Peasants and Kings

by Emma Slate

“She’s right, you know. You’re too late,” Raphael voiced. “Our marriage vows have been spoken. The ceremony is over.”

  “Has your marriage been consummated?” Hadrian demanded. “If not, it can be annulled. Or I can just kill you right now and make it easy.”

  “But Hadrian, I haven’t yet had the opportunity to sample her charms.” Raphael reached out and dragged a finger down the column of my neck to rest on my collarbone. “Based on her reaction to my kisses, I know I’ll have her begging for my cock.”

  Hadrian’s eyes never left Raphael’s face. “You’ll regret your words, Raphael, I promise you that. Sterling, you’re coming home. Come with—”

  “She’s my wife now. She doesn’t belong to you any longer,” Raphael stated.

  Hadrian dismissed Raphael and faced Angelo to address him again, but this time his tone was sinister. “You came to my home as an honored guest, as a friend. You didn’t even know of Sterling’s existence. She is Moretti born, but she didn’t grow up in your world. You came to my island and stole what doesn’t belong to you. You have insulted me, and I question your honor as a Moretti, as the head of the Compagnia Bianca del Falco.”

  Wedding guests stage-whispered to one another, their excitement palpable, but Angelo’s gaze was inscrutable. He remained frozen, like a statue in a museum.

  Hadrian continued, his voice thunderous without needing to shout. He stared straight at Angelo and said, “I challenge you for the right to claim what’s mine: Sterling Moretti. I make that challenge by demanding a fight to the death.”

  After a few moments of silence from Angelo, he finally spoke. “Twenty-five years ago, my sister, Violetta, dishonored my family when she broke her betrothal to Raphael Foscari. She married a man beneath her station and fled the country. Today, her daughter has become a Foscari. The woman you claim is no longer a Moretti. Our debts have been paid, and the union of families is now complete. It is up to her husband to decide if he wants to fight for her.”

  Hadrian rotated once again, this time to address Raphael. “Then I challenge you to a fight to the death for Sterling.”

  “A fight to the death?” Raphael spat. “I could kill you from here.” His hand gripped the steak knife that rested next to his plate, a tacit threat.

  “You could try,” Hadrian agreed easily. “But you won’t. And even if you were successful, it would be your own undoing considering what I know about your family.”

  “You’re not even a worthy opponent.” Raphael laughed but it wasn’t in humor and it grated my ears. “My family have been assassins for generations. You’re no match for me. You’re a peasant who thinks he’s a king.”

  Hadrian’s smile was slow and vicious. “The world is made up of peasants and kings. But I am no king. I’m an emperor. A conqueror. And I’m not asking you to fight to the death, I’m commanding it. And you’ll accept, because if you don’t, I won’t just destroy the Foscari, but every single one of the five families. Her life is worth more than even that to me, so don’t think I won’t do it.”

  Hadrian’s gaze never wavered as he continued to stare at Raphael. “If you’re willing to fight for her, I’ll turn off my dead man’s switch. If I lose, you get Sterling, and the information I have on the five families dies with me. Your empires will be safe. But if I win, you die today, Sterling is mine, and her debt is cleared forever.”

  Raphael glanced at Angelo who ever so slightly inclined his head in agreement.

  My husband raised his brows and looked down his aristocratic nose at Hadrian. “Your challenge is formal?”

  “It is,” Hadrian ground out.

  “To the death?”

  “Aye. To the death.”

  Raphael took a sip of Prosecco and then set the glass down and began to loosen his bow tie. “So be it.”

  Hadrian had come for me.

  Just when I’d given up all hope, he’d come for me.

  And now I was terrified I would have to watch him die.

  It didn’t matter that Hadrian had fought an assailant hand to hand. Raphael Foscari came from an ancient family line of assassins, and Hadrian was still unwell, putting him at a severe disadvantage.

  And yet I meant enough to him that he’d laid his cards on the table, and he was willing to risk everything for me.

