Chapter Fourteen

Weeks moved past, and then months, then a year had gone by since Arsinoë's exile. In that year, Cleopatra had visited Rome. There had been a slight uptick in the number of assassination attempts on Arsinoë. None had been successful, though one had come close. Lucius had not been there, and she had been poisoned. Only her habit of dosing herself with small amounts of poisons had saved her. Lucius rarely had dreams, but that particular incident had given him nightmares for weeks.

Lucius was used to years rolling by like decades. It was the vampiric mindset. Not since he had been human had he known time to crawl in the way it did when he was away from Ephesus, and Arsinoë. Every opportunity he had, he went to her, and was always received into her arms with joy. That joy was always reciprocated. It was probably against some rule somewhere that the exiled, imprisoned queen be allowed to take night-time excursions with her lover. But when that lover was a Roman tribunus who looked like he could tear one's head off with his bare hands, no one was brave enough to challenge it. So Arsinoë was often found not in the temple or its vicinity, but instead along to the coast, or in the mountains.

It was cold tonight, particularly for a woman used to the heat of Egypt. The breeze fairly whipped off the white-capped waves and howled its way inland. The two of them were in the hills, looking directly down at Ephesus and the white rectangle of the temple, gleaming in the moonlight. Arsinoë wore a shawl, but had underestimated how chilly it would be, even with their fire. She did not need to shiver for Lucius to know she was cold, and he removed his clock and wrapped it around her, the wolf-fur collar instantly warming.

"Thank you."

"This is not the desert. It will begin to snow soon enough."

"Snow?" she smiled. "I didn't think that was real."

"It's real. And beautiful, in its way. Tiny flakes of ice, each one totally unique, floating down from the sky."

"Flakes of ice? It sounds horrible."

He chuckled and wrapped her in his arms. It wouldn't make her warmer, but she relaxed into him anyway. "Remind me never to take you to Britannia."

"What's in Britannia?"

"Rain, for the most part."

"That must make it difficult to stay comfortable."

He leaned down and followed the scent and sound of her blood up her neck before speaking into her ear. "Sometimes, amare, a little discomfort is exactly what is required."

When they returned to the Temple of Artemis, two days later, it was to find Arsinoë's rooms stuffed full to the brim with chests of treasure. Lucius lifted the lid of one. It was stacked with rolls of fine, polished silks. Another contained Egyptian jewels that Lucius recognised from the triumph.

"What is all this?"

"Gifts, from Gaius Octavian."

"Why is he sending you gifts?" Lucius growled.

"He is ambitious. He wishes to be at Caesar's level one day. The already-trodden path is to gain the favour of an Egyptian queen, is it not?" She smiled. "To put it simply, I believe he's wooing me."

"And jewels and silks are enough to woo you, are they?" he sneered angrily.

Arsinoë did not need to know him as well as she did to hear the sharp possessiveness under his tone. She grinned and provocatively ran her hand through the coins in the chest that had been delivered most recently. "They might. Why, Maahes? Jealous?"

Realising she was teasing, his stance relaxed slightly, at least no longer murderous. He had never reminded her more of a lion, however, than when he advanced on her now. She felt no frisson of fear.

"You play a dangerous game."

She slid her hand down his chest. "Oh, and I play to win, I assure you."

He caught her hand before she got further south, gripping her arm to turn her back to the gifts from Octavian. "I don't play for what is already mine." He pressed himself against her back, his hardness twitching against her inner thigh. Unlike the first time he had held her like this, Arsinoë had no desire to stab him. But she wasn't quite done with pushing him either.

"Such confidence," she replied. "Why should I choose you when I have all this?"

She was not disappointed; in the next second, he had more or less thrown her on the bed. "Say yes."

She threw him a grin over his shoulder. "Yes."

He touched between her legs, rubbing at her clit and making sure she was wet. The other hand curled under her body, lifting her torso against his. She moaned, aching for him now. Her senses were overwhelmed when he buried himself inside her with a groan.

"This is why you choose me," he breathed. "This."

Their rhythm was short, sharp movements of their bodies, her hands everywhere she could reach. She blindly sought out his mouth, needing the contact; he denied her, fastening his mouth on her shoulder until her climax hit, fucking her through it. When the stars had faded from her vision, she felt his hand at the base of her back, urging her down. She obeyed, falling onto her hands and knees while her lover took hold of her hips and continued. The pleasure built to an intensity which wiped her mind of anything but perfect and yes and more. She babbled words to that effect in languages she barely remembered, the only coherent thought, his name. They came together in blind ecstasy, Maahes filling her with white heat and burning away anything that had been before.

Arsinoë collapsed, and was drawn, boneless, into the circle of his arms. He finally kissed her. "And now?" he asked. "Do you still choose me?"

She could only smile. "Every time." With her skin humming, Arsinoë stretched, still grinning. "Shall I tell you the truth now? Octavian is wooing me – as an ally."

