#Elaine Peacock | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

separatist-apologist · 6 months ago

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Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

Elain was up with the dawn, which normally wouldn’t have been such a big deal had Lucien not kept her up all night. He’d wanted to inform his closest circle that he was married, as he needed several witnesses to agree to sign their document before the ceremony that afternoon. Elain wondered if Lucien saw what she did—their silent disapproval, this frowns as they agreed, their pinched gazes even as they tried to offer Lucien their validation.

He risked their allegiance with his marriage and Elain suspected he simply didn’t care.

She wished she could remember all the major players in Lucien’s reign. She wasn’t a historian—what she knew was far more limited, much broader. Still, when Hybern’s eyes had fallen on her, she’d felt recognition in the back of her mind. Whether that was good or bad, she simply didn’t know.

And she never would.

Elain had stood in front of that mural for what felt like a lifetime, willing herself to just touch it. Go home.

She’d never even come close, though she couldn’t admit that to Lucien. Let him think it was a close call, if only to remind him she could leave him if she wanted to. It was crazy to stay in a place that didn’t have the right kind of indoor plumbing—water was pumped in and out, but there was no waste removal like home, and Elain didn’t love using the pots.

But the idea of going back to her lonely, confusing existence filled her with dread. And as she’d stood there, Elain had seen her future flash before her. Married back in the states, with Graysen and the two children she was certain he wanted. And while it wasn’t a miserable existence, she knew she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what might have been if she stayed with Lucien.

And Elain knew she’d never wondered what-if about Graysen. In the end, that realization had been the one that pushed her over the edge.

The kind of love she felt was rare. Elain didn’t want to lose it over some misplaced sense of propriety. Even if that meant being dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn so Lucien could parade her around, proud as a peacock, that he’d managed to secure a wife no one approved of. Unconcerned and undeterred, Lucien then took Elain outdoors to his massive lawn and declared with much delight that it was all hers.

“Do whatever you wish with it,” he said with a broad grin.

“This is all happening rather fast,” Elain told him as Lucien turned to look at her, hair blowing in the wind. He hadn’t tied it all back yet and Elain found she liked him best this way. Maybe it was how Lucien felt when the scarf came off her head, allowing him to see her unbound hair. No one else did—and they never would now that she was married.

“How is it done in your home?” Lucien questioned. He’d begun phrasing his interest in the future as just her home—like it was someplace past Brittania that she might visit, if she wished. Elain didn’t mind it.

“For you,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t respond, sliding an iron band onto her third finger. He turned her palm upward, tracing an invisible line to her wrist where the faint blue of her veins lay just beneath her fair skin. “Vena amoris. It connects to your heart.”

“Where I’m from, men get on their knees to ask a woman to be their wife,” Elain told him, heart hammering in her chest.

He wouldn’t.

He would.

Lucien slid to his knees like it was nothing, hands skimming the sides of her body as he went. Gold sunlight caught against the copper of his hair, adorning him as surely as any crown might.

“Do they beg?” he questioned, bunching the fabric of her dress between his fingers. “Marry me. Please.”

“What if I say no?” she questioned, wondering who the Emperor was right then, him or her.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Say yes.”

Elain smiled, reaching for his hands to tug him back to his feet. “Of course I will.”

“The men of your home must have the nerves of the gods to withstand the waiting,” he told her, a shaky smile spreading over his otherwise handsome features. “I didn’t like that.”

“It’s good for you,” she teased, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“I don’t see how,” Lucien grumbled, snaking an arm around her waist. “What else do they do in your home?”

Elain considered it before biting her bottom lip. “Nothing worth mentioning—”

“Tell me anyway.”

She sighed, knowing Lucien was going to go overboard. “Typically, when they ask, they present their potential wife with a ring which you already did.”

“Jewelry?” he asked, eyes sharpening.

“Just a ring, Lucien,” she insisted hastily, but he wasn’t listening to her, starry-eyed as he plotted.

“Just a ring,” he repeated, gaze sweeping toward the fountain. “We’ll be married this afternoon, and tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Rome as my wife and their Empress at our first game. Have you ever seen one?”

“No,” she admitted, stomach tumbling at the thought. Lucien’s excitement was palpable.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Lucien murmured, “You’re going to love it.”

Elain wasn’t so sure. She knew the coliseum hosted some of the most violent sporting events in the ancient world and Elain had never had the stomach for blood and carnage. This was important to him, but also to the city he lived in and the people she needed to support her. Elain vowed she would smile through it all, and clap for the victories that belonged to Rome, if only to endear herself.

Which gave her an idea. “Lucien?” she began, reaching for his hand. He looked between them, lacing her fingers with hers while rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. “What if we gave the citizens of Rome a gift?”

He cocked his head to the side. “What kind of gift?”

“Something generous,” she asked. “A day's wages?”

“A week,” Lucien countered, as if Elain was going to complain about it. “Courtesy of my new wife.”

With his free hand, Lucien tapped the tip of her nose affectionately. “Very shrewd of you.”

“I thought it would be nice not to be slaughtered in my sleep,” she replied with an easy grin.

“My new wife, champion of the people,” he murmured with obvious, unguarded affection. “Rome is lucky you stayed.”

Elain poked him in the side, finding nothing but hard muscle beneath the white of his chiton. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“No,” he replied, though they both knew that was a lie. Lucien had been away for three days, and Empires didn’t run themselves. He needed to get back to work before someone started suggesting he was the wrong choice and decided to do something about it.

And Elain needed to track down Arina, who wasn’t in her bedroom. No one would look at her when she asked where her friend had gone, which could only mean one thing.

Elain allowed Lucien to walk her back inside before practically running down the halls, skirts gathered in her hands as she passed important statesmen, servants and would-be philosophers, all of whom turned to look though they said very little to her face. She needed to memorize their names and get to know them, but that was a future problem for future Elain.

Elain made her way to the suite occupied by Eris Vanserra within the palace. He had his own estate in the city he could have spent time in and yet he’d remained here—for how long, Elain wondered?

Flinging open the doors, she expected to find the pair of them half naked in bed.

“Surprise,” Arina said as light from the hall flooded into the otherwise dark bedchamber. Arina was dressed and sitting in a nearby chair, legs folded beneath her. “Did you expect something different?”

“Some one different,” Elain replied pointedly, eyes drifting to the unmade bed that had clearly held two people in it. “You’re alive.”

“So are you,” Arina said, arching a pale brow. “Where did he take you?”

“Back to the mural,” Elain murmured softly, closing the door behind her. “I told him everything.”

She expected Arina’s anger, for her friend to rise to her feet and begin yelling. Elain thought she might have deserved it—after all, Lucien could have killed them both if he hadn’t believed her. However, Arina remained in her chair, hands folded in her lap.

“You didn’t go back.”

