Bride of the Emperor (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 4)

by Hayley Faiman

  I watch, green with envy, as they dance. She does not know how, though perhaps her dancing is different where she is from. Then it happens. My heart squeezes and I feel heat roll throughout my entire body.

  Her laughter fills the air.

  It’s melodic. It is beautiful. It is more exquisite than the music itself. I continue to watch her, losing myself in her as I take her in. Even though my body burns with envy that she is dancing with my frater, my body also burns just for her.

  I have never felt this way before, never yearned for a woman the way that I do for her. It is an odd sensation that fills me just at the sight of her. She is stunning, but I have lain with stunning women before.

  It is something else.

  Something that I cannot quite comprehend.

  “You like her,” Cassia announces from next to me.

  I don’t jump, but I do turn my head, startled by her close proximity. “I do not know her,” I point out.

  She smiles, her grin growing wider by the moment. “You do not need to know her for your body to want her, Tiberius. I do not believe that I must teach this to you, cousin,” she says, ending with a hum.

  “I am uncertain a lady of your stature should know about such things.”

  “Shouldn’t I? If I am to be married, should I not know the pleasures between a man and a woman?”

  I let out a huff and rise to my feet. “That is enough of that,” I snap.

  Her lips continue to stay curved up. “You know that I am of age, Tiberius, it is time that you pick or I will.”

  She spins around and I watch her walk away as if she has delivered a supreme threat to me. She has not. In the end, it is me, her cousin and her emperor who decides who she will marry and if the empire will benefit from that union.

  I do not let Drucilla out of my sight, not for a moment the entire evening. I watch her, I listen for her laugh, and I just take all of her in. Her mannerisms are not of my people or any people that I have met from the other lands.

  She is indeed strange. She is intriguing and soon she will be beneath me, taking my mentula. She will take my seed and create life just as the gods intended. Just as my empire needs—just as I desire.

  Marcellus jerks his chin in my direction, a silent message that they are finished for the evening. Pushing off of the column, I follow behind them, but I’m careful not to get too close. I cannot be in the room before Marcellus drops her off, I cannot be in the room at all until she has dimmed the lighting of the candles.

  I watch, staying in the shadows, lurking, but never showing myself as Marcellus takes her to the door. They stop short, then she speaks, in her native tongue, words that I cannot understand. Then, to my surprise, Marcellus replies to her words, in that same tongue.

  He opens the door for her, steps inside, and just moments later retreats. He sees me lurking in the shadows, his eyes dancing and his lips curving into a grin at the sight of me.

  “We must talk,” I grind out.

  He lets out a booming laugh. “Oh yes, frater, we must indeed talk.”

  Instead of going to her the way that I desire, I turn and lead my brother to my study. Walking around my desk, I sink down in the chair and stare across the room at him. His lips are still upturned as if he cannot control his smile and amusement.

  “You know her language?” I demand when he doesn’t speak immediately.

  “I do not, but she speaks fluent Bunafidian or perhaps Devilrisian, though not everything she says translates. I can understand her at least, and she me.”

  “Tell me,” I demand.

  “She is who you thought her to be. She hails from a land I have never encountered in my studies.”

  “What did she say?” I demand.

  Marcellus watches me for a moment, then grins. “Not much. Though, she was very careful with her few words. I do not think that she was being deceiving rather more cautious than anything else.”

  He leaves me alone with my thoughts, though they do not stray from the woman in my personal sleeping chamber. They are only of her. Of the way that she looked tonight, her smile, her beautiful face.

  I close my eyes and I remember how hideous I am.

  I know without a doubt that she will never love me, and if love is needed for this prophecy the way the beast claims, then it will never be fulfilled—not ever.

  Chapter Four

  DRUCILLA

  Inhaling a deep breath, I bite my bottom lip as I look out at the dark landscape in front of me. There isn’t much to be seen at night, except the stars. There are millions upon millions of stars. They aren’t white either like they are at home, they’re bright purple, almost neon. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

  I try not to think about the man that was with me tonight. He didn’t tell me his name, he acted as if he were the man on the horse, but I know without a doubt that he wasn’t. He didn’t smell the same, he didn’t have the same wide strong body, but that wasn’t all. It was also me, I didn’t feel the same in his presence.

  The door opens, then closes. I don’t turn around immediately. I’m not sure if I stay facing the window out of fear, self-preservation, or just complete nervousness, but as soon as the candlelight disappears, I spin around with a gasp.

  It’s dark, and not just dark, but it’s freaking dark-dark. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, as I lift it to test it out like a damn child. I know who is here, immediately, I know who it is.

  It’s my warrior.

  I know this without even being able to see him. I know this because I can just sense it. It’s him, and my body fills with excitement and butterflies just at the idea of his close proximity. Licking my lips, I don’t move.

  I’m frozen in place.

  I can’t hear his approach, he’s like a ninja. I let out a soft cry when his fingers curl around my waist. Wordlessly, he lets out a low growl before he tugs me against his chest. I let out a small cry, lifting my hands to brace my palms against his chest.

