The elbow stopped less than an inch away from Cassia's temple.

Her eyes widened as the displaced air ruffled the stray hairs that had come loose from her braid and hung around her face. A startled breath huffed from her as she looked up.

The Sorvetian smiled grimly, his black eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. "The knife in my hand is not the only weapon you need be wary of, Princess."

He stepped back, his smile widening into a smugness that made her swear under her breath—which simply made him laugh. She wiped her sweaty hand on her pant-leg, readjusting her grip on the knife Vestarin had handed her when she'd knocked on his door before the sun had risen.

"Expect your opponent to fight dirty," he instructed. "And make sure you do the same."

Cassia nodded sharply, determined not to be caught so off-guard again.

It was only her third lesson with Vestarin, but she had already learned the only thing more wicked than his humor was his skill. They had spent the very first lesson going over her ability—if one could really call it that—with a sword, and she blushed just thinking about how many times he had knocked the weapon from her grasp or 'killed' her.

And he still had the gall to say she wasn't that bad with a sword.

Vestarin paced away from her before spinning gracefully to settle into a ready stance. His knife was held low, his thumb pressed into the spine of the hilt.

The blade glimmered wickedly in the candlelight. Cassia reminded herself not to stare at the knife, raising her eyes to Vestarin's as she nodded to signal her readiness. 

Vestarin stood silent for a moment, then jabbed forward with the knife. Cassia leapt back, then leapt back again to avoid each deadly strike. He was ridiculously fast. Quicker than Julianus even, which was no small feat by her estimation. 

He forced her to move faster, sometimes recklessly so.

Another strike had her swinging her own knife down, the blades clanging as they met. Her eyes went wide with surprise as she glanced down at the blow she had managed to parry.

Then a hand was on her shoulder pushing her backwards and his calf slammed into hers, sending her to the floor. Cassia frowned up at the ceiling before she let her eyes drift to Vestarin, who was grinning like a devil.

"Show me how you did that," she demanded.

Vestarin laughed, extending a hand to haul her to her feet. Then he glanced toward the windows. Daylight was beginning to creep inside. With a grimace, he said, "Quickly then."

Moving slowly, giving her time to see and learn, Vestarin performed the same maneuver. A palm placed on her shoulder pushed her back, while his leg swept into hers, knocking it out from under her. She landed on the floor twice more, each time having the breath knocked from her, before she felt confident enough to try it herself.

Vestarin hit the floor with a dramatic "oomph" that made her roll her eyes when she attempted the move. Getting to his feet, he gave her one of those charming smiles of his, then said, "That is more than enough for today, Your Highness."

Cassia nodded reluctantly, wiping the sweat from her brow. She watched as Vestarin poured them each a glass of water before she joined him near the fireplace.

Standing on no ceremony, Vestarin flopped into one of the chairs, drinking deeply. More sedately, she took the other chair and drank, the water soothing her parched throat. Much to her displeasure, he'd hardly broken a sweat in spite of the fact that they had been at it for better than an hour.

"You learn quickly," he said, his voice soft and cool as the water.

"Not quickly enough," she grumbled, taking another sip.

Vestarin snorted, draining his glass before he held up his arm to display a bright red scratch just above his elbow. Guilt made Cassia look away. It had been more accident than anything with her slashing wildly when he'd pinned her in a corner.

It wasn't very deep, and he'd laughed it off, but Cassia hated the fact that she'd been so out of control.

With a groan, he stretched his arms over his head. "And here I was thinking I'd get a little rest here in the capital. Between you and your father I'll be relieved  to go back to Brunia."

Cassia gave him a sympathetic grimace. "How many times have you had to tell the old fool the exact same story?"

"Well technically I'm telling all the other old fools." Vestarin shrugged. "I can understand their reluctance, but I grow weary of repeating myself." His expression darkened. "I grow more weary of the smug bastards who believe they know something simply because they can point to the island on a map."

Cassia snickered, settling more deeply into her chair. Her breathing had returned to normal and the sweat was beginning to dry on her body.

The rooms he had been given were small and sparsely furnished—certainly nothing as lavish as noble visitors received—but they were private which was all either of them cared about. Vestarin rubbed at his eyes, resting his head against the back of his chair.

"May I ask you a question, Princess?" he said softly.

She blinked once, then gave him a half-smile as his words echoed those of another. "Only if I can ask you one in return." At his raised eyebrow she explained, "You can hardly expect me to give anything away without compensation."

Vestarin chuckled, nodding. "Very well. Why are you doing this?"

Confused, Cassia looked around, sure the answer was already obvious. Vestarin was much too bright to not understand why she was intent on training so hard.

"That's not what I meant." He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees as he pinned her with a thoughtful stare. Then he waved an elegant hand. "I know well enough why you are doing this. I meant something a little broader."