Elain bit the inside of her cheek. “What is there to go back to?”

Arina was too calm. “Your fiance. Your job. Air conditioning?”

“That last one is a good point,” Elain agreed solemnly. “It’s hot for June, right?”

Arina shrugged. “Not as hot as it would be back home. Global warming and what-not. I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you I also decided to stay.”

“With Eris?” Elain questioned, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice. Heat crawled up Arina’s skin, warming her soft brown cheeks as she peered down at the floor.

“He’s a good man.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” Elain replied, taking a step toward her friend. “I’m just surprised that you want to stay for him…or any man, really.”

“You and me both,” Arina replied, wincing softly as she shifted in her chair. “But I’ve thought about home, and…I was miserable back there.”

Elain went to her, then, grabbing a purple pillow from a nearby chaise to kneel on the floor at Arina’s feet. Resting her head against her friend's shin, she nodded.

“So was I.”

“Sometimes I think I’m crazy,” Arina admitted, reaching for the scarf that hid Elains hair to tug at the fabric. “But everything moves slower here. People are alive, you know? And I’m tired. If Eris wants to support me while I torment him, why should I say no?”

Elain laughed. “Maybe he likes a little torture.”

Arina nodded. “He must if he likes me. We can worry about that later, though—for now, we need to figure the customs out here and quickly. Eris said Lucien intends to marry you.”

“This afternoon,” Elain said with more satisfaction than was maybe warranted.

“You know how Romans are. Some of them will be out for blood. We can’t give them anything to work with and no reason to doubt us. I don’t want to be sent to Capri.”

Elain couldn’t help the strangled laugh that escaped her. Capri had been where Emperor Tiberus lived due to his fear of the political machinations of Roman politicians and their penchant for assassination. Commodus had later used it to exile both his wife and sister. Elain doubted Lucien would have her exiled anywhere, though if he died, she would certainly be right behind him.

“We need to be careful,” Elain agreed, looking at her friend. They were already viewed with suspicion as outsiders and would be convenient scapegoats for anyone looking to whip up anti-Roman sentiment in a bid for power. “Lucien is giving the citizens of Rome a weeks worth of wages as a wedding gift.”

“That’s…that's a good idea. Was it yours?”

Elain beamed. “It was. Today, all we have to worry about is this wedding. Tomorrow we’ll go to the games and let people see us. If we have their support, killing us will be far more difficult.”

“Until the propaganda papers start circulating,” Arina grumbled.

“So give them nothing to talk about. We’ll be the perfect Roman wives,” Elain replied, her plan solidifying. “We’re charming. We’re smart. We can get enough patricians to like us.”

“Lets hope.”

It wasn’t entirely traditional. Elain had no household for Lucien to walk toward, and instead had a processional through the city, complete with the high red and gold banner of Rome itself, as he walked through the city toward his brother's estate. Eris had agreed to act as her father given her actual father wouldn’t be born for centuries, and she had no other family. Having him on one side, and Arina has her matron of honor on the other, made Elain feel a little less alone.

She was made to wait in a long, elaborately embroidered white tunic belted around her waist with a hercules knot. Pinned in her hair was the traditional orange veil hastily dyed the night before specifically for her, and on her feet a pair of matching orange shoes.

Elain’s thick hair had been secured within a yellow hair net which kept it off her neck before it had been parted and plaited six ways, and the whole thing secured with the hasta caelibaris—a ceremonial pin shaped to look like a spear of celibacy. Elain had resisted the urge to giggle over it given she hadn’t been celibate, even after arriving in Rome. Though, she doubted anyone was going to give her too much grief given she was marrying the man in question.

A wreath of roses had been placed atop her head, the thorns all carefully plucked before they’d been woven together. She felt rather pretty despite the strangeness of the customs and how nervous everyone was as they watched for any ill-omen that might curse the wedding. More than a few women had commented that Lucien had chosen a good day in June, and Juno herself seemed indifferent to the whole thing. Elain still made an offering before stepping outside just to be safe—there was something supernatural at work given she shouldn’t have been there at all. Perhaps it was the gods.

Crowds gathered both behind the procession and on the margins, curious as to who their new emperor had chosen and to see a wedding among the patricians play out. Weddings weren’t uncommon, and though they were often somewhat public, Lucien was making a loud spectacle. Food was free, a mimicry of the feast being prepared for those that would participate in her wedding celebration, which caused excitement that nearly became pandemonium when it was announced all citizens would receive a week's worth of wages as a gift from Elain herself.

Newly named Helena, Elain knew she’d find a likeness of her face on newly minted coins in the coming months. Lucien had informed her in a letter delivered by a rather lovely servant, that he wanted to have her portrait commissioned for one.

Elain stood beneath the shade of one of the massive stone pines, delighting in a cool breeze. It was hot, of course, but her nerves were making her far sweatier than the heat. Even as she saw him approach, dressed in white and gold in his own toga virilis, replete with a cape pinned around his shoulders. His red hair was neatly pulled off his beautiful face and adorned with a crown of golden laurel leaves marking him as more than just a mere groom but emperor too. He looked it, right then, eyes fixated wholly on her like twin burning stars. He was a mirage beneath the heat, shimmering along the edges of his form as he made his way with single-minded determination.

Elain kept herself still, trying to maintain an image somewhere between joyful and fearful which was the expectation for a Roman bride. It felt like the entire city was watching, picking everything about her apart to find fault or flaw they could talk about in the morning. Foolish as it was, she wanted them to love her.

I gave my whole life up for you.

Lucien made his way up the long, stone pine lined drive in the blink of an eye. He inclined his head when he saw her, unable to hide his wolfish grin.

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. Elain nodded nervously, looking up at him through her lashes. It wasn’t fake modesty—she was terrified right then. Was she making the right choice? Was she doing the right thing?

The wind picked up around her, ruffling the veil round her face not viciously, but like a fussy mother. Lucien’s smile widened.

“The gods favor us.”

Elain decided to take Lucien at his word, though it certainly felt like he was right. Everything went as it was supposed to—he spoke the words to Eris, her faux father, with smooth practice as Eris suppressed an eye roll. Everyone was dressed in clothes similar to her and Lucien in order to trick evil spirits looking to curse them with bad luck, and Elain tried to imagine the outrage it would cause on modern day internet forums.

No one spilled wine over the guests so Elain could be the only one in white. Had Nesta been there, though, Elain knew her elder sister would have marked everyone simply to be petty. There was cake and wine and more food than any of the guests could have consumed in a lifetime. Lucien’s entirely family had come—famed Roman General Helion, and the divorced wife of the former emperor, Amera.

Lucien’s mother was absurdly beautiful and incredibly kind, welcoming Elain with a wide smile and a hug that made her miss her own mother. Helion, too, looked far younger than she knew he was, aging seemingly in reverse. It was a good omen for her future with Lucien given he favored his father so heavily.

