Leonidas stepped out of the Guild Hall with Bardulf and Synthra twenty minutes later, having purchased but not yet claimed his [Manastorm Pinions], and having distributed both the [Acceleration Cloak] and [Crown of Displacement] to his soon-to-be delving companions.

  “You are certain you wish to go already, Achilles? The day is yet young! There is food and drink to be had, should you desire it,” Bardulf said with a grin and a pat of his leather-armored belly.

  “I’m good, Bardulf,” Leonidas replied wryly, hands tucked in his pockets as per his usual preference. “I need to get back and graft these wings, and if what the Guild Mistress said is true, it’s going to hurt.”

  “No gain without pain, Achilles!” Bardulf said with another grin. “Very well, I shall see you at the time of our departure, yes?”

  “Yep,” Leonidas said with a genuinely appreciative smile for the half-Lycanus. “Make sure you practice with that cloak before then. I get the feeling it’s going to be a game changer for us.”

  “Oh, worry not! I shall!” Bardulf said with enthused promise, and then offered his hand for a shake.

  Leonidas accepted it, gripping Bardulf’s right forearm the same way Bardulf gripped his in turn, and then sliding back his hand in a mirrored movement to end the shake in a fist-bump. He’d taught the concept of ‘handshakes’ to the Shadowblade, and he’d loved them.

  “Until then, Achilles. May the Divines continue to bless you!”

  “And you, Bardulf,” Leonidas said warmly, and watched the man return to the Guild Hall. With the Shadowblade gone, only Synthra remained, and Leonidas peered at her with curiosity. Clearly, she wanted to speak to him about something and had been so distracted by whatever occupied her thoughts that she had barely acknowledged Bardulf walking past her.

  “Synthra?” Leonidas prompted politely. “Is there something I can—”

  “It doesn’t have to be fake, Achilles,” Synthra blurted out abruptly, half-shouting it and drawing several curious looks from those nearby. A slight blush colored her cheeks, and she swept closer to him, robes flashing around her legs as she walked in that distracting, hip-rolling way which high heels demanded.

  “I—pardon?” Leonidas asked, genuinely taken aback and mildly flustered by her actions. The woman had no clue, it seemed, about what the vision of her movement did to a man—any man. He wasn’t the only one staring; he was just the only one who didn’t seem afraid to be caught.

  “Can you make us private the same way Ceruviel does?” she asked instead of answering immediately, with a seemingly belated realization of how exposed they were.

  Leonidas blinked but nodded, and created a reinforced bubble of [Psionic Force] around them that was airtight and soundproofed thanks to the double-layering technique Ceruviel had taught him.

  “Thank you,” Synthra said with sincerity, and idly fidgeted with her gilded vambraces. “I am talking about our… arrangement,” she said haltingly, while meeting his eyes and then looking away. “I, er, I’m not good with—with this stuff—these things. I’m just—it isn’t my strength, Achilles,” she admitted, and then rapidly snapped her head up proudly. “That doesn’t mean I am unintelligent or a fool, however! I am far more intelligent than you, Leonidas Achilles, and do not forget that fact! You have already developed too big of a head!”

  Leonidas felt like he was experiencing whiplash again, and wisely chose not to respond immediately. It seemed as if her tsundere behavior was rooted in a strange sense of self-preservation, more than anything else. He was starting to understand her, in that sense, though he would hardly call it true enlightenment. The woman was still baffling beneath the surface, but at least he vaguely knew why she was acting the way she was.

  He hoped.

  When she said nothing further after several more seconds, Leonidas took a chance and assumed she was waiting for him.

  “Synthra, and please forgive me if I’m wrong here, but are you saying you want me to pursue you? For real?” he asked her cautiously, while looking down at the redhead Sorceress in preparation for any attacks, in case he assumed incorrectly.

  “...I am,” Synthra said finally, and idly fidgeted with her fingers. “I—I think you are an arrogant fool, Leonidas Achilles! A dunderhead, as you Terrans say, but—but I also think you are a good man. At your core. Deep down. Very deep down,” she muttered, and then blushed again, as if realizing she was being defensive. “Look, I… men have wanted me my whole life. It’s not something new. It was exhausting and repulsive before my age of majority, and the subsequent increase in would-be suitors after I came of age only served to disgust me further.”

  Leonidas did not detect exaggeration in the final statement and listened to her without interruption. It seemed as if predatory behavior toward people younger than acceptable standards was not unique to humanity, as repugnant as that was to consider. He’d hoped Altera would have been better about that. The fact that it wasn’t was both a grim reminder of how universal the disgusting nature of sapients was and of how similarly flawed Alterans were to Terrans, despite their pretense at superiority.

