Chapter Thirty-Five
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Julia swayed on her feet. She felt like she’d been the one to take that punch.
Alaric turned to her, coolly distant. “Go with Thorismund’s men. I will come for you later.” He couldn’t get rid of her fast enough.
Before she could object, a knot of Gothic warriors closed around her.
* * *
They escorted her through airy halls scorched by fire, past marble statues and overgrown gardens. Hardly a palace, but after all this time sleeping in caves and hovels, it seemed like one.
At last they arrived at a pair of doors painted blue and gold. Julia was ushered inside, and the doors shut behind her. She heard a bolt being drawn.
I have their princess now; she’s mine.
Julia was hardly fluent in Gothic. It was a difficult, confounding language. But she’d managed to pick up a few things. She knew son and throne and Empire . Enough to put together that Alaric had introduced her to his people as spoils . A means to an end. After he’d ordered her tied and marched through the city like a slave. And now he was treating her like a prisoner.
What had she done? A cold dread settled in her stomach.
Perhaps as Ataulf had insinuated, Alaric hadn’t married her at all. Perhaps he’d only lied to her, seduced her into being a model prisoner and a willing concubine. And what an excellent way to keep her docile. Before he’d even finished with her, she’d been crouched in a doorway, watching him fight Stilicho’s rescue party, a blade pointed at her own chest.
Julia drew a shaking breath. Think. This was only her fear, crowding in and making her question everything. Of course Alaric wanted sons for strategic reasons. Was that not what a wife was for ? Besides, Alaric had put his life at risk for hers countless times, promised to lay cities at her feet. He was hers . Was he not? He would never—
He would never .
Wouldn’t he?
She was simply shaken, that was all. Galloping a horse through a murderous mob was enough to make anyone rattled. That brigand Ataulf had probably been lying too. Had he not declared himself her enemy the night they met? She would not let him and his pity rob her of her faith in her husband.
She would have strong words with Alaric tonight, though, about that language he’d used.
Julia straightened. Absently she began to take in her surroundings. It appeared to be a wealthy woman’s apartments; the ornate room had an air of rotting glory. It was lined with murals, marred by long cracks in the walls, and stained by torch smoke. Couches were piled high with water-stained silken cushions. One wall was entirely open, beyond it a weed-choked garden surrounding a drained piscina , with a delicate fountain in the center in the shape of an arching naiad. Algae streaked her breasts.
There were four rooms, all arranged around the garden. A bedroom with a crumbling mural of yellow flowers and a large, iron bed. In another room, she found chests of clothes, all cut for a woman shorter than Julia was, with more generous curves.
She did not want to think of what had happened to that woman. Nor of the Roman corpses on the city’s wall.
Julia distracted herself by delving into the chests. In one, she discovered a box of perfumes in glass bottles and a cedarwood container that held blush and kohl and colored eyeshadows. She dressed in a gray linen that set off her fiery hair. The cosmetics turned her eyes a startling sea green. Alaric had his weapons, his armor; these were hers.
When he came to her tonight, she would be ready.
* * *
Hours passed. A guard came in to light the lamps. Supper arrived, meat in a red wine sauce. Bread warm from the oven. Julia barely ate. Only wine would steady her stomach. She remembered this feeling—half-wild, cornered, caged —that had driven her to drink in Ravenna.
Bromios’s words echoed in her head. That man has lovers in Noricum. Lovers who now knew that Alaric had tried to have her dragged into the city behind Ataulf’s horse. Julia paced, vivid images of Alaric naked with other women burning across her eyelids.
From the north window, she could see fires blazing in the city. Whether from celebration or rebellion, she could not tell. Supposing rebellion. Supposing he’d been assassinated.
She reeled between fury and fear.
The hours bled together. Julia finished the wine, then fell into a fitful sleep. When she woke, it was well into night. The torches had burned down and the walls disappeared into darkness. Alaric still wasn’t back.
She slept. In her dreams, everything burned.
* * *
For a night and a day, Alaric had been trying to get back to Julia. And all night and day, things had been blowing up in his face.
The first thing he did was drive Sarus and his followers out of the city. That was merciful; he was well within his rights to cut the man’s throat and hang him on the wall. But his mercy did not calm dissent.
The chieftains’ arguing had gone on all night. Then, just as he was leaving the damn endless meeting—dawn streaking the sky—a man lunged at him in the street, armed with a rusty knife. It had been Sigeric who stopped him; he’d have killed the assassin if Alaric had not stayed his hand.
