Fallen Eagle-Chapter 44: Different Heartbeats

Fallen Eagle-Chapter 44: Different Heartbeats

31st December 1459
Theodorus dressed himself in the fine silver-and-black livery of the Sideris household. Demetrios stood at his shoulder, smoothing every wrinkle and adjusting every fold, like a mother bird preening an unruly chick. Their movements were almost choreographed now, a far cry from their days in the capital, when they would play tug-of-war over every scrap of fabric. This felt like proof of how their bond had deepened over the past months. The mood in the room, though lighter than in the days immediately following his birthday, still carried the faint pressure of that storm.
Theodorus caught Demetrios watching him. Their eyes met, and a quiet understanding passed between them.
“Tell me true,” Theodorus said, breaking the silence with a half-smile. “Do I look dashing or merely charming, Demetrios?” He kept himself carefully still while Demetrios worked and directed Stefanos with quiet gestures.
“Acceptable at the very least,” Demetrios said at last, with the grave satisfaction of a craftsman appraising his work.
“Ah, you wound me, Demetrios.” Theodorus pressed a hand to his chest, miming injury. “You’re supposed to flatter your lord, not cut him down. I must look impeccable for this utterly useless pageantry.”
“Pity I cannot be there to see you use your talents at evasion to their fullest.” A knowing glint entered Demetrios’s eyes. “You know, your little escapade of claiming to be looking for a match has made you one of the most sought-after bachelors in the castle. And what better chance for every dame to throw herself at you than the end-of-year feast?”
As servants, Demetrios and Stefanos would not be present at the august gathering. The great hall would be packed to the rafters with distant Nomikos kin, dragged from their estates by duty, ambition, or both.
Theodorus’s expression darkened as if a shadow crossed his features. “Yes, I know.” He swallowed, the motion tight. “You’ve been reminding me of how much you thought that was a mistake every single day since then.”
“And I will keep doing so until you admit it,” Demetrios replied, unruffled.
“Never.” Theodorus snorted, the sound half amusement, half defiance.
An easy quiet settled over them, gentler than the heavy silence from earlier. Stefanos, sensing his part in the preparations was done, bowed quickly, leaving them alone.
“Be careful out there, my lord,” Demetrios said at length. His voice was mild, but his eyes were sharp. “These feasts are ripe with maneuvering. Do not fall prey to them.”
Theodorus met his gaze steadily. “I intend to be the one doing that. Today I will sharpen the last of the tools I need to crack Suyren’s armour. Then, it's time I started digging deeper.”
“Well said.” Demetrios crossed to the peg by the door and took down his woolen coat, pulling it on.
From one of its pockets, he withdrew a small twist of waxed paper and unfolded it to reveal bite-sized nuggets of fried dough glazed in honey - one of the nomad sweets they’d taken as gifts. He popped one into his mouth.
“I never knew you had such a sweet tooth,” Theodorus remarked, eyebrows lifting. “You insist on always bringing back a few of those.”
“What can I say?” Demetrios shrugged, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “If there was anything your stepmother left me that I appreciate, it was the taste for Tatar cuisine.”
He spoke the words lightly, but the mention of Alsu hung in the air like a name rarely taken down from a shelf. Demetrios almost never spoke of her, or of the past for that matter, so Theodorus tucked the comment away carefully. He had begun to realize how much he had missed in the people around him. First Demetrios, then Kyriakos; both had blindsided him in their own ways.
Demetrios stepped closer and set a firm hand on Theodorus’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said quietly. Then he opened the door, letting in a draft of cooler air, and departed down the corridor with unhurried steps.
Left alone, Theodorus drew a breath, squared his shoulders, and followed.
The air smelled of roasting meat and spiced wine, mixed with the scent of pine boughs hung along the walls for the turning of the year, and above him, banners bearing the Nomikos crest hung heavy from the beams.
Laughter and conversation rolled down the long table, which had been extended to its fullest length, with more trestle tables added along the sides of the hall. Everywhere Theodorus looked, he saw differing shades of copper and light brown mops of Nomikos hair.
