WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

2:02

[ THE STAND: CHAPTER TWO ]

"So, there we are," Ares began, his voice laced with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, "on this overly generic tour of the Acropolis, trying to play it cool while an old lady relentlessly hits on me. And all the while, Rhea and I are secretly plotting how to find a place to hide out until nightfall." He smirked at the memory, glancing over at Davina, who was listening with rapt attention, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"And then," Rhea cut in, a mischievous gleam in her eye, "the old lady pinches his bum, and Ares—oh my God—he lets out the most high-pitched scream I've ever heard from him. Like, truly girly. I was dying."

Davina burst into laughter, raising an eyebrow at Ares, who always played the tough guy. "No way! You? Screaming?"

Ares groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It was an ambush."

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully, continuing, "So we finally shake her off and find this little alleyway to duck into. We cloak ourselves, waiting for dark, and that's when things really start to get... weird." Her tone shifted, a bit more serious now. "There were these ancient markings on the ground, right in the middle of the Acropolis—older than anything I've ever seen. They practically hummed with power, and somehow, we just knew what they meant. The markings said 'Kratos.'"

Davina frowned slightly, confused. "Not Greek, remember? What does that mean?"

Ares's expression grew thoughtful, his eyes flickering with the weight of the story. "It's not just the meaning, Davina Claire. It's the history. Our family... a long time ago, we were hated by just about every other witch in the world. You see, we weren't bound by nature like most witches. Our power was limitless, and honestly, it scared people. They couldn't control us."

Rhea picked up where her brother left off, her voice quieter but filled with a dark intensity. "Other witches grew desperate. They wanted what we had, so they gathered, forming alliances, and tried to take it. 'Kratos' was a nickname given to one of our ancestors—Polykrates. He saw the writing on the wall, knew war was coming, and that it would destroy us all. So, he convinced the family to give up their power, lock it away in a tomb beneath the Acropolis. Only someone of our bloodline could ever open it again."

Davina's eyes widened, her fascination palpable. "And you two... you opened it, right?"

Ares nodded, though his face was solemn, the corners of his mouth pulled tight. "Yeah. We did. But it wasn't as easy as we thought it would be."

The brief silence that followed made Davina shift uncomfortably. "What did you have to do?"

Rhea's gaze turned distant, as if she were seeing something she didn't want to remember. "Oh, you know. The usual—sacrifice a little blood, say some ancient incantations. And then... it tests you. Decides if you're worthy. Makes you face your worst fears." She faltered, her eyes shimmering with a pain she rarely showed. "Luckily, both Ares and I have lived through ours."

Davina studied her friend, understanding dawning. "Rhea... was it about Kol?" she asked softly.

Rhea gave a barely perceptible nod but looked away, unwilling to meet Davina's sympathetic gaze. The silence hung heavy for a moment before Davina turned to Ares, sensing his own burden. "And yours?"

Ares's jaw clenched. He spoke quietly, his voice devoid of his usual bravado. "Dying alone."

The words lingered in the air as Davina gently took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

After a moment, Davina tilted her head, curiosity overtaking her once more. "But if your family's from ancient Greece, why is your last name Monroe?"

Ares smiled faintly at the question, the tension in the room easing a bit. "Our grandfather was originally from Scotland. Came to the New World, met our grandmother. Monroe became the family name somewhere down the line—easier to blend in. Back then, surnames weren't really a thing."

Davina raised a brow. "And your grandmother? Did she have any other kids?"

Rhea nodded, her voice a touch lighter. "Yeah. Our aunt, Lila. She wasn't a witch, though—took after our grandfather. That's how our line continued."

Davina grinned, sensing the shift in mood. "So, everything worked out then?"

Rhea smiled, but there was something almost bittersweet in it. "Yeah. Everything's... good." She stood up, stretching a bit. "I'm gonna get a drink. I'll leave you two to catch up." She gave Davina a knowing smirk before sauntering off.

▽▲▽▲▽

Rhea wandered through the Quarter, the cool night air brushing against her skin. Lately, she found herself taking more and more of these walks, disappearing for hours on end. Ares never said anything, but she knew he noticed.

Tonight, she let her feet guide her, the familiar streets quiet, yet buzzing with that ever-present energy of the city. Eventually, she found herself in front of St. James Infirmary. Davina had mentioned it was a magic-free zone, and Rhea wondered briefly if that applied to her too. As she approached, the sounds of music and chatter drifted toward her, and she realized there was some kind of art exhibit happening inside.

Curiosity piqued, Rhea stepped in, her eyes scanning the room. It didn't take long for one painting to catch her attention. She recognized it immediately.

Before she could process it, a drink slid across the bar toward her. "Well, well, if it isn't Rhea Monroe."

The smug, familiar voice made her stiffen. She turned and met his gaze. "Lucien."

▽▲▽▲▽

Marseilles, France: 1002 AD

"Do you ever feel bad that we've charmed the Count into thinking we're a Lord and Lady?" Rhea asked, adjusting her gown as she and Ares prepared for another of the Count de Martel's lavish parties.

Ares smirked, fixing his cufflinks. "Not really. The man's a tyrant. He deserves whatever he gets." He nodded toward the courtyard below. "Just look at poor Lucien."

Rhea followed his gaze. Lucien, the Count's servant, was busy tending to the guests, his posture tense, his eyes weary. Rhea had always had a soft spot for him, often coming to his aid when the Count's cruelty pushed him too far.

As the festivities began, Tristan de Martel appeared at Rhea's side, his lips curling into a charming smile. "My lady," he greeted, taking her hand and placing a kiss upon it. "You look exquisite tonight."

Rhea smiled, feeling the weight of his gaze, though her heart remained guarded. Tristan was known for his ruthless ways, though he had never shown that side to her. Still, she knew better than to trust too easily. "Tristan," she replied warmly.

Their conversation was interrupted, and Rhea excused herself, moving through the crowd until she found Lucien again. "Lucien," she teased lightly, "staying out of trouble?"

Lucien grinned at her. "Always, my lady."

Rhea smiled, her gaze drifting to the man beside him. "And who is your friend?"

"This is Lord Niklaus," Lucien introduced. "And this is the Lady Rhea."

Rhea's eyes met Klaus's, and for a moment, the air between them was tense, charged with unspoken recognition. "Charmed," Rhea said softly, before turning to rejoin her brother.

▽▲▽▲▽

Back in the present, Lucien watched her closely, his smirk ever-present. "I haven't seen you since... what? The 1700s?"

Rhea's expression hardened. "There's a reason for that, Lucien."

Lucien's grin widened. "Oh, come on now, love. What did I do that was so terrible?"

Rhea raised an eyebrow. "Do we really need to go over the countless times you tried to bed me after Kol was daggered? You practically stalked me."

Lucien chuckled, unfazed. "All in the past, darling. I've moved on to bigger things."

The glint in his eyes made Rhea uneasy. Something about Lucien had changed, twisted since he became a vampire. It was almost sad. Almost.

"Well," she said, finishing her drink, "it's been a pleasure, Lucien. But I think I've had enough nostalgia for one night." She turned to leave, eager to be far away from him.

But as she walked away, a question burned in her mind: What the hell was Lucien doing in New Orleans?