Once inside the castle, both Cassia and Lord Julianus were spirited away to their quarters by various servants twittering about not enough time and proper dinner-wear.

Cassia let her ladies-in-waiting dress her in a sumptuous gown of silver silk. Once again, the bodice fit tightly, the sleeves off-shoulder and long, ending in points attached to her hands by diamond-encrusted rings around her middle fingers. The skirt hung straight down from her hips—easier to manage than the full skirt of the red dress—and was fairly revealing. Two slits traveled up the sides of the skirt to nearly the middle of her thighs.

She extended a leg curiously, looking at all the smooth, lightly tanned skin. "Do you suppose Lord Julianus will be looking?" she asked of no one in particular.

Everyone present either blushed or tittered at the idea. She set her leg back down and allowed Drusilla to place a diamond and platinum diadem on her hair, fitting it effortlessly into the elaborate braid that went around the crown of her head, the rest of her hair falling in long curls down to the middle of her back.

Then she was rushed back down the stairs to be confronted with the sight of Lord Julianus in full military regalia. Deep red jacket with gold braiding, fitted light tan trousers, black knee-high boots. And medals. A ponderous number of medals on the left side of his chest.

Once again, his clothes were more loose than they should have been, and she wondered where the weight had gone. 

The lord bowed, and then they were hustled into the dining hall. They made it into the great hall and the footman ushered both herself and Julianus to the royal table at the far end.

Cassia, used to the stares, didn't flinch as they walked the length of the hall between the three tables crowded with nobles and knights, all with their ladies and eldest children. 

Julianus became sharper at her side.From the corner of her eye, she found him to be every inch the military man he was—chest proud, back straight, eyes hawkish. Like he was striding between rows of soldiers instead of courtiers.

Her suspicions of why he was at the castle were confirmed beyond a doubt when Julianus was put in the rather conspicuous position of sitting at her right hand. She bowed her head to her father, but then the trumpets sounded and he stood, not sparing her a glance.

Everyone fell silent immediately. Cassia focused on making her face pleasantly blank, not truly listening to her father speak of the new campaign in Brunia. Not listening to him ramble on about the various nobles who had gained his favor for the moment, either through contributions of money or men in the king's name. Especially not listening to the great strides he'd made in establishing order in the empire through the cruel enforcement of even crueler laws.

He didn't mention the new rebellions that had sprung up in Mortania or the nearby province of Ventilium.

Then, he turned, waving a hand at Lord Julianus. Cassia looked at the lord to find him absolutely stone-faced as everyone's attention turned to him.

"We're here in part to celebrate Lord Calix Julianus. Many of you have heard of the headway we have made on that savage island of Brunia. Few of you know the man responsible for those victories."

Julianus' face could have been carved from granite. His sharp jawline became sharper, his lips thinning down into a hard line. But something told Cassia only she noticed.

The king continued, "Lord Julianus, join me."

Immediately, Julianus was on his feet, movements precise as he met the king before the table. They stood right in front of Cassia, slightly turned so the king could look at his guests.

"For his heroic, single-handed charge at Grana—one that turned the tide of the battle—I award him his second Silver Falcon."

The crowd politely clapped, some of the knights offering cheers as a pageboy came forward, holding a small, red velvet pillow. The medal—a bit of deep blue ribbon with a falcon in flight gripping a sword rendered in pure silver hanging from it—glimmered in the candlelight.

King Durus took the medal, and Julianus stood stock still as the king grabbed the front of his jacket, pinning it among the already present forest of them. When the king let him go, Julianus fisted his hand over his heart in salute, bowing his head.

The crowd clapped and cheered again, though it rang somehow false in Cassia's ears. Judging by the stiff set of Julianus' shoulders, he could hear the same unsound note she had.

"Lord Julianus has served in my army with distinction above and beyond the call. Today, I also award him his generalship."

Julianus turned his head sharply, shock and anger flaring in his dark eyes as he looked at the king.

"Sir," he protested quietly. "I am only a centurion in my father's army—"

"Quiet," the king hissed. "You will accept this, General, as a token of my appreciation for both your actions and your father's."

Cassia's heart lurched unexpectedly at the look in Julianus' eyes. He seemed to have stopped breathing, but he knelt before the king.

She had never seen a position look so unnatural.

Another two pages came forward, holding a blood-red cloak. It was given to the king, who draped it over Julianus' shoulders. He fixed the clasps—fashioned to look like two crossed swords—to clever loops on the uniform's shoulders. Julianus waited a moment, then stood, his face once again that cold mask.

The cloak fell to the ground behind him, heavy and elegant.

"General," the king said, "in five months' time, you will be marching the newly reformed Seventh Legion to Brunia, to finish the job you started. Until that time, you will be a guest in my house."

In response, Julianus stepped back from the king, thumping his fisted hand into his chest. A guttural, warrior sound came from him, echoed by the other knights, who also thumped their fists to their breasts. 

Cassia had heard the sound before—a rough sound comprised only of deep vowels. The standard military answer to its commanders, leaders and king.

Beneath it, the courtiers whispered to one another about the Seventh and its reformation.