A formal dancing stage had been set up in the far corner, a small group of musicians claiming the space beside it, an eclectic bunch ranging from violins to rebecs.
The plates along the long table were still empty, but the starters laid out along the sideboards were mouth-watering: plates of olives, soft white cheese drizzled with oil, still steaming meat pastries, the list went on. It was an extravagant expense, Theodorus thought. One that had surely given Hypatius many a headache and many more hours of work to assemble.
“Well, well, well. A bit late for the party, aren’t we?”
Kyriakos was back to his usual flamboyant self. The bruise on his face had healed completely, and he had ‘dressed up’ for the event - though not in any conventional way. He had utterly disregarded Nomikos propriety, wearing a coat closer to brown than the burgundy, the edges slightly frayed and ruffled. His shoulder-length hair was tied back in something that aspired to be a ponytail but only succeeded in the roughest, loosest sense.
“I wasn’t aware the party had already begun.” Theodorus glanced around at the room - many seats were still empty. “A quarter of the guests haven’t even arrived.”
“And that is precisely why this is the best time of the party, my friend.”
Kyriakos slung an arm around Theodorus’s shoulders with easy affection, a gesture he’d taken to since the revelations at his homestead.
“We can still get drunk without losing too much face or insulting important guests,” Kyriakos winked mischievously.
“Where did you even get wine, Kyriakos?” A long-suffering sigh preceded Aspostolos’s arrival. He was, as ever, with a diminutive Michail in tow. Apostolos gave Theodorus a polite nod of greeting and Kyriakos a look of severe disapproval.
He was even more immaculately arranged than usual, wearing the proper burgundy livery of the household, the doublet perfectly fitted, silver stitching flowing at the seams, lining his cuffs. Not a wrinkle marred his attire, and it went without saying that his hair was combed back and held in place in a neat ponytail.
Next to him, Michail looked like a man transformed - and utterly miserable about it. Someone had forced his unruly hair into submission, but it couldn’t mask his grumpiness at being present at the event.
Theodorus did not need to guess to know who had orchestrated this transformation.
“Lord Adanis explicitly forbade drinks before the feast began,” Apostolos said, arms crossing over his chest.
“He didn’t forbid going to the cellar to snag a cup,” Kyriakos replied blithely.
Apostolos pressed his fingertips to his temples, as if fighting off an oncoming headache. For once, words seemed to fail him.
“Be calm, cousin. It is only a sip.” Kyriakos lifted the cup again. “I am sampling it to ensure it is of good quality.”
He took a long, appreciative gulp and closed his eyes, letting out a satisfied sound. “Aaah- and I can definitely attest to that.”
Before Apostolos could launch into a lecture, movement across the room stole their attention. A ripple ran through the long table as conversations quieted and heads turned.
From the far doors came a procession of composed grace: gowns sweeping the floor, hair braided and coiled, pearls, bits of polished metal catching light as they moved, and the faint scent of rosewater washing out over the unwitting audience. At its head walked Eliana and Cassandra.
“Ah, the ladies are looking mighty fine,” Kyriakos commented openly, eyeing his more distant relatives, voice carrying just enough to be risky. The wine was clearly loosening his tongue.
Behind the ladies came Lord Adanis with his close entourage of senior family members and landowners. Hypatius was among them, dressed with a stark precision that walked the line between martial and courtly.
Theodorus and Hypatius shared a brief, meaningful glance, openly sizing each other up. A moment later, Lord Adanis’s gaze found Theodorus as well. The look lingered, unreadable but heavy with intent.
Lord Adanis reached the head of the table with his entourage and raised a hand for silence. At his invitation, everyone sat, and he alone remained standing, waiting for the hall’s full attention.
“I would like, first of all, to thank everyone for coming,” Lord Adanis began, his voice carrying easily over the low murmur of the hall. “Every distant member of the family who has gathered here today. Every new addition to our ever-growing tree.” He let his gaze sweep the assembled faces. “It warms my heart to see us all gathered here, celebrating those things which are most important of all in these trying times.”
He paused, allowing the silence to tighten.
