THE WEAVING

Archmage Cassius ascended the grand marble steps, the weight of his ornate robes trailing behind him. He was ushered through the towering doors, their golden handles glinting in the torchlight. The throne room was vast, echoing with the hushed murmurs of courtiers and the occasional clink of armor.

At the far end of the room, beneath a canopy of crimson and gold, sat King Eamon on his throne, a symbol of power and authority. Beside him, the King's hand and advisor, Lord Birley, stood vigilant.

Cassius lowered himself into a deep, graceful bow, his robes pooling around him. "Your Majesty, I come before you with the deepest gratitude for your benevolence in bestowing upon my son the honor of a bride." Cassius gave his soon to be in-law a knowing smile before continuing. "My house will continue to serve you till I die."

The King's hand, Lord Birley, inclined his head in acknowledgment, his stern visage betraying no emotion. "King Eamon is pleased with this alliance, Archmage Cassius and so am I. This union would form an unbreakable bond between our houses."

Cassius' eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance coursing through him. The king was an old worm. But he was not that old to not be able to talk. Did the fucker think he was better than him because he had a crown on his head?

 He addressed the King's hand with measured civility. "Sir Birley, I hate to be rude. But I was talking to the King, not you. He has a mouth. I am sure he can answer."

"What?!" Birley was stunned. "Lord Cassius, that is-"

I am afraid I must speak with His Majesty in private. There are matters of great import that require his ear alone."

"Cassius!!"

"That was an order. Get out!"

Something clicked in Birley the moment those words were said. He nodded in response. "Very well, Archmage."

As the King's hand stepped aside, Cassius turned to the guards at the king's side. They were shocked and unsure of what to do. Humans wouldn't know the weaving of words even if it hit them.

"The King is safe," Cassius told them. "Go guard the doors instead."

Cassius watched them take their weapons. He could almost laugh watching them struggle to pull their swords out of the sheath. If he willed it, he could order them to kill each other. But he was in a really good mood. No need for bloodshed. 

"You used your devil magic on the king's hand. That is against the tenets that Arcans are supposed to follow." One of the guard's stuttered, pointing his sword in Cassius face.

"Put your swords away and go and guard the doors instead. That was an order."

It always amused Cassius, seeing his powers at play. Cassius watched with a hint of satisfaction as the guards hesitated, glancing at each other for reassurance. The aura of authority he exuded was not to be taken lightly, especially when it came to those who had yet to fully understand the depths of Arcan magic. As long as they were beneath him, his magic would never fail.

The guard's trembling hand lowered the sword slowly, replaced by a hesitant nod. "Yes, my lord," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. The other guard followed suit, their weapons finding their sheaths with relieved clumsiness.

The Archmage shifted his attention to Birley, who had positioned himself near the door. "Lord Birley?" The command in his voice was unmistakable, and he proceeded only after the King's advisor met his gaze once more. "Understand this, Lord Birley. Everything I have said and done is in accordance with loyalty to the crown. So you will forget anything you saw me do today Consider that an order."

Lord Birley, his expression composed, acknowledged the instruction with a solemn nod and resumed his exit.

Cassius turned his attention back to the King. "How are you, Eamon?"

King Eamon's wearied eyes met Cassius', and a smile played on his lips. "As well as can be expected in these times, my old friend. It looks like this is not the first time you have used your magic in this walls."

Cassius nodded. "Why do you think you gave the first daughter of the Renold house to my son? I ordered you too."

Eamon chuckled, a sound tinged with both amusement and resignation. "The abilities of your kind continues to scare me."

There was a pause, a moment where the weight of responsibility hung in the air. Then, Eamon's gaze turned piercing. "Tell me something, your trigger word happens to be the word order. What emotion awakens it?"

"Why do you ask? Tell me. I order you."

For the first time, Cassius watched the king tried to resist opening his mouth. It was honorable but foolish none the less. Eamon might be some King. But he was human. The lowest of the barrel. Will was made to bend to Cassius' desire. 

"Because-" Eamon stammered. "Because I want to stop you."

A laugh danced from Cassius' lips, rich and dark as ebony. "Ah, Eamon, you've always been a man of conviction. But remember, even mountains bow before the force of a tempest. We have had this dance a thousand times. I have told you about my magic and the emotion that drives it a thousand times. You will never remember if I order it. "

Eamon's gaze never wavered, his determination unwavering. "Why are you here? To order me to do something? You clearly came here for a favor."

"Yes, actually." Cassius affirmed, his voice as smooth as the silk draped across the chamber's ornate furniture. "But I ask no favor of you. You will do as I say."

"Do what exactly?"

"My son, your Highness," Cassius replied without a moment's hesitation. "He's not entirely pleased with the arrangement, as one might have guessed. Grief still holds him, and he clings to the memory of his late wife. The boy is stubborn, Eamon. Stubbornness, though, can be a double-edged sword."

Eamon's jaw clenched. "How does that concern me?"

"I have the suspicion that he will come running to your walls before he accepts the thoughts of marriage. When he does. Remind him that your word is law. That is an order by the way." 

The King stood tall, his royal robe making him look almost intimidating. "Why don't you just use that vile ability of yours to put him in place?"

 Cassius' eyes flamed a vibrant crimson, a stark contrast to the shadows that danced around them. He advanced upon the King with deliberate intent, his presence a suffocating force. Eamon, taken aback, stumbled back into the embrace of his ornate chair.

The Archmage's grip on Eamon's face was firm but not cruel. His voice, like velvet laced with steel, cut through the air. "Layne is different from you. He stands beside me, not below. I'll never force my will upon him. His choice must be his own, or seem to be, at least. Now I order you, you will do as I say because it what you want. I was never here and I never used my abilities on you. You think you are in control. You are in control."

Eamon nodded, a slave to the words of Cassius. "I am in control."

"Good," Cassius clapped Eamon's face. "I will be taking my leave now, your Majesty."