palace. Quickly she scanned the hallway she was in and smirked at the sight of the House Guard. Wherever they were she was sure that either her father or grandfather was not far behind. It was too noisy to tell where either was based on the noise. Athena keep them both safe and aid us to a victory this day she prayed silently as she pulled her short sword out from under her Chiton and she adjusted her grip on the hill.
Slowly she moved up the hallway and around the corner into the main area of the palace and the sight that greeted her was not what she was expecting, but she sucked in a breath and mustered up the courage to continue on, using what she had been taught in an odd form of a dance, the sword flashing as it caught light that could reflect in the blade as she parried and slashed at those that tried to cut her down.
The world seemed to narrow as she caught a glimpse of her cousin, Persephone being carried off like a sack of vegetables and carried by none other then Iason, and she was sure that meant that her half brother was not far behind. This would be amusing if we were not fighting for our very lives. she thought, her dance not stopping, the clang of metal on metal resounding in her ears. She did not have time to think about the dead that littered the floors, there would be time for that later.
Daniil sucked in a breath as she bent backwards like a tree limb in a storm, to keep an opponents strike from connecting with her. He swung wide due to her move. She quickly moved to right herself and drove her sword into his armpit with a growl of annoyance. She twisted it slightly and then yanked it out. The action caused her to take a few steps back and collide with an immovable force. She would have spun to drive her sword into him had she not recognized the voice that had spoken her name loud enough for her to here.Yiannis? she wondered silently. What was he doing here?
Her breath came out in gasps as she called out to him "Gods on High, what are you doing here?"
Every blow she landed on him hurt his heart more than it could ever harm his body. He was dragging her away from her sister, and had he been in the same situation he knew he also would have moved heaven and earth to get back to Alexa and Dorothea no matter what the cost. It was his duty though to get her out of here, to keep her safe, and he would see it through if it meant laying down his own life. When Persephone finally seemed to understand that neither of them had a choice in this he was relieved and welcomed her as she curled against him with a tighter grip, as much of an embrace as he could manage.
Releasing her for an instant as soon as she had her feet beneath her, he threw himself full weight against the door in desperation, trying to break it open to allow the their freedom. The sound of running feet approaching pulled his attention and he wheeled away, sword drawn from his belt as he glared out in the darkness as a blonde man emerged from the shadow of the palace, bleeding from his right arm and clutching a short sword in his other. Iason put himself between Persephone and the stranger, eyeing him warily as a foreign voice that sounded both wild and exhausted broke the silence.
"I'm no threat, I just need to get out. We were tricked, told to come defend the queen and then attacked by her soldiers." As moonlight fell over his face Iason recognized one of the gladiators from the display that had determined the Xanthos Champion, and in an instant he made a decision he hoped would not be a mistake. Nodding, Iason gestured to the door as the gladiator put away his sword, the two of them managing to work open the door that allowed them to freedom. There was a silent understanding between them that they both simply wanted to survive the night, get to a place where they could breathe and make sense of what was going on in this night of insanity.
The Taengean lord kept hold of the Athenian queen and pulled her close once again, allowing her to walk as long as she could before scooping her back up against his chest and trusting the foreigner to defend against any attack that might emerge from the shadows. Whispered words led them to the port, a boat that he knew was ready to set sail, and the three boarded as quickly and quietly as they could.
To be in battle was to bathe in the senses. Each one sharpened by the urgency of life and the sheer terror death. He felt it with every hammering of his chest. He ceded to it. Letting the mix of choler and blood dominate his system. Truthfully, though, in this moment all he knew was her. He heard the slight raggedness of her breath, unused to the sustained rigor of their exercise. He felt the warmth of her body through the fabric of their chitons. The two were pressed side-by-side, as they had been for the last few minutes, since explaining to one another how they'd both ended up in the middle of the royal palace. Not with the efficiency of a trained unit. But the sloppy instinctiveness of two that didn't want to be separated.