  Hadrian had made a phone call to an attorney on a secure phone and ordered him to temporarily disable his dead man’s switch. When it was done, we left the wedding reception. Gisella walked by my side as we strolled through estate, past the vineyards to a fighting ring that resembled an ancient Roman amphitheater.

  The Foscari and the Moretti assembled on opposite sides of the arena.

  I sat on an ornate wooden throne on the ground level, between both sides. With my hands clenched in my lap and my back straight, I waited.

  Hadrian stood in the center of the ring. He was shirtless, his fair skin bright in the autumn light. The bandage from the wound the intruder had inflicted to his side was gone, but I could still see his scars. He was huge, but with his shirt off, his weight loss was pronounced.

  Raphael was also bare chested. Though tall, he was significantly leaner than Hadrian. His golden skinned body was unblemished, but I didn’t discount his rage.

  I couldn’t look at the man I’d been forced to marry and think of him as anything but a monster.

  A monster who stepped out of the fighting ring and boldly stalked toward me and kissed me.

  With tongue.

  In front of Hadrian.

  When Raphael pulled away, I looked at Hadrian out of the corner of my eye. His jaw was clenched, and fire was in his eyes.

  Raphael would fight dirty. I expected it, and judging by Hadrian’s expression, he expected it too.

  Angelo rose from his seat high above the arena, and after the crowd fell silent, he called out, “You have both vowed in front of witnesses to fight to the death for the honor of claiming Sterling, a woman of Moretti blood, now carrying the last name Foscari. There are only three rules. Opponents must fight without the use of weapons of any kind, retreat is not an option, and the fight is to the death. Do you both agree?”

  “Aye,” Hadrian stated.

  “Yes,” Raphael replied.

  “Shake hands,” Angelo commanded.

  In spite of his anger, Hadrian reached his hand out, but Raphael simply spat at Hadrian’s feet and backed away from him, craning his neck and stretching for what was coming.

  Nico stood at a large bronze gong that hung at the far corner of the arena. It was six feet in diameter, engraved with a falcon, and raised on its own wooden platform. The Moretti had clearly been settling scores through hand-to-hand combat for generations. Without hesitation, Nico took a mallet to it once, and the resounding din signaled the beginning of the fight.

  Hadrian and Raphael began to circle one another, sizing each other up. Hadrian was raw, brute strength. Raphael was trim, but tall and strong enough to pose a real threat.

  For a few moments, it looked like they were both frozen, suspended in time, and then they attacked each other with violent intensity.

  The smacking sound of flesh meeting bone turned my stomach, but I refused to react, refused to show any emotion.

  Hadrian’s head snapped to the side when Raphael’s fist collided with his jaw. It knocked him off balance, dazing him for a moment. He recovered quickly and lunged at Raphael, whose skin had turned damp with sweat, glistening on his marvelous body in the sun. I noted with a clear sort of detachment that he, too, was beautiful.

  Dangerous, beautiful men.

  I only trusted one.

  I only loved one.

  Raphael dodged Hadrian’s assault by jumping aside and then he began circling again, staying out of Hadrian’s reach. He grimaced and then stated for all to hear, “I’m going murder your unborn child while it’s still in your woman’s belly. And then I’m going to fuck her on your grave.”

  I didn’t take my eyes off the battle, not even to look at the members of my family to see
their reaction to Raphael’s declaration.

  Upon hearing the words, Hadrian froze just long enough for Raphael to kick his leg out from under him. With a roar of pure, unadulterated rage, Hadrian fell down. Raphael launched himself on top of Hadrian, pinning him on his back and then went straight for the wound the assassin had inflicted on Hadrian’s side. He winced in pain as Raphael beat the tender spot with all his might.

  Hadrian was losing the battle. Time slowed down and I felt every blow delivered. Felt them in my bones.

  Hadrian attempted to push Raphael off him, but he was already exhausted. Raphael punched Hadrian hard in the nose, and with a sharp crack, blood began spurting from his face.

  The wind changed direction, bringing the scent of dust and tangy copper to my nose.

  Raphael shifted tactics and dug an elbow into Hadrian’s throat, rearing back and striking down hard to try and crush Hadrian’s windpipe.

