Doctore.”
“And I call you friend still.” Septus's face was lined with articulate annoyance. “And it is because I call you friend that I insist that you remember where you are and what you are. She may be a slave now, but no royalty has ever remained a slave for long. Either her family will free her or some noble hoping to raise his status will learn of her status here and free her to be able to spin a story to his high society. You are a gladiator—”
“—I know.” He held up a hand. “And not a very good one at that.”
Septus shook his head. “I never said you weren’t good, Conall. Only that you were too stubborn to realize exactly how good you are.”
Leda gripped Conall’s hand as hard as she could. It did not seem as if she could let it go.
“Leave us be,” said Leda.
“You can be left however you like. For your own sakes, I ask that you do not fool yourselves.”
He pointed to a guard patrolling near the wall. In a few minutes, he would walk by the trough.
“It's lights out soon,” said Septus. “Say your good nights and get to bed.”
Chapter 26
––––––––
F rom that point forward, Conall was no longer allowed to work as a bodyguard.
He explained to Leda that it did not matter that much. She was actually impressed to find that he had taken the job purely to try to gain Publius's favor.
For some idiot reason, she couldn't stop herself from thinking that if she hadn't been the target of an assassination attempt, he very well may have impressed the lanista. It was a stupid, self-blaming thought, and yet still it floated in her head from time to time.
And so Conall returned to training. Leda did not make a habit of watching the men train, but she started to. She took long errands for other slaves around the grounds, taking deliberately obtuse paths to her destinations so she might trail by the sands and see Conall, shirtless and sweaty with his muscles rippling in the sunlight.
It was a sight that drove her breath away, every time.
In the nights, they met and they kissed—and that was as far as it went. After being no longer emotionally and physically drained from the ordeal in the market, it was simpler for Leda to cut things off well before her desires took such a firm hold of her mind that there was no choice but to give in and make beautiful, urgent love to the gladiator.
She wanted that, of course. And often she wanted it desperately.
But she had been raised as a princess, told her entire life that nothing was more important than keeping herself pure and virginal for her future husband.
And Conall was rugged, and ripped, and recklessly passionate. And, most of all, he could not ever be her husband.
But that did not mean they could not enjoy one another's presence.
He, repeatedly, told her that he loved her. He did not say it with his mouth, understanding without her ever saying it that it would have made her uncomfortable for her to hear it as often as he meant it. And so he said it in other ways.
He said it in the small arrangements of flowers he gave to her when she arrived in his cell. He said it in the long back rubs he gave to her without ever asking anything in return. He said in the simple, strong way he held her, as if protecting her, and in the way that he did protect her because when she was with him she did not worry or think of anything else but his presence.
But it couldn’t be. She knew it couldn’t be. Septus was right—perfectly so—when he said it couldn’t be.
The day after Septus caught them, she told him exactly how everything was.
“What happened between us simply can’t go on,” she said, entering his cell with her head high in the air. “I can accept that it did. I think you a fine man. But what pleasure passed between us must, regrettably, end.”
And he nodded and smiled, and they talked of other things. She couldn’t stop herself from talking to him. He was interesting , for goodness’ sake, and how many people did she
“And I call you friend still.” Septus's face was lined with articulate annoyance. “And it is because I call you friend that I insist that you remember where you are and what you are. She may be a slave now, but no royalty has ever remained a slave for long. Either her family will free her or some noble hoping to raise his status will learn of her status here and free her to be able to spin a story to his high society. You are a gladiator—”
“—I know.” He held up a hand. “And not a very good one at that.”
Septus shook his head. “I never said you weren’t good, Conall. Only that you were too stubborn to realize exactly how good you are.”
Leda gripped Conall’s hand as hard as she could. It did not seem as if she could let it go.
“Leave us be,” said Leda.
“You can be left however you like. For your own sakes, I ask that you do not fool yourselves.”
He pointed to a guard patrolling near the wall. In a few minutes, he would walk by the trough.
“It's lights out soon,” said Septus. “Say your good nights and get to bed.”
Chapter 26
––––––––
F rom that point forward, Conall was no longer allowed to work as a bodyguard.
He explained to Leda that it did not matter that much. She was actually impressed to find that he had taken the job purely to try to gain Publius's favor.
For some idiot reason, she couldn't stop herself from thinking that if she hadn't been the target of an assassination attempt, he very well may have impressed the lanista. It was a stupid, self-blaming thought, and yet still it floated in her head from time to time.
And so Conall returned to training. Leda did not make a habit of watching the men train, but she started to. She took long errands for other slaves around the grounds, taking deliberately obtuse paths to her destinations so she might trail by the sands and see Conall, shirtless and sweaty with his muscles rippling in the sunlight.
It was a sight that drove her breath away, every time.
In the nights, they met and they kissed—and that was as far as it went. After being no longer emotionally and physically drained from the ordeal in the market, it was simpler for Leda to cut things off well before her desires took such a firm hold of her mind that there was no choice but to give in and make beautiful, urgent love to the gladiator.
She wanted that, of course. And often she wanted it desperately.
But she had been raised as a princess, told her entire life that nothing was more important than keeping herself pure and virginal for her future husband.
And Conall was rugged, and ripped, and recklessly passionate. And, most of all, he could not ever be her husband.
But that did not mean they could not enjoy one another's presence.
He, repeatedly, told her that he loved her. He did not say it with his mouth, understanding without her ever saying it that it would have made her uncomfortable for her to hear it as often as he meant it. And so he said it in other ways.
He said it in the small arrangements of flowers he gave to her when she arrived in his cell. He said it in the long back rubs he gave to her without ever asking anything in return. He said in the simple, strong way he held her, as if protecting her, and in the way that he did protect her because when she was with him she did not worry or think of anything else but his presence.
But it couldn’t be. She knew it couldn’t be. Septus was right—perfectly so—when he said it couldn’t be.
The day after Septus caught them, she told him exactly how everything was.
“What happened between us simply can’t go on,” she said, entering his cell with her head high in the air. “I can accept that it did. I think you a fine man. But what pleasure passed between us must, regrettably, end.”
And he nodded and smiled, and they talked of other things. She couldn’t stop herself from talking to him. He was interesting , for goodness’ sake, and how many people did she
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