Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Dimitrios exited the horse’s stall, breathing deep of the sun-warmed hay mingled with the sharp tang of horse sweat and oiled leather.
Nikolas Contas, a unit commander in the Horse Guard, exited the stall beside him, his blond hair windblown and a permanent smile sketched across his face.
Like Dimitrios, he was outfitted like any other regular citizen in a basic knee-length chiton, calf-high boots made from supple leather, and leather vambraces.
Throughout the stable, hooves scuffed against the packed earth floor, some impatient, some merely shifting under the weight of their own strength. These weren’t mere mounts—they were warriors in waiting, bred for power, for endurance.
Nikolas, eyes crinkling at the corners, scratched his full beard. “I thought you said you were a good rider.”
His mare tossed her head as if eager for another race.
“I am,” Dimitrios said. “However, I don’t typically spend my days galloping through winding forest paths in a race where my opponent cheats by giving himself a five-second head start.”
Nikolas laughed. “You had the faster horse.” Dimitrios grunted, and Nikolas mock-bowed. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”
Honestly, Dimitrios didn’t know why he’d ever gravitated to a man like Nikolas.
The two men were the same age and of similar build, but couldn’t be more different.
Nikolas was forever amused, whereas Dimitrios still found it difficult to smile.
If there was potential for a drink and a woman nearby, Nikolas was like a man led around by a noose.
Dimitrios preferred the quiet of his apartments and the company of his mother, Pandora.
However, Nikolas also despised the entire council and thought their ruling of Dimitrios’s legitimacy was self-serving bullshit.
So, naturally, they became fast friends.
Dimitrios took a moment to appreciate the sea breeze curling through the open doors, stirring the thick heat of the midday sun, but cooling his heated skin. “I want a rematch tomorrow.”
“I’ll just win again.”
“We’ll see about th—”
“No!”
The young boy’s cry came from somewhere inside the building, drawing the men into utter stillness.
“Mind your business,” a man said. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
Nikolas’s jaw set, and he shook his head.
“Is that—?” Dimitrios started.
“Yes.” Nikolas already sounded tired. “Come on.”
They strode past the row of stalls and through a doorway. This area also contained stalls, but these were for the hunting hounds.
The air here was metallic, like old blood, and was musky with the scent of unwashed hounds. The animals shifted, restless, inside their kennels. Some pawed at the dirt, while others watched the men pass with sharp, assessing eyes.
They came to the stall in question, where discarded bones lay in haphazard piles, gnawed white by hungry teeth.
The young boy inside couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, his dark brown hair lying heavy and thick across his forehead.
He stood like a soldier before battle, chin high, feet planted, facing down a man twice his size with nothing but stubborn defiance.
Dimitrios had seen men break under a lesser glare. But this boy? He didn’t flinch.
Someone should probably inform the boy that sheer determination was no match for the knife clutched at the stablemaster’s side, however.
“Haris!” Dimitrios darted forward with a sharp eye on that weapon. “What’s going on here?”
The boy and Haris startled, and the boy shifted just enough to reveal a hound lying on its side in the old hay.
“He’s going to kill them,” the boy shouted, nostrils flaring. “I won’t let him.”
Something about the kid—his sharp anger, his refusal to look away—pressed against a long-quiet part of Dimitrios’s chest. He’d known children like this once.
Brave in the way only the young can be, before the world teaches them fear.
His nieces and nephews had hearts like this, fierce and unyielding.
Nikolas strode around Dimitrios, asking, “Kill who, exactly?” He looked past the boy, then nodded. “Ah. I see.”
“See what?” Dimitrios asked.
Haris sheathed his blade. “The hound bred with a stray. Supreme Commander Tassatos has strict rules regarding pups that aren’t pure.”
The hound in question was, at present, feeding three black puppies. They must have been born recently because their eyes weren’t open. And since every pureblood hound in the stables was solid gray, these pups were indeed from a stray coupling.
“What’s your name, son?” Nikolas asked the boy.
“Caius.”
“Haris is right. Our hounds are a special breed. The best and purest on the entire continent. This female isn’t the first to stray and won’t be the last. And we can’t keep every pup that comes along, or we risk diluting the bloodlines.”
“I’ll find them a home,” Caius said.
This boy would grow to be a man who led others, whether he meant to or not.
