There had been noise and commotion everywhere in the palace today, many of the servants that had been attending to them had been called away to other tasks. In the rooms they had been confined to it was all but silent, the sound of Desma’s latest project on the loom she had bullied the guards into relocating for her broke the stillness.
Olympia had been feeling well enough all day, but with little to do aside from worry and help her nursemaid with her task, she had taken to bed as the sun slowly began to sink. She had eaten little, just the bits that the older woman had brought them. Both she and Stephanos had chosen to eat nothing brought to them by anyone aside from Desma and Alastair. It was a drastic change from the way her pregnancy had been encouraging her to eat, but aside from feeling a bit light headed she was well enough. The same could not be said for her husband, but Stephanos’ troubles were not limited to lack of proper sustenance.
She had dozed at some point, comfortable in bed with the sound of Desma humming under her breath soothing her nerves. It was impossible to know what time it was when she woke, or what the exact cause of it was, but she hissed in pain and clutched at her stomach. For the past few weeks she had been experiencing slight contractions, just the body’s practice for the actual labor according to Desma, but this one felt different. It was stronger, and longer, and she found herself gasping for air against the pain as she struggled to shift into a position that hurt less.
There was silence now as the older woman abandoned her work to hurry to the bedside, ever in tune with the little differences in her mistress. As her body eased through the end of the contraction, Pia slumped back against her bosom to try to catch her breath, relief evident on her face.
”Is it time?”
Desma spoke softly, not wanting to alarm or alert anyone until confirmation was gained. Olympia nodded, taking in deep breaths and trying not to let the panic set in. This was exactly the sort of thing that would give Irakles the ability to get rid of them. As soon as her son was born he had his excuse for their natural deaths, and then Stephanos would be lost. She had expected the pain to be all consuming and constant, with no break between, but as it all subsided she found herself able to sit up on her own, and aside from some unease and discomfort it was as if it had never happened.
”Stephanos...I need you.”
Her voice echoed through the emptiness of the rooms, aided in her movements now by Desma before the old woman pattered off to gather what things she would need.
He had never considered that while waiting for impending death, he could ever be so bored. There was nothing to do. To pass the time, he was half tempted to ask Olympia if she wanted one last romp between the sheets. But he wasn’t quite to that level of gone yet. Aside from the fact that her hag of a midwife nursemaid was constantly there. Gods how he hated that woman.
She was so cranky and mean. Not only was her temperament better suited for the royal stables, but she was just so hard to look at for any length of time. Stephanos had been playing a mental game with himself, trying to assess if she’d been born prior to the creation of man, or after. From where he was in the adjoining room, his desk was placed at such a position as to be able to see Desma, or be forced to see her, rather, at her loom. His blue eyes narrowed in the fossilized cow’s direction. He wondered how she could even work the loom anymore. Her joints were so swollen and he could hear them popping from here.
Why his wife insisted on keeping this withered up old wineskin of a woman as her midwife, he had yet to figure out. It wasn’t like Desma would move faster than a wounded snail when the time came. He finally looked down at his desk, where he was busy writing yet another asinine ode about Irakles. From there he’d probably move on to Meena, Irakles’s whore-wife. They were practically married, with two grown daughters. He hadn’t seen his aunt in a long time. So long, in fact, that he frequently forgot her existence.
The sounds of popping drew his attention and he watched Desma struggle to leave the loom. Her devotion to Pia was only comforting in times of crises. Otherwise he found it grating in the extreme. Olympia was a grown woman. She did not need to be constantly coddled. With those sorts of thoughts chasing each other through his mind, coupled with words like “aged” and “face of an ass” being written on the paper, he didn’t pay attention Desma fumbling about the room for her things.
At the sound of his name, he looked up, blinked, and then set his quill down. He sat back in his chair for just a moment, still trying to catch the exact phrase he wanted for how to describe the no doubt disgusting way that Irakles proferred himself to Meena, just to rub that in the old man’s face for trying to make him seem like the one with no control, when something in Pia’s voice made him lose the thought completely. The chair scraped against the floor as he stood and moved around the desk. At Desma’s back, he stuck out his tongue. It was childish but he was going to die fairly soon. Who cared?
“Who’s coming?” he asked without any real interest. “Irakles can come into this room all he likes but I won’t allow him to goad me again the way he did.” His cheeks colored at the memory from earlier. He hated that he could be inflamed and controlled by people so easily. If his uncle was right about one thing, it was that. His temper was far, far too quick and explosive.
The pain subsiding was a relief, and she was able to breathe again properly in time to see her husband stick his tongue out at her nursemaid. There had been no love lost between the two, but here in captivity it was ever more obvious. It wasn’t as if they’d hidden it before but now she sent Desma out more often to try to prevent any further descent into madness. With her hand pressed firmly to her stomach, she blinked in surprise as Stephanos seemed to forget exactly who it was that had decided to make his ill timed entrance into the world.
Scowling at his perceived ignorance, the queen reached awkwardly for one of the pillows beside her, hurling it at her husband’s head with all of the indignant force she could muster. After months of worry and excitement and fear, the reason she had married Stephanos, she had little capacity to appreciate any joking. Her body felt alert, ready for any sign of the pain that had woken her in the first place as she gestured to her swollen belly.
”Your son. Or have you forgotten anyone but your cursed uncle.”
Desma waddled between them, fixing the king with a disapproving look as she settled a bowl of water and a packet of herbs at Pia’s side. It all suddenly was feeling far too real, and more than anything else she wished her mother was here, and Selene. Her child should come into the world surrounding by his doting aunts and grandmothers, father and grandfather just outside waiting to be introduced. Not in a prison. Not when she was all but alone.
”Desma, send someone you trust to find Selene, and my mother. Tell them he’s coming. Gods willing they will understand that message.”
The older woman gave a nod before exiting the room at a far slower pace than Olympia would have liked. She still feared the next contraction, and what would happen if Irakles got that message before her family. Perhaps since she had last seen any of them they would have found something to save their lives.
He saw her face change about a second before she lobbed the pillow at him. Catching it, he thought about flinging it back at her but turned around and immediately pelted it at Desma. The old woman glared at him and called him a useless peacock under her breath but did not retaliate otherwise. Her refusal to engage in outright fighting only served to make him feel both guilty and agitated. He turned back to Olympia and twisted his mouth at her still irritated expression.
When she gestured to her stomach and made the biting observation that he had been just a little too preoccupied with his own betrayal, he dropped his gaze and moved toward her, only to have Desma cut across him. “Oh for the sake of Zeus!” he cursed at her, stepping around her pointedly so that he could get to Pia’s other side. If he had still been in power, his temper would have been less easily stirred but he was a raw nerve. Anything that grazed him the wrong way merely served to make him want to explode.
He sat on the bed beside her, his hand near hers but not actually touching her, watching incredulously as her nursemaid hobbled out of the door with the speed of a dying tortoise. It was easier to take out his temper on the old woman, rather than the pregnant one beside him. Waiting until Desma was through the door, he finally turned his attention back to Olympia.
“I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to beg you to stop…” an obvious jest that was said with a serious expression. His thoughts were very much in line with hers. This was exactly what they didn’t need. Then, “I’m sorry. I just...I wish I’d have been able to get you out somehow. Or have been less selfish and sent you out to the country somewhere.”
Looking back, he could see what he should have done but he’d been so sure he could outfox his uncle. Preparing for the inevitable had not been an option. Sending Olympia and the baby into hiding would have been the intelligent thing to do but he’d felt she would be safer at his side. Yet again, wrong.
The slight confrontation between husband and nursemaid sparked her irritation and she shook her head at both of them. Now that the pain of the beginning had dissipated the fear was creeping in and taking hold, and her eyes darted about the room as if search for somewhere to run or hide. There was nowhere to go, no one to help them. Her son would be born and die all in one breath if Irakles had any say about it. Stephanos' hand resting close to her was the only lifeline she had left, and even he couldn't save them. Shaking her head as he asked weakly if she could wait, Olympia closed her eyes and sank back against the pillows, uncertain of the exact amount of time since the last pain.
"If I could, I would. At least it will be over soon."
