They weren’t, though Seraphime would hardly call it a luxury. It was a painful and unpleasant process. Personally, Seraphime wouldn’t have bothered with it, but it was required of Persephone, and for some of their stunts, it was necessary that Persephone and Seraphime were identical.
“Nothing to say?” he asked her.
“Apologies, I did not think you had asked a question.” Sarcasm had found its way back into her tone, and Seraphime half-wished she could cut out her own tongue. Were she Persephone, she could have gotten away with being so defiant, but she was not. She was Seraphime, and it was about time she exercised a sense of self-preservation. Her most recent responses suggested she had none.
“You should always assume I expect a reply. Here, have some more wine.” He slid the cup she hadn’t realized he’d refilled toward her. Seraphime eyed the chalice. “In case it was unclear, that was a command,” he told her when she had not reached for it.
The thought of draining it the way she had the first was sickening. Taking a deep breath, she plugged her nose and drained the glass. It was by no means graceful, or elegant, but she got it all down. She kept the cup clutched in her hands, not wanting to return it to him to refill a third time – as though that would stop him. He might hold her down and pour the wine into her mouth directly from the carafe.
He tapped the desk. “Give it back.”
Did anything escape his notice? This was a fucking disaster. Seraphime did as instructed, though, and placed the cup on the end of the desk. Using the very end of one index finger, she pushed it toward him.
“Where was I?” he asked, eliciting a resentful glare from her. “Yes, the second reason I know you are more than a slave is that you clearly know this stochasmos as well as Persephone. Unless I am mistaken, and I know I am correct, it is not customary in Galilae for slaves to participate in lessons with their masters. Do explain.”
“It is nothing of import. Persephone wanted someone to learn and practice stochasmos with, and no one more appropriate was interested, so she graciously asked if I wished to learn.”
“Did you ever participate in her other lessons with her?”
“Which lessons?” Seraphime asked dumbly and immediately chastised herself. The wine was working. Of course Persephone took lessons, just not the ones she was supposed to.
“Combat lessons.”
Another statement, not a question. He’d told her he expected replies, though, so she had to tell him something. “In Galilae, women are not to participate in combat lessons.” It wasn’t a written law, but it was a standard of practice; any women that had skills in fighting or weaponry typically learned them informally.
“Persephone managed to single-handedly kill five battle-tested soldiers in an impromptu escape attempt; she successfully threw five daggers from three meters toward a star target without hitting you; and she placed me in an arm bar when starting at a disadvantage. So whether she is supposed to or not, it is quite clear Persephone has combat training.”
“Of course, General. You would know.” She had meant to sound agreeable, but worried she had come off spiteful. She wished she was sober. He seemed to know, too, if the twinkle in his eye was any indication.
“More wine?” Completely ignoring that she was shaking her head, he was already pouring.
“Please, General, I do not wish to be sick later.” Maybe he would be sympathetic.
“I release you from any duties later so you may recover.” He set the chalice in front of her. “I wish for you to be honest now.”
Unbidden, an angry flush crept up her neck. “How gracious of you.”
She grabbed the chalice and considered hurling it at him. Every cup had gone down harder than the last, and she had to take two breaks to keep from gagging before she had finished. The general waited silently until she’d drank it all. She set the empty goblet down harder than was appropriate.
“Good girl.”
“Fuck you.” Eyes locked on the wall to the right of his head, she tried to rein in her temper. She was going to get herself killed.
“Better. Finally we are being completely honest.” He sounded satisfied. “Look at me.”
Seraphime was fighting unsuccessfully to keep from swaying slightly in her seat, but did as commanded.
“Why is Persephone combat trained?”
Seraphime offered the story that was known through the palace, though not the rest of Galilae. No one in Galilae knew of her training. “When Persephone was nine, and the prince was seven, he started combat and politic lessons.” She shook her head. The general hadn’t asked about politic lessons. She reminded herself to answer only the questions that he asked, exactly as he asked them. “Persephone thought that sounded more useful than the etiquette lessons she had to take.”
He stared at her incredulously. “And the king and queen just let her abandon all feminine pursuits and join her brother’s lessons.”
“Well, no. Not quite. They objected. Especially the king.” Words crowded together in her head and Seraphime struggled to put them together in coherent sentences. “Part of the deal was that she still had to take her etiquette lessons. She knows all her femininely pursuits.” She slurred over femininely.
“And what was the other part of the deal?”
What deal? Her brain was working so slowly. “I do not – she got to take politic and combat lessons, of course.”
“Why did they make this deal with her?”
Seraphime laughed. Tired of sitting up straight, she flopped gracelessly backward. When she had resettled herself so that she was lounging comfortably against the back of her chair, she looked right at him, humor dancing across her face. “Have you ever tried to tell Persephone no?”
Even in her inebriated state, she could see he didn’t fully believe her, despite his amusement at the answer. Obviously, he had tried to tell Persephone no at some point, and knew firsthand how effective it was.
“How does stochasmos help Persephone fight?”
She could feel her eyes drooping. “Stochasmos is meditation.” Stochasmos and meditation both came out garbled.