And yet, it wasn’t just defiance that held the boy in place. It was something softer—a desperate, reckless love for something small and helpless. The same instinct that had Dimitrios charging into a room full of courtiers to speak his true name aloud for the first time.
“Please, Commander Contas,” Caius added, a chink appearing in his armor.
Nikolas glanced over his shoulder with a very pointed look in his eyes. This decision was up to Dimitrios, the “king.” Dimitrios, the man, however, had nieces and nephews with identical bleeding hearts, and there was a reason he’d been their favorite uncle.
“Let me have a look,” Dimitrios said.
He knelt beside the boy just as he would one of his nephews, and the two of them watched the puppies nurse. How could anyone put a knife to them without remorse?
Bloodlines be damned. What kind of kingdom killed its own before they had a chance to stand?
“Let them live,” he told Haris. “I’ll take responsibility for them.”
Caius beamed with unrestrained joy.
“Now, listen here—” the stablemaster began.
“You heard your king,” Nikolas interrupted with a commander’s natural tenor.
Haris pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin in a manner Dimitrios was all too familiar with.
Some weren’t as obvious, but this was a man who took his orders from men with official titles, like the Supreme Commander and Councilman, Theseus Tassatos.
He wouldn’t be caught on his back foot taking suggestions from a man who was still under investigation.
Unfortunately for Haris, Dimitrios was in a mood. “Every day I’m here, I remember the names, faces, positions, and actions of everyone I meet.” He flashed his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “I remember them for later. And I have a very good memory.”
Haris could either keep his job for the long term or not.
Nikolas clapped Dimitrios on the shoulder and gave him a once-over. “He’s the spitting image of the Vidalatos men, our Dimitrios. Don’t you think so, Haris?” He met the old man’s gaze. “You heard the council agreed that Mihail and Pandora’s marriage had been legitimate, at least?”
In other words, Dimitrios would be king. It was only a matter of time.
“Aye,” Haris said, his shoulders turning slack. “I heard.”
Dimitrios stared the man down. “Let us know when they’ve weaned.”
Haris hesitated, but then his chin lowered. “Yes, My Lord.”
The title wasn’t respect. Not yet. But it was a step in the right direction.
“And you,” Nikolas said to Caius. “Is there somewhere else you should be that isn’t underfoot?”
Caius grinned. “Yes, Commander.”
“Then get out of here. And don’t let me catch you in here again.”
Caius started off, then stopped to say one final thing to Dimitrios. “I won’t forget this, my king.”
Dimitrios waved him off. “Go on.”
Dimitrios and Nikolas followed the boy out into the bright overhead sun, but at a much slower pace.
“I have to take off,” Nikolas said. “Let’s have a few drinks later.”
Dimitrios nodded, finding it surprisingly easy to agree now that he had a fresh purpose to his life here. Happiness was bound to find him eventually, even if this land was foreign and his family was hundreds of miles away.
The trek back to the palace led him down a path with the best view of Perean’s harbor.
From there, the entire city of Praevia spread below—tiled rooftops sloping toward Castona Bay, where masts swayed like a forest of slender trees.
The East Harbor Market pulsed with life, the air thick with the scent of spiced fish, citrus, and the metallic tang of blacksmiths hard at work.
Children’s laughter caught on the breeze as they darted through the teeming streets, and the vendors called out their wares and prices in a dozen different accents.
This was the country his father died for, and now it was his.
He would not see it stolen from him.
Dimitrios’s gaze snagged on the banner hanging above the palace courtyard. The Perean flag, once a vibrant blue and silver, was faded from salt and wind. Its edges were frayed, curling like parchment on the verge of burning.
How many men had died beneath its shadow?
For the briefest of moments, he was tempted to make his way down to walk amongst his people, but one calculation of the sun’s placement reminded him of the time.
The afternoon was growing late, and his mother should be finished with the new Head of House by now.
Tonight, it was important he spend these last hours with her.
Tomorrow, Pandora was finally going home where it was safe—he’d never trusted the council with her life.
But in accepting that, would this be the last time he saw her?
As she got up there in age, she was less likely to travel so far to see him.
He was one of five children and dozens of grandchildren; he couldn’t keep her all to himself.
An old ache hitched his step. He was missing so much back in Wairia. He’d loved being the eldest brother and favorite uncle. He’d loved being Elias’s son and caring for the Gabrea lands. Managing a wine trade was easy compared to what he faced here as king.