The cool sea breeze caressed Meena’s face, drawing back the brunette strands of hair that had fallen free from her braided bun. She could almost taste the salt in the air and feel the spray on her blushed cheeks from the Taengean harbor, which rested off in the distance. Just past docked sails, cerulean waves cast to and fro’, causing Meena to wonder why Poseidon was so restless. Yet, even in this state of uproar, the billows caught the favor of the rising morning sun and glistened with the most beautiful dimensions of blue. Within her deep umber eyes seemingly lied a darkness, testament of her irate mood. She gave a forceful huff of air before finally turning and heading back to the manor.
She’d woken late into the night to escape to the stables. It’d been nearly a week since she’d last ridden Arion, her Arabian stallion. His coat was hued in the most fathomless ebony. He’d once braved the terror of battle as a fine warhorse and had been gifted to the Mikaelidas house a few years prior in honor of the retired Taengean general. Meena took to the indomitable horse right away. “He reminds me of you.” She’d quipped to Irakles with a pixieish smirk when the beast had been presented to him.
From that day on she had always preferred to care for him and it had been incredibly difficult for her to trust anyone else with that responsibility. However, as time went on, she could no longer allow that time away in the stables to interfere with her duties as a lady. So, after much persuasion she reluctantly adhered to the advice of her peers and hired somebody to specifically look after Arion for her. He was her most prized possession, so imagine her rage when she arrived to his stall and discovered that he had been severely neglected by the keeper. The poor creature was dangerously dehydrated, almost near death upon inspection and the hired hand was nowhere to be seen.
“Whip him.” She callously ordered after he was found straddling a lover in the rear of the stable instead. How dare he be so abusively careless! Not only had he been permitted to reside there, but he’d also been given a handsome allowance. “This is how you repay the House of Mikaelidas?” she questioned coolly, using all of her restraint not to lash out against the young man and beat him herself. Her eyes solidified into a steel gaze, void of remorse. “Two lashes for each day he failed his duty. Two lashes, because his negligence and lack of consideration has affected two lives- his own and my steed’s.
Afterwards discharge him from this land. Send missive of his incompetence to the other lords in case he tries his luck with another house. All of Taengea shall know of his stupidity.” She spat before turning away. The guards stepped forward before forcefully yanking him back and tearing at the loose ends of his shirt, ripping it right off...
~
That night she slept in the stables, outside of Arion’s stall. Every other hour she would wake to check on him, replenish his water and soak small bundles of hay, a trick her father taught her as a child. A rabid sob broke through her masked countenance when she reached up to comfortingly pat his muzzle and his still blazing temperature stung through, mocking her efforts. Grabbing a few linens, she dipped them into the cool water and applied them to his frame. She remained there with him until the first of the morning birds started to sing. Beckoning the other stable boy, she instructed him to stay there and keep a watchful eye on the horse. She intended to return to the manor to bathe.
Irakles had not been home for a while, but she considered begging his help once he returned. He’d had more years of experience in dealing with battle horses and perhaps gleaned some knowledge of these situations. Though, it was no secret to him that Meena sometimes did this, she would never allow him to see her in such a commoner’s state- filthy and unkept. She’d often wait until he was gone before sneaking away into the stables. She was never entirely comfortable with how he might respond, but it was the only thing that gave her solace after Tasia was born.
During the first few years, the weight of the empty manor walls would crush her whenever the prince was occupied elsewhere, especially during times of war. There’d been many nights that Meena silently cried herself to sleep with feelings of abandonment and neglect. Other times it was the raw fear for the uncertainty of everything in her life that kept her awake. She was a new mother, entirely alone and at the mercy of Myrto. Meena acquired her keen awareness over those years, constantly glancing over her shoulder in her lover’s absence. She’d quickly taken to hiding a small dagger within her clothing should an unfortunate circumstance arrive. But, every time that Irakles returned, her facade appeared with him, full of self-assurance and stately pride. It wasn't long before that became her truth.
Stepping into the manor she hastily made her way to her quarters in order to strip and wash herself of the night before.
