It is remarkable how easily he made me feel like clay in his hands. Even now as I reflect on those first moments, I wonder if I truly understood what manner of fate I was taking upon myself. By my own actions I tied my family’s future to his path, and in so doing sealed the fate of all those I loved. Did he know even then what he would become? Did he already have an understanding of what he would do to us all? I have to believe he didn’t, for if he did, then truly he was the greatest deceiver in the history of mankind.

  Circe was nervous.

  Or perhaps a better term was that she was apprehensive. Uncertain. Unsure. The exact word escaped her in the moment, but as she led the way across the palace gardens toward her father, Atreus, and the senior staff of House Leos—there was an element of definitive unease that would not leave her. It had settled in her gut like a leaden weight, and nothing she did could move it.

  The source of it, of course, was the blond man walking at her side.

  The Kidemónes, the Myrmidón, not even the assassins after her since her birth unsettled her as much as Arthur Magellan, and not because of any fantastical, schoolgirl fantasy reason or any such nonsense. It was not his looks—which she could admit were certainly sculpted in a way that made her unashamedly enjoy staring—nor his intellect or composure, both of which fascinated her in a way that mere looks never could.

  No, the source of her discomfort was the feeling that she needed him.

  Not as a lover, or anything so simplistic and droll—but as an ally.

  Her resonance with Arthur was… unprecedented. She could feel him even then, the way a flower might feel the touch of the sun, or the way that a bird might search for a hot draft upon which to elevate its flight. It was difficult even for her to understand, but she was aware of him—aware in a way that defied all reason and logical understanding.

  They were complete strangers, and yet she felt as if she had known him for years.

  Circe had believed up until that very morning that she would need to eventually be the one to step forward and do what had to be done. That she would take position as both Heiress and Hetairoi and simply have to work to the best of her ability to avoid being crippled or killed as their enemies so desperately desired.

  She had resigned herself to it. Accepted it like a condemned woman accepted the executioner’s ax. It was not merely an option, but an inevitability. Every overture to Eidolon pilots of note had been rejected, sabotaged, or outright defenestrated by their enemies. House Leos had been pushed to the absolute limit of its abilities. Even the Kings, for all their supposed magnanimity, were beginning to look upon them with calculation more than the favor they had purported in the past.

  House Leos had been on the precipice.

  And then, like an answer to her most fearful moments and desperate prayers, he had appeared. A stranger, a mercenary, a sellsword and honorless braggart intent on dethroning her sacrifice and making a mockery of her vows to defend and protect her blood as the only one capable of doing so.

  At first she hated him. Hated the idea of stolen glory. Hated the notion that a stranger would come and bear the mantle she’d raged against, fought again, and then finally and with an embracing of doom resigned herself to. How dare this man, she had thought, this off-worlder with a fancy pedigree dare to presume the right to steal her duty from her and make her an invalid.

  Worse still, he had fainted in front of her and she had taken that for weakness.

  She had readied herself to protect her family as no one else could—as no one else would. Her life had been a sick pattern of assassinations, attempted marriages by men far too old, or far too selfish, or—even when they were good men—far too weak and far too low-ranking. Nobody of worth would seek her hand, for fear of the enemies of House Leos ruining them before the marriage could even proceed.

  No one wished to tie themselves to what they saw as a poor bet, and a sinking ship.

  Circe had thought Arthur to believe he could rob her of a truly noble sacrifice.

  How wrong she’d been. How incredibly, stupidly, single-mindedly wrong.

  Arthur Magellan was not merely a hope for a future where she did not end childless, crippled, and forced to surrender her birthright to a lesser family member.

  He was more than anything else someone she could rely on. Someone she could even trust.

  Not because he had power. Not because he had charisma. Not because he was handsome or intelligent.

  But because he was selfish. Because he was self-interested. Because he was completely pragmatic in his motivations. He was an honorable man, from all that she had gleaned and what her instincts told her, but so too was he unapologetic in his motivations existing for him, and for House Leos as an extension of that.

