Chapter 9

With their bodies entangled in the sheets, wrapped around each other, the world outside seemed to be far, far away. Collapsed again into serenity, their breaths slowly evened out as they said nothing and relished in the moment. It was pure stillness, which they chose to break when a hand wandered too far, or a gaze led to a kiss that went on for too long. Again and again they played the game, they shared smiles and heard each other's heart as it skipped a beat.

Their bodies cast shadows that began to grow longer. It was by mid afternoon that the relative quiet was broken by the arrival of the men who'd led the attack on the envoys. Phobos' station meant that their time together had come to an end; they would bring news for him to listen to, and questions for him to answer. Ophelia watched him dress himself in silence, still reeling from the afterglow of their embracing.

"You've changed," he said as he combed his hair. His emerald eyes looked piercing, their shine full of intensity. "It's been only a few weeks, but you seem… more at ease. Byzantium is losing its grip on you."

Ophelia rested her head on top of her knee, half hugging it as she pondered over his words. "I've learnt a lot and met a lot of different people in such a short span of time… there is not time for me to think of that place. I feel more at home, now."

He walked over to steal a kiss from her. His hand lingered on her cheek as she looked on with confusion. "Is… Arqa your home?" he asked.

"Hmm, it's not bad, but I would not mind going somewhere else."

Her answer seemed to satisfy him. He affectionately touched the tip of her nose, before grabbing his sword and knife, and excusing himself.

Alone, Ophelia hugged the sheets and thought about her options. She could make a run for it, try to return to the villa: this, however, would bring the Elysians to Hyperion's doorstep to demand explanations. She could remain there for a few days, and wait to see if the Phrygians created enough distractions for her to slip away to Hyperion's villa to ask him for help sending her somewhere else, away from Aegyr and his envoys. But now that she was next to Phobos again, she couldn't quite part ways with him just yet.

She'd felt it when she had laid her head on his chest and smelt his familiar scent; she had grabbed onto him, feeling her chest swell with warmth. She'd been bewitched, and deep down in her heart, she wondered what would happen should she stay a few more days by his side…

And so she dressed herself, tucking underneath the mattress the outer coat she'd received from Hyperion, as well as all his jewellery. The gesture felt strangely bizarre, like a deceitful lover trying to hide her husband's gifts in front of her paramour, and wondered how much of what the merchant had playfully said to her had really got under her skin. She kept the distinctly Chaldean underdress – which was made of two pieces, a long tube-like skirt that went up above her waist, and a short-sleeved shirt. Both were colourful, with edges trimmed with gold, but were still decidedly less fanciful than the black silk garment she'd arrived in. She knew that among the taller, bright-eyed Phrygians she'd stand out like a sore thumb; she was relying on her clothing and style to avoid the comparisons to the Elysian aristocracy she knew were likely to happen.

She left the room with the sole purpose of wandering around. Perhaps, she'd be lucky enough to hear what had happened to the Elysian envoys, and how the city had responded to that new attack. The smell of a broth stewing caught her attention, and she walked downstairs to find herself right in the middle of the busiest kitchen she'd ever seen.

There must've been ten women, easily; all bent over the wooden counters against the walls or over the large table in the middle, chopping vegetables and fresh herbs, slicing through large pieces of ham, organising everything into wooden bowls and trays. They were mostly her age, perhaps some of them in their early twenties: the oldest ones, above forty, were all in the next room, minding the fire and the large pots with the stew. They all shouted at each other their requests, which would crash without forgiveness over the gossip that two or three of them would be sharing with the rest.

The moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, all chatter died down. About ten pair of eyes studied her in silence with the same level of wariness and intrigue that the appearance of a wild beast would've demanded. Two of the youngest women murmured something amongst themselves, eliciting frowning stares from them and some of the women who had heard them.

"Hm, pardon the interruption?" Ophelia said after a while, unsure of how to feel about their reception. "I came here with Phobos earlier, I was..."

"It's his Highness," one of the older women in the next room had emerged from the doorway, and was sternly staring at her. "You speak Phrygian?"

Ophelia nervously nodded. "We'll have someone bring you food," the woman said curtly. "You should keep yourself to your room."

Ophelia stared at the woman for a moment. The weight of the dozen or so stares felt heavy on her body, and she turned around to climb upstairs once again before she stopped. Hyperion and Phobos had once called her brave, and she suddenly felt like she would be letting them down if she submitted so readily. She looked back, noticing the older woman was still standing her ground, and asked, "why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why should I keep myself to my room? Am I a prisoner?"

That she should dare question a matriarch was, as one would expect, a shock to the women present. Murmurs sneaked through the room, as gazes went back and forth between her and the older woman. The latter looked just as steely as before. "As I'm sure his highness has informed you, this place hosts a number of His loyal men. Such are things that folks might not stop twice to give the benefit of the doubt to foreigners with shadowy politics, and an accident may happen."

Ophelia turned around to fully face her. "It brings me no small amount of ease to know my safety is a concern, my lady. I will savour your food doubly tonight."

With a small nod of her head, Ophelia went back to her room. She wasn't concerned about her safety, but she was in no mood to deal with their hostilities. If that was the treatment she would have to endure there, perhaps she would leave in the morning.

Someone's toothy, excited grin, however, improved her mood a few hours later.

She could've been in the room when the exchange had happened, or she could've heard it from someone else: Ophelia couldn't quite remember her face being there. But the younger woman, who seemed to have just left her teenage years behind, showed up with a tray with food for two, and a lot of questions on her mind.

"They're all being careful, but they're very nice," Lyra, the girl, said as she invited herself to Ophelia's bedroom and left the tray on the desk. "I thought you'd like some company," she sheepishly justified herself. "I hope you don't mind."

"It's all right," Ophelia waved off her concerns, and then pointed out that there was only one chair. Lyra jumped up and went to grab one from the next room, while the older woman moved the desk so that it'd function as a table for the two of them. It was a heavy one, made of old oak, but she pretended it was her strength and not her powers that were able to lift it as she moved it across the room. Lyra, who came in to see her put it down, looked at her in wonder: "I was going to do it myself; I thought you were such a tiny little thing!"

"I am full of surprises," Ophelia said mysteriously as she sat down.

"Your Phrygian is so good," the girl commented. "Try as I might, I can't hear a hint of a foreign accent. Is that something that all translators do?"

"I'm… very peculiar. I can pick up languages very quickly, and speak as if I had learnt it from my own parents."

"I heard that a Chaldean had enslaved you in Caudiceum and had been forcing you to help the Elysians; that you met his highness on the way to Arqa."

Ophelia smiled to herself at Phobos' heavily edited version of the events. It was slightly comical that his storytelling seemed to align very well with his general sentiments towards Hyperion.

"I also heard that…" Lyra leaned in, smile never faltering. "His highness had fallen in love with you. He was very adamant you were rescued the moment Lord Valor proposed the attack."

Ophelia's smile pursed slightly. "Is that so?"

Lyra frowned. "Is it not true, then?"

"You can ask your prince. Perhaps it'll be better to hear it from his mouth than from someone else's gossip."