The coronation had been a trying time, both before and during the period. Now, after the whole event had been over for almost close to twenty four hours, Irakles found himself still up to his eyeballs dealing with dinners and meetings he's agreed to with people he met during the coronation. Many of them had approached him during the event itself at the Dikasitrio, as well as at the celebration ball where Stephanos got himself in an even greater fix from the promise he gave the Taengean lord in court, witnessed by every other Taengean nobility present on that evening.
It was no wonder his job was getting easier.
To a certain extent, Irakles was... glad? While he had intentionally decked out the coronation with the most lavish of decorations and fixings, resulting in many of the nobility asking if the prince agreed with such a show of wealth when the kingdom was in need of such gold to rebuild and fix all that the Creed had ruined, what happened after was all his nephew's own doing. But it was part of his plan after all. He was betting on his nephew's known streak of impulsive behaviour to show, and show it did. That night, Irakles had returned to his manor with a smile of satisfaction masked by the cover of the night, and the days that followed resulted in Elise asking for Irakles to stay in the palati to assist Stephanos upon their return from the attack on the Creed.
He wished he could've been at the palace when the Queen Mother relayed such news to her son.
The result of him agreeing however, meant that Irakles had even lesser time to himself. As it was, he already spent many hours travelling between the manor and the palace, so in a sense, him moving to stay in the palace meant he could save himself some time. Many would question why he even had to return to the manor over the past month he has been assisting in the affairs of the Kingdom. Could he not simply have his documents delivered to him? Ujarak would surely not complain. To those, Irakles would toss a simple smile and state that he would like to spend some time with his daughters, always careful to omit Meena's name. While it was common knowledge that his mistress shared his household, and his legal wife was sequestered with Achilleas in his son's barony, it was still a topic Irakles did not broach in public.
Instead, he played the part of doting father to his daughters, and insisted that was why he returned to his manor every other day.
In truth however, Irakles scheduled many of his meals with the members of nobility who wished to see him. He would tell others who would listen, that it would be rude to simply take up a space in the palace with no prior invite (until recently that is, when Elise had asked for him), but in truth, Irakles needed the privacy and surety of secrecy the house Mikaelidas provided him when he met with the people who asked for him. They discussed topics of sensitive matters, those regarding the new monarch and the suitability of such a greenhorn in a position of ruling. Discussions he would much rather Elise not hear of, considering the Queen Mother now trusted him immensely to help her son. Surely she would not enjoy hearing Irakles not at all defending Stephanos as the noble house leaders asked if Irakles agreed with his decisions. While they were sound, there was no need for the retired general to say so out loud. Instead, he let his silence guide their imagination the way they wanted it.
That particular morning saw Irakles returning to the manor just after the morning meal, instructing for Ujarak to ensure all documents he was supposed to run through on his table for when he returned to the palati before the evening meal he was slated to share with his sister-in-law. When he arrived, the servants were quick to run to him. His words were curt, short but clear instructions that he was to share a meal with the leaders of the noble houses in Thessmea and Messenis, both of which had sent missives to him earlier stating their wish to visit. "Bring me a bath, and summon Meena to be ready for the meal. She is to join me." It was as he always was - quick, and to the point. He was a trained military male after all, and that meant he prioritizied his task list beyond all else.
Life was falling apart. The coronation had gone better than expected. With Irakles in charge of the planning, he’d almost expected the whole place to go up in flames or the Creed that he’d executed to have somehow gotten free and revolted. Or, perhaps, that he’d have been poisoned at the gathering afterwards. But, no, there’d been something so much worse than Irakles’s meddling.
He’d promised to obliterate the Creed. While that had always been his plan, he didn’t like getting trapped into it. But the wine had been flowing and his tongue had been loose and he’d allowed his temper to get the best of him. Added to that, he’d just found out that his uncle had been having dinners with members of the court. But not just his friends. Practically everyone.
Irakles had spies. So did Stephanos.
