"Cassian Aquila Caelum," my father's voice carried beneath the vaulted stone, calm and unshaken by the height of the chamber or the weight of the moment, "I name you Praetor of the High Vale in my absence."
The hall answered him like iron striking iron. Gauntlets crashed against breastplates. Boots struck marble in disciplined rhythm. Banners suspended between pillars trembled in the mountain wind that swept down from the high windows carved into the cliff face. The sound was loud, but not wild. It was ordered. Structured. Loyal. I did not bow immediately. I stood still and watched them.
Captain Rhys struck first, grin sharp and unapologetic, like he had been waiting for the excuse. Lord Mareth rose with slower dignity, cane steady beneath his palm. The younger lords followed in careful rhythm, none eager to be first, none foolish enough to be last. And then the cleric. A fraction of a second. A tightening of the fingers around the silver at his throat before he joined the roar.
Exactly as Father said.
Only then did I lower myself to one knee.
CRACK
Steel slammed against my ribs. The air smelled of leather, blood, and rust. Familiar.
"If I were an enemy, you'd be dead."
I did not answer. I was still thinking over my father's warnings and my coronation.
"If I were an enemy," Alex said evenly, not raising her voice, not pressing the point, "you would already be dead."
"I know," I replied, adjusting my grip. "I was thinking."
"Don't."
"That seems dramatic."
"Assassins rarely allow that."
She stood over me, tall as the outer gates, broad-shouldered and immovable. Even if I were older, I doubt I would ever match her height. I have always been lean, built for speed, not impact. The guards call me a slender cat.
I have decided it is a compliment.
She offered a hand. I took it.
"How would you survive without me?" she muttered.
"Not well," I admitted.
A faint smirk.
Then she stepped back into stance.
"Again."
When I rose from my knee in the hall, the cheering quieted. My father's voice cut cleanly through what little noise remained.
"The High Vale stands not on rock, but on will. and in my absence, that will stands with him."
Silence followed. True silence. The kind that settles into bone. The kind that presses against the ribs and demands to know whether you are strong enough to bear its weight.
I straightened fully and let the weight rest where it would. I met every gaze without wavering. Lords in heavy cloaks trimmed with fur. Captains with scarred hands folded behind their backs. Courtiers who had perfected the art of smiling. Some searched for doubts. Others for weakness. A few searched for fear.
They found none.
Let them look. Let them measure. I am exactly what they need.
She did not wait. She lunged.
Steel rang. Impact shot down my wrists into my spine. She pressed this time, no pause, no comfortable window to observe and adjust. I shifted my footing and stepped inside her reach, angling for her flank. She was already moving. Of course she was.
Her blade slid along mine. For a heartbeat the air around her thickened. Not wind. Not weight. Something denser. The stones beneath her heel groaned. I felt it before I saw it, a faint ridged outline beneath the skin at her temples. Not fully called. Not fully formed. She was holding back.
I drove forward anyway.
CRACK
She met me shoulder to shoulder. The impact rattled my teeth. She should not have been that solid. Her heel struck stone. The yard answered. A tremor rolled outward, subtle and precise. My balance shifted just enough.
Her blade touched my throat.
She stepped back and the pressure vanished. Whatever had coiled beneath her skin receded. She never called it fully. She never needed to.
"You felt that," she said.
How could I not
Captain Rhys looked at me like the matter was already decided. Lord Mareth measured the odds of my failure. The cleric's gaze held something else.
I repeat what my father had told me, "The guards will follow your mind because they respect it. But they will only ever love you for your strength."
"The minor lords follow the wind. Do not waste yourself trying to change them."
He had continued, "Ambition and greed are older than the mountain. Even you cannot cure that."
The memory lingered as I straightened fully and let my shoulders settle into the weight of the title.
Confidence flows downward.
"Again," I said.
She studied me, not mockingly, assessing. "You keep thinking you can outpace me."
"I can."
A faint smile. Not amused. Not convinced. "You assume you know everything"
I smiled. "Usually I do."
That was the pride she says I should leave behind.
She attacked harder this time.
I slipped past her guard and forced her back two steps. For a single perfect breath, victory unfolded exactly as predicted.
Then her eyes changed.
Something old looked through them. Not anger. Recognition.
The ground answered deeper this time. I felt it in my ribs. She was about to escalate. I calculated quickly. She wouldn't go further. Not against me.
I stepped in. A beat too late.
BAM
Her shoulder drove into my chest and I hit stone harder than before. The impact rattled through my spine.
She stood over me again.
"You assume too much," she said quietly. "You hesitate."
"I choose."
"You hesitate," she repeated.
She knew she was right. And I hated that she was.