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Chapter Four

Lorenzo

I wake up into an unfamiliar sense of peace, lulled by the slow breaths rising and falling next to me on the bed. When I turn my head to gaze at Aurelia’s sleeping face, the sensation expands with a swell of affection and a quiver of exhilaration.

This is the first time I’ve gotten to spend the whole night with her. We’ve never dared before. But there’s no longer a brutal imperial husband who could storm into her private chambers at any moment and discover the affair.

Her delicate features look even softer in sleep. With the rest, more of her natural lively color has come back into her tanned skin, where yesterday morning it’d been leached away by stress and exhaustion.

Her rich walnut-brown hair tumbles across the pillow around her serene face. I like it so much better flowing wild than in the upswept styles Darium custom imposes on married women. It suits the spirit of the woman I love.

A rustle by the door brings my attention in the other direction. The sort-of husband my beloved still has is getting to his feet on the pallet he spread by the entrance.

Marc jerks the jacket of his guard uniform straight and meets my gaze with the inscrutable expression that always made me nervous when he was acting as emperor.

It’s more unsettling combined with the gray swath of scarring that discolors more than half of his face—as if he might still be two different men, only now combined in one body.

Thank all that’s holy he hasn’t shown any signs of Linus’s sadistic tendencies so far.

I stayed overnight mainly to protect Aurelia from him , though I suspect he thinks me an ineffectual defender. He doesn’t know that I could summon her other guards in an instant. My gift could project an illusionary shout of warning far louder than any natural voice.

But there hasn’t been anything to raise the alarm about. He didn’t stir from his sleeping pallet the whole night.

A twinge in my bladder makes me grit my teeth. I sit up, debating whether I can hold out until Aurelia wakes.

Marc’s darkened gray gaze assesses me as I’d imagine he might have soldiers on the battlefield, back when he got to lead the empire’s army. “You can go relieve yourself. I’ll stay right here.”

There’s a caustic note in his voice, as if he’s disparaging the suspicions I haven’t voiced. As if we don’t have every reason to worry about how he’ll treat this incredible woman after the horrors he and his twin have already put her through.

But Aurelia trusts him enough not to fear his presence. We’re never going to find out just how much he’s truly accepted his new situation if we’re on him like jailers every second he’s around her.

I tip my head in acknowledgment and pad over to the bathing room.

I keep my attention on the bedroom as I do my business, not wasting any time. After I’ve washed my hands, I start to stride back out and then hesitate.

Instead, I ease over to peer past the doorway, my body mostly hidden by the frame.

Marc isn’t paying the bathing room any mind. He’s still standing on the sleeping pallet, his hands flexing at his sides, his gaze fixed on Aurelia’s sleeping form.

I can’t call his expression inscrutable anymore. No, I’ve seen those slightly widened eyes and that strained set of the mouth before—on two of my other foster brothers. No doubt they’ve witnessed it on me as well.

I’m too familiar with the longing for what one can’t have. Here it is again, right in front of me.

The sight sets off an uneasy pang in my gut. I don’t want to sympathize with the man who’s been a party to so many awful things. He doesn’t deserve to have Aurelia—he should be thanking her generous soul that she’s allowed him to live in her presence.

At the same time, I can’t help remembering the moment when we had him tied up in that basement servant room, when he looked at her and told her he loved her without a trace of deceit.

He’s had his entire life upended in the course of a day, but he’s here anyway, serving her in the one way she’s let him. I can give him a little credit for that, however reluctantly.

A rap of knuckles on the bedroom door makes both of us startle. As Aurelia stirs, one of the guards’ voices carries through the wood. “Your Imperial Highness, your maids are here to get you ready for the day. ”

Aurelia swipes at her eyes and pushes upright. She catches my gaze with a flicker of a smile that holds enough fondness to warm me.

“Just a moment!” she calls back.

I meet her at the edge of the bed to steal a swift kiss, ignoring Marc’s gaze burning into my back. As I step toward the wall’s hidden panel, he clears his throat. “After breakfast, we’ll meet in the room where you held me?”

We discussed last night how we’d spend the couple of spare hours before the public funeral ceremony begins. I nod and slip into the wall.

The four of us foster princes trek through the hidden passages together, the meager breakfast I forced down sitting heavy in my stomach.

We emerge into the dim room at the bottom of the stairs to find the lantern already lit and Marc pushing the few furnishings to the edges of the room. The drifting dust tickles my nose.

