Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Aurelia
W hen Marclinus takes my hand for our fourth dance of the night, I don’t recoil inwardly quite as much as the first three times. He’s refrained from pawing me so far. It seems as if he’s come down from the high of the entire city’s adulation into one of his more subdued moods.
Which doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to the dance or what will follow later tonight any more than I was before, but at least I don’t have to hold my instinctive reactions quite so tightly in check.
This particular tune is more lilting than spirited, winding through the room at an almost languid pace. I have room to breathe—and strike up a conversation.
I tilt my head to the side as I gaze up at him. “What’s in store for us from tomorrow onward, husband? You’ll have to give me some guidance—I wasn’t expecting to find myself empress so soon after arriving.”
And perhaps feeling as if he’s gotten to guide me will make him more susceptible to a little persuasion from my end.
Marclinus arches an eyebrow at me. “Are you already thinking ahead?”
I give him a placating smile. “I want to make sure I’m as prepared as possible so I can put my best foot forward with your people.”
He gives a thoughtful hum. “From what I understand, there’s the standard confirmation process to go through. A few ceremonial rites to show I have the favor of the gods before I’m officially emperor in every capacity. Those require a little traveling, but I don’t think they’ll take long. There won’t be much required of you other than appearing at my side.”
I’m not familiar with the confirmation rites, but then, the last emperor was instated years before I was even born. It sounds as if we’ll have some time in between each to address other matters.
Where can I best begin nudging the empire in the direction I’d like to see it go? I’ve already observed during the trials how resistant Marclinus is to outside suggestions.
I need to start small, with something innocuous enough that he won’t have a strong opinion one way or the other. Something I can handle well enough to earn a little trust so he might be more open to my opinions going forward.
He turns me with a flare of my skirt around my legs. My gaze slides over the crowd of nobles around us.
When I’m facing Marclinus again, I offer another winning smile. “I’d like the chance to show your court that I appreciate their welcome, if there’ll be time for that. Perhaps I could put together a banquet or a day of entertainments in their honor?”
If the people Marclinus spends the most time around are speaking my praises, some of their good favor might pass on to him.
Marclinus cocks his head, his own smile wry. “I suppose that is the sort of thing they’d like. Although it hasn’t seemed their welcome was all that warm on the whole.”
Are we not pretending that my first weeks here have been all sunshine and sweetness?
I let my tone turn drier. “They’ve been warm enough since our wedding. I can understand it took many of them some time to adjust to the foreigner in their midst.”
“The whole empire is Dariu’s, so technically you’re as Darium as any of them. But if it pleases you, I’m sure we can find an opportunity.”
As we both swivel around with a shift in the music, a more melancholy cast comes over the new emperor’s face. His grip on my fingers tightens. “My father always said it’s a careful balance, keeping the court satisfied without letting them get complacent.”
The slight roughening of his tone is the first hint of grief I’ve observed from him all day that’s felt genuine.
I have no regrets about Emperor Tarquin’s death myself, but it’s good to see that somewhere inside, his son has enough capacity for caring to be affected at least by that loss.
And it offers me another opening to establish myself not just as a bauble of a wife but a true companion and confidante.
I stroke my thumb over his where our hands are clasped. “You benefitted from his wisdom for much longer than I did, but I know you couldn’t have imagined you’d lose him so suddenly. I’ll do whatever I can to make your own work easier.”
Marclinus peers at me for a moment with an evaluating glint in his pale gray eyes. I think I might catch a flicker of gratitude, but it’s gone so quickly it might have been only wishful thinking.
His voice flattens as if to remove all emotion from the situation. “It is what it is. Death comes as it will, and I won’t shy from the honor or the duty I’ve been granted.”
Is he offended that I implied he might need support? I grasp for the best way to recover from a possible misstep, and the song dwindles with the pealing of the city bells beyond the palace walls.
“It’s getting late,” Marclinus says abruptly as we come to a stop on the dance floor. “We have to leave time for more private activities.” His wry smile returns. “Why don’t you prepare yourself for our night together with a bath so the experience can be all the more pleasing? I’ll join you shortly.”
My teeth set on edge. Is he implying that my current state isn’t pleasing enough? Is he going to take a bath of his own to make himself more pleasing to me?
