Chapter Nine

Near Massilia (Marseille)

Autumn, one year later

P lacidia stretched, pulling the blanket more securely over her body. A pair of lips nuzzled the back of her neck, and she gave a sleepy smile as she snuggled deeper into Athaulf's embrace. She had woken this way nearly every day for the last year, and it hadn't lost its allure.

Athaulf's hands wandered over her body beneath the blanket, coming to palm her breasts. Placidia let out a little giggle. "Good morning."

Placidia had at first hesitated to continue indulging in physical pleasure with Athaulf. She did not want to compromise her virginity to a man she was not married to, and more practically, she had no wish to risk a pregnancy in their uncertain circumstances. But once she realized that Athaulf was the last man who would try to coerce or inveigle her into something unwanted, she relented—partially, at least.

They had discovered all of the ways their hands and mouths could satisfy each other, but that was as far as it went. Placidia told herself that if she avoided that one particular act, then what she was doing with Athaulf wasn't technically as sinful as it might seem. The struggles of the past months—constant travel, a frigid Alpine crossing, unreliable food—had also helped restrain their desires. Many nights, after a long, hungry day, it was more tempting to fall asleep in Athaulf's arms than undertake any debauchery.

This morning, however, Athaulf seemed more than ready for the undertaking.

He growled against her shoulder and pulled her on top of him, so she straddled his hips. The blanket fell away from her shoulders, revealing her naked body to the cool morning air. She pressed herself against his arousal with a purr of pleasure.

His fingers dug into the muscles of her thighs, and lust sparked in his gaze. "Don't tease me like that, princess," he warned. "My self-control grows thinner every day."

She tossed him a wanton smile, knowing it was an empty threat. He had never so much as held her hand without her leave, and she knew that no matter how much they tempted each other, he would never breach the boundary she had set.

She moved down his body, lowering herself until her mouth hovered over his cock. "And if I tease you like this?" she murmured, then allowed her lips to brush over him.

He groaned. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, stopping just short of pulling.

Placidia knew what he wanted, and—for today, at least—decided not to make him wait. She opened her mouth and took him in. Her tongue slid along his length. His breathing rasped, and his hand tightened on her skull. She worked him with her mouth until he was panting, gasping, desperate. "Placidia," he grunted.

She loved the way his voice, which could boom over an army of thousands, sounded when he was like this. Unsteady, breathless, almost unintelligible with the force of his desire.

To the rest of the world, he might be the king of the Goths, but in this tent, right now, he was at her mercy.

She pulled her mouth off of him, which made him groan. She held his gaze, hazy with lust, as her fingers crept between her thighs. His cock twitched, as if begging for attention, but she ignored it for a moment as she found the spot on her own body that throbbed and pulsed. Her eyes fell shut as she stroked herself, kindling the desire that had been building while she pleasured him.

Fingers still moving, she lowered her head and took him in once more. She moaned, her lips humming around his girth, as her pleasure mounted. He gasped her name, and she knew he was getting close. Watching her touch herself always undid him.

But she was determined to beat him there. She abandoned herself to the delicious friction of her fingers, and allowed the wave of pleasure to pull her under. She cried out, her lips still wrapped around his cock, as she shuddered. He let out a hoarse groan, and his hips flexed up, thrusting into her mouth. Her mouth filled with his seed, which she swallowed quickly.

She released him from her mouth. Her body still tingling with the aftershocks of her climax, she relaxed back onto the bedding next to him. He folded his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

They stayed like that, in blissful contentment, until footsteps sounded outside their tent. A throat cleared. "My king?" The voice of one of Athaulf's men. "May I enter?"

"Not if you value your life," Athaulf growled. He spoke the Gothic language, but Placidia had learned enough of it to understand both men.

"Of course, my king," the man said. "An emissary has arrived, wishing to speak with you."

Athaulf propped himself up on an elbow. "An emissary from Massilia?"

"From Ravenna, my king."

Placidia drew in a sharp breath. Ravenna meant only one thing—a message from her brother.

