Siege of Kings: Reign of the Eagle, #2

By J.S. Mawdsley

Two years after Broderick Gramiren stole the throne of Myrcia, his vast army is closing in on the last stronghold of the true king. Inside the city, Queen Rohesia desperately tries to rally her forces on behalf of her son, the boy king Edwin Sigor. All seems lost, until her old friends Presley and Grigory arrive with a mysterious and beautiful spy to lend a hand, and a new commander rises from the ranks of Rohesia's army. Could he be the solution to all her problems—including the problem of her mercurial stepdaughter, Princess Elwyn? Can the Sigor family change their luck? Can they finally stop Broderick?  Or will he crush them and finally put an end to the resistance? Find out in this exciting sequel to Black Eagle Rising!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.S. Mawdsley
• Release date: Jul 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393272700

J.S. Mawdsley

We’re a husband and wife novel writing team and have been since about a month after our marriage in 2007. He’s a teacher of education law. She’s a Librarian. Being able to write together so happily once made a friend remark that we are as mythical as unicorns. J.S. Mawdsley live in Ohio, where they share their house with half a dozen dying houseplants, and their yard with a neighborhood cat named Eugene, a mother deer and her fawn, affectionately known as the Countess and Cherubino, and a couple of blue jays, Henry and Eleanor. 

Book preview

Map of Leornian 355 M.E.

Diagram, map Description automatically generated

Chapter 1

354 M.E.

I hope Broderick comes to Leornian—that way I can tell him to go fuck himself.

Rohesia almost allowed herself to sigh, but managed to force a weak smile instead. It wasn’t that she disagreed with Margaret Llamu. After all, Rohesia’s final act before fleeing Wealdan Castle was to try to have the man poisoned.

She didn’t even necessarily object to Margaret’s colorful language. She would never have expressed herself in such words, but they were not inappropriate to the situation. No, Rohesia only wished Margaret and her sister-in-law, Elena Dryhten, Duchess of Leornian, would spend as much energy on the task at hand as they did complaining about Broderick Gramiren, the bastard (literal and figurative) who had usurped her son’s throne.

But Elena, current mistress of the Bocburg, and Margaret, the Countess of Garthdin (sent here by her husband for her safety), showed very little interest in being good hostesses today. They both certainly could be when they had a mind to. Rohesia had been well entertained by both ladies over the years, in fact. But today they seemed content to allow the servants to figure things out for themselves while they abused Broderick instead.

If they did not have a reception to plan for the remaining officers of the army and accommodations to help coordinate for thousands of soldiers, Rohesia might have been tempted to throw out a few expletives of her own. But the army was mere hours away at most, and much remained unfinished.

The problem was that even after two years at the Bocburg, Rohesia still felt uncomfortable making suggestions as to household management to Elena. Elena was the duchess and this was her home. Rohesia might be a queen, but she was still a guest. She suspected an admiral must feel similarly awkward deferring to a captain aboard a ship when he saw a storm coming and longed to take control of the vessel.

I once heard about a man who was strung up by his own innards, Elena said calmly, as though discussing the latest skirt styles. I think it might have been in Tartu? Or perhaps Alokko. At any rate, smashing idea for Broderick.

Rohesia examined the great hall. The banners of the nobles still pledged to her son draped the walls under the ancient hammerbeam roof. Food and beverage tables were studiously being filled. A fire roared in the vast fireplace, in spite of the mild and sunny spring day. Chairs and benches and tables had been set out a bit haphazardly on the smooth stone floor, but she supposed the arrangement suited well enough. Perhaps Elena was right to leave her servants to their tasks. That wasn’t how Rohesia had run Wealdan Castle, but simply because Elena had different theories did not make her wrong.

Before she could convince herself otherwise—which would have been the work of a minute—she scanned the room to see who had already arrived. The members of Edwin’s privy council who were not with the army had arrived after their meeting earlier in the day. It had been a hugely unproductive meeting, in which only two decisions had been made. The first had been to formally congratulate her brother Lawrence, who was Edwin’s captain general, on saving most of the army with this tactical withdrawal. The second was to say they would delay all other decisions until the rest of the privy council arrived.