“Loyalty.” He cut his right arm across his chest in a sharp, deliberate gesture.
“Unity.” His raised his right arm rose, his tunic swaying with the movement.
“Family.” He annunciated the word as if it were a holy relic. Beside Theodorus, Kyriakos’s fingers clenched around the edge of the table.
“These, by themselves, are just words, pretty things to embroider on banners, and nothing more.” He slowly curled his hands into fists. “They are only strong if tied together by something stronger. By love.”
On cue, the great double doors at the back of the hall cracked open. A procession of servants entered, walking in step, carrying a grand tapestry stretched between them. All eyes turned to watch its slow journey along the wall.
“Today is not a celebration of the loyalty we all hold to this house, of our pledged unity, or even of our familial ties.” Lord Adanis went on, voice smooth and assured.
At the far wall, the servants unfurled the tapestry, revealing a woven hunt of grand proportions in a cascade of colour.
“It is a celebration of the love we hold for each other,” Adanis declared with a final note.
A polite murmur rippled through the hall. Adanis sat back down with measured calm.
“Eat.”
At once, the hall sprang into motion. Servants poured wine and brought in laden platters, the scrape of benches and clatter of dishes rising to meet the music. The grand feast had begun.
“Do you think he enjoyed it?” Hilda asked, her voice low and quick with nerves. “The stitching for the golden hare’s wound is crooked. Do you think he’ll notice?”
Despite her notorious clumsiness and her outspoken dislike for any task involving sewing, Hilda wanted to do things well.
“Of course he did,” Cassandra answered, gentle but firm. She reached over to smooth a rebellious curl near Hilda’s ear, which strained against the tamed haircut and pins they had forced it into. “You saw how closely he was looking at it. And how he glances up in appreciation every time he thinks no one is watching.”
“He could be admiring its faults,” Hilda muttered, lips pressing into a thin line. “Picking out stray threads.”
Cassandra recognized the path that thought would take and refused to follow it. “Eat your legumes,” she said instead, nudging Hilda’s plate of venison, peas, and carrots - the latter in suspiciously outnumbering the former by a wide margin.
Cassandra collected a few peas and venison of her own, eating with small, measured bites, conscious of her posture and poise.
“There are many foreign noblemen here tonight,” she continued, eyes flicking briefly toward the other end of the hall, “and, more importantly, their sons. You don’t want to look overly nervous.”
“I doubt they’d look too closely at a small child,” Hilda scoffed, though she obediently speared a green bean.
“You are not a small child anymore,” Cassandra said flatly. “You are thirteen. And you’ve had your first bleeding. That means you’re old enough to be betrothed.”
Hilda rolled her eyes in dramatic protest, but she did straighten her back a fraction.
“Speaking of betrothal…” Hilda murmured, trying and failing to sound casual. Her gaze slid toward the far table where the sergeants and aides were taking their own portions of the roasted pork, laughing and jostling one another between mouthfuls. “Are you going to…?”
Stolen novel; please .
Her eyes fixed on a particular figure among them.
“For the thousandth time, yes, little sister,” Cassandra replied, using the affectionate title they had shared since childhood. “You don’t have to sound so surprised every time you bring it up.”
She set down her knife and wiped her fingers delicately on her napkin. “And I have already explained my reasoning to you. It is a purely calculated decision.” She had to ascertain the Captain’s value to the House she's sworn to protect. And his threat.
“Of course, Cassa,” Hilda said with the tone of someone very much unconvinced. She stabbed another pea and rolled it around her plate. “It’s just… are you really going to?”
Cassandra rolled her eyes, it seemed she’d have to endure the questioning. At least she’d managed to ensure her cousin didn’t wallow in self-pity.
…
Close to an hour later, Cassandra was sorely regretting her earlier bravado. With half the castle seemingly being fed information by her devilish little cousin, more and more ears had turned their way. Now every girl within reach seemed to know that Cassandra was ‘considering’ approaching the enigmatic captain. Worse, each felt personally obliged to advise her on exactly how she ought to do it.