They hadn't heard anything from Honorius since Athaulf declined his insulting ransom offer. After spending the winter after Alaric's death in southern Italy, Placidia and the Goths had slowly traveled north. As soon as the mountain passes thawed, they spent several freezing weeks crossing the Alps, retracing in reverse the path the famous Hannibal had taken six centuries earlier with his elephants. After crossing into Gaul, they made their way west along the coast toward Hispania.

As another winter now approached, they had set up camp outside Massilia. Athaulf intended to capture the city, as the Goths needed control of a port to secure supplies that would see them through winter.

Throughout all of this travel, no message or opposition had come from Honorius's court. Placidia had started to think that maybe he'd truly abandoned her to a life of captivity—as anyone else would see it—or maybe he'd just forgotten about her.

For once, she was happy to be forgotten.

"I will see the emissary directly," Athaulf called. He rose to his feet, briefly exposing the glory of his naked body before he threw a tunic over his head.

Placidia did the same, dressing and braiding her hair as fast as she could. Her mind whirled. What could it be, other than another ransom offer? And if it were a ransom, what had changed Honorius's mind about retrieving her?

Whatever it was, she had a feeling it could be nothing good.

*

Seated behind the desk he'd inherited from Alaric, Athaulf met the emissary with Placidia standing at his shoulder.

The emissary was a tall man, but had a stooped posture which gave him a crabbed appearance, despite the fact that he seemed no more than forty. His head seemed disproportionately large for his spindly neck. His eyes, however, showed a cool, confident gaze that seemed entirely unconscious of his ill-favored physical appearance.

His clothing provided a clue as to his confidence. Dressed in military garb, he wore the crimson cloak of a general, fastened at his right shoulder with a golden brooch. An empty sword sheath hung at his hip; Athaulf's men would have divested him of the weapon before being admitted to the tent.

Athaulf's interest piqued, along with his trepidation. This man was no ordinary emissary. Honorius had sent one of his generals, which was only one step removed from the emperor showing up himself. This could only mean one thing—Honorius had finally decided that he wanted his sister back.

Unease knotted in Athaulf's stomach, but he pushed it aside. He would listen to the offer, and hopefully, it could be dismissed as easily as the last one had been.

The emissary inclined his head to Athaulf, then gave a deeper bow to Placidia. "King Athaulf. Galla Placidia. It is my honor to meet you." His gaze lingered on Placidia, no doubt wondering why she stood at Athaulf's side more like a queen than a hostage. "I am Flavius Constantius."

That name explained much. Constantius had recently risen to become Honorius's most successful general, and had disposed of several usurpers to the imperial throne with ease. The Goths were lucky that Constantius had been busy putting down rebellions across the empire, and had left them alone. Until today.

Constantius spoke directly to Placidia. "Honorius Augustus will be pleased to hear that you are well, my lady. He has been fraught with worry for you."

"I am sure he has been as concerned for my safety as I have been eager to return."

Athaulf turned his head to glance up at her, fighting a grin. He relished her quick wit.

"That is the matter on which I have come," Constantius continued, showing no sign of understanding her double meaning. "Honorius Augustus wishes to negotiate for the return of his beloved sister."

Out of the corner of his eye, Athaulf saw Placidia's small hands clench into fists before she clasped them behind her back. Athaulf leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk before him. "What is the emperor's offer?"

Constantius drew in a deep breath. "Honorius Augustus offers a gift of land here in Gaul. He also offers federate status for the Gothic people. You may settle freely on Roman land, and will have the full support of the empire in perpetuity. In addition, he will send enough grain to see your people through the winter with ease."

Athaulf struggled to keep his face blank. "A generous offer." It was more than generous. This offer was everything he had ever wanted for his people—land, peace, and food—without having to travel all the way to Hispania and undertake another conquest.

But if the price was Placidia…could he bring himself to pay it?

"Indeed," Constantius replied. "The emperor is eager for this conflict between our peoples to be settled. For his sister to be returned, and your Goths to be settled in peace."

