“This is a ploy to kill you my king!” shouted Lord Quellem.

  “I cannot help but agree with him,” added Lord Gash. “A brazen ploy at that.”

  “Now gentlemen, let us not be too hasty in casting such remarks,” pleaded Lord Vashva.

  Antares ran his hand through his hair out of habit. When the young king brought the letter to the attention of his council, he did not think he would be embroiled in debate all morning. And yet here he was. As the three winter birds carried on in intense conversation over the contents of the letter sent by the Queen of the Nephilim, his eyes moved over to Cyrus sitting in the corner. The boy was engrossed in what he was scribbling. From where Antares sat he could not see what the boy was doing but he was glad Cyrus did not seem as sad as he was the night before. His eyes were still swollen from crying but nevertheless, any distraction from the previous night was welcomed. There was still much Antares wanted to speak to him about, but matters of the state took precedent. The King of the Stygians looked over to Casspien who met his eyes and both of them exchanged words without speaking. Casspiens calm demeanor was of little comfort for even Antares could see the letter bothered him. Lastly he looked over at Guinevere who sat next to him, she too engrossed in the debate with the winter birds. Behind her, stood Ursula and Melina quietly observing the ruckus as it carried on. Antares brought his attention back to the black envelope that sat on his desk. The red seal on it was that of a beast eye. But not any of the ancient beasts that once roamed the wilds of Aurum. Perhaps by many considered the greatest of them all. The Queen of the Nephilim had made her seal the eye of the Blood God. An ancient and worthy adversary of the Great Serpent. He could feel the blood magic used, no doubt made with the Nephilim queen's own blood herself.

  The contents of the letter intrigued him. Their respective species had been embroiled in war spanning thousands of years, although it had cooled in recent millennia. Even still for a Nephilim monarch to send a letter to the King of the Stygians was something reserved for the realm of fantasy. Antares could not help but smile, if only briefly. The boldness of their queen was not lost on him, in fact he admired it. He wondered what could bring about such action from her, he recalled the conversation had with Guinevere. From what he understood Hightower would remain a point of contention seemingly forever for both realms. Both seeking to lay claim to it. But perhaps what concerned him the most was the look of doubt upon the face of his young general. A look that told him, all out war may be the only path forward. Perhaps like him the Queen of the Nephilim sought to bring a pointless conflict to a close. But Antares would not allow such a naive thought to fester. He had taken enough Nephilim lives in his youth to know such a thing was not possible. Hightower was more than a mere town or waypoint between both realms, it was far greater than that. What it represented for both realms was a turning point in their history. For as long as it existed, there would be conflict between their people, that was how it had always been, and how it would always be.

  “Hasty? General Guinevere has been embroiled in a two year war. And we have lost a great number of soldiers.” Barked, Lord Quellem.

  “It is not a war. And the Nephilim have lost far greater numbers than we have,” corrected Lord Vashva.

  Lord Quellem Robin, laughed mockingly and sat back in his chair. For as long as he had known Lord Vashva he knew the man to always be willing to temper expectations. But even for him he thought this was too far. No matter what the old council members had said or what was reported, this was a war. A war that Iliad was struggling to finance. As the new Lord of Gold, he had spent the last few days looking over Iliad’s riches. He understood why Lords Omiros and Aldios restricted funding to Guinevere even if they were foolish to do so. The cost of it was far too great. The region where the conflict took place was far too complicated to reliably send resources. It did not help matters that Hightower itself seemed to favor the Nephilim even though they claimed to remain neutral. To the old lord, the moment this conflict was announced Iliad had already lost. Iliad’s advantage was the strength of her army, but long drawn conflicts gave rise to complications. This conflict was not planned properly and the realm was paying the price for it. With such a secular approach to ruling these last five years, it meant Iliad could not ask for assistance from the likes of Avalon or any of the other realms in allegiance to Iliad. Such were the pitfalls of ignoring her allies for so long. And now with the arrival of this letter from one of their oldest enemies, Lord Quellem could not hide his uneasiness, something Lord Gash shared with him with but a look.

  “Lord Vashva, I agree with Lord Quellem,” began Lord Gash.

  “You see! Even Gash agre-”

  “To an extent,” added Lord Gash. Silencing his old friend, “ I believe this is far more serious than you are underplaying it. This is not just any Nephilim, this is their queen. They have never done something like this before. That should give us cause for concern.”

  Lord Vashva took a moment to respond not wanting to back down. "So what then? Shall we raise a call to arms? Summon the Lords of War to battle over Hightower, and break the Treaty of Escalation?”

  “Now that is not what I meant dear friend. I just believe if we are to advise the King, we should look at both sides, even possibilities that may be considered extreme." Lord Gash raised his hands calming Lord Vashva.

  Lord Vashva calmed himself. His anger and frustration were misplaced. He knew that letter brought with it terrible calamity but he did not want to acknowledge that possibility. Instead he prayed to the gods that the Queen of the Nephilim saw reason in peace, and understood the futility of open war. He allowed Lord Gash to finish.

  “I believe, at the very least, we need to hear from general Guinevere. She, amongst all of us, has met the Queen.” Lord Gash said, turning to the young general.

  “Oh there is nothing I could think to add my lords. Any conversation I had with her was made with our weapons.” Guinevere said, startled by the attention she was now receiving. She had only been told to attend, she did not know she would be allowed to speak.

  “Nonsense princess,” barked Lord Quellem. “You and your knights are the only ones here who have seen battle against our greatest enemy. What say you?”

  Guinevere was slightly taken aback by such a demand. All through her life she was often overlooked or dismissed as nothing more than a princess playing pretend. Even as her, Urusla and Melina had trained to become knights, they were seldom looked at as true knights of Iliad. But here she sat with her closet companions. The most powerful and influential people in the realm looked to her for her opinion. Ursula and Melina both put a hand on her shoulder and that was enough to give her power within herself to stand tall. She looked over at Antares who waited for her to speak. He nodded at her encouragingly. Most of all she was glad for his respect, that her own brother, her king would want to hear what she had to say. She looked at the black letter again and found resolve in her words.

  “I think you are all missing the point,” Guinevere began. “Enrieta… Queen Enrieta is different.”

  This was the first time Enrieta Zxyphor’s name was mentioned in this room. The weight of it left an impression in the air. These men had avoided saying her name, for in some way to them to mention her was to welcome her into this room. A threat that Iliad had foolishly ignored for years, finally was acknowledged. No words needed to be spoken, in each of their hearts they all felt the same.

  “How so?” asked Casspien, intently paying attention.

  “I cannot explain it, but she flows as the wind does.” Guinevere recalled the times they clashed blades, the screams of her men dying rang in her ears. “She has no order. She has no attachment.”

  “She thrives in chaos then? How great. We are dealing with a mad queen.” The exasperation in Lord Vashva’s voiced was clear.

  Guinevere shook her head, “No. Not Chaos. Chaos implies she too has no control. But she has control.” She placed her hands on the table, the memories strong, the fear stronger. “Calling her a mad queen might not be too far from the truth. She is like the last thing you meet before madness. Almost like its custodian.”

  “What an utterly unpleasant description.” Casspien said not hiding his displeasure.

  Guinevere was not done, turning her eyes towards the black letter. “To me the contents of the letter are inconsequential. I would be far more concerned with what comes because of the letter.” Finished the young general.

  They sat in silence for a moment, allowing Guinevere's words to marinate in their minds. Each of them thinking of the horrors that could follow because of what Enrieta could bring with her. Each of them were not strangers to the dangers that the Nephilim had brought upon the Stygians and those who lived within Iliad. Once their slaves borne out of a great sin. Forced to live in chains and subservience to their Stygian masters. Once freed from their servitude, the price an oceans worth of blood and eternal war. Something the Nephilim were more than eager to pay if it meant freedom. Now millennia later and their war renewed, through no fault of the Nephilim. Even now as Antares sat there lost in thought, Daimion’s mistakes still haunted them. For him to have advised their father to move forward with this foolish endeavor all to humiliate Guinevere. How long would the King of the Stygians continue to be punished for his brother's mistakes? He looked at the letter once more, a slow anger began to grow within him. Everything within him told him death was neatly hidden within that letter, that nothing beneficial for his people would come of it. And yet Antares was moved by the description of Enrieta, someone who could make his dear sister shudder with fear. Someone so aptly described as the custodian of madness, someone so similar to him. He had never heard of her before her mentioning by Guinevere and ever since, his interest in her grew. He wondered what she looked like, what her eyes looked like. How her milk white skin and porcelain hair glimmered under the harsh red sun of Vanahiemr. There were a great many things he wondered about her, and all of it was on the other side of the black letter that lay before him.

  In one swift motion the young monarch plucked the letter from the table, all present snapped out of their trance and followed the king with their eyes. Even little Cyrus who sat in the corner lost in his scribbles, could not help but raise his head. He did not pay attention to what was happening, but for this he did. Something within told him a great change was about to happen here. And so along with everyone present he kept his eyes on their King. Antares held the letter in his hand, the black paper greatly contrasted with the golden rings adorned on his hand. Its texture smooth and rough at the same time, he scanned it for any irregularities and could find nothing. He caressed the wax seal and just from a touch a great rush of power passed through him. His Akashic eyes offered him a closer inspection of mana and all that flowed around him. He knew non else could see the imprint of Enrieta’s soul upon the letter like he did. Such overwhelming violence and pain, the colors attached to the letter though small in their number each one spoke of a woman of authority and divine wrath. It was only the residue of her soul, of her Will and it still displayed so much authority. King Antares stifled a smile.

  He opened the letter and emptied its contents, a single piece of red paper was all that there was. He discarded the letter and unraveled the paper. For a time he scanned over the words looking over each one of them diligently, he did not want to misconstrue a single word. He took the time to look over it, again and again. Reading it over and over, ultimately he could no longer stifle the grin that had crept its way across his lips. Antares smiled and lowered the letter.

  “What does it say?” Casspien could not hide his curiosity.

  They all instinctively leaned in, curiosity had grabbed them all by the ears. For the first time in millennia a Nephilim monarch would speak to a Stygian monarch as equals. Their minds raced with a thousand thoughts, unsure of how one would even start such a letter. Many of them imagined Enrieta dictating the letter to a scribe, for she herself would not stoop so low as to write such a thing. But the anticipation was palpable, they could wait no longer, and Antares could feel it.