Cassia turned her expression to a neutral one. She had been asked this before—many times before. And had long ago come to the conclusion that there was no way to properly explain it.

"It is dangerous," he said thoughtfully, prodding her. "And cruel."

"Life is cruel," she replied with a shrug. "And my lot is no more dangerous than if I had been born into a common family at the mercy of thugs, rogue soldiers, thieves, plague, famine—"

"Yes, I'm aware of how dismal the world is beyond these walls," he cut her off, making her raise an eyebrow. He grimaced in apology but continued, "What I'm asking is there are other options available to you. Why do you want to bear the crown?"

With slightly pursed lips, she considered how she would like to answer him. Then she asked, "Why are you a soldier?"

Vestarin's lips parted before he scoffed and slumped back in his chair. "You said you'd answer my question."

"I am," she placated. She gestured to him, eyeing the telltale lumps the bandages he was still wearing created in his shirt and the scars on the exposed skin of his arms. "Humor me."

He stood and went toward the window. There was a long moment of contemplative silence. Then: "My father was a legionary. He taught me there was no greater honor than to sacrifice for a cause beyond yourself." Vestarin turned back to her, hands clasped behind his back. "I became a soldier because that fate was in my blood."

Cassia smiled wanly. "Is it so impossible that perhaps my reasoning is just the same as yours?"

"Not impossible," Vestarin conceded. "But I also didn't have any other choice. My family needed the money quite badly and my father had no other trade to teach me. You have a choice. You could marry any man you wanted to and spend your days in peace and luxury." He fixed her with a knowing stare. "Why do you not want peace? Aside from being a daughter of kings, aside from what is in your blood, why do you want the throne?"

Not very many people had ever asked her why she wanted to rule. She took a moment to consider her answer.

"Because it is meant to be me," she finally said. "This burden is mine and mine alone. If I were to relent and give what is rightfully mine to one of my brothers, I would forever be dissatisfied in my life knowing I could have done a better job than Malitech." She grimaced thoughtfully. "Or Marcus."

"So you will... risk your life in the hopes that you won't be dissatisfied when your time comes?" Vestarin's tone rang with a strange mix of understanding and disbelief. Perhaps a little admiration.

"I was given a chance to make something of myself. I was given possibility." Cassia stood and shrugged into the colorful robes she had worn over her training clothes on her way to his quarters. "I would bring shame to myself and dishonor the gods and my ancestors if I didn't take the chance given to me. If I didn't do something with the great opportunity afforded me."

Vestarin smiled, bowing his head in acknowledgement.

"I want to rule," she continued, "not only because it is my right, by the gods' will, but because I can change the fates of so many others by doing so. My father is a cruel king. His taxes are harsh and his laws are harsher. My brothers would provide no respite from that. And... if I can change the world, I should. No matter the cost to me. No matter what peace I am possibly giving up."

"You are a strange woman indeed," Vestarin said, sitting back down.

Cassia's smile fell slightly. Julianus had said that to her once. With a shake of her head, she began to move toward the door, intent on not thinking about how very much Vestarin reminded her of Julianus.

"Are you not going to ask me something?" Vestarin's words drew her to a halt.

For a moment, she considered simply shaking her head and leaving. This was not a game she had truly intended to start with Vestarin. But looking back at him—at the exotic tilt of his eyes and the curious curve of his mouth—she relented.

What could it hurt to learn more about this man Julianus called brother?

Tilting her head in consideration, she finally said, "Sorvetian children are given two names—one by their father, one by their mother."

The calm expression on Vestarin's face flickered. Cassia hesitated again.

"Tarquinius is Metian," she nearly whispered, meeting his dark eyes. "What did your mother call you?"

He didn't answer for a very long time, and by the way his jaw was clenched she knew she had perhaps ventured where she was most unwelcome. But just as she was about to retract the question, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply through his nose. 

A faint grin hovered over his mouth as he said, "Cho Sin."

Cassia ached to ask him what it meant, but didn't want to pry any more than she already had. It had never felt like that with Julianus. It had never felt like she had overstepped her bounds when she had asked him anything.

It was a decidedly unpleasant feeling. So, unwilling to dig further, she simply smiled and nodded.

She'd barely managed a step when he offered, "In Sorvetian it means reckless." He snorted at that. "Which Calix would argue is true enough, but that's not why my mother named me that."

Cassia slowly turned, eyeing Vestarin with interest. 

"She named me that," he said slowly, "because it sounds like the Metian word chosen."

"What were you chosen for?" 

Vestarin shrugged and laughed, lightening the moment. "She would never tell me. Just that I should always be prepared for an opportunity to present itself."

Cassia gestured at herself. "Is that why you agreed to teach me?"

"I agreed to do that for many reasons." His expression grew nearly brittle once again, but was quickly covered by another handsome grin. "But I believe you have somewhere you need to be if we are to remain undiscovered?"

