by Sarra Cannon
One night wouldn’t make much of a difference, she rationalized while she relished the warmth of his skin next to hers. She would worry about how to kill him in the morning.
Chapter 6
Titus awoke and wondered if he was still dreaming. The faint scent of jasmine rose from the warm body nestled beside him. He lifted his head and stared at the sleeping woman. Her glossy black curls tumbled over the edge of her pillow, and her plump lips told the tale of too many kisses the night before. The white sheet added a stark contrast to her bronzed skin. He smiled when he remembered how sweet she tasted.
Part of him was tempted to gently rouse her with a few kisses along the back of her neck before rolling her over and burying himself in her. His cock twitched to life at the thought. By the gods, he’d never met a woman that affected him this way. Not even Lucia.
The memory of his dead wife dulled his desire, and he pulled away from Azurha. Although she’d been dead for over two years, he still felt obligated to mourn her. Not because he loved her, but because he felt guilty for the way their arranged marriage had deprived her of true happiness.
Perhaps I should remember that before giving in to my baser nature.
It was bad enough that he felt the need to lull Azurha to sleep using his magic last night. He doubted she would have had a restful night’s sleep after everything that happened between them, even if he had let her return to the harem. She had been sent to pleasure him, and he wouldn’t deny that she was quite skilled in that respect. But until he knew the reason behind the conflicted emotions he’d witnessed play out across her face all evening, he preferred not to let things spiral out of control.
He rolled out of bed and grabbed his robe. The longer he stayed in bed next to Azurha, the more intense the battle between reason and lust became. He retreated from the bedroom and all its conflicting emotions and sought peace in his bathing chambers.
Varro stood by the large pool with a towel and knowing smile. “Good morning, Emperor Sergius. Sleep well?”
“Almost too well.” He removed the robe and sank into the warm water of the tepidarium pool. A brief bath in the morning always cleansed the sleep from his brain. He swam across the pool and let the fatigue fade from his muscles.
“I took the liberty of heating the caldarium and the tepidarium in the harem for the young lady, Emperor Sergius. She will be properly attended during her bath this evening.”
The thought of Azurha standing naked while slaves smeared perfumed oil over her skin aroused the desire that he fought so desperately to control. He jumped out of the tepidarium pool and plunged into the icy water of the frigidarium pool nearby. Maybe if he physically doused his flaming skin, he’d clear his mind as well. By the time he resurfaced, he’d pushed her out of his mind.
“Feeling refreshed?” Varro handed him the towel when he climbed out of the pool.
Goosebumps pebbled his skin, but he finally felt ready to face the day. He nodded to the servant and began drying off. “How much time do I have before the vultures start descending on me?”
Varro laughed. “If by vultures you mean your advisors, then I say maybe half an hour. The cracks in the barrier have them more anxious than a room of first time fathers.”
“I’ll address the barrier first thing this morning.” He hoped he could summon enough magic to repair the damage. If he’d known his father’s death would come so soon, he would have spent more time learning to harness his magic efficiently rather than reading. Instead, the daily reinforcement of the barrier left him more exhausted than several hours of combat training in the gymnasium. He only hoped it would become easier as the days went on. The nobility’s reaction to his plans for the empire was the least of his problems if the barrier fell.
“Very good, Emperor Sergius.” Varro held out a fresh tunic and helped him dress. “I’ll go wake the young lady and return her to the harem.”
“No, wait.” The peaceful expression on her face while she slept seemed so different from the emotions that played upon it last night. Her life as a slave still haunted her. “Let her sleep. When she awakens, then you can take her back to the harem.”
The servant cocked a brow but said nothing. Apparently, this wasn’t the way Imperial concubines were normally treated. “Will there be anything else?”
“Not at the moment.” His thoughts had already drifted to what he’d like to do with her tonight, but he refused to dwell on them. He pressed his hand against the gold plate by the door, and a tingle of magic flowed down his arms. The locks clicked open, and the long corridor to the throne room stretched before him. He took a deep breath and proceeded toward it.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, his advisors descended. Vultures, all of them. Ready to pick over his carcass the minute he made a mistake. Titus shooed them away and focused on the center of the room where the large, bronze globe sat, its three rings hovering in perfect balance around it, slowly rotating along the horizontal axis. A map of the empire covered its surface, encompassing almost the entire planet. A red line glowed along the borders, representing the magic barrier that protected the empire from alien invaders.
His ancestors had arrived on this underdeveloped planet centuries ago, delighting in finding a planet so similar to the one they’d depleted decades earlier. The rich ore deposits were begging to be dug up and used to channel their magic. With their advanced technology, they easily defeated the Elymanians,a sentient race similar to them. The emperors who followed had added territory, stretching the borders with each generation. Their conquest culminated with the enslavement of the Alpirions, an ancient race that had resisted the Deizians for years until his grandfather defeated them by using the ore beneath their feet to devour their army. From there, he gained control of their vast lands to the south and brought the empire to its current size.
