Chapter Three

Malitech only fell silent when she placed the

sharp tip of the dagger just under the corner

of his jaw, pressing into the tender flesh. He

turned slightly, glancing at her disdainfully

from the corner of his eye.

"You're getting ahead of yourself again,

Malitech," she said, making her voice lovely

and soft. Her hand was steady, never once

wobbling as she held the knife to his throat.

"If I thought you had the balls," he drawled, "I

might be worried. But we all know that is far

from the case."

Cassia laughed, very aware of her father's

eyes on them both. She flicked her wrist,

opening a precise gash on the side of his

neck. Malitech gasped, clapping a hand to the

cut, turning furiously.

She didn't hesitate, backhanding him in a

blow that held all the strength in her body.

Malitech's head snapped back toward the ring

and he stumbled to his feet, his mouth bright

with blood. Laughter rang throughout the

coliseum from those who had been watching

the royal family.

He snarled, stalking toward her. Her heart

fluttered in her chest, painfully aware of the

fact that she wouldn't last long in a fight with

him.

"Enough," the king said lazily, and everyone

froze, even Malitech. King Durus didn't even

bother looking back as he said, "Cassia, put the knife down. You look foolish. Malitech,

clean yourself up."

She swallowed hard against the lump in

her throat before tossing the dagger onto a

nearby table, the fine blade clattering against

the stone. Her mother was glaring at her

reproachfully, but she didn't lower her head

as she strode to the seats near the balcony's

edge.

Bowing at the waist to her father, she said,

"Your Majesty."

"Sit, girl," he said imperiously. "You are very

nearly late." He looked at her once, eyes going

to the loose strand of hair. "And unkempt it

would seem."

Her eyes flicked back to Lord Julianus, who

was watching the proceedings with a bored

expression. He betrayed absolutely nothing,

and she decided to take his lead.

"Apologies, my king," she muttered, bowing

again before taking her seat.

She kept her back straight, her head high as

she felt the king's sneering gaze rake over

her.

"You were to come with an escort," he said.

"Lord Calix Julianus."

"And I did," she said, waving lazily over her

shoulder. They both looked at the man, who was

keeping himself coldly distant from the

nobles, many of whom eyed him with

expressions ranging from jealousy to disdain.

"You will accompany him to tonight's

festivities in return," he ordered, making her

throat tighten again.

All she could manage was a stiff nod before

trumpets blared, their brassy notes pealing

through the warm air, dimming the noise

coming from the crowd.

A drum sounded, a heavy, unpleasant beat

that matched the angry tempo of her heart.

From the darkened gates leading into the ring,

situated directly across from where the royal

family now sat, a man strode forward, a chain

held in his huge hand.

He yanked on the chain, the jangling of the

metal links magnified by the expectant

silence of the crowd. Cassia hid her fisted

hands beneath her skirt as four people

stumbled into the ring.

Three men...and one who was hardly more

than a boy. Horrified, her gaze darted to the

chopping block sitting in the middle of the

sandy ring. A platform had been constructed

that same morning for it to sit on.

The executioner stood by the block, sword in

hand. He rested the square end of the sword

on the pine boards, watching along with

everyone else as the prisoners were dragged up onto the platform and forced to kneel.

Two of the men were sobbing, pleading

already for their lives. One was silent, his

head bowed, but his shoulders square-

someone who had accepted their fate. The

boy, probably no more than twelve or thirteen

years, looked moments away from fainting.

The first of the men, one of those begging

for his life, was yanked to his feet. The chain

connecting him to the others was unlocked,

falling to the platform with a loud clank. The

crowd began to murmur, then to jeer.

"For the crime of thievery-death," the man

who had brought them into the ring yelled

above the crowd.

Cassia didn't blink as the sword fell, knowing

she could show no weakness here. No

compassion or pity. Not with her father and

brothers watching so closely for any chink in

her carefully crafted armor.

Blood sprayed, his head fell to the sand and

the crowd cheered.

The second man was brought. His crime was

piracy. His head soon joined the first.

