Free Surrender to the Roman by M.K. Chester Page A

that Nerva was one of a kind.”
    True enough, maneuvering the empire away from imperial bloodlines had been a calculated risk. As Emperor, Nerva had produced no heir and adopted Trajan to become his successor.
    “When will they arrive?” Marcus asked.
    “Before the next new moon. But forget all this political nonsense.” Tertullian leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “Would you enjoy some entertainment? The girl dances beautifully.”
    The young Dacian woman appeared as if by divination, head bowed, too much of her body visible even in the shadows. Beside her husband, Drusilla tightened her posture and looked into the water as if something more interesting might happen there.
    “She’s quite good.” Tertullian sneered, running his hand over her hip. “Very flexible.”
    “No doubt,” Marcus mumbled. And far too young for the purpose. This could not happen tonight, should not happen ever. “Not tonight. I’m going to rest while I can afford to. I’m afraid I must call an end to the evening.”
    Tertullian’s face reddened, but he held his tongue. A mask of calm understanding slid over his rage. “You work too hard, even here.”
    While Tertullian’s hand never left the girl’s thigh, his eyes targeted Ademeni, on the other side of the room. They glared at each other as if about to meet in combat.
    A silver object flashed in her hand. Marcus edged to his feet.
    Her fingers curled into a fist, holding something in the swaying folds of her dress. Marcus blinked away the haze of wine. She’d moved close enough to Tertullian to make a solid attempt on his life.
    “Perhaps you should stay home for a few days and refresh yourself,” Tertullian continued, unaware of the danger that approached.
    Marcus rose to defend his guest, but could not let the subtle insult slide by. “Drusilla seems tired as well. See to your duty and take your wife home.”
    “Yes,” Drusilla agreed with a nervous laugh. “It has been a busy day, and we have taxed you too long already.”
    “There will be other occasions,” he muttered, his attention split between getting his guests out of the house and thwarting an attack on an unsuspecting, if deserving, soldier.
    Marcus stepped into Ademeni’s line of sight as she drifted ever nearer. She sidestepped him, but he reacted with just as much speed. He captured her hand on the upswing and wrenched a sharp kitchen implement from her fist. Her eyes flashed with surprise then darkened to fury.
    He tightened his grip on her arm, not surprised at the strength her hatred gave her. He dared not let her loose.
    Tertullian leaped to his feet and shouldered up behind him. “What’s going on?”
    Unable to break from Ademeni’s gaze, Marcus hid the makeshift weapon against his body. “Nothing.”
    Drusilla stared, eyes wide, and he wondered if she understood how close her husband had come to serious injury. Understood that Tertullian might have deserved this servant’s wrath.
    Taking a deep breath, Marcus turned to them with as much of a smile as he could muster. “The night has ended, and we will not be strangers—we are family, after all.”
    Lucia hurried the last of the guests from the house, barring and locking the door under his watchful eye. He breathed a sigh of relief and released Ademeni, no tangible damage done.
    She whirled, snatched up Callia and excused herself. “The child is exhausted.”
    Gone with Tertullian were the feelings of hostility that had filled the space moments ago. Family or not, Marcus needed to rethink their relationship. The man seemed more menacing with each encounter, and now inside Rome, much of his behavior fell outside Marcus’s control.
    The metal weapon warmed in his hand and he laid it aside without comment. No need to involve everyone in this business.
    He watched Flora clear the courtyard of food and drink under Lucia’s gentle guidance while Ademeni paced the shadows after putting Callia to bed. He narrowed his eyes, studying the