The two stared at each other for a moment before the king dropped his eyes. Augustine grunted in disgust before continuing. Any chance the king had ever had of regaining any of Augustine’s respect was lost in that moment. Not that there had been much of a chance to begin with; he’d already proven himself to be thoughtless, selfish, arrogant, and rash. Unredeeming qualities for a king.
“Your Council is set to reconvene starting tomorrow.”
Triumph flashed momentarily in the king’s eyes. He was much slower to shutter his emotions away than his daughter. Nor did he manage to fully suppress them, further confirming that Persephone had learned those skills from her mother.
“Of course,” Acheron sat up straighter in his seat, “the palace will be swarming with officials. And when they witness what you have done here, you will be faced with the full force of the Galilaean army!”
Augustine rolled his eyes with a sigh. “As little as I fear your army, Highness, they will not storm the palace to save you, as they will have no reason to suspect foul play.”
Still missing the point, the king deflated only slightly. “No matter, I can rally them better in person.”
How had this bag of hot air managed to rule for so long?
“You will not be rallying them. In fact, you will say nothing of what has transpired here the past two days. My Lieutenant, Decimus Hadrianus” – the king’s head followed the indicating tilt of Augustine’s chin before snapping back – “will be joining you as your new Arms Commander. As it should have been Prodotin, who is recognizable, we will give you the words to explain it away. We’ve had to improvise following Prodotin’s tragic and untimely death.” Augustine threw Persephone a scathing look, one that she met looking entirely unrepentant. “So,” Augustine continued, “as you can see, there will be no rallying of anyone. You will go about business as usual and no one will be the wiser for what has been happening here.”
The king gaped dumbfounded, looking slightly paler than he had a moment ago. “I do not understand.”
“Of course not,” Augustine uttered under his breath as he ran an exasperated hand down his face.
“But, no one will know that the Finctus is in Galilae?!”
Adonia seemed to be silently willing her husband to stop talking. Regrettably, Cato doubted she would be met with success.
“Correct. No one will know,” Augustine continued. What little patience he had started with had completely evaporated by this point. “Or did you miss the part where the Finctus moved in under cover of night and overtook the palace in secret?”
If it was possible, Acheron’s face reddened even further. “I fail to see what your endgame is here.”
Augustine stood, and with his weight pushed into his fingertips, he loomed over the table threateningly, prompting Acheron to shrink further into his seat. “As I’ve no doubt you will continue to fail to see it until I lay it out for you. One. Step. At. A. Time. When that moment comes, I shall be sure to use very small words. Until then, you and the rest of your family will go about your day as you usually would unless I tell you to do otherwise. None of you will rouse any suspicions, raise alarms, or attempt rebellion in any way. You know who I am by now.” The king nodded minisculely at the unasked question. “Good, then you know what I am capable of. I can be infinitely creative when meting out punishments.” Augustine looked at each of them, his gaze lingering longest on Persephone. “With or without you, Galilae is mine. You’ve the ability to remain a part of its next chapter or not. Your choice.”
“Aha! So you admit you do want to take my kingdom,” Acheron exclaimed, pointing his finger at Augustine’s chest. He jumped when Augustine’s palm slammed onto the table with a resounding crack.
Augustine straightened, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paced behind his chair. Cato could feel the barely suppressed rage and frustration roiling off of his friend. It would seem they might be implementing a hostile takeover after all.
Was the king always like this, or had the stress of the palace invasion robbed him of his wits?
“General?” Persephone interjected cautiously.
Every eye in the room snapped her direction. Augustine immediately stopped his pacing. He stood with his hands braced on the back of the chair in front of him, knuckles whitening under his unwielding grip.
Persephone eyed him warily. “Permission to speak, sir?” The condescension present in her tone during their earlier encounters was gone. Quite the opposite. She seemed to be emphasizing respect and protocol in an attempt to rein in Augustine’s temper. To return a semblance of control to a rapidly devolving situation. It was a clever ploy on her part. One that stood a chance of working.
“She has no right –” the king started, cutting himself off when Adonia reached out to place her hand subtly, but firmly, on her husband’s forearm, silencing him without a word.
Although, Persephone and Augustine continued to silently stare one another down, Cato doubted that the exchange between the king and queen escaped his attention. Hardly anything did.
Unlike her father, Persephone didn’t quail under Augustine’s gaze, nor did she speak out of turn. She waited patiently despite the heightened tension in the room. If she looked away, she’d lose his respect. Cato wasn’t entirely sure if he was eager for her success or her failure. Augustine’s interest in her already risked becoming problematic without adding the levels of reverence the rest of the palace and Galilae itself seemed to hold for her.
Finally, Augustine gave her a single nod of his head and Persephone tilted her chin in acknowledgment. “Gratitude, General. Please forgive our impudence. This whole experience has come as quite a shock, and now you’ve given us a great deal to consider. It is very early, and we have not yet had a chance to even break our fast. I wonder if you would be gracious enough to permit us the opportunity to do so and discuss your offer. After all, the Council does not meet until tomorrow. Will you do us the service of allowing us to speak on this matter as a family, in order to make the best decision for Galilae?”