Her resolve wavered when the boy was jerked

to his feet. She opened her mouth, shifting

forward in her seat, but a soft hiss from her

father stopped her cold. Slowly, she turned to

meet his dead gaze.

Are citizens now to be considered enemies

of the state?" she inquired, her voice edging

on bored.

"The boy used to be caught gathering information.

Selling it to mercenaries and rebels alike."

The reply got here from Malitech, who stood

watching over her shoulder now.

She seemed down into the ring to locate the

boy shaking as he was pressured to his knees,

his head roughly shoved down to the block

already slick with the blood of the others.

"I apprehend these guys had been difficult to

apprehend, Malitech," she said. "Well done,

bringing in youth and cowards to sacrifice

for the crown."

Malitech tensed, but didn't reply. Couldn't.

He would possibly have been Durus' firstborn son, but

she was his Heir. The gods' first desire to

ascend the throne. Though her father had

more than made his discontentment known to

his sons, there was nothing any of them could

do except facing the gods' wrath.

Cassia watched, tears getting no farther than

the corners of her eyes as the sword fell a

third time.

The pleasure of the crowd had dimmed a

little, but it roared back to life as the fourth

and last prisoner used to be dragged to his feet

and forced to the executioner's block. He

shook back his dirty, chin-length hair and appeared to glare at once at Cassia. The crowd

hushed, like they knew he was once about to say

something.

"For the crime of rebellion-death."

"The identical to tyrants," the prisoner roared,

the hatred in his eyes sending a sit back down

Cassia's spine.

The executioner swung his sword, not

bothering to force the rebel's head to the

block. Cassia's eyes had been glued open as

blood vaulted into the air from the severed

neck. The dull thud of his head hitting the

ground used to be like a strike to her bones.

Blood soaked the boards of the platform.

It soaked the sand beneath the block. It

drenched her, painted to her skin in the form

of a silk dress. The king rose, everybody else

following suit.

He stated a few phrases to his subjects, talking

about fine opening acts and extra exciting

entertainments to reward them for their

loyalty. Then he and the queen left, followed

quickly by means of her brothers and the other nobles.

Cassia remained standing, staring at the

bodies being cleared away. A hand touched

her shoulder, however she nonetheless did not move.

A heat breath grazed the shell of her ear, and

Lord Julianus murmured, "Come, Highness.

The human beings are looking at you."

A shudder jolted her back to action as she

turned to stare up at the grim lord. Without

a word, she moved past him, walking slowly

back down the passageways she had strode

down less than an hour before.

She climbed into the waiting carriage,

Julianus ordering the driver to return to the

castle before he settled into the seat next to

her.

He did not interrupt the storm of thoughts

in her head. She was grateful for this as she

wondered which rebellion that last man had

belonged to. She wondered if her father would

listen to her reasoning about lower taxes, or if

he would just dismiss her again.

"You do not like them either," Julianus said

softly as they approached the castle.

Cassia didn't answer for a moment, then

turned fully to him. Just as softly, she said,

"Would you call me weak for that, my lord?"

"No," he said immediately. "Compassion is not

weakness. Mercy requires strength many do

not have. Including your father."

"Boldly spoken for a man come to court his

daughter."

Lord Julianus snorted and echoed her earlier

words. "You presume much, Princess, to think

this is my decision."

The carriage finally rolled to a stop at the castle's doors. Julianus once again offered

his hand. Once again, she did not take it as

she stepped to the ground.

Instead, she looked up at the nobleman

curiously, lips pursed in thought. He stood

easily beneath her gaze, not intimidated and

over-compensating like so many other men

had been in these past three years since she

had turned twenty-one.

Eventually, he said, "If we stand here much

longer staring at one another, Your Highness,

we'll miss your father's speech."

Her lip curled, but she turned toward the

doors. "Do you dance well, my lord?"

It surprised her when he once again spoke

in her ear, his shoulder and chest brushing

against her back. "Not as well as I do other

things, Highness."