From Chapter 4 of Book 3. Raw and unedited.
Dressed in glimmering military garb, the Roman sat tall atop a chestnut charger named Leo. The man’s silver helmet was strapped to his saddle, his sword sheathed in a bronze scabbard attached to his leather belt. When they reached the summit of the hill, gentle autumn breezes stirred the cool air, blowing the Roman’s copper curls away from his face, revealing his determined jawline and his distinctive beaked nose.
He was an impressive bastard from head to toe. A savage butcher renown for his success and ruthlessness on the battlefield. An educated, handsome aristocrat who devoured books, loved to laugh, and played the sweetest music Alle had ever heard in his twenty-two miserable years.
The longer he stayed here, the more Allerix realized that Gaius Fabius Rufus was a dangerous, intoxicating puzzle he ached to solve before Alle achieved his revenge and left this world for the afterlife.
“I’d sent word ahead to inform these overpaid pricks of our our arrival. They should be expecting my visit.” Gaius shouted before he turned in his saddle and asked with a dimpled smile, “How are you faring back there, Alle?”
“I’m well, sir. This place is—enormous.”
“These headquarters house over a thousand well-armed Praetorians. A shady bunch of fuckers, the whole lot of them. Stay close by my side. You’re safe with me.”