Ch. 1: Execution

Cassia glared at her reflection. Glared at the sumptuous red silk of her dress. Glared at the ruby pins holding her hair up and away from her face.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked. Slapping the heavy skirt, she continued, "This hardly seems appropriate."

Her ladies-in-waiting shared pained looks that she caught in the mirror.

"What?" she growled, the tight bodice squeezing uncomfortably over her chest, pressing her breasts up in a way that would have made her blush if she weren't already so angry. 

The straps of the dress dug into her shoulders with the weight of the expensive material. Golden falcons grappling over a sword were embroidered on the front panel of the skirt, glittering and fierce.

"It was sent by your father, Your Highness," Claudia said, bowing her head, the white silk of the veil covering her dark hair fluttering around her face. The bronze circlet holding it in place on her head winked in the sunlight coming through the tall windows.

"Of course," Cassia muttered. "Which lord is it today then?"

"Lord Julianus," Claudia answered. "Lord Calix Julianus."

Cassia frowned, trying to place him. She wondered if she had met the man before, but could hardly recall in what was daily becoming a wearying line of suitors.

Eventually she gave up, raising an eyebrow at Claudia. 

"Lord Julianus' family is nearly as ancient as your own," the older woman said, sounding just a little disapproving. "His ancestors fought beside yours to take this land from the savages who once ruled it. He is a proven man, highly decorated. Though," now Claudia frowned, "he spends all his time on the front lines, rather than in court as his father now wishes. In fact, this will be his first time." 

"Hm," Cassia hummed with practiced disinterest.

While military men usually had the benefit of not being simpering, over-romantic fools, Cassia often found them to be either dreary or over-ambitious. She cast one last disapproving look over her reflection, then turned her back on it. Her ladies scrambled to fall into step behind her as she exited her chambers.

Momentarily, she gave herself over to the fantasy that this one, perhaps, would be able to give her what she wanted, without taking anything she needed.

She walked along the sunlit halls, skirts swishing softly along the pale marble. Paintings lined the walls. The eyes of her ancestors followed her, regardless of the fact that nearly every painting had rendered them immortal in combat.

Her ladies talked quietly amongst themselves, knowing to leave her to her thoughts.

Cassia's scowl only deepened as they descended the first two staircases, then the third before following a long, wide hall down to the main doors of the castle.

Near the doors, a man stood in front of a tapestry depicting the hunting of a stag, head tilted thoughtfully, hands clasped behind his back.

She slowed, eyes scanning the unfamiliar figure. The women behind her fell silent. The satin slippers Cassia was wearing were whisper-quiet against the marble now veined with gold.

The man still hadn't turned, and she narrowed her eyes as she took in his confident posture. His square, broad shoulders and straight back. Dressed richly in a white linen shirt and a forest-green vest he cut a rather dashing figure.

Her eyes traced slowly down the rest of him, appreciating the fitted trousers and the fact that this was obviously a man of actioned living.

"I've never found hunting particularly enjoyable," he said suddenly, making her start. "Rather unfair a sport if you ask me. Not unless animals suddenly master the art of shooting an arrow back at you."

"Indeed," she said, quickly finding her voice. "Though I wouldn't say that to my father, Lord Julianus."

The lord turned slowly, staring at her for a moment too long before he bowed. He glanced up, dark eyes heavy-lidded and thoughtful. "My lady," he said, voice suddenly cultured and much less suited to him.

Cassia dipped her head in acknowledgement. Stepping closer to him, she found a thick scar running down the side of his neck, disappearing under the loose collar of his shirt. His cheeks were a little hollow, making his face sharp and wolfish. She wondered if he had been ill recently.

The thought was further evidenced by how loose the shirt and vest were around his chest and shoulders, despite the fact that the clothes were obviously well-tailored. But he was no less handsome for what Cassia assumed was an unnatural and temporary thinness, nor did he appear weak or sickly in that moment. 

She noticed him performing the same careful assessment of her and raised her chin, throwing high her wall of practiced nobility and power.

"Am I correct in assuming that the king has sent you to accompany me, my lord?" she asked, voice turning cool and reserved, just as his had.

"You would assume correctly," he said dryly, taking a step closer, shined boots unnervingly quiet over the stone. He looked her over again, his careful eyes taking in every tiny detail. "That seems a bit... colorful. For an execution."

"Yes," she snapped, "but this dress isn't for the execution."

