Chapter Fourteen

Athaulf was attracted by her nobility, beauty and purity, and so he took her to wife in lawful marriage…When the barbarians learned of this alliance, they were the more effectually terrified, since the Empire and the Goths now seemed to be made one.

—Jordanes , Getica (XXXI)

Narbo (Narbonne)

January 1

P lacidia could think of no better way to celebrate the new year than by gaining a husband.

The noise of a raucous celebration faded behind her as Athaulf shut the door to the room where they would spend their wedding night. She could still hear laughter, a drumbeat, and the melody of a flute echoing from the dining room as their guests continued the revelry without them.

They had come to Narbo to be married. The city, at first wary of the Goths' approach, had opened its gates when it became clear that their only intention was to celebrate the marriage of the emperor's half-sister. A friendly aristocrat, eager to curry favor with the imperial family, had put his home at their disposal, and had helped throw a lavish feast worthy of the occasion. Honorius seemed to have given his tacit approval of the match, as Constantius and his army had left them alone after the ransom offer had been refused.

Placidia had enjoyed the festivities for an hour, but now, she desired a different kind of revelry.

She eyed her husband as he fastened the lock to the door. He had exchanged his leather armor and Gothic trousers for Roman garments, an ankle length blue tunic topped with a green toga embroidered in gold. He had complained about feeling indecent without his trousers, and Placidia had only convinced him to wear the tunic and toga by pointing out how easy it would be to enjoy their wedding night without having to bother with trousers.

He looked like a different person in such clothing, and Placidia made a show of squinting around the room, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. "Where is my barbarian king? I was told there would be one here to defile me. But all I see is an upstanding Roman statesman."

Athaulf stalked toward her, a wicked grin curving his mouth. He shrugged out of the heavy toga, ruining the precise folds, and shucked his tunic in one fluid sweep.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of his bare body, glorious as always. A puckered scar marred his shoulder, the only remaining sign of his months-old javelin injury.

"Here he is," he growled. He seized her shoulders and spun her around until she faced a waist-high chest of drawers against the wall. He pushed her down, his grip unyielding but not painful. "Is this barbaric enough for you, princess?"

She made a show of struggling, though in truth desire was already gathering. It heated her cheeks and pulsed in her core, tingling over her skin. "I insist that you address me with the dignity of my new station," she said, trying to force some sharpness into her breathless voice.

He exerted just enough pressure on her shoulders to pin her upper body flat to the top of the chest. "Very well." He leaned close, draping his naked body over hers, until his lips brushed the back of her neck. "Is this barbaric enough for you, my queen ?"

His words and his closeness sent a cascade of shivers through her. In answer, she arched her back, pushing her hips against him. She let out a purr when she felt his arousal through the layers of her dress and mantle.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, and moved to raise her dress over her hips. She took advantage of his distraction to lift herself off the chest, swiveling around until she faced him. She seated herself on the piece of furniture, allowing him to continue baring her legs.

"I haven't given you your wedding present yet," she murmured.

"I have a feeling you're about to." His hands slid up her thighs, hooking beneath her bottom to pull her flush against him.

"Not that," she gasped, giggling and half-heartedly squirming away from him. He kept his hands firmly on her waist, preventing her from getting too far.

"What, then?" he demanded, impatient. "I require nothing more than your presence in my bed."

"You must have something else, given how much you lavished upon me earlier." At their wedding feast, Athaulf had bestowed upon her a huge share of the remaining spoils from Rome, including fine jewels, expensive pottery, and tableware of gold and silver. The irony was not lost on Placidia; after all, she had once been considered to be part of those spoils. Now, they belonged to her.

"Trinkets," he said, brushing off the immense wealth he'd heaped on her.

"My gift is not so splendid," she said softly. "But I hope in time it will be worth more than all those riches." She took his hand and placed it on her lower stomach. "You will also have to wait several months to receive it."

He stared at his hand where it rested on her stomach, blinking as if he'd never seen it before. His gaze snapped up to meet hers, hopeful but hesitant. "You don't mean…"

She nodded, a smile taking hold of her lips. "Yes," she breathed. "We are to have a child. Half Roman, half Goth. One who can truly unite our peoples."

A wave of emotion passed over his face. Then, he cradled her face in his hands and drew her forward to brush a soft, reverent kiss onto her forehead. "My love," he whispered.

The tenderness in his voice and touch made her eyes sting. She closed her eyes, feeling dampness coat her lashes. Joy so strong it was almost painful filled her up. After all the fear and struggle, all the pain and heartache, finally, she had found her happiness. A future on her own terms, beholden to no one but the man she loved.

She and Athaulf would change the world together, and she only hoped the world was ready for them.

The End