As soon as the morning meal was over in the palace, Stephanos had gone in search of his uncle. Only to be told that Irakles was on his way to his own residence. This was not exactly what he’d expected to hear. Since his father’s death, he’d been bombarded with his uncle’s ubiquitous presence. It now seemed that Irakles needed time away and that raised suspicions within the king. While he didn’t like his uncle so close, he didn’t like giving the man space, either. Too much space meant freedom. Of which Irakles deserved none.
Within minutes, he was in the stables and mounted onto the back of his mirror gray horse. If his guess was correct, Irakles would be just home. It was a bit petty, but if he could ruin Irakles’s life, just a little bit, he wanted to do so. The ride did not take long. He was within sight of Irakles’s house in time to see the servant still tending to Irakles’s horse. This was too perfect.
Dismounting in front of the gate, Stephanos called out to the stable boy and was granted immediate entry into the Archontiko. He was aware that he was breaking several terms of protocol, not least among them general politeness, but he was convinced his uncle was behind the deaths of his father and brother. The man deserved no niceties.
“Where shall I wait, uncle? While you’re finishing your bath?” he’d entered the house and caught the very last of Irakles’s barked statements.
He had not expected the voice of his nephew to creep up behind him. Irakles had left the palace knowing Stephanos was likely up to his nose in work, be it paperwork or dealing with policies or tax issues flooding in from all the various provinces of Taengea, all eager to make acquaintence or resolidify old bonds with the new King. Perhaps that was his mistake, as he did not ensure the young King had no way to leave, whilst he had to go through important meals with noble men and royal courtiers.
But well trained as he was, the only reaction Irakles had was a flinch that was unseen by Stephanos with his back on the younger male, before the elder one turned around, his smooth smile back in place as he greeted Stephanos with a light nod of his head. No one could notice the minute tightening of his grip on the himation, before he released it to the servant who had came running to take it from him, nor would anyone notice the gritting of Irakles's teeth. Instead, they would only see a pleasant smile carved on the prince's features as he spoke.
"That would take a long time, I am afraid, for I have many items to handle whilst in my private quarters. As I'm sure you would have. What brings you here, nephew? I would've thought you would be far too busy to come visit my humble abode?" It was an intentional implication he sewed into the fabric of his words, that Stephanos was, once again, impulsively running off to do things of his own accord, without considering what would happen to the running of a Kingdom should he not attend to matters quickly. While there was no one around to witness, per say, Irakles always believed in playing a part to its end, and that was not to say he could not sow some discontent in Stephanos's own mind.
"But should you dearly wish to wait for me so much, Stephanos, Lady Meena should be down shortly to attend to you. Perhaps you could even stay for the meal we are about to share the lords of the Houses in Thessmea and Messenis. You have not seen any of your vassals lately afterall, have you not?" Again, another slow smile on his lips, and without even giving Stephanos a final chance to respond, the elder prince turned on his heels and swept up the marble stairwell of the Mikaelidas manor, fully intending to take his own sweet time until just as the lords of the houses arrive.
Meena met her gaze in the small looking glass. Dark orbs, now cold and unrecognizable, stared back; the fiery passion which at one point blared through her eyes was now absent. But it was only a moment’s breath before that old flame licked through the apathy, reawakening the slumbering zeal within her. Her lips upturned with intrigue upon hearing the voices of Stephanos and Irakles echo from the entrance into the Archontiko. She was unable to make out what was being said, but a servant’s soft voice from the doorway caught her attention. “His Highness requests your presence, M’lady. King Stephanos has just arrived and the lords of the Houses in Thessmea and Messenis shall share our table tonight.”
Meena dismissed the servant with a nod before returning her attention back to herself. It would be of the utmost importance then that she looked presentable that evening. Under her own intense scrutiny, she was already finding several flaws, but fortunately they were all redeemable. Thank the Gods, she’d already bathed and washed the stable filth away. After that morning’s event, she’d made sure to take advantage of the scrubbing stones and each luxurious oil that Astraea brought her. A twinge of guilt pricked her heart at the thought of Arion, but she knew that she must prioritize. She made a mental note to consult Irakles for his advice after their political game of entertaining the king and the other nobles.