  “You are the first man I do not feel discomfitted by, when it comes to attention, and that used to be a purely physical sense of comfort, I admit. It was—it felt nice to meet a strong man that didn’t just view me as a breeding vector for my bloodline’s Alphas. A strong man who also had honor, I suppose. I can admit that, as mortifying as it is. I was attracted to your physical power, but…”

  She trailed off, and Leonidas remained silent, not wanting to ruin her train of thought as she brushed her hair behind a pointed ear.

  “You never pressed me, even after my mother’s approval, and that—it made me feel as if something might have been wrong with me, and I hated that. I hated you for that. I know I’m beautiful, I’m the Daughter of Dragons! But—well, you didn’t act on what I mistakenly thought was a valid, intended claim, and it… It hurt, Achilles. It is insane that it hurt, but it did.”

  “Nobody ever wants to feel unwanted by someone they are drawn to, Synthra,” Leonidas said abruptly, and smiled at her as reassuringly as he could. “I understand. You aren’t the first person to feel that confusing mix of emotions, and I doubt you’ll be the last,” he assured her, and then dipped his head formally. “Please, continue, if you desire to.”

  Synthra blinked up at him, and then, with a momentary gnaw on her lower lip, she nodded, seemingly emboldened by his reassurance. “I am not a damsel, Leonidas Achilles, and I am not some—some easy harlot, as you Terrans say. I am a Lady, despite my, um, temperament at times, and you would do well to remember that within that big head of yours!” she said firmly, before blushing again and pressing on as if she had never said it.

  “Ironically, Achilles, it is the fact that all you wanted was a duel from me—the implicit respect you showed me as a fellow Slayer, not as some broodmare to be coveted, that made me realize I would not mind letting you court me sincerely.”

  “Synthra, I—”

  “No! Don’t answer me now,” she said suddenly, and reached up to press her fingers to his lips decisively. Her skin tasted faintly like coconut and vanilla as well, and he felt himself blush in furious embarrassment at noticing it. “You, ah, take some time and dwell on it and give me your answer later. I—I am not an easy catch, Achilles, not even for an Earl, not even for the First Archon of Terra! You will have to prove yourself deserving of me each day. That is no less than I, um, deserve. Each day, Achilles!”

  With that, Synthra stepped back and then, seemingly intending to make a dramatic exit and forgetting what she’d asked him to do, slammed face-first into the [Psionic Force] bubble with a grunt.

  Leonidas clenched his jaw immediately to stop from laughing and dismissed the bubble with a flick of his mind.

  Synthra looked back at him, as if daring him to laugh at her, and then, with cheeks as red as her hair, turned and half-stormed, half-sashayed back into the guild hall with her hands curled into fists, and embarrassment clinging to her like a cloak.

  Courting her, huh? Leonidas considered as she walked away. Yeah… maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Synthra would be a partner I could rely on.

  Besides, Synthra didn’t remind him of Lyara at all.

  That was, in his eyes, a very prominent positive.

  I’ll dwell on it and talk to Ceruviel. I’m sure she’ll have opinions.

  Leonidas nodded to himself at that and turned without another glance, smiling faintly at the memory of Synthra’s earnest approach and setting off away from the marbled Adventurers’ Guild back the way he’d come. He needed to return to the Mansion, graft the [Manastorm Pinions], and then complete any last-minute arrangements before the delve. Ceruviel would be crucial for that, and he’d need to catch her before she left for the Dusk Watch.

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  The trip from the Adventurers’ Guild back to the Peacock District was relatively peaceful by the measure of a city, the scale and burgeoning size of Dawnhaven. From the perspective of pre-Integration Earth, the Thronehold was a large town at best—one with considerable defenses, but little in the way of a measurable threat factor.

  At least, until one considered the power of Cultivation.

  Not for the first time, Leonidas pondered what might have happened if the US Military had sustained itself longer than the first year of the System Incursion and come into contact with the forces of Altera, led by Ceruviel Latherian and Uriel Aventus. He knew what the result of a conventional engagement would have been—there was little need to doubt that, given the nature of the United States’ military industrial complex prior to the Incursion.

  But against the System-granted powers Ceruviel and Uriel had brought with them?

  Leonidas wondered if the term ‘massacre’ was too grim while he idly pushed through the crowds along the main thoroughfare of the Prosperity Quarter, and turned down a side avenue to avoid the larger volume of people the hour of morning had produced. He walked with his hands in his pockets, still, mulling over what came immediately after his pending spinal graft as his [Psionic Focus] remained active and sweeping for potential threats and other eventualities.