Rohesia, naturally, had gone along with it all. (As Edwin’s regent, she, of course, was a privy councilor herself.) But in her heart, she knew that this retreat was a disaster for her son, and the person most to blame was her own brother. Lawrence, it was becoming increasingly clear to her, was not a terribly talented general. Certainly not in the same league with Broderick, much as it pained her to admit. But she would keep this to herself and focus on helping Edwin politically.

At this precise moment, her dear boy was talking with two members of the privy council: Dr. Sir Roland Stark of Leornian University and Kenrick Colwinn, the Baron of Eacaster and Lord Privy Seal. Edwin looked as if he were comporting himself well, but the fact was, he was a 10-year-old boy. Rohesia should be helping him with the council. Elwyn ought to be helping as well, but that girl was another problem entirely.

Rohesia genuinely wondered if any stepmother had ever been plagued with such a difficult stepchild. Elwyn was not a bad person, her intelligence seemed above average, and she loved her family in her own unique fashion. And yet her actions could almost uniformly be described as disastrous.

It had been bad enough back in Formacaster, before the fall. Rohesia still shuddered when she remembered how the girl had surrendered to the charms of a beautiful Immani spy, Lily Serrana. Elwyn had traded a few moments’ pleasure for a broken heart, and her thoughtlessness had put them all in terrible danger.

Now, here in Leornian, Elwyn had started another affair with a woman—Melanie Searle. The daughter of a Trahernshire knight, young Miss Searle was pleasant enough. However, neither was half so discreet as they believed.

Rohesia spotted Miles Richards, one of the finer servants here at the Bocburg, and waved him over. He was young with a serious air, and extremely competent. She liked him a great deal, and she knew that he could be trusted on this delicate mission.

Miles, if you would, please go and find her royal highness Princess Elwyn. I am not certain where she might be found, or with whom, but I trust you will find her, ignore any indiscretions you might...witness, and inform her that her presence is required here immediately.

Miles bowed. Of course, your majesty. I will be as swift as possible.

Now she only had to wait for Elwyn and the retreating troops. However, she did not particularly wish to spend that time listening to Elena and Margaret spew hatred about Broderick. Her own feelings were already closer to the surface than she would like, and remaining with these two would only threaten to crack her carefully maintained exterior.

Pardon me, but I must attend to the king, Rohesia said. I will see you both later.

More guests were beginning to trickle into the room. Most were notable citizens of the city or refugees like herself. But she also spotted a soldier or two in worn uniforms whispering to members of the privy council. She hurried along to join her son and one such soldier reporting to him and the other councilors.

The retreat has been remarkably well managed, the soldier was saying. The captain general and the privy councilors with the army should arrive in an hour at most.

Splendid, replied Dr. Stark. Much sooner than we expected.

Yes sir, the soldier nodded. The army is moving more quickly now.

Rohesia did not wish to bring up uncomfortable facts until she could speak to Lawrence and learn the truth, so she said nothing. However, she had grim suspicions. In the past two years, life had given her a practical lesson in the art of warfare. An exhausted and beaten army typically only increased speed because they were being aggressively chased. If her son’s army would be in Leornian soon, the army of the usurper was probably close behind.

It will be good to see Uncle Lawrence, Edwin answered with a smile that quickly turned to an awkward blush. I mean, the captain general.

Edwin often made the mistake of referring to family members informally in front of others. Rohesia had been working to break him of this habit for the past two years, but he was young and still slipped at times when most excited. She had no doubt he would improve, though. Unlike his half-sister.

Over the shoulder of the Baron of Eacaster, Rohesia saw Elwyn enter the great hall. She was adjusting the laces of her bodice and making as much of a hash out of it as she did everything. Rohesia made her excuses to her son and his councilors and hurried over to Elwyn.

Come with me. Rohesia steered Elwyn with a hand on her back while using her own body to shield the girl from view.

At the far end of the great hall sat the two thrones of the old King and Queen of Leornian. Behind the thrones, a door led to a private room for the royal family. She slipped Elwyn inside and closed the door behind them perhaps a bit more firmly than she had intended.

Sorry I was late, Elwyn began, still fiddling with her dress. I was, well, I lost track of time.

