Page 35 of Firebird
She looked down at Otho, unsure. He nodded while his expression revealed the wariness he should be feeling. If my predictions were right, he should be feeling much more than that right about now.
I girded myself for what was about to come, keeping my expression indifferent as I sipped my wine.
Sabina wove her way up to the carpeted dais and pillows, around other generals and their wives to stand before Caesar.
“Candida?” Caesar wore his charming smile for her. “Was your father not a deathrider?”
“He was, Caesar,” she answered brightly. “He was very sad to retire from service.”
“Very loyal to Rome, if I recall correctly.”
“Indeed, Caesar.”
He flicked his hand for her to come closer. She glanced nervously at me, then at Ciprian, who watched her with feral lust, still groping his companion with his free hand.
Sabina stepped forward. Caesar leaned against his high-backed chair and spread his legs. “Closer, sweet.”
She returned his smile, one similar to how she’d looked at me in the corridor. He coasted his hand along her thigh, pressing the silk of her stola to her skin.
“So how do you like married life with a senator?” he crooned while caressing her.
“I… I like it very much, Caesar.”
“Does your husband satisfy all of your needs?”
She gulped hard, then giggled nervously. “I don’t know what to say,” she finally answered, a hitch in her voice.
Caesar slid his hand up the side of her waist, stroking the back of his knuckles over one breast. Then he grinned at the taut nipple teasing through the silk of her purple stola.
“Caesar!” Otho stood. “Please, do not—”
Two praetorian guards shoved Otho back down into his seat and stood over him. Sabina snapped her head to look at her husband, seeming confused, worried. Then my uncle guided her chin back so that she looked at him. I couldn’t even look at Otho, especially when I’d warned him. He thought himself so important, like so many others, that the emperor wouldn’t dare target them for humiliation and their women for crude sport and public shame. He was wrong.
No one seemed to recognize the depths of the evil in my uncle but me.
“Don’t worry about him,” Igniculus told her. “I am the emperor. It is my right to touch beautiful things.” He opened his palm and mounded it over her breast. “You are a beautiful creature, Sabina. Your husband won’t mind.”
“Because you’re the emperor,” she whispered, her breathing quickening, her pulse speeding in her throat.
I could hear it flutter even faster when Caesar pushed the strap of her stola off her shoulder, revealing the breast he’d been fondling.
“That’s right.” He slid his hand beneath her stola and gripped her thigh, tugging her closer. “I’m the emperor. I can have whatever I want. Open your thighs.”
She slid her feet wider, eyes dilating with desire.
“I want you, Sabina.” He moved his hand between her legs. “And according to your dripping pussy, you feel the same.”
She giggled, like this was a game. Of course, it was. And the emperor always won. He stroked between her legs and she moaned.
I coolly surveyed the feasting hall. This foul game my uncle liked to play was showing not just Otho, but all of Rome, who held the most power. And what he could do with it, who he could steal and hurt with it.
Some of the generals and their wives pretended not to see what was happening on the dais. Legatus Titus, the general I served under for my entire military career until my recent promotion, quietly assisted his wife to her feet and slipped out the side entrance. That was always the interesting part. My uncle demanded everyone’s presence when he sent invitations to his so-called celebrations, but he didn’t appear to mind when some crept away once his target had been established.
Through his cruel behavior toward Otho and his wife, Caesar was now announcing to the entire lot of senators present that they’d better vote only in his favor or suffer similar consequences.
Others had taken it as the sign that the orgy could commence and were now groping and fucking at or around their feast tables. But my gaze skimmed to Otho. I wished I hadn’t looked. The shame and fear and fury mottled his face red as the praetorians held him in place. He simply watched, and it wasn’t nearly over yet.
“Why don’t you come sit on my lap, sweet Sabina,” growled my uncle, his eyes sparking gold with his dragon.