The clear dismissal took her aback for a moment, but she nodded and saw herself from his rooms. While she had always felt like she was on equal footing with Julianus, she felt like she owed Vestarin. It didn't feel right, pressing him for answers like it had with the general.

Ignoring why that might be, she closed the door behind her.

The hallways were deserted in this part of the castle. And cold. Cassia's breath frosted in front of her as she passed a bank of windows that let in plenty of light, but did nothing to keep out the chill.

Tugging her robes closer to her body, she moved quickly toward the royal residential halls. Much to her dismay, the air began to warm the closer she got to where her father slept. She could only imagine how cold the slave quarters must be.

She stopped at another window, only a few halls over from her own rooms, and stared out over the gardens. Frost coated everything.

The cold had come early this year to Levitum.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned her forehead against the freezing glass, not really seeing the frosted trees or white sky. 

She wondered if he had made it to the garrison on the edge of Mortania. It had been eight days since he'd left, and she knew he'd be riding hard. She hoped he had arrived on schedule. 

Try as she might, Cassia had found not thinking about the general was an exercise in futility. It must be even colder where he was, wherever that might be. Perhaps it was snowing. 

Like her thoughts had provoked the fickle mistress of the skies, minuscule flakes began to trickle from the clouds above. They glittered and swirled to the ground, gilding the dead plants and dark stones with silver. 

Cassia sighed, her breath fogging the glass before she pushed herself away and continued to her rooms. She bathed and dried her hair as much as she could before curling up in one of the armchairs before the dying coals of last night's fire. 

She was soon startled awake by a knock, having dozed off.

Nearly staggering across the room, she unlocked her door, surprised when Claudia was the only one there. She blinked at her oldest lady, but stepped aside, gesturing the woman inside.

After a quick curtsy, Claudia said, "I apologize for coming so early, Your Highness. But... this was given to me by one of the slaves."

Claudia proffered a folded piece of paper. After a moment's hesitation, a million fears whirring through her head before she realized how ludicrous they were, Cassia took the note. 

In slanted, elegant handwriting were only six words: Places for spies and unwanted Heirs.

Cassia looked up at Claudia sharply. "You said a slave gave you this?"

"Yes, Princess." Claudia was watching her with concern. "Is something wrong?"

Ignoring the question, Cassia motioned for her lady-in-waiting to follow her to her dressing room. Claudia stood silently in the doorway, watching as Cassia riffled through the collection before finally emerging with a blue velvet dress. The simple design and soft material would allow her to move quietly enough.

Claudia sprang into action before Cassia even had to ask. In record time, Cassia was dressed. Her hair was unbound, falling in gentle curls down her back. Despite her protests, Claudia set a silver and diamond circlet fashioned into a cluster of stars with delicate points onto her hair, binding it back from her face. 

"You never know when you might need to appear royal, Your Highness," Claudia said gently.

Cassia finally conceded in the interest of saving time, then moved toward the door to her rooms. She spun around once she reached it, intent on telling Claudia to leave her to her own devices, but the older woman was only standing beside the fire.

Her olive green gaze was knowing and Cassia found herself opening her mouth to explain—to say something. But her lady merely shook her head. "Do what you must, Princess. But please, tread with care."

She cast a distrustful look at the anonymous note still clutched in Cassia's hand.

Cassia closed her mouth, staring at the other woman in shock. Then she surprised herself by smiling and nodding her head in thanks before she slipped quietly into the hall. She quickly made her way across the castle, hoping she had interpreted the note properly.

In a hallway just above her father's council room, Cassia carefully checked that no one was nearby before she slipped into a room long-abandoned. She removed her shoes, stockinged feet silent over the moth-eaten carpets. 

She ran her fingers along the molding of a certain section of wall, not surprised when she found the dust already disturbed. Upon depressing it, there was a subtle click and the wall opened to reveal a small door.

Cassia ducked inside, closing the door silently behind her, plunging her into complete darkness. She could sense the cramped passage that unfurled on either side of her and turned to her left. A hand on the wall to guide her, Cassia moved down the forgotten passage until voices filled the air around her as clearly as if she were in the room.

Around a sharp turn, faint light was trickling into the passage.

Cassia stopped and made sure her breath was as steady and silent as possible before rounding the corner. There, just under her feet, was an elaborate grill of metal. From beneath, she knew it blended seamlessly into the frescoed, gilded ceiling of the council room.

From above it was a perfect window into private meetings and councils.

She moved her skirt out of the way, her bare knees pressing into the cold stone as she leaned forward, peering down into the council room.

The king sat directly beneath her, his crown glinting in the light from the windows to the east. Around the table were the usual collection of advisors and nobility.

Spread across the table was a massive map of the known world. She was too far away to see any proper details, particularly with the grate working to partially obscure her view. But she knew the design well enough.

