The Prince walks away from the Forum, feeling a bit dejected, but he takes a deep breath. Turning 20 just a few days ago he walks back to the palace where he's staying.
Lysandra meets him at the door, her eyes full of concern. "Your Highness, you must rest. You cannot convince them on an empty stomach and in your current state of health."
"You're not supposed to wait for me here… but oh well. Let's go in, I need to gather my thoughts."
In the cool, dimly lit library, Euenios paces the floor, his mind racing. He knows he can't just sit around waiting for the council's approval. He needs a plan B. Lysandra quietly follows, carrying a tray of bread and cheese, setting it down on the large oak desk.
"Thank you, Lys," he says, his eyes never leaving the ancient scrolls lining the walls.
The smell of the cheese is pungent, but Euenios' appetite is overwhelmed by his urgency.
"What can I do to help, Your Highness?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
He stops pacing and looks at her, really looks at her for the first time since their conversation earlier that morning. Her eyes are wide with hope, her full lips parted slightly.
"We need to go to Thessaly. Macedon still controls that city and it has a port I can use,"
"You need supplies, soldiers."
"Smart girl, you're not useless after all." He sighs and paces through the bookshelves.
"I don't think people would just follow me if I said we should go right?"
"My Prince, not to be rude but, I know how you can make people do things other than honor or glory…"
Prince Euenios looks at her a bit baffled but listens intently on what she's going to say next. Lysandra takes a step closer, her heart beating fast. "You can win them over with your charm, your passion, your persuasive words, your...your...lips..."
Her voice trails off as she realizes what she's just said. The room feels hotter, the air thick with something unspoken.
Euenios raises an eyebrow at her slip, but doesn't correct her. Instead, he smiles, "It looks like you need more studying."
…
Euenios really did not have any expectations for Lysandra, but she is efficient when it comes to packing all his things and stuffing it into a cart. He sits in there languidly, feeling sluggish as his eyes start weighing heavily on his face.
They set off into the night, the moon casting a silver glow over the cobblestone streets. Lysandra leads the way with a determination that surprises him. As they travel, he thinks about her words. Could he really convince the Macedonians to help him? He had to try.
The journey to Thessaly is long and arduous. Euenios' health fluctuates, sometimes leaving him weak and feverish, other times filled with a strange, unexplained energy. Lysandra remains by his side, caring for him tirelessly. Her gentle touch and soothing voice become his anchor in the storm of doubt that rages in his mind.
Brought with him is a coachman, and a few bodyguards and the route takes 4 days of travel.
The countryside is barren, the crops withered and dead. It's a stark contrast to the lush, green lands he's used to. He can see the fear in the eyes of the few peasants they pass by. They know something is wrong, something that even the might of Corinth can't fix.
On the fourth day, they reach the city of Thessalonica. It's smaller than Corinth, but still bustling with activity. The walls are high and strong, a testament to the power of Macedon.
Euenios gathers himself, taking a deep breath. He knows this is his chance to save his people. He steps out of the carriage, his legs wobbly, but Lysandra is there, her hand on his arm, supporting him.
"You can do this, Your Highness," she whispers, her voice full of belief.
He nods, his eyes locked on the gates ahead. They open slowly, revealing a city on edge, ready for whatever fate might bring.
The palace loomed ahead, grand and imposing. Its marble facade gleamed in the early dawn light, and the tall, stately columns spoke of an era of power and grandeur. The gardens surrounding it were meticulously maintained, a riot of color that seemed almost out of place in the stark reality of their situation. Fountains trickled water in a soothing melody, and the sweet scent of blooming flowers filled the air. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that was no doubt brewing outside the city walls.
He walks up the steps and is let in by the guards.
The palace's interior was a maze of corridors, each one adorned with frescoes depicting scenes of battles won and enemies vanquished. The floors were a mosaic of intricate patterns, telling the story of the kingdom's history in a silent, unassuming way. The walls were lined with weapons and armor, trophies from countless conquests. It was a stark reminder of the power that once was, and the fragility of the peace that now held sway.
The throne room was vast, with a high domed ceiling painted with scenes of Olympus. The throne itself was a work of art, carved from a single block of ivory and inlaid with gold. It sat empty, a silent sentinel to the power that once sat upon it.
Euenios walks down the center aisle, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He can feel the weight of his ancestors' gazes upon him, judging his every move. Lysandra follows closely, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Your Royal Highness, this is the throne room of Philip II, the father of Alexander the Great!" she whispers, her voice filled with awe.
He nods, his thoughts racing. He knows he's playing a dangerous game, but he also knows that he's the only one who can save them all.
The throne room door opens and a guard enters, his armor clinking with every step. "The council of Thessaly will see you now, Prince Euenios of Corinth."