Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 64 64

"Including,"

Marcus remained expressionless, "but not now."

Ilithyia let out a "puchi" laugh. This ti the laugh was a bit more sincere.

"You're even more interesting than I thought. Fine, I agree. Then now… can I collect so deposit first?"

"What deposit?"

"A kiss,"

Ilithyia leaned closer, her breath brushing against his face. "Consider it… the seal of our cooperation."

Marcus did not dodge.

He lowered his head and kissed her lips.

This kiss was different from Leta's wild abandon, different from Mira's careful gentleness, and without Saxa's unrestrained indulgence.

It carried the unique reserve and restraint of a noblewoman, yet beneath it hid a hunger that had been suppressed for too long and was about to overflow.

It was a long ti before the two separated.

Ilithyia's cheeks were flushed, her breathing a little rapid.

"I have to go,"

She tidied her slightly ssy hair. "I need to return to the mansion before dawn."

Marcus saw her to the door.

"Be careful on the way."

"You too,"

Ilithyia put on her hood. Before leaving, she looked back at him once more, her eyes complex. "By the way, the day after tomorrow is Venus Festival. According to custom, I have to go pray at the Temple of Venus in the west of the city. There won't be many people there in the afternoon… if you have ti."

With that, she gently pulled open the door. Her figure flashed and rged into the night outside.

Marcus closed the door and stood leaning against the door panel for a long ti.

His mind was a bit chaotic.

Ilithyia's defection, Gracchus's secret military equipnt, Valerius's conspiracy, Sextus's investigation… and that kiss earlier that carried the scent of lavender.

He walked to the washbasin, scooped up a ladle of cold water, and washed his face fiercely.

Calm down. He must stay calm.

The water in this pool was getting muddier and muddier. One wrong step and he might never recover.

He sat back in the chair and forced himself to organize his thoughts.

Ilithyia's motive should be genuine — her resentnt toward Gracchus, her dissatisfaction with the status quo, and… that indescribable interest in him.

This could be used.

Gracchus's private stockpiling of military equipnt was a major handle, but it could not be thrown out now.

It had to wait for the most critical mont.

On Valerius's side, Scarface and Lucius were the breakthroughs.

Sextus… he needed to find a way to win him over.

This old senator was strict, but he did things by the rules.

If he could make him believe that Gracchus had problems, things would be much easier.

And there were Leta, Saxa, Octavius, Mira, Lucretia…

Faces flashed through his mind.

These people were now all tied to his rope.

They were his chips, and also his responsibility.

…

On the afternoon of Venus Festival, the Temple of Venus in the west of Capua was indeed quiet.

The temple was not large in scale, but it was exquisitely built.

Snow-white marble pillars, walls with colorful reliefs, and in the center stood a statue of the goddess Venus — not the common bare-chested and exposed-breast image, but a dignified one wearing an elegant long robe and holding roses, which quite fit Capua's local conservative customs.

When Marcus arrived, there were only two or three white-haired old won inside, kneeling in front of the statue and murmuring prayers.

He found a bench in the corner and sat down, pretending to be tired from walking and resting.

About a quarter of an hour later, there was movent at the temple door.

Ilithyia had arrived.

She was wearing a white long dress appropriate for the festival. The fabric was obviously expensive. Her hair was combed neatly without a strand out of place, adorned with a pearl headpiece. Her face had just the right amount of light makeup.

Two obedient-looking female slaves followed behind her, but at the temple door, she waved her hand.

"You wait outside. I… want to pray quietly by myself."

"Yes, my lady."

Ilithyia walked into the temple alone.

She first knelt reverently in front of the statue, offered a bunch of fresh lilies, moved her lips, and recited prayers.

After finishing, she stood up and, as if strolling casually, slowly walked to the bench beside Marcus.

"Is there… anyone sitting here?"

She asked softly, her gaze calmly looking forward.

"No one. Please sit, my lady."

Marcus moved aside.

Ilithyia sat down gracefully. There was about one person's distance between them. To anyone looking, they would only seem like strangers who happened to sit together.

"The weather today is really nice,"

Ilithyia looked at the sunlight coming through the colored windows, as if talking to herself.

"Yes, my lady. It's a good day for praying for blessings."

"I heard that behind this temple there is a small garden full of roses. At this season, the roses should be blooming beautifully, right?"

"Really? That would be worth seeing."

"Would you… like to go see it together?"

Ilithyia turned her head. Their gazes t briefly.

"It would be an honor."

The two stood up one after the other, walked out the side door of the main hall, passed through a short gravel corridor, and the view suddenly opened up.

It was indeed a small garden. Not big, but really full of roses!

Red like fire, white like snow, pink like sunset clouds, crowded and blooming vibrantly. The rich floral fragrance rushed toward them, making people feel a little dizzy.

At the deepest part of the garden was a stone pavilion half-covered by ivy and wisteria.

Ilithyia did not stop. She walked straight in.

Marcus followed.

The pavilion was simple, with one stone table and two stone benches.

On the table, however, were a jug of wine and two silver cups, obviously prepared in advance.

"I had the maids prepare it,"

Ilithyia said as she picked up the jug, filled two cups, and pushed one toward Marcus. "Consider it… a celebration of our cooperation?"

Marcus took the cup but did not drink.

"Afraid I'll poison you?"

Ilithyia smiled, then tilted her head back and took a sip herself.

"Not that,"

Marcus shook his head. "It's just that drinking in the afternoon easily causes trouble."

"Then we won't drink,"

Ilithyia put down the cup, walked in front of him, looked up at him, and her hand rose, gently resting on the buckle of his leather armor. "Shall we… do sothing else?"

Her movents were unhurried, yet carried an irresistible aning.

Marcus did not move. He simply looked down at her.

"My lady, here…"

"It's very safe here,"

Ilithyia leaned close to his ear, her breath warm. "The priestess here is an old friend of mine. I've already greeted her. No one will co over."

Her voice lowered even more, carrying a slight tremor. "Besides… under the goddess's eyes… doesn't it feel more… exciting?"

Marcus let out a low laugh.

He suddenly moved. One hand gripped her wrist that was undoing the buckle, the other arm wrapped around her waist. With a slight pull, he turned her around and gently pressed her onto the cool stone table.

"Ah!"

Ilithyia let out a low cry, then bit her lower lip. Her eyes, however, shone brightly.

The stone table was ice-cold. Through the thin long dress it made her shiver slightly, but her body quickly heated up.

The pearl headpiece fell to the ground, but she didn't care. She only reached out and tightly wrapped her arms around Marcus's neck, pressing her burning cheek against the side of his neck.

"Harder…"

She whispered in his ear, like a sigh, yet also like a command. "Let … forget him…"

Marcus did as she asked.

…

No one knew how long it took. The waves gradually cald.

Ilithyia lay on the stone table, her chest heaving violently. Her eyes were dazed as she stared at the vines spreading across the pavilion ceiling. She didn't speak for a long ti.

"…You really are sothing."

She finally caught her breath, her voice hoarse as she comnted.

Marcus stood up and slowly tidied his own clothes.

"My lady, it's ti to go back. It's been too long. The female slaves outside might get suspicious."

"Mmm…"

Ilithyia propped herself up to sit, her movents a little weak.

She picked up the headpiece from the ground, used the reflection in the leftover wine on the table to roughly tidy her ssy long hair and wrinkled dress.

The ambiguous, sticky atmosphere between the two quickly faded, returning to a proper and distant appearance.

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