The familiar, sharp rapping came at the door. "Lady Hermia?" called the
slavewoman. "Your father summons you to the garden. There's someone he
wants you to meet."
Carusio Hermia sighed and put down the thick book she had been reading and straightened her toga. She didn't even look at the mirror when she walked outside. Hermia prided herself on not being that sort of girl; not like her best friend, Lena, who spent all her time trying out new hairstyles and ogling the slavemen.
Hermia's father, Carusius, abided by Roman law and would not let his fifteen-year-old daughter attend school. So she snuck books out of her older brother Ambrosius' room, and read them whenever she could. Ambrosius had taught her how to read and write over the past few years; he now had graduated from the university and worked for the State.
"Coming," she called, opening the door.
The slavewoman, Angia, bit her lip and attempted to pat back Hermia's hair (always flying everywhere in its unruly curls), but Hermia waved her away as she rounded the corner into the garden of their country house.
"Good morning, father, and-" she curtsied to the two tall blond men standing with her father, each with eyes as pale and cold as ice and surmising sneers upon their faces.
"I greet you as well, my lords."
"Is this the girl?" asked the older of the two men.
"Yes, this is my daughter Hermia," answered Carusius wearily.
The man walked over to her, and although he was a good four meters away he was suddenly sizing her up, his eyes roving over her body, lingering on her unkempt hair. "Girl," he said, totally disregarding her actual name. "I wouldn't be so." he tipped her chin up at him. ".late next time, if I were you. There are more important things than reading."
Hermia glanced around anxiously the moment he dropped her chin. "I am Serpentius Lucius, and this is my son." he gestured to the other blond man, who looked to be about sixteen. ".Serpenti Drac."
Draco did a slight imitation of a bow, his sneer betraying what he really thought of her.
Later, in her room, Hermia mused over the encounter. There was no doubt that Lena and her other friends would find Draco handsome, with his pale gold hair and equally light eyes. She, however, found him cold and calculating and cruel, someone she wouldn't have talked to or even come near if she'd had a choice.
"Hermia?" called her father's voice from outside. "Would you come here, please?"
Hermia sighed yet again and put down the book she had idly been turning the pages of. "Yes, father?"
"I have something to discuss with you. Would you like to walk in the garden?"
Hermia nodded and smiled. Usually, her father, who was a consul for the Republic and often away on business, was otherwise preoccupied.
In the courtyard, they strolled around the pool. "Hermia, you are now fifteen," her father finally said.
Hermia felt her heart began to sink. If this was about marriage, then she would be forced to listen and do what he said. "Yes, father," she said noncommittally.
"I think it's time to consider your future. As a member of the government in high standing, I have received a very, very good offer for your hand in marriage."
Hermia stopped walking. "Who?" she said, dropping all the politeness she usually carried.
Her father didn't show that he noticed. "From Serpenti Draco, the boy who came to call this morning," he said, expecting her to be happy at this prospect. When he saw she was not, he attempted to make it more appealing by adding, "His father is a very good candidate for the next emperor, should Cassius pass before his time."
Hermia felt tears welling up behind her eyes. "Yes, father," she said finally, and rushed out of the courtyard.
Hermia ended up sitting by the pool, crying as she watched her reflection. Why would Draconius want to marry her? She was reasonably pretty, but her hair. her boyish figure. why couldn't he pick someone beautiful, with lots of friends, who would want to marry him. like Lena? A fresh wave of sobs came at this; once she married Draco she would probably never see Lena again. or Aurelia. or Latia.
Footsteps sounded along the stones that led in a path to the pool. "Are you all right, mistress Hermia?" asked the slave. His name was Christos, and he was from Britain. "No, not really," she answered, attempting to smile although she was crying.
"What's wrong, then?" he persisted, sitting beside her on the rock.
Hermia paused, then blurted out the whole story, occasionally stopping to choke her sobs back. ".and. and now, I have to marry him!" she finished, her head falling on to Christos' chest.
Christos opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, they heard Carusius shout, "Christos! Where are you?"
Hermia nodded and turned her head back to the pond as Christos got up and left.
A few minutes later, Hermia was startled by footsteps from behind her, but didn't have a chance to do anything about it until she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and cold breath touch her neck, which was exposed by the elaborate bun she had pinned her hair into.
"So, the little mouse loves the slave," whispered a cruel-sounding voice from behind her.
Hermia searched for a quick comeback. "So, the little ferret loves the bookworm," she countered, pulling away and glaring at him. "Why do you want to marry me, of all people?"
Draco laughed evilly. "Why, being as smart as you are, I thought you'd know!" His voice and expression grew more serious as he moved closer to her, bending over her menacingly. "I find you a challenge, Carusio Hermia," he said his hand hovering over the right side of her face. "A mystery. Most girls would fawn over me, hope that I'd like them, whisper about me in the privacy of their bedrooms."
Hermia stared insolently at him, her expression unchanging.
"But you're not most girls, are you?" he sneered quietly, his hand moving closer to her cheek.
Hermia suddenly felt that she would rather die a hundred deaths than feel his frigid skin on hers. Narrowing her eyes, she spat, "No. And you can make me marry you, but I will never in a thousand years, even though I may change and grow and the world with me, I will never love you."
Draco's hand moved to the base of her neck, firmly planting itself therer and choking her, cutting off her breath. "You should be careful," he said just as quietly after a long pause. "Sometimes words-" he let his hand stray to her collarbone, then removed it. "-can kill you."
