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“Castor Manolas, you son of a bitch! I thought you’d run off to spend the rest of your days on some tropical beach!”
It doesn’t take me long to recognize that voice.
It’s Spyros Mitroglou, one of the first generals who came to my side after Father’s death. He must not be able to see me behind my giant protector. Because a round of voices join in on calling out Castor’s name.
“That’s exactly what I would have done, if I had any brains left in this old head of mine,” Castor responds, knocking a fist against his temple.
An unexpectedly good-natured laugh echoes through the room.
“So, where have you been, then, oh-great protector?” Someone shouts out, after the laughter has died down.
“I assume he’s been off chasing down princess Sophia,” another voice booms.
“Any luck with that?”
“I heard one of those Barinov fuckers got her…”
“I’ll tear them limb from limb…”
“Easy there, fellas,” Castor says. All it takes is for him to raise a shaky hand into the air and the room goes quiet. “You must have lost your eyesight while I was gone… or maybe I’ve just gotten fat.”
Another round of laughter echoes through the room as Castor steps aside to reveal who’s hiding behind him.
Me.
Just like that, the room goes silent again.
“Sophia…” Spyros is the first to break the shocked hush.
“Hello,” I nod, stopping myself before I can curtsy at the room of bloodthirsty killers.
They want a fighter. So, give them a fighter. Be someone who will fight for what she believes in. No matter the cost.
“It’s the princess.”
“She’s back.”
“Castor rescued her.”
A wave of muttering threatens to take hold of the emptied-out bar my old soldiers have taken over.
With Castor out of the way, I finally get a good look at the dive, and the men in it.
Scarred faces stare at me from dusty stools and chipped counters. Hanging over top of the bar is a red and white ‘Coors Beer’ neon sign. It’s flickering light bathes my men in a pulsing crimson that seems to suit them better than any chandelier ever could.
The mumbling continues as my gaze finishes patrolling the room, landing back on the man who brought me here.
I meet Castor’s dark eyes and he nods. It’s my turn to take control.
But I’m not the same person I was before I was taken by Leo. There will be no shouting, no drawing of blood, no threats.
Slowly, I raise my hand, just like Castor did.
One by one, the voices quiet, until no one dares utter another word.
The stage is mine.
… And I have no idea what to say.
