Saturday, July 30, 4 S.E.

  Leonidas watched Braedon leave the Throne Room with a satisfied smile, hands in his pockets, and a calm sense of certainty pervading his body. The three-day window opened some options for him, but he wasn’t too worried about whether he was able to pursue them. With his current experience at 5,212 / 18,000 and his total requirement looming at close to 32,000 just to reach level twenty and Adept rank, he didn’t see a way for him to achieve the milestone without risking his ability to appear at the anointed hour.

  He’d have been far more concerned if not for [Cataclysm Overdrive] in his proverbial back pocket. He also still hadn’t redeemed his [Platinum Chest], primarily due to worries it could push him toward Tempering with the random chance of extreme experience injection.

  Either he defeated Braedon, or he’d be too dead to regret it anyway. The thought was quite morbid, but the clear nature of what was at risk somehow made it far easier for him to process or digest. ‘Do or Die’ had always been easier for him, even on Elatra, and the current situation was no different.

  Besides, he had nine [Skill Purchase] points to spend, and that was a matter he was overdue on pursuing with Ceruviel. If he could find something to synergize with his new ability, it would make the fight against Braedon infinitely more simplistic. His [Manastorm Pinions], [Epic Slayer] title, and the [Unyielding Pride] were already comprehensive trump cards—but a little something extra wouldn’t be remiss.

  He still hadn’t managed to evolve his [Psionic Focus] or complete the other tricks Ceruviel had instructed during his last Arena bout, and that was another point of frustration for him. Grimacing at how much he still had to do, Leonidas turned back toward Aylar—his fiancée, he remembered with a jolt of happiness—and nearly stumbled when the Queen-Potentiate all but slammed into him bodily, drawing a grunt and surprised laugh from his lips.

  “Aylar?” he questioned instinctively in English.

  “You’ll win, right?” the Queen-Potentiate asked without preamble, her beautiful eyes lifting to meet his. “I just got you, Leonidas Achilles. I have no intent of losing you too quickly.”

  She blushed when she said it, but her blue eyes were all ferocity.

  “Of course I’ll win,” Leonidas assured her with certainty, sliding his arms around her with a warm feeling of satisfaction. “I’m not thrilled about having to kill your brother, but—”

  “Braedon dug his own grave,” Aylar muttered, cutting off his half-spoken amelioration before it could be completed. “He could have accepted my rule with grace, as I would have accepted his, regardless of my powerlessness to stop it. Instead, he chose blood. That’s on him, Leonidas. Not you.”

  Leonidas blinked down at her and then smiled ruefully.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he murmured, drawing a small shiver from Aylar.

  “It’s unfair that you can say that in a way that makes me—”

  “If you two are quite done,” Ceruviel cut in, her voice slicing through the intimate moment with brutal disregard. “Aylar is quite correct: if Braedon is permitted to live, he will endanger Aylar’s legacy for the foreseeable future. Only an Eldormer can contest the Haelfenn Throne, and Braedon’s blood is just as pure as hers.”

  The Duchess paused and then grunted, her tone odd to Leonidas’ ears.

  “Besides, we have things to speak on, Achilles. I’m aware that separating you from Aylar right now is a losing proposition, but you are needed at the Estate. You’ll have to move into the Palace once you and Aylar are properly wed, but until then, I presume you do still intend on living with me?”

  After she was done, Leonidas recognized the tone for what it was.

  Worry. The stoic Dusk-Lord was worried she’d lose her Squire.

  “Ceruviel,” he said to the Venerate Archon with a faint smile, “whether I’m living here or there, you’re still going to be my Mentor. Don’t think you’ll be rid of me just because I have a wife. You’re stuck with me until we finish that Quest.”

  Ceruviel visibly hesitated at his words, and then the Duchess snorted with a mutter of “Fool boy”, though he saw a hint of a pleased smile on the proud Archon’s lips when she said it.

  “There should be no danger in Her Majesty transitioning between the Palace and your Estate, Ceruviel,” Uriel said a moment later, his voice steady and certain despite all that had occurred. “Though it would be preferable for Her Majesty to be permanently entrusted to the Royal Guard forthwith. I believe it is time to dispense with the pretense that she is anything less than our Queen, at this juncture.”

  Leonidas blinked when Uriel spoke and turned to the Dawn-Lord, amusement spilling through his shock. “Hold on, I agree about the Royal Guard, but is that how I sound when I speak Haelfennyr?”