  “Dear King Antares,” the Stygian monarch began. “Foremost I would like to congratulate you on assuming your birthright. We live in a time where such things are hastily challenged. I would have attended your coronation but disappointingly so I was not sent an invitation. Fear not. I do not hold any ill will. I understand perhaps such things are not common between our people. But neither of us are common people to begin with.

  I assume the strangeness of this letter has caused you some concern. I will put your restless mind at ease; I wish to parlay in person about what to do with Hightower. Now I understand your apprehension at this, given that I a Nephilim, a people once enslaved by you, a Stygian, our former slave masters might prove difficult. And at the very least not to mention the relationship our fathers have… had. But I write to say that I am not beholden to our history nor am I beholden to my father, the Emperor. And I believe you are of the same mind.

  Four days from the time you have read this letter I will be at Aella’s bathhouse. I thought it a wonderful place given the history it holds for our people. It is also suitably located at the edge of your realm, a point I am willing to concede in good faith. No need to respond, I will wait patiently here. Myself and one other, that is all I will bring. I hope you do the same. Yours sincerely, Enrieta of house Zxyphor, Queen of the Nephilim.”

  “She really is mad.” Cyrus said what they all thought.

  “I have to agree with the boy.” Lord Quellem nodded.

  “Cyrus, what did I say?” Antares called out, keeping his eyes on the paper.

  The boy dropped his head. “Little boys should be seen, not heard… Sorry.”

  “Where do we even begin?” Lord Vashva said with a look of shock on his face.

  “That is not all,” Antares added.

  They all looked at him, “There is more?” Lord Quellem asked not wanting to hear the answer.

  “Yes, just one more thing.” Antares turned the letter to them with a smile now very apparent on his face. “Underneath her name, she signed it with a kiss.”

  The room was in utter shock.

  “Well she is an eccentric one, I will give her that.” Antares said with a laugh.

  “Eccentric is not the word I would use,” responded Casspien coolly.

  The stunned faces of his council offered Antares some amusement. The nature of the letter was nothing he could have expected. Admittedly his opinion of Enrieta had gone through many revisions as he continued to gloss over the letter. He read her words over and over again, imagining the voice that spoke them. He wondered a great many things about her in that moment, but his attention quickly shifted to his red faced sister who struggled to hide her displeasure at Enrieta’s brazen introduction. Try as he might, he never could bring himself to see Guinevere as nothing but his doting little sister. Even now the general looked as though she would storm off in jealousy, but she did well to calm herself down. The young king put the letter back down softly on the table. His mind made up long before the paper rested gently.

  “I will go,” Antares concluded.

  “You can not,” Guinevere said, slamming her hand on the table.

  “I will,” he responded.

  “Casspien!” Guinevere turned to him.

  “Out of the question,” interjected Casspien.

  Antares and Casspien glared at each other. An intense battle began. From the moment Antares started reading the letter Casspien was overcome with an uneasy feeling. The Sword Saint was keenly aware of his dearest friend's proclivity to be drawn to the irregular. It was one of the things he greatly loved about him, but it also put him in unnecessary danger. This was one of those moments. Antares was no longer a mere Crown Prince even if such a thing was anything but minor. Even so, Antares was a king now, a true monarch. The guiding light of his people and his home. As the new Lord Regent, it would be beyond irresponsible to allow his king and best friend to venture into such a place by himself. He had already allowed it to happen once years ago, and he still regretted it deeply.

  “I am coming with you,” Casspien said, opening the duel.

  Guinevere turned to him feeling betrayed, but before she could speak Antares cut her off.

  “No you are not.” Antares stated rubbing his chin with clear intention. "We both cannot go.”

  Casspien and everyone present raised an eyebrow, “Why?” The young lord moved his locks away from his face, intently looking at his king.

  “Because if it is a trap, we can not both get caught. Losing the king and the Lord Regent at the same time is quite embarrassing.” Antares nodded, proud of his reasoning. “This way at least if it is a trap, the worst outcome is only I die.”

  “Oh Gods help us,” Lord Vashva offered a small prayer.

  “It does make sense.” Cyrus agreed, finding no reason to oppose the king..

  “Boy,” Guinevere flashed a frightening glare at Cyrus. Who quickly made himself as small and invisible as he possibly could.

  For the first time in what felt like ages, Casspiens calm demeanor was replaced with one of utter bewilderment at the reasoning of his king. To Casspien Antares was a smart man, perhaps one of the smartest he had ever known. But the manner in which the young monarch often threw himself at danger without a moment's notice left him dumbfounded. For amongst many things, Casspien was thankful Typhon was not here for he would have agreed with the king. The giant Stygian was often the one to rope Antares into such outlandish plans and ideas. So for Casspien to hear such remarks from the king completely blindsided him. The Lord Regent tried his best to recompose himself, he knew it would be futile to go back and forth with Antares, he was far too childish for that to be of any effect. Instead he needed to choose a more tactful approach that would resonate with the inner child that had awoken within Antares by Enrieta’s letter.

  “I could list at least fifty-five ways your plan is terrible.” The Lord Regent said with authority.

  Antares folded his arms in defense, “Then do it.” He said, calling Casspien’s bluff.

  There were few joys Casspien had in life. His time confined to the castle allowed him little time for leisure activities as he was forced to deal with land disputes across Iliad and her various territories.

  It was a role of solitude, confined to one room and a desk hearing and reading complaints. Although his talents as a Sword Saint or a Lord of War were better put to the battlefield. The young noble also discovered he had an interesting talent when it came to arbitration and dissecting things down to their root cause. And so as Casspien began his barrage of reasoning as to why Antares’ plan was utterly foolish, a small smile began to weave its way across his face. Spurned on by his continued chastising of their king, Guinevere and the rest of the council joined in to give their opinion of the matter and the lack of seriousness Antares was taking the situation.

  Upon a sea of harsh words by those he cared about, Antares could do nothing but find himself at their mercy. He was not given a single moment to respond to any of their issues and instead accepted his fate. Their complaints ranged on for some time but in the end, they all managed to make somewhat of a compromise. They knew they could never truly stop Antares from going, instead electing for Guinevere to be his escort. At the very least, he was to be accompanied by someone who knew their enemy well. Guinevere had proven herself capable, especially with her defeat of Bracca and his men. The council found little objection to decline this. After a grueling back and forth between the king and his council. It was finalized that in four days time he would go to Aella’s bathhouse to meet the Queen of the Nephilim.

  As matters had begun to wrap up, Jon, one of the guards standing outside, opened the door.

  “Forgive me my lord nobles. King Antares, your guest has arrived.” The young soldier said, hoping Antares would acknowledge the confidence in his voice.

  “Ah Jon, thank you. I will be there shortly.” Antares said with a nod of acknowledgement that pleased the soldier beyond words.

  “You have a guest? I was not informed of this,” Casspien raised an eyebrow.

  Antares rose to his feet and stretched, “This was the spur of the moment thought that came to me last night. It will only take a moment. I will be back shortly.” He was not accustomed to sitting for such long periods of time. He continued to understand why his father avoided these meetings.

  As the king made his way to the door he turned around and snapped his fingers. “Cyrus come on,” waving him over.

  The young boy quickly followed the king, he had felt his time in the room had worn thin. Their look of confusion at his presence left him at a loss for words as he too was not sure, why he was attending such serious matters. He tried his best to ignore what it was they talked about instead focused on his drawing of the Church of Multitude. From once he first saw it, he was unable to get the image out of his head. He was filled with the desire to draw it continuously, to commit it to memory. The boy was trying his best to keep his thoughts away from his father, the image of his corpse still fresh in his mind's eye. Before leaving the room he turned to the rest of the council and bowed deeply. In his short time with Antares, he had quickly learned of the customary traditions of those of lesser birth to do in the presence of nobles. Although given that he was under the King's watch there was no need for such formalities. But nevertheless the council softened their thoughts on the boy. For to show such respect for people he did know was to be commended. Even Antares smiled.

  “Hey, since when were you so polite? "Antares ruffled his sandy hair as they walked together. “Do not tell me you were trying to impress the girls?”

  Cyrus brushed his hand away, his cheeks red. “So what if I was, I was just being shiverous.”

  “I think you mean chivalrous.” Antares teased. “And stop being so honest. Women will take advantage of you.”

  “How would you know? You don’t even have a wife.” Cyrus said, sticking his tongue out at the king.

  With one swift motion, Antares snagged Cyrus’ tongue before he even realized it. For a moment Cyrus had forgotten that he was not in the presence of an ordinary man. The man who held his tongue and looked at him with dusk colored eyes was something beyond his understanding. And yet he felt safest near him.

  “I was betrothed to another once,” Cyrus gazed into Antares eyes. “But that was a long time ago.” He could see storms brewing on the horizon, getting violent.

  The boy tried to speak, but could not. Antares soon after let go of his tongue with a pinch. Something Cyrus was not likely to forget any time soon. As he nursed his swollen tongue, his mind could not help but turn over the King's words. It had been something that Cyrus had never really had the opportunity to think about. But he did find it curious that someone as beautiful and as loved as Antares was, was without a partner. He turned to look at the young King.

  “What happened?” Cyrus asked. It was only for the briefest of moments, a mere moment between seconds. But Cyrus Stygian eyes caught a look of overwhelming sadness from the King's face.

  “I will tell you when you are at least half my height.” Antares placed a hand on his head emphasizing how small Cyrus was.

  Cyrus was about to declare war on Antares, when his attention was stolen by the Stygian princess that made their way towards him. He thought Ser Melina to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but such a thought was quickly displaced by the woman in front of him.

  “Ah Cirella, you came,” Antares smiled at her. “You look tired.”

  “M-my king. It is nothing. I just did not sleep much.” She did her best to smile reassuringly, but fear overloaded most of her thoughts.

  Ever since a message made its way to her chambers the night before requesting an audience with the king, Cirella could not sleep. She was wracked with dread upon what Antares could request from her. Their last conversation was nearly a fortnight ago and ever since she had done well to stay out of his way. The castle was large, it was not difficult to do. She half expected that he would have forgotten about her, that matters of the state would be far too important to entertain any thought of what to do with her and her husband. She had admitted to everything, told him what they wished to do and nothing. She lived to see another day, and the day after that, and the day after that one. The anticipation was beyond what she could handle. She barely slept and on the nights she did she woke up far more exhausted. But after so long, the message delivered to her last night spurred her with new terror. And so she looked disheveled, unable to meet the King's gaze for fear of drawing his ire.

