A soldier Persephone didn’t recognize took the wine carafe from Koli and set it on the table. He said something to her that Persephone didn’t hear, and Koli flicked nervous eyes toward Persephone. What was he saying to her? Nothing about his demeanor seemed inappropriate or threatening, but concern and worry were all Persephone could focus on. In spite of the instruction to stay, she shifted to move in their direction and collect Koli when her father’s suddenly elevated voice halted her. Turning her full attention to the seat directly across the table, she noted absently how surreal it felt to see her father there. She’d not been listening, so she was not sure what had spurred his outburst; however, at present, her father was heatedly scolding the general. Wishing she could tell him to stop talking – to do so would only escalate his temper further – Persephone watched and listened with growing horror. She wasn’t the only one. The din in the entire room had suddenly died.
“Sneaking in here in the middle of the night? Coward’s move if you ask me.”
Persephone silently cursed her father’s stupidity, while praying that he would mind his tongue. He did not. He was too proud and arrogant to recognize the dangerous ground on which he tread.
“And then you disgrace me further by turning my family into your servants. Usurping my place. I am king!” Her father practically shrieked the last.
“You are not my king.” The general didn’t raise his voice. It would have been less menacing if he had shouted.
Holding her breath, Persephone felt a chill slide down her spine, pooling in a thick knot in her stomach.
“You speak as though everything done is a personal slight against you.”
“Is it not?!”
“No.” The general continued to use that same stony tone. “Besides, I would surmise from the way that you and your coward of a son practically pissed yourselves tonight, that you would have fared equally poorly in open battle as you and your pathetic guards performed tonight.”
The king’s face had turned a brilliant shade of red, a sure sign he would be saying something eminantly foolish before long.
“Tell me, does it shame you to know that your daughter is the only individual on the island that posed even the remotest of challenges?”
If the gods had any mercy, the subject would turn away from her. Any mention of her training was a sure way to unleash her father’s ire.
As it was, her father’s indignation was palpable. “My greatest shame is that my daughter deigned to pick up a sword in the first place rather than marry and have babes as she should have years ago.”
Though she’d always known how he felt, her father had never spoken the words aloud. Not to her. He’d never forgiven her for dissolving her first betrothal. The marriage pact had been a farce in every way, even if he refused to see it. It made no difference that she was unsurprised; his words hit her like a blow. Forcing her face to remain impassive, Persephone did the only thing she could. Lock her hurt away. Deep inside of herself she had a place reserved for such things. Things that would cripple her should she ever take them out and examine them too closely.
“How enlightening.” The general’s sentiment about the king’s declaration was indiscernible.
She sensed her mother shifting uncomfortably to her right. Persephone didn’t blame her. If she was prone to fidgeting, she would have done the same. As it was, her heart was about to pound out of her chest.
Suddenly, the general stood. Persephone took a few steps back under the guise of avoiding having her toes smashed. Every muscle in her body coiled tightly as the general stepped toward her and grabbed her wrist. She’d not been mistaken about his speed. Targeting the wrist holding the carafe, his hand shot out and, snagging her, he expertly squeezed a pressure point. Of their own accord, her fingers opened. The carafe slipped between them to shatter at her feet.
Her first impulse was always to fight, so immediately Persephone raised her free hand to strike. Kolimpri’s terrified scream froze her hand in place more effectively than any binding ever could. Compulsively, Persephone looked. How could she not? The soldier nearest Kolimpri – the one who had taken the carafe from her – had pulled her onto his lap in a one-armed bear hug. He pressed the blade of his dagger to her delicate throat. Glancing quickly around the room, Persephone confirmed her mother and brother – even Seraphime – were being threatened similarly. The soldiers had moved seamlessly, without the need for a direct order. It was terrifying to contemplate. Her father looked frantically at the sea of hostile faces, settling on his kin’s panicked expressions. He openly wore the surprise they both felt.
Wasting no time and exploiting her distraction, the general pulled Persephone roughly toward him. He released her wrist to snake both arms around her waist. She might have been able to escape his grasp, but not without hurting him to do so. Horrified about his intent, but more concerned about the consequences of striking him, she struggled uselessly. In a contest of brute strength, he had an overwhelming advantage. It didn’t take him long to overpower her. Drawing her chest flush with his, the general lifted her, maneuvering her while he returned to his seat and ending with her straddled on his lap.
She tried to push away from him. To return to her feet. Anything. Just as quickly as he had before, the general overpowered her, forcing her hands behind her back. An action that kept her pressed against him, chest to chest, and allowed him to control all her movement. Persephone was acutely aware that the loose, flowing material of her chiton had bunched and ridden up her legs, leaving her intimates covered, but barely so. With both hands pinned securely behind her, she could do nothing about her modesty. Her panic rose as his pteruges pressed uncomfortably against her.
Not this. The words repeated themselves as a mantra in her head. Completely at his mercy, she could only hope the gods heard her prayer. Unable to fight, unable to flee, Persephone once again found herself staring into those hazel eyes. Someone was saying something, but she couldn’t make out who nor what over the blood pounding past her ears.