Jurian, his most loyal friend, was also there with his wife Vassa whom both Elain and Arina took an immediate liking to. Lucien and Jurian had just enough wine to make them boisterous without being embarrassing, and Elain caught herself watching them laugh as they exchanged jokes, strangely enchanted by the pair of them.

There were others—men who laughed as they swore they’d never marry, eyes straying toward another man they’d brought with them as a friend—though the heated glances made them seem more like lovers. Senators brought their wives, who were gracious and kind to Elain as they shared little bits of wisdom for making the most of a wedding night—and Senator Tarquin’s rather lovely bride, who slipped Elain a piece of parchment with a recipe for birth control.

“Just in case,” she’d murmured with a wink.

Amera offered to step in as Elain’s mother to allow the pair to play act the strangest part of the marriage ritual—the part where they play acted The Rape of Sabine Women. Elain knew of it vaguely—back when Rome was little more than a small kingdom and in need of women, Roman men had kidnapped women from nearby tribes who were raped and then made to be wives. Whether it was truth or mere legend was still debated, though the Roman’s clearly loved it.

Lucien grinned the entire time he tried to pull Elain from his mother, who put up a rather weak fight in the end. Around them, everyone laughed and jeered as Elain eventually fell into Lucien’s arms, elbowing him just hard enough to knock the wind from his gut when he held her against him.

“A kiss?” he murmured, ignoring the people around them.

She surged upward on tiptoes, kissing the man she’d thrown her whole life away for. “A kiss,” she agreed, tasting the wine on his mouth. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be too drunk to do your husbandly duty.”

“Never,” he swore, placing a hand over his heart. “I won’t disappoint you.”

The procession back through the city was far sillier. A perfect, starry sky greeted them when they stepped out into the cool air, hands clasped and smiles on their faces. As they passed the gathered crowds, people tossed walnuts which Lucien explained was a good omen for fertility. Elain couldn’t contain her amusement, giggling into his arm as they went.

“You don’t want children?” Lucien whispered as they went, careful to keep his voice quiet.

“I’ll explain it all later,” she promised, catching sight of the Emperor’s palace atop the hill. It seemed to glow in the moonlight, ethereal and unreal even in its construction. Elain knew if she asked Arina, her friend would say it was meant to project strength and stability or whatever, but it all felt like a dream to her. Even when Lucien lifted her into his arms, carrying her over the oil and fat coated threshold in a tradition that still survived nearly two thousand years later. He broke bread over her head while his friends and family cheered, and then it was all over. Taking her past a small chaise set out for their spirits to couple on, Lucien closed the door to their bedroom with glittering eyes.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he admitted, brushing crumbs off Elain’s veil. “Really?” she asked, stepping closer so she could press her cheek against his chest.

“I kept expecting you to change your mind and beg me to take you back to the mural,” he admitted, holding out his hand so she could see the faint tremble.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lucien,” Elain swore, taking that hand to press a kiss to his palm. “Trust that, if you trust nothing else. I found my way to you once, and I’ll find it again and again—in every life.”

“Let's worry about this life,” Lucien murmured, leading her to the bed.

Elain only smiled.

LUCIEN:

“This feels wrong,” he said, staring down at Elain’s naked body. “Are you sure—”

“Just get it over with,” she snapped, head turned to the side so she didn’t have to watch.

Straddling her waist, Lucien hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Elain told him through clenched teeth. Her hair was a tangled mass around her beautiful face, lips stained red from his mouth, cheeks flushed from an evening of pleasure and, perhaps, a little too much wine. “Lucien, please.”

Lucien readjusted the dagger held in his sweaty fingers. “I didn’t imagine I would be maiming my wife the morning after I married her.”

Elains smile was grim. “Do you want children or not?”

He did. Oh, but how he did—not mentioning that it was the expectation placed upon her the moment Lucien made her his bride. Elain would need to have a least one healthy child in order to please both the city and the gods and prove their union was blessed.

A fact made more difficult when Elain, breathless and distractingly naked, had informed him she had a little piece of metal in her arm that would prevent her from having children for a decade. In order to circumvent that, it needed to be removed. Elain explained a physician would have done it for her back home and Lucien, ever practical, had decided it ought to be him.

He couldn’t explain her life to anyone, nor did he want rumors circulating about her. The problem now was that Lucien didn’t want to take that knife and wound her, even if she was asking him to. And Elain had said she couldn’t do it because she hated blood, leaving the pair at an impasse.

Elain looked up at him before pushing at his chest with her small hands. Ignoring the arousal that surged through him, Lucien fell theatrically to the side as Elain got out of bed, threw on a shift, and marched right out the door. It wasn’t quite morning—very few people would be up given the partying that had gone on well into the wee hours of the morning. Lucien didn’t bother putting on anything himself, partly because he expected her to return alone.

He hastily threw a blanket over his half hard cock as Arina strolled in with exasperation. “Give me the dagger.”

Lucien offered it up as Elain sat in a chair, arm outstretched. He couldn’t help but watch as Arina dragged the tip of the blade against Elain’s perfect skin, causing blood to rise up and slide toward her wrist. Elain hissed, head turned and eyes squeezed tight.

“Good thing you didn’t get an IUD,” Arina muttered, the words meaningless to him. “Then you’d be fucked.”

It seemed like it took forever. Lucien’s heart was in his throat watching, ignoring the fact that he had driven his own blade through a hundred men or more in his life. Something about watching his wife maimed, even if she was asking for it, made him want to vomit.

Arina pulled the little piece from Elain’s arm between long fingernails, grimacing the entire time. “Wash that really well,” Arina urged before dropping the bloody speck into Elain’s open palm.

“This seems like the worst place to have a child.”

“You’ll be first,” Elain called after, earning a dismissive wave of her hand before Arina was gone. Lucien stood, then, making his way toward Elain who was taking Arina’s advice. While she used a pitcher of water to rinse the blood from her skin, Lucien examined the little object with fascination.

“How does it work?”

She glanced over. “I’m not entirely sure. It uses hormones, I think, to block—”

“Hormones?”

Elain looked upward for a moment. “I forgot there is so much you don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but it basically…blocks…the things your body does to create life.”

“And you wanted that?”

Elain offered him a pretty smile. “I did, yes.”

The unspoken words between them were, of course, that now she did. Whether out of duty or love, Lucien didn’t dare ask. She’d grow into it, he decided. There was time to consider the possibilities, to see her delighted at the prospect of being a mother—of raising another potential Emperor, even.

“Are you going to escort us to the games today?” Elain asked once she’d wrapped a little bandage around her arm. Lucien nodded, not bothering to inform her that he would much prefer to keep her in bed for the next month uninterrupted. There was something primal about the desire which felt debasing. He should be above such things.

