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Ahhh.
He was no stranger to men in his bed—generally of the older, more powerful, and more desperate sort. The kind who would fawn over a young man with firm skin and loose morals. Others might cringe at that, but Aurelius had always found it a perfectly agreeable arrangement. Allow some old fool to clumsily fuck him for a few minutes, and in exchange, he would own their loyalty for years.
And while he couldn’t immediately recall who he’d bedded, he had no doubt it was someone of suitable stature.
Aurelius lifted the pillow carefully, revealing...
He scowled.
The man was beautiful—bearded and tanned, with a strong body—but he couldn’t recall ever seeing him before. He dragged his gaze around the well-appointed room, filled with frescos and statuettes from the finest artists in the polity. In the corner was a simple toga, twisted like a dead snake’s skin.
And it was white. All white! There were no stripes of any kind—neither filled nor hollow.
The man wasn’t a patrician. He wasn’t even a mercator. He was a plebeian! One of the myriad drones that did the unlovely jobs that kept the city running.
What a waste of a fucking evening, he thought, dropping the pillow. The man beneath gave a slight grunt, then carried on snoring.
“Kick him out once I’ve left,” he said, wandering off to handle his morning ablutions. The kiss of sunlight at the doorway brought him to a momentary pause. “But find out who he is first. I am sure we can find some way of using this against him.”
9
TEIGRA
Mother stormed across the stadium, flanked by Jaronas, his face a painting of concern. Teigra had already dismounted by the stable door, but it was too late. Mother’s eyes were pure fury.
“You were riding again! After everything you promised!”
“No! I swear I—”
The slap rang through the stands, striking across her cheek with such force it knocked her to the ground.
“Lies!” Mother placed a hand by Astrapi’s resisting mouth. “Her breath is hot!”
From a gallop! Teigra screamed internally. Any fool could see that she hadn’t been flying. But Mother was beneath even that, wasn’t she?
For all Teigra’s life, her mother had gladly taken the money from the business—the reputation, the social status—but even when Father had been here, she’d never bothered to learn the first thing about horsecraft. On race days, she was found in the stands, flirting and sleazing and building her sad alliances.
Teigra ran the fine sand of the racetrack through her fingers, the cascade of glassy grain was calming as the heat on her face cooled.
It didn’t matter that she’d resisted the temptation she was now accused of. Mother had made up her mind. Fighting back? Pleading her innocence? All that would get was further punishment.
“You’re right,” she muttered. “We flew around the track. I’m sorry.”
Mother paced back and forth. “What am I to do with you, girl? The only way this family will ever rise to patrician status is if everyone contributes! Your brother performed brilliantly at the feast—charming and spreading faith in House Cosmin. I had them all eating out of the palm of my hand. The censor is now seriously considering returning his team to our management. If he comes, others will also return. But you do this?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“All I have ever asked is that you do your part. To keep the stable respectable. To marry a patrician boy of good repute. To knit our name deeper into the tapestry of the senate, guaranteeing the support we will need for elevation! You know how hard it is to graduate from mercator to patrician status. Just three families in a century have done it. Three! And you would risk it all? Right when we are so close?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Imagine if a potential suitor had seen you out there! Or the censor himself? We have tried for three years to erase the city’s memory of that girl. The jockey. The savage. The beast who screamed and swore and played to the stands. Of all the tragedy you wrought on this family! Have you forgotten what you did? What you took from us!?”
Teigra’s stomach twisted hard. “I know! I’m sorry!”
For a terrible moment, Mother went silent. Teigra didn’t look up as she stormed into the stables. She didn’t look up to see the flog of silver birch, wrapped in leather offcuts, which would surely be in her hands, just as it had been countless times before.
But she did look up when the strikes didn’t come.
