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  His train of thought was interrupted by a piercing shriek. Exasperated, he looked up to see what had caused the disturbance. It was Adonia who had screamed, but when he looked her direction he found the entire royal family staring horror-struck at the doorway on the other side of the room. Following their gazes, he felt no surprise at their distress. Cato, his captain, along with three more soldiers, marched in a small child, well dressed and the proper age to be the youngest princess, along with a young woman. A slave, if her partial wardrobe was any indication. The little one was terrified and disheveled, but looked unharmed in spite of several blood stains on the skirt of her chiton. They appeared to have been smeared on rather than soaked through. Unlike the young girl, the slave’s entire left side, from hairline to hip, was covered in blood. By Augustine’s best guess, at some point she had carried the little one.

  “Mama!” the little one sobbed, looking directly at the queen.

  With the little younger girl’s identity settled, Augustine nodded at Cato, who immediately released her, allowing Princess Kolimpri to run into Adonia’s outstretched arms. Keeping a firm grip on her upper arm, Cato marched the bloodied woman into the center of the room. She moved complacently enough, but she wore her defiance like a shroud. Intrigued, Augustine moved around the desk to examine her more closely. She didn’t move like she was injured, and the blood covering her followed clear patterns. Arterial spray. Years of experience on the battlefield told him that none of it was hers. The amount could only mean that she had been right there when the deadly blows were delivered. This, combined with the blood covering her left hand, led to the conclusion that she was the one who had delivered them.

  “How many of my men did you kill?”

  Her eyes brightened slightly, but her expression and tone of voice remained infuriatingly blank. “I was not counting,” she said with an indifferent shrug. The drawl in her tone suggested boredom, but the glimmer in her eyes and the hint of smugness in the tilt of her mouth implied she knew the number exactly.

  She was baiting him, and his fingers twitched in the desire to strike the insolence from her mouth. He might have done it anyway if he had thought it would make a difference, but he had a strong inkling that it wouldn’t. She was outnumbered and bound. If she were the type to quail under the threat of physical intimidation alone, she would have already.

  “Where did you find them, Captain?” Augustine directed the question at Cato rather than engaging her in a pissing match. For the moment, he was more interested in information than securing her submission. There would be time for that when the elder princess was found, should it strike his fancy to do so. It very well might. There was something about her unwavering façade that compelled him to want to break it.

  “She killed three downstairs before we could take her,” Cato explained impartially. “Each with a single strike that opened a major artery. Because of the similarity, I presume she was the one to kill Julius and Marcus while escaping the bedrooms upstairs. It looks like they were making for the Eastern Garden, as it is the only exit on that side of the palace. She probably would have made it if she had not had the little one with her.” Cato’s tone sounded grudgingly admiring.

  Augustine couldn’t blame him. It was quite the feat for anyone, particularly a woman.

  “Once captured, she would not abandon her. Nor did she take any action that put her at risk,” Cato finished.

  Augustine nodded in acknowledgment, though his eyes never left the slave. “Why the trouble to save the child when you could have easily escaped without her?”

  She continued to stare blankly at him in reply.

  “You went to a great deal of trouble to protect one member of the royal family. Clearly your loyalty is admirable. What of the child’s older sister, Princess Persephone? Where is she? I promise none in the royal family will be harmed.”

  She raised a brow skeptically, but her lips remained firmly closed.

  “Should you help me to find her, we can strike a bargain. What is your life, your freedom, worth to you?”

  “My honor is worth far more, General.” The way she droned the word general made it sound like a slur rather than a title.

  She was an anomaly. Everything about her, from her behavior to her appearance, was in contrast to something else. The confidence she demonstrated was not wholly unheard of, though it was uncharacteristic for a slave. As a slave, though, she might not have been born of Galilae, which offered a possible explanation. Her green eyes certainly hinted at the possibility. Eyes uncannily like the queen’s, he realized belatedly.

  “Too bad,” he told her. “Find the daughter. Kill the slave,” Augustine ordered Cato dispassionately, testing his theory as he turned back to the desk.

  “NO!” Adonia’s horrified protest turned all attention to her.

  Suppressing a smile, Augustine eyed the queen with feigned confusion.

  She looked at him beseechingly. “You promised me that my daughters were not to be harmed.”

  “So I did.”

  The queen turned her attention to the bloodied woman in the center of the room. “Persephone, tell him who you are.”

  It was as he’d suspected. But if this was truly the princess, why would she dress as a slave? More importantly, why would she have formal weapons training, as she must have in order to have killed five of his men? It would explain her stalwart loyalty to the younger princess, at least, even if nothing else about the situation made sense. The woman, who was probably Persephone, had not reacted to the queen’s exhortation, other than to turn her head enough to look at her. Everyone else, royalty and soldiers alike, watched Persephone. Augustine pressed closer, crowding her for the sole purpose of intimidating her. The action did draw her attention back to him, but she remained completely impassive at his close proximity.