The sun had just set whenever she was ready. She was careful not to take too long, but she had insisted on ensuring her appearance was acceptable before finally reemerging from her chamber. A deep navy chiton clung to her frame, the skirt swishing softly with her movement. The fabric was cinched tightly along her upper waist and held in place at her shoulders by a fibula proudly engraved with the Mikaelidas House emblem. She wore a cluster of silver bangles along both arms and at her bare feet - an anklet dangling with precious metals that clinked during each step. Her dark curls were piled on top of her head and held in place by an elegant, yet simple, silver diadem. In its center rested a tear-drop pearl encompassed by smaller crystals.
Had she been feeling cocky, and stupid, she might have worn the House jewels that rightfully belonged to Myrto. Perhaps, Irakles might have even been entertained by the outright boldness of it after he was done being angry with her. Alas, she knew better than to provoke the guests. Besides, her presence at Irakles' side whilst his very in-laws were there was enough of a statement. It was well known among their peers of her place in his life and it would only be reiterated once more whenever she showed up as the Lady of the House instead of Myrto.
She’d already instructed her daughters to remain scarce for the evening, as Irakles would not take kindly to their distraction. Sara had been all too happy to accommodate, being the shy mouse that she was. Tasia, on the other hand, had put up a fight before begrudgingly stowing away in her quarters. The manor had since grown silent and Meena’s movement echoed through the halls before she finally emerged through the corridor at the top of the marble staircase. Her icy gaze swept across the foyer in mild contemplation before landing on Stephanos. He was alone. Irakles had yet to materialize from his chamber, which meant that she would be playing hostess until he showed up. Already, the evening had proved itself interesting.
“Welcome, King Staphanos.” She greeted warmly while casting Stephanos a polite, yet well-rehearsed, grin. She made her slow, deliberate descent down the steps before finally reaching the bottom where he stood. She peered up at him with a hint of knavery in her eyes before dipping her head towards the dining room. “You are welcome to join us for dinner. What brings you to our home this evening?”
Her words were carefully constructed, yet flowed off of her lips seamlessly. She was enjoying herself, perhaps a little too much. Yet, she thrived in this state. There was nothing more amusing to her than the cat-and-mouse game of politics. She loved the contrived nature of it all. It was almost an art form to see who could be the most beautifully cunning in these situations. Not to mention, she lived for the attention, both good and bad, that she received. She had hardly heard his response before she was sweeping towards the dining room where wine was most assuredly waiting along with fresh pieces of fruit, bread, and cheese.
When he’d spoke towards his uncle’s back, he’d hoped for a real flinch, or a stiffening of the shoulders. Perhaps for Irakles to whirl around and stare daggers into him. Those, at least, would prove the old man was rattled. But, when his uncle did finally turn, it was with the slow, casual ease with which he did everything. Perfectly. The smile that fixed itself on the prince’s face was one that made Stephanos nearly instantly see red.
He hated that smile. Had always hated it. This was the one that said, no matter what you say or do, I’ve already won. Whatever there was to ‘win’. And here, it was simply that he apparently hadn’t managed to send an irritating jab into Irakles’s side. That, in and of itself, made him feel like an outsider standing here. Again.
Irakles had a way of making him constantly feel or seem awkward when no one else on the planet could manage it. This had to be because his uncle was all that was evil, hidden behind a facade of kindness. Sometimes it made him feel like he was going crazy. A bit like now.
“I missed you,” he said sarcastically. The words were biting but not the clever, smooth retort he had planned. They just slipped out, like he was the one who’d been caught unawares.
A servant slipped out from around the corner, pulled in frantically by the bellowing of Irakles that still seemed to be ringing through the stone halls of the house. Stephanos watched the servant, rather than Irakles as his uncle prattled on. The only point of his uncle’s words appeared to be to needle him. Which he didn’t want his uncle to know had worked. So he pasted on a brilliant, patient smile, as though he was indulging a child, and watched the servant whisk the himation away.
