Imperius Ch. 05

Author's note: As it does take me a while to add new chapters, I've decided to try adding lists of relevant characters at the beginning of each chapter. It won't include characters whose appearance would be a spoiler, or characters who I introduce within the chapter itself.

Main Characters:

Magnus - Imperial Praetor (elite military title), Dracian ethnicity.

Lilah - Regiment medic, captured slave, Ilythian.

Supporting (Imperial):

Saphir - Magnus' personal slave, serves as a groom to Lilah since her capture, undetermined mixed ethnicity.

Daegon - Magnus' personal guard, tasked currently with protecting Lilah, a Gauthrien.

Legatus Hesiod - A prominent political figure in the Imperius, recently arrived in camp. Part of the Imperial house.

Vero - Consular (common political title meaning official advisor) and spymaster. Dracian. He gave Lilah to Magnus. He oversees the initiation and training for the most desirable slaves, those intended for the Imperial house.

Pontius - A consular who overseas initiation and training for the largest bulk of slaves, including concubines and gladiators. Dracian.

Jadir - Consular overseeing the training of the slaves deemed undesirable for pleasure or fighting. A Southern Islander.

Cato - A Praetor with a particularly contentious relationship with Magnus. Dracian.

Ariadne - An aloof Praetor. Undetermined mixed ethnicity. Part of the Imperial house.

Ajax - A Praetor and former gladiator with the love of the common people. D'Azurian ethnicity.

Supporting (Illythian Regiment):

Elspeth - Illythian medic who served alongside Lilah. She and Lilah share a contentious relationship.

Mairi - Illythian medic who served alongside Lilah. Lilah feels protective of her.

Antony - Alias: Xavier. A Valencian aristocrat who joined the Illythian militia. Upon capture, he pretended to be a Navarrene merchant, potentially entitling him to Imperial citizenship.

Diarmund - Illythian soldier instructed to guard the Illythian medical team. He took his failure hard.

Eris - Soldier with the Illythian regiment. Rumored to have evaded capture.

~ * ~

"I can help him," the angel said.

Magnus let his eyelids fall shut as he listened to the argument continue above him. For now, he would need to focus on breathing carefully—on surviving.

"Our own soldiers—," said another woman's voice, low and hard.

"We haven't found any of our soldiers—not alive," said the angel, and while her tones were altogether a great deal more gentle than the other woman, there was a fierceness to her resolve. "Take him captive, Eris, by all means—but I won't just leave him here to bleed out."

There was a pause. Death and indecision hung on the air.

"Alright," said the other woman grudgingly. "But we're not just sitting here like prey. Have you patched the wound?"

"Yes, but—,"

Magnus was lifted swiftly and draped over a shoulder—his brain, hazy with blood loss as it was, worked to reconcile the ease with which he was lifted and the slender arms and shoulder doing the lifting. He wondered again if he might actually be hallucinating.

"Eris, gently!" the angel cautioned, the musical tones stern in a way that might have been adorable were his gut not wrenched in agony.

His carrier gave a hard laugh in response. "I'm being gentler with him than the commander will be. Let's go."

~ * ~

Magnus maneuvered through the encampment, displays of debauchery surging all around him. There were slaves, bound and writhing, and a surplus of legionnaires to ravish them. Indeed, many of them seemed to think of little else. Magnus observed one pitiful beauty who had been reduced to sobbing pleas as two legion soldiers savaged her mercilessly. One of them held a candle in his hand, occasionally dripping the red wax over the girl's pert nipples while the other entered her roughly from behind.

Magnus walked past.

There was Vero, standing at the mouth of a particularly large tent, flanked by a dozen guards.

"Consular," said Magnus, by way of greeting.

"My liege," replied Vero, pulling his eyes away from the sight of several rowdy soldiers being hauled toward the disciplinary barracks.

"I understand you have a few of the regimental medical corps in your keeping."

"Two," said Vero. "I can escort you inside for a viewing now, if you wish. We're keeping all the slaves intended for the imperial household cloistered, just to be safe."

"A little later perhaps. At the moment I'm seeking out Pontius." Magnus said, not bothering to accord the man his title.

Vero's expression was mild, but Magnus saw something flicker in his eyes. The rivalry between consulars was frequently fierce and notoriously underhanded, and Magnus had a suspicion that Pontius was not particularly popular.

