NIGHT FALLS AND still, Irene slips in and out of consciousness, though before the moon rises to its zenith, she begins to wake. The woman sitting next to her is not a familiar face, but Irene already knows who it must be —they have spent months searching for her. "Myrrine?" She asks, voice faint.
Myrrine nods with a gentle smile, reaching for one of her hands partially covered by the golden silk. "Thank you for helping bring him back to me," she says —there something almost doleful about her smile. Hold him gently she wants to tell Irene he has been cracked enough as it is and his heart is more shattered than he lets on.
"Lamb?" She calls and seconds later Alexios appears —he'd been pacing back and forth for half the night, sick with worry and unable to rest. His eyes are downcast as he enters, but the tautness in his shoulders fades when he sees the princess is sitting upright. The Eagle Bearer rushes over, pulling her into his chest and burying his face into her neck.
Irene presses her cheek against his hair and loosely grips onto his arms. Alexios lets her go after a long moment and leans back, taking in her unkempt appearance —even now she is a goddess. "You're stunning," he utters, caught in a trance —her eyes are the only sea he would happily drown in. Irene smiles —the tips of her fingers tracing over his jaw.
Lost in each other, it's easy to forget they are not alone. "How did you come by this?" Myrrine enquires, holding the other half of her father's spear. She had not noticed it before, but the markings are unmistakable —as is the power it harbors.
The question brings the world crashing back down around Irene as the color fades from her rosy cheeks. "Mater," Alexios warns, but the princess lays her hand on his chest and draws in a slow breath.
"I-" Irene sees no point in hiding the truth. Alexios's arm wraps around her waist. "I am the daughter of Amytis and Apollonides. A Princess of Persia, granddaughter of Xerxes." Anger flares in Myrrine's eyes, her grip on the spear tightens. It is the spear of her father, and she has every right to be irate it had fallen into Persian hands, but now is Irene's chance to remedy the past. "You can have it if you wish."
Leonidas' daughter glances down at the broken spear then up to her son and the woman he holds in his arms. The two halves have come together —are whole again even if the great weapon has not been reforged. Myrrine places the spear on the table, bows her head with a soft sigh —shoulders sagging. "The gods granted you this for a reason," she declares before leaving.
Irene lets out a slow breath and feels the unease and tension in the room slip back into oblivion. "I thought she was ready to run me through," she says with a dry laugh.
He presses his forehead against hers. "Wouldn't have let her, princess." His words dance over her cheek. Irene smiles and lifts her chin so her lips brush against his. It feels like the right thing to do. Alexios responds immediately, cradling the back of her head and neck. Her lips are soft and have the faintest hint of salt upon them. He draws back, thumb tracing the fresh scab on her forehead. "You must be starving."
"Famished," she confirms, "but I'd like to bathe first." Saltwater disagrees with her skin and hair, as do days of mud and sweat. Alexios nods and presses his lips to her temple —she can feel his faint smile against her skin.
At this hour, the bathhouses are empty. Faint tendrils of steam rise from the water, mixing with silver rays of moonlight. Irene unwraps the golden chlamys and reaches for the fibula at her shoulder, unclasping the pin. She lets the ruined linen puddle around her feet and steps down into the water, turning to look over her shoulder. Alexios is shifting on his feet, gaze turned toward the tiled floor though she can make out the faint wash of color on his cheeks. "Stay with me?" His response is the sound of metal bracers clattering against the stone floor —greaves following shortly after.
Alexios watches her from a distance —wringing suds and oil from her black hair— and feels his heart start to beat faster. It isn't fair Irene can make him feel like an infatuated and foolish boy. He finds another scar on her back, near her shoulder. This one is smaller than the one curving upward beneath her arm, but the silvery mark is unmistakable against her sun-kissed skin.
There's a quick moment of surprise when a coarse sea sponge touches her back, but Irene relaxes instantly when a familiar hand settles on her waist. He washes her back without saying a word. Soon the sponge is replaced by the rough pads of his fingertips tracing over the small scars on her upper back. Shivers crawl over her body. "Alexios," she breathes, glancing over her shoulder at him —his brows are creased and lips pressed into a taut line. Sighing, Irene turns to face him, hands resting on his broad shoulders and a soft smile on her lips. He looks at her as if her smile is the only thing that matters.