  Tilting my head back, I try to focus on him, but we are in complete darkness. “Is it you, my warrior?” I breathe.

  He doesn’t say anything, not a single word. Instead, I feel his lips on mine. Instantly, my entire body ignites. I don’t know what it is or why I feel it, but it’s almost like I implode at the sensation of his lips against mine.

  Then, it’s as if someone else takes over my entire body. Gripping his shoulders with my fingers, I press down and jump up, wrapping my legs around his hips. He grunts against my mouth, his hands immediately grabbing my ass and squeezing—firmly.

  I drive my tongue directly into his mouth and tangle it with his. He takes a step back as if surprised by my move, but I don’t care, he tastes amazing.

  One of my hands slides up the back of his neck and into his short hair, tugging on what strands he has. I wish that I knew what his hair actually looked like, if it was curly or straight, but it doesn’t matter, all I know is that it’s soft.

  With my other hand, I grip his bicep, my nails digging into his flesh as I roll my hips, my body instantly craving more from him. I feel like something has possessed me. I don’t know what it is, but my body burns and it burns for only him.

  I’ve never felt like this before, I didn’t know that I could feel like this about another human, let alone a complete stranger. I want him, and not in a way where I think he’s hot, so I want to play with him.

  I really, really want him.

  He moves his legs and begins to walk just as he tangles his tongue with mine and takes over the kiss. My back hits the stone wall and I let out a grunt at the slight pain, but it’s not enough to make me want to stop.

  Nothing could make me stop this moment.

  My hand leaves his shoulder and I reach for his man-skirt, I grip it in my fingers as I tug it up at the same time, he slides his hands from my ass, gathering the skirt of my gown in his hands and pushes it up to my waist.

  My fingers grip his length and my breath leaves in a slow hiss. He’s downright
amazing. Thick and long, but not too long. He fits perfectly in my grasp as I begin to stroke him, my blood boiling beneath my skin with each stroke.

  He grunts, his hand sliding around my thigh, his fingers finding my center. My head falls back against the stone wall as I lift my hips and silently demand more, my hand still stroking him and trying to guide him home.

  There is a moment of silence before he lets out a long, deep, rumbling growl. He jerks his hips, but he doesn’t push inside of me. Instead, his fingers slip inside of me and he begins to curl them, his palm pressing against my clit.

  It’s amazing.

  Too amazing.

  My stomach clenches in pain and I whimper. “Please.”

  He doesn’t answer me, not verbally or physically. It’s now that I know without a doubt, he is not the man that I met with tonight. This is not the man I danced with. This man is different and I’m okay with that, because this man makes me feel hot and cold at the exact same time.

  “More,” I cry. “I need more.”

  Instead of taking his hand from between my legs, he leans forward and covers my lips with his, effectively shutting me up. I don’t mind, feeling his warm tongue slide inside of my mouth is amazing. I enjoy the taste of him and my blood begins to boil a little more with each stroke of both his tongue and fingers.

  I am close, so close to tipping over the edge, my hips jerking up as much as they can from my position against the wall. I don’t release his cock, I continue to stroke him, over and over, hoping that I am making him as achy as he is making me.

  Then it happens.

  I come.

  It’s hard.

  It’s earth shattering.

  I cry out into his mouth before I let out a loud sobbing noise from deep in my chest. I’ve never come this hard, not even by myself. I grip his hair tighter, tugging on it in an attempt to pull his head away from mine, but it doesn’t work.

  Then, he does something that I could kiss him all over again for. He thrusts forward, my hand being forced to release his cock and he buries himself deep inside of me. I let out a sigh that he swallows, he grunts and I happily swallow that.

  He stills inside of me, allowing my body to accept him. He stretches me and I let out a moan at the way he fills me. Better than any other man that I have ever had inside of me. He’s beautiful. If this is supposed to be some big cosmic thing, I get it now.

  This is exactly that—cosmic.

  If this is what the man, I ate dinner and danced with suggested, if this is some fated thing, then whoever made it happen, they did a fucking great job of matching me with him.

  He is a spectacular specimen, and he can make me come, then there’s the way he fills me. I think that I’ve just met the perfect man for me. He rolls his hips and all thought completely leaves my head. There is nothing left—just feeling and that burning pit in my stomach, the way my blood boils, and the need for more—for everything.

  TIBERIUS

  She feels spectacular. I thought she was just gorgeous, but she is more than that. Pulling almost completely out of her, I slam back inside. I expect her to tell me to stop, but she doesn’t. She digs her nails in my shoulders and spurs me on.

  I pull out of her, slam back inside, and then do it over and over, careful to roll my hips and hit that little landica that drives her pleasure.

  She speaks, but I don’t know what she’s saying. It matters not, all that matters is the way that she feels and that even without language, our bodies can communicate perfectly.

  My blood burns for her, my ilium ache for her.

  I continue to move inside of her, feeling every inch of her that I can and wishing I could feel more. I let out a grunt as my hips move faster and faster. I let out a growl, my back beginning to tingle and my ilium aching, on the verge of finding my release, right before I hear her cry out with her pleasure.

