House Kasshen was counted among Carmine’s noble families. One with very low standing, and a blatant joke among other aristocrats, but still a noble family, nonetheless.
And as collateral, Anwar took Catalin, the future head of the house, and made him one of his personal slaves.
It was July 28th, fifteen years to the day of Celeste’s visit to him. An anniversary Catalin looked forward to and dreaded more than anything.
And if he was going to embarrass himself again this year, he’d rather Rakan not be present.
“You really don’t have to stick around for the whole thing,” Catalin protested, trying to shimmy the manacles into a more comfortable position. “Don’t you get bored with it?”
“Are you kidding? Who’s going to stand behind His Highness and give you the big cheesy thumbs-up?” Rakan shoved him. “And besides. It’s tradition, right?”
That was one way of putting it. Rakan Farrell was the son of one of the Empress’ maids, so he’d lived in the palace’s servant quarters his entire life. When Catalin was taken to the palace, Rakan, being three years older and an only child, decided to adopt the younger boy.
Their friendship was one of the palace’s best kept secrets. As children, they perfected hiding to a science, and as teenagers, Rakan took on the role of Catalin’s merciless handler.
“Whatever.” Catalin shrugged. “But it’s not like I’m going to run crying to you again.”
“Well, I should be around just in case, right?” Rakan laughed, but pressed further. “Have you been practicing? You didn’t sound very sincere last year.”
“I’ve worked on it every day,” Catalin answered. “If I sounded any more sincere, I’d be you.”
“I’m just going to take that as a compliment,” Rakan said. “Either way, being sincere is all you can really do. Don’t worry about anything else.”
“Hmph.” Catalin moved to cross his arms, then remembered with a sigh that his hands were cuffed. “After fifteen years, I can’t imagine anyone being angry anymore.”
“That’s true…” Rakan looked thoughtful. “But on the other hand, after fifteen years, you look a lot more like—”
“I know, I know,” Catalin grumbled. But truthfully, he didn’t know. He didn’t understand why everyone was so obsessed with telling him that he looked like Celeste.
The resemblance was certainly there. The eyes were the same shade of pale blue, the same shape. The black hair was the same. And they were both tall. But all of those traits ran in the Kasshen family, and the similarities ended there. He remembered her face well enough to know that they really didn’t look alike at all. But, from the way people went on about it, one would think they were fraternal twins.
“I should know better than to bring that up,” Rakan teased. “But you shouldn’t be so dismissive of her. Your cousin is a real hero to a lot of people, you know. You have to consider them, too.”
“Why are you so damn logical? Can’t I just be pissed off about it without considering anyone?”
“I’m just making sure you know.” Rakan held his hands up in the air.
“My cousin is the reason all of this happened in the first place,” Catalin said testily. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
He sank into moody silence for a few minutes, pretending that his glare could actually destroy those ridiculous busts if he focused it enough. At length, Rakan spoke up again. “Master Baltus is going to be here tonight.”
Catalin snorted as he thought, Oh, here we go. “You say that like it’s going to make me feel better.”
“Shouldn’t it?” Rakan looked hurt. “Master Baltus has always supported you.”
“Yeah, I know…” Catalin shrugged. “But…”
“But what?”
Catalin struggled to articulate it for a moment, and then sighed. “You know what I’m trying to say.”
“Are you still seriously on about that?” Rakan scoffed. “He doesn’t hate you, Catalin. Hasn’t Master always been nice to you?”
What Rakan said wasn’t false. Ever since Catalin arrived at the palace, Derrick Baltus had always been kind to him. Not in a particularly hands-on way; as one of Anwar’s Imperial Guardians, it would have been inappropriate to fraternize with a slave. But the man never missed an opportunity to give Catalin some encouraging words, or even a smile.
And maybe it was Catalin’s imagination, but that smile always made him very uncomfortable.
But Rakan always had a blind spot where Baltus was concerned. After all, Baltus had named Rakan his successor, a future Imperial Guardian of Anwar’s son, Frey.
“He said that he hopes it goes well for you tonight,” Rakan continued, “and that you deserve something good. Does that sound like someone who hates you?”
