Chapter 30
Augustus's POV
The instant Isabella saw me, she rushed forward, her crimson gown swirling around her ankles, and latched onto my arm with both hands. "Your Majesty, thank the gods you have returned!" Her voice broke on a sob, tears welling in her eyes. "This wretched slave—she attacked me! I could not bear her insolence any longer—"
I did not respond. My gaze remained fixed on Lina, on the thin line of blood trickling down her neck, on the way her shoulders shook with barely suppressed pain. Then I looked down at Isabella's hands, her fingers digging into the fabric of my sleeve, and felt a cold, crystalline clarity settle over me.
I pulled my arm free with deliberate slowness, the movement controlled and final. Isabella's words faltered mid-sentence, her expression flickering with uncertainty.
"I was merely—"
"Stop talking."
Isabella froze mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open. I straightened slowly, and the room seemed to grow colder with each passing second.
"This half-blood dared insult me to my face!" Isabella's voice turned shrill as she pointed at Lina. "She spoke back when I questioned her presence here! I had to put her in her place—"
"Did I give you permission," I interrupted, my voice dangerously soft, "to act as judge and executioner in my own chambers? Or have you forgotten whose authority reigns here?"
Her face went white. "Your Majesty, no! I would never presume—I only meant to maintain discipline—"
"Three months. Confined to your quarters."
"But Your Majesty—"
"Dismissed."
Selas stepped forward immediately, gripping Isabella's arm and pulling her toward the door as she stumbled, still trying to protest through her tears. Her sobs echoed down the corridor as he escorted her out, and then the heavy door swung shut, leaving only silence in their wake.
I crossed the room in a few long strides and lowered myself into the high-backed chair near the hearth, reaching for the goblet of honeyed wine that had been left on the side table, using the moment to study Lina over the rim of the cup.
She looked small, fragile even, with bruises blooming dark and ugly across her temple and the dried blood crusting along her neck. Yet she held herself with that same stubborn, infuriating dignity, her spine straight despite the tremor in her limbs.
"Look at me."
Her head lifted slowly, those green eyes meeting mine with a wary, guarded expression. I set the goblet down with a soft clink and leaned back in my chair, letting my gaze drag over her deliberately, taking in every detail of her disheveled state.
"Tell me," I said, my voice deceptively calm, "what exactly did you do to provoke her?"
Lina's jaw tightened, but she answered steadily, her voice hoarse but clear. "Your Majesty, I was waiting in the sitting room for your return, as instructed. Lady Isabella entered without warning. I greeted her respectfully, and she struck me."
"Respectfully." I let the word hang in the air, laced with skepticism. "There are hundreds of slaves in this fortress, Lina, and they all know how to bow. Why would she single you out?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she said nothing. I felt a flicker of irritation spark to life in my chest.
The sight of her trembling shoulders, the way she bit down on her lower lip to keep from speaking, sent a sharp, unwelcome pang through my chest. I forced it down, burying it beneath layers of cold control.
My eyes drifted to the wound on her neck, the shallow cut that had already begun to scab over, and then to the bruise darkening her temple. I turned my head, breaking the line of sight. "Kira."
The girl straightened immediately, wincing as she pressed a hand to her ribs. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"You and Lina were both injured in my chambers," I said, my tone clipped and businesslike. "It reflects poorly on me if my household is in disarray. Go to the medical wing and retrieve two vials of healing salve. Ensure that both of you are treated properly."
Kira blinked, clearly taken aback, then bowed her head quickly. "Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for your mercy."
She cast a brief, worried glance at Lina before hurrying out of the room, leaving the two of us alone. I did not look at Lina again, instead turning my attention to the stack of documents on the desk. I picked up a quill and began scanning the topmost report, my movements deliberate and unhurried.
"Stand by the wall," I said without looking up. "And wait."
I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she obeyed, retreating to the far side of the room. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the scratch of my quill against parchment and the faint crackle of the hearth. I told myself I was simply being pragmatic—keeping her here to ensure she did not cause further trouble, maintaining order in my household.
I turned the page, my jaw tight, and forced myself to focus on the words in front of me. After what felt like an eternity, I set the quill down and glanced toward her. She was still standing against the wall, her posture rigid.
"Come here," I said, gesturing toward the long table piled high with scrolls and ledgers. "Organize these documents. And stay where I can see you."
She moved forward hesitantly, her steps unsteady, and I watched her approach out of the corner of my eye. Her hands shook as she reached for the first scroll.
And then, without warning, her legs gave out.
She pitched forward, her body crumpling as though the strings holding her upright had been severed. The edge of the table loomed before her, sharp and unforgiving. I moved without thinking, my arm shooting out to catch her around the waist, pulling her back just as her forehead would have collided with the corner. She collapsed against my chest, her weight slight and trembling, her hands instinctively clutching at the front of my tunic to steady herself.
I froze.
She was pressed against me, her forehead resting just below my collarbone, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. I could feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her clothing, could smell the faint scent of wood magnolia in her hair. The rage that had been burning in my chest suddenly quieted.
It was the same sensation from last night, when she had fallen asleep against my arm—a strange, fragile peace. I looked down at her, at the way her lashes trembled, at the way her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath. She was utterly vulnerable in that moment, defenseless, and something dark and possessive coiled tight in my chest.
My hand tightened slightly on her waist, my fingers pressing into the curve of her side. She tilted her head back slowly, her wide green eyes meeting mine, her face flushing crimson with embarrassment.