That changed when they saw him. He seemed a head taller than everyone else in the room. Bronze armor already splattered thick with blood. Even then, he was yanking his sword up from a guardsman's belly. Selecting his next target had taken no time at all. His shield was up. Eyes locked on the two of them as he started to advance. Yiannis fought the urge to hover near her. This wasn't a fair fight. They'd need some sort of advantage to come out of it. Even still as they pulled apart, he reached for her hand. Without taking his eyes off their opponent, he gave it one quick reaffirming squeeze. Trust me. Then he skittered to open a gap between them, forcing their assailant to divide his attention. Trying to stay just far enough apart that he couldn't hold them both in his gaze at once, and close enough that one could spring to the others aide.
Still, as the three circled one another across the stone floor, Yiannis knew it was only a temporizing measure. It would still have to be him. The other man knew it, too. The only reason Kotas still circled was trying to find some other alternative. But the longer this went on, the clearer the dictates of the situation were to him. Most of the attackers tonight were killers. This one was as much, but with the refinement of a professional soldier. That narrowed the possibilities. Retreat would open a path for him to pursue the royals, exactly as Daniil had explained. But his sword play offered one way to engage. Especially given how he'd plowed through the palace guards just moments prior. It was as if Yiannis could see the whole encounter spreading out before him.
Without waiting to see more of it, the young prince charged. His axe was a flurry, blows landing with the tempo of a drumroll. Swipe, hook, thrust, and then pommel strike. His moves all flowing together. He was moving at a sprinter's pace. Sustainable for only seconds. Offense his only defense. Out of options. They all skittered off the curvature of the man's shield. He was absorbing the blows carefully. Yielding ground willingly. Waiting for the younger man to tire. Only a few moments more now.
It came on suddenly. At the end of the swing, there was simply no more follow-through. Yiannis's had cramped from the vise-grip on the handle. His whole right arm burning, and floppy like rubber. In spite of everything he needed, it wasn't going to come back up. Several things happened at once. Seeing the telltale drop of the Colchian's shoulder, the armored man raised his sword. Daniil was charging his flank, having waited for the moment of maximal exposure. Except the sword wasn't raised to cut down Yiannis. The play had been too obvious. He wheeled sideways into a sweeping, downward chop. Faster than most could dodge. Certainly more swift than Yiannis could have closed with an axe. Especially not when his whole body was still sinking downward, pushed beyond the brink. His knees hit the ground.
His left hand coiled around the spear shaft he'd been driving towards for roughly the last three minutes. He thrust, upwards and forward. The giant twisted just enough to avoid being skewered. But it robbed the momentum of his cut. Forced him to halt mid-turn. Whereas Daniil was still flying true. There was a wet, ugly scrape as a blade slid against bone before nesting deep in the gap in the invader's cuirass. What followed was a surreal stillness, carried only by the sound of breathing. One, air-hungry, having just slammed into a girth like that of a tree trunk, and draped in bronze. One, exhausted. The third gurgling thick with blood.
"Daniil!" he said, when he could gather enough air for words. He'd forced himself to his feet stumble over to her, arms wide in ecstatic embrace. "Brilliant!" Daniil of Marikas,
Daniil was running solely on instinct. She knew that Balius was somewhere in the din along with her father and grandfather. Her father's men were here too and fighting to protect the kingdom and the honor of the house. Despite the fear and all the bloodshed, Daniil felt like every nerve in her body was singing a song in homage to those lost and the battle itself and to those that continued to fight. She had trained nearly everyday for something like this, mostly in private and guided by Balius, something that Pavlos would have a fit over or likely kill him over. Her heart beat like someone beating quickly on a drum, not much different then what would be used to signal quick movement among the soldiers. The cause, however, left her with questions. Did she feel this way because of the battle raging around her or was it more? Was it because of, instead of fighting against a man, she was fighting with a man. Her breath was coming in small gasps and puffs.
