Burning Hope - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,1

Hope still had plenty of authority to remove the man for his behavior.

She walked up to the man as he muttered something else to himself that she did not quite catch. It sounded more personal—more private, at least, than his constant misuse of language. She could not tell his age by the sound of his voice. He was neither a boy nor an old man, but beyond that, she could glean nothing. Nothing except for the simple fact that he seemed to have no respect for where he was or for the other worshipers around him.

She stood beside him. When he paused in his rantings, she took the opportunity to speak up.

“Sir?”

Stupid Viktor. Stupid East Wind. Fuck him, why should he get to be happy and I don’t? I’m better looking. I’m a better lover. I’m a better ruler. I’m nicer. More generous. Kinder. I’m just better. Fuck him.

How dared Viktor wind up with a wife when Nero still found himself alone? Oh—his bed was never cold. He always could reach out in the early morning hours and find one or more lovers there beside him. But he was still alone.

Damn that insufferable, emotionless cretin for finding someone like Rose. She was beautiful, fiery, and so adorably short. Nero had been infatuated with her. But now that she was married off to Viktor, Nero knew better than to get involved. He wouldn’t mess with love. That was a sin not even he would commit.

That, and Viktor would probably find a way to have Nero assassinated if he dared.

He sighed and flicked the drachma he was walking over the back of his hand into his palm and squeezed it until the edges bit into his palm. It hurt. Good. It reminded him he was real. It told him he was still alive. He lowered his voice and prayed to the Mother. He wasn’t one for praying to the gods—but this once couldn’t hurt. It gave him hope.

“Can I have one too, Mother? Please?” Hope. What a funny concept. A torch in the darkness, fighting off the cold until the dawn.

“Sir?”

A voice broke into Nero’s roiling self-pity and loathing over his failure to woo Rose Calder. He looked up and blinked.

Oh, hello.

He sat back in the pew and flashed his trademark, award-and-lover-winning smile. The woman who stood next to him did not react. Huh. Usually, one smile from him and women either preened or cowered. Mostly, they did both. But she did nothing at all except wait for his reply.

Nero tilted his head curiously. She was beautiful. Damn. Sensual, full lips that were a natural pink were pursed into a slight frown of annoyance. Instantly, he wanted to touch them. Long chocolate colored hair was half-hidden in the drape of a royal blue robe. The silk fabric draped over a body that swelled and valleyed in all the perfect places. It was tied on the arms in rows to reveal skin that was a shade of warm and tan olive.

Whoever she was, she was a priestess of a high rank. As far as he could remember, white answered to red, red to blue, blue to the purple of the Mother Arkhiereus. This priestess’s eyes were a stunning shade of emerald green. But they seemed unfocused and glassy. In fact, her eyes stared straight ahead as if she could not see him.

Or see anything at all.

Interesting. “Yes, priestess?”

“I would ask you to mind your language and keep your voice down. You are disturbing the other worshippers.”

Nero turned to look around the room. Sure enough, a few people were glancing at him furtively. One old woman by the wall was gaping at him. He grinned at her, doing his very best practiced sneer, promising malice and joy in equal measures. She went wide-eyed and looked away quickly.

Just as everyone should.

But still, the woman over him did not react. Nero hummed thoughtfully. “Am I disturbing them? I’m sorry. I hadn’t noticed. I’m very fucking sorry.” A look of deeper annoyance crossed her features. Oh, yes. She certainly could not see him. No one would ever look at him that way. Well, almost no one. Kema was an exception. He laughed, and her expression deepened. “I had to. Too easy. Come, sit with me, priestess.”

“I have other things to attend to. I will have to decline.” She began to walk away, but he caught her wrist.

She wore some kind of strange metal cuff, like an ancient kind of armor, or a bracer. Many people wore decorative