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Chapter Text

Rome 209 AD 

The gates of Rome emerged into Amira’s eyesight, never had she thought she would gaze upon the Empires mighty gates. 

Since her birth, she had known she was destined to become a pawn in the game of Judah court, her fathers. The kingdom was under the firm thumb of the great Roman Empire, its Imperators Geta and Caracalla ruling with an iron fist, often leading to famines and unrest in her homeland. She understood her purpose was to appease the Emperor, to draw kindness out of a madman, a task many thought impossible.

Amira’s handmaids tended to her hair, dark curls which had been blown in the mighty winds of the seas they had crossed to make the journey from Judea to Rome. She felt a pit of anxiety begin to settle in her chest, the rumors of the Emperor's cruelty had not failed to reach her ears, what life awaited her beyond these gates? 

She knew not of Roman politics and lifestyle, but whilst in Judea was able to assist her Father in duties that weighed heavily on his shoulders, she felt herself capable of ruling a kingdom- but an empire? 

Perhaps she would be expected only to produce an heir, but the deep sense of individuality and desire for power burnt under her skin, a fire pit within her soul raged, kindled by the determination to save her people. 

The carriage she rode in bumped and shook along the cobblestone pathway that led into the city, as they passed she saw beggars and the sick desperate for food. 

“Miriam, have the guard stop the carriage, allow the Praetorian to feed these poor souls.” 

“Your highness, it is unnecessary for you to-“

“Nonsense, It is not as if we do not have much to spare.” An air of finality hung in her voice, and with that the carriage came to a stop.

Praetorian guards lined with baskets of fruits and grain stepped forth, hearing the desperate cries of 

the people around her, she began to realize the desperate state of the Empires subjects

“The gods have sent us a saint, a blessing!” 

“Praise the Emperors!” 

Praetorian guards exchanged  a confused yet hopeful glance with each other, perhaps Rome would not crumble after all. They finished their task, restationing themselves at the front of her carriage and continued on their way to Palatine Hill. 

Imperial Palace 

The carriage made its way to the foot of the palace, Amira’s eyes found their way up the staircase that was lined by men wearing armor lined with purple linens, marking them as Praetorian, her gaze falling on two men that seemed to command the attention of the lands, their presence imposing a mighty and dangerous haze upon those around them. 

She was helped out of the carriage and began the trek up the stairs, the very stairs that provided a path to her new life.

Her attention was caught by the taller of the two men, a golden laurel sat upon a head of fiery red hair, a pale yet muscular frame was draped in robes of white and gold, he looked as if one of their gods was standing in her presence, his face as set in stone as the busts that lined the pillars around them. 

A look she couldn’t quite decipher firmly sat on his face, his lips in a line but a fire, a calculated ambition, and power lay behind his eyes. He radiated quiet strength, which surprised her after hearing the stories of their eccentric behaviors. 

Her attention shifted to the shorter of the two, she was met with the same hair and skin tone as his brother, but his face held a different story. While Geta’s eyes held a semblance of stability, his brothers was the flaming opposite.

“You are welcomed to these lands by the grace of your Imperators, Emperor Caracalla, and Emperor Geta.” A voice of someone called out.

She fought back a huff, she had only arrived, and yet the two had felt the need to establish their dominance feigned with kindness. 

As she stood before the Emperors, her eyes met Geta’s. She could not deny he was attractive, he oozed an aura of power and control. 

“My lady, we hope that your travels have been kind, I am Geta.” He reached for her hand, bowing at the waist. As Geta  lifted himself, his brother quickly replaced him. 

“ Yes, we hope the palace shall be to your, satisfaction, I trust you shall seek me out if you are of need of any assistance.” A smirk found its way on his face. She had heard of Caracalla’s conquest of maidens and gentlemen alike, yet she found herself surprised at his words. 

She kneeled to the ground “My Imperators, your kindness knows no bounds.” As she stood, maids adorned her with rose petals falling from above. 

Geta and Amira’s eyes once again met, the found in each other the same cool ambition, a spark had been lit within both of them, and the combination would prove to only grow this flame.

Chapter Text

Imperial Palace 

It had been nearly a week since she had arrived in Rome, and Amira was beginning to settle into her new life as well as she could. The grand marble halls of the imperial palace were overwhelming, both in their opulence and their cold, calculating silence. Every hallway seemed to echo with the weight of history, and every passing servant or soldier seemed to be watching her—gauging her, measuring her

. Her handmaiden, Miriam, had been a lifeline of familiarity, the one constant in an ever-shifting world. She had never been away from home for so long, never alone in a city so full of strangers. Miriam’s presence, as a small bridge to her homeland, gave her some comfort amid the uncertainty.

Her days passed with an almost suffocating routine. She would meet with advisors, learn the intricacies of Roman customs, and try, in vain, to understand the machinations of a court that was as much about power as it was about appearances. The whispers of Rome echoed everywhere—every shadow seemed to carry the words of the Senate, speaking of rising discontent among the colonies. Judea, her homeland, was the subject of heated debate. Protests had erupted there, and tensions were rising.

Amira’s heart ached at the news. Her father had sent her to Rome with a single purpose: to secure more freedoms for the people of Judea, to convince the Senate that their harsh rule needed to end. But the task seemed more daunting with each passing day. She knew that her position—her betrothal to Geta might grant her some power, but she had seen enough of Roman politics to know that influence was never as simple as it seemed. The Senate’s whispers were louder than any promises made in the imperial palace, and she had no idea who to trust.

One afternoon, as she sat in the private garden with Miriam, the scent of roses in the air doing little to calm her thoughts, Amira found her mind returning to the protests in Judea. She had received a letter from her father earlier in the week—brief and terse, but enough to stir her determination. Her homeland was on the brink of something greater than unrest. She had to act.

Miriam’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You seem troubled, my lady.”

Amira turned her gaze to her handmaiden, meeting her eyes with a forced smile. “It is nothing, Miriam. Just… trying to understand what I can do here. How I can help my people.”

Miriam placed a gentle hand on hers. “You have already come so far, Amira. This city—this Empire—it will take time, but you have strength. I’ve seen it in you.”

Amira’s gaze shifted, watching the servants pass by, but her thoughts remained elsewhere. Miriam was right, of course. She had strength—her resolve had always been her greatest asset—but she needed more than that. She needed leverage.

Amira glanced up at the towering walls of the palace in the distance, a symbol of both her new life and the political games she was now forced to play. She could feel the undercurrent of tension building—every conversation, every meeting with the Senate felt like a battle waiting to erupt. Her father had tasked her with a mission, but Amira had come to realize something crucial in these few days: her mission, though important, was just one of many battles to be fought.

It was time to learn more—about Rome, about the Senate, about those in power, including Geta.

“I must find a way to understand their politics more deeply, Miriam,” Amira said quietly, the weight of her words sinking in. “If I am to help Judea, I must first secure my position here.”

Her handmaiden gave her a knowing look. “And what of the Emperor?” Miriam’s tone was delicate but pointed.

Amira’s lips parted as she considered the question. Geta. He had been distant, yet in his coldness, there was something magnetic. She had been careful around him, treading lightly in their interactions. The tension between them was palpable, charged with an unspoken understanding of their mutual responsibilities. Yet she had also sensed something else—a vulnerability in his dominance. He had much to lose, and she, too, was learning that she could be a part of that equation.

“I do not know,” Amira said, her voice barely a whisper. “But perhaps it is time to begin figuring that out.”

Miriam’s gaze softened, but she said nothing more. Instead, she rose, brushing the dirt from her skirts. “Shall I bring you some refreshments, my lady? Or is there something else you require?”

Amira hesitated before shaking her head. “No, I will walk alone for a while. I need time to think.”

As she stood, gazing out at the city of Rome, her mind drifted to the future. The banquet, she knew, would be a pivotal moment—a chance to make her presence known in the court. It was not just about securing favor with the Emperor or getting closer to Geta. It was about positioning herself as someone who could be trusted, someone who had the potential to influence both the Senate and the people of her homeland. But first, she needed to uncover the intricacies of Roman politics, who she could manipulate, who she could trust, and most importantly, how she could use her position to her advantage.

The power she sought was already within her grasp—but Rome was a city of shadows, and she needed to learn to navigate them.

—

Geta and Amira had been suggested by the advisors to get to know each other as her first weeks passed by. She had yet to appear within the senate, her position still not fully solidified as the Emperor finalized the details of their betrothal alongside her father. 

She learned he was deeply impatient. She was sure he was used to immediately receiving whatever it was he sought out, and when his expectations were not met, he would snap at servants and send them to a lower position in the palace. 

They dined often together- such as they currently were-  in more open spaces, not leaving room for rumors to spread amongst the court.

Yet, the subtle tension of unfamiliarity and interest between them lingered in the air, beneath the surface of their polite conversations and shared meals.

Geta leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, studying Amira with a look that suggested he was measuring her every move. His fingers toyed with the stem of his goblet, the slight tremor of the glass betraying the control he constantly exerted over his emotions.

“Tell me, Amira,” Geta asked, his voice low and measured, but with a subtle undercurrent of suspicion. “How are you settling into Rome? Has the city been everything you imagined it to be?”

Amira looked up from her plate, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Rome is… overwhelming,” she replied, her voice soft but steady. “But there is much beauty in its strength, much power in its history. It’s difficult not to be in awe of it.”

Her words were carefully chosen, and she kept her tone neutral, offering no more than he expected. She had learned early on that to say too much was to risk giving away more than was wise.

Geta studied her closely, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Power is a fragile thing,” he said, almost to himself. “It can slip through your fingers in an instant. People think it’s built on strength, but it’s more often built on trust… and control.”

He paused, as if waiting for a response, though Amira wasn’t sure if he was fishing for confirmation or merely speaking his mind. Either way, she needed to tread carefully.

She offered a polite smile, keeping her words measured. “Indeed, my lord. One must navigate these halls with care, for it is easy to underestimate the subtlety of influence here in Rome.”

He seemed to appreciate her response, but his eyes never left her face. “Yes, subtlety… That’s something many fail to grasp,” he said, his voice sharpening ever so slightly. “It’s easy to make noise, but it’s the quiet ones who often carry the most power. Wouldn’t you agree, Amira?”

Amira nodded slowly, her pulse quickening under his scrutinizing gaze. “I would, my lord,” she replied, keeping her voice even. “It is the calm ones, the ones who observe without reacting, who shape the future.”

Geta’s lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. “Wise words,” he said, though his tone was laced with suspicion. “But sometimes, one must act decisively, even when it’s not expected. Don’t you think? Power isn’t just about observation. It’s about knowing when to strike, when to act before others realize what’s happening.”

His eyes locked onto hers, his expression still calculating. “And how do you plan to navigate these waters, Amira? Are you one to simply observe, or do you have something more… decisive in mind?”