  And he had never once pretended otherwise.

  ‘The only friend you can truly have is the one that is as honest in their cruelty as they are in their kindness’. Her grandmother’s words had returned to her in the moment he’d all but eviscerated her with courtesy and simple logic within his apartments, even after she’d attacked him, mock blade or not, like a mad woman.

  She blushed in embarrassment at the memory.

  How right her grandmother had been. How true her bitter wisdom had proven.

  And so, with all of that in mind, Circe was nervous.

  Because if her father did not approve of Arthur, she would lose him.

  The very thought unsettled her. She had already realized what her mother had seen in him, after all. House Leos needed Arthur. He did not realize, truthfully, how much they needed him. How utterly outclassed every other potential Hetairoi was in comparison. Even if she hadn’t been told how gifted he was prior, she had felt it—like a chain around her neck, or an anchor hanging from her heart. When he spoke, it took all of her control not to be swept up by his effortless charisma.

  It was infuriatingly intoxicating, and that alone told her everything she needed to know.

  Arthur Magellan was powerful beyond anything she’d experienced outside of the Myrmidónes’ Strategos himself.

  It was the only chance her family had, and she was unashamedly desperate to not let it go to waste. No matter what it took. No matter what he demanded. Nothing was too much if it meant alleviating her father’s burdened soul. Nothing was too humiliating if it meant easing her parents’ stress, and liberating them from the fear and worry that had been eating them alive in front of her.

  Even if he demanded her as payment by the end.

  The thought almost broke her, but she knew it was true.

  It was vile, and base, and utterly revolting to consider.

  Not because Arthur was unattractive, but because she was meant for higher things.

  But none of that mattered in the face of her family’s suffering. Not pride, not breeding, not privilege, and not propriety. Nothing was more important than her House’s legacy, or her parents’ efforts being vindicated.

  She would do anything for her family.

  Even become a no-name Fringe noble’s consort.

  In the interim, she had a week to convince him to help House Leos.

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  She did not intend to waste it. Whatever it took.

  “Is there anything I should be aware of?” Arthur asked while they walked, and drew Circe out of her internal monologue and circular anxiety.

  “I… regarding what, sorry?” Circe asked while she tried to recall if he’d said anything prior. She cursed her wandering mind and forced herself to focus.

  “Your father. His staff. I’d rather not step onto a social landmine in the first meeting.”

  Circe glanced back at him with a grin she didn’t bother to hide. “Where was this reservation when meeting me?”

  “You attacked me while I was basically naked,” Arthur pointed out with a damnably attractive wry smile, “so I didn’t think being reserved really mattered in that instance.”

  His body really was a work of tailored genetic art. The mental image conjured by her memory did not help, and she felt a traitorous blush spreading across her cheeks in a wave of heat.

  Especially when paired with the decidedly inappropriate and debased line of thinking she’d only moments ago been following.

  She had no idea where the thoughts were coming from. She was by her nature largely disinterested in the idea of sex in general. Combat was what she loved, as well as art, and music. Sex had always been a thing people did, but which she had little active interest in. She was saving herself for marriage for her own values as much as she was for societal reasons.

  The fact that Arthur so easily interested her physically was, truthfully, bewildering.

  She wondered if it was the psions at play, or something built into his genetics.

  Focus, Circe!

  “You make a valid point, I suppose,” she said with a deliberate clearing of her throat while she ordered her thoughts and ran over the possibilities in her mind. “As far as my father and his staff goes, I cannot say there is anything too important to consider. Our Seneschal is a good man, and our First Captain is an honorable woman. I cannot think of much to say, truthfully. My father appreciates sincerity more than anything else.”

  “Sincerity, huh? Are you sure?” Arthur asked with clear amusement.

  “I… yes. Yes. Despite your snarky disposition, Ser Magellan, I think he actually will appreciate your honest comportment—eventually,” she concluded with a returned grin back at him.

