There was something between them even then. Something profound, strange, and utterly beyond my awareness. I saw it in the way they didn’t meet eyes, in the way they stood just that much further apart, and the way they seemed to be both comfortable and distinctly awkward around one another. I suspected, even then, that some line had been crossed—but I had no proof, and I trusted my daughter. Perhaps I was a fool to do so. In the end, I can only say that he did what we wanted. Whether the cost was worth it, well, that is another discussion entirely.

  Arthur stood in the House Leos hangar with his arms folded over his chest, his body adorned in the black and red flight suit he’d been issued, and his gaze fixed upon the Hoplite he’d soon pilot into battle. A whirlwind of emotions consumed him—confusion, anger, regret, concern—alongside fleeting thoughts of hope that he struggled to suppress.

  He was diligently working to strangle the last into irrelevance.

  His kiss with Circe atop the hill had been an overwhelming experience.

  Comparing it to the warmth of the sun barely seemed to do it justice.

  Every sensation lingered in his memory—the heat and softness of her skin beneath his hands, the delightful blend of honey, vanilla, and mint on her lips, the scent of her clean perspiration, and the way their bodies fit together so perfectly it obliterated all sense of reason.

  Circe embodied everything he had ever wanted and desired in a partner. She possessed the qualities he had been raised, groomed, even bred to seek out. She was the ideal wife, companion, partner, and lover—all rolled into a singular and lethal package.

  Yet he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he couldn’t have her.

  Even if he were to join the ranks of the Eupatridae, it was likely impossible. Rumors of their involvement prior to his allegiance would spark scandal upon scandal. He couldn't subject her to such scrutiny. It would devastate her, and undermine everything she had dedicated herself to achieving.

  He couldn’t betray her that way.

  Perhaps if his true identity as a Coreblood from Pendragon were revealed in an acceptable and controlled manner, it would potentially grant him the notoriety to quell any objections to their relationship.

  He snorted quietly at the idea.

  As if anything would stop Aristocrats gossiping.

  Regardless, the present could not be influenced by a distant possibility in an uncertain future. The reality of their situation was that Circe Leos was not only the daughter of his soon-to-be liege-lord but also the heiress to House Leos. After their upcoming duel, in which Arthur hoped to secure a demonstrative victory, she would become his liege-lady by virtue of her lineage.

  Arthur sighed in resignation, and reflected on the events that led them to this point.

  Throughout his time on Albion, Arthur had always relied on resonance as a valuable tool. He remembered that well, and with great clarity. More than most of his memories, its benefits in combat were etched into his memory with remarkable clarity. He could predict, preempt, and counter his opponents with deadly precision. He remembered how it had felt to wield that power, and the brutal efficacy with which he’d done so.

  When facing his siblings and cousins he’d wielded resonance with lethal efficiency, always in control and capable of restraining himself when necessary—or acting with cold and brutal pragmatism.

  But with Circe, something was different.

  Arthur pondered if it had to do with her psion density, their undeniable attraction, or perhaps the suspicious—very suspicious, in fact—strength of their resonance. It felt as though their conscious minds had intertwined on the hilltop, leading to a profound understanding he had never experienced before. He had known her. Felt her. Understood her in a way he had never experienced with anyone before her.

  Even in his own mind, armed with the recollections, it was difficult to conceptualize.

  It was like Circe and he had joined their souls together at that moment.

  Their connection surpassed mere sexual chemistry and desire.

  It was raw, spiritual, and inexplicably profound. Arthur struggled to find the right words to describe the intensity of their bond. Fighting their need for each other was as futile as opposing Apollo's gravitational pull on Hellas.

  Neither compulsion nor a loss of agency drove them; they simply couldn't deny their mutual longing. The reasons for their agreement not to pursue their feelings, which Arthur knew made sense in the broader scope, seemed hollow and foolish in the face of their undeniable connection.

  Society dictated it was scandalous for them to love one another, so they couldn’t.

  Resonance had not cared about the vapid puritanical reservations of society.

  Through it, neither had Arthur and Circe.

  It was a sad inevitability of their proximity as well, he knew. They had spent the better part of each cycle together, which amounted to something approaching 40 hours of near-constant proximity each day, and each night, with only 8 hours of time spent apart per cycle. Across a full day cycle and night cycle—or a ‘full rotation’ as the Hellenic definition went—which was 96 hours in total, that equated to 80 hours together on average.

  Multiplied by seven.

  They had spent countless hours together, their proximity exceeding what most humans experienced with their eventual life partners. Their bond ran deep, powerful, and significant. He knew what made her laugh, what made her frown, what buoyed her and what upset her. He knew her hopes, her fears, her longings, her wishes—and even with all of that, there remained a mystery and allure he could never quite put into words.