"I believe he has retired to his personal tent, Praetor. With a companion," Vero said, his mild expression insinuating in a way that left Magnus in little doubt of the sort of companion he meant.

Or so he believed. When Magnus entered the tent, letting the curtain fall behind him silently, he expected to find Pontius molesting some mewling Illythian captive.

What he found was a female legionnaire—young by all appearances, clad in imperial regalia, servicing Pontius on her knees.

"That's it," Pontius growled, his eyes rolling back. "You've as much natural talent as any slave I've trained." The girl responded with a very wet sound that might have meant anything, and Pontius groaned, sagging in his chair.

Magnus considered interrupting. A quiet clear of his throat, and he could have the two of them scurrying to attention. In the end, he didn't need to. As he stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he leisurely considered his options, Pontius' eyes opened. He blinked, and pushed the girl away. Magnus, not bothering to look, had an acute sense that whatever endowment Pontius possessed had shriveled at the sight of him.

"My liege," said Pontius in a strangled tone as he hooked the latch on his trousers. His skin, already pallid, looked a tinge more green than usual. He cleared his throat. "May I be of any assistance?"

The female legionnaire stood, back straight, as correct and implacable as if she had been preparing for a formal inspection rather than sucking off a repellent politician old enough to be her father only moments before. She did look young, perhaps twenty. Her skin was dark as mahogany and her hair was thick with tight curls, indicating D'Azurian heritage. She didn't look much like Lilah, and yet there was something in her air—an internal dignity and solemnity—that struck Magnus as reminiscent.

Magnus debated. Strictly speaking, there was nothing prohibited about their antics. But even in the midst of an imperial party, where most soldiers in the encampment rutted amongst themselves and with war captives, there was an element of the sordid to this. Most particularly the fact that Magnus doubted that both of them went into this encounter with equal enthusiasm.

He addressed the girl.

"Your name?"

"Cybele, sir. Actarius to the camp steward."

Ah. A clerk. Several aspects of the scenario clicked into place. Encampment clerks usually kept on the back lines and were assigned the duty of record keeping and organizing communication between their superiors. They were also frequent targets for abuse due to their relative safety in comparison to other legionnaires and an unfortunately frequent duty as the bearers of bad news. She would have been tasked with assisting Pontius without a second thought.

"You were assigned to Consular Pontius in overseeing his arrangements for the party?"

"Yes, sir," she said, and while she maintained her stoic pose, something in her eyes willed him to understand her position. A Consular had power a low ranking military recruit could only dream of.

Magnus' eyes flickered to Pontius, and back to her. "Wait outside, legionnaire."

She obeyed silently, and Pontius made an attempt at his usual ingratiating tone as she stepped through the entrance. "My liege, if I have overstepped a boundary-,"

Magnus waved a hand dismissively, as though it were already forgotten. It wasn't. Magnus was very intrigued to learn that Pontius could have a horde of nubile young captives that he might toy with without anyone batting an eye, yet he would seek out a more taboo option for its own sake. In the eyes of the Imperius, bending a slave to one's will was one thing, coercing an imperial soldier was quite another.

Still, no point stirring the water unnecessarily.

"I've come about a purchase, Consular," he said, and though his voice was as mild as ever, the gaze he fixed on Pontius was raptor-like.

Pontius fidgeted uneasily, and Magnus sensed a "my apologies, Praetor," in the air.

"Ah, my liege," said Pontius. "I ought to warn you that I have received a great many inquiries tonight—,"

"The cherub girl," said Magnus. "Mairi."

Pontius' lips were white. "Purchased, my liege. Praetor Cato came to me shortly after her performance in the area."

Magnus was very still. He wasn't entirely surprised. In attending to Lilah after her own performance, he had left a window of opportunity open for his rivals. Cato was just the person to take that opportunity. There could be little doubt that the appeal of beating Magnus to the punch had lured Cato far more than any particular charms the girl might possess. For all the man's failings, Cato knew enough to pounce when an enemy showed it belly.

"A different inquiry, then," Magnus continued briskly, as though it were of no matter, "Diarmund O'Con...Something," Magnus said. Illythian surnames—especially northern ones—were frequently considered unpronounceable by people outside of the country. "He was captured in the same raid."