  “Yes,” Aylar muttered with quiet amusement, separating from Leonidas gently as Synthra, Bardulf, and Parnym rejoined them. “Though compared to your Haelfennyr, Duke Aventus sounds downright casual.”

  Leonidas shook his head at that, turning to his companions as they arrived.

  “Ceruviel wants me to go to her Estate,” he said to them briskly. “Normally, I’d say you should all do what you want, given Aylar will be with me, but I think it may be a good idea if the three of you come with us.”

  “Why?” Synthra asked immediately, looking between him and Aylar and then blushing in a way that Leonidas did not need his [Psionic Focus] to interpret.

  “Because we’ll be hostage targets,” Parnym said simply, answering before Leonidas could, and earning an approving look from Ceruviel, which he seemed to very nearly preen under.

  “Hostages?” Synthra asked skeptically.

  “It makes sense,” Bardulf murmured after a moment. “We are part of Aylar—er, Her Majesty’s Party. Taking us hostage would be a logical lever to use against Achilles before the [Challenge], to try to force him to throw the match.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Synthra said immediately, turning to Leonidas as if demanding he validate her.

  “I wouldn’t,” Leonidas affirmed in kind, glancing down at Aylar. “Not with what’s on the line—” he turned back to them after that “—for all of us, but I’d still rather just not have that worry in the back of my mind.”

  Synthra hesitated at his words and then let out a sigh.

  “Very well,” she muttered. “But if I hear one sound from your quarters—”

  “Synthra!” Aylar said, the Swordmaiden’s cheeks flushing. “We are not married yet.”

  “As if that stops Nobles…” Synthra mumbled, surreptitiously glancing at Ceruviel, who snorted in turn.

  “I highly doubt my particular example is apt, child,” Ceruviel said with naked amusement. “I daresay the Queen is far more traditional than I am wont to be.”

  “One can only hope,” Uriel murmured, and drew a look from Ceruviel.

  Before it could escalate, Aylar raised her hands.

  “Okay. Enough,” the Queen-Potentiate said firmly. “I will accompany my intended to Ceruviel’s estate, the Party will join us, and we will discuss matters there.”

  Her gaze shifted to the Royal Guard, and she pointed at one of the women nearby, then one of the men.

  “Leona, you and Mernyn are hereby appointed as my Force Commanders. Reorganize the Guard along with that distinction. I want you to begin incorporating Blues, as well. The time for this divide is rapidly coming to an end, and when my intended ends my brother, it will be more circumspect to do it then.”

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  The Royal Guards glanced at one another, and it was the man, Mernyn, who spoke first.

  “With respect, Your Majesty, the risks—”

  “Are irrelevant,” Aylar cut in sharply. “If you insist on worry, I will task the Dusk-Lord to scour the minds of every Royal Guard, Red and Blue, until she is satisfied that they will do their duty absent concern. In fact, that is what she will do—” Aylar glanced at Ceruviel, who just smiled in agreement, and then continued “—for every new appointee and the current Guards as well, every six months.”

  Leonidas felt a mix of pride and faint amusement well within him as his future bride took charge, and then felt a giddy sense of joy at the thought ‘future bride’.

  +You’re smitten, boy. It’s about bloody time, too.+

  Leonidas glanced at Ceruviel when she spoke into his mind and rolled his eyes.

  I can feel you gloating from here, Ceruviel.

  In response, the Dusk-Lord’s perfect eyebrows simply twitched upward.

  +As opposed to watching you wallow in self-castigating misery? Most definitely.+

  Leonidas grimaced at that, but managed a faint smile at the sentiment afterward.

  Definitely gloating, he replied glibly.

  +Oh, you think I’m gloating now? Wait until you see the surprise I have for you at the Estate.+

  Leonidas blinked at that, but Ceruviel said nothing more, and he was left to wonder as Aylar finalized her orders and the Royal Guard marshaled to see them fulfilled, guided by Mernyn and Leona’s sharp orders.

  His gaze drifted along the Haelfenn, and he did note one displeased face: a Guard he vaguely identified as Tychar, watching him and Aylar with thinly veiled displeasure, before Mernyn’s orders snapped him to attention and he turned to join the reorganization and muster.

  “They’ll need an hour to prepare,” Aylar said simply, and glanced down at herself. “I need a bath and a change of clothes. Leonidas—”

  “Eh?” he asked as he was pulled out of his distraction, earning a laugh from Bardulf, a sigh from Parnym, and a snort from Synthra.

