They say the measure of a man is the way in which he deals with that which cannot be handled. In that moment I knew we were witnessing the end of what we considered reality. The die had been cast, my father had placed his bets, and he had gone against the house. All we had, all we were, all we would ever be rested on the shoulders of a perfect stranger—and yet for all that my own fate hung in the balance, I still remember my father’s face… and the look of utter faith upon it.

  Circe turned to glance at her father when Sebastian excused himself to rejoin his own parents, and Alexandros stepped forward to take his place at her side.

  “Focus now, young lion,” he chided quietly. “The snakes are still watching.”

  Circe blinked at the diminutive politician and then glanced over toward where Sebastian had gone. She noted the gaze of the Lord and Lady Drakos fixed upon her and Alexandros with narrowed eyes, their party accounting for houses Gataki and Onasi as well. She met their stares coolly and then directed hers back toward the deployed screen.

  “I hope your new Hetairoi is up to the task,” Alexandros said in the same quiet tone. “He certainly has his work cut out for him.”

  “He is,” Circe said without an iota of doubt. “You’ll see.”

  Nearby, the Kings and Queens had matriculated to join her parents, while the rest of the guests settled down to watch the screen—which showed an aerial view of the arena, still raised from her duel with Arthur the previous day.

  “Come then. Let us join your parents,” Alexandros said, and offered her his arm.

  Circe took it with gratitude, and let the small man guide her toward the high table and into the chair set aside for her beside her father. Once she was seated, Alexandros bowed and departed, moving down the table to sit beside Queen Victoire, who herself sat beside King Leonidas XIV.

  She barely had time to ponder the Prime Minister’s actions before her father’s voice called out over the murmuring crowd.

  “Your Majesties, My Lords, Honored Guests, and people of Graecia!”

  Circe turned to look at Menelaus as he stood and bowed respectfully, first to the Kings, then to the assembled lords, ladies, politicians, and guests.

  “House Leos is honored and privileged to play host to such a grand event as this. It has been too long since our doors have opened and we have had the chance to welcome such an esteemed collective. On behalf of myself, my wife, and my heir—I offer my thanks.”

  A round of polite applause erupted when her father paused, and Circe joined in with a smile. Sebastian’s words still danced within her mind, but she chose not to give him the satisfaction of her attention—and instead looked solely at her father.

  “As you are no doubt aware, House Leos has been bereft for some time now of champions. Any champions. After my own unfortunate accident—” Circe saw her mother’s features tighten slightly in pain at the memory “—and the death of Ser Davion, House Leos has been absent the grace of finding a soul worthy of taking up the position of Hetairoi.”

  A murmur of consideration went around the room at Menelaus’ words, but few if any actually tore their eyes from her father’s face.

  They were too curious. The invitation had said that a new Knight would be announced, but no details had been provided.

  “In light of the support and gracious offers of aid and alliance we have received, from friends both new and old, I extended my hand in friendship to Houses Drakos, Gataki, Onasis, Ulysses, and Cimmeria,” he gestured to the aforementioned names, and the lords of each stood and offered a respectful toast to Menelaus in response, which he returned with a generous smile.

  Circe saw the look of thinly veiled smug amusement on Sebastian’s face, and her blood ran cold.

  “As part of the spirit of tonight’s gathering, and out of desire to show his true friendship, Lord Konstanin Drakos made me a most generous offer… the hand of his son, Lord Sebastian, to be joined with that of my daughter Circe.”

  Circe’s heart stopped.

  No. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  “In truth, this is an offer that even our Kings saw fit to offer their blessing toward. After all, it was rightly pointed out that House Leos is in dire times. We lack for champions, and with my daughter’s future in the balance, accepting such an offer would prove to be in the best interests of all present—my family included.”

  Faces shifted and fabric rustled as people looked between Menelaus and Konstanin, then to Circe herself.

  She was frozen in place.

  Her father’s words were like knives to the heart.

  Would he truly hand her over? Like cattle?

  “Before I can agree to the matter of my daughter’s marriage, however, I must first ask a question. For this, I must direct it to my most esteemed contemporary from the House of Drakos. Lord Konstanin! Would you be so kind as to answer my entreaty for your wisdom?”

  Konstanin rose with a mild expression of wariness, but quickly replaced it with a gracious smile. “But of course, my lord Menelaus. How may I assist?”

  “This proposal for our Houses, my lord. This is to ensure the safety and security of my daughter, and the future of our joint lineages?”

  “But of course,” Konstantin agreed readily. His voice was all charm and smooth conviction, and Circe hated every syllable while he spoke. “It is a parent’s duty to ensure that only the strongest and most capable of forces can stand in defense of their children. After all, they are our legacy and the future of our great nation.”

  “Indeed so,” Menelaus concurred with a benevolent smile. “And so, I suppose this also means that in the same vein, it must be only the greatest of Hetairoi that can defend one’s legacy.”