Come here. Rohesia spoke more harshly than she had intended, but Elwyn often had that effect on her. She pushed Elwyn’s hands away and took over the process of dressing her stepdaughter as though she were a child, instead of a 23-year-old woman. You were being indiscreet, once again, with Miss Searle. Rohesia worked loose the simple knot Elwyn had tied in her laces and started doing them up properly in an attractive bow. This behavior needs to stop.

Yes, I should sit around and be miserable like the rest of you, Elwyn muttered.

You should be helping your brother in his quest to reclaim his throne. Rohesia yanked the final bit of the lacing, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. The army will be here shortly, and we are preparing a feast to celebrate the fact that they are not all dead, while simultaneously trying to convince our dwindling number of allies to remain on our side.

How dare you suggest I don’t want to help Edwin! What exactly do you want me to do that you and Duchess Elena aren’t doing already?

Talk to people, Elwyn.

I do talk to people, she said. I talk to people all the time.

You only talk to your same tiny group of friends. You never try to meet new people. Your brother is only a boy, yet he is out there, mingling with the court and making friends.

I’m not like you and Edwin. I don’t mingle well.

That is because you do not bother to try. You could be in the great hall right now, talking with the most important nobles in the kingdom. But where are you? In here with me, while I make you presentable after your Thessalian tryst. Be a grown up, for Earstien’s sake!

Oh, so now you are going to lecture me on being ‘Thessalian’? You’re always talking about your good friends, the Emperor and Empress of the Immani, who the entire world knows will fuck anything that moves, separately or together.

As much as Rohesia wanted to strangle Elwyn, she instead clasped her hands together in front of her. "Since you know they are my good friends, then clearly you know the sex of your partner is not what troubles me. We are in Myrcia, not the Empire. I can’t be the only one who has noticed what you are doing, and other people will take issue with your choice. Sometimes we must bow to the norms of society. Perhaps if you spent more time with the more eligible young men of the court—"

So, if I were fucking a man, instead, you think no one would care?

That is not what I meant, and you know it. This is neither the time nor the place for careless liaisons. Your family needs you, Elwyn.

Maybe you would all be better off without me.

You know that is not even remotely true.

Elwyn dropped her gaze to the floor. As she so often did after Rohesia was forced to chastise her about her behavior, Elwyn appeared genuinely contrite and rather miserable. If only the girl could remember this sensation before she made yet another of her poor life choices.

Elwyn, you either need to learn to be good, or at the very least figure out how to appear so. You must learn to distinguish between those things you want to do, and those things you need to do. We need every person in Leornian on your brother’s side, and you can either help or hinder that process. Please make the right decision.

Someone knocked on the door, and Rohesia bade the person enter while Elwyn turned away. It was Miles, sent by the duchess to fetch them. My pardon, your majesty, but the first troops have been spotted from the city wall.

Very well, Rohesia answered. Let Duchess Elena know we will be out presently.

Miles bowed and left, but even once he was gone, Elwyn would not meet Rohesia’s gaze.

Be good for the crowd, Elwyn. Don’t embarrass yourself publicly. Try to make a little small talk. That is all I am asking.

Fine, Elwyn whispered in return. "At least I can look good. That’s what’s important, apparently."

Rohesia did not know that she cared for Elwyn’s tone, but as Elwyn hurriedly pushed by her and back out into the great hall, she did not have time to say anything.

Oh Earstien, she prayed softly to herself. Please don’t let that poor girl be the ruin of us all.

Chapter 2

At the turn in the river, when he first saw the Aldred Bridge, Sir Alfred Estnor almost felt happy. A few of the dusty, exhausted men of his regiments let out a low, ragged cheer that was more a sigh of relief than a genuine expression of joy. For the last ten miles, they had all expected to see Gramiren cavalry come thundering down on them from the woods and fields on their left.

His brigade formed the tail end of the Sigor army—the army of the true King of Myrcia. Behind him lay miles of worn, rutted roads, broken carts, dead horses, and loyal villages left to their fate. And somewhere beyond that, down the valley in the distance, was the blasted usurper himself and that vast, unstoppable army of his.

Escaping wasn’t the same as winning—not by a long shot. But Alfred was relieved they had escaped, all the same. Next time they would try to do better. They would have to, or the war would be over pretty quick.