And yet he wasn’t. Lucien thought about her the entire time he bathed and dress, adorning his military dress uniform rather than another chiton, partly because he wanted to project power to his people.

And partly because he’d need it. He wanted his new wife to understand what it meant to be married to a man like him. He wanted her to be proud of him.

Lucien wanted everyone else to be afraid of him.

That last part was practical. There was hurt feelings among the snakes in his court who felt he’d betrayed his very station by marrying a woman who wasn’t born and raised in Rome. Lucien had heard their objections before ignoring them—tradition wasn’t the end all, be all after all. Not one among them adhered to tradition all the time.

Merely when it suited them best.

Now they wanted to complain because it was their families snubbed, ignoring he had no duty to them at all, nor did he care to elevate them to annoying heights. He’d made his decision and today he’d silence the dissenters and stir up pro-Roman sentiment among the ordinary people and the soldiers within his walls.

Lucien was itching to redistribute some of their ancestral lands to more loyal senators. And he would—so long as he had justification. Maybe he’d use his wife to inform him of the gossip at court so he could better make decisions. Lucien was fairly good at picking through it himself—he’d learned from a young age that if he spoke very little and maintained good eye contact, people would just keep talking and talking and talking. He’d been collecting secrets his entire life.

Elain was waiting for him, freshly bathed and dressed in pretty yellow that nearly skewed orange thanks to whoever had dyed it. She looked up at him from her spot in front of a mirror, carefully wrapping her stolla over her shoulder while leaving her neatly braided hair out.

“It’ll be hot today, even in the shade,” he warned, kissing her cheek. He wanted to do more, though that would have to wait.

“It’s always hot,” Elain replied with an easy smile. Was she happy? Truly? Lucien was trying so hard not to think about it because when he did, fear wormed its way and tainted his joy. He could face down a line of men pointing spears directly at his face, but he couldn’t ask his wife if she truly wanted to be with him.

What if she said no?

“It’ll cool,” he promised, taking her hand as she rose to her feet. “You look beautiful.” She beamed. “Are you going to war?” she questioned, pressing her palm to the heavy breastplate strapped against his chest.

“Something like that,” he replied. Lucien led her into the hall where they met up with his brother and Arina, both of whom were the center of the majority of the floating rumors. Lucien had been smart—though no one would have cared if he bedded Elain here, they would have begun to talk had he not married her. Arina was quickly being relegated in the minds of those that mattered as a mistress, and mistresses didn’t command the same respect a wife would.

Eris needed to either remove her from his bed or marry her. Judging by the look on Eris’s face, Lucien suspected it would be the latter. Deciding to discuss it later, far out of the ear shot of those around them, he nodded his head, indicating it was time to go.

Elain walked dutifully beside him, crowned with pretty green laurel leaves pinned neatly into either side of her head. She looked like a goddess, a thought he kept quiet even in his own head lest any of the gods decide to peer inside. They may have brought Elain to him, but Lucien knew that could just as easily take her away.

Beside her, Vassa had begun talking animatedly, unconcerned with Elain’s rank or status. Jurian, keeping just a step behind Lucien, took the opportunity to say, “They’ll call you mad for this.”

“Only if I lose,” he replied, stepping into the streets with a grin. “Which I won’t.”

“Careful, lest Minerva hear you and decide you need to be humbled.”

“I welcome her wisdom,” Lucien informed his friend, “though it is Mars who watches me today.”

Mars had been watching him for a long time, though truthfully, Lucien had always considered Minerva a more welcome patron. She was far cleverer than him, of course—but Lucien considered himself clever, too. You didn’t become Emperor without a little of her favor, after all.

The city was alive even in the early morning heat. Musicians and other entertainers had come out, drowning out the excited chatter as people filed toward the towering coliseum. It had been a good decade, if not more, since an Emperor had last hosted games for the people. Beron had been too busy lining his own pockets with the taxes he collected to care, and Lucien knew keeping the people fed and entertained was the easiest way to ensure their loyalty.

Passing the tax collectors, Lucien saw the line to collect Elain’s gift stretched down a whole city street, wrapping itself into the next as people waited with unabashed excitement. He intended to repeat the gift once his coins were minted, forever associating the generosity with Elain herself.

Forever known as Augusta Helena.

Lucien followed Elain up to their seats, shaded beneath a canopy already unfurled to keep those in the stands shaded, too. The noise was deafening, delighting him as Elain leaned forward over the rail, elbows resting against the stone so she could take it all in. Beside her, Arina did the same, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kept forgetting they’d never been, had never seen any of the glory of Rome. He’d kept them secluded, and thought they’d made their way into the city earlier in their stay, this wasn’t comparable to a little shopping at the market.

Lucien was allowed to make a speech, though he chose to keep it short. He welcomed Romans to the first day of his week-long celebration, thanked the gods for the glory bestowed upon them, and introduced his wife to a roaring crowd of people before he sat himself down and waved on the beginning of the spectacle.

Elain didn’t like blood—she’d told him so just that morning. Now, as the gladiators filed out, Lucien tried to imagine the entire thing through brand new eyes. What did they do in her home for fun, he wondered? Did they not have something similar she would have enjoyed? Elain’s light dusting of freckles were stark against the paleness of her face when the first man fell to the sand, throat cut inelegantly but efficiently. It wasn’t the most brutal of killings, but it was the first.

The crowd roared out their pleasure, screaming in a cacophony of noise for their preferred champion as blades clashed and the dirt beneath their feed muddied. It was merely a warm up—all the warriors were slaves captured from rebellions or outright wars and made to fight for the amusement of Lucien’s people. Whether they lived or died was of no consequence to him—they were too new for anyone to be terribly attached to.

They were waiting on a different gladiator—Lucien had seen the graffiti coming in, had noticed the posters of his shirtless form slapped against buildings. If he looked at the crowd, he’d see children holding little dolls sold just outside the stadium along with the banners that would wave through the air when he arrived.

Lucien was looking forward to the fight. And when famed Gladiator Rhysand stepped out, bare chested and adorned in his strange tattoos, the crowd erupted with excitement. The former Thracian General had started off as just another low-level slave fighting because that was the only way to stay alive.

Rhysand was a freed man, now. Not a citizen, but he had wealth and property and from what Lucien could discern, a rather nice existence for someone who should have been slaughtered on a battlefield. He didn’t entirely trust Rhysand—nor anyone who had once tried to overthrow Rome’s hold on their lands. In the back of his mind, he always assumed they’d try again if they were ever able, and just like Beron before him, he intended to keep a watchful eye on Rhysand’s comings and goings.

