A/N: I'm so terribly sorry for the lack of updates, but I suffered a terrible case of writer's block from which I've yet to recover. This chapter is the result of much frustration and lots of drafts, but it's the best I could come up with so... It's somewhat inspired by House of Cards because monarchs are involved in politics, even when they have a ceremonial role, so I can't keep politics entirely out of the story. BUT don't worry, there's still some Aphrodite/Ares action going on :) I apologize in advance for my terrible kissing scenes...

Also, a few things to make your reading easier:

1) The northern suburbs of Athens is the most affluent part of the city. Psychiko is a largely residential area and it's where an actual former residence of the actual former GRF was located.

2) Ermou Street (Οδός Ερμού, "Hermes Street") is a 1.5 km long road in central Athens, five minutes away from the Grande Bretagne in Syntagma Square. The street is the largest shopping venue of Athens with various boutiques, bookstores, media stores etc and it connects Syntagma Square with the Kerameikos archaeological site through the old (and rather affluent) areas of Monastiraki, Psiri, and Thiseio.
Imagine the Greek equivalent to Oxford Street in London, shopping-wise.

3) Maximus Mansion (Μέγαρο Μαξίμου) is actually the official seat of the Greek PM, and yes, it is located right next to the current Presidential Palace, aka former Royal Palace, aka the Royal Palace in this story.

4) The Smile of the Child (Το Χαμόγελο του Παιδιού) is a non-profit charity that provides a better home to the children that are orphaned or were taken away from their abusive families. It's one of the largest (if not the largest) charities in Greece.

One more thing: in the previous chapter, I said that December 15th and 16th are weekdays. I googled the 2006 calendar for Greece and those dates were actually Friday and Saturday respectively, so I went back and changed it. Just pointing it out because I give the right data in this chapter.

Reviews are always welcome :)

OK i shut up now.


16 December 2006

Cronus and Rhea's Palace, Psychiko, Northern suburbs of Athens

The old man leaned back on his chair and breathed out the heavy smoke. His Cuban cigar was burning in the ashtray, filling the room with its intoxicating smell. He gulped down the limp rising in his throat. He'd spit blood later on. Smoking had been doing that to him a lot lately. But, like all bad habits, he couldn't stop it. Neither did he want to. It was his only source of entertainment in this boring mansion. As was reading the day's newspapers.

They were scattered all over his mahogany desk. The political ones did not draw his son's reign with the brightest of colours. The political parties were disputing with the Conservative government over the reforms in the economy and the educational system, retirement fees were being cut in the public sector, and employees and students took to the streets to protest the new measures.

Another day in Greece, simply put.

Cronus didn't care about them. After all, those had become a daily occurrence since his son had ascended the throne. Yet, no one cared to write about the really interesting news. Except for a tabloid.

Ares, the miasma of the Royal Family, the proof of Zeus' greatest drawback, was back and causing further damage to his father's reputation. As if it was not in tatters already.

The photograph adorned the entire front page. He was standing outside what looked like the Royal Suite at the Hotel Grande Bretagne, pining a guard to the floor while another was trying (in vain) to pull him back. Taken via a mobile phone by a customer occupying a nearby room.

Such marvelous news!

He brought his cigar back to his mouth. After he inhaled the smoke, he felt a pain in his chest. He didn't pay it much attention. There was obviously a story going on between Ares and Aphrodite, and that was more important. For years, he had witnessed the way they kept treating each other. He would not be surprised in the slightest to find out that the inevitable had finally happened. Or, at least, was about to.

Ah, yes. They made such a great pair! The agitator and the seductress. The two naughtiest members of the Royal Family. The man everyone despised and the woman all adored.

It would be the greatest scandal to ever hit the family. And the sweetest revenge Cronus could take on his son.

He knew that a romance between those two might lead to the abolition of the Monarchy altogether. But he didn't care. At the end of the day, it would all be Zeus' fault. He had been the one to transform the role of the King of the Hellenes into a simple decoration. A puppet to be tossed around, doing as he was told by a bunch of stupid politicians. He'd wear whatever outfit they instructed him to wear, going from Socialist to Conservative and vice versa overnight. All thanks to a simple general election.

Zeus was definitely familiar with the thrill of being elected. That alone had ruined his reign before it had even started.

What sort of King gets elected by his people?

Not that he should have expected better from him... As long as he could remember, Cronus had always been disappointed in Zeus. His youngest son was breaking one rule after another. When he was little, it was the protocol. Now that he's an adult, it has expanded to his political power. He had reached the peak of that huge mountain of mistake with that dreadful referendum in 1977. That year, Zeus had broken one simple rule which all Kings ought to follow. He had bowed to the nation. Literally and metaphorically. He had actually knelt before a crowd of onlookers during a public appearance. That shameful act had been captured on camera and that photo of his - the most famous one - was still widely discussed. Even now, after he had proven what a failure of a monarch he was, people were still praising Zeus for doing such a 'humble but deeply meaningful' thing.

Pure crap!

The throne was earned by birthright! It was a job for life! Wasn't it for those stupid so-called Conservatives agreeing to help Zeus claim the throne, Cronus would still be King. Celebrating a glorious forty-four years on the throne, thus becoming the longest-reigning King of the Hellenes in the history of the nation.

A record his son wanted for himself apparently.

If those two of his children let him, of course.

Most people would think that Ares had went to visit yet another random woman. Only those who knew Aphrodite's actual address could read between the lines. It was all there. That scene Ares had caused in the early morning hours was not befitting of a brother visiting his sister. He looked drunk, exhausted, and eager for something. Even better, he looked mesmerized. Eager. In awful need of her embrace.

How ironic.

Ares, the violent and troublesome womanizer, had become yet another victim to Aphrodite's charm. Like so many others before him. Except that he had joined her endless list of lovers right on time. Just as the whole of the Royal Family was preparing for Hera's lavish gala and Zeus was about to marry her off to that horrid ogre, Hephaestus.

Which, considering his son's disastrous business activities, would happen soon enough. But he was stupid. Of course Aphrodite would never consent to an arranged marriage! She had that childish belief that people should marry for love. Especially in their world! If her disastrous first meeting with Hephaestus was anything to go by, she would definitely go on giving the poor man a hard time after she had become his wife. It would not surprise Cronus in the slightest if she set her plan in action within the first few seconds of her marriage either.

Not that he cared about her much. But it was all still so awfully ironic. Aphrodite had always gone about creating scandal, only to survive it with as little harm done to her perfect image as possible. Even that picture fiasco in November was now long forgotten and soon after, she had managed to reemerge as the nation's sweetheart.

Sweetheart!

What a dreadfully romantic notion for the people to have for their future monarch! Reigning kings and queens ought to be feared by their subjects, not loved! No matter what it took, they had to destroy their enemies and force even their closest allies not to dare defy, doubt, or challenge them. Cronus' motto declared as much as well. Better feared than loved.

He did give his granddaughter credit for one thing, however. She knew how to outsmart her enemies – her own parents included – and to fool the people into seeing her as the rightful queen. A woman with perfect skin and the looks of a porcelain doll wearing a fancy gown, meeting world leaders, touring the world, and doing an impressive amount of charity. The perfect propaganda!

Cronus brought his cigar back to his mouth. He inhaled twice in a row. The smoke burned his lungs but he didn't care. The mere act gave him a sense of power. He still hadn't accepted that he had been stripped of it. Twenty-three years might have gone by, but he still felt as degraded as he did when he had signed his abdication papers. The very same day, he had moved into his parents' old house. Even though he had been born in it, he hated it. It was a palace only by name. In practice, it was a two-story mansion, like all others in this area. Uranus and Gaia had bought it after Tatoi had burned down in the late 1920s and they needed a place to call their private residence. By the time the Palace of Tatoi had been rebuilt, the 'palace' at Psychiko had become their home; and Cronus' current place of exile.