At the turn for the bridge, Alfred halted and waved his men ahead. He had no particular reason to be the last man over the river, but someone had to be, and it might as well be him. He saw that some of his officers had started setting up camps in the fields to the west of the city walls, joining all the other troops who had arrived earlier in the afternoon. With luck, there might be hot baths and hot food, but he would settle for clean clothes and a chance to shave. At the very least, he wanted to wash his face and comb his hair before he went to the Bocburg.

The famous castle lay just across the river now, with its high gray towers reflected in the shimmering water. A dozen barges were docked there, with the wounded and the handful of supplies that the army had managed to take with them in their haste to escape Keelweard. Beyond the castle stretched the old capital itself, ancient and proud. The massive, ornate bulk of Finster Cathedral dwarfed everything in its neighborhood, southeast of where Alfred stood. Almost straight to the south, beyond the castle, the spires of the university rose like a forest of gray stone.

This was the heart of the ancient kingdom, and even though Alfred’s family had their seat forty miles upriver at Sarcastel, he had spent a good deal of his boyhood here. He had misspent at least a little of his youth here, as well. That was nothing to be proud of, exactly, but the memories made him smile, and he badly needed something to smile about today.

Once he had crossed the bridge, he spotted one of his captains, Sir Walter Davies, sitting with Sir Robert Tynsdale. Tynsdale was the best scout in the Sigor army. And in one of the many small ironies of this civil war, he happened to be the half-brother of Broderick Gramiren, the usurper.

So, they didn’t wipe us off the map, after all, said Alfred, nodding to Walter, who had voiced his worries to that effect over breakfast that morning.

No, sir, said Walter. Sir Robert here says their forward scouts stopped at Bestandan.

That put them eighteen or twenty miles downstream. With the vanguard behind that. And the bulk of the usurper’s army still farther behind. This was—by the standards of this disastrous week—pretty good news. The Sigor army would have time to rest. And Alfred would have time for a bath.

Then Walter said, By the way, sir, the Duke of Leornian asked to speak with you, whenever you happened to arrive.

Very well, said Alfred. So, there was no time for a bath. At least not yet.

As Walter and his other officers directed his troops through a sliver of the northwest corner of the city and out the west gate to their campsite, Alfred turned east into Addle Street. All the best shops and taverns were here, and the grandest houses of the richest merchants. He saw quite a few old acquaintances on this brief ride, but he could not stop to chat. The duke was waiting.

He found the castle full of officers and knights and nobles, all milling about talking and drinking tall mugs of cold ale from big silver trays carried by liveried servants. He saw the queen on the steps of the chapel, but he didn’t have time to pay his respects properly to her, either. And she looked very busy directing the servants, anyway.

Inside, he slipped through more crowds of knights, still dusty from the march, and down a hallway lined with faded banners, ancient armor, and centuries of knickknacks in dusty glass cases. He then jogged up the stairs until he found Robert Dryhten, Duke of Leornian, in the quiet oasis of a homey parlor, pacing behind an old desk and swirling a glass of wine in his hand.

Ah, Sir Alfred, said the duke. Bringing up the rear of the column again, I suppose?

Yes, your grace.

I’d expect nothing less of my old squire. He poured a second glass and brought it to Alfred. You just missed the captain general, as it happens.

Did I, sir? Alfred took a sip of the wine. It was very good—dry and spicy—and he thought he recognized the vintage—laid down long ago in the days of old Duke Brandon, the current duke’s father.

He said, and I quote, that we ‘nearly had him.’ Meaning Broderick, of course. What do you think?

I think.... Alfred tried to be tactful, while also being honest. I think the captain general is very generous in his assessment of our army’s performance, sir.

In his assessment of his own performance, you mean, grumbled the duke.

I couldn’t possibly comment, sir.

You could, but I suppose you had better not. Did you hear anything about where Broderick’s army is right now?

Sir Robert Tynsdale says the advance scouts of the Gramiren army are in Bestandan.

That’s what I’ve heard as well. The duke glanced at a wide, painted map that covered half his desk. Leornian stood at the center, along a bright blue diagonal line that represented the River Trahern. In the lower left corner sat the city of Keelweard—the one they had just lost to the enemy. Bestandan was roughly two thirds of the way between there and Leornian.

