Chapter 13
"Night Falling"
A thundering percussion of knocks rattled the thin door, and a voice called out, "Get out, or pay for another day!"
Haemon groaned deep in his chest and rocked his head to one side. The blood funneled heavy and throbbing behind his eyes with exhaustion and the weight of the storm lingering in the air. He didn't hear the beat of rain pouring down on the roof and realized the storm must have ebbed during the night, though he couldn't much care or consider how that affected their journey.
The man's fist pounded on the door again, and he yelled out, "I know you're in there! Did you hear me?"
"Yes!" Haemon barked back through his raspy voice still waking. From the cool air, the storm, and sleeping on his back, his face and head ached, and his throat was rough and gravelly. "Give me a moment," he snapped out and waited to see if the man would pester him further.
To his mild relief, there was no reply, and he rolled his head to the other side where a bundle of straw-colored hair provided a soft pillow. His tongue was parched and swollen in his mouth, and his lips felt dry. For the moment, the weariness was more persuasive than those mild discomforts, but the knowledge that the owner would be back soon enough if Haemon didn't pay him weighed down on his mind. Groaning again, he rocked his head back to face the ceiling, and reluctantly he squinted one eye open and then the other. The room was still blanketed in mild darkness, though he could see through its thin veil, but it was impossible to tell whether it was morning or night still. How long had they slept? How little had they slept… He inhaled deeply, feeling his tense muscles stretch as his chest expanded, his spine lengthening against the thin mattress, and as he exhaled, his body settled comfortably once more. Only his head throbbed, his throat hurt, and his left shoulder was twisted in numb pain. Frowning, he struggled to command his left arm, but the muscles were dead with sleep so that only his fingers flexed and straightened. Steadily from his hand the sensation of a thousand tiny pins pricking him spread up his forearm and to his bicep, and he gritted his teeth and tried to move his arm to help the blood flow into it and end the torturous feeling.
A soft mewl caught his attention, and he realized rather delayed that she was curled up at his side, lying on her stomach with her hands cupping his forearm, and her head resting upon his bicep like a pillow. She was turned away from him, but the naked line of her back was stuck to his side, so warm and comfortable that he had almost mistaken her an extension of himself. He grimaced with a new dilemma facing him and sat up on his right elbow to decide how best to sneak his limp, tingling arm from her. Patience, especially this early, was not his virtue, and he at length began drawing his arm away and dragged her against him where she rested even as he removed his arm. It hurt more removed of her, and he twisted it to stretch out his tight shoulder and elbow. Aurora groaned a wordless objection, turned to face him and nuzzle her face into his side, and fell asleep immediately. It was a small wonder that neither their yelling back and forth nor his movement had not awoken her, but it was testament to how deeply and soundly she slept.
His eyes softened to see her mussed and tangled halo of hair, her features relaxed and lips parted in sleep, and her naked body curled up to him, and he rubbed his palm along her spine and received an indecipherable grumble from her. He let her sleep. Clearing his sore throat, he sat up completely and twisted so that he feet found the cold floor. He tried massaging his left shoulder, but it did little to ease his soreness. It would disappear by mid-morning, if it were morning that is.
"What are you doing?" she drowsily groaned from behind him, and he twisted to find her eyes still closed and her body unmoving.
"I have to pay the man for another day," he commented through his husky throat, "and check the sky and the ground –and the horse." He frowned at the list piling up already and avoided those duties a moment longer by finding a place for his hand on her lower back above the coarse wool blanket settled around her hips. He enjoyed how soft and warm her skin was, and that he could touch it now wherever, however, whenever he pleased. She was his.
"It's cold," she muttered, still keeping her eyes closed, and drew her elbows closer to her chest.
He took the edge of the blanket to cover her, but when he lifted it up, he noticed the dark patch of dried blood on the mattress near her. What would that little girl think about this when they finally left and she came to clean their room? He kept quiet and drew the edge of the blanket to her shoulders, and he discovered her eyes had parted slightly and were waiting for him.
"Should I rise as well?" she wondered and turned her face to hide a yawn in the mattress beneath her.