Alexios rests his other hand on her neck. His eyes flick down to her lips before he leans forward. Slowly, inexorably, he presses his lips to Irene's. This time it feels different. It's soft and gentle and chaste and maybe there's no lightning or sparks, but it's far better than that —it's a wave of warmth that fills him up, spilling from his heart. The warmth of Irene's lips on his makes him understand why Orpheus would follow Eurydice into the underworld —he would undoubtedly do the same. He doesn't say anything, but it's written in his eyes and over his face —it has been for quite some time.
He tugs her over to the marble steps and draws her into his side. "Where will you go now?" The princess is afraid to know the answer —she does not wish to be parted from him. Distracting herself from somber thoughts, she traces the raised scars wrapping around his bicep. One day she'll ask how they came to be.
Alexios feels he has known Irene long enough to decipher what many of her expressions really mean and how she acts when worried about something yet to pass. He catches her hand before she can move to the scar on his shoulder and links his fingers with hers. "We sail for Thera then Lakonia," he tells her. They had come this far together, and he wasn't about to let the woman he loved go.
Irene rests her head against his shoulder and lets out the faintest of gasps when he lazily runs his fingers down her spine. "Without you, I'd be at the bottom of the sea," she whispers —recalling the darkness surrounding her, the weight of the water growing heavier, and the way her lungs burned.
He shakes his head and lifts his hand to her cheek. This was all his fault. "If not for me you'd have never been taken by a Cultist," he says, voice low and filled with guilt.
The princess frowns. The blame lies solely with Silanos and the Cult, not with him. "You can't be sure about that," she counters, "who's to say I wouldn't have come to Naxos of my own volition?" She'd long thought about visiting Naxos and Paros to see the famed beaches and quarries. Silanos could have easily captured her even if the Eagle Bearer had never crossed her path.
"Irene," Alexios chides. She covers his hand and turns her cheek, pressing her lips against the center of his palm. He pulls her back against him, and the princess settles into his embrace, head resting on his shoulder again. The calm is interrupted by the sharp growl of Irene's stomach. She buries her face into his chest and Alexios laughs, holding her tight.
ALEXIOS IS MISSING when Irene wakes. His mother had seen him leave but is not sure where her son disappeared to with a gleam in his eye, wearing a lovesick smile. For now, Myrrine has begun making final preparations for her departure as she plans on returning to Sparta and reclaiming her home. She motions for Irene to join her and Timo in their discussion regarding Naxos' future defense. "My son tells me you grew up in Athens," she notes and surprisingly there is no indication of distaste for Athenians. Naxos was a member of the Delian League.
"Partly," Irene amends, "for a time I was raised in Persia, too."
"How would you go about defending this island?" Myrrine inquires —if the princess had truly grown up around the likes of Hydarnes and Perikles then she would no doubt be skilled in strategy.
Irene looks over the map, considering the number of soldiers stationed on the island and the number of ships at the isle's disposal. Naxos is fairly small and she describes a beacon warning system that can connect the island's coasts and allows for the quick dispatch of men to land or sea. All that would be needed were a series of watchtowers and braziers. Myrrine steps up to the map table and places several markers where construction of the watchtowers would be most suitable. It is a sound plan and there are enough resources for the system to be implemented immediately. "That is all for now, Timo."
Myrrine rounds the table, regarding Irene closely. It's the first time she's really taken in the princess's appearance. A dusting of freckles on her cheeks and forehead. Eyes a deep, clear blue —she wonders how many men have drowned in the depths of her eyes and if her son is one of them. Her hair is darker than the night sky and falls in loose waves from being plaited overnight. Irene is a fighter, but her features are still rounded and soft —unlike the women of Sparta. Alexios' mother now knows it is not only Irene's beauty that has enchanted her son.
"I'm sorry for how I reacted last night," Myrrine admits, pouring a cup of watered wine, "I had not expected to see the other half of my father's spear in my lifetime." Reaching behind her back, Irene takes the spear and lays it on the table between her and Myrrine. Explaining how Hydarnes had entrusted it to her as a girl, unknowing she would be able to harness its powers.