But before he could slice into his opponent with a real jab, Irakles abruptly turned and swept from the room. Without having asked for leave or giving any sign that he was of the lower rank. Stephanos both wanted to order the man back and make him know his place...and also would have preferred execution by hanging before he’d let Irakles know how much the the simple action of walking out of the room made him seethe.
And then he was alone.
No servants, no cousins. Nothing. He, the king, was left alone as though he was a mere servant from his lord, sent to wait.
He worked his jaw but Stephanos was nothing if not as quick to get rid of his temper as he was to take it on. Rather than let his uncle get to him the whole time, he leaned against one of the columns in the house and folded his arms across his chest. Irakles had all but promised his wait would take an eternity, at least for the man of the house.
At the soft welcome from somewhere above him, Stephanos raised his eyes up to where Meena stood. She looked elegant and might have been even alluring if she didn’t belong to the man he hated most in the entire world. Still, his gaze did linger on the way she moved as she came down the steps and right over to him. He said nothing as she stared straight into his eyes before glancing away as though she hadn’t done it at all, and asking if he was staying.
If there was one thing he could compliment his uncle on, it was impeccable taste.
“Of course,” he said smoothly, smiling at her as he blatantly looked her over. “I haven’t ever been to see you, in your home.” Her home. As though Irakles's wife didn't exist. And really, who did think of Myrto? Stephanos couldn't throw stones at Irakles for a mistress, and wouldn't have anyway. He was just as guilty in such matters....though less blatant about it. With a smirk, he added, “Why else would I be here?”
Of course, all of this was both true and a lie. It was true that he’d never been here while she’d been in residence, but they both knew his visit had nothing at all to do with herself. He was like her, however. He liked games. And she was much prettier and far more fun to toy around with than the master of the house.
Turning her back to him, Meena’s lips curved upwards in delightful satisfaction at his words. However, the only acknowledgment she afforded him was a mischievous glance over her shoulder. Had she been younger, she might have tossed a teasing comment his way, encouraging his deliberate banter. But she’d since grown and gained a sense of pride that would not allow her to encourage him. At least, not so readily. She knew he was merely indulging her, most likely because of Irakles’ crass behavior towards him.
Oh, poor lamb. She thought with amusement. She couldn’t help, but view Stephanos as a wounded pup at the jaws of her lover. He’d placed himself there in their own home, knowing very well how he might be received. Pretty bold of him.
Meena made her entrance into the dining hall. The room was grandiose, with an intercolumniation leading out to a balcony. Set out before them was a long wooden table covered with fresh fruit, various cheeses, and several vessels of wine. Spread out around the table were luxurious couches meant for reclining. Meena beckoned towards the servants. “Wine.”
“The main meal is not yet prepared, as we were not expecting you.” She stated as she turned towards Stephanos, offering him a silver goblet of wine. “You will be forced to starve as the rest of us, I am afraid. Only until the lords of Thessmea and Messenis arrive.” She offered him a light-hearted smile, as if she hadn’t just damned the king to starvation, before bringing the goblet to her lips to sip.
She knew that she was walking a thin line of what was acceptable, but akin to Irakles she had no boundaries, perhaps, even more so. At least, not when he had left Stephanos for her to toy with. And never in her own home. “I notice that your wife is not here?” She queried with an inquisitive tilt of her head. Her tone was so innocent and sweet that her subtle jab might very well be missed by the king.
His eyes slid down her back as she turned away from him and he shook his head slowly as his appraised her. What a waste, he thought. What a waste of such a potentially interesting woman on an old man. The thought was a little grotesque, but he let his mind wander a bit and he found it funny to think about Irakles attempting to keep up with the animal this woman had to be. She could probably outlast the retired general for days if she felt like it and Irakles? Oh he’d had his day. A long, long, long time ago.