But with every conquest, the borders were widened further to accommodate them. Had they finally stretched them too thin? He had no idea how thick the barrier had been when it was created, but he remembered all too clearly how it appeared to be little more than a simmering blue wall of light that separated him from the grey-skinned Barbarians on the other side.
Titus squinted and studied the line for any flickers, any areas of dimness that would imply a weakness in the barrier. The fading light along the northern border matched the reports that had filtered from the frontier. He traced the area with his finger and focused his magic along the line. Sweat prickled along his forehead from the effort. How had his father made this look so easy? The barrier brightened, and he could almost hear the sigh of relief from the onlookers.
Nausea boiled in his stomach, and his knees wobbled. He cast a quick glance to see if anyone noticed it. Their attention was still honed on the map, not him, and he forced a smile onto his face. “That should be enough for now. I will begin to hear your other concerns after breakfast.”
Titus strode to the small room behind his throne as fast as he could. Footsteps fell behind his. A quick glance over his shoulder told him his closest friend, Marcus, stood between him and any noble that would enter uninvited. The two members of the Legion standing guard at the entrance stiffened at attention as he passed them. When the doors closed, he sank into a chair.
“It’s harder than it looks, huh?” Marcus asked and sat across from him.
“And getting harder every day.” He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. “At least the barrier seems to be holding for now.”
“Any idea why it’s failing?”
“None.” He took the glass of chilled juice offered to him by a slave. “It’s like I’m pushing a boulder up a hill.”
Marcus leaned back and stroked his neatly trimmed beard. Although his blue eyes spoke of his Deizian blood, his friend flaunted his Elymanian heritage by adopting their manner of plain dress and drawing attention to his dark brown hair, keeping it longer than most Deizians considered acceptable. “Has it ever crossed your mind that the Barbarians might have found a way to attack it?”
“How would they have gained command of magic? They’re Barbarians, after all.”
“Barbarians who know how to negotiate and get what they want.”
His thoughts immediately went to Pontus. Although Anicium stood on the southern realm of the empire, it sounded like something his ambitious cousin would sink to. He picked at the fresh fruit and bread on the plate before him. “Pontus left me an interesting coronation gift yesterday.”
“So I’ve heard. How was she?”
Titus feigned innocence. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
Marcus laughed. “You haven’t so much as looked at another woman since Lucia died, and then your cousin gives you your very own concubine to start your harem. Please tell me you didn’t at least sample her?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. Sample would be putting it mildly. He only wondered what indulging in a three course meal would be like with her.
“Aha, I knew it.” Marcus ripped off a hunk of bread and dipped it in some olive oil. “You can’t ignore the thoughts of your little head all the time.”
“Who said anything about it being little?”
His friend snickered. “So, tell me more about her. What lies behind her veil? Is she trained in all the arts?”
“What would Sexta say if she knew you were inquiring about my concubine?”
His friend’s mirth faded for a second. “What does it matter? You’re the only one who can touch her, who can see her face. I’m just living vicariously through you.”
“I thought you were madly in love with Sexta.”
“Madly in lust would be a better way of putting it. But alas, she knows it and keeps me dangling like a fish on a hook. One day, though, she’ll cave to my charm.” His grin returned, and he patted Titus on the back. “I’m just making sure you’re enjoying yourself a bit before you have to suffer another arranged marriage. And even then, you can still enjoy your harem.”
Marcus’ comment acted like a dart in his chest. Just as he’d embraced the other Elymanian customs, Marcus could marry the woman he loved, not a woman that would keep his Deizian blood pure or further his political ties. As emperor, Titus didn’t have that luxury. “Please let me get used to ruling before you push me in that direction.”
“Hate to have to be the bearer of bad news, but you know the nobility will be after you to marry and produce an heir soon. The stability of the empire depends on it.”
“You don’t have to remind me. Too many of the provincial governors have ties to my family and would try to claim my throne, should I fail.”
“Which is why you should tread carefully around them, especially Pontus.”
“And his gifts.” Part of him still wondered if Azurha was more of a threat than a gift.
Marcus wrinkled his brow. “Do you think she’s working for him?”
Her warning that Pontus was an ambitious man echoed in his mind. “No, not exactly. But I wonder why he’d give her to me instead of keeping her for himself.”
“That good, huh?”
He remembered how her tongue licked the honey off his skin, and all the blood rushed to his groin. He shifted in his chair. “Yes, that good.”
Chapter 7
Azurha stretched across the silk sheets and soaked in the warm rays of the sun. It was nice to be able to relax inside her gilded cage. Between her life as a slave and years of constantly looking over her shoulder, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late into the morning.
She pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her body. Memories of the night before flooded her mind when she saw the rumpled cushions in the main chamber, and a flush stole over her skin. If she hadn’t been sent to kill Titus, she’d look forward to more of his touch. Already, she ached to enjoy his kisses again.
She frowned. Lusting after her victim would only make it harder to kill him. And she needed to complete her job. Her life and her reputation depended on it. The promise of a life of leisure far outweighed a few fleeting nights of passion. After all, what man would want her when he learned the truth? As the Rabbit, she’d killed dozens of people. And even if she didn’t have their blood on her hands, she was still a former slave. It was far better to kill him, collect her money, and retire some place where she’d never have to lift a finger or slit a throat again.