"A warrior, a healer, a politician, Athenian, and Persian," Alexios' mother rattles off a handful of the words her son had used to describe the princess. A faint smile crosses her lips as she pushes the broken spear across the table. "Few people wear that many titles," she remarks —admiration lacing the statement. Irene flushes at the compliment and takes the cup of wine Myrrine offers.
Shortly after midday, Alexios returns and steals Irene away from his mother to a waterfall where a pallet of pillows and linen blankets have been arranged at the edge of the natural pool. Irene turns to look at him, but his gaze is lowered and he's rubbing the back of his neck —as he often does when nervous. She takes his face into her hands, kissing him quickly upon the lips. "I love it," she murmurs, and all his unease fades with those words.
"Join me for a swim?" The princess asks, already beginning to undo the buttons at her shoulder —she slips out of the dull green exomis and stands proudly in her smallclothes whilst tying up her dark hair. Alexios takes in her shapely figure, tawny-gold eyes unabashedly trailing up her strong legs to the soft curves of her hips and stomach. He's pulled from the trance when Irene reaches for the pins holding his deep grey chiton up —stepping out of the puddle of fabric, he follows her into the water.
The cool water is a pleasant contrast to the sweltering heat of the day, but there is still a type of heat between the princess and Eagle Bearer that water cannot cure. Alexios catches a glint in Irene's eyes that he's never noticed before, it's something dark and hungry. "What?" He asks —attempting to decipher the contemplative expression she wears.
Irene's teeth tug on her bottom lip as she wades over to him, hands resting on his chest. "I want you," she utters and her voice is so low and rough she can hardly recognize it.
Alexios' dark gaze flickers to her parted lips then below the water's surface to the soft swells of her breasts. Desire stirs in him too. He's wanted her ever since he laid eyes on her when she was sitting on that gods' cursed beach in Samos. He surges forward, takes her face into his hands and presses his lips against hers —hard. "Irene, we-"
She cuts him off with another kiss. "I know what I want, Alexios."
The dry caress of his open mouth is warm against her neck. She shivers and without willing it, her body draws against his as he drags his lips from her throat to collarbone and back up. Irene's own quiet, yearning song joins his satisfied, broken humming. He finds the pin holding her dark wool apodesmos in place and tugs it free —pulling the sodden material off and tossing both items toward the pool's edge. All Alexios can do is look at her, eyes darkening at the sight of her. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, jaw flexing. He's a man of few words, but she can read exactly what's written all over his face. He wants her, too.
Alexios' palms move up her sides, pausing to stroke her breasts, then slides over her arms and shoulders. One finds a home gently cradling her head and cheek, the other runs long, tickling, fingers through the tangle of her dark hair. The motion sends a shiver down the princess's spine, but then his hand catches on a knot —she half-laughs at the exasperated look that overcomes his sharp features. Her soft laugh is silenced by another kiss, this one more urgent than the last.
Her hands, unemployed, move of their own accord over his chest, over his arms, squeezing lightly. Irene tugs at him, but he stands like a statue of marble. Immovable. Alexios finds her lips again and dips his hands beneath the water, finding and untying the knot of her perizoma. He's seen her bare before —fleeting glances when she bathed or changed clothes— but now he is certain she is a goddess for even her scars are silver.
He lifts her onto a smooth rock at the edge of the pool —coaxes her knees apart and lays gentle kisses from the inside of her ankle up to her thigh. "What-" the question dies on her lips as his mouth descends upon her. Alexios drags her legs over his shoulders and makes a feast of the princess as though he is a starved man who'd stumbled into a banquet.
No man has ever taken her like this before. Her hands tangle into his matted hair. The stubble of his jaw against her thighs, the warm caress of his tongue, and his teasing fingers is all too much. "Alexios," Irene breathes trying to push him away before she shatters, but he holds her in place and savors the soft whimpers and quiet moans that leave her lips. He looks up at Irene —lips glistening with her essence, ocher eyes painted dark by lust.