  “...would you mind guarding my door for me while I bathe?” Aylar asked, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It—it is tradition, you see, for a future King to watch over his Queen.”

  Leonidas blinked at that and then met his fiancée’s eyes with a warm smile.

  “As you wish,” he said simply.

  * * * * *

  The group that arrived at the Latherian Estate a little under two hours later was markedly different from the one that had entered the Throne Room. Both Aylar and Synthra had ended up indulging in extended baths, with the latter only half-heartedly attempting to reject the dress Aylar had insisted she wear to accompany them to the Duchess’ villa, to match Aylar’s own choice of unarmored attire.

  The Royal Guard had raised some measure of concern over the lack of protective gear until Aylar had calmly pointed out that if an assassin was able to get past the Dawn-Lord, Dusk-Lord, Leonidas, Synthra, Bardulf, Parnym, and two Daggers of the Royal Guard, she may as well grant them the kill on principle. While morbid, the cold logic of the dictation had silenced the dissent, and their progress from the Palace to the Estate had been relatively uneventful.

  They’d taken two carriages, one for Leonidas, Ceruviel, Aylar, and Synthra, and one for Bardulf, Uriel, Parnym, and Mithrander—Aylar’s ancient Seneschal. The Royal Guard had accompanied them in a divided escort, while Uriel had also mobilized Verity Durandal’s Lance of Dawnguard to act as support for the Royal Guard.

  Leonidas had been both pleasantly surprised and faintly amused to see the entire Lance had divested themselves of their blue adornments, and now only sported the neutral black that he’d first seen on Ilsan Matrovar. It was a small change at a glance, but a poignant one in the greater scheme.

  The Dawnguard had taken to the task with undisguised gusto, taking their duties seriously as they cleared the way for the carriages and maintained a strict perimeter around them as they trundled from the Royal Heart and through the Residential Quarter, into the Peacock District, and toward Ceruviel’s private Estate thereafter. They seemed very eager to show their loyalty to the new Queen, and Leonidas took heart in that.

  The greatest change often happened with the smallest sparks.

  When the lead carriage rolled to a halt, Leonidas was the first one out, taking position to the left side of the door as Ceruviel followed quickly, accepting his hand down with a quiet smirk despite her fully-armored attire, and then waltzing straight for the Estate without a backward word, no doubt to prepare a proper greeting for their guests.

  The Duskguard and Latherian Knights at the gates certainly seemed mildly stunned as the Dusk-Lord passed, watching the arrivals with a mix of hardened discipline and naked surprise that amused Leonidas. They had the wherewithal to bow and salute to the Duchess and Leonidas in turn, though their shock was hardly inexcusable.

  It wasn’t every day a Queen arrived at their gate.

  His eyes turned back to the Carriage when Synthra approached the door, and he offered the Sorceress his hand in turn, smiling faintly at her fierce blush when she accepted it, and stepped out in the form-fitting red outfit Aylar had picked for her.

  The dress clung to her in rich crimson satin, cut in an off-shoulder style that framed her collarbones while the sleeves draped low along her toned biceps. A tight bodice sculpted her waist and emphasized her curves; its surface worked through with intricate gilded filigree and inset red gemstones that caught the light.

  From the hips, the skirt fell in elegant folds—layered with embroidered panels and a dramatic high slit that revealed her muscular legs with every step, allowing for her preferred freedom of movement when fighting. Gold tracery and jewelled accents ran along the seams and borders in noble flourish that never strayed into overt hedonistic indulgence—a staple of Aylar’s own style.

  “Thank you,” the redhead murmured when she touched the ground, her fingers squeezing his gently before they retreated.

  “It was my pleasure,” he said to her sincerely, winning another blush before the Sorceress squared her shoulders in defiance of her own feelings and marched toward the estate like she was going to break down the doors.

  Leonidas watched her go with a flutter of amusement mixed with latent attraction, and turned back to the carriage when Aylar finally emerged.

  When he saw her step into the light, he felt his breath momentarily leave him in sheer delight at the way the sun caught her golden hair—to say nothing of the outfit itself. Where Synthra had been a flame, Aylar was a diamond.

  The Queen-Potentiate had chosen a gown of pale ivory and light blue—a clear statement of intent—layered in diaphanous white folds that caught the afternoon light. The bodice was sculpted and elegant, cinched with fine gold filigree running like gilded vines across her waist and ribs—evoking a regal appearance that made it clear it was tailored for a Throne Room. Off her shoulders fell light, veil-like extensions, anchored by sapphire-crowned golden bands that moved with her as she descended, softening the gown’s imperious wealth without diminishing it.