"He thinks he will still need Egypt."

"He will need Egypt. Our wealth at least. And it is easier to take it through trade than conquest."

That was true. Less fun, but true. In the event of Caesar's death, Octavian would have a hard enough time holding Rome's territories together without armed rebellion from Egypt. "So he intends to reinstall you as Queen, in place of Cleopatra."

"I believe that is his current plan. Once he is in control of Rome."

"And you're so certain he will be?"

"If he is not, my situation will not worsen, will it? Unless Cleopatra gets her hands on him, in which case assassins will be sent. Which is my daily routine, after all."

"So for now you allow Octavian to shower you in luxuries."

"It would be rude not to."

Her lover smirked and languidly ran his hand along her side. "At what point will he discover gold and silks are not enough to bend you to his will?"

"When I am safely in Alexandria, of course."

Nominally, Lucius was still Caesar's shadow. But it would be a lie to say that was where his focus lay. It was a fact which did not please his father. As the second year of Arsinoë's exile began to wane, Lucius found himself with a month or so to spare. He intended to spend most of it with her. That was not to say he was disrespectful to his father. He had come home and found Justus was gone to fill the family's seat in the Senate. He and Philipus had gone hunting together and left a sizeable dent in the wildlife population around the villa. It was not as satisfying, nutritionally, as human blood, but the activity was good for renewing the bonds of family. After the blood had come wine and talk and laughter – it was only as Lucius was preparing to depart that a tension crept between them.

"Come," Philipus said the night before Lucius was due to depart. "Spar with me."

They each selected a weapon – or a weapon and a shield, in Philipus' case (though Lucius had chosen an enormous axe) – and began. But just because they were fighting, did not mean that they weren't talking strategy.

"What are your impressions of the people's opinion of Caesar?"

Lucius met the shield-bash, the two of them physically matched in strength and struggling. "He is as popular as ever. No one was comfortable with Cleopatra's visit, but she out of the public eye now and they have mostly forgotten her." He pushed left, knocking Philipus off balance. He span around to face him again, re-gripping the haft of his axe. "Why?"

"Justus reports that the Senate is less enthralled. They feel he is a threat to the Republic." Philipus waited for Lucius to charge him, and then dodged, swiping at Lucius as he barrelled past, opening a shallow cut along his side.

"He's a general. He's used to having his orders obeyed without debate or consultation." Lucius swung, and embedded the axe in Philipus' shield. It meant he was disarmed, but Philipus was left with only a dagger. "It's hardly surprising that he rules Rome that way too."

Philipus nodded and swiped at Lucius with the dagger. "I agree. But that is precisely the problem. He rules Rome. He will do for the rest of his life. He has a son, an acknowledged son, whose formal name is Pharaoh Caesar. You can see why they're concerned."

"The Senate cannot think that he will declare himself King? Not even the people's goodwill could take him that far. No Roman would wear it." When Philipus stabbed at him again, Lucius twisted and grabbed his wrist, kicking the back of his leg to force him to one knee.

"But neither would they allow him to be deposed?" Philipus asked, the dagger now less than two inches from his neck.

Lucius briefly stopped trying to kill his father and considered. Politics were not his forte – exactly why Justus was the one in the Senate – but he knew a mob. "If it were as obvious as that, a coup, then no. But then if he were deposed, it would hardly matter what the people wanted. Caesar's legions are fiercely loyal. There would be civil war."

Philipus got to his feet. "That is Elena's assessment as well."

"And what did she advise?"

"Patience."

That seemed to signal the end of their sparring match, short though it had been. Servants brought clothes to wipe away the small amounts of blood, and wine. "You're going to Ephesus," Philipus said, after drinking. It was not a question, but it signalled some displeasure nonetheless.

Lucius turned. "Of course."

Philipus nodded. "Of course ..." he repeated.

"Father?"

"I want you to end this liaison. Arsinoë is in a dangerous position – dangerous not only to herself."

"She is not a danger to me."

"No?" asked Philipus sharply. "You return to Ephesus whenever possible. You are often distant. You are resentful when ordered away from her. Your judgement is skewed."

Lucius frowned. "You have never objected to my having a lover before."

"You have never had a lover before. You've had bedmates."

There was a silence while Lucius battled anger he knew it would be unacceptable to show to his father. But it rankled: being told what his own feelings were, being told he responded to orders with petulance and sulking – these were things one might say to a child. Not to a favoured, adult son. He and his father saw eye to eye on almost everything, and ordinarily he would banish anything that disrupted that. Ordinarily. He knew his voice deliberately level but knew Philpus would sense his change in mood. "If I am in love, I fail to see why it is a problem." Or why it is any business of yours.

"I have listed the problems. I need you sharp. This is making you blunt."

"Respectfully. I disagree."

"If there is a civil war, who should we support?"

