At that point she made up her mind. She would do everything in her power not to die tonight, but if she did, she was taking Corbus to Hades with her. Hearing the door close as the servants left, she began to cry silently, tears trickling down her cheeks to stain the light gray blanket.
She heard the door open again, then the patter of feet across the tile floor. “Are you really a Roman senator?” a small voice asked.
She came back! Octavia lifted her face, wiping away tears with her sleeves. “Yes, yes I am.”
“I thought girls couldn’t be senators. My teacher said so. Do you represent Brittenburg?” The little girl’s eyes shone with curiosity.
She must be from Brittenburg. “No, I don’t. But I know some people who are from Brittenburg.” Octavia had a sudden thought, and sat up. “They’re outside right now, trying to figure out how to help get me out.”
The girl looked torn for a moment, then nodded to herself. A crash outside the door, a plate breaking, perhaps, made the girl’s head whip around. “I’ll be back.” She hopped off the bed and snatched a jacket that had been left on a high-backed chair near the fire-the excuse for her return, no doubt.
She was almost at the door when Corbus entered. He glared at the child. “Get out,” he ordered, cuffing her on the back of the head.
The girl practically ran from the room. Octavia couldn’t blame her. She wanted to run from the room as well. She slowly rose and moved to the far side of the bed.
Corbus slowly undid his vest and let it drop to the floor. He then unbuckled his belt and scabbard, leaving it hanging on an armor rack in the corner. He walked slowly around the bed, eyes on Octavia, like a shark circling a wounded seal. “Good evening, Octavia. You’re looking rather ravishing this evening.”
Octavia stared at the man, repulsed. Corbus continued his slow walk around the bed, and Octavia backed away. Corbus smiled wickedly as he pulled a lever next to the bed. The chain around her wrist retracted, pulling her toward the bed. She struggled, only to land facedown on the bed, arms splayed in front of her. She tugged futilely at the chain.
“My dear, you’ll find I’m a good man in many ways. I’ll take care of you, feed you well, and make sure you’re protected from all the barbarian scum in this fortress. And soon we can return to Rome, even! I’m afraid you’ll be allowed to be senator only if you follow my every rule and instruction as your. . hmm. . we’ll say advisor. But you’ll enjoy it.” He poured two drinks from a decanter on the side table and lifted one, swirling around chunks of ice and golden brown brandy. “Here. Drink. It will keep you warm.”
Octavia turned her back on him, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. She grabbed a comb that had been left on the nightstand, looking for anything she could use to defend herself from what was coming.
Corbus knocked back his drink in one gulp. He made an appreciative sound, then looked expectantly at Octavia, holding out the other glass.
Octavia looked at him, then at the glass. What if he drugged it? On impulse, she accepted the glass, then tossed the contents of the drink in Corbus’s face. Corbus stood there for a moment, the alcohol trickling down his face and dripping from his hair. She could feel the anger radiating from him as she stood rooted to the spot in growing fear. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.
In a blur of motion, Corbus was over her, pressing her down into the bed. He slapped her, his calloused hand leaving a streak of pain on her face. Octavia struggled as Corbus tore the clothes off of her.
“I was trying to be nice, but now you’ve made me angry,” he snarled. Octavia tried to scream but he forced a wad of material into her mouth, hissing through gritted teeth, “Haven’t you learned silence is golden?”
Octavia got her knee up and slammed it into his groin. With an expansive groan, he fell back off her for a moment. Sobbing, Octavia pulled the bedsheets around her.
He rose slowly. “You’re a spirited one, eh? But I can tell you’ll make an excellent plaything once I break you.” He walked gingerly over to the side table and pulled open a drawer. When he turned, he had a large syringe in his hand. “This won’t hurt one bit.”
He leapt at Octavia, pinning her down and jabbing the syringe into her arm. Octavia flailed uselessly, then watched as Corbus took off his soaked and stained undershirt, letting it fall to the floor. He turned to Octavia, his insincere smile on his face again. “No one will be coming to help you.”
Octavia felt calm. . happy. . at peace. Her vision swam briefly as she fought to remain conscious. I have to stay awake! She blinked slowly.
“Are you feeling tired?” Corbus crooned. “Maybe you’d like a quick nap.”
There was a sudden commotion at the door. A soldier barged in. “Sir! The king needs you.”
“I’m busy.”
“He insisted, sir.”
Octavia strained to listen as Corbus briefly conversed with the man, but her ears just didn’t seem to be working properly. She felt her head hit the pillow. It really is very comfortable.
Corbus’s head suddenly loomed over her. His calloused hand cradled her head. “Now there, my plaything. Sleep. I shall return to continue our. . play. . later.” His face blurred, the edges going fuzzy as her head lolled on the pillow.
Darkness washed over her, as she fell back into her memories.
It was a cool summer night in central Europe. She had just turned nineteen. The whole estate had turned out to celebrate. Hired hands and old family friends had mingled freely among the stately columns and statues of the manse’s gardens and buildings. Her father had spent many years with the army, and won victory after victory for Rome. Emperors had heaped praise upon him. The Senate had thrown medals and commendations and titles at him, eventually raising him to senatorship. But the general had always said that he had already earned his favorite title, the one he cherished the most: father.
Octavia was the oldest of three children born to Horatio and Justine Pelia. Her father had been out on campaign when she was born, and Octavia didn’t meet her father until the age of three. But he’d made up for lost time in the sheer amount of love and dedication he displayed to his children.
Octavia’s mother was a stern woman, a match in strength for her father, more at home in the ballroom than the family room, and more concerned with the gossip of the other powerful families in the province. Her family had an estate near the bustling city of Treviri, right on the border between Gaul and Germania. Her father owned many miles of sprawling vineyards, which grew well near the sandstone hills along the Rhine.
Octavia had spent hours preparing for tonight’s gala, while her mother went over this detail or that, sewing her into a dress that made it hard to breathe, even managing to corral her younger brother, Macer, into a new tunic and sandals.
The party began with light music played by the orchestra hired for the evening, and guests sampling the first of the many treats the kitchen staff had spent days preparing. Octavia was too nervous to eat. Plus she didn’t want to see what actually eating would do to her tight dress.
She walked around on her father’s arm, greeting guests and engaging in small talk. That was the thing she missed most about her father. She could have been talking about the grass growing or the sun moving overhead and he still gave her his full attention.
As they reached the garden, he turned to her and clasped both her hands. “Tavi, I have to tell you something.” They sat. Her father had looked pained, as though what he was about to say was difficult. “You mother thinks it is time we found you a husband. She has already begun to look. She has several possible suitors lined up.”