She was referring to so many things. Their lives, their imprisonment, his boredom. The fear and pain of not knowing would be gone soon, she only wished she'd had a chance to say goodbye to her family, and to see her child grow. If it was a girl, perhaps Irakles would let them live. A horrible thought crossed her mind that if instead of the son she had been hoping so desperately for, a daughter would pose far less threat to the man who wished to kill them. Perhaps a daughter would be allowed to live, even if Pia chose to stay with Stephanos to the end, not producing a son might save their lives.
"I wouldn't have gone even if you tried. Neither of us could know what he was planning."
Reaching for his hand, she turned with a sad smile and gave a squeeze, face twisting as another pain began to rise. It felt as if she was simply about to start her monthly course at the beginning, uncomfortable but manageable, but it increased in discomfort and she gave a soft hiss of pain at the peak of it. As it eased off once again she could feel how tightly she'd been clutching at her husband's hand, and she relaxed her hold as she caught her breath again, shaking her head and trying not to let go of the tears she'd somehow managed to prevent.
"They'll need a name. Even if they don't manage a first breath."
He looked down at the joined hands but couldn’t bring himself to smile. This was unfortunate. His flat expression turned to a frown as he watched her face scrunch in pain. Shifting closer to her, he put an arm around her shoulders and placed the side of his body right up against her. There was very little he could do for her but he wished that she didn’t have to go through this, and he really, really wished she didn’t have to go through this right now.
“We knew he was planning something,” he muttered once her obvious pain wore off. Still. The past was the past and it was pointless to regret everything now. They could play the game of deciding who had the most blame at their door later. He wasn’t looking forward to that. Olympia was wholly innocent in all of this. She was so pure and kind. He didn’t deserve her and yet, here she sat with his child, in his palace, going to be murdered by his uncle.
He felt cursed.
When her hold on his hand finally eased, he took it away to flex his fingers while she asked what they should call the child. After all, the gods would need a name for him when they all crossed the Styx together in the afterlife. Assuming that Irakles was decent enough to give them the burial they deserved. Stephanos wasn’t totally counting on this, though. His brother’s body had been allowed to rot somewhere and they hoped rather than knew that his father found peace.
“Lysandros,” he said, smoothing his hand slowly across her stomach, lingering there to feel the baby, he searched her eyes for any hint as to how she felt about that name. Desma came popping in, apparently not having too far to go. The moment was broken and he sighed in aggravation as the old woman shot him a look. He couldn’t do this. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if Desma died first, he could enter the underworld with a smile on his face.
"Where isn't in the way?" he risked asking, only to have this bite him anyway.
"Where indeed?" Desma asked innocently.
He shot a look at his wife, half beseeching her to intervene and half warning that he might choke her nursemaid if she didn't.
First, the sudden arrival from home to find her sister under lock and key, terrified for her life and that of her child. She hadnt expected it to come back to this, to know that things were so poor in the capitol that there was genuine fear in her sister’s voice. Every thing Stephanos said was filled with anxiety and anger. And both were certain that death was eminent.
Then, she was introduced to the Egyptian general. He overwhelmed her with his charm, and to be quite frank, it was a welcome distraction from everything else that was going on. After the absolute disaster with Vangelis, it was nice to feel like her old self again. She’d forgotten how much men liked to flirt with her, and how empowering it was to know that she was able to enchant them with more than just her looks. His obvious attention and desire had stunned her a bit, but she had kept on her toes and did as she was expected to do.
It hadn’t been long after that when she’d used that courage to corner Vangelis to try and gain his assistance in the escape of her family. He thought her plan foolish, even with the help of Alastair to get the guards good and drunk. She had thought it sound, knowing that half the guards would be focused on her and her dress before they noticed they were gone. Secret passages would provide enough time for them to escape, and they would at least be safe wherever Alastair planned to take them.
The moment he left, she was notified to come quick to her sister. That he was coming.
Her eyes widened, because at first, she thought it meant that Irakles was going to act tonight. But then, as she rushed back through the room, she noticed he was still firmly at the side of the General. Which meant the ‘he’ was the baby.
Hades’ balls.
She moved through the halls, making her way back to the quarters in which the King and Queen were housed. A quick rap on the door, opened by Alastair, and she was in the room. ”What happened? He’s coming? Now?” She moved to her sister’s side, face alight with concern.
Struggling to come up with a smile, Olympia felt the tears she had been working so hard to keep back rising once again. Her little Lysandros would never be given a chance, doomed from the start of his short life before it even began, and all because they had been reckless. Stephanos' hand on her stomach was comforting, and she tried to focus on the sweetness of the moment instead, a few tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked over to him. There was nothing in her eyes that he could be blamed for. He had been trying so hard in the past month, being so sweet to her and taking care of everything. If only they had been clever enough to leave.
Desma's return sent him back, and though Pia was normally fairly tolerant and ignorant of their joint hatred, in this moment she had no patience for their squabbles. They were all going to die unless they somehow found a way out of this together, and she refused to spend some of her last moments between their arguments. Giving a scowl to them both, she crossed her arms across her chest and stared them down.
"Enough. I love you both and I won't have your fights now. Not when I'm in the middle of birthing a child and we may all well be about to die."
Her outburst was marked by the arrival of her sister, and she gave a sigh of relief, reaching out for the older woman and pulling her close. Selene was dressed to kill, or seduce as it were, and Pia was envious of her fine form, wondering if she would have gone back to old figure after the child was born. There was no way to know now.
"Selene, the labor started, I don't know how long we have. Was Irakles still occupied downstairs?"
Not that it would make much of a difference, he wouldn't come up to kill them himself, he would send people to off them.
Vangelis continued to stare at the tablet he held. It was thin, finely made and carefully procured by the servants of the Order House when he had insisted on a piece of clay that would work for a formal missive. Since then, he had inscribed it with the necessary information, baked it himself for to have anyone see it would be to destroy everything he had worked towards so far, and had now sat staring at it for the past hour. Despite time being of a certain amount of essence.
His jaw tightened as he read it over for what felt like the hundredth time, the tip of his fingers tracing several of the key words. He had written the message in clay over parchment so that he could not be edited. Even clever carvings into the hardened dough were obvious. The exact, original content would remain clear. Including the formal seal of his house and the signing of his own name at the bottom. The entire article made him feel a little sick.
Setting the piece aside for a moment, bracing his elbows on the desk and pressing his fingers to his eyes, Vangelis rubbed at first his lids and then his face in its entirety. He folded his hands together in the air and then braced his forehead upon them, taking a few calming breaths to easy the nausea in his stomach. He closed his eyes and imagined circumstances if he did not step in. A man he had come to consider as his friend, the sister of another of his closest and an innocent child would all die if he was not able to find some way of helping them. And yet if he did so, the entirety of Colchis was put at risk by opening the door for claims of international sabotage and espionage - actions that were in direct violation of the Peace Treaty between the three kingdoms.
A treaty that was his father's single proudest achievement.
Vangelis unmatched his hands, curled one into a fist that he pressed against his mouth and the other reached to his neck where he found the pendant he had worn since he was ten years old. His father had given it to him. A Colchian blood stone, an Athenian shark's tooth, one of the first gold coins of Taengea. Three pendants, three symbols, one message. Unity and collaboration.
Vangelis exhaled long and hard.
He was not a man. He was a prince. His actions determined that of so many more than those he knew or cared about. Sacrifices had to be made. For the good of his kingdom.
And yet... he could not bring himself to step aside and allow innocent lives to be taken. It was the right thing to do. He knew that, in order to avoid the risk of massive bloodshed and untold deaths if Irakles ever used his actions to justify war between the Grecian kingdoms once more... three lives - no matter how innocent - were a small price to pay. If he was to do what was right, he had to let them die. That was the true and right sacrifice to make.
Vangelis looked over the clay tablet again.
This time... this time he didn't feel that he could do what was right.
Swallowing, Vangelis took up the whetted clay to one side and started moulding the encasement for the letter. His large hands morphed the grey substance into a flat and simple envelope that was purposeful if not pretty. He wrapped the letter inside, sealed it and then held it carefully in his hands as he left the study he had not exited since returning from the court sessions that afternoon, and headed down to the kitchens. He left the exterior - usually marked with the recipients address and his own seal of certification - entirely blank, as he set it into the covered fire, using it as a kiln.