He preferred Tatoi by a far mile. Now, that was a Palace fit for a King! When he had asked Zeus for permission to move there a few years later, his son would hear none of it. But now things were about to change. If Cronus was lucky enough, Aphrodite would become Queen while her grandfather was still alive. With a little convincing, she could fulfill his "final" wish.

He inhaled again and felt another limp rising in his throat. Opening the tabloid, he read the article very carefully. Halfway through, he smiled widely. That scary grin he was so famous for.

"Now, son," he said out loud. "Let me see how you will handle this crisis!"

His evil laughter soon turned into a loud cough. Taking his handkerchief out of his pocket, he brought it to his mouth. After he removed it, he noticed how the white silk had been marked with red spots. In about five minutes he'd find himself in the bathroom, with awful pains on his sides and chest, coughing until he could not breathe anymore.

Suddenly, his eyes fell on an old framed picture. The smaller copy of an official portrait. It displayed a smiling woman, dressed in her finest evening gown and donning the most expensive green sapphires a woman could own. She looked younger than her forty-three years, thanks to her captivating eyes. They matched the precious gems of her jewellery, as if they did it on purpose. People couldn't help feeling enchanted by them. Same for Cronus.

He hated that stare. It carried the kind of wisdom and strength that only survivors possess.

He detested that that woman, too. She was his greatest shame. His wife and queen, the mother of his children, had turned out a madwoman. She had left for Crete, the most anti-monarchical place in Greece, without even saying goodbye. Three decades of marriage flew to the wind, just like that.

Still, she haunted him. Like a ghost. Even via a picture that was some forty years old.

Acting on reflex, he pressed it down. Too late. He could already hear her voice in his head.

He's only a boy. He makes mistakes.

Cronus couldn't tell if she was referring to Zeus or to Ares. But it didn't matter.

"He's a man, Rhea," he said. "Real men control fire, not play with it. Otherwise they'll get their fingers burned."

He tossed the tabloid aside. His cigar lay on the ashtray, burning still. One of those servants would make sure to tidy everything up later.

Yet, as Cronus leaned back on his chair, he could still hear her voice in his head:

Be careful there. You have their blood on your hands.

He stood still. He knew perfectly well what she meant. She had uttered those words to his face. Many years ago.

For heaven's sake, it's been almost two decades since she had left!

Couldn't she stop haunting him at last?


10:00 A.M.

Royal Suite, Hotel GB

I slapped him. I really did.

I don't know what had gotten into me. Everything, I guess. The stress of seeing him again, the scene he caused, the truth he stunk of...

All thanks to Zeus Almighty's inability to keep his big mouth shut.

Don't get me wrong, I don't like violence. But sometimes, even I lose my temper. Last night, I had promised to myself that I would give Ares the green light, no matter what. Today, I was planning to make amends with him. This way, everything would go back to normal.

Until I saw him standing there, weak, tired, and defeated. He had come straight into the snake pit, ready to fall into my arms, begging silently for the one thing I could never give him. Call me a bad person, but I actually enjoyed seeing him like that. The image of the perfect male he so greatly clings on to was destroyed within seconds. He let his vulnerable side show. He was at my mercy.

And then I saw the smudge of lipstick on his collar.

Impossible as it may seem, now I have to be the good sister who is mad at her walking trouble of a brother, but who gives him a shelter nonetheless. Because it's what she must do.

What she's always done...

Whom am I kidding? Of course he wouldn't wait for me! It's very typical of him to go looking for conquest after conquest, leaving various little operations unfinished. Chaos runs in his veins. He isn't patient; he never was. He can't wait long enough for a woman to make up her mind about him. Twenty-four hours sounds like an eternity to him. He has never been interested in having a serious relationship. Most of his flings are one-night-stands, because they give him exactly what he wants. To have fun, to forget about his troubles in the arms of a pretty woman... There's plenty of fish in the sea, after all.

Yet, this was not how he had treated me. Both in London and at the Royal Palace, he made me believe that he was mine, and mine only. He didn't put it into words. Neither did he need to. I know the touch of men well enough to translate its secret meanings. His caresses and kisses alone proved that he had not touched another woman that way before. It was terrifying. But oh, so mesmerizing.

Childish as this notion might be, I felt like I could swim the deepest sea for him. If only just to relive the same kind of thrill.

How funny is that... I must have grown as possessive of him as he is of me...

Nevertheless, he keeps confusing me. I stayed up all night, trying to figure out my feelings towards him. Yes, I am jealous of him. I know that I have fallen in too deep and that it's too late to turn back now. He feels the same way. Why would he fall that low otherwise?

This morning, my friendly maid saw the dark circles under my eyes. I must have looked as exhausted as I felt. After she noticed that I wouldn't touch my breakfast, she asked me if I was unwell. I reassured him that I was just fine and sent her to Ermou Street, just five minutes away from the hotel on foot, to buy a couple of new shirts and suits for Ares. She could find his size in the fabric tags in his shirt and jacket, which he had left in the bathroom. He would wear the ones he liked best. But I won't have him walking around in last night's outfit. I even lent her one of my own pantsuits and coat, so that she could shop in the most expensive stores unnoticed. Good for her, we have the same body type...

She left half an hour ago. Until she comes back, I have plenty of time to confront the bull in the china store that is sleeping right across my bedroom.

Walking through the bathroom and the small corridor with my boudoir and the wine cellar, I reach the private gym. Ares is sleeping on the massage bed, with a pillow and a blanket my maids provided him with. It is the only piece of furniture in here long and wide enough to fit him. My maids sleep on the sofa-beds the suite provides us with, in what used to be the media room. His trousers are safely placed on the treadmill nearby. I am holding his shirt - the proof of all evil - and I sit right opposite him, in front of the small adjacent sauna.

Perhaps I should have had him sleep in there instead. Who knows, that could have taught him a lesson for a change...

I bring the shirt to my face. I have a rather sensitive nose, which enables me to tell smells apart, even when those are perfectly mixed together. It still stinks of smoke, cheap alcohol, his cologne, and that other woman's perfume.

Well, that explains a lot.

I don't know who she is or where they all honesty, I don't care either. All I know is that she has no idea how to wear perfume, and that reveals more about her than any description Ares could give. She was desperate to find a man. That's why she showered herself with it. It was her way of standing out. She is obviously the hit-and-run kind of girl, who does not care about the joy of flirting and has no time for foreplay. Maybe she doesn't know how to play the game. A woman's perfume and her outfits ought to follow the same rule of conduct: it is you wearing it, not the other way around. It shouldn't make you stand out. Rather, it has to make people attracted to you, have them be curious about you, reassure them that they can get to know you. Whether you want to flirt or not, it should always be mixed with your own, natural essence. A unique and very distinctive smell is created that way, which is yours and yours alone. And the next time people smell your perfume, they can recognize it and think of you, first thing.

A game of hide and seek of sorts.

No wonder he came begging for me instead, then.

I lay his shirt on my lap. I'm wearing a simple, floor-length black and red floral dress, red short heels, hair down, scarlet lipstick and the most natural make-up I could match with it. No jewelery.

The ideal outfit to enjoy the view in front of me.