With that, he turned and left her standing by the water.
Carusio Hermia sighed and put down the thick book she had been reading and straightened her toga. She didn't even look at the mirror when she walked outside. Hermia prided herself on not being that sort of girl; not like her best friend, Lena, who spent all her time trying out new hairstyles and ogling the slavemen.
Hermia's father, Carusius, abided by Roman law and would not let his fifteen-year-old daughter attend school. So she snuck books out of her older brother Ambrosius' room, and read them whenever she could. Ambrosius had taught her how to read and write over the past few years; he now had graduated from the university and worked for the State.
"Coming," she called, opening the door.
The slavewoman, Angia, bit her lip and attempted to pat back Hermia's hair (always flying everywhere in its unruly curls), but Hermia waved her away as she rounded the corner into the garden of their country house.
"Good morning, father, and-" she curtsied to the two tall blond men standing with her father, each with eyes as pale and cold as ice and surmising sneers upon their faces.
"I greet you as well, my lords."
"Is this the girl?" asked the older of the two men.
"Yes, this is my daughter Hermia," answered Carusius wearily.
The man walked over to her, and although he was a good four meters away he was suddenly sizing her up, his eyes roving over her body, lingering on her unkempt hair. "Girl," he said, totally disregarding her actual name. "I wouldn't be so." he tipped her chin up at him. ".late next time, if I were you. There are more important things than reading."
Hermia glanced around anxiously the moment he dropped her chin. "I am Serpentius Lucius, and this is my son." he gestured to the other blond man, who looked to be about sixteen. ".Serpenti Drac."
Draco did a slight imitation of a bow, his sneer betraying what he really thought of her.
Later, in her room, Hermia mused over the encounter. There was no doubt that Lena and her other friends would find Draco handsome, with his pale gold hair and equally light eyes. She, however, found him cold and calculating and cruel, someone she wouldn't have talked to or even come near if she'd had a choice.
"Hermia?" called her father's voice from outside. "Would you come here, please?"
Hermia sighed yet again and put down the book she had idly been turning the pages of. "Yes, father?"
"I have something to discuss with you. Would you like to walk in the garden?"
Hermia nodded and smiled. Usually, her father, who was a consul for the Republic and often away on business, was otherwise preoccupied.
In the courtyard, they strolled around the pool. "Hermia, you are now fifteen," her father finally said.
Hermia felt her heart began to sink. If this was about marriage, then she would be forced to listen and do what he said. "Yes, father," she said noncommittally.
"I think it's time to consider your future. As a member of the government in high standing, I have received a very, very good offer for your hand in marriage."
Hermia stopped walking. "Who?" she said, dropping all the politeness she usually carried.
Her father didn't show that he noticed. "From Serpenti Draco, the boy who came to call this morning," he said, expecting her to be happy at this prospect. When he saw she was not, he attempted to make it more appealing by adding, "His father is a very good candidate for the next emperor, should Cassius pass before his time."
Hermia felt tears welling up behind her eyes. "Yes, father," she said finally, and rushed out of the courtyard.
Hermia ended up sitting by the pool, crying as she watched her reflection. Why would Draconius want to marry her? She was reasonably pretty, but her hair. her boyish figure. why couldn't he pick someone beautiful, with lots of friends, who would want to marry him. like Lena? A fresh wave of sobs came at this; once she married Draco she would probably never see Lena again. or Aurelia. or Latia.
Footsteps sounded along the stones that led in a path to the pool. "Are you all right, mistress Hermia?" asked the slave. His name was Christos, and he was from Britain. "No, not really," she answered, attempting to smile although she was crying.
"What's wrong, then?" he persisted, sitting beside her on the rock.
Hermia paused, then blurted out the whole story, occasionally stopping to choke her sobs back. ".and. and now, I have to marry him!" she finished, her head falling on to Christos' chest.
Christos opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, they heard Carusius shout, "Christos! Where are you?"
Hermia nodded and turned her head back to the pond as Christos got up and left.
A few minutes later, Hermia was startled by footsteps from behind her, but didn't have a chance to do anything about it until she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and cold breath touch her neck, which was exposed by the elaborate bun she had pinned her hair into.
"So, the little mouse loves the slave," whispered a cruel-sounding voice from behind her.
Hermia searched for a quick comeback. "So, the little ferret loves the bookworm," she countered, pulling away and glaring at him. "Why do you want to marry me, of all people?"
Draco laughed evilly. "Why, being as smart as you are, I thought you'd know!" His voice and expression grew more serious as he moved closer to her, bending over her menacingly. "I find you a challenge, Carusio Hermia," he said his hand hovering over the right side of her face. "A mystery. Most girls would fawn over me, hope that I'd like them, whisper about me in the privacy of their bedrooms."
Hermia stared insolently at him, her expression unchanging.
"But you're not most girls, are you?" he sneered quietly, his hand moving closer to her cheek.
Hermia suddenly felt that she would rather die a hundred deaths than feel his frigid skin on hers. Narrowing her eyes, she spat, "No. And you can make me marry you, but I will never in a thousand years, even though I may change and grow and the world with me, I will never love you."
Draco's hand moved to the base of her neck, firmly planting itself therer and choking her, cutting off her breath. "You should be careful," he said just as quietly after a long pause. "Sometimes words-" he let his hand stray to her collarbone, then removed it. "-can kill you."
With that, he turned and left her standing by the water.