13. Battlefield

Battlefield

Luella

“By the twins, what did they ever do to you?” a deep voice asks. I spin sharply to an impossibly large man with hair the golden red of the sunsrise, his jaw taken over by matching auburn stubble. His piercing blue eyes meet mine and I inhale sharply. He’s so familiar, but I don’t have time to place it, to sift through my memories to find him.

“Who?” I ask. He gestures to the ground and I realize I’ve beheaded dozens of roses. The red, pink, and white blooms crushed beneath my fists lay scattered around me, a battlefield of beauty. “Ah… well the gardeners here…” I trail off at his smirk.

“Having fun with Ledo?” he asks. He’s been watching me.

I take a step away from him without turning my back. “I should return to him.” Jealousy is not an emotion I want to manage in a man like Ledo.

“I’ll walk you back,” he says.

“I don’t know if the Praetor will like that.” I keep my tone gentle, sweet.

“What’s he going to do about it?” he asks.

Nothing to you. “Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer, instead offering an arm. I consider turning away from him, but what if he knows Ledo? I can’t be rude. I can’t be fierce, and definitely not noticeable. Lightly placing my hand on his arm, I keep the space between us as he leads me back through the garden until we re-enter the ballroom. Neither of us speaks and my shoulders are tight as I search the crowd for Ledo.

He finds us first.

“Dominus,” Ledo says, coming up with a tray filled with all manner of sweets. Chocolates, pastries, and fruits piled high as he gestures to a nearby table.

My eyes snap to the man.

“Not the important one.” The man grins, as if following my thoughts. “The brother.”

The familiarity. The voice. He’s the Emperor's brother. Both of them are plastered across Divus, the Imperator and the Dominus.

The Emperor and his Sword.

They’re engraved on coins and frescoes, banners and statues. The two men who control the entire empire, and therefore all of us.

I’m surprised I didn’t recognize him.

I look to Ledo, but there is no jealousy there. He appears… amused. “You’re plenty important, but why are you boring my date?” he says.

“You poor girl,” the Dominus says to me. Instead of sounding sarcastic he sounds sincere. Mia’s profile didn’t cover this relationship. Are they friends?

He’s not even supposed to be here.

Ledo laughs, either not catching the note in the Dominus' voice, or more likely, not caring.

“Care to dance?” the Dominus asks, and instead of answering I look to Ledo. He smiles and nods, granting the permission they expect me to seek.

The Dominus draws me onto the dance floor, and I look over my shoulder at Ledo. He’s already talking to another Praetor, a portly man in blue.

“What are you doing with him?” the Dominus asks, tilting his head as he leads me into a mid paced dance. His smile doesn’t meet his eyes as he regards me, and it puts me even more on edge.

“You ask a lot of questions.” I note that the other dancers keep glancing to us. The Dominus must not appear at the Domus Aurea often.

“Call me concerned.” He seems determined to unbalance me either mentally or physically, punctuating my silence by leaning me into a dip. His warm hand is on my exposed back, eyes boring into mine.

“How thoughtful, matulo ,” I say, stiff in his arms. I don’t hide my irritation. He’s going to be a problem.

“Matulo ? That’s the insult you use?” he asks, bemused.

“It is rather block shaped,” I say, eyeing his ginger head. I quirk my brow at his fake hurt, forgetting for a moment that I am not myself. I am Skylar. Sweet and with enough bite to be interesting despite my naiveté. Not Luella, not my sharp edges and irritation.

“There she is.” He smiles and I quickly soften my features. “Don’t hide her.” The Dominus reaches forward, his fingertips brushing my eyebrow as it levels with the other.

“Who?” I ask, but the Dominus just smiles.

“I’m sure you know this, but people see what they want to see.” My heart thunders in my ears. He can’t know who I am. “Ledo? He makes what he wants to see.” The Dominus leans forward so that only I can hear. “And I’d hate to see you made into anything other than that of your own choosing.”