"Oh?" He raised a dark brow. His hands were clasped behind his back, displaying what was still a rather fine chest regardless of the looseness of his clothes.

"No, my lord," she said softly, tilting her head in a coy manner. "This dress is for you. To convince you of what a pretty, suitable wife I would make."

All three of her ladies-in-waiting gasped at her brazen words, but something like amusement fluttered deep in the lord's dark eyes. Then he laughed outright, the sound rich. His teeth flashed, white and straight, drawing her attention more to his mouth rather than his captivating eyes. That was hardly the reaction she had been expecting.

Lord Julianus shook his head, closely cropped black hair catching the light. Taking another step closer, he said, "Pretty, yes. Suitable..." He raked that discerning gaze over her once again. "Suitable is very much in question, Your Highness."

Cassia flashed an insulted look at him, but her interest had been severely piqued. "You assume the decision is yours, my lord, concerning whether or not I am suitable." 

A look of delight passed briefly over his face. Like he was enjoying the sparring match as much as she was. Perhaps this one would play nicely into her plans after all.

This time she took a step closer. "As Heir, I have the astonishing position of being the only noblewoman in Metus who can decide which man she brings to her marriage-bed."

"Or perhaps another," he said quietly, leaning forward to whisper the scandalous words in her ear.

Something low in her stomach flared hot. 

"I've known wild horses more suited to domestic life than you, my lady," he continued.

"You don't know me," she pointed out. 

He smelled of pine, steel and clean leather. An enticing, masculine scent she found she much preferred to the perfumed courtiers her father so often threw at her.

He laughed, finally taking a step back and bowing. "I believe I would like to."

"We shall see," she replied, striding past him to the doors, which were quickly opened by the servants waiting to do just that.

Lord Julianus fell into step beside her as they walked down the wide, shallow stairs to the carriage awaiting them. Cassia tossed a glance over her shoulder to find Claudia, Drusilla and Antonia several polite steps behind. She grinned to herself before grabbing the lord's hand and pulling him into a short sprint.

She launched herself into the open door of the carriage, Julianus just a step behind her. Once he was inside, she called to the driver, "Go!"

The driver snapped the reins, the horses taking off across the crushed gravel drive, heading for the main road. Above the clatter, she could hear the outraged squawking of her ladies-in-waiting and couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her red-painted lips.

Lord Julianus ran a hand through his dark hair before straightening his vest. "See?" he said, an excited gleam in his eyes. "Wild as a horse."

"Horses can be broken," she challenged, sitting back into the seat upholstered in dull black leather. The road turned to stone beneath the carriage making it bounce less, but increasing the volume of the turning wheels.

"Could you be?" he mused, reclining next to her, thigh brushing against her own.

"Would you like to be the one to try?" She turned, setting her shoulders back imperiously. A first test of sorts, she found herself hoping he would pass. 

Julianus reached forward and plucked a ruby pin from her hair that had come loose during her brief run. A curl fell to rest softly against the column of her throat. His gaze followed it down to her chest, then came slowly back up to her eyes.

Cassia bit at the inside of her cheek. Men had looked at her like that before, but for reasons beyond her, his look didn't make her skin crawl.

He tucked the pin into an inner pocket of his vest, making her raise an eyebrow. Voice a predator's purr, he said, "No more than you would enjoy trying to break me, I think, Your Highness."

Cassia let out an interested huff, then turned to gaze out the window, watching the capital city of Levitum pass by around them. Her eyes glazed, not seeing the neat rows of orderly stone buildings, as she thought of what was about to happen. They both stayed silent as they approached the coliseum.

When the carriage finally stopped and the door opened, neither of them moved. Julianus' hand had turned into a white-knuckled fist resting on his knee. Softly, he said, "I don't much like executions either."

Cassia sucked in a small, startled breath. That was a dangerous thing to admit, particularly to the king's daughter and Heir. 

His eyes were grim as he gave her one last look before descending from the carriage. He offered his hand to help her down, but she dismissed it out of habit, leaving the carriage easily on her own.

Julianus didn't seem to take offense, instead falling into step alongside her again. Already she could hear the buzz of excitement. Nothing like death to get a crowd's blood up.

Mind numb now, she followed a familiar path to the king's private viewing box. Soldiers lined the circular halls of the coliseum, but she felt little security in their presence, feeling their eyes trailing over her in a distinctly hungry way.