The girl didn't miss the sharp tone, and jumped back, hands up and eyes wide. "Oh! I've been misunderstood! My apologies…" she exclaimed. "I've been told I shouldn't be this nosy. I didn't mean to gossip! I thought it was fascinating, and I was very curious…"

Her manner was sincere enough that Ophelia took some pity on her. "Certain things are difficult to discuss, my lady. It's all right. But what do you find fascinating about this entire thing?"

"It's almost like a story! A prince and a poor, enslaved woman, having to be rescued from the horrible harem of a greedy merchant…" Lyra's eyes were lost in her own fantasies, and Ophelia couldn't contain her laughter.

"I see, I see," she said. "Certain things in the last few months have felt a lot like fantasy to me, as well. I'm sure that you've also lived through some interesting times…"

Lyra's smile faltered ever-so-slightly, but her bubbly demeanour crumbled miserably and with such speed that Ophelia almost jumped to apologize for her words. "It's an adventure that keeps dragging on, and becomes more nightmarish as time goes by…"

"How long have you been away from your homeland?"

"Half a year," she said sadly. "I miss the pines that grew around our ancestral home, the snow in the winter… We used to hold bonfires to mark the passing of the seasons, big feasts to celebrate a birth, a marriage… But ever since we had to flee, I have seen none of that."

"What about your family?"

"My parents were taken prisoners; my father-in-law and my husband took me and my sisters, and we escaped together. Like a lot of other nobles, we had to leave our land, our servants, our wealth behind. It's been very difficult, moving from country to country, as we're nothing more than desperate foreigners to them," she smiled softly. "But we'll return, I have faith in His Highness."

The silence that ensued felt awkward to Ophelia, who didn't know how to convey her feelings of sympathy without feeling patronizing. Lyra, however, was too lost in her own musings to notice; it was, perhaps, such a mundane notion to her at this point that it merited no special commentary. "I do worry there won't be enough good men left for my sisters to marry," she finally said with a sigh. "We did manage to find someone for Ellir, but the rest…"

"How many sisters do you have?" Ophelia asked, more for the sake of continuing the conversation than any real curiosity.

"Four, but only three of them are marriageable. Ellir, she's the oldest after me, and she was hand-fasted to the third son of the Iyuhaan family, who's actually the second in the line of succession after his elder brother died a week ago. Then there's Lia and Luir, they're about the same age, and the youngest one, Mirr, she's no beauty and has very little skill in household matters, so she'll probably stay with me."

Ophelia frowned. "Why would that be an issue? Love can unite anyone."

"Love?" Lyra asked, more confused than anything at her comment. "Well, I certainly like my husband enough, but that comes with time. She has to be of some use to her husband in the first place; what's the point of getting married then? If she can't look after the house, how would we allow her to wed a man, and then see his fortunes reverse because of our negligence? That'd be too disgraceful, it would make trouble for the rest of us!"

As a woman from another time and space, Ophelia felt her tongue burning with rejection. But what to her was a simple conversation to them was probably hundreds of years of tradition; it felt like any challenge would be met with the resistance that anyone would have against a criticizing foreigner. She chose to be diplomatic. "Well, I hope you're able to find grooms for all your sisters."

"Thank you, I'm trying! But with all these raids, it seems like it'll become less and less likely," Lyra said with a frustrated smile. "I was afraid that someone would die earlier today."

Ophelia took that chance to find out what had happened. "Oh? So it went well, I take it? What about the Elysian envoys?"

"The Arqan military appeared and dispersed the mob just in time to save them," Lyra's tone turned angry. "Traitors! To their own people, no less. It was an Arqan mob that was about to give them their just retribution. But, don't worry – we'll get them sooner or later."

A smile was fabricated as a response, mindful of the earlier warnings she'd been given. She betrayed none of her sympathy for the poor Elysians who had merely been running an errand for Aegyr. Lyra kept on talking about the different men in the squad, to which families they belonged to: it seemed like even in that far away, distant land their hierarchy was still something they cherished deeply. Or perhaps it was a way to feel closer to home.

Through her Ophelia learnt that the farmstead held only the noble families, but that on a different complex, not too far away from them, there were more Phrygians: servants of the exiled families, merchants and other commoners that had also fled execution and imprisonment. Of the aristocrats, she'd been told extensively about Gaio, who happened to be Phobos' very own foster-brother, and Valor, the prince's cousin. The latter had arrived early in Arqa and had served as a central point for the community, while the former was the point of contact between that set of exiled nobility and Phobos himself.

She'd been eager to discuss all that with the man himself, but he made no appearance throughout the night. She waited for his appearance early in the morning, but only Lyra appeared again, offering to show her around the building. Ophelia accepted, letting the younger woman lead the way.

The first thing she learned was that the building had been divided, and she'd been given rooms in the women's quarters. On the opposite side there were the men's, and in the central area there were rooms for multiple purposes, and what Lyra had called 'couple's rooms', "to carry out the duties of husband and wife".

The second was that, regardless of how busy someone was (and a lot of them seemed to be extremely busy), they had always enough time to look at her with a wary look on their face. While they were finishing their tour over the women's quarters, Ophelia came across the opportunity to inquire more about it:

"That is Urii," Lyra gestured towards a middle-aged woman who was hard at work with a bone needle, weaving together something that resembled a child's cape. As had been the case the entire morning, the stranger would look at her, find something to complain about in her own mind, nod, and then go back to their work. Urii, however, seemed to have other plans as she looked Lyra square in the face and warned her:

"Don't trust her. She looks Elysian."

A reminder that it was Phobos himself who'd brought her did nothing to ingratiate her with the others; it wasn't a logical argument, she knew, but an emotional one.

"Don't worry about me," Ophelia had said to Lyra after the girl leapt to her defence. "They will believe what they want to believe."

Not everyone was as hostile to her as Urii. As they passed by the stables, a man and two women waved at them, and Lyra hurriedly brought Ophelia over.

"Baroness Triskele, I see you're keeping our guest entertained," the young man said with a smile. It was a strange revelation to Ophelia that her companion was a baroness, as there was nothing about her demeanour that would make her associate such a title with the younger woman. In fact, there was little about the current setting that would make her associate all the people she was meeting with the aristocracy they really were.

"My name is Gaio, my lady," the young man beamed at her with such sweetness that it provoked some joy to emerge in her own face, simply as a reflex. "His highness is my foster-brother. He's spoken so much about you, I've been very eager to meet you."

As expected for someone close to Phobos, he clearly was a warrior before anything else. His sleeveless tunic showed a firm, developed body, one that had seen many battles and was covered in many scars. The art on his skin was bigger than what she'd seen before, reaching towards his neck and into the back of his hand. Ophelia wasn't adept at reading through the stylized lines, but she thought the animal in his arm was a lion of sorts.

"Lyra has told me a bit about you," Ophelia said, offering her hand. "My name is Ophelia."

There was an awkward pause, and she realized for the first time, after all those weeks, that she'd never seen anyone greet another person with a handshake. She dropped her hand, and apologised. "I forget the customs are different."