  “But of course, my lord,” Konstanin agreed readily.

  “Then I must ask of you a boon, Lord Konstantin.”

  Circe looked back and forth between her father and his rival—for that was indeed what Konstantin was, if not their greatest enemy in truth—and felt her terror morph subtly into confusion, and perhaps even a glimmer of hope. She wanted to be wrong. She needed to be wrong. She needed to believe that her father had fooled her and everyone else.

  “You need but to ask, my Lord Menelaus. If it is in my power, I would be glad to grant it for the secured future of our great houses.”

  “Then I wish to request the services of your Strategos, Arenicus, in a grand exhibition of strength,” Menelaus said calmly. “As I must request the aid of the Houses of Gataki, Onasis, Ulysses, and Cimmeria. I confess to have made this offer in advance, in the hopes of gaining their aid in this self-same exhibition… if our noble Kings would bless such an event?”

  “An exhibition, is it?” Leonidas said while standing, and silencing even the hint of discussion from the other named lords. “What are you playing at, Menelaus?”

  “My daughter’s hand has been requested, my King. If I am to entrust her to this good man and his allies, then surely I am entitled to witness their strength of my own accord?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Hm…” Leonidas said with a grave look at Menelaus, and then a frown of thought. “An exhibition of strength?”

  “Just so, my King.”

  “Hmph. Well then, why not? You are the Blood of the Lion, Menelaus, and this is Laconia! What say the lords, though? Will they stand to the challenge?”

  “We shall stand, my King!” Konstantin declared without hesitation.

  “Then I ask you all to turn your eyes once again to the screen,” Menelaus said with a satisfied smile. “And bear witness to an exhibition unlike any other you have seen.”

  Circe resisted the urge to lick her lips when her father sat down and turned toward the screen; her hands clenched together under the table in nervousness.

  A warm grip came to rest on her fingers, and she turned to see her father smiling at her.

  “Fear not, my heart,” he said warmly. “The gods smile upon us this day.”

  The image on the screen began to change, and from above, multiple Eidolons descended toward the arena. Each one bore a distinctive set of wings, a silver-and-blue layer of paint, a xiphos blade, and a hoplon shield. Each one landed in the shape of a pentagram, focused around the center of the arena.

  “Those are Navy Eidolons,” Circe muttered while turning to her father. “Father, what is the navy doing here?”

  “They were supplied by your mother,” Menelaus said with a wry smile. “For the use of the champions of the five named Houses. That is not the only surprise, though.”

  All five winged Eidolons assumed idle stances where they stood, with their attention directed toward the center of the Arena still.

  A center through which a sixth Eidolon was rising.

  By the time the head and shoulders came into view, the crowd was already muttering.

  When the torso became apparent, Leonidas’ voice broke the silence. “What is the meaning of this, Menelaus?! The Aegeans are acceptable, given their role as our frontline military model, but that is a Hoplite!”

  “It is indeed, my King.”

  “Have you taken leave of your senses, Menelaus? That pilot is going to be crushed!”

  “I have not, my King. I promised you an exhibition like no other, and within that Hoplite is my Hetairoi,” he declared. At the same time, scandalized mutters erupted across the crowd, only to subside when her father continued. “I have utter faith in his abilities.”

  “Perhaps it was not merely your body that was damaged in your accident, Menelaus, if this is your idea of a worthy exhibition!” the King growled.

  Circe’s heart skipped at the King’s words, which even the assembled lords, ladies, and other guests seemed shocked to have heard. A mix of anger and shared embarrassment filled her, and she turned to her father—only to witness him smiling still. “Is it your judgment that this exhibition will not go ahead, then, my King?”

  Circe barely managed to turn to the King in a measured manner as she watched.

  Leonidas opened his mouth to respond, only to pause when Pericles stood and leaned over to murmur to him quietly and quickly. The older of the two Kings frowned at whatever it was his Attican contemporary said, and fixed Pericles with a withering look.

  The younger man simply nodded firmly in response, and bowed his head slightly as if to defer to Leonidas’ final judgment before resuming his seat.

  All eyes moved between the paired monarchs and the inarguably riveting display of drama, so beloved by the Greek blood of the assembled.

  Finally, Leonidas turned back to Menelaus to speak. When he did, his voice held a hint of vicious intention.

  “If you wish to indulge in this mad display, Menelaus, then I shall not be the one to deny you! However, for your mockery of our Spartan traditions with this clear attempt at deflecting your inevitable loss with the Hoplite, this shall be no simple exhibition. It shall be to the death!”

  Circe’s jaw clenched, and she felt a traitorous pang of fear enter her mind.

  The reality of the situation hit her in that moment, and Circe felt her heart harden.

