When future generations ask where the point of no return was, I will safely be able to say it was the night of that first dinner. When we all stood together, glasses in hand, and toasted to the newest addition to House Leos with naive joy in our hearts. I wonder if it would have mattered, at that moment, if someone had warned us. I wonder if we would have cared. I can only speak for myself, but I believe the answer to be no. We had found our savior, after all. We had found our Myth made manifest. We had found our salvation, and even if it had cost us the stars themselves, we would have held onto him until the end.

  Circe took a deep and calming breath while she stood behind the closed doors to the grand ballroom, her hands clasped over her stomach and her gaze locked on the Lion Guard standing vigil next to the unopened double doors.

  The crimson lion was emblazoned upon the surface of each door, standing rampant upon the obsidian coloring and casting the gilded edges and golden handles into stark contrast. It was a suitably bourgeois spectacle for what it represented, and a demonstrable display of wealth.

  All of her immediate and extended family were gathered in the ballroom beyond, including the banner houses and the various Eupatridae families with whom House Leos held the closest and most powerful ties of cooperation and friendship.

  Also in attendance were the Houses they were the most in opposition with.

  While the thought of seeing some of their most loathed enemies poisoned some measure of her anticipation, the knowledge that their vile gazes and scheming sneers would be rendered hollow when confronted by the sheer power of Arthur buoyed her.

  More than just Laconians were in attendance, of course. Her father had seen fit to invite every member of the Eupatridae across Graecia, not merely Hellas. The date had been set several rotations in advance, and all that had been required was for her father to confirm the ball was going ahead.

  The moment he had, the guests had streamed in.

  All of them were arrayed, there and then, for an inaugural dinner to welcome House Leos’ first new Hetairoi in decades—and to witness for themselves the way in which he had earned such a prestigious posting.

  The result of her fight with Arthur had been made known to the heads of the immediate and extended bloodlines of House Leos itself, including the various banner houses that claimed lineage or origination from their shared ancestor; but not the footage itself.

  Their allies, conversely, knew only that a new Hetairoi had been anointed—and that they were there to see for themselves the reason for the appointment. That more than anything gave her reason for nerves.

  After all, what would they think after seeing her trounced?

  Would they recognize Arthur’s power for what it was, or would they look at her as weak?

  As vulnerable?

  It was already agreed that Arthur would pilot the Pallas Athena until his new Eidolon was built, and he had already started work on the design from what she understood—but even with optimistic estimates, it would be at least nine months before his metaphorical blade was forged.

  The thought of him piloting the Pallas Athena somehow made her feel flustered in a way she couldn’t explain, as if he were sharing something intimate with her. It was a ridiculous notion, but one she could not escape from. The image of him sitting where she did, connecting with the neural interface as she had…

  Circe took another steadying breath, and willed the heat to dissipate from her cheeks.

  She would not go out into the ballroom looking like a blushing idiot.

  Her attire for the evening had been carefully selected to avoid that very fate, in fact, while also loudly announcing her transition from unofficial Hetairoi to full-time Heiress. Gone was the usual braid and movement-friendly peplum dress. In their place she had instead had her blonde-streaked black locks styled into meticulous ringlets, and set to fall over her chest and down to the small of her back.

  A silver diadem adorned her head, worked with emeralds to match her eyes, and the precious stones of her waterdrop earrings.

  In the main she wore a full-length midnight black evening dress inlaid with shards of painstakingly machined diamond in the shape of Graecia’s constellations, with a sash of crimson silk and cinch of polished gold above her hips.

  When she moved, it was as if she took the night sky with her.

  Her corset was framed to look not unlike a corinthian breastplate, with the Spartan Lambda in full crimson over her abdominals, and the House Leos lion emblazoned upon the top of her shoulder where the material overlapped.

  Her shoulders themselves had been draped in a flowing gossamer sweep train that fanned out around her and covered her naked upper arms enough for the sake of decency, without suffocating her with unwanted material.

  Her biceps had been clasped with golden bands, and her wrists bore bangles of a traditional Graecian design, inlaid with the names of the maiden and unmarried goddesses Artemis and Athena. It was a subtle declaration, but one that would be certain to dispel any thoughts of inappropriate conduct with Arthur—or ideas of her marrying with haste.

  To finalize the image she wore a pair of elegant heels designed to lift her feet enough to near-constantly flex her calves, and throw her curves into proud relief with a forced adherence to a straight back, and out-pushed chest.

  Those had been her mother’s idea, and she had been unable to escape their inclusion.

  “It is almost time, my lady.”

  Circe’s attention snapped to one of the guards when she spoke, and she nodded slightly to indicate her readiness. Another breath in to fill her lungs, and another breath out to steady her nerves.

