In the interim, she had a week to convince him to help House Leos.

She did not intend to waste it. Whatever it took.

“Is there anything I should be aware of?” Arthur asked while they walked, and drew Circe out of her internal monologue and circular anxiety.

“I… Regarding what, sorry?” Circe asked while she tried to recall if he’d said anything prior. She cursed her wandering mind and forced herself to focus.

“Your father. His staff. I’d rather not step onto a social landmine in the first meeting.”

Circe glanced back at him with a grin she didn’t bother to hide. “Where was this reservation when meeting me?”

“You attacked me while I was basically naked.” Arthur pointed out with a damnably attractive wry smile. “I didn’t think being reserved really mattered in that instance.”

His body really was a work of tailored genetic art. The mental image conjured by her memory did not help, and she felt a traitorous blush spreading across her cheeks in a wave of heat.

Especially when paired with the decidedly inappropriate and debased line of thinking she’d only moments ago been following.

She had no idea where the thoughts were coming from. She was by her nature largely disinterested in the idea of sex in general. Combat was what she loved, as well as art, and music. Sex had always been a thing people did, but which she had little active interest in. She was saving herself for marriage for her own values as much as she was for societal reasons.

The fact that Arthur so easily interested her physically was, truthfully, bewildering.

She wondered if it was the psions at play, or something built into his genetics.

Focus, Circe!

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” she said with a deliberate clearing of her throat while she ordered her thoughts and ran over the possibilities in her mind. “As far as my father and his staff goes, I cannot say there is anything too important to consider. Our Seneschal is a good man, and our First Captain is an honorable woman. I cannot think of much to say, truthfully. My father appreciates sincerity more than anything else.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Sincerity, huh? Are you sure?” Arthur asked with clear amusement.

“I… yes. Yes. Despite your snarky disposition, ser Magellan, I think he actually will appreciate your honest comportment—eventually.” she concluded with a returned grin back at him.

“Oh? Then I can’t wait.” Arthur said with another wry smile as they approached the waiting clump of four.

Lord Atreus was recognisable easily enough. Tall, attired in black armor, and bearing his customary grim visage and curated beard. His plumed helmet lay mag-locked to his left hip, and his right hand rested habitually on the hilt of his xiphos. Other than Arthur, he was the tallest man present—and would have towered as the sole exception were it not for Arthur’s even more impressive stature.

Beside Atreus stood her father himself.

He was tall for a Graecian man at 6’2, and had a head of striking silver-blond hair that complemented his lightly bronzed skin. Instead of the formal wear Circe had seem him in during Arthur’s recent arrival, he wore a more comfortable attire.

A flowing cloak crafted from the mane of a slain Laconian Lion was wrapped his shoulders, and swept down to his feet with a luxurious stylization that allowed it to glide upon the floor while the man walked, not enough to be dirtied, but enough to give the air of supreme confidence and wealth.

It was something her mother had impressed upon him, she knew.

He’d worn a set of matching black leggings and overcoat beneath the cloak, with the latter buttoned in silver along the right side of his broad chest, and the crimson lion of House Leos emblazoned in bright silk over his heart. On his feet he wore knee-high boots made of dark leather that seemed to pair naturally with his cloak.

The same Lion as the source, perhaps.

A long xiphos was sheathed on his right hip, and a hand adorned in several elegant rings rested upon it. For all that the rings seemed a touch ostentatious, Circe knew all-too-well that he could wield the sword with great proficiency.

His gaze was warm when it met hers, and she couldn’t help but smile back in greeting despite a desire for professionalism.

Her father had always been good at making people smile.

Beside her father stood the short, jolly figure of the House’s Seneschal, his ridiculously long and curled mustache and rotund figure a sharp contrast to the ruthlessly brilliant intellect that lurked behind his squat and cheerful exterior. He was attired in simple fare, with a charcoal waistcoat and pants both pinstriped, and a golden link for his pocket watch extending up toward his center torso.

The cane he walked with rested idly at his side, and he watched their approach with a sharpness to his otherwise warm gaze that set Circe at ease.

She had always trusted Stephanos’ wisdom.