Lucius opened his mouth to give the correct answer – Caesar – and halfway, remembered Arsinoë. No one who opposed Caesar would look favourably on Cleopatra. Which meant they would be more likely to support Arsinoë's claim to Egypt's throne.

Philipus took his distraction as the opportunity to slam him against the wall of the ring and stab him through the shoulder. "Blunt," he said as his son gasped in pain. He ripped the dagger out savagely. "End it," he ordered. "Your loyalties are already divided. There may well be a civil war in Rome – I will not tolerate one in my own family. End it."

Lucius closed his eyes briefly. "It may already be too late for that."

Suspicion had hardened to certainty in Philipus' tawny eyes even before he lifted the dagger to his mouth. But the taste of Lucius' blood confirmed it. He dropped the dagger in the dirt and turned away in disgust.

Lucius felt a very insecure urge to explain. "Father–"

"No." It was some moments before Philipus could apparently speak again, and when he did, he still couldn't look at Lucius. "That you have mated is one thing. That you have done so without her consent is another, entirely unacceptable, occurrance."

"It has not been without her consent!" Lucius protested.

"This is not something you can do through silent gestures and half-sentences!" Philipus roared, facing him again. Arsinoë had called Lucius lion-headed. She would be revising her opinion if she could see his father now. "Not until you are down on your knees and pledging your whole being to her, not until she can look and see you offering your entire soul can she know what she is agreeing to!"

Lucius had no answer for that.

"Go back to Caesar," Philipus said, his voice back to normal volume but screaming disappointment. "Decide what it is you want, Lucius. Get out until you do."

When he arrived at Ephesus, two weeks later, the feeling of bereavement had not faded. Knowing he was no longer welcome in his father's house was like having a limb missing. Banishment and denouncement by one's sire was the ultimate dishonour a vampire could bear, so his only consolation was that Philipus had not gone so far as that. It was cold comfort.

Arsinoë knew from one look that something was wrong, but she did not ask what, or why he needed to lose himself in the planes of her body so badly. She merely opened herself to him, running her slim fingers through his hair and along his back, gripping his shoulders tightly when he moved within her, responding with gentle passion to his hard kisses, welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. Lucius was less kind, and wrung pleasure from her until she was unable to stop shaking. Feeling there was little point in holding back, he bit at her heart vein as he climaxed. Arsinoë held his head to the wound until he had tasted every thought and emotion running through her.

Later, when she had nearly fallen asleep against him, he spoke for the first time since he arrived. "Arsinoë?"

"Mmm?"

"If it all falls through. If you are neither queen nor assassinated – what then?" He could not imagine her growing grey here, her graceful form bent with age and stumbling towards the grave.

"Well, leave here. Travel. See the world beyond Rome, if there is still such a place."

"Would you go where I couldn't follow?"

She looked into his face. "I do not believe there is anywhere you could not follow me, Maahes." She smiled, and it was affectionate but sad. "As long as you wanted to."

This was the first time either of them had referenced the fact that she would grow old. The likely fate the gods had designated for her was still to be taken young, but even so. She had an opportunity to do what Lucius never would. To live for decades. To bear children, re-establish her dynasty, see her grandchildren, grow old and then die. And then, in the manner of her people, be embalmed and reverently wrapped in pristine white linen, her likeness preserved forever on a stone sarcophagus while her true face – the face he was touching now – shrivelled and cracked.

A feeling that meant have been panic forced him to his feet. "I must go."

Arsinoë was startled at first, but understanding quickly flashed in her dark eyes. She thought he was leaving her now. That this was all the farewell she might expect. She rose to a sitting position, drawing her knees up, watching him as he dressed.

"Very well. Goodbye then, Maahes."

He leaned down to kiss her, but didn't touch her for fear of revealing how his hands trembled.

They didn't stop trembling until after he had hunted and fought with a bear, torn it apart and fed. Then he watched the sun rise over the hills around Ephesus and waited for the superficial wounds he had gathered to heal. It was somehow easier, surrounded by the stench of animal death, to contemplate Arsinoë's eventual demise. Easier, in that he did not find it suddenly impossible to breathe or think, but more difficult too, to acknowledge the destination all his thought arrived at.

She must not die.

Time could not be allowed to wither her. No long, slow decline, no welcoming of death as an old friend. No chance of dying in childbirth. No human plague or pestilence. If – if she was to be taken from him, then it must be as she was now, as a queen in her prime. If that happened, he would be able to … He would what? Be able to what?

Philipus had been a vampire nearly a thousand years before he and Elena had found one another. His brother had still not mated. And here Lucius was, a mere three centuries into immortality, and Arsinoë had come into his life. He despised his brother's habit of mooning and brooding over things he could not change, and now-

A chuckle escaped his lips, self-deprecating and wry.

Did Arsinoë feel the same indissoluble connection to him as he did to her? If she did, there was only one possible course of action. And only one equally indissoluble obstacle: his father would never agree.