Aimilia pressed her palm to her cheek, trying to use the cooler skin to push down the blush rising again.
She’d never expected he would find her desirable and not just practical.
She looked nothing like Faustina for one. Despite being Gavril’s closest confidant for years, her friend had never once looked at her and found her to be desirable.
No matter how hard she’d tried, she’d accepted she wasn’t. She’d tried to make up for it in skill and style and wit.
But now…
“Her beauty is more than enough for me.”
If Nikias had been faking it, Aimilia would hand it to him—he was a master at it.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach as she walked through the estate halls, biting back a grin.
He hadn’t been faking it.
She’d never had a kiss quite like that. For someone who was known for his adoration of his dead wife and for being uptight and reserved, he didn’t kiss like it.
But it was a sobering thought.
Aimilia paused in the hallway, looking over her shoulder like she expected to see Faustina’s ghost standing behind her with perfect golden hair and a demure but fierce strength that had Nikias wrapped around her finger from the moment they’d met.
Because Aimilia wasn’t her.
It didn’t matter how much Nikias mightwantAimilia as his second wife. He would neverloveher the way he had his first. Aimilia wasn’t going to be anyone’s second choice.
But if Nikias had never met Faustina…
Would she?
She’d meant what she’d said. For the times he’d lost her respect, he’d more than earned it back. She could still feel the way he’d crushed her to him after she’d come out of the tunnels, and she could sink into him, knowing she was safe again.
She knew she certainly never wanted to see him in as much pain as she had after he endured Hypatia’s torture so Aimilia wouldn’t have to.
He was right. She’d shed a lot of tears for a man she claimed she didn’t care about. Maybe she cared more than she wanted to admit.
But it didn’t matter, did it?
It couldn’t change her decision. It didn’t make Nikias unlove Faustina with an obsessive devotion. It didn’t wipe away her treason at poisoning Nero. It didn’t make Nikias love her. He’d only wanted her.
It wasn’t enough.
Aimilia still wasn’t enough.
So Aimilia turned down her hallway, ready to go to bed and in the morning figure out how to untangle this mess when the faint sound of crying reached her ears. Then a voice murmuring over it.
Gavril’s.
It was coming from Gavril and Marcella’s room. Aimilia had lost track of how late it was, standing out in the courtyard.
Aimilia abandoned her path back to her room and hurried to their door, knocking softly and calling out, “Gavril? Marcella?”
There were a few whispered words, some garbled by sobs, and then the sound of footsteps. Aimilia stepped back as the door opened and Gavril stood in front of her. Marcella was lying in the bed, blankets piled around her in the darkness. A little moonlight and a soft light rune provided a little light to see by, but not much. Both of them had red-rimmed eyes.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aimilia asked.
Gavril gestured for her to come in then he looked out up and down the empty hallway before pulling the door shut behind her. Aimilia hurried over to the bed, moving to sit at the foot, putting a hand on Marcella’s leg. “Are you hurt? Did something happen? Was it Hypatia?”