It could be good news, sir, said Alfred. We might have some breathing room.

Possibly. None of us should underestimate Broderick, though. If he’s slowing down and taking his time, that means he intends to besiege us and starve us out, rather than going for a full, frontal assault. He drummed his fingers on the map. Not everyone is quite as impulsive and impatient as our captain general.

Indeed, sir.

A servant knocked and said there was a line of nobles waiting outside. The duke served as lord chancellor and head of King Edwin’s privy council, which meant he had a lot of demands on his time.

Alfred had barely enough time to ride out to his camp, bathe, and get changed, before he had to turn right around and come back to the Bocburg. The surrender of Keelweard and the retreat of the Sigor army had not been a victory, but the captain general insisted on treating it like one. So, there would be a grand feast of welcome in the castle, hosted by the king, the queen mother, and the Duke and Duchess of Leornian.

After his bath, Alfred was strongly tempted to crawl into his army cot and go straight to sleep. But once he was dressed in his finest blue silk doublet and red leather riding trousers, and once he’d managed to shave and put his floppy, dark blond hair into a semblance of order, he felt a little better about the party. And once he got to the Bocburg and saw all the ladies in their fine gowns and heard the minstrels playing a lively selection of Kenedalic reels, he completely forgot how tired and sore he was.

The great hall was packed almost to bursting with people, from the royal family down to country knights who had never been so close to royalty before. The banners of all the best families hung from the rafters. Alfred spotted his father’s banner up there, which was new. Nice to see that someone had remembered. Probably the duke or duchess, most likely.

Nearly everyone was talking at once, and those who weren’t talking were drinking. To the right of the door stood a pair of long tables with every imaginable kind of wine, from silvery-pale Immani Argitis to aged Rodvin so dark it almost seemed black in the glass. On the far side were the tables of food. Through the crowds, Alfred thought he could see a peacock and a wild boar, as well as a mound of honey cakes higher than a man’s head.

In the nearest corner, he saw the captain general, Lawrence Swithin, Earl of Hyrne. He was holding court with a little crowd of fawning courtiers—few of whom had been at Keelweard. With extravagant, sweeping movements of his arms, he demonstrated how he had managed to save the army from the trap that Broderick the Black set for us. Alfred turned away from the group before someone saw him and asked him to join the conversation.

At the near end of the room, a dozen couples were already dancing. Someone called out for Alfred to join them, and he saw a few young ladies of his acquaintance that he might have asked. But then he spotted the queen mother and the king, and he knew he had to go pay his respects first.

He really didn’t expect Queen Rohesia to remember him. He hadn’t been in Leornian in months. But he ought to have known better.

Ah, Sir Alfred. Duke Robert speaks very highly of your conduct at Keelweard. As does my brother. They so rarely agree about anything, that I assume you must have made quite a name for yourself on this latest campaign.

By her brother, she meant the Earl of Hyrne, the captain general.

Turning to her son, the queen added, You must remember Sir Alfred Estnor, dear.

Son and heir of the Baron of Sarcastel, said little King Edwin brightly. Colonel of the East Trahernshire Volunteer Levies, promoted to brigadier at the defense of Keelweard. I painted some new soldiers this morning, and I gave them your colors.

Alfred bowed. I am honored, your majesty.

The king looked as if he wanted to talk more about his toy soldiers, but there was a line of nobles and knights waiting for their chance to pay their respects, so Alfred bowed again and moved on.

He went to the drink table, examined the wines on offer, and then drifted down to the far end, past the various fruit liqueurs, to the little table with Annenstruker whiskey. At least five kinds were on offer, and he paused, trying to decide whether he wanted something that was smooth and light, or bracingly smoky.

As he stood there, he became aware that someone was hovering at his side, and he caught a whiff of lilac perfume, mixed with whiskey. He turned and saw Princess Elwyn. She had her long brown braids curled up on her head and fixed with silver hairpins. Her gown of blue and silver silk had been cut to fit close through the bodice, making her appear almost impossibly slim and elegant. Normally, when he saw her, she was dressed for hunting or riding.