  Then, his mind drifted back to Synthra and, naturally, to Aylar.

  It’s a matter of logic, he thought to himself while striding casually through the avenue, and smiling here and there to the less-dense, but still populous crowd of people perusing the various stores and stalls in the more minor roadway. Synthra is the higher-octane, baggage-free choice. She’s a little mad, I’ll grant that, but she’s completely disconnected from Elatra and everything bundled up in that. She also has no political aspirations beyond her father’s legacy. That’s good.

  His eyes darted to where a Terran family was admiring a very life-like rendition of the Eldorman Royal Family, including Aylar, and his stomach faintly twisted.

  And then, on the other side, there’s Aylar. She’s warm, kind, brave, thoughtful, reserved in a way I was raised to appreciate, if I’m honest…. and there’s the fact that I could do an undeniable amount of good for my own race if we were together. Stability and prosperity are things humans need, and a human King would be very beneficial.

  His eyes drifted up to the rooftops, where he could see the spires of the palace just peeking over them in the far distance toward the city center.

  Besides, my Ambition means I can’t stay here long-term if I’m not King. I know that, Ceruviel knows that, Uriel knows that, and I think Aylar does, too. I don’t want to commit to her just for politics, and the resemblances to Lyara are a problem—but I think I’m also just worried I’m not good enough for her. There’s so much blood on my hands from Elatra, never mind my part in the System Incursion…

  Leonidas grimaced at his own thoughts and stepped past a pair of arguing merchants, pushing his shoulders back faintly and peering up at the sky again while his [Psionic Focus] swept the area. He almost wished it would rain. He enjoyed the smell of rain and the clarity of thought he received while watching it fall. There was a sense of peace to his thoughts when the heavens wept, one unique to precipitation that he rarely found elsewhere.

  On Elatra, during the rain, was the only time he didn’t smell the bodies, after the war began in earnest. That probably mattered, too.

  His thoughts and memories carried him onward throughout the remainder of his walk—and despite his best effort at ticking every box for an ambush, none was forthcoming as he turned onto Ceruviel’s private lane and approached the tall, gothic fence-walls of her mansion estate.

  When he passed through the entrance, another round of fist-to-heart salutes was exchanged with the Duskguard on duty, who even gave him something approaching warm smiles of greeting as he entered. He’d won some of them over, in recent days, though there was still a large contingent that saw him as unworthy, an interloper, dangerous, or all three to various extents.

  Well, I can’t blame them. They basically worship Ceruviel as the Last Archon, and here comes the native kid to steal glory that should belong to a haelfar.

  Leonidas’ feet carried him to the mansion’s front door, and he opened it with an idle flex of psionics to dispel the lock as Ceruviel had taught him, weaving [Psionic Force] to apply pinpoint pressure to the correct pins in the door. His mentor had told him it was good practice for precision assault and defence during combat, and he had little reason to doubt her.

  The home beyond was filled with morning activity as per usual, either with Duskguard winding down from their twelve-hour watch, servants and staff bustling around, or the occasional merchant or dignitary who had been escorted in through the guest entrance receiving a carefully-guided tour by one of Jefferies’ subordinate butlers.

  More than a few of the visitors gave Leonidas curious or appraising glances until they realized who he was, and offered him courtly respect, stared at him in awe, or affected an air of disinterest to try to mitigate his importance. He was so used to it by that point that he barely did more than offer a perfunctory smile when he passed them.

  I need to find Ceruviel, he decided firmly. I have to ask her opinion on the girls and the wings. I figure she’ll have opinions on both, Christ help me.

  Leonidas, thus decided, acted on the determination with immediacy and held out a hand to stop the next underbutler he could, halting the mixed quartet of well-dressed Haelfenn and Terrans with him as well.

  “{Good morning,}” he said with his ingrained sense of politeness. “{Do you know where the Duchess is? I need to speak with her.}”

  “{Of course, sir, she is—}”

  “{Hold on a moment!}” one of the Haelfenn said abruptly, stepping forward and looking between the underbutler and Leonidas in haughty annoyance, and a toss of his long black hair. “{We came here to speak to Her Grace ourselves, and were told she was unavailable until after midday! What gives this uncouth, gangly child the right to see her?}”

  Behind the man, the other Haelfar and the two Terrans seemed to be watching with mild interest, though there was something closer to a sense of assessment on the humans’ faces.

  Leonidas, though, found the entire situation strangely comical.

  He’d rarely encountered such an exacting caricature of a third-rate antagonist.