Now, of course, there were rumors that the prince wasn’t as fit as he once was, if the physicians were to be believed. And the king had very little reason to disbelieve them. More than that, he hoped that Irakles was boring as hell. It was nearly impossible to imagine that Irakles could let loose or be at ease in any facet of his life. Did he just sit there and make orders and demands until he came to a stone faced climax? Did Meena have to guess that anything had occurred?
It was with these amusing thoughts that he followed her wherever she led him through the house, until they came to the dining hall. Being a child of wealth and the opulence that came with it, Stephanos entered the dining hall without any sense of it being in any way extraordinary. It was a dining hall fit for a Mikaelidas and that was pretty much all he thought about it. His gaze did fall to the table as Meena turned to tell him in a terribly convincing, apologetic tone, that the food would not be ready for a little while.
While he had little enough reason to doubt what she was saying, he wasn’t in the least inclined to believe that she was put out with this. To his mind, she was every bit as culpable for his father’s murder as Irakles. She was stained by her lover.
But that train of thought he forced away. This was not a time to be dwelling on what Irakles had done or what Meena knew or didn’t know. He’d come to rattle his uncle and he couldn’t do that if the old man was already under his skin. He accepted the wine she handed to him, content enough that it wasn’t poison, since she’d had no warning of his impending arrival, and took a drink from it.
He smiled meltingly back at her and moved around her toward the table, keeping his attention on her as his hand sought out a grape and plucked it off the cluster resting on a silver plate. “Am I going to starve?” he asked, popping the grape into his mouth and chewing deliberately slow, still smiling, as though they were having an enchanting conversation.
This time, he turned his back on her as she noted his wife’s absence. Deciding to take a seat closest to the doorway, he reclined back on the couch, one arm along the back of it, looking up at her. “Such concern,” he allowed his gaze to slide away as though he was completely done with that tangent of conversation.
“This will be quite the feast,” he observed after a pause. “You’re very close friends with Thessmea and Messenis to have gone to such lengths to please them...or are they to be your friends here after?” Blue eyes found brown and he offered her one of his more charming smiles while gesturing to one of the couches. “Come. Sit.” It wasn’t an invitation.
Meena, internally, raised a brow at his question and allowed her imagination to roam. Starve? Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Could he? Could that even be possible- Wait! No. She hid the bemused grin that threatened to peak through. Dark as it was, she couldn’t ignore the humor that she found in the situation. The fact that she would even consider such a notion was outlandish. But, then again, Stephanos had found himself particularly on her bad side as of late. She wasn’t too pleased with how he’d dragged Irakles into the purge of the Creed. Enticing as her thoughts were, she reigned in her wandering mind. “Now, what use would you be to us then? You are needed by your people.” She answered with a laugh, a tantalizing lightness in her voice.
She kept her distance from the king, but kept her smile towards him cordial. She only permitted a dismissive wave of her delicate hand when he commented on the lords of Thessmea and Messenis – The family of her lover’s wife. If she had a moral compass then she might have been discomposed at such a brash subject and Stephanos’ broach of it. As a mistress, she didn’t have the luxury of virtue and, consequently, the societal benefits that accompanied all women who wore it. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t feel the slightest bit of annoyance at their mention. She simply donned her mask well. Nearly twenty years of bedding Irakles would harden any woman. She’d learned long ago not to care what people thought of her.
“They are my lord’s concern.” She sweetly answered, avoiding elaboration, before giving Stephanos a naïve shrug of her small shoulders. It was better that he perceived her as most people already did – The unsuspecting whore. Certainty of the depth of her involvement with the retired general would just have to elude the king. Meena would rather die than to allow anyone that admission.
She’d begun to get a tingling sensation, suddenly aware of Stephanos’ intense stare and she peered up. Her eyes lit like amber flames and a thrill licked through her when she boldly met his gaze, refusing to shy away. She hadn’t expected anything to happen, but in that moment, it was as if time had slowed just for her and allowed her to drink in the hue of his blue eyes. Their cerulean shade reminded her of Poseidon and she’d wondered if they’d always been so vibrant.