Convincing him to fight hadn’t been difficult thanks to Lucien’s promised quarry. On the other side of the arena, blonde hair shining beneath the sun stood the traitor Tamlin. Rhysand had asked to kill him when Jurian had gone on Lucien’s behalf to secure his presence in the arena. Tamlin the Betrayer—he’d sold them out to invading germanic tribes, promising them land and wealth if they sacked Rome but left once they’d taken what they wanted and executed all opposition that would allow Tamlin to rise to power.

Unlike Beron, who had exiled Tamlin, Lucien wasn’t so forgiving. They’d been friends. Lucien’s name hadn’t been on the list, though he doubted he’d have been spared should a hostile army sweep into the city. Nor did he think Tamlin would have mourned too terribly if he’d been collateral damage.

Tamlin’s father had been the cause of Rhysand’s capture, and it was rumored that Rhysand had been the one to kill him. Lucien hadn’t been part of the Thracian campaign and so he couldn’t say if it was true or not. There was no other reason Rhysand would want to kill Tamlin, a true born Roman citizen, if it wasn’t though.

It was interesting to watch the people of Rome rally behind Rhysand even as Tamlin came out adorned in Roman garb. Food was hurtled from the stands, landing at their feet as Rhysand threw up his hands and spun in a circle, yelling words lost to the roaring crowd. Tamlin didn’t bother, ever stoic even in defeat.

He’d been promised freedom if he survived and Rhysand knew it. Lucien glanced over at Elain, her eyes fixated on the warrior.

“What do you think?” Lucien asked, lips inches from her cheek.

“Where is he from?” she asked, and too late, Lucien wondered if she understood the markings on his body. Rhysand claimed they were for luck in battle, though Lucien very much doubted that was all they were.

“Thrace. He was royalty, or so they say.”

She only nodded, turning back to watch. Rhysand raised his curved blade over his head and the fight began with Rhysand taking the offensive and Tamlin the defensive. Tamlin held a heavy shield in one hand, sword in the other. Lucien had seen Rhysand break through a shield before, though never one held by a former Roman trained General. Truthfully, Tamlin should have been crucified, his remains left out for the vultures to feast upon until his bones were bleached by the sun.

But this was far more entertaining. Rhysand’s citizenship was on the line—though he didn’t know it. Lucien had decided if he won, he’d make Rhysand a citizen of Rome, no longer obligated to fight in the arena if he didn’t want to. He might have fought harder had he known what was truly at stake for him—but Lucien didn’t want this victory tainted.

He wanted to see Tamlin slaughtered out of hatred rather than self-preservation. And he wanted, more than that, for Tamlin to know it had been him who’d ordered it. Lucien forgot about his wife half recoiling beside him, disturbed by the brutality of what she was witnessing.

Down below, though, was a symphony of violence. Weapons clashed loud enough the clangs could be heard from where Lucien sat, jarring his teeth with a familiar phantom pain.

“Don’t turn away,” he ordered Elain when she gasped, eyes closing as she turned her face into his shoulder. “Watch.”

“I can’t.”

“You must,” he said, well aware eyes were on them. She couldn’t be seen as weak. Elain went back to watching, looking as if she wanted to vomit all over the floor. She could cry about it when they were alone again—but for now, she would watch.

Beside her, it seemed Arina did have the stomach for it. Her eyes were bright with interest as she leaned forward, tracking the movements of Rhysand so carefully that Lucien caught his brother glancing over, eyes pinched at the corners.

Maybe he ought to be worried if Rhysand became a citizen. Or perhaps he’d finally stop embarrassing Lucien and just make her his wife to prevent a future in which Arina found herself in a gladiator's bed.

Turning his attention back to the battle, Lucien witnessed Rhysand plant his sandaled foot flat against Tamlin’s back, kicking with such force that Tamlin’s sword flew from his hand as he was knocked to the ground. Panting, onyx hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, Rhysand made his way toward Tamlin.

The once respected General looked scared. That moment of fear, even if he didn’t beg, dishonored him. The crowd roared as Rhysand swung a powerful thigh over Tamlin’s body, using tattooed knees to pin his arms to the ground. Lucien wished he could hear what words Rhysand spoke, sword raised high over his head.

And then it was over. He drove his blade through Tamlin’s throat, drawing forth gushing blood. Rhysands swung again, removing Tamlin’s head from his body as the crowd leapt to their feet, stomping their feet and screaming so loud the gods could not ignore them. Lucien, too, was on his feet, clapping as Rhysand turned to him, head raised in his hands.

I did as you wanted, those violet eyes seemed to say.

Lucien merely nodded in return. Well done.

It took time to set up the next portion of the games. Lucien left Elain in the capable hands of his brother so he and Jurian could descend into the stinking underground of the coliseum. Jurian kept one hand on his sword as Lucien walked, a warning to anyone thinking they might try and get the better of him.

Rhysand was waiting, wiping sweat from his brow with a filthy rag. It merely spread the blood on his face around, making him look truly terrifying.

“My winnings?” Rhysand asked by way of greeting. His face was obscured by shadow, though somehow the blue of his eyes were as vivid as the burning torches hanging from the damp walls.

“Delivered to you this evening, as promised,” Lucien said, extending out a hand for Rhysand to clasp.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am. I’d see you made a citizen of Rome, if you wish.”

Rhysand hesitated. “A full citizen?”

“Full citizen,” Lucien agreed, hoping this gesture of goodwill would not backfire on him. “With your own estate and lands to oversee.”

Rhysand didn’t hesitate, offering a slick smile Lucien didn’t quite trust. “That’s very generous. I’m humbled by the offer.”

Lucien only nodded, gaze turning back to Jurian. “Leave it to me.”

Rhysand nodded, stepping past the pair of them to leave. No one stopped him—he was no longer bound to the chains and cells of this place as he’d once been. Jurian watched, brows bunched together.

“I don’t trust him,” Jurian finally said as Lucien tried not to breathe in the overwhelming stench of rotting blood and human misery.

“He’ll fit right in, then,” Lucien replied.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jurian reminded Lucien as several overseers began to walk toward him.

“I know I don’t. I want to,” he said with a grin. “Besides, the people will be speaking about it for years.”

“Assuming you aren’t killed.”

“Take care of my wife if I am.”

Those were the last words spoken between them. He knew Elain was going to be irate when he stepped out, but at least she wouldn’t look away. There was something familiar about the nerves racing through him. Lucien still remembered his first battle, brand new in his fathers unit, wondering if he’d survive. Lucien knew he would, now. This was how Roman men were tested, how they proved they were made of something strong. Something unbreakable.

He wanted Elain to see him—that was vanity. But he needed his city to see.

Stepping into the arena, Lucien threw his hands in the air with an easy grin. He didn’t dare look toward the seats he knew Elain occupied—he supposed he was cowardly for that. The roar of the crowd was deafening—and intoxicating. All he could feel was the steady gallop of his own heart and his desire to taste blood.