Ares doesn't stay in one place when he sleeps. He tosses and turns, kicking the poor blanket which has now ended up as a pile between his legs. His back is facing me, which allows me to admire this marvel of man unnoticed.

He has not changed at all. The toned muscles of his body are on plain sight. Only a few healing bruises and scars here and there destroy his perfect skin, but that is the outcome of life in the Army, I guess. Other than that, he is still the same brawny man I had come to make mine. Looking at him in the calmness of the room, I feel a tingle down my spine. I can feel his arms around me, how safe yet tiny they made me feel... Those hands that know how to touch in all the right places, the lips that tasted like the sweetest wine...

If I allowed myself to give in to my feelings, I would walk up to him. I'd only have to stretch out my hand and run my fingers over his body. Starting from his thick neck, running down along his wide shoulders to his bare chest, then draw an invisible straight line all the way down to-

Concentrate!

As far as I'm concerned, I am supposed to be turning down Ares' advances, not giving in to them. What am I doing?

There are people outside. My spying maid and bodyguard, the other security officer, and my friendly maid. What if she comes back any minute now?

Hard as it is, I must resist him. Whatever it takes.

I can already tell that it will be easier said than done...

Maybe I should just leave him be. I could confront him later. While he's having breakfast in the dining room, perhaps. It was terrible idea for me to come here in the first place. What if he wakes up suddenly? What if we're being eavesdropped?

Honestly, the things he makes me do...

The massage bed squeaks. It's too late for me to do anything now. He stirs, turns, opens his eyes...

Show time.

"Cheap lipstick," I say. He jumps up. I go on: "Pink. Lots of perfume... Well! She must have been quite the something."

It's not hard for me to be bitter. Handsome as he might be, his shirt still stinks. A lot.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he keeps looking at me, rather transfixed and confused as to why I am here. He looks at me as if I'm a ghost or something. On reflex, I let the shirt fall to the ground. I won't allow him to exit this room until I get all the answers I came for. In great detail, preferably.

But apparently, he is not sober enough to recognize his surroundings yet.

"Where am I?" he asks, sitting up on his elbows.

He has actually been in this room before. Plenty of times. It's the only place where he can work out in peace. Or so he would tell me.

"Where you ended up last night," I reply, trying very hard to concentrate on being mad at him and not on his physical attributes. "You knocked down two of my security officers to get here. One of them is currently in the hospital with a broken nose."

He stands still for a few seconds. Then, as if remembering the scene, he mutters under his breath:

"Shit!"

"My thoughts exactly." I cross my legs one on top of the other. "Though, if you are to stay here, you have to mind your language. I am already knee-high in trouble. Don't make it worse."

"How long have I been sleeping?"

Great, he's asking all the serious questions now.

"Don't worry," I say sarcastically. "You don't have a plane to catch. Sadly."

He gets the message, that he should go back to his base. He doesn't look pleased. At all:

"Seriously?"

"Well if you so greatly persist. Six hours. Are you happy now?"

He returns the sarcasm: "Very!"

"Good." Leaning to the side, I pick up the shirt from the floor and hold it in such a way that the smudge is in plain sight. "Well, seeing that you are awake now, perhaps you could explain to me the meaning of this."

I throw the shirt at him and he catches it in the air. He takes a good, long look at it. His fists are tight. I can't tell who he's most furious with: me or him?

We both remain silent for a few seconds. He is trying to come up with an excuse, I hope. But the longer he takes to say something, the more impatient I grow. Until I finally snap:

"You know, perhaps you could keep it as a memorabilia." There he goes again, giving me yet another of his confused looks. I explain: "Of the first time you allowed yourself to be defeated."

His grip of the shirt tightens. He might as well tear it apart if I go on insulting him. I don't really expect him to remain calm. Yet, I can't say I'm not surprised by his answer either:

"I need some coffee."

"You'll give me some answers first."

His hold of the collar relaxes and he exhales. I think I know what that means. Much as it might frustrate him, I ask the question:

"It's because I'm getting married, isn't it?"

But he doesn't stop giving me the silent treatment.

I persist: "Isn't it?"

"Fine," he replies at last. "It is."

"Aha," I nod. "And what would you have done if that had not been the case? Pushed me against a wall, hidden with me behind a bush, found an empty room?"

He doesn't reply. From the look in his eyes, though, I can tell what his answer would be: 'Yes'.

Still, it is not enough to make me forgive him. He keeps looking at his shirt, but if only he would stare at me again...! I need to see the look in his eyes, to understand what he's feeling. They are very expressive, surprisingly enough. Rather enigmatic too, sometimes. But his emotions are not in turmoil currently. He has not regretted causing a scene. He is only still hurt and scared of losing me.

I know the feeling. All those hopes he kept having about us seeing each other again came crushing down because of a simple announcement that came at the worst possible of times. It was only natural that Ares would react the way he did.

But there is nothing I can do, except for going on being terrible towards him. He has raised the bar and now the stakes are too high for me to even dare risk it.

"How awfully childish of you," I let out.

Ares has had enough:

"Not to worry, Your Highness," he replies sarcastically. I hit him right where he hurt and now he will make me pay the price: "I would never dare unlock your iron belt of virtue! But still, don't you think it's unfair that your poor husband-to-be will never find out about the kind of woman he is going to make his wife?"

How dare he?! First he comes in here and embarrasses me, then he threatens me! He emphasizes just the right words for him to make his point clear. Can't he just... see?

Before I even realize it, I run straight to his bed. I don't touch him. I don't need to. Our faces are so close that we can only look straight into each other's eyes. His initial surprise is soon replaced with frustration. The lustful kind. With a single motion, he could just pull me down and land on top of me, making me his prey at long last. Again.

But I give him an icy stare. I feel like hitting him, punching him in the face with the same force as he hit that poor man. Right now, I don't like Ares. He keeps pushing me to my limits and I hate that. With all of my might.

"Look at me!" I mutter. "This is the face of the woman you've dared insult. Your future queen. You don't matter enough to upset me, you're not even worthy of insulting me! You take such great joy in the privileges granted to you that you forget about the truth. You are a member of this family only due to an act of charity. Our parents took pity in you because they were desperate to have a son. This is not the woman you have met in a nightclub that night. The mask is off. This is her truth. The whole, barren truth. I am not in your need, you are in mine. Next time you forget about this, I will make sure you remember it."

I stand up at once, not taking my eyes off of him. He looks more furious than before, like a volcano about to erupt. I make my way to the door. But his next words stop me on my tracks:

"I've made myself a promise," he says calmly, surprising as it is. "That I'd protect you."

I turn to face him:

"Protect. Me? You?"

"From the witches and the dragons."

The... what? I have never expected to hear such words from him. He is not the romantic. At all. I understand who he means by that, the loads of people hired to spy on me. Yet, I can't help smiling at what he has just said. Which he translates as me trying hard not to mock him. He is still in a hangover state, after all. But he was honest.

Somehow, it makes this whole situation even worse:

"There's plenty of those in here," he adds, trying to explain himself. "People watching our every move. They're everywhere. Our parents, the people that work for us, the government..."

"I can only see one," I reply. "Right in this very room."

I catch that puzzled look on Ares' face, just for a few seconds. Then I open the door and leave. Stepping into the bathroom, I burst into laughter, knowing all too well that he might hear me.

To tell you the truth, I don't know why I said that. Perhaps I am trying to confuse him. Or me. Maybe it was a bad idea to let him stay here in the first place. If only he would just... let go of me, if only he'd let me lose him! It'd be a lot easier for the two of us to break free from that damn curse we have trapped ourselves in.

The fool!