“Seraphime, how does stochasmos relate to her combat training?”
“We learned from the same person.” Eyes almost closed, she didn’t see his reaction.
“So the same instructor who taught Persephone stochasmos also taught her how to fight?” Seraphime nodded once. Anything else felt like too much work. “And since you learned with her, you are able to fight like Persephone as well?”
“No one fights like Persephone,” Seraphime mumbled.
“You are trained to fight in the same style as Persephone?”
“Yes.” Said without the ‘e.’
“Thank you, Seraphime. You’ve been very helpful.”
She felt a hand on her arm and instinctively flinched away, suddenly wide awake. The general was crouched on the ground in front of her, one arm hanging in the air between them. Both of hers were held protectively in front of her torso.
“What are you doing?”
A question she had no right to ask. By Galilae’s laws, he could do anything he wanted with her. He need not obtain permission, nor explain intent. Furthermore, by virtue of taking control of the palace during a siege, it was expected for him to do anything he wanted with her. Every other slave in the palace was being used as such. She felt immensely guilty to have been spared when others were not. In equal measure, she was relieved it was a fate she had not shared thus far. But her relief spurred her guilt, which in turn led her to question whether or not she deserved it. Why had the gods spared her, but not Para? A girl far more innocent in every respect. Was she not the more worthy between them?
Without answering, the general grabbed one of her wrists. Fearing his intent, Seraphime kept her arm and body rigid. Though she tried to lean away from him, keeping her limbs frozen allowed him to pull her torso away from the chair back.
“I am going to take you to your room so you can sleep.”
Seraphime shook her head an
d moved to get up on her own.
“Do not fight me.” With that he released her wrist and quickly placed one arm behind her back before she could retreat. The other slid under her knees. In one swift motion he scooped her up. With her head spinning from the wine and sudden movement, she was still not certain if she was going to attempt to flee. Certainly fleeing did not count as fighting.
“Relax, Seraphime. I will not hurt you.” He sounded sincere.
In her drunken state, she believed him. Suddenly feeling very tired, her head nodded as the tension melted from her body. She was sound asleep before they left the room.
* * * *
Augustine had immediately returned to the king’s study after placing Seraphime in her bed. Regardless of the fact that it was induced by wine, the innocent trust with which she had dozed against his chest almost made him feel guilty for drugging her for answers. Almost. It was hard to feel guilty when it had been so effective. She had been slow to temper her responses and had spoken quite candidly. He’d have to be careful, though. She clearly had no tolerance for it, which had ended their conversation prematurely.
As he’d suspected, she was not nearly so spineless and submissive as she presented herself to be. The quick flashes of temper suggested very much the opposite. How did she keep it so well repressed all the time? Surely it had to frustrate her. Individuals with strong personalities made for terrible slaves. Seraphime had been born into slavery, but he suspected her true nature mirrored Persephone’s far more closely than they’d presumed.
He hadn’t been back in the study for long when a knock at the door preceded his next target. Cato dismissed himself immediately after letting the queen into the room, closing the door behind him. Adonia held herself proudly. Confidently. She lacked the arrogance that followed her husband like a noxious cloud.
“General.” Her greeting was cordial. Her expression neutral.
“Highness.” His greeting lacked the disdain he reserved specifically for the king. He was curious about the queen. As of yet, she was still an unknown. “Please sit.” He indicated the chair across from him.
With a nod, she made her way to the designated seat and lowered herself gracefully.
He gestured toward the carafe and chalice on the edge of the desk. “Wine?”
The side of Adonia’s mouth quirked wryly and her eyes sparkled. Though they didn’t look much alike physically, her demeanor was so like her daughter’s. Augustine decided he would need to approach her with the same caution and mistrust that he did Persephone.
“Hoping to loosen my tongue, General?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “It worked with Seraphime.”
“I admit, I am surprised she partook.” She lifted a brow inquisitively. “That is very unlike her.”
“She was not given the choice to decline.”
“Ah,” she said as comprehension bloomed across her face. There was something else too, though. Antipathy? Whatever it was, it was gone before he could decide. “Am I being given the choice?”
Her distaste shouldn’t bother him, but something about it left him feeling unsettled. He had planned to treat her no differently than he had Seraphime in this regard, but when she asked, his resolve wavered. His instincts were rarely wrong, so even though he didn’t understand the compulsion, Augustine decided to follow it for the moment.
“For now.”
“Much obliged.” She didn’t look it, though; her expression was completely unreadable. “Then I shall pass, for now. To what do I owe the honor?”
“Persephone and Seraphime. Their similarities are uncanny.”
Amusement curved her mouth. It was the kind of smile that hinted at knowledge of a secret unspoken. “Oh, I think not. Their differences are quite obvious when one knows what to look for.”
“And you know what to look for?”
“A mother knows her child, General.”
Half regretting his decision not to force the wine on her and wanting a less cryptic answer, Augustine took a more direct approach. “You know, Highness, no matter how I try, neither Persephone nor Seraphime will openly admit their relation.”
“Likely they never will,” she said matter-of-factly. “Their habits of protection toward one another are well engrained.”
