Chapter 5
"Settled and Paid"

Night was restless and darker than she had remembered. Its dense hand shrouded all so thick it filled her lungs and blinded her eyes. Beneath its cover every distant rumble of thunder, every groan of the palace, every unknown rustle was the whisper of a traitor sent from the loins of some bastard to finish what he had started fifteen years ago. There was no sleep to be had. There was no peace to soothe her superstitions. In a world where her suspicions had been a game of deceit, disregarded as a morbid fascination from her exposure to blood at so young, she suddenly discovered herself standing on the board like a piece to be played. Had she the confidence, had she not been persuaded by the whispers of her cursed existence, or had she not feared that her own sanity was waning, she might have managed her hand better. For in this world, foes were friends and trust was bought, and it was always night. The night of the forests that were their prison, dense, dark, deep and inescapable.

Morning opened, and its sun shone through scattered clouds, low and menacing as a dog's growl; but the rains had stopped. The clouds could only carry so much in their pregnant bellies, and they had exhausted their resources from a weeklong siege of the palace and its surrounding lands. Their troops would retreat to gather more support and return once again until winter came and the ground froze and the fat drops turned to flecks of white snow. For now, however, the rain had done its worst. The streets were muddied near ruin, almost intraversable, but how the peasants tucked the edges of their robes into their waists and set about their business. Fields were drowned, but farmers would band together and work to drain their crops. Animals were sick, goats, sheep, pigs, and some were slaughtered while they were still young –lacking the fat and muscle to feed a man's work. But the Apulians did what they needed to last fall and prepare for winter. On this day they didn't bother to cast their attentions toward the palace walls even as she looked down upon them, watching them fight for survival and feeling some kinship in that respect.

"Did you see the man?" Atlan asked from behind her, and his voice was the only sound within her quarters for the other ears had been dismissed lest they be owned by her enemies.

Even by her back, he could see the severity of her mood. She was a rarity among Apulian women. Meager compared to their lofty height and darker than their pale blonde hair and pristine blue eyes. Rather, she had a mane of dusky blonde hair and soft curves unlike their athletic build. Always she had stood apart, and though she looked upon her people in the way a queen might observe her subordinates, her outline did not suit the space. It seemed cut away from some other picture and forced here against her will, and gazing at her, the silhouette of the woman he had raised as his daughter, his grasp would not reach where she delved. His hands had been cut away from her fate, and the overwhelming sensation that she was lost to him sent his stomach crumbling into his feet. Here, he looked upon the shadow of her like a wisp of what he would remember her to be, but he knew she was gone. She lost her bond to this world the night her family died like shackles torn from her feet and hands, and there she stood, held beyond her consent and destined for another path.

"No," she answered and retreated into her quarters nearer the fire that fought away the veil of cold the rains left after them. "Only a shadow."

His grey eyes followed her to the pit where she sought to warm her slender hands, but they were pale as marble and seemingly bloodless. "The Prince saw as well?"

"He chased him." She drew a trembling breath and tucked her hands into the edges of the robe drawn about her. Their regards caught, each mirroring the other's grim sharpness, and she revealed, "But found nothing. I fear he'll look for answers now."

"He already asks questions, Aurora," Atlan said with his features settling to a frown. "His men follow you and watch you. I was called to his quarters yesterday to answer for your visit to my home… He suspects a conspiracy against him. He does not trust you to be Lycaon's heir. I swore of your legitimacy, but there is no knowing how many he has questioned and how much farther he will search."

Unconsciously, her hand had risen to touch her lips, but it fell to cover her racing heart, the skin like ice to her breast. "You didn't tell him...?"

"What would you have me say?" he asked in brusque snap. "You've always feared what lay in the darkness around you."

"The Prince was there!"

"And for all I know, you both saw a shadow." Aurora's stance shifted to draw her full stature as her hands fell to fists at her sides, and Atlan challenged, "If it were a man, he would be in shackles in the dungeons."

"I know what I saw!"

"Enough of this!" he growled, teeth gnashing and temper flaring. The sound was stolen from the room, and in its absence, her eyes trembled where they looked upon the man who had always sheltered her and bolstered her and now renounced her. "You are too old to see figures in the dark! For fifteen years I have entertained your suspicions, and I see now how I have misled you to continue these games and abandon the honor of your name. If you have a shred of your father left in you, you will cease this and surrender yourself to the dignity of a life beside the Prince."