  “Persephone?” he asked, even more intrigued by her than he’d been when he’d believed her a slave. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth in spite of her silence. “Tell me, does the little one value your life as greatly as you value hers?”

  She tilted her head questioningly, but continued to stare mutely.

  Augustine glanced at the child, directing his next question to her. “Do you?” He grabbed Persephone’s hair, roughly pulling her head back to press the blade of his dagger to her throat. The action elicited gasps of dismay from all except the woman whose life he currently threatened. She still refused to speak in her own defense. The two emeralds that were her eyes shimmered immovably in a sea of red.

  “Who is this woman to you?” he asked, looking sideways at Kolimpri to ensure she knew he spoke to her.

  Her bottom lip trembled as she looked to the woman for direction.

  “It is alright, Little Bird. Do as he asks.” Her tone had a musical lilt when she spoke to the child. Gone was the informal drawl and unconcealed loathing she’d spoken with earlier.

  “She is my sister. Please do not hurt her.” Kolimpri clung to the queen as she whispered her plea.

  He’d now received confirmation from two members of the royal family that the woman in front of him was, in fact, Persephone. Firstborn of Acheron of House Galanis. The Treasure of Galilae. Her beauty was spoken of with nothing short of reverence. A jewel. She was well loved across the kingdom. None of the stories that abounded so much as hinted at Persephone the Warrior. She was a contradiction. A mystery. One he sorely wanted to unravel.

  Augustine allowed his gaze to travel suggestively down her body and back up again, hoping to provoke some kind of emotional response from her. A flush. A blush. An aversion of her eyes. Anything.

  Nothing.

  He trailed the tip of the dagger down her throat. Between her breasts. The singing of metal against skin rasped in its wake.

  “You need a bath,” he told her provocatively.

  Still nothing.

  “Tell me the name of your body slave.”

  “Why would I tell you that?” The same mocking intonation she’d used when she admitted to kill
ing his soldiers had returned.

  “I can think of two reasons.”

  “Is that all? Do not strain yourself.”

  “Persephone!”

  Adonia’s hissed reprimand had the same impact on her daughter as the threats he’d made thus far. None at all.

  “Your reasons, sir?” Like general, sir sounded like a slight.

  Augustine found himself smiling in genuine amusement at her tenacity. It came as a surprise. Galilae was not known for breeding bold women. Here, they were second-class citizens in every way. Chattel. Ornaments to be traded. That she did not act like it pleased him.

  “Your own body slave can help you bathe, or I can enlist the help of one of my soldiers. I’ve no doubt they would only be too happy to assist you.”

  She scoffed, unconcerned. “And the second?”

  It had been a courtesy on his part to offer the assistance of her body slave, though his motivations were not wholly altruistic. He did not appreciate the thought of anyone else touching her. Already, he was feeling extremely possessive. Stubborn as she’d been thus far, her lack of concern did not really surprise him. He was banking on his second incentive to be the one that hit its mark.

  “Give me the name of your body slave and you might spare her a good raping.”

  It was not uncommon for citizens to feel particularly protective of their body slaves. After all, they spent exorbitant amounts of time with one another. Because Persephone had gone to such lengths to defend her sister, Augustine was assuming that her protective instincts would extend toward others as well.

  She laughed, but the sound was derisive rather than amused. “This is a siege, General. You and I both know that if she has been found, she has already been raped.”

  “Not likely. Our priority has been securing your family. My soldiers will have stayed on task knowing that you and your sister were missing. Word that the two of you have been found will quickly spread. If they’ve not already, soon my men will start celebrating.” The last statement hung between them.

  “Then we shall undoubtedly share the same fate. It will give us something to talk about,” she said dryly.

  “So long as you and your family cooperate, you will not be harmed in any way, Princess.”

  She leaned toward him slightly. “Liar,” she whispered before straightening.

  “I am many things, Princess, but liar does not make the list.”

  “We will see.” Her words sounded more like a threat than an acknowledgment. “Seraphime. She would have been in the slave chambers in the west hallway on the third floor.”

  Augustine looked to the three soldiers in the room. “Find the slave. Let her know that she needs to help her mistress bathe and dress for a banquet. She is to wait in the bathhouse. Persephone will arrive shortly. I want it known that the slave girl is not to be touched. For now.” He smiled at Persephone at the last.

  One of the three men nodded, turned on his heel, and left.

  She didn’t flinch when he twirled his dagger between them. Nor did she attempt to follow his movement as he repositioned himself directly behind her. Augustine grabbed the rope that bound her hands. Still, she didn’t quail. Not even when he pushed down on the knot, forcing her to step backward in order to maintain her balance. Her back flush with his chest, he positioned the dagger between her hands.

  “Permission to speak, sir?” It was Cato. He would never publicly question a direct order, but Augustine could tell his friend was uncomfortable.