The former emperor has heaped the broken pieces of the armchair we tied him to in the smaller room that has the sealed-off entrance from the servants’ quarters. None of us comments on that.

Unsurprisingly, Raul’s gaze shoots straight to the length of gleaming steel resting on the settee. He strides over, shouldering past Marc with a little more force than I expect was needed, and peers down at the sword. “So this is it. You managed to pilfer it.”

Marc keeps his voice even. “I wouldn’t consider it ‘pilfering’ when it’s been my family’s for generations.

There hasn’t been a threat intense enough in my lifetime that we’ve brought it out.

Using it for lesser purposes would offend our godlen.

I’d be surprised if many in the court even know it exists. ”

Another murmur of the panel brings our conversation to a halt.

Aurelia steps into the room, taking us all in with her pensive eyes. I can’t shake the impression that she’s checking to make sure we princes haven’t mortally wounded her fallen husband or vice versa in her absence.

Marc wastes no time lifting the sword and presenting it to her with it lying across his outstretched hands.

I’m no connoisseur of weaponry, but the sword looks like an impressive piece even to me. The blade gleams with wicked sharpness; elaborate gold designs surround the steel handguard. The ruby set in the pommel sparkles around an etching of Sabrelle’s sigil.

“From what I was told, a dozen Sabrellian devouts applied their gifts to bless this sword,” Marc says.

“You’ll never find another easier to handle—as long as you’re ready to handle it.

Its blessings are tuned to the will and nerve of the swordsman.

If you can wield it well, that’ll be one significant step to proving your worthiness to Sabrelle. ”

Aurelia hums and reaches out to wrap her fingers around the leather-bound hilt. “I suppose I’d better get started then. I assume you’ve trained with it yourself.”

Marc nods. As she hefts the weapon in the air experimentally, he touches her arm, aligning his body with hers. “To begin with, you’ll want to?—”

“Get your hand off her,” Raul growls, shoving Marc aside. “She doesn’t need your training. I’ve already taught her what she needed to survive your ridiculous trials—I can take it from here.”

The prince of Lavira jerks his head toward Neven. “Come on, we might as well see what you picked up from those weeks in the soldiers’ quarters too. ”

Marc’s jaw clenches, but he steps to the side of the room without a word. Bastien eyes him warily as we retreat ourselves.

Raul positions himself behind Aurelia and guides her posture with a lift of her elbow and a gentle tug of her shoulder. “It’s not so different from the smaller swords you’ve practiced with before. You’ll need to compensate for the additional weight?—”

Aurelia arcs the blade in a careful slice of the air. “It doesn’t feel that much heavier. I suppose that might be part of the blessing?”

We all glance toward Marc.

He folds his arms over his chest where he’s leaning against the wall. “Am I allowed to contribute now? Yes, it’s magically enhanced to adapt to the wielder’s body. The more confident you are with it, the easier you’ll find it.”

Aurelia studies the sword with a tensing of her lips. I can’t say the weapon looks right in her hand.

My peaceful woman was never meant to be a warrior, however much she’s been forced to act as one already. But we’ve all needed to bend our ideas about who we are so we can stand against the empire.

I don’t think there’s anything our empress wouldn’t do if it means freeing the conquered kingdoms from Dariu’s tyranny, no matter what it costs her personally.

That knowledge casts a gloom over me as I watch Raul direct Aurelia through a few basic exercises. He orders Neven to grab one of the broken chair legs to use as a makeshift weapon of his own, and the rap of steel against wood reverberates through the cramped space.

Aurelia’s face sets with the determination I’m used to. She blocks Neven’s jabs with a grace I doubt is entirely due to Raul’s past tutoring. But when she takes the offensive, lashing out at our younger foster brother, her breath comes shorter, her arm wobbling with the strain.

She pauses, turning the sword in her hand. “It seems to shift—the way it feels. I start to think I’ve found my rhythm with it, and then it gets harder again.”

“That’s divine blessings for you,” Raul mutters. “Shifty and fickle.” He motions to Marc. “If you’ve got tips of your own, go ahead and ‘contribute’ them.”

I might not enjoy having the former emperor among us, but Raul’s caustic tone rankles me. There’s no denying that Marc brought Aurelia this weapon to help her cause. He didn’t have to mention it even exists.