  “I would like to introduce someone to you.” Antares began, “He has recently come underneath my care.”

  Cirella followed Antares gaze to the boy who looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his face. The first thing she noticed about him was how dirty he looked. He was riddled in bandages and bruises. Even for a Stygian this boy was far too unkempt to be called one. She wondered where the boy came from. More so, a growing concern she had was how red the boy's face was quickly getting the longer she looked at him.

  “Is… Is he alright?” Cirella said, sheepishly pointing at him.

  Antares nudged Cyrus.

  “H-h-hello p-princess my n-n-name is C-Cy” It seemed as though Cyrus had forgotten the common tongue.

  Antares rolled his eyes, “This is Cyrus. Forgive him, he seems to have developed a stutter.” He lowered Cyrus’ head. “His father asked for a favor, and I am honoring it.”

  Cirella confused, cautiously bowed. “I am princess Cirella Xerxes. It is nice to meet you Cyrus.”

  “Great now that the pleasantries are over.” Antares turned to Cirella, “Ciri I need a favor.”

  Cirella allowed the words of her king to gestate in her head for a moment. She was sure she was still dreaming, worse yet possibly hallucinating. For it was impossible for her to have heard the words that were spoken by Antares Xerxes, the Antares Xerxes, King of Iliad himself. She did not want to ask again for fear of causing offense in any way, or perhaps waking herself from this dream she was in. But the flat expression Antares carried quickly snapped her back to reality. She looked to respond before his brow furrowed even an inch.

  “F-from me your grace?” her true feelings seeped out.

  Antares approached her and reached out. She reflexively closed her eyes but stood firm. Even with her eyes closed she could tell he stood over her, his hands soft and soothing, making their way across her body fixing her attire. She had hurriedly gotten dressed and did not care to make herself too presentable. She did not think Antares would care so much but once again she was wrong about him. He carefully tidied her up. Cirella could not bring herself to open her eyes and so left them shut.

  “I need you to watch Cyrus. Only for the day. There is much I have to deal with today, I will not be as free as I like.”

  “What!?” Cirella and Cyrus screamed in unison, much to the shock of the people who passed them by.

  “A-Antares I am not a child nurse!” Cirella exclaimed.

  “I am not a child,” Cyrus glared at Cirella. “What happened to you teaching me how to fight like you?” Cyrus moaned.

  Cirella raised an eyebrow, “Antares why are you teaching a child to fight?”

  Cyrus turned back to Cirella ready to fight back. Antares sighed loudly and rubbed his forehead. He assumed Cyrus would be difficult given his age but not Cirella too. Admittedly he could have had Cyrus be looked after by any of the hundreds of servants that served the castle or even his own mother Lady Alena. But he wanted to offer the opportunity to Cirella, he hoped she would see the good will he was trying to extend to her. But once again she failed to meet his expectations. The young King had spent the better part of his morning being yelled at, the experience had worn very thin, and he had finally reached the limits of his patience.

  “Enough,” Antares demanded.

  The overwhelming force of his kingspeak silenced them both with utmost authority. Both of them forgot themselves, they were in the presence of a true monarch one who wore two of the nine crowns that ruled Aurum. His casualness was a luxury that they over indulged in. All of this was said merely in one word. Such was Antares master of the legendary tongue. Even Cirella admitted to herself, Antares was deserving of the title of king.

  Antares sighed, “Sorry. I did not mean to do that so casually." Both of them looked at him like disciplined children.

  The king first turned to Cirella, “I only ask for one day, look after him.” His words soothing now, “Bath him, clothe him, feed him, show him around. I will not forget this favor Cirella.”

  Cirella nodded her head in submission.

  He now turned to Cyrus, who looked uninterested. “Do not pout,” he teased him.

  “I’m not pouting,” Cyrus responded by crossing his arms.

  Antares dropped to one knee, “I have not forgotten my promise to teach you how to protect yourself. As your fathers letter asked me. But there is still much I must deal with as ruler, and things to fix as you have seen.” His gaze turned to Cirella for a moment who quickly looked down.

  Cyrus sheepishly nodded in agreement. And Antares ruffled his hair, teasing him again. And with that Antares bid the pair a goodbye as he headed back to the council room. He would only admit this to himself but he was deeply worried he may have made a mistake leaving Cirella in the care of Cyrus given she and his brother were involved in a plot to kill him. But despite that Antares was not so quick to throw Cirella and Daimion to the wolves. Her complete honesty was enough to peak his interest, unlike her husband she was willing to sacrifice everything if it meant the safety of her children. In that, Antares saw something, he hoped Cirella would not disappoint him again, he was quickly growing tired of disappointment within his own family.

  “The King has returned!” announced Jon as he opened the door. Antares placed a hand on his shoulder and thanked him. Jon would not be able to wipe the smile off his face for weeks.

  “What took you so long?” asked Casspien.

  “Long story,” Antares said, waving his hand. He pointed over to where Guinevere sat. “Where are Gwen and the girls?”

  “They have gone to prepare for your departure in four days time, your highness.” Began Lord Gash, “While you were gone, we thought it best to at least scout the area ahead.”

  “We cannot be too sure what those blood fuckers may do,” Grunted Lord Quelleum.

  “You do not have to be so crude in front of the king.” Lord Vashva chastised his round friend who huffed in response.

  “Very well. I doubt I would have had a say in the matter,” Antares accepted.

  “You would have not,” Casspien reassured the king.

  The matter in which they were next to discuss was something Antares had been looking to avoid ever since he was given the crown from his father. There were certain memories from his past he had no desire to revisit for there was nothing that could be done to change those things. But as a monarch, and a ruler, he was expected to handle that which he often avoided; the conversation turned to one of marriage.

  Lord Vashva cleared his throat, “Now I would like to bring forth the topic of marriage. King Antares you are more than of age to be wed. As I understand you were once betrothed to princess Freyja Stormborne-”

  The temperature in the room dropped rapidly. Ice began to form on the corners of the table and walls. Soon the air became cold and harsh, a piercing sensation made it hard to breathe. Such frost appeared out of thin air as though it had always been there. The growing pressure that emanated from Antares body brought with it such unbelievable intensity merely being in his presence felt as though one would freeze to death.

  “Antares…” Casspien cautioned.

  A moment later Antares exhaled and the room returned to normal. It had been years since he last heard her name. The words sent him deep into the recesses of his mind, to memories he burned and buried and burned again. But with just the utterance of her name it nearly brought out a side of him he often hid. A side of deep longing. But now was not the time to think of her, that was not a right he deserved.

  “Forgive me Lord Vashva. That was very childish of me,” Antares bowed.

  Lord Vashva and the other lords quickly rose to their feet. “Lord king please! You do not have to apologize! It is I who was careless!” Lord Vashva begged.

  “Quite right your majesty! You know how old Vashva is, his mind forgets him!” Lord Quelleum mimicked drinking and winked at Antares with a snarling laugh.

  “It is true. We are old my King,” Lord Gash added.

  Antares smiled at the eagerness of his council to soothe his outburst of emotion. Though he would later scold himself for his lack of control. Ever since he had returned home, his control over his feelings had been difficult to tame. So much had he missed in the five years since his exile, that he was struggling to keep it all. But he would improve, there was no time to falter. He urged for his council to sit once again and the conversation carried on. Lord Vashva went on to voice the concerns of the common folk about the king not having a queen. The people had been in great strife over the years and a royal wedding would do well to ease those grievances, Vashva spoke with certainty. Even the other lords chimed in, the common folk would see things as a great age having the coronation of the king and his wedding so soon right after each other, added lord Gash. As their plea came to an end they gave the king a chance to respond.

  “I have no need for a wife,” Antares dismissed.

  “Here we go,” Casspien said rolling his eyes.

  “These are not the times for such things,” Antares lamented.

  “Then when is?” challenged Casspien. His displeasure visible.

  Antares rose from his chair and pointed out the tall window to the kingdom below. “When my realm is not on the brink of tearing itself apart.”

  Casspien scoffed, “Do not hide behind them. This has nothing to do with the realm.” He rose to meet the king.

  “This is not about what you need, Antares. We have a duty to these people, it is the sacrifice we make for them.” Casspien grabbed Antares by the collar and looked into his eyes. “You have mourned enough brother. Steel yourself.” They both held each other's gaze for a long time. The violet blue sunset in Casspiens eyes as cold as his words.

  It pained the young Lord Regent to talk to his friend in such a way. He knew better than anyone Antares deserved to grieve what he and Faye lost. Such a thing to be ripped apart by the hands of fate. Something Casspien never quite forgave the ancestors for allowing to happen. But long had the time for grieving passed. He could see it in the way Antares carried himself, ever since he returned with the boy named Cyrus. He had grown more indecisive, more distant. He hoped this call to action would spur his dear brother back towards reason.

  Antares and Casspien stared at each other for some time, before the lords of council quickly rose to separate the men. The day had been more than eventful for the three winter birds. This was a rare outburst they saw between the king and the Lord Regent. Lord Vashva cursed at himself softly, at his lack of caring at mentioning such a name. He had heard the stories but he could never have imagined that princess Freyja and his Lord king's bond was that deep. This only served as further proof that Lord Vashva and the others knew very little of their young king. Something that disappointed all three winter birds.

  “My lords please. Temper yourselves,” Lord Gash begged.

  “Quite right!” bemoaned Lord Quellem. His hearty laugh trying to calm the matter, “You both must be more agreeable and be less like us humans.”

  Antares lowered his head in shame, his outburst was unwarranted and he knew the words Casspien spoke to be the truth. There was little for him to say on the matter. His return from the Church of Multitude with Cyrus had done nothing but cloud his judgement. Since his conversation with the high priestess his mind had wondered too often about the past. The demons that gnawed at his heels continued to make themselves known. But he pushed past his self pity, he searched for himself once more.

  “Who, who do you have in mind?” Antares could not bring himself to meet their gaze.

  Lord Gash smiled deeply and pulled some papers from behind him, “Well, we understand the Queen of Iliad is not such a simple title.”

  “The selection process can be quite…” Lord Vashva trailed off.

  “Hotly contested?” Lord Quelleum tried to finish.

  “Bloody.” Casspien corrected.

