Houston, we have a problem. A very big one that is bleeding out by the second.
It takes everything in me to keep my face calm as if I know what it is I'm doing, while internally I'm screaming every swear word known to man.
My eyes flicker over to Emperor Helio, but his matching gold eyes are shut as if he were taking a nap rather than painting the stone floor of the amphitheater a new color. It's soaking into my skirt and coating my hands and filling my eyes until all I can see is red.
My hands shake on my father's chest as unwelcome possibilities run through my head. Yes, I would be happy to have Augustus take the throne, but he's far from ready. He'd get eaten up and spat out within five years if he's lucky. Not to mention, two words keep plaguing my subconscious during my weaker moments: what if?