Your royal highness, he said, bowing. Did you need a drink?

Someone told me recently that I must distinguish between my needs and my wants, Sir Alfred. I want a drink, but I need a partner for this next dance. I assume you know the Mt. Nellis Reel.

Of course, your royal highness. He held out his arm, and she took it like a river pike biting into the bait, practically dragging him over to where the couples were forming up.

He had only danced with her a handful of times. She was a very good dancer—light, graceful, and athletic. And being a princess, she was always in high demand as a partner at parties. So once the reel ended, he assumed she would go flitting away to some other, younger knight. But to his surprise, she asked if he wanted to stay with her through the next number—a slow pavane—as well.

Two dances in a row with a princess—with this princess in particular. He certainly hadn’t expected that.

The music ended, and the minstrels announced they would be taking a short break. Again, Alfred assumed the princess would want to go find someone more fashionable. But instead, she stayed with him.

I’ll take that whiskey now, she said, grinning. And then maybe we could take a turn around the garden.

They grabbed their drinks, then slipped through the crowded corridor and the entrance hall. On the front steps, they passed some of her friends, who giggled hello, then whispered behind their hands as he and the princess wandered on. And he saw a few of his officers, who all bowed low and made quick, meaningless comments about the weather.

He had not seen the princess in months, and he hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since a sledding party in February. He and Sir Walter Davies had taken care of the horses and managed the sleighs for the other, younger members of the party. The princess and a couple of her lady friends had giggled a lot and thrown snow at everyone.

He and the princess nearly traveled in separate circles, though he and his army comrades often went to the same parties as her fashionable set of nobles. His younger sister had been at Atherton with her, but they had never been close. The princess knew his friends, and he knew hers, but they rarely ended up in the same place at the same time, like two planets whose orbits occasionally brought them into the same sign in the heavens, but never quite intersected.

But now, here she was, acting as if they were dear, old friends. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she was very pretty, and when she was in a good mood, as she seemed to be, she was good company.

Do you like the party? she asked.

Yes, of course.

You don’t have to say that if you don’t want to. Personally, I find parties draining.

Oh? I’m quite the opposite, I’m afraid, he said. I was deathly tired earlier today, but now I feel like I could stay awake half the night, talking and dancing.

That’s why I need people like you around, she said. I’m glad you’re back in the city, Sir Alfred. We should try to see more of each other.

I...I, um.... He had no idea how to answer her. Eventually he had to say something, so he settled on, Thank you, your royal highness.

She paused, sipping her whiskey, and traced a little curve in the gravel of the front drive with the toe of her tiny blue slipper. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, she said.

Of course I want to, he said.

Oh, good. She smiled. I want you to understand how much I appreciate what you do. For my family, I mean. For my brother, especially.

It’s nothing more than my duty, your royal highness.

Yes, but you see...you’re good at it. Some other people..., she coughed slightly, aren’t quite so skilled as you are. Whatever my uncle, the Earl of Hyrne, says, this was a goatfuck. But according to everyone who knows what they’re talking about, you were the one who saved the army. I promise I won’t forget that. We won’t forget that, I mean—my family and I.

From the front steps, a group of tittering young ladies called out for the princess, beckoning her and begging her to join them.

Oh, blast it. I forgot. I’m supposed to dance with some of their brothers, I think. She finished her whiskey in one long, quick swallow and handed him the empty glass. I can’t keep them waiting. I promised my stepmother that I would be good for the crowd tonight. So that is what I am trying to do, Sir Alfred. I am trying to be good.

He bowed. Of course, your royal highness. I understand.

I wonder if you do. She cocked her head and gave him a mysterious little smile. I’ll tell you what, though. If you see me looking terminally bored later this evening, feel free to come bring me more whiskey.

It would be my pleasure.

Chapter 3

Presley fell flat on his face across the bed. He paid no attention to the plate of candied nuts and the crystal decanter of silvery Argitis the servants had brought. He barely noticed the tall arched windows with their stunning view of the sharp blue mountains, capped with dazzling white snow even now, in June.

I don’t care about any of it. I only want to rest.