  Antares sighed and rubbed his forehead. The more they spoke the more he felt confident in his denial of selecting a wife. Of all the realms no position was highly sought after than the bride to the King of the Stygians. It was a title that was nearly equal to that of the monarch of any of the other realms. Nearly. The young king had been taught the stories and he himself in his youth had sought out so many of them. So much death and violence over who was to be selected. The process was not easy and the candidates themselves were subjected to assassination plots from various warring factions. In the eyes of many, there was no greater time for bloodshed than when the ruler of Iliad became of age to wed.

  Over the millennia the elders had deemed it was far better for the prospective partner to be chosen long before the crown heir became of age. There would be no time for competing factions to form and ultimately the prospective partner would be under the protection of the crown. Such a selection was made for Antares himself. And that was princess Freyja of house Stormborne. Their partnership was made soon after the murder of his mother. The Storm Islands raged at the death of their beloved Queen and sought recompense for the Stygians lack of care over such an abhorrent act. To avoid a cataclysmic war that would have ended in the annihilation of the Storm Islands. King Barranagan offered the hand of his youngest son at the time, as a peace offering. One Antares grandfather, King Ragnar Stormborne quickly accepted. Antares and Freyja’s marriage was meant to usher in a new era of peace, and for once finally welcome the Storm Islands completely into Stygian culture. But all of that changed five years ago, when Antares took Nyoklas’ life.

  “Alright, now that you have explained in great detail how important this all is.” Antares looked at his council, “How many names do you have?”

  Lord Gash pulled out the first paper, “Starting with the first candidate. We four believe to be the strongest and most suitable.”

  Antares was interested to see who even Casspien would champion given his standards. “Who is she?”

  “Maria Xer-”

  “Absolutely not,” Antares demanded.

  “But my ki-” Lord Vashva began.

  “No. Not her. She hates me.” Antares stared at Casspien, he more than anyone aware of that fact. “You know it too.”

  Casspien raised his hands dismissively, “She does not hate you.” He hoped his words sounded more convincing than they felt.

  “Yes she does. In fact, the only thing she hates more than me are humans.” Antares turned to his winter birds, “Which brings me to why you all would agree to this pick? Where she queen, she would have you all executed for thinking you unworthy enough to advise a Stygian let alone the king of them all.”

  The three old men blinked in confusion and looked at each other, then they turned to look at Casspien who was trying his hardest to remain indifferent.

  “It seems,” Lord Vashva began. “Lord Regent Casspien, may have forgotten to share that vital piece of information.”

  Stifling a cough Casspien said, “Perhaps it may have slipped my mind.”

  Antares grinned.

  Maria Xerxes was everything Antares chose not to be. She was cold, distant, uncaring and had an overwhelming belief in none other but her own people. She was of no ordinary lineage, she and select members of her branch family were considered the only other living true relatives of the Stygian royal family. Often they were considered the auxiliary family, for in the event Antares and his siblings were to all perish. She and her kin would take the throne. Their roots and that of Antares had been intertwined long before even the days of God King Gilgamesh Xerxes. For the royal family turned to no other lineage when it was time to bear heirs when there was no other viable candidate. Their union would usher in the age Daimion had been painstakingly crafting over the years. Maria and many like her who lived beyond the mountains, believed that the Stygians were the one true rulers of Iliad and no other family, especially human, were capable of accepting such a task.

  Many of the Stygians north held this steadfast belief, history was littered with the corpses of Stygians dying time and time again for Aurum and her inhabitants. And to Maria and many who followed her, their reward was the gradual loss of their home over the millennia. Once long ago one could go to every corner of Aurum and see Stygians thriving in multitude, and now they could only be found in Iliad and further north into the Great White.

  Although he would not tell them, Antares knew Maria would not accept the world he wished to create. She was far too stuck in her ways, in the ways of their people and he could not afford to have her as an adversary. She was already one of those who championed his execution for what happened to Nykolas. To give such a woman access to the kind of power he wielded only invited further division.

  “Perhaps we will revisit her another time.” Lord Vashva said eagerly, hoping to move on.

  They all nodded.

  “Who else?” Antares asked, slightly concerned now that he knew Maria was their best candidate.

  The council members continued to rattle off names of different Stygian women, many of them were of high nobility that Antares had either known or heard about from his time at court as a child. Each woman was deserving of being queen in their own right. Many of them lived in the neighboring castles and palaces that dotted the Ilian countryside. But to Antares none of them were ideal. With the events of his exile and Daimion's desire to seal the country over the last five years, he sought someone who would bring unity to his realm. He sought someone who could embody the heart of his people. He sought a human woman.

  “Those are all the candidates we have within the Iliad.” Lord Gash said exasperated and slightly disappointed none of the Stygian women he selected caught the eye of the king.

  “I did not think you were a picky man, my king.” Lord Quellem amused, scratching his greying beard. “You are wise beyond your years.”

  “Or stubborn,” Casspien added with a slight scowl.

  Antares rolled his eyes, “Easy now Lord Casspien.”

  “Your reverence, truly none of them caught your eye?” asked Lord Vashva.

  Antares looked to choose his words carefully, “Many of them were fine candidates. But I was somewhat interested in a marriage that could further my ambitions.”

  He did not have to explicitly say it, they were all aware his ambitions meant reclaiming the Nine Grimoires of Nyx. It had been days since the speech he gave at his ceremony, they had all been eager to hear more about it, but there was never much time to discuss such things with the realm falling apart. None more than Casspien was eager to hear more about his dear friend's desire to reunite the nine realms of Aurum. Finally, Antares for the first time since that night showed signs of ambition, signs that he was finally aware of what was at stake. A small smile escaped the Lord Regent's lips.

  The lords looked at each other, half expecting the conversation to go this way. There was no shock or dismay on their face, instead what Antares could see was a new found sense of determinism. To him it seemed they had prepared for this eventuality and so Casspien pulled out a folded note from within his shirt.

  “What is that you have there?” Antares asked.

  Casspien unfurled the note, “This here is a list of three names. Each name belongs to a princess of a different kingdom. Each name will further your goal for the hrimoires. For a united Aurum.”

  Antares was slightly taken aback, he had not discussed any of this with them, so he was unsure how they would have reacted. But seeing the determination on their faces, the belief in their eyes, in their souls. He knew he need not question their allegiance, all present agreed with his speech many nights ago.

  “What are their names?” Antares leaned forward.

  “Crown Princess Emma Vezimeer, Queen Roderika Altieri and princess Scylla Vermillion.” Casspien finished.

  Antares let the names rattle around in his head. As he did so, Casspien began his own tirade offering what could be gained from wedding any of them. He first began with Crown Princess Emma of house Vezimeer. It had been rumored that she was going to assume the throne of the pacifist realm of Neith from her father, King Edward. He had long been looking to pass the crown to her. Princess Emma was one of the loudest voices that protested Iliad closing itself off. For years she had written countless letters, all Daimion ignored in favor of his plans. The princess had not wed because her father had raised her in such a sheltered life, she seldom was allowed to leave the palace where she was housed. There had been many marriage proposals offered to her through the years but all were rejected by either her or her father. With Antares all of that could change. The King of the Stygians looking for a wife and one from the realm of Neith could ease the tensions throughout the realms. Especially of the southern kingdoms who so brazenly distrust the Stygians. She was a woman of peace and sound mind, despite how young she was. Even the Golden Company in all their glory and wealth listened when she spoke.

  The Lord Regent moved on to Queen Roderika of house Altieri. This brought with it some grunts and uncomfortable silence. Roderika Altieri was the daughter of Tereza Altieri, who was one of the legendary four Black Witches of Aurum; the Black Witch of the west. Antares was not privy to much of his father’s past for he rarely spoke of it when he lived. But he knew Tereza Altieri was part of it. To what extent he was unsure, such conversations were never broached. But before he loved his mother and Lady Alena. In the shadows muffled voices whispered that the great Demon King of the north once loved a black raven that soared the night sky.

  That was not the only connection that Roderika and Antares shared, for the auburn haired queen’s father, the emperor Nero once too was close with the young king's father. Such an unnatural feeling washed over the room, especially with Antares. His fathers past was just that, but the past his father and Nero shared was far too great to simply ignore. And yet, with Roderika he found common ground. Antares knew of her wild nature, of her proficiency for battle and conquest. Like him she too was raised young to take life and like him she too excelled. The Queen of Lunaelia had to be someone who could look into the harsh near lawlessness of her realm and command respect and order. Of all the names mentioned so far, she was the closest to Maria in terms of being worthy to sit upon the Stygian throne as ruler, as his queen.

  “Would Nero accept?” asked Antares.

  His interest gladdened Casspien, “We believe so. For over a century he has tried to bend the rest of the northern realms to his will. They have resisted, barely.” Casspien remembered the records he once looked over detailing the realms opinion on unification. “But this union, this marriage between you both would give him the influence he needs. Nero is far more interested in how he is perceived. What better way for him to be remembered than the emperor who united the south and north?”

  What Casspien said was true, this marriage would be something Nero would agree too. However, where Antares hesitated would be in the scope of such a union. Roderika was a near perfect candidate. But she was a queen in her own right, would she be so willing as to accept such a role? To allow her people that she has cared for, for so long be governed by another, by a Stygian? Just as Roderika answered so many questions she raised just as many more. She was far too much of an unknown, but right now to Antares she seemed the most viable choice.

  “And what of princess Scylla?” Antares continued the conversation.

  “I believe her to be the best option my king!” belched Lord Quellem.

  “Oh hush now, you say that because one of your cousins is married to a Beastman.” Lord Vashva chastised the old lord who smiled.

  “She seems the safest of our options. A marriage with her would go a long way to improve our relationship with the Beastmen of Laconia and by extension even the kingdom of Avalon too.” Casspien added.

  Princess Scylla Vermillion was the younger sister of the King of the Beastmen and ruler of Laconia, King Leonides of house Vermillion. Antares knew the Stygians had a complicated relationship with the Beastmen, once created by the humans as a weapon to eradicate the original inhabitants of Aurum. The Beastmen were soundly beaten during the Second Great War and subsequently were freed by the Stygians. No longer would they be slaves to the humans who made them for war. But the Beastmen were not granted true freedom. Instead bound by the very same magic that the humans had used on them into eternal servitude by the Stygians. Their complete freedom was something that they had hoped to attain, same as the Nephilim now enjoy. But Antares knew the Beastmen would never choose such a violent path. But this marriage could open the door for the young King to use them to his advantage. He knew King Leonides well, they had grown up together if only for a short time, and in that time Leonides was fiercely loyal to him. Antares in his youth had always wondered if that loyalty was genuine or because of the power his people had held over them.

