A Threat. A Truce. A Tale.
Varbridge Palace, Ember's Rock, Saprea
A feast was held for the guests for the wedding, and there would be more to come from the Queen. Cassius saw banners from House Arcinov, House Bakir, House Eventhorn, and plenty from smaller houses. There was only a handful of guests that he was happy to see and the members of House Talone did not qualify.
It was the third hour of the welcoming feast laid out for the guests, and over the low mutter of drunken conversations, an orchestra prompted many people to get out of their seats and dance. Cassius was one of the many people out of their seats but he refused to dance.
He stood next to Jhaan, absently listening to him, and one of the guests interrupted the bawdy story that he had been telling to make room for themself.
"I don't believe I had the chance to make your acquaintance when arriving at the palace, Your Royal Highness," Prince Cesare said smoothly, "but I am very open to doing so now."
Cassius smiled tightly. "Likewise."
Jhaan opened his mouth, but Cesare cut in before he could say anything. "I already told my sister that I'd pressure you into dancing with her." He chuckled light-heartedly in good demeanor. "You must be a good entertainer, otherwise she gets bored easily."
Jhaan's sheepishly excused himself. "Say, I'm going to dance myself, I'll see you later, pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."
Cassius's eyes narrowed as he focused on something behind Cesare. Cesare twisted his neck to see what was afoot in confusion.
It was Ambrosio's ghost.
Cesare was befuddled yet seemed on the verge of making some joking remark, but when he saw Cassius's blank expression his eyes got wide and his mouth fell open into a small round o. Ambrosio stood right behind Desyrae. Ambrosio and Cassius stood staring at each other across the room for a moment or two.
"In love with my sister, are you?" Cesare goaded. "No words for your brother-in-law?"
Cassius had been avoiding his in-laws for a reason.
He stood still, not feeding into Cesare's expectations. Cesare waited for a spur of words to be released from his tongue but instead Cassius replied, "I don't mean to get impersonal but I'm afraid I don't like your family, and thus I do not like you."
"I'm only going to say it once," Cesare said, closing the space between them. "If you fail to protect my sister or cause her any pain, I will—"
Cassius gave him a wry smile. "Don't make me piss myself."
"I'd heed this warning, Valicios. You're lucky to be receiving one."
"Should I be getting on my knees in gratitude?"
Cesare walked him into a marble column and looked down at him. "You will not let me down. Understood?"
"I preen for the devil, of course." A too-tight shrug.
Before Cesare did anything too audacious, Desyrae walked up behind him and snagged his wrist, pulling him to her side. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," Cassius said coolly, leaning against the column. "He was just amusing me."
Cesare swallowed a thickness in his throat as she tucked herself by his side.
"Watch yourself, Valicios," he said with a smile as his sister steered him away. And without another word (or another grunt) he walked away.
The music drew to a close, and Jhaan took Cassius's arm and guided him to the perimeter of the ballroom. The dance had deposited them on the opposite side of the room from Desyrae's family so they had time to continue their conversation as they walked slowly towards Loran, who was accompanying his soon-to-be wife.
"What I was trying to say," Cassius said, "before you so skillfully diverted me, was that it appears I must attend a certain number of events."
Jhaan let out a hearty laugh. "Hardly a fate worse than death."
He ignored Jhaan's editorial. "You, I gather, must attend them as well."
Jhaan gave him a single regal nod. "My mother wants each and every one of her sons showing up at any events in the palace, and she wants her daughters close to you, the future High King."
"I'm lucky to have you here to keep them from flocking me," said Cassius. "Eh, is that why Lolessa befriended my sister."
Jhaan sent Cassius a commiserating look. "I always catch Mother saying 'I swear I saw a look from the prince. Girls, get closer! Jhaan, mention Katalina and Roura to the High Prince.' Hey, speaking of which, I recognize the Lord DuGrace, but that's not his wife. Do you think he brought his mistress?"
"Nah, he's hoping he brought my mistress."
"Bold of him to assume you need one. Or even want one. Perhaps there is a way that you might be spared the attentions of the Talones and the like, and at the same time, I might be spared the matchmaking efforts of my mother on my sisters' behalf."
Cassius looked at him with mild intent. "Go on."
"We"—he leaned forward, gesturing between Desyrae and himself—"will form an attachment."
Cassius said nothing. Absolutely nothing. Cassius just stared at him as if he were trying to decide if Jhaan were the rudest man on the face of the earth or simply stupid.
"Not a true attachment," Jhaan said impatiently. "Good gods, what sort of man do you think I am?"
"Well, I see you're trying to compete with Sandro for ill repute," Cassius pointed out. "And you yourself terrified a girl with your rakish ways earlier this evening."
"I did no such thing. I just fancy a turn with Desyrae. That's all."
"A what?!" Cassius exclaimed.
"A dance, you dirty bird. What did you think I meant?"
"No, not at all."
Jhaan pondered his words for a few moments, then realized that his plan could work to his benefit more than he'd originally imagined. "Listen," he said, "and listen quickly because we're almost close to Loran, and Sandro looks as if he's about to bolt in our direction any minute now."
They both glanced quickly to the right. Sandro was trapped in conversation with the Talones. He did not look happy.