Amira’s breath hitched slightly, but she kept her composure. She knew that Geta was probing her, looking for any sign that she might be a threat to him, that she might have hidden ambitions of her own. He would never trust her fully, not yet. But she had to stay in his favor, and that meant playing the part of the dutiful fiancée, without revealing her own cards.

“I’ve always believed in patience, my lord,” she said softly. “It’s important to understand the situation fully before making a move. Sometimes, waiting for the right moment can be more powerful than acting impulsively.”

Geta’s eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening slightly around the stem of his goblet. “Patience,” he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. “Yes, I’ve heard that many people talk about it, but in the end, it’s the decisive ones who make history.”

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes like a blade cutting through her calm facade. “Tell me, Amira,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “do you believe that the people of Rome—or even my own people—will be patient with you? Or do you think they’ll wait for you to show them who you truly are?”

His words hung in the air, thick with meaning. There was no mistake now—he was probing for weaknesses, trying to uncover her true intentions.

Amira met his gaze steadily, her heart racing, but she gave no sign of uncertainty. “I believe, my lord, that in time, I will prove myself to be worthy of their trust. I have no desire to rush their judgment. I will take the time to show them the woman I am, and the woman I will be by your side.”

For a brief moment, Geta’s face softened, his suspicion lingering but not yet confirmed. “Very well,” he said, his voice quieter now, though there was a dark edge to it. “But know this, Amira. In Rome, you must always be one step ahead of the game. If you show even a hint of weakness, it will be exploited. Do not forget who you’re dealing with.”

Amira’s smile was small but steady, her eyes never leaving his. “I would never forget, my lord.”

Geta leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on her, but something in his expression shifted, just slightly. He was still unsure of her, still wary of what she might be hiding, but for now, he was satisfied.

Geta walked the sprawling courtyard pathways alongside Amira, his hands tucked behind his back. 

“There shall be a celebration tonight, I personally extend my invitation to you and your handmaidens, I’m told that in Judea you choose noblewomen to provide you company and guidance, they too are guests of ours.” He offered her a smile, but something about it didn’t seem fully genuine. In truth she thought he looked burdened, almost bored to be in her presence. 

“You show such kindness, my Imperator.” She knew what words to use with men, how they often craved to have their pride stroked.

“I have many matters to attend to, if you require anything you will be provided with it.” He gave her a stiff nod, beginning to make his leave.

Amira reached out and gently grasped Geta’s forearm, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his tunic, feeling the hard muscle beneath. She could sense his discomfort, but she also saw the way his jaw tightened as he held himself still—not used to being touched so freely. 

“Wait,” she said softly, her voice steady, yet carrying an unspoken invitation to pause. “I must thank you, my Imperator. Your hospitality is very much appreciated.”

Her touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary, just long enough to make him aware of it, before she gently withdrew her hand. She couldn’t miss the way his gaze flickered to where her fingers had been, briefly lingering there before he shifted his focus back to her face.

“I trust you understand the complexities of Rome,” she continued, her eyes locking onto his, not with the usual subservience, but with something more calculating. “There’s much to navigate, much to consider.” She let the words fall softly, but the implication was clear: she was not easily intimidated.

Geta’s expression remained impassive, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes, a subtle shift in his stance. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his mind clearly processing her words, even though his exterior remained cool.

“I’ve learned much in my travels,” Amira added, her smile almost teasing now. “But Rome—Rome is… different. Powerful. Dangerous.” 

Geta cleared his throat, his voice low but still polite, almost too measured. “I have my duties, Amira. As I’m sure you have yours.”

Amira tilted her head slightly, feigning innocence as she took a small step back, the distance between them narrowing just a fraction. “Of course, my Imperator. But, perhaps in the future, we could speak again. I would like to hear more of your… perspective on matters.”

The offer was there, laid out in the air between them, but she made no overt move to push it further. Instead, she simply gave him another lingering look—a subtle challenge, a promise that there was more to her than what he saw.

Geta hesitated for a beat, a fleeting moment where his gaze softened ever so slightly, before his usual stoic mask fell back into place. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice strained, as though it pained him to admit there was something about her that kept him intrigued.

With that, he turned, the slight pull of his lips suggesting a semblance of amusement, but his eyes never fully left hers, even as he began to walk away.

Amira stood there, watching him, a quiet satisfaction swelling within her. She hadn’t revealed herself, not completely. But she could feel it—something stirring beneath the surface.

And that, she knew, would be enough for now.

The palace servants had spent hours readying her for the Emperor's celebration. She was told that the palace evenings often ended in grand displays of the Empire's wealth, the Emperor's indulging in the spoils of endless wars. 

As she stepped foot into the sprawling courtyard, she found herself overwhelmed at the sheer chaos unfolding within the walls. Rome's wealthiest all seemed to be in attendance, laughing and conversing over endless fountains of wine and mountains of food. 

A light song was being sung, and performers danced about the sides of the room. In the center sat amongst the whores, sat the two Emperors, each with men and women alike wrapped around them. 

Even in the courts of Judea, she had never seen such a display of wealth and privilege. She looked to her sides where her most trusted friend stood, Miriam looked even more awestruck than herself. As a servant passed by, she grabbed a goblet of wine, perhaps it would settle her nerves. 

It seemed as if no one knew who she was, or perhaps no one cared. Her eyes brushed over the crowd and zeroed in on eyes that already had been seeking out her own.

The weight of his gaze was unmistakable. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and calculating, and for a moment, the noise of the revelry seemed to fade into the background. The clinking of goblets, the laughter, the music—it all blurred around her, leaving only him in her focus.

She could feel the tension building between them, a silent challenge that neither of them had yet acknowledged. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. With Geta, there was something more—something that pulled at her, igniting a flicker of interest she couldn’t fully ignore, but she mustn’t forget her own agendas. 

She took a slow, deliberate sip from her goblet, allowing the sweet wine to linger on her tongue before lowering it. Her gaze never left his. His face remained impassive, but his eyes held a depth of intention, as if he was measuring her, testing her.

Without breaking their stare, Geta leaned slightly to his side, speaking softly to someone nearby. It wasn’t for her benefit, but she heard his words nonetheless. A subtle motion, a whisper only meant for those who knew how to listen.

The crowd swirled around them, but Amira remained rooted in place, her presence commanding attention without uttering a word. She didn’t need to announce her purpose, not yet. She was here to see, to observe, to learn the nuances of this world she had entered, and most importantly, to understand the game she would have to play.

Her gaze shifted slightly as a servant passed by, offering her another goblet. She shook her head, her attention still fixed on Geta. 

Something about the man drew her attention, his presence commanding and attractive to many women, it was clear from the many eyes that lingered on him, but his eyes were focused on her. 

Before he could act, Caracalla noticed her presence. He stood, throwing his arms out “Ah! If it isn’t my brother's Judean Princess!” He laughed, a high-pitched crackling sound. 

“Caracalla,” Geta said, his voice low but cutting, “perhaps you should save your wit for the feast. Or have you already exhausted it?”

A tense silence followed, and for a moment, it seemed as if the air itself was holding its breath.

Caracalla’s smirk faltered, but only slightly. He gave a mocking bow, his tone dripping with insincerity. “As you wish, dear brother. The stage is yours.” Caracalla stumbled back down into the couch they had been lounging on, immediately the hands of the whores around him found his body. 

Amira approached the twins, the memory of her encounter with Geta fresh in her mind.

“Lady Amira,” he said, stepping forward, his voice steady but tinged with an unfamiliar warmth.  “You’ve finally graced us with your presence.” He lifted his goblet slightly, as though in salute. “Rome is brighter tonight.”

Amira offered a polite bow of her head, though the intensity of his amber gaze left her throat dry. She was confused by his actions, even just earlier in the day his tone had been much more firm, yet now it seemed as if he was a new person. 

“Your Highness, I would not dare to miss such a grand celebration. The honor is mine to be in your company.”

His eyes flickered over her, lingering just a moment too long before he spoke again. “Flattery suits you,” he said softly, his tone balanced between sincerity and almost suggestive. “Come, join us. Surely you won’t allow my brother to monopolize all the entertainment.”

He gestured to the seat beside him, and she hesitated for only a moment before obliging. As the evening wore on, Geta’s words grew softer, his proximity closer. His scent—rich and earthy, mingled with the sharp tang of wine—filled her senses.

At one point, his hand accidentally brushed hers lightly as he reached for the carafe of wine between them. She froze, the brief contact sending an unexpected jolt through her. 

“Forgive me,” he murmured, though the way his lips curved suggested he wasn’t entirely sincere. “I’ve had perhaps too much wine. Or perhaps it’s simply your presence, Amira, that proves distracting.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, though she quickly looked down at the goblet in her hands. “You are too kind, Your Highness,” she replied, her voice steady, though her heart raced beneath her calm exterior.

As the night deepened, Geta’s restraint seemed to fray ever so slightly. His posture, once rigid and composed, relaxed into something more fluid, his words tinged with boldness. He leaned in closer when he spoke, the space between them narrowing with each passing hour.

Amira couldn’t ignore the shift—the way his gaze lingered longer, the weight of his presence at her side growing heavier. Though he never crossed a line, the tension between them was palpable, an unspoken current that neither seemed willing to fully acknowledge. Throughout the night, they laughed, telling tales of childhood, of their upbringings, meaningful memories that shaped them to who they were. 

“I trust you are enjoying yourself tonight,” he said, his voice lower than before, his eyes searching hers.

“I am,” she replied, her tone measured, though the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her. “It was… enlightening.”

“Good,” he said simply, though the way his lips curled into a faint smile left her wondering just how much of her thoughts he had guessed.

Amira slipped out of the feast hall, the overwhelming noise and drunken revelers pushing her toward the cool solitude of the corridors. She paused by one of the towering windows, the pale moonlight casting soft shadows across her figure.

The soft rustle of fabric behind her pulled her from her thoughts. Turning, she found Geta approaching, his movements unhurried but deliberate. He had discarded some of his earlier stiffness; his golden laurels were slightly askew, and the wine from the night lingered in the faint flush of his cheeks.

You left,” he said simply, his voice low and resonant.

“I needed air,” she replied, but the words barely left her lips before he closed the distance between them in a few deliberate strides.

“You should have told me,” he murmured, his tone soft yet edged with something raw. His eyes searched hers, and before she could answer, he lifted his hand, his fingertips brushing against her cheek.

The touch sent a shiver down her spine. “I—I didn’t think it necessary,” she managed, though her voice faltered under the weight of his nearness.

His gaze lingered on her, darkened by something she couldn’t quite name. “You enamor me Amira, in ways that others before have never done,” he said, his hand shifting to cradle her jaw, his thumb skimming along the edge of her cheekbone. The gentle pressure was maddening, her pulse quickening beneath his touch. “We have only just met, and yet I find myself drawn to you.”  