This time, when Pontius' lips turned even more pale, Magnus was surprised. "Also purchased, my liege. Praetor Ajax found his performance in the arena adequate, and elected to take over his sponsorship as a gladiator." Pontius rubbed his hands together nervously, almost wringing them. "I believe you had already returned to your sky-ship by that point, my liege," he added.

"I see," said Magnus, regarding Pontius calmly. "Then I shall have to take my proposal up with them."

He turned to go, but then stopped as though something else had just occurred to him. "Consular, there is one more thing."

"Yes, my liege?" asked Pontius, looking as though he was uncertain whether he should be hopeful or nervous.

"I'm commandeering the clerk's services from this point on."

Pontius opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, closing it again. He looked down before he finally said, "Yes, my liege."

~ * ~

"Wake up, little dove."

Lilah's eyes opened with the immediacy of someone accustomed to war and the frequent need to move quickly. She tried to sit up, and cringed, touching her hand to her stomach gingerly.

Magnus stood above her, fully clothed in his praetor's garb. Black ballistic armor sculpted his shape, while a crimson cloak of a more archaic design draped his shoulders. One gloved hand brushed a lock of her curled, golden hair away from her face.

"I was sleeping?" she said, looking up at him, her mind heavy with fog. She was intensely sore. In the immediate aftermath of the fight with Elspeth, adrenaline and then arousal had shrouded the pain. No longer. Now hours after the fight her every muscle ached and bruises bloomed on her upper chest and thigh.

"For a little while. Daegon watched over you," he said, and Lilah noticed the figure of Daegon looming near the doorway.

"Sunrise approaches," said Magnus, drawing her attention back to him. Which wasn't to say she had ever been able to ignore him.

"And your party draws to an end," she murmured.

Magnus scoffed. "I would have preferred that it never started at all. I don't recall claiming ownership of that mindless display."

"But you do claim ownership over the war it celebrated," said Lilah.

Magnus' eyes glittered, "Is now a good time for defiance, do you think, Lilah?" He pressed two fingers against the bruise near her shoulder, making her wince and inhale sharply. "I'm still very angry at you for this," he said, his voice chillingly calm, "And what's more, I believe you were pleading for a favor little more than an hour ago." He arched a brow, "Or have you changed your mind?"

She cursed him silently, tentatively touching the place he had prodded. "No, my liege," she said, lowering her gaze.

His gloved fingers lifted her chin until her eyes met his.

"I've spoken to the slave master about your little friend," he said, and added before the hope in her eyes flared too brightly, "He's sold her."

"Oh," said Lilah, and Magnus watched the thoughts race in her eyes, trying to find the best way to ask him to exert his influence further. Magnus clasped his hands behind his back—the better to keep himself from taking hold of her and kissing her until her mind quieted and all she could see was hazy starlight.

"To Cato," he said, and watched the hope dim a degree more. She had only met that particular Praetor once, just that morning, but once was enough to know that Cato was not a man inclined to amenability—especially not where Magnus was concerned.

Lilah's brow crinkled in confusion, and then her face paled. "Because of me," she said, searching Magnus' face. "Because of my leaping into the arena. He wanted her because of she's connected to something of yours."

"Yes," Magnus agreed, "Mine."

Lilah blushed furiously, and looked down. Magnus repressed a laugh.

"Saphir will be along shortly, and bring you to me when I breakfast with the Legatus. If you are very good—," he said, his voice deepening as he closed the distance between them. He lifted her chin again so that his face was very close to hers, his warm breath against her skin, and his clean, masculine scent turning her mind to liquid, "We will continue to see what can be done about negotiating with Cato."

He came so close to kissing her, his lips a hair's breadth from hers, her thoughts put on mute by his hypnotic nearness. She could feel him inhale her scent, and the sense of it made her treacherous quim wet with anticipation.

And then he sighed softly. "There is another matter," he said, lifting his head back to look steadily into her eyes. "Your punishment."

Lilah recoiled, alarmed, but he caught her wrist and held her in place as though his grip were made of iron. He claimed her other wrist, and held them both against her chest, pressing her down onto the chaise. When he had her pinned, he lifted something into her view that made her brow draw in confusion.

It was small, egg-shaped. She would have thought it was an egg, a very little one, but for the faint opalescence of its coloring.