The entire cluster of younger ladies-in-waiting, bolstered by distant relatives who were annoyingly quick on the uptake, had formed an informal council around Cassandra.
A few of the older Ladies giggled behind their cups, glancing between Cassandra and the aides’ table as if watching a play unfold. The situation was, Cassandra concluded with sinking resignation, well and truly out of hand.
“There is your chance,” Hilda proclaimed suddenly.
She had also been watching the table like a hawk. Not a second after the captain excused himself, did Hilda pounce on the opportunity.
“He’s gone for the desserts,” Hilda breathed. “Now, Cassa. Go.” The Ladies perked up excitedly, egging her on.
“Fine,” she harrumphed at last, cheeks already warming. “Calm yourselves. You are all making this out to be a bigger deal than it has any right to be.”
She pushed back her chair and rose, making her way toward the long sideboard next to the dancing floor, where nobles moved in a measured pattern of back and forths, hands brushing in brief, choreographed touches.
The captain noticed her as she approached. Cassandra faltered for a single step, but smoothed her expression as if she had simply drifted there by chance, following the line of pastries and sugared fruits.
“Lady Cassandra.” The captain’s livery was a stark monotone of ash and charcoal that matched his gaze well.
“Captain Theodorus,” Cassandra’s makeup was a slight cherry tan and hazelnut lipstick that accentuated her hair better. “How have you been enjoying your first Suyren end-of-year feast?”
“It has been a bit overwhelming, I must admit.” His mouth quirked, not quite a smile, as he glanced around the hall. “There is much to eat, to hear, to see.”
He gestured to the laden table between them, where servants moved in tireless rhythm like a beehive, ensuring the display was never anything less than abundant.
“It is always a lively event,” Cassandra said. “House Nomikos prides itself on delivering worthy feasts to its subjects.”
For a heartbeat, a quick shadow crossed the Captain’s features before smoothing out again.
“It is certainly living up to its reputation,” he said, the genial smile arriving a fraction later. “Lord Adanis doesn’t do things by half measures.”
He nodded toward her father’s seat at the high table. Cassandra’s gaze followed Theodorus’s, and she sensed her father’s eyes find her in turn, sliding to the Captain and back again.
Cassadra suddenly felt much more watched than before.
“C-captain, there is something I wanted to speak to you about…”
Cassandra felt her courage evaporate the moment the words left her mouth. The grand hall, so wide and echoing a moment ago, seemed to shrink around her. The weight of imagined gazes pressed against her shoulders, and her tongue felt slow and dry.
“A dance, perhaps?” The captain asked gently, seeing her struggle.
He extended his hand toward her, the offer neatly reversing the roles. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then extended her hand. “Of course,” she managed, voice soft.
Theodorus’s grip was steady in a way that anchored her as he led her toward the dance floor. The music swelled to meet them as they joined the outer line of dancers forming for a basse dance, that slow, stately pattern of gliding steps and gentle turns favored at such formal gatherings.
Theodorus’s movements were simple and unadorned, lacking dramatic flair, but there was a surety to them. He did not hesitate, did not stumble, and he was not afraid to take the lead.
At first, Cassandra’s heart hammered faster than the drumbeat, an uneven staccato that made her breath catch and her steps feel half a fraction too late. But as the pattern repeated, her pulse gradually adjusted to the measured rhythm.
Every so often, when the dance brought them facing the side of the hall where the Ladies sat, heat would rush up into her cheeks, but she managed not to trip over her own feet or flee the floor. For now, that counted as a victory.
“Captain,” she whispered at last, choosing a moment when the steps were simplest, acutely aware of the soft rustle of their clothes when their sleeves brushed. “I have heard you are looking for a partner among the ladies.”
“I am,” he said, his tone giving nothing away.
“Yet there have been no offers accepted?” Cassandra asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
“No.” His gaze remained on her, steady, unreadable. “You could say I have been waiting for the right one.”
They turned with the line of dancers, their bodies drawing closer for a brief instant before the step pulled them apart again.
“Would you…” Cassandra swallowed. This wasn’t supposed to be so difficult, she’d rationalized the logic: it wasn’t a romantic playdate, it was a reconnaissance, nothing else. And yet… “Would you be interested in arranging a meeting?”