"No. There's nothing you can do, and you need to rest."
"You should too," she commented when she had turned her face toward him again. She was considering his naked back rather than his face and quietly pointed out, "You barely slept."
He smirked in a wolfish way, an expression he had inherited from his father, and rubbed a hand across his face to push aside the sleep lingering there. Three times, his mind tallied. They had dozed off after the first two, but he had awoken in the middle of the night with a renewed hunger at feeling her naked flesh wrapped around him. It could only be satisfied in one way, and she hadn't turned him away. The memories alone brought a warmth to his gut. Though the beast was more tamed knowing now it could have its fill when it desired, he was roused by her company and by the morning. He wanted her again and would have her –maybe when he returned from these dull responsibilities, yet he was impatient for a taste. He bent across her and found her lips, cupping the back of her head and tangling his fingers in her hair to turn her face to meet him. He was slow, languid, deep, taking his time and savoring her. Her palm flattened along his cheek and across his beard, feeling how his mouth moved and his lips massaged against her. She submitted beneath him without the strength or will to push him away, but she didn't anticipate the way his kiss would wash across her like she drunk him in and felt him warm her blood and bones. Her legs stretched, her hips twisted, and her waist flexed with unconscious want. She was sore in every layer and angle and inch of her skin, muscles, and bones, but she had learned her body could bear the pain. She could be strong in spite of it. He growled low in his throat, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up to attention, and their kisses grew heavier and messier. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged gently, feeling her neck arch with a breathy moan.
The only responsibility he had was the one calling for him, and without hesitation, he laid his body across her, recognizing now the soft curves of her flesh molding to his own. She winced for the flash of pain blading through her, and he caught the faint frown flicker across her features and realized her tenderness. He forgot how delicate she could be, and he had more tact and patience than the night before to ease his weight into his elbows and knees so that he would not hurt her. Still her mouth commanded him, kissing him again once he released her lip, and she was the more insistent and demanding than the timid woman who he had found in his bed. Her sudden boldness and ardor were taunting him to surrender to his carnal needs, but he struggled to slow down. Her thighs parted for his hips, and as he sunk between them, she cried out sharply without warning and pushed him away. He drew back and searched her body to understand where she was pained. Her face was knotted, and a sore, stinging pang stabbed between her legs at the feel of them stretching around his waist and opening to fit him. Her body hadn't healed even if her mind were ready and impatient, but she realized futilely how bruised and raw she felt inside her thighs. She was almost embarrassed by that throbbing pressing up into her, and she turned her head away to avoid his gaze, clenching her eyes closed as she did so to hide away from him.
"You're sore," he muttered in his hoarse voice, both from sleep and arousal, and her cheeks flamed to hear him speak about something so personal no matter what they had done the night before.
She didn't dare respond. She couldn't even bear to look at him. The blood boiled in her face, and she continued to stubbornly hide away.
Despite the unfulfilled desire pulsing in him, he understood he had pushed her too far, but he had never taken a virgin. He had expected the first time, but now… He remembered the blood stain on the mattress and considered her as if she were wounded. She needed time to heal, and he exhaled shakily while he committed himself to that path, no matter how his body ached to know he was betraying its needs.
"You need to rest, Aurora," he decided and eased back onto his knees.
Her eyes fluttered open, green and brown gazing up at him and blinking uncertainly, and her cheeks were still ripe with a flush. She glimpsed at his naked body stacked in front of her and nearly trembled as she recognized what had claimed her the night before. Her eyes closed immediately, but the image was seared in her mind, perhaps imprinted by her burning cheeks. She swallowed and realized her empty stomach was churning and feeling acidic and sick from lack of food.
He chuckled softly when he heard her stomach grumble and added, "I'll bring you something to eat."
"Thank you," she murmured in nearly a whisper and feared her face might burst into flames at any moment.