“Geta…” she began, her breath hitching as he leaned in closer. Her back pressed against the cool marble of the wall behind her, trapping her in place, though she made no move to resist.

He tilted his head, his lips hovering near her ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, the words more plea than demand.

Amira’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, her heart pounding as if trying to break free from her ribs. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the tension between them almost unbearable. But instead of answering, her silence spoke volumes, her wide, searching eyes meeting his with a mixture of fear and desire.

Geta pulled back just enough to study her face, his own features tight with restraint. His fingers trailed from her cheek to her chin, lingering there for a moment before he finally stepped back, his hands falling to his sides as if burned. “Not yet,” he said, his voice hoarse, the effort of his self-control evident in every syllable.

Amira remained against the wall, her knees weak, her breath unsteady. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, even as he turned away, his form disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. The lingering heat of his touch haunted her skin, and though he was gone, the moment remained etched in her mind, a fire she couldn’t extinguish.

Chapter Text

Amira woke with a pounding headache, the events of the night before rolling back into memory. A blush crept over her cheeks, embarrassed, she realized that she had so easily fallen into her desires. 

Geta must think of me no better than his whores. She thought to herself. What would this mean for her? Perhaps he would call her a temptress and cast her from the palace, a strange flicker of hope followed the thought—could this lead to something more? Something… real?

Her heart was a mess of conflicting emotions—her ambitions fighting against something deeper she couldn’t ignore.

As servants prepared her for the day, a rush of fear came over her, “Servant, have you seen the rings that I wear?” 

“No, my lady, you did not return last night with rings on your fingers.” The unfamiliar servant stated, her voice slightly shaking. 

These rings had belonged to her family that had come before her, the only remaining pieces she had of her old life, their value was priceless.

The servant promised to keep an eye out, Amira left her chamber, spinning with slight paranoia that something had happened. 

She sat in the courtyard, keeping herself entertained with the many writings that the library possessed. 

Footsteps approached her, as she looked up, she met eyes with none other than her betrothed. 

“Lady Amira,” His gaze was cold and indifferent, “I wished to find you, to- offer my regrets at my actions, it seems that I drank myself into committing actions unlike myself.” There was an air of awkwardness, neither willing to fully address what had transpired the night before.

Amira’s gaze held his for a moment longer, studying the mask of indifference he wore so effortlessly. Regrets? she thought, feeling a surge of frustration. “No matter, I understand how wine clouds the mind, makes us act, outlandish.” She offered him a tight smile. 

“You are to be my wife, my empress, I guarantee you will be treated with such respect.” 

“Of course,” she replied, her voice even. “A marriage built on respect, and duty. We both have our roles to play.”

For a brief moment, the silence between them stretched as if they were both pondering the weight of what they were about to endure. Then, as though struck by a sudden realization, Amira’s hand moved to her finger—where her rings once lay. 

“Speaking of respect…” she began, her voice betraying a hint of unease, “I noticed something this morning. My rings… They are missing.” Her eyes darted to him, measuring his reaction. “I had worn them since childhood, a gift from my homeland. I—”

Her words faltered as she caught the subtle narrowing of his eyes. He made no comment, his face unreadable. She bit back the sudden wave of panic threatening to rise in her chest.

“They will be returned,” Geta said curtly, his tone colder than before. “Do not concern yourself with such trivialities.”

Before Amira could protest further, he turned away, his commanding stride taking him out of the room without another word.

—

As Amira went about her day, she soon grew bored. Rome was a lonely place to her, she had yet to explore, or make companions. Perhaps she never truly would have friends in this land, an Empress could never fully trust those around her. 

As she explored a part of the palace she had yet to come across, voices emerged from the walls. 

She found herself walking into a smaller library, one she didn't know existed. A woman, a similar age to her mothers sat reading texts. She was beautiful, golden blonde hair wrapped in braids around her head. She had a soft and gentle look to her, almost motherly.

The woman’s head turned towards her, a gentle smile broke across her face.The woman looked up as Amira approached, her eyes kind and steady, yet with a wisdom that spoke of many years lived. “Ah, forgive me,” she said softly, setting her book aside. “I did not hear you enter. You must be Lady Amira.”

“Yes,” Amira replied, feeling a sudden, unspoken connection with the woman. “I didn’t know this place existed.”

“It is a quiet refuge,” the woman said with a soft smile, her voice soothing like a lullaby. “A place where I come to think, away from the noise of the world.” She paused, studying Amira with a discerning, almost maternal gaze. 

“I am Lucilla, Daughter of Marcus Aurelius.” 

A gasp fell from Amira’s lips, “My lady, forgive my intrusion, I did not recognize your face.” She was embarrassed at intruding on a Princess, especially one of such stature. She was the daughter of Rome's former Emperor, loved by the people.

“No matter child, sit with me.” She gestured to the chair next to her. 

Amira sat down beside Lucilla, feeling a strange mix of comfort and curiosity. Lucilla, sensing her need for connection, began to speak of her own history with Geta and Caracalla, her voice steady but laced with a quiet sorrow.

“I have been in the Emperors lives for a very long time, you know,” Lucilla began softly, her gaze distant as if looking back through time. “After their mother passed, it was I who tried to fill the void. I was their constant, their guide, but the damage had already been done. Their father was cruel, his reign, his temper, it broke them. No matter how much I tried to be there, to care for them, they were too far gone, too damaged to be healed by anything I had to offer.”

She paused, her eyes clouded with a mix of grief and understanding. “I think, in many ways, they were already lost to their father’s cruelty long before their mother died. And when she left, they were just… adrift. I did what I could, but I was never their mother. They were too hardened, too guarded.”

Lucilla’s words carried the weight of experience, of years spent trying to mend wounds that could never fully heal. There was a quiet regret in her voice, but also a certain acceptance, as if she’d long ago reconciled with the fact that some things were beyond her control.

“Their relationship is complicated,” Lucilla continued. “I don’t think either of them ever truly recovered from their father’s treatment. But they both want power in their own ways. You’ll learn quickly that they are not as they seem—especially Geta.” She glanced over at Amira, her eyes sharpening. “He will never show weakness, not to anyone. And Caracalla, well… he wears his cruelty like armor.” 

Amira listened intently, her heart aching for the two princes, yet feeling the weight of Lucilla’s warning. This was the family she was now a part of—broken, complicated, and dangerous. But perhaps, with Lucilla’s insight, Amira could learn to navigate it.

Lucilla leaned back slightly, her expression softening as she spoke of her experiences. “I’ve had my fair share of dealings with emperors,” she began, her tone steady, though her words carried the weight of deep experience. “My brother, Commodus, was a difficult one to navigate. His reign was chaotic, unpredictable, driven by ego and fear.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I learned early on how to maneuver in a court ruled by a volatile emperor. It’s not just about power, but perception. What Commodus craved most was adoration, and his insecurities made him easy to manipulate if you knew how to play to his ego. I spent much of my life either trying to keep peace between him and others or managing the fallout of his rash decisions. It wasn’t easy, but it taught me how to survive.”

Lucilla’s eyes turned sharp as she glanced at Amira. “The same principle applies to Geta and Caracalla. They may be broken in different ways, but they’re still men who seek power, approval, and control. I know how to read them, to understand their desires and fears. And that’s how you survive in a world like this—by understanding the emperor’s mind, even when that emperor is your brother, or your future husband.”

She gave a small, knowing smile. “It’s all about knowing who to trust, when to speak, and when to remain silent. And above all, understanding that power, once tasted, is a dangerous thing to lose.”

Amira found herself revisiting the words Lucilla had shared with her. Lucilla would make a strong ally within the court, one that she so desperately needed. Her favor would in turn gain the favor of the people, who so desperately loved her. 

When she returned to her chamber, she found her rings sat at the table next to her bed, alongside she saw a note that read

 “The scum who has stolen from you, and in turn our Empire awaits their fate in the dungeons, their fate rests in your hands. Do as you wish.” 

Chapter Text

Imperial Palace

Amira didn’t know what to do with the hand she had been dealt. She sat in a study, contemplating her next move when the door suddenly opened, revealing Caracalla. 

Her eyes widened, the Emperor had never sought out her company in her time there so far, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

“Lady Amira,” he said, his voice soft yet dripping with malice. “I thought it time we… became better acquainted.”

Amira stood, hands clutching the edge of the table to steady herself. “Your Majesty,” she greeted cautiously, keeping her tone measured. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Caracalla’s lips curled into a smirk as he approached, his eyes scanning her with unnerving intensity. “You’re an interesting little creature, aren’t you? Imported from some distant land, thrust into the role of my brother’s bride.”

Amira’s heart raced, though she kept her expression neutral. “My place is at Lord Geta’s side.”

“Ah, yes,” Caracalla said, circling her slowly like a predator stalking its prey. “My dutiful little brother. Always so proper, so restrained. But tell me, Amira—” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper—“does he truly excite you? Inspire loyalty? Or are you merely biding your time?”

Amira stiffened, her pulse pounding in her ears. “You presume too much, Your Majesty.”

Caracalla chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. “Perhaps. But I’ve seen women like you before—clever, ambitious. You could have the world at your feet if you played your cards right. Yet here you are, tied to a man who wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

Amira’s jaw tightened, anger flaring beneath her calm exterior. “I am here to serve Rome, not to indulge in fantasies.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Caracalla’s tone turned mocking. “Loyalty to Rome, to Geta. How noble. How dull.” He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You deserve more than he can give you, Amira. Why not reach for it?”

She stepped back, putting distance between them, her expression sharpening. “I think, Your Majesty, that you mistake me for someone else. I am not so easily swayed.”

Caracalla straightened, his smirk faltering for a brief moment before he masked it with his usual bravado. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “After all, everyone has their breaking point.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving Amira shaken but resolute. She exhaled slowly, her thoughts a swirl of defiance and unease. If Caracalla thought he could manipulate her so easily, he had sorely underestimated her.

Caracalla's nature deeply unsettled Amira, his motive of dividing her and Geta clear. She couldn’t understand why he would confront her so directly, meeting with an unmarried woman and speaking so suggestively, but she supposed that when you were the Emperor, you could do as you wish. 

She contemplated telling Geta what had happened, but she thought it might be better for her to keep it to herself to see how Caracalla’s behavior would progress. 

-

Today the betrothed were to take their midday meal together. Amira was led to the Emperor's private dining hall, and she found herself nervous about being in private with the Emperor again after the tension between them. 

It seemed that Geta had arrived before her, his private guards already stationed at the door. They opened them for her and stopped the men who had been assigned to her, “The Emperor requests a private meal with his lady.” 

