Chapter Eleven

A thaulf watched Placidia doze beside him, Eurica on his other side. His shoulder seared like fire, and his head pounded, but he was grateful for those sensations as they meant he was alive.

He had been wounded before, plenty of times, but no matter the severity of his past injuries, they had always seemed like mere inconveniences, something to be endured and overcome in due course.

Never before had a brush with death struck such fierce terror into him. From the moment the javelin embedded itself into his shoulder, all he'd felt was fear. Not of death itself, but of being parted from Placidia.

I'm not ready to leave her . Though he believed that an afterlife awaited him, he could not countenance spending years, decades waiting there for Placidia. Heaven would be pointless without her.

Such a realization was humbling. It brought to mind their argument the day before his injury. If he couldn't stand to leave her in death, how could he survive sending her back to Ravenna to marry another man?

For the week after his injury, Placidia was the perfect nurse. She made sure he ate, helped him shave, and assisted Eurica in changing his bandages.

She made no mention of their argument. Her pointed silence gave him the distinct impression that she was biding her time to bring it up, waiting until he was well enough to resume the battle.

Soon, he could walk, though his arm remained bound in a sling against his chest to reduce the movement of his shoulder. He walked among the camp, reassuring his people that their king was well, and resumed some of his lighter duties, like reviewing supply logs and answering correspondence. Placidia helped draft replies, her precise, delicate handwriting a vast improvement over his scrawl even when he had full use of his arms.

Today, she waited with a stylus poised over a wax tablet as he read a letter. As soon as he noticed the sender, his brows drew together. Trepidation made his gut tighten.

"Ill news?" Placidia asked, eyes searching his face.

He read over the short letter again, its words burning into his mind. "General Constantius writes that he has heard of my injury and wishes a swift recovery. He also reminds me that he awaits my response to Honorius's offer."

Her lips pressed together, but she gave a careless shrug. "Well, you've had plenty of time to consider , as you wished. Surely you know your answer by now." Sharpness edged her words, like the first chill breeze of winter.

He rose to his feet in a swift movement, wincing as he jostled his shoulder. "I have considered. I have thought about every angle." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. He was angry that they had been forced to such a point, that his own weakness had induced him to lose his heart to a woman he could never have, that his duty to his people would cost him the woman he loved.

Alaric's last words about Placidia echoed in his mind. The world may not allow you much time with her, so you may as well enjoy what you can .

Was this simply the end of his allotted time with Placidia? Should he send her away, and be grateful for what they had shared?

"And?" Placidia asked. The single syllable hung in the air.

He couldn't bear to lose her, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he put his own happiness before the welfare of those who depended on him, who looked to him for leadership.

"I don't know," he growled. The words felt like they were being wrenched from his chest, this dire indecision more painful even than his wound. He wanted nothing more than to declare his love for her as the simple thing it should be. She had given him her loyalty, and it killed him that he couldn't give her his in return.

*

Placidia surveyed Athaulf, forcing herself to remain composed in the face of his uncertainty. Part of her sympathized with him: it was a terrible choice, and she knew it weighed heavily on him.

The other part of her wanted to strangle him.

He raked his free hand through his hair, and Placidia could see every bit of struggle and hardship from the last year etched in his face, shadowing his eyes: Alaric's death, the burdens of kingship, countless hungry days, and now this latest brush with death.

"This was never supposed to be like this. You were supposed to be just a hostage, a captive. You were never meant to stay this long. To work your way into my heart, into the very fabric of my being like you have." Raw emotion rasped in his voice. "You were never meant to make this so difficult."

"How do you think I feel?" Placidia demanded, rising to her feet to look him in the eye. "Do you think I dreamed of falling in love with the man who sacked my city? By rights, I should want nothing more than to marry a man like Constantius—a military hero, respected, influential. A future emperor, if my brother has his way. Marrying Constantius could give me everything I thought I wanted. Yet when you offered me the chance to leave, I chose to stay. Because I—" She stopped short, biting back the words on her tongue. Because I love you .

"Because I love you," Athaulf said, and for a moment she thought he was reading her mind. Then she realized what he meant, and a ball of pulsing warmth settled itself behind her ribs.

"That's why I was willing to let you go then," he continued. "And that is why I find it equally impossible to let you go now."

"Then don't," she murmured. He loves me . Suddenly everything seemed possible, if he loved her. "Refuse the offer."

"But my people—"

She shook her head, cutting off his words. Now that she was sure that he loved her, that her feelings were returned, her strategy and calculations could come into play. "Accepting the offer would make you and your people vassals to Rome. But what if there were a way to get everything you want—including me—without giving up your independence?"

He eyed her skeptically. "Is there?"

She moved away from him and started pacing down the middle of the tent as her thoughts organized themselves in her brain like soldiers in a legion. "You realize why Honorius wished for me to marry Constantius? He knows that any man I marry will have a strong claim on the throne, and since he has no heirs and seems incapable of producing one, he must secure the succession in some way. My son will rule one day."

Athaulf nodded slowly. "I thought you wished to be empress. Another reason why marrying Constantius would be in your favor."

"Oh, I do wish to be empress," she assured him. "But not as Constantius's wife." She paused in her pacing and faced him. "As yours."

She didn't want a political marriage, arranged without her input. She wanted a life on her own terms. She wanted Athaulf.

Even if he was her people's greatest enemy.

He blinked at her as if she'd started speaking Greek. "You don't mean…we could never…"

"I want to marry you," she declared. "Aside from selfish reasons of emotional attachment, it is the best strategic choice for both your people and mine. Think about it," she urged, stepping closer to him. "Our marriage would mend the rift between our peoples, bring peace to the empire. No more sacking cities and raiding farmland. Your people would become allies to Rome, not vassals. And we would rule together one day."

"Honorius would never agree to that," Athaulf said. "A Goth on the imperial throne?" He shook his head.

"He will have turned Rome's most formidable enemy into her greatest ally," Placidia said. "A worthy achievement for anyone, let alone someone as useless as Honorius. I would ensure that our imperial bloodline continues, and I know I have supporters at his court. They will not forget that I was the one who stayed in Rome during the siege."

Athaulf let out a long breath, staring with an unfocused gaze at the tent's canvas wall. "Alaric would be rolling in his grave if he knew I was contemplating joining the empire, instead of destroying it."

She clasped the hand of his uninjured arm in hers. "Alaric entrusted you with the welfare of your people. He would want you to do what you believe is right, even if it's different from what he would have done."

He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers. "And if what is right will also give me the deepest desire of my heart, then who am I to refuse?"

He drew her close and kissed her forehead, then her mouth. She reveled in the caress of his lips as joy blossomed inside her. A laugh bubbled up from deep within her chest.

Against all odds, the future she longed for was within her reach. Rome would forge an alliance with the Goths, and one day, Placidia would claim the power she deserved, with Athaulf at her side.

"Galla Placidia, queen of the Goths and empress of Rome," Athaulf murmured in her ear. "It sounds most impressive, does it not?"

"It does," she replied. "But you forgot the best title of all." She wound her arms around his waist. "Galla Placidia, wife of Athaulf."