  It was life and death now, beyond making a point or punishing each other for past grievances.

  Hadrian managed to block Raphael’s elbows and reared up off the dirt to press his body to the older man, closing the distance and eliminating Raphael’s ability to strike. Raphael spun and landed a solid blow to Hadrian’s broken nose.

  After a bellow of pain, Hadrian somehow found a vestige of strength and arched his back, flinging Raphael up in the air slightly. Hadrian succeeded in getting his legs out from under Raphael and then locked them around the other man’s neck to choke him.

  My heart pounded as I watched Hadrian become the aggressor, managing to flip the leaner man beneath him and press him to the ground. He curled up on top of Raphael and used his hands to pull Raphael’s head close to him, strangling him between his legs and arms. Blood from Hadrian’s shattered nose dripped down his face, spattering Raphael like a violent painting.

  It was Hadrian’s turn to say something, but I couldn’t hear what he said. Whatever passed his lips made Raphael renew his struggle.

  He clawed at Hadrian’s face in a blind rage, a fight for life itself, but Hadrian turned his cheek before Raphael could dig his fingers into Hadrian’s eyes. He took a gouge from Raphael’s fingernails as he attempted to rear back. Raphael then grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in Hadrian’s face. He instinctively let Raphael go and rolled off him to put distance between them while he attempted to recover his sight.

  Raphael scrambled to his feet and then lifted his foot. He arched his leg back like he was going to kick Hadrian. I winced in anticipation, but my mouth parted when I saw Raphael reach down with his right hand and pull something from the heel of his boot.

  The knife glinted in the early afternoon light, and a startled gasp escaped my lips. I wasn’t the only one who made a noise of surprise.

  I hadn’t noticed when Gisella had come to stand by my side. I lifted my hand up to her and she clasped it, linking her fingers through mine. I squeezed the dainty bones of her hand, not caring that I felt them crunch.

  No one made a move to stop Raphael, despite the obvious violation of the rules.

  No one wanted Hadrian to win.

  No one but me.

  Hadrian surged to his feet and rubbed his eyes just before Raphael lunged at him with his knife. Hadrian’s arm whirled downward, deflecting the blade from sliding between his ribs. But then Raphael changed his plan of attack. Gripping the blade tightly in his hand, he sank to a crouch and lunged past Hadrian, slashing his left hamstring. The knife made contact and Hadrian’s scream of rage and pain echoed through the arena as he sank to one knee, blood emitting from his open wound.

  Raphael rose, standing over Hadrian a few feet from him with an expression of victory on his face.

  Hadrian’s teeth were clenched, and he struggled to remain upright, his face muddied with dirt and blood.

  I willed his eyes to meet mine so I could tell him I loved him.

  But he never looked in my direction, and when Raphael’s arm came down with the intention of ending Hadrian’s life, I closed my eyes.

  There was a collective gasp from the audience and the unmistakable sound of a man wheezing in pain.

  Gisella murmured, “Sterling.”

  My eyes flipped open and my jaw dropped. I expected to see Hadrian bleeding out, blood staining the dirt beneath him.

  Instead, I saw Raphael’s blade sticking out of Hadrian’s left pectoral, and Raphael laying on the ground a few feet away, striving to get back on his feet.

  Hadrian’s wound looked deep, but I didn’t know if it was fatal. He remained on his knees, staring at the blade. He peered at it curiously, like he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there or how he was still alive.

  Raphael finally regained his stance and took a few steps closer with the intent of finishing the fight and ending Hadrian’s life.

  He reached for the blade stuck in Hadrian’s chest.

  Hadrian suddenly moved, alert and with the precision of an experienced killer.

  In two swift motions, he yanked the blade from his own flesh and then impaled Raphael under the breastbone, burying the knife to the hilt.

  Hadrian gruesomely twisted the blade and then yanked it out.

  Blood gushed from Raphael’s wound like he was a stuck pig.