I can’t ask either of those questions, so I simply dip my head in a slight bow. “I’ll look forward to your arrival.”
Even though I have my reprieve from the worst of what’s to come thoroughly plotted, my heart sinks heavy in my chest as I hurry back to my chambers.
Marclinus must have sent word ahead in between dances—my maids have already filled the massive marble tub in my expansive private bathing room with steaming, frothy water that gives off a jasmine scent. I submit myself to their scrubbing and then ask them to take their leave.
Once I have the room to myself, the warm water offers a balm to my nerves. I soak in it for several minutes, centering myself and cultivating my inner calm, before I climb out .
Over by the towels, I discover the robe Marclinus must have instructed the staff to leave for me tonight. The silky garment is shaped much like my previous bathrobes, but other than the embroidered bits along the hem, the fabric is so thin the darker pink at the peaks of my breasts shows through. The bottom hits the middle of my thighs rather than below my knees.
Wearing the garment is only slightly better than being naked. Perhaps worse, given that the design feels like an open invitation to peel it off for one very specific activity.
I do need to appear eager, though. I fasten the robe at the waist so that the V of overlapping cloth shows a little cleavage and return to my bed.
Sitting cross-legged on the soft bedspread, I trace my thumb over my sapphire ring and close my eyes in a brief meditation. Brief because it can’t be more than a minute or two before the door swings open without warning.
Marclinus saunters inside with a slyer air than he showed when he sent me off, his lips curved into a wicked smile and his eyes gleaming with anticipation. As his leering gaze travels over me, every inch of my skin crawls.
He doesn’t bother to lock the door before prowling over to the bed. He’ll have left his guards outside to stop anyone else from intruding—and they’ll be monitoring the room with their gifts for any sign of a threat, ready to burst in if they sense unexpected magic or violence.
I force myself to scoot to the edge of the bed to meet him. Before I can get up, he brings his hand to the side of my face, trailing his fingers from my temple to my chin.
“How lucky I am that the woman who bested our trials was also one of the prettiest,” he murmurs in a languid, self-satisfied tone. I can’t help noticing that he isn’t going to pretend he found me the absolute most appealing out of the bunch. “But then, it wouldn’t do for the emperor to have a wife who needs a sack over her head before he can do the deed. Let’s see all of you.”
His comment about the sack sparks a flare of rage deep inside me. He dismissed the only real friend I made in this awful place on the basis that she wasn’t stunning enough for his tastes. He’d have murdered Rochelle for that supposed failing, and he’s never shown the slightest concern over the death she did meet, protecting me in one of the final trials.
Well, he isn’t going to get what he wants tonight, not really.
I loosen the robe and let it slide off my shoulders into a silky puddle. Marclinus’s attention roves from the swell of my breasts—ample enough if not as impressive as his lover Bianca’s—to the apex of my thighs and then over the purple scars that mark my lower arms.
He lifts one of my wrists and skims his fingertips over the blotches left behind by a failed potion that erupted from my cauldron years ago. “Such an adventurous woman. I hope you’ll bring that spirit to the bedroom as well.”
I peek through my eyelashes with all the coyness I can summon, tamping down my nausea. “Any adventure with you would be nothing but thrilling, husband.”
Marclinus apparently sees no need to remove any of his own clothing just yet. He leans in to claim my mouth, fondling one of my breasts at the same time. I hold myself in place through sheer strength of will and kiss him back with as much feigned passion as I’m capable of.
I want to move this encounter along so I can get to the part where I disengage.
I yank his vest off him and tug at the collar of the shirt underneath to loosen the ties. Marclinus chuckles against my mouth. He steps back for long enough to pull the garment over his head .
Muscles ripple all across his sculpted chest. The imperial artists are going to enjoy depicting his form.
The deeper pink lines of the godlen brand in the middle of that chest show he’s dedicated to Sabrelle. The godlen of warfare and hunting—appropriate enough. I’d assumed it would be her or Creaden, godlen of rulership.