He hadn’t wanted to bring this violence back to Julia. He could only thank the gods that Thorismund had his most trusted men guarding her. He had tried to snatch sleep in one of the guardhouses while he waited for Riga to torture answers out of the man. But in the end, the assassin hanged himself in his cell before he could be broken. And Alaric was roused after barely an hour to put down a grain riot.
The next morning, he realized the walls had been left to rot since he’d left. It took all day to assess the damage.
It was well into the second night before Alaric could return to Julia.
* * *
Finally Alaric made his way through the airy, moon-streaked hallways in the stolen mansion he had set aside for Julia. He preferred to sleep in the open, or in the breathing shelter of a tent. He’d had his own war tent set up on the parade grounds at the highest point in the city, but for Julia, he needed something more defendable.
She’d be angry at him for taking so long to come to her. He would make it up to her. He imagined waking her slowly, teasing her with kisses. Outside, all was war and violence. But in here, he would make a safe, sheltered place for her, free of all hardship until he could remake the city into a place she could live in.
He slipped past the guards and through the doors to Julia’s quarters. Fires burned in the iron braziers; a cool breeze billowed the gauzy, floor-to-ceiling curtains like sails.
He took a step into the room. Pottery crunched beneath his feet. “Julia?”
One moment she wasn’t there; the next she was—materializing in the bedroom doorway, a wine cup in her hand. She was wearing a silk robe over a dress the soft yellow of alpine primroses. Shadows gathered beneath her cheekbones. Kohl lined her lids; streaked her face.
Alaric felt a flash of remorse. He’d done that. Thinned her down on the road, put that haunted look in her eyes. All his violent protectiveness rose up in him at once. He wanted to pull her into his embrace, to torch the whole world to keep her safe.
“Julia.” Gods , he wanted her. How had he gone a day without her? “Come here.”
She stayed, maddeningly, across the room. “Am I your wife, Alaric? Or am I spoils ?”
“What in hell are you talking about?” He could smell the wine on her from here. “Woman, you’re drunk.”
Blue-green eyes sparked at him and he took a step toward her, then another. Warily, as he’d approach a wildcat.
“I’m not drunk,” she lied straight to his face. “I’m spoils . Is that not why you ordered me dragged through the streets behind Ataulf’s horse?”
What on earth did she mean by that ? “Julia—”
“You stay over there.” She screamed it at him, a wild panic about her eyes. “How could you?”
And then she winged her metal wine cup at his head.
Alaric swatted it out of the air and stalked toward her. She backed up, grabbing a second cup from a table as she did. “Put it down.”
“I am putting it down!” She hurled the second cup at him. He dodged. It clattered against the wall and rolled onto the floor. “You treated me like a slave in a triumph—you refused me pride of place beside you—you locked me in these rooms like a war prize.” As she spoke she hurled a flurry of objects at him with increasing fury—a terra-cotta vase. A silver mirror. A discarded sandal. He managed to dodge them, cursing.
“Your aim is goddamn awful.” This was really starting to annoy him. “Julia, you are not a war prize .” The very words made him incandescent with fury. “As for whether you are my wife in truth—I swore to be your shield and fight your battles, woman. What the hell do you think that means?”
“How would I know?” Somehow she had managed to maneuver so a heavy couch was between them. They circled each other around it. “Explain why you refused to let me ride into the city at your side.”
“Because the crowd was like to rip you limb from limb, Julia. Have you eyes?”
“That is exactly what Ataulf said.” She hissed it like a curse. “I am nothing but a prisoner to you, am I? You are a violent, uncivilized barbarian who forcibly kidnapped me—”
“You asked me to kidnap you.” His temper—his lust —roared through him. “You threw yourself at me. What do you expect me to do when presented with an opportunity—”
“So now I’m an opportunity . A brood mare. A pawn to legitimize your next invasion.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “If you did marry me in truth, you manipulated me into it.”
It shocked him, how much those words hurt.
Julia took advantage of his stillness—darting to his left, toward the bedroom. He caught her robe in his fist and Julia shrugged out of it, leaving him with a handful of cloth. He threw it to the floor and stalked after her as she backed into the bedroom, snatching a large pitcher from a table as she went.
“I broke a man’s face in payment for an insult to you,” he growled. “I spent all night bending the chieftains to my will so they’ll bend knee to you . Would I have done any of that for a prisoner?”
