35. The Same, but Not

The Same, but Not

Luella

“Will you marry me?” he asks. His warmth seeps into me and for once I don’t have to fake the breathlessness that comes with his nearness. Did he drug the wine? I feel hot. Hyperventilating. Sweaty.

I can’t answer, so I nod instead.

Cassius puts a palm against the side of my cheek, gentler than I expect. “And what shall I call my future wife?”

I should lie, but I don’t. Instead, my traitorous lips form the word I’ve never let my praeda say.

“Luella.”

“Luella,” Cassius says, nodding as if it fits. His hand moves to brush a strand of wheat hair away from my face. “I’d like a longer engagement than your last.”

“My last? I’ve never been engaged, Dominus.” Not as Luella. If this is to work he can’t know for certain. He can suspect, but he can’t know. Doubt is its own web.

“My mistake.” I can’t tell if he’s humoring me or questioning himself. “Where shall I send for your things?” He asks.

“My things?”

“You’re to move in tonight.” He snaps, which draws my awareness to the space, or lack thereof, between us. I step back.

A flora appears beside us, and I realize with a start that it’s her. The flora from the night I killed Ledo, the one I let go.

“Flavia, show the future Domina to her rooms.” Men can be Dominus. Senator. Praetor. Emporer. And since women are of value only in their relation to men, Cassius Evander has the right to call me Evandia. Or rather, future Evandia. But Domina? His master and respected mistress?

I furrow my brows as the flora bows and doesn’t lead me out. Instead, she questions him. “Yes, Dominus. Do you still want the rose rooms?”

Cassius shifts his attention to me. His eyes travel from my eyes, down to my deep violet gown, across my hips, and down to my cloth clad toes. “For tonight. Your things?”

I tell him there's nothing I need tonight, and he doesn't argue. Instead, his eyes rove over me, sharp and assessing.

He steps close to me and I have to fight the urge to step back, to keep him away. He brushes the back of his knuckles against my cheek, just below my right eye, and I shiver. “Goodnight, Luella.”

The rose room is, of course, hideous. Filled to the brim with colorful blooms, I can hardly see the rose themed tapestries, furniture, or bedding. It’s larger than the rooms I was in while courting Ledo.

I bet it stinks in here. I wrinkle my nose and Flavia opens the door to the room and begins setting vases out in the hall.

“What are you doing?” I cry. I can’t make a true scene over roses or anything else. Skylar never made a scene.

“It’s clear you don’t like the roses, future Domina.” Her words carry no judgment, but her agency is startling in comparison to her submission around Ledo. Ledo ordered. Demanded. Ledo spoke for everyone in the room.

And now he’s dead.

“I can’t actually smell them,” I admit, “but no, I don’t particularly care for them. Don’t trouble yourself moving them. Perhaps they will grow on me.” They won’t, but it appeases Flavia. She doesn’t bring the vases from the hall back in but she does stop worrying over the ones in sight.

“Is there anything I can bring you?” she asks after she’s turned down the linens, drawn the drapes, and ensured I have a lamp and nightgown at my bedside.

“Flavia,” I begin. “Is the Dominus as he seems?” I feel foolish. I am foolish. “Is he kind?”

Flavia looks at me. Really looks at me, as if she hasn’t had the chance to do so all night. Finally she says, “Are we ever exactly what we seem?”

He’s invited me to sapa, which in and of itself is not worrisome. Yet given his homage to Ledo and Skylar last night, with the fountain… I pace the room. How long will I have to endure this time?

Perhaps I’ll try something new and simply slit his throat in his sleep. I smile. Alas, I am a creature of habit and my hand drifts into my pockets, reassuringly full of the necessary potions. The smooth white pearl in the back of my mouth carries a similar comfort. I started altering my teeth when Mia first gave them to me, and now I have a small gap that allows it to sit perfectly hidden.

A knock sounds at the door and I stop my pacing. One breath in and out. Two, in and out.

Upon opening the door I instinctively step back. It’s not Flavia, as I expected, nor is it any flora.

It’s Cassius.

Stones. “Good afternoon, Dominus.”

“Good afternoon, Luella.” He’s in a white shirt and dark trousers and boots, as if he’s just come from the stables. I note the short sword at his hip and surmise he must have been training. His ginger hair is tousled, and his afternoon stubble does nothing to detract from his attractiveness. How irritating. If only our outward appearance matched what hid inside. Then perhaps he’d appear monstrous and rotting from the inside out.

