Chapter 20 #6
She shoved my face back down to the floor, hard enough to jar my teeth. Then she stood, stepping over me without another glance, nodding for the guard to follow.
Their footsteps faded. I was left where I’d fallen, alone and shaken, the echo of her laughter ringing in my ears.
The stone beneath my cheek was cold, rough against skin already burning.
My pulse thudded loud in my ears, uneven, as if it didn’t quite remember how to settle.
When I tried to breathe, the air caught halfway in, shallow.
My face ached. My jaw felt wrong—too tight, too loose, I couldn’t tell. I pressed my palm there again, grounding myself in the pain because it was easier than feeling everything else.
Gold dust clung to me still. Water cooled on my skin where it had no right to feel clean anymore. My dress was bunched and twisted beneath me.
I swallowed, my throat working. The night pressed on beyond the balcony doors—music, laughter—utterly unchanged. Carnis Noctyra went on indulging itself, indifferent to my pain and humiliation.
Heat lingered low in my body, traitorous and humiliating from Thanor’s attention. Desire twisted with shame and pain until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. That, more than the blow, turned my stomach.
I forced myself to move. My hands shook as I pushed against the stone, drawing my knees beneath me. The world tilted, then steadied. I tasted copper and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing gold and blood together.
Footsteps hurried across the balcony.
“Tina?” Livia’s voice broke, tight with alarm.
I looked up as she appeared through the curtain. Her face drained of color the moment she saw me. She was at my side in an instant, hands hovering as if afraid to touch me too roughly, taking in my face, my mouth, the red blooming across my cheek.
“Oh goddess,” she breathed. “Stay here. Try not to move. I’ll be right back.”
She gathered her skirts and ran back inside, calling Jorius’s name.
I heard him before I saw him—voice loud, irritated, entirely himself but slurred with wine. “You can’t be serious, Livia. I was in the middle of my second—”
The words cut off abruptly.
He stepped onto the balcony and froze. The humor vanished from his face as he stared at the blood near my mouth, the mark on my cheek. Whatever he’d been about to say died.
“Tina,” he said gently.
He crossed the distance in two strides and dropped to his knees in front of me, hands careful where they hovered near my shoulders. “Who did this?”
I couldn’t answer. My throat closed, the effort of holding myself together too overwhelming.
Livia returned at a run, a cup of water clutched in her hands. She knelt on my other side, pressing the cup gently to my lips. “Slowly,” she murmured. “Just sip.”
Jorius’s jaw tightened as he watched me drink, something dark settling behind his eyes. He didn’t touch my face. Didn’t crowd me.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ve got you.”
“I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” I urged as they helped me upright.
“I know a secret path. Follow me,” Livia said.
Jorius frowned but nodded as we moved toward a door behind a marble statue just on the inside of the main room, likely a servant’s entrance.
They guided me through a tunnel without speaking. My jaw ached. My head throbbed, my vision blurred as the floor seemed to shift beneath my feet. My steps were unsteady, but they never rushed me, never let me falter far enough to fall. We emerged inside the Atrium.
In my chamber, Jorius helped me onto the bed despite my muttered protest. The mattress dipped beneath my weight, familiar and grounding. I exhaled for what felt like the first time that night.
Livia settled beside me while Jorius dragged over a chair, the muted scrape of wood against stone filling the silence. Their eyes never left me.
“Do I look that terrible?” I muttered.
“You look like someone I’d rather not leave alone,” Livia replied.
“Well,” I said, “next time I’ll slip a little of Kharos’s venom into Aelia’s wine. I’ll finally find out whether vipers are immune.”
Jorius barked out a short laugh before catching himself. Livia shot me a look somewhere between alarm and reluctant amusement.
“I’m joking.” I paused. “Mostly.”
I let out a slow breath. “I refuse to cry because the Praetor can’t keep his hands to himself and his wife lacks the courage to confront him instead.”
“You don’t have to pretend with us,” Livia said quietly. “You’re allowed to be hurt.”
“I am hurt,” I said. “I’m just angrier.”
“They’re both pathetic,” Jorius muttered. He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. “We’re staying.” There was no easy grin now, only a fierce, contained vigilance.
Livia nodded. “I don’t know what happened, but you won’t be alone tonight.”
I threw my mask onto the floor and leaned back against the headboard. Their words settled over me despite myself. I swallowed hard, forcing the sting behind my eyes away. I refused to give Aelia—or Lucina—the satisfaction. If anything, they deserved my anger, not my tears.