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  When he tilted her chin up with his fingers, she allowed him to do so without resistance. When he tested her response by pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, she molded hers to his, offering the illusion he sought. Cupping her neck with one hand, he brushed his thumb lightly along her jaw. The gesture was tender. Intimate. She wanted neither from him. Plucking the tie on his briefs, she pushed them down his hips. Obligingly, he stepped out of them.

  Wasting no time, he captured her lips once more with his own while he blindly undressed her. Without relinquishing her mouth, he turned her, lifting her easily onto the dresser, and positioning himself between her thighs. His hands roamed freely. It did not matter that he was the enemy, nor that he was responsible for countless grievances against her personally and the people under her care; her body responded immediately to his touch. She wanted to think their first night had been a fluke, but the truth was despite everything, she still found him attractive. Still experienced a pleasant ache between her thighs when she thought of their first night together.

  She didn’t want to enjoy this. Enjoy him. Her traitorous body disagreed. Her skin flushed hotly. Nipples tightened. Core heated. She could feel her wetness building, preparing her for him. And for the second time in as many nights she cursed the gods that it was he who elicited such reactions. Sliding a hand between her thighs, finding her slick and ready, he kissed her deeply as he pushed steadily into her. Augustine left his hand between them to continue teasing her while he worked himself in long strokes.

  Frustrated nearly to tears and with absolutely no outlet to vent her distress, Persephone acted without thinking and bit his chest. Hard. It was that, or cry, and she refused to cry in front of him.

  Whether surprised, pained, or both, Augustine yanked her head back sharply by her hair and slammed into her painfully. The resultant burning she felt in both her scalp and her sex was a welcome relief to the grief and helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. Surprise and satisfaction overtook her in equal measure and Persephone laughed out loud.

  She didn’t care how her erratic behavior might be interpreted. Fear of retribution did nothing to quell her, not even when the feel of Augustine’s hand at her throat preceded her back crashing brutally against the wood underneath her. Pain vibrated up her spine, and reflexively she drove her knee into his ribs. That it might be considered an attack on his person didn’t even have opportunity to pass through her mind, her reaction had been so automatic.

  Wrenching himself from her, Augustine grabbed her by the tops of both thighs and roughly dragged her off the surface of the furniture. The corner grated her back harshly and Persephone felt skin tear. She made a futile grab for purchase before Augustine roughly set her on feet, turning her so she faced the dresser with her back to him. Overpowering her, he bent her over its surface, leaving his forearm braced across her shoulder blades to keep her pinned. She swung an elbow backward, but he caught her arm – wrapping it with his own – before she could connect.

  Persephone didn’t even have the chance to think about how much she hated being prone before he slammed into her. The corner of the dresser cut into her hips and thighs with every thrust. She knew this wasn’t the same, but this was what she’d wanted. To have some physical locus to direct her attention to, so that for a little while, she could forget about the pain that burned her from the inside out. Braided together, pleasure and pain intermingled until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d lost a fight. Augustine had now overpowered her twice. It was with that realization that her climax ripped violently through her. She cried out against the unyielding surface against which he held her and felt him pour himself into her. As the last of her climax passed, her womb continued to spasm painfully, and she resisted the urge to whimper.

  Persephone managed to ignore her own discomfort by focusing on her shock. She was stunned at her body’s response. Why had she enjoyed that? She shouldn’t have; it was despicable. Had she enjoyed it? She didn’t think so. But if that was the case, why had her body reacted the way it did? She must truly be a masochist, she thought miserably. So what happned when a masochist met a sadist?

  * * * *

  Appalled at his own behavior, Augustine took a moment to steady himself. Even when he was a young soldier and still shared in the spoils after a victory, he’d never taken a woman so violently. A part of him had always considered them soft, delicate things. From his first encounter with her, it had been obvious that Persephone was different. That she was a warrior. An equal. It still didn’t justify the way he’d used her.

  Pulling from her, he moved to gather a washrag. When he finished cleaning himself he set the rag back in the basin and stilled when he rinsed the cloth and caught sight of her blood clouding the water. Persephone was paying no attention to him as she placidly gathered her robes from the floor. Either she was unaware of the damage he’d done or she was pretending to be. Guilt tore at him.

  “Hold a moment.”

  With the fabric of her chiton in hand, she stopped before beginning the process of draping it to look at him. Her features were guarded. She knew. She had to know. How could she not?

  “Apologies,” he told her.

  For a moment she looked surprised before she schooled her features. “No need for apologies, General –”

  “Augustine,” he corrected her automatically.

  “No need for apologies,” she amended, still not using his name. “It would seem that I am the one who owes them to you.”

  With her eyes, she indicated the place on his chest where she’d bitten him. Absentmindedly, he looked, running a hand over the spot. Soon the place would be marked with a dark and painful bruise. Already it was discolored by the red imprint of her teeth. “A trivial thing,” he told her. He’d been irate when she’d delivered it, but presently he felt far more concerned about the injuries he’d done to her in response.

  “My apologies, nonetheless. I do not know what came over me.”