Cato felt the corner of his mouth twitch. She was very smart. Probably too smart, as he’d already come to suspect.
Augustine’s body posture remained rigid, but Cato could sense that some of the strain had left him. “You have one hour. Speak quickly.”
“Gratitude.” Persephone wasted no time. She stood adjusting her sister on her hip and left the room without a backward glance. Seneca and Lucius immediately fell into step with her.
Adonia quickly rose to follow. “Come, husband. We have much to discuss.”
Whether out of fear or shame, Acheron and Antaios stood and scurried quickly from the room without saying anything. When all had left, Cato indicated for the last of the guards to close the door behind them before turning his full attention to his commander. What he had to say to Augustine was not likely to be well received and was best discussed privately.
“Do you think this wise, sir?” Cato asked.
Augustine shrugged. “They do not have the ability to organize an escape in an hour. And I did make you aware of the terms under which Persephone agreed to assist us.”
“I remember the terms.” How could he not? He’d only been informed of them a few hours previously, and he’d felt no more certain about trusting Persephone then than he did now. “Still, I wonder if it is wise to allow them to speak in private on this matter. Persephone is dangerous, in more ways than one. Does this not set her up to betray you?”
“Short of keeping them all in separate rooms, they will have opportunities to scheme,” Augustine said with a dismissive wave. “As we’ve already agreed, keeping them in one place simplifies supervision. Now it serves the dual purpose of allowing Persephone to hold to her end of the bargain. However, if she is to have any chance of successfully coercing her family to cooperate – a feat I’ve not been convinced is possible, by the way, stubborn, prideful fool that the king is – she must be allowed to work behind the scenes. Women have no voice in Galilae; to require her to speak out publ
icly sets her, and us, up to fail.”
Of course, Augustine was right, but Cato’s trepidation was not eased.
Augustine must have seen it on his face. “Rest assured, my friend, I have no doubt she will betray us if she thinks she can do so successfully. We need to ensure we do not give her the opportunity to try.”
“That she will attempt betrayal is not my only concern.”
“What else concerns you?” Rather than sharing Cato’s apprehension, Augustine appeared curiously amused.
“Forgive me for speaking plainly, sir, but do you think it might be a mistake to bed her? Surely the same terms could be met without that particular stipulation.”
Augustine met Cato’s eye, a full smile on his lips. “My bedding her was always to come to pass, though, I admit I had no intention of doing so before bringing our plan fully to fruition. Had she been a maid, I like to think I would have resisted.”
Cato looked at him dubiously.
“Hesitated, then,” Augustine admitted with a chuckle. “But I see no need to refuse what she freely offers. And if I can prove myself trustworthy to uphold my side of the bargain, she may be more amenable as we require more from her. Besides, do you not trust me, friend?”
“Of course, Augustine. There has never been question that I trust you. I rarely doubt your judgment and I have followed you in all things.” Cato didn’t bother to fully mask his aggravation. “But make no mistake, I do not trust her.” To emphasize, he pointed the direction she had gone.
Augustine watched him curiously. “What is it about this girl that really has you so tied up?”
“You are very attracted to her.”
Augustine rolled his eyes. “Is there a man here who is not?”
“She intrigues you?”
“Tell me honestly that she does not intrigue you,” Augustine said with a laugh.
“Of course! As I stated previously, she is a very curious thing,” Cato admitted, prompting Augustine to turn his palms up, silently and exasperatedly questioning the concern. “The difference,” Cato continued, “is that I am not bedding her.”
Augustine straightened and crossed his arms, his good humor gone.
Cato refused to apologize for expressing unease. Even if Augustine chose to disregard the warning, which he undoubtedly would, it needed to be said aloud. “My point, sir, is that it will be difficult to maintain emotional distance under those circumstances.”
“All the better.” Augustine spoke matter-of-factly. “She might be more agreeable if she were a little emotionally attached. Women synchronize sex and affection. As unique as she is, if she enjoys her time with me, I see no reason why Persephone should be different.”
Cato silently acknowledged Augustine’s logic, and hoped it would ring true. Somehow he doubted it. Persephone seemed more the black widow type. “And if you become attached to her? Will you be able to do what needs to be done when she or her family becomes noncompliant?”
Augustine’s gaze was thoughtful for a moment. Returning his grip to the back of the chair, he leaned forward. His hold had loosened, but his expression remained intense. “If –”
“When,” Cato interrupted flagrantly. He harbored no doubts Persephone would pose further challenges.
“When the time comes, I will do my duty.” Augustine meant what he said.
Cato just hoped it would remain so.
* * * *
“What right have you to interject?! To even suggest that we consider what they offer?” Their father paced angrily in front of Persephone. “Are you daft, girl?”
Though Antaios would have liked to think so, he knew full well that she was not. These were not ravings born of a simple mind. She meant it. And she’d thought it through, meaning her latest betrayal cut all the deeper. Had she decided to turn them to the wolves before or after spreading her legs for the Perdoman general, he wondered?
Persephone stood her ground with her arms crossed in front of her. “Have you finished, then?”