His chestnut eyes were too preoccupied appraising the senuous lines of her body to notice. Like a hungry wolf licking its chops and taunted with a fresh meal, he considered her from toe to nose. Shaking his burly head, he looked away and thought of all that he needed to do, but from the corner of his gaze, he could see her naked still. He quickly moved away and drew the sheet over her again before he lost his conviction and hurt her. He was only mortal and flawed and eager for what was his.
Before he could change his mind, he forced himself out of the bed, dressed, and left her to rest while he set about his duties. He did his best to ignore the deep-seated ache that yearned to be satisfied and promised himself she would be stronger soon.
‡‡‡
The narrow window gave her little space to view the interior of Alba Longa where the main square was bustling with preparations. In a few days' time, Ariston would lead a contingent to the Albula River where Scipio's troops had begun to progress toward Port Sanna yet again. Their brief respite was a mystery, but Ariston needed no answers to charge through the gates and protect their port. Already he hustled about like a dog released from its chain and oversaw every arrangement. Iliana welcomed the distraction which kept Aeneas and her brothers oblivious to her mercurial moods since Aeneas' celebration. Days, and she had heard nothing from Damian. She chewed anxiously at her bottom lip and continued peering through the space, wringing her hands and aching for a glimpse. Time wore away the logical reasons for his distance –the army soon marching for battle and his finishing weapons and armor for them– and sowed more dangerous concerns. She could not cease thinking of how she carried herself around him that night, practically throwing herself at him and stumbling about in her drunken state, and even now she winced unconsciously as she recalled their last meeting. How could she have been so foolish? Had Damian changed his opinion of her and thus his decision? Suppose he no longer wanted her: what was she to do?
Exhaling shortly, it did little to ease the tension in her belly, and she grumbled beneath her breath and abandoned her station at the window to rearrange some matter or another. She was mostly blind to her actions, the whole of her attention directed at the buzzing beyond her window, and inevitably she abandoned her act and returned to the same spot more agitated and restless than before. She set her hands atop her hips, idly kneading her fingers across the bones, and appraised the activity in the center with no sense of what she was precisely searching for –until it appeared. Amid the crowd, she caught a flash of his black curls, and charged the window for a better view. The bodies shifted, she rose onto the soles of her feet, her eyes strained, and there he was with some spears piled onto his shoulder, managing his wound well with barely a limp, and calling across his shoulder to Pelicles following him with yet more weapons for the armory. The glimpse was too fleeting. She couldn't see what had changed about him when he seemed precisely as she knew him: tall, burly, and smeared with ashes from his work.
Yet she had no chance to consider it further. She had been waiting days for a time when he would speak to her or her father, and when that did not pass as she expected, then for him to be away from his forge long enough for her to infiltrate its walls. Stealing her veil from the counter, she drew it across her hair, hurried out the door of her home, and held the edges near her cheeks to shield the angles of her face from curious eyes. As it was, the city was busy enough not to notice a young woman rushing across the square and through the ajar door of the forge. The inside was sweltering as she had recalled it from the summer months, and she soon discovered the source of the heat: the fire pit which had no doubt burned through the nights and allowed for his work. She briefly appraised the space, more empty than she recalled it since weapons were being taken to the troops, and she felt the familiar tingle of nerves swirling inside her. They were a reminder of her entry without Damian's consent and her anxiety that she would be found out, and both spurred her to advance toward the wooden beam where she had been overpowered nights before. Even now, the memory called a flush to her cheeks, and she reached a trembling hand toward the pole. Her thoughts were wholly engrossed in the impression of his lips on her, her hands pinned above her, the sheer power that forced her to submit… She reached as though she could touch the memory, call upon that sensation once more, but abruptly her hand fell as she shook away the thought.
No…
She had more pressing matters to attend, and she squatted onto her heels and used her fingers to search through the straw and ashes until she found the dirt beneath. Her brow knit in aggravation and frustration, and she extended the reach of her search, sifting, feeling, rooting for it, but found nothing. Sighing her annoyance, she glanced toward the table, retracing their movements that night, and she hurried to the seat and began looking through the straw at its base. Her fingers were stained black from the ashes and dirt, but she was oblivious to the effect. There was nothing to interrupt the flooring, and her anxiety was steadily building her thoughts into a frenzy.
