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Summary
“What are you doing here, sister?” Alexios scowled as he stalked through the sun-dappled olive grove. “Sparta is mine.”
“Don’t be so childish.” Kassandra was leaning in the shade of a tree, watching something in a glade beyond. She wore a golden cuirass hung with intricately patterned leather straps, gems, and purple strips. Her helmet was nowhere to be seen, her thick braid curled over one blue-cloaked shoulder. The Aegis was strapped to her back with her spear, though Medusa’s head was sealed out of the battlefield, visible only as a fine etching on shining brass.