> It is remarkable how easily he made me feel like clay in his hands. Even now as I reflect on those first moments, I wonder if I truly understood what manner of fate I was taking upon myself. By my own actions I tied my family’s future to his path, and in so doing sealed the fate of all those I loved. Did he know even then what he would become? Did he already have an understanding of what he would do to us all? I have to believe he didn’t, for if he did, then truly he was the greatest deceiver in the history of mankind.

Circe was nervous.

Or perhaps a better term was that she was apprehensive. Uncertain. Unsure. The exact word escaped her in the moment, but as she led the way across the palace gardens toward her father, Atreus, and the senior staff of House Leos—there was an element of definitive unease that would not leave her. It had settled in her gut like a leaden weight, and nothing she did could move it.

The source of it, of course, was the blond man walking at her side.

The Kidemónes, the Myrmidón, not even the assassins after her since her birth unsettled her as much as Arthur Magellan, and not because of any fantastical, schoolgirl fantasy reason or any such nonsense. It was not his looks—which she could admit were certainly sculpted in a way that made her unashamedly enjoy staring—nor his intellect or composure, both of which fascinated her in a way that mere looks never could.

No, the source of her discomfort was the feeling that she needed him.

Not as a lover, or anything so simplistic and droll—but as an ally.

Her resonance with Arthur was… unprecedented. She could feel him even then, the way a flower might feel the touch of the sun, or the way that a bird might search for a hot draft upon which to elevate its flight. It was difficult even for her to understand, but she was aware of him—aware in a way that defied all reason and logical understanding.

They were complete strangers, and yet she felt as if she had known him for years.

Circe had believed up until that very morning that she would need to eventually be the one to step forward and do what had to be done. That she would take position as both Heiress and Hetairoi and simply have to work to the best of her ability to avoid being crippled or killed as their enemies so desperately desired.

She had resigned herself to it. Accepted it like a condemned woman accepted the executioner’s ax. It was not merely an option, but an inevitability. Every overture to Eidolon pilots of note had been rejected, sabotaged, or outright defenestrated by their enemies. House Leos had been pushed to the absolute limit of its abilities. Even the Kings, for all their supposed magnanimity, were beginning to look upon them with calculation more than the favor they had purported in the past.

House Leos had been on the precipice.

And then, like an answer to her most fearful moments and desperate prayers, he had appeared. A stranger, a mercenary, a sellsword and honorless braggart intent on dethroning her sacrifice and making a mockery of her vows to defend and protect her blood as the only one capable of doing so.

At first she hated him. Hated the idea of stolen glory. Hated the notion that a stranger would come and bear the mantle she’d raged against, fought again, and then finally and with an embracing of doom resigned herself to. How dare this man, she had thought, this off-worlder with a fancy pedigree dare to presume the right to steal her duty from her and make her an invalid.

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Worse still, he had fainted in front of her and she had taken that for weakness.

She had readied herself to protect her family as no one else could—as no one else would. Her life had been a sick pattern of assassinations, attempted marriages by men far too old, or far too selfish, or—even when they were good men—far too weak and far too low-ranking. Nobody of worth would seek her hand, for fear of the enemies of House Leos ruining them before the marriage could even proceed.

No one wished to tie themselves to what they saw as a poor bet, and a sinking ship.

Circe had thought Arthur to believe he could rob her of a truly noble sacrifice.

How wrong she’d been. How incredibly, stupidly, single-mindedly wrong.

Arthur Magellan was not merely a hope for a future where she did not end childless, crippled, and forced to surrender her birthright to a lesser family member.

He was more than anything else someone she could rely on. Someone she could even trust.

Not because he had power. Not because he had charisma. Not because he was handsome or intelligent.

But because he was selfish. Because he was self-interested. Because he was completely pragmatic in his motivations. He was an honorable man, from all that she had gleaned and what her instincts told her, but so too was he unapologetic in his motivations existing for him, and for House Leos as an extension of that.

And he had never once pretended otherwise.

‘The only friend you can truly have is the one that is as honest in their cruelty as they are in their kindness’. Her grandmother’s words had returned to her in the moment he’d all but eviscerated her with courtesy and simple logic within his apartments, even after she’d attacked him, mock blade or not, like a mad woman.

She blushed in embarrassment at the memory.

How right her grandmother had been. How true her bitter wisdom had proven.

And so, with all of that in mind, Circe was nervous.

Because if her father did not approve of Arthur, she would lose him.

The very thought unsettled her. She had already realized what her mother had seen in him, after all. House Leos needed Arthur. He did not realize, truthfully, how much they needed him. How utterly outclassed every other potential Hetairoi was in comparison. Even if she hadn’t been told how gifted he was prior, she had felt it—like a chain around her neck, or an anchor hanging from her heart. When he spoke, it took all of her control not to be swept up by his effortless charisma.

It was infuriatingly intoxicating, and that alone told her everything she needed to know.

Arthur Magellan was powerful beyond anything she’d experienced outside of the Myrmidónes’ Strategos himself.

It was the only chance her family had, and she was unashamedly desperate to not let it go to waste. No matter what it took. No matter what he demanded. Nothing was too much if it meant alleviating her father’s burdened soul. Nothing was too humiliating if it meant easing her parents’ stress, and liberating them from the fear and worry that had been eating them alive in front of her.

Even if he demanded her as payment by the end.

The thought almost broke her, but she knew it was true.

It was vile, and base, and utterly revolting to consider.

Not because Arthur was unattractive, but because she was meant for higher things.

But none of that mattered in the face of her family’s suffering. Not pride, not breeding, not privilege, and not propriety. Nothing was more important than her House’s legacy, or her parents’ efforts being vindicated.

She would do anything for her family.

Even become a no-name Fringe noble’s consort.