It must be here!
She wet her lips and let her gaze scan the interior, wondering, thinking, planning. Impulsively she stood up and began rummaging through the few articles on the tabletop. She moved aside the vessel of water, shuffled through the various pieces of parchment, looked beneath the dirtied linen, and continually found the grain of the wood and nothing else.
A short cough interrupted her search, and she spun on her heels to face Damian like she had never seen him: so furious as if a tempest roaring its ugly head before her. She shrunk unconsciously, hearing the slight rattle of the vessel heaving on the table as she knocked into it, yet his black gaze never left her, pinning her in place like nails to her feet, boring through her as though he could see to her purpose, and radiating suspicion.
"Looking for something?" he prompted, so low and gruff it called anxious chills across her.
"Forgive me," Iliana blurted out in a quivering, nervous voice. "I lost my necklace. I thought-I thought it had fallen while I was here because it wasn't where it should be, but I can't remember if I took it off or set it aside, and my mother gave it to me and I…"
His rigid stature flexed as his shoulders sunk slightly lower down his back. Though his eyes remained hard and textured with uncertainty, his body by all appearances had abandoned its fighting posture. Iliana likewise realized she could breathe, but she gazed at him with eyes wide and contrite as a guilty child's. He started toward her, limping stiffly for his pride wouldn't allow the wound to affect him more, and she placed a palm on the edge of the table and felt the wood bear into her thighs as she leaned back against it. There was no room for her to retreat. No place for her to run. She nearly trembled with ripe anxiety, but he turned from her and disappeared into his private quarters. Confused, she stared after him wondering if he meant to dismiss her, if he wanted her to follow, or perhaps he meant to return… A moment later he reentered the common space and lifted his hand, dangling the chain from his forefinger.
Her sights set on it, following the length of delicate gold to the pendant at the base, and she forgot her apprehension in a moment when she rushed to him and stole the necklace from his fingers. She clutched the piece to her chest, her eyes closed briefly as though to say a silent prayer, and when she opened them once more, she discovered him watching her warily. It reminded her of her worst fears kindled during the days and nights without him, and she swiftly slipped the necklace over her head and tucked the ends into her dress for safekeeping, giving herself ample time to gather her wits as gracefully as a princess ought.
"Thank you," she said and clasped her empty hands before her like she could capture her nervous and troubled energy between her palms. It was not so simple –not with him so near. "You cannot know how dear this is to me…"
Even at the admission, she released one hand to touch her fingers to her chest where the necklace hung. Truthfully, when she had discovered it amiss, she had nearly torn apart their home in searching for it. She was so distraught the servants, her father, and even her brothers joined the search, but each found nothing. Poor Nereus had even looked around the city square and almost taken to his hands and knees to look through the grass. Iliana, meanwhile, had rather dramatically and hopelessly been reduced to tears. There was nothing she treasured more that her mother had given her. Nothing.
"It was the first gift my father," she paused and amended, "Aeneas gave to my mother. Before she passed, she gave it to me." Amazingly, her throat constricted beyond her control, and her eyes pricked. Swallowing against the tension, she admitted, "It makes me sick to think I could lose something so precious."
"It's safe," he said neutrally though she assumed it was for her benefit. "It's fortunate it wasn't trampled before I noticed it."
"Yes," she agreed immediately, and her face seemed awash with the brief thought of that tragedy. Remembering herself, however, she startled out of her emotional state and attempted to tuck away her severe feelings attached to this necklace. Damian had not moved, and she noted how she was surely intruding. "Thank you," she said again. "I should leave you to your work…"
"Is that the only reason you've come?" he wondered, and her chestnut eyes peeked at him uncertainly. "Did you forget our conversation as well?"
Before she could suppress it, the blood bloomed in her cheeks, and she felt so aggravated and beyond hope that she almost looked at him in defeat. She could never seem to conduct herself how she wanted to around him. "No… I thought you might have changed your mind –after how I behaved."