Through shuddering lips, a betrayed voice wondered, "Where is your loyalty?"

His aged brow softened, relaxing to open his eyes and shed his anger for tenderness. "To you… I'm not meant to raise a princess. I have nothing but the shrewd sense the gods gave me and wisdom enough to see what life is worth. You've seen more blood than a child ought to, but you're a woman now, Aurora. You can't pay tribute to the dead with your life; you cannot give them your years; and the dead will not protect, care for, or love you. But the Prince will." Her gaze had fallen under his true words, and in her resignation, he took her shoulder ready to persuade her now that her guard had fallen. "You do not belong here. You know it as well as I do. Go with him."

She did not shrink from his touch but turned to observe it as if she could not feel his hand on her, and gradually her eyes followed the length of his arm to his shoulder and then his face where the familiar features did not stir love and warmth in her heart. All was chill. "And what will I do if the shadows follow me to Latium?"

"They won't," he assured her, trying to will some heat into his hand that might pull her from the early winter upon her.

‡‡‡

The room was quiet, an odd feat in this land where ever in the background was the distant hum of rain, and yet the space was so still his ears could pick up the sweep of a cool breeze daring inside the palace to stir the flame of the lone candle on his table. In its flickering light, the gold glinted, and he absently considered the ring now worn and warped to fit the breadth of his finger. Its round face was marked by the royal emblem of Troy, but the edges of the embossed symbol were curved with wear making the raised design sink more and more into the surrounding space. With time it might disappear completely like sands reaching up to swallow the infamous walls of his city where one man's death had precipitated the end and killed every promise of his future. Memories of the lands once pledged to him and his father and his father before him taunted him, and he knew each of their stories by heart…

"Dardania, founded by Dardanus, son of Zeus and Electra, and ruled by Alcathus, son of Capys and Themiste. Guardians of northern Troad."

"And what of their emblem?"

"Banner is a golden spiral on blue to symbolize the sun rotating through the sky for Apollo is protector of all of Troy."

His father smiled, and within the edges of his dark beard, the effect tripled and made Haemon fight away a victorious grin. Years he had learned these minute details, so that he might know the flesh of the lands to one day be inherited by him. When his father fell, he would be defender of Troy after him, and to love his country, he must understand it first. To him it was tangible in this moment, where two generations stooped over a worn map of Troad like stewards to a sacred treasure, and every correct response was a step closer to the key.

"Good," Hector commended, still smiling, and moved his hand to point to Abydos next, but Haemon did not follow.

His young gaze was enraptured with the lands of his distant family, and sensing his father's patience tonight, he wondered, "Is it true –that Aeneas is the son of Aphrodite?" Haemon peeked at the Trojan Prince from the edges of his eyes and confessed swiftly, "Uncle Paris told me."

Hector exhaled unspoken words as to the lessons Paris taught his sons, but they were better spent on the mischievous weaver of tales than the curious ears who listened to them. "Aeneas rides to Troy in a few days' time. You should ask him yourself."

Dissatisfied with his father's diplomatic response, Haemon continued along his flitting train of thought, "Will he fight Achilles?"

Hector's hand retreated from its place on the map, knowing that now distracted, his son's attention would only regain interest once exhausted of this thought. "If they face in battle."

"A son of Zeus should face another demi-god," he decided without hesitation.

Understanding now, Hector eased back into his chair. "And that seems fair to you."

"Heracles was a son of Zeus. He slayed the nine-headed Lernaean Hydra, captured the Cretan bull, wrestled the giant Antaeus-"

"I know the legends, Haemon," his father interrupted shortly considering he had been the one to tell them to his son. "Make your point."

"He was more powerful than any man! Is Achilles not the same?"

Where Haemon's eyes were wide and full of sudden agitation, Hector calmly replied, "Achilles is mortal as was Heracles. He was poisoned by his wife."

"And his immortal side rose to Olympus!"

The Prince drew a breath, giving time for his son's tension to wane. "So the stories say."

He sensed the underlying comment but was not yet wise enough to grasp it, and so he asked, "What do you say, Father?"