He stood back and folded his arms as he watched the flames lick at the clay up and around the metal grating it rested up, his fingers smearing grey dust and water over the arms of his shirt.
There was no going back now.
Well, he could take the slim piece of clay and smash it into pieces on the floor but there was something committing and conclusive about sealing it in its second layer. It was symptomatic of a choice he had to have made, or he wouldn't have found his way to the furnace.
And, like with any of the decisions he had made in his life, as soon as the clay hardened, so had his resolve.
Vangelis fished the piece out of the oven, secured it in a thick blanket and held it close as he headed straight to his chambers without hesitation or stillness in his gait. The heat of the brick he held burned its warmth into his chest and only served to invigorate his zeal, reminding him of his decision every step of the way.
His first stop along the way to his rented bedroom was the chamber that had been assigned to Magnus upon his arrival in Taengea. Vangelis knocked once and then opened it, heedless of whether the man was asleep or not, given the now late hour. All he cared about was whether the man was alone. And, as far as he knew, Magnus was never improper enough to bring a woman to the crown prince's rented home abroad whenever they happened to stay in the same lodgings.
Sure enough, only one human shape was in the bed, the man startled into consciousness at Vang's entrance.
"Ready the girls." He told his Master Informer without pause or explanation. "Athanasia and Imeeya. They're to be at the docks, ready to board by midnight. Move silently. No-one is to know that we're leaving. You are to stay on in Taengea."
It was all he imparted on the man before asking him to confirm the instructions - just to ensure Magnus was in fact awake enough to hear and understand them - and then shut the door before continuing about seven steps to the door of Nike. There he knocked and performed the exact same routine. It didn't matter that Nike was a woman. As far as he was concerned, he treated her like a man and would continue to do so because that was the life she had chosen to lead. And if Nike was a man, he would have walked straight into her chambers - as proven by his earlier performance with his Master Informer.
It turned out that Nike wasn't asleep, which saved any awkwardness on their part and, this time, Vangelis stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Nike, I need a word." He instructed, his tone serious and his expression even more so. With a man as stoic as Vangelis, it was hard to tell when severity was deliberate or a simple state of being, but Nike had been with him long enough to be able to tell the difference. He set the blanketed bundle, still warm, on the side of the desk she was seated at, finishing up paperwork from her role as Commander. "We're leaving. Tonight. I need you to have the ship ready within two hours. If I am not there by dawn, you're to sail to Colchis-" He talked over her as her expression appeared to turn into one of protestation. -"with Athanasia and Imeeya and deliver this-" He stabbed the bundle with a strange index finger. "To my mother. To no-one else, regardless of any circumstance." His gaze turned incredibly sharp on this last point, before he carried on... "If I do arrive at the ship before you sail, you smash this to dust and scatter it in the ocean on our way back to Colchis. No-one is to read what is inside here barring my mother. Do you understand, Nike?"
After receiving her assent, he refused to let her question or argue which he knew she might want to on a personal level but doubt she would do so out loud anyway. Nike was a soldier first and foremost and a damn good one too. She would know from his tone that this was a serious matter that he wasn't about to take negotiation or advice upon. And he wasn't going to explain himself either. The less she knew of his progressing plans the freer of accusation she would be and the less danger he was in of such schemes being discovered. Not that he thought Nike would ever betray him. But knowledge made you subconsciously act a certain way and he wasn't about to burden her with something that could become her weakness.
Instead of speaking on the subject further. Vangelis simply repeated himself. "Two hours. At the docks." And then left the room.
He deliberately didn't seek out his sister or his cousin. He didn't have the time now to explain or divert their questions away from what he had planned. Instead, he made a direct and purposeful pace towards his own bedchambers where his actions were quick and efficient.
Shutting himself inside, he didn't pause to consider the duality in his behaviour. He had thought and considered and stressed over his choice for more time than he normally would have any other choice. But once made, he was as proactive as ever. Not a man for regrets nor second-guessing, Vangelis was washed and ready to dress within five minutes of entering his chambers. Calling to a servant to relay a message to his guards as he pulled on his clothes, Vangelis was quick to ensure that his things were packed and sitting in the centre of his bed for Nike to take when she readied the ship and his attire appropriate for his plans.
He glanced at himself only once in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room - in his usual riding pants and shirt with a leather tunic, arm and leg guards and a pauldron in place over his left shoulder, strapped securely across his chest. By the time he was equipped with both long swords, knives in his boots and belt and inside his thigh bracers, his hair was starting to dry, curling at his ears and the nape of his neck - after which he turned towards the door and didn't look back.
That was the thing about being a soldier. You made a choice in the heat of battle. You commit to it. And you didn't look back. And Vangelis was a very good soldier.
Twenty minutes later and Vangelis was being permitted entrance into the Mikaelidas Palati through the eastern wing. It was the section of manor that was furthest from where Stephanos and Olympia were being kept which meant it had only a single guard on the simple servant exit. To say the man would have been surprised to see the crown prince of Colchis turn up intending to use it was an understatement but he didn't have the option as Vangelis sent one of his men down the garden to start sneaking around. His instructions on what the two guards who accompanied him were wearing had been very specific and it did not include Colchis or Kotas colours. The guardsman was sharp and spotted an intruder, but not where he was from. And Vangelis watched with satisfaction as his personal guardsman Ecktor was able to carefully slip between bushes and storage huts on the far side of the garden in a way that had the palati watchman frowning, unsure whether the shadow was some form of animal, human or just the breeze shifting foliage and throwing out shadows.
Deciding, finally, to step out and see for himself, Vangelis waited for the man to move at an angle that placed Vangelis out of eyeline and then looked up to inspect the patrol guards that walked the surrounding balustrades on the roof. When each had their back to his position, Vangelis jogged forwards across the gardens, quickly and quietly, his second man behind him, and slipped inside the unguarded door with a silence that had the portal closed again within seconds. Inside, they were in the servant’s quarters. There was nothing of value and no prisoners kept here so no guards to avoid. Instead, he simply moved his way to an open chamber of marble - a small foyer at the bottom of a flight of stairs and headed to the western window where he was able to secure safe and silent passage inside for Ecktor.
Remembering the rough layout of the palati from his last visit to the place with Stephanos, Vangelis thanked the Taengean pride for their masonry and the fact that his guide had, at that time, insisted on showing him everything before proceeding to the war room. At least now he knew where he was going.
Throughout the first two wings of the manor, progress was easy. He and his two men walked with the silent step of those trained in subterfuge. They knew how to walk so as not to cause their riding boots to tap upon the marble. They knew how to hold their swords so that the metal didn't clink against their legs. They breathed easy, stepped lightly and walked with a confidence that ensured both speed and quiet. What most people didn't realise was that the easiest way to sneak, but to be bold. Less noise was made when you walked with ease.
It wasn't until they reached the western block of the palati that guards became a problem. It was here that the royal family slept, it was here that the royal family was being kept under guard. It became clear when they reached the first man, however, that, despite his insistence that she did nothing of the sort, Selene had continued with her plans for rendering the palace soldiers useless. The first they came to was passed out. And judging from the smell of him, it was a deep slumber brought on by excessive alcohol consumption.
His jaw tightening, Vangelis hoped to the Gods that the girl had been smart enough not to offer the cups of wine to the men herself. All the Prince would have to do come morning would ask those who had been unconscious who had served them the wine. Prior to killing them for poor performance, of course. Death would have been a kinder mercy to these men than forcing them to appear inept at their jobs.
Not about to correct the situation now, though, Vangelis continued forwards, his own men following behind him swiftly and silently - three wraiths wandering the halls.
Occasionally they stopped to allow a patrolling guard to walk past. Sometimes they found one snoozing. Another they managed to step passed while his indulgences came back upon him; he was vomiting into a nearby vase and his attentions were not focused on his place of duty.
They reached the corridor on which he had been reliably informed Stephanos and Olympia's rooms were located entirely unseen. Which was to be expected. It was the getting out that was going to be difficult by all accounts.
