Chapter 20
Roman
If Raul Costa thought his parties were unique, he had best borrow a page from history.
As a Timeborne, I had seen true depravity.
I had served under Emperor Severus in ancient Rome, where indulgence knew no limits. His gatherings were feasts and rituals, where sacred rites and profane desires were freely exchanged.
Compared to those nights in the palace of Severus, Raul Costa’s masquerade was nothing more than a pale imitation.
I had seen it all before—naked bodies, half-naked bodies, fire swallowers, snake dancers.
But none of it stirred me.
It only tormented me, reminding me of everything I longed for.
Olivia.
Where was she now? Was she safe? I ached to see her again, to know when—if—she’d return to me.
Would I?
“Looks to be a grand evening,” the count mused as we crossed the foyer.
I forced a polite smile. “Doesn’t it?”
I wanted the night to end in success or failure.
The count had spared no expense in costuming all of us, even Tristan, though he looked utterly out of place.
I glanced at him.
His wide-eyed stare made it painfully clear that he had never been to a party like this.
I smirked. “You don’t get to partake, Tristan. Sorry.”
His mouth snapped shut. He turned to face me, suspicion flickering across his face. “What did you say?”
I gestured toward the lavish ballroom, where sensual chaos unfolded beyond the gilded archways. “All of this?” I waved a hand at the glistening bodies, the breathless moans, the forbidden indulgence. “Off-limits to you. Do you understand?”
Tristan rolled his eyes, flashing a far too arrogant smirk for his own good.
“Off-limits. Yes, master.” His tone dripped with disdain.
Arms crossed, Tristan arched a brow at me. “I suppose you get to do whatever you feel like?”
I met his gaze, unflinching.
He had no idea what this night truly entailed.
“I have no interest in whores, nor in the kind of depravity displayed here.” My words were edged with ice. “Nor should you unless you want to leave with something far worse than regret. Do you think sixteenth-century Italians were immune to venereal diseases?”
He scowled but didn’t look entirely deterred. There was still intrigue behind his irritation.
The count gave a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming as he surveyed the hedonistic crowd. “Ah, but we’re here to enjoy, no? There are whores aplenty. Do what you like. Drink freely! Indulge!”
Tristan huffed in English. “So, you two have all the fun, and I get nothing.”
The count’s gaze turned to me. “What is your manservant saying?”
I barely glanced at Tristan. “Complaining, as usual.”
The count laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Pity. Hand him a drink and tell him to relax. I intend to do the same. I’m hoping to find Raul and catch up.”
With that, he turned and melted into the throng of guests.
I exhaled and turned back to Tristan. “You’re going to find a quiet place in the corner and sit. That’s it.”
His expression was flat behind his mask. “Like a good boy?”
“Yes, like a good boy. Can you just do as you’re told for once?”
Tristan rolled his eyes but shuffled toward a chair shoved against the wall. He plopped down with an exaggerated thud, spreading his arms over the armrests like a man settling into a cage.
“How’s this?” Tristan drawled, lounging in his chair like a man shackled to boredom. “Satisfied?”
I nodded. “It’s perfect. Enjoy the view.”
Then, without another word, I strode into the ballroom, where far more dangerous games awaited.
The moment I caught a glimpse of her, my world tilted.
Red hair.
My heart thundered.
Even with the mask obscuring her face, even with the dim candlelight shifting over the curves of her body, I knew.
Olivia.
Every cell in my body ignited. I ached to touch her, to hold her, to reclaim her.
But then—
I saw the man beside her.
My steps halted, and my breath caught.
Something familiar about him was tearing at the edge of my memory.
Who was he? Where had I seen him before?
Whoever he was, he was too close to her.
His lips ghosted along her jawline, his hand possessively placed at the curve of her back.
Jealousy coiled in my gut, violent and unforgiving.
I watched her carefully, studying every nuance.
She played along, smiling and laughing, but her movements were hesitant and her posture stiff.
But then—
She laughed and trailed her fingers along his neck.
Something inside me snapped.
Had she given up on me? Had she moved on?
My mind rebelled against the thought. No. Impossible.
She was mine.
She had always been mine.
And yet, this bastard—this dark-haired stranger—was touching her, kissing her, acting as though he had some claim over what belonged to me.
A low growl rumbled from my throat.
Who the hell was he?
I knew him. I had seen him before. But where?
Then—
He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.
Rage exploded in my chest.
Whatever claim this man thought he had over my wife—
Would end.
Now.