“I ought to throttle you.”
Antaios agreed that she deserved it. Unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of many thrashings from her in the practice yard. Seen many a soldier fail to subdue her. He’d never admit it aloud, but he doubted their father was up to the task.
Likely she thought so too, because Persephone continued without bothering to acknowledge the threat, “They have given us an opportunity here, and it would be foolish to dismiss it without a thought.”
“An opportunity!?!” both Antaios and his father exclaimed together.
“Yes, an opportunity. They did not kill us outright.” Neither justified the comment with a reply. Both continued to scowl silently at her. “Well? Do we not yet live?” she demanded unperturbed.
“We do,” their father admitted grudgingly.
“Nor did they command that you relinquish your crown –”
“They implied –” the king started.
“Yet!” Persephone finished. “They have not, yet, demanded that you step down, relinquish your crown, or swear fealty to the Finctus. Correct?”
“You were there, you know they have not, but what other direction could this be going?”
“I agree with you, Father. Undoubtedly, they will demand that in one form or another eventually, but to this point they have not. And that buys us time.”
As the eldest, she would have been king had she been a man. But she was not, leaving the throne rightfully Antaios’s. He did not like her playing games with his crown.
Their mother’s face lit suddenly. “Gods! You have it right!” She looked to her husband. “She is correct.”
“She is?” Antaios asked doubtfully. Of course their mother would side with Persephone. She always did.
“Yes!” Their mother nodded emphatically. “Do you not see? If the takeover is not public, which it is not, and they want us to continue as though nothing is amiss, which they do, then that gives us the opportunity to plan a subterfuge.”
“Exactly!” Persephone agreed.
“So we do as they say?” The king stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Yes, for now, we do as they say. We gather intelligence. If I am close to the general, I may be able to discover what they plan to do and how they plan to do it. The more information we have, the more likely we will be able to put a stop to whatever it is they are preparing for Galilae.”
Their father nodded his head somewhat absentmindedly, still mulling over her proposal.
“Father?! This is madness.” Antaios stood directly in front of the king, hands thrust imperiously on his hips. “To start, Persephone has taken to fucking the enemy. I’d wager coin he put her up to this. She is not to be trusted any more than he is.”
Persephone’s hands clenched into tight fists at her side. “You think me a traitor? Is that it, brother?” Her voice was deadly quiet.
“Are you not stroking our captor’s cock?” In spite of the dangers of provoking her further, Antaios would not hold his tongue. Someone needed to say it. Evidently, he was the only one with the cock and balls to do so.
“And we are getting something for that.”
“Undoubtedly something we would have received regardless. If we are to proceed as though all is well, they can hardly brutalize us.”
They’d argued at length about this upon her return; that she had not asked for more than protection for the family. That she had included Seraphime in the bargain. To Antaios, it was an old wound that still chafed.
“There is much they could do that would leave scars unseen, brother,” she said quietly.
“It is cowardly to roll over and admit defeat!” he shouted at her. “We dishonor our kingdom and our ancestors to do so.”
“Coward!” Kolimpri’s raised voice suddenly drew their attention. Before any of them could say anything to her, though, she said in a slightly different voice, “I am not a coward.” Returning to the first voice: “You are a coward!” Second voice: “I am not a coward!”
It w
as not unusual for Kolimpri’s games to include role play of day-to-day activities, nor for her to perform each of the roles when no one was available to play with her. This was the first time Antaios had heard her engage in a verbal argument with herself; it would seem she was listening more closely to what he and Persephone had to say to each other than they had realized.
“Cock!” she suddenly burst out, enunciating the word while wearing a fierce scowl. Whether Koli was using the word as an insult in the previous argument or just repeating it because she had heard it – a thing she was also prone to doing – was unclear.
Antaios wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cringe.
Persephone was glaring at him with her arms crossed over her chest. “Happy now?”
“Am I happy? Are you fucking serious? My kingdom has been invaded and my sister is a traitor who wishes to see us bend over and take whatever cock the Finctus chooses to ram us with.” Antaios refused to cushion his words, but was mindful to speak more softly to dissuade Koli from picking up and spouting additional vulgarities.
“Not surprisingly, you miss the big picture by looking only to your ego, brother. We are in no position to stage a resistance, not presently. To pretend otherwise and act rashly will result in immense loss of life in this kingdom.” Antaios opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced when Persephone thrust a finger into his chest. “If, however, we wait, we gather information, and we devise a plan that has a chance of success, we may be able to expel the Finctus, maintain our position, and prevent the bloodshed that will inevitably follow. Waiting is not synonymous with cowardice when done strategically. As to this notion that I am somehow a traitor, Prodotin, your Arms Commander, was a traitor. One that I alone took action against for his crimes against us, and at great risk to someone very dear to me. You had far less to lose, yet you stood by doing nothing while he rammed cock in ass.”
Unable to maintain eye contact, Antaios looked to the ground. He’d wanted to do something. Secretly applauded her success, all the while wishing that it had been him who had done so.
“Now, who between the two of us is the coward? The traitor?”
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