Katell shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Romilda’s sharp gaze swept over her. “I heard you took a nasty hit—guts hanging out and everything. I’m surprised to see you on your feet.”
Katell winced. News travelled fast around camp, and by now she was sure every legion knew how the new praefect had almost died facing a Northerner. “I’m healed now.”
“And I’m glad to hear it.” Romilda reclined onto a curved couch strewn with furs and embroidered cushions. A servant stepped forward and unfurled a curtain from a polished wooden pole to give them some privacy. “Tell me, what can I do for Laran’s Chosen?”
The faintly mocking tone was a reminder that, though their dealings were cordial, they weren’t allies. Romilda’s loyalties lay with the Fourth Legion, and Dorias’ presence—along with the Sixth and the Black Helmets—threatened the balance of power she’d long maintained along the northern front.
Katell stayed standing. She wasn’t here to linger. “I need to know about demigods.”
Romilda raised a thin eyebrow. “Demigods?”
“Yes,” Katell replied. “The Northern leader I fought claimed to be one. He had a similar healing skill to mine and said it was due to the immortal blood he carried. I came to ask what you knew about them.”
Romilda leaned back, her cup of wine resting lightly between her fingers. “I’ve met a couple among the Suebi—descendants of gods who once fell in love with mortals and lay with them. Depending on the strength of their Gifts, they were even worshipped themselves.” She gave a faint, knowing smile. “The Achaeans have plenty of stories. Their gods were fond of stealing mortal women and forcing themselves on them, after all.”
That part had never appeared in Damocles’ bedtime tales. And as a child, she’d never thought to question the gaps.
Katell hesitated, the words feeling absurd the moment they left her mouth. “The Northerner suggested I could be a demigoddess… How can I know for sure?”
Romilda’s response was immediate. “You’re not.”
Katell blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in her tone.
“Demigods have magic from birth,” the legate went on, swirling her wine. “If you were one, you’d have shown signs as a child. But your Gifts only manifested last year, did they not?”
Katell had suspected as much, but she needed to hear someone else confirm it. How could she be a demigoddess if Laran’s Mark had only appeared a little under a year ago? She’d never shown the slightest hint of magic before.
Romilda’s mouth quirked into a dry smile. “Don’t make that face. You might not be a demigoddess, but you are still Laran’s Chosen and more powerful than any of us here. Even that gorgeous man of yours.”
Katell stiffened. “He’s not my?—”
Romilda waved a dismissive hand. “You’re not fooling anyone, so don’t even pretend. I know you two are fucking. Trust me, the whole camp knows it.”
Katell clenched her jaw, heat rising to her face. Dorias had been adamant about discretion, and she’d agreed. Their relationship wasn’t meant to be fodder for gossip.
Romilda leaned back with a grin. “But don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”
Katell gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”
Romilda drained her wine with a flourish and stood, brushing past Katell in a flurry of silk and heady perfume. “Now, are you going to join me for the second round? I assure you, I have the best lovers in the whole camp. They’re very well trained. Although I have a feeling that dashing legate of yours has quite a talent for fulfilling a woman’s needs.”
Katell’s cheeks flushed. Romilda wasn’t wrong—Dorias knew how to please her—but that wasn’t what made her heart tighten at the mention of his name.
He was the man who’d pulled her from Bruna’s arena, who’d seen potential in her before she’d even understood the shape of her own power. He’d encouraged her to hone her magic, sharpen her blade, and believe in what the Black Helmets were fighting for.
Dorias believed in peace. He didn’t revel in conquest, but fought to protect the Empire’s borders from chaos and raids. While others schemed for power, he bore the weight of duty as though it were his calling.
He was her lover, yes—but also her saviour, her commander, and her confidant.
And yet, she still didn’t truly know him.
He kept so much behind that calm, disciplined mask—wounds he never spoke of, burdens he carried alone. She only hoped that one day he would let her in fully, as she’d let him in.
Catching Romilda watching her with a knowing smirk, Katell cleared her throat and straightened. “I’ll let you get back to your… activities.”
The legate’s smile turned sly. “Just say fucking, Viridia. Life is too short to dwell on propriety, particularly when we face death every day.”