Her pulse quickened with nerves, she now had a chance to freely discuss matters of politics without fear of eavesdropping. She walked into the hall, spotting Geta at the head of a smaller table than the main hall. 

“Lady Amira, be seated.” He motioned to the seat across from him. She sat, attempting to maintain poise in the face of the Emperor. 

“I trust what has been stolen has been returned to you?” Geta remained stoic. 

“Yes, but I must ask what your intentions are for me to do with her.” Amira, keeping her voice light so as not to offend him.

“As was written, it is your decision.” He challenged. She could tell that this was a test from the other twin. 

“I wish her to be questioned and executed, we must uncover if she is simply a thief or has alternative motives.” She said firmly. 

“She is but a pathetic thief, you truly think she was capable of plotting against us?” He scoffed at her.

“You must not underestimate anyone Geta, I had yet to see her in my time here and every other time has been the same servant, it intrigues me that the only time she visited my chambers she stole an identifying piece of jewelry for me.” She wanted Geta to understand that she was still a princess of a nation that had its own enemies. 

“It is wise of you to be safe my lady, but I assure you there must be no plot against you, but the reason I requested your presence was of more, serious matters,” He paused, and she wondered what he could possibly be so hesitant to address “There must be a discussion of our wedding, it will be of the Roman tradition of course.” 

He sounded so firm in his words, which further angered her. 

"I would like to incorporate a few small traditions from my homeland—not for myself, of course," she added quickly, her eyes lowering demurely, "but to show the people of Judea that their heritage will be respected in Rome. It could strengthen their loyalty to the Empire and to you."

Geta's gaze sharpened, and she knew he was weighing her words. "What sort of traditions?" he asked, his voice even but guarded.

"Simple ones," Amira replied with a smile she knew could disarm him. "A shared cup of wine during the ceremony, perhaps. It symbolizes unity and mutual respect. And a canopy—a Roman version of the chuppah. It would show that our marriage is a strong foundation for the future of the Empire."

Geta leaned back, studying her with a critical eye. "And you think this will sway your people?"

"I do," she said, her voice steady. "They have always been a proud people, my lord. Seeing their traditions honored even in the smallest way would mean much to them. And, if I may be so bold," she added, her tone softening, "it would show that you are not just a conqueror but a ruler who understands the power of unity."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze calculating. Then he gave a short nod. "Very well. But it will be done subtly. I will not have Roman traditions overshadowed."

"Of course, my lord," Amira said, bowing her head to hide the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. "I only wish to serve Rome and our future."

Chapter Text

Amira was to make her first appearance in the Senate the next day, she was a bundle of nerves not because she was afraid of those who she would talk to, but because of the weight of her plot to advance supplies and relieve work effort for her people. 

Judea had long been under the control of the Roman Empire, taxes and religious restrictions stripped her people of their will to succeed. 

She felt confident in her ability to inevitably sway the Senate, however the unpredictable Emperors were her greatest challenge. Geta was firm and ambitious in his rulings, while Caracalla thrived in madness. 

Unable to find herself sleep, she walked the corridors, shadows dancing around the walls with the flickering of flames. She came upon a chamber she was unfamiliar with, guards standing out outside as she peered around the corner. 

Suddenly a hand came over her mouth, a body pushing her against the wall. Fear danced in her as she prepared to scream for the guards nearby but as she was turned around, she realized her captor was none other than Geta.

“What are you doing here, you frightened me!” She asked, gasping as soon as he removed his hand. 

“Says the one sneaking around my chambers.” He raised an eyebrow, peering down at her with an expression of questioning on his brow. 

“I- I did not realize, I must apologize, my Emperor. I simply couldn’t find rest and thought a stroll may help me relax.” She kept her voice soft, it was improper of her to be seen so late into the night with him, and rumors could spread like a flame tossed on a pile of wood, rumors that would destroy her plan of finding favor in the Senate.

Geta stepped closer, his expression hardening as his shadow loomed over her. “Is that so? Or have you decided that my halls are yours to wander as you please, like a queen before her coronation?” His tone was sharp, cutting through her like a blade.

Her breath hitched, but she steadied herself, refusing to wilt beneath his glare. “It was an honest mistake, I assure you. I simply sought peace to calm my thoughts before tomorrow’s court.”

“Peace?” He let out a low laugh, though there was no warmth in it. “You speak as if you’ll find peace in the lion’s den. The court will tear you apart if you misstep, Amira. Even I won’t shield you from the consequences.”

She stiffened, his words a deliberate strike, meant to unsettle her. “I don’t expect shielding, my Emperor. Only a fair chance to prove myself—to them, and to you.”

Geta’s brow arched, his mouth curling into a humorless smile. “How ambitious of you. But ambition doesn’t impress me. I’ve seen enough of it to last a lifetime.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower, darker. “Do you know what happens to those who let their ambition outrun their loyalty?”

Her pulse quickened, but she refused to back down. “I am loyal, my Emperor. To you, to Rome.”

“Loyalty is easy to claim,” he said coldly, straightening again. “But it’s proven in action, not words. Tomorrow will show me which you are better at.”

Amira’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice calm, steady. “I will not disappoint you.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing and unrelenting. Then, as if bored, he turned away, pacing toward the door. “See that you don’t. You already walk on unsteady ground, Amira. A misstep tomorrow will reflect poorly on more than just you. It will reflect on me.”

Her chest burned with the heat of his dismissal, but she swallowed her frustration, keeping her tone light. “I understand, my Emperor. I will tread carefully.”

Geta paused at the threshold, glancing back at her, his eyes dark and inscrutable. “You’d better. Rome is not kind to those who falter.”

He left without another word, the door closing behind him with an echo that seemed to reverberate in her chest. She exhaled slowly, her fists clenched at her sides.

Even as anger simmered within her, there was another feeling she couldn’t quite name—an electric charge that lingered in the air, a pull she couldn’t deny.

Tomorrow, she vowed, she would stand her ground. Not just for her people, but for herself.

—

Amira often had found herself confused by Geta. The stories she had heard of him were dreadful, a mad Emperor that invoked terror on all who did not willingly give themselves to the Empire, but she found herself wondering if truly these were the actions of him, or his brother. She could tell he had a deeper desire to strengthen the Empire, to bring glory as a vessel of his gods. 

She found herself pondering these things as she made her way down to the dungeons. A guard met her, leading her down into the cold and dark tunnels that ran underneath the palace. 

The “servant” who had stolen her rings sat in a cell, and Amira commanded the guards to bring her to the small table in the chamber. They dragged her by the chains that bound her wrists, she looked around with a crazed look, desperate for a means of escape.

“I have granted you the small mercy of revealing to me your intentions, if you refuse to speak, there will be… consequences. Who sent you to my chambers?” Amira stood before her, a disgusted sneer on her rosy lips. 

“M-my lady, I swear to you it was only for myself, my family and I are in desperate need for coin.” Tears began to stream down the woman’s face, but Amira did not budge. 

“Lies, do not insult me,” Amira began, anger rising in her voice “One of the rings you took bore my family seal, and my name engraved, who sought my ring?” 

Rings such as these were used to identify a person, bearing their name and seal and would only be given to a trusted servant to deliver an important message, proving the legitimacy. Someone must have sought to use her name with malicious intent. 

“My lady I- I swear there is no plot to harm you, I simply needed to sell the rings to feed my family.” The servants hands were shaking, tears streaming down her face.

Amira looked at her with cold and uncaring eyes, she did not fall for this trickery. She gestured to the guard standing by the door. “Bring the irons.”

The woman’s eyes widened in terror. “No! Please, my lady, don’t—”

Amira tilted her head, her tone deceptively calm. “Give me a name, and I will spare your life. Continue lying, and you will beg for the release death brings.”

The servant sobbed, trembling so violently she could barely speak. “The Valerii,” she finally choked out. “It was the Valerii family.”

Amira’s expression remained unreadable, though her pulse quickened at the mention of the powerful family. She turned her back to the woman, pacing slowly.

“Leave her,” she commanded the guards. “Let her rot in her shame and guilt.” She glanced over her shoulder at the servant, her gaze cold. “You’ll live another day for your honesty.”

Relief flooded the servant’s face, and she slumped forward, sobbing uncontrollably.

Amira stepped into the corridor, her face set in stone as she addressed the guard stationed outside the room. Her voice dropped to an icy whisper. “Kill her. Quietly. Make sure no one finds the body.”

The guard hesitated for only a moment before bowing. “As you command, my lady.”

Amira turned and walked down the hall, her composure unshaken. She had what she needed—a name. The Valerii would answer for their actions, and the servant’s loose tongue would ensure no further betrayal from her.

—

Amira was to meet the Senate, before she walked into the chamber, she was stopped by guards. 

“My lady, Emperor Geta has requested you to remain outside until he arrives.” The soldier stepped back into his place.

Before she could argue, she heard the clapping of sandals hitting the marble floors as Geta appeared from around the corner. 

“Amira, my advisor has suggested us to present a united front to the Senate, you will enter with me and sit to my right. Caracalla is.. unwell today and will not be in attendance so you can remain in his throne.” Geta said as if it was the greatest of chores.

“Yes, it is wise of him to suggest so.” Amira replied.

Geta offered a curt nod and extended his arm. “Come. Let us not keep the Senate waiting.”

Amira took his arm lightly, keeping pace with him as they walked into the chamber. The hall was grand, its domed ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes that told stories of Rome’s triumphs. Senators turned their heads as the couple entered, their conversations fading into silence.

Geta strode to the dais, his presence commanding, but it was Amira who drew the Senators’ eyes. She followed gracefully, her expression calm yet thoughtful. As Geta seated himself, she took her place to his right, her posture perfect and poised.

“The Senate convenes today to address matters of grain shortages and labor unrest in the provinces,” Geta began, his tone steady. “Speak your concerns.”

One senator, his face lined with age, rose and addressed the room. “The provinces report dwindling grain supplies due to drought. The people grow restless, my Emperor, and I fear uprisings if this continues.”

Geta’s brow furrowed, but before he could reply, Amira leaned forward slightly, her voice clear and respectful. “Perhaps, my lords, Rome’s granaries could temporarily redirect surplus from neighboring provinces? It would buy time to stabilize the drought-stricken regions without burdening the central stores.”

The senator blinked, caught off guard by her intervention, but nodded slowly. “An astute suggestion, my lady. A temporary measure could indeed prevent unrest while we seek a longer-term solution.”

Another senator, younger and sharper, stood. “And what of the laborers refusing to work in the mines? Their refusal threatens the Empire’s silver production.”

Geta’s lips pressed into a thin line, clearly irritated by the problem. Before he could speak, Amira addressed the room again, her tone measured. “Might the laborers’ conditions be reviewed, my lords? Offering modest incentives or easing certain burdens could encourage them to return without the need for punitive measures, which would only deepen their resentment.”