Gaio was intrigued.

"What are you supposed to do?"

Ophelia held her hand up, and then gestured at him to imitate her. When he did, she took his hand and shook it. "Uh, it is something like this. It's a way of greeting."

The women next to him were slightly scandalized. "It looks similar to…" one of them said, and then smiled nervously at her. "In Phrygia, a… working woman would close a deal by grabbing her client's hands, to take their coins."

"I wouldn't recommend such gestures in this company," she said between laughs, and then proceeded to introduce herself. "My name is Iris, lady Ophelia. I'm Gaio's wife."

"And this is Helena, my sister-in-law," Ophelia introduced herself as well to the two women. She took an immediate liking to Iris, who seemed to be on the outgoing, sunny side as Lyra was. Helena, on the other side, seemed slightly wary of her.

"We will take care of lady Ophelia, Baroness Triskele," Gaio said with a small smile. "We wouldn't want to burden you any longer."

There had been no indication of her ever being a burden to Lyra, Ophelia thought; quite the contrary, it seemed like even if she'd tried to take a tour of the building by herself, the younger woman would've wormed her way into being her guide. She seemed to be very excited for her presence, and that was that. But Gaio's comment, as easy going as it was made to sound, was a clear drawing of the line, a reminder of the hierarchy that would've been had they been in their capital city.

When she'd been given the overview of who was who in that place, she'd been told that after Phobos, Gaio and Valor held the highest ranks. Her family had always been a vassal of Gaio's, and therefore she was expected to show a certain level of deference for him. As much as she wanted to stay by Ophelia's side, she understood his dismissal, and after bowing her head, she excused herself.

"I had Mykel fetch us some Nabatean wine yesterday," Gaio said to the three women. "Perhaps we could sit outside to enjoy it?"

Helena, as if on a mission, walked then across the courtyard to make some gestures to the servants that had been working in the garden. One of them approached her; instructions were given while Gaio, Iris and Ophelia began to walk towards the back of the building.

It'd never occurred to her that folk in that time and place, in that world that felt like what hers would've been thousands of years before, would also owe a certain sensibility towards the remnants of the past. But a romantic view of bygone days was not exclusive to modernity: the love for ruins as a backdrop to every day life was alive and well for the Phrygians, it seemed. That's why they'd assembled what Gaio called their 'meeting room' outside, amongst the crumbled remains of what had been the farm's house temple. It had been constructed in white rock, and some of the pillars that had decorated the entrance to it still stood, covered in climbing vines. It had been cleared so that a large table now was set up in what had once been the inner room of the temple, oil lamps forming a line on the centre of it. The altar stood a few feet away from the head of the table, and on it they'd placed a wooden effigy of a god. Around his feet were bowls full of fruits and flowers, and jars full of wine.

"Mithra," Iris said as she noticed Ophelia's gaze. "The royal house of Phrygia descends from him. He's our chief god; he brings us victories in war, and luck in commerce."

Ophelia bit down the cheeky question that naturally emerged then: who would he favour in the current civil war, when brothers of the same house were facing each other?

They took their seats at the end of the table, and then Helena joined them. Behind her emerged two servants, bringing cups for the four of them and a jar of wine.

"Perhaps one of the few things I can enjoy about this place is that Nabatean wine is so readily available and cheap," Gaio said with a wink as the servants poured the wine for them. Ophelia, who was more partial to beer, took a sip; unlike what she was used to, the wine was incredibly watered-down in that world, which made it more tolerable. Nabatean wine seemed to be also on the sweeter side, and she found a certain liking to it.

"Your Phrygian is quite good, lady Ophelia," Gaio said, reclining back, and then switched languages. "I've been told you're also fluent in Iberian, Drusi, and of course that damned Elysian. That is a strange, and quite rare to be frank, list to master."

"I can pick them up really easily," she lied. "It's been useful, but seems to have given me some trouble as well."

"I heard about what happened with the merchant, I'm so very sorry," the man said with genuine pain. "Phobos was very keen on saving you from those Elysians. I bet they must've been terrifying."

Ophelia knew she had to pick her words carefully.

"It was very stressful, indeed," she said. "Thankfully their only interest was to further their agenda, so they only talked to me when it was strictly necessary."

"I can only imagine the sorts of things that were discussed," Gaio said lightly, but a single glance from him, as innocent as it was, suddenly revealed the entire picture to Ophelia.

She was being interrogated.

She couldn't tell if it was all an act; it was too early to make any judgments. But they'd intended to do that sooner or later, that much was clear. Gaio wasn't any happy-go-lucky friend of Phobos; he was a trusted man, one that was in the middle of a civil war away from home. And she potentially had information they wanted to hear.

"Oh, after the attack they only cared about proving their innocence," she said. She had no qualms about sharing what she knew: the method they were using was strange, but she felt like the best idea might be to humour them. Better for them to underestimate her than to put them on edge by pointing out she knew what they were doing. "Before, it was mostly to try and push the extradition treaty."

"As expected," the warrior said. "I wonder if they're thinking of bringing the knights soon…"

"If they are, they must be keeping it to themselves. The name wasn't even brought up while I was there."

"Pardon my curiosity, lady Ophelia, but as you might know, we're highly interested in their movements. Would you happen to know who it was they were speaking to during the Council? It'd be of extreme importance to us to know who they're friendly to in the Arqan government."

Ophelia bit back the smile, and left her glass on the table, reclining back on her seat. She gave them the names she knew and had heard of. It wasn't until later that it occurred to her that she might've just painted a target on a bunch of people; initially she'd thought it was cute that they were throwing all pretence away. The information had no price in her mind, it would've been easy to get from a servant at the palace in any case, and she wasn't entirely sure what the Phrygians were hoping to accomplish with more violence now that the Council had been disbanded. Innocent her, she told them what they wanted to know, and only later she'd realize her mistake.

"What a wide net they're trying to cast," Gaio commented. "They will fail, however. We'll see what desperate moves they make then."

Ophelia couldn't help but try and murk the waters just a teensy bit. "If you pardon my impertinence, my lord, what if they do bring the Knights of the Black Sun? What if they simply take Arqa?"

She could've asked him to calculate the distance between her thumb and the moon, and she would've got the same expression from him.

"What a strange, funny idea," he said, finally, and with a certain patronizing air. "But that wouldn't happen. It'll cost them too much, and as much as Lord Scipio is a force to reckon with he still needs to answer to the Elysian parliament, which is a bit wary of his ways. They either win Arqa by diplomacy or they won't win it at all."

Ophelia kept her own thoughts to herself, recognising that it'd be futile to argue with a man convinced of his own story. Gaio stood up then. "I must make my way back, I'm afraid," he said. "But please, lady Ophelia, do indulge us by letting my wife and sister take care of you. They're the most delightful company."

The two women stood up and smiled at her. Ophelia decided to keep cooperating, but there was something decidedly artificial about their entire encounter, and she felt at edge. Despite the fact that he'd been the one to end their meeting there, Gaio stood behind as the three women began to make their way to the forest trails, leaving only after they'd gone themselves. Ophelia had the strange thought that they were not allowed at that table unless in the company of a man, but decided not to ask. She didn't want to know.

