Calix had a servant bring food and ale up to his rooms. Then he shed his cloak, throwing it carelessly into his bedchamber. Over the meal, he told his brother about being ordered to Antelium, and Tarquin told him everything the king hadn't cared to hear.  

His words would have been unbelievable coming from anyone else.

"But you never actually saw them yourself?" Calix finally asked, swirling the amber-colored ale around in his goblet, staring into its depths.

"It was all I could bloody do to keep the fucking lines formed up," Tarquin replied, splayed in his chair. He downed his ale, glaring dully into the fire. "Lucarius and Antonius cut and run—the men of the Fifth and Sixth broke ranks in a panic. The Wolfclaws smashed through, nearly cut us off from the Sixth Legion, which is why they were hammered so hard."

Calix shook his head in disgust, filling his friend's cup again.

"No I didn't see them. But I know a few of the men who did. They're good men. And dead bodies rarely lie." Tarquin rubbed at his temple, then met Calix's eyes. "This is insane. Absolutely mad. Women who kill without weapons?" His voice turned dark. "We never should have stepped foot on that gods-forsaken island. Why isn't it enough? Why isn't the land the old bastard already has enough?"

There was no answer to that. So Calix just held his silence and they both drank deeply.

"Enough of this, mindra, enough of war. There will be time for that when you return," Tarquin said. He stretched his lean body like a cat before he settled deeply into the chair and quirked an eyebrow. "What have you been doing with yourself? How have you not gone mad in this dismal place?"

Calix opened his mouth to tell his brother exactly what he'd been doing, knowing that Tarquin would find it either hilarious or intriguing. Likely both. But then he choked on the words.

It wasn't his secret to tell, even though he knew Tarquin wouldn't breathe a word.

And though it hurt to keep anything from his brother, Calix just offered a smile and downed the rest of his ale, the liquor warming his veins. He set his goblet down on the table, then watched as Tarquin refilled it. 

Calix waved a lazy hand. "Mostly trying not to go mad. The food's too good, the beds are too soft. And the perfume, Tarquin, gods above. Every time I step out of my rooms I'm practically drowned by the stuff."

"My heart aches for your hardship," Tarquin said dryly. "Next you'll tell me the wine's too rich and the women too warm."

Calix let a laugh huff from his nose. He shifted in his seat, taking another drink of ale. He'd have to call for another pitcher soon. With a shrugged shoulder, he said, "The women are fine enough, I suppose. And the wine is about the only thing that makes this place bearable."

It was all the answer he could give, considering he hadn't exactly sampled all the court had to offer as far as women went. Why would he when the princess satisfied him more than enough?

Tarquin raised an eyebrow, but didn't call him out over the half-answer. He just propped his head on his fist and asked, "Is there a particular lady I should stay away from?"

That got another laugh from Calix. He'd laughed more in the span of two hours with his brother than he had in the past month. Grinning, he just tipped his goblet toward Tarquin. "Happy hunting."

"Indeed," Tarquin replied, a hungry light in his eyes. 

If Calix knew his brother, Tarquin already had his quarry in mind. They'd passed no less than a dozen ladies and twice that number of servant girls to and from their meeting with the king today.

And why shouldn't he enjoy the finest the capital had to offer? After all the hardship and horror of these last two years, Tarquin deserved every pleasure and profit he might come across in this city.

The thought sobered Calix's mood, and he leveled an intense stare on his friend, who only raised an eyebrow. "You were injured," Calix finally said.

Tarquin looked toward the fire, taking a sip of his ale. His index finger brushed along the rim of his goblet, and he nodded shortly.

"How?" Calix demanded softly.

A long, silent moment passed before Tarquin stood and undid the laces of his shirt, pulling it gingerly over his head. Calix's jaw tightened as he looked at the bandage wrapped around Tarquin's left bicep, then at the bandages wrapped around his chest.

Tarquin plucked at the bandage on his arm and shrugged. "The man next to me fell and a volley of arrows struck us. I took one through the arm at the beginning of the battle with the Wolfclaws."

Calix winced in sympathy, hand drifting to the old arrow wounds in his own arm as they flared with phantom, remembered pain.

Then Tarquin scowled, hand moving to the wound on his chest, making Calix sit up a little straighter. His brother met his gaze, eyes bright with hatred. "Brutus did this."