  He suspected she knew exactly what had come over her, but didn’t push the matter. For the moment, he was far more interested in assessing how she fared, a thing she would refuse to allow him if he angered her further.

  “Mine stand, as well. I hurt you.”

  “You did no such thing,” she said lightly, once again moving to don her clothing.

  “No?” He reached between her thighs, swiping two fingers against her cunt. Her lip twitched in a manner that could have been the beginnings of a snarl or a wince. She caught herself, maintaining an expression of blank tranquility before anything could become of it. “Then perhaps your moonblood is upon you,” he said, bringing his red-stained fingers in front of her face.

  She took a deep breath as she looked at them, before returning her gaze to his. “Perhaps it is. Again, my apologies.”

  “I’ve instructed you not to lie to me,” he told her, bringing the cloth between her legs. Her reflexes sharp, she caught him by the wrist to halt him. “Let me,” he instructed.

  Persephone released his wrist, allowing him to gently clean her. But in a manner completely uncharacteristic for her, she turned her face so that she was not looking at him. To this point, she’d not demonstrated any shyness about sex or sexuality, so what was it about this act in particular that made her uncomfortable?

  “I am sorry that I hurt you,” he said, meaning it.

  Her eyes flicked back to meet his coldly before they returned to examining the wall. “I am not.”

  Augustine’s gut twisted unpleasantly at her words. There was no doubt she was being completely honest.

  “Stay a while,” he said, stepping away from her to discard the washrag.

  “Should I dress?”

  “If you prefer it.”

  Unbothered with his own nudity, nor hers, Augustine did not dress. He just grabbed his wine and settled himself on one of the chairs in the sitting area. Persephone hesitated only a moment before quickly draping and pin
ning her chiton and joining him.

  “Wine?” he offered a second time.

  “Gratitude, no. Was there some matter you wished to speak with me regarding?”

  “Now that it has been mentioned, when was your last moonblood? And do not tell me tonight. We both know that to be a lie.”

  “Trying to determine if it will be necessary to force silphium on me, General?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  He had no intention of doing any such thing, nor of allowing her to force it on herself, but he was not going to admit that to her. She was clever enough to put the pieces together.

  “Always avoiding giving an answer, Princess. When?”

  She considered him, and for a moment he thought she would refuse to answer. “It ended several days before your arrival in the palace.”

  Well aware of her penchant toward dishonesty, he sought a more precise answer. “Define several.”

  “Three.”

  It occurred to him belatedly that he had only asked her to define the word, which she had done, but it may not be the answer to the question he had actually asked. “So your last moonblood ended five days ago, is this correct?”

  She nodded.

  “And if I were to ask Seraphime of this, she would give the same answer?”

  “She would.”

  Not believing most things she said, Augustine determined to confirm the fact with Seraphime. Before she next saw her sister.

  “Now, would you care to explain to me, what I’ve done that has so vexed you?”

  “Your presence here vexes me,” she said with a polite smile, her hard words a direct contrast to her pleasant expression.

  “Undoubtedly,” he agreed. “But what new offense has made you so angry?”

  “I am not angry.” It did not seem a lie, if one only looked at her, but her appearance was quite deceiving.

  “I told you not to lie to me.”

  She continued to smile agreeably with just a touch of curiosity mingled into the expression. Well practiced, but completely hollow.

  “Do I appear angry?”

  “You appear as a doll.” Augustine said, neither scowling nor smiling. His expression was just as superficial as her own.

  “Gratitude, General.” She nodded graciously.

  He didn’t bother to correct her, though it annoyed him that she refused to call him by name. “It was not intended as a compliment.”

  “I fail to see how it could be anything but. As a princess, General, I am meant to be a doll.” Her deadpan tone and expression made it impossible to know her feelings about the sentiment.

  “Dolls are empty on the inside. You, Persephone, are not a doll.”

  “Do you not know? Dolls are nothing until someone decides to pick them up and use them. During that time, they are whatever they are expected to be. Whatever is commanded of them. You say I am not a doll, but like everyone else, that is exactly what you want me to be. A lovely toy you may amuse yourself with.”

  Her words struck him. Yes, his plan called for her to be meek and docile, but the truth was, he preferred her as she was. Strong. Passionate. A fighter. Even her anger was preferable to the emotionless covering she typically wore. He didn’t want to destroy what she was, and hated that for his plan to be successful, he would need to.

  He couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. “No.”

  “Yes,” she contradicted immediately, her tone still completely neutral. “But, remember, General, that when playtime is over and the doll has been returned to her shelf, the pretty shell that you see? That is what she really is. Everything else is pretend.”

  “Or perhaps you just enjoy pretending,” he told her. “And you are wrong. It is not a doll that I want.”

  A sympathetic expression painted itself onto her face. Convincing as it was, he knew it to be false. “The gods are cruel, Augustine. We rarely get what we want.”

  Chapter 5:

  Misery’s Shadow

  It is not what you are, it is what you appear to be.