Work for the past few months had been brutal. His normally good-natured boss, Crispus Rufus Stylianos, liked to say that one does not become the greatest shipping magnate in the largest empire in the world without occasional ruthlessness and nearly inhuman hours of work. Managing the accounts for such a man and such a business was usually gratifying to Presley. But the past few months, full of takeovers and last minute changes due to shifting political landscapes, had left Presley with barely enough time to sleep, let alone have any sort of life.

Perhaps he had found it even more exhausting because so many of the disruptions were happening in Myrcia. He and Grigory had been in the Immani Empire for a decade now, and he couldn’t imagine anywhere else in the world they could be so happy. And yet, Myrcia was home. He had been born there, studied there, served a duke and a king and fought there. The Empire might provide the only place for two men to live happily together, but in his heart, a part of him would remain Myrcian forever.

But whatever else was happening in the world, he and Grigory were now on vacation, and he could forget about the troubles at work and at home for the next month.

As soon as Grigory’s classes at the Imperial University at Presidium had finished for the semester, they were on a boat, owned by Stylianos and rented to them at a steep discount. Once they had crossed the Axenian Sea and traveled upstream to the farthest navigable point of the River Teper, they splurged on the most comfortable carriage Presley could find and made their way over the mountain pass to Terminium.

Emperor Tullius had invited Presley and Grigory to make use of his villa for as long as they would like. Relaxing now on the bed after the long journey, Presley would have liked to stay indefinitely. However, they only had a month here, and then Presley had to head back to Presidium.

Wake me up next week, Presley mumbled into a pillow.

You do not even want dinner? Grigory asked, as he stretched out along Presley’s side. He rubbed his hand up and down Presley’s back. You know how good the chef is. His roasts are always worth a little effort.

Presley hummed happily, remembering how well he had always eaten here. When he had first come to this villa, he had been alone and miserable. He had been missing Grigory, who had returned to his home in Loshadnarod after they had spent several years together in Leornian. Tullius had offered him more than just good meals. It had been a remarkable time in Presley’s life, even in the midst of those horrible years apart from Grigory. And now he could call Tullius his good friend, along with his remarkable wife, the Empress Vita Rufina Ursicana.

Whenever Presley had a rare moment for pure reflection, he could only marvel at the strange twists and turns of his own life. He’d grown up a mere Mr. Kemp, and now he was Sir Presley staying at the villa of the Immani Emperor. He was richer than he could ever have imagined—richer, in fact, than most noblemen back in Myrcia could have imagined. If, in return, he merely had to endure a few hectic months at a job he otherwise enjoyed, then he could hardly complain.

My late father—Earstien rest his soul—would be astonished at how far I’ve come in life. He would also be appalled if I didn’t take the opportunity to enjoy it.

Fine, said Presley. Wake me for dinner.

Grigory kissed that special spot behind Presley’s ear. What if we didn’t sleep and did something else instead?

PRESLEY HAD BEEN LOOKING forward to a month in Terminium alone with Grigory. But he knew they would surely have company, sooner or later.

He also knew Emperor Tullius and Empress Vita were taking a trip of their own to the east, paying visits to senators, proconsuls, and legates in the provinces of Presidia, Axenia, Embaria, and Terminia. So, Presley had assumed they would eventually come to Terminium. He had not expected them to show up at the palace the second day after he and Grigory had gotten there.

He certainly hadn’t expected them to show up with Servius Lepidus Faustinus, the legendary sorcerer, who was another old friend. But even more mysteriously, they were joined by Intira Rufa Stylianos, daughter of Presley’s employer, Crispus Stylianos.

Hello boys! Vita said with a broad smile, embracing first Grigory and then Presley. I hope you settled in nicely. Sorry to barge in, but we had to grab our dear Intira and hurry after you with a bit of news. She threw her black curls off her slim brown shoulders and settled into one of the couches in the front parlor. I think I’ll let Faustinus explain it all, though. I’m exhausted and need a drink.

Her husband, Tullius Ursicanus, Imperator of the Immani, Consul of the Senate, Tribune of the People, and a dozen titles besides, dismissed the servants who had accompanied them in, scanned the hall to see no one else was around, and then locked the door.

Whiskey? offered Intira. She was a lovely woman in а her mid-30s. In her dark complexion, she took after her Themaseki mother. In her