She slowly became aware of him, pressed against her in such a way that she was not sure if the heat she felt was coming from her own self or from Yiannis. She kept pressed against him maybe out of fear, maybe out of the fact that she wanted to stay with him because it was safer, and maybe because of the stirrings of something that she could not put a name to but she had felt before. She sucked in a breath and raise her short sword as a shadow crossed into view. Feeling her companion moving into action, she instinctively tightened her grip on her sword's hilt with one hand and kept the other within his reaches she moved to his side. Once next to him, she slid her hand securely in his and returned the squeeze. I do. Trust me as well. she seemed to say to him as he moved away from her causing an opening between them. He had to let go and she had the odd feeling that he did not want to. She looked over at him out of the corner of her hazel eyes and noticed that he was sure to stay close to her.
Daniil kept her grip tight on her short sword as she stood at the ready if needed to strike and yet she kept her ears open for any signs of her royal cousins or anyone else that might need a way out. She took a step back and watch Yiannis go to work. The expression on her face danced between something like amusement and annoyance at their opponents mixed with curiosity, as she watched him work, joining him when she felt that he needed the backup.
Slowly her breathing and heartbeat began to slow to normal as the battle began to wind down, but that did not last long. As soon as she had her breath back it was time to start the fight anew. Her eyes were trained on the attackers like a cat stalking a mouse. Her blade and body flew back into action, adding attacks against Yiannis's attackers. She was in a zone and focused on them and she kept going, slashing, parrying, and stabbing with the intent to put an end to this once and for all and she did that, regardless if she knew she was doing it or not. When the room went still she slowly came back to herself.
She came back to herself fully at hearing Yiannis's voice. She looked at him and broke into a smile. She dropping her short sword to the floor, she rushed to him and moved into his open arms and the collapsed against him happily. She stayed there for a time and then raised her head and eyes to look up at him. "Yiannis. Are you hurt?"
Please do not be. she begged silently, watching his face.
It was chaos within the walls of the palati, and it was almost like a cruel joke that a place meant for order, strength, leadership, etc. could now be compared to almost any dirtied, bloodied battlefield. It was disgraceful. Alehandros nodded in silence toward Stelios, a look in his eye that only confirmed what he was thinking. Someone with a lot of knowledge of the interior and the schedules of every person within the place was behind this. Someone close to the throne.
They were close now, the Royal quarters were just a hallway or so away. It was eerily quiet, but in the distance footsteps could be heard. “Five, maybe six.” Stelios whispered, his eyes not leaving the corner down the end of the hallway. “Go,” with a motion of his hand two soldiers who accompanied him and his cousin readied their shields in front of them and held out their spears, moving alongside one another to the front. Following behind them were the rest, armed with swords and ready to ambush the men up ahead.
“Alright, stay clo-” Stelios’ words to Alehandros was interrupted by faint words coming from a hallway behind them. The words belonged to a woman, a scared woman by the sound of her voice. “Go, Stelios, we can handle this. We must protect the people as well. Otherwise what good are we.” Alehandros said, a determined look in his eye. Right there and then Stelios understood why his heart was in such turmoil over the Senate's decision, more so that ever before. This man thought about everyone else but himself first, he was a leader, a King, and was standing within a place he could very well lose his life in for his people.
But was he really going to leave Alehandros alone? Yes. Yes he was. House Antonis was not know as a military House for nothing. The soldier trained under the guidance of the House was the best in Athenia, and Alehandros could keep his own more so than most men in the Kingdom ever could. It would be an insult to think anything less. Stelios nodded, turned and immediately headed the way of the woman.
Turning the corner and immediately stepping back he slowly looked around to evaluate the situation. One of the assailants had a young woman corner up against a wall, and by the look of things; his intentions was anything but pure. Anger and rage was already flowing through his veins and difficult to control, yet upon the sight before all thoughts about restraint suddenly did not matter. His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword and with a quick few quiet movements Stelios managed to get behind the man undetected. He forced his sword into the back of the raider, and up out through his throat, leaning in close to the man's ear and whispering “Filth.” before he pulled his sword free, dropping him to the floor at the woman’s feet.
