Speaking to him as I did was as much obligation as it was desire, and as much whim as it was premeditation. Still, I am glad I did. We knew only a small margin of what awaited us, with this strange and powerful figure now a part of our reality, and in those early days I only wished to ensure that he understood the task before him. In truth, I should have been wondering if we understood. We had come into possession of a destroyer of civilizations, and thought it merely a sharp sword. In hindsight, our control was mere illusion.

  Arthur stood on the expansive balcony of his opulent apartments, perched high in the Palace of House Leos. His blond hair was tousled from sleep, resulting in a curtain of gold that he had been forced to tie back into a short foxtail, lest the errant strands—now reaching down to the top of his back fully—flew into his eyes. The sound of birdsong mingled together with the roar of the ocean, and he felt a sense of calm satisfaction ripple through him.

  With the return of more of his memories, the luxury of an evening without assassins was no longer lost on him.

  As the dusk light cascaded upon the palace, Arthur's piercing blue eyes gazed into the horizon as Apollo started its descent. His attire, a simple black silk shirt, hung slightly loose on his broad shoulders, its soft fabric caressing his skin. Accompanied by equally loose black silk leggings, his chosen outfit exuded an air of casual elegance.

  That was Circe’s doing, of course. His entire wardrobe had been her choice, after all.

  Arthur hadn’t bothered with footwear, given he’d just woken up, and allowed his bare feet to connect with the cold marble of the balcony. For many it may have been a mildly uncomfortable feeling—not so for Arthur.

  He found the ever-cool stone refreshing.

  The hours following his victory against Circe had been rife with preparation and meetings, and following his oath of induction by Menelaus, Arthur had been officially recognized as the Hetairoi of House Leos. With it had come multiple changes, and more to follow were Menelaus to be believed. The most important one, of course, was that he was fully cleared to begin building his own Eidolon at his leisure.

  As tempted as Arthur had been to leap at the prospect, he had not done so. There were other matters to see to first, such as his choice for an official coat of arms—something every Hetairoi had to have, purportedly—and the matter of doing a full assessment on potential members of his own honor guard.

  On that point Arthur was wholly at a loss.

  He had already reached out to Diogenes to keep an eye out for other promising Knight-Errants, but that was a vain hope. Not simply because mercenaries tended to lack the fortitude and courage needed to act as loyal guardians at the best of times, but because there simply weren’t that many in the Rim.

  The psion density required to pilot Eidolons was a matter of breeding and cultivation, and in some very rare cases pure genetic lottery. The further out one was from the Core, the more rare Eidolon-capable pilots became. Even normal psionics did not always qualify, due to the fact that the sigils many of them chose passively ate up much of their psion density in the act.

  Atreus, as an example, was at the cusp of what one might consider a psionic pilot of quality—and even he would have been thoroughly demolished in a fight with someone like Circe, let alone Arthur himself. Of course if Atreus was piloting a Callandium Eidolon, things would possibly be different; but such machines were essentially mythological outside of the Imperator’s Inquisitors and the Praetores Terrae.

  Arthur only remembered seeing such a machine once during his time in Pendragon, and the scale of destruction it unleashed in a demonstration alone was enough for even his Zacaris self’s steel spine to go cold in fear. The machines were worth more than most Star Systems could produce in ten solar years.

  And that was while considering the fact only parts of the machines were Callandium.

  Arthur shook his head and idly stretched his arms out while his mind drifted away from impossibilities, and instead focused on what truly lay before him.

  In a few short hours, House Leos would host a ball.

  For him.

  Despite the belief of many in the House, the idea of such an event was nothing new to Arthur, neither in his true life as Zacaris nor in his false one as Magellan. Nataliya was not so foolish, he was glad to have realized, that she would completely disarm his ability to exist within the social circles needed to achieve whatever enigmatic task she’d set for him.

