Siren Slave by Aurora Styles Page B

handed her over to the king of the Gaul tribes.
    “Think nothing of it, Freya,” Pompey said, patting her arm.
    “I’m going to go read Ovid again. The Metamorphoses is my favorite tale. Well, next to Tacitus’ Germania. He paints such an accurate description of tribal people. Fortunately, people like you, Pompey, are here to save us all from being uncivilized brutes.” She batted her lashes. “Thank you again.” She even gave Pompey a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which left Pompey with a smug smile.
    Siegfried thought of some of the odd texts that had been passed to him through his channels, strange tales in soft but sturdy leather bindings. Different stories of the gods. Was Rome trying to manipulate their religion now? Combining the tribes’ gods with their own? The tone of the tales reminded him of Tacitus’ condescending tone as he wrote of the tribesmen.
    “Wait,” Pompey said, halting Freya’s exit. “You can thank me properly tomorrow night. Etainen will be happy to let me be the first to sample your charms. I invoke the right of primae noctis. ”
    Freya spine went rigid. “Did my parents agree to that?”
    “Of course, Freya. Are you—”
    She squealed, beaming. “How wonderful. It would be an honor to be thoroughly swived by a man much older, whose put so much time into serving Rome and keeping us safe from ourselves and—”
    “Look to me if you want to be swived until you’re cross-eyed and can’t walk for a sennight,” the maid said. She grabbed Freya and shoved her out the door, without so much as a “by your leave” to either Pompey or Siegfried.
    This was followed by an “Oof. I’m bleeding again.” Where in the hell had her parents found that maid?
    “A fine woman,” Pompey pronounced. “Both of them. At least you have a bride who’ll drink and game with you.”
    “So you don’t want me to speak with her?” Siegfried raised a brow.
    “By all means, don’t let me keep you from enjoying your betrothed. I look forward to enjoying her first.”
    Siegfried wanted to spit out his wine. Just who or what was this princess who carried around double-ended phalluses, kissed like a whore, and was happy to bed Pompey? No one he wanted to be involved with.
    ****
    Odilia gazed into her mirror and scowled at the vivid white streak running through hair she kept cropped, the square jaw that belonged more on a man than a woman, the bright red stain on her lips that made the rest of her skin seem even more pale. But she was not scowling at her reflection. She looked through her image, into the blackness beyond that swallowed the expanse of the looking glass.
    Hecate had not appeared. All Odilia’s attempts to contact the powerful goddess had failed so far, but she had found other uses for the mirror. Odilia smiled and dribbled blood across the glass. An image took shape of Freya, sleeping on a triclinium couch. Her hair spilled over it while a maid brushed the pale tresses. Odilia tapped her chin as she inspected the scene.
    Most likely, Freya was passed out after too much drink. She’d had so much in the audience chamber. Oh, she would make a fine specimen for Etainen this eve, with black circles under her eyes and her skin too red. Odilia laughed. No, Freya was not fit to be a queen at all, not after what she’d said about her parents in front of Pompey.
    Freya had been completely wrong. All the Romans asked were slaves and money, a request easily granted.
    The Remi would join Vercingetorix to stand against the Romans under Freya and Etainen, if Freya could sway him, if she batted her eyes enough. Odilia had never before thought Freya intelligent, not with her random, skittering observations and remarks. Now, Odilia knew. Freya truly hated Rome and the order it would bring. It made sense. Order and Freya had always been adversaries.
    “Odilia,” a deep voice said from behind her.
    She turned to see Pompey as she pulled the maroon cloth over the looking glass. The Roman had not even