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  “Leo would be over the moon at such a union.” Antares smiled.

  “Quite right my king. Such a marriage would bring joy to the lands.” beamed Lord Quellem.

  The other birds nodded in agreement.

  “The issue lies in that the Beastmen would ask for their release. Almost demand it.” Casspien added.

  The room fell silent for a moment.

  “Would it be such a bad thing to give it to them?” suggested Lord Gash, his voice hopeful.

  Casspien sighed, “In principle it would not. But the issue every Stygian monarch and by extension his council has faced is that all cannot agree that if released from their duty, would the Beastmen still be loyal to us, to Iliad.”

  Lord Vashva nodded, “Quite frankly the wounds they have caused for the Stygians during that war still have not all healed. And I have to agree, such a thing should not be tied to marriage. The consequences would shift the entire order of power in Aurum. The Beastmen may not know it, but they are that much of a threat.”

  Antares unfortunately agreed with Lord Vashva and Casspien. The threat the Beastmen posed was too great to grant them complete release so soon. The young king had seldom visited Laconia in his youth, but even from what he remembered. From the first time he saw a Beastman, he could tell they were powerful. Each one of them was worth ten Ilian soldiers. They were no simple enemy to defeat, for even the Lords of War at the time had their trouble. To Antares the Beastmen were much better subservient allies than unsure equals. He pushed aside the memories of promises he made to king Leonides in their youth of granting them their full freedom.

  Antares yawned, all this talk of marriage did nothing but fill his head with too many futures to look at. “Perhaps we bring all this talk of marriage to a close for today and take a break. I grow tired of it.”

  “I agree, no decision needs to be made right now.” Lord Quellem scratched his beard ready to stand.

  “It was an eventful topic, much for you to think about.” Lord Vashva nodded along.

  “Better yet, take some days to think about it.” Began Casspien, “You should give us an answer when you come back from your outing with the Queen of the Nephilim.

  “Ah my lords, that reminds me.” Lord Gash spoke up.

  They all turned to the quiet lord, eager to hear what he had to say.

  “There is one more candidate, though she is a relative unknown.” He began, “Much is not known about her, but she is a princess all the same. Quite an important one actually.”

  Antares turned his full attention to his trusted lord, “And her name Lord Gash?”

  Lord Gash thought for a moment, trying to recall the name of the girl his daughters gossiped about. “If I recall, I believe her name was Reza. Ah yes, princess Reza Altieri. Daughter to Tereza Altieri and emperor Nero.”

  “Reza? I have never heard of her.” Antares responded, the name meant nothing to him.

  Lord Vashva and Casspien both sported a look of confusion, neither of them also knew who she was. But Lord Quellem had a different response.

  “Ah that little one. I have heard rumblings about her.” The old lord looked weary.

  “What is the matter Lord Quellem?” Antares asked, now concerned.

  “It is nothing, my king.” His face still betrayed him, “She is a worthy candidate, It is just. Well.” he trailed off.”

  “If I recall she is a witch, your magnificence.” Lord Gash added.

  There was nothing more to add. Antares knew what Lord Gash and Quellem were alluding to. Of all the realms, Iliad did not take too kindly to having a witch sit upon the royal throne. Witches had long since held a sour thought in the minds of many throughout Aurum. Their unpredictability and their immense power made them a threat too great to ignore. Their exploits throughout the great wars or historic conflicts across the history of Aurum was well documented. Many believed it, whether true or not, where witches gather great change soon arrived. And with that change, a great many would die. Their powers were rarely understood, their magic strong enough to bend a Stygian to their will. Some even claimed in the darkest of corners that they could bend Lords of Wars to their desires as well. They were the outcast and hunted. The rejected and defiled. The elders would never allow such a union, and most importantly, Antares knew Tereza Altieri would turn the sky black were any such harm to befall her daughter as it did his mother.

  “There is far too much at stake to put our hopes in some no name princess. Who is a witch at that.” Antares finished, his interests moving on.

  “I agree, besides I think she is far too young to handle the future of our kingdom.” Added Lord Quellem.

  “You speak the truth. Her naming ceremony is but a fortnight away, and she will be a mere seventeen years of age. Far too young,” Lord Gash nodded.

  And with that conversations about marriage drew to a close. There was much for everyone to think about, more for King Antares than anyone. Each candidate was worthy of the title of queen in their own right, some more so than others but nevertheless he would take the coming days to think about it. What he was not especially fond of was the presentation that would follow once he had chosen a candidate. The excessive show of love, the extravagant parties and the spending of coin that Iliad did not have. All of this was sure to follow once a bride had been chosen. But that was not something for him to worry about, he met the eyes of Lord Quellem and gave him a soft smile. Of course Lord Quellem would struggle far more with the finances than he would. There was still some time till then, Antares would continue to enjoy the solitude that he had grown so accustomed to. The idea of opening his heart to another was nearly inconceivable for him. Not after what happened with Faye. The princess of the Storm Islands would be the only one he would ever allow in.

  As they prepared to leave the room for a break, Antares toiled with the topic he had been holding on to ever since he saw Cirella again this morning. Admittedly, he was unsure how the council would react and more so intimidated by Casspien’s reaction which he expected was not to be a good one. And yet as they rose, perhaps now was best while they were all still tired and relaxed. Such a simple topic could be slipped out and he could address it later. And so the young King tried his hand at subtlety .

  “One more quick thing before we conclude this morning's meeting.” Antares said leisurely, as he headed for the door.

  They all looked at him quizzically.

  “Since this whole process of selecting a bride seems to be quite complicated.” The young King began, still slowly backing towards the door. “And given I may not survive my meeting with Queen Enrieta. I thought in the interest of everyone involved I would make Samara and Loukas my wards. Cyrus as well too. I am glad we could discuss this.” Antares smiled and immediately went for the door.

  “A moment my king,” Casspien commanded.

  Before Antares could place a hand on the door, it was frozen solid. Antares knew of very few who could wield ice so effortlessly as himself. Unfortunately Casspien was once such a person. With but a wave of his hand the lord regent had completely frozen the door shut with thick ice. The guards on the other side quickly realizing what had happened shouted in return to check on the safety of the king. Meekly Antares responded that everything was alright. The young monarch slowly turned to face an incensed council.

  “Forgive me your excellence, It seems I may be hard of hearing.” Began Casspien, who gazed with a cool eye at Antares. “But did I hear you say you are claiming some street boy you have yet to explain and the children of the man who conspired to have you killed as your wards and heir to the throne?”

  “Actually Samara would be the only heir as she is the oldest of Daimion’s children.” Antares corrected with a boyish smile. “Loukas and Cyrus are more under my protection.”

  Lords Gash, Vashva, and Quellem returned to their seats. Antares was cornered, he looked to the window and was unsure if he would reach it before Casspien froze it. He wanted to avoid having this conversation, for he understood the reservations his council and more specifically his Lord Regent would say but it seemed that he would not be granted such an easy out. He looked to his council for assistance but they all returned a stoic look that even Casspien would have been proud of.

  Casspien pointed at the king's chair and a gust of cold wind blew it back with force.

  “Sit. We are going to have a very long conversation.” The Lord Regent declared.

  That day Antares learned many things. Of those things, the one that stuck with him the longest was Casspien wrath when it came to his eccentricity regarding the throne.

  When her father still lived, he was fond of game hunting. Iliad was blessed to be bountiful with many wild animals that grazed the countryside. It was a representation of how rich the land was in nutrients for those to harvest. The animals were the caretakers of the land in their own right. And as she journeyed with her father on his hunts, he would often inform her of the relationship formed between all life. Her eyes would glaze over when he would talk of such things. Now she would do anything to return to such a time. But as she thought of him and his hunts, her mind went much further back. To the days where he would force a bow and arrow into her hands and tell her to seek prey.

  Of all the lessons she learned during that time with him, the lesson she most carried with herself was observation. Through observation much could be gleaned of anyone and anything. And so she observed and harnessed the skill and ability, it made her a keen judge of character. Quickly she could ascertain the truth behind things simply by watching everything around her. So as she sat on her dining table, wine glass in hand. She observed the boy with sandy-curled hair with intense curiosity. Everything about him from his bruised face to his dusk born eyes to ebony skin seem plain. The boy was a Stygian, of that she had no doubts, but compared to the elegance and ethereal nature of someone like Antares he was severely lacking in so many aspects. So it drove her nearly mad, why Antares would have any kind of relation with this boy and why he would thrust him upon her lap.

  “My father used to say it's rude to stare.” Cyrus said, between mouthfuls of moon cakes.

  “Did he also teach you it is rude to eat with your mouth open?” she shot back, taking a sip from her wine.

  “I sense perhaps you don’t like me.” The boy said, wiping cake from his lips.

  “What gave it away?” The young princess rolled her eyes.

  Cyrus lowered his head slightly and Cirella quickly regretted her mistake. Regardless of what she thought about Cyrus, he was someone important to Antares and that meant he was someone important to the king. And there was weight to that. Her somewhat laidback attitude had shifted slightly to one of panic. What if the boy relayed to Antares how she treated him. Her mind began to race, she was not only in charge of the boy's care but also his mood. And if it soured before he returned to Antares, she shuddered at the thought of what he would say, or do.

  “Look, boy,” she began.

  “Cyrus,” he corrected.

  Cirella sighed.

  “Cyrus,” she acknowledged. “I have no quarrel with you. It is just Antares and I are at… odds.”

  She did not know how much she could talk with the child. She wondered if Antares shared with him their conflict, or his avoidance of her. Cirella had to tread carefully, to treat Cyrus as just an ordinary child was a mistake waiting to be punished, instead as the boy raised an eyebrow ready to respond, she quickly looked to change the conversation.

  “That drawing,” she pried a finger from the wine glass. “Is that of the Church of Multitude?”

  Cyrus embarrassingly reached over to cover the drawings, but to his surprise Cirella was nimble, overwhelming so. In one moment she had swiped the drawing before he could react and it was in her hand. He had forgotten that a Stygian did not need to be a warrior to show otherworldly feats. In that moment, Cyrus realized that Cirella was far stronger than him.

  “Hey, give it back!” he tried getting up.