A murmur ran through the Senate. One senator, who had remained silent thus far, inclined his head. “A wise approach, my lady. Harshness only breeds further dissent.”

Geta’s gaze flicked toward her, his expression unreadable, but he made no attempt to contradict her. “These suggestions,” he said finally, “will be reviewed further by my advisors. Let us continue.”

As the session went on, Amira offered occasional insights, always careful to frame them as complements to Geta’s authority rather than challenges to it. The Senators seemed increasingly impressed by her poise and practicality, and when the session concluded, more than one lingered to offer her quiet words of approval.

As she and Geta exited the chamber, he turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You’ve earned their favor.”

“It was not favor I sought, my Emperor,” Amira replied smoothly. “It was unity for Rome.”

He studied her for a moment, then smirked faintly. “Unity, indeed.”

As he walked ahead, Amira’s gaze lingered on him. She knew her success today had been a small victory, but in the world of politics, even small victories could turn the tide of empires.

Chapter Text

The wedding was quickly approaching and Amira and Geta found themselves clashing on many ideas and customs. Amira fought to hold her tongue, she could not afford to make an enemy of the most influential person in Rome.

“Perhaps we could still give tribute to my God, it would provide us with protection.” She suggested, not willing to throw away all of her cultures traditions.

“I assure you, the Roman gods' protection will suffice.” Geta brushed her off with his words.

“Yes, but it is more a part of my culture than anything, I-“ 

“Do you dare disrespect our gods? You are a Roman now. You would do well to remember that the empire I will give you serves Roman gods.” Geta’s voice threatened. 

Amira’s eye twitched, she seethed with a burning rage, but contained herself. “I understand this, but my God is who I shall call to for guidance in my time of need.” 

Getas eyes flashed with irritation. “You vest me, you will do as I command.” 

Amira’s lips pressed into a line as she listened to Geta’s sharp tone. Outwardly, she remained composed, but her mind was already calculating her next move.

“You are right, my lord,” she said softly, lowering her gaze just enough to appear deferential. “I spoke out of turn. Your gods are paramount, and I would not dream of dishonoring them.”

The tension in Geta’s stance eased slightly, his confidence in his dominance placated by her apparent submission. He offered a curt nod, dismissing her concern.

“But surely,” Amira added, her tone turning thoughtful, “a union of such importance deserves every blessing we can secure. It would only strengthen our position if the gods—yours and mine—were united in their favor of our future.”

Geta paused, his expression shifting as he considered her words. She had framed her request not as defiance, but as a benefit to him—a suggestion he might even take credit for.

“Perhaps, I shall consider it,” he said, his voice begrudging. “But tread carefully, Amira. You walk a fine line.”

“Always, my lord,” she replied, her smile small but deliberate.

As he turned and left, Amira’s fingers brushed the edge of a nearby table, grounding herself. She had not won, but she had not lost either. It was a dance, and she would lead it eventually, step by careful step.

—

Geta had called Amira to dine with him that evening, his guards remained silent when she asked why he had invited her. As she walked to him, anger raged in her mind. How dare he ignore her wishes, she had given him assistance in the senate once again that afternoon and yet he still disrespects her. 

The two sat in a viscous silence, both still frustrated from the events that had unfolded. A tension had been prominent between the two whenever they found each other alone, and this tension had been rapidly increasing with the wedding planning and their disagreements. 

The divide over whose gods would be honored had been simmering throughout the day, emotions growing stronger and stronger, soon they would reach a breaking point. 

Amira cleared her throat and spoke up, “My Emperor, I was hoping to hear if you had considered my wishes of intertwining-.”

Geta interrupted, “Your God has no place in Rome, Amira.”

Her frustrations that had been building throughout her time here finally snapped. “Fine, then do as you please, I have had enough.” She stood from her chair and began to storm out of the room.

“You will not leave without my permission, your Emperor commands you to stop!” Geta yelled, but Amira shot a glare back at him and snorted, continuing on her way.

She was about to reach for the chamber door, when suddenly Geta reached and snatched her arm while his large hands wrapped around her waist to shove her into the wall. His knee pressed between her legs to keep her from moving. 

One of Geta’s hands reached up to grab her chin. His breath was in her ear as he spoke “Consider your next moves very carefully, Amira.” He pulled back slightly, searching her eyes for any sign of disrespect. 

“You disrespect the gods of which I am a vessel for, their will is mine and I will throw you from these grounds without hesitation if you do not comply.” Geta continued, spitting each word at her as if it were poison.

Amira’s chest heaved as she glared up at him, her defiance burning bright despite the position she found herself in. The solid stone of the wall pressed against her back, while Geta’s grip on her waist was unrelenting. His nearness was overwhelming, a mix of heat and fury that filled the narrow space between them. His knee rose higher between her legs and she almost faltered, but her head shook the feeling away before it could take over. 

“I will not be silenced,” she hissed, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart. “Not by you, not by your gods, I serve only my own. He shall protect me as I cry out from any evils you or your Empire could possibly do to me.” 

Their faces drew closer together, their breaths mixing, and it was impossible to tell who made the first move.

Their lips met in a battle, teeth clashing like swords, the rawness of their anger fueling every movement. It wasn’t a kiss of affection but of dominance, a desperate struggle for control. Amira’s hands pressed against Geta’s chest, though whether to push him away or pull him closer, even she wasn’t sure.

His grip tightened on her waist, anchoring her against him as though he could bend her will to his through sheer force. But Amira refused to yield, her nails digging into his shoulders as she met his ferocity with her own, every ounce of her defiance poured into the kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their faces mere inches from each other. Geta’s eyes bore into hers, dark and searching, neither of their gazes faltering. 

Geta’s voice was a dark whisper against her lips, his breath hot and heavy. “You are so sure that you serve your God,” he murmured into her ear, his hands anchoring her wrists against the cold wall. “Perhaps it is time for me to show you the power and pleasures the Roman gods can grant.”

Amira’s breath hitched, her mind warring between fury and a spark of something she refused to name. She glared up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her defiance refused to waver.

“I do not need your gods to know power,” she said, her voice trembling slightly but still full of defiance, even as her body betrayed her with a subtle shift, leaning into the heat of him.

Geta’s lips curled into a wolfish smirk, his eyes narrowing with predatory focus. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his tone a challenge, a promise.

His strong arms picked Amira off the ground, swiftly carrying her across the room and tossing her onto the table. His hands reached for the bottom of her silk stola, he looked to her face to see if there were any signs of discomfort, finding none, he continued. 

Her stomach tightened as his hands trailed up her thighs, his fingers delicate. With a smirk, he leaned in, trailing kisses up her legs. 

Amira did not know what to expect, she had not yet sought pleasure from a man as it was her duty to remain pure for her husband. As he reached her core, his fingers pressed against a place that she had not known could provide such a feeling. 

She moaned, her back arching off the table as he began to rub circles into her most sensitive area. A finger slowly began to work its way to her opening, breaching into her warmth and reaching up to a spot that made her cry out his name. 

Geta looked up, eyes blown wide with excitement, his laurel crown crooked on his red curls,he looked truly otherworldly. 

“G-Geta!!” Her voice was broken, never had she been touched in such a way. He added his tongue alongside his finger, causing her to cry out from the pleasure. 

His tongue worked her in a way that she did not know was possible. She had heard servants talk of being bedded by a man, never once describing it as such a pleasant experience. 

He lapped at her, finger speeding up as he added a second. His lips sucked at her clit and she felt him smirk into her at the sound that she released. 

“Where is your God now? Amira. You cry out only for me. I am your god.”  Geta continued with his ministrations. 

“Y-yes!” Her words cracked, a pressure beginning to build from the pit of her stomach. “I feel strange, my stomach-“

Geta knew she was close to the edge. He moaned into her, savoring her sweetness. “Take all of what I can offer you, anything that is mine is yours, let go.” 

With his words and the continual assault of pleasure, the coil inside her stomach began to tighten and suddenly snapped. She moaned, her eyes screwing shut as she grasped the laurel crown that sat upon his fiery hair. 

Aftershock wracked her body, she her stomach tightened in on itself, and her legs twitched  uncontrollably. 

Geta stood, giving her one last look as he turned to leave. Before he exited, his voice was low, edged with finality. “Remember this, Amira,” he said, his words cutting through the stillness like a blade. “When you get on your knees to pray, remember what god provided you with such pleasures.” His chest heaved with uneven breaths, clearly too affected by pleasure.

Amira’s breath hitched, the sting of his words sinking deep. She stayed frozen in place, the weight of his reminder hanging heavily in the air. How dare he? How dare he twist everything she stood for into his own assertion of power? But she had so willingly given up any semblance of control  to him, but perhaps that was not a bad thing.

Chapter Text

Amira sat in the private library where she had first met Lucilla, this time the chamber had been empty. She sat along the window that peered over Rome, the bright sun kissed her already tanned skin. 

She had not spoken Geta for nearly 4 days now, she wondered if he too was still thinking about their last interaction. At the thought of him, her body began to heat up, arousal coursing through her veins. 

The way his lips had felt sucking on her most sensitive parts, the way his fingers drew sounds from her she didn’t know she could make. 

A blush crept over her cheeks, a single touch from the Emperor could melt her into a puddle. Their moves had been aggressive and rage-filled as they fell into each other, she wondered if she would feel such pleasure from the man more frequently when they were married and it was more socially acceptable. 

Amira suddenly remembered her true goal, to protect and better the lives of her people. She had so easily fallen into the throes of pleasure with Geta, allowing him to realize the control he had over her. 

She knew that she needed to investigate the family that the servant had given up to her. The Valerii family was of noble standing in Rome, it would not be easy to prove their involvement in any sort of scandal, she would have to find a way to breach their inner circle. 

She was startled from her thoughts as the door was thrown open as none other than Caracalla walked through. She released a shaky breath, memories of their last meeting came forth as well as his cruel actions in the Senate earlier that day.

He had contradicted Geta’s attempt to send food rations to their troops who were currently fighting to expand their Empire. He created a scene, throwing down his goblet of wine and turned his anger on Geta as he tried to calm him down. 

“You forget brother, I too am an Emperor! You cannot decide everything by yourself!” Caracalla yelled. 

“Please, calm yourself, brother,” Geta had replied, his tone measured, though tension simmered beneath his words.

But Caracalla would not be pacified. His fury burned like an open flame, and he directed it not only at Geta but at anyone who dared to look his way. Amira had watched silently, her heart pounding as she witnessed the rift between the brothers widen, their rivalry threatening to spill over into violence at any moment.

Now, as Caracalla approached her in the library, that same fire burned in his eyes. He was like a storm barely contained.