  You can do this.

  The sound of trumpets met her ears, and Circe lifted her chin and smoothed her dress cautiously when the Lion Guard stepped together and gripped the handles of the doors, pulling them open toward her and to either side with a silent swing of well-maintained hinges.

  “Introducing Her Ladyship, Circe Andromeda Nephtis Illaria Leos, Heiress to the House of Leos, Lion Maiden of Laconia, and Anointed Operator of the Pallas Athena!”

  Circe stepped out through the doors into a world of light and sound.

  The Grand Ballroom of House Leos was everything its name implied and more.

  A single grand chandelier sat at pride of place in the heart of the ballroom, with innumerable satellites hanging from the ceiling and expanding outward in concentric spirals from the central piece.

  From where she stood on the balustraded balcony overlooking the room, she could see no less than a hundred serving staff moving diligently between guests of all manner of attire and colors. From the blue and silver adornments of House Koios, to the red and green of House Tiran, to the presumptuous purple and gold of House Drakos, the dark brown and gray of House Gataki, and the obtuse teal and pink of House Onasis.

  She understood why her father had invited their three most vicious enemies.

  It did not mean she had to enjoy their presence at all.

  More importantly was the presence of the solid crimson and gold of the Royal House of Laconia, and the solid blue and silver of the Royal House of Attica.

  The Kings of Sparta and Athenai, in other words, had joined them.

  Both men were easy enough to spot. Leonidas XIV and Pericles XVII cut striking figures where they stood surrounded by not-so-subtle members of the Kidemónes, and both men were bedecked in their chitons and himations of office.

  Circe spread her arms and dipped into a full curtsy as was proper upon meeting their eyes, and though she did so from the elevated position, both Kings raised their goblets in acceptance and approval.

  After all, they were in her home.

  And she was of the Blood of the Lion.

  Her eyes swept the remainder of the ballroom and took in the orchestral music and polite chatter of people as they gazed up at her, and cast their eyes across her ensemble.

  It was simple, so as not to appear arrogant.

  It was elegant, so as not to appear slovenly.

  And it was rich, so as not to appear weak.

  Circe turned very determinedly to her right and, with her left hand—her marriage hand—gripping the railing, she descended toward the main floor of the ballroom. The moment she did, more chatter erupted with an air of palpable excitement, and more than a few women cast adoring, jealous, sneering, and in many cases genuinely admiring looks toward her dress.

  Score one for her mother, she supposed.

  All eyes remained on her when she reached the bottom of the stairs and took a very deliberate moment to look first at her parents, seated at the high table at the northernmost end of the ballroom, and then to the Kings where they stood talking nearby it. A bow of her head was given to Menelaus, and only then did Circe very intentionally make her way with every iota of gene-coded sashaying elegance toward the two Kings.

  Men and women bowed and parted before her like a breaking tide, and she saw more than a few of both genders steal appreciative looks at her generous cleavage and well-outlined lower body.

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  She suppressed the snort of amusement that threatened to burst forth when they did.

  Her body, in this setting, was a weapon. A finely honed and delicately crafted tool.

  Every fool that fell victim to it was unworthy of her time, and lacked discipline.

  Her measured stride brought her within range of the Kings quickly, and all eyes were on her when she smiled at them both in greeting, and at their wives in turn.

  “Your Majesties. It is the honor of my House and all of the Eupatridae to host you here this evening, and to be privileged by the presence of your most radiant brides. I hope you will accept my welcome, as you accepted my father’s, in the spirit of fealty with which it is offered.”

  Both Kings afforded her assessing looks, but it was the older of two—Leonidas XIV—that broke the silence first.

  “You’ve grown, Circe,” the bearded King proclaimed in a carrying rumble. “It feels like yesterday that you were visiting the Royal Court with your Father, and here you are now a woman in truth. Your strength does Laconia proud, and your beauty is already the envy of every man and woman present.”

  “Are you quite sure we can’t convince you to move to Attica?” Pericles chimed in after Leonidas had finished, and appraised her with a smile that she was surprised to see fully reach his discerning brown eyes. “For all that my esteemed counterpart has lauded your strength and beauty, it is the ferocity of your intellect and the weight of your presence which is most highly praised in Athenai.”

  “No Spartan woman would feel at home among Attican dandies, Pericles.”

  “No intellectual would be satisfied with the doldrums of Laconia, Leonidas.”

  Circe looked between the Kings with suppressed irritation as both men exchanged cold glares, and lamented the fact they had chosen to attend at all—no matter the prestige it brought to House Leos for hosting them.

  The rivalry between the two, especially these two, was legendary.

  Leonidas was the oldest standing King to bear his name, and his term had been extended again five years prior when the new, and far younger Pericles had succeeded the wizened—and somewhat more malleable—man that had preceded him.