“Come on, My Lady, more will be coming.” he reached out an arm to assist her to her feet. He knew he was not exactly being chivalrous, but this was not the time. The armour he wore hopefully set her at ease; bearing the mark of his House on his chest. “We must go,” he urged, looking around before his eyes landed on hers. She was scared, and for the first time he remembered what he must look like. Yes, he wore the colours and the mark of Antonis, and he was not exactly unknown among the people of Athenia. Yet, he was not looking like a Lord right now, but instead like a bloodied soldier. He tried to relax his demeanor, at least enough to grant her some assurance that he means her no harm.
His limbs coursed with a sort of giddiness as they met. He didn't really have the energy to keep standing, but his arms wrapped tight around her anyway as they both sunk to the floor. He'd had moments like this dozens of times before. There were harder fought battles, circumstances that were more personally desperate. The relief that followed was universal. The camaraderie of knowing you had saved someone's life, and that they had extended themselves for you seemed the purest thing in the world to him. It made their ruined garments, the stench of their sweat, all of it somehow beautiful. Being with Daniil was all of that, as it always was. Except, this time, something more.
"Are you hurt?" she'd asked.
He didn't answer immediately. Of course he was. Bruises ran down his rib cage and arm from jostling against armed invaders. His knees were skinned where he had fallen to the floor. There was a slice along his side where someone's sword had caught him, though it was more a graze than a deep cut. But substantively, it wasn't so bad. And he liked the feel of her fingertips sweeping over him, checking for injury. Just as he liked being close enough to feel the heat of her body. It was different than any other woman's embrace. This was different than, well, anything. Except he didn't dare let his own hands roam. In the first place, there was Rafel, glowering in his head. That besides, he didn't even know she thought of him that way. It wasn't clear there was anything to think. They had just--
"Not badly. What about you?" he said abruptly. "We ought to move. Either to somewhere safer, more important, or both."
It was quite belatedly that he actually let her go. Even still, he hovered close. His body was already flushed from the effort of battle. Asking about the mission was the easier question. Even facing an unknown number of well-armed assailants in a target-rich environment, thinking about tactics was the simpler proposition. Except even attempting that, his mind seemed to drift inevitably in a certain direction.
"Daniil, where did you learn to move like that?"" he asked. Daniil of Marikas,
She clung to him as the allowed gravity to carry them to the floor. Slowly Daniil's heart slowed to its normal beat as did her breathing. She had seen no sign of her father and grandfather or her royal cousins, so she found herself offering up a silent prayer for their safety. She had seen the troops kept by the house and wondered if any of them had seen her there. If they had she knew word would get back to Pavlos and the two would likely have words, but she had showed him and the other males the one thing she wanted to, that you did not just have to be a man to fight. Women could do it too. She felt joy at that and smiled at him as she leaned against him.
"My father may not take this well. He wants a lady for a daughter, but I couldn't resist the urge to come and help my cousins." she told him. In a way that mattered very little to her as she held onto him. He was what mattered and she had to find a way to introduce him to her father, who would insist, likely, on a long courtship so that her sister did not have to deal with being upstaged by her youngest sister.
"My ribs hurt and I feel like everything inside is on fire, like I over did it at practice." she told him softly. She let out a breath she had no idea that she was holding when he told her that he was not badly hurt. "We can retreat to my father's house. We have guest rooms for visitors and well, I think you may want to talk to him at some point." she said smiling at him. "My father would kill the person if he ever found out. His champion gladiator, Balius started teaching me after he caught me snaking off to watch my father work with his men. I would practice what I saw in the garden when I thought I was alone." she told him as she hung her head and blushed a deep shade of red.
