Chapter 47
NIKIAS
Nikias tried not to watch the estate doors, holding his breath every time they opened and hoping it would be Aimilia stepping outside next. It wasn’t.
The courtyard was quickly filling up with the members of House Mitis and the other Runai invited to attend Commander Vires’ funeral. Nikias and his mother stood to the side in silence.
Nikias had nothing to say to her at the moment, and she’d said everything she’d had to say the night before when he met with her after Aimilia had run off.
The only thing he’d focused on while his mother ranted and raved about Aimilia was the sight of her looking back at him.
If she was determined still, despite everything that had happened, to compete and never marry him, why had she looked back?
He could hear the whispers when the Runai did put together it was just him and his mother in attendance. Everyone knew what it meant. His mother had confirmed it to him the night before.
Nikias’ father wasn’t there because he physically couldn’t be.
The little bursts of strength he’d managed had all gone after the attack on the stadium. He didn’t have long left.
Nikias’ first instinct at the revelation was relief, but then it sank in what that would mean.
Imperia would fall to his shoulders. While his father would no longer be around to beat him into submission, it meant Nikias would be the one with all the responsibility.
And his father’s death did not also remove the problem of his mother.
She would still be just over his shoulder, trying to control him for years to come.
And if Nikias thought their pressure on him to follow through with their deal and get married was bad now, his mother would be ten times worse if Nikias was king.
And Aimilia still didn’t love him. So he couldn’t marry her.
Two more emerged from the main house, but again, it wasn’t who Nikias wanted to see. Actually, it was the last person he wanted to see at the moment.
Lieutenant Turpis.
He narrowed his eyes and didn’t bother to mask his scowl as Turpis and Commander Prisca wove their way through the courtyard. He couldn’t expect them not to come, given their proximity. He cursed himself for giving them the position Aimilia had been coveting.
Nikias didn’t like the way Turpis looked at Aimilia.
There was something cold and calculated and hungry in it.
But the last thing he was going to do was upset Aimilia by making a scene at the funeral, so Nikias clasped his hands behind his back, a breeze rustling his cloak. He glanced down briefly at the black fabric. It was strange to be back in his mourning clothes.
He’d once thought they would be the only thing he ever wore again, but after having finally shed them last year, there was something off about them now. Like they no longer fit, even though his size hadn’t changed at all.
Aimilia’s mother and Commander Cyprian came out next and Nikias exchanged respectful nods with them as they passed, Aimilia’s mother furiously whispering something to Cyprian.
Nikias didn’t like the look of that.
Where was—
The door opened once more, and Nikias’ breath caught in his throat as she stepped out into the sunlight.
Aimilia’s vibrant red hair was pulled up in an elaborate style with several twisting braids; a black and gold commander’s cloak was clasped around her shoulders and a black peplos could be seen beneath it.
She took a quick look over the crowd, but she didn’t even pause over Nikias. Instead her eyes narrowed on where Cyprian was organizing all the House Mitis commanders into a group to bear the casket to the graveyard outside the estate.
She set off, unaware the effect she had on him even now.
He’d gotten so good at hiding it out of necessity, he wasn’t sure if he could ever break the habit in public.
He especially didn’t like the way Turpis’ eyes also followed her, wandering over her figure with a grin as she caught up to her mother and Cyprian and quickly got into a hushed argument with them.
What were they fighting about now?
Aimilia grabbed his arm, scowl deepening.
He only realized he’d started moving toward her when nails digging into his arm stopped him in his tracks. His mother’s voice hissed in his ear, “Leave it, son.”
Aimilia stepped back from Cyprian, putting her hand on the side of the casket. Cyprian looked around to see more and more people watching them and taking notice of the scene. He nodded and turned back to the other commanders and lieutenants of House Mitis.
Soon enough they were casting and their runes lifting the casket up into the air as Aimilia’s mother began to lead the procession without Aimilia.
Nikias imagined the fight had been about exactly that, if Aimilia would carry the casket with the other commanders and lieutenants or if she would walk with her mother.