  – Persephone of House Galanis, Princess of Galilae

  Persephone berated herself as she left the king’s chambers. What had she been thinking? She’d practically admitted that everything she said and did was a farce while simultaneously identifying herself as an empty shell. Neither was entirely accurate, yet both were closer to the truth than she cared to admit.

  Fuck the gods!

  Manipulating him was hard enough as things stood. What was she going to do now? She needed a plan, but where to start?

  When in doubt, turn to what you know. The lesson popped into her brain automatically. What did she know to be true about General Augustine Sempronius? Not nearly enough. She forcibly shoved that unhelpful thought aside.

  The simplest solution is usually the correct one, so always start with the basics. Another lesson: one that had served her well in times past. She hoped this would not be an exception. Taking a deep breath, Persephone started with what was obvious. She knew that he was a Perdoman general. Famed for being a brilliant strategist, ruthless, and creatively cruel. He’d never lost a battle and had yet to meet an army or a leader that he had not bested. Discouraging, to say the least. What else? She knew that nothing about what was presently happening in Galilae fit any of his previously used military tactics. That meant the answer she sought had to be in the differences. So what were the differences? The palace had been targeted and taken secretly. As far as she was aware, none of his innovative methods of torture or execution had been employed in the takeover. The royal family had been allowed to live and, furthermore, was set to continue as though nothing were amiss.

  There was a piece missing. She just needed to find it. He’d struck bargains with Persephone rather than using more forcible means of coercion. Unwilling to believe there was any good in him, she assumed his reasons for doing so were related to whatever purpose she and rest of the royal family were meant to serve. So what purpose were they meant to serve? Persephone suppressed the impulse to huff and rub her temples in frustration since she was being monitored. She needed to think faster, but didn’t feel like she was getting anywhere.

  What else stood out to her? He was gathering information about her. Mostly information about her training as far as she could tell, but tonight he’d asked specifically about her moonblood, which meant he was aware of the possibility of creating a child with her. Not exactly a revelation. But if he asked, it suggested that he meant to track it. Combined with their instructions to carry on as normal, it confirmed their plans for the family were on a long-term scale. It also hadn’t escaped her notice that he’d avoided her question about forcing silphium on her. Did that mean he intended to keep any child shared between them? Could he be planning to use a child between them to vie for the throne?

  There were faults with that thinking, though. For that purpose a child would only be useful if it was male and all other heirs had been removed. Of course, he was capable of removing other heirs when the time came, but it seemed an awfully long and risky wait for something so uncertain. Not to mention that even if the child was a male and even if all other heirs had been removed, bastards had no legal rights. As a last resort, perhaps the child would be accepted, but only if Augustine had been born of Galilae. He wasn’t, though. He was of the Finctus, the greatest enemy of Galilae outside of Fortunata. He, and any child between them, would be rejected outright. Unless the child was legitimate.

  Catching her toe, she stumbled hard at the thought. Her escort’s hand shot out, grabbing her upper arm to steady her. She had barely righted herself when she wrenched her arm free of his grasp, offering only a scathing look by means of thank you. He held his hands up in appeasement as they continued along. Too distraught about her revelation, Persephone didn’t spare a moment to feel bad about scorning his help.

  That had to be it. It wasn’t about the child at all, it was about the marriage. It was so simple, and yet a marriage pact filled in many of the blanks she had been wrestling with. Undoubtedly, Sempronius
’s army was capable of overpowering Galilae’s, but they would first need to get onto the island, which would require overtaking Galilae’s navy – something that had not been done in the kingdom’s thousand-year reign. With control of Galilae, the Finctus would gain control of all major waterborne trade routes in the Free Kingdoms. Not to mention, Galilae was an icon to the other Free Kingdoms – Leaders of men, the code of honor in Galilae. If Galilae fell, it would crush morale and the other Free Kingdoms would be more likely to follow suit.

  Fucking brilliant. Persephone couldn’t prove it, but she was certain she was correct. But marriage pacts were typically put forward openly, so why the secrecy? Because her father would never have agreed to a joining with the Finctus, and the Finctus sought acquisitions, not allies. They would not take no for an answer. So what could the Finctus do? Get on the island and take control of the palace. Then what? Gain political support, perhaps? Galilae was a monarchy; the king had the final say in all things, but he was advised by the Council, a group of thirty-three – three men from each of the eleven districts in Galilae – who were chosen to speak on behalf of their districts. If a monarch hoped to maintain public support, he would respect any decision on the part of the Council that received a majority vote, regardless of whether or not it aligned with his personal desires. Disregard enough majority votes and it would breed discontent. Build enough discontent, and riots and revolts became a risk.

  But even if Augustine received a majority vote from the Council in favor of a marriage pact – he would certainly have his work cut out for him over the next month – what did he plan to do with the rest of her family after the wedding? Technically he wouldn’t need them. Technically, he wouldn’t need her either. As long as the marriage had been sanctioned and legal, if they were all gone, he would stand the rightful heir. But disposing of the royal family was bound to be viewed as an act of war and would most likely result in an uprising. Without military leadership, though, and with Augustine’s army already in Galilae, it would be as she’d told Antaios: they would be crushed.