Chapter Thirteen: In Memory

Author's Note: Hello readers! We've gotten a couple reviews saying that we need to work on character development with the side characters. So, we have decided to revive a certain piece of writing, know as Interlude 1, from the bad Blood Flame. (Don't worry, it's not bad (we hope)). It contains Caesarion's backstory. Enjoy! Fight us, haters. Our egos are steel. 

It was no secret that they were losing the war. Her boss knew, the members of her alliance knew, his thrall knew, hell, even the peasants that picked up scraps from the statues of the gods knew. Everyone could see the smoke rising from the far sky. Each day, messengers came from a new village, demanding help and supplies to fight the romans. They'd come, bow low before her, then tell their harrowing story with hopes that she'd do something about their problem. She, like always, would relay their concerns to her boss who'd sink lower in his chair and deeper into despair. He tried, she'd give him that, but per the norm, Marc was hopeless when it came to strategy. What had started off as some interalliance rumbling had turned full blown war. Go figure.

It wasn't like she hadn't tried. Oh she had. When Marc first met his thrall, she told him what would happen. She said to leave Caesar's girl alone, but oh no, he wouldn't listen to her for all the silver in the roman empire. Now it was up to her to clean up his mess. Behind this superficial bubble of indignation, a deeper worry churned within the pit of her digestive system. Countless people had already been killed in the senseless fighting. So many more were to follow. Octavian was the true monster here, no matter how much he tried to insist it was her and Marc. She was on a warpath, no pun intended, and gods help whoever she came across next.

The council chamber was mostly empty when she burst in, white dress streaming behind her, sandled feet clicking against the stone floor. The rest of Marc's pitiful sheep of advisors knew enough to get our of her way. She slammed her hand down on the war table, littered with maps and tiny, delicate figurines that represented troops. The jarring force caused them to clatter and fall.

"We've lost our bases at Abydos and it's surrounding villages. Roman ships approach from the sea, and troops are coming from every countable direction. My illusions wain a little bit each day. We can't hold for much longer, Marc. I don't know what you want me to do." Her voice was hard, though edged with a slightly pleading tone.

Marc turned to her, red cloak swishing behind him. "I'm not sure there is much." He began to get up, like he wanted to walk away. She caught his arm and yanked him around.

"Marc. People are going to keep dying unless you make a decision. We can't win this. You know it. I know it. The court knows it. For Jupiter's sake, The fishermen in the bay know it! If you surrender now, there's a change, however small, that we can internalize the politics like we've done before." She waved her free hand wildly in the air while keeping one around his wrist.

"I told you that I'd take my own life before surrender to him, Knotrium." He replied in a careful, even keeled tone.

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I've know you for practically your whole life. I've never seen you act like this before. Arrogant, yes. Pigheaded, most of the time. But desperate? Completely insane? Never. Not since your thrall. What has she done to you?"

His expression was mutinous. "You have no idea what it's like to have a thrall, Knotrium. Just thinking of Octavian in her presence forces my hand."

"What about your children? Selene, Helios, your step son? What are they going to do? Where are they going to go?" She met his voice with a blow of her own. "Or do you not care?"

Marc raised his hand over his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Octavian won't touch my children. He knows they're too valuable. It will protect them. Either way we turn, there's a stone wall in front of us. She agreed. We're going to do what we need to to remain together."

Despite her rage, Knotrium seemed to sense that she was fighting another loosing battle in addition to the war. She blew her air out in one long breath. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand because I don't. But I will stand by you, whatever your choice."

He extricated his arm from hers and swept out the back door, reserved for royals and advisors. Discouraged, she sat down. It seemed like everyone who had a thrall went crazy. Completely off the rails, blazing crazy. Slowly, she reached for the discarded maps and figurines, trying to plan their next move.

A presumptuous cough interrupted her. She spun. The knife previously strapped to her belt quivered in the stone wall next to the somewhat surprised face of a mint haired boy.

Knotrium ran her fingers cooly through her hair. "Next time, my blade will be lodged in your forehead instead of stuck precariously in the stone. I can choose not to miss, you know."

He delicately ducked away and picked his way to where she stood. "I guess I just didn't expect a pretty girl like you to be loitering in the map room so late at night. You waiting for someone?"

A smirk grew on her face as she raised a thin eyebrow. "Yes. Waiting for you to leave me in peace." Knotrium slid another knife from her belt. She considered walking out, just leaving and going bed like a responsible immortal teenage vampire, but she'd had a hard day. What was wrong with having a little fun? "And you can stop running your eyes over me." She shifted so that more of her leg showed through the slit in her dress.

Reading her signals, the boy came closer. "Well it's hard when your so different from the other court girls."

Knotrium snorted. "The other girls aren't advisors."

The boy smile in delight. She craned her head to look into his eyes. She reckoned that he was at least a head taller than her. "So you're the girl that I can't seem to catch! The whole court's abuzz with rumors. Half the guards say you can take them in a fight. Is it true?"

She grinned, slow and creeping like a cat. "Almost."

"And what's not?"

"It's not just half the guards I can take. It's all of them." His blood smelled like juice, light and sweet, proportionate to his green hair.

"Bet I'd beat you," He replied.

She sized him up. He had muscle on her, that was true, but she has years of experience and other gifts to aide her. "I think not."

He playfully swatted at her. She laughed, caught his wrist. They engaged for a few moments, disguising light touches with blows. It was clear she far outmatched him. Her legs swept his out from under him and the landed in a heap on the floor.

"I win." She smiled playfully and helped him up.

"You certainly did."

Knotrium swore if she blinked, her eyelashes would touch his. "I told you so." She breathed. Then he was kissing her, arms fiercely wrapped around her waist and through her hair. The one night stand she was hoping for was seeming more and more of a possibility. A perfect night, then gone in the morning like normal. No falling into the stupid thrall business like Marc and Cleopatra. There would be no feasting on his blood for her. And yet she could still smell it. She could feel it pulsing through his veins.

Against her better judgement she felt her teeth slide out. He felt them in her mouth and pulled away.

"Are you alright?" He asked her. A bit of fear tinged his voice, similar to what Knotrium had experience earlier in the council room.

Her eyes were wide. The pupils were dilated. "Fine." She said. Her voice was lower than usual. "Just fine." Then her teeth sank into his neck.

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The morning light pierced through the open linen blinds. Knotrium slowly came back to the world. She felt awful, hungover. Her stomach clenched and heaved. She flared her nostrils. A smell, something light and fruity wafted through the room. She stretched and rose with a groan. Mornings were awful. She put her hand on the covers, vaugley thinking of the war and breakfast. It came away wet. Knotrium looked down in suprise. It dripped with red, moltent rubies of blood.

The headache was still there, and no memories from the night before were returning. With apprehension, she directed her gaze to the opposite side of the bed. There lay a boy, almost all but drained of blood, mint hair squashed down. The thrall bond pulsed within her chest. He hadn't even told her his name. She leaned over and threw up over the side of the bed.

What had she done?

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