Of course, he hadn’t. None besides the Emperor knew the truth. All written records mentioning Andromeda within Rasenna were destroyed after the war. The great prophet Tarkis, one of Laran’s chief priests, had made sure of it.
Caius’ smile thinned. “The Omega’s true mission is to kill me.”
Velthur stiffened, his hands pressing slightly into Caius’ sides.
“To bring down the Empire and destroy everything we believe in,” Caius continued, letting his hand drift over the hardcurve of Velthur’s breastplate before sliding higher, settling at his throat. The pulse there jumped beneath his thumb. “It’s the Achaean Twelve’s way of revenge.”
A shadow crossed Velthur’s face. “I won’t let that happen.”
“I know you won’t,” Caius murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against the strong line of Velthur’s throat. His lover did not flinch. He stood still as he always had, offering himself without hesitation. It sparked in Caius the same dark thrill he’d tasted years ago when Velthur first appeared before him, hungry for purpose and cunning enough to seize it. “I knew the moment you came to me in Megara with your plan. I knew then, as I know now, that you had chosen power above all else—and that you would never disappoint me.”
“Of course.” Velthur dipped his head, tension alive in his body, a blade sheathed in obedience. “Tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it. Anything for you, Caius.”
A faint spark of heat stirred in Caius’ chest at the pledge. His lips curved, sharp with satisfaction. “You always know how to please me.”
His hand shot up, fingers closing hard around Velthur’s jaw. He tilted his lover’s face, and Velthur’s gaze snapped to him instantly—obedient, yet burning. His steadiness even under pressure stoked Caius’ desire as much as his pride.
“Once Laran’s Chosen is under our control, I will need you to join Dalmatius and the Sixth. Go to the Western Lands and find the girl for me.”
Caius didn’t give him a chance to respond. His grasp tightened, holding Velthur in place as he pressed his mouth to his with sudden, possessive force. The kiss was sharp, commanding—no tenderness in it, only fire and control.
Velthur smiled against his lips, breath hot between them. “As you command, Imperator.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER FORTY
ALENA
The throne room was a vast expanse of grandeur. Painted marble columns soared to a high ceiling, their intricate designs flaunting Megarian opulence. The pristine white marble floor gleamed, its surface adorned with a breathtaking mosaic of dolphins that seemed to glide along the length of the hall. Sunlight streaming through tall windows danced across the polished stone, giving the scene an almost ethereal glow.
Alena stood at the threshold, her breath hitching as she took it all in. Another dream of Leukos—but this one was sharper, more vivid than the others.
Almost like a memory.
The beauty of the room clashed with the stern presence of the king seated on his throne. Draped in regal authority, he spoke in low tones with a young Pelagios at his side. Around the dais, Silver Shields and nobles murmured among themselves, their postures rigid and reserved.
Beside her stood a boy with messy black hair—Leukos. He couldn’t have been more than five or six, his small hands tugging nervously at the collar of his blue tunic. His fidgeting drew thenotice of a Silver Shield with shaggy dark hair, a man unfamiliar to Alena. With a firm grip, the soldier seized Leukos’ wrist. “Stop that.”
Before Leukos could react, another boy stepped closer. Similar features marked them as kin, but his golden-brown skin contrasted with Leukos’ paleness, and his demeanour was calm. “Just do your best,” he said softly. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
Alena’s breath caught. Galen. It had to be him—the brother Leukos had spoken of so often, the one he was desperate to save.
The brothers were called forward and scuttled down the length of the throne room side by side. The Silver Shield followed close behind, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. At the foot of the dais, the boys bowed deeply.
The king ended his conversation with Pelagios and turned his attention to them. His cold, piercing gaze fixed on his sons, and the chamber fell silent.
“Your Majesty,” the Silver Shield intoned with practised reverence, gesturing to the boys. “Your sons.”
Alena’s heart clenched at the sight. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, their youthful faces a blend of innocence and dread under their father’s scrutiny. Silence pressed down, heavy with expectation.
Among the gathered nobles, a figure shifted, catching Alena’s attention. A young man, older than the two boys but bearing King Pandion’s sharp features and short brown hair, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Megarian armour gleamed on his frame, yet Alena sensed the tension in him as he watched his brothers, though his face remained a careful mask.
Galen was the first to step forward. Despite his youth, he moved with quiet strength, standing tall and resolute.
His hands curled into tight fists at his side. “Father, I have been training every day with Nisos as you requested. My swordand shield skills have improved greatly, and even Pelagios remarked on my strength.”
“It is true, Your Majesty,” Pelagios agreed with a nod. “Galen shows more promise than any recruit I’ve ever?—”