  The two could not be more unalike, and even the most conservative of rumors told of their constant disagreement and tension. Were it not for the hundreds of years of tradition and weight of responsibility upon them both, Laconia and Attica might very well have already come to blows in some capacity.

  A good thing, then, that the Hellenic Parliament kept them both in check.

  Insofar as they were able to, at least. The Kings’ power was very real, after all.

  “My Kings,” Circe said placatingly while the Queens exchanged exasperated looks behind their husbands’ backs and turned to her with clear request for intervention, “I am honored by both your compliments, and though Sparta is and always shall be the home of my blood, I have nothing but the utmost love and appreciation for the arts and philosophy of Athenai.”

  The Kings turned back to her slowly while she spoke, their gazes intent as they listened.

  “It would be a great honor for me to once more visit the Royal House of Laconia and spar with the best of the Sons of Ares, as it would be my exacting privilege to tour the great parthenon of Attica once more and indulge in the most spirited and stimulating debates on our civilisation and its myriad philosophies and policies,” she said as her hands raised, and she reached out to very carefully place a hand on each King’s arm in a calming gesture.

  Not too far up, lest it be seen as presumptuous.

  Not too far down, lest it be taken as solicitation.

  “It is my hope that, with your combined might, wisdom, passion, and leadership we might celebrate the coming of the new century of Graecia—resolute in the knowledge that we stand under the auspicious protection of two of the greatest Monarchs to ever bear the twin Crowns.”

  The ballroom was quiet when she finished, and both Kings and their Queens regarded her in silence for several long, long moments.

  Then abruptly Leonidas laughed, and Pericles let out a wry smile.

  “Grown up indeed!” the powerfully built spartan proclaimed. “Every bit the daughter of my namesake’s bloodline! Hear hear, Lion Maiden. I look forward to seeing this new Hetairoi, if he has indeed won the approval of such a fierce and dangerous woman!”

  “I must agree with my contemporary,” Pericles said in turn. “Your power and beauty are only outweighed by your wit and charm, Lady Circe. I would be honored to host your visit to the Parthenon, in the same breath as I am glad to have cause to visit my counterpart here in martial Laconia.”

  “Then be welcome, my Kings, my Queens,” Circe said while releasing their forearms at the exact same moment, so as not to show favor to one or the other even accidentally.

  “And let us all lift our drinks!” she called out in a raised voice. “To the Kings and the Ascendancy!”

  “The Kings and the Ascendancy!” cried the multitudinous male and female voices of the crowd, followed by the clink of glass and clang of silver and bronze as flutes and goblets met in harmonious—if falsely cheerful—impact.

  “If you will excuse me,” she said to the two monarchs with another small curtsy, “I must greet my lord father and lady mother.”

  Her voice had lowered after the toast, and with the understanding of the once-more chattering crowd that the ‘show’ was over for at least the immediate moment.

  Both Kings smiled and granted their blessing, and the Queens both offered her approving nods before returning to their quiet discourse behind their husbands’ backs.

  Circe took her leave the moment she could politely do so and turned toward the high table intently, her heeled footsteps clicking across the polished ballroom floor toward her parents.

  She had only taken a few steps—enough to put distance between herself and the monarchs—before a new figure interdicted her path.

  Sebastian Drakos was, in a purely factual manner, a handsome man. Standing at just over six feet, with dark brown hair, a cropped beard, and sun-darkened features owing to a lifetime spent in and around the seas of Laconia; he was the image of a Graecian nobleman.

  His attire was similar in prestige, with a purple overcoat buttoned in gold, a pair of black leggings and Leviathan Kraken-skin shoes that shimmered with the ethereal lavender of the beast’s preserved flesh tones.

  His shoulders bore a draped wolf’s pelt, and his head held a muted golden laurel wreath that was just humble enough to be acceptable for another Great House’s function—especially one attended by the Kings.

  It was too bad that she loathed everything about him.

  “Circe Leos, as I live and breathe,” Sebastian said with a cold and openly lascivious smile. “It seems that rumors of your increasing beauty are more true than I could have hoped.”

  “Lord Drakos,” Circe responded without any attempt to veil her dislike. “I would ask what you’re doing here, but your envy of my family is only matched by your hunger to suckle at the teats of the powerful. Have you managed to lick the Kings’ toes yet, or are you still awaiting the chance?”

  The Drakos heir’s eyes tightened at her words, and he spoke with commendable calm despite his clear anger at her comments. “If only your tongue were as capable of beauty as your body, my lady. You would find less enemies and fewer people in opposition to your House’s prospects.”

  Circe smiled at him sweetly when he spoke, and focused on preventing her hands from curling into fists.