Private quarters, Royal Palace

The young man entered the Queen's office. For most days of the week, that part of the Palace was inaccessible to him and his colleagues. Her Majesty had ordered that no security officer was stationed inside the private quarters, so that the Royal Family could maintain a sense of normalcy there. But Saturday was rather special. Like him.

When he had joined the Royal Guard five years ago, he had graduated from the Police Academy of Athens only a few weeks prior. Up until then, working for the Royal Family was science fiction to him. Nevertheless, he had applied for the position because his father had persisted. A member of the Conservative Party since his days as a student, the old man had used his connections within the party (even calling a few MPs) to secure for his son the best position possible. To his view, political favours had been the only way to secure his son a highly respected and well-paying career, as well as to boost the popularity and the prestige of his party. Even though the Socialists had been in power back then and the Conservatives formed the Opposition, his wishes had been granted. The young man didn't like the fact that he had been hired due to political favours. Those kinds of biddings were frowned upon by most people. Still, almost everyone in Greece had established their careers in the public sector that way. The Hellenic Armed Forces were the exception to the rule, but even they defied the law sometimes. Yet, neither the father nor the son could predict that the young man would be trusted with a very special mission.

His assigned royal called him Doug because 'he looked like one'. He didn't mind it. She was his job. He ought to keep an eye on her at all times. His Majesty's orders. The King had requested that he gave him a full report on her whereabouts and any visitors she might 'entertain' in the Royal Suite. No one ought to find out that he had been giving him some extra money for that. Those were not part of his salary and under no circumstances could they be reported on his tax returns. Otherwise, he'd cause irreparable damage to his career and the Royal Family, whom he had been raised to admire and respect.

Even his own family didn't know about that kind of transaction. They were awfully proud of him, because he was guarding the Crown Princess. He wasn't allowed to reveal any further details about her, such as how many hours he spent with her every day or the draconian measures it took to protect her. The men in his family admired him intensely, sometimes even teasing him that he was the only man she hadn't bedded (yet). His female relatives, on the other hand, were bombing him with different kinds of questions: Was she as pretty up close as she looked in the pictures? / How tall was she? / Did she really have as many lovers as people said she had? The most daring ones would even ask him if he could give out any 'spicy' details about her personal life. But he kept his mouth shut.

Thanks to the Queen, however, he knew more about Aphrodite than his family could dare imagine. Three months after the King had asked him to spy on his daughter at all times, Her Majesty had requested a private audience with him which no one, not even her husband, ought to find out about. He had been asked to do as his predecessor had done: delve as deep into the Crown Princess's personal life as possible, without being noticed. His duties were simple. He had to give her solid evidence, by Aphrodite herself, on her shameful personal life. They would be delivered to the Queen in a yellow folder every Saturday by ten o'clock. If he dared ask any questions or reveal the truth, he would be fired immediately and without a reference. If he did as he was told, on the other hand, he would be transferred to Her Majesty's security team. Like his predecessor had done.

Every Saturday, the Queen would meet with members of the royal staff - no matter the branch to which they belonged - to point out drawbacks and perks, or simply to be updated on anything that might be important enough for her to know. She was the head of the household, after all, much as the King was the head of the country and his family. But, seeing that the Queen was awfully wary of gossip, all discussions that took place in her office had to remain a deeply buried secret. Even though the bodyguard knew that her spying on her step-daughter was widely discussed among the Palace staff, he didn't feel ashamed. It was part of his job and the Queen, too, was generous enough to slip another little white folder in his hands after each audience.

As usual, he had to wait for Her Majesty's private secretary to announce him. When he entered the room, he found her already standing up by her big ebony desk, her computer turned off and various open folders were gathered together to the side, one on top of the other. Right behind her, there was a bookcase that took over the entire wall, filled with some books on history and politics. It was decorated with various pictures she had taken with other queens and first ladies, as well as with personal gifts that they had given her. Everything in there was arranged so that everyone's eyes fell on the large family portrait, taken during their most recent official photo shoot in the gardens of the Royal Palace the previous spring. One of these days, they would be asked to take another one. They enclosed those family portraits along with a small thank-you letter to the correspondence they received from their supporters worldwide.

After he bowed, Hera pointed to a chair in front of her desk. Sitting on it, he watched as the Queen took her own place behind it. Putting on her reading glasses, she unlocked a drawer. While she was doing that, the young man took a glimpse on the pile of folders. He saw a list consisting of pictures of the dresses she had worn in the past. She was setting up her agenda for the spring of 2007, apparently.

Then he noticed the yellow folder Hera had pushed towards him.

"I would like to return this to you," she said, waiting for him to hold it.

He recognized it immediately. It contained the most recent pictures he had taken of the Crown Princess's personal diary. He didn't know what they were about. The Queen had hired him for the job because he could not speak French. But even if he did, he would never be able to decipher the Crown Princess's cursive and calligraphic handwriting. Try as he might.

True to form, he replied: "As you wish, Your Majesty."

He had learned early on in his career at the Royal Guard that it was not right to thank the members of the Royal Family unless they granted you a favour.

"I trust your shift for today has already started?" Hera asked, removing her glasses.

"Of course, Ma'am. I started at seven thirty in the morning and finish at eight in the evening. As always."

It was a rather exhausting schedule, to be sure, and it took quite a lot of sacrifices, but he was given a few days off from time to time. Besides, it was all worth the money.

"Good. Today, I want you to be extremely careful."

He shot her a confused look. Hera rushed to explain:

"A little bird told me that the Crown Princess may not be spending her day on her own."

Still, he couldn't see what was so special about it: "With all due respect, she has received men in the Royal Suite before."

The Queen brought her hands together and intertwined her fingers: "Yes, but this particular visitor is... how to say... special. Have you seen today's papers?"

"I'm afraid not, Ma'am. I don't have the time to read."

Hera was somewhat relieved. Her job had suddenly become so much easier!

"Oh, what a pity," she said nonetheless. "In short, Prince Ares may have spent the night there. He had a bit of a rough night yesterday, apparently, and did not want to be seen in such an unruly state. He is awfully aware of his reputation, as you know. But, he is also a young man. He, too, needs to enjoy himself occasionally."

She was telling him only half the son did not care at all about keeping up appearances. If he had done, he would have never gone to Aphrodite in the first place, let alone have caused a scene right outside her front door! She blamed his tantrums for it, yet she didn't know what had triggered him. Something serious must have been the matter for him to be so blinded by his own stubbornness to the point where he acted on instinct entirely. Much as Hera did not trust Aphrodite, she hoped that her step-daughter would use that brain in her head for once and would try her best to avoid his advances - dreadful as this phrase sounded. She might be able to send him back home too, perhaps, even if that was the only solution she could come up with. Whatever Aphrodite could think of, however, Hera knew she ought to do one thing: act quickly.

The bodyguard would like to believe Her Majesty. But his training and experience had taught him not to trust anyone. Not even his own Queen. As far as he was concerned, it was the King had sworn allegiance to. He was his real boss. He was simply doing the Queen a favour because he needed the money.

"As you wish," he replied.

"I need to be informed constantly. You do have the number to my private phone number, do you not?"

"Of course, Ma'am."

"Whatever you can find then, text me at once."

He hesitated to ask the next question: "If I may, on what exactly?"

Much as Hera would like to have scolded him, she held back. She should not let her own panicked state show. After all, he was only doing his job.

"First, you try to find anything that seems unusual. If the maids are coming and going constantly, for instance, or if the Crown Princess is ordering extra room service. She does have a few engagement she needs to attend today. Her ladies-in-waiting will be with her."

