Page 5 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
"Tell me about them," I said impulsively. "Not the arguments or the politics. Tell me about what made them worth loving."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"
"Because grief shared is grief halved, as my Helga used to say. And because I'd like to know the men who earned the love of a woman like you."
For a moment, she just stared at me, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. Then she shifted on the bed, making room, and patted the space beside her.
"Come sit properly. That chair's going to collapse under you if you keep leaning forward like that."
I hesitated. Sitting on her bed felt like crossing a line, moving from comfort into something more intimate. But she was right about the chair—and more importantly, she was asking for closeness, for human warmth in the cold hours before dawn.
I moved to the bed carefully, settling against the headboard with my back to the wall. The mattress dipped under my weight,and Livia naturally gravitated toward the depression I'd created, ending up tucked against my side like she belonged there.
"Septimus," she began, her voice soft in the darkness, "was the most honourable man I'd ever met, even when he was lying to himself about what he wanted. He'd sworn to protect me when we were children, and he never wavered from that promise, even when it meant sacrificing his own happiness."
She told me about the day they'd met, how he'd held her dying brother in his arms and promised to keep her safe. About his years of pushing her away, thinking he wasn't good enough, wasn't worthy of her love. About the way he'd fought his attraction to Tarshi, convinced that wanting a Talfen made him weak or corrupted.
"He was so afraid of his own heart," she whispered. "So convinced that love was a luxury he couldn't afford. But when he finally let himself feel... gods, Antonius, it was beautiful. Like watching ice melt in spring."
"And Tarshi?"
Her voice grew warmer when she spoke of the half-Talfen gladiator. "Tarshi was fire and passion and absolute devotion. He loved with his whole being, held nothing back. When he looked at me, I felt like I could conquer the world. When he touched me..." She trailed off, colour rising in her cheeks.
"When he touched you, you felt desired," I finished quietly. "Cherished. Like you were the most precious thing in creation."
She looked up at me, surprise flickering across her features. "Yes. Exactly like that. How did you—" She stopped, understanding dawning. "Helga."
I nodded. "My wife had a way of making me feel ten feet tall and invincible, just with a look. Like I was a hero instead of just another soldier trying to survive another day."
"What was she like?"
"Strong," I said immediately. "Stronger than me in every way that mattered. She could birth a calf, bake bread, tend the sick, and still have energy to argue politics with the village elders. Had a laugh that could wake the dead and a temper that could strip paint." I smiled at the memory. "Beautiful, but not in the delicate way. Beautiful like a storm is beautiful—powerful and wild and impossible to tame."
"You loved her very much."
"Aye. Loved her with everything I had. Still do, I suppose." I looked down at Livia, this complicated woman who'd somehow worked her way past my defences. "Love like that doesn't die just because the person does. It changes shape, maybe, becomes something quieter. But it endures."
"Is that why you've never..." She hesitated, then forged ahead. "Marcus told me you've had women, but never anything serious. Never let anyone close."
I was quiet for a long moment, feeling the familiar knot of guilt and fear tighten in my chest. "Hard to let someone close when you couldn't protect the last person who trusted you with their heart."
"You couldn't have saved her, Antonius. Not against a whole legion."
"Couldn't I?" The old anger flared, directed mostly at myself. "I was supposed to be her protector. Her husband. Her shield against the world. And when the test came, I failed. Let them take her, hurt her, kill her while I watched from chains, I was too weak to break."
"You were one man against dozens. You did everything you could."
"Everything I could wasn't enough." The words tasted bitter, twenty years of self-recrimination condensed into a handful of syllables. "It's never enough."
Livia shifted beside me, turning so she could look directly into my face. Her hand came up to cup my cheek, the touch gentle but firm.
"Look at me," she commanded quietly. When I met her eyes, she continued. "You are not responsible for what evil men choose to do. You are not a failure because you couldn't perform miracles. And you are not condemned to spend the rest of your life alone because you couldn't save one person from an entire army."
The conviction in her voice was absolute, brooking no argument. But the fear that had lived in my chest for two decades wasn't so easily dismissed.
"What if I can't protect you either?" The question escaped before I could stop it, raw and vulnerable in the pre-dawn quiet. "What if I fail again?"
"Then you'll have tried," she said simply. "And that's more than most people do."
