Blood of the Laurel

Blood of the Laurel

Ishmael BORLABI

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Once beloved by the empire and betrothed to its greatest general, Cassia Valerius is betrayed and branded a traitor. Her family is slaughtered, and she is cast out to die in the wastelands beyond the empire's reach. But death never came. Instead, a forgotten god offered her life in exchange for vengeance. Now, years later, Cassia returns under a new name. Masked, feared, and wielding divine power, she infiltrates the very empire that destroyed her-intent on burning it from within. But fate is cruel, and so is love. Marcus Draven, the man who betrayed her, is now the Emperor's right hand. He believes she's dead. She plans to use his love to destroy him. But their bond was never ordinary-and neither are the gods watching them.

Chapter 1 The Laurel Burns

The execution did not happen.

Cassia Valerius had accepted her death. She had closed her eyes as the guards dragged her from the Forum, her hands bound in iron, her wrists bruised from the weight of the empire's betrayal. She had felt the blade of judgment-cold, sharp, waiting.

But the gods had other plans.

The soldiers, loyal to their orders but shaken by doubt, were intercepted on a deserted road past the city's edge. A sandstorm rose without warning, howling like a beast loosed from the underworld. Horses reared. Men screamed. And when it passed, Cassia was gone.

She awoke in darkness, face buried in sand, throat dry as ash. All around her: silence.

She was alive.

But her world had burned.

Three weeks passed in a haze of pain and wandering. The desert stretched endless and cruel, the sun a constant blade overhead. She should have died many times. She didn't. Something kept her moving. Something beneath her skin whispered, Not yet.

It was on the twenty-third night, delirious and near death, that she found the temple.

Or rather-it found her.

The ruins rose from the sands like broken bones, columns shattered, altar cracked down the center. Vines coiled around black marble like veins. And in the center, untouched by time or heat, lay a single laurel crown-withered, but still whole.

She should have turned away.

Instead, Cassia stepped forward, barefoot, bloodied, and whispered the only name she still dared to believe in:

"Velarion."

The ground trembled. The wind stilled. The sky opened.

And from the altar rose a voice-not kind, not cruel, but hungry.

"Do you seek vengeance, Cassia Valerius?"

She fell to her knees, trembling.

"Yes."

"Then give me your heart."

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