“Do you always hide yourself away like this?” he asked, his voice low but laced with mockery. His gaze swept over her, lingering too long. “Or is this where you plot against us all?”

Amira straightened her posture, forcing calm into her voice. “I plot nothing, my lord. I simply enjoy the quiet here.”

Caracalla gave a bitter laugh, his mouth curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Quiet? There is no such thing in Rome, Amira. 

“Perhaps that is why I cherish these moments,” she replied carefully, her tone steady though her heart raced.

Caracalla’s gaze locked onto hers, as though searching for some hidden truth. “You speak like a diplomat,” he said, his voice softening just enough to unnerve her. “But don’t mistake diplomacy for loyalty. You may serve Geta now, but you’ll soon find that Rome has only one true ruler.”

“And that ruler is you?” Amira asked, her voice quieter, testing the waters.

He laughed again, but this time it was darker, edged with something unhinged. “Who else?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her cheek. “Geta may think himself strong, but strength means nothing if you can’t wield it. Rome needs a ruler who isn’t afraid to spill blood. Who isn’t afraid to take what’s theirs.”

Amira held her ground, though every instinct told her to step back. “And what is yours to take, Caracalla?”

His smile widened, predatory and cold. “Everything,” he said, his voice a whisper that felt more like a threat. “Rome. The Empire. Even you, Amira.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and inescapable. Amira’s pulse quickened, her mind racing to find a way to diffuse the tension.

“You have great ambition, my lord,” she said finally, her voice calm despite the turmoil inside her. “But ambition alone does not secure loyalty. It must be earned.”

Caracalla straightened, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought she had angered him, but then he smirked once more, as though she had just confirmed something he already knew.

“Loyalty is for the weak,” he said, turning toward the window and looking out over Rome. “Fear is far more reliable.”

And with that, he left, the door closing behind him with a weight that echoed through the silent library.

Amira exhaled, her hands gripping the edge of the window frame. Caracalla’s presence lingered, a shadow that felt impossible to shake.

She knew then that she would have to tread carefully. Caracalla’s madness was a force she could neither ignore nor control. But if she was to survive in this treacherous game, she would have to learn how to use it to her advantage.

——

She found herself outside of Geta’s chambers, the guards had asked her multiple times already if she wished to enter, but her nerves held her back. 

Finally after much contemplation, the guards announced her request for entry and she heard his voice, muted, allowing her to step forward. 

He was draped in red and gold, looking as Empirical as ever. He was sat lazily in a large chair, his ring covered fingers resting over a goblet of wine. 

“Amira, it is inappropriate for you to visit me in my apartment. Has anyone seen you come this way?” Geta questioned her. 

“No, my Imperator, I made sure I came unnoticed.” She moved closer to him, his eyes following her every move. He looked at her somewhat suspiciously, unsure of her motive to visit him. 

“Sit.” He motioned to the chair nearby his own. “What is it that you have come for?” 

“I thought that we might throw a banquet celebration with all of Rome's most notable socialites, to honor our union and your position as Rome’s rightful Emperor. A celebration for the people and the court alike.”

Geta chuckled, though there was no warmth in the sound. “Strength and harmony, you say? And what role do you imagine yourself playing in that?”

She took another step forward, her voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. “I seek only to bring honor to you, my lord. To elevate your position and ensure that all of Rome feels your presence, your power.”

His smirk deepened, though his eyes remained skeptical. “You’re ambitious, Amira. I see that fire in you. But do you truly think you can sway me?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stepped closer, lowering herself to her knees before him. “My words are only the beginning, Imperator,” she said softly, her hands resting lightly on his knees. “I know what it means to serve. To give of myself entirely.”

His eyes revealed the beginnings of arousal at her actions, her face so close to his length as she traced her fingers along his covered thighs that were thick with muscle. 

“Amira…” Geta started, almost sounding breathless. 

“Shh… please Geta, let me show you how devoted I can be to you.” She looked up at him through her long lashes, his fingers entwining in her curls. 

He sat back, watching her with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue, “You’re bold,” he murmured, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. “What game are you playing?”

“No game, my lord,” she replied softly, her eyes meeting his. “I only wish to ease your burdens. To make you feel the devotion I hold for you, as your future empress.”

Her words hung in the air, her hands moving with practiced grace. She leaned in, her lips brushing lightly against his jaw, then his neck. “You are the most powerful man in Rome, Geta. Let me honor you as such.”

His composure began to falter. “You think you can distract me, Amira? Turn me pliant with your touch?”

“I think,” she whispered, “that I can show you my loyalty in a way no one else can.”

She lifted his robes, careful not to wrinkle the luxurious silk fabrics. His length was more than she knew to expect. Like he had, she kissed up his inner thigh before reaching his length, wrapping her plush lips around the tip. He threw his head back, a long sigh escaping his lips. Her lips felt like heaven and they wrapped around him. The warmth engulfed him, he had many before her perform such intimacies on him but none such as arousing as her. 

Amira sucked in her cheeks, she had consulted Miriam- who she knew had shared a bed with men back in Judea- about the ways to provide pleasure to a man. 

She lifted one of her hands to him, flicking her wrist to the rhythm of her mouth movements. He moaned loudly, she was sure at this point any stray wanderer that would walk by his apartments would hear the lewd noises that their emperor was releasing. 

His hands tightened in her hair as he began to use her, her inexperience did not matter as she took his cock in her mouth like she had been waiting for it her entire life. 

Amira’s sounds joined his as he snapped his hips towards her mouth, her thighs clenched together at the feeling of being totally at Geta’s mercy. Her other hand reached down to play with herself as Geta had.

“You enjoy this, being used by your Emperor.” Sweat glistened on her brow, he looked utterly debauched.  All she could do was release a whine that was jumbled by the force of his cock down her throat. 

His hips began to stutter, “Take all of my seed, it is a shame to waste it.” He returned to his quick pace, she felt him twitch in her mouth as suddenly it was overflowing with a slightly salty liquid, but she quickly swallowed. 

“You are so obedient, my Dulcis.”  She expected to see a soft length pulled from her mouth, but he still remained hard. 

Geta used his strength to lift Amira from the floor, bringing her to his bed. It was draped in furs and the sheets beneath her were made of the finest silks. 

He took his place on top of her, caging her in with his arms. Her pupils were blown wide with arousal, her cheeks were flushed as if they had been brushed with berries and her lips were swollen from his roughness.

Their lips met with burning passion, his tongue quickly dominating hers. He pulled back, eyes silently asking for permission as he began to remove her stola. It pooled at her waist, and his hands roughly ripped it down the rest of her body. 

Geta’s eyes seared every inch of her body, her hips were lush and created the most delicious curves he had ever seen. She was skinny, but did not look sickly. Her breasts were full, and he couldn’t help but lean down to take one into his mouth.

He sucked at her nipple, and she cried out in pleasure. She should have assumed his mouth would feel heavenly on other parts of her body as well. 

His hand roughly grasped her breast, as he moved from her nipple to the top, biting down to leave his mark. 

“Geta! Please!” She was so desperate to see him, to feel him. “I beg you, let me see you as well!”

Her hands reached for his robes, she could feel his hardness yet again and she craved to feel it inside herself. A smirk reached across his face as his fingers toyed with her clit.

“Begging suits you. I wonder in what other ways I can make you beg for me.” 

“I- I am all yours! Please Geta, do not stop!” 

He removed his robes, his chest and stomach met her view, he looked as if he was a carved statue that graced the halls of the palace. Geta’s stomach was a solid wall of muscle, she leaned forward to feel the ripples that formed across it. 

He leaned in to kiss her again, his tongue tracing circles and he reached to bite her lip. A yelp came from her mouth, and he licked the blood that pooled on her lips. He kissed down her body and he met her back up to reclaim her mouth yet again.

Amira wrapped a leg around Geta’s waist, drawing them impossibly close. His cock dragged against her core, begging to sink into her warmth. Her hips involuntarily began to grind against him, their uneven breaths mixing together to create a symphony of lust. 

The same feeling in her stomach began to tighten as his tip glided along her entrance all the way up to her clit. Their bodies moved together in a desperate dance, both chasing endless amounts of pleasure.

“Gods, it would be so easy-,” Geta began, “You are so pliant, I could slip inside of you so easily.”

Amira let out a long moan “Please Geta! Fill me!” she cried to him, their foreheads lay pressed together. 

“You know we- we cannot.” He stuttered over his breathing. 

“Please, Geta! I cannot take this game any longer.” They both were desperate to connect in such an intimate and intense way that only the two of them could. He reached down, gripping himself and lining up with her entrance. He had never had to show such resolve, constantly taking whatever or whoever he pleased, but with Amira, it was not as simple.

His tip caught on her entrance, he felt her pulsing underneath him, desperately trying to draw him in. His breath was coming out in rapid spurts as he tried to control himself, but his resolve was cracking as he made eye contact with Amira, her eyes so desperately begging him for pleasure. 

The very tip of his cock dipped inside of her, it took all of his might not to slide himself in further. 

“My dulcis, this is as far as we may go. I will not wreck your virtue before we are wed.” Amira nearly felt tears slip from her eyes, she was at the edge of receiving such pleasure and yet he refused to give it to her. 

“I swear to you, once we are wed, I will make you feel pleasures beyond what you’ve ever known. No other man will compare to what we share.”

“You’re right,” she said softly, her voice tinged with tension. “Imagine the rumors that would spread if I were to carry your child before we were wed.” She exhaled sharply, her breath unsteady.

His hips stuttered at the mention of her filled with a child, slipping the slightest bit more inside her, his desire to possess her exhibited to all of those around them. 

She released a squeak of pain, a slight pressure stretched against her. “G-Geta, they will have the servants check to see if my virtue is yet intact.”

He pulled the tip of his length away from her entrance, opting to rut himself against her clit. Their breathing picked back up as they chased release against each other. 

The two may not have fallen in love yet, but the physical tension between them was evident. They moved with desperate need for each other, both feeling pleasure in a way they had never before. 

Amira’s vision began to blur, the constant pressure against her had wound her up to her breaking point. Geta did not fare much better, his second release was so close that his face began to tingle at the overwhelming feeling. His fingers slipped inside of her and with that, stars exploded around her vision. He rode her through her orgasm, then quickly began to jerk himself, when her hand knocked him away, quickly flicking her wrists and lining him up with her hole. 

“Release on me, please Geta.” Her lewd actions were enough to send him over the edge, his release quickly splattering over her core. He reached down with two fingers, scooping up an amount and holding it to her lips. She took his fingers into her mouth, maintaining eye contact as she erotically sucked, he swore he almost came again. 

They collapsed, but did not make a move to embrace each other. 

“You captivate me, Amira.” Geta remained looking at the ceiling that was painted with depictions of the gods. 