Now that it was the three of them, it felt like Iris and Helena were finally permitted to talk. "I should ask Lyra to give you some other clothes," Iris said. "Chaldean clothes are better than Arqan tunics, but they're not appropriate for us. You'd be more comfortable in something discreet."

As she'd expected from Phobos' reactions to her outfits before, the traditional dress in Phrygia preferred modesty for women. Their dresses were one-piece affairs, cinched at the waist and covering half the neck. On top of it they generally wore something that resembled the large and loose kimono shirts that Ophelia had seen women wear to brunches in London during the summer. A large number of the women also wore some sort of headpiece, as was the case with Iris, who had a veil of sorts pinned to her head.

To her amusement, it all stood in radical contrast to what the men wore: large pants that were fitted closely to the calves by way of legwraps, with either nothing to cover their upper body, or a sleeveless long tunic that fell below their knees. It seemed like in that warrior culture, a man's body told tales, and their nudity was a quick way of establishing who one was in their hierarchy.

"I've picked up the language but understand little about the culture," Ophelia said. "It must be quite a funny sight."

"It's a strange one," Iris conceded. "But it can't be helped. It is what it is. That's why I said to Gaio: let me help her, she will be like a duckling lost in the fog. I will make it so that the others don't look down on her."

"I appreciate that, lady Iris," Ophelia smiled at the other woman. "But, do not go out of your way for me. It is not clear how long I'll remain here to abuse your hospitality."

Iris frowned. Next to her, Helena seemed slightly relieved.

"It's not common knowledge, I assure you, but due to his highness' closeness with my husband we know… of your arrangements with him," Iris said. "It is… a complicated situation, but it's far too early to make a judgment call."

Ophelia looked at them in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Helena sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me do this, sister. You're far too gentle."

"We are aware that you and his highness have laid together. In Phrygia, a man doesn't lay with a woman he's not willing to wed, and if he does, it is a source of great shame to his family. But he's also our king, and he has a duty to our people – and right now, we need the strength of a Phrygian mother to lead us. If he were to marry you, it would be seen – and we would feel it, as well- as a great insult to all the families that are loyal to him. None of their daughters are good enough for him, that he needs to lay with a slave from mysterious origins…"

"Your Phrygian is so good; if you had shown more of our customs, I'm sure it would have been easier for us…" Iris tried to soften the discussion with a small smile.

Ophelia blinked at them. "I don't want to marry Phobos," she said.

She felt something for the prince; she melted in his arms, she felt comfortable in his presence. Perhaps, she'd say she was infatuated with him. If they'd been two strangers in London, she'd have loved to go on dates with him, get to know him better… but that was a far, far cry from marriage. And as the other two women were pointing out, a lot of things were at stake, and there was no point getting involved in such a mess when her feelings weren't that intense for him.

"Does his highness know this?" Iris asked. She seemed to be extremely shocked, and a little perturbed.

"We've never had this conversation before. It never occurred to me, if I'm to be honest."

"You lay with men without thinking about your virtue?!" Helena exclaimed. Her sister-in-law was similarly scandalized.

"Well, he's the first one. I don't really know what I should be thinking about, other than if I enjoy spending time with him or not."

Helena put a hand on her sister's arm. "A… way out of this situation, if you really care about his highness, is to become a concubine after his marriage."

Iris clearly loved that idea, and she lit up. "It hasn't been done in a century, but it shouldn't be a problem," she said. "We could proceed with your engagement, sister, and then his highness would be able to keep his honour."

Ophelia's eyes landed on Helena. "You're his fiancee?"

"Not officially, but it's the only choice that makes sense," Helena answered. "My family has the right connections that his highness would need to reinforce his claim on the throne."

Ophelia felt like she'd bit more than she could chew. She took a step backwards, and then decided to be as frank as she could. "I… My lady Helena, if you're worried that I will take your crown: I will not. I have no interest in it, and as you said, Phobos needs allies and has a duty to carry out. At some point I asked him if I should aid him in his fight, and he refused, and I will respect that. As for being a concubine, I also have no interest in it."

"How?!" her answer clearly had angered the other woman. "If you hold any esteem for his highness, you should have his best interests at heart: should you refuse his grace, it's as good as saying you think it's worth nothing. What kind of man could be respected as a king if his own woman refuses to follow him?"

"Then pray that our relationship is kept a secret," Ophelia said coolly, beginning to lose her temper as well. "So that my independence doesn't become a grievance for your king."

Iris decided to be tactical at that point, and intervened with an uneasy smile. "Let us continue discussing this at some other time. Perhaps, next time you see his highness, you should talk to him about this, lady Ophelia. Now, should we head back? I would love to show lady Ophelia some of the traditional embroidery from my home."

Ophelia accepted the peace offering, and the subject was dropped. Helena, as was expected, seemed to have a hard time dropping her anger, and wandered off at some point. But as the evening grew closer, it seemed like her mood improved; having had their dirty laundry already washed and exposed for the three of them to see, it felt like a lot of the initial artifice in their manners was gone, and Ophelia felt herself relax around them. Helena, as the argument had proved, was more direct than Iris; conversing with the two sisters was fun, as they complemented each other very well.

"Helena is only seventeen," Iris had said, surprising Ophelia who would've thought she was in her mid twenties. "Gaio's parents died when he was young, so she's been with us ever since we married. Raising her with my two sons was never easy; I dare say she picked up a lot more from them than from me."

"Where are your sons?"

"In Palmyra, at the Academy," Iris smiled wistfully. "They're eight and ten years of age, respectively. I had my first one the year after Gaio and I married, at sixteen. I tell Helena this and she feels embarrassed; normally she would've been married by now, but due to the circumstances a lot of the girls her age are in the same situation."

"I don't think I would be able to have a child at my age," Ophelia observed with a grimace. "Let alone at sixteen."

"How old are you now?"

Ophelia told them she was ten years Helena's senior. As it had been with Phobos and Aristides before, they both were shocked. "I would've thought you were twenty, from the way you speak and act…" Iris said. "Goodness, you're older than me…"

The conversation pivoted elsewhere, as the women found yet another little fact to add to the mountain of strange little details about her. Soon it became time for supper, and Ophelia came to learn that there were no such things as communal dinners. Pockets of families would dine together, reflecting previous alliances and the hierarchy of their ranks. Given she had been in the care of Gaio's family, that night she'd have the privilege of sharing a meal with not only them, but also Valor, his wife, his two children, and two of his lieutenants.

Phobos, of course, would be present then. He came to visit as they finished preparing their evening wear, which Ophelia learned was an important rite for the Phrygian noblewomen. Helena had fixed her make up in the way that was fashionable at court, and Iris had lent her one of her dresses. The colours were muted; a lot of green and blue, unlike the warm bright colours the Chaldeans preferred. The lips were lightly tinted, and black kohl lined her upper lashes only. Green dots had been placed from the crown of her head to the centre of her brow, and on the lower lash, more of that green paint had been used to apply a heavy line underneath.