His words are precise. The thoughtful phrasing of someone who, like me, has to tread carefully. I meet his eyes and the flickering candlelight brings out the copper in his hair, the gold flecks in his blue eyes. His jaw is tight, brow just slightly furrowed, as if he’s worried.

I smile, my mask firmly in place as I reply sweetly, “I can take care of myself, Dominus.”

He nods slowly. My eyes never leave his face, searching for something, anything to tell me if he knows more than he should. About Ledo.

About me.

Then an idea strikes.

“What about…” It’s my turn to lean in close. Would he smell of cedar and smoke? Rain? I remember my pater smelling like ash and spirits late at night. Stale body odor in the mornings. Mater smelled like violets and salt. Tears, sweat, and blood: salt saturated our familia in a way I suspect few understand. I don’t know what the Dominus smells like. I can’t use that sense to determine if he smoked, or bathed, or had rolled with another woman. If he had too much to drink, if I need to be wary. “The Emperor. What does he want to see?”

I tip my head back to watch his eyes, but I don’t need to. His whole body tenses, his jaw clenching. His eyes darken, twin storms looking back at me.

“My brother,” he says tightly, “is not as blind as Ledo.” With that, the Dominus leads me from the dance floor and unceremoniously returns me to the table where Ledo watches me hungrily.

The moment the Dominus turns to go, Ledo grabs my hand.

“Let’s go,” he says.

And I, still in shock over the Dominus' change in demeanor, allow him to drag me from the crowded ballroom, and out of sight.

My mind spins as Ledo leads me from the ballroom. The candlelit revelry begins to fade as we move down an abandoned corridor and the tall limestone columns chaperon our departure. My blood thrums beneath this skin and sweat beads along my hairline.

The Dominus wasn’t supposed to be here.

And Ledo’s posture is sending alarm bells ringing through me, the set of his shoulders, the grindingly painful grip on my wrist. Despite his casual air in the ballroom, he was displeased. Was it about me dancing with the Dominus or whatever discussion he’d had with the Praetor in blue? My life depends on being able to manage this shift, the subtle signs on how to steer him. My magic is subterfuge, not force.

I can’t engage in altercations I have no hope of surviving, and the likelihood of finding myself in one rises the farther we move from the ballroom.

“Praetor, you’re hurting me,” I try, suffusing my tone with as much sweetness and naiveté as I can.

Ledo looks down at my wrist as he continues forward, loosening his grip ever so slightly. He doesn’t slow his pace, but he doesn’t jerk my body anymore, either.

The tapestries around us drip with subtle condescension, each depicting a scene of abundance and privilege. Tables laden with food, women draped in furs beside roaring fireplaces, men surrounded by beautiful servants offering food and drink. Look, they whisper, look at all the things you barely have. I try to take a deep breath, try to calm my center, when Ledo pulls me towards an alcove that leads to a balcony off the main hallway.

The balcony is open to the evening air and the dim light almost makes it seem serene, romantic even, but I know better. He leans into me, using his grip on my wrist to tether me to him.

“I didn’t like you dancing with him,” he says, trapping me in a bruising kiss.

I gasp at the pain but kiss him back, fiercely, giving myself a moment to calculate. “I didn’t like dancing with him, either,” I whisper, like it’s a secret just for him.

Ledo bites me on the neck, and I don’t need to fake the whimper of pain as he digs deeper, the skin tight beneath his teeth.

“I only share when I want to, Skylar,” he grates, his teeth scraping against my bruised skin. His rough hands drag at my dress, paw along my exposed back.

The words stick in my throat, but I know I must say them. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, hating the way it tastes. “I just want you to be happy. I… I thought you wanted me to.”

Ledo groans into my neck, pressing himself against me so I can feel what my timid apology wrought. The tension eases ever so slightly, his shoulders softer. “I just want to make you happy,” I say again.

He tilts my chin up to him and kisses me softly, a featherlight brush. It’s as close to an apology as he’ll come. “You can’t make me jealous like that,” he admonishes. We both know I’m expected to manage his emotions, to mold myself to his liking.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. I’m not, but Ledo will be.

Very soon, he’ll be sorry.