She’d heard of his charismatic nature and his philandering ways. His reputation far preceded him, perhaps, just as her own reputation did her. But, she was beginning to see why he had managed to gain the affection and support of his peers. Yet, the spell was broken when he flashed her his dashing grin and then proceeded to order her, more or less, over to his side. A shame. It appeared as if he could be charming... Until he opened his mouth.
She obeyed, but not without a defiant lift of her chin. “Very well.” She courteously replied, her blazing eyes all but amiable. It was only his title that granted such obedience from her. She posed herself along the edge of the couch closest to him. She crossed one leg over the other and suddenly leaned in towards him, her body language indicative of her interest. Wispy tendrils of dark hair had since fallen loose from their pins and Meena brush them back. “You will be a father soon.” She began with a coy smile, “Do you ever find yourself nervous at the prospect?”
Her defiance was well contained and appropriately done. Nothing that he could call her out on; the tilt of her chin, the flash of her eyes, the stiffness of her limbs - all of it betrayed that she did not want to do as commanded. This only made his smile widen until it reached full brilliance. It was petty in the extreme, but he took real delight in forcing both Irakles and his mistress to toe the line. To disobey was to break the law...and if he could just maybe get them to do it on something minor...but alas. Both his uncle and his...pseudo aunt were a little too clever for such paltry tactics, which merely meant that he was doing this for fun.
Once she’d perched herself on the couch, he’d intended to needle her further, but she was staring at him in such an intense way that he momentarily paused in what he was going to say. He’d seen that look before on other women and wasn’t totally sure what to make of it on her face. She wasn’t seriously...he shoved that thought violently from his mind. Just because he *could* probably have Irakles’s mistress didn’t mean he actually wanted to. She was...tainted.
Although his mind wandered for a second as she leaned towards him, her hip sliding closer. His eyes dropped to her legs as she crossed one over the other but he dragged his gaze back up to her face. He couldn’t imagine she was being serious but the signals she was giving off were a little difficult to ignore. Because there was no way on this planet that either of them were ever either going to act on these momentary impulses, or, even if the sky were to fall and the heavens to catch fire, they did, it wouldn’t be here and certainly not now. This meant he wasn’t uncomfortable in the least with her behavior. Likely she could straddle his lap and he’d still give her that easy smile that he usually wore.
His eyebrows raised just slightly when she broached the subject of fatherhood. She was bold but he hadn’t realized exactly how bold until now. Just like the subject he’d brought up of his aunt’s family had been little digs at her, she was doing the same. These court games they played. Little shards of glass under the other person’s skin but not blatant enough to call it a stabbing. They both knew very well that this child was far from his first. This would simply be the only one he’d claimed, as of yet.
What he did not like was her question about whether or not he was nervous. It was difficult to tell if this was a veiled threat or not. With Meena, he decided, it was safe to take everything as a threat.
With one arm on the back of the couch, he leaned toward her close enough that his arm was practically around her at this point. They were apart just enough not to be touching. He parted his lips slightly and looked over the beautiful features of her face, her dark hair, her chin that she liked to use as her only means of blatantly telling him that she hated him. “What do I have to be nervous about?” His voice was smooth, pleasant, hinting towards flirtation. “This child is already very loved...and well protected.”
For an insane second, he seriously considered closing the distance between them. He hated her every bit as much as she hated him and he could only imagine what kind of fun that might be. Stephanos backed away instead, scooting to the edge of the couch, putting a fair bit of space between them again. This was toying with fire. She wasn’t at all who he’d wanted to see but his uncle was being infuriating by not having the decency to be around and stand there to take the veiled abuse.
“Was it the same with your daughters?” he asked casually, flicking his gaze elsewhere to break whatever this was between them. “Did you feel nervous?” She didn’t have anyone lurking around to murder them but he really did wonder if she’d ever felt any sort of shame for being so blatantly a usurper. Her very existence in this house was an active disgrace to Myrto. If someone could fault Irakles for something, surely it was being the biggest hypocrite in Taengea.
If Meena did feel shame, he thought, no one would ever know it. That trait was almost admirable.