  In turn, she knew him better than anyone else ever had.

  Even with the obfuscation of his origins, and the evasion of his true birthplace, Circe had broken through his cold outer shell. She had found a way beyond it, and nestled herself against his heart like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s eve. She had claimed his love for her own, and he knew it as surely as he knew he needed air to live.

  And still. Still. He knew it had to be ignored.

  Not just for propriety, or society, or honor.

  But because if it wasn’t, it would threaten them all.

  Allowing their relationship to bloom from the bud it currently was would endanger the entire house. If rumors spread that House Leos' powerful new Hetairoi—Arthur was not so falsely humble as to deny his own power—was involved with the heiress, it would not be viewed as two people falling in love due to time, proximity, and an invariably powerful connection.

  It would be viewed as Circe whoring herself to acquire a weapon.

  It would be believed that the Lion Maiden was cheap, and had sold her virtue.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Therefore, as much as it pained him and despite the hurt it would cause Circe, Arthur had to take a clear stance. He had to suppress their shared desires, burying them deep behind neutronium walls of discipline and control. Above all, he had to convince Circe that her feelings were not reciprocated. More, that they weren’t even real.

  His strength was crucial, not because Circe was weak, but because he was.

  If he failed to do what had to be done, all of Graecia would see his love for her.

  Arthur intimately understood Circe Leos—her tenacity, her unyielding pursuit when she desired something, and her flagrant dismissal of all and everything that dared to stand in her way. She was uncompromising and invariably strong-willed when she wished for something, and would move mountains to claim it.

  She was a true daughter of Kings, relentless and unstoppable.

  It was precisely that indomitable spirit which drew him to her.

  So Arthur did what he knew he had to do. He did what he had worked against since his first arrival on Asfalís, and throughout the days, and nights, and countless hundreds of hours that had followed across seven rotations of the superhabitable homeworld of the Ascendancy.

  Arthur turned to his memories of Zacaris, closed his eyes, and let them in.

  He let in the pain, the rage, the ruthlessness, and the cold calculation.

  He wielded his former self like a forge, and armored his heart in reason.

  He tempered it in necessity, ambition, and relentless focus.

  Arthur felt something within himself stir. An aspect of who he had been, of the warrior he had become in his past life, and the implacable lethality within which he’d exalted flickered to life momentarily. Some quiet, still-subdued key part of himself seemed to tremble as if nearing the edge of awakening—and then vanished before he could latch onto it.

  It was a whisper of hidden knowledge, a phantom of lost capability.

  Opening his eyes, Arthur fixed his gaze upon the Eidolon, and a profound sense of self-control washed over him. His time in Pendragon had instilled in him the art of self-discipline, and for all that his time as Arthur Zacaris was still largely unacceptable to him insofar as his past self’s moral and ethical bankruptcy went, he could not deny the advantages of his previously honed focus and cold pragmatism.

  His attention shifted from the Hoplite to the helmet mag-locked to his right thigh. He contemplated it for a moment, considering the idea of wearing a flight suit for his duel with Circe. It seemed amusing, yet technically appropriate. In space it made more sense, but in the atmosphere the suit's functions would be of limited use.

  His Hoplite couldn’t even fly. It was a training unit, after all.

  A training unit he’d be taking up against one of the best machines in the Ascendancy.

  “Well if I win this, I suppose that’s one way for them to know my worth,” he said to himself in amusement.

  “Talking to yourself, Arthur? You really are nervous.”

  He had been agonizing so much he hadn’t even sensed her approach.

  Yet another reason to nip this in the bud.

  Arthur turned at the sound of Circe’s voice, and saw her walking toward him from the pilot’s lockers and briefing room behind him. Despite his newfound discipline, he couldn’t help but take in how she looked in her flight suit—white with highlights of both light and dark pink—while she walked.

  It fit her like a glove, and with a body like Circe’s, that was a weapon unto itself.

  “My eyes are up here, Magellan,” she said in a tone that was, for all its intended reprimand, filled with a poorly veiled heat and subtle approval all its own.

  She stopped very close to him, in fact, and looked up to meet his eyes.

  “Are you ready for me?” she asked in a tone that set his heart racing.

  Arthur focused on his self-control immediately, and forced himself to calm down. He forced himself to ignore her lips, her scent, her cool breath, the way her silky hair fell in cascading waves of gold-streaked onyx across her chest and down her back, and the way her posture—martial and straight—cast her curves into stark relief.

  Then, and only then, did he respond.

