19. Bright and Wicked

Bright and Wicked

Luella

The letter comes in the morning. Ledo proposes a marriage contract, where he will waive my dowry due to my orphaned status. His only requirement is an assessment to verify my chastity. A barbaric practice disguising another excuse for men to put their hands where they don't belong.

The men of Divus have obsessed over whom their women sleep with since I was a girl, but the fervor for virginity has risen in tandem with the Vestals’ popularity in recent years. The virgin priestesses were always held to their vows, and the public executions after a few were found to have broken them, willingly or not, have cemented virginity as a divine attribute.

Now all of the patricians required it in their marriage contracts. The Vestal priestesses are wed to the god Vestal, so the idea that ordinary men felt they required the same level of chastity and devotion feels presumptuous to me. Vir vult , I suppose.

Which is why if Ledo wants the marriage, I’ll submit to the vile test. Considering whose blood typically spills on my marriage sheets, I’m happy to indulge his whims.

For now.

I’m in the midst of packing my meager items to take to the Domus Aurea when I receive a second letter.

This one speaks of which tonics may ease my nausea, with an alarming number of words misspelled considering it’s from an incredibly talented healer.

Mia’s code takes only a moment for me to decipher, and I wonder if her tips for nausea might be needed after all. Ledo sent another flora to Mia’s backroom last night, scourged with the flagrum. That explains the proposal today. Whatever he’s seeking, he’s not finding it with the floras and he thinks he can get it from me.

My jaw aches from clenching and I realize I’ve crushed his letter in my palm. I uncurl my fingers and select a new piece of parchment to tell Ledo I’ll move in today, as requested.

After all, I serve the pleasures of the Praetor.

My rooms are across from Ledo’s. Close enough to serve, but not adjoining. That type of arrangement is for couples who love and trust each other, which is an illusion the Praetor has no intention of perpetuating. He most likely plans to have mistresses and floras and me.

I love when men make plans.

Because destroying plans is what Janus and I do best.

The white sheets and the hideous wall tapestries center me as I finish unpacking. I’ve been in this situation plenty of times before. Ledo isn’t different. He isn’t special.

I’ll survive his grain of cruelty as I have survived every other.

I flinch when a firm knock reverberates through the door. Traitorous nerves.

A young female servant informs me that Ledo would like to take sapa with me. I hate it. The name itself is toxic, still named after the leaded sweet wine that once caused confusion, fatigue, and death in those who consumed it.

Oh, how we hold onto the destruction of the past.

I smile at the woman and follow her through the Domus Aurea, towards my new praeda. And one step closer to the final one.

“Will I see the Emperor often?” I ask her, my eyes wide as I look around the halls.

“You may ask the Praetor,” she says without looking at me.

With her back to me I can’t help the roll of my eyes. Stones, this isn’t going to be as easy. Apparently, imperial servants have tight lips.

She leads me to one of the many atriums, and this one opens to the sky, large marble columns supporting archways to the rest of the halls that lead towards the large fountain in the center of the chamber. The fountain features a statue of Bacchus, the god of wine and male fertility who is, of course, nude. He holds a large wine pitcher that pours water onto the several maidens sprawled beneath him. They are, naturally, scantily clad and look horrified by either the wine or the second source of water spurting from his phallus.

It screams of homage to the bacchanalia, but he’s always been claimed by the plebeians looking for excuses to practice their deviance and be rewarded for it. The patricians have never needed an excuse, yet here they are, trying to commandeer even the deities of the working class.

Ledo sits in one of the two opulent white chairs near the fountain, and between them is a small table with two glasses of what I assume is sapa .

He’s in white trousers and a tunic, and receiving a shoulder rub from one of the floras. When he sees me, he motions for me to sit but doesn’t say anything. The flora continues to rub his shoulders, wearing the off the shoulder toga often worn by prostitutes and floras. It leaves one breast completely bare while barely covering the second in gauzy material. Even in cooler quads they would wear a similar style, the exposed breast coated in oil to help protect it from the chill. Slits up the sides of the gown reach to her waist, her umber skin contrasting with the white of the fabric.

“Praetor,” I say, inclining my head as I sit.

One might wonder why a man would bring a flora to sit with his betrothed, but I know it’s a test. A tactic.

A silly attempt to make me jealous so that I feel the need to do whatever he says so he does not seek it elsewhere.

Sadly, I know it works on some. Not me, but some.

“Skylar,” he says sweetly.

The fountain splashes in the center of the room, the sound grating on my nerves. If I smashed the stone phallus, would the water come out faster? Less an annoying trickle and more of a soothing rush? I cross my ankles and meet his eyes. “Would you like me to take over?” I nod to the flora but she continues to rub, knowing I’m not addressing her. She’s below me, and we are both below Ledo.