Their regards locked, two shades of chestnut nearly identical, but while one held concern, the other was resolved. "That he burned on the funeral pyre like any man, and Achilles and Aeneas will one day do the same. In death, we are all equal."

"Gods do not die," Haemon challenged without hesitation.

"Mortals do. It is all that is certain in life."

Heavy words were more difficult for his son to digest, and thus, he waited in the interim, watching the thought weave through his son's mind and nearly anticipating the question before Haemon asked, "When will the war end?"

"When Agamemnon is satisfied, but when that will be, I do not know."

Since his birth, he gazed up at this titan and thought him invincible in every respect, but now the limitations of a man were coming into focus and the shroud of childhood yielded to reality. In his world, Hector always defeated their enemies and always held the answers to any dilemma, and to see something evade his father's grasp made him realize what lay behind his sheltered palace walls.

"I try but I can't understand," Haemon admitted. "It is wrong to take what belongs to another man. You taught me that."

The Crown Prince paused, wondering how to explain something senseless to the uncorrupted mind of a child, and he settled for, "He thinks he loves her."

"Honor above all," the young Trojan prince returned so sternly it seemed a sudden burst of wisdom had hardened his eyes, and Hector brought his palm to cup the back of his son's head, still small in comparison to his breadth but growing each time he dared to look away. Their attentions wholly focused on the other as though two mirrors echoing back the same understanding, but Haemon could not guess what his father saw in his face.

For then Hector was abruptly sobered of all mirth and gentleness, so weary the lines deepened in his face, the pale scar across his eye twitched in thought, but otherwise, he was still. And in the silence, Haemon saw the fires of the funeral pyres in his mind, terrified of the black smoke that rose from them and unsure why he felt the memories crowding into his mind and overwhelming his concentration.

It returned when Hector spoke, but there was no forgiveness in his tone as he said, "It is not always so simple, Haemon."

"Honor above all," he repeated, but the childish naivety had vanished making the words bitter on his tongue; and he scowled with their effect like his skin curling to recall how foolish he had been. He learned well enough months later, and now this ring was a reminder of a debt paid in blood –the only thing they had that his father wore to his death. What mattered more than the honor of his family and his country was survival. Of all Hector's children, Haemon remembered the most of their life within the walls and the most of when it all crumbled away. Honor means little when you having nothing. It won't feed you, shelter you, protect you. No, that was the duty of his family. And he grew up fast to shoulder those responsibilities. He was the authority, the defender, and the one who helped navigate their position in these new lands, and he would not let death finish him –not until he was satisfied.

The chair groaned against the stone floor as he stood and walked toward the door. They met with Savas soon, and he held no reservations as to the reason for their audience. This orphan princess offered to him. Never had he met a woman so weak, fearful, distrustful, and quiet. She could not be farther from the heir of Lycaon he envisioned, but the previous night he had seen a flash of something raw and vulnerable. The sheer terror in her eyes as if he held the blade to her neck and not the other way around, and he would have killed the bearer of that shadow without question. That crude panic and unadulterated horror was the first fragment of truth he saw in her. Against his better wisdom, he had not spoken of the matter to any, not even his brother. He could not explain his abrupt need to protect a woman who stirred nothing in him, but it signaled an end.

It was late in the morning when he entered the throne hall alongside Ascanius and Solon to finish what they had started.

"My Lords, you have been welcome guests to my home and my table," the King observed from his stone throne where he reclined at ease in his royal vestments and content with the throne's height allowing him an advantage over the Alban Princes who stood before him.

"You've been a gracious host," Haemon agreed.

Savas smiled and stroked the graying beard trimmed and framing the power of his jaw. "Already a week has passed since your arrival, Prince… I trust you've had time to acclimate yourself and quash these accusations against my niece."

"I'm satisfied with what I've found." Savas quirked his brow invitingly, and Haemon acknowledged, "She is Lycaon's heir."

"Yes, she is." He chuckled in a humorless way meant to signal some camaraderie shared between them, but his eyes still bore the insult and the fire it stirred. "I've been patient to your concerns, more than most men could manage when accused of lying in their own home, but our countries have not had a kind history. I understand your suspicions. I know my court is victim to rumors," he muttered with a humility that did not manifest in his frank expression. "A ruler told me once that the number of gossips who followed him were the only true sign of his power. Any less than thirty, and he found cause for another war." A smile grew as he laughed at the thought and added his weight to the support of one arm. "I would have been more concerned did I not know you to be wise men –cautious, yes, but serious to our negotiations." His icy eyes centered on the tallest man standing before him, unforgiving in his stance but decided. "You rode here for business, Prince, and business must be handled. You have asked your questions, seen my niece, and talked amongst yourselves. The time has come for a decision."