For a moment she stood utterly silent. Alaric sucked in a breath. Julia in any mood was beautiful enough to inspire lust and poetry. Julia in a fury was magnificent. Her skin flushed to a pinkish glow, from her cheeks into the valley of her breasts. Her chest rose and fell, and her eyes snapped righteous fire at him, and his groin tightened at the sight of her.
“You always have convenient explanations for doing exactly what you want to do.” Her grip tightened on the jug. “But perhaps you could explain to me why you told your people you’d get me with child and use me to take the Empire .”
She switched to Gothic for that one phrase. The words were slurred with drink, and broken, but better than he’d expected.
“Is that not what you wanted?” he snarled. “Julia, you demanded I bring you the Empire on a plate. How else do you think I will do it?”
But Julia only arched a brow and spoke with cool, clinical calm. “If all I am is a womb, Alaric, then send me back to my brother once you get your child out of me. Use me for a child and a bargaining chip. That was your plan all along, was it not?”
“And your plan was to use me for my army.” He drew a shaking breath. “Rage at me all you wish,” he bit out. “Hate me if you must. But I will never, ever let you go.”
“Fuck you.” She said it with sincere feeling. Then she hurled the pitcher at his head.
* * *
There was wine in the pitcher. A lot of wine.
Alaric dodged the pitcher like he had everything else she’d thrown at him, moving with a fluid speed that was almost supernatural. But he couldn’t dodge the wine. It rained down, splattering his tunic and the floor around him with glittering red. For a moment he just stood there. Ice-blue eyes widening in shock.
Then a chilling smile curved his mouth, promised mayhem.
He reached up and unfastened his cloak. “Is marriage to me so reprehensible?” His voice deadly soft.
Reprehensible? “Er—” It wasn’t the word she would use.
He dropped the cloak on the floor and stalked inexorably toward her. “Do you wish me to send you back to your own ruin? Is that what you want?”
Julia licked her lips. “No.”
“Smart girl.”
Then he yanked off his stained tunic.
He was bare to the waist now, and oh gods , his chest. Beautiful and battle-scarred and ridged with muscle. Torques twining about his throat and biceps. Julia caught her breath. He was magnificent. Golden and glorious and hers , hers by vow.
And suddenly he was right there , hands planted on the wall on either side of her head. The heat of his skin rolled into her like a burning tide.
“You are my wife, Julia. Not my prisoner. Anyone who says differently is a liar.” He tilted her chin up to face him. “I told you that you were mine outside Brisca’s longhouse. You should have considered yourself married then.” He leaned down and tasted her; growled it against her skin. “Tell me you don’t want me.” A command, his voice grating harshly in her ear. “Tell me you don’t and I’ll spend this night with anyone else.”
“Oh, fuck you.” If he truly was her husband, all his nights were hers. All of them. Julia reached up, locking her arms around his neck. “ I’m the one you married. If you even think to deny me my rights as a wife—”
She didn’t get the rest of her sentence out.
* * *
She wanted him. She didn’t love him—didn’t want his name or his protection—but she wanted him in her bed.
It wasn’t enough. But in this moment, he would take whatever he could get.
Alaric devoured her mouth, lost himself, pressing the hard length of his body to the soft, maddening curves of her. Her nails dug into his bare back; tiny pinpricks, breaking skin.
He could not stop himself. He lifted her easily, felt her legs lock around his waist as her fingers dug hungrily into his scalp, shooting sparks of pain down his spine. She answered his plundering kisses with matching ferocity, his hands gripping the perfect curve of her ass, feeling as if he were falling into her until he realized he was falling. She laughed in his ear as they both hit the mattress. He rolled her beneath him, kissing her deeply as he rid her of her dress. Her perfect breasts spilled free and with a helpless groan he filled his hands with them, sucked her nipples into his mouth, tasting her sweat, her heartbeat.
“Tell me you won’t have me as your husband.” He growled it against her skin. “Tell me you’d deny me what’s mine.”
“No.” Her fingers tightened in his hair.
“Why not?” He needed to hear her say it. “Why not, Julia?”
“I can’t.” Julia hissed through her teeth. “I won’t lie to you.”
She could lie or tell the gods’ plain truth, he didn’t care. Not in the state he was in. He laughed and moved lower, dragging his tongue down the silky heat of her skin until his mouth closed over the hot little center of her pleasure.
Julia gasped as Alaric took her with his mouth, used his tongue and the heat of his breath. Before he had drawn this out, unspooled her pleasure to last entire sunny afternoons. Now he brought her to orgasm hard and fast, once and then twice, showing her no mercy.