Her chest still rose and fell in a heavy pattern as she looked to Geta, “You have a way of making me feel things I never expected, Geta.” 

Unsaid words lay between them, both refusing to admit any beginning of emotions besides lust for one another. For now, the only truth was the beating of their hearts, still racing from what had passed between them.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since Amira had shared a bed with Geta and he had gone back to pretending as if she simply did not exist. The tension between them was as thick as morning fog.

She knew Geta was known to bed many prostitutes, but she could not say for certain if he still indulged in their touch. The muscles in her face twitched at the thought of Geta wrapped in another’s embrace, she prayed he was too caught up in the Senate to seek out a prostitute. 

The celebration she had requested fell upon that evening and Amira found herself anxiously awaiting her opportunity to collect information about the Valerii family. 

She had sent Miriam to speak with their servants when she delivered their invitation, and there confirmed their plan to sit their daughter on the throne of Rome before it was announced that Geta was to wed  a Princess of Judea. 

Amira knew she was not capable of finding evidence with no support, and so she sought out the help of Lucilla. 

They sat in one of the many courtyards, the light summer breeze blowing the delicate leaves of the fig trees above them. 

Lucilla was dressed in light silks of cerulean, whilst Amira wore the most elegant shades of green that contrasted against her black hair. The two had been idly sipping afternoon wine and talking of Emperors of years past. Amira was interested to hear of Lucillas father and brother, such contrasting rulings yet born of the same bloodline. 

Lucilla spoke of her son, their time shared was short but she spoke so fondly of the boy. In turn, Amira spoke of her little brothers and sisters, and how she has missed them so much.

“Lady Amira, I know there is more you wish to speak about, I ensure you have the capacity to speak freely in my presence.” Lucilla offered the girl a soft smile. 

Amira hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. She glanced at the fig trees above, their leaves dancing in the breeze, before meeting Lucilla’s gaze.

“There is something,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I have suspicions—grave suspicions—about the Valerii family.”

Lucilla’s expression didn’t falter, though her posture shifted slightly, leaning in. “Go on.”

“They attempted to steal my ring,” Amira began, her words steady despite the unease she felt. “At first, I thought it a petty act, but it’s clear now that they have far more ambitious designs. They seek to remove me entirely, and to place their daughter, Claudia, in my position.”

Lucilla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That is a bold accusation.”

“I have no proof yet,” Amira continued, “but I’ve overheard whispers—plans to accuse my father of treason. If they succeed, they’ll ruin him, and by extension, me. Claudia would become the Emperor’s consort, and the Valerii would cement their power.”

Lucilla was silent for a moment, her gaze piercing. Then she sighed, setting down her cup. “You are right to bring this to my attention. The Valerii have always been ambitious, but this… this is dangerous.”

“I cannot act without evidence,” Amira said, frustration creeping into her voice. “But tonight, during the feast, I intend to observe them closely. If I can gather anything—anything concrete—I will take it to the Emperor.”

Lucilla nodded slowly, her expression calculating. “You are playing a dangerous game, Amira. But it is a necessary one.”

Amira swallowed hard. “I have no choice. If I do nothing, they will destroy my family—and me.”

Lucilla reached out, placing a hand on Amira’s arm. “I will do what I can to aid you. Claudia is young and unpolished; she may let something slip. And the Valerii, for all their cunning, are not without flaws. They think themselves untouchable, which makes them careless.”

Amira’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Thank you, Lucilla. Your wisdom means more to me than you know.”

Lucilla returned the smile, though her eyes remained sharp. “The court is a battlefield, Amira. Let us ensure that you emerge victorious.”

As the breeze stirred once more, Amira felt a flicker of hope. The feast would be her chance to uncover the truth—and perhaps to tip the scales in her favor.

——

Amira stood at the edge of the market square, her expression calm and composed as she surveyed the lively scene before her. Merchants shouted their wares, children darted between stalls, and weary laborers haggled over the price of bread.

She adjusted the fine silk of her green cloak, the deep color a subtle display of her status, and began to move among the crowd. Her attendants flanked her, carrying small baskets filled with coins and food, her carefully prepared offerings for the day.

Though her steps were unhurried, her mind raced. The Valerii will not stop. They are counting on the people’s indifference—or worse, their disdain for me. If I can turn the public’s favor to my side, their plans will falter.

Spotting a young boy sitting by the side of the road, his tunic tattered and his face smudged with dirt, she stopped. “You look hungry,” she said, her voice soft but clear.

The boy’s eyes widened, and he hesitated before nodding.

Amira gestured to one of her attendants, who placed a loaf of bread into the boy’s hands. “Eat well, little one,” she said, crouching slightly to meet his gaze.

Nearby, an older woman approached cautiously, her weathered hands clasped together. “Domina,” she began hesitantly, “my family… we have no olive oil left, and the temple’s stores are empty.”

Amira reached into one of the baskets, drawing out a small flask of oil. “Take this,” she said, pressing it into the woman’s hands. “And tell the others in need to visit the temple tomorrow. More will be delivered by evening.”

The woman bowed deeply, tears in her eyes. “Bless you, Domina. The gods surely favor you.”

Amira offered a polite nod, but as she turned away, she allowed a flicker of uncertainty to cross her face. She didn’t know if the gods favored her, but she knew she needed the people to.

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, a small crowd had gathered, murmurs of gratitude and admiration following her every step. She accepted their thanks with grace, but in her heart, she remained calculating. If they love me, they will defend me. If they defend me, the Valerii will find no allies among them.

As her entourage began to make their way back to the palace, Amira glanced over her shoulder at the crowd one last time. For a moment, she wondered if she could grow to care for these people, to feel their struggles as her own. But for now, her motives were clear.

She adjusted her cloak and straightened her posture. The Valerii plot to overthrow me. I cannot let them win.

——

The evening was just beginning, and Amira found herself draped in robes of royal purple. She had not so subtly suggested to the servants that they dress Geta in robes she had made to match her own. 

The tension was palpable, a simmering energy that neither of them had addressed but neither could ignore. Geta had been distant since, his gaze avoiding hers whenever they passed, and yet she could feel the heat between them whenever they were in the same room.

As she approached the doorway to the banquet hall, she saw him standing there, looking as commanding and handsome as ever, but there was something different in his stance. His jaw was set, his eyes cold, as though he were trying to push away the thoughts that came too close to the surface.

Amira’s breath caught in her throat as she stepped into view. His gaze flickered to her, and for a moment, there was a spark—something raw and unresolved. His lips parted, just slightly, as if he were about to speak, but then he hesitated, closing his mouth as quickly as he’d opened it.

“Geta,” she greeted, her voice smooth, almost teasing.

“Amira,” he replied, the word tight, his tone distant yet laced with an undercurrent that made her pulse race.

Neither of them moved for a moment. It was as if the space between them had become charged, every inch of air crackling with unspoken words, with everything that had been left unsaid.

Finally, he offered her his hand, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was like fire on her skin, and she couldn’t help but shiver slightly, even as she tried to maintain her composure.

“Shall we?” His voice was low, but the flicker of something dark in his eyes told her that he wasn’t unaffected.

She nodded, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. They were announced and entered the hall, all conversations abruptly stopped and eyes clamoured to get a glance at the two together. As they approached the head of the table, Geta reached to pull out Amira’s chair, a few straggling gasps and murmurs rang throughout the hall, never had they expected Rome’s most powerful man  to show such a gesture of respect.

Before releasing her hand, Geta brought it up to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. The air between them thickened, charged with the heat of their shared history and the unspoken desires lingering beneath the surface. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Amira felt as though time itself had paused.

With deliberate slowness, he pressed a soft kiss to her rings, his lips lingering just a moment too long. The delicate brush of his mouth against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, and though she managed to mask her reaction, her breath caught in her throat. The cold touch of the rings against her skin felt warmer now, as though they had somehow come to life under the heat of his gaze.

As Geta settled into his seat beside her, the murmur of the crowd returned, but it was clear the dynamics in the room had shifted. The guests watched them with a new sense of curiosity, whispering behind their hands, eyes flickering between Amira and the emperor. 

Amira felt her eyes drift across the room, quickly finding the daughter of the Valerii family, her mothers lips whispering into her shoulder. Amira held back an eye twitch, it was clear they were unhappy with the actions of Geta, realizing it might not be so easy to sway the favor of their Emperor.

The feast eventually ceased, and Geta stood to speak to the nobles before the celebration began.  many of you know, our union is a foregone conclusion. The marriage between Lady Amira and I will solidify not just our families, but Rome itself. Our bond is one that represents strength, unity, and the future of our great empire.”

Amira stood at his side, her back straight, her eyes scanning the faces in the crowd. She knew the value of this moment—it wasn’t just about Geta’s words, but about what they would mean for her place in the court, her future role beside him, and the connections she would need to forge to ensure her survival.

“This feast tonight,” Geta continued, his voice still carrying across the room, “is a celebration of the future. A chance to mingle, to meet those who will stand beside us, and to honor the ties that bind us all together.” His gaze flickered to Amira, his eyes softening for just a moment before he continued, “It is my hope that, in the coming days, Lady Amira will come to know you all as I have—each of you with your strength, your wisdom, and your loyalty to Rome.”

The nobles nodded in agreement, some even smiling with appreciation. For Amira, it was an opportunity to subtly build her alliances and her influence within the court. Though she stood silently by Geta’s side, she could feel the weight of the moment—this was her time to make her mark.

“Tonight is just the beginning,” Geta finished, his tone warm but firm, “and I am pleased to have Lady Amira by my side as we celebrate not only our upcoming wedding but the prosperity we shall share together.”

The room erupted into applause once more, this time with a sense of expectation. The nobles were eager to see how Amira would fit into this new order, how she would navigate the complex web of power that surrounded her.

Amira met their gaze with a calm, measured smile, one that said everything without needing to say a word. She would not be simply an accessory to Geta. She was here to shape her own destiny, to find her place among them, and to ensure that, when the time came, she would be as powerful as the man beside her.

As the applause subsided, Geta sat back down beside her, his hand briefly resting on her arm. She could feel the heat of his touch, but it did little to ease the tension building within her. This union, this celebration, was only the beginning. The real work was yet to come.

——

The celebration was in full swing and Amira could hardly capture a moment to herself, nobles approaching her to seek her favor as her position alongside the Emperor could find them opportunities to further extend their status. 

But Amira found their conversations tiresome, hollow. She could barely hide the subtle roll of her eyes as one noble after another attempted to charm her with flattering words and exaggerated tales of their supposed greatness. They spoke of battles they had won, of lands they had conquered, of the great works they had accomplished. Yet, to Amira, it all sounded the same—a never-ending recital of self-aggrandizing boasts meant to make them appear as if they were the greatest thing to ever strike the earth.