When Phobos walked in, she felt her breath leave her for a moment. His hair had been braided back, and he was wearing a heavy, straight skirt that reached to his ribs, tied with a wide blue silk sash around him. On top he wore a greenish tunic with no sleeves; the fabric was so sheer that she could clearly see the outlines of the phoenix tattoo that reached to his chest. As far as jewellery went, he wore gold arm rings, as well as a heavy torque around his neck. Everything about what he was wearing accentuated the powerful shapes of his body, and Ophelia felt like asking Helena and Iris to step outside for a moment.

"Apologies for my absence yesterday," he said as he stepped towards her. His arms reached out to her waist and brought her into his embrace. It was as if there was no one else in the room; both Helena and Iris had gone completely ignored.

"Lady Lyra, lady Helena and lady Iris today have kept me company," she said as if to remind them they were not alone. Close in his embrace she felt that her appearance was as pleasing to him as his was to her.

"That's good, they will teach you all sorts of things," he beamed at her. "Come then, let us make our way to the hall. Gaio has already gone."

Helena stepped up and grabbed Ophelia by the arm, smiling sweetly at Phobos. "Let me escort our esteemed guest, your highness. My lord Valor should not have anything to complain about tonight."

Phobos' smile faltered, but he nodded. Instead, he offered his arm to Iris, who would be his foster-sister, and led the way. "Lord Valor is incredibly observant of such things," Helena whispered to Ophelia. "And if you were escorted by his highness, some tongues would start to roll. If he does something like that in public, come to me. I shall cover for you two."

During supper, Ophelia understood Helena's words, and her initial attitude suddenly was put in context. She sat with Gaio and his family, to the right side of the table. Phobos sat at the head, with Gaio himself on his right side, and Valor on his left side. Unlike the foster-brother, the prince's cousin was older, nearing his forties: he had bright red hair, smooth as silk, which he kept tied in a low ponytail. He seemed leaner than Phobos, but otherwise carried himself in the same way. Iris had told Ophelia that the animal he carried on his skin was a dragon, a symbol of his royal blood.

"Perhaps it would be easier if we had convened with the two Kushite envoys," Valor spoke, as he'd done since Phobos had sat down. It was clear that this was less of a supper for him and more of a meeting to discuss their next actions. "But they're curious now, and that's enough."

"My lord," one of the men on Valor's side, who Iris had introduced as Count Juvii, spoke up, "perhaps we can ask lady translator to intervene for us."

Valor looked in her direction for the first time in the evening. His bright blue eyes pierced her with a stern look, evaluating how useful she could be. "Both parties are fluent enough in Iberian that it won't be necessary to ask the lady for her services."

"There's no point in saving a lady from servitude to then put her to work again," Phobos said offhandedly but firmly, levelling Count Juvii with a warning stare. "If a nobleman cannot speak Iberian with his peers perhaps he should not be called a nobleman at all."

Later Ophelia would find out that Count Juvii had just recently been appointed so, with Lord Valor giving him the title after his rather doubtful parentage as a bastard son to the extinct Juvii house had come to light. It had been, as everyone knew, a move on Valor's side to procure loyal henchmen on his side. His other lieutenant, Baron Frecci, was not quite a commoner made noble, but rather a disgraced noble house that had taken the only hand that had been offered to them the moment the civil war had started.

"The stage has been perfectly set, we ought to spark the fire," Valor leaned in towards Phobos. "Cousin of mine, you must not let your hand tremble now. We are very close."

"We are not close, we are still far away from Phrygia," Phobos said vehemently. "As much as this might benefit us, we can't keep getting distracted with this land's little political games. We've invested enough, now let them sort it out. We are not here to make Arqa ours."

"But if the opportunity arose – and we could argue if it has, now – will you tell me that it would be so foolish a thing to do? When we could take control of half the ports this side of the Atlantean sea?"

"To play the Elysian game one must be Elysian, my foolish cousin," Phobos rebuked him. "I've tolerated these tactics enough as I believed in you, but this is were I draw the line. We will not mess with other's sovereignty as ours has been meddled with; it is not the Phrygian way. I'd rather have no crown than to sit on Gordion's throne after dishonouring our ancestors in such a way."

"At this rate there will be no throne to sit on," Valor muttered, clearly angry at his cousin's refusal. "What king disregards their kingdom like this?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Irate, Phobos suddenly stood up, locking eyes with Valor.

"A king must preserve their people's spirit before all. Land is land, it is gained, it is lost, but our ways are eternal, and it is my responsibility, my vow to my ancestors, to our gods, that we should not stray from their ways. Cousin of mine, I heed your advice, I treasure you greatly, but I will not let you speak like this to me."

The other man wasn't convinced at all, but knew there was no point in arguing further. "It is as the king says," he said simply, although there were flames in his eyes that had not quite calmed down.

Ophelia took a long sip of beer, thinking that if she drank enough she'd be able to ease the tension away. Valor was the mastermind, the closest advisor – but it seemed then that to a certain extent, he wouldn't mind sitting in Phobos' chair. His two yes-men were eagerly following every one of his gestures, reflecting his indignation when he was told off; in contrast, Gaio was silent and solemn, simply standing by the prince's chair with a certain tension in his body that let everyone know that he wouldn't hesitate to draw his sword if he had to defend Phobos.

The dinner finished with no other altercations. They all stood up and watched, as etiquette required, Phobos leave first. The prince sneaked a glance towards Ophelia as he passed by her, the closest to the door, and she knew they'd see each other later. Then Valor and his family circled the table to leave. They would leave after them. The archduke dedicated a calculating gaze towards her as he left, probably wondering why the rescued translator had been made to sit with them for supper.

Sensing what would happen that night, Helena resigned herself to walk Ophelia to her quarters after helping her out of her borrowed dress. "Speak to him," she pleaded before leaving, "there's a lot at stake."

She had almost fallen asleep by the time Phobos had come into her room. "My cousin enjoys the sound of his voice too much," he offered as an explanation. But he quickly loosened his girt and tunic, and slipped underneath the covers with her. "I'd rather hear you all night."

Ophelia turned in his embrace to face him. "I've been asked to speak with you," she said. "About marriage, of all things."

In the moonlight, she could easily see the smile that blossomed in his handsome face. "I spoke to Gaio, to help you prepare," he said.

"Prepare for what, exactly?"

"Our marriage," he went on innocently. "It's my duty to take care of you, and after we… well, I knew it at the time that it was the right thing for us. You should be by my side."

"Do I get a say in this?" Ophelia sat up, hands closing into fists. "Do you get a say in this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't want to get married. It might your custom to wed whoever you lay with; it's not mine, and if I had known it beforehand, I would've not come on to you. I don't want you to feel responsible for me."

Phobos sat up as well, and rested a hand on her thighs. "I don't know how marriage is in Byzantium, but for us is a vow. It's my vow to let everyone know it's my duty to make you happy, to give you a house, to provide for you," he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, and softly cupping her face in his hands. "You're happy with me, I can tell. Why not make it forever?"