He was grateful that his black cloak would hide the bruises sure to form on his bicep as his mother finally released his arm.
He and his mother took the first position behind the casket as the highest ranking Runai there and House Mitis followed behind them in accordance with their positions, and the visiting Runai at the very end.
Nikias steeled himself against the memories at the back of his skull, trying to push forward and overwhelm him.
Faustina was gone, and just because he was at another funeral didn’t mean she needed to be resurrected in any way. He especially didn’t need her ghost or any memories of her interfering with what he had with Aimilia.
Faustina was going to stay exactly where she was.
Nikias kept his focus on Aimilia at the front of the casket.
Her cosmetics were doing an admirable job hiding her exhaustion and grief, but he could see right through it.
He wanted nothing more than to break formation and pull her into his arms and for her to sink into them the way she had on the road, but he stayed where he was, taking one step at a time as they left the main estate.
Slowly but surely they made their way to the graveyard. Aimilia, Cyprian, and the other casket bearers set it on the ground and began casting anew as her mother stood beside the casket, and Nikias and his mother joined her.
Nikias watched the silent, somber affair as Aimilia and the other commanders used runes to dig the plot. Nikias couldn’t help himself from observing and comparing all their forms.
It wasn’t long before he came to his conclusion. If he was relying on Aimilia losing the competition in order to ensure he still had a chance to win her hand, he was in trouble.
He hoped it was his bias that was leading him to sweat a little, but he knew it wasn’t. Aimilia’s form was perfect, and she was moving faster and with more force than almost everyone else. The only commander who rivaled her in form, power, and speed was Cyprian.
Nikias watched her shoulders roll beneath the silky black fabric on her shoulders as she squeezed her eyes shut, pausing only for a second before pressing on with the last bit that needed to be dug.
What hope did he have?
He was no better off than the last time he’d worn these black clothes as the woman he loved slipped through his fingers and into the dirt.
But at least Aimilia wasn’t the one in the casket. As long as she breathed with no other man’s name on her neck, how could he not hope one day she might wear his?
Finally, they finished and each commander came to pay their respects to Commander Vires. Aimilia came up to the casket last. Nikias shifted in her direction as she approached. His mother’s hand dug into his arm again, gripping over the fabric, a sharp, painful warning.
One he didn’t heed.
Aimilia’s hands gripped the casket as she looked inside to see her grandfather’s embalmed features facing the sky. Her knuckles were white and he could see her biting the inside of her cheek as her eyes filled with water and her chest began to move rapidly from her barely restrained sobs.
Nikias used his other hand to reach forward, covering her smaller hand with his, engulfing it completely.
Aimilia stilled as his warm palm pressed against her hand.
She closed her eyes and looked up at him, eyes still shining with tears, but her lips parted and she breathed out a long, slow breath.
Her grip on the casket loosened and he was able to gently tug her hand away from the wood.
She looked back one more time and he watched as her lips moved in a silent whisper of, “Rest well.”
Nikias held Aimilia’s hand as she stepped back from the casket, ignoring the way his mother’s hand was doing her best to break his arm through sheer force. The pain throbbing through his arm wasn’t going to stop him from being whatever Aimilia needed in this moment.
Aimilia turned back, looking up at him and squeezing his hand in return. She opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to whisper to him was lost as her mother called out, “Lower it!”
Aimilia’s hand slid out of his and he let it go so she could rejoin the others. Her hands moved and vitae filled the air as they lifted the casket once more to lower it to its final resting place. His mother pulled on his arm, and he finally leaned in and she whispered in his ear, “Stop it.”
They’d already had the fight the night before, about Nikias continuing to be so public in his intentions and attachment to her while Aimilia only spurned him and made a mockery of the royal family.
Nikias just ignored her and kept watching Aimilia as they began to move the dirt back into place.
He didn’t care if she never loved him back. He didn’t care if she never married him.
She’d been there for him even when she hated him the day he buried Faustina. He would do nothing less for her.
Nikias wasn’t surprised when he looked around the reception that evening to see Aimilia had disappeared, and once she was gone, so was he.