  “{Pardon me my ill manners, my lord,}” Leonidas said with a courteous smile, while looking down at the noble with as placid an expression as he could muster. “{May I know whom it is I have the honor of meeting?}”

  “{Hmph. That is better!}” the Haelfar said with self-important approval. “{You may know me as Caelum, boy. Lord Caelum of House Bediverus!}”

  “{Thank you,}” Leonidas said simply, and turned back to the underbutler. “{I will postulate that she is enjoying another libation or ablution. She has been incorrigible about those bath bombs…}”

  “{Excuse me?}” the Lord Bediverus said indignantly. “{Precisely who are you, Terran, to presume such familiarity with the Duchess Latherian? And why have you not properly greeted me? I am a Baron, sir! I demand adherence to social courtesy!}”

  Leonidas turned back to the ebon-haired elf at his rude interjection and found some of his amusement melting away.

  “{If you insist,}” he said simply, and idly gestured. “{Feel free to bow.}”

  The elf’s face reddened, and behind him, Leonidas’ eyes and [Psionic Focus] both marked the moment that the other Haelfar and the two Terrans realized exactly who he was—first by the trepidation melting into horror present in the Haelfar’s mind-glow, and the confusion transitioning into awe in the Terrans’ in turn. A faint smile was given to the watching trio, and Leonidas turned to the underbutler.

  “{Proceed, then,}” he said wryly, some of his amusement returning. “{I can see your desire written nakedly on your features, Velaerun.}”

  The underbutler smiled a little in gratitude and turned to the noble lord, who had no doubt been a burden and a half.

  “{You stand in the presence of Lord Leonidas Achilles, Earl Latherian, legal heir of the Duchess of Twilight, Dusk-Lord Ceruviel Latherian, the Last Archon of Altera. You stand in the presence of the First Archon of Terran Blood, Slayer of the Nine-Headed Hydra, the Heaven-Defying Knight, the Spiritual Successor of Alurien Starsword, acknowledged Strategic Keystone Adventurer, and future Grandmaster of the Archon Order on Terra. You stand, Lord Bediverus, before the Black Knight.}”

  Leonidas nearly laughed at the intentionally exaggerated titles, and even the use of Alurien’s name, which he suspected Ceruviel had a hand in—nobody would dare say it otherwise.

  When Velaerun was done with his introduction, the look of apoplectic horror on the Baron’s face was incredibly satisfying for Leonidas, and he nodded to the silent and stunned trio behind the man.

  “{You may offer respect as I depart, Baron. I will be sure to pass your unique version of courtesy on to Ceruviel, as well. Good day.}”

  Before the Haelfar could do more than stutter, while his companions bowed low—the second Haelfar with fear, the two Terrans with sheer admiration—in the message’s cutting wake, Leonidas was already setting off down the corridor with a slight pep in his step. It was never good to flex on people, so to speak, but sometimes you just needed to put an idiot in their place.

  It was for the Baron’s own good, really.

  Finding Ceruviel thereafter proved relatively simple, given that he had confirmed her current whereabouts by speaking with Velaerum. He came to a halt outside her private bathing chambers after entering her quarters themselves a moment later—knocking twice on the ornate double-doors and letting a pulse of his Psi wash across the area as she had been instructing him to do to announce himself.

  “{Enter!}” came the happy response from the Duchess, to which Leonidas hesitated.

  “{...are you decent, Ceruviel?}” he called back warily, while performing a cursory sweep with his [Psionic Focus]. He felt no one but the Duchess, thankfully, which meant she wasn’t… indulging. He’d already learned not to enter without checking after the first time he found her in a compromising position.

  Ceruviel was a shameless hedonist.

  Not that she’d ever claimed otherwise.

  “{I am well-obscured by the bomb, Achilles! You may lay to rest your puritanical heart.}”

  Leonidas snorted at her words and depressed the door handles, opening them to step inside. “{Ceruviel, I need to speak to you about—}”

  His words died on his lips when he entered and saw Ceruviel.

  She was, as promised, wholly covered in bubbles and more from the bath bomb. She was not, however, alone.

  “{Hello, Leonidas,}” the very naked, but blessedly obscured Princess-Royal Aylar Eldormer said with a calm voice from inside the expansive bath she was indulging in with her most powerful ally. “{It is good to see you.}”

  If not for the blush staining her pale cheeks, he’d have been fooled by her nonchalance, too.

  Leonidas’ eyes snapped to Ceruviel, and the Duchess smirked at him.

  No wonder I didn’t sense her mind-glow. Ceruviel was shielding it!

  “{I said I was decent, Achilles,}” the cunning Archon said honestly. “{You never asked if I was alone.}”

  And to that, despite his indignance, he truly had no argument to give.

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