  Arthur could dance very well, and more than that, could mingle, socialize, and play the game of politics better than most. He simply detested it. That fact had been consistent in both his true and false memories: he loathed political functions. They were full of shallow, vain, deceptive, and self-interested vipers.

  His mind flickered to Circe, then to her family, and he smiled wryly.

  There were some exceptions.

  A knock on his door caught his ears, and Arthur turned from the balcony with a frown. He had not been expecting company for at least an hour or two more, and his natural-born instinct for wariness—even while knowing both Endymion and Perseus would be on guard—surfaced once more.

  He moved back into his apartments, and positioned himself near to where he kept a very lethal longsword he’d had crafted for his use as Hetairoi. It was the exact same model as the one he’d used to train with Circe, save that this one didn’t automatically blunt itself before impacting flesh.

  “Enter,” he called while setting his stance.

  The doors swung inward to show Atreus, clothed in a black chiton emblazoned with the lambda in crimson over his heart, and wearing his xiphos on his hip. His attire had the added bonus of showing off the platinum inscriptions of Callandium inlaid along Atreus’ forearms, which wound up to vanish into the short sleeves of the chiton near his shoulders. The golden-eyed Myrmidón raised a black eyebrow at Arthur’s stance, and then let loose a low rumble of amusement. “Concerned for a repeat of your first time waking up here, Arthur?”

  “Just cautious,” Arthur replied while relaxing. The spartan was many things, but an enemy he was not.

  “Good. That will keep you alive,” Atreus said with approval. “Now get dressed. We’re going to meet Menelaus and Cassandra for an evening repast.”

  “I thought dinner would be at the ball?” Arthur asked with a frown, and a lingering sliver of suspicion.

  “The goal of the repast isn’t the food, Arthur,” the Myrmidón said with more patience than Arthur remembered. “Your suspicion is not useless, but it is unfounded. You’re one of us now, and there are matters that you and I must discuss ourselves prior to your talk with Menelaus.”

  Atreus’ words were true enough, Arthur reflected. He’d also noticed the change in tone the Myrmidón had adopted while speaking with him. Prior to his fight with Circe, there had been a level of sufferance, or even impatient tolerance in how Atreus interacted with him. Since the fight, and the unlocking of his true psion density, that had vanished. The Myrmidón now spoke to Arthur as one might a fellow warrior, instead of a burden.

  It was an interesting and welcome change, he reflected.

  “Give me five minutes to get dressed,” he said with a glance at his wardrobe, to which Atreus grunted in approval before turning to exit the room again.

  Arthur wasted no time after Atreus departed, and swapped his loose shirt for a skin-tight black long-sleeve, and then pulled a black overcoat with a red trim on top of it. The crimson lion was emblazoned over his left side, with silver buttons rising along the right hand side—which Arthur quickly did up.

  His cuffs he marshaled with a pair of cufflinks shaped like lion’s heads, and for his legs he chose a formal set of red-trimmed black trousers with a trio of silver buttons, a silver-buckled black leather belt, and a pair of knee-high black leather dress boots.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Arthur turned and made his way to the bathroom to look himself over, and couldn’t help but chuckle at what he saw.

  “On any other planet, I’d look like I was going to a funeral,” he mused while ensuring the collar of his coat, which lay flush against his neck, was properly set. “Damn it, Circe.”

  A flicker of amusement, fondness, love, longing, and then the now-familiar rush of cold discipline followed the conjured image of the heiress in his mind.

  Arthur’s expression went from a quiet smile to a grim line, and he let out a sigh.

  “Time to focus,” he said simply before turning and making his way back to the double doors to his room to pull them open, and glance at Endymion and Perseus.

  “Staying here?” he guessed.

  “Yep!” Perseus replied through his helmet. “We’ll make sure no assassins sneak into your quarters.”

  Endymion snorted quietly, and Arthur smiled wryly while Atreus looked on.

  “Thanks, guys. See you soon?”

  “Good luck, Arthur,” Perseus said in reply.