  Cirella uncrossed her legs and pointed her right toe at him. “Sit. I am in charge, remember? King's orders. Now let us take a look,” she said triumphantly.

  She examined the drawing made on paper. Immediately she was taken aback by the penmanship. For a boy who was so young, he had a very detailed and elegant hand when it came to drawing. It was only a rough sketch but still so much detail was still retained. This was not the work of a child, but of a budding artisan, whose works would be famous across the realms. Not once did Cirella take her eyes off the drawing. Completely absorbed by it. She studied the way the towers stood almost like pedestals. Even though there were no words, she could understand how Cyrus saw the church as this ancient monolithic structure shrouded in great mystery. Much like her own people.

  “This is beautiful,” she said. Almost whispering it to herself.

  Cyrus blushed, “T-Thank you.”

  Cirella smiled, he was far cuter when he behaved with manners.

  “You have a true talent for the arts.” She handed the drawing back to him. “You should have Antares sponsor you. You seek the wrong thing from him.”

  Cyrus' demeanor changed slightly, "I don’t need to be sponsored. I need to be strong.”

  Cirella cocked her head to the side, “You seek Antares to make you strong?” She asked, pointing to his bruises, “I take it those wounds are the reason.”

  Cyrus looked at his wounds, half forgotten he was once heavily injured some two days ago. So much had happened for the young boy since the passing of his father. And yet, not much had changed. Him in tattered and old clothes, sat across from a beautiful woman. He felt reminiscent of his early days being taught by Her. He wondered how she was and where she had gone to and if she ever thought of him and their time together.

  Cirella rose off the table heading to the curtains opposite them. “You know Lord of Wars are not known to be very good teachers.”

  “That’s fine,” Cyrus said. Half convincing himself. “He’s really strong, everyone here keeps saying it.” He said, wolfing down the last of the cakes. “That's all that matters.”

  Cirella pulled the curtains back, bathing the room in the wonderful afternoon light. “ It.” she chuckled to herself.

  Cyrus turned to her, “It?”

  “You referred to the Lord of War as a ‘he’.” The bright sun covered her in a glowing shadow, leaving her eyes swimming in an ocean sunset. “A Lord of War is not a person. It is an object.” She motioned for him to meet her in the large sitting area.

  Cyrus obliged, following. “I don’t understand. What exactly is a Lord of War?”

  For a moment Cirella recalled another time with her father, soon before she was meant to wed Daimion. Living still in her family castle. Such were the days where all she had to worry about was what gossip her and her sisters would soon talk about. So much was to be said about what went on in the capital of Akkad. But so little of it ever traveled to her home. But for Cirella that day would be memorable for reasons she still had yet to fully understand. To the young duchess at the time, much of the day was a blur. All accept the afternoon when she gathered with her family for a feast out in the fields.

  Lilac flowers and red roses dotted the scenery in a complexity of color that reflected the summer days. Her home was beautiful, and with such blistering heat. The sun never bothered her, but that day she remembered it being near unbearable. She could not recall the conversations she had with her sisters, in fact she could not even remember her sisters faces at the time. But what she did remember was how suddenly on the scorching summer day, her sister’s breath turned ice cold. And soon after so did hers. Not once in Cirella’s young life at the time, did the thought of being cold ever cross her mind. She was Stygian, they did not feel cold. Where others succumbed to the unbearable nature of winter, her people thrived. Where most died within minutes of exposure, they could walk naked unperturbed by the elements.

  So the sensation she felt was more than foreign to her. It was inescapable terror. It shook her to her very core. Unable to stop herself from shivering, she turned to her sisters for help. But all she saw when she looked at them was their frozen face in abject horror, staring behind her. Every fiber of her being told her not to turn around. That it was to be her end, lest her not see it. Let her be granted that mercy. But the soft purring of a horse calmed her just enough to regain some control of her senses. And so she turned around.

  The first thing she noticed was how beautiful frozen flowers looked in the sunlight. Trapped forever in a moment in time at their most absolute. The reflection of the light off the frozen flowers danced across the fields in an array of various blinding lights. Cirella did not have time to be blown away by such an incredible scene before her. Her attention shifted to the two beings who sat atop snow white horses. She could not see their faces, they wore a smooth ivory mask. The same color as the moon. There were features of a face on the mask but she could not tell whose face it was. It seemed to be the face of every Stygian that had ever lived, and yet the face of a Stygian she did not know. But even that was not what unsettled her the most about these beings. It was their hair. The serenity in which it flowed was like the deepest currents in the ocean floor. Such long hair that she was sure reached passed their shoulders, suspended in the air. The color, suppressing black, an eater of light. The stars within the beings' hair, sparse and far in-between. They looked trapped suffocating in the abyss. Such unimaginable dread gripped her and she looked away. Back into its eyes.

  Cirella was a duchess, not just any ordinary duchess but one who was to wed one of the princes of Iliad. All her life she had only ever known what it was like to feel wanted, sought after and desired. She stood above many, and there were millions who would wish to take her place. But in the eyes of this being, of this thing. She had never felt so insignificant. The way it looked at her as though she were no different than a blade of grass in a field, or a leaf in the wind. There was no love, there was no hate, there was no life as she understood it. There was only suffocating indifference. A lack of something to reason to. It held her in its eyes for some time, she never could quite recall how long. But long enough for her to lose all feeling in her limbs. She remembered her father sluggishly moving towards them. His head bowed so low she thought he would drag his face across the floor. At that moment she watched her father speak to them. She knew at that moment no one could ever tell her, her father was not brave. To Cirella. Her father was the bravest man she would ever know. And as they all watched in stunned silence as the beings followed her father’s direction and headed on their way. She forced herself to crawl to her father and fell in his arms. With what little resolve she had left, she asked him what those things were. When he found the strength to speak, she never forgot what he said.

  “A Lord of War is not a person like you or me.” She began, reciting from memory. “It is a thing. It is a carefully hand crafted weapon across many years of refined battle. It is designed for one single purpose and that purpose it excels at. A blade does not love, and so a Lord of War does not. A blade does not hate, and so a Lord of War does not. A blade does not hesitate, and so a Lord of War does not.”

  Cirella allowed the first half of her words to hang in the air, she wanted Cyrus to understand, to feel the fear in her voice. The pinnacle of strength he sought was occupied by beings who seldom saw anyone else as an equal.

  “Across the battlefield warriors alike, use incantations and sacred techniques to command legendary power.” Cirella continued after a large drink of her wine. “But it has no need for such things, its very presence is enough to will mana to form itself into whatever it requires. It is perfection given corporeal form. It is divine proof that the blood of Gods flows through our veins. It is the Avatar of our people's Will to live.”

  The sound of her words seemed to chill the room. Silence hung in the air like a thick cloud. She looked at Cyrus, half hoping to see him beside himself. But to her surprise, the determinism in his eye was unwavering. Almost like such a being is who he sought. Who or what could command such an emotion out of a boy filled Cirella with a mixture of unease and curiosity. And still there was some jealousy at his steadfastness. Something she wished she had. But she quickly dismissed it as the boy not fully understanding the danger of what a Lord of War represented. But before she could attempt to dissuade him further, there was a knock on the door. They both turned towards it.

  “Who is it?” Cirella asked, slightly annoyed.

  “It is I, Halford, my lady. I have come as you requested.” A burly voice spoke from behind the door.

  “Ah wonderful. One moment!” Cirella responded, rising to her feet and heading to her private chamber.

  “Who is that? And Where are we going?” Cyrus asked, standing up.

  “You ask too many questions,” Cirella said. Closing the door.

  “You don’t give enough answers,” Cyrus grumbled underneath his breath.

  “I heard that!” Cirella yelled from the other side of the door.

  Cyrus backed away, no longer feeling safe as the loud banging continued. He moved back to the center of the room and gazed around the chamber. It was far larger than where he and his father called home. Such a spacious room was something he could only imagine in his wildest dreams and even then they did not compare. The castle of the Stygian King was such an interesting and complex structure. It still continued to amaze him and he was glad he had such a wealth of inspiration. In the corner he saw toys laid about. He knew Cirella had children, but he was still surprised to see it himself. She only looked a few years older than him and she could certainly pass as Lady Alena’s sister too. He wondered if he would continue to look as he was when he was her age or even Antares and an uncomfortable thought entered his mind. Before it could fester the door to Cirella’s private chamber opened.

  “What do you think?” Cirella emerged, covered in a golden shawl.

  Cyrus considered himself to be well read enough to carry conversation. As young as he was he thought he understood beauty and how many things could contain beauty. But as he looked at Cirella who twirled around in a golden shimmer, the vibrant color of her royal clothes dancing along with her, he understood how true beauty often looked like a painting. The capture of a single moment. This image of her that he saw, he would hold in his mind for some time. For surely he had to draw her. He would be restless until he did.

  “Well?” Cirella asked again, approaching him.

  Cyrus looked away blushing, “Presentable.”

  “Just presentable?” she pouted, “I did not know such low born boys had such high standards.” Princess Cirella said, brushing past him.

  Before he could respond to her insult, Cirella opened the main door. And in stepped a knight that Cyrus had never seen before. The man was big, even wearing his armor you could tell. Each step he took, his footsteps seemed to make no noise. Such a careful walk, filled Cyrus with unease. The grey armor of the man was carved with various markings of House Xerxes. As clean as the armor looked, it could not hide the markings of battle. Dents, cracks and sword lines dominated many corners of it. Cyrus wondered why the man had chosen to still use such an old set of armor. Even the purple cloth wrapped around his waist showed signs of age.

  The boy looked up to meet the blazing eyes of sir Halford Robin, son of the Lord of Coin Quellem Robin. Such an intimidating look, forced Cyrus to move a few steps back. Prior to meeting Guinevere and her friends, he had never seen a knight before. They were kind and welcoming even if they looked scary when he first met them. But Halford Robin was different, he could feel such intense pressure coming from him. His long brown hair tied behind his head, revealed such a hard face. Cyrus was surprised that someone that young could look like that. His brown sunken eyes looked tired, youth was the only thing keeping him young. He was handsome once, Cyrus thought. Perhaps before he became a knight, but now battle robbed of much of that softness. Cyrus had not known any true warriors. But in sir Halford Robin he saw one.

  “Halford, stop intimidating the boy.” Cirella slapped his armor, making a loud clanking noise.