There. The question was out, a few measly words that felt anything but simple.
“Yes.”
Their gazes met fully then, and for a treacherous moment, Cassandra’s heart fluttered in her chest, light and unsteady. She cursed it silently.
“We will speak more soon,” Theodorus continued, filling the silence her tied tongue left behind. “And arrange a proper meeting in a few weeks, perhaps. When duties allow.”
“Of course, Captain,” Cassandra breathed. Her hands felt clumsy, her thoughts even more so. “Whenever you are available.”
His mouth crescent into a half moon as the music began to wind toward its close, bringing them into one last measured turn.
“It seems our time is up,” Theodorus said quietly. He released her with deliberate care, not before brushing his lips against her outstretched hand. “Until we meet again, Lady Cassandra.”
She sank into a curtsy that came out more wobbly than she would ever have tolerated in practice.
Instead of returning to the gaggle of ladies-in-waiting, who were practically vibrating with curiosity, Cassandra made for a quieter corner of the hall to settle her mind, running through the encounter.
She’d done almost nothing according to plan. Instead of probing for information about the captain - his duties, his schedule, anything she might use - she had simply played to his tune, and let herself be led by him through the dance.
Cassandra closed her eyes briefly, swallowing back a mix of frustration and something far softer.
If she truly meant to partake in this deadly ballet, she could not afford to lose her footing. Her worst enemy, she understood with a sinking clarity, was not the dangerous partner she had chosen to approach. It was her own traitorous heart, beating out of time with her carefully laid plans.
The captain was becoming an increasingly unpredictable variable.
Adanis had kept a keen eye on him and, as expected, the pen he had fashioned for the boy ill-suited him. What Adanis had
not
expected was how quickly and cleanly he had broken out of that cage.
In a matter of months, he had grown his small command into a passable fighting force if the s were to be believed, using the dregs of the militia to do it.
He had surpassed every task given to him, not by a hair’s breadth but by a margin wide enough to be noticed and remembered. And somewhere along the way, he had begun constructing an ever-growing web of eyes and ears within Adanis’s own household.
Most importantly, he had insinuated himself into the tithe collection, becoming a necessary middleman. He was wriggling his way through the luscious fabric that held Suyren together.
That held
his
Suyren together.
And now he was going after his daughter.
“He oversteps his bounds,” Hypatius murmured, the words barely moving his lips as he smiled blandly at a pair of distant cousins approaching to offer their greetings.
“Perhaps,” Adanis replied, his own mouth curving into a gracious expression as he exchanged pleasantries with a grey-bearded uncle. Each relative, each branch of the line, felt to him like a limb he had pruned and guided, part of the great tree he had spent his life cultivating.
“You’re not worried?” Hypatius’s smile slipped as the cousins moved away. “I keep warning you of his nature, brother. You do not seem to listen.” There was a faint lilt of aggravation beneath the quiet tone.
“This was the final stroke of paint, brother,” Adanis said. He took a calm sip of wine and gestured discreetly toward the far end of the hall, where Cassandra and the captain had just left the dance floor. “I have finally started to see the real picture.”
He was well aware of the little commotion their dance had caused, engineered by the Captain himself most likely. Adonis wasn’t much prone to gossip, but he had to keep a steady beat of the heart - and he’d heard its murmurs.
Hypatius remained quiet, nursing his heavily watered-down wine. A social sacrifice he made, as he had no taste for the drink.
“The Sideris boy isn’t our loyal subject, that much is clear,” Adanis said at last. “He is a ruthless operator, willing to do anything to climb the social ladder.”
That, in Adanis’s mind, was the true shape of the man.
“We already knew this,” Hypatius answered, voice flat.
“No.” Adanis shook his head faintly. “We
suspected
it. We were not sure if that was the whole of it.”
He leaned back slightly, watching the ebb and flow of the hall: the captain disappearing into the press, Cassandra retreating to a quieter corner, the older nobles pretending not to notice and failing.