"To celebrate your new rank"—the king waved a hand—"a sword fit for a general."

Julianus didn't move as a fourth page came forward, the weapon held in his too-small hands. The boy bowed, offering the hilt of the sword to Julianus.

Looking more comfortable than he had all day, Julianus grabbed the hilt, freeing the sword from its sheath without hesitation. Cassia's breath nearly caught as he held the sword up in front of him.

Not a slender blade with a jeweled hilt like the courtiers wore as a fashion statement, but truly a weapon for war. The blade was nearly three feet long, double-edged and wicked. A groove ran down the middle of the blade, catching the light and turning it liquid over the bright steel. Its cruciform hilt was simple, practical.

The only bit of flash on what even Cassia could tell was a superbly made weapon was the pommel. A solid disk of black steel made up the majority of the pommel, but there, etched into the metal, was the Auralius family crest: a falcon in flight, beak open in a scream, a naked sword gripped in its talons.

The king took a step back, nodding at Julianus, who whipped the sword effortlessly through the air and around his body, twisting it expertly in his hands. Cassia started when there was a horrific crash, steel against steel.

She'd been so focused on Julianus that she hadn't noticed Malitech come up behind him with a sword of his own.

Julianus' eyes narrowed, but he disengaged and bowed to the prince, sword still in hand.

The king said, "I think a display is in order, General."

Something harsh and unnerving flashed in Julianus' eyes, but he simply nodded, taking up a fighting stance. Feet staggered and just a little wider than his hips, his sword held out in front of him.

Cassia's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Single-minded focus and will dominated the light in his eyes.

He let Malitech have the first move.

The prince let out a small yell, swinging his sword in a wide arc toward Julianus' left shoulder. Effortlessly, Julianus twisted his arm, meeting the blow with a block, the sword's tip pointed to the polished stone beneath them. The clash was deafening.

Malitech retreated, then struck again, a blow angling for Julianus' neck. Again, a block that hardly seemed to take him any effort—a bare flip of his wrist.

Then Julianus attacked, sending a fury of blows looping around Malitech. The tip of Julianus' sword kissed at the prince's knees, his shoulders, his sides. Cassia leaned forward, trying to catch every move, but they were almost a blur. Every move the lord made was precise and beautiful.

Malitech's teeth bared in a snarl as Julianus nicked the side of his throat with a well-aimed thrust, opening anew the gash Cassia had left. Blood dribbled onto the dark grey collar of Malitech's shirt. She met Julianus' eyes, astonished when he winked. Then he was again focused wholly on Malitech. So much so that Cassia wondered if she'd really seen what she thought she had.

All eyes turned to the king, including Malitech's. Everyone's but Julianus'. His attention remained solely focused on his opponent. The crowd murmured, eyeing the lord with renewed interest. The king didn't move to interfere and Malitech paled somewhat before he let out another yell and attacked Julianus.

Or tried to.

The freshly minted general held him off with ease, meeting him blow for blow. But he didn't attack again, leaving himself at the disadvantage of always being on the defensive.

It seemed he'd spilled all the royal blood he'd dare to tonight, even as Malitech got sloppier. He left his guard open on his left several times. Cassia's fists tightened in her lap every time Julianus didn't take the opening.

Instead, it seemed like Julianus was playing with the prince. The small smirk that had tugged repeatedly at his mouth told her as much as he continued to block attacks with obscene ease. Cassia watched with delight as Malitech's temper grew with each missed strike.

Julianus smacked the flat of his blade against Malitech's arm, making the prince yelp.

Then Malitech snatched up a goblet of wine, throwing the contents in the lord's face. The red liquid splashed into his eyes, making him snarl with pain as he dragged the sleeve of his uniform across his face, trying to clear his vision, sword still held in front of him. Cassia stopped breathing as her brother raised his sword.

"Enough!" Durus suddenly roared, and everything stopped.

Malitech paled further and lowered his sword slowly. Julianus cleared his eyes, fury plain on his face, even as he bowed his head. The king stormed past the general to Malitech.

Everyone but Cassia and Julianus flinched as the king backhanded his son, sending him spinning to the floor.

"Get up," Durus ordered. "Now."

Malitech wobbled to his feet, one hand covering his mouth. The king stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head before turning to Julianus. Spreading his arms out to the crowd, he said, "It would appear a legion could have no finer general. Your father's teaching, I assume?"

A muscle fluttered in Julianus' throat, near the scar. Through clenched teeth, he answered, "No, Your Majesty. My father's general, Arcturus Malcinius."

"Hm," the king hummed. "Well, I trust you will deliver my finest compliments."

Julianus only nodded, though his jaw tightened. The king clapped him on the shoulder, and Julianus took the offered scabbard from the pageboy who had presented the sword.

"Now that the entertainment has worn itself out," Durus announced, "eat. Later, dance."

The crowd erupted into conversation, only interrupted by the clattering of filling plates and silverware on fine porcelain. Julianus waited for the king to sit before taking his place beside Cassia. The sword was taken by a servant to his quarters.

