The candle flickered as another balmy breeze whipped through the window, and Daphne bit back a soft curse of annoyance as the light snuffed out. She lit it again, then quickly closed the blue curtain that crossed in front of cool stucco walls, hoping that the tie would hold it shut this time.
Outside, the sleepy coastal village was finally going dark.
Gloomy clouds on the distant horizon meant a storm threatened for morning, but so far, the immediate evening looked as if it would be clear and beautiful. Normally, she didn't mind the nighttime gusts that blew in off the gulf, as they brought with them relief from the hot days and ushered away the smell of the fishermens' wharf, but tonight she was busy, and she didn't have time to deal with the idle tantrums of a candle and the wind.
Daphne was on a time limit.
The moon had not yet risen in the star-filled sky, but she knew it wouldn't be much longer before it did so. Soon after, Dion would return home from the taverna, and she was not at all ready for that yet. While his friends had been instructed to keep him as busy drinking for as long as they could, Dion was not the sort to enjoy partying much longer than after nightfall. He swore he always wanted to return home to her.
But, Daphne was running behind; she had only just begun to prepare for the special evening. Today was the two-year anniversary of the day that Dion had taken her away from her horrific fate, the day he had granted her a future. As far as she knew, he was not aware of the significance of the date, and so she had the chance to surprise him for a change. Her unassuming beloved had made no comment on the importance of the day, had not whispered a celebration in the early morning hours when they'd woken together. He'd merely gone on with his day, and, surprisingly, Daphne had been happy about that.
There was still much to do, yet -- dessert to cook, her gift to finish, and she wasn't even dressed. The evening had seemed so far away at noon, and she had felt like she'd had so much time, but she'd lost track of the hours as she'd worked on her gifts for Dion. Now it was almost done, but everything else had fallen behind schedule.
She dressed quickly, using the tall, slender mirror that Dion had gifted her last year, when they had moved into this simple seaside cottage together. Foxes ran around the outside of the elaborate piece, chasing a butterfly that danced at the top of the design.
Using the silver mirror, she chose to slip into one of her favorite dresses: a silk dress, made of seafoam and cream, light and breathy even in the hot summer climate. Dion had hired a local seamstress to design it personally for her, and it clung to her body in a way that she knew her beloved couldn't resist. Looking at herself, she smiled slightly. The sheer fabric clung to her curves, the soft swell of her breasts and hips, reminding her of something she might have worn before she'd met Dion. But better, because it didn't have the same tainted memories.
She felt beautiful.
Finding the pearl-handled brush that she had received from Dion's mother, Daphne carefully combed out her long, dark hair. She'd bathed earlier, indulging in some of her fine floral oils to enhance her natural scent, and the olive oil she'd massaged into her locks left her hair soft and supple. She carefully twisted two strands of her hair into thin braids, then swept the braids and the rest of her locks back into a loose tie at the nape of her neck. It was a pale imitation of local fashion, but it drew attention to her slim neck.
For the first time in many months, Daphne applied some charcoal to her lashes, then drew a light outline around her eyes. It made the emerald of her eyes pop a bit more, which Dion had always complimented. She applied the expensive powdered rouge that Dion had bought for her on one of his travels through the eastern lands, though only lightly.
Lastly, she donned the simple necklace that her lover had given her on the first day after he had bought her. It was a thin silver chain that wrapped tightly around her throat, adorned with a pendant of a pink jewel that was carved into the shape of a woman. She lifted a finger to the jewel now, remembering what Dion had said when he had gifted it to her: 'this is an amethyst, Daphne.' He had told her the story of the amethyst, of how the goddess Diana had turned the beautiful woman Amethyst into a stone to protect it from the cruelties of men.
It had seemed fitting.
The hearth crackled lightly, the stew she was cooking bubbling in the pot suspended in the flames. It was a recipe that her mother had taught her when she was a child, made with simple herbs, vegetables, and a shank of lamb. It would be ready soon, along with the bread she'd cooked earlier that afternoon. Daphne glanced at the mosaics above the fire pit, a small smile upon her lips as she looked upon the red floral pattern. She remembered the day that Dion had helped her to design the elaborate mantle piece, when he had brought in a box full of beautiful colored tiles and told her to think of an idea.
