Gilded Serpent Danielle Jensen (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

his soul was glad Cassius and the Senate had refused to accept the Sibern path. Because it meant more time with her.

Lowering himself onto a bench, he rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, finally allowing himself to think about the moment when she’d asked him to give it all up. To forsake his legion. To be with her.

To remember the decision he’d made.

Not that it mattered now. The decision was out of both their hands, and the only path was forward.

Unbuckling his armor, he left it scattered on the floor, then availed himself of the basin of wash water, his nose wrinkling at the perfumed soap that had been left for him. Sitting next to the bed was a chest, and within, he found several small knives suitable for hiding away, along with folded formal attire. Grimacing, he pulled it on, hating the bulk and bothersome folds of the toga, but knowing he couldn’t very well go to dinner in a legionnaire’s tunic.

There was a mirror on the wall—not the cheap polished brass used by the masses, but silvered metal covered with flawless glass, and he stepped in front of it, staring at his reflection.

This is who you might have been. Who you should have been.

Not a soldier. Not a commander. But the heir to one of the most powerful families in the Empire. Destined to take his father’s seat on the Senate and, when the time was right, to run for consul and win.

A patrician.

A politician.

One of the pompous pricks he hated more than anything on Reath.

Twisting away from the mirror, Marcus pulled on the leather sandals that had come with the clothes. Then, with a knife tucked in his belt, he exited the room and made his way downstairs.

Faint conversation, along with the scent of food and wine, filtered their way into his nose, and he entered to find his parents and Cordelia lounging on couches.

They weren’t alone.

A man in his twenties perched on the corner of Cordelia’s couch, a glass of wine in one hand. Though his skin was the golden hue common to those of Cel heritage, his hair was such a dark brown as to verge on black, and his eyes were a dark hazel. He rose at the sight of Marcus, extending a hand. “Legatus. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance—when she isn’t cursing some of your recent decisions, Cordelia speaks highly of you.”

Grasping the man’s forearm, Marcus glanced at his sister, who lifted one shoulder. “Tiberius and I don’t keep secrets from each other—he knows everything, so speak as freely before him as you would me.”

“You shouldn’t be sharing family secrets, sister,” a voice said from behind, and Marcus turned to find his younger brother lurking in the corner. “No offense, Tiberius.”

“None taken.” Tiberius sipped at his wine. “You have a great deal to lose, Gaius. I understand entirely.”

Pushing away from the wall, Gaius crossed the room to take a seat on an empty couch, and Marcus noted he took care to keep a healthy distance between them. “Tell me, brother, do those living in the Dark Shores curse your name the way they do in Chersome, indeed the way they do across the entire Empire, or have you not progressed so far yet in your conquest?”

“Gaius, shut your bloody mouth,” Cordelia snapped.

“Cordelia! Language!” their mother said, sitting upright. “You’ve the foul mouth of a soldier.” Then she blanched, glancing at Marcus. “Your pardon. I meant the rank and file, of course. Not an officer.”

This night was going to be the purest form of misery.

“Drink?” Tiberius asked. “I’m afraid it’s a serve-yourself affair. Even the most loyal servants tend to have loose tongues, especially when it’s about matters that might earn them some coin.”

“I’m fine with water, thank you.”

“I’d heard that about you.” Tiberius filled a glass and handed it to him. “Straight-headed, they say. Stickler for the rules. Not one for unnecessary chatter.”

Marcus met his gaze, not answering. He didn’t like this man knowing his secrets—not when he’d sacrificed so much to keep them that way.

“Perhaps we might address the matter at hand.” Having been silent the entire time, his father finally spoke. “Cassius holds a great deal of leverage over this family, and insight into how else he might use it against us is worth knowing.”

“I suppose that depends on what his end goal is.” Marcus leaned against a column, then took a sip of his water. “You and Tiberius here know him best, so perhaps you might provide me with some insight.”

His father and Tiberius exchanged uneasy glances.

Marcus made a face. “You sit with him on the Senate. Hear the policies he proposes. The gossip. Whereas I’ve been living in a tent on the far side of the world, entirely cut off from all of this.”

“Power,” Tiberius answered slowly. “And all that comes with it. He’s had a taste of being in control, and I think there is little he wouldn’t do to retain it.”

“So he’ll run for another term as consul.”

“Undoubtably,” Tiberius answered. “And as much as it pains me to say it, with your successes, he will very likely win. If your arrival had come after the coming summer’s election, he might well have lost the consulship.”

Not unexpected, but Marcus still struggled not to grimace. “My intention was to refrain from contact with the Empire until after his term was through, but circumstances conspired against me.”

“You truly expect us to believe that?” Gaius snapped. “You’re here because you want more men. So you can conquer more of the world and increase your own fame. And don’t think for a second, brother, that we don’t see you doing it as an attempt to make a point to us.”

Marcus’s temper flared, his fingers curling into a fist. But beating Gaius bloody last time hadn’t solved a damn thing. “Every time you open your mouth, useless words pour forth like shit from an ass, Gaius. Do us all a courtesy and remain silent unless