  A look of complete disbelief washed over the Foscari’s face and he fell to his knees, realizing that Hadrian had pierced his heart. He sat for a moment and then went ghost white and fell backward into the dirt, lying motionless.

  Hadrian collapsed to the ground in the opposite direction, the blade still in his hand.

  I leapt from my chair and flung myself over the two-foot wall, my purple dress ripping along the hem.

  When I got to Hadrian’s side, I dropped to my knees and leaned over him. His eyes were halfway open and caked with dirt and blood, but a triumphant smile drifted across his face.

  “You will not die,” I commanded.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured me.

  I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “They didn’t think you’d win,” I whispered.

  “I know.” He peered at me, his eyes closing as unconsciousness came for him.

  “What did you whisper to Raphael?” I demanded.

  “I told him that when he was dead, I was going to pry every one of his teeth from his head and string them into a necklace for you to wear.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously?”

  “Viking,” he reminded me.

  I rose and stood next to Hadrian. My eyes met Angelo’s and then landed on each member of my family, one by one. And then I surveyed the Foscari, who were waiting to see what would unfold next.

  “Foscari blood has been spilled today,” I said, my voice ringing out like a bell. “It’s over. On your honor you will not violate your oaths. I denounce the Foscari name. I am Sterling Moretti of the Compagnia Bianca del Falco, and I choose Hadrian Rhys. I carry his child.”

  I kept my attention on the crowd, watching as they hung on my every word.

  “I will accept your pronouncement, but you must seal it in blood,” Angelo stated. “It’s the blood within you that brought you to this place. Spill it here and now, and it will be done.”

  I bent down and gently took the blade from Hadrian’s hand and then sliced my palm. The pain was sharp and instant. I closed my hand, letting blood well, ignoring the agony. Slowly, I rose, blood dripping onto the arena floor as I held my hand out by my side.

  Angelo nodded. “Now it is done. Any Foscari who breaks the blood sacrifice, know that it will be a declaration of war on the Moretti.”

  I looked to the Foscari—to Raphael’s brother, the next in line.

  “Do you accept?” I prodded Lorenzo.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “But Raphael has dishonored our family by breaking the rules during mortal combat. The tables have turned, and you have every right to demand restitution for his failure to honor them. That is a stain on our family name that we do not accept.” He paused for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I wish for peace between our
families, now that Raphael is gone.”

  “Let it be done then,” Angelo replied.

  Tension eased out of me though I refused to let my shoulders droop. I nodded, and then grasped the hem of my ruined wedding gown and tore a strip from it so I could wrap it around my bleeding palm.

  While the Foscari and the Moretti were rising from their seats and talking amongst themselves, I went back to Hadrian’s side and squatted down next to him.

  His eyes were cracked open, a gruesome smile stretched across his face. “I had no idea you were such an orator.”

  I shot him a wobbly smile. “Neither did I.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

  “I didn’t know until a few days ago.”

  A dreamy expression flashed across his face. “Oh,” he said, right before he passed out.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I turned my face to the sky, letting the moon kiss me in greeting. I was alone on the balcony while Hadrian slept soundly in bed.

  He’d been transported back to my ancestral home where a surgeon had tended to his injuries. He’d stitched what could be stitched, repaired what could be repaired. Due to the slashing of his hamstring, Hadrian might never walk normally again, the doctor had said.

  Only time would tell.

  He had a broken nose, cracked and bruised ribs, a concussion, a sliced hamstring, and a deep stab wound.

  And he was still recovering from an accidental poisoning.

  He was lucky to be alive.

  We both were.

  The surgeon had seen to my hand after he’d tended to Hadrian, and then he’d taken the time to examine me. I was healthy, and I cried when the doctor said he believed my baby was healthy as well.

  Reluctantly, I went into the bedroom, but left the balcony doors open to allow fresh countryside air to circulate. Fragrant beauty was carried on the wind.

  I touched Hadrian’s forehead and then slid my hand down to his chest. He wasn’t hot, and I hoped that meant the antibiotics were working their magic, but it was still too soon to tell.

  “Think you can slide that hand a wee bit lower?” came his throaty growl.