Markus
When they arrived at the stables, Malia looked amused at the sight of her daughter and Markus. She did nothing to hide her smirk as she climbed onto her horse to wait there patiently as Markus got his usual stead. Florence stayed there between the two horses all the while.
“Should I ride with you, Markus?” Florence asked in the same sweet tone.
Markus lifted a shoulder in disinterest as he climbed on to his horse, his thoughts occupied by the games already. When Florence reached up with both her arms, rolling her wrists like she expected him to pick her up, he frowned. He looked her over briefly before he lifted his chin and fixed her with a look. “Father spoils you.” He said simply before he reached down and roughly pulled her up to put her behind him.
“Perhaps.” She said in that teasing tone her mother used all the time, Malia smirking on the horse behind theirs. Florence pressed her chest against his back and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, resting her chin against his shoulder with a smile. The feeling of her breath against his ear got old very quickly, but every time he tried to roll his shoulders to get her to back off it only made her pull tighter against him. With her strength being as great as his, he would have to fight to get her off and it just wasn’t worth it, so he ignored her.
He was very good at ignoring things.
He spared a glance toward her mother to see her watching them out of the corner of her eye with a secretive smirk on her face.
An unsettled feeling pulled at his gut and he kicked at his horse, going forward quickly, choosing to be willfully ignorant of whatever the two others were planning. He was sure he would find out later, and his Aunts were notoriously crafty at keeping things secret if they so pleased, so it wasn’t worth the effort, as it usually didn’t lead to much harm for him.
Usually.
Instead, he focused on taking routes through the city that he knew would get them as little attention as possible, avoiding any unnecessary run- ins that could have his mind trying to spin out of his head. He was skilled in the art of avoidance now and didn’t have too difficult a time before they were at their destination.
The Amphitheatre, one of two in their kingdom, was a grand, round structure that housed several events, but the only one Markus ever attended were the games held right before the solstices, as they had the more exciting events that were saved for just those two specific times of year. Once inside, his Aunt slid off her horse and tossed the reins to the attendant, giving Markus a clever look as she came over to him.
“We will be joining you in your seats, Markus.” Malia said coolly, reaching for her daughter. Florence quickly slipped off the horse and flounced over to her, wrapping her arms around her mother’s offered arm as another servant came over to attend to the horses.
Markus gave the two attendants a once over, deemed them trustworthy, and then slid from his horse as well to followed several steps behind the two women.
Together they ascended up the staircase, following a familiar path up to the very top, where most people avoided unless they wanted to be left alone. Most could not see well enough to enjoy the sights here, not unless it was a larger scale game, such as when boats were brought in for full-scale water bound battles. While he would prefer to be closer, there were far too many people here today, making it impossible for him to enjoy the games without getting an insight into everyone else’s thoughts.
When they arrived at the top box, Florence broke away to go and look over the railing to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at the proceeding, her mothering coming to join her with a smug, pleased look of her own. Markus, meanwhile, settled back there against the bench on the risen step, watching for any remarkable characters. Particularly skilled athletes, the ones that stood out spectacularly, won the favor of the upper class and would often be plucked from here and somehow worked into the lives of those that held power like trophy horses.
Though it hadn’t been done for three generations now, being a victorious woman here had used to guarantee you a night with the King. In fact, Kings had almost exclusively slept with such women outside of their marriage. Antonius had not followed this pattern – though he did sleep with the occasional athlete, he was not so inclined to discriminate between who he slept with. Beauty and skill mattered little to him. All he required was the female anatomy and willingness.
Which was one thing more than what Julius required for the mother of his daughters.
The roar of the crowd carried up with the wind and Markus took a slow, deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he viewed the proceedings. He eyed the figures in the distance, small but still somewhat visible as they began the games with a dance around a large flame. Women that danced were sometimes chosen as well, he remembered, though he didn’t think he would choose that sort. His father had a leaning toward dancers, and Markus heard that his great grandfather, Cesar, had been partial to dancing women as well.
Dancing, though, bored Markus to tears, and so his thoughts drifted as they continued in their show. He wondered what kind of King he would be.
So far, he had followed along with the more standard of their traditions and was likely to pick exclusively from these sorts of women to be the bearers of his daughters. It created a good breeding stock, strong wills. His father did not train his daughters in anything other than the arts, but Markus always knew his own would be warriors. He couldn’t imagine anything less than daughters that would join him in the hunt.
Though, frankly, he couldn’t imagine having children.
Children to him were like death in many ways.
He knew that both would come eventually to him – their existences were both unavoidable forces, a fact that sat in the back of his mind, unbothered and likely to remain that way until right before it happened. There was no real point in thinking about it, wasting energy on it. Neither were pleasant thoughts to entertain, so he preferred to just not think about it until he needed to.
He knew he wouldn’t be a good father. If he could just barely stand his current family, how could he stand to be around more - family that he was supposed to take care of and nurture? Markus would often find somewhere off to sit and watch his Father interact with his daughters, how happy they made him, how happy they were to be around him. Markus might disagree with how he was raising them, but he could not deny how much his father loved them.
Markus didn’t think he was capable of that.
He didn’t love anyone.
He valued them, but he didn’t actually love anyone. He valued his Father and mother, as well as his Aunt Cydonia, and even on the rare occasion his brother and sisters showed his usefulness, but he did not love anyone. He knew he had, once, but that was before Julius took that part of him away.
Julius didn’t love anyone either. Didn’t love his wife. Didn’t love his son. Didn’t love his daughters. Didn’t love his grandsons. He went a step beyond that though and seemed to resent them all. Markus was terrified that he would end up like that as well, turning into a poison that only laid ruin to others.
But really, he couldn’t imagine turning out any other way, and that terrified him.
The crowd cheered and Markus was pulled out of his thoughts to stare down at the beginning of the first of many races, watching the proceeding. He wasn’t particularly enthused by the races like Alexandros, who thrilled in them – chariot, horseback, or otherwise – so it lost his interest quickly and his attention turned to looking over the crowd. When he noticed several people glancing back toward him he redirected his gaze to the field to stare down at it with a stony, blank look of disinterest.
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