  “Oh? Then I can’t wait,” Arthur said with another wry smile as they approached the waiting clump of four.

  Lord Atreus was recognisable easily enough. Tall, attired in black armor, and bearing his customary grim visage and curated beard. His plumed helmet lay mag-locked to his left hip, and his right hand rested habitually on the hilt of his xiphos. Other than Arthur, he was the tallest man present—and would have towered as the sole exception were it not for Arthur’s even more impressive stature.

  Beside Atreus stood her father himself.

  He was tall for a Graecian man at 6’2, and had a head of striking silver-blond hair that complemented his lightly bronzed skin. Instead of the formal wear Circe had seen him in during Arthur’s recent arrival, he wore a more comfortable attire.

  A flowing cloak crafted from the mane of a slain Laconian Lion was wrapped his shoulders, and swept down to his feet with a luxurious stylization that allowed it to glide upon the floor while the man walked, not enough to be dirtied, but enough to give the air of supreme confidence and wealth.

  It was something her mother had impressed upon him, she knew.

  He’d worn a set of matching black leggings and overcoat beneath the cloak, with the latter buttoned in silver along the right side of his broad chest, and the crimson lion of House Leos emblazoned in bright silk over his heart. On his feet he wore knee-high boots made of dark leather that seemed to pair naturally with his cloak.

  The same Lion as the source, perhaps.

  A long xiphos was sheathed on his right hip, and a hand adorned in several elegant rings rested upon it. For all that the rings seemed a touch ostentatious, Circe knew all-too-well that he could wield the sword with great proficiency.

  His gaze was warm when it met hers, and she couldn’t help but smile back in greeting despite a desire for professionalism.

  Her father had always been good at making people smile.

  Beside her father stood the short, jolly figure of the House’s Seneschal—his ridiculously long and curled mustache and rotund figure a sharp contrast to the ruthlessly brilliant intellect that lurked behind his squat and cheerful exterior. He was attired in simple fare, with a charcoal waistcoat and pants both pinstriped, and a golden link for his pocket watch extending up toward his center torso.

  The cane he walked with rested idly at his side, and he watched their approach with a sharpness to his otherwise warm gaze that set Circe at ease.

  She had always trusted Stephanos’ wisdom.

  The final person in the line-up was her favorite after her father.

  Daphne Bladebreaker had been the iron spine behind House Leos’ safety for the better part of a century. She'd been recruited by Circe’s Grandfather as a young soldier, trained by Kidemónes, and had chosen to serve House Leos over the Kings themselves. She was a tall, muscular woman with a shock of blonde hair run through with gray streaks, and cut short into a manageable bob with braided ponytails at the rear.

  Her attire was armor, simple and efficient, with crimson lacquer across the powered suit and gold highlights to demonstrate her rank and authority. She wore her custom blade proudly upon her right hip, its length shaped around the blade-catching crescent above the crossguard that had given Daphne her moniker.

  Her shield was nowhere to be seen at present, though Circe knew she could deploy a plasma barrier from her left vambrace at a moment’s notice. Her cloak, as black as the space around Hellas, was thick and fur-lined—marked by the pelt of an Hellenic Dire Wolf and emblazoned with the crimson sigil of the House Leos lion rampant upon the obsidian river of the cloak proper.

  The woman’s features, which might once have been pretty, were now faintly distorted by a hare-lipped scar and similar wound over her left eye—both taken in defense of her family—down to the middle of her cheek. Daphne oriented toward Circe with a single welcoming smile, before defaulting back to neutral-bordering-hostile appraisal of Arthur’s towering physique beside her.

  Another quick glance to her side showed the psion-dense offworlder in a state of utter ease, as if he were walking into a place of his control, at his choosing, and in perfect awareness that he was the one in charge.

  The confidence, be it psion-influenced or not, was momentarily baffling.

  She could almost sense the truth of it, vaguely, through their resonance.

  There were so many things about Arthur that just didn’t quite fit.