He went in for a kiss, but Ophelia moved back, grabbing his hands and moving them away from her face. "This is all too soon for me, Phobos. Marriage was never on my cards, and… I don't think this is the best thing for you, either. You have too much to lose..."

"Disregard what Helena said to you," his voice became a tad more forceful, closer to the way he'd spoken to Valor earlier. It was more a command than a sentence. "She thinks the world ends in this little redux, that in Philistia and in Kush, and in all the other cities I've visited it's full of aristocrats wanting to take my place. Cousin Valor is shrewd and looking for a chance, but he's not stupid. He knows the warriors of Phrygia can smell his cowardice, that outside of the little weasels he puts by his side there is no one else to follow him."

Ophelia bit her lips. "I don't want to be a Phrygian queen; I can't."

The prince scooped her in his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "But you would do so well… and even if you can't be a Phrygian, be a Byzantine queen."

"So, should I show everyone tomorrow my powers?" Ophelia felt him tense. "Or better yet, will you let me dress as a warrior and accompany you to the battlefield, sit with you when you need to negotiate with your allies, and let me protect you when the Elysians try to take your head?"

He laid kisses on her shoulder, and manoeuvred her so that she was under him. "Phobos?" Ophelia reminded him. "What do you say?"

"There is no point answering such foolishness," he said, his voice low, as his hands began to explore her body. "But if we're to discuss them, let's do it some other time."

Like everyone in their lives, Ophelia had moments where she was proud of herself, and moments that she would never recall to anyone else, lest she appear as the most pathetic person in the world. That night was one of those moments where her rational head and her pride just couldn't win against her body, and she let Phobos silence her with the promise of their shared nocturnal joy. Far away they left the conversation, the events at supper, the future that was looking so uncertain for the two of them: they gave themselves to the moment, knowing that their bodies could find agreement when their mouths failed to do so.

The next morning Ophelia awoke alone in bed. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she let the sun wash away the sleepiness; once the night had passed their argument would have to resume, and she wasn't in the mood to try and convince him that he was being too intense about the whole marriage thing.

She dressed in the clothes that Helena had given her the night before, but took Hyperion's cloak and dresses, along with the jewellery, and put it in a satchel of sorts that she tied to her waist. Perhaps she could find a way to tell Phobos that they could meet each other without him trying to take her in as a wife, or that perhaps they could revise the situation for the future, but she thought it'd be more likely that the sun would freeze before the stubborn man agreed with her. But, honouring their relationship, she would give him one more chance: she would search for him, have an honest talk, and if things didn't go great, she'd leave and find her way back to Hyperion's villa.

Needless to say, it didn't quite turn out that way.

She met Helena in the kitchen. "I need to find Phobos," she said to the younger woman, before she took her by the arm to find some privacy. "I tried speaking to him. It didn't go great. He's fully intent on marrying me."

Helena looked panicked. Ophelia patted her on the arm; now that she knew of the girl's age, she found her too much like a little sister. "I will talk to him once more, and if he doesn't agree, I will leave."

"You can't leave… how are you going to leave? They will kill you before you do! You know too much about us now…"

"I must look very frail to you," Ophelia smiled. "But there are secrets that only Phobos and I know, and on account of those secrets he will have no choice but to let me leave."

Helena obviously wouldn't understand. "Please, reconsider, I beg you," the girl pleaded again. "You'll be in danger… you'll put us in danger."

Ophelia realized soon enough that it had been a mistake to tell Helena her intentions. What she'd expected to finish by noon ended up dragging into the afternoon, as she had to make her way through several circular discussions with Iris and Helena on what she was intending to do. In the end, she decided to play their tune and let them believe that she was going to do as they said: convince Phobos to take her in as a concubine, or to delay the marriage until after they were back in Phrygia, and officially take Helena as a fiancee. With that done, they'd finally agreed to help her find the prince, who they soon found out was out on an errand in the city.

What had earned her no small amount of alarm was their warnings: outside of the worries for Phobos' reputation and power, they also discussed at length with her their fears for her safety. In Phrygia, women in her situation would not be able to reject a man's marriage offer: if they did, it would tarnish the man's honour, and the only way for the man to restore it would be to kill their intended.

Ophelia doubted that the kind, gentle Phobos would fall as low as to commit an honour killing, but the prospect of such a thing being normalized in his culture definitely made her want to stay as far away as possible from it as she could. The easiest thing for them would be to pretend that it had never happened, and continue on with their lives: if nobody knew, no honour would be tarnished.

While Ophelia waited for Phobos to come back, she sat with Iris and Helena as they took care of their daily chores. As she'd learnt was the custom of noble ladies, they worked wool into threads, and then worked on producing the fabric that would be worn by their household. When they tired of it, they would embroider, or as was a popular Phrygian custom, create elaborate arrangements of flowers and fruits to decorate the house with.

They sat outside as it was cooler than inside. Around them played the children of those living in the building. Servants went about their tasks, stopping only if any of the working noblewomen required anything of them.

"Good morning," a woman said as she passed by them; a slim, blonde woman with beautiful features. Iris smiled at her, but said nothing; Helena ignored her. The woman seemed not to react to their indifference, and ventured inside, and up the stairs.

"That's lady Ilyana," explained Helena. "She's a widow of Marquess Kyrinets. She arrived three weeks ago and immediately started trying to ingratiate herself with everyone. She's just trying to land a good husband, but as you can imagine, there's more than enough single young women to choose from."

One of the kids playing near the stables screamed, and they all stopped what they were doing to look. Ophelia, given that she had nothing in her hands, jumped towards the source of the noise and began to run towards the children when she heard one of them crying. "What happened?" she asked as she approached the group of four. A boy, no more than six, was crying on the floor.

"Ilya fell, lady!" one of the older kids answered. Ophelia, who admittedly had very little experience with kids, awkwardly patted the child on his head.

"It's just a scare, Ilya. Let me see," she knelt down, grabbing the crying kid's leg with as much gentleness as she could muster. He'd scrapped his knee. She blew on it, feeling pretty useless.

"Ilya," she said to the boy. "Why are you crying?"

"I-it hurts," the boy said. She patted him on the head again. She covered the small knee with her hand.

"Does it?" she said, and when she removed her hand, the injury was gone. The boy blinked once, and then beamed up to her.

"It doesn't anymore!"

"See? It was just a scare. Now get up, go play with your friends."

That seemed to be the end of the ordeal. She got up, dusted the back of her skirt, and watched as the kids forgot that Ilya had ever fallen and ran back to the entrance of the stables, where they had been playing with a leather ball of sorts.

As they did, she noticed that a heavy, large wooden bucket had been left on the window; it was sitting right above them, and seemed far too close to falling for it to be safe. A feeling of foreboding took hold of her and she opened her mouth to shout at the kids to move. At the same time, she saw someone behind, through the window: she caught sight of blond hair and a red something on their chest. And then, the bucket fell.

Ilya, who as part of their game was required to stand right underneath, seemed none the wiser at his impending doom. Ophelia, knowing there was no other option, extended her hand and made the bucket fly away, far from the boy.

