Forty ◑ The Past

*The amphitheatre of the marble palace was nearly filled to the brim with men, ranging from middle-aged to really old, all dressed in tunics and armors that varied in quality and grandeur.*

*They were Lucille's suitors, except that in this life she didn't go by that name. She was Lysandra, the princess of Crete, the only child of King Triton and Queen Calliope. As the heir to the throne, she must now choose a man who would later on rule this powerful kingdom with her.*

*Or rather, without her.*

*She was no stranger to the hierarchy of the kingdom. She was yearning for love, for an equal, but at the same time she was disillusioned. After all, the queen was only for decoration. She'd be a mere decoration like her mother. Her father had always made the decisions, from battles to laws—now to the man she'd marry.*

*But Lysandra had always scared his candidates away, hadn't she? She didn't become a sorceress for nothing. Perhaps this was the reason why, at the age of twenty-five, she was still unmarried. Too old for many, but sough-after nonetheless. For her beauty, power, and riches.*

*Mostly for the power and riches.*

*"He who races and wins against the Golden Mare—gifted to my ancestors by Poseidon himself—shall wed my daughter," King Triton announced and pointed at her, his voice echoing in the grand hall.*

*However, none of the men looked at her, even as she stood from her throne, as lovely as a dream in her long white peplos. Her eyes were the color of lapis lazuli, her hair shining gold like the jewelry that adorned her arms. She was a picture of beauty, yet everyone only had eyes for the pile of gold in the chest by the king's feet. It was her dowry, and of course it was the main thing that would attract all these lads. . . .*

*All except one.*

*One man was staring at her. A man with wind-swept brown hair, chiseled features, a lean, lithe frame, and piercing eyes. Dark but full of light, mysterious but open. His gaze was warm with amazement, as though her presence alone sucked the air out of the room, as though she was the prize he wanted to win.*

*When their eyes met, he broke into a tiny hopeful smile, and she felt her heart constrict. She willed herself too look away, but she found herself unable to.*

*Could he be a prince? Perhaps from a small kingdom? She wasn't really well-traveled. She preferred to stay in her quarters and practice her magic. Could he be a hero, a favored champion of the gods?*

*The more she looked at him, the more she confirmed that he was none of the above. He was wearing a worn, weathered tunic with a rusted armor. The sword strapped to his waist was old and poorly crafted, even from afar. He bore no family crest, no jewelry to set his stature.*

*But this didn't make him any less wonderful in her eyes.*

*Lysandra had taught herself to hold her head high and ignore any man, but one second was all it took for her to willingly tear down her walls. One second, and she was certain that Eros himself had swooped down and shot her one of his arrows.*

*One second, and she was sure that she'd do anything for this man to win the race.*

*However, the day of the race, he wasn't there.*

*Nobody won. The Golden Mare, as always, was much too fast for any of the old candidates. Disappointed and secretly enraged with his daughter, King Triton called for another race, set the next day.*

*This gave Lysandra a time to breathe, a time to sulk over the short-lived hopes in her heart.*

*That very night, she ordered her servants to accompany her to the stream to take a long bath. The sky was clear, spattered with stars and dominated by the moon. Cool wind blew around the clearing, the rustling leaves from the cypress trees mixing with the trickle of the shallow pool of flowing water.*

*It was nearly midnight. Her father would surely be asleep. On her way back to the palace, she must remember to feed the Golden Mare a potion that would make it run as fast as a lightning bolt for the race tomorrow. She wouldn't take any chances.*

*With this comforting thought, she exhaled and began to relax, the water cooling her heated skin. She was beginning to feel the first onset of drowsiness, but then the nearby bush rustled mightily.*

*With her pulse rampaging, Lysandra leapt out of the water, shrugged on her robe without drying her body, and poised her long, golden dagger at the direction of the noise.*

*Well, she wasn't really upset if her body had been seen. She was more offended that someone had tried.*

*"Show yourself," she said calmly, knowing full well that she didn't need to alert her servants. She could take on any man with a dagger alone, make him bleed and suffer for peeking at a bathing woman. "Come out. Now."*

*The bushes shook violently one more time. Lysandra walked closer towards it, ready to stab.*

*But all of her conviction left her body once she saw who was crawling out from behind the bush.*

*It was the man from the day before. The man who'd looked at her, smiled at her.*

*He was covering his eyes with a bruised and bleeding hand, but there was no mistaking him. His arms and legs were covered in long gashes. His hair was caked with dirt and dried blood.*

*"You," she managed to whisper in astonishment, then she quickly recovered her wits, dropped her dagger, and bent down to help him up. "Why are . . . what happened?"*

*He tried to sink into a bow, but his knees buckled under his weight. "I apologize, your highness. I was on my way to the race and some of your suitors have ordered their men to attack me. I did not mean to intrude. I swear, I have seen nothing—"*

*"I am not mad," Lysandra interrupted, taking him by the arm and helping him get to his feet. Once he was upright, she gently pried his hands off his face. "Who are you?"*

*"Cadmus of Lemnos, your highness," he stammered, trying to curtsy. "I am no prince, but I am a warrior from the kingdom."*

*"Very well." She could hardly breathe. Maybe it was a bit messed up for her to think this, but even in this state he was gorgeous. "Come with me to my quarters so I can treat your wounds."*

*Cadmus's eyes widened with surprise and then softened with gratitude. "Thank you, your highness."*

*"Lysandra," she said. "Call me by my name."*

*"Lysandra," he repeated with a tiny smile.*

*Perhaps it was a bit too fast, a bit too reckless, but Lysandra didn't care. She snuck him up in the palace, cleaned and covered his cuts.*

*Then, she mustered enough courage and asked, "What brought you to Crete?"*

*Cadmus lowered his head but still kept his gaze on hers. "I wish to be married to you."*

*"Why do you wish to be married to me?" She forced her breathing to get steady. "Have you not heard of the news?"*

*"I have," he replied, with more conviction this time. Still, his soft sincerity didn't disappear. "I know of the misfortunes that have befallen your suitors, and I have traveled wide and far. No matter what happens to me in the race, seeing you alone is worth it."*

*He kissed her hand, and just like that, she was enamored.*

*"You must take this," she offered, drawing a vial of a clear liquid from her storage. It was the potion for speed, the one that she feeds the Golden Mare to give it an extra boost and leave all her suitors in the dust. She pressed it on his palm. "This will make you run faster than any of Poseidon's horses."*

*He tried to give it back to her. "Lysandra, I cannot—"*

*"This will make you the king," she emphasized. "This will make you mine."*

*Cadmus blinked rapidly, sank into a bow, and pocketed the potion.*

*She laughed. "Finally."*

*"Finally? This is only the start."*

"Lucille, wake up."

*The memories continued to crash over Lucille, moving so fast that nothing stuck. There was only a blur of colors, sounds, and faces. Cade's was the one she kept seeing, in different angles, different emotions. Then her own, staring back at her through reflective surfaces, always distraught and angry. Then there was Agnes's, young and carefree and happy—*

"Come on! Snap out of it!"

Her eyes snapped open. Her entire body—not just her mangled wrist—was burning in pain. It was soothed only by the wind that was blowing in from the broken window, with droplets of water trickling from the shards that clung on the frame.

And kneeling beside her, blocking the window, was Dimitri.