Transferring both of her slight wrists into one of his larger hands, the general slid one palm suggestively over her hip, leaning into her while she unsuccessfully attempted to lean back. His face hovered mere inches from her own.
Desperation lanced through her. “Don’t.” Don’t sounded more like please. It was the closest she had come to begging since she was a child. Undoubtedly she would be doing quite a bit more in the days to come. Assuming, of course, any of them lived that long.
Laughter and jeers rippled through the room.
The general continued to look at her heatedly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Not to worry, Princess. I prefer not to have an audience for that.”
Raucous laughter and further jeers followed. “Come on, General! We like to watch!”
They might have been the only two in the room for all the attention the general paid the commotion. His eyes flicked down to her mouth and back up. “Just a kiss.” Said barely above a whisper.
She doubted anyone else had even heard him. Couldn’t be entirely sure she had. He was asking permission. Unable to explain how she knew it to be certain, she did. His face remained a hairsbreadth away and still he waited.
Through her wonder and confusion, her father’s words filtered into her consciousness. “There is no reason for this. Consider your point made. Just let my daughter go and we can forget this ever happened.”
Her blood boiled. It was his fault she was in this position in the first place. Always indifferent to the ways in which his actions affected others. Consumed with thoughts of himself. His legacy. Persephone felt a sudden, overwhelming need to teach him a lesson. To remind him that humility is warranted. Feeling reckless, she gave the general an almost imperceptible nod. Having been watching her closely, he didn’t hesitate. His lips immediately connected with hers.
Even though she’d consented, she sat stunned for a moment. However, her initial surprise quickly faded when he gently sucked on her bottom lip, simultaneously
caressing it with his tongue. Eyes drifting closed, she opened her mouth to brush his tongue with her own. He tasted like the wine he had been drinking and something else. Something she suspected was uniquely him. As he alternated his ministrations between stroking their tongues together and tenderly nibbling and sucking on her bottom lip, Persephone didn’t immediately realize he had let go of both her wrists. One of his arms wrapped itself around her waist, holding her tightly. His other hand was twined in her hair at the base of her head, firmly kneading her tresses in rhythm with his mouth’s devotions. There was only one way to describe it. Sensual. She never would have expected it from a soldier, especially one who was all sharp edges.
Her own hands had found their way to his sides. It wasn’t clear if she had been attempting to push him away or pull him closer. She still wasn’t sure. This was a terrible idea. So why did her body heat in response to him? Suddenly aware that her nipples were peaked, her sex hot – both things that should not be happening with this man under these circumstances – she began to withdraw. He followed her retreat. She could feel that he was smiling as he gently bit her lip one last time, landing a final soothing peck before leaning into the back of his chair.
His dilated pupils remained transfixed on her mouth. She couldn’t tell through his pteruges, but she felt certain he was aroused. Both his hands wandered to her hips. The action was casual, but the unspoken command was clear. Stay.
Without warning his expression changed. Hardened. His eyes left hers to look around her, catching her father’s eye. “Now I am slighting you.”
She hated him.
* * * *
Augustine reclined comfortably in the king’s seat. Satisfied that he had thoroughly embarrassed Acheron, he continued to stare at him disdainfully. Though undoubtedly furious, Acheron had finally managed to keep his mouth shut. Given the brief time he’d spent with the arrogant fool, Augustine considered it quite the accomplishment.
Persephone continued to sit straddled across his lap. Although she had actively participated in their kiss, she paid him no attention now. Using the edge of the table as a chair back with her head craned over her shoulder, she watched Kolimpri. Mostly. She kept close tabs on each of her family members in addition to her body slave, Seraphime.
The uncanny resemblance between the two of them had come as a shock. Persephone and Seraphime were nearly identical. Were it not for the differences in clothing and hair, he would have found himself hard pressed to tell them apart. Later, he would ensure someone explained their relation as they were clearly too similar not to be kin. So why was Seraphime bonded in slavery?
“What is it that you plan to do with us? With Galilae?” It was Acheron that spoke.
Augustine had known his silence would be short-lived.
“Plan? I’d not gotten any further than personally insulting you.” It was immature, but he didn’t like the man and enjoyed baiting him.
Acheron’s face reddened at Augustine’s evasion and the chuckles that followed.
Glancing at Persephone, it was clear that she was oblivious to the exchange. Her full attention was pointed in Kolimpri and Seraphime’s direction. Taking a moment to admire her beautiful face, he saw the minute narrowing of her eyes at the same time he felt the muscles in her body go rigid. Before he had a chance to investigate the source of the sudden change, several things happened at once. He heard a surprised squeal to his left while simultaneously sensing that Persephone was in motion. She was faster than he could have expected or was prepared for. Cato had warned him, but a part of him had still doubted, even knowing about the havoc she’d wreaked attempting to escape. A mistake he would not repeat. With no resistance from him, she had removed his dagger from the sheath on his hip and her arm was already cocked to throw. He didn’t have enough time to stop her completely and settled for knocking her elbow, catching it at upon her release.