His jaw still hadn't relaxed, even as serving girls filled his plate. He only moved once the goblet before him was filled. That he snatched up and drank deeply from, grimacing at the watered-down wine that was served at dinner.

It surprised her—like so many other times today—when he leaned closer to her, medals jingling merrily. "Do you ever feel like some sort of prized horse being pranced about?"

Cassia turned her head, her breath mingling with his as she looked into his eyes. Something dark brewed there, some strange mix of temper and that sheer will she had witnessed moments before.

She poked at the tender roast pheasant on her plate before answering him. "Yes."

Julianus took another deep drink from his goblet. Softly, knowing the king wouldn't bother to listen to her, she asked, "Did your father force you here?"

The lord stabbed his knife ferociously into the pheasant on his own plate, carving away a slice that he popped into his mouth. To Cassia, the movement was somehow barbaric and extremely satisfying.

"Yes," he finally answered.

Relief flared through her veins, sharp and sweet. Everything in her sang this was exactly the man she had been waiting for.

They didn't speak after that, eating in silence. Though, Cassia noted the lord picked at his food more than he consumed it. This struck her as strange.

Then Durus clapped twice, the pop-pop making the noise die. "My friends, if you have now eaten your fill, might we move to the ballroom."

Full or not, everyone rose when he did. The king and queen left, and Cassia watched her mother smile and nod at everyone she passed. A beautiful woman, her dress was the deep blue color of the twilight sky. Her hair, the same chocolate color as Cassia's, was intricately woven down her back, studded with diamonds bright as stars.

The hall filed out after them, until the only ones left were Julianus, Cassia and the slaves as they began to bustle around, clearing the tables.

Cassia turned to Julianus and he met her appraising look with a raised eyebrow. She stood and he quickly followed suit, his cloak flowing down to the floor, brushing the marble beneath his feet. She meet his dark eyes, her heart pounding in her throat.

"I hate dancing," she said. "I don't want to dance."

Julianus looked at her, his gaze narrow and thoughtful. His eyes traced down her throat, over her bare shoulders to the strips of skin peeking through the slits of her skirt. A familiar hunger lit in the abyss of his irises, but all he said was, "Your father will be displeased."

"Let him be. He already is—with everything about me." Cassia bit her tongue, not having meant to say that. "Come with me," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him in her wake. 

Julianus easily fell into step with her, his hand warm and rough around hers. She led him out a side door of the hall, ducking into the nearest entrance to the servant's passageways she could find.

Neither said a word as they walked.

Cassia had long since familiarized herself with these hidden passages, preferring them over the subtle agony of bumping into someone she disliked in a noble hallway. She wove her way through the cramped hallways effortlessly until they deposited her into the passageway just outside her chambers.

They darted across the hall after ascertaining that a random guard patrol was not lingering around her rooms. Cassia put a hand on his chest, stopping him. "Stay here," she ordered, almost surprised when he simply nodded.

That feeling of certainty warmed in her gut again.

Once she was sure her chambers were indeed empty, she reached back through the open doorway, pulling Julianus into her rooms by the edge of his newly acquired cloak.

He shut the door behind him.

"Lock it," she said, feeling outrageously brazen. The lock clicked into place, but he didn't move from the door.

Instead, he watched her, a wolf beginning to gleam in his eyes.

Cassia, unperturbed by his gaze, moved to the shelves lining the far wall. Amidst all the books and trinkets sat an undecorated box, easily overlooked. Cassia opened it, revealing two lines of small vials. She removed one and swallowed the contents.

A subtle clinking of his medals warned her.

"You presume much, Your Highness," Julianus said from right behind her. His breath skimmed her shoulder, soon followed by his lips, feather-light over her skin. She shivered at the touch.

"As do you," she breathed, turning and placing a hand on his chest. His heart beat strong beneath her palm.

Julianus leaned forward, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at her.

"Tell me something," she said. "Something real."

"Why?"

"Because then I'll tell you something real," she responded as he placed his hands on her hips.

Julianus stayed silent for a moment. Then, he said, "I know my father's money bought this cloak. As did the blood of two thousand men. I was just a centurion serving in my father's army, part of the Second Legion. Now I am commander of the Seventh."

Rage flared in his eyes, but it was quickly tamped down.

"What about your actions at Grana?" she asked, playing with the new medal he'd been awarded.

Everyone in the empire knew of the battle at Grana, a river stronghold of the Brunian people. People her father had been attempting to conquer for three years now.

His lip curled back in a snarl, but he shook his head. "Something real for something real, Your Highness, that was the bargain."

Cassia bit her lip, lowering her lashes slightly. Julianus pressed a bit closer.

"My father does not want me to wear the crown."

Julianus scoffed, surprising her. "You'll have to do better than that," he said. "I could tell that for myself."

Cassia couldn't stop the heat in her cheeks. "Fine," she snapped. "I wish you had taken the openings Malitech gave you tonight."

"You would have wanted me to kill your brother?" His voice was not condemning, merely curious.

"No, not killed him. Just wounded him enough to leave him bedridden for the final five months of this year."

"Why am I here, Your Highness?" Julianus' hands slid up to her waist.

Her breath caught at the back of her throat. "I think you know."