At first, while she spoke Yiannis was looking her over for telltale signs of injury. A bloodspot that continued to spread. Some abnormality in her breathing, or hesitance in her motions. Any oddity that might betray a body protecting itself from further injury. He didn't see anything immediate. Admittedly, though, his gaze lingered it ways it usually didn't when he made such inspections. Looking for flaring nostrils, he instead noted the fine slope of her nose, and how it led down to full, rich lips. Checking her flank somehow just traced him along the curvature of her hip. He stopped trying at that point. Blinked and looked to the ground. Apparently it was much better just to listen.
"He does not approve? Prometheus suffers for giving us fire. Persephone, locked away in the underworld for her beauty. We have never been kind to the exceptional, I suppose," he started.
"But you are exceptional, Daniil. Unique among women. In ways that have to mean something special. Already, you saved my life, and their lives, and likely the whole monarchy. You are a hero. I have for so long hated the stupid, narrow-minded insistence on redoing what has come before. The truth is that the world could have a dozen of me, and not for a moment measure to what you are. Don't let anyone dissuade you from becoming something brand new. Something great. Hold onto it. And hold on to your sword."
As he'd spoken, he'd taken the few steps over to the last corpse of the armed guard. Especially in his fatigued state, it had taken a couple yanks. But the short sword finally slid free of the corpse. Another gush of blood followed after it. He tried to wipe it clean. Not that he would be successful after such a ferocious battle. But it at least looked more presentable as he extended it to her. One hand offering her the pommel of the blade she used. His other hand, he simply extended to her. To steady herself, or for companionship, or whatever else she might dream. He hadn't missed her shading crimson, after all.
"Shall we repair to you father's house? Lead the way." Daniil of Marikas ,
Danii watched him look her over. She found herself wondering what he thought of her. She did not think herself as beautiful, not on the same scales of her sisters. She often blew off the compliments even though she had the decency to blush like a lady should. She also knew that her ribs were sore and that led to everything hurting as she took a breath. She was sure that she would be fine with a hot bath, some lavender and mint leaves and something hot to drink or eat. When she saw him drop his eyes to the ground she let out a soft chuckle. Now he was embarrassed. The idea that a Prince was embarrassed because he had bee caught checking out the woman in front of him.
“No. My father is a traditionalist. Taking up arms is a man’s job. I was expected to sit in a room with Uncle Rafi as a guard, along with the other women in the family. I should think that my Uncle will be very cross at the idea that I snuck out in able to fight to defend my cousin’s throne. If she can sit on a throne and rule a kingdom then why can I not fight to defend her. A woman can be as good as a man if give the chance.” she said with a vehemence that surprised her. She had lived for the last twenty-one years with both her mother and the menfolk of House Marikas drilling it into her that she needed to be a lady to find a fitting husband.
This current situation made her want to laugh as it was turning out to be totally the other way around. Tread lightly Daniil. He could still break your heart. A voice said in her head. Her reply was a snort. She was quite sure that when the menfolk discovered that he was a prince, and her equal in rank, they would be quick to welcome his suit if he so chose to offer her one.
Daniil blushed as he spoke, she felt the heat rise and knew that she was likely deep red. No one ever called her unique or special or a hero, so she was not sure how to take it except to blush a bright red. “I would save it again if the chance presented itself. And I thank you for the complement.” she said softly. She let out a sigh.“The men are convinced that I would never find a fitting husband because I prefer to be a tomboy. I hope one day to prove them all wrong and Gods Above if there is one that has no issue with my tomboyish ways then, they will eat their words.”
She watched him as he walked over to the last man that she had chose to turn into a human pincushion. She watched him fight with it to remove it. She also noted just how tired that he was. She was just as exhausted. Slowly she worked to get to her feet. She watched him wipe it clean as she wavered slightly as she stood. She was still wavering as she took her sword from him, pommel first. She smiled at him and then took his other hand in an attempt to keep from falling.