Amira stole a glance at Geta from across the hall, watching as he conversed with several of his own advisors, his posture confident and commanding. Though his attention was divided, she could feel his presence even from afar, an unspoken reminder of the power that held them both in its grip.

Her eyes moved to Claudia, the daughter of the Valerii family. She was undeniably attractive with long blonde hair that was done into an intricate braided bun much like Amira’s, but that was where the similarities ended. It was as if the two were contrasts of each other, Amira’s tan skin, curls, and cocoa brown eyes contradicted Claudia’s fairness, her skin untouched by the sun, golden blonde hair, and icy blue eyes.  

Amira finally caught a moment where Claudia was not being carefully watched over by her mother and approached her with intention. Amira finally caught a moment where Claudia was not being carefully watched over by her mother and approached her. 

The murmurs of court gossip faded into the background as Amira walked toward the blonde woman who stood near a column, pretending to admire the artwork on the walls. Claudia’s posture was flawless, yet Amira noticed the tension in her shoulder.

“Lady Claudia,” Amira’s voice cut through the silence, smooth but purposeful. “It seems we are often in each other’s company, yet we still have yet to have a proper conversation.”

Claudia turned with a soft smile, her blue eyes colder than Amira had expected. “Lady Amira,” she replied, her voice polite, but with an edge of something sharper. “It is true. Perhaps we should change that.”

Amira took a step closer, keeping her gaze steady, but her mind raced. She knew this interaction had to be delicate. She couldn’t afford to show her hand too early, but a subtle probing could reveal much about the Valerii family’s intentions.

“I’ve heard much of your family’s accomplishments,” Amira said, her tone genuine but laced with hidden meaning. “Your father’s influence in the Senate is… undeniable.”

Claudia’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something—guardedness, perhaps—before she responded. “The Valerii name carries weight, indeed. We’ve worked hard for that.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if evaluating Amira’s words.

Amira smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I imagine it takes a certain… finesse, to navigate such a world. Wouldn’t you agree?” She tilted her head ever so slightly, watching Claudia carefully.

Claudia’s smile tightened, a fraction of a second too slow. “Finesse,” she echoed, her voice smooth, “is an art, as you say. And one I’m sure we both understand well.”

“Yes, well, please enjoy more wine with me,” Amira said with a soft smile, her hand gently brushing Claudia’s arm as they strolled to the grand fountain in the middle of the hall. The fountain flowed with  red wine, filling the air with a sweet aroma. Servants were quick to fill their goblets with last summer's hard labors. 

Claudia took her glass, her fingers tight around the stem as she sipped, the nervousness in her movements evident. She drank quickly, as if the wine could offer her some kind of armor against the subtle tension of their conversation.

Amira noticed the way Claudia’s eyes darted around the room, as if seeking an escape from the pressure of their exchange. Amira, ever the predator, maintained her calm, taking her own sip of wine before turning her attention back to Claudia.

“I’ve heard so much about your family, Lady Claudia. Such… ambition, yes?” Amira’s tone was casual, almost playful, but her words were sharp beneath the surface.

Claudia’s gaze flickered, and she took another drink. “Ambition is essential in this world, isn’t it?” Her voice was smooth, but her eyes betrayed her, flashing with something between defensiveness and uncertainty.

Amira smiled, savoring the moment. “Of course. Though I imagine ambition comes with its… risks. Not everyone is able to handle the weight of power.” 

Claudia set her glass down a little too forcefully, her smile faltering just slightly. “I am confident in my family’s position,” she said, her voice firm. “We have always known how to adapt.”

With every word, Amira felt herself getting closer to unraveling the secrets hidden beneath Claudia’s carefully constructed image. She had to keep pushing, just a little further.

The plot that had been waiting to unfold that night had been carefully laid into place, with Claudia effortlessly falling into Amira’s subtle tactic of getting her as drunk as possible. Miriam had played her part perfectly, distracting Claudia’s mother long enough for Amira to pull her away. Now, alone with the girl's drunkenly loose lips, Amira could finally execute the next part of her plan, the one that would reveal everything Claudia had so carelessly let slip. Claudia was like a sheep that had strayed from its shepard, and Amira was the wolf that had been waiting in the shadows. 

She saw the way Claudia’s gaze continually fell on Geta, Amira’s patience was wearing thin. Amira watched as Claudia’s glass emptied for the third time, her hand trembling. The wine was already starting to take its toll on her, the flush on her face deepening with each sip.

“Lady Claudia,” Amira said, her voice sweet, but laced with an edge, “perhaps you’ve had enough for the evening. You wouldn’t want to say something you might regret.”

Claudia laughed, a little too loudly for Amira’s liking, but it was clear she was too far gone to control herself. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine, Lady Amira,” she slurred, “wine allows me to stray from the troubles of court life.” 

Amira leaned in closer, her expression softening. “That’s the beauty of wine, isn’t it? It makes us forget, just for a moment, the weight of everything around us.”

Claudia nodded eagerly, clutching her goblet as if it were the only thing holding her up. “Exactly! And, well… It helps me say things I’ve been thinking about for so long.” She looked up at Amira. “Do you ever feel like everyone is just… pretending? Pretending to be so noble, so perfect, but really, they’re just playing a game?”

Amira raised an eyebrow, playing along. “What kind of game do you mean?”

Claudia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The game of… power, of course. I mean, look at him,” she gestured toward Geta, still speaking with senators across the room. “He looks so… perfect, doesn’t he? But deep down, I know he’s not the man he lets everyone think he is.”

Amira’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let her expression change. “And what kind of man do you think he is?”

Claudia giggled again. “A man who likes to play with people. He has no interest in real loyalty, not when he can manipulate and control those around him. He doesn’t even care about his brother, Caracalla, but that’s not the worst of it… you know who he really wants, don’t you?”

Amira’s pulse quickened, but she kept her voice steady, her tone teasing. “Who does he want?”

Claudia leaned in closer, her breath heavy with wine. “He’s always been interested in someone else, someone who isn’t me… someone who… could actually give him what he wants. Someone like you, Lady Amira. Would quickly become obsessed with you.”

Amira felt a chill wash over her, but she kept her gaze locked onto Claudia’s. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice almost too calm.

Claudia, oblivious to the change in Amira’s demeanor, nodded enthusiastically, her words growing louder. “Yes, yes! He can’t stop looking at you! He’s been so cold and distant, but I know… I know what he’s really thinking. He’s been watching you from the moment you walked in here. And Caracalla? He’s… he’s not even a threat anymore, is he? Not with you around.”

Amira kept her face impassive, though her mind was racing. Claudia was so drunk, she didn’t realize how much she was giving away. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Tell me, Lady Claudia, what makes you so sure of all this?”

Claudia blinked, her mind swirling in a haze of wine and emotions. “Because… because my family has been trying to make a match with Geta for years. But he’s always been so… cold. He’s never shown any interest, not until you arrived. And that’s… that’s why it has to be you. You’re the one who will finally make him… do what he’s supposed to do. I just… I want to be the one to make that happen.” Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke the last words.

Amira’s lips curled into a faint smile, her mind already working on how to use this information. Claudia had just revealed more than she’d intended, and Amira was quick to exploit it. “You’re very open with me, Lady Claudia,” she said softly, her tone almost approving. “I’ll make sure your honesty is remembered.” 

——

A new servant handed the two goblets refilled with a different wine, instead of the vibrant red Amira was met with a soft shade of white. Claudia immediately began to drink the wine as if she had been traveling the desert and had not had water for weeks. 

Moments later, Amira saw Claudia’s face screw up in pain, “I- I do not feel well-“ she collapsed to the ground, her body seizing and mouth foaming. 

A cry rang out. “No!” Claudia’s mother, Lady Valerii, shrieked in terror as she rushed to her daughter’s side, shaking her and trying desperately to rouse her from the seizure. The sight of her daughter’s violent reaction was enough to send a ripple of unease through the room, but it wasn’t until Lady Valerii’s voice cracked that the true horror became clear.

“No! No, this cannot be happening! The wine… it was meant for her!”

The words spilled from Lady Valerii in a frantic rush, her face pale and eyes wild with panic as she looked from her daughter’s twitching form to Amira. The gasps of the onlookers filled the room as the truth of the situation unfolded before them.

“Claudia… Claudia was meant to drink from her goblet! It was meant to be her!” Lady Valerii sobbed, her hands trembling as she clutched her daughter to her chest.

Lady Valerii’s voice shook as the truth spilled out, her words tumbling in desperation. “They planned to frame you, Amira—frame you for treason, for plotting against the Empire. They had intended to steal your seal, your ring, to forge letters that would implicate your father. It was all part of their scheme to replace you, to take your place at Geta’s side—to make Claudia the empress in your stead.”

The room went deathly silent as her confession hung in the air, the weight of the betrayal settling over everyone. Amira’s eyes flashed with fury, her gaze sharp as she processed the full extent of their treachery. Claudia’s poisoned wine had not been an accident—it was a calculated move to kill her, to clear the way for their family to take control.

Geta stepped forward, a raging storm of fury. The air seemed to crackle around him as he advanced toward Lady Valerii, his presence suffocating and commanding.

“You thought you could kill her?” His voice was a low growl, each word dripping with contempt. “You thought you could kill my bride, my future?”

Lady Valerii trembled under his gaze, her once proud posture now crumbled to nothing. She dropped her head, her hands clasped in desperate supplication. “Please, my lord, I didn’t mean—”

“Silence!” Geta’s command was sharp, slicing through her apologies like a blade. He turned to the assembled senators and nobles, their faces a mixture of shock and silent judgment. “This is what treachery looks like! This is what betrayal means in my Empire!” He turned back to Lady Valerii, his voice rising with every word. “And this is what you will pay for.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, everyone too stunned to move, too afraid to breathe. Amira stood still, her expression unreadable, though a flicker of satisfaction danced in her eyes. She had known this would come—this moment of revelation—but seeing Geta’s fury, feeling the weight of it, was something else entirely.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Geta spat, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Do you think I will simply forgive you because you’re a mother? Because you thought you could manipulate me into taking a traitor’s place?” He took a step closer, the power in his movements causing the room to shrink.

“I had planned for a wedding,” Geta continued, his voice growing colder. “But now, you and your family will be part of a different celebration. Since you sought to be in my wedding, you will participate in the games.”

He turned to the guards, his eyes never leaving Lady Valerii. “Take the men of the Valerii family and throw them in the arena. Let them fight as gladiators, and may the gods decide if they are worthy of any mercy.”

The words hit like thunder, and the nobles exchanged uncertain glances, unsure how to react to the Emperor’s fury. Lady Valerii collapsed to her knees, her hands reaching out as if to beg for mercy, but Geta’s gaze was unyielding.

“The blood of your family will stain the sands of the arena. Perhaps that will teach you the price of treason.”