  “Let’s hope you won’t need it,” Endymion muttered.

  Arthur glanced between both Kidemónes again, and then looked to Atreus where he stood in silent anticipation.

  “Better?”

  “Better,” Atreus agreed. “Now let’s go.”

  Arthur fell into step with the shorter man and set off with him down the expansive corridor leading to his quarters, his eyes moving across the decorated marble interior of the palace in idle thought.

  “You’re not in any trouble,” Atreus said while they walked, and Arthur noted that the other man’s pace was more measured than usual—as if the Myrmidón were trying to drag out their journey.

  Simple curiosity inclined Arthur to lower his pace to match.

  “I assumed as much given the lack of Lion Guard and the clothes,” Arthur said with a glance at the other man’s attire. “You’re dressed for comfort, not censure.”

  “Oh? Here I thought you were wary when I first entered.”

  “I was, but that’s because the Callandium on your arms makes you as dangerous naked as most people are in full power armor.”

  “It’s not the matrices on my arms you should worry about,” Atreus said with what Arthur recognized as an amused tone while they walked. “But that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

  Deciding to leave the Callandium comment alone, Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Consider me curious, Atreus.”

  “You’re different,” the Myrmidón answered without preface or obfuscation. “More than that, you’re more powerful. Your psion density has jumped to a level that I can just barely feel it passively, and normally it requires catalyzed psions for that kind of aural projection.”

  Arthur listened in silence while they crossed the threshold to the next corridor, and took a left. Atreus apparently intended on looping them around the longest route plausible, given Arthur’s knowledge of the various pathways through the palace.

  “Which means,” the Myrmidón continued, “that you are now the single most psion-dense individual in the Ascendancy.”

  Arthur took a breath and then simply nodded.

  “Is that why you wanted to talk to me, then? To try to find out the—”

  “No,” Atreus denied while they walked. “I don’t really care.”

  Those were not the words Arthur had expected, and he blinked in surprise.

  “You don’t?”

  “I do not.” Atreus reiterated. “Because I could feel the truth when you said you were ready to serve House Leos, and whatever secrets you’re hiding; I can also tell you didn’t make your oath to Menelaus lightly. If anything were to happen as a result of your past, you’d handle it ruthlessly,” he said and turned to Arthur with an arched eyebrow. “Or am I wrong?”

  “You’re not wrong,” Arthur admitted.

  “Empathic ability is something I am naturally gifted with,” Atreus continued after acknowledging Arthur’s answer with an approving nod. “Having felt your mind, both before and after your… surge, let’s call it; I have something of a clearer distinction for your moods, and surface level thoughts. They can be faked, of course, but despite my professional paranoia, I have decided to take this partially on faith.”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “That seems like a leap for you, Atreus.”

  “I have not been left with much choice, Arthur,” the older man admitted with a rumble. “Either you are the answer to House Leos’ woes, or the final nail in its coffin. At this point, there is no choice but to hope for the former.”

  It was a grim and cynical statement, but one that Arthur could understand and even empathize with. Atreus was doing him the courtesy of blunt honesty, and Arthur was not foolish enough to not appreciate it.

  “Thank you, Atreus,” he said genuinely. “Your faith in me is appreciated.”

  “You have earned it, and I also apologize for not being around to guide you as much as I could. I know we had discussions throughout the week, but I knowingly deferred much of your education to Circe. It struck me as important for you to develop a bond with her.”

  “Because I will protect her in the future?”

  “Partially,” Atreus agreed. “But also because you will be for her what I should have been for Menelaus, and until she ascends, you must be the same for Menelaus as well. You stand where I should have stood, Arthur, and in many ways my bringing you here—and all that followed—was an act of redemption, for me. You were my last desperate attempt to do something for this House that I love.”

  “I won’t let you down, Atreus,” Arthur assured the older man with a glance.

  “I know you won’t, Arthur,” Atreus said with a look of absolute certainty. “I’ve felt the depths of your power. You’re going to change everything, and I cannot wait to see the smug faces of House Leos’ enemies when you make your debut.”

