18. Gods Will

God's Will

Luella

I wanted to say no to dinner, but I don’t always get what I want when I’m hunting praeda. I get what I need, and unfortunately that means I’m dressed in another draping and immodest gown, the pockets filled with the tiniest vials available in Divus.

Ledo sends a litter with four servants. Wouldn’t want me mauled by miscreants before he has a chance to do it, I suppose.

The city isn’t asleep, of course; only the King, Romulus, has set. The Traitor, Remus, casts rare single shadows long and low through the cobblestone streets.

Too quickly the Domus Aurea looms before me, the archways and opulent steps inviting me forward. My sandaled feet seem to know the way as I move up, through, and across to enter the main dining hall.

“Skylar, welcome,” Ledo says, sitting alone at the large table set for two. Guards, servants, and floras wait along the walls, ready to ensure Ledo wants for nothing.

“Praetor.” I bow my head before sitting beside him. “I was honored by your invitation.”

“Wine,” he says and one of the servants comes forward to fill both of our glasses. It’s a warm night, and the cool wine is more refreshing than it has the right to be. Keeping my limbs loose is a testament only to an iron will and years of dancing with death.

“I hope you had a pleasant day,” I say casually. I can’t actually ask him about his day, since matters of politics were surely involved and are none of my business.

“I did. In fact, I was feeling quite relaxed.”

Yes, abusing women does seem like a rather relaxing pastime for a sadist. I feel the words too close to the tip of my tongue and smile instead.

“I thought it would be a good day to discuss my intentions,” he continues.

“Your intentions, Praetor?” I ask. Gods. He certainly has a flair for the dramatic.

“I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. However, I’ve just recently come out of mourning for my late wife and I’d like to ensure my next marriage is the right fit.”

Stones. He might as well come out and say he killed her. The threat lingers beneath his smile, a hint for what it means to be the right fit for a man like him.

“Praetor, may I serve us?” I ask, noticing that his wine is empty.

“Of course,” he sounds surprised. “This is what I mean, precisely.” I stand and walk to the servant holding the wine and when I take the carafe from her, I put one hand on the bottom and turn, tipping my other palm over the top quickly as I do, as if protecting it from a draft or debris.

But not from me.

I serve Ledo the wine, chock full of the powder that had been sitting in my palm.

“I’m looking for a wife who can anticipate, Skylar.” He puts his free hand on mine while he sips his wine and I send a silent prayer to Janus that the sedative will take effect before the final course of this dinner. “A wife with true Divusian values.”

I nod. “My pater would expect nothing less, Praetor.” My pater is, for all intents and purposes, dead. And while my mater’s fidelity, piety, and chastity would seem to be something to boast, Ledo won’t care what I thought of my mater. He’ll care what her husband thought of her.

“Which virtue is most important?” Ledo asks. If he were a plebeian, I would say fertility. If he were younger, I might mention modesty, chastity, or marital fidelity. I know exactly what Ledo is looking for, though; what type of woman is a fit for him.

“Obedience, Praetor.”

He hums, a low sound of approval. I resist the impulse to urge him to drink his wine, lest I raise suspicion. The drugs won’t affect me, but the wine will. Instead, I feign a few small sips, hoping he’ll mimic the movement.

He does, sipping and then swallowing deeper when the cool liquid touches his tongue. Mia managed to make it taste nearly addictive, meaning one sip will turn into many, with only a subtle shift in flavor that most don’t notice.

“Obedience,” he agrees.

“However, defiance is sometimes necessary,” I amend. Ledo’s eyes snap to mine.

“Explain.” He leans back in his chair, arms draped over one another.

“Obedience to one’s husband or one’s pater, that is the goal. Therefore, I would defy any attempt that would shame my future or current husband, no matter what.”

I won’t sleep with you tonight, I’m saying. I can’t help the breath that stalls in my lungs while I wait. I look down at the table, as though even voicing the thought of defiance is painful.

“What if your husband wishes for something you find shameful?” he asks. Oh it’s a tricky question, and I can feel his wheels turning.

“ Vir vult es deus vult ,” I say, meeting his eyes. A husband’s will is god’s will.

He smiles, a true smile now, and I know I’ve hooked him.

“We understand each other,” Ledo says. “And I promise, you would enjoy it.” It’s not a question, but an unsolicited promise. He must sense my doubt, or he wouldn’t be trying to put me at ease.

“I would enjoy serving my husband,” I agree. It’s not entirely a lie. I don’t add what I would like to serve him, but a half-truth still rings true.

“I’m an exacting husband, Skylar. I expect unquestioning obedience in all of my tastes.” He comes to stand before me and his hand slips up to my throat, almost gentle. Almost. I start to look down but he grabs my chin. “Look at me.”

His eyes are hard, dark in the low light. He licks his lips. I’m not sure what he’s searching for in my face, what he’s hoping to find, so I stare back. I let my desperation for this marriage ooze from my pores and drip from my fluttering lashes.

I need this.

I let him see that part but hide the rest. He doesn't need to know why.

“Do you understand what I expect, Skylar?” His hand slides down the column of my throat, and without warning he tightens his fingers. I gasp in surprise, but don’t pull away.

“ Vir vult es deus vult ,” I say again, the words rasping against the constriction from his hand. Black spots start to appear in the corners of the room and my eyes water. The experience is all too familiar these days, a foreign name uttered from a man with his hand around my throat.

I keep my hands at my sides, fighting my instincts to resist his hold, and just before I lose the battle with my will he releases me.

“Yes it is,” he says, patting the top of my head. “You may go, Skylar.”

I stand and bow my head. “Thank you, Praetor.”

I don’t touch my neck, I don’t gasp for breath, and my body doesn’t even shake as I turn to leave. I maintain my composure in the litter, and I close the door of my rented rooms before I finally allow myself to relax. I lean back against the door, my legs weak.

The Divusian matrons’ mantra had tasted bitter on my tongue, but it was what I needed to say. I won’t say it worked until he’s proposed, but I know I’m closer than I was before.

My hand finally drifts to my throat, alone in the dark, with only my stones and potions to hear me.

“ My will is god’s will,” I correct. “Mine.”