He lifted the bandage just enough for Calix to see a ragged, mostly healed wound starting just under Tarquin's sternum and trailing over the left side of his chest.

All Calix could manage to do was gape. Sadly, disbelief was an impossible reaction to this claim. Settling back into his seat, he growled, "I hope for his sake you killed him, brother. Because if I so much as lay eyes on him, the whoreson will wish he was never born."

Tarquin offered a wan smile, tugging his shirt back on. He picked up his goblet again before sitting down. Not meeting Calix's eyes, he muttered, "I wish I'd had the chance, mindra. Brutus is still slippery as a snake, if you're curious, and he was angry that Arcturus gave command of the Second to me when you were called away. He'll stand for a court-martial, but I doubt much will come of it."

"What happened?" Calix was once again furious that he had been pulled away from the frontlines. If he'd been there, Tarquin wouldn't have needed to take command at all. If he'd been there, his brother would have had someone watching his back.

Tarquin's lip curled, and he took another deep drink of the ale. "Bastard tried to run me through, is what happened." Calix immediately blanched, but Tarquin waved off his concern, as usual. "Obviously he didn't succeed. It was late, I was checking the men on watch, making sure no one had frozen to death. I was between sentry points, and we'd been ordered to keep light-discipline, but the moon was full."

Shaking his head, he continued, "I was exhausted, but I should have been more wary. Taken Vitorius with me or someone like him. Brutus was between two tents waiting to ambush me, and I barely managed to get out of the way of a fatal strike. His sword caught just under here." He lightly touched his sternum. "I thought I was dead, but someone must have heard me cry out because Brutus pulled his sword free and took off, leaving me to bleed out in the snow. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the surgeon's tent."

Fury was roaring in Calix's ears, sickness rising in his soul. He should have been the one making those rounds. He should have been there to relieve Brutus of his foolish head. Tarquin's almost dying at the hand of a comrade—though that was hardly what Brutus was—was something Calix should have been there to prevent.

"Stop it," Tarquin said suddenly, making Calix start. "I know what you're thinking, mindra, but you're wrong. This sin is on Brutus and his small mind, not on you."

"If I had been there—"

"What?" Tarquin cut him off. "Brutus wouldn't hate me for my mother's blood? He wouldn't have been so furious that Arcturus promoted me over him?" He leaned forward. "I've lived with this my entire life, Calix, people hating me for what I am, rather than who. The only thing that angers me is that he caught me by surprise and I didn't have a chance to kill him."

Calix gritted his teeth at the unfairness, the ale igniting his anger more quickly than usual. What did it bloody matter, the fact that Tarquin was half Sorvetian? His parentage didn't dictate what was in his soul. The honor, the courage, the sheer goodness of the man.

Why did those things not matter more?

Tarquin kicked out his foot, catching Calix lightly in the knee. "Get it out, mindra, before you explode."

"Next time I see Brutus, he's a dead man," Calix swore. "He's half the soldier you are. Half the man you are. You know more about honor and valor than he ever will, but all he cares about is the... the..."

"The slant of my eyes?" Tarquin offered him a small smile. "Did you ever consider, mindra, that perhaps the only reason you don't think like him is because you've been on my side of the line?"

All Calix could manage was a frown. He drained his goblet once more, and reached for the pitcher, swearing when he found it empty. Getting up, he nearly staggered toward the bell-pull that would summon a servant, ignoring Tarquin's hoot of laughter.

He unlocked his door for the servant, then returned to his seat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you know what it's like for other men to hate you for nothing more than the circumstance of your birth." Tarquin's voice turned soft, knowing this was a touchy subject. "You know what it's like to face that kind of hatred. How bewildering it is."

"So if my father hadn't disowned me and chucked me into his army, you're saying I'd be just like Brutus?" Calix asked sharply.

Tarquin just gave him a droll stare. "I'm saying it would be more likely, yes. Our circumstances shape us, mindra. You know this better than any."

Calix couldn't argue that. So he nodded and let out a long breath, a pleasant buzz running through his skull. They sat in companionable silence, watching the flames crackle along the wood, sending up yellow and orange sparks from time to time.

"They made you a general," Tarquin finally said.

In answer, Calix got up and made his way into his bedchamber, digging through the trunk of his belongings that had arrived only two weeks ago. He'd stuffed the letter below the fine clothes that would need tailoring. Ridiculous that they'd even been sent.