All attentions focused on the Crown Prince of Alba Longa who had gathered his full height, squaring off his broad shoulders, and gazing at Savas with the ease of equals. By his stature alone, he looked indomitable and powerful as his reputation suggested, and breaths abated to hear what his final decision would be.

‡‡‡

Night heralded another dinner, and from the abundance of the feast displayed, roasted goat, fresh fruit, stews, and more, one wouldn't be the wiser of the supreme toll and burden this placed on the King. Appearances were costly, but they were powerful. Men lust with their eyes first before conceding to their better senses, and perhaps these lavish feasts were a blatant seduction to guarantee the success of Savas' wishes. Little did her uncle know of how often, how purposefully, how audaciously she attempted to subvert them. However, her encounter with the Prince the evening before had not been a hoax of some elaborate scheme, and truly she feared facing him once more. From the first night he arrived, he had held the upper hand in their relationship, and she awaited the day he would tangle her in the web she had created and send her crumbling to his feet.

"You look beautiful this evening," Davos' wife commented kindly as she found her way to Aurora's side.

She smiled and bent her head modestly, knowing how carefully she had executed her appearance around one, specific detail.

"And such a unique necklace. I don't think I've ever seen you wear it before."

"It was a gift," she acknowledged at last and straightened her neck to glance about the buzzing hall in search of a particular face among them.

"From an admirer?" she teased in a lowered tone, but the intrigue was undeniable.

It was a recognition of how few men had considered her, and even she could not deny the prick of blood behind her cheeks and subtle pleasure when she met her sister-in-law's regard and answered, "From Prince Haemon." What she neglected to admit was how she held onto the necklace among with his other gifts for fear of encouraging him, but she hoped to remedy the damage done before it festered into an infected wound.

She watched the surprise bloom in her sister-in-law's face, too genuine to be restrained, and smiled feeling more pleased than offended. As her gaze strayed once more to assess the flow of company around them, she was drawn to a void in the crowd of guests where the bodies parted, and there he stood with his brother and speaking to Davos. Her heart sped merely by the sight of his tall, muscular figure in his usual black robes. Unconsciously, he sipped at his cup and glimpsed toward her, but the image registered in his mind, causing him to turn fully and meet her still attentive eyes. Even across this space, the flash of chestnut was rough as a gust of wind, and her impulse was to bow to it. But she fought to perfect this presentation of herself to him. Though she could not help her eyes turning down, she was reminded of all she had done with the intent to please him. Her fingers brushed the cool sliver of opal attached to a thin gold chain, and a pale grey-blue gown matched the gemstone perfectly, accenting the tone of her skin and straw-colored curls loosely falling about her shoulders. It was a dress meant for the spring or summer, a thin material shaped to her body that was too light for the cooler weather, but she could bear the chill knowing how it complemented the stone and her own figure. A bit brazenly, she turned to him once more to find his eyes still on her. It was a reward, but her heart faltered not knowing from his stoic face whether he was pleased or otherwise.

Savas entered the hall and broke their concentration as the King brushed to reach his grand seat at the head of the table. Others were obedient to this silent cue and found their places at the table, and servants hurried to take their full pitchers of wine and fill each man and woman's cup to the brim. Seated across from each other as usual, she found reason to distract herself and murmured some meaningless words to one of her stepbrothers beside her. Her gaze delved past the reach of his face to see Davos and his wife bent in conversation with another couple, and soon the faces turned to consider her. Word travelled quickly within court, and she turned to face the man who had pinned her in position and held her captive in his dark look. Even as he lifted his cup to his shoulder, allowing a servant to fill what he had emptied only moments earlier, he did not stray. She felt it in the pressure building on her chest as though to squash her racing heart and sensed her weakness when confronted by his authority.

