Heir of the Gods

Ch. 1: Execution

Cassia glared at her reflection. Glared at the sumptuous red silk of her dress. Glared at the ruby pins holding her hair up and away from her face.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked. Slapping the heavy skirt, she continued, "This hardly seems appropriate."

Her ladies-in-waiting shared pained looks that she caught in the mirror.

"What?" she growled, the tight bodice squeezing uncomfortably over her chest, pressing her breasts up in a way that would have made her blush if she weren't already so angry. 

The straps of the dress dug into her shoulders with the weight of the expensive material. Golden falcons grappling over a sword were embroidered on the front panel of the skirt, glittering and fierce.

"It was sent by your father, Your Highness," Claudia said, bowing her head, the white silk of the veil covering her dark hair fluttering around her face. The bronze circlet holding it in place on her head winked in the sunlight coming through the tall windows.

"Of course," Cassia muttered. "Which lord is it today then?"

"Lord Julianus," Claudia answered. "Lord Calix Julianus."

Cassia frowned, trying to place him. She wondered if she had met the man before, but could hardly recall in what was daily becoming a wearying line of suitors.

Eventually she gave up, raising an eyebrow at Claudia. 

"Lord Julianus' family is nearly as ancient as your own," the older woman said, sounding just a little disapproving. "His ancestors fought beside yours to take this land from the savages who once ruled it. He is a proven man, highly decorated. Though," now Claudia frowned, "he spends all his time on the front lines, rather than in court as his father now wishes. In fact, this will be his first time." 

"Hm," Cassia hummed with practiced disinterest.

While military men usually had the benefit of not being simpering, over-romantic fools, Cassia often found them to be either dreary or over-ambitious. She cast one last disapproving look over her reflection, then turned her back on it. Her ladies scrambled to fall into step behind her as she exited her chambers.

Momentarily, she gave herself over to the fantasy that this one, perhaps, would be able to give her what she wanted, without taking anything she needed.

She walked along the sunlit halls, skirts swishing softly along the pale marble. Paintings lined the walls. The eyes of her ancestors followed her, regardless of the fact that nearly every painting had rendered them immortal in combat.

Her ladies talked quietly amongst themselves, knowing to leave her to her thoughts.

Cassia's scowl only deepened as they descended the first two staircases, then the third before following a long, wide hall down to the main doors of the castle.

Near the doors, a man stood in front of a tapestry depicting the hunting of a stag, head tilted thoughtfully, hands clasped behind his back.

She slowed, eyes scanning the unfamiliar figure. The women behind her fell silent. The satin slippers Cassia was wearing were whisper-quiet against the marble now veined with gold.

The man still hadn't turned, and she narrowed her eyes as she took in his confident posture. His square, broad shoulders and straight back. Dressed richly in a white linen shirt and a forest-green vest he cut a rather dashing figure.

Her eyes traced slowly down the rest of him, appreciating the fitted trousers and the fact that this was obviously a man of actioned living.

"I've never found hunting particularly enjoyable," he said suddenly, making her start. "Rather unfair a sport if you ask me. Not unless animals suddenly master the art of shooting an arrow back at you."