"You don't need to be ashamed," he said, and his sudden clemency after his distance rattled her reasoning. How could he be two sides the same coin? He always tied her in knots, and she had no chance of righting herself when he kept his face so stoic. "You're not the first person to drink more than she can handle."
Shaking her head lightly, her brow was knit in confusion, and she pointed out, "You never…" She couldn't bring herself to say it aloud in case this were all some dream of her drunken imagination, and she blinked to be sure it was real.
"I've been busy. Your brother will march to battle soon."
He motioned with one hand toward the table, and she lethargically found her usual seat and watched him slowly take his own. One hand gripped tightly to his thigh to balance his weight, the other palm rested on the table, and he seemed to bow his head to hide whatever expression flitted across his face when he bent and his muscles contracted to help him sit.
"And I wanted to speak with you when you were in a clearer mind," he added through a tighter throat.
"How is your wound?" she wondered immediately, almost cutting him off as he spoke.
"It heals slowly," he confessed after a moment and poured two cups of water.
"Have you kept salve on it? Did the healer give you something to stave off infection?" she persisted, clearly aggravated with his clipped reply.
His brow perked up in the center, letting his dark eyes consider her dubiously from beneath, and for the first time one corner of his mouth hiccupped in amusement. "Yes. Don't change the subject, Princess."
I don't want you hurting! her mind retorted, but it was bolder than her lips which merely pursed in unspoken annoyance.
The same flicker of a smile fell, and he nudged one of the cups of water toward her and sipped at his own.
"Will Pelicles not return soon?" she wondered quietly and glanced at the door as though the same awkward, blonde-headed juvenile might burst inside.
"No," Damian assured her and set his cup on the table. "He's taking a tally of the soldiers and the weapons and armor to be sure we've enough… With his wandering mind, it might take him 'til nightfall."
"You shouldn't be so harsh with him," she decided with the sort of lax tongue that often got her into trouble if she didn't mind it.
His eyes narrowed subtly, and she wasn't sure if he was taunting when he said, "His protector, are you?"
"No." She rearranged herself nervously in her seat and explained, "It's not his fault the gods gave him no grace or wit, and it's not for lack of trying. He wants to please you. Surely you see that. It's sad almost to watch how he scurries after you."
"Have you been watching him scurry after me?" he spurred, as neutral and removed as a blind, deaf mute, which frustrated and confused her further. What was his game?
She rolled her eyes petulantly and said, "I thought you wished to speak about the other night."
"I do, but you're insistent to avoid it. So let us speak about Pelicles or whomever else you'd prefer to discuss."
Her mouth fell ajar in utter incredulity. He was the one who had promised to speak to her father and not followed through on his word. She should be frustrated –not him!
"Forgive me if I don't want to be discovered in your home alone before you make your intentions known –that is if they still are your intentions or if you plan to revoke everything you said!"
Her tongue was sharper than it had ever been between them, and the brief satisfaction it brought her paled immediately to see how his features hardened. She would take them back to reverse the afternoon and have another chance at this conversation, but she was so confused and frustrated and afraid of the sway he held over her. Did he not know he was driving her mad?
"You're angry with me," he understood rather obviously given her behavior, but she felt the same anger burrow down inside her once it was acknowledged. It brought her no peace.
"I just want to understand what you want," she corrected and exhaled slowly. "I don't want to be promised something and you to do another. I don't want to be toyed with–"
All at once, the warmth of his hand swallowed her own, and she felt the pressure of his fingers wrapping around her palm somehow silence her tongue. Looking into his dark eyes, they nearly bladed through her for the raw sincerity.
"I'm not," he swore and waited, searching her face as if to be sure his words hit their mark. "But there is a time and place for these things, and approaching the King when he is preparing for one of his sons to lead a contingent of his troops to battle is not the time. Once your brother leaves, I hope to speak with him."
"You hope?"
"I will," he corrected hastily and a worn look passed across his face that she couldn't understand. He moved to release her hand, but she held on stubbornly, even pulling to make him look at her once more.
"I don't want you to do this because you feel guilty for anything that we've done."