"Here is my plan," Jhaan continued, his voice low and intense. "We pretend to have developed a tendre for each other. I won't have quite so many demands from my mother thrown in my direction because it will be perceived that I am no longer available."
"Well, then, what do I gain?"
"For one thing, your brother-in-law will stop dragging you around if he thinks I have secured her interest."
"Rather conceited of you," Cassius mused.
"—but true. You will look tolerant and considerate." Jhaan ignored his gibe. "Secondly," he continued, "you rarely have to communicate, and if you do, it can be through me."
"So are you asking my permission to dance with my prospective wife? You want my permission for you to be her..."
"Friend. What else would I be asking?"
Cassius caught Jhaan's eye for a moment and gave his head the tiniest nod. Jhaan responded with an even tinier nod and a grand smile.
Artemisia, who had been keeping scrupulously quiet, quickly located the first lull in the conversation, and burst in with, "Grace us with your presence, Caz! Over here!"
"My sister's vying for my attention," Cassius sighed, looking over his shoulder where his sister sat at a round dining table with guests of equal status, and therefore there was equal discussion around the table.
"Then by all means, go." Jhaan set off marching purposefully in his own direction.
Artemisia was sitting with Lucius, Achilles, Prince Maaiz of Emraude, and King Victoire of Aldviot tucked in the back corner of the room where the gold hues shined most bright. They sat at a circle table, empty flutes of champagne in front of them. King Victoire had a glass of amber liquid perched on his knee. Despite it being autumn now, it was hot in Saprea, but the country of Aldviot had a proclivity to a cold, dry chill. His outerwear, a black cloak lined with wool, was draped over the back of the chair.
Cassius swept into a low bow for King Victoire, "Your Grace."
"Now, Prince Cassius, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," King Victoire said delightfully. "Your family speaks very highly of you. Sit, please."
"Oh, no. I'd make boring conversation."
"He's being modest," his cousin Achilles chimed in.
"No, Achilles, I'm not."
King Victoire insisted. "Now, how often do the Crown Prince and King of Aldviot get to meet. Grace us with your friendship. Allow our nations to share more than just a border."
"It's a very small border," Lucius pointed out.
"How quickly you rid us of yourself, Cassius," Artemisia pouted. "You hardly allow for your presence to be noted."
Cassius pulled up a seat reluctantly.
"Wonderful. Let's get you settled in," said Prince Maaiz.
Artemisia cocked her head and gave her brother a rather assessing glance, as if she had analyzed his mood in an instant and decided he might be acceptable company even while he was brooding. "Prince Maaiz, show my brother what you brought."
Maaiz pulled out a list of items from his satchel. He displayed an expensive-looking piece of gold to them. "I have jewelry, like this temple ring." He handed the jewelry to Artemisia, who held it delicately, assuming it was a headpiece that belonged on her forehead. "And this Valiconian saber taken from the front lines of the Great War," he said proudly with an upward twist of his mouth. He allowed a moment for the audience he attracted to examine the sword and then handed it to Lucius for him to pass around.
"I also thought we could have some fun with this," he said, pulling out a worn out leather-covered book. "It's called the Mythologia—the book of black magic. I took it from a prolee as he was preaching blasphemy. He claimed he could raise the dead and before we had him killed, he swore its spells are what kept him alive."
"What kind of spells?" Artemisia asked with deep interest.
"Anything your heart desires," Maaiz Bakir replied. He turned to Cassius with a smirk. "I was thinking we could perform some magic on Cassius."
Cassius gave Maaiz a careful, measuring look. "I don't believe in that nonsense."
Rowena and Sandro had been walking together like an old married couple as they searched for Loran, but their interest piqued (or rather Rowena's interest piqued in volumes) when the book was mentioned. She wandered over, unheedingly dragging Sandro behind her. Rowena thought the book was pretty handsome.
Leering, she gazed at the book's peeling spine and binding. "This book is dangerous. There's only one copy, isn't there?"
Sandro chuckled. Though they had just met, he could sum up Rowena's entirely personality in a quick second. "Please, forgive her. She's a believer in the occult—or rather anything a book tells her. Even a fairytale."
"What kind of things do you know are in this book?" Maaiz asked.
"I know there are stories of seers."
"What's a seer?" Artemisia asked.
Rowena looked up happily. "A person who can see the future!"
"One of those prolee fortune tellers that pretend that they have some special gift," Sandro corrected.
Rowena pointedly cleared her throat and flashed him a glare. After an exchanged look Cassius couldn't read, she sighed and said, "No, they are grandees with precognition."
Sandro put his fingers to his temples and played at the idea of himself being a seer, mocking her. "I am foreseeing an image. It is of..." he peeked an eye open, looking behind King Victoire. "...Queen Demetria approaching her husband. She will ask him for a dance?"
King Victoire chuckled and turned to see that Queen Demetria was standing behind him.
"There are also grandees that possess the ability to manipulate darkness, and there are some that can turn into eldritch beings, or create monstrous devils out of the dead."
"Here," Maaiz said. "You can have this book."
"Really?" Rowena gasped.
"You seem to be very interested in learning about its contents, m'lady, and I find that admirable."
"I think we should stay away from that thing," Cassius said.
"Don't be cross," Achilles scoffed. "We're trying to show you a good time."
"Is that so? Because last I checked, it's illegal to practice spells and witchcraft. Even for grandees."