Vangelis neither hovered at the corner of the corridor, nor attempted to deceive the two guards left on duty outside Stephanos' rooms. Both stood with a burly strength and impressive height, their spears in hand and their tunics of royal colours carefully secured. These were not men left for show but warriors carefully chosen. Which meant playing to their egos would be his best angle.
Vangelis walked down the corridor with all confidence, a domineering stride that befit his rank in the military and his birth-right as crown prince. He had been at royal functions enough in the last two weeks that he was recognised almost immediately by one guard and only a few seconds later by the other. They glanced at him surprised, then at his two men - a limited number for a crown prince to walk around with and hardly a threat and then down the corridor behind him, curious as to who was accompanying his royal person.
He also noted their gazes drop to his weapons. For, every time he had visited the palati, he had been removed of his swords and blades. He watched a frown settle over the brow of one of the men, whilst the other remained simply cautious.
“I’m here to see the King.” Vangelis stated in a tone that brokered no argument or suspicion and came with a deep timbre of certainty that strongly indicated it expected no refute.
Luckily – or perhaps unluckily for him now – Stephanos’ palace guards were no idiots and initially would not budge.
“No-one is to see the king without written permission from Prince Irakles.” The first man detailed. “He wishes to be aware of all eventualities with the King.”
“Then enter with us. I have nothing to hide and Prince Irakles currently sleeps. It’s your choice if you’d like to be the one who wakes him now or tomorrow with news that the crown prince of Colchis is displeased with the consideration given to his person.” Vangelis stood deliberately too close to the man, arms folded, eyes dark. ”Or, you can let us in, enter with us and report every second of it to His Highness in a manner that befits his requirements and doesn’t cause an inter-kingdom incident.” He leaned in. “Which is it to be soldier?”
The two men glanced at each other before giving in and moving to indicate his admittance to the room. Vangelis stayed where he was. He raised a brow and gestured towards the door.
“That man is a supposed Kingslayer and murdered his own brother. You can go in first to assure me he’s not waiting behind a door with knife in hand to murder another crown prince.”
As he had suspected, the inferred flattery of the guardsmen’s skills was the way to break into their concern for regulation and within a moment the wooden bar the kept the door from opening was lifted and the doorway breeched as the two guards stepped forwards into the royal chambers.
Instantly, Vangelis senses were assaulted. The room was still lit with candles, despite the later hour, whilst the corridors outside were dark. He blinked in the light. His ears were hit with the sound of heavy breathing, held in groans and the sound of movement from the room that could be seen beyond an open archway. Vangelis spotted the figure of a white clad female rolling around in pain and the side profile of Stephanos’ frame standing beside the bed. Anyone else in the room was hidden from view.
“What’s going on?” One of the guards asked, taking a step in the direction of the bedchamber before he was halted by a noise of anguish, his features a classic masculine distaste for the awkwardness of female difficulties.
Using the opportunity, Vangelis glanced at one of his men, and they both acted in unison. Whilst Ecktor shut the door soundlessly behind them, Vangelis and his other soldier Furon had their arms around the neck of each guard. In a second, they had cut off their ability to speak, in three they had pushed down hard on the back of the neck to ensure the blocking of air and within a minute, each of the palace guardsmen had crumpled unconscious before them. Furon was smart enough to follow Vangelis’ lead in ensuring neither the man nor his spear hit the floor with any kind of noise.
After ensuring both men were out cold, Vangelis stepped over the prone bodies lying just inside the room and moved to the doorway of the bedchamber. His eyes fell on Olympia, her faces glazed in pain and her hand clutching at her swollen belly. It didn’t take a genius to work out the answer to the now unconscious guard’s question. Vangelis’ jaw tightened.
”Well, that’s going to make this difficult.” He said.
The entrance of Selene was both welcome and bad time. The palpable tension in the room had him standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring at Desma, even as Olympia scolded them both. He chewed the inside of his cheek to keep the insults in check that he wanted to hurl at his wife’s infuriating midwife. While Pia breathed through another contract, and Desma bungled about collecting this and that, Stephanos made himself useful by continuing to be near his wife. Mostly he occupied himself with dark fantasies of Desma’s demise.
These were interrupted by Selene who came in looking both harried and resplendent. Her concern, though, grated. It only served to ratchet up the tension in the room and remind them that the baby would have a few hours, at most, before Irakles found out and had his agents do their worst. Every contraction his wife had, the pain across her face, he felt his own life slipping through his fingers. And there was nothing they could do.
With the affirmative that Irakles was occupied, Stephanos moved to the door, leaning against it and listening for sounds of the guards. He then went to the bed, knelt on it, and cupped his wife’s face in his hands. “Pia, I know it hurts but do not cry out. We’ll have more time if they do not know you’re in labor. We might even be able to hide the baby for a day or two…” Though he was trying to think how to keep an infant from crying. It was cruel to hold a cloth over a baby’s mouth to prevent noise but he couldn’t think of another option.
So long as no one knew…
He knew the suggestion wouldn’t go over well but he was much less concerned with his wife’s feelings or what her sister thought of him in that moment. They needed a plan. Not coddled.
An hour crawled by. He was restless and pacing. The night grew late but still their room blazed with lights. He’d wanted to put them out to act like everything was normal but Desma insisted she needed to see what she was doing. Even the woman’s putrid eyes were old.
Muffled voices sounded from outside the door but he didn’t move from his place. It wasn’t Irakles’s voice. Still. When the door opened, he finally tore his gaze away from Pia and stared at Vangelis blinking rapidly in the light. Stephanos nearly leaped out of his skin. He leaped over the bed, instead, reaching Vangelis just as the two guards were laid on the ground.
The dispatching of their jailors told Stephanos all he needed to know; Theodora had relayed their plea and Vangelis had actually answered. That was a shock in and of itself. There were no words.
He flung his arms around Vangelis and hugged him tight enough that he felt the man’s spine pop. “You Ass!” Stephanos laughed and then stepped back a fraction, rubbing his knuckles into Vangelis’s hair. “You considered leaving us to die, didn’t you? That’s what took you so long.” He didn’t give Vangelis a chance to answer before he forced yet another hug on him, then shoved off Vangelis and went to Pia. She may or may not need him to help her along but he was feeling too optimistic now to allow any thought that they would not survive. He’d toss his wife over his shoulder and carry her the entire way if she asked him to.
Vangelis was entirely flummoxed by the King's behaviour. The two of them had fought side by side several times. Stephanos had confided in him his fears regarding Irakles and he in turn had offered aid in the form of Magnus investigating further - a task he would continue to do after they left for Colchis, in the hopes of finding both the true mastermind behind King Zenon and Prince Zacharias' deaths and the weak link in Irakles' web of lies that they could exploit in order to have Stephanos returned to his position as king.
And why their association had only been that of three months, Vangelis had certainly come to terms with Stephanos being his friend. Fighting in life and death situations a few times, shoulder-to-shoulder had that sort of bonding effect. But none of his friends had ever shoved their knuckles into his head and rubbed as if he were a five-year-old. It threw him off balance for a moment and clearly shocked Ecktor and Furon to the high heavens, but Vangelis quickly straightened and regained his comportment once more. Clearly, Stephanos was losing his mind from the solitude of house arrest and the stress of what appeared to be the imminent arrival of his heir. He would give him a pass, under those circumstances.
Turning to his men, his order was a simple nod, without verbal confirmation, for he had given his men the full explanation of his plan ahead of time. Instantly, Ecktor and Furon worked to relieve the two palati guards of their clothing, shifting and shoving the men's unconscious limbs from within the garments and setting their clothing and weapons to one side. They then proceeded to remove their own clothes: their helmets, armour, boots and tunics, revealing a second, lighter tunic in the style of palati servants.
Ignoring his men as they worked, Vangelis turned his attention back to the words addressed his way: Stephanos' mocking yet accurate accusations that Vangelis had been planning to leave them to die. Taking a steadying breath, Vangelis' lips twisted, the upper lifting a little in distaste at the truth in Stephanos' question as Stephanos drew him toward the bedroom and Olympia's midwife and Selene came into view. Vangelis turned his gaze quickly back to Stephanos.
"Would you feel better or worse if I told you yes, I did." His gaze was unapologetic and his tone firm, before his gaze flickered a pointedly look towards Selene, his gaze almost... angry. "But I was convinced otherwise."