“Of course, of course.” Catalin rolled his eyes. “Didn’t mean to question the great Lord Baltus in front of his schoolgirl admirer.”
“Come off it,” Rakan pouted. “You don’t know how a schoolgirl would act, anyway.”
“Oh, I’ve read tomes on the subject,” Catalin explained. “They have entire sections on schoolgirls in the encyclopedia. There’s also a big color picture of you in pigtails and a frilly little skirt, holding a sign that says ‘I heart Master Baltus,’ but that’s all—” He was cut off as Rakan grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a headlock.
“Would you like me to kick you again?” he asked dryly.
“Okay, okay, jeez!” Catalin struggled to get free from Rakan’s arm. “You know how much that hurts, genius?”
“Right. I forgot how delicate you were.” Rakan ruffled his hair quickly before he squirmed out. “Let’s hurry up… His Highness is probably starting the speech by now.”
“And how could we ever miss that?” Catalin muttered, following Rakan’s advice nonetheless.
They strode down the twisting halls of the palace that they both knew by heart, following the sounds of laughter and applause that were slowly growing closer. Finally, they stopped outside of the red velvet curtain that separated them from the banquet hall, and Catalin drew it carefully aside to peek out.
The banquet hall was more decked out than usual, swathed in silk banners and flowers that had taken two weeks to put properly in place. The nobility sat at long, covered tables, and a large knot of commoners were gathered in the back of the room, and all the way out into the entrance hall. The floor-length windows that overlooked the ocean had been pushed all the way open, and the crisp breeze drifted in undeterred.
Anwar sat in his throne, addressing the crowd, and while Catalin found small solace in the fact that part of the speech was over, they were getting to the part that he knew by heart.
Yeah, yeah, congratulate yourself, he thought with disgust. Tell everyone how lucky they are not to be dead or enslaved… and then you all clap…
There was enthusiastic applause. There you go.
Anwar smiled indulgently at the applause of his subjects. “Wonderful. It’s truly wonderful to see everyone so happy here, on this glorious day that Myrrh entered the Carmine Empire.” More applause. Now that there was nothing to distract him, Catalin felt his heart begin to speed up, felt his every muscle tighten. “But even so… this is not an entirely joyous occasion.”
Anwar paused, letting each of his guests fully choke on the silence, before continuing. “Catalin Kasshen, if you would come here?”
“Good luck,” Rakan whispered, laying a hand on Catalin’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine.” Then, his demeanor shifting instantly as he stepped into the public eye, he shoved Catalin out into the banquet hall, giving him a sharp glare before standing aside.
Catalin slowly walked towards the Emperor, his eyes shifting to take in the rest of the room. He caught a quick glance of his family at a table towards the back: his parents both concentrated on their plates, but he made quick eye contact with Eliade. She had a reassuring smile at the ready, and he nodded back. As he reached the throne, he bowed.
“As you can see,” Anwar continued, “young Catalin is eighteen years old now. I’m sure some of you have sons that age, correct?” He paused again, as if expecting someone to answer him. “Good age, eighteen. It’s an age where one stops being a child, and decides what they’d like to do with their future. But Catalin here… he’s not as fortunate as your sons. He’s bearing all the responsibility that should belong to them… and to you.”
Catalin made a concentrated effort not to clench his fists. He couldn’t appear tense. He’d spent too long perfecting a bored, unaffected look – he couldn’t let any body language give him away.
“But I have no intention of keeping this boy forever. I would be more than happy to release him to his family tonight.” Anwar smiled. “If he obtains my forgiveness for each and every one of you.” The crystal chandelier reflected off his glass left eye, and it glittered at Catalin. “So, Catalin… what do you have to say on behalf of these people here?”
Catalin took a deep gulp of air to steady himself, his gaze darting through the crowd one more time. Eliade looked like she was trying to smile at him again, but her jaw had frozen. His mother ventured a timid glance up at him from her plate, and looked away the moment she made eye contact. Rakan stood directly behind the Emperor, and, as promised, flashed him a split-second thumbs-up.