  “My lord, you flatter me. Here I thought that the only thing you could conceive of was your own reflection in the mirror. How heartening that your discernment transcends such famously narcissistic tendencies,” she said and her smile turned colder when she continued. “Though given what I hear about your issues, I can understand if self-indulgence has lost its luster.”

  Sebastian’s smile should have faltered at her words.

  Instead, Circe felt a twinge of unease when it grew.

  “Ah dear Circe, how you wound me. Perhaps I can correct your misapprehension soon enough, then. After all, I hear you are fully stepping into your role as heiress—and must soon be expected to take a husband.”

  “There are corpses that would be in line before you, my lord.”

  “Oh? And here I thought you were meant to be informed, my lady.”

  Circe’s heart rate spiked at his words, and she glanced past him toward her parents—who were observing them both quietly—and then back to the slightly taller man. “What are you insinuating, Sebastian?”

  “House Leos is without a male heir, Circe,” he said with a lowered voice and a decidedly pleased smile. “And you are without any more suitors. You’ve driven them away. Almost all of them. The Kings have noticed, and there are… concerns about your future. Concerns that perhaps you are not as fit to inherit alone as might previously have been thought. Especially since you are so ill-tempered when it comes to men of breeding.”

  “That doesn’t…” Circe cut herself off when she realized she’d raised her voice slightly, and forced a smile back onto her face. “That is an empty threat, Sebastian. The Kings cannot—”

  “They would not,” Sebastian cut her off simply. “Once. When your family was as it had been under your forebears. Now?” he looked around abruptly and dipped his head to a passing lord, which Circe mimicked automatically. It was an instinctive action for both of them, just like the empty smiles that covered their faces a moment later.

  “Now,” Sebastian continued, “you are a shadow of what you were. Wealthy, yes. Ancient, yes. But your House, your legacy, your very influence is in decline. Freefall, even. They all know, Circe. Can’t you feel the stares? The hungry looks? The ready sneers?”

  She locked her jaw at his words, but couldn’t help but flick her eyes away.

  How many were staring? How many were thinking as he did?

  The back of her neck began to itch with a sense of quiet paranoia.

  “Ah,” Sebastian said with infuriating satisfaction. “There it is. That’s what I wanted to see. The realization that your entire world is built on an eroding foundation, and your avenues of escape are closed. We’ve submitted a petition, Circe. A request for the Kings to intercede, and grant me your hand in marriage.”

  Her eyes widened at his words, and she fought the urge to punch him clean in the face. “I’m never going to marry you, you snake.”

  “You should be grateful,” Sebastian said with a satisfied smile. “I’m saving your House from an ignoble end.”

  “I’d rather die,” Circe hissed.

  “That can also be arranged,” Sebastian promised coldly. “If that is what you truly desire.”

  “You fucking bas—!”

  “Is everything alright, my lord and lady?”

  Circe snapped her mouth closed and turned at the approach of a man that took her a moment to recognize, before realizing belatedly that it was the Laconian Prime Minister, Alexandros Varinicos. At just over five and a half feet tall, with hair that was more gray than blond and eyes as brown as the earth itself, he was not an impressive man—but his presence was such that he was impossible to ignore, even for two nobles of impressive height like Circe and Sebastian.

  “Good evening, Prime Minister,” Sebastian said with all the charm he was famous for. “How good to see you in attendance this evening.”

  “Thank you, Lord Drakos. It has been some time since I had the privilege of attending such a function, but when House Leos opens its doors, only fools fail to flock. This is the most famously attended function I think we’ve had in a decade.”

  “You are too kind, Prime Minister,” Circe said with a radiant smile. “It is always a pleasure to play host to such an esteemed figure. I often enjoy your visits during the spring.”

  Sebastian’s expression tightened slightly at Circe’s words, and she quietly reveled in the victory.

  It was very unlikely that Alexandros spent any large effort to visit House Drakos in a similar manner.

  “The Blood of the Lion is a staple of Laconia, my lady Circe,” Alexandros replied with a warm smile of his own. “It is both my privilege and my obligation to ensure it is properly attended to on behalf of our Sovereign.”

  “Yes. House Leos is quite critical to the health of our nation,” Sebastian said coolly. “It is only a shame that it has taken them this long to find a suitable Hetairoi to replace the last. I am quite interested to see what manner of person has been drawn from the shadows to answer the call at last.”

  His eyes turned back to Circe, and his next words were chilled.

  “Especially given the unfortunate nature of the last few attempts at such recruitment.”

  Circe opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted—or perhaps spared—by Alexandros. “It appears we are about to find out,” he said with a nod beyond both of them toward the far side of the ballroom, opposite to the high table.

  A screen had been projected upon the wall and doors.