It certainly didn't look like the makings of any dreadful punishment.

Then Magnus lowered it, tracing it against her skin as he drew it down her torso, and all she saw was his glinting grey eyes as she felt him bring it to the entrance of her sex. It was cold as it entered, hard and utterly alien against her delicate folds. She inhaled sharply, and something in his eyes smiled at her as he began to push it into her, slowly.

"There," he said, " You're to keep this inside of you for the remainder of the day. Do you understand?"

He was mad, she thought. Utterly mad. What kind of punishment was this supposed to be?

He read her mind, as usual, and this time she saw the corners of his lips curl in an actual smile. "Here." He drew something from his belt. "This will help."

The thing inside her seemed to...come alive. It quivered, sending pulsing vibrations through her sex. Lilah gasped violently and arched against the chaise before she even realized what she was doing it. Magnus admired his handiwork, the ineffable pleasure of watching Lilah's body dance for him in spite of her will to suppress it.

She reached down instinctually to try to pull the thing out of her—this couldn't be right, couldn't be safe—but Magnus stopped her.

"None of that," he said, and the pulsations stopped, "And if you try to take it out when I'm not with you, Lilah, I'll know. And you won't like what I replace it with."

"Please, please, sir," Lilah gasped out, "I can't. Please don't make me feel that again."

"Was it unpleasant?" he asked, as though he was humoring her.

"It was...," Lilah struggled for the words.

"Uncomfortable? Humiliating? Like losing control of yourself?" Magnus offered, his eyes searching hers.

Lilah let out a shaky breath, and nodded, almost tearful.

Magnus straightened, running a hand through her hair gently, "That's why it's there, Lilah."

He tilted his head. "When you jumped into that ring, you did so with the lingering belief that this body still belonged to you. So for the rest of the day, this device—," The device pulsed violently inside of her, then stopped, "...will serve to remind you of who truly owns it." There was another pulse, and she gasped with frustrated need. "Say it."

"You do," she whispered.

"Say it!" He kept the device on for several seconds, making her gasp, and then scream as the pulsating intensified.

"It's yours! Yours, Master!" Lilah cried out, her eyes filling with tears even while her hips rose invitingly with arousal.

At last he turned it off, but before she had enough time to steady her breathing, he lifted her head and brought his lips to hers. "Be good," he said, "I'll be expecting you shortly."

And then he was gone. She was alone with Daegon. Again. But this time, he seemed more interested in staring at the door than at her, which was a welcome relief. It wasn't until several minutes had past that she began to consider him curiously. He seemed...tense, in a way she hadn't noticed before.

She gazed at him in puzzlement for several moments before a thought took shape in her mind.

"Are you..." she tilted her her head back, the better to get a clear look at the giant's face. "Nervous?" she asked, baffled.

"No," Daegon growled, without looking at her.

Lilah watched him a moment longer, then shook her head, giving up.

When the door opened, it was Saphir who stood in the entrance, with his lithe build and gentle, ocean blue eyes.

Usually gentle, in any case. Right now they were staring daggers at Daegon.

"I'm surprised you're still showing your face, after this evening," he said. "You great, lumbering neanderthal."

If pressed, Lilah couldn't have explained why she cared, but this seemed unfair.

"Saphir, it's my fault," she said, straightening up, "It was I who leapt into the arena."

Saphir looked at her, sighing softly. "It's his job to make sure you're kept safe, Lilah, even from yourself. He failed, and he knows it."

"He was nowhere close," she protested. "We were led into the midst of the Legate's party-,"

"All the more reason for him to keep close, even if it means shoving a consular or two. He allowed you to hurl yourself into danger."

"And not to mention," Saphir added, lifting a formerly beautiful length of scarlet fabric and throwing it down again in frustration. "Mud."

Lilah's lips parted in realization. "Oh," she said.

Saphir turned on her. "'Oh,' she says. But look at what she did to her own skin." His eyes focused on the bruise near her shoulder, now a deep purple color. Lilah blushed. She was quite naked, and she knew her right thigh and her neck bore similar mementos of her struggle.

Saphir walked to her, bringing his hands to her shoulders gently. "Never mind. I'll spare him the lecture he deserves if you agree to stop looking at me with big, sad eyes." He paused, "If Daegon will be so kind as to give us privacy," he said, without looking at the giant.