  At her throat and atop her radiant hair, sapphire gems reflected the sunlight in elegant golden housing—a circlet and a matching pendant that faintly shimmered where they sat against her skin. She looked, in that moment, fantastical in the way that only the Haelfenn could manage: neither fragile nor delicate, but instead powerful in her elegance.

  A Swordmaiden attired for Court instead of War.

  His eyes lowered to glance at her left hand, held in his right, and the ring that glinted on her finger: his ring, his claim, his promise.

  He felt like a startled teenager at the thought, and smiled wryly.

  He’d been fighting his own happiness for so long that it felt patently surreal to finally embrace it.

  “Leonidas?” Aylar asked quietly, drawing his attention back to her as he realized he’d been drifting.

  “Sorry,” Leonidas murmured, smiling down at her in reassurance. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you look,” he said quietly, “and how stupid I am for not proposing to you way, way sooner.”

  Aylar smiled at him ruefully when he spoke, and her hand in his shifted to twine their fingers together in unspoken reassurance.

  “Shall we go see Ceruviel’s mysterious surprise?” she asked lightly, her cheeks faintly flushed.

  “The sooner the better,” Leonidas agreed warmly. “Before she starts gloating too much for me to bear it.”

  Aylar inclined her head, and Leonidas led the way, glancing back as Uriel, Mithrander, Bardulf, and Parnym exited the second carriage and made their way over as well, with the Dawn-Lord pausing only to give quick, calm orders to the Royal Guard and Dawnguard both before resuming his advance.

  Leonidas strode along the manastone path through the outer gardens toward Ceruviel’s door, Aylar in hand, leading the Swordmaiden up the short steps and to the now-open front door. Upon entry, he blinked at seeing Synthra standing uncertainly just inside the spacious entry hall, and then realized the reason a moment later.

  Ceruviel had produced the Maids and Butlers from across the Estate, lined up in greeting with John and Sonya standing at the foot of the grand staircase near the Duchess herself, still fully adorned in her silver-and-black warplate. Leonidas hesitated for only a moment, and then impulsively shifted to grab Synthra’s right hand with his left, eliciting a yelp from the redhead as she was drawn along with him and Aylar, and an approving laugh from the Queen-Potentiate herself.

  “You bighead jerk,” Synthra muttered in mortification, hurrying to match pace. “You nearly tripped me!”

  “Better than standing there looking like a fish out of water,” Leonidas replied, guiding the two women with him toward the lineup of attendants, and smirking up at Ceruviel, who met his gaze with an expression of ‘well played’, while John and Sonya stared at him in disbelief.

  He couldn’t tell if that was because of the women whose hands he was holding, or his comparatively dull traveling clothes, still unchanged since returning from the Rite.

  It’s probably the girls, he thought ruefully.

  It wasn’t until he was halfway past the attendants, who were already bowing in greeting, much to a gracious Aylar and embarrassed Synthra’s delight, that Leonidas noticed another presence approaching from above Ceruviel.

  His eyes automatically focused on the new arrival, and a second later, he froze.

  Aylar and Synthra both turned when he did, exchanging glances with one another, and then following his gaze to the top of the stairs’ right branch. There, a human girl with hard blue eyes, auburn hair cut into neat bangs, and a casual ponytail, descended with her hands in her pockets, wearing a simple white short-sleeved blouse that left her dragon-tatted arms exposed, and a pair of elegant dark leggings in the Haelfenn style—tucked into knee-high black boots.

  When she came to a halt on the middle landing, just behind where Ceruviel was positioned on the straight of the stairs, Leonidas felt his heart thunder in his chest. She paused there, quietly, while her eyes met his in silent uncertainty.

  Leonidas was in a dead sprint before his mind registered what he was doing, taking the steps three at a time until he slammed into his sister and lifted her off her feet, hugging her like he’d wanted to do the first time they’d met.

  When he did, he heard what sounded like a mix between a gasp and the echo of an involuntary sob.

  “Kairi,” he said softly, his voice cracking in his own ears.

  “Hey, Ace,” his sister replied with a grumpy sniffle as he set her down, her blue eyes shimmering faintly. “Long time no see.”

  Leonidas smiled and stared down at her with his heart racing like it would break out of his chest, and said the first thing that came to mind.

  “What took you so long?”

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