Chapter Four

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-l

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.