Walking back into the drawing room, he tossed the paper into Tarquin's lap. Then he collapsed into his own chair, a leg slung over one arm, his back leaning against the other. 

Tarquin read: "By the time this reaches you, I suspect His Majesty will have already granted you your commission." His dark eyes flicked up from the paper, but Calix just motioned for him to keep reading. "I will admit your recent successes have been a surprise to your m-mother and I."

Calix's jaw tightened as Tarquin stumbled over mother.

Clearing his throat, he read the last of the letter. "When word reached my ears that His Majesty was reforming the Seventh, I rushed to Levitum in order to argue your fitness to be named general of the resurrected Legion. More than half of the men promised to reform it are mine, as are most of the funds."

Calix waved a hand, and Tarquin stopped reading. He watched Calix warily for a moment, then his eyes flashed with anger and he bolted to his feet, just to sway lightly.

He crumpled up the letter and threw it into the fire, but it had done its damage.

"My father bought my commission," Calix said with a laugh. He laughed again, the sound sharper. "His bitch wife had me tossed out of my home and stripped of my title ten years ago, and he has the balls to do something like this."

"I'm sorry, Calix," Tarquin said softly, knowing more than any how deeply this hurt him.

Calix just shook his head. No amount of sorry would repair the jagged wound to his pride. He had sworn he would make his own way in the world after that fateful day. He had sworn to Torvan himself that he would make his father regret the very moment Calix had been cast from his house.

His own words disowning his family, his title, everything to do with his nobility came back to haunt him.

In a single maneuver his father had made a gods-damned liar out of him, and for what? For political gain? For the prestige to his name?

It didn't matter. And Calix couldn't hate his father any more than he already did. There wasn't enough room within his heart to harbor any more hatred.

He was staring morosely at his empty goblet when the door to his rooms swung open, accompanied by a heart-stopping swirl of green velvet skirts. The door slammed, and everything fell very still. That was no servant girl.

His eyes flickered to Tarquin, who only had a vaguely puzzled look on his face, then back to the princess. She hadn't turned yet. The stiff set of her shoulders and her clenched fists were enough to know what she was thinking.

"You..." The words wouldn't arrange themselves properly on his tongue. He couldn't lie and suggest that she had the wrong room. "Said you were coming tonight?"

Simply not telling Tarquin was one thing. Lying to his face was quite another.

But the ale had done its work—however lightly—on them both. Tarquin snickered, casting a knowing, delighted glance at Calix. "I'm sure she comes most nights, but it's rude to be so blunt, mindra. She is a lady, after all."

Calix couldn't help it. The joke and the sheer absurdity of the situation had a laugh bursting out of him before he could stop it. The sound made the princess whirl around, a lovely blush coloring her high cheekbones.

The almost shocked look on her face drew more hilarity up and he smirked at Tarquin. "Lady by birth perhaps. You should hear how she swears."

Her mouth dropped into a surprised 'o', and he couldn't help but think he'd very much like to kiss that mouth. It had been days since he'd seen her for something other than training. Belatedly, he realized that he probably shouldn't be making jokes. Or thinking about what he would like to do with the princess' mouth at this particular moment.

Tarquin, looking very much like he would love to hear her swear, tore his eyes from the princess and tilted his head toward Calix. A knowing gleam sparked in his eyes. "So this is what you've been doing with your time, brother?"

The princess was still frozen by the door, as if she'd been turned to stone. Calix beckoned for her to come nearer, but she didn't. All she did was shift her gaze back to him, suspicion gleaming in her eyes.

"I didn't say my time here has been all bad," Calix replied, still watching the princess. She paled further, betrayal becoming clear on her face as her gaze slid fearfully to Tarquin.

Tarquin admittedly wasn't helping much, wearing that cat-who-had-eaten-the-canary smirk of his. Calix sighed and rolled his eyes before stretching out his leg to jab at Tarquin with the toe of his boot.

"This," he finally said to Cassia, "is Tarquinius Vestarin. One of those brothers I swore upon when I told you I'd teach you how to fight."

Tarquin immediately choked on a laugh, breaking into a huge grin. "You're doing what?"

Cassia had a spectacularly furious look on her face, her anger loosening her tongue. "You bastard," she hissed. "You swore you'd tell no one!"

The only response that garnered was a crowing laugh from Tarquin as she did indeed start to swear. 