"Ooh!" the kids in their innocence said in admiration as they noticed the strange trajectory of the bucket, which fell a few yards away from them. Ophelia felt someone shout her name, and turned back to see that Helena and Iris had dropped their weaves and were standing, looking at her with equally pale faces.

And it was not just them: the servants, and some of the other noblewomen who had been in the yard had seen her too. Everything had gone quiet, the uncertainty forcing every adult to halt their movements until someone broke the spell by muttering the dreaded word – elysian.

She was fortunate in that there were enough people wary of an escalation of force in that situation, and one of them happened to be Gaio. He came running at her, and with pleading eyes asked her to follow him. He was on edge, clearly, and said nothing as he left her in a room where soon him, his wife and his sister were all staring down at her in clear panic.

They all shouted their questions at the same time. Ophelia unravelled them with patience, figuring that if she remained calm they'd be better prepared for what would come next. "Yes, Phobos knows," was the first thing she said. "And I'm not Elysian."

"Then how…?"

"I'm from Byzantium," she explained. Just like Phobos, they were not so ready to believe her. "Think about it; I speak all these languages, but I don't know any of your customs. I don't look like I'm from any particular place; as much as I look like an Elysian, I don't act like one. And obviously…" she put her fingers up, making sparks shoot out into the air.

That sobered the other three up; they all flinched at her display of power, and in their eyes she saw fear creeping up. "Sorry, I'm not making things any easier. This is why I wasn't too keen on the marriage, either, and why I wasn't afraid to just leave," she said to Helena and Iris.

Gaio ran his fingers through his hair. "This explains so much… but then, were you really enslaved by that Chaldean merchant?"

Ophelia laughed. "He wished! No, I met Phobos before that. He's the one that found me when I appeared in this world. We rode to Caudiceum with Aristides, Remulus, Ilmarinen, Phenos and Ajax… and there, after Ilmarinen's and Remulus' betrayal, I helped them meet Hyperion, the Chaldean, so that he'd give us safe passage to Arqa. As part of the deal I stayed to work with him…"

"So you were the famed Iberian princess…?"

Ophelia laughed again, "I was, yes."

Helena then surged towards her, falling to her knees and grabbing her hands. "If you are from Byzanteum then, stay with us, give us our victory."

Her words enraged Gaio, who grabbed her roughly from the back and threw her off Ophelia. "How dare you speak such impudent words, woman…?!"

Iris knelt to embrace her sister, as she held a hand out to quell Gaio's fury. The man, however, wasn't done: "begging outsiders for victory… have you no pride, no faith in our lord?"

Ophelia stood and laid a hand on Gaio's shoulder, and felt him tremble under her touch. "That's enough," she said, her tone firm. She then spoke to Helena, "just as your brother did, so Phobos refused my help. I was going to offer it one more time, as a matter of courtesy but…"

"He will refuse," Helena said, her eyes filled with tears. "But please, stay…! Disregard his words, lend us your power!"

"Quiet!" Gaio shouted at her. He turned to face Ophelia, his sweet and easygoing smile nowhere to be seen. He was tense, his body almost preparing to jump into action. "You will have to understand that this is our way. None of us can follow an inept king; his challenge is to retake his throne. If he does it with the help of a Byzantine's powers, he will not be any different from his brother."

Ophelia held her hands up. "I made the offer; I don't make the choice."

Then, heavy footsteps were heard from outside, and the door was kicked open. Valor was standing outside, surrounded by Phrygian warriors with their swords unsheathed and looking for her. Gaio took a step forward, unbothered by the steel that rose to meet him.

"Hand over the Elysian, Gaio," Valor said.

"Are you not going to thank her for saving your son's life?" the man said, arching an eyebrow.

"Save? That little Elysian spy almost murdered him!"

"Come again?" Ophelia asked, dumbfounded. "Why would I want to murder your son?"

Valor's face reddened. "Do you truly think of us so little that you believe we wouldn't catch onto your game? One by one you'll eliminate all of us with royal blood so that there's no contender for the throne."

The part of Ophelia that wasn't used to diplomacy wanted to say that whatever she thought of him before, after such a strange, idiotic accusation she was forced to revise her opinion. "My lord," she settled instead for a more subtle insult,"I am confused as to whether I should feel outraged at being accused of a plot I took no part of, or being considered so incompetent that I'd make my murder weapon fly away from my intended victim."

Around the room, a few lips twitched, and even the warriors who were holding their swords up relaxed a bit at realizing the folly she was being subjected to. "Why else would an Elysian be here if it's not to plot against us?" Valor decided to change his line of questioning, slightly deflated at her comeback.

Surprising everyone, Iris decided to step forth:

"That's a good question, my lord; perhaps, it bears clarifying if the suspicion is merely because of her origins, or if, perhaps, someone's wise words have inspired you."

Ophelia looked at the other woman in bewilderment. Was she implying someone wanted to frame her?

When Valor didn't reply immediately, Iris pressed on. "My lord?" her tone was gentle and unassuming, but she could've been holding an axe to the man's head and it would've had the same effect. "Lady Ilyana told me she saw the Elysian move the bucket towards Ilya," he finally replied.

Helena laughed. Her sister-in-law pursed her lips; it was clear from her expression that now it was her who was revising her opinion of Valor. "Lady Ilyana was the one to throw the bucket in the first place," she explained as if to a child, and then doubled down with an even more curt, "are you so daft a man you can't see she's been aiming for your wife's chair?"

Everyone stared at the normally gentle Iris, surprised at her outburst. Valor opened his mouth to retort, but the woman was on a roll. "Last week, when Viola and Ilya were sick, did you not ask what caused them to fall ill? Someone snuck yew needles in their food, it was a miracle they didn't die! And little Uli? I had to bring her to my quarters because someone kept sneaking walnuts into her room, knowing she's allergic to them!"

"Or maybe you're eager to get rid of them to make lady Ilyana your wife?" Iris shouted.

"Hush, woman! Hear yourself!" that had stroke a chord in the man, who looked genuinely hurt by her accusation. "I admit I've been a negligent husband, but I would never, ever, wish my wife and children any ill. How dare you say so?"

"Then stop letting lady Ilyana use you as a mouthpiece," Iris said coolly, standing up. "She once again tried to harm Ilya, and now she's using lady Ophelia as a way to distract everyone away from her schemes. Deal with her, and then we'll discuss what to do with lady Ophelia."

Valor glowered at her, but recognised she was right. He shot a frustrated glance at Ophelia, and then turned to order half his men to stay in the room to make sure she didn't escape. He then left with the rest to presumably deal with the attempted murderess.

Ophelia was completely dumbfounded at the familial drama that had just unfolded in front of her. There was an awkward silence that followed, as she didn't have much to say about a situation she knew nothing about until moments ago, and everyone else was processing the impending doom of the conspirator. Iris seemed back to her normal self after her rant and was fanning herself with her hands. Gaio, still speechless at his wife, rested his hands on her shoulders.

"He's a fool, in more ways than one, and it breaks my heart to see Viola and the kids suffer because of it. But despite his faults, he does love them. I thought I'd set his priorities straight," Iris said to no-one in particular.

