“Rapax, report!”

“Nothing new since my last.”

“Which of the three is dead?”

“The oldest prince.”

“Interesting. Who killed him?”

Rapax smiled a little deviously. “Guess?”

“The second prince?”

“Wrong.”

“Really?! The king killed him?!” Callida balked.

Rapax nodded. “Apparently we underestimated the king’s hatred for his own sons. Ypefan– the king didn’t take kindly to his heirs’ willingness to subvert him to work with you and took it upon himself to ‘punish’ them. Yperioptifan– ugh. These Griffin Tribe names are going to kill me. The first prince took a knife to the back, put there by his father, and then the second prince fought with his father, both taking significant injuries before the king collapsed. Now they are both fighting for their lives.”

“Have you been able to speak with either of them?”

“The king is unconscious, but Sfyri has been more than willing to dish dirt on his father… less about his older brother which seems somewhat ironic considering his vitriol towards him earlier.”

“Perhaps he simply feels that dirt against the dead isn’t worth his breath.”

“Maybe. He’s been… repentant?” Rapax shrugged, and Callida sighed.

“I should just talk to him.”

“Through here.” Rapax gestured, and Callida followed him down a hallway to a small room where the second prince was being tended to by a Lion Tribe medic.

“Your highness, pardon my interruption,” Callida said quietly as she swept into the room to take a seat on the floor next to the bedroll where he was laying. “How are you feeling?”

He chuckled through obvious delirium. “No, please, come in…. You know what’s ironic, General? Two minutes. That’s all it took for you to pick the best among us when it’s taken the Griffin Tribe decades, and they still haven’t figured out that our father is a monster. Yperoptikos learned it from somewhere. I learned it from somewhere…. Skiasmenos will do a good job. But, General, he’s young, unambitious. He’ll need… guidance.” Sfyrilato grunted through a debilitating wave of pain and coughed.

“If you survive this, will you challenge your younger brother for the throne?”

“No. But I’m dying, so it doesn’t matter…. Will you help him?”

“What help do you think he’ll need?”

“There will be civil unrest when the people realize that the king, his chosen heir, and second heir are all dead. He’ll be blamed.”

“I’ll take the heat,” Callida declared readily. “Like I already said, it’s a simple enough matter to execute the royal family until I find one willing to work with the Lion Tribe.”

Sfyrilato shook his head. “He’ll be seen as weak, caving to Lion Tribe pressures that his father and brothers died fighting.”

Callida frowned. “What do you suggest?”

“Gather the senate; let me tell them the truth; let me give my endorsement…. Quickly.”

***

“Sfyri!” Skiasmenos took one look at his brother and freaked out. “What did you do to him?! What’s…? Sfyri!!”

“Skias, she didn’t do anything. It was father.”

“What?! I don’t understand. She-she’s making you lie to me!”

“No,” Sfyri clasped his brother’s hand. “No. She was right, Skias.”

Callida bowed out, ordering her men to do likewise so the brothers could speak privately before the Griffin Tribe senate was escorted into the still blood-stained throne room.

“General,” Rapax appeared next to her right elbow after a minute or two. “General, the Griffin King is dead. Sfyrilato, for all intents and purposes, is the reigning king.”

“I’ll let him know,” Callida said and nodded her acknowledgement. “Is the senate gathered?”

“All but one or two members,” Rapax confirmed. “Are you ready for them?”

“Yes. I just need one minute to break the news to the new king.” Callida entered the throne room, finding Skiasmenos in tears and Sfyrilato trying to comfort him. “Your highnesses, I’ve just been informed that your father is dead. Sfyrilato, with your brother dead, you are–”

“–next in line,” the dying prince finished for her, barely above a whisper, and Callida gave a small nod of confirmation while his younger brother’s sobs intensified. “Good. My words will hold the weight of a king, then.”

“Are you ready?”

“I don’t have time to waste getting ready.”

“Understood.”

“I’d… like for you to stay, General, but your men–”

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“–have already been ordered to stand outside.”

“Good.” Sfyrilato smiled weakly, and Callida went to the doors, throwing them open to let the senate in, a somber group that grew increasingly anxious at the sight of the two youngest princes in obvious distress waiting for them in the center of the room. “Please take your seats,” Sfyrilato ordered, his hoarse whisper carrying through the tense silence. “I do not have time to mince words. My father and older brother are dead, and I am soon to join them.”

“EVERYBODY, SHUT UP!!” Callida shouted over the immediate buzz that easily drowned the prince’s voice out.

“Thank you. You need to know how they died, and I’m the only witness to what happened,” Sfyrilato coughed, doubling over as much as he was able from the agony. “My father murdered Yperoptikos in cold blood for being willing to work with the Lion General to end the war. He then turned the knife on me, we fought, and we both sustained injuries. I was informed just minutes ago that he died from his wounds. Even if I do somehow survive this, I do not deserve the crown. It took the mere suggestion that the power of the throne might shift for the three of us to turn murderous against each other…. But my brother, Skiasmenos… I beg of you to accept him as your king. Despite his youth, he is good, better. I know that he will serve well.”

Another low buzz that quickly hushed of its own accord. “Sfyri, I… I don’t want to be the king,” Skiasmenos protested weakly.

“The Lion General has promised to help support you, Skias. In fact…,” Sfyrilato hummed to himself and sat up as best he could, “the war against our lion neighbors started when a marriage between myself and the Lion Tribe princess, Avena Rex, failed. Perhaps now we can correct that grievance. It is my wish for you, Skiasmenos, to marry the Lion General. She is intuitive, intelligent, and already a capable leader. Make her your queen, end the war, and she will be your greatest support as you enter this journey.”