Across the arena, Lucien watched as Brannaghan was brought out. Dark eyed, pale, and filthier than he’d been when he’d first been rounded up, he was an outsider. A Briton who’d led an unsuccessful revolt and hadn’t had the guts to kill himself before iron cuffs were clapped around his wrists.

It was as fair of a fight as Brannaghan would ever get. His sword wasn’t rusted or broken and he was allowed the armor of his people. Of course, there were no trees in the arena, or woods for him to ambush Lucien in. It was a fair fight—and one they both knew he’d lose.

At least make it entertaining.

It wasn’t fun when the political prisoners gave up quickly, hoping for a clean death. Lucien would make him suffer if he fell to his knees, sword cast aside. The only honorable death was one fought well.

Brannaghan’s eyes glittered, body wrapped in crude leather. Lucien had heard the people of Brittania often painted their skin blue, a luxury that hadn’t been afforded here, though he wished it had. The more barbaric he looked, the wilder the crowd would be.

Lucien looked at the crowd, just as wild as they’d been for Rhysand. I am your Emperor! He wanted to shout it, though no one would hear. He’d wait until his victory was assured. Lucien turned his gaze to the man in front of him as the doors allowing exit closed. There was no way out—and Lucien would rather die than beg to be rescued. Only one of them would leave alive.

With the sun beating down on him and the smell of sweat and blood, Lucien raised his sword. He half wished he had Rhysand’s confidence to go shirtless in the arena, though courting disaster made it far more likely.

Lucien offered a taunting smile to the male, coming closer. “I heard you fucked your sister,” he said by way of greeting.

The man snarled in fury, running toward Lucien with his sword raised. Lucien could have driven his own right through Brannaghan’s undefended chest. Already, Lucien saw his weaknesses—this was not a man who was used to fighting up close. At least, not like the Romans did. He was an ambush fighter used to guerrilla tactics.

Lucien knew how to kill a man face to face. He was disciplined, had been trained from boyhood to cast his nerves aside and obey instinct rather than whatever urge demanded he run and hide. Lucien deflected easily, watching as the man stumbled a step before regaining his composure. The crowd cheered as the fight began in earnest. Lucien kept his sword in one hand, the other used to keep his balance. Overhead, Lucien could feel Elain’s eyes on him, could practically taste her displeasure in his mouth. If he didn’t die in the arena, he was going to die in his bedchamber.

What a way to go, he thought, blocking another blow with ease. There was another, and another—Brannaghan was tiring himself out, sweat dripping down his temple to splash on the sandy ground beneath them. Lucien wanted more even as his bones vibrated from the force of the strike. And when he pushed forward, deciding it was time to put on a show, Brannaghan simply could not contend with the superior training of a Roman soldier.

He didn’t quit, though. Even when Lucien kicked him to his knees, sandal flat against his chest, Brannaghan swung his sword. He managed to slice a thin, shallow line against Lucien’s exposed thigh though he hardly felt it at all. He only realized when the crowd jeered.

“Your downfall will be sung of,” Brannaghan spat.

Lucien grinned, driving his blade through Brannaghan’s chest. Fisting the man’s hair as he gasped for air, Lucien murmured, “Roma in aeternum viva.”Rome will last forever.

Lucien pushed him back, letting him fall to the ground as blood poured from the wound. He, himself, was also coated in blood though it was well worth it. Lucien raised his hands, delighted by the roar of the crowd and the warm victory racing through him. This was what he needed, he thought as the doors opened and he was welcomed in.

Lucien stepped into the gloom, eyes adjusting to the dark. He didn’t realize everyone was keeping back not because they were awed by his greatness, but because his wife was standing there with murder in her eyes.

“My turn,” she hissed when he came closer.

“My love,” Lucien replied, pulling her against him for a messy, bloody kiss. Elain tried to push him away, but Lucien wasn’t having it. Holding her face between his hands, Lucien pressed a second kiss to her forehead. “Spare me my dignity before you end me.”

“You should have told me,” she said, eyes glancing around dim, dank space. Lucien nodded, hand on her lower back as he began guiding her out. This was no place for someone as beautiful as Elain.

“You would have said no,” Lucien reminded her, refusing to remove his hand even when she began making her way up the stairs. Elain spun quickly, eyes flashing.

“Because it’s foolish. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” he reminded her. She needed to let it out—that was fine. Lucien didn’t mind her chastising simply because he loved the sound of her voice. Let her yell, so long as she was yelling at him.

“Lucien, I swear—”

“My love,” he tried again, reaching gently for her shoulders to turn her around on the stairs. He should have had himself changed from his armor, but Lucien wanted Elain back beneath the sunlight and far, far away from the threat of violence, the smell of death, or even just the filth that populated beneath the coliseum. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Are you actually sorry? Or are you saying that because you want me to stop being angry.”

Lucien blanched. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“What if he’d killed you?”

“He wouldn’t have,” Lucien replied.

Elain huffed in exasperation, gathering her skirts to continue going up the stairs while Lucien trailed after her. “Why are you angry with me now?”

“You could have died—”

“No,” he said, catching her to push her gently against one of the wooden beams, their mouths inches apart. “No, I could not have. I just got you—not even Plutonis himself would dare to try and take you from me.”

Elain didn’t try terribly hard to shove him away, though Lucien still put space between them. “I was scared.”

“Don’t be,” Luicen murmured, wishing he could scoop her up against him and put her in his bed. “Trust I’ll always return to you.”

“Don’t do that again.”

Lucien grinned. “Don’t make me lie to you—”

Elain shoved him ever so slightly, like a kitten trying to take down a lion. Not that he’d ever say so. Kittens still had claws and she could take one of his eyes out if she wanted. Lucien had no doubt Elain wouldn’t if he pushed her.

“I don’t want to see it.”

“I fight better knowing you’re watching,” he replied, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek. “Let me make it up to you with some food. The lions are coming soon. Don’t you want to watch the lions fight?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“This isn’t over.”

“Oh, how I pray you’re right.”

ARINA:

Arina had her meager things placed in a small bag and was nearly to the door when it swung open, the edge nearly catching her in the cheek. Eris paused, light from a nearby lantern illuminating his beautiful face.

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice lethal and soft.

“Back to my bedchamber—Eris open the door.”

He’d locked it, though, closing it behind him before positioning his larger body between herself and the only exit out. Arms crossed over his broad chest, Eris looked at her, lips pressed in a thin line.

“No.”

“Eris—”

“Must we do this every night?” he asked with just a hint of exasperation. “Must you force me to beg you to stay—”

“People are talking—”

“So let them!” Eris snapped, waving a hand in the air. He seemed so very Italian to her right then, annoyed and scowling as he was as he gesticulated with his hands. All he needed was a cigarette and he’d have been perfect. She’d have flipped him off as she rolled her eyes and he’d have yelled after her, something mildly offensive without angering his mother were Arina to tell.