Then Julianus took her hand, tucking it into the crease of his elbow. Almost instantly, she felt the looks vanish and her teeth clenched. She pulled gently from his grasp, making him look down at her with a raised eyebrow.

She stared straight forward as they walked, and he didn't say anything.

Cassia took one final breath before they rounded the last curve. She blinked in the bright sunlight pouring over her, hesitating a moment until her eyes adjusted. 

Her posture became even more rigid when her gaze found the king. He sat with his back to her, the heavy gold crown upon his head dazzling in the late afternoon light. To his left, her mother sat, resplendent in a golden gown. To his right... Cassia hissed under her breath.

Malitech sat at the king's right hand. Sat in the seat that was rightfully her own. The eldest of her five younger brothers was speaking to the king, gesturing down toward the sandy floor of the coliseum's ring.

The rest of her brothers and other nobles stood scattered about the balcony-like space, eating and talking, waiting for the blood-letting to begin. One by one they fell silent as she strode across the room until she was standing just behind her brother.

Her vain, conniving, ambitious brother. 

The king noticed her from the corner of his eye. She could tell by how his grip tightened on the goblet he was holding. Malitech was still busy talking, something about the difficulty of catching the criminals they were to see dead today.

Moving with care, Cassia took the jeweled dagger from his belt, pausing a moment to make sure he still hadn't noticed. He waved his hand once more, prattling on about pirates and rebel slaves.

Malitech only fell silent when she placed the sharp tip of the dagger just under the corner of his jaw, pressing into the tender flesh. He turned slightly, glancing at her disdainfully from the corner of his eye.

"You're getting ahead of yourself again, Malitech," she said, making her voice lovely and soft. Her hand was steady, never once wobbling as she held the knife to his throat.

"If I thought you had the balls," he drawled, "I might be worried. But we all know that is far from the case."

Cassia laughed, very aware of her father's eyes on them both. She flicked her wrist, opening a precise gash on the side of his neck. Malitech gasped, clapping a hand to the cut, turning furiously.

She didn't hesitate, backhanding him in a blow that held all the strength in her body. Malitech's head snapped back toward the ring and he stumbled to his feet, his mouth bright with blood. Laughter rang throughout the coliseum from those who had been watching the royal family.

He snarled, stalking toward her. Her heart fluttered in her chest, painfully aware of the fact that she wouldn't last long in a fight with him.

"Enough," the king said lazily, and everyone froze, even Malitech. King Durus didn't even bother looking back as he said, "Cassia, put the knife down. You look foolish. Malitech, clean yourself up." 

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat before tossing the dagger onto a nearby table, the fine blade clattering against the stone. Her mother was glaring at her reproachfully, but she didn't lower her head as she strode to the seats near the balcony's edge.

Bowing at the waist to her father, she said, "Your Majesty."

"Sit, girl," he said imperiously. "You are very nearly late." He looked at her once, eyes going to the loose strand of hair. "And unkempt it would seem."

Her eyes flicked back to Lord Julianus, who was watching the proceedings with a bored expression. He betrayed absolutely nothing, and she decided to take his lead.

"Apologies, my king," she muttered, bowing again before taking her seat.

She kept her back straight, her head high as she felt the king's sneering gaze rake over her. 

"You were to come with an escort," he said. "Lord Calix Julianus."

"And I did," she said, waving lazily over her shoulder.

They both looked at the man, who was keeping himself coldly distant from the nobles, many of whom eyed him with expressions ranging from jealousy to disdain.

"You will accompany him to tonight's festivities in return," he ordered, making her throat tighten again.

All she could manage was a stiff nod before trumpets blared, their brassy notes pealing through the warm air, dimming the noise coming from the crowd.

A drum sounded, a heavy, unpleasant beat that matched the angry tempo of her heart. From the darkened gates leading into the ring, situated directly across from where the royal family now sat, a man strode forward, a chain held in his huge hand.

He yanked on the chain, the jangling of the metal links magnified by the expectant silence of the crowd. Cassia hid her fisted hands beneath her skirt as four people stumbled into the ring.

Three men...and one who was hardly more than a boy. Horrified, her gaze darted to the chopping block sitting in the middle of the sandy ring. A platform had been constructed that same morning for it to sit on.

The executioner stood by the block, sword in hand. He rested the square end of the sword on the pine boards, watching along with everyone else as the prisoners were dragged up onto the platform and forced to kneel.