"I'm not the one who comes bursting into other peoples' rooms at odd hours of the day," Calix returned, grinning as he needled her. She stalked forward, most likely intending to shout in his face.

Not giving her the chance, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down into his lap. The princess hissed and struggled against the hold he had on her waist. The soft velvet of her dress felt good beneath his fingers, and he held her a little tighter.

She froze when Tarquin burst into a riot of throaty laughter. Calix turned his head lazily, giving his brother a sheepish grin. He could feel how fast her breath was coming, and gently stroked a hand down her back, trying to comfort her.

"Tarquin couldn't give a single fuck about courtly propriety, Princess," he murmured. "He doesn't have any particular love for the king. And I suspect if you ask sweetly enough, he might even teach you a few nasty tricks with a dagger."

Cassia's look changed from fury to one of sudden interest. She cocked her head, hopefully knowing that Calix would never have breathed a word or acted in such a way if he didn't trust Tarquin completely.

His brother gave the princess a wicked grin. "Only if I'm allowed a kiss or two for my services."

Calix let out a soft growl, but that was more for the princess' benefit. He knew Tarquin didn't mean it when he said things like that.

"I suppose that depends on how good the tricks are," Cassia retorted, and Calix let out a roar of laughter. She started, glancing sideways at him. Then she looked back toward Tarquin with caution. "You trust him?"

"Oh I won't tell anyone that you've been bedding a lowly soldier, Princess," Tarquin said grandly, answering before Calix could. "Especially since there can hardly be anything to talk about."

Calix made a rude gesture at the ribbing, but couldn't stop a grin when the princess laughed softly. Much to his delight, she relaxed back into him and purred, "Don't dismiss something you've never tried, Vestarin."

"Who says I haven't?" Tarquin shot back, a smile brightening his eyes. He shook his head with mock sorrow. "Really it's a shame, but it's such a damn hassle to get him into bed."

The princess snickered. "Perhaps that says more about you than it does about him."

Both men roared with laughter at that. The princess cast another curious glance toward Calix, a smile tugging uncertainly at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, I like her," Tarquin said with a sigh. "And you said the women here were merely fine." The way he said the last word made it sound like a vile curse. 

Calix rolled his eyes, then stroked his fingers down the princess' thigh, enamored with the feel of her velvet dress. Enamored with the idea of what it would feel like to slowly peel it away from her equally soft skin. She gave him a sharp, reprimanding look, which only made him do it again, groaning silently when she shivered.

He'd had just enough to drink that his lust rose easily to the surface, but not so much that he'd be useless when he had her between the sheets.

Tarquin cleared his throat dramatically, making Calix sigh. He was sober enough to recognize now was not the time.

"Tarquin is as trustworthy as they come, Your Highness," he said, trying to return to a more serious note. Looking at his brother, he said, "His Majesty, in all of his questionable wisdom, has seen fit to leave his Heir unprepared for the world beyond."

Tarquin sobered at that as well, eyeing the princess with a new kind of interest. "Your travel years are soon."

It wasn't a question. And it was a long, long time before the princess dipped her head in a shallow nod. "I leave at the end of this year."

"Mm." Tarquin grimaced, then gave her that charming smile of his. "Your destination?"

Calix snorted, but held his tongue. The princess shifted slightly, catching his hand where he was still playing with the soft material of her skirt. Her dark honey eyes glowed gold in the firelight as she looked at Tarquin.

"Brunia," she said, somehow making the single word a challenge.

Tarquin let out a low, impressed whistle, but didn't try to discourage her. The princess tilted her head, looking at the other man with a guarded, hopeful expression. Calix smiled softly in triumph—that was the same way she had looked at him when they first met.

He hadn't expected to introduce the princess to his brother in such a way, but the surprise of the situation had stripped it of any opportunity for guile. The princess seemed to understand that, judging by the way she was watching Tarquin with interest, rather than hostility.

"In which case," Tarquin said, pulling Calix from his musings, "you should know about the death-maidens."

Cassia started minutely, her fingers tightening around where she still held his wrist. "Death-maidens?" she asked, a strangely tremulous note in her voice.

Tarquin glanced past her, toward Calix, who nodded. With a sigh, Tarquin leaned forward, meeting the princess' gaze directly. "Ignoring the fact that the king has sworn us to silence"—he smirked at Cassia, whose lips curved in reply—"I've just arrived from Brunia. I came with a report of the most recent battle with the Wolfclaw Clans."