But he wasn’t Italian—not yet, anyway.

“Eris—”

“Are you afraid, Arina?” he asked, advancing quietly.

She didn’t respond, unwilling to admit out loud that yes, she was deeply afraid that he was going to get everything he wanted and not make good on any of the promises he’d made to her. She’d held out this long, for all the good it did her. People just assumed anyway, and her reputation was damaged as if she had. It shouldn’t have mattered. Arina wasn’t a virgin even without sleeping in Eris’s bed.

But no one cared back home. They cared here. She’d staked her whole life on remaining here—with him. And now it felt like he was making a mockery of her.

“Are you in a hurry?” Eris questioned and christ, when had he gotten so close to her? “I can’t marry you until my fucking brother is done with his celebrations or we would be.”

“I’m starting to think you’re a liar,” she dismissed.

Eris’s brows shot upward. “What did you call me?”

She was stepping into dangerous territory, but it needed to be said before she lost her mind. “You keep saying you want me,” she half whispered, holding her ground even as he advanced close enough their faces were inches from each other. “I think you don’t want anyone else to want me, but you want to see if you could do better—”

He kissed her, fingers sliding in her hair to fist her hair roughly until her neck was arched back. He didn’t stop even when she whimpered, stepping her backward until her knees hit the bed. Whatever shred of dignity or control he’d been holding on to was gone, leaving behind only the base urges of a man Arina wasn’t sure she’d ever met.

She liked him, though. Liked the way his grip softened just enough not to hurt her but not so much he wasn’t keeping her in place. Unaware, she supposed, that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

With his free hand, Eris shamelessly groped her through her dress, palming her breasts until Arina gasped and pulled back just far enough he had to look at her.

“Don’t tell me no,” he warned her.

It annoyed her.

“Then go find your brother and have him sign the contract that makes me your wife,” she replied, shoving him back just far enough that she could breathe again. Releasing his grip entirely, Eris stalked to his desk and opened a drawer previously locked by releasing a latch just behind. She should have figured that out.

A moment later, Eris held a piece of parchment in hand like it was his most prized possession. There was triumph on his face as he brought it to her, eyes ablaze. “It’s been signed.”

She took it from him, fingers trembling. “Liar.”

“Call me a liar again, Arina.”

“Why wouldn’t you say something?”

Eris shrugged, taking the rolled up parchment back from her with nimble fingers. “You change your mind every other hour. Why would I say a word while you decide?”

“Undecided because you don’t seem concerned.”

Eris shrugged again. “Why would I be concerned? I know how this ends.”

“And how does it end, Consul?”

He liked that more than he wanted to admit. Desire flared over his features as he prowled forward once again. “You know how it ends.”

“You haven’t touched me.”

“I’m not a monster,” he replied, cupping her face in callused hands. “I hoped you’d come to me.”

“You should know better.”

“Come to me anyway,” Eris murmured, pulling her close again.

“I stayed for you,” she whispered, watching his eyes go wide. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It feels like too much,” he admitted, his mouth brushing her own. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“You don’t,” she confirmed, watching his lips curl into a smile.

“Is this how I can expect the rest of my life to go?” Eris asked, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. “Are you itent on tormenting me?”

“It does you good,” she said, though in truth being able to talk to him that way felt like safety. Eris would let her, trusted his feelings and hers enough that it didn’t bother him. And perhaps, deep down, Eris understood why she swung back and forth the way she did. Sometimes Arina thought she was insane to stay here when going home made the most sense.

Eris didn’t respond, kissing her instead as though his life depended upon it. Maybe it did. Maybe he needed to have her this way to prove himself. Or maybe he was simply a man who was tired of waiting and Arina was trying to subscribe too much thought behind his wandering hands. She, too, was tired of pretending she didn’t want him.

She wanted Eris in a way she’d never wanted any man. Desperately. Frantically. Like if he wasn’t inside her literally that second she might explode into a million pieces.

“You’re so beautiful,” Eris whispered before his mouth consumed her again. Arina was addicted to this despite how new it was. Here, though, secluded and alone, Eris gave in to whatever impulses he felt. His fingers found her hair, pulling it from the half twist so it tumbled over her shoulders. She, too, was moving outside of her own awareness as she pulled his chiton over his head. The most important thing to her was they didn’t stop kissing. She thought she might die if they did, though it made undressing him so much more difficult.

She considered, briefly, demanding he strip to nothing while she watched. Maybe she’d spread her legs out and touch herself to motivate him. Eris pushed her back to the bed, coming with her in a graceless heap that made her love him more. All the slick, smooth edges were worn off here and she felt like beneath his polished exterior lay this half-wild man that she was sworn to marry.

“Eris,” she whispered into his mouth, his name caught and swallowed but Eris’s own greedy lips. He groaned, pressing his hips against her own so she could feel his erection. Arina wanted to see it, too. Arina wanted to know if Eris was as good at other things as he was with his mouth.

“Take this off,” Eris all but begged, trying to find the hem of her gown twisted around her legs. Arina almost laughed, tugging the fabric over her head.

Eris leaned back, watching as Arina slowly pushed the straps of her dress down her shoulders. Eris whimpered, eyes made of molten flame.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, lifting her hips to shimmy out of the dress.

“Yes,” he all but panted. “Take all of it off.”

“You first,” she replied, eyes roaming his bare, toned chest. He worked out—she could see the defined muscles of his abs and shoulders and wanted to trace them with her tongue. When did he have the time—somehow, Eris seemed above that sort of thing.

And yet there he was, yanking the layers of his clothes off with those strong hands she’d been staring at ever since they’d first met. Arina was breathless and Eris was starting to realize he had an effect on her—maybe the same she was having on him. Eris took a breath and then stood, revealing himself fully.

“Oh, come on,” Arina whispered, earning an unrestrained grin from Eris.

“Is it how you imagined?”

“I don’t lay awake at night dreaming of your cock,” she lied., His cock was perfect, thick and large. He knew it, too. “This was supposed to be your shortcoming.”

Eris chuckled, crawling back up the bed where she was still wearing a matching set. “I have no shortcomings.”

She didn’t respond, delighted when Eris ripped off her shift and pushed apart her legs. It was clear he just wanted to look and Arina found she didn’t care at all.

“Fuck me,” Eris whispered.

To which Arina replied, “I’m trying.”

His eyes snapped to her face and just like that, he was kissing her again, hungry and desperate. She was naked, pressed against him skin to skin. Arina could feel the blunt head of his cock lodged against her thigh, and though she wiggled, trying to get him closer, Eris had no intention of letting himself touch her between her legs.