  Halford recoiled slightly ashamed of himself. He bowed deeply towards Cyrus, startling the boy even more. “Forgive me princess. Young lord, it is an honor to meet you. I am Halford.” He stretched out a large hand that eclipsed Cyrus’, when they shook hands.

  “That is Sir Halford Robin to you, young lord.” Cirella said, pointing to Cyrus. “Anyways, I am ready, let us go.”

  “Where are we going?” Cyrus asked, confused.

  “Into the city young lord.” Halford interjected.

  “Why?” Cyrus asked, turning to Cirella.

  She looked slightly taken aback by his words as though the reasoning were not obvious, “Look at how you are dressed. If you are going to start living here, you must look the part.”

  “And we need an escort?” responded Cyrus.

  “ I am under orders from King Antares to… accompany princess Cirella whenever she wishes to leave the castle.” Halford glanced at Cirella only for a moment, doing his best to move the situation along.

  Cyrus seemed unconvinced but he did not press the matter further, he could tell neither of them wanted to talk about it. The boy knew that there seemed to be something going on between Antares and Cirella. But he knew it was not his place to ask such questions, his manners extended that far. Instead he was curious about returning to the city so soon. His last journey there with Antares brought him so much pain and also happiness. He wondered what another excursion would bring him, especially with these two before him.

  “Is everything to your liking majesty? May we leave now?” Cirella said mockingly.

  Cyrus annoyed, nodded begrudgingly and all three of them left the room together. And along they went as an odd group of three, through the castle and out the gate into the great sun that shone above. The walk to the city below was an awkward one. It was one that was made in silence. None of them knew what to say or whether anything needed to be said. Cyrus was still enamored by Cirella’s story of her encounter with a Lord of War. Such a tale did nothing but reinforce the boy’s desire to learn from Antares. He knew it would not be easy, he knew what he asked for was dangerous but he did not care. He wanted strength, he wanted power to live as he saw fit. He would not wilt away and die like his father did. Nor will he abandon those he cared for like the woman who birthed him. He would do whatever it took.

  While Cyrus was lost in his own head, so too was Cirella. She glanced back only for a moment to see Sir Halford looking off into the city, his sword catching the reflection of the sun. She had already gotten accustomed to the embarrassment that she was not allowed to leave the castle without an escort. A decree by Antares himself. One she did not fight much against. It offered her and her family protection, no matter how little it was. The further removed they came from the castle the less shame seemed to hold her. And now she walked into a city that lived and breathed gossip. She wondered how many of them would talk about her as she passed. None of them dared to look her in the face. Cirella looked at Cyrus’ glum expression and calmed her worries. Now was not the time for that, instead she would enjoy the day.

  They made it to the base of the castle path. “Do you like sweets?” Cirella asked Cyrus.

  “Yeah, but I don’t have any money.” Remembering he used the last of it to send his father off.

  Cirella rolled her eyes, “Have you forgotten who I am already? Lead the way, sir Halford will pay!” The princess exclaimed.

  “My princess King Antares only gave me enough coin to buy cl-” began the young knight, but it was too late. Both Cirella and Cyrus had begun walking away.

  And thus their outing began, into the glorious city that was known as Akkad. Cyrus who just days earlier had struggled to navigate it, now found himself accustomed to how the magic worked. With the assistance of Cirella and Halford he found himself at home. Such a large city that housed millions. Bustling with life and energy, they took him all over. That day the young boy ate as much sweets as he could muster. Cirella also made him wear so many clothes he had never known it was possible. Whatever he wanted he was allowed to have. For a day Cirella did not allow Cyrus to live as the boy he once was, she would give him joy. The freedom and liberties that came with being a part of royalty. She showed him a different side of Akkad, one that he had never seen before. One that enamored him. And Sir Halford, who had become their personal bank, was far more worried with how he would explain the gross misuse of coin that those placed under his care took part in. But even still he found himself enjoying the occasion. For a long time he wondered why King Antares would have asked him to do this. But the longer he spent time with them the more he seemed to understand. This was a reminder, a reminder of what he fought for, for whom. Their people, their home. His efforts were not in vain. The last five years meant something and with Antares' return and his own father as the new Lord of Coin, things would change for the better. Halford was often tired, but today he found himself full of life. And he was thankful.

  Each of them would remember that day for different reasons. To step outside the shadow of their lives and live amongst the people. It was a freeing feeling that they enjoyed. For Cyrus, it was the first time in a long time he smiled a true smile. He liked how the fancy clothes made him feel. He liked making Cirella smile. He liked the tales Halford told of the battlefield. He felt the burden of his past come off his shoulders, if only for a minute. To Cirella, she saw the day as proof that she was not broken. That joy could still happen in her life. She had pushed her children away, scared that her suffering would transfer to them. But here she was, enjoying herself and her only thought to share this moment with Samara and Loukas. Like they once did. This was all she had ever wanted to do, and to experience this with Cyrus, a boy she some few hours ago did not trust embarrassed her. But she did not care. She liked the young boy, for all she had learned about him today. His honest nature spoke far more about him than anything else.

  The sun had passed its peak, and evening was soon approaching. A day full of sweets and shopping had tired both Cirella and Cyrus out and they made their way back towards the castle. While Sir Halford barely carried the fine clothes they had bought. His strength as a warrior being called into question. A call he answered with grace.

  “You know,” Cirella began. “For a boy who lived in the slums till a moment ago. You have splendid taste.” She said, teasing him.

  Cyrus did not respond, lost in thought.

  “Cyrus? What's wrong?” Cirella asked.

  He turned to her, for the first time looking far younger than he normally did. “Can I ask you something?”

  Cirella raised an eyebrow, “Of course. What is it?”

  He hesitated first, the words forming in his throat. “Promise not to get mad?”

  Cirella extended her hand making a circle with her thumb and first finger. “Promise,” she smiled.

  Cyrus extended his mimicking her and locking their hands together.

  He took a deep breath, “Why don’t you like Antares?” he continued, “I understand the Lord of War story. But Antares isn’t that right now. And I thought I didn’t like you but I spent time with you today and now I do. So maybe that's what you have to do with him.”

  Cirella smiled, she envied the simplicity of the youth. It often made everyone else seem foolish in their actions. As she walked alongside them she did not speak for some time, the evening sun approaching and her golden shawl still as magnificent as she first put it on. It did well to mask her face, Cyrus could barely see her reaction. He did not press further, instead choosing to walk in silence. He knew it was not his place to say anything. The boy had only just arrived, but he felt as though he should say something. He felt compelled to do so.

  “You truly are a kind boy Cyrus,” Cirella smiled. “You are going to break a plenty women's hearts.”

  The boy blushed and Sir Halford chuckled.

  “Antares and I… see things differently. I find he is far too focused on the… humans.” she glanced at Halford, slightly embarrassed by her words. “I find he is neglecting the Stygian people. His connection to humanity clouds him.”

  “Is it because he had a human parent?” Cyrus looked sad, “Like me?”

  “No. By Strigga, no child,” she lowered herself to meet his gaze. “Having a human parent does not make you any less of a Stygian. Do not ever think that.”

  Cirella had listened to Cyrus tell her of his story. Of the way he lived before meeting Antares. It was a story that moved her. As the day went on she found herself learning more about the boy and his origins. Admittedly she was curious about the boy's relationship with Antares, but her interest quickly turned to Cyrus’ Stygian mother. Something neither Antares nor Cyrus themselves mentioned. For Cyrus it was understandable, he was too young when she left. But she did not understand the secrecy with which Antares guarded her name. But Cirella quickly found out the boy had no interest in learning about her and so she moved the conversation along. But to look into his eyes now. She found herself compelled to protect him.

  “I just meant, for Antares I find he seeks to protect them at all costs.” She reassured him.

  There was a long pause before Cyrus responded.

  “What if it’s because his mother died?” Cyrus said.

  It was common knowledge, even Cyrus as young as he was knew of the murder of Queen Myra. Her name was synonymous with hope. A commodity long declared rare in Akkad. Even his father spoke of her when he was smaller. He spoke of the kindness she carried with her. The way she shared it with everyone she met. She sought to bring peace and unity to all. And still, the world was so cruel as to reject what she offered. He was too young to understand it but as his father spoke of how she met her untimely end. He could feel the warmth leave the air, as though the sun hid behind a cloud. To have lived such a life to affect so many. Cyrus could not but feel the profound weight of her loss himself. So he wondered how Antares must have felt, as he was there with her that day. As he watched his own mother die.

  “What do you mean?” Cirella asked softly.

  “All day you’ve asked me why I want to get strong.” Cyrus took a breath. “I want to get strong because that's what my father wanted from me. He wanted me to be strong, to make the life I want. That's how I honor him. So what if it's the same with Antares… What if the way he’s honoring his mother is trying to do the same thing. Trying to take care of everyone like she used to do.”

  Cirella did not speak because there was nothing to say. For the first time in her life she did not see Antares as this monster that sought to do as he liked. What she saw when she looked at Cyrus was a young Antares. Lost and alone after witnessing such horror, unable to stop it. To bear the weight of that memory, and still expected to perform the duties befitting that of a monarch. Cirella’s embarrassment with herself was not that she did not think Antares grieved the death of his mother, but that he would still continue to honor her all these years later. That the pain of her loss compelled him to continue what she did in his own way. In the seconds her thoughts carried on. Cirella began to understand Antares, his speech during his crowning ceremony, and the unity of the realms. All of it was in her name. And here Daimion and herself fought him at every turn. Never once looking at him as anything but a monster. Cirella looked away from Cyrus, rising to her feet slowly. He only caught a glance of her face through the clothes he was crying but Sir Halford spotted what appeared to be tear from the eye of the princess. Something he did not expect to move him as it did.

  “For a child,” Cirella began, “You may be wise.”

  “Maybe?” Cyrus raised an eyebrow.

  They both laughed and continued on their way with Halford behind them. As they returned to the castle, servants quickly arrived to relieve sir Halford from his herculean task. He bid them both goodbye and many thanks for an eventful day and returned to King Antares. Cyrus could see his tired face looking anxious, he did not envy the young knight having to explain why they spent so much coin. He turned to follow Cirella and they went back up towards her room. On the way they crossed paths with Lady Alena who was accompanied by Loukas and Samara. Both of them met Cyrus for the first time. Cirella was glad their meeting was a kind one and they all seemed to get along well. She could not help but imagine raising Cyrus alongside her children. Giving him the opportunity to be a child. To forge a future away from the battlefield.