When she raised a questioning eyebrow, Calix murmured, "Brunia's people are split into a handful of different clans, which are further divided into tribes." When she waved an impatient hand, he snorted and said, "Wolfclaws live in the northernmost regions of the island. They shouldn't have been so far south for one, but they brought with them a new weapon to make it worse."

"Magic." Tarquin slumped back in his chair, the blunt statement ringing through the room.

A chill blanketed Calix, his hand tightening on the princess' waist. Both men waited for her to scoff like her father had. "What sort of magic?" she asked bleakly.

Tarquin blinked in surprise, then shook his head, the firelight running through his dark hair like liquid gold. "Death," he said softly. "Magic that harnesses Death herself."

"Gods above," Cassia murmured, blanching. With a shake of her head, she let out an unamused laugh. "Perhaps this is why Hallor called to me today."

Calix and Tarquin exchanged a bewildered look, but the princess didn't deign to explain that comment any further. Shaking her head again, she glanced at Calix. "And I was only worried about my lessons stopping when you leave for Antelium," she said, a strained smile touching her lips.

Tarquin snorted, draining the last of his own ale. "A hundred men, mindra?  You think that is all it will take?"

"That's what I told him," Cassia muttered, leaning into Calix just a bit more.

"I'm not going to destroy the city," he retorted. "I'm going to get her prick of a brother."

Both Tarquin and the princess smirked at that. She sighed deeply, then asked Tarquin, "Would you really teach me?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, shadows passing in his eyes. "Women die just as easily by the sword as men, Princess. There's no true argument as to why you shouldn't know how to fight. Especially if you really intend to make for the island."

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice warm and lovely.

Tarquin inclined his head, then stood. He stretched, his movements still tentative. Calix raised an eyebrow, which made Tarquin wink at him. "Seeing as how the princess' company is much nicer than my own, I think I shall take my leave."

Cassia blushed lightly, but didn't move to get up. When Tarquin reached the door, Calix said, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Only if you bring her," Tarquin teased, throwing that dashing smile of his once more toward the princess.

She laughed quietly as Tarquin disappeared through the door, then fell somber when he was gone. Calix stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek, making her turn toward him.

"If I had known you would be bursting through my door, I would have arranged for him not to be here," he murmured. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"I was surprised," she admitted. "But it became clear soon enough that he was someone you trusted." She bit her lip, trying to stop her smile. "I rather like him, actually."

"He's a good man," Calix agreed. "One of the best, as a matter of fact. He can take over your training while I'm away. You'll be safe with him."

The princess raised an eyebrow, leaning a little closer to him. Calix let his fingers trail from her face, down her throat. "Perhaps I'll let him take over more than just my training," she teased.

Calix growled softly, amusement sparking in the pit of his stomach. She gave him a small grin, brushing her fingers through his hair and making his blood heat again.

"You leave in three days," she said.

He only nodded. Now that Tarquin was here, he had two less worries weighing his mind down. Shifting slightly in his lap, she began kissing along his jaw. Eyes closing, he asked, "Does that mean you only wanted my body, Princess?"

Cassia shook with a silent laugh and pulled back minutely, meeting his eyes. "That was the original idea, yes," she purred. "But Fortune seems to have smiled upon me today in more ways than one."

"Well who am I to get in the way of Your Highness' plans," he said, and the princess clutched at his shoulders when he stood up, carrying her into his bedchamber.

She let him lay her on the bed and climb over the top of her. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, pulling him down into a deep kiss that immediately sent heat racing through him.

His fingers tore at the laces of her dress and she let out a throaty laugh. "How much have you had to drink?" she rasped.

Calix succeeded in loosening the dress, and began to slowly remove it. "Not that much, Princess," he replied.

"Good," she growled, pulling his shirt over his head. Kissing his chest, she said, "I must suffer through a private dinner with my parents tonight. I would like something nice to think about to see myself through it."

Calix grimaced on her behalf, pausing long enough to shed the last of his clothes. He groaned when she ran her hands from his hips up to his shoulders, her touch demanding and proprietary before she wrapped her body around his, her tongue in his mouth.

She pulled away just long enough to whisper, "If nothing else, I do adore that your brother knows when to take his leave."

Calix laughed, letting her push him onto his back. Hands gliding up to clutch at her hips, he couldn't agree more.