The last sentence was a sign. It meant that he had to take pictures of any new entires there might be in Aphrodite's private diary. As soon as he had printed them, he'd present them to Her Majesty in the same yellow folder. Initially, he had suggested using a USB stick for more secrecy, but Hera had turned down his suggestion without a second thought. She didn't trust technology and she had also stated that it could fall into the wrong hands if they were not careful enough. All folders on the other hand that were addressed to her and had the stamp of the Royal Guard were taken directly to her private secretary. They didn't even need to go through security control, unlike all the other documents that were addressed to the members of the Royal Family.

In order for the bodyguard to plan his next moves, he asked:

"Does His Highness have any engagements as well?"

He was expecting a simple 'yes' or 'no', but he had forgotten how Her Majesty did not like to be asked too many questions by her staffers:

"That doesn't matter, does it, we know he won't be that enthusiastic about them either way," she said. "In any case, be careful for him not to notice you. As you will hear, he has harmed two of your colleagues, surely he can eat you for breakfast as well. Just do not get caught."

The bodyguard nodded. He realized that there was more in the story than the Queen was willing to reveal. She had never advised him to be careful before.

"Yes, Ma'am. I understand."

"Good. Now, I believe we both have some business to attend to."

Hera stood up at once. He followed her lead. She stretched out her right hand and he kissed the back of it, before seeing her ringing a bell. The door opened and her private secretary walked in. The audience was over. Since it was against the protocol for him to turn his back in Her Majesty's presence, he walked to the door backwards. He bowed and her secretary - a woman - curtsied. As soon as Hera was left on her own, with the door to her office closed, she tried to focus on her job again. Still, she couldn't help hoping that she had simply misunderstood the dispute between Aphrodite and Ares and that there was nothing going on between them. How could it? They saw each other as siblings. Did they not?

Sitting back on her desk, she held a random piece of paper in her hands. It was a twenty-paged list with all the possible engagements that would take place between March and May next year. Choosing which ones she would attend was a long process, because she also had to take her daughters' own schedules into consideration. They would attend the engagements she would turn down. The spring of 2007 was heading close - just four months away. She didn't have to worry about the gala anymore. Everything was in place. All that was left to do about it was to unlock the doors to the Reception Hall and welcome the guests.

But still, she didn't have much time to worry about her children's shenanigans. If only they would understand that...!

She'd just have to wait. Perhaps Zeus was right. She might have been exaggerating.

Even though a voice in her kept telling her otherwise.


10:30 A.M.

Maximus Mansion, Official Residence of the Prime Minister

Prime Minister Karolos Kallinikos was heading to the Dining Hall, ready for yet another of his weekly meetings with his Cabinet. During those, they would discuss the most important issues and figure out what the PM would share with the King during their audiences every Wednesday. Early in his administration, some of his ministers had complained about the meetings taking place every Saturday morning, but he had been adamant to keep it that way. His late uncle (a PM during the 1950s and the founder of the Conservative Party) had followed the same routine and, frankly, he could not see how it could not work in 2006 as well. Besides, it gave him plenty of time to prepare for his private audiences with the King.

Walking along the endless corridors with the white walls, all the while listening to the sound of his shoes as they hit the black-and-white marble floor, he reminded himself how that mansion felt like home to him. Making it his residence had been a dream come true for him, as the reward for his lifelong preparation for the office of Prime Minister. A member of the second most powerful political dynasty of Greece, his family's reputation was obscured only by their Socialist counterparts, the Papadakis family, who took great pride in calling themselves 'The Kennedys of Greece'. Alexis Papadakis, the leader of the current Socialist Opposition kept reminding everyone, both MPs and voters, that his father and his grandfather were legendary political figures in their own right.

Guess he didn't know as much about Maximus Mansion as the PM did, however. The latter had come to know this lavish building, constructed in 1912, as part of his family's history, which he ought to honour by continuing it. He had not known it as the residence of the prime minister, however. While he was growing up in the 1960s, it was used as the official guest house for the foreign leaders during state visits. It was one of the Mansion's three different careers: first a private residence from 1912 to 1954, then a guesthouse for the foreign dignitaries from 1954 to 1982, and the official residence of the prime minister. No one could doubt that the last one was the most rightful one for such an extravagant building.

Nevertheless, it maintained the name of its first ever owner, the man who had also constructed it, as a homage to him.

And how convenient it was that it was located right next to the Royal Palace!

Entering the Dining Hall, he saw all eighteen of his ministers sitting around the big, old table. Perhaps it was as old as the mansion itself, but no one could confirm as much.

As soon as the PM took his place by the top of the table, he said:

"Gentlemen! And a few ladies. Shall we begin?"

There were only two women in his Cabinet. But, he had appointed them to two very important ministries: Foreign Affairs and Education and Religions. Appointing the former - and first female - Mayor of Athens as the first ever woman Minister of Foreign Affairs in the history of his country earned him more criticism than praise, however. She, too, had been born into a political dynasty and her own father had served as PM in the early 1990s.

Nevertheless, considering his party's policies and the constant underestimating of female politicians, it was a ground-breaking decision.

All of his ministers sat down. For the next few moments, the only sounds heard were those of folders opening, papers being put to place, and pens clicking. The PM decided not to waste another second:

"So. First on the agenda is the purchase of the Hellenic Telecommunications Organisation by Deutsche Telekommunikation A.G.. The offer was made in 1993 and the process is to be completed in 2009. His Majesty has been outspoken on his support for it and we do have his signature on paper. Now, as you know, his interference caused a major public outcry. The people took to the streets, there were serious damages done to stores during the protests, cars were burned too... They demand an abdication and, considering the war that the Opposition have began against us, we need to figure out a way to make it happen without causing an early general election."

The Minister of Interior, a man in his early fifties, interrupted: "As far as I'm concerned, Sir, an abdication is what the Opposition want. If we give them that, it does not secure us the win at the following elections. If the Socialists ally with the Communist Party, they have brought the entire left against us. The Communists are, after all, the third most powerful party in Parliament. So, I vote that we keep the King in his position and simply try to improve his image."

The Finance Minister - who was around the same age - believed he ought to intervene. Turning to the Minister of Interior, he said: "But this is exactly what it is about. We are the monarchists. Our aim is to secure the institution, not the individual. The Socialists were on our side as well, because Greece is a constitutional monarchy. The King adapted the monarchy to their needs and he shrunk his role into a strictly ceremonial one. The only political powers that he has are that he can permit the dissolution of the Parliament, inaugurate new governments, meet with the PM on a weekly basis, and sign laws into action. He cannot have political interference. Heck, he doesn't even have the right to vote!"

The Minister of Interior added: "Still, the entire Parliament needs to vote for the abdication process to begin. This is declared in the law voted in 1992, which abolishes the law of 1981, which stated that the heir to the throne can be elected via referendum once all of the current monarch's sons have come of age."

"I know that!" the Finance Minister replied. "I'm saying that, if we want to save the monarchy, making the Crown Princess the new queen would do more good to the country than improving the King's image. I believe she is ready. Her world tour has been a major success. So was her tour of Greece, only a few days after her return. Her popularity has increased to the point where the citizens seem willing to overlook their misogyny because they dislike a political King more than a young woman who is still learning the ropes."

It was the right time for the Minister of Foreign Affairs to join the conversation:

"I agree. She is a great listener and she does as she is told. Sure, we allow her to add a few personal remarks to her speeches and interviews, but, nevertheless, she is a valuable diplomatic asset. She has followed our instructions, much as she has opposed our political views, and if we're lucky enough, she will go on doing so once she is queen."

