Nico lay upon a grassy hill outside of the palace, one that he had taken to calling his hill since he came there so often.

Nico had his arms folded behind his head, eyes upturned to the heavens, rather the city that the hill overlooked. Nico sighed, glad to be out of the stifling clothes that the masquerade had demanded. Contrary to the heat of the day, the night breeze was cool and refreshing.

Nico enjoyed his solitude for a moment, accompanied only by the gentle rustling of grass and the chirping of crickets to the night sky. Then, he heard footsteps approaching, each footfall seemingly light and hesitant. “Who goes there?” he said, not rising from where he lay stretched.

“A prince,” said a strange lilting voice that Nico did not recognize, but one that he found immediately alluring all the same. Warmth rose to his face at the thoughts. He had not even seen the owner of the voice, yet. Nine forbid it was a hideous creature approaching him to take his soul.

When Nico stepped out of Percy’s line of sight, the bridge of Scipio came into full view. Percy’s breath hitched in his throat at beholding the sheer magnitude of what was essentially the brains of the ship.

Percy had himself never been on ARKIII, but the size of Scipio’s control room was what he had always imagined the ARKIII’s would be. In fact, he felt as though the bridge was more suited to be the command centre of a project similar in scope and calibre as OMPHALOS.

Percy, however, understood that there was good reason for the room’s exorbitant size. Scipio was the only Trinity-class starship that served the people of C-Vita Lyrae, called such because it fulfilled the roles of mothership, habitat, and flagship. Scipio himself could only do so much, and maintaining the life-support systems and defenses of the colossal ship were taxing enough. Scipio’s bridge was also the mobile command centre of the entire New Rome fleet.

Nico looked up from where he’d been eating quietly to see that his father had risen. He made to stand up, too, but Kore’s hand on his leg made him stay.

“I thank all of you who have come to this grand feast today,” said Aides, eyes scanning the crowd of lords, ladies, and their progeny that had come to the banquet hall. Their masks only just hid their identities, but Nico had no doubt that his father knew exactly who was who.

“I raise a toast to my son, Nykos, whose naming day today marks not only his thirteenth year on this world, but also the day when by law and by tradition, you and I may begin to speak about how he is to be betrothed,” said Aides.

Percy’s mind was whirling with the implications of what Tempest had just said. His cock throbbed between his legs, almost painfully. Sugardaddy. He would never have thought just how great of an impact a single word could have on him, but ‘sugardaddy’ definitely took the cake.

Percy gingerly lowered himself into the wheelchair that Tempest had so helpfully provided. Thankfully, Will was there to help him, and the doctor’s firm but gentle grasp on his arm helped ease the pain that throbbed when he moved. It took a few moments for Percy to settle into the chair, but the moment he did, he leaned back and sank into the soft backrest of the chair.

Groaning softly from the ache in his arm, and naked as the day he was born, Percy couldn’t help but feel a little bit self-conscious when Will approached him with a sling for his arm. The next few minutes started out promising, but devolved into Percy squirming where he sat. Will’s fingers were masterful, it seemed, in both the art of healing and relentless teasing.

The roughshod gallop of Vrist slowed to a canter as Will guided him past the far post of the tilt. The poor horse was not quite used to the state of the soil here in the capital. Back in their own little hamlet, the dirt was a little bit less compact. It was understandable, though. As humble as their little village was, Phoebus still proudly and justly governed it.

For now, though, the job of governing the village fell to its elders. Phoebus reached up and caught the reins of Vrist, just as Will wrenched the heavy helm from his head. He hated the way it felt on his head, since it only made the heat of the Southron realm more unbearable. Unfortunately, he knew that it was necessary.

Will held out his lance for his father to take. The tip was splintered, but even Will knew—without having to look at his father’s face—that a splintered lance just was not going to cut it. If he wanted to have any hope of winning tomorrow’s tournament, he had to shatter his lance nine times out of ten.