“You honor me,” Ledo says, snapping at her. She moves to his side, then drops to her knees.

I come to stand behind him and begin kneading the muscles in his shoulders, which are already quite loose. I doubt he’s gone a day with any real tension. I work my fingers skillfully into the lower strands of his hair, then back down to his shoulders. Alternating pressure until he groans and tilts his head back to look at me. The flora hasn’t moved, her eyes downcast and each line in her body as tight as mine as she waits for his command.

He looks at me, challenge and desire in his gaze.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts his hips and slides his trousers down to his upper thighs. His erection breaks free and I let my eyes widen when I see the hard, very average, length of him. Let him think they widen with surprise or lust, instead of disgust.

He’s not as unpredictable or shocking as he likes to think. I’ve seduced and murdered over thirty men. Child molesters. Rapists. Abusers. Not one of them was saved by the existence of their cock, yet they always seem so keen to display it.

But a cock is just a cock.

He snaps again and the flora immediately crawls in front of him. He holds out his palm and she leans forward to rest her head in it, a sign of utmost submission. Her black hair flows over his hand.

“The healer informed me of your chastity.” Such a kind phrase for the invasive, and pointless, examination. “So, I know you will need instruction,” Ledo says.

My hands are frozen on his shoulders, not because I’m shocked, but because he would expect me to be. “Instruction?” I breathe. I let my eyes linger on his erection, imagining all the ways I would like to remove it. A cock is just a cock, but I can think of a few places to shove his.

Luckily, he’s an idiot, and he takes my curiosity the way I intend him to, the way I’ve manipulated him into taking it, and a pleased smile spreads across his face.

“On how to satisfy me. Shoulders, Skylar,” he says casually. I return to kneading the muscles, never taking my eyes off the display. Using both hands, he guides the flora’s mouth onto his erection. Her brown eyes are locked on his, never glancing my way. She takes him deeper, until I see her throat tighten and her eyes widen slightly. My fingers clench, and for a moment I see myself slitting his throat right here, his blood spilling down his chest and onto his stupid cock.

No. I blink once, twice.

Neither of us would make it out alive. She’d scream, the Praetorian guards would come.

We’d both be slain.

She does this every day, I remind myself. We can both persist until I can dispose of him somewhere alone. Somewhere no one else will be hurt.

She gags, and Ledo doesn’t contain himself anymore. He yanks her off his erection and slaps her hard, then slams himself back inside her. She gags again and Ledo wraps his hands around her face, fucking her mouth brutally. I swallow hard, but don’t look away.

Her eye kohl smears as her tears fall in earnest and Ledo spits down on her, asking, “Do you want more?”

She answers instantly. It’s garbled but sounds something like, “Yes, Praetor.” Ledo jerks her off again and slaps her harder, making me flinch.

“Say it,” he commands.

“Please, may I have more, Praetor?” she says, but her eyes don’t agree. Some women join the floras willingly, but this particular display isn’t for her pleasure, nor is it for his. This is a show of power for me. Not all of my husbands were so… direct. They played their games, they groomed, to be sure, but here in the Domus Aurea the atmosphere is different. The subtle viciousness that men use to control us in the city is blatant here. Commonplace and undisguised.

Ledo continues thrusting, and I watch, as his actions demand. I rub his shoulders and as he casually continues this line of training he says, “Your servant will fit you for new garments more to my taste.”

“Yes, Praetor.” My hands keep moving across his shoulders, not nearly close enough to his neck. “Is there anything I should know about living here, with the Emperor?” I chance. A plebeian might ask out of insecurity.

“I will tell you if there is something you might need to know,” he says, voice harsh.

My hands continue their ministrations as he grunts, finishing in the flora’s mouth. Then he grabs her unbound hair and pulls her off of him, discarding her roughly.

“Leave,” he demands, taking a ragged breath. He adjusts his trousers as she does, then settles back into his chair. I don’t watch her go, don’t need to. I’ve already memorized her face.

“Sit,” he tells me. I do. “What do you think of my instruction?”

You’re a foul creature who couldn’t properly bed a woman if your life depended on it. “I have…” I swallow hard, not having to fake my discomfort. “I have much to learn.”

He smiles. “Don’t be afraid. I will show you.”

I just nod, the picture of obedience. Ledo stands and looms over my chair to grab my chin. “You’ll learn,” he whispers, and I don’t know if it's meant to be a threat or promise.

“I want to make you happy, Praetor.” It’s what I’m expected to feel. Shame and jealousy, and a desire not to lose my place. Fear that I can’t please him.

I can see that he believes me. His smile is bright and wicked as he departs, but when his back turns, I smile, too.

Because I can be just as wicked.