“We have been afraid,” he went on, “that he came with a secret agenda. That he had been sent here from the capital, or worse, from the Doux. But as soon as he arrived, he ceded to my authority. And since then, all he has done is press ever upward.”
He tapped a finger lightly against the stem of his goblet.
“The captain seeks self-promotion, and perhaps,” He saw his little fawn fluttering in the corner, “to marry into nobility.” He popped an olive into his mouth.
“This is a fact all my sources confirm. The nomads you mentioned? He plans to start a market that will bring more coin into my pocket and more men into my fold.” He felt, rather than saw, Hypatius’s gaze sharpen.
“I have been keeping close tabs on the boy,” Adanis added, amusement flickering at the edges of his eyes, seeing Hyaptius’s surprise. “Perhaps some closer than yours.”
Hypatius’s lips pressed into a flat line, but he said nothing.
“The point is,” Adanis concluded, “the captain is more useful where he is. So I will tolerate him.” His voice cooled. “For now.”
“He’s cajoled, bribed, and flattered anyone higher than him,” Hypatius said.
“And yet the worst he has done so far,” Adanis replied, “is try to excel in his duties.”
The captain had a clear goal of advancement, reputation, and safety for himself. Men like that could be steered. One only had to dangle the right reward just beyond their reach, push them in the right direction, and use them until they broke themselves against the work.
“The tithe collection-” Hypatius began.
“Was woefully underfilled before he ever joined the picture,” Adanis cut in. “I have questioned the steward extensively. If anything, the Captain has actually brought some needed coin to our coffers.”
“Not enough to offset the tax,” Hypatius insisted. “He has placed himself as its gatekeeper, brother. Every coin now passes under his eyes first, not ours.”
“That does not matter.” Adanis’s tone cooled like doused steel at his brother’s insistence.
He was not some green offshoot in these games of intrigue, bending in the first gust of wind.
“If the captain can conjure up coin,” he went on, eyes fixed on the variable in question, “I don’t mind handing him some keys.”
“You could let me be in charge of them, brother.” Hypatius leaned in slightly, trying for sincerity. “Have I not proved my worth?”
Adanis’s fingers tightened around his goblet until he thought he heard the faintest crack in the stem. For a heartbeat, irritation surged hot in his chest.
There it was. The faked concern. He knew Hypatius wanted him chasing ghosts. To remain blind to what was happening beneath him. The Captain was a useful scapegoat to ensure that.
He drew in a slow breath, then another, letting his expression smooth out.
“You have, brother,” Adanis said at last, amicable once more.
He turned his head just enough to meet Hypatius’s eyes. “But I can’t have you worrying about the collection, because in truth I need something else from you.”
He watched the shift happen - the slight narrowing of Hypatius’s gaze, the calculating glint that replaced wounded pride.
Something for you to chew on, little brother
, Adanis thought.
“What is it?”
“You are right that the tithe is important,” Adanis conceded, tilting his goblet as though inspecting it. “And I need you to gather more coin from the moneylenders and merchants. To pay for it.”
Hypatius’s frown deepened. “Go into debt? To pay for the Crown’s mishaps? Have I heard you right, brother?”
He knew well what Adanis thought of the fools down in Mangup - their blunders, their endless squabbling, and the way they squeezed Nomikos lands. Adanis loathed both the extra taxes and the constant demands.
“What choice do I have?” Adanis let frustration crease his brow, letting just enough truth seep into the performance to make it convincing. “My hands are tied. The prince has signalled he is ready to escalate things if necessary. We’ve shirked our payments in the past; they won’t allow it now.”
He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice so only Hypatius could hear, inviting him closer.
“That is why they sent the captain,” he matched his voice just above a whisper. “To keep an eye on things. Why else do you think he has allied himself with the steward?”
Adanis spun the lie with practiced ease, layering it with just enough plausibility to hook.
“He means to ensure the coin is there. That Panagiotis is cunning,” he added, invoking the name with a hint of reluctant respect.
Hypatius glanced across the hall toward where the captain had disappeared, his gaze predatory and intense.
