Malitech only fell silent when she placed the
sharp tip of the dagger just under the corner
of his jaw, pressing into the tender flesh. He
turned slightly, glancing at her disdainfully
from the corner of his eye.
"You're getting ahead of yourself again,
Malitech," she said, making her voice lovely
and soft. Her hand was steady, never once
wobbling as she held the knife to his throat.
"If I thought you had the balls," he drawled, "I
might be worried. But we all know that is far
from the case."
Cassia laughed, very aware of her father's
eyes on them both. She flicked her wrist,
opening a precise gash on the side of his
neck. Malitech gasped, clapping a hand to the
cut, turning furiously.
She didn't hesitate, backhanding him in a
blow that held all the strength in her body.
Malitech's head snapped back toward the ring
and he stumbled to his feet, his mouth bright
with blood. Laughter rang throughout the
coliseum from those who had been watching
the royal family.
He snarled, stalking toward her. Her heart
fluttered in her chest, painfully aware of the
fact that she wouldn't last long in a fight with
him.
"Enough," the king said lazily, and everyone
froze, even Malitech. King Durus didn't even
bother looking back as he said, "Cassia, put the knife down. You look foolish. Malitech,
clean yourself up."
She swallowed hard against the lump in
her throat before tossing the dagger onto a
nearby table, the fine blade clattering against
the stone. Her mother was glaring at her
reproachfully, but she didn't lower her head
as she strode to the seats near the balcony's
edge.
Bowing at the waist to her father, she said,
"Your Majesty."
"Sit, girl," he said imperiously. "You are very
nearly late." He looked at her once, eyes going
to the loose strand of hair. "And unkempt it
would seem."
Her eyes flicked back to Lord Julianus, who
was watching the proceedings with a bored
expression. He betrayed absolutely nothing,
and she decided to take his lead.
"Apologies, my king," she muttered, bowing
again before taking her seat.
She kept her back straight, her head high as
she felt the king's sneering gaze rake over
her.
"You were to come with an escort," he said.
"Lord Calix Julianus."
"And I did," she said, waving lazily over her
shoulder. They both looked at the man, who was
keeping himself coldly distant from the
nobles, many of whom eyed him with
expressions ranging from jealousy to disdain.
"You will accompany him to tonight's
festivities in return," he ordered, making her
throat tighten again.
All she could manage was a stiff nod before
trumpets blared, their brassy notes pealing
through the warm air, dimming the noise
coming from the crowd.
A drum sounded, a heavy, unpleasant beat
that matched the angry tempo of her heart.
From the darkened gates leading into the ring,
situated directly across from where the royal
family now sat, a man strode forward, a chain
held in his huge hand.
He yanked on the chain, the jangling of the
metal links magnified by the expectant
silence of the crowd. Cassia hid her fisted
hands beneath her skirt as four people
stumbled into the ring.
Three men...and one who was hardly more
than a boy. Horrified, her gaze darted to the
chopping block sitting in the middle of the
sandy ring. A platform had been constructed
that same morning for it to sit on.
The executioner stood by the block, sword in
hand. He rested the square end of the sword
on the pine boards, watching along with
everyone else as the prisoners were dragged up onto the platform and forced to kneel.
Two of the men were sobbing, pleading
already for their lives. One was silent, his
head bowed, but his shoulders square-
someone who had accepted their fate. The
boy, probably no more than twelve or thirteen
years, looked moments away from fainting.
The first of the men, one of those begging
for his life, was yanked to his feet. The chain
connecting him to the others was unlocked,
falling to the platform with a loud clank. The
crowd began to murmur, then to jeer.
"For the crime of thievery-death," the man
who had brought them into the ring yelled
above the crowd.
Cassia didn't blink as the sword fell, knowing
she could show no weakness here. No
compassion or pity. Not with her father and
brothers watching so closely for any chink in
her carefully crafted armor.
Blood sprayed, his head fell to the sand and
the crowd cheered.
The second man was brought. His crime was
piracy. His head soon joined the first.