The Minister of Interior addressed her: "Are you suggesting that we get on with the abdication process?"

"I don't see why not,"she replied. "It would be a great diplomatic asset for the country. Their Majesties may still be young enough to do the work, but the Greeks need a breath of fresh air. So far, the Crown Princess is the most famous member of the royal family, both on home ground and abroad. Following her tour, we have made several new diplomatic allies that have strengthened our country's prestige worldwide. The more foreign allies we have, the easier it will be for us to solve issues such as the Turkish threats in the Aegean, their illegal occupation of the north part of Cyprus and the naming dispute with FYROM over the region of Macedonia."

The PM kept listening to all of their different opinions carefully. But he felt that he, too, had to share his own views on it:

"We cannot inaugurate her as the new queen immediately. There are still things that need to be done. His Majesty had said that he would abdicate once the Crown Princess had given the country an heir and a spare. Given the choice for her husband, I am afraid we will have to convince him to change his mind about that. If we are to push for abdication, we need to act quickly. The Socialists are gaining ground in the opinion polls and the other parties are finding faults on our plans for the reforms on education and finance."

The Minister of Foreign Affairs still had to interfere: "But if we, our party, do not make her queen, the Socialists will. They favoured Princess Athena for the throne until she left for England. Her approval ratings have suffered, too, because of her decision. But she is very respected, in a way that Princess Aphrodite will never be."

"It's true, Princess Athena is the Crown Princess's greatest antagonist in popularity," the PM furthered. "Princess Aphrodite is, if I may, a celebrity. The likes of her have almost brought down the monarchies in their own respective countries. But, the Greeks would rather have a celebrity as their unelected head of state than someone with actual political opinions. Princess Athena is an outspoken liberal. She has always sided with the left and she has proven so with words and with actions. King Zeus survived for so long exactly because he has done very little. He does have a rather troublesome personal life, but the Queen has always taken care of that. Us interfering in their marital business could be translating as an effort to invade their privacy. It would do more harm to our reputation than good. "

The Finance Minister began to talk: "The Greeks seem to have a different opinion. They want to know what if the rumours about the King are true. They may hate the prospect of having a woman as their head of state, but they hate scandalous political figures more. His Majesty is a political figure as well. He knows state secrets. The kind of which the voters had better never find out about. We don't know what he thinks of them, but he won't reveal them."

Still, the Interior Minister stroke again: "The Crown Princess, on the other hand..."

"Excuse me, if I may," the Minister of Foreign Affairs interrupted. "Yes, she has made some obnoxious remarks about us and yes, she has offended the Prime Minister. But, if you are watching the news, you would know that the Greeks love hating us. As long as they keep voting for us, however, we care very little about their opinions on each and every single one of us."

"Which is exactly why she is unsuitable for the throne. Besides, she's not married."

The PM replied to the Interior Minister instead: "The Constitution doesn't state anywhere that she has to be married to ascend the throne. It simply says that, as long as she has had her investiture ceremony, she is the heir apparent to the throne."

"Still, she does have a rather obnoxious personal life," the Interior Minister added. "And her intended is not... the best of men. I don't know why the King has chosen someone like him for her husband. Surely, there were plenty of wealthy and good-looking men out there for her?"

The Finance Minister was the only one that could reply: "He is the only one that can provide him the money he needs. I cannot reveal more, I am afraid. Only the finance ministers know the whole story of the Royal Family's finances. And the prime ministers, of course."

The PM added: "Let us just say, he has been through some rough times with his investments. He has made a grave mistake in investing in the public companies more than he had in the private ones. There are plenty of Greek companies abroad that need capital. When I told him that, he said that he'd like to invest those Greek private companies based abroad, but he is worried about the outcry he will receive from the public. That's why he was so eager to complete the purchase of the Hellenic Telecommunications Association. He thought that being openly involved in the matter would speed up the process. Which, I am sure, the German government was extremely thankful for."

The Finance Minister furthered: "They believe that giving money to the head of the Greek state, via investments, could allow them to interfere in the country's political life. The King got angry when he found out, and he is no longer involved with the Association. That was his way to shut the door to them and keep them from coming in. We, as a nation, have some terrible experiences with the Germans, after all."

The Minister of Foreign Affairs asked: "Does the Queen know about her husband's business activities?"

"I highly doubt so," the PM replied. " Given her... personality, I would understand why her husband would want to keep her out of it."

"But wouldn't the Crown Princess be given access to it as soon as she becomes queen?" she asked.

"The investments concern the King's personal finances. She has the generous allowance that the businesses of her maternal grandparents and her step-father give her. Each have set a common trust fund for her. We could cut down her royal appanage too, and she wouldn't even notice."

The Minister of Foreign Affairs chose to defend the Crown Princess: "This is impossible. She has revealed that she gives it to the charities she supports. WWF Greece, for instance, or The Smile of the Child. It has only increased her approval ratings tenfold since."

It was the time for the Finance Minister to speak again: "I will be sharing some confidential information now, but Hephaestus' family are associated with Deutsche Telekommunikation αnd some other businesses founded or run by Greeks abroad. Germany, France, Switzerland, Great Britain, the U.S... It's a far more impressive network compared to the one associated with the Crown Princess's maternal family."

"But that's only investments," the Minister of Foreign Affairs said. "Dione's family actually own and run the two businesses they are famous for. And their company is a great advertisement for Greek maritime. The Minister of Finance is more familiar with it. Maritime does fall under the capacity of his ministry, after all."

The PM was growing impatient. They had dedicated much more time on the subject than he had expected and there were plenty of other subjects to discuss within two hours. So, he had to hurry things up:

"So, what do you suggest we do? I am asking the three people that have already spoken. I guess it is not a matter interesting enough for the rest of you just yet. Nevertheless. The few people involved. What do they suggest we do?"

The Finance Minister was the first to reply: "I say, we approve of the marriage of the Crown Princess. A wealthier royal family would mean more prestige for the country."

The Minister of Foreign Affairs agreed: "Though I still vote we begin the abdication process, I suggest we try to improve the image of the King for now. To give the Crown Princess more time to prepare and to avoid the King's wrath. I believe the gala for the Queen's birthday would be a great opportunity for it. Her approval ratings have also suffered since that so-called 'illness'."

"Trying to improve the image of the King would be easier," the PM said. "It's the holiday season, after all, the new year is just around the corner. We are left with two years until the next general election. Plenty of time to change the voters' opinion about us. We might have to send Their Majesties to a few foreign trips as well. Though, after we have given our foreign allies the beauty that is Princess Aphrodite, it would be rather hard to have them accept the King and the Queen, good-looking as they also are."

The Minister of Foreign Affairs disagreed: "I believe the Crown Princess should remain in Greece for the time being. To work for her own country on home ground."

The Minister of Interior had remained quiet a little too long: "But the Opposition might oppose the match. All parties in Parliament need to give their vote of approval for their engagement to be announced."

The PM was the one brave enough to face him: "We are the majority in Parliament. The Opposition might be excited that Princess Aphrodite has chosen someone with a few handicaps as her husband instead of a bodybuilder of some kind. They always work hard for those people when they are in power. Then we come back and reverse everything they created to suit our own needs, then they do the same thing when they rise back to power. It's a circle and that's how it will remain. Now, shall we move on? Next on. Education! Now, that is something that we need to protect from the Socialists! How is that getting along?"

