Book 3. Alle’s POV. Unedited and subject to change. Due to a glass of Amaro. 😉
The Roman king’s hand was cold. And huge, as huge as the man was tall. Only the tips of Allerix’s fingers escaped the demon’s firm, suffocating grasp. He took up an awful lot of air, this king. Alle struggled to breathe as the Emperor dragged him down another hallway towards his chamber. The satchel with the lyre—and the witch’s poison and the kitchen knife—bounced against his bare back.
The gods were with him.
And if they actually fucking were, tonight Gaius would ascend the Roman throne.
The king’s master chamber was beyond any wonder Allerix could have imagined. A bed the size of a building. Every intricately carved surface coated with gold and encrusted with bits of ivory and glimmering jewels.
When the king released his hand, Alle paused at the threshold and smiled. This Roman’s royal blood would blend easily with the garish, deep burgundy fabrics draped across the furniture.