“So you admit she is the king’s?”
“Between you and me?”
He nodded.
“Yes.” Adonia did not look displeased or angry by the admission. Not even a hint of embarrassment showed. He would have expected any, or some combination, of the three.
“If I may ask, at what point did you know?”
She smiled ironically. “As neither propriety nor my sense of comfort would stop you from asking, there is no need to stand on ceremony, General.” It was his turn to smile in amusement; he appreciated and admired her candor. “Not until after she was born. Her mother was my body slave. Did you know that?” He nodded. “I know I am a rarity here in Galilae, but blond hair and green eyes are very commonplace in Xenakai, as I believe they are in much of the Finctus, yes?” Again he nodded. “Traits my body slave shared. Diana was her name. We both became pregnant shortly after my marriage to Acheron. She told me the father was another slave in the palace. Such a pretty young fool I was then, I believed her. Diana did not survive labor. Seraphime did.”
“And you realized the truth then?”
“Not at first. Most babies look much the same, so I disregarded any similarities between them. They shared a nursemaid and as they continued to age the similarities not only remained, but grew. When they were about two, the truth seemed certain to me and I confronted my husband.”
“And in spite of the irrefutable evidence, he continued to deny her?” Augustine’s loathing for the king only multiplied.
“He admitted to the possibility that she might be his, but maintained that too much time had passed and it would be too damaging to his reputation, so he refused to claim her.”
“If he would not claim her, why not release her? Free her from bondage?”
Adonia tisked him. “My husband likes to pretend Seraphime does not exist and he would have dismissed her immediately. To free her would have been to abandon her. Beautiful, alone, and penniless, I shudder to think what fate would have found her.”
“You speak of Seraphime fondly.”
Confusion knit her brow. “She is a sweet girl. Loyal. And she loves my daughter. Should I not think of her fondly?”
“She is your husband’s bastard.” Augustine said it without censor or apology.
If Adonia was offended by the comment, it did not show. “That.”
“Yes. That.”
“I hold children blameless for the sins of their parents.”
“How noble of you.”
“If you say so.” She looked amused again.
Augustine wasn’t sure what was so funny.
“So, was it out of spite that you assigned her to be your daughter’s body slave?”
“That was the greatest kindness I could offer her.”
He eyed her incredulously. “Kindness?”
“I told you that Seraphime loves my daughter, but as you’ve surely guessed by now, that sentiment is mutual. From the moment they were born, the two have been practically inseparable. I knew that Persephone would never mistreat or abuse Seraphime. And not only that, but in attending to Persephone, she would have access to the same education as well as every luxury Persephone and I could afford her.” In its simplicity, it was brilliant. On the outside it would seem a spurn to someone like the king, but in reality this solution offered Seraphime the best possible future. She seemed to sense his line of thinking. “Make no mistake, General, publicly Persephone and Seraphime know exactly how they must appear. They have everyone quite convinced. But privately?” She shrugged her shoulders innocently. “They can have any kind of relationship they like. Companions. Friends. Sisters.”
He laughed outright. “Tricking your husband in such a way. What a rebel you are.”
> For the first time he saw her smile fully. She tapped the end of her nose with her index finger in their shared joke and they enjoyed an amiable silence while Augustine contemplated her words. He believed her. What she said lined up with what he’d seen and heard thus far. There was something relieving about knowing. He hated feeling as though things were unfinished, questions unanswered. It wasn’t just facts that interested him, but the story that wove the facts together, and on this matter, Adonia had finally provided it for him.
“Thank you for your honesty, Highness. My curiosity on that matter has been killing me.”
Her responding smile was nearly predatory and her alert eyes belied her casual posture. “Yes, well, curiosity and the cat, as they say.”
Even though he was taken aback at the sudden reminder that she would turn on him in an instant given the opportunity, Augustine still found himself honestly liking and respecting the queen. He couldn’t help it.
“I wonder, Highness, when you allowed Persephone to have such an affectionate relationship with Seraphime, did you also intend for that affection to carry over to all of your slaves as well?”
“I intended for her to have any kind of relationship she chooses with those serving in this house. She is her own person.”
“They adore her. Her behavior toward them is different than I’ve yet seen from her.”
“She views you as the enemy, General. I expect she is extremely cautious about what it is she shows you. Wise of her, yes?”
It was wise of her, though he liked seeing her as she was with others. If this was what the kingdom saw from her, it was no wonder she was the object of such respect and adoration. Quiet strength, kindness, and beauty. What else could they desire from their coveted princess? It was hard to reconcile the two, the gentle madonna the kingdom saw her as with the fierce warrior he knew her to be.
Thinking about the discrepancy brought the question of why back to the forefront. “There is another thing I’ve been wondering about.”
“Pray tell.”
“Why the fuck is a princess in this misogynistic kingdom combat ready?” It hadn’t been necessary to phrase it so crudely, but Augustine didn’t care; it was still the truth. Additionally, the way in which he’d asked effectively conveyed the shock and dismay he felt at the matter – even if her training was one of the things that intrigued and drew him to her.
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