They all changed the subject. The PM was making notes down on paper. Yes, they approved of the Crown Princess's marriage and no, they would not start with the abdication process just yet. He would not reveal the latter to the King, of course. But the Crown Princess had to be married before ascending the throne. Having had a child too while still a Crown Princess would also be great. If his calculations were right and if everything ran smoothly, Aphrodite would become Queen by 2016, at the age of thirty-six. She would not be as young as her father and her grandfather were when they ascended the throne, but she would certainly be old enough to have had at least two children by then. The much-needed heir and a spare.

So far, the power had been switching between the Socialists and the Conservatives and none of them were willing to abolish the monarchy. It would take another political party, which would come to power by surprise, to take them down. Still, they would need the approval of the rest of the Parliament, because abolishing the Monarchy would go against the Constitution.

But that scenario was as possible as the earth was flat.


11:00 A.M.

Royal Suite, Hotel GB

Ares and I have been avoiding each other as much as possible. It makes the whole situation all the more unbearable, actually. I do have some engagements to attend today, but, bad enough for me, they all take place in the afternoon. Normally, I love Saturdays because of it, but today I'm making an exception. Why do normal people have to wake up so late in the weekends?

Why it is such a big deal, you may ask. It's quite simple, really. We need to be seen to be believed. For that, we need actual crowds to come, see us, and adore us. Big or small, it doesn't matter. As long as they're awake enough to wave flags, shout our names, and don't look like they're desperate for a cup of coffee. It wouldn't look good in the pictures, would it?

Until then - or at least until Ares decides to leave me alone at last - I will keep myself preoccupied somehow. I have already tried pretty much everything I could do in here. Reading the newspapers I hadn't read during "breakfast" seemed to be doing the trick, until I discovered the tabloid which featured him all over its cover. I read the article out of curiosity. Some friendly neighbour of mine - if I can call him thus - had taken it, posted it immediately on the Internet, in some forum about royalty, and that's where they took it from. Good for them, they don't have the time nor the ability to do some decent reporting, and so they guessed that he had gone to see just a woman - any random woman. The hotel number and the sign which reads 'Royal Suite' had been obscured, perhaps so that they could not get in trouble with the hotel administration.

Marvelous...

I gave up on reading soon after and tried to play some music instead. The antique piano in the living room still works, believe it or not. I am not a professional by a far mile, but I have been training long enough to be considered good enough.

Just not today, apparently.

Luckily for me, Beethoven was deaf. Otherwise, he'd be rolling in his grave if he could listen to me murdering Für Elise in the same way I had done when I was eight. But it's not my fault. I just can't focus. Even though I have played this piece a thousand times in the past, and without the sheet, my hands won't coordinate with my brain today.

I could have switched to Debussy's Clair de Lune (another tune I've played more times than I can count), but I figured I'd let a great piece survive my disastrous force for a change.

Soon enough I realized that the only way to get out of this void was to go straight into the source of trouble. Me. It was me who was upset over this whole thing, me who couldn't concentrate, me who had to get a certain tall and handsome Prince Charming out of her mind.

The only refuge I can find in this place is my private diary. The one in which I wrote about the abortion. After that audience with Hera, I haven't felt safe enough to write any new entries, but it still feels like my safe haven. Besides, it's highly impossible that that had been her source. I wouldn't be surprised if a member of my staff somehow found out and told her. The walls have ears wherever I go, after all. Built this way by Peacock herself, too, maybe.

And Cinderella and Snow white thought their stepmothers were wicked...

I go to my bedroom. Opening the bottom drawer, I get out all the white pieces of clothing that cover it, and bring the black notebook back to light. I sit on the desk nearby and start writing. Blanche is sitting by my chair, happy for the company.

I'm not going to use any names. I never do. Once again, he'll be introduced as a P.I. - Parfait Inconnu. Meaning 'perfect stranger'. That's the nickname I give to every man mentioned in there. May whatever Private Investigator who gets their filthy hands on it spend hours figuring out names and addresses later on.

My friendly maid will bring my mint martini and the platter of French cheeses soon. Until then, I just... write.

I don't really care about creating an impressive novel when I write. I mostly care about getting the thoughts out of my head, so that they can stop torturing me as much as they have already done. That's why they don't follow a particular order. They're never structured. They are as chaotic as my thoughts and feelings. Perhaps later I will break the rule of never reading my entries over again and I will examine them closely. After midnight, preferably, when everyone is asleep. As long as I can find a way out of this awful mess I'm in, to figure out once and for all what I feel towards Ares and how I should treat him.

All the while, he, the cause of all this mess, is right across the room, still in the private gym.

How awfully discreet of him...

Eventually, he does make his presence know. I recognize him from his heavy steps and him knocking on the door. Both those sounds are a rare occurrence in here. My bodyguards aren't allowed in the suite and my maids just fly into the room whenever the time comes for me to need them. That's why I can't lock any doors in here. They have all the keys.

I close the notebook. I haven't written down all the things I wanted to put down on paper, but it doesn't matter really. The three minutes I've spent writing have made me calm enough to face him.

Setting it aside, I allow him in. He is dressed in one of the new suits my maid bought for him. The charcoal grey one with the navy blue shirt. It brings out his eyes... He remains standing by the door, knowing all too well that my bedroom is forbidden soil for him. Blanche barks when she notices him and I touch her head with my fingers, motioning for her to keep quiet. Without further ado, I turn to look at him.

"I am leaving," he says. "I am going back to the Royal Palace."

"Good," I reply.

He looks rather concerned.

"I won't tell anyone about what happened," he adds.

"I never thought you would."

He nods. Just as he is about to leave, my friendly maid enters from another door, carrying the tray with my drink and snack (there's three entrances in here, all connecting the bedroom to different parts of the suite). She does notice Ares, too, and she curtsies to him after she has done the same for me too, first. We don't say anything. Ares waits for her to make her way to the door, but before she can leave the room entirely, he says:

"I shall be going, then."

My maid opens the door again rushing back into the room:

"Your Highness, if I may, I would advise against it."

Ares and I look at each other, surprised. Noticing it, she rushes to explain:

"There are paparazzi outside, Miss, Sir. It's not too many, just two or three, but they are hiding in all the places imaginable. Behind other people's cars, between trash cans..." Then, rather hesitantly, she wipes her hands with her apron: "They want to get a glimpse of His Highness exiting the hotel." Turning to Ares, she adds: "I saw a couple of them taking pictures of your Harley when I went to shop, Sir. They recognized the royal number plates. I've asked the concierge to take them away, but he called me a while ago and he said that, no matter what the hotel guards do, they're always coming back."

Perfect. Just perfect... I should have seen this coming. Little wonder Ares is pissed. So am I, but I don't let it show. Yet, the way he holds his body seems to scare the poor girl:

"I-I just don't think it would be a good idea for you to leave now, Sir," she mumbles.

But Ares has yet to see how that is an issue:

"It's not the first time I have to face them," he says. "I've run away from those mosquitoes before."

Turning to my maid, I ask her to leave us alone and to take Blanche with her. I don't want my dog to bark again. My maid does as she is told, and she closes the door behind her.

This whole process only grows Ares more impatient.

"Now what?"

"You don't understand," I tell him. "You are in the cover of a tabloid. Someone saw you yesterday and took your picture."

Picking it from the pile of newspapers on my desk, I hand it to him. He opens it and takes a very good look at it. I expect him to get angry, to start shouting, swearing, and tear it apart. Instead, he does none of that.

For some reason, I find him more terrifying this way. Like the calm before the storm.

"I see," he utters. "But I can't be kept hostage here forever, can I?"