  Her eyes moved to the screen to look at Arthur’s newly black-and-red painted Hoplite, and she took a quick and steadying breath. She reminded herself of his power. She reminded herself of who he was.

  She reminded herself of his promises and then realized something else: Menelaus would never have attempted this without some measure of confidence in its success. Slowly, her sudden fear and grief gave way to her better judgment, and as cold reason asserted itself, Circe calmed her racing heart and turned back to her father.

  Finally, she began to understand his goal. His plan.

  His mad, reckless, utterly insane plan.

  One that he could only have dreamt up with Arthur.

  Instead of responding to the King directly, her father turned toward where their enemy sat—for indeed, that was what House Drakos was—and lifted his voice to speak with unerring courtesy to his contemporary. “And what say you, Lord Konstanin?” Menelaus asked with a look to the Lord of House Drakos. “Do you object to our King’s ruling?”

  Konstantin’s face was guarded at Menelaus’ question, but a single look at Leonidas’ harsh visage made his decision for him—though Circe was not surprised. The Drakos Patriarch was nothing if not an opportunistic bootlick.

  “I do not, my Lord, my King,” Konstantin said. “I had agreed to this exhibition, as my esteemed compatriots did, with the assumption that our storied veterans would be facing the legendary Pallas Athena. Such an opportunity to test the mettle of House Leos’ vaunted Eidolon was an honor, to be sure.”

  The man turned around to survey the guests within the ballroom, and his expression hardened as if with regret. Circe had never wanted to punch the grandstanding coward more than she did in that moment, and judging from the looks on some of her House’s allies, they agreed with her assessment—though they remained guarded about the fact. “This, though, is a grand insult. We supplied our most celebrated warriors, and in response are greeted with an unknown man of clearly questionable sanity, operating a training unit of all things.”

  The crowd muttered in empathetic disapproval at Konstantin’s words, and he shook his head.

  “It pains me to have to clear the fugue that has taken hold of the storied Sword-Saint Menelaus, but this insult cannot be ignored—and neither can the will of our noble Sovereign be denied,” Konstanin said as he straightened and looked directly at Menelaus. “By the decree of the King shall we all abide. To the death it shall be, my Lord Leos.”

  “End it quickly, then,” Leonidas growled when Konstantin finished, with clearly limited patience for the man’s oily sales pitch. “And let us see the truth of whatever madness has taken hold of Lord Leos.”

  Circe’s eyes widened, and she turned back toward Menelaus, but her father merely nodded again. He seemed entirely unconcerned by the fact that he was risking everything on an unknown man in a Hoplite. It almost did make him seem unhinged.

  Desperate, even. Desperate enough to do something foolish.

  She wanted to laugh at the genius of his acting.

  “As you wish, my King,” Menelaus said while turning to the screen.

  Circe turned with him and felt some echo of pre-battle excitement building.

  “Pilots,” Menelaus called calmly. “Did you hear your King’s command?”

  Five faces appeared on the screen, each bearing the colors of Drakos, Gataki, Onasis, Ulysses, or Cimmeria. It was Arenicos, the black-haired Strategos and Champion of Drakos, who answered.

  “We did, Lord Leos,” Arenicos responded with a mirthless smile, and just enough respect to not be overtly mocking. “His will shall be done, as always. I wish your champion luck. Should he fight with honor, I shall offer him a Hetairoi’s death—for all that he has been one for but a few moments regardless.”

  A small spread of chuckling echoed through the crowd.

  Circe resisted the urge to growl at their disrespect.

  Menelaus, however, simply smiled.

  “Ser Arthur,” he called calmly.

  A sixth screen appeared in the middle of the other five, and only a visored helmet adorned in black and red was visible. Mutters filled the ballroom, and Circe turned her gaze toward Sebastian and Konstantin, who exchanged looks of carefully hidden question, though they appeared largely lacking in concern.

  Why wouldn’t they be? The five Aegeans—the Navy Eidolons—would collapse on the Hoplite as one force the moment the order was given. They had no reason to fear. The odds were impossible. There was nothing even the greatest of Graecian pilots could do to survive such an onslaught.

  Only her faith gave her hope.

  Only the memory of Arthur achieving the impossible.

  “Did you, too, hear the King’s command?” Menelaus asked.

  The helmeted head inclined in confirmation.

  “Then do as your King has commanded, my Hetairoi,” Menelaus said simply. “And show us all the realization of the Myth.”

  Arthur’s feed vanished along with the other five, and Menelaus turned to Leonidas. “At your order, my King.”

  Leonidas scowled at him in irritation, but flicked a hand. “Very well then, though such empty deference will do you no favors here, Menelaus. Pilots! Ready yourselves!”

  Circe clamped her hands around her father’s under the table and leaned forward despite herself, with eyes locked on the gargantuan projected screen.

  “On my mark!” Leonidas growled.

  She didn’t dare to blink.

  "Begin!"