It was then that she heard the familiar voice of her cousin, Dione, and she sounded like Daniil felt, angry. She held up her hand an then ran in the direction of her voice, sword at the ready, and looking noting like a lady.
Panic gripped at Dione as shouts got closer to the room she and Linos were in. Her sweet knowledgeable cousin remained silent, but it was not a thoughtful silent- it was the silence of a trapped animal. The dark room, lit only by one candle, had no other doors and was not a room with access to a window. The only way in or out was through the door they came. Knowing this Dione looked around for anything that they could use to defend themselves. Neither relative was very athletically inclined like a majority of their family, but they were both smaller and agile giving them an advantage if the attackers were larger.
Rising to her feet and facing the potential danger that the noise would bring Dione began rifling through the trunks and searched the walls for anything that could be used as a weapon. As if he was in a daze Linos sat at his chair and stared at the closed door. Footsteps could be heard outside their door and the shadows leaked from under the frame as it was violently shaken and found locked. Frantically Dione stopped her search and blew out the candle. Voices began to sound on the other side of the door, they were harsh like a rough linen with words and phrases Dione didn't dare utter.
Lightly Dione crept closer to the door, minding to stay in the shadow of the door and where the torch light couldn't be seen. Keeping herself close to the door she heard a groan emit from it as it bowed in- the voices now hushed as if they were listening for anything in the unknown room beyond the locked door. Now the Nikolaos girl hadn't been trained in hand to hand combat like her brothers, but her father and brothers still managed to teach her a thing or two. As the door began to bow back to its original state Dione grabbed a long empty wooden spool that once held paper on it.
Bracing herself she shoved hard against the door hearing it hit the head that had only just leaned on it. An angered shout came from beyond the wood and Dione quickly unlocked the door and threw it open. She didn't gauge the size of the man whose forehead now had a dark red liquid trickling from his left brow. Swinging with all her might the wooden spool made contact with the man's right temple with a crack. The large brute went down like a sack of vegetables, his eyes rolling back into his head.
The other man, a more lean muscled fellow who Dione would normally think as cute if he weren't attacking her home, watched as his companion went down and let out a chuckle. Dione turned on her heel and looked at the man, not thinking there was another attacker but the one who was at the door. Her blonde hair began to pool out of its funeral up-do and golden ringlets framed her face and disheveled her. Taking a step back Dione felt the door at her back, and the attacker almost visually salivating over her. The sight sickened the noble woman, but with the height difference and difference in strength Dione knew if she tried she would only loose.
The attacker neared her and touched her golden hair that hand found its way out of her binding. His sickly eyes looked her up and down, his mind already to the part Dione refused to think of. "Unhand me or Hades damn your soul to the underworld." Dione's voice was stronger than she felt-
"You amuse me little palace pet-"
The red liquid of life flowered at his stomach and spewed all over Dione's front. The attacker slumped forward onto her and she shrieked pushing the dead man off of her. Linos stood in front of her and held a small sword in his hand. "No one touches my family." He growled. Dione threw herself from the doorframe and together the two crept through the halls looking for anyone else who was a friend.
"I would suggest that you heed the lady's words." Daniil said in a cold voice as she came to a halt not far from Dione and Linos, her short sword in her hand and looking furious. Daniil had no doubt that if the beast did not, she would take him on. Linos would finally get to see the skill which she had told him about. She kept a tight grip on her hilt and an eye on the foe before her.
To their gazes, Daniil must be a sight to see,her gown a disaster and showing signs of a run in with other foes. Would they care or disapprove of her actions? She was actually beyond caring. She was not going to leave them to the hands of the enemy, especially when she knew that Linos was not a fan of violence. She was sure that if his back was up against the wall and he had no other choice, he would take up a weapon and use it, trained or not.
"Lady Dione? Lord Linos? Have either of you been harmed? Come with us and we will get you both safely out of here and see you cared for at my fathers house and then see you home if you would like?" she asked them, flashing them as smile and waiting to see where Yiannis would appear.