Calix fiddled nervously with the high collar of his tunic, glancing again at his reflection in the darkened window. Storm clouds blocked out the sun, a chill wind ruffling the leaves of the olive trees lining the walls that surrounded the courtyard. His father, Brutus Julianus, had summoned him to the meeting hall half an hour ago, and he had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes, pacing along the drafty passageway as he waited for one of the pageboys to retrieve him. 

He did not know why he had been summoned. All he knew was that he doubted it could be something good for him. Again, he looked at his reflection, like it would tell him why his father had deigned to offer him any attention.

His dark hair hung in a glossy sheet before curling slightly in toward his face at his chin. The dark blue velvet of his tunic made him look paler than he already was, washing out his olive complexion and making his eyes look like dark coals. The dark, woven material of his trousers was spotless, as were his knee-high, shined black boots. Briefly, he wondered what about his appearance his step-mother would complain about today, but then the doors to the meeting hall were creaking open and his mind went blank.

"Your father is waiting for you."

Calix quailed slightly at the sight of Quintus Valerius, his father's advisor. Then he straightened his thin shoulders and nodded, making sure to keep his steps measured as he walked forward. Quintus gave him an odd look as he passed, but Calix didn't have the capacity to linger over that. 

He looked down the length of the hall to where his father stood at a long table, poring over what he assumed were maps and casualty reports from the campaigns in Mortania. Calix knew that King Durus had required two thousand men more from all the lords in Metus for his newest conquest in the northeast.

He took one last measured breath and walked down the length of the hall, past the hounds lounging by the fireplace blazing with an unseasonable warmth to the table at the far end. His boots echoed loudly off the dark granite floors, the sound making him want to cringe. Calix stopped at the lip of the dais holding this table higher than the others in the hall. He bowed his head, waiting for his father's invitation to join him.

His heart hammered against the backs of his ribs and his palms were slick with sweat. A million thoughts rushed through his mind, overwhelming him and making him shake with anxiety. He laced his fingers together behind his back to hide their trembling.

A door to his left clicked open softly and his eyes flicked over to find Sabina, his step-mother, standing near the wall. Her arms were folded, her hazel eyes contemptuous as she cast a sneer over him. Her red gown fell in soft folds around her, her mousy brown hair held in an elegant updo by a circlet of silver upon her brow. A circlet that had previously belonged to his mother.

He quickly averted his eyes, choking down a snarl.

His father sighed. "Sit, Calix." The tone of his voice inspired no confidence.

A tremor of trepidation ran down the length of his spine despite the stifling heat in the hall. Slowly, he lowered himself into the only available chair, still not staring directly at his father. Desperately he wracked his brain for what he could have possibly done wrong now. Again, his eyes slid to Sabina, who was wearing a small smile that could only bode ill for him.

"Calix," his father snapped, jerking his gaze away from his step-mother.

"Sir?" he asked, despising the tremor in his voice, unsure of everything.

His father sighed again, running a finger over what was indeed a map depicting troop movements and enemy positions. "Calix, you recently celebrated your fifteenth year, yes?"

Calix bit his tongue to keep from snapping that Brutus should know the answer to that question. Instead, he nodded. "Yes, Father. A week ago."

"Hmm," Brutus hummed, his olive green eyes pinning Calix with a hard stare.

Everything seemed to slow down around him as he heard a small sound of encouragement from Sabina. His father straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. Calix realized his breath was coming very fast and he held it, struggling for control over his erratic thoughts and the energy crackling through his muscles like lightning.

"As there is no easy way to say this, I shall not mince words," his father said, tone cold as ice. "Your mother and I feel that you are perhaps not suited to court."

Calix blinked once.

"Your brother, young as he is, has shown an aptitude for politics his tutors call remarkable." Brutus took a step forward, and Calix bolted to his feet, heart pounding wildly.

"What are you saying?" Calix asked, a painful mix of unidentifiable emotions bubbling in his chest. 

"Sit down, boy," his father snarled. "Your brother will inherit my title, not you."

Calix's hands trembled before he knotted his fingers into white-knuckled fists at his sides. His thoughts whirled and clashed until they finally settled on one crystal clear point. He whirled around to face Sabina, hatred surging in his blood like lava. "You," he hissed. "You did this."

She lifted her chin haughtily, the firelight flashing off a pair of ruby earring she was wearing. Those jewels had belonged to his mother, too. 

Thief. She was a thief. She had taken so much from him already.

Calix saw red, lunging toward her with every intention to throttle the life from her. Sabina let out a little scream and stumbled backwards into the side door she had come from, but Calix didn't get very far.

A strong arm wrapped around his throat, keeping him in a choke-hold. He struggled for a moment longer, but then spots of black started to dance across his vision.

"How dare you," his father hissed in his ear, even as Calix clawed at his arm, gasping for air. "You ungrateful whelp."

The pressure on his throat was released and Calix collapsed to his hands and knees, dragging in breath after breath. A booted toe connected with his ribs, tossing him onto his side, his eyes wide and shocked as he looked up at his father. Brutus loomed over him, sneering down at his eldest son.

Distantly, Calix heard a door open and his father say, "Take him to Mortania. Perhaps you'll find some use for him in the kitchens."

"No," Calix coughed out. "Father."

"Shut up," Sabina snarled suddenly into his ear. Her voice turned to a coo as she said, "You were right, Calix, when you suspected this was my doing. Octavius will take his place as his father's proper heir, not you." 

Calix was still trying to draw a full breath, a hot pain in his side keeping him immobile on the floor. All he could manage to do was give his step-mother a sideways glare.

She giggled, the sound girlish and sinister, and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "You, I suspect, will perish on some forgotten battlefield in the far north. And soon enough, everyone will forget you ever existed."

Calix bellowed like some kind of wounded beast and tried to lunge to his knees, hands turning into claws as he swung wildly at Sabina, hatred sour in his heart. Unfamiliar hands grabbed at him, wrestling his arms behind his back and dragging him to his feet by the collar of his tunic. He snarled and fought until something hard struck him just behind the right ear.

The world swayed before him and his knees turned weak. He shook his head, trying to clear it as the guards began to drag him from the hall.

His father and step-mother watched dispassionately as Calix struggled to regain his feet, something warm and slick trickling down his neck from where he had been hit. The words rang in his ears when his father said, "Take him to General Malcinius. Tell him his lord has sent a new recruit." His cold eyes met Calix's. "Tell the general he may do what he wishes with the boy. That he no longer carries my name."

Calix dug his heels into the ground, jerking himself free of the guards. His voice could have frozen the sea when he said, "I don't need your name. I'll make one for myself."

The only response this inspired from his father—no, not his father, not anymore—was a dismissive laugh. The lord waved a hand, turning to his wife, who smiled at him. When Brutus turned back toward the map, she turned a triumphant look on Calix. She had won.

As hard as he had tried to please his father, Sabina had still won.

Before the guards could grab him again, Calix turned on his heel and made to storm from the meeting hall.

"Don't bother going to your rooms," Brutus called. "You have nothing here anymore."

Calix stopped for a moment, his breath a maelstrom in his ears. Then he started walking again, headed directly for the main doors of the manor. 

The guards said nothing as he led the way to the stables. They didn't say anything when he went into the stall of his father's prize stallion and saddled the great white beast.

They mounted their own steeds as Calix took off his fine tunic, replacing it instead with a shirt of rough-spun, un-dyed wool he'd stolen from the stablemaster's room. He grabbed a thick grey cloak and tossed his own expensive shirt onto the stablemaster's bed in payment.

He mounted his horse and tore from the stables, the guards riding hard behind him as he flew threw the gates.

Calix didn't look back.