"Why now?" Placidia burst out. "We've had no word from Honorius for all this time. Why does he suddenly extend this olive branch now?" Her voice had lost its customary coolness, turning harsh and unsteady. It seemed she was as surprised by this offer as he was.

Constantius's thin eyebrows lifted in faint surprise at her outburst, as if he'd forgotten she was capable of speech. "It is Honorius Augustus's pleasure that you should be betrothed to me. Once you return to Ravenna, he intends for us to be married."

Athaulf's stomach plummeted. It was one thing to lose Placidia…but quite another to send her into the arms—and bed—of another man.

Silence fell over the tent. Athaulf didn't trust himself to speak for a long, tense moment. Every instinct urged him to repudiate the offer, to banish Constantius from the tent, to declare that no amount of riches or security for his people could induce him to give Placidia up.

But he could not reject an offer out of hand which could change the lives of so many, for no reason other than selfish attachment. He swallowed down the frustrated rage clogging his throat and managed to find a mild tone. "I must consider the emperor's offer. You will have my answer soon."

Next to him, Placidia stiffened, but didn't speak.

Constantius nodded. "I will be stationed in the vicinity for a month. Honorius Augustus requests an answer in that time." He bowed again to Placidia, then turned and left the tent.

*

As soon as the tent flap swung shut, Placidia rounded on Athaulf. "You will consider it?" she hissed, anger stealing her breath.

He met her gaze evenly. "It is a generous offer. These things must be duly considered."

"Did you not hear him?" she demanded. "He intends to marry me. How can you—how can you even think—" She took a deep, shuddering breath. "You once said Romans treated their women worse than animals. And yet you're considering selling me back to them like a cartful of turnips?"

"When you chose to stay, I told you how it would be between us," Athaulf said. "You agreed to those terms."

"That was a lifetime ago!" Placidia remembered his words that night, but after spending countless days by Athaulf's side and nights in his arms, she had—foolishly, it seemed—thought things had changed.

"I have more than just you to consider, Placidia," he said, his voice low and serious. "Thirty thousand men and their families depend on me. I cannot turn down such an offer lightly."

Her lips pressed together. "After all that we have shared—all the time we have spent together—I thought I meant more to you. You would see me married off against my will, to spend the rest of my life—"

He rose to his feet and seized her hands. "As a man, you are the most important thing to me, Placidia. But as a king…it's not so simple."

She yanked free of his grip. "As a king, you should not consent to have your people be vassals to Rome. That is what ‘federate status' means, after all," she spat. "Rome will own you. As it seeks to own me."

"As a king, I will not subject my people to unnecessary suffering and bloodshed," he snapped, his voice as taut as a whipcrack. "That is what refusing this offer would lead to."

She glared at him, unable to summon a retort because she knew he was right.

"In any case, I have made no decision," Athaulf said. "When I do, you'll be the first to know." He swept past her out of the tent.

She stared after him, anger still boiling hot. Shock left her speechless. How could he even think of accepting the ransom, of sending her back to marry someone else?

She knew why Honorius was finally trying to orchestrate her return—Constantius was a valuable ally, and Honorius was going to use her to reward him with an imperial marriage.

Also, Placidia suspected that as Honorius still had no children, he intended to set Constantius up as his heir. Anyone Placidia married would have a strong claim on the throne, even more so if he controlled the army. It would be the influential marriage Placidia had once desired, putting her within arm's length of the throne, but now, what should have been a victory gave her only misery.

Her anger at Athaulf dulled into an ache in the middle of her chest. She hugged her arms around herself, willing herself not to crumble. She forced herself to summon the strength that had seen her through the siege and sack of Rome. After all she had survived, this moment would not be her undoing.

Nevertheless, Athaulf's words felt like a betrayal. She, after all, had chosen him that night when Alaric lay dying. She had chosen to stay, chosen to entwine her fate with his.

But apparently, he was not willing to choose her in return.