Stephanos’ cockiness only proved to further infuriate her. She bit her lip in response, restraining her loose tongue from hissing anything that might get her killed. She let her icy glare speak for her. But he was enjoying this too much and she couldn’t allow him such satisfaction. He only seemed to acknowledge her jabs with a charismatic grin and that irritated her. She needed to change tactics.
Meena tore her gaze away from him and struggled to focus on the furthest wall. It provided the stability that she needed in that moment to collect her thoughts. Earlier, she’d fully intended on toying with the king, but she couldn’t help but feel like the roles were beginning to reverse and she didn’t understand why. She was quite accustomed to making others weak under her scrutiny, yet here she was on the receiving end. She hated that. Her small shoulders were thrown back and her chin tilted in pride. She refused to relinquish control and would hold on until the very last thread. She was prepared to sit there and ignore the very king of Taengea when he suddenly leaned in to give his response. “What do I have to be nervous about? This child is already very loved and well protected."
His voice was smooth and almost... Flirtatious? Her breath caught faintly and she became acutely aware of how close he was to her. Meena could feel the warmth that radiated off of him and she had the overwhelming urge to lean in. She had heard rumors of the many women that he’d taken to his bed and the curiosity of “what if” lingered in her mind. She knew that she could please him in ways that no other could and the desire to explore things further burned deep within her. She was dying to indulge them both and taste the forbidden fruit that she so despised. Then, her frame stiffened at her fervid imagination. She was painfully cognizant of the tension between them and her questioning gaze flickered to his arm which had somehow snaked its way around her. He was breaking all of the boundaries and he wasn’t even touching her... Yet.
However, just as soon as it began, it was done. The intensity between them dissipated the moment that Stephanos glanced away. However, her heart continued to thud in her ears and she felt as if she was waking up from a lovely dream. What terrified her the most was that she didn’t want to. She let out a quiet breath of relief anyway when he slid away from her. Good. Now that there was distance between them, she could gain some clarity.
A bitter laugh broke through her rigid exterior whenever he posed her own question against her. “I did not have the luxury of being king or even a man for that matter.” She stated dryly. She was considered many things. Vindictive, stubborn, prideful, a whore... But of what one could be certain was her blunt nature and anyone was capable of feeling the brutality of her honesty. “You are mistaken, my king, if you ever believed that I did anything less than fight to be where I am now.” She need not go into the detail of how she used to fear for her life. Irakles had not always been around to protect her. She’d developed a habit of looking over her shoulder and sleeping with a dagger. She’d even forced her daughters to sleep in her bedchamber whenever they were younger, fearing that Myrto would take them in the night.
Her darkened features lightened like that of the raging sea suddenly calmed by the sun, peaking through the clouds. “But, you do not wish to hear my tales of woe.” She continued with a polite smile. Whatever it was that had come over her was subsiding and she was beginning to regain her footing. The more she spoke, the easier she found it to breathe. “To answer your question, yes. Children are a blessing from the Gods. I will admit that I did find the task of raising them daunting.”
Her fingers slid across the smooth surfaces of her silver bangles, reminding her of her purpose and grounding her otherwise reeling mind. She needed more space. The charms on her anklet jingled and her bangles clinked as she rose to glide towards the table. “It is no revelation to me that you are at ease. Men do not feel the burden that women do.” She stated matter-of-factly, almost daring him to contradict her. She afforded him a victorious little smirk, her face delicately tipped over her shoulder and towards the king before turning her back entirely to him.
The deep navy fabric of her chiton slid tautly against her hips as she made her slow, deliberate saunter around to the other end of the table, desperate to widen the gap between them. She crossed an arm, allowing her fingers to slide reassuringly into the curve of her waist, a subconscious indicator of her own angst. Yet, she kept her mask intact so that none should ever know the restlessness she felt. Needing to busy herself she reached towards the seeds of a pomegranate that were displayed across a silver platter. Bringing the ripened, deep red fruit to her lips she bit into it, relishing the crunch of the seed before its sweetness exploded across her tongue.