  Her cunnus grips me, wrapping around me, and almost demands that I stay planted deep inside of her. I do not. Instead, I continue to slam into her, over and over until I venio, hard. So hard that I am forced to close my eyes and it is as if I am looking up into the night sky and am surrounded by stars.

  She trembles in my arms, and I should slip from her body and leave her immediately, but I am not finished with her, not yet. Turning around, my mentula still buried deep inside of her, I carry her over to the bed.

  Lying her down, only then do I slip from her body and groan as I do, wishing to still be buried inside of her. My eyes have since adjusted to the darkness around me, but not enough that I can see her features. I hate that I cannot turn up the candlelight to see her, but it cannot be done, at least not yet.

  Perhaps one day she will not find me a hideous monster, but that day is not today and I need her to be filled with my seed before she turns from me and does not allow me inside of her body.

  Disrobing, I help her out of her gown as well, and together we silently crawl into the bed and beneath the sheets. I reach out to her, slowly tracing her body with my fingertips, growling as I guide my fingers along her breasts and feel all of her.

  Inching my way down the middle of her chest and stomach, she spreads her thighs for me as if an immediate instinctual reaction. I enjoy this, my fingers finding, and taking liberties with the most treasured part of her.

  “Pulcher,” I rasp. She is that, too, beautiful. “Melculum,” I breathe against her lips before I touch my mouth to hers.

  She speaks, though her words are lost to me. I call her melculum again before I stroke her and prepare her for my mentula again, slipping two fingers inside of her. She will take me as many times as we are able every night until she is carrying my child deep inside of her—my boy.

  Her hips jerk as my fingers begin to stroke, then I hear her mewl. She wishes for more. My mentula rises to attention, ready to give her what she desires. Climbing between her legs, I do not stop, my fingers cannot stop and I wish that I could see all of her in this way.

  I hear her whimper, then feel her flutter around my fingers as I pump in and out, feeling her climb higher and higher, waiting for her to find her sweet pleasured release. But instead of her shifting and moving, she stops. I feel her fingers wrap around my wrist and she squeezes.

  Stopping, I frown, wondering what she could want, but I don’t ask her. I hear her words coming out of her, but I do not understand a single one. Then she pulls my hand away from between her legs and I growl in frustration. The last thing I want to do is have a famulus finish me tonight, I want to plant my seed inside of her.

  I feel her hands on my shoulders, she applies pressure and pushes me backward. Once I am on my back, she climbs on top of me, her thighs straddling my hips and she positions herself, my mentula in her grasp as she sinks down along my length, taking all of me inside of her.

  Lifting my hands, I wrap my fingers around her hips and hold her still. Her palms lie flat against my chest and she begins to move.

  She takes her time.

  Her hips roll, her soft breaths the only noise that fills the room and I am unable to do anything else, but listen and feel her body, wishing that I could see her in this moment. I clench my jaw, holding back my release as she searches for her pleasure enjoying my body.

  She may always enjoy me. Always. I am proud to allow her the freedom to take from me what I willingly give.

  Her hips roll and buck as she begins to move harder and faster. She rides me and I allow it, every second of it. She grinds her landica against my pelvis, her moans and whimpers growing louder with each stroke until her entire body freezes and she lets out a cry of pleasure that is sure to be heard throughout the domum.

  Lifting her by her waist, I flip her onto her back and take her. She wraps her legs around my waist tightly as I ride her hard and unforgivingly. She does not protest, instead she squeezes her thighs and lifts her hips.

  It doesn’t take me long to find my release and when I do, I bury myself to the root as deep as I can, knowing that my seed will travel toward its destination and hopef
ully impregnate her. Soon she will be with my child and even sooner, she will be my bride.

  The gods may have made a mistake by allowing her match to be with a monster, but I will fulfill their desires to the best of my ability.

  Chapter Five

  TIBERIUS

  I cannot get enough of her. Every part of her feels amazing. I did not think it possible that this woman could make me feel the way that I do. Sexual intercourse is and always has been gratifying rather by freewoman, prostitute, or famulus. It, however, feels nothing like it has with this woman—my fated.

  She lets out a little whimper as she rolls over, curling closer to my body. When her arm wraps around my waist and she presses her chest against my side, I close my eyes and allow the sensation of her body against mine to flow throughout me.

  I cannot stay in this bed with her all night. I cannot chance her seeing me in the morning light. It would ruin this, and the prophecy would be left unfulfilled, and I’m not quite sure what that would mean for our world. I need to find out exactly what this prophecy means and what will come of it.

  Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through her light-yellow hair. It is a color that I have not seen before by freeborn Savonaian citizens. Our people have dark brown hair, this color I have only seen in my travels and on a few servis or famulus that have been taken from those travels.

  She sighs, sliding her hand up to my neck, her fingers curling around my throat.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  Though I do not understand all of her words, the one, name, it sounds familiar. It sounds like nomen.

  “Tiberius,” I say, clearing my throat.

  “Drucilla,” she breathes, pushing up.

  I cannot see her, but I can feel her hair brush my chest as she looks down at my shadowed form.

  “Tiberius,” she exhales.