Savas surveyed the servant's advance further and further along the length of his table where his guests, family, and loyal supporters were called to bear witness to his words. Once he was satisfied by the number of filled cups, he encouraged them to be raised along with his own as he called out, "The gods have given us reason to celebrate."

Respectfully, the conversations died out, and attentions turned to the King still standing.

"A week ago, I welcomed the Princes of Alba Longa and their men into my lands." He glanced at these men and smiled candidly like two friends sharing the same secret, and Aurora felt her stomach drop. "I kept the nature of our negotiations private, but it has been no secret that our two countries share a common goal –peace. When the Albans came to the west nearly two decades ago, my father was among those kings who denied their right to the lands, but unlike my father, I see their strength and their tenacity, worthy traits of men building a kingdom…" His icy blue gaze strayed across the faces of those at his table, seeming to search for any glance he did not approve. "Worthy traits of allies of Apulia."

Murmurs underlined the King's silence as those gathered took what they would from his words. He reined them in once more when he continued in a more stoutly tone, "It has been decided this day how our two countries will be united, and the gods have smiled upon our choice for the rains have cleared; and I see a new beginning…" Pleased by the tension and curiosity he had cultivated, he at last delivered his final words, "A union between Prince Haemon and my niece Aurora."

The revolution of his gaze ended on her, and she stared up into her uncle's severe smile, seeing the malicious pleasure in it that caused the blood to sink with gravity and settle like stone in her hands and feet. Atlan had warned her of this, even fooled her into thinking she was prepared, but with the announcement, she still felt blindsided. Until this moment, it had been a rumor and a possibility, and now, her head swiveled above her shoulders to see him. Her husband. The words were hollow, but she searched his face in this moment, taking in the chestnut curls gathered at his neck and trimmed beard etching out the angles of his jaw. A small pink scar followed the grain of his beard on his right cheek, thin and long healed, and it appeared a reminder of how futilely men had tried to destroy him, how much stronger he was than she knew him to be. He will protect you, care for you, love you, she told herself and dared to follow his straight nose to his eyes relaxed and waiting for her to meet them. They were calm, hard as stone but patient, and in them she saw some sliver of kindness afforded to her with how emptily they considered her. Even restrained, something in them sent her heart stumbling within her chest, and she swallowed the fear coating her throat. She bowed her chin and considered the stone sitting on her chest, smiling with a sardonic corner of her mouth to see how fate worked.

"Tonight we drink to their health, their happiness, and their prosperity!" Savas prompted, and all those gathered added their calls and praises and followed their king who drank deeply from his cup. The bronze chalices landed heavily on the wooden table, and the sound marked the start of their feast. Musicians began playing a buoyant song, and the company was swept up into hearty discussions of this unexpected news.

Savas took his seat and found Haemon's shoulder, shaking it in good will and smiling broadly. "Now Prince, there is something we neglected to discuss this morning."

"And what is that?" he wondered.

"We have a tradition among our people to mark an engagement," the King explained and waved for a servant to bring him a piece of goat.

Aurora was listening to the conversation and inclined her head toward her uncle, glancing at him as though understanding of what he spoke. This caught the Prince's attention who was intrigued and jested, "More than a speech and a feast?"

"Yes," he answered as he looked to Haemon once more and grinned. "You see it is our way of honoring the gods and proving that the match is a fortuitous one." He tore off a piece of bread and chewed it roughly.

In the interim, her soft voice spoke out, "It is old, Uncle."

The four words were fuel to Haemon's curiosity, and his attention remained fixed on Savas who confessed, "Yes, it is old, but I think you the sort of man to enjoy it. It would be a symbol of our families uniting –Alban and Apulian."

"What is it?"

His smile grew, and he eased his elbow onto the table, bending closer to the Prince to sustain the private conversation even knowing Aurora listened still. "A hunt." He saw the interest flicker in the man's eyes, and he explained, "The man enters the woods to kill the greatest stag he can find and presents it to his woman, and if she is pleased, the stag is brought to the temple of Zeus and offered as tribute… A prosperous hunt means the gods will show their favor and reward you with a son."

Haemon reflected Savas' smile, seduced by the challenge and the opportunity to prove himself to his new allies, and he agreed, "It is a good tradition. I will be glad to take up a hunt in honor of my future wife and the fortune of our marriage."