Turning his attention back to Olympia and his eyes narrowing in an almost wince as she went through what appeared to be a surge of pain, Vangelis' next words took in everyone in the room.
"I have a plan to get everyone out but..." He jaw tightened as his gaze met Olympia's. "If anyone knows how close your child is to birth, no story will save you from the guards we must pass. You'd have to walk... without any indication of your labour." His eyes narrowed, not in a doubting manner but in a way that expressed the seriousness of her next answer. "Can you do that, Your Highness?"
She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, only that the sun had eventually started to fade in the sky. Desma had done the best she could with the assistance of sister and husband to make her comfortable, and with some time between each pain she was able to breathe and gather her thoughts. Dark thoughts since she was certainly about to die. Stephanos’ request that she remain as silent as possible was difficult to achieve, but she did all she could even in the midst of the contractions to muffle any sounds she might make. After she’d bitten nearly through her bottom lip Desma had handed her a twist of cloth for her to sink her teeth into instead, wiping the blood from her chin as Pia cried quietly as she could.
It felt as if it had been hours when the sound of the door opening pulled her attention away from the contraction that was far stronger than the others had been, her nails biting into the skin of those who held her hands even with Desma rubbing a salve on her lower back to try to ease the pain. Panting for breath, she was able to look around and felt a sense of relief at the sight of Vangelis instead of Irakles or some of his men. Perhaps they were saved after all, or at the very least they could ask him to save the life of her child. If she could only send Selene and the baby away with him, she would gladly die with the knowledge they at least were safe.
Her husband’s antics were barely noted as her nursemaid wiped the sweat from her brow and helped her get comfortable again as the last edge of discomfort faded once again. She offered a smile to their saviour and looked to Selene, reaching for her sister’s hand and giving it a squeeze of thanks. Whatever her eldest sister had said, whatever Theo had said, both of them had a hand in saving them now. The prince’s question though had her hesitating, looking down at her stomach and taking a deep breath. She had no guarantee that she could move much without showing any pain. Desma had her up and walking around between contractions, and she had moved with a waddle for the past month as her stomach grew even more, but if a contraction hit as they were passing a guard…
”I can try. If not...cut him free and take him with you. Desma knows how. Then at least he and his father will have a chance to escape.”
The queen’s face was set and determined, and with Desma’s help, she stood slowly and braced herself against the bed while the older woman found a cloak to wrap her in. It would hardly do much in way of disguise, but it might shield her enough if they moved fast enough. Reaching for Stephanos’ arm to aid her in staying upright, she held out a hand for Selene on her other side, staying for further instruction and sending up a prayer to Hera to keep her pains at bay until they were safe.
When the heavily pregnant Queen of Taengea attempted to get up from her bed, rounded belly shifting as she moved like a giant obstacle in front of her, an expression of equal parts pain and determination on her face, Vangelis couldn't help the flash of intimidation he felt. As far as tales had always been told by his mother, childbirth was far more painful than anything felt on a battlefield. And Vangelis knew what those injuries could be like. Queen Yanni had once described it to him as the greatest of pains for a lifetime of pleasure: the greatest sacrifice a mother could make for her child beginning right at the start. Whilst, as a man, he had absolutely no way of knowing if this was the truth, he trusted his mother, assumed the worst in terms of Olympia's thus far and future experience in the matter and decided he was mighty impressed with her determination to get vertical.
His secondly reaction was surprise and a raising of his hands as Stephanos and Selene moved to help the woman. Whilst they were in a hurry to avoid Irakles - and now on an even more pressing deadline with the birth on its way - it seemed as if Olympia would have limited strength. It made sense for her to remain seated until they needed her to move. Her reserves had to hold out until they had left the palati.
"Rest for a moment, Your Highness." He told her with shushing movements of his hands, his palms out front. "We need to be ready to leave first so that you're not using your energy until you have to." He looked towards the little old lady who, if he had been told was one of the Moirae herself, he would have believed them - but clearly she was devoted to her mistress whom she fussed at the side of. "Ma'am." He said, addressing her as if she were a valued retainer or ladies’ maid rather than a slave in Olympia's keeping. "I know I'm ignorant of these things but if there's anything you can do to slow the birth, please do." He watched as she pulled the cloak in place. "The cloak will be useful but she does not have to be disguised. Just so long as her labour is hidden, the rest I can work with."
And giving her a very light bow as he turned away, Vangelis gestured for Selene and Stephanos to follow him back into the main room. He heard over his shoulder, a little huff and the woman grumbling something about "At least some men have brains in their head..."
Upon reaching the living quarters, several lush loungers to one side, a desk to the right that appeared to have some kind of poem laying on its surface several side bureaus that supported trays of uneaten meals, Vangelis moved with precision and speed as he directed Ecktor and Furon and then bent to pick up the palati guard's uniformed tunics from the where they had been left beside their previous owners. As he did so, Ecktor and Furon stepped forward, one in front of Stephanos, the other Selene, holding out their armour. It was thicker made, with more leather than the tunics the guards had worn and would disguise them better than a simple chiton.
"Put those one." He told them with a nod of his head. He had chosen Furon and Ecktor carefully from his half a dozen men he'd brought with him from Colchis. Furon was the smallest and closest in size to a woman, whilst Ecktor was tall like the King. "Then you'll wear these over the top." He said, holding up the tunics they had stolen from the guards, now folded in his hands. The uniform of the guards in the palace was simply to wear the appropriate chiton and colours, everything else, he had noticed upon his visits, was down the individual. They would simple appear as more heavily armoured palace soldiers. He had made sure that Furon and Ecktor were wearing helmets. Selene would have to tie her hair up beneath it but hopefully, if Stephanos played the lead, no-one would look at her too closely. And if Stephanos adjusted his voice if he had to speak, no-one would recognise him. It was the art of the human mind. The few guards in the palace who would know Stephanos well would only have seen him in his position as Prince and King. As soon as any uniform was added, it would be too strange a jump for most minds to manage with just a fleeting glance. Their aim was going to have to be to not be stopped so that anyone could catch a closer look.
Vangelis nodded his head towards the bedchambers.
"We can't disguise a woman of the Queen's condition. But we can have the prisoner relocated by her guardsmen..." He said, lifting the tunics he held in illustration of his plan.
At Vangelis’s insistence that they allow Olympia to remain abed, he followed the Colchian prince out into the main room. As soon as Desma muttered under her horrid breath that Vangelis, at least had brains, he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. “She’s going to be dead soon,” he promised himself in a voice less than a whisper. “She can’t live forever. Greece wasn’t even founded when she was born...Irakles is going to string her up by her skinny ankles from the ceiling-” because, by the gods, there was no way in this world or the next that they were taking that painfully slow old goat with them. He’d see her thrown over the balcony first.
He noticed when the other man looked over at the desk, and he had the urge to snatch the poem he’d been working on away but ended up leaving it. It was a foolish bit of nothing, meant to waste time, and, after all, it wasn’t like Vangelis was a connoisseur of poetry. He was willing to bet that whatever poems Vangelis came into contact with, he neither thought them good nor bad. They were just ‘words’.
Colchians were so uncultured.
The poem was forgotten the second that he and Selene paused next to the supine guards. He looked down into their slack faces. This whole experience had been surreal. He knew these men. By name. Knew that one of them had children. One was newly married. And yet - they had chosen to obey the regent. Better they die now.
Once Vangelis started speaking again, he looked up to find a uniform and armor being pushed towards him. Without asking why, he simply put on the armor, securing it by its clasps, and placed the uniform over that. He placed the helmet on and grinned at Vangelis. “If we make it through this alive, I will go to whatever battle you want. You just say the word.”
Placing his hands on his hips, he glanced around for Selene, waiting for her to change, since she’d likely need to slip out of the dress she was wearing and into the men’s tunic. Then he looked back at Vangelis. “Women take forever.” And then he looked Vangelis over again. “Not that you’d be acquainted with that problem, I suppose.” He remembered the last time he’d tried to get Vangelis to loosen up. That hadn’t gone well. Instead of the two of them ending up with girls in their laps, they’d wound up naked in the public baths together. A mental image he wished he didn’t have.