Not yet, anyway. Arina wasn’t used to someone who wanted to draw things out, to wring as much pleasure as they could from their partner. And though she knew she shouldn’t, Arina couldn’t help but compare Eris to every man she’d ever been with before. They’d have been fucking her by now. Warm affection rose through her—she wanted to give him something.

“Eris,” she panted, pushing at his chest. Eris, misunderstanding what she wanted, fell off her to his back with a breathless apology.

Straddling his chest. Eris’s eyes went wide, fingers skimming the sides of her body.

“What are you doing?” Eris breathed, perhaps expecting her to sink herself along his thick length. It was tempting, and yet not right then—not yet. Holding his gaze, Arina lowered her mouth to his chest and licked a path toward his navel. Eris inhaled sharply, fingers fisting the bed sheets beneath them.

“Arina,” he pleaded, realizing what she planned to do.

Lips hovering inches from his twitching cock, she murmured, “I can stop if you want.”

Eris’s exhale was rough, and yet no words escaped him.

“That’s what I thought,” she replied, just before tracing the vein running under his cock with her tongue.

Eris moaned, eyes wholly focused on her face. He was watching, eyes half lidded, fingers splayed over his stomach. Arina licked again, tongue teasing his slotted head. Eris’s hips bucked, hands reaching for her hair before pushing her toward his aching, swollen cock.

“Please,” was all he managed. Arina was so impressed he knew the word at all, let alone might beg her to taste him. Widening her jaw, Arina managed to take half before it was impossible to breathe and her gag reflex rose to the surface. It seemed bad form to vomit in his lap, so Arina pulled back, using her hand to make up the difference.

Eris didn’t seem to care, for what it was worth. “Fuck,” he groaned, fingers fisting in her hair. He set the pace, guiding her up and down his shaft while she focused on licking and sucking, enjoying herself far more than she’d ever done before. Maybe because it was him, and Arina liked everything about him, or maybe she simply enjoyed giving him something.

Clearly Eris wanted something similar because rather than coming down her throat, Eris pulled her off him with a ragged gasp.

“I’m going to finish if you keep that up,” he growled, holding her wrists over her head to keep her from escaping him.

“Isn’t that the point?” she taunted, pushing against his grip just to see what might happen. Eris’s hold tightened, mouth inches from her own.

Eris kissed her again, his free hand teasing her bare breast. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She shivered, delighted he was having as much fun as she was. She was more delighted still when Eris replicated her own action, tongue dragging down her stomach.

“When was the last time someone licked this pretty pussy?” he asked, fingers spreading her apart. There was no way she was admitting the truth to him.

Eris was smart—he guessed anyway, if that near feral smile was any indication. “Oh, baby,” he crooned, thumb rubbing over her clit. “Neglected, are you?” “Yes,” she panted, writhing beneath his warm breath curling over sensitive flesh.

Eris looked up with those dark, amber eyes. Teasing her with his fingers, he said the three words she was desperate to hear. “You’re not anymore.”

She would have done anything he asked of her after that. Eris could have told her to lick his feet and she probably would have. He didn’t, though. Eris didn’t ask anything at all, spreading her legs wide before pushing them toward her chest. And then he licked with the sure confidence of a man who not only knew he was good at this, but that liked doing it.

She could have wept.

She might still, because Eris wasn’t rushing the way she was used to. It took her a moment to relax, waiting for him to raise his head and ask her if she was close or close enough he could stop. Instead, she got a soft moan of approval when one of his fingers slid along her opening, teasing without fully penetrating.

“Don’t stop,” she begged him, lifting her body to give him better access. Eris’s hands slid beneath her ass, holding her off the bed, eyes half closed as he licked and sucked like his life depended on it. Release was building, molten in her stomach as it skated up her spine.

She’d wanted to last longer—Arina wanted to drag this out, just in case he changed his mind. Eris teased until she couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing his hair to shove him closer. He half laughed, like the whole thing amused him, but his tongue remained flat against her clit until she came loud enough the everyone in the palace almost certainly heard her cry out his name.

“Fuck me,” Eris breathed, looking up from between her legs, mouth glistening and red. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Arina nodded, her body still convulsing, arms still shaking and vision blurry. Eris helped once she flopped onto her stomach, grabbing her by the hips, one hand flat on her back to keep her face in the pillow.

“Very good,” he praised, knee pushing her legs further apart. “I want to feel my wife come on my cock.”

This was happening—she’d long forgotten that it was Eris behind her, rubbing the head of his cock through her slick folds. And when he slid himself into her, pushing so far that Arina forgot to breathe, it didn’t matter to her.

Of course it’s you. Who else would it be?

“Gods take me,” Eris groaned, digging his fingers hard enough into her hips she was certain he was going to leave bruises. She tried to respond, but the words stuck to her throat. He didn’t move for a second, letting her adjust to the stretch, to the fullness of having him share space with her.

The moment passed and Eris pulled himself out to the tip before slamming himself back into her. Arina’s cheek pressed unforgivably into the pillow. His pace was brutal and somehow perfect, made better when a ringing slap against her ass cheek pulled her off the bed.

“Do you like that?” Eris asked, reaching for her hair and wrapping it around his wrist. Arina arched her back, biting her lip so hard it hurt. “Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck me, Eris,” was all she could think to say in response. He slapped her ass again, interrupting the pleasure she was all but drowning in with a bite of pain. As it faded, more pleasure rode to take its place, muddling what was happening until her brain was confused and silent.

Pulling her back further with her hair, until she was practically balanced only on her knees, Eris bit his teeth gently against her shoulder. “I want to fuck every inch of you. Every hole. I want you to feel my cock every time you sit down, every time you swallow.”

Arina moaned in response, delighted by his filthy words. Did he know this was her exact fantasy? Was it his, too? Arina thought so, based on the way he moaned, pushing her back down and releasing her hair so he could continue fucking her. Arina was so close again, unable to remember a time she’d come twice if it wasn’t from her own hand.

Eris’s hand slid up the curve of her ass, rubbing until he found the tight hole. His thumb pushed, creating friction and pressure at exactly the right moment. Arina came, screaming into the pillow before she realized what was even happening. All she knew was she was drowning in pleasure, shipwrecked and run aground.

Eris came not a minute later, his thrusting erratic and messy. She barely registered it until his body covered her own, mouth pressing messy kisses against the side of her neck. She could have slept like that, his body weighing her down like a blanket.

“Was it good? Did you like it?”

She didn’t know how they twisted so she lay cradled against his chest, he flat on his back. All she knew was he was holding her, mouth to her cheek as he sucked air in and out of his nose.

“Yes,” she panted, kissing whatever bit of skin she could find. “It was perfect.”

But what she meant to say was, you were perfect.

#elucien #i am almost FREEEEEEE #i forgot how hard posting every single day is

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