I turned back to the commanders. The older generals sat stoically, completely unfazed by the display of raw magic, but young Alexius was staring at the empty space where Aeternus had just stood, his jaw practically unhinged in shock.
Rufus let out a booming laugh, slapping the young officer hard enough on the back to nearly unseat him. "Haha! You are new, Alexius. With time, you will learn that the mundane laws of the world do not apply to the Imperial House." Rufus jabbed his elbow into Titus's ribs. "Look at the boy's face, Titus!"
"That is enough," Titus snapped, swatting the elbow away. "We are still in the presence of the Princeps. You will conduct yourself accordingly, Rufus."
Rufus coughed, a flush of embarrassment darkening his scarred cheeks. He quickly straightened his posture.
"You need not worry, old friend," I said, allowing a genuine grin to break through my grim demeanour. "I am not so vain as to flog a man for a minor lapse in decorum. Especially not my former sword instructor."
Rufus beamed. He stood up and grasped my forearm in a warrior's grip. "I knew the Dominus I trained was still in there! Come, let us drink to this reunion. How long has it been? Three? No, five years!" he laughed.
"We shall drink, old friend," I promised, gently extracting my arm as the weight of the coming slaughter settled back over me. "But first, we must do as my father expects. Once this bloody ordeal is finished, you shall have the pick of my private cellars for your efforts."
Rufus's laughter faded, his black eyes hardening with martial vigour. His sun-leathered face grew taut. "We will wash away the crimes of these heathens in their own blood, Dominus. I give you my word."
"Aye," Claudius growled in agreement, followed closely by a sharp nod from Titus and a determined glare from young Alexius.
"Then prepare the lines," I commanded, my voice cold and absolute. "Prepare for the Inquisition."
All four men slammed their fists over their hearts in perfect unison, spun on their heels, and marched out into the mud.
…
Daemon Targaryen
I let my bruised, bandaged fingers trace the curve of her collar. Stripped of her steel, her skin was startlingly soft. My gaze followed the rough slide of my own knuckles, travelling up the smooth cresses of her neck along her jaw, resting finally on her chin. A wry, knowing smile touched her lips. I ignored the fading battle scars on her arms, my eyes locking instead onto hers. She was watching me with dark mirth.
"Are you quite done with your ministrations or will you have me undress myself after I went through all the effort to change out of armour" Ana spoke, her voice being sultry and mischievous at the same time. She was wearing a rose velvet kirtle which hugged her figure complimented by the ruby ring she wore on her foremost finger.
She had changed into a simple rose-velvet kirtle that clung tightly to the athletic, deadly lines of her figure.
"You are beautiful," I murmured, leaning in to brush my lips against her ear before kissing her lips. She did not hesitate, her hands immediately tangling in my hair as she pressed hard against my aching chest. There was nothing chaste about it for our hunger for each other's form began to rear its head. She broke away abruptly, her breath hitching, leaving me instantly starved for more.
"Exciting as that was, we cannot go too far," she warned, resting her hands flat against my chest to maintain the space between us. "Lest we make a mistake we both might regret."
"I was of the same mind," I admitted, my voice dropping to a rougher cadence. "Yet seeing you standing before me, my inhibitions seem to simply burn away."
A faint flush crept up her fair neck. "It is not as if you do not do the same to me," she murmured. Then, her familiar, arrogant smirk returned. "I am simply better trained at controlling myself."
I didn't give her a second to breathe. I caught her by the waist, pulling her flush against me, and crushed my lips to hers again. She gasped in surprise, but melted into the kiss instantly, her supposed martial restraint shattering under the heat of it.
When I finally pulled back, I wore a wicked smirk of my own.
"Where was your iron control just then, oh great warrior?" I mocked softly.
The crimson flush darkened on her cheeks. Seeing the ruthless, blood-soaked Commander of the Falling Stars so entirely flustered fed my Targaryen arrogance beautifully. She caught the smug, victorious look in my eye and grunted, pushing gently out of my grip.
"Let us find some supper before the mess tents are stripped bare," she muttered, turning away to hide the colour in her face.
I nodded, letting my hand trail down her arm as she stepped out of reach. "Might as well. We will have all night for the rest."
Ana shot me a scathing, breathless look over her shoulder, but she did not offer a single word of argument.
The cold night air bit at my face the moment we pushed past the tent flaps. The sprawling sellsword encampment was a miserable maze of muddy thoroughfares and sputtering campfires, but the true hell lay above us.
The siege had begun anew.
A deafening CRACK echoed through the dark, followed by the sickening crunch of collapsing stone. I looked up. High above, the massive iron-wrought gates and the towering defensive walls of Qohor were taking a brutal, methodical pounding. Roman trebuchets, hidden somewhere in the pitch-black distance of the red sea, were hurling massive, flaming boulders through the night sky. They smashed into the ancient battlements, sending showers of powdered rock and shattered masonry raining down upon the city streets below.