Selene hadn’t been sure that Vangelis had a plan that would work, and she hadn’t been about to not follow through with her own. So the guards along the way had been rightfully inebriated with the help of Jo. But her part of the plan hadn’t come into play because she’d been called to Pia’s room for the baby. It would figure that this would happen, because a laboring Queen had not been a part of the plan. But there was little she could do about it now.
As she tried to settle into the bed with Pia, the door opened and Vangelis walked through with his own guards. From the looks of it, he had a plan of action to get them out of the room.
And her heart soared, ignoring the pointed look in her direction.
Her focus was on her sister, only half listening to Vang as they worked to get her up. But then, they were directed to move the Queen back to the bed so she could rest until they were ready. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Selene moved to follow the men out of the room. She followed without a word, unsure exactly what her role would be in this whole thing. And then he pointed out his plan, and she was blinking as she was offered the armor. Looking down at her dress, then the armor, then back at the men, she blinked again. ”And you thought my plan was crazy.” She said under her breathe, not quite sure how anyone would believe that she was a guard. Especially not with her feminine gait.
Pulling up the skirts, refusing to look at either of the men as she exposed her legs, Selene pulled the leather pants on, tucking the intricate skirts into them. With the top, she turned so just her back was to them. Her fingers flicked the necklace with expert precision as the silks flutter down. She was quick to put the rest on, pulling the tunic down over the top. Turning back, she glared at Stephanos, ”Speak for yourself, pretty boy.” she said, playfully slapping his shoulder. Pulling the small combs from her hair, she let it all fall around her shoulders. With practiced speed, her blonde curls were twisted into a high bun, combs rearranged to keep it in place.
Stephanos' comments on the old lady had Vangelis' lips twist and a heavy exhale leave his nose in amusement. Clearly, there was no love lost there. Which suited Vangelis just fine. He didn't need another passenger to try and rescue from the palace. The old woman would stay behind. Not that he would leave her to be - as Stephanos eloquently put it - hung from the ceiling by her ankles. But he would simple ensure that she returned to her rooms and was never connected with the escape. They were already going to be laboured with one woman who could barely walk. He wasn't about to be saddled with two, if he could help it.
When the two of them started to change and Stephanos commented on the debt he would owe to Vangelis, the Colchian simply shook his head.
"Sure, you'll owe me your life, so I can send you into battle." He commented dryly at the irony of that and left it be. He was uncomfortable at the idea of owing Stephanos anything. Mostly, because he was doing this for two reasons. One, it was the right thing to do – no thanks or debt required. And the second he didn't want to contemplate right now. But it made him severely uncomfortable. So, he wasn’t about to idle away time on a conversation that simply reminded him of the dangers he was putting himself and his kingdom in by doing this. Or the reasons why he was here in spite of that. Instead, he focused on simply narrowing his eyes at Stephanos comments regarding his experience with women.
Really? Now, the man wanted to crack jokes? Luckily, Selene didn't give him a lot of opportunity to be proven right.
Watching as Selene changed, his brows rising slightly in surprise at the flash of long, slim legs, Vangelis was quick to glance away when she turned her back to remove the top half of her chiton. Once she had the armour in place, her feminine frame was bulked out, her legs were covered by pants (thank God, as no man would believe the limbs he'd caught sight of would belong to a man) and then tugged on the uniform over the top. She piled her blonde locks atop her head, which would be hidden well inside the conical shape of the helmet she still held in her hand. She then asked him what was next.
Frowning, his expression remaining cold, Vangelis quickly assessed the woman was being far too obvious. It was one thing to disguise a woman as a man – his key reference they being Nike. But apparently it was entirely different to cloak a woman of Selene’s breeding and appearance as a member of the harsher sex. Looking around for something that might fix the problem, Vangelis quickly bent down to rub his hands, one at a time, over the dusty tops of his boots. He then stepped towards Selene, hands outstretched, and, too quickly for her to back away from, cupped her face between his palms.
The touch should have been intimate, but his thumbs brushed over her cheeks quickly and his expression remained blank and remote as he worked. He wiped the residue across her face in a way that dimmed her appearance rather than making her appear dirty, smoothing out any clear streaks or marks; the earthy tone of the dust diminishing some of her radiance that shone from her skin. She walked around as she was and her pale face was going to shine like a beacon. No man - no soldier - was ever that clean. They were tanned, darkened with the heavy sun and turned sturdy by their duties.
As Vangelis felt the curve of her jaw against the base of his roughened palms, his touch turned, just for a moment, from fast and efficient to slow and considering. It was only a second and only as the pad of his thumb moved from the bridge of her nose down and over the apple of her cheek. And then he had let her go, reaching for the neck scarf he wore around his throat. He took the fabric and, before protests could be made, wrapped it around Selene's neck, tugging it high to cover her chin and lips. The snatched the helmet from her hands and put it on over her hair. What was left was a limited amount of her face and even that was now murky with tan.
It wasn't brilliant, but it would do for a passing glance.
"You'll have to try and walk straighter." He told her, worried that she would be too short. "Don't sway. Take heavy steps."
Taking a step back, and appearing to dismiss her from his thoughts entirely, Vangelis withdrew a long knife from his belt, the metal keening in the air and the light of several candles flashing over its smooth surface. He turned upon the two unconscious guardsmen. He moved himself to one knee in front of the first, his knife high and in hand. He glanced back at Selene.
"Turn away." He told her, not wanting to commit such an act of violence against an unsuspecting man before her gaze. He glanced towards Stephanos in the hope that he understood the need to get her to turn around. The guards on the floor had lived only this long because he couldn’t get blood on the uniforms they needed to use. But the men had seen Selene enter the room, had seen himself and his guards come in. All it would take would be for them to wake up in a few hours, sound the alarm and inform Prince Irakles of exactly who had entered the rooms. Guilt would fall on all of them. And whilst none of them would be free of suspicion come morning, theory was not fact without witnesses and evidence.
Only once he was assured that she wasn’t looking, did Vangelis throw his enclosed fist – holding his knife downwards – into an arching strike. The blade sunk through sink, between the ribs and into the guard’s torso, stilling his heart almost instantly. His body had jerked, his eyes opened, as if shocked from his slumber by his own death, but then he fell back quiet. Vangelis repeated the action over the other man, his face grin but his actions as merciful as he could make them.
“Put their weapons in their hands.” He told his own men, who quickly picked up the blades they had set aside, unsheathed them and placed them in the loose and open grasp of their deceased owners. Vangelis wiped the blood from his blade onto the tips of each. At least now the men would be buried or cremated as loyalists who died with honour following the regents’ orders. A man who died in the name of their ruler received recompense for his widow. A man who died a traitor or incompetent were heralded as criminals and their children left to starve. Having just taken their lives, it was the best he could do.
Unable to equip, Stephanos and Selene with the swords of the now dead guardsmen, Vangelis simply unsheathed several of his own weapons and handed them over. The sword he gave to Stephanos, the long knife he had used on the men, he wiped down over his pant leg and gave to Selene. It was a better size and weight for her and would fit in the sheath Furon held out to her, appeared as a long-sword at her hip.
“Now, we see if Her Highness is able to walk.” He told the two of them before setting a hand on the hilt of the sword he still wore and headed back towards the sleeping quarters of their royal suite.
Pia felt relief as Vangelis told her to rest a moment longer while they prepared to leave. With Desma's help she settled back onto the bed, the break in contractions a welcome repose and she closed her eyes with her hands resting on her stomach as the older woman bustled about searching for things they would need to take with them. A sprig of chamomile was pressed into her hand, and as Desma wrapped up a few other herbs and supplies for the birth, she explained that while this would not slow down the labor, it would do as well as anything else to ease the pain and help her stay relaxed.
Chewing the herb as instructed, the queen could feel another pain rising after a while and though she had promised to be as quiet as she could, this one was far more intense than the others even with the effects of the herb. With a cry of pain, she tried to stifle it as much as possible while her stomach felt as if it was being squeezed in a vice grip, as if one of the gods had gripped her belly and were trying to force the child out on their own will. With a frown, Desma hurried from the room and left her alone, unable to catch her breath as tears ran down her cheeks.