She might not love him, but no other man could give her this.
Julia was visibly trembling when he rose above her, barely pausing to strip off his breeches before stretching himself over her. His mouth seized hers; she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in, and he could smell her arousal, hot and musky in the summer air. He had to be inside her—had to show her, once and for all, just who she belonged to. Alaric grasped the sweet curve of her ass in one palm and angled her up to meet him.
Julia bit his neck hard and punched him in the shoulder. “Let me on top.”
The pain of the bite only added to the inferno of his lust, and the effort it took not to thrust himself inside her was unbearable . He held himself still, every muscle in his body taut and trembling, wanting more than anything to dominate her utterly. But Julia’s sea-green eyes flashed at him from out of the dark, passion and temper combined.
It was wordless, this struggle for control. But in the end, he could deny her nothing. He gripped her tight and rolled himself onto his back, taking her with him.
Julia reared up above him and the sight of her took his breath. She was perfect , every inch of her—her hair falling wild all around her, the flawless globes of her breasts glowing in the moonlight, a fierce desire lighting her from within. Alaric could only feast on her with his eyes as she gave him a languid smile that made his groin tighten savagely.
Then, her eyes never leaving his, she reached down and guided him into her. Alaric had to grasp the iron bedrail, his muscles clenching as his woman slid down the length of him inch by excruciating inch until she was impaled on him completely.
“I don’t forgive you,” she murmured.
Ah, fuck . He could barely breathe, could barely speak through his lust, and here she was, coolly discussing forgiveness. “You’ll be the death of me, woman,” he growled.
“No doubt I will.” Her hips began to move and his blood pounded fiercely in the place where they were joined. “If you want me as your wife,” she haughtily informed him, “you must let me be your wife in truth.”
Her walls fluttered around him in a way that made stars explode behind his eyes. He’d never been so at a woman’s mercy before. “Yes,” he breathed.
“When you must make a decision that affects me, you will tell me.” She rolled her hips and his fists clenched reflexively on the bedrail. “We’ll discuss it.”
There was nothing he would not agree to. “Yes.”
“You’ll do anything I say, Alaric. Won’t you.” Her hand caressed a burning line down his chest; her lips curving in a knowing smile. “Because you’re mine.”
“Yes.” He would. He was. He always had been. “I’d burn the world down for you.”
It was the truth. Ripped from the depths of him and he didn’t even mind. Her eyes widened, filled his sight with glorious ocean green, and he could stand no more of this. He let go of the bedrail and grasped her hips hard enough to bruise. “And you?” he demanded, thrusting hard up into her. “Will you stay with me of your own will?”
“Yes,” she gasped, even as her hips moved to meet his, thrust for thrust. “I’ll stay.”
“Why?” His hands in her hair. His lips on her throat. Undone. “Tell me.”
“Because I love you,” she whispered, and there were tears standing in her eyes. “I love you , Alaric.”
A fierce, exultant joy rose up in his chest as Julia began to shudder all around him. Alaric could hold himself back no longer; he shouted his pleasure as he exploded inside her, not once but many times as Julia sobbed her own trembling climax, her heartbeat thundering through them both.
Alaric rolled over on his side and crushed her to his chest. She loved him.
He’d never let her go. Never.
* * *
“When did you first know?” Alaric lay on his back, one arm draped casually around her. Dawn was just barely beginning to slant through the window. “Was it when you ran off naked on the old battlefield and I pulled you out of that stream?”
“ Stop. I wasn’t in the stream. And I wasn’t naked.” Julia bit back a mortified laugh. He knew her secret now—that she loved him. He’d ripped it out of her in the throes of earth-shattering pleasure, and now he wouldn’t stop torturing her over it.
“Perhaps it was when you left the nettles in my bed,” he mused. “If I’d known then that it was your idea of a love offering—”
“It was no such thing!” Julia buried her burning face in his chest. “You were being rude , if you’ll recall.”
“Perhaps it was the first time I took off my shirt for you. You seemed to like that.”
His thumb dragged idly over her shoulder and, oh God , she wanted to die. “Sometimes I wonder how you can move under the weight of that enormous self-regard of yours.”
He laughed. Rich and warm and better than wine, better than baths. And then in one swift movement he flipped her beneath him. “Perhaps it was the first time I did this?” His mouth at her throat now. Pressed to that one spot that made her toes curl. “Or this—” His hand sliding between her legs. Julia gasped. It was impossible to think when he did that.