  Her chance to dwell on the details however was robbed when her own quartet came to a halt at polite speaking distance from her father’s, and she was forced to focus on the exchange at hand.

  “Good afternoon, Father.”

  “Welcome back, Circe,” Menelaus replied warmly. “I take it from our guest’s new attire, your spirited desire to speak with him, prior to his meeting us, bore fruit?”

  Circe cleared her throat subtly at her father’s amused tone and affected a gracious smile while ignoring the flush of embarrassment that faintly warmed her cheeks. “Yes, actually. Ser Magellan and I reached an equitable understanding, and I am looking forward to seeing him fight on our behalf—presuming he passes your inspection, father.”

  “Oho!” Stephanos exclaimed with a raise of his bushy eyebrows. “Lady Circe finds promise in another pilot? Now I truly have seen everything!” His smile, while jovial, never eroded the critical appraisal of Arthur that filled his eyes. “I look forward to seeing your skills for myself, young man.”

  “Indeed,” Daphne agreed curtly. “I too wish to understand what manner of man has so impressed our lady heiress.”

  “It would be my honor to demonstrate for you both,” Arthur replied with a courteous smile, “after all, what is the worth of a skill that is not proven?”

  Both Stephanos and Daphne appeared faintly surprised by his words, and glanced once again from Circe back to the tall blond pilot, with expressions that were more thoughtful than before.

  Wondering, perhaps, at how exactly their conversation had proceeded.

  Circe felt her cheeks heat even more at what she knew was very respectful, but very clear—at least to her—protectiveness on the part of both the Seneschal and First Captain. The fact they were already suspecting something might have happened only served to embarrass her further. Did they truly forget how many men she had outright and even physically rejected without hesitation? Surely they didn’t think a mercenary would be any different.

  The memory of Arthur’s naked, freshly showered body entered her mind and she bit her lip to dismiss the image.

  Damn her traitorous mind!

  Damn his bloody psions for exacerbating it!

  Circe instead turned her attention to Atreus and her father who both, interestingly enough, seemed far less inclined toward suspicion or concern. Atreus was observing Arthur with a passive implacability that seemed standard for the Myrmidón, and her father meanwhile was watching with something approaching genuine interest mixed with an almost boyish excitement.

  It never ceased to amaze her how non-threatening her father could appear.

  “I have heard fantastical things about you, Arthur Magellan. Things that, had they not come from my own wife, and been vouched for by Lord Atreus, may have given me cause for great skepticism. As it stands now, I simply find myself insatiably curious as to the reality of those tales—and what such might mean for my family, if the stories are proven to be true.”

  “I came here with intent to enter your service, my lord, with full awareness of what that means,” Arthur responded simply.

  “And that is all you desire?” Menelaus enquired.

  “No,” Arthur answered honestly, “I desire my independence from the shackles of Graecian politics in the long-term, and that means proving myself as a Hetairoi and earning sponsorship to join the ranks of the Eupatridae. The fact House Leos aligned at least on paper with my values simply made the choice easier.”

  “And now that you have enjoyed some measure of our hospitality?” the Duke asked.

  Circe turned to Arthur fully when the question was asked, and felt her heart rate spike slightly when he turned his eyes—like windows into the myriad hues of the skies above—to regard her intently.

  When he spoke, his voice seemed to almost resonate within her very soul.

  “After what I have exchanged with your lady daughter, your grace, I can safely say that I believe I will find what I seek here in House Leos.”

  Even knowing that it was the psions at work, Circe didn’t mind. She allowed the feeling of relief to flood her, and the words to buoy her heart. It was a confirmation of her hopes, and a validation of her desires.

  Circe knew then that all six other people present were looking between her and Arthur once more in question. Even the Kidemónes that had witnessed their true interaction. All were wondering. All were questioning. Unspoken was the curiosity as to what exactly there was between the lady and the strange out-sector mercenary.

  For the first time, though, she just couldn’t find it in herself to care.

  other people perceive and receive Arthur.