"Of course not!" I let out. "Perhaps you could just wait until midnight. They will grow bored at some point. Surely, they have other things to do than wait for you to show up."

"Do you really believe that?"

I shake my head and look down: "But I can't let you go out there either."

I don't know why I said that. The words just slipped out of my mouth. I stare into his eyes. He smiles, but hides fast enough. I can feel that he wants to tell me something, but I am faster:

"Why did you come here last night?"

The time has finally come for the masks to fall down. Exciting as the game was at first, I have grown tired of it. We can't go on fooling ourselves forever. The sooner we are done with it, the better.

He looks puzzled: "Pardon?"

"You could have come back to the Palace. Father and Hera must be worried sick. Why not spare us all the trouble?"

He lets out a little laugh. Then he walks closer to me. My heart is beating wildly. I fear his next moves. What if he gets too close? I am still sitting on the chair. There'll be no escaping him. What if neither of us can control ourselves then?

This is what he came for in the first place. Isn't it?

But he doesn't lean too close to me. On the contrary, he doesn't even look at me. He rubs his chin and starts pacing up and down, leaving me to wonder. I can't quite figure out if he looks more concerned than regretful. But he definitely looks rather... ashamed? That's new...

"Answer me."

"Fine," he replies. He scoffs. Then he fixes his collar and clears his throat. At long last, he is ready to explain: "I was drunk. I wasn't thinking straight. I-"

'I can't stop thinking of you.' Say it.

"I don't know what had gotten into me," he mutters instead.

I nod. Of course I'm disappointed! If only he'd let his guard down for once! I'm not asking for a love confession. I highly doubt I'll ever get one from him, actually. To be fair, after all he has done, I don't need it either. It's just... I want him to be honest with himself for once. For him to admit his mistakes and his weaknesses.

Oh. I forgot. He is too self-centered for that.

He looks like he has nothing else to say. Or so he thinks:

"Tell me about her."

I am not going to like it, and I'm still not interested in the slightest to find out anything about her. I just have to figure out what prompted him to sleep with her. This is the only way I can figure out if his feelings for me are indeed as strong as he has led me to believe.

He holds back:

"I- I met her in a nightclub."

This is getting ridiculous. As if there are too many places he could have met her at night...

"Something I don't know, preferably."

He scoffs again. He clenches his fists and teeth, yet his shoulders are still relaxed. I know that he hates having to explain himself, but he doesn't have a choice. Not anymore. He has been treating as if I were his in the first place, as far as I'm concerned.

"Nothing happened between us," he reveals.

Still, I don't believe him.

"How can I trust you are telling the truth?"

He grows angry:

"Because I am!"

"Oh, please!" I say standing up. "Your shirt still tells a different story! Her perfume, her lipstick... A few buttons are missing too!"

"It's not what you think it is!"

"Oh, I think I know exactly-!"

"Nothing happened because I couldn't do anything!"

I stand still. I keep looking at him. He has the same look on his face as he did last night. Embarrassment, failure... Self pity... All there.

So he did... It could not... How is that possible?

"You mean..."

"Yes," he says, holding on to the desk and leaning forward. "I was so mad that you were getting married that I went out to a nightclub, drunk, danced, and went to her home. But I couldn't stop thinking about you, so I upped and left. That's the whole story. Are you happy now?"

He... what?

"Did you really dance for me?"

He nods. I feel like my heart will burst with excitement. I want to smile, but I am trying to hide it. I wouldn't want him to mistake it for yet another mockery.

He danced for me!

He actually forgot all about form, propriety, and people watching him. He walked up on stage and let his feelings out! Before all those people! I have been to those nightclubs plenty of times to understand the music that prompted him to express himself that way. Anger, shame, lovesickness, selfishness... It all fit perfectly.

I smile widely. I can't keep it in any longer. Before I realize it, I let out a small laugh, but bring my hands to my lips as soon as I do so. He did it! He showed his feelings for me in public! I wasn't there, but the look in his eyes leaves no doubt about it.

That was his love confession towards me!

Now that I know where his heart lies, I need to reassure myself about the same thing. Sometimes, analyzing your feelings is not enough. Love is instinctive; it grows on the spur of a moment. Sometimes, all the prophecies, doubts, and sleepless nights in the world are not enough to prove it. The reason for all this turmoil is standing right there, in front of me. I can touch him if I want, without fearing that he would flinch too suddenly.

I bring my hand to his shoulder, waiting for him to walk away.

He doesn't. On the contrary, he welcomes it. He smiles, too. We have both been waiting for it long enough. Now, he would get his reward. But no, not at once. Just a small taste.

We look into each other's eyes. He's smiling! He's as eager for my next move as I am afraid of making it. What if the door opens suddenly?

I have to act quickly.

"Since you've proven you can dance," I say, not taking my eyes off him. "I think you should show me exactly what you can do."

I had told him the same thing three months ago. In London. It's what left what little courtesy we had left fall to the floor.

He runs his fingers over my cheek. He remembers!

Back then, we hadn't said anything else. Now, it's different.

Taking his hands in mine, I ask:

"Do you know how to tango?"

His raises his eyebrows. But he still remains silent. I further:

"You just close your eyes." I bring my hands to his face and close his eyelids with my fingers. "Bring your body close to mine." I close the distance between us and bring my left leg around his waist. He puts his arms around me and I bring my lips close to his ear: "And let go."

He opens his eyes. They meet mine. He doesn't waste any time. Taking my face in his hands, he takes a good, long look a me.

Then our lips crush.

I don't push back. Instead, I bring both of my legs around his waist and he pulls me up, holding me in his muscular arms. His touch is as rough as I remember it. I can feel his small facial hair itching my hands, but I don't care. His lips are dry and rough, but they still taste as bittersweet as they did the last time.

We're oddly peaceful. Like time has frozen. We don't move. There is no moaning, groping, or murmuring going on. As if none of us wants to destroy the moment.

Suddenly, everything becomes clear.

He is my beautiful curse.

But he is trying to break the spell. He brings his tongue over my lips, trying to set them apart. I'm not letting him. I hold them firmly closed.

I'm feeling rather playful today.

My resistance only increases his urge to invade my mouth. Still, I persist. If he wants it so badly, he'll have to beg for it.

After all, he's yet to take that bow.

I give him just a few seconds. Three... two... one...

Then I bite his bottom lip.

I step back, breaking the kiss.

He looks at me, stunned, trying to take it all in. I can see my teeth marks under his bottom lip. They'll disappear in a while. I'm trying to catch my breath. My heart feels like it would fly if it could. I just need to get out of the room. I need to stop looking at him, I-

I rush into the study. Closing the door behind me, I land on an armchair and bring my face to my hands.

There is no doubt about it now.

The little fun we've had has turned into the feeling I have been trying to hide from. I have feared the day I'd realize it for as long as we've been apart, so I kept postponing it as much as I could, hoping that it would go away that way. But it has followed me around since the morning I woke up in his arms. This is why I was the first to leave that cheap hotel room. The air in there had become suffocating, but not because of the old building.

What just happened between us feels like the absolution we have been anticipating since that night. What had happened in London had felt completely right, the most honest of truths, a mesmerizing labyrinth none of us wanted to get out of.

But now, there is no need to go on fooling ourselves. No matter what, we are still two wrongs that will never make it right. Not here, not in this country.

If we don't resist our desires, our old game of hide and seek will turn into that of cat and mouse. Us against the world.

Maybe it's too late, I don't know. I don't think I can think straight anymore.

The rocky path I'm walking on is on fire. Burning faster than I had hoped.

Much faster, in fact...