With her practical mind back in place, she examined the Imperial chambers closer. A set of double doors led to the rest of the palace, and the only way in or out involved the bronze plates beside them. She’d watched Varro place his hand on them last night and mimicked his actions. The locks didn’t click open for her, and she lacked the Deizian magic to force them open.
She bit her bottom lip and looked for another way to exit the chambers undetected. She crossed the room to the private courtyard. The tiled roofs angled sharply to the ground, but that didn’t discourage her as much as the guard towers that framed the palace. To leave that way would require stealth, skill, and a lazy soldier or two in the towers. Not that she hadn’t faced those odds before.
A creak followed by the sound of leather sandals slapping across the tile floor pulled her from her inspection. She wasn’t alone anymore. Her skin flushed at the thought of Titus standing behind her.
“You’re awake now, Lady Azurha.”
Her heart fell a little when she recognized Varro’s voice. When she turned around, he lowered his eyes. “I’m having trouble finding my veil.”
“I laid it out in the bedroom.” He beckoned her to follow him while averting his eyes.
As he walked ahead of her, she noticed his limp seemed more pronounced this morning. A large scar snaked around his knee and disappeared up his thigh. Her shoulders tensed. He might be a servant now, but he hadn’t always been.
He waited in the main room while she wrapped her veil over her face and shoulders. When the sheer silk slid over her breasts, her nipples peaked. Titus had been more than generous with his attention, and they remained overly-sensitive. By the gods, she needed to find a way to kill him before she got in over her head.
She adjusted her veil and returned to Varro, who handed her a clay mug. “Drink this.”
She sniffed the contents, trying to see if it was poisoned. The slight citrus scent seemed vaguely familiar. “What is it?”
“Pomrutin tea. It will keep you from conceiving.”
Laughter as bitter as the tea itself filled her throat. He obviously assumed too much. The contents of the mug disappeared in one gulp, and she returned it to Varro. He nodded in satisfaction and turned to the door.
When the servant pressed his hand against the bronze plate, a brief flash appeared. The locks clicked open. Perhaps she could get him to reveal how he was able to use them, even though he was not a Deizian. “How do the locks work? I tried to return to the harem after I woke up, but the door was locked.”
“The emperor controls who has access to his chambers through the plates.”
“And how did you gain access? You’re not a Deizian.” Varro chuckled. “Fishing for information?”
“Just curious.” She tried to keep her voice flippant, but inside, she secretly seethed at the servant’s ability to see through her question.
“I served Emperor Decius before his son, and I will continue to serve the emperor until my death.”
“What did you do before you became the emperor’s steward?” Varro halted in the middle of the hallway. “You ask a lot of questions for a concubine.”
She smiled behind the veil. “I like to know all I can about my jailors.”
“There are many women who would gladly change places with you. They would view it as a privilege to tend to the emperor’s desires.”
If he only knew my real purpose for being here. “I don’t argue that I live a privileged life here in the palace, but I’m still little better than a slave.”
Varro pressed his hand against the plate outside the harem. “It all depends on your perspective, Lady Azurha.” The
doors opened, and he led her inside. “I will send a few female slaves to you later this afternoon to tend to your bath. I suspect Emperor Sergius will send for you again.”
Her lips curled into a grin. She certainly hoped so.
— —
Azurha opened the false bottom of her trunk and frowned. Her favorite instruments of death lay before her, and she still had no idea which one to use. Why was Titus so hard to kill?
Because you’re a glutton for the way he makes you feel, the voice inside her head answered. You want more.
She slammed the trunk closed and rested her chin on her arms. She hated admitting that little voice was right. She wanted to know more about this riddle named Titus. She wanted to know why the others feared him. And she begrudgingly wanted to know if he would live up to his boast that he could bring her pleasure.
“The longer I wait, the harder this will be,” she said to herself and ran her fingers through her hair. A glance at the sun told her the slaves would be there soon to help her bathe and dress for the evening.
The trunk reopened with a low moan that matched the one welling up in her chest. Business came before pleasure. She surveyed what tools she’d managed to sneak into the palace and tried to imagine how effective they would be.
She already knew she couldn’t bring herself to strangle him, as much as it disgusted her to admit. That left disguised blades and poison, both of which would drain the life from him within seconds. This was what she needed. Something fast and painless that would leave her no chance to second guess herself.
Her fingertips grazed a golden comb with three polished ovals of lapis embedded into the metal. She picked it up and felt for the latch on the back. The tines fell away, exposing the dull, grey needles hidden inside them.
Azurha held them up to the light, mesmerized by their deadly beauty. The sharp points had never failed to pierce any skin, no matter how tough and calloused it seemed. Out of necessity, she’d once used them to punch dozens of holes into a man’s throat, slowly turning his windpipe into a sieve until he died. But her favorite use for this comb was injecting poison into an unsuspecting victim. The thin needles caused the brief sensation of a bug bite before the poison took effect. The victim usually crumpled to the ground by the time he slapped the imperceptible wound.