Instead he’s tall, ginger, and handsome.

He holds out an arm for me and guides me down the hall. Of course, our destination is the atrium in which Ledo conducted most of our training.

The fountain gurgles, mocking me, as Cassius brings me to a small lounging chair that wasn’t here before. I work to keep my shoulders down, to appear hesitant and confused instead of revolted.

Cassius sits in a high backed chair next to me and I take a breath, readying myself for whatever type of ‘training’ Cassius intends in his efforts to replay my—well, Skylar's—courtship with Ledo. But there’s no sign of the depravity that is sure to come. The room is bare except for some additional chaise lounges.

And that’s all: No whips, or ropes. No Senators or Praetors.

There aren’t even any floras. Of course, I can’t ask if this is what I think it is. I can’t compare this to my time here before.

“I’m pleased about our engagement, Luella,” he finally offers.

“As am I, Dominus. It is an honor.” I’ve said worse, simpered more.

“I tried to replicate the room,” he says, watching.

“Replicate it to what?” I ask, furrowing my brows and leaning forward in my seat.

“Ah, of course you’ve never been here before,” he says the words mockingly, teasingly. “This room was used recently as a bridal training ground for an esteemed Praetor.”

“Blessings to the happy couple,” I say.

“A blessing I’d rather not repeat,” Cassius says.

“Oh?”

“I’m sure you’ll hear all about it. Servants talk.” He gives me a meaningful look. “As do floras.” Flavia. Flavia told him about me that night.

Traitor.

But it doesn’t matter. That face is gone.

I hum. “You mentioned a long engagement, Dominus?” I steer us towards useful information.

“Yes, I think that’s appropriate. I hardly know you, after all.” I don’t know if I should laugh, but I’d like to. There is no point in knowing this face, this mask. It dies when you do, I want to tell him.

“I see,” I say instead, even though I don’t. Since when has something as trivial as knowing stopped a Divusian man from, well, anything? “How long?”

“As long as it takes,” he says.

“To… get to know me?” I repeat.

“To get to know you,” he confirms.

I nod. Perhaps Cassius is one of them. A self-proclaimed good man . One who tallies his charitable deeds to throw them in your face at a later time. The type who says, “I got to know her before I gave her a black eye; she really should have been grateful.” I had very little experience with good men, but if you have to tell someone you are good, it probably isn't true.

“Flavia,” he calls. The flora comes in, followed by a number of other floras. Perhaps it’s all of the imperial floras, because I lose count after twenty-two. I stretch my legs out on the chaise, ignoring the lambs being led to slaughter. What cruelty will Cassius force me to watch? And why does he need so many?

The last flora enters, pushing forward a cart. On it there are the usual sapa refreshments. The sapa , of course, but also bread, cheese, and grapes. The women begin to serve themselves and after confirming that I don’t want any, Cassius serves himself. He brings the plate to his chair, then goes back to the cart and helps serve the remaining floras.

Then he comes to sit next to me again. The floras find chaises, spots on the fountain, and on the floor. And they just… eat. And drink. And talk to one another.

It shouldn’t startle me, but it does. It feels normal. Like if Mia and I were out with twenty other Mias and Luellas, chatting about our day and our plans.

Floras don’t do that. They exist for. For pleasure. For pain. For those in power to do with as they wish.

But right now they don’t exist for anything.

They just exist. And it’s beautiful.

“Different from sapa with Ledo, I hope?”

“Dominus… are you sure you mean to marry me?” I ask. I let my voice wobble just a bit, allow my nerves to escape into each word.

His eyes narrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Last night you called me Skylar. Now you speak as if I know a man named Ledo? You mention this room as though I’ve been here before…” A patrician would know the name, or someone involved in politics, but not a plebeian. Not someone like I am pretending to be. “Perhaps you wish to marry Skylar?”

He shakes his head. “I know exactly who I wish to marry, Luella.”

I cross my ankles. Uncross them. “As you say, Dominus.” A deferment, a polite and politically correct response. Ladylike.

I wait. I wait for a retort, for the catch or the cruelty that he must be hiding in this charade.

It doesn’t come.