I pushed through the throng of bodies, shoving past masked revelers, my pulse hammering with a single intent—
To confront that bastard and claim my wife.
But before I could reach them, they separated.
Olivia turned toward the stairs, her gown flowing around as she moved.
I followed, keeping my distance, tracking her through the dimly lit corridor.
The wolves circled her—men and women alike, their seduction attempts as pathetic as they were persistent.
She brushed them off with effortless grace.
I nearly smiled.
Of course, she did.
She was mine.
But just as I was closing in, a woman draped herself around my neck, her perfume thick, her voice a purr of honeyed temptation.
“Well, hello there. It looks like you could use some company. I’m available.”
Her gilded gown dipped scandalously low, exposing full, tempting curves. Rubies dripped between her breasts, pooling in the valley of her cleavage.
I flicked my gaze over her once, disinterested. “I can see that. But I’m not available.”
I peeled her arms from my neck and shoved her aside.
By the time I looked past her—
Olivia was gone.
My heart sank.
Damn it.
I ignored the woman’s indignant protests and moved, my focus singular.
I nodded to the guards stationed along the hallway, keeping my tone light and casual. “I'm looking for my playmate. Her hair is the color of flames. Have you seen her?”
Their expressions barely shifted.
“Yes,” they replied in unison. “Your flame-haired lover is that way.”
The last guard smirked, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “Save some for us, friend.”
Laughter rumbled between them.
I forced a tight smile, clapping the nearest one on the shoulder. “Yes, yes.”
But inside, a storm raged.
No way in hell would I share her.
I had already shared her enough tonight—watched another man’s hands roam where only mine belonged.
And once I claimed her again—
She would know.
She would remember.
She was mine.
I hurried past the guards, my pulse pounding, my focus singular.
Then—
A man doubled over on the plush carpet, writhing, moaning in agony.
I slowed, taking in his curled form, his hands clutching his groin.
“Did a woman with hair the color of flames do this to you?”
His pained expression twisted into a sneer. “Yes, she’s a whore.”
My teeth clenched.
I drove my boot into his ribs hard enough to make him gasp.
“My wife is no whore.” My voice was calm, deadly. “You probably put your hands where they don’t belong.”
He groaned, curling in on himself.
I stepped over him and kept moving.
The corridor ahead was empty.
I moved carefully, pressing my ear to each door, listening.
Nothing.
Then—
At the last door, a faint noise.
A subtle scraping sound, like furniture shifting against wood.
My pulse quickened.
Olivia.
She was here.
And she was searching for something.
Maybe—just maybe—she was after the Sun Dagger, too.
I grasped the polished brass knob, twisting it carefully, silently.
Then, I eased the door open.
She stood with her back to me, stiff, poised, as if sensing the disturbance in the air.
“This isn’t what you think,” she said.
My heart lurched at the sound of it.
Oh, Olivia.
How I missed you.
I lowered my voice, keeping it disguised. “Isn’t it?” I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. It’s quite obvious you’re somewhere you don’t belong. And there’s a penalty for spying.”
Tension rippled through her shoulders.
“Is there?” Her voice was steady, but I could see the subtle way her muscles tensed. “And what might that be?”
I let a smirk creep into my tone.
“Twenty lashes.”
Finally, she turned.
Our gazes locked.
Uncertainty crossed her face for a moment—a furrow formed between her brows.
She didn’t recognize me.
I fought the pang that cut through my chest.
Then again—why would she?
My hair was shorter, and my jaw was clean-shaven.
And the extravagant costume Count Montego had given me was designed to make me unrecognizable.
Deep-blue leather breeches clung to me like a second skin, molding to every movement.
A close-fitting doublet, waisted and padded, covered my torso in the same rich blue.
Ermine fur and gold embroidery adorned the fabric, marking me as someone of wealth and status—someone Olivia would never suspect.
The count had insisted on modifications.
“He’ll want to take it off soon after our arrival,” he’d chuckled to the seamstress.
I had shot him a look. “No, sew the sleeves on. I won’t be taking it off.”
Montego had laughed, amused by my restraint.
“At least leave the doublet open,” he’d said, fussing with the jacket’s fit. “Give the women something to admire. You’ll have every eye on you.”
I had relented—briefly.
But the moment I arrived at the masquerade, I had fastened the hooks, securing the doublet fully.
I wasn’t here to entertain anyone.
I was here for her.
My mask, the same striking blue, covered my cheeks, nose, and eyes. Combined with my short hair and fine clothes, it kept Olivia from recognizing me.
For now.