"I wouldn't," he said though the edges of his eyes relaxed as though abruptly exhausted of some burden. "But I still wish I were a better man to turn you away."
"Please," she blurted out and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, pained by the insinuation.
His thumb brushed across her hand reassuringly even if he looked so remorseful in that moment.
"Why would you say that?"
"You are sweet and trusting and kind…" He almost spoke of those qualities as if they were somehow faults. "You know so little of me… You don't realize I can't give you all that you need."
"Don't presume to tell me what I need," she said haughtily and tugged their joined hands toward her breast. "Yes, I know little about you, as little as you do me. I don't care about your station. I don't care about your past. You don't have to apologize and repent for whomever you were before you entered these walls because I see the man before me now, and I want him. I need him."
The electric shock of their gazes locking was a poor warning. All at once, he charged across the table, ripping at her hand and dragging her to him, and their mouths collided halfway with such force their foreheads hit and made Iliana's body recoil. Yet he held fast to her hand, keeping her from slipping from him, and the soft heat of his kiss smothered any objections. Instead she felt the table embedded in her hips and leaned further with her chest, and she groaned faintly in aggravation of its impediment when she missed the feel of his hands and body on her. Her fingers curled around his hand, held tightly, pulling like he pulled her, and she grasped the back of his neck to tangle her fingers in his black curls. She tugged forcefully, not satisfied with the pressure of his mouth and nose kneading against her when she wanted so much more.
Slowly he backed away, and even as she struggled to follow, the table buried deeper into her belly and made it impossible to find him again. She tugged at his neck, gripping to his palm, and he gently unwound the hand holding to his nape. A wry smile lifted his lips to see her eyes pulsing impatiently and aggravated to be kept at bay, and her lips were framed with her bronze skin pink and flush from his beard. Exhaling, he grappled for a piece of his willpower to hold him at bay. She was dangerous to his conviction, and his boundaries were circling tighter and tighter around his chest. It took less with each taste of her to push him toward the edge, and she was blindly baiting him when he was trying to be an honorable man for her.
"I don't deserve you," he confessed," but I will spend my life earning your love."
Her features fell subtly as though disappointed, and she countered, "Haven't I shown you? You don't need to earn anything."
He tensed like her words were too much for him to bear, and somehow his dark eyes looked the heavier even as she strained to appease him. Whatever this weight he carried, she didn't know how to free him of its burden.
"You should leave," he decided at last, and this time she agreed with him.
She wished to stay indefinitely, but their chance had not yet come –not until he spoke to Aeneas. No matter how it tortured her, she needed to wait and to trust he would keep his word. Releasing his hand, she straightened and felt the mild pulsing of discomfort in her abdomen from the table, another barrier keeping them apart, and she wondered how she would behave one day when there was nothing to separate them. She couldn't even fathom the sensation, both excited and intimidated by it, and she tugged her veil into place since it had fallen about her shoulders.
"Thank you for keeping my necklace safe," she muttered and felt more complete with it hanging around her neck.
"I would have returned it sooner had I known how distraught you were."
She doubted he would have been able to without drawing suspicion, but she liked to believe that he meant it. His words were as seductive as his handsome face.
"You wouldn't lie to me," she said abruptly, and he seemed to hesitate, whether unsure if it were a question or statement or something else.
Dropping his gaze pensively to the dirty floor, he said, "I wouldn't hurt you."
The differentiation between the two confused her, and she felt no greater satisfaction in his response than before. But for once she knew she needed to walk away and give them both the space to consider what they were promising. Her life would never be the same, and she wasn't sure how to resolve her complicated feelings on that matter.
"Be careful carrying such heavy things with your wound," she said, and another humorless smile traced his lips. "Be well."
She turned then and hurried out the door, clutching her veil about her face, and she rushed across the square to her home once more.
‡‡‡
"I cannot accept this insult!" Savas bellowed across the hall from his place sinking irritably in his throne.
Generals and counselors were lined before him in the late afternoon light filtering through the columns and filling the space. Still, fires were kindled to keep away the growing chill of fall, and the men were wrapped in heavier fabrics to signal the changing seasons.