It took a while for Valor to come back. Ophelia was kept entertained mostly by Helena, who as part of her education had learnt how to offer an interesting conversation to get out of long, heavy silences. The Phrygian recalled some myths of her land and Thracia that talked about the dangers of women aiming for married men; it soon derailed into pure gossip, talking about names she didn't recognise but that apparently everyone else knew.

At some point, Ophelia interrupted the pleasant, light-hearted chat to ask the obvious: "what is the punishment lady Ilyana will face?"

"The punishment for harming, or trying to harm, those of royal blood is execution," Gaio answered. It dawned then on Ophelia that he had placed himself in front of the window, his large frame blocking all view of the outside, shortly after Valor had left. She didn't think it was to prevent her escape; rather, he was saving them the gory spectacle that surely was happening in the courtyard.

When Valor and his men returned, there were specks of blood on the front of some of their tunics. A pause in their chatter received them, and in the silence, she heard the commotion outside. There was still a trace of fight in Valor's eyes, and it became quickly evident he'd returned for round two. Ophelia suddenly felt very tired, and wished that Phobos would soon come to handle it all for her.

She took the lead, and before the man spoke she stood up to address him: "What do you want me to say, my lord? I'm not Elysian; I am from Byzantium. I've travelled with Phobos ever since I arrived to this world. I ensured he arrived in Arqa in the first place."

"I have no reason to believe you," Valor said. "Byzantium is nothing more than an Elysian tale. Why would a Phrygian man believe in that nonsense? As far as I'm concerned, you've been poisoning his highness' mind with your tricks, so that he may fail in his mission."

Ophelia shrugged. "It's an easy accusation to make, isn't it? You show no proof but because it's your word, it's now my job to prove you wrong."

Valor wasn't moved.

"Trickery both runs deep in the blood of the Elysians and is also the favoured artifice of womanhood; you who share both should be doubly suspect. How else would his highness, who has slain more Elysians than anyone else, allow someone of the Empire to accompany him if he wasn't under the power of Elysian trickery? We have seen your lot do strange things; it is only reasonable that the Empire now sends seductresses to do their bidding, rather than let their Knights do all their work."

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. "So what is my charge, then? A seductress and a corrupter, a spy…?"

"My lord," Gaio interrupted, sensing that the conversation was only turning for the worst. "I share your reservations, but I do not think it's prudent to make any hasty judgments in his highness' absence."

"What do you think that a bewitched man will do then, Gaio?" Valor spit out and took out his sword to point at Ophelia. The movement was so smooth and sudden she almost didn't notice. "He will only say what she tells him to."

Ophelia didn't like where it was all going. Clearly tensions were rising, and the possibility of it escalating into violence was quickly increasing. She also thought that on the back of Valor's accusations there was something insincere; perhaps, a way to wrestle power and authority from Phobos, if he argued that he was under Elysian mind control.

She decided to pull a page out of Hyperion's book. Valor was about to continue his tirade, but his mouth and his expression froze in place in a single blink of Ophelia's eyes. Silence suddenly fell over the room as not even the slightest rustle of tunics could be heard: a deathly stillness embraced all the Phrygians. Only their eyes were able to move, and they revealed in their frantic movement how deeply scared they all were.

Ophelia said nothing, and walked up to Valor to take the sword out of his immobile hand. It was heavy like any other Phrygian weapon, and she had to hold it up using her powers more than her own muscle strength. She pointed it at the man's throat, and left it there.

"Might you all remember this moment," Ophelia said, turning around to catch the gazes of everyone present, "that I could've ended all of your lives. If my words aren't enough let me demonstrate with this then that I simply have no reason to take your lives."

"Valor," Ophelia dropped all honorifics as she faced the man, "I wonder if you fail to see your reflection in the mirror at all, that you throw out accusations at Phobos of being seduced by a woman minutes after having to execute the mistress that almost killed your family."

She then turned towards Gaio and his family. "I thank you for your hospitality; however, I see that I've outstayed my welcome. I wish you all success."

And she left. Behind her, Valor's sword fell useless to the ground with a loud noise. It was almost like a last farewell, but also served to underscore her message. She walked downstairs, and into the courtyard, and as she came across other Phrygians she froze them in their tracks before they could try anything. She looked at the road with resignation, knowing that her escape back into Arqa would be rather anti-climatic and, more importantly, slow.

But, a last surprise was waiting for her. Replaying the events of the day in her mind, she was twenty minutes into her walk back towards the city when she heard the gallop of a horse. She looked up knowing who she would meet, and indeed it was Phobos hurrying back from whatever errand he'd been on.

"Gaio sent a messenger," he explained, "I came as soon as I heard."

He jumped off the horse and grabbed her by her shoulders, his worried eyes roaming through her face and her body to try and guess what had happened. "You look unharmed…"

"I… made it seem like time had stopped, and nobody was able to move a finger while I left. They're still standing still… I will release them when I'm back in Arqa."

He leaned to kiss her, but she moved her face away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, embracing her. "This isn't what I had planned."

Ophelia pushed against him, but he didn't want to let her go. "Give me some space please," she asked, but he didn't budge. "Don't make me force you."

He let her go. He was clearly panicking. "They will understand when I explain; it only needs a word from me."

"It has nothing to do with them," Ophelia said. "I don't blame them for reacting the way they did. Nothing would happen to me in the end," she smiled. "I'm worried for you. If I were to ask three of your comrades about what your plans are, they will tell me five different answers. Some of them are looking for ways to undermine you; all think of themselves and how their lot should improve. Can you really live in that nest of snakes?"

"That is what court is," he smiled bitterly. "Inside or outside of Phrygia, I've found, they behave the same."

Ophelia grabbed his hand, and he looked up, eyes full of hope.

"Will you take me back to Hyperion's villa?"

His gaze hardened. A slight move of his eyes, from looking into her face towards somewhere above her head, told her that his immediate reaction was to do something else. Take her, perhaps, in the opposite direction. But then he closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes," he agreed with some effort.

He sat her on the horse before jumping behind her. Perhaps because of the tension in the air he looked to ride closer to her, truly holding her as they made their way into Arqa.

"I know you want me to be by your side," Ophelia said at some point. "But it's only if it's by your terms. I will ask you one last time, Phobos, will you let me help you? If you say yes, I will come with you."

She felt the man tense against her once more. "You can help by staying with me."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

He sighed. "It's not that simple."

Ophelia hummed. "It never is, isn't it?" She decided to throw a last bone at him. "You don't have to answer now. Let me stay with Hyperion; think about my words, and you can give me your reply then."

She knew that he wanted to protest, that in his mouth the words elysian envoys and safety were burning his tongue. But after finding her so miserably by the side of the road, with an entire building full of frozen Phrygians, he could hardly convince her to go back to a place full of people hostile to her (although he did try).

When he left her at Hyperion's door, she gave him a last kiss on his cheek. It felt slightly bitter, both on her mouth and on his skin, but would be enough of a promise to see each other again.