Anyone who might say otherwise is simply not hearing the right number.
And, oh, what Nero wouldn’t pay to have what he needed. He would throw all his gold at the feet of whoever could fill the hole in his chest. He had more than enough to offer. That wasn’t his issue. His issue was that he didn’t know who they were. He didn’t know how to find them.
He didn’t know if they existed.
He had begun to lose hope that such a person might be out there. Someone who might…dare he even think it? Love him?
Who could love someone like him? A monster?
He’d long since consigned himself to the idea that he’d have partners, bed-warmers, playmates, and the like. But never anyone he would really call a lover.
Then…Viktor found Rose. And that wasn’t fair. The piece of trash who claimed the title as Cardinal of the East Wind had a wife. Him. The one who acted like he stored that stupid cane of his up his ass.
If Viktor could find a wife, then Nero had to have a chance. Right?
Nero had come to the Temple of Hera out of the distant hope that such a person might be real. That such a person might be out there for him. If only Hera would lead him to such a person, he could lay down his riches and his power at their feet. He was not certain if anyone could love him. But he could buy their willingness to try. That much he knew.
Everyone had a price, after all.
Nero only had to find a person willing to sell.
Hope’s life changed with a string of obscenities.
It was hardly the way she would have chosen to have her whole world upended. All things considered, she figured that if everything in her life had to fall apart, it would been from a bomb. From war. Or murder. Not swearing. But sometimes a person was not allowed to choose. That was for the gods to decide.
And her gods had a sick sense of humor.
“Died for love. What a wonderful way to die, though. For a cause you believe in, and an amazing ass.”
She cringed. She heard the gasps of the people in the temple. The man, whoever he was, had been sitting there cussing to himself—or rather, cussing up at the idol of Hera—for nearly a half an hour now. If he considered his profane conversation to be a form of worship, there was little reason to wonder why his prayers were not being answered.
When he kept swearing, she finally had to put a stop to it. Putting down the linens she had been folding by one wall, she made her way toward the source of the voice. Her metal wrist cuffs vibrated to alert her to nearby furniture, although she had the layout of the temple entirely memorized. As for the location of the man in question, all she had to do was follow the sound. Luckily, it was not hard.
He didn’t shut up.
“Now they’re off to the islands. Off to fuck like rabbits and make a bunch of little Viktors, I bet.” The man gagged dramatically.
The bracers she wore vibrated again as she made her way along the pews. Row after row of them, their locations locked in her memory. She avoided them easily as she walked up the aisle toward the “gentleman” who was still busy loudly complaining at Mother Hera. Or whining at her. Hope wasn’t quite sure which.
She traced her fingers over the tops of the handrails of the pews as she walked. There were only a few benches before the space opened into a large empty area in front of the statue of Hera where the truly devout could kneel in prayer. But this man had chosen to sit.
Hope had been told many times of how beautiful the statue was. How large and grand. How the brass shone like purest gold. But she could not know for certain.
She was blind, and had been her entire life.
She could hear the man’s voice more clearly as she got closer, and he was still swearing. He was clearly uncaring about the fact that he was in a temple to the Holy Mother. “I bet she’s an amazing fuck, too.”
Hope sighed heavily and pulled the fabric of her hood up over her hair, smoothing out the robes she wore. They were the garments of a High Devout. Not the finest robes, as those were reserved for the high priestess, the Mother Arkhiereus. But