"They steal my niece from beneath my nose! They fake attack!"
The fury in his tone singed the air, making the men stiffen to bear its power charging at them.
"And you do nothing!"
"My Lord," one of the generals spoke up, "our men chase down Prince Ascanius–"
"I don't care if they chase him!" Savas barked lividly. "I need them to capture him!"
"The Albans are the strongest riders in the West," another general pointed out to his own misfortune for Savas turned the penetrating temper of his eyes on him.
"This is your excuse for your incompetence?" he hissed. "Not one of you has made progress! Do you not find this matter of importance?"
"Of course, My Lord–"
"I must be blind then," Savas declared grandly and bent forward in his seat, thrusting his features knotted with rage into the light of one basin's fire. "Galen, am I blind?"
"My King," the counselor muttered nervously and glanced toward the generals and other members of the council who were gazing at him with a mixture of derision and pity. "No," he answered. "No, My Lord."
"Surely I must be," Savas continued and swept his hand toward the men in the hall, "because before me I see men failing at every turn and spitting on my family's honor!"
By this time, the King's audience was wise enough to still their tongues for their reponses could only condemn them more. Savas lifted his brow impatiently as though prodding animals in front him for the weak spot to make them break.
"A princess of Apulia has been captured by rogue princes in our own land! None of you saw this betrayal! Two bastards from Latium outwitted my entire army and council!"
"They may have had help, My King," one counselor spoke up after conversing shortly with a servant who had entered the hall unnoticed.
"What are you suggesting?" Savas growled and strained to make out the counselor's face. "Come closer."
The man stepped forward into the King's line of sight and explained, "We've intercepted a messenger riding to Alba Longa."
"Who would dare to betray their country?"
"Atlan, the huntsman, My Lord," he admitted and frowned deeply. "I've not dared to open the letter." He held it out as though offering it to the King, and a servant rushed forward to take the rolled parchment and carry it up to Savas who reached forward and nearly tore the parchment from the poor man's hands.
Murmurs broke out across the hall in the interim, and one or two men yelled out, "Treason!"
Savas promptly unraveled the scroll and began reading desperately, neck jerking from side to side. His face captured the brunt of the insult, festering into a look of pure fury and disgust, black pupils widening as if to overtake the pale blue halo corralling them.
Snarling, he commanded, "Bring him to me."
Author's Note: Hi my lovelies! Ahhhhh Savas is his usual douchey-self! Whatever will he do to Atlan? What did the message say? Hmmmmm to be answered soon enough. Next chapter is the big reveal for this plot line with Iliana and Damian! I'm pretty excited :) Hope everyone is getting in the spirit for the holiday season!
Thanks to Miss AmyLNelson for the review! Haha however brief the conversation! Haemon's a typical man obviously, but he was a bit sweeter this time around. In the next chapter (if there's room cause this thing with Damian/Iliana will take quite a bit of space), they'll have a chance to open up more to one another. It's a slow process, but it will be worth it. I have big plans for them! I'm just letting them kinda ease out of focus as I work up to the "climax" of this plot line with Damian/Iliana. Ahhhhhh! I'm going to pat myself on the back for being elusive. I think it helps to have multiple things at once. It drives me nuts cause I have to plan chapter by chapter what the hell I'm doing, but I hope it keeps the action rolling and the plot interesting. OMG I cannot express to you how jealous I am that you'll be studying in Paris! I was there for a week over the summer and then I studied at a university in Lyon. France was literally the best experience of my life. You'll have so much fun :) Oh and the shopping... Oh how my heart behaves! And Italy? Oh gurl! I've never been, but everyone tells me the men are -uh- well our kind of men ;) That sounds so amazing. I'm so happy for you! What a great opportunity! As for me, I'm doing all right. I finally got through this semester this past Monday and have of course fallen ill (probably because I was having too much fun the first few days) so I can't even fully enjoy my freedom haha BUT it makes for good writing time! It's good to hear you're doing so well, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter too xoxo