  As the evening arrived, a guard came to take Cyrus away. His reluctant desire to leave warmed Cirella’s heart. Something Lady Alena was keenly aware to make note of. She reassured the boy that they would meet again soon, for she still had much use of his artistic ability. She kissed him on the forehead and he went on his way. Of course remembering to bow as Lady Alena had taught him. Some time passed and Cirella recounted the day's events with Lady Alena. But before she could go into details. Once more there was a knock on the door. And as Cirella opened it, there stood Sir Halford Robin.

  “Forgive my intrusion Lady Consort. But King Antares requests your presence, princess Cirella.” Halford said, bowing low.

  Fear slowly crept through Cirella’ body. She turned to look for Lady Alena’s guidance.

  She waved her hand dismissively, “Go child. The fact that he seeks you is a good omen. I will watch the children.”

  Cirella nodded along and followed behind Sir Halford. They walked in silence for some time. Cirella unsure how to begin to apologise for what she said earlier. She knew that Sir Halford had a great admiration for Antares beyond just being a member of the Three Winter Birds. It was Antares who allowed Halford to become a knight when Lord Quellem, his father and others protested against it. It was brash of her to speak so flippantly of a man he owed so much to.

  “You know, I have been thinking about what you said.” Halford’s commanding voice broke the silence. “About how you believe King Antares is focused on helping humans.”

  “Sir Halford, I did-”

  “No, no, it is alright.” He interrupted her, “I understood what you meant. I just thought it amusing hearing how King Antares was seen by his own people. Because to us, humans. We have always seen his actions as helping Iliad. Not just human or Stygian. But all of us.”

  Cirella hung her head in shame, unable to say anything.

  “One hundred thousand years,” Halford continued. “One hundred thousand years we have lived together on Aurum. No blood has been spilt more in the defense of Iliad than human blood. And still after the wars, the rebellions, the conquests. We are still only seen as human.”

  Only their footsteps echoed in the long halls of the castle. The weight of the silence heavy on the shoulders of Cirella. She was far too ashamed to speak. Knowing there was nothing she could say that would ever excuse the way she spoke. Her foolish hubris on full display. Something even her own father would chastise her about. She knew the humans had sacrificed greatly, their plight one that was well recorded. But her own desires clouded her to the way others felt. To how they lived their lives. Here she was like a child only concerned with how the crown could benefit her and her family. Her claim that all she did was for her people. A lie she easily told to convince herself. Such a thing is easily dismissed in front of sir Halford. His words, real and meaningful.

  Before long they soon reached the King's chamber, Halford sending her in with a last remark. “But it is alright. The others may not be brave enough to say it to your face. But I am. I am glad it is King Antares who sits on the throne. Not the sniveling rat you call a husband.”

  Her head remained down as she passed him. The words striking her like a hammer to her chest. She stumbled into his chamber and Halford closed the door behind her. As she approached his desk, she held back tears in her eyes. Her head full of unwanted thoughts. All day she had formulated a plan to convince Antares of her value. But now as she looked at him, all she could feel was fear. The words Halford had spoken rattled her and it seemed the final nail would be Antares. Cirella was incredibly tired, all this fear and anxiety she carried and overstayed its welcome. She was looking at the cause of it, and she no longer wanted to feel this way.

  Antares rose from behind his desk. He could see Cirella was visibly shaken, from what he was told the outing went well. Both Cyrus and Halford enjoyed themselves and he thought Cirella did too. But here she was on the verge of tears, and for the first time Antares acknowledged the fear in her eyes.

  “You have been meaning to speak to me for some time. I have neglected you. Forgive me.” He stared into her eyes, he watched as the sunset within them was threatened by a budding wave.

  “I wish to take care of Cyrus.” The words left her mouth before she could realise. “He is not a warrior, he is a kind boy who deserves to learn the arts. Not the ways of war.”

  Antares leaned against his desk rubbing his chin, “I agree. But the boy has made his decision. And I intend to honor his fathers last wishes.”

  “But you are king!” Cirella exclaimed. “You have the power to do whatever you want.”

  Antares chuckled. The thought of such freedom a cruel joke to hear. “Is that how Daimion sees the throne too? As the right to do as you like?”

  His expression cut a suffocating aura. She could tell that his patience was wearing thin and yet all it did was make her even more nervous. She hated how he made her feel. As though she had to always be alert, that danger could strike at any moment. It was a feeling she was not accustomed to. And in that moment Cirella had reached her breaking point. No longer could she hold it in, she no longer cared of the consequences. She would say how she felt and leave it at that. No longer would she be a slave to her desires. She did not want the throne, she never did. What she sought was what she experienced that day; she sought happiness.

  “There is something I want to say.” A tear began to fall down her cheek. “It seems spending time with that boy has compelled me to be honest.”

  The king said nothing.

  “I am tired, Antares.” She began, “I am tired of being so afraid of you. Of hating you. There is an image of you I have in my head of this monster that does not care about anyone or anything. Who lives to serve the humans. But I know that is not true, because I see how they talk about you. How Cyrus talks about you, or Halford. That is the version of you I wish to know. The one that Guinevere loves so much.”

  Cirella steadied herself with a hand on the chair. Her breathing heavy, she continued. “I am sorry… For what my husband and myself tried to do. It was foolish and I will wear that shame for the rest of my life. But all I do is for my children and their happiness, because that is my happiness.”

  The princess had said all she needed to say. Of what came of it she was unsure and did not care much. If the truth of her feelings were to damn her and Daimion to execution so be it. Her mind was clear, she had explained herself. Laid herself bare in front of Antares for him to see her as she was. This was the longest conversation that they had ever had. And Cirella gave it everything she could muster. So much so she had no strength to wipe the tears that ran down her face.

  Antares approached, each step he took loud enough she felt it in her heart. She did not look away, whatever he said or did. She would not look away. Antares was not that much taller than her, but in that chamber between them he towered over her. His ethereal face a few inches from her own. Even as she was, she was still flustered by his beauty, with such an expressionless face. She wondered how she compared to such perfection in the current state that she was in.

  Antares raised a finger, wiping the tears underneath Cirella’s left eye. “As you know I met with my council today.” The back of his palm cool against her warm cheek. “The topic of marriage was one that was hotly contested. Despite my opposition to it. My council believes it necessary that I wed.”

  Cirella was far too scared to move, let alone speak. She was unsure what Antares was trying to do by sharing this with her.

  “And so they have put forth many, many prospective candidates,” He looked as though he recalled an unpleasant memory. “This process is sure to take me and my council some time. And because of the nature of being king, my life could be forfeit at any time by those who covet my throne.”

  Cirella looked down in embarrassment.

  “And as such I harshly debated with my council that there needs to be a line of succession in the event such a thing were to happen.” Cirella’s eyes began to widen. “To which they readily accepted. Which now leads us to this moment.”

  “What are you asking?” her voice barely above a whisper.

  He wiped the last of her tears away, “I King Antares, would like to make princess Samara Xerxes Crown Princess. My heir. For as long as I do not marry and father children she will remain next in line. Both her and Loukas will become my wards. Both under my protection.” He left her stunned.

  Cirella had heard the words Antares had said but they still refused to resonate with her mind. For so long she and Daimion had to align themselves with factions and forces they did not care for. For so long they had to scheme in the shadows and bribe and lie their way to loyalty. All for the safety and security of their children. And yet, in a matter of moments all of what they achieved was mute with only a few words. The power Antares wielded with such elegance was far greater than she ever believed was possible. Laid before her, not even in her wildest dreams, could she have envisioned a turn of events. The future of her children was made secure with a simple decree. The thought of Samara sitting on the throne nearly made her collapse. The tears the king wiped away soon began to start again. But before she could say anything, one word came to her lips.

  “Cyrus?”

  The edges of Antares lips curled, “I did not think it meant mentioning. But the boy too is also one of my wards. Do not worry, he will not threaten Samara’s claim to the throne.”

  “No, that is not what I meant.” Cirella ashamed that Antares felt the need to clarify that to her. She forced herself to ask the one question that devoured her soul. “Why?”

  Antares wiped the tears from her eyes again, this time his touch calming her. The storm in his eyes came alive with incredible ferocity. She was mesmerised by them,“Because I can.” The bluntness of his words hit her worth so much force it nearly knocked her over. Such a simplistic reasoning, almost childish in nature. Cirella finally began to understand the power that Antares held, that she and her husband so foolishly coveted.

  This was real strength, to make dreams into reality. All Antares had ever done was sought the protection of his family. Cirella knew he viewed her children as family, but not to this extent. For him to move in such a manner. It left her speechless, all she could do was look at him as she held back tears. Antares returned to his chair, his interest no longer on Cirella.

  “I do not need a response now.” Antares stated.

  “Wait I acc-” Cirella nearly vomited the words out.

  Antares raised a hand. “Take some time to think about it. Talk it over with Daimion and give me an answer when I return from an outing in a few days.”

  All Cirella could do was nodded her head. She bowed repeatedly thanking Antares, who felt awkward at seeing such a side of his brother's wife. He pleaded with her to stop for there was no need for her to display herself as such. But soon after the tears began to fall again and Antares spent more time consoling her than he was dealing with the pile of papers on his desk. Eventually he calmed the princess down. Walking her out of his chambers. Antares ordered his guards to safely take Cirella back to her chambers and before she left Cirella once again thanked Antares profusely. To which he tried stopping her. But in the end she left and he returned to his chambers, closing the door behind him.

  For a moment Antares leaned against the door, taking in the silence. The day had been entertaining, full of surprises and interesting topics. But his mind could not help but wonder to Enrieta. He looked forward to meeting such a monarch. He wondered the life she had lived and if she wanted to rule. His thoughts turned to Samara and naming her heir. Such an intense fight took place against Casspien and his council but it was not until he told them what he saw when he looked at her with his Akashic eyes, did they finally accept. It was clear as day to him. The essence of her Will and how it began to form and take shape. Great power dwelled within Samara. A great power that would not manifest completely for some time. But even still, Antares would not allow another to wield her. Teaching her to harness such innate ability would not be easy. It would require a great sacrifice from her. But Antares had already sacrificed her once, by making Samara his heir. His actions that night and in the subsequent decades would shape Samara to be a valuable weapon to him. Her loyalty to him and his cause absolute and unwavering. The love that she would develop for him would pierce all that stood in his way, and that it did.