“So,” Adanis said, seizing the moment, “I need you to gather the coin by any means necessary. Use all your contacts if you must. Just enough to buy us time.”
“It will be difficult, brother…” Hypatius began, his features arranging themselves into a mask of worry. To Adanis, it was a poor caricature of genuine concern, but others might find it convincing enough.
“I will make it worth your while, do not worry.” Adanis let his tone soften, as though acknowledging the burden he was placing. “I know this is a large favour to ask.”
He paused, then cast out the bait.
“Perhaps,” he added lightly, “you could formally command the troops. Train them and equip them. I find I do not have the time these days, and I would be grateful if you could assist.”
The effect was immediate. Hypatius’s eyes widened, his whole body going momentarily still, like a hound catching the scent of game. Adanis could almost see him checking the offer from every angle. Command of the troops was no small thing to dangle. He had to show him a hook alongside the bait. Too good an offer makes a man suspicious. And Adanis couldn’t have that
“However,” Adanis said, clipping the word cleanly, “you must get me the money.
All
of it.”
Left unsaid, but perfectly clear, was whose purse would be bled.
“Milord.”
The voice came from near his elbow, small and hesitant. Adanis turned to find his nephew hovering at the edge of the dais.
“Iason,” Adanis said, the grandfatherly mask slipping into place in an instant. His expression warmed, the stern lines of his face easing. “Your mouth is smudged. You’ve had too many sweets.”
“Ah- apologies, milord,” the boy stuttered, bowing awkwardly as he was wont to do. “A missive for you. Private.”
For the boy to interrupt him here, of all places, it could only mean one thing.
“It seems I am being called for,” Adanis said calmly. He rose from his chair, placing a firm hand on Hypatius’s shoulder for a brief, grounding squeeze. “Think on the matter, brother. But do not keep me waiting for too long.”
He stepped away from the high table; laughter and singing swelled obligingly to fill the space behind him.
“Make sure that tapestry is delivered to my study,” he added over his shoulder to a nearby servant as he descended from the dais.
Then he walked away through the glow of the hall, leaving a dazed, calculating Hypatius in his wake.
The music followed Adanis only a little way out of the great hall.
By the time he reached the first bend in the corridor, it was already thinning. Each step carried him further from warmth and light into the cooler hush of Suyren’s inner halls. His two bodyguards walked a pace behind, boots soft on the rushes, hands never far from sword hilts.
Adanis barely noticed them. His mind was elsewhere, wandering through the invisible lattice he had spent years weaving. He could almost see it tonight: strands of obligation, promises given and grudges nurtured, all clinging to Suyren like cobwebs spun in the high corners.
He reached his study. The door opened at his touch, hinges oiled into silence. Inside, the room was lit by a single cluster of candles on the desk. Set dead center atop the bare wood was a sealed vellum envelope.
The wax was stamped with a goblet sigil.
Adanis dismissed his guards with a flick of his fingers. When the door closed behind them, the muffled music of the hall vanished entirely. The silence felt almost reverent.
He crossed to the desk, thinking of the decisions that had brought him here. The Crown takes much, he thought, fingers resting on the envelope. Tonight, I begin taking something back.
He broke the seal.
The revolt will happen.
The words sat in the center of the page like a stone.
The script within was precise, controlled, littered with formal courtesies, and praising his ‘wisdom in choosing the rightful branch in the matter of succession’. Adanis skipped all the preamble.
The Principe has finished securing passive support from the clergy.
They are indebted and will, at the crucial moment, stay their hands.
Amass coin and men quietly, under whatever pretexts necessary. And I will ensure you are given a position of import in the new regime.
Adanis exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the paper between his fingers. The webs in his mind seemed to tighten, threads pulling taut. After this, there would be no turning back. No claiming ignorance, no safe retreat to loyal obscurity.
“So be it,” he murmured to the empty room, eyes burning with a cold, deliberate light.
The candles guttered in a stray draft, shadows leaping on the walls like the flicker of distant flames. Adanis could hear his own heartbeat.
It sounded like a sleeping lion roaring to life.

Chapter 44: Different Heartbeats