Small red disks were scattered across the surface, denoting approximate troop positions on land.

They were all shouting at once, making it impossible for Cassia to make anything out. Instead, she leaned forward in an attempt to see if she could discern anything from the map and other scattered papers but couldn't even make out any seals.

Her gaze traveled around the room again, stopping on Marcus who sat to the king's left. The prince was staring right at the grate and she froze, wondering if he could really see her.

He had sent the note. She had recognized his handwriting.

But why? It couldn't possibly be to simply help her. Marcus never did anything simply. Nor did he have the capacity for anything resembling such kindness.

After all, the last time she had received a tip from him, her lover had ended up in the frozen northern reaches of the empire.

Her attention was quickly diverted from that line of thought when the king raised his hands. Silence fell immediately as the men present waited for the king to speak. Standing, Durus said, "So we are in agreement that Vestarin is telling the truth."

Cassia's lips parted. They were speaking of the death-maidens. Perhaps if she was lucky, she could learn what her father planned to do about them, and how his actions might affect her own movements around the island.

Again her gaze flickered to Marcus, who was now studying the map, his head propped up on his fist. Unease bubbled in her heart, running through her bloodstream. The stone pressed cruelly into the bones of her knees.

A rumble of general agreement moved through the room. The king nodded, making the rubies in his crown wink in the light. "I have ordered General Julianus to begin eradicating these so-called witches upon his return to the island."

"By the time he gets there," Lord Antius started, then snorted, "if he manages to return from Antelium, these witches will have destroyed our legions in the north."

A handful of the higher-ranking lords snickered at that. Cassia leaned forward, silently fuming as she glared at Antius from her perch. The lord—one she already disliked for his constant lauding of his oldest marriageable son—looked rather pleased with himself. A few other lords made some poor jokes at Julianus' expense.

"Fool." Marcus' voice cut like a whip through the room. Cassia peered down curiously at her brother. Even the set of his shoulders was arrogant as he looked down the table at Antius.

King Durus looked toward his second-oldest son. "You have something to say about it," he asked, voice brittle.

Cassia rolled her eyes. When didn't Marcus have something to say?

"Only if you would like my opinion, Majesty," Marcus said silkily. Cassia shuddered at her brother's ability to so easily change his stripes.

Durus gestured impatiently and Marcus nodded his thanks, gracious and polite today. Then he turned back to Lord Antius and it was a wonder the man didn't melt into a puddle at the venom in Marcus' tone.

"Are you by chance hard of hearing, Lord Antius?" Marcus began, and Cassia could imagine how his dark honey eyes were like frozen chips of amber as he stared at the lord.

"No, Your Highness," Antius replied stiffly.

"Then stupid perhaps?" Marcus leaned forward, looking entirely too much like a lion about to pounce.

But after what the lord had said about Julianus, Cassia was more than content to watch her clever, vicious brother tear him to bloody pieces.

Antius wisely didn't answer. Marcus snorted and waved a lazy hand toward the map. "Vestarin has told us a hundred times if he's told us once. These women—whatever they are, witch or otherwise—could not even kill a single cohort, much less an entire legion. Any man of intelligence could understand what that means."

Cassia suppressed a snicker as silence fell around the table. Marcus wisely looked at everyone but the king. Then she mouthed, There are not enough of them.

Shaking his head, he glanced tragically back at their father, like the king must be as beleaguered by their stupidity as the prince was. "They either do not have enough of these women to wipe out our forces entirely," he said with precision, "or the power of these women is somehow limited."

"But we don't know that," Lord Vetus pointed out. "All we have is the word of a common soldier. Just the word of some half-breed."

Cassia bared her teeth in a snarl, but before she could do anything exceedingly foolish, Marcus snapped, "At least the common soldier can see plainly what is before him." The prince turned again to Durus. "My own sources have verified the return of unmarked bodies. Men felled not by blade or disease, but dead all the same. What Vestarin said about the body count is true enough. Furthermore, why would he dare lie to his king?"

Clever, Cassia thought dryly. There was no possible rebuttal to that particular question. The king was due unquestioning loyalty.

Supposedly.

"Then you are suggesting we simply wait for Julianus to return?" asked Corvus, one of her father's more favored advisors.

Marcus raised his eyes once more to the grate, giving her a half-smile. The expression sent a shiver down her spine, and she wondered once more why he had led her here. What had he wanted her to overhear?

"Patience is, I believe, the key to facing this threat," Marcus said softly. He looked back down at their father. "But soldiers are not the only weapon available to you."

She could imagine how Durus' eyebrow would raise, his cold eyes sparking with contained interest before he motioned for Marcus to continue speaking.

The prince leaned forward, his voice confidential when he said, "Your Heir intends to make for the island. If she so badly wishes for the crown, perhaps she can earn it by removing this threat from its power."