She pushed at his shoulders and he let her roll him over and rise up to straddle his hips. “Stop,” she said, laughing. “I want to talk.”
Alaric took her breath from this vantage, his sculpted arms folded behind his head, regarding her indolently from beneath gold-tipped lashes. “We’ve spent all morning talking.”
She felt her face heat. “That wasn’t talking.”
“Wasn’t it? You were quite vocal, this last time.” He looked so pleased with himself that she couldn’t resist punching him on the arm. “Such violence, little wife.”
Little wife. “About that,” Julia said drily. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She was loath to break the golden spell of this mood. “Alaric, if I am your wife, why on earth did you not let me ride in as your queen?”
“I’ve already told you why. The crowd would not have borne it, not until I pacified them.” His fingers twined with hers; he raised one of her hands to his lips, his kiss brushing her knuckles. “I am sorry for what I said.”
“You said what you had to.” Her fears felt so silly now. Of course Alaric wanted a son from her; and of course he would think strategically about that. He would be a fool not to, and so would she to expect anything different. She had been embarrassingly sentimental, thinking he had married her purely out of passion. “If it was to make it easier for the crowd to accept a Roman as your wife, I don’t mind. If only you’d told me first, rather than simply have Ataulf give the order for me to walk behind his horse. And bind my hands while doing it,” she added with no small amount of affront.
Alaric’s tone was deceptively mild. “What’s this about Ataulf giving an order?”
She knew it. Ataulf had lied about that too! She recounted the story as best she could, and at the end of it, his expression did not change. But his gaze had gone wintry cold. “I gave no such orders. You must know that,” he said finally. “As for Ataulf, I will handle him.”
The look in his eyes sent a chill of foreboding down her spine. Origenes in the cave, his throat cut, rose before her sight. “Do not kill him, Alaric. Please.”
He smiled faintly—and in the next instant, the cold left his eyes. “I was proud of you, when you rode through those streets like a warrior queen.” His thumb dragged idly over her hip bone. “You did well, Julia.”
This time, when he pulled her down to him, she did not stop him. She loved being pressed full-length against his warm, naked body, feeling his muscles move beneath his skin as he kissed her. She loved him. There was no part of her that would deny it now.
“I’d have walked through the streets behind Hannibal, if that’s what you needed,” Julia whispered fervently. “I’d have done anything, if you’d only told me first—”
“Enough.” The look in his eyes raised goosebumps on her arms. “There are other ways to keep my kingship.”
“Are there? What is your plan, then?” Julia sat up again, her hands flat on his chest. “It seems to me you’d have done better to keep me as your concubine. Marrying me seems bound to antagonize your chieftains.”
“You wouldn’t have me that way. Besides, it is done now. I’ll put in the ground any who try to come between us.” He trailed burning kisses along her collarbone; his strong arms closed around her and she felt her body giving in.
He was doing it again. Distracting her.
“I’m serious, Alaric.” She curled her hands in his hair and tugged. “That is exactly what I mean by being your wife in truth. I want to be part of what you’re planning—I can help!” The way his lips grazed her skin tickled . “I was raised in the Imperial Court—I drank intrigue with my mother’s milk!” He bit down gently, making her gasp. “I’m—I’m good at this.” He was making her laugh now, damn him, his warm breath tickling her skin. “I am ! If you’d just let me charm the chieftains—use my talents! In Brisca’s village I made friends—”
“Yes. And I made mistakes,” he said gently. “If I hadn’t been so open about my feelings there, perhaps I could have forestalled the rumors. And if I hadn’t let you among the people, I never would have had to perform that ridiculous ritual with the axes. Berig would not have targeted you. You could have avoided Calthrax altogether.” Rage flashed in his eyes. “Let me make this place safe for you. Trust me just a little longer.”
Julia sighed. Trust me —she knew what that meant. Trust him to throw axes at her head and not miss. Perhaps that was what it meant, to be his wife.
“If we continue like this, I will never leave,” he whispered in her ear. “And I must.”
Julia watched with regret as he gently disentangled himself and slid, naked, out of bed. “When will I see you again?”
“I will return tonight. As soon as I can, but it may be a while after dark.” He traced the line of her cheekbone with his knuckle. Julia felt herself blush ferociously.
“Go on, then. Go sack a city and bring me back a real dowry.” That brought another gorgeous laugh out of him, and then he was gone.