Chapter 13
XIII.
Torren
I’m still hiding in the drawing room when Antinous stumbles through the kitchen doors.
The man who just accused me of murder looks both ways, his movements ferretlike and fearful, before he descends to the ground floor.
I grip the doorknob. He believes there’s danger, and he left the High Priestess alone.
Coward.
I followed Kerasea after hearing her bedroom door open, then stood in the shadows by the kitchens. With my ear to the opening, I heard her pry more information out of Antinous than I could with fire and sword.
I underestimated her. I should’ve known she would be a great interrogator.
The Faith never forces the truth; they coax it out.
Her soft voice and kind posturing promised an ease of his burdens, clemency in exchange for honesty, and he leaped at the chance.
Then he told her that one or all of the senators commissioned the murder of Verhardt—and that I carried it out.
The night clock chimes three, and Kerasea comes out of the doors holding a candle and a glass of red wine.
The head-on sight of her is arresting. She’s in a silk robe cinched tightly at her small waist. Her long black hair flows around her, down and untamed instead of tightly swept up or perfectly braided.
Without makeup, she looks vulnerable, more like a normal person than a High Priestess.
Her hands tremble as she holds the glass.
She takes a sip, her lips a perfect pink.
I’d escort her back to her room, but the clerk of the Senate just told her I might be a dangerous assassin for hire. I ball my hands into fists. I didn’t hear the rest because a servant picked the worst moment to come down the hall. But who knows what else he said.
Rather than take the western staircase, Kerasea proceeds down to the entryway and then up the main stairs. Once she is out of sight, I leave the shadows and exhale.
Antinous, like Julian, believes the High Priestess was not involved in Verhardt’s murder. He would never have said all of that if he thought she was part of the scheme to eliminate the Senate Leader.
So, where does that leave me? Are they wrong, or am I?
I can’t ignore a temple knife at the scene, but she said herself that there are dozens of them.
The temple in the capital has a High Priest, eleven standard priests, and gods know how many acolytes and servants at any given time.
Plus, there are thirty guards who only serve the temple.
Just as Hadrian and Probus said, the knife is nearly meaningless as proof.
But I still need to question Kerasea about her whereabouts, and also what she knows about everyone in her temple.
It’s impossible to do this during pleasant conversation.
I will need permission from the Senate to get answers, but if Antinous spoke the truth, they will want this matter dropped as quickly as possible.
My investigation will be halted and I will be in danger for even suggesting it.
I pause on the steps. Maybe, like Julian said several times, I should accept the gift of a solved case, and the easy reappointment, and move on.
Continuing to delve into this will only lead to disaster, and to what end?
I had no love for Verhardt. He was part of the Senate that denounced my father and destroyed my name. I should drop it.
But I can’t.
I hang my head as I reach the third floor. Allowing a killer to walk free goes against everything I believe, and letting things go requires an indifference I lack.
Someone thought they could get away with this, and I have to prove them wrong.
Just as I come out of the staircase, there’s a golden blur and then a knife to my throat. I freeze, my body reacting faster than my mind.
“Why are you following me, Praetorian?” Kerasea asks.
She’s so small and fragile-looking, but right now she’s anything but delicate. Her gaze is homed in on me, and with a quick motion she could slit my throat. Her wineglass and candle are nowhere to be seen, and her dagger is out. She’s in a fighting stance, even if she’s still in a silk robe.
I raise my hands, although I have daggers strapped to both of my ankles. “I heard a scream earlier.”
Her eyes shift. She knows that she screamed when she ran into Antinous. It’s plausible that I was simply investigating the sound.
As she thinks, she gets distracted. She has some training with blades, but I bet she’s never had to use one when it counted. She takes her eyes off mine for a moment.
It’s a mistake.
With one motion, I grab her by her waist and pin her wrist to the wall. The golden dagger falls out of her hand, thudding against the carpet, as our bodies careen against each other. She lets out a stifled moan as her back hits the wall, my knee between her legs.
We’re face-to-face, and she’s now disarmed. My body completely covers hers, immobilizing her limbs.
“Don’t threaten someone with a blade unless you intend to see it through,” I say.
“What makes you think I didn’t intend to?”
She’s trapped, but those lips stay parted, her chin raised in defiance.
Her rich perfume of jasmine and spice invades my senses.
This close, she is all softness beneath me.
I can feel the curves of her body, the silk of her hair.
Even with everything I know about her, there’s still a pull deep within me.
Son of a jackal, Julian was right—I need to leave her alone. She is one of the most powerful women in the republic, and she will be terrifying once she realizes it. If she’s not a suspect, then I need to return to keeping my distance, not admire her spirit.
I release her and step back.
She stares, wary as she crouches down to retrieve her dagger. As if I just had a knife to her throat.
“Shall we?” I gesture down the hall to break the tension.
She gives a small nod.
We silently walk toward our bedrooms in the middle of the third floor until we reach her door.
“Sleep well, High Priestess.” My tone mocks both her and her title. I don’t want to needle her, but I can’t seem to help it.
“I will…with a locked door.”
She stares at me. The fire in her eyes catches me off guard more than her blade.
She was so easy to physically overwhelm, yet she refuses to back down.
I’d think it was her pampered life, in getting her way all the time, but that makes people cower once they’re defeated. This is something different.
She stiffens as I lean closer to her ear, but no matter the circumstances, she doesn’t cede.
“If I wanted in, a lock wouldn’t stop me,” I whisper.
It wasn’t the right thing to say, but I also can’t help rising to her challenge. It lights something inside me.
She turns her head. We’re so close that our breath mingles. She smells like wine and honey.
“I’m glad you don’t, then.” She keeps her eyelids low, and her full lips curl up into a wicked grin.
Fierce desire courses through me. I want to grab her again. I want her long hair in my hands and her arms around me. I want to feel the vibration of her moans as I—
Good gods, what am I thinking? She literally has a dagger at her side and, even if she’s not a murderer, she’s hiding something—I sense it in my gut. Not to mention that she is the same girl who ruined my life, my father’s.
I need to go the fuck to bed.
I take a step away. “Goodnight, Excellency.”
She exhales, and I bow my head. Then I return to my room without looking back. It’s harder than it should be.