"Wise man!" Savas applauded him and patted his shoulder amiably. "I knew you would not shy from the test, and I will give you a secret since you are a stranger to our lands. There is a path that follows the river and takes you to the mountains. There you'll find the greatest beasts."

"It is dangerous," Aurora said and abruptly interrupted the conversation among the two men who glanced at her, one annoyed and the other interested. She shifted uneasily in her seat under their piercing eyes but persevered, "The path is narrow and will be weak from the rain. No one crosses it after summer wanes."

"No common men," Savas dismissed with a grunt of displeasure.

"My eldest son participated years ago when his marriage was announced," the Queen contributed to be sure her niece's words were neglected, "and already the gods have blessed him with two sons!"

Haemon assessed her silence then trying to decipher it as defiance toward their announced union or concern for his well-being. The later seemed impossible given the course she had taken until this point –only this night seeking his good graces by wearing one of his affections. He was not a man to be manipulated, least of all by this woman. "I'm not afraid of a little rain," he said and looked to Savas once more, extending his cup slightly as he marked, "To the hunt."

"To allies," he countered with a smile sneaking into his thin lips, and both drank ardently to their success.

‡‡‡

The King revealed his foresight when the dinner shifted to a celebration which lasted long into the night. Pitchers of wine were exhausted, more animals roasted, and it was at night's thickest that Haemon retreated to his quarters with a full stomach and a weariness brought on by the alcohol and late hour. He removed the pin holding the cloth about him and tossed the heavy fabric across a chair. He addressed the lacing of his vest next, looking to his bed where furs had been added to keep away the growing cold, and the temptation was enough to rouse a long yawn.

"My Lord," a servant announced from his threshold, "you have a visitor."

"Tell him I'll see him tomorrow," he countered gruffly, impatient with the night and ready to surrender to sleep, but as he turned to face the servant, he saw her standing inside his room. Such a rare sight was enough to shuck away the weariness veiling his eyes. With his concentration captured, he crossed the short distant, and the servant exited without needing to be dismissed. "It's late to visit a man's chambers."

"Forgive me," she murmured in that soft tone. "I thought I was visiting my betrothed."

The frown settled between his brows, and he stepped past safe limits, approaching her near enough he could hear the sharp inhale she drew as he reached out to touch the necklace crowning her breast. "You've change your mind again," he countered, aggravated to be reminded of the offense.

Her eyes drilled into his chest, unable to life higher, and she confessed, "I was hasty in my judgment."

"In your judgment or actions?" He released the stone and scorned, "Even now you can't look at me."

She swallowed, the supple skin and muscles contracting around her slender neck, and timidly, she peered through her eyelashes up at him. His expression was pitiless, mouth receding to a deep scowl, and only his pits for eyes dismissed her. Her mouth was dry to receive such a look and so close that no space could soften the effect. "You intimidate me."

This gained her a smile no matter how sarcastic, and he ironically pointed out, "But you are here –alone."

Her gaze fell once more to level with his chest and the loosened threads giving her a better glimpse of what lay beyond the vest's reach, a span of hardened muscles protecting the bone and perhaps beneath, a heart. "I want to clarify myself… What I said to you last night, it was foolish. The wine must have affected me, and I frightened myself with the walk alone."

"I don't doubt that you are fearful of the dark," he commented, "but I know what I heard and what I saw."

Without hesitation, her eyes snapped to look at him, at once excited and anxious, and finding his expression unchanged, she challenged, "If you saw anyone, they would be in the dungeons or dead."

"Yes," he agreed and surveyed her from toe to nose, taking his time to note how the fabric fell across her curves, following the line of her breasts, and between them lay his gift.

"Unless it was one of your men," she continued in a nervous whisper, and his attention returned to her face, eyes narrowed and suspicious. "I know they follow me."

"No. Not last night and no more. I would not agree to marry you if I held any reservations." Here his bride stood before him dressed to seduce his eyes and please his rougher nature, and he was insulted she thought him so easily abated to be denied one moment and accepted the next. She was not the master among them. The wine and the night roused his bitterness, and he drew toward her, seeing how tense her body became like the sinew of bow pulled taut.

"Steeds, gold, and the promise of allies in battle." The confusion seeped into her eyes, and his smirk was humorless as he explained, "That is what I paid for you."