Her resolve wavered when the boy was jerked
to his feet. She opened her mouth, shifting
forward in her seat, but a soft hiss from her
father stopped her cold. Slowly, she turned to
meet his dead gaze.
Are citizens now to be considered enemies
of the state?" she inquired, her voice edging
on bored.
"The boy used to be caught gathering information.
Selling it to mercenaries and rebels alike."
The reply got here from Malitech, who stood
watching over her shoulder now.
She seemed down into the ring to locate the
boy shaking as he was pressured to his knees,
his head roughly shoved down to the block
already slick with the blood of the others.
"I apprehend these guys had been difficult to
apprehend, Malitech," she said. "Well done,
bringing in youth and cowards to sacrifice
for the crown."
Malitech tensed, but didn't reply. Couldn't.
He would possibly have been Durus' firstborn son, but
she was his Heir. The gods' first desire to
ascend the throne. Though her father had
more than made his discontentment known to
his sons, there was nothing any of them could
do except facing the gods' wrath.
Cassia watched, tears getting no farther than
the corners of her eyes as the sword fell a
third time.
The pleasure of the crowd had dimmed a
little, but it roared back to life as the fourth
and last prisoner used to be dragged to his feet
and forced to the executioner's block. He
shook back his dirty, chin-length hair and appeared to glare at once at Cassia. The crowd
hushed, like they knew he was once about to say
something.
"For the crime of rebellion-death."
"The identical to tyrants," the prisoner roared,
the hatred in his eyes sending a sit back down
Cassia's spine.
The executioner swung his sword, not
bothering to force the rebel's head to the
block. Cassia's eyes had been glued open as
blood vaulted into the air from the severed
neck. The dull thud of his head hitting the
ground used to be like a strike to her bones.
Blood soaked the boards of the platform.
It soaked the sand beneath the block. It
drenched her, painted to her skin in the form
of a silk dress. The king rose, everybody else
following suit.
He stated a few phrases to his subjects, talking
about fine opening acts and extra exciting
entertainments to reward them for their
loyalty. Then he and the queen left, followed
quickly by means of her brothers and the other nobles.
Cassia remained standing, staring at the
bodies being cleared away. A hand touched
her shoulder, however she nonetheless did not move.
A heat breath grazed the shell of her ear, and
Lord Julianus murmured, "Come, Highness.
The human beings are looking at you."
A shudder jolted her back to action as she
turned to stare up at the grim lord. Without
a word, she moved past him, walking slowly
back down the passageways she had strode
down less than an hour before.
She climbed into the waiting carriage,
Julianus ordering the driver to return to the
castle before he settled into the seat next to
her.
He did not interrupt the storm of thoughts
in her head. She was grateful for this as she
wondered which rebellion that last man had
belonged to. She wondered if her father would
listen to her reasoning about lower taxes, or if
he would just dismiss her again.
"You do not like them either," Julianus said
softly as they approached the castle.
Cassia didn't answer for a moment, then
turned fully to him. Just as softly, she said,
"Would you call me weak for that, my lord?"
"No," he said immediately. "Compassion is not
weakness. Mercy requires strength many do
not have. Including your father."
"Boldly spoken for a man come to court his
daughter."
Lord Julianus snorted and echoed her earlier
words. "You presume much, Princess, to think
this is my decision."
The carriage finally rolled to a stop at the castle's doors. Julianus once again offered
his hand. Once again, she did not take it as
she stepped to the ground.
Instead, she looked up at the nobleman
curiously, lips pursed in thought. He stood
easily beneath her gaze, not intimidated and
over-compensating like so many other men
had been in these past three years since she
had turned twenty-one.
Eventually, he said, "If we stand here much
longer staring at one another, Your Highness,
we'll miss your father's speech."
Her lip curled, but she turned toward the
doors. "Do you dance well, my lord?"
It surprised her when he once again spoke
in her ear, his shoulder and chest brushing
against her back. "Not as well as I do other
things, Highness."