The older woman emerged into the main room after the guards had been dispatched, not blinking twice at the sight of the blood and change of clothing, addressing the crown prince, king, and lady before her in hurried tones that didn't entirely drown out the sound of suffering from the other room. Her lady was in for it now, and the longer they waited the less time between these episodes they would have.
"Your highnesses, the best chance you have to leave the palace is between this pain and the next. They're growing stronger. Once she can stand again, you must go." Her attention turned to Lady Selene with a sad smile, and she held out the small basket of things she had prepared in the room. "I know I cannot go with her, this will help as much as anything to take care of my lady."
It was only after she received an affirmative response that Olympia should be up and moving that Desma returned to help Olympia stand, wiping sweat and tears from the girl's face before easing her up and wrapping the cloak around her shoulders. Allowing the pregnant woman to lean on her as much as her old bones could allow, Desma assisted Pia out to the last chamber in the rooms before giving them all one final look. With a nod, she opened the door and tutted out into the corridor, headed in the direction opposite where Vangelis would try to sneak them out and making a loud fuss to draw attention from where the royals would be found.
Drawing herself up to standing fully, Pia steeled herself with a deep breath before pulling the hood of the cloak up over her head. They had to leave now while she could still walk on her own, she had been briefed to the extent that her nursemaid knew, and though she was terrified to give birth without her constant companion, to give her child a chance at survival she had to do this without her.
He grinned when Selene punched him on the shoulder and made like he might do it back to her, but the moment passed when Olympia’s dragon shuffled into the room. His smile faded as the reality of what they were about to do re-settled into his mind. In the momentary excitement of seeing Vangelis and now having the ability to escape, he hadn’t made it around to the part where they needed to actually do it. Properly composed now, he eschewed the elation from himself and squared his shoulders.
The deaths of his guards was a sad thing, but it was between him and them. He watched without comment as they were dispatched and then accepted the sword handed to him. Attaching it to his belt, he waited for Desma to bring out Olympia.
As he watched his wife walk out of the room with the help of her nursemaid, he found himself proud of her, and refused to allow himself to feel any fear for her. There was no room or time for those kinds of thoughts. She must walk. There was no other choice, for the time being. Once outside the palati, if they made it that far, he’d be happy to carry her if she needed or wanted.
Though where they were meant to go from Vasiliadon was still a mystery. They were in danger as long as they stayed in Taengea itself. While he did not want to leave...it had probably come to that.
He glanced from his wife to her sister, and then to Vangelis and the men with him. Drawing in a breath, he let it out and answered his wife’s question. “Right.” At least...that’s the way he would have taken usually. Glancing at Vangelis, he raised his eyebrows in a silent question as to whether or not that direction was even safe at this point. A silent, grave nod, and then Stephanos asked verbally, “Where from there?”
The palati had so many corridors, so many ways they could go, but with the Egyptians and the palati full of guests at the moment, not to mention Irkales’s presence, he wasn’t entirely sure which way was more heavily guarded. When Vangelis told him “Straight out the main gate,” Stephanos stared at him for just a second. Mentally he went through every corridor that would take them that way. All of which had guards - or should, at least. However, he hadn’t been out of this room in days, out of it this night, specifically.
Vangelis was no fool. If he said out of the main gate, then out of the main gate they would go.
Nodding, Stephanos waited by the door for the others to get behind him, then he opened the door and strode straight out of in, only marginally expecting to get impaled. When that did not happen, and the corridor to either side was empty, he breathed a silent sigh of relief through his nose, promised literally every god in the pantheon that he would pray more, and moved to the right.
He prayed that Athena walked with them now to give them wisdom, Ares for courage, Hermes for swiftness, and Eileithyia, the goddess who watched over pregnant women to help his poor wife along this daunting journey they had ahead of them. And lastly, he wished Hypnos could put all the guards to sleep because that would be just fucking wonderful.
The helmet he wore, that all his guards wore, was a fearsome thing to behold. Made of bronze, with side pieces extending down to protect the cheeks and a guard for the nose, it balance well on a man’s head, though he did not know how it would do for Selene. He hoped it wasn’t slipping all over the place, or, if it was, that she was able to walk in such a way as to keep it steady. All the helmets had a crest of scarlet red, made of horsehair, which rendered the wearer terrifying in the midst of battle, and not only represented the house of Mikaelidas, but was a tribute to the god of war as well.
The helmet was also heavy and even with the added slits beside the eyes, he still didn’t have full range of vision. At the first crossways of the corridors, he looked right and left. Up to now, he’d been walking at a healthy clip - not too fast in case they drew attention should someone come down the hall, and not slow, for the exact same reason. They were in guard uniforms. There was no reason to sneak. But even with the helmet, if he got close enough, someone might recognize his eyes and the lower half of his face. And Selene’s predicament was worse than that. In no universe did she look like a man. She was too beautiful. The lower half of her face would never stand up to scrutiny.
Because there were no guards at the moment, he risked looking back to Vangelis and shrugged both shoulders, holding up his hands to chest level in a ‘Which way?’ Once he had the direction, he strode to the left. The gods were with them as he saw, with a mixture of relief and anger, that the two guards passed out along the end of this hall. They were breathing and they looked to be sleeping off their drink. If he wasn’t working on escaping, he’d have them executed. The dedication in this palati was severely lacking.
Looked like Irakles wasn’t so perfect after all, if he couldn’t force his guards to do their job, he thought snarkily.
They met with no resistance whatsoever until they came to the next corridor where the guards immediately snapped to attention and peered at Olympia behind him. “Where are you taking the queen?” one demanded. “She’s to stay in the king’s rooms.”
She knew that he was putting a lot on the line to assist the King and Queen. And it wasn’t until her own confrontation with him that his mind seemed to be changed. Selene, while uneducated in the true politics of kings and men, wasn’t so foolish not to finally recognize that there was much at stake for him and the rest should they fail. Each time he looked at her, the hard edge to his stare brought a bit of shame to her. He was only doing this because she had so viciously attacked anything she had thought may wound him.
Selene would later reflect on the true meaning of her actions. On how she had been so sure he would save the day again that his initial refusal had all but betrayed the notion of him she had built in her mind. On the true danger in what she was asking him to do. On the reasons she felt it had been so safe to talk to him as if they were equals, when he could have had her killed for her impassioned but highly personal speech. On the way his arms felt around her as she collapsed against him in defeat.
Now, her focus needed to be on ensuring his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.
As he stepped up to her, cupping her cheeks, she didn’t look away. No, she deserved the intensity of his gaze, pained and angry. Her eyes were locked into his, unable to deny that the moment, even in its obvious discontented heat, was intimate. As upset as he was with her, each swipe was gently made, each trace of thumb on cheekbone done with care. Selene wanted to comment, to make the situation feel not so heavy between them. But it was, wasn’t it? He was going against every intuition and instinct to do this, and she couldn’t help but feel the weight of it. His hands dropped, the first task done, and then the scarf was wrapped around her face, covering up the feminine curves of her lips and chin. Time was critical, but that didn’t stop her from reaching up and grabbing his hand, stopping him long enough for their eyes to meet. ”Thank you.” She said, hopefully loud enough that he would hear.
Helmet slapped on her head, she once more focused on the task at hand.
Walk straight. Don’t sway. She could do that, with a nod, she watched carefully as he moved to the guards who had provided the cover. Selene’s eyes went wide, because it suddenly became very apparent that these would not be the first lives lost in this plan. People would die, more than just the king and queen. Another burden she would have to carry in this.
Because of that, she almost ignored his request. She should see the light go from their eyes, as she was practically their executioner. But a second glance at Vangelis made her think twice, so she spun on her heels and did as he asked.
The guttural sounds of death were quite punishment enough.
Selene turned back, pale and a little lightheaded, just as he was wiping the blood and handing her the knife. There was hesitation— her knowledge with a blade was incredibly limited. But the look in his eyes told her to take it. She didn’t even realize she had until it was in her hand. Looking down at it, more and more of the weight of her choice was crashing down on her. Could she kill to protect those she loved? Would she?
His guard, knowing the hurry in their actions, didn’t waste time as he added the sheath to her disguise. And she didn’t admonish him for not asking permission first.