Two of the men were sobbing, pleading already for their lives. One was silent, his head bowed, but his shoulders square—someone who had accepted their fate. The boy, probably no more than twelve or thirteen years, looked moments away from fainting.

The first of the men, one of those begging for his life, was yanked to his feet. The chain connecting him to the others was unlocked, falling to the platform with a loud clank. The crowd began to murmur, then to jeer.

"For the crime of thievery—death," the man who had brought them into the ring yelled above the crowd.

Cassia didn't blink as the sword fell, knowing she could show no weakness here. No compassion or pity. Not with her father and brothers watching so closely for any chink in her carefully crafted armor.

Blood sprayed, his head fell to the sand and the crowd cheered.

The second man was brought. His crime was piracy. His head soon joined the first.

Her resolve wavered when the boy was jerked to his feet. She opened her mouth, shifting forward in her seat, but a soft hiss from her father stopped her cold. Slowly, she turned to meet his dead gaze.

"Are children now to be considered enemies of the state?" she inquired, her voice edging on bored. 

"The boy was caught gathering information. Selling it to mercenaries and rebels alike." The answer came from Malitech, who stood watching over her shoulder now. 

She looked down into the ring to find the boy shaking as he was forced to his knees, his head roughly shoved down to the block already slick with the blood of the others.

"I understand these men were difficult to apprehend, Malitech," she said. "Well done, bringing in children and cowards to sacrifice for the crown."

Malitech tensed, but didn't reply. Couldn't.

He might have been Durus' firstborn son, but she was his Heir. The gods' first choice to ascend the throne. Though her father had more than made his discontentment known to his sons, there was nothing any of them could do without facing the gods' wrath.

Cassia watched, tears getting no farther than the corners of her eyes as the sword fell a third time.

The excitement of the crowd had dimmed a little, but it roared back to life as the fourth and final prisoner was dragged to his feet and forced to the executioner's block. He shook back his dirty, chin-length hair and seemed to glare directly at Cassia. The crowd hushed, like they knew he was about to say something.

"For the crime of rebellion—death."

"The same to tyrants," the prisoner roared, the hatred in his eyes sending a chill down Cassia's spine.

The executioner swung his sword, not bothering to force the rebel's head to the block. Cassia's eyes were glued open as blood vaulted into the air from the severed neck. The dull thud of his head hitting the ground was like a strike to her bones.

Blood soaked the boards of the platform. It soaked the sand beneath the block. It drenched her, painted to her skin in the form of a silk dress. The king rose, everyone else following suit.

He said a few words to his subjects, talking about fine opening acts and more exciting entertainments to reward them for their loyalty. Then he and the queen left, followed quickly by her brothers and the other nobles.

Cassia remained standing, staring at the bodies being cleared away. A hand touched her shoulder, but she still didn't move.

A warm breath grazed the shell of her ear, and Lord Julianus murmured, "Come, Highness. The people are watching you."

A shudder jolted her back to action as she turned to stare up at the grim lord. Without a word, she moved past him, walking slowly back down the passageways she had strode down less than an hour before.

She climbed into the waiting carriage, Julianus ordering the driver to return to the castle before he settled into the seat next to her.

He did not interrupt the storm of thoughts in her head. She was grateful for this as she wondered which rebellion that last man had belonged to. She wondered if her father would listen to her reasoning about lower taxes, or if he would just dismiss her again.

"You do not like them either," Julianus said softly as they approached the castle.

Cassia didn't answer for a moment, then turned fully to him. Just as softly, she said, "Would you call me weak for that, my lord?"

"No," he said immediately. "Compassion is not weakness. Mercy requires strength many do not have. Including your father."

"Boldly spoken for a man come to court his daughter."

Lord Julianus snorted and echoed her earlier words. "You presume much, Princess, to think this is my decision."

The carriage finally rolled to a stop at the castle's doors. Julianus once again offered his hand. Once again, she did not take it as she stepped to the ground.

Instead, she looked up at the nobleman curiously, lips pursed in thought. He stood easily beneath her gaze, not intimidated and over-compensating like so many other men had been in these past three years since she had turned twenty-one.

Eventually, he said, "If we stand here much longer staring at one another, Your Highness, we'll miss your father's speech."

Her lip curled, but she turned toward the doors. "Do you dance well, my lord?" 

It surprised her when he once again spoke in her ear, his shoulder and chest brushing against her back. "Not as well as I do other things, Highness."


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