Alexios eases her legs from his shoulders and lifts her from the edge of the pool to lay her back on the spread blanket. Her cheeks are flushed, lips red and swollen, and breasts heaving as she recovers from a flood of ecstasy —to him she is Aphrodite made flesh, the weaver of wiles.
Settling between her thighs again, Alexios unties his loincloth —tossing it aside and resumes his adulation by covering Irene's neck and cheeks with quick kisses. She laughs and to him, the sound is sweeter than any song a siren could ever sing. His soft and copious kisses are not enough to fully distract the princess from the hard length resting against her hip, though.
Irene drapes one of her legs across his waist and her arm around his shoulders, pressing herself against him until she twists and flips Alexios onto his back. He grunts at the soft impact, and she is quick to straddle his waist —pinning his hands down beside his head. Defiance flares in his eyes, but fades when his face contorts as her warmth envelopes him and strings of curses fall from his lips.
She rocks against him, lips parting as she adjusts to his girth. Alexios slips his hands free from hers and sits up so his chest is flush with hers. He finishes ruining the disheveled braid holding back black waves of hair darker than Nyx's. Kissing her, he rolls his hips, the slow drag of his cock along her walls makes her breath shake. Irene's fingers slide into his hair, holding on as she rotates her hips to meet his with each thrust. If anyone happens across them, they will only think it is one of Ares and Aphrodite's forbidden romps. "Irene," he whispers against her chest like a devotee at prayer. I love you is what he means.
Neither of them will last much longer —too much has been left unspoken, undone between them. His eyes are unfocused yet entirely focused on her, each thrust sloppier than the last. Irene presses forward to kiss Alexios and pant against his mouth as his hips jerk up into her. Her hands are at his shoulders, sweat-slick and trembling beneath her palms, and his forehead is slick too when he pushes against hers.
She's so close, so close, and by his uneven movements and the short gasps at her ear, Alexios is too. "Alexios-" Irene's mouth falls open.
Each thrust and the roll of his body against the engorged bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs brings her closer. One of his hand presses into her lower back and he shifts, hitting a new spot that causes a sobbing wail to escape her lips as she shudders against him —grip tight on his shoulders. Her body pulls him in, a wordless beckon for him to join her over the precipice. With a few more weak thrusts, he does.
Alexios falls backward into the pallet and takes Irene with him. He pulls the princess closer, tracing a constellation on her shoulder.
"You've ruined me," Irene tells him with a smile. She can feel the rumble of laughter in his chest before hearing it. She's had several lovers, though she can honestly say none compare to the Eagle Bearer —or perhaps it is because she has never felt anything for her previous flings as she does with Alexios. Irene knows the word that describes how she feels about Alexios, but she's terrified of admitting it to herself, let alone him.
The sharp curve of his nose presses heavily into the crook of her neck. Alexios inhales her scent with a deep sigh. "I've wanted you since I saw you on that malákas beach on Samos," he admits.
The princess props her chin upon his chest and traces the line running down the center of his abdomen, her fingertips stopping just shy of his naval. Irene knows this marks a change in their dynamic, but she can't be sure if it's for better or worse. "And now you have me," she smiles.
"I do," Alexios smirks, giving her backside a playful squeeze.
"Ahem," Timo clears her throat and quickly looks away from the pair of young lovers she'd stumbled upon. Though with another fleeting glance the general realizes it is Alexios and the princess —the exact persons she'd been sent to find. "Your mother is looking for you," she notes before retreating up the path toward the chora. Alexios rolls onto his back, sighing, he isn't ready to leave this spot, this moment in time.
Irene pulls herself from his embrace and reaches for her exomis, neglecting the sodden wool strips of her underthings. He follows suit, shrugging his grey chiton back on. She looks at the footpath leading from the waterfall to the city, reluctant to go down it. Alexios wraps one of his arms around her waist and pulls her back into him —stealing one last lingering kiss.
Myrrine looks between her son and the Persian princess as they appear from the worn path leading to the sacred waterfall of Dionysos —arm in arm and laughing like children. It fills her with joy to see her son happy. "I'm glad you both could join us," she remarks, arms crossed though her tone is laced with amusement. Irene's cheeks grow heated under Myrrine's gaze. Alexios rubs the back of his neck, unable to meet his mother's eyes.