  “Circe certainly was insistent on ensuring I was ready,” Arthur said with a nod.

  “And I imagine she did everything in her power to make you love Pallikári.”

  “It was certainly a unique experience,” Arthur said with a fond smile.

  “I can imagine,” Atreus said while they turned a corner and started descending a large set of stairs.

  “I suppose you can, given your closeness with her parents,” Arthur observed.

  Atreus glanced at him and, for one of the few times in Arthur’s memory, smiled wryly.

  “Indeed so. Circe is much like her mother, though she has inherited a large portion of her father’s own headstrong pride.”

  “Lord Leos seems humble by comparison, though,” Arthur said with a chuckle.

  “Sterilization and humiliation either build character, or shatter it,” Atreus said gravely. “Thankfully for House Leos, Menelaus was made of sterner stuff than most. His injury shaped his perspective, and all of Laconia is better for it.”

  Arthur’s mirth died with Atreus’ words, and he nodded. “They’ve suffered.”

  “Which is why it’s important you and Circe do not let whatever is between you become a problem,” the Myrmidón continued without reservation.

  “Atreus,” Arthur began seriously, “I would never—”

  “You do not need to explain it to me, Arthur,” Atreus rumbled without ire or judgment. “Of all men, I understand the allure of a Leos woman. I understand what it is you feel. In a better world, Arthur, it would be enough. She, however, is the Lion Maiden—and you are her family’s Hetairoi.”

  “I know,” Arthur said flatly.

  “I know you do,” Atreus said with a genuinely empathetic glance, “but I had to say it. If you and Circe let your mutual feelings bloom, Arthur, you’ll ruin her future. It is your duty to defend her—even if it means protecting her from a love she has every right to lose herself to.”

  Arthur’s jaw locked at Atreus’ words, but he simply nodded. It was nothing he hadn’t resolved to himself in private, but hearing it from someone else made him realize two things: one, that he had definitely had the right of it; and two, that he and Circe were not nearly as covert as they’d hoped—and that was a problem.

  “Who else knows?” he asked quietly.

  “Cassandra, Menelaus, Stephanos, Daphne, and a few of the household staff… though I wouldn’t worry. It’s very clear nothing has happened.”

  “We… shared a kiss,” Arthur admitted.

  Atreus, contrary to Arthur’s expectations, merely sighed sadly.

  “I am sorry for putting this burden on you, Arthur. The life of a Hetairoi is often a cruel one.”

  “If anyone understands,” Arthur murmured, “I suppose it’s a Myrmidón forbidden from marrying the woman he loves.”

  Atreus simply nodded, and they walked the next few meters in silence.

  Arthur was not surprised that Atreus had brought up Circe, though the fact he and she had apparently been so evidently enamored with one another that even the staff had noticed certainly wasn’t great. Rumors and speculation were the enemy of a reputation, and Arthur would need to ensure they did not repeat what happened on the hilltop.

  Overt indifference or distance from Circe would be worse, he knew, because it would infer a falling out—or worse, a lovers’ spat. What they needed to do was show friendship. Camaraderie, even, but no more than two people of a similar age, and with aligned interests. She was his charge, and he was her official protector; both of body and honor. It fell to him to ensure that was all people saw him as.

  ‘Kill what you love,’ Zacaris whispered in his mind.

  Arthur let his former self assert the control necessary to make it happen.

  It was about protecting Circe, after all, and not his doomed affection for her.

  Eventually Atreus spoke again.

  “There is another reason I wanted to speak to you, Arthur,” Atreus said in a tone Arthur recognized as more businesslike.

  “Go on,” Arthur said with a refocusing of his attention.

  “As you know, Menelaus and I have been away often. When the time comes for the ball, there is something you must do…”

  Arthur listened attentively while the older man explained.

  By the time Atreus was done, he could feel Zacaris laughing.