  “I’m prepared for the duel, Circe,” he replied while taking a careful step away from her, and assuming a parade rest with his hands at the small of his back. “Are you?”

  A look of confusion flickered across her face, and she opened her mouth to speak—only for it to snap closed when the elevator doors leading to the hangar opened, and her father, Atreus, Daphne, and Stephanos walked out with Endymion and Perseus in tow.

  Arthur had not seen much of the two Kidemónes over the course of his Hellenic week with Circe, outside of their forays to the different parts of Pallikári. Even with the scuffle at the Lion’s Pride, the pair had not been as present as before—though that was likely due to the massive beef-up of his and Circe’s Lion Guard escorts.

  He gave both of the helmeted men a smile when they appeared, and received twinned nods in response. They had also understood the need for his focus on learning alongside Circe, inasmuch as they had simply busied themselves with seeing to the betterment of House Leos’ security in turn.

  The improvements, from what he’d heard, had been only minimal.

  The Lion Guard did their job well.

  Arthur’s eyes moved to Menelaus when the platinum-haired patrician approached, and he waited until the older man had exchanged greetings with Circe before bowing cordially to the House Leos Patriarch. “My lord Menelaus.”

  Menelaus smiled back warmly as was his wont and, after giving Circe a paternal squeeze on the shoulder, moved over to peer up at Arthur from a polite distance. “You are the very image of battle readiness, Ser Arthur.”

  “The black and red are hard to wear badly,” Arthur responded with a smile.

  “And yet many others manage it! You, however, look as if you were born to the colors. You’ll be positively inundated with marriage proposals if you choose to become our Hetairoi, at this rate.”

  “Father!” Circe objected with a look of embarrassment, and what Arthur thought might have been a flicker of jealousy.

  Menelaus glanced at her, and Arthur almost felt the gears working in the Patriarch’s mind.

  When the head of House Leos turned back, however, there was no sign of suspicion.

  Arthur knew better than to trust that, though.

  “I have to apologize again for the Hoplite, Ser Arthur,” Menelaus continued as if nothing had happened. “It is, sadly, all we have on hand. I was surprised when you declined to have Circe pilot one in kind.”

  “It will suffice for my needs, my lord,” Arthur responded respectfully. “A Spartan does not blame his sword for his failures, after all. It is the wielder’s onus to ensure it cuts true. I will show my worth at the edge of my blade, or be found lacking by the same merit.”

  Menelaus’ eyebrows rose, and Atreus—helmet discarded—appraised Arthur carefully from behind the patriarch.

  The Myrmidón nodded once in approval, and Arthur stood a little straighter.

  “Circe! You have been teaching him well,” Menelaus said with a grin for his daughter. “And here I thought you’d just been taking him out to see the many shopping districts of Pallikári.”

  “Your confidence in me is heart-warming, father,” Circe responded with a snort.

  “I had every confidence in you, daughter. It’s the allure of Pallikári that had me concerned,” Menelaus said with a reassuring smile. “After all, you take after Cassandra, and I’ve yet to meet a woman more duty-oriented than your dear mother.”

  “Mmhm... Circe said while eyeing her father critically.

  Menelaus laughed a little nervously and then turned back to Arthur. “I suppose I may have put my foot in it, Ser Arthur. Perhaps you’ll tell me what you and Circe have occupied yourselves with before I dig myself any deeper by accident?”

  Arthur smiled back at Menelaus wryly, and acceded with a nod.

  “Lady Circe has been teaching me the politics, customs, and history of the Ascendancy. She’s been paying careful attention to Laconia and Hellas in particular, but I am also apprised of all non-classified and non-compromising information relating to House Leos’ holdings, operations, and publicly known critical infrastructure,” he responded and looked toward Circe while he spoke.

  She watched him in turn with jade eyes that were just a little too warm, a little too captivated.

  He was glad Menelaus was paying attention to him.

  Daphne and Stephanos, however, were looking between him and Circe with assessing eyes.

  Atreus, but for a faint frown, remained silent still.

  “We have also been practicing swordplay, language, and exchanging tales of our lives. I’ve been teaching Circe French, and she in turn has been tutoring me in Greek. Even with the translation device—” Arthur idly thumbed his right ear, on the back of which the cybernetic loop was non-surgically attached “—which I am still grateful to you for providing me with, I find that learning the language is helpful regardless.”

  “Well, that’s comprehensive,” Menelaus said approvingly before continuing on in a voice that was just a touch too casual. “And what do you think, Ser Arthur, after so many hundreds of hours with my daughter?”

  All eyes fixed on him at the question.

  Shit.