he’d not been able to think straight. She’d affected every one of his senses, and a lightning strike couldn’t have knocked him off his feet any harder. Not even her namesake could have been more beautiful. He suddenly empathized with Julius Caesar and Mark Antony.
“And Jupiter’s Stone, she has a mouth like Placido,” Cornelia said with amusement, but he didn’t respond. A long moment passed before his Praefect released a soft snort of laughter. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“What?” He shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear the images of Cleopatra’s lovely face from his head. “No, I heard you. Cleopatra has Placido’s colorful way with words.”
Now that his Praefect mentioned it, Cleopatra’s language was definitely saltier than even some of his most hardened fighters. It was distinctly at odds with her beautiful face, but he could see where she might believe it would make her fit in better with other fighters in her guild. It couldn’t be easy being the Prima Consul ’s daughter. And now that she’d discovered her relationship to Marcus, it wouldn’t get any easier.
“If you keep frowning like that, your eyebrows are going to fall off.” Cornelia’s voice pierced his thoughts, and he jerked his gaze toward her. She’d often used the expression when he was younger to make him laugh.
“I didn’t realize I was frowning,” he said with a slight smile.
“Quite fiercely, I might add.” Cornelia cocked her head to one side as she studied him with a look of affection. “When you were a boy, I always knew something was troubling you deeply when you frowned like that.”
The observation immediately set him on edge. It had been a long time since his Praefect had been able to read him so easily. He shrugged and smiled with forced amusement.
“I’m concentrating on how to make Cleopatra share whatever information she has.”
“I know you better than that,” Cornelia said quietly. “You always were a serious child, never letting others see how badly you were hurting.”
“Hurting?” Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was headed, he returned to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink. “You make it sound like I was miserable as a child. I had a happy childhood here in the Absconditus .”
“Did you? I sometimes wonder.” Cornelia sighed. “Marcus always pushed you so hard, and Placido . . . you worshipped him to the point that you would have cut off your right arm if he’d asked you to.”
“I wasn’t as bad as that.” Dante scoffed with a small laugh at Cornelia’s dramatic statement, and when she frowned with skepticism, he shrugged again and smiled. “Maybe a finger, though.”
His Praefect rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed. His earliest memories were of Placido teaching him how to hone his telekinetic abilities. They were happy memories. Placido’s love of life had always made lessons fun, and while Marcus had been the most demanding of mentors, the Sicari Lord had never withheld his praise.
Still, as a child, he knew his great respect for both men had bordered on the edge of hero worship. Perhaps it still did. He held up his glass to her, silently asking if she wanted a drink. When she shook her head no, he took a sip of the cognac he’d poured.
“All right, maybe you were willing to give up just one finger. But I always thought everything you did was done with the singular goal of pleasing Marcus and Placido, instead of what you really wanted.”
“I don’t think it’s a bad thing to admire one’s teachers or even to aspire to be like them,” he scolded gently.
“Of course it isn’t,” she snapped in a manner that was unlike her. “But it’s not healthy to give up everything for a cause.”
“What are you really trying to say, Cornelia?” He narrowed his gaze at her.
“What I’m saying is that I saw the way you looked at Cleopatra tonight. And something tells me you’re regretting
“And Jupiter’s Stone, she has a mouth like Placido,” Cornelia said with amusement, but he didn’t respond. A long moment passed before his Praefect released a soft snort of laughter. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“What?” He shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear the images of Cleopatra’s lovely face from his head. “No, I heard you. Cleopatra has Placido’s colorful way with words.”
Now that his Praefect mentioned it, Cleopatra’s language was definitely saltier than even some of his most hardened fighters. It was distinctly at odds with her beautiful face, but he could see where she might believe it would make her fit in better with other fighters in her guild. It couldn’t be easy being the Prima Consul ’s daughter. And now that she’d discovered her relationship to Marcus, it wouldn’t get any easier.
“If you keep frowning like that, your eyebrows are going to fall off.” Cornelia’s voice pierced his thoughts, and he jerked his gaze toward her. She’d often used the expression when he was younger to make him laugh.
“I didn’t realize I was frowning,” he said with a slight smile.
“Quite fiercely, I might add.” Cornelia cocked her head to one side as she studied him with a look of affection. “When you were a boy, I always knew something was troubling you deeply when you frowned like that.”
The observation immediately set him on edge. It had been a long time since his Praefect had been able to read him so easily. He shrugged and smiled with forced amusement.
“I’m concentrating on how to make Cleopatra share whatever information she has.”
“I know you better than that,” Cornelia said quietly. “You always were a serious child, never letting others see how badly you were hurting.”
“Hurting?” Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was headed, he returned to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink. “You make it sound like I was miserable as a child. I had a happy childhood here in the Absconditus .”
“Did you? I sometimes wonder.” Cornelia sighed. “Marcus always pushed you so hard, and Placido . . . you worshipped him to the point that you would have cut off your right arm if he’d asked you to.”
“I wasn’t as bad as that.” Dante scoffed with a small laugh at Cornelia’s dramatic statement, and when she frowned with skepticism, he shrugged again and smiled. “Maybe a finger, though.”
His Praefect rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed. His earliest memories were of Placido teaching him how to hone his telekinetic abilities. They were happy memories. Placido’s love of life had always made lessons fun, and while Marcus had been the most demanding of mentors, the Sicari Lord had never withheld his praise.
Still, as a child, he knew his great respect for both men had bordered on the edge of hero worship. Perhaps it still did. He held up his glass to her, silently asking if she wanted a drink. When she shook her head no, he took a sip of the cognac he’d poured.
“All right, maybe you were willing to give up just one finger. But I always thought everything you did was done with the singular goal of pleasing Marcus and Placido, instead of what you really wanted.”
“I don’t think it’s a bad thing to admire one’s teachers or even to aspire to be like them,” he scolded gently.
“Of course it isn’t,” she snapped in a manner that was unlike her. “But it’s not healthy to give up everything for a cause.”
“What are you really trying to say, Cornelia?” He narrowed his gaze at her.
“What I’m saying is that I saw the way you looked at Cleopatra tonight. And something tells me you’re regretting
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