Legion's choice

The king waited in the throne room, the iron

throne bitingly bloodless even through the rich

leather of his trousers. His fingers tapped

against his knee, and he began when

lightning flashed so close it seemed to fill the

room itself.

A storm raged just backyard the expensive,

clear glass home windows he'd had imported from

Emulsa. They regarded to be nothing more

than a thin pores and skin towards the fury outside.

He closed his eyes, praying.

Durus Auralius was once by means of no means a devout

man, but faith desirable him tonight.

His eyes flew open when the large oak

doors carved with the sword and falcon seal

of his house groaned open. The glow of the

candles next to him could not attain throughout the

vast space, however he would no longer rise. Would not

appear too keen for the news.

Another spear of lightning streaked right

past the windows, accompanied through a bone-rattling

crack of thunder. Any different than the patriarch

of House Auralius may locate the storm

portentous, ominous even.

Durus did not accept as true with in portents.

The slither of silk over the silver-grey marble

announced the identification of the intruder long

before he came into the small pool of light

surrounding the king. He sat up a little straighter. His eyes flickered

to the crown he had carelessly hooked onto

the back of his throne, but there was no time

to retrieve it now. Not without looking like a

scrambling fool.

Of the many things Durus was, a fool was not

one.

Durus' heart, against his will and better

judgement, fluttered with nerves and

something akin to excitement.

His young wife had gone into labor early

that morning. He'd spent the majority of

the day pacing along the grand length of

his throne room, watching the crows that

wheeled around the distant coliseum from

the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the

left-hand wall.

The priest, his jade green robes sweeping

along behind him, stepped into the pool of

light. His face seemed pale. He bowed to

Durus, who resisted the initial instinct to snap

at the holy man, demanding that he simply tell

him what he wanted to know.

The king's heart fluttered again.

The priest swallowed audibly, then said, "Both

your Heir and queen are alive and healthy,

Your Majesty."

Durus nodded. That wasn't what he wanted to

know.

His enamel clenched as the man took a small

breath, for sure steeling himself. The priest

looked at the king's feet, and said, very quietly,

"It is a girl, Your Majesty."

There was once a second of breathless silence.

A spear of lightning flashed outside, briefly

illuminating the king and the priest. Then, his

voice nearly lost in the thunder, Durus roared,

"What?"

The priest cringed, bowing again. "Your wife

has born you a lady Heir, my lord."

"Impossible!" Durus growled, however the sinking

feeling in the pit of his stomach appeared to

contradict him.

The priest touched his tongue to his higher lip,

hiding his shaking arms in the voluminous

sleeves of his robes. He jumped and took a

step lower back when Durus stood up, however all the

king did was once stalk again to the windows to his

left.

It would not go over properly with the people if

he had been to kill a priest of Materna, protector

of pregnant ladies and newborns, invoked

during the system of childbirth.

He narrowed his eyes at his reflection in the

glass, the dark night rendering him in shades

of white and grey.

Then, his wrinkled brow smoothed. His hand

wandered down to the ash hilt of the knife

in his belt. His voice low, he said, "This is a trouble easily fixed."

The priest gulped, eyes wide. "Y-Your Majesty,

surely you would not... she's just an infant,

you..."

Durus closed his eyes briefly, feeling rather

beleaguered through the stupidity and morality of

those around him. With an inaudible sigh, he

turned again to the priest, a kindly smile fixed

onto his face.

He walked throughout the room, knee-high boots

clicking loudly in opposition to the grey marble, his

cloak whispering in the back of him. The priest

flinched when he positioned his fingers on the

man's shoulders. His brown eyes were

cow-like and frightened as he looked up at the

king.

"Of route not. How could you even think

that?" Durus let just a trace of fake misery slip

into his tone.

This had the preferred effect, and the priest

relaxed slightly. Durus smiled again, trying to

find some spark of happiness at the ea of

his first child.

With a small shrug, he said, "Livia and I will

simply have to try again. It is unfortunate that

her first baby was once a girl, however she is young.

Bearing another, acceptable Heir will now not be

difficult for her."

The priest had paled once more and Durus stepped

away before asking, "What, priest? You seem to be as if you have seen a ghost."

The priest's eyes flickered upward, perhaps

entreating the goddess whose insignia he

bore. Then, meekly, he said, "The law is

very clear, Your Majesty. The gods will only

suffer the ascension of your firstborn, unless

they fail the trials. The consequences of

disobedience would be severe. As would the

consequences of any interference."

Durus' lip curled contemptuously. He choked

back a scoff, and demanded, "There is

nothing to be done then?"

The priest hesitated, then said slowly, "There

is one course of action, Your Majesty."

The king waved his hand for the man to

continue, schooling his features to practiced

nonchalance. It would not do to appear too

eager.

With a reluctant sigh, the priest pressed his

hand to his lower stomach, then cupped his

hand before he made a small tossing motion

into the air. It almost looked like he was

releasing a small bird. A sign of penitence.

Durus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Swallowing hard, looking rather nervously

toward the ceiling, the priest said, "When the

child is old enough-when she comes of age-

if she were to choose to step down..."

Biting down on his tongue to keep himself from snarling at the man, Durus instead

nodded encouragingly.

The priest did his little goddess supplication

once more, then said, "The gods would find

this acceptable."

Cassia glared at her reflection. Glared at the

sumptuous pink silk of her dress. Glared at the

ruby pins maintaining her hair up and away from

her face.

"Is this clearly 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 costume dug into her shoulders

with the weight of the high-priced material.

Golden falcons grappling over a sword were

embroidered on the front panel of the skirt,

glittering and fierce.

"It was once sent by using your father, Your Highness,"

Claudia said, bowing her head, the white silk

of the veil overlaying her darkish hair fluttering

around her face. The bronze circlet holding

it in region 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 alongside the faded marble.

Paintings lined the walls. The eyes of her

ancestors followed her, regardless of the fact

that almost every portray had rendered them

immortal in combat.

Her ladies talked quietly amongst themselves,

knowing to go away her to her thoughts.

Cassia's scowl only deepened as they

descended the first two staircases, then the

third before following a long, large corridor down

to the main doorways of the castle.

Near the doors, a man stood in front of a

tapestry depicting the searching of a stag, head

tilted thoughtfully, arms clasped in the back of his

back.

She slowed, eyes scanning the unfamiliar

figure. The ladies behind her fell silent.

The satin slippers Cassia was carrying were

whisper-quiet against the marble now veined

with gold.

The man nevertheless hadn't turned, and she narrowed

her eyes as she took in his assured 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 relaxation of him,

appreciating the outfitted trousers and the fact

that this used to be of course a man of actioned

living.