Callida’s jaw was down by her toes, the shock on her face, the instant blush…. “Your highness… Majesty? I’m sorry, but I’m already married. I’m happy to… help your brother transition into his role as the Griffin King, but I’m… not available in that way.”

“You’re already married?”

“Happily, yes.”

“Is your husband a king?”

“Well, no. But–”

“Is our throne not good enough for you?”

“What does that have to do with anything?! I’m married! I’m–”

“It would be easy enough to end your marriage.”

“I don’t want to–”

“What’s his name?”

Callida blinked dumbly, the realization of what he was suggesting hitting hard after a few moments of stunned incomprehension. “Are you threatening him?”

“I wish for you to marry my brother. You wanted peace, General….”

Her face and voice took on a dangerous darkness that seemed to fill every crevice of the room. “Threaten my husband again, and peace talks with you will end immediately. Unlike you, I have time to wait for the next king to ascend the throne.”

Sfyrilato laughed painfully. “See, Skias, she commands the entire room. You need her to be your queen. Get her on your side, and you cannot fail.”

“My answer is ‘no’,” Callida hissed, “and the next person to suggest that this plan is anything more than the delusions of a dying man will join him in the afterlife. Sfyrilato, I agreed to help your brother. I stand by that, but what you are proposing is out of the question.”

“It is my wish,” he retorted. “Consider it my last request.”

“Don’t waste the impact of a dying wish on something that I will never agree to, your highness,” Callida said angrily. “Unless, perhaps, your real last wish is to die more quickly? I’d be happy to speed you on your way.”

“No need, General,” he sighed, his body sinking tiredly into his pillows. “Skias, I wish you well. Good luck.” It was absolutely unbelievable, but Callida watched as Sfyrilato just… died. Right there! Right then! It was like he’d scheduled his soul to be sucked from his body at the most impactful, most dramatic millisecond, and Callida found herself in the bizarre position of feeling like an absolute jerk for refusing to divorce or murder her husband to fulfill his last wish. Then again, this was a man likely willing to commit patricide and fratricide to take the crown. Her guilt was relieved and replaced with self-righteous indignation.

“All hail the new king,” Callida snarked morbidly in the silence only punctuated by the same king’s tortured sobs, and with that, she turned on her heel and stormed out.

***

“Arum, I’m going to get changed,” Callida said tiredly, taking a quick detour toward her tent on her way to the feast her men had prepared.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” she asked, trying to keep the petty whine of irritation out of her voice.

“Animo,” Arum drew closer so he could whisper, “they’re saying that the king and his two oldest sons are dead. They’re saying that the youngest son is now the king, and you’re engaged to marry him!”

“Who is saying that?! Holy Primordials, word travels fast! It’s been… seven, eight hours? Maybe?!”

“So it’s true?!”

“Yes. It’s… well, the part about the youngest son being the new king is true, but I am not engaged to marry him,” Callida facepalmed in exasperation.

“Animo, I want to hear the details.”

She sighed heavily. “Fine. I’m going to get changed, and we can talk about it after the feast, but I can’t stay up late tonight. I’m tired, and I need to have my head on straight to deal with a grief-stricken young king tomorrow. Give me… three minutes?”

“Alright,” Arum agreed, and Callida ducked through the opening in her tent, immediately removing her doublet, a burdened chain necklace, and the pins from her hair before rolling her stiff-from-stress neck and shoulders out.

“Ack!” Callida hissed as something pricked her neck, and explorative rubbing found a small needle just before an overwhelming weakness overtook her. “A-Arum….” She collapsed, not even certain that she’d managed to call out. Her mind began to race, trying to identify the effects of this drug, hopefully in time to do something about it. Her senses seemed erratic, and Callida closed her eyes in an effort to focus on them one at a time, realizing quickly that a heaviness had conquered her limbs, and her breathing and heart rate had slowed to something sluggish, incongruent with the panic she was feeling. Mild hallucinogen and paralytic?

Her eyes grudgingly opened when quick, silent hands grabbed at her, and Callida was hoisted like a lamb over shoulders that belonged to a broad-chested stranger. With platinum hair. With a patch on the left breast of his cloak. Roses. Dagger. And Callida wasn’t certain if she could believe what her eyes were telling her. And she needed help. To draw attention. To leave a clue.

Before the drug left her completely helpless, Callida fought her arms for every inch of movement, drawing a knife, slashing at the strap holding the cloak around his neck, nicking his chest, and drawing blood. He grunted quietly, too quietly to draw attention, but he had to set her down to adjust his cloak, and Callida’s blood-tipped knife severed a strip of his hem before falling to the ground. “Arum,” she whimpered mutely, the paralytic rendering her vocal cords inoperative. And she was on his shoulders again, no longer able to make her fingers twitch, let alone put up any additional resistance.

The hallucinogen was truly mild, only warping images and sounds slightly without making them confusing. The paralytic was absolute, and yet, Callida was conscious through every torturous moment of her kidnapping. She was unable to fight, unable to cry out — an observer only as she was lifted into a saddle and another Guardian’s arms, galloped from the military camp to the temple, and limply passed from one Guardian to the next until finally being set on a large stone slab beneath the vaulted ceilings of a massive ceremonial chamber and into the arms of the female Guardian she’d been approached by that morning — the pretty one with short hair, dark eyes, and perfect skin.

“It is my pleasure to welcome you to our temple, General Yudha.”