As Marclinus pushes me farther back on the bed and clambers over me, I flick my thumb across my ring in the way that releases the tiny thorn embedded in its surface. The needle point is crafted to be so short and thin it’s nearly invisible—and imperceptible when it grazes the skin to deliver whatever potion the ring’s hidden cavity contains.
At the brush of my hand against his bicep, Marclinus shows no more reaction to that gentlest of jabs than his father did two nights ago. I tap the ring again to tuck any sign of its hidden purpose away.
The only problem with this incredibly surreptitious method of delivery is that chemicals penetrating only the upper layers of skin take their time seeping to the bloodstream. With Tarquin, I wanted a significant delay before the effect took hold to avoid suspicion, so I brewed my concoction with that in mind. This one should be more immediately potent… but I still have to endure my husband’s unwanted attentions for a little more time.
He's already got his thigh between my legs, his mouth uncomfortably hot against the side of my neck, his hand pawing at my breast. The only sensations he’s provoking in me are horror and revulsion.
The easiest way to slow him down is to take the lead myself. I push myself farther upright again and nudge him back onto his ass. Before he can protest, I bring my lips to his shoulder and begin to chart a teasing path down his chest toward his abdomen.
Marclinus makes an approving sound and tangles his fingers in my hair. “That’s right, princess. Worship your emperor.”
Ugh. I restrain a grimace and continue acting as if there’s nothing I’d rather do than adore him. I draw the process out as long as I can, pecking kisses across the taut plane of his belly and stroking my hands over his outer thighs through his pants.
He braces his hands on the bedcovers behind him and tips back, clearly expecting me to delve into those pants and service every part of him with my mouth. More bile threatens to rise up my throat.
Then a slackness comes over his pose. His arms relax, his shoulders sagging. His head lolls to one side.
When I sit up to look at him, his gaze is hazy, fixed at some point in the vicinity of my ear.
He licks his lips and gives a heated growl. “That’s right. Just like that.”
I’m not even touching him at this moment, but the hallucinogenic properties of the potion I brewed must be conjuring those impressions. I smile and run my hands down my nude body to add fuel to his fantasies.
Marclinus’s hips start to rock, whether he thinks into my mouth or my loins, I have no idea. I do free him from his pants and drawers then, tossing one article after the other onto the floor next to the bed. They’ll serve both as proof of our having consummated this interlude and ensure no unexpected stains linger from its culmination.
His pale cock juts rigidly upward. He might be close already.
I ease him down on his back with his head on the pillow and hover over him. He doesn’t reach for me, too lost in his deepening delirium, but his mouth twitches with imagined kisses and his ass bucks upward with futile thrusts. A groan escapes his lips .
“You make me feel so good, husband,” I say with feigned giddiness.
Even in his daze, one of those arrogant smirks crosses his face.
It only takes another few minutes before his breath hitches. His release spurts across his abdomen.
He slumps into the bedspread, his eyelids already drooping shut. Before I’ve even finished wiping him clean with one of the bath towels, he’s snoring.
Of course he’d be a snorer.
Well, I could have fucked him the way he was aiming for and then he’d probably have left after. I’ll take this unpleasantness over that one.
I rinse the towel for caution’s sake, re-don my robe, and wriggle under the covers on the opposite side of the bed. If the drug works as my tests suggested it should, he’ll be out for a couple of hours. I might as well get my rest while I can.
I snuff out the lantern on the bedside table and burrow my head in my pillow as far as I can in an attempt to mute Marclinus’s snores. When I close my eyes, a sudden hot prickle forms behind them. The sensation clogs my throat as well.
It’s over now—my wedding night. And it was as far from the sort any woman might dream about as I can imagine.
I knew better than to expect that this moment would be full of love and mutual passion. I never would have asked for that much. But I did sometimes allow myself to picture that it’d be with a man I could grow to appreciate.
I clench my hands against the swell of grief. As Marclinus said of his own situation, it is what it is.
And because of it, I’m in a position to do something incredible.
At least my strategy succeeded. My monster of a husband can believe he’s rutting me every night without subjecting me to more than a little groping.
I do still have a little control over my life.
In the wake of the surge of emotion, exhaustion rolls in. My own eyelids drift down. My breaths even out.
I’m somewhere in the space between waking and sleep when a soft hiss carries from the wall.