  Augustine maintained his pressure on the rope, keeping it taut enough that she had no choice but to remain pressed against him. Holding his face to the right side of her head, which was devoid of blood, he experimentally smelled her hair. “Yes, Captain?”

  He wondered if she wanted to fight him. Throw him off. Undoubtedly she did. He half-hoped that she would try and found himself half-disappointed when she didn’t.

  “I know she is docile now, but she displayed extensive skill and formal combat training. She also does not appear averse to fighting, even when she is outnumbered.”

  Distracted by his growing arousal, Augustine only half-listened to Cato. There was something about battle, especially victory, that stimulated the desire for a woman. His close proximity to her – her scent, mixed with the smell of blood – only enhanced this impulse. “What would you have me do, Captain? Leave her bound and bloodied?”

  “She need not remain bloodied, though I would leave her bound.”

  Augustine chuckled throatily as his thoughts detoured. “That could be fun.” Something told him she would hate the loss of control. The vulnerability. He toyed with the idea of subjecting her to it simply because he could. She’d killed five of his men, and even though he admired the skill it had taken her to do so, he was angry at the loss. They had been good men. Good soldiers.

  “Do not worry, Captain. Persephone will not give us further trouble. We have something she wants.”

  He looked meaningfully in the direction of her family, his gaze settling on her sister. Though he couldn’t see her expression, he could tell by the angle of her head that Persephone’s gaze had followed his own.

  “Kolimpri and the rest of the family will stay right here, with me, for safekeeping.”

  She didn’t say anything, but he felt her breath stutter and knew he had her.

  “I’ve no doubt that Persephone will play nice. Won’t you, Princess?” He whispered the question into her ear as he dragged his blade through the ropes binding her.

  * * * *

  Seraphime stood huddled against cold stone, hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible for as long as she could. She knew well the minds of men. In a siege situation there was little hope she would not be used for nefarious purposes. Though relieved, she was truly shocked not to have been raped in her bed. She’d woken suddenly and unexpectedly when foreign soldiers had burst into her chambers. Persephone would have wanted her to fight, but Seraphime had been savvy enough to recognize escape was beyond her reach in the current circumstances. To fight would have been fruitless and would have ended in her death. A noble fate if she were to die fighting for something; however, not knowing Persephone and Koli’s whereabouts had stayed her hand. Should they too be unfortunate enough to be captured, she would be of no use to them dead.

  So instead she had allowed herself to be carted to the dungeons. It was here, sequestered with the other slaves, that she waited. Waited and prayed that Persephone had grabbed Koli and gotten out. If anyone could manage such a feat, it was her. It was not knowing what had become of them that ate at Seraphime most. Clawed at her nerves. Her resolve. What, she wondered, had become of those she loved? Of the palace? Of Galilae itself? The ominous quiet that had ruled as everything had happened, and that lingered still, did not bode well. With nothing to mark the passage of time, she measured it in the shallow breathing of her fellow prisoners. In the fretful coughs shaking hands attempted to smother. In the confidently patient pacing of the soldiers standing guard.

  Unable to stand the interminable waiting any longer, someone finally broke the stillness. “What do you reckon they want?” Though Paraskeve whispered, the thick silence seemed to carry rather than stifle the sound of her voice.

  The question itself had been directed at no one in particular. Merely one frightened girl’s attempt to alleviate the anxiety they all shared. A hopeful plea that someone would deny what they all knew to be true – the intruders sought the fall of Galilae.

  Tempted to shush her, Seraphime never had the opportunity. Metal clanged against metal when one of the soldiers banged the hilt of his weapon against the bars holding them, causing the clustered throng to jump in unison. “No talking.” The barked order vibrated with the ringing iron.

  Sighing, Seraphime rested her head against the wall. With far more servants than dungeon space, they’d been resigned to standing room only. The constant press of bodies against her as well as the noxious smell of too many fearful individuals packed into too tight a space made brea
thing a chore.

  “Seraphime!”

  Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her name. Relegated as she was to one of the far corners of the cell, she’d barely heard it. But hear it she did. How in the name of the gods did they know her? And what did they want with her? Those nearest to her looked at her with combinations of fear and relief. Fear for her fate – or so she hoped – and relief that it was not them who had been chosen. She did not blame them. Likely, she would have done the same, though she liked to think she would have been more subtle so as not to give away their location by staring so blatantly if they did not wish to be revealed.

  “Where is the slave Seraphime?” the yet-faceless soldier called again, his voice closer. Louder. Clearer.

  If she did not announce herself, surely someone else would. Her heart jumped to her throat, where it continued to pound, preventing air from entering or leaving her lungs. She didn’t know what to do. What would Persephone do? Seraphime looked at the terrified faces surrounding her. What horrors might the soldiers inflict on them in order to find her? Feeling as though she was sealing her own execution, Seraphime steeled herself. “Here! I am here!”