Without waiting or looking to see if she hit her mark, he immediately grabbed her, standing so suddenly he knocked his chair over backwards. Persephone was unaware of the movement. As she was screaming obscenities while pointing at someone to his left, he assumed she had not managed to kill her target.
“GODS FUCK YOU! DO NOT TOUCH HER!”
Before she could struggle or say more, he used his weight to slam her back onto the table. The force was sufficient to momentarily knock the wind out of her. No longer yelling, she turned her full attention to him. And she was furious. It was suddenly very clear how much she’d held back when he’d grabbed her earlier. He managed to block the majority of the blow she swung at him, but not all of it. Her fist partially connected with his ear. The inward rush of air sent it ringing.
While he struggled to get her hands under control, she swung her knee hard, connecting with his side below his left shoulder blade. Because he was still wearing his armor, the blow didn’t hurt, but was sufficient to knock him slightly off balance. Not without stumbling, he managed to maintain his position, using his body to pin her to the table while he stood between her legs.
Cato had not been jesting when he had said she was formally trained. In spite of his own experience, she’d stayed steps ahead of him, commencing new maneuvers while he was still reacting to what she had done previously. As Augustine had switched focus to getting her legs under control, she had initiated an arm bar, a common ground-sparring maneuver – one that relied on leverage, so his superior size and strength would mean nothing. If successful, she could break his arm or dislocate his elbow. Barely managing to wrench his arm free in time to catch her leg before she swung it into place around his neck, he pinned her thigh to his side and slammed her hips back down to the table a second time.
She still struggled to get away, but seemed to have regained enough lucidity to stop striking at him. He took advantage of her quasi-complacency and quickly restrained her hands above her head.
“STOP FIGHTING!” he bellowed.
It wasn’t necessary. As suddenly as it had started, the fight had gone out of her. He knew why, but chanced a look around the room to survey the damages. All members of the family, including Acheron – who was still seated and looking very pale – were once again being held at knife point. Following Persephone’s gaze to the source of her outburst, he saw Seraphime clutching the torn fabric of her apodesmos to her body. Tears tracked down her cheeks.
The assumed culprit, Falco, stood nearby with a hand to his head. Blood oozed from between his fingers, trailing red ribbons down his face. Augustine felt fairly certain that it looked worse than it was. After all, scalp wounds were notorious for bleeding heavily. If Augustine had not deflected it, the dagger likely would have lodged in Falco’s throat instead of merely glancing off his head.
Furious, as much at himself for his complacency as he was at her for her impudent eruption, Augustine roughly grabbed Persephone’s chin and turned her face to his. “Do not look at her. Look at me.”
He saw the flash of fury in her eyes right before she spat in his face. His reaction was instantaneous. Reflexive. His open hand connected with her cheek. Hard. Persephone’s head slammed to the side. Adonia’s gasp was the only sound that followed the resounding crack.
“Do I have your attention yet?!” He was almost yelling.
Seething, she returned her head to center to glare silently at him. Her cheeks were flushed, one side much more so than the other. Likely, it would bruise.
“ANSWER!”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “Yes.” Her quiet tone belied her obvious anger.
“Yes, what?” he growled.
“Yes, you have my attention.”
His face mere centimeters from hers, Augustine spoke as calmly and as coldly as he could manage. “If you attack me or one of my men again” – she opened her mouth to speak – “I do not care what the reason is!” he yelled, interrupting any objection she might have made, and she cringed in reply. He took a breath, and when he continued, he did so more evenly. “If you attack me or one of my men again, I will person
ally hog tie you and have every man here take turns fucking her bloody while you watch.” He was pointing in Seraphime’s direction. Persephone didn’t turn her head, but the rage suddenly emanating off of her body confirmed she knew exactly who he meant. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She sounded as though she had barely managed to choke the word past her vehemence.
It wasn’t good enough. “Yes, what?”
“I UNDERSTAND!” She had lifted her head to shout her assent before allowing it to fall back to the table. All traces of her anger vanished on a resigned and frustrated huff. Her expression immediately shuttered, rending itself unreadable once again.
Exhaling hard, Augustine found himself wondering how Persephone managed to slide that passive, unemotional face so quickly into place.
“When I stand, you will do the same. Slowly,” he instructed while she continued to look at him disconnectedly. For now, he still held her hands above her head. “And then you shall apologize to Falco.” He indicated the injured man with a tilt of his own head.
“No.” She hadn’t even hesitated.
“Pardon?” He made no move to allow her up.
“I. Will. Not. Apologize,” she said, using the same level tone.
“You will do as ordered.” She shook her head confidently, and he thought his own head might burst. She was infuriating. “Did I not make myself clear?”
“You were quite clear,” she assented easily, too easily given that she had just refused compliance. “I threw the dagger before you clarified your terms.” Was that really satisfaction he saw in her eyes? “And I am not sorry.”
He kept his voice flat despite the rage boiling inside him. “Try something like this again and you will be.”
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