Her gaze trembled and fell away, and he bent closer to hammer in his words; but she retreated from him unable to sustain the pressure kindling between them. His hands captured her elbows, restraining her from fleeing and forcing her to fall against his chest. She didn't fight, but her face turned away to avoid his words.

"I want you to know how little your uncle sold you for," he continued so close he felt the heat of his breath meet her temple and sweep back into his mouth. Its touch provoked the quaking of her features, but her face remained suspended and stretched at an awkward angle. His grip tightened on her while his eyes drank in her response. "Does that anger you?"

"Yes," she hissed under her breath, and her regard had fallen to the floor perhaps finding comfort in its stillness where her whole body was shaking.

"In week's time, maybe less," he continued, "I will take you to my city. We do not have lavish palaces; there will be no throng of young girls waiting on you; you will not have beautiful dresses or piles of jewelry… In my land, fortune favors the strong, and there is no place for weakness."

She jerked abruptly against his grip, finding the two hands as unyielding as iron shackles, and she gritted her teeth, asking through her tense jaw, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you were born to be the wife of a true king," he answered, and her neck released, allowing her to turn and spear him with her eyes. He taunted her with her bride price, meager for an heir of Lycaon, and provoked the honor of her name. The blood boiled beneath her skin, rising to simmer in her eyes, and he commanded, "Behave like it."

All at once, her hand reached out to strike him, but he was too strong to overpower. Yet her purpose was clear manifested in the groan of frustration through her lips, and he welcomed the burst of flames he knew was inside her. Who had suffocated it, silenced it, banished it, he didn't care. Her palms flattened on his chest, pushing to release herself, and the way her fear succumbed to fight aroused something in him. Fury that she would try to disrespect him again, and satisfaction to know how he had baited her and returned to her the same offense he bore. Impulsively, he claimed his bride, smothering the anger from her and tasting the fragrance of wine on her breath.

His stubble stung her mouth and cheeks, and her body found its bearings with her flesh yielding to his solid chest. Her lips were the more malleable, almost perverse in how soft they felt and with how indulgently he enjoyed them. Her inexperience, the rigidity in her body and unresponsiveness, should have made him ashamed to run his tongue over the velvety flesh, but he savored it guiltlessly nibbling on her lower lip to test its plump curve. Whatever he demanded, she surrendered without question or hesitation, her head spinning recklessly, dizzying her and making her forget how to breathe or think or control. The shape of her body molded to him and made his hands hungry to explore those slopes and curves, and he forced her elbows behind her back, catching her body between his arms and chest where he could feel the bones in his grip.

He sought to teach her the price of taunting him, and yet, he could barely find the will to release her, noting the unsatisfied tension settling deep in his abdomen as he faced the sultry heaviness to her lids and swollen lips he had stirred. The fire had died in her eyes and yielded to the fear once more, a disappointment to his rising desires and reminder of her limitations. He exhaled hotly through his nose and let go of her elbows, and she stumbled a bit clumsily away from him, accustomed to the support of his chest and unsteady with only her fragile strength to sustain her. Their regards remained locked in a battle of wills, hers insulted, humiliated, stirred, but she couldn't sustain a war with him. Bowing her head, she retreated and left him alone in his quarters.


Author's Note: Hello lovelies! Ah... it's the bitchier moments that give me so much evil happiness :) Haemon was a bit of a dickhead, but there's always a reason! I hope you all enjoyed this, and upon further reflection of the outline I made, I think I might be able to consolidate some things and move the action along a little quicker!

Thanks AmyLNelson for the wondrously long review ;) I'm glad you don't mind my wordiness because I doubt I have the good sense to control myself haha This was a bit of a trip down memory lane for Haemon, and hopefully it was what you had hoped for. It makes me a little sad to think of Hector again... I'm sorry the plot has been confusing. It's a bit difficult to balance two different plot avenues especially one as complicated as Haemon and Aurora's. So it seems you were correct. Haemon and Aurora are now engaged, and Iliana and Damian will have another opportunity to be supremely awkward and adorable next chapter :) There is certainly a mystery surrounding Aurora's family's deaths, and I've been careful to slip in a few clues. You'll understand fully what's going on in a few more chapters, and I really don't think you'll anticipate what will happen :D Though you do have a pretty good knack for reading my mind! Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo