Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

'My people have been pushed quite far enough,' he maintained. 'Even your Emperor is wise enough to keep out of this-'

'My Emperor?'

'Very well, our Emperor, now, dammit, woman, will you ever stop breaking my balls?'

Mazares turned his fiery green eyes on her and she watched as they softened. Several seconds passed before he finally took a deep breath and stepped towards her. He smelled of cool mountain forests, perhaps a hint of wine, and something sweet that she couldn't identify.

'Marcus said you had fire in your belly,' he said. 'He was a little loose on the amount, I grant you, but… I do desperately need an heir.'

Claudia thought about the faithless Kazan, his feckless sons waiting in line, and nodded.

'Yes, you do,' she replied, and something lurched under her ribcage.

'This kingdom needs fresh blood in its veins,' he said quietly. 'We can't keep intermarrying among neighbouring tribesmen, but more than that, Claudia. More than that, I want children who can stand up for themselves. Who can stand up for Histria. Children who are able to fight their corner against Rome, but equally against their own people, children who are free-thinkers, freewheelers, who are unburdened by old conventions and hidebound traditions. You possess those qualities, Claudia, and tomorrow all new marriages will be announced, so I need to know.'

Catkin-green eyes bored into hers as he enveloped her hands in his.

'Will you marry me?'

Would she? Croesus, this was everything she'd ever wanted!

Claudia resisted the urge to punch the air with her fist and dipped into what she hoped was a suitably reverent curtsy. Originally, she'd hoped to put sons in the Senate, an ambition that died with her husband, since he'd left her childless. Now, though, those sons would be princes! Governing a whole country, not just casting one paltry vote among hundreds! And god knows, it might be a loveless marriage, but it would not be one without passion! Also, it wasn't as though neither of them had any idea what they were in for.

Mazares hadn't loved Delmi, but he had done right by her.

Claudia hadn't loved Gaius, but she had done right by him.

Each would fulfil their side of the bargain, and in exchange for the healthy, strong-willed heirs he was so desperate for, a girl from the slums would be crowned Queen, showered with riches beyond imagination and, goddammit, have her sons on the Histrian throne!

'Mazares.'

It was as though the sun had suddenly risen over the landscape, shining light where light had never shone. Bringing warmth where there had only been coldness.

'I know you needed to ask the question formally,' she said, and there was a wobble to her voice, which was only natural, because her heart was bucking like a stallion inside a horsebox. 'But I'm pretty sure you know the answer.'

There was a flash of something in his eyes, but the emotion was fleeting and he bowed deeply to cover it.

'You are… certain?'

'Absolutely.'

Smoky eyes held hers for what seemed like eternity, and she wondered if he could actually hear her knees knocking. Finally, he spoke.

'So the answer is no, then?'

'It is,' she replied. 'The answer is no.' And she whirled out of the office before she changed her damned mind.

Out across the hills, Dawn rose from her slumbers, draped her crimson nightshift over the horizon and slipped naked into the bed of her husband, the Sun God. As bats folded their wings and badgers skulked back to their setts, the joy of this celestial union was celebrated in song in a million tree tops while, below, coneys scampered out of their burrows, their white tails bobbing over the lush, dew-covered grass as vees of cormorants flapped over the waters towards their feeding grounds. Claudia saw none of these things.

Face down on her pillow and still fully dressed, she saw only triumphant frescoes painted on an office wall. A helmet perched on a stand. Scrolls piled knee-deep in a corner. Inkstands. Quills. A plate of food left untouched. And a man's lined, grey-pallored face. She saw the hunting trophies that surrounded his desk, or, more accurately, hunting atrophies, because, from the mounted boar's head to the bearskin spread over the floor, every exhibit was moth-eaten and dry, dating back to a time when a young prince in jaunty tunic would jog off into the woods with his brothers, his friends and his dogs, a quiver on his back and a dagger in his belt, his aureole of glossy curls shining in the sun and without so much as a care in the world. That joyous young hunter was long gone. A quarter of a century on, he had turned into a grief-stricken monarch, bent by the weight of responsibility and reduced to hiding his rebellious emotions, since the only happiness he had ever known came from two children who lay dead in their graves…

In the banqueting hall, exhausted musicians strummed to the last of the revellers, much of whose dense, drunken laughter was absorbed by walls of thick island stone.

How could she? How could she, Claudia Seferius, deny him another shot at that happiness?

She climbed off the bed frame, blinked the tears from her eyes and set the pleats of her robe into knife edges.

When she was born, it was into the slums. When she was ten, her father marched off to war and never came home, and when she was fourteen, she found her alcoholic mother had slashed her own wrists. At which point, she realized that all she owned were the clothes on her back, her mother's good looks and her father's grit — and that it wasn't much of an inheritance. Which was why she vowed that, if she was forced to prostitute her body, it would bloody well be through marriage. Finding a husband became her career. Quite frankly, if someone had said then, I can make you rich, I can make you the mother of princes, she would have bitten their hand off. As it happened, Gaius Seferius offered her wealth, social standing and respect — all the things her upbringing hadn't — and she'd been grateful for that. So why not now? Why not now, when the stakes were that much higher?

Picking up a mirror, the same mirror Mazares had sent her, the bronze one whose handle was shaped like a cat, Claudia studied her reflection. Make no mistake, it was still beautiful, but she did not kid herself. The assets she'd had to trade at seventeen were very different from those she possessed today, and she could not rely on looks for much longer. Also, women in trade were anathema in Roman society, and although that might be offset by the perception of wealth, any half-decent audit would soon uncover a welter of financial mismanagement. So then; if age was against her, being in trade was against her and she was broke, why, oh why, did she turn Mazares down?

'Ye can still change your mind,' a gravelly voice rumbled behind her. 'It's a woman's prerogative.'

Claudia spun round. He looked older, she thought, and he was tired. She could tell from the way the thong round his ponytail had slid down to his shoulder-blades. Had he the energy, he would have tied it up tight, but perhaps he was drunk, because there was a strange glint in his eyes that seemed almost feral.

'Pavan, it's late-'

'Correction, ma'am, it's early.'

The scent of leather was like an invasion.

'Late, early, I'd still prefer to be alone, if you don't mind.'

His reply was to advance into her room, close the door and brace his backbone against it.

'Why?' he asked thickly. 'Isn't the King of Histria good enough for ye?'

There was nowhere to go. The shutters were bolted, and even if she managed to undo them in time, the drop from the window would break both her legs…

'My reasons are none of your business.'

'That's where ye're wrong,' he growled. 'Histria is my business, and it might only be small, this country of ours, but we're a progressive society and one that looks set to rise with considerable speed.'