They had decided on her favorite flower, the poppy flower. For hours they had labored together, placing one small tile at a time, until morning of the next day. They'd stared at it in the early rising sun before falling asleep in one anothers' arms, exhausted but content. "All for you, Daphne," he had murmured, lips pressed against her temple.
Once, Daphne had hated her name. It wasn't her true name, which was Leora, but her adopted one. Daphne was her slave name, the name given to her the day she had lost her freedom.
In time, though, Dion had helped her come to love it. To love herself. And for that, she had chosen to accept it as not only her new name, but a new part of her person and history. Not something to be ashamed of, but a simple fact. Just another part of her for Dion to love. So, she had let Leora go, and she had learned to accept Daphne. It had been two years to the day, now, since the day that Dion had taken her from the pleasure house, since he had passed a bag of gold into anothers' hand and purchased her fully, but she was grateful every day for his decision to do so.
It had not been an easy two years. It still wasn't, some days. But, looking around the little house lit with candles and flickering oil lamps, she knew that it was more than worth it. It was home. Their home. And Dion had helped make it that way.
Daphne pulled the stew pot from the fire pit, letting it cool on the open window sill by the table. The smell made her mouth water and her stomach growl, and she hoped that Dion wasn't drinking too much. He'd always asked her to make something from home, but she'd gotten so used to telling him 'no' that she'd forgotten why she'd stopped cooking her family's recipes in the first place.
The stew reminded her of home. So, why not cook it now? For Dion? He was home, now. She just hoped that she remembered the recipe correctly, or her mother would likely come back just to haunt her.
As the stew cooled, though, Daphne had one last task to complete before her beloved made his way back through the front door -- she needed to finish his gift. Tonight was the two-year anniversary of the day Dion had purchased her from the pleasure house and made her into his personal slave, promising her safety and passion and peace. Since then, her life had been nothing short of wonderful, and she wanted to show her thanks to the man in a way that would be lasting. It had taken many, many weeks for her to secretly gather the tools and supplies she'd needed, but in time she'd collected it all.
The ring was simple. It was silver, and she had carefully molded it into a wolf that ran in a never-ending circle seeking its own tail. It was Dion's personal crest, belonging to his family name and passed down from generation to generation. The eyes were dark amethysts, like that of the jewel he'd given her. She was in the last stages of polishing the gift, and she lifted it into her hands, gently rubbing the cloth in small circles across the design.
She hoped that this gift would be one that Dion would cherish for years. One that he could pass on to his sons, or daughters.
A hand absently rested against her belly, and on her pretty features bloomed a slight frown. It was the first frown that the night had seen, but not the first that had crossed her features at that wayward thought. Two years, and no child had grown in her belly. At first, she had hoped that it was poor luck, but after so many failures? She pulled her hand away from her womb, trying to push the ill thoughts aside.
Dion had never complained, but she had seen him stop in shops to look at the wooden swords that were given as gifts to little boys. A few months ago, Daphne had quietly slipped her favorite mouse oil lantern that she had received as a welcoming gift from a neighbor into storage, though only after another neighbor had commented on it in surprise, asking when she was expecting. Daphne had learned then that the lantern was meant to be turned into a toy for a child, and that each time she'd used it she had been teasing Dion with a possibility of the future.
He had asked where it had gone, and she'd lied to him, saying it had broken. He would never have left her place it in storage, knowing that she did so for his sake. Even more, a small, dark part of her worried that someday Dion might find another slave to bear him sons, since she seemed to be unable. Could she even fault him if he did?
He had given her so much, and what did she give him in return? A warm bed? Dinners?
Shelving those troubling worries, Daphne lifted the small ring into the light of one of the lamps. She turned it over, then smiled. It was done. She fetched a small bag that she had hastily knitted, sliding the ring in to hold it until she was ready to gift it to her beloved. Her only hope now was that Dion would like it. He had never been the type to wear jewelry, more likely to gift it to someone else, but the token was one she thought he might like regardless.
Dessert was the only thing left for her to make, but she sighed. She had no more time to dedicate to making the tart. Instead, she fetched some grapes from the storehouse, cool and damp from the jar it had been kept in, washing them and prepping them to be enjoyed after dinner. She hummed softly as she readied the food, but her heart raced anxiously as she waited for her beloved to return. Any time now, right?
The sound of the doorknob turning made Daphne's head turn, a small smile gracing her lips.
"Dion, my love," she said, warmly, as the man stepped into their house, "welcome home."
