It took Amelia a beat to realize that the sound that left her lips was a short, sharp bark of a laugh. She pressed a hand to her mouth afterward, smoothing out her smile.
When she dropped her hand back to her lap, she was composed again. Her face throbbed hotly where she’d been slapped, and the rest of her body dragged heavy and unsteady with exhaustion. With fear. With dread. She wanted to sleep…and perhaps never wake again.
“Why does he want to get me with child?” she asked, when the silence had stretched too long.
Cassius took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve never been a part of the emperor’s court, so I won’t pretend to know anything about Marcellus’s…tastes or amorous habits. But what the emperor said to me a little while ago is that he wants to cross the Drake bloodline with his own.”
“To what end?”
“I don’t know.”
“The Drakes aren’t the royal family of Aquitainia. Is he trying to broker some sort of alliance through marriage?”
“I don’t know.” He sent her a flat look that was also oddly patient. “I can try to find out.”
“And in the meantime, I’m supposed to lie down like a good little lady and let him mount me?”
His expression firm. “No, I—” He faltered. After all: he was a slave, what could he do to prevent such a thing? His face fell, mouth going tight again. “We’ll think of something.”
“We?”
He exhaled again, and this time it was definitely a sigh as opposed to a simple expulsion of breath. There was agitation behind it. “Yes. We. Even if you don’t believe me yet.”
His gaze caught and held hers, and asked her to believe him. To trust him.
She couldn’t. Not…not yet, at least.
“What about my sister? Oliver?”
His brow smoothed, as though glad of the subject change—hopeful, perhaps, that she might start to believe and rely on him. “I haven’t seen either of them, but they’re here. Somewhere close, I would think.” His mouth turned down, apologetic. “Romanus has a younger son. He means your sister to wed him.”
“Over my dead fucking body,” she snarled. Much as she loathed the idea of being forced to submit to the heir, the thought of sweet, innocent Tessa enduring the same fate enraged her. No, she wasn’t innocent in the literal sense—she was a married woman these days—but there was a tremendous difference between falling in love and exploring all that marriage entailed, and having an enemy take you by force.
If Cassius found her language shocking, he didn’t show it. He nodded. “I thought you’d feel that way. They’ll keep you separated. But,” he added, quickly, before she could interject, “I’ll see if I can pass a message along to her, if you like. I’ll keep as close an eye on her as possible.”
Amelia frowned, but he was her only option, so she said a stiff “thank you.”
Another thought occurred. “What does he want with Oliver? Does he have a daughter? Because if he’s expecting Oliver to give her a child…” She shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“He only has two sons,” he said, brow furrowed once more.
“Ah.” Amelia’s stomach rolled as understanding dawned. “What greater victory than to take another king’s consort for your own.”
Cassius said nothing, but his throat moved as he swallowed, a damning agreement.
“Fuck,” she muttered, and glanced toward the windows. The sun had moved closer to evening, the sky beyond the balcony a deeper blue. Birds twittered, and a soft spring breeze spilled into the room, redolent with early blooming vines.
It was beautiful, as far as prisons went. No less horrifying.
19
Tessa was no stranger to finery: jewels, poofy skirts, tight corsets, and, since moving to Aeres, the finest furs and thick, cozy cloaks. But she’d never worn a dress like this.
It was purple. Not lavender, not lilac, not a subtle shade of bluebell, but the deep, rich purple of the Sel banners and cloaks. Tiny seed pearls, golden beads, and stiff jet lozenges were stitched to the bodice and all around its deeply flared skirts in the shape of serpents. Snakes writhed all up and down the length of the clinging, fluted dress that went all the way up her throat, but wasn’t modest in the slightest thanks to the way it hugged her every curve.
Fat gold teardrops adorned her ears, and her red hair had been twisted up and piled on her head in an intricate style strung with more pearls and gold beads.
When she looked in the mirror, a stranger looked back. Only her eyes, wide, and blue, and frightened, were her own.