It was then that Desma entered the room, pressing the basket with instructions into her hands. She tried to focus on them, tried to remember the exact directions. Lavender and chamomile to relax, clary sage to increase the contractions once they were safe— but all she could do was think of the consequences. That the old lady would most likely die, too. She gave her a quick embrace before Pia stepped out. Instantly, Selene was at her side, adjusting the cloak a bit. ”We are to take you. Just follow us. Perhaps we can manage into between pains.” she wanted to whisper a suggestion to cry a bit— men seemed wary of a woman in tears. And perhaps it would keep other guards from asking questions.
But before she could give the advice, they were leaving through the front doors.
As they walked through the halls, she couldn’t help but noticed the ones she had worked her magic on. Between her flirting the morning before and Jo’s offering of mead and wine, the number of guards along their path was lessened. ”Good,” she whispered deeply to Pia, ”I was concerned Jo wouldn’t have enough.” Her slave was pretty, and Selene would have to make sure to thank her accordingly. The only reason she had allowed her involvement was because Alastair would see her safely to the docks, where she would wait for him and Selene to return with Pia.
They came around another corner, and she froze, hand gripping the arm of her sister. She was trying to think of an excuse, trying to come up with something to say.
When Selene caught at his hand, Vangelis stilled in his process of putting the helmet on her head. But only long enough for her to murmur the words of thanks. His nod in response was so slight it was almost imperceivable. The rest of his actions followed through with the speed of efficiency, in a manner that suggested he had not heard, nor responded, to her gratitude. This wasn't the place to talk of this or to consider the connection he now had with Selene. Their friendship had now changed and Vangelis had a suspicion he knew what to, but he wasn't about to try and deeply analyse his feelings for her - or lack thereof, whichever it turned out to be - right here and now in the middle of a rescue operation. His mind just wasn't in a position to think in that manner, already rigged to judge his surroundings with the eye of a warrior, rather than a man.
The Queen was brought out into the main chamber and Vangelis was, once again, impressed by her determination. He watched as the nursemaid was smart enough to recognise that her presence with the Queen would not only be suspicious for a prisoner transfer but also a burden to their speed. That if she loved her mistress, she would be better off staying behind where her presence would be less of a threat. Selene took the small basket from her hands but Vangelis removed it quickly and handed it to one of his own men. Ecktor and Furon now still in the garb of palace servants and would be leaving them to their escape, walking out through servants' quarters without anyone stopping them regardless of notice. No-one in the palace would recognise them and no-one would stop a servant clearly on his night time duties.
With a brief nod of instruction, the two men left the room, carrying the basket that would look far less suspicious in their hands than that of a guardsman's and - to their credit - only hesitated a moment in leaving Vangelis. It was their duty to protect the crown prince. But it was also their duty to obey his orders. And they only paused momentarily when the two conflicted. They had known the plan ahead of time and Vangelis knew this to be the moment they had disliked the idea of. But there were only two guards’ uniforms available and they could only bring with them what they could easily wear or risk bulky, clanking bags of armour. It was the easiest way to get everyone out with the minimum amount of risk.
Ecktor and Furon left immediately after Desma, intending on doing the same thing - causing minor distractions that would not fall back on them, nor identify who they were, and would then simply walk out a servants exit and meet them outside and around the corner, where a carriage had been arranged to deliver the entire group from the palati to the docks.
When Stephanos then turned to Vangelis and asked which way to go, Vangelis had grinned a little and offered an arrogant tilt to his head.
"Straight out the front door." He told the man. "The guards are limited for appearances sake with the Egyptians. Once out the front gates, only the walking patrols on the roof will see us and by then they'll assume a party walking at a calm pace will have already been interrogated by the guards inside. They're trained to spot attack and escape, not casual movements of guards and patrols." He turned to look at Olympia. ”Just keep your hood up when outside. The angle of their view and your cloak will make you hard to recognise, even with your babe.”
When the two of them nodded and Stephanos began to lead his little family out of the chambers, Vangelis murmured that he would be around to help but they needed to make it to outside without him. He melted into the shadows a little, as the three of them walked down the corridors at a calm and careful pace, with Vangelis lurking just a turn or a pathway behind, a wraith in their wake that could watch for any issues that might occur.
Vangelis was pleased, and unsurprised, that Stephanos knew what he was doing. He stopped at every junction to check what was there, security wise. He paused or dodged around certain corners in order to avoid as many guards as possible. The ones that were there, he determined to walk straight passed without any hint of guilt or suspicion. Even Selene was managing to walk a little less like a lady, though she was slightly robotic.
Very aware of their limited time between Olympia's moments of physical pain - if she gave a cry now they were all done for; guards would come running in every direction - Vangelis kept himself at the back of the party, a corner or corridor behind them, ensuring that he wasn't seen in their presence. He could not have himself identified as being a part of the small group who had led the Queen from the palace. Instead, he timed the group, assessed how far they still had to go, watched as the guards they managed to successfully pass looked at one another or murmured something in suspicion but never allowed their doubts to rise high enough to act. Stephanos' confidence and step as a military man was clearly very convincing.
They managed almost the entire way to the main doors, before one group of guards - stronger in number, for there were three of them - were brave enough to step up and realise something was amiss in the Queen being moved. Vangelis kept where he was, behind a pillar a little ways off, as he checked to see if they could handle it themselves.
He saw Stephanos' lips move, clearly speaking quietly so as not to have his voice travel. Vangelis was no lip-reader but he spotted a few words and knew the King was explaining (hopefully in a voice that was unlike his own) that the Queen was being transferred on Prince Irakles' orders. When it looked like the guards were suspicious of such instructions and moving closer to assess the guardsman who was indeed their King, Vangelis' gut told him that this was a little too close for comfort and he quickly stepped forward into the corridor.
"You there!"
His voice carried down the hallway - hopefully only to the men it was aimed at and not every other patrolling soldier in the palace. Vangelis stormed down the corridor towards them, his carriage straight, his weapons impressive and his expression stormy.
"I have been waiting to speak with the King for over an hour. What precisely is your excuse for having me seated in some chamber in the middle of the night without consideration and my request for an audience ignored?"
Whether it was his direct question, his stomping stride or his facial features twisted into an expression of angry irritation - not a good look on the Blood General of Colchis - the men who had been staring intently at Stephanos now had their eyes firmly rooted on the charging bull approaching their position.
"Prince Irakles said I was permitted an audience. An audience is what I would lik-" He cut off as he drew closer to the group. "For Gods sake, what are you still doing here? The Prince ordered her moved an hour go. Get out of my way." His words were accompanied by an imperious throw out of his hand in the direction Stephanos needed to go, before pointing a directive finger at the man whose mouth was still open as if he wanted to stop them, firmly drawing his attention from the retreating group, to Vangelis accusatory tone.
"You are going to stand here and explain to me why the crown prince of Colchis has been waiting without refreshment or explanation. I had thought the timing of my visit was indicative enough that this was a matter of some urgency. I don’t make house calls in the middle of the night for no reason. Yet I am told that - despite the King being on house arrest - he is unable to be seen. What have you done? Lost him?"
"No, my Lord- I mean, Your Highness. I only just came on duty I don't know-"
"And that's your excuse is it?" Vangelis demanded, his voice damning and harsh as he watched the little group leave from his peripheral, the other two guards glancing between the departing Queen and Vangelis clearly believing that should double check the circumstances with the prisoner but not wishing to bring down the wrath of the Colchian laying into the comrade.
It was natural human instinct. Vangelis had learnt it well over the years. The threat immediately before you was always more controlling and determining than any potential threat you could envision in the future. Regardless of the severity of either.
"Soldiers in Colchis are alert and aware the second they are on duty. They also don't slouch." This last he directed over the man's shoulder at one of his peers, who instantly straightened his spine.
The fact that this anger and interrogation of the palati guard was entirely out of character for Vangelis mattered not. These men had no idea who he was, they had never met him on a personal level. Instead, all they knew was that he was the Colchian crown prince, that he was known as the Blood General and that now, he was very angry with them in particular. It was enough to hold their attention for far long enough for Stephanos to lead his little family beyond the final corner that would eventually take them outside and onto the street where a carriage was waiting down and around the palati wall out of sight. It would take them to the docks without him for now...