Writing, I guess

“Marcus!” you whisper from the shadows of the columns that line the enormous courtyard on the west side of the palace, not far from where you’d snuck in just moments ago.

He turns swiftly, the gold of the medals pinned to the top of his tunic glimmering in the sunlight. His face is stern, guarded as he scans his surroundings looking for the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?” he demands.

The order sends a chill through your body. You should feel intimidated and you’re sure you would if you were only a plebeian. But you aren’t. And so Marcus’ powerful voice and cold demeanor that terrify even the bravest of Rome’s soldiers serve only as a distraction to you.

It isn’t often that you get to see your husband decked out in his formal attire— a white tunic layered with heavy armor and a paludamentum over his shoulders, flowing down to his ankles. It’s even rarer that you are at the receiving end of his fright-inducing demands, his voice never rising against you even when he is at his wit’s end. There were exceptions in the bedroom, of course, but only when you’d ask. And even then you’d have to beg for that tone of his—earn it. That tone that he uses so freely now. Sometimes you envy his soldiers.

Just as you open your mouth to respond, a group of senators passes overhead on the upper story of the palace, their footsteps echoing throughout the courtyard. You quickly retreat to the shadows, your sandals scraping against the smooth concrete as you hurry to conceal yourself. Even with your face hidden behind a scarf, you must be careful. You don’t know what the punishment is for sneaking into the emperor’s palace and you aren’t at all eager to find out.

Marcus hears the scuffle of your feet and follows the noise, it leads him right to you, face-to-face where you can see the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead above his glorious brown eyes.

“Reveal yourself,” he says, keeping at his position. Your hands come up to push away the scarf concealing your hair and mouth as you step towards him into the sunlight. His eyes widen immediately, only taking half a second to recognize you. And then you’re being pushed back into the shadows, Marcus looking over his shoulders to check for any onlookers. He sighs in relief when he finds none, then turns his attention to you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. You fight the urge to chuckle at his expression. There isn’t a hint of anger in his eyes, only pure bewilderment. That isn’t common for your husband.

“I wish to know about the meeting,” you say casually, your hand coming up to fiddle with one of the gold tassels that hang over his shoulders.

He only looks more confused. “How did you get inside the palace?”

“I have my ways,” you shrug. He raises an eyebrow. “You can’t leave your blueprints out on our kitchen table and expect me not to look at them,” you reason.

He lets out a sigh but you catch a smile playing on his lips. “Am I right to assume that you snuck in from one of the hidden entrances?”

“The hidden entrances that no one but the General is supposed to know about? Yes, you are right to assume so.” He shakes his head in amusement.

“And this?” He holds up the folded paper you’d addressed to him telling him to meet you in the courtyard as soon as the meeting adjourned.

“I slipped it to a servant on my way over. Don’t worry, she has been paid greatly for her silence.” You release the tassel and move your hand down to the golden design over his chest, tracing the outline of it with your finger.

“Your persistence amazes me,” he says in honesty before looking over his shoulders once again. “But you must leave.” You sigh, dropping your hand.

“I will as soon as you tell me about the meeting. What did the emperors say? Were you able to convince them to turn their attention away from the gladiator games and towards the suffering of their people?”

Your husband’s eyes fill with displeasure and you know the answer already.

“Oh, Marcus,” you sigh.

“The emperors are uninterested in attending to the needs of their subjects. They dismiss poverty as if it is nothing more than a word.” His jaw clicks. The revelation makes bile climb up the back of your throat.

“To hell with the emperors then!” You say just as another group of senators begins to pass through the courtyard from above. He grasps your wrist and pushes you gently against a wall further into the darkness before bringing a finger to his lips.

“We must be careful,” he whispers in a reprimanding tone. “Any indication of disagreement could mean devastation.”

You snatch your arm away from his grasp even though his touch was not rough. “Rome is already devastated.”

“Not for Rome,” he hisses. He glances down at your fiery eyes and softens. “Any punishment I earn could be taken out on you, my wife,” he says gently. His hand drifts down to your stomach, well-hidden by your tunic, and rests on the peak of it. “It could mean the harm of our children.”

You’re barely showing, but your midwife insists that you are carrying a pair. It wasn’t what you and Marcus were expecting, but you’ve both been delighted since you found out and even more grateful to the Gods for their abundance of blessings upon your family. But with Rome’s growing list of troubles, it has become harder for either of you to imagine a future for your cherished children in the very land you call home. It is for that reason that rage engulfs you at the picture of Rome’s most powerful pupils disregarding the very people that they have sworn to protect.

“Rome’s people cannot survive another season of suffering whilst the powerful indulge in their barbaric games.” You swallow down the distaste in your mouth. “Something must change.”

Marcus nods in agreement, beginning to gently rub your arm up and down. “Change is possible. I know it. But the emperors are euphoric from their successes in war and bursting with power. It will take time to get through to them.”

You aren’t so convinced. “I worry for you Marcus. How soon before their thirst for war returns and you are sent off to fight? You must remember that no matter your status you are only a pawn in their games.”

He nods. “I have not forgotten. It is for that reason that I must appear as though I am playing my part while guiding them ever so slowly towards the right path. One that guarantees freedom and contentment for all of Rome’s people, not just the wealthy.”

“And if you cannot?” You whisper.

He cocks his head. “Do you question my capability?”

“Never,” you assure him. “I only mean that these leaders are young, bloodthirsty, and motivated only by their boredom. Who is to say that anyone’s guidance will be respected?”

Marcus sighs. “It will have to be. There are no other options.”

Silence follows for a moment. Marcus’ hand continues to rub your arm. Even when you look up at him with firm eyes.

“There is one,” you suggest. He closes his eyes to hide the eye roll, already knowing what it is that you’re insinuating, but you hold your strong gaze to let him know that you’re serious. His hand falls from your arm and runs through his damp waves of hair.

“To overthrow the emperors would take the support of nearly all of Rome,” he reasons.

“You’re the General, you know how to rally the people. Who better to lead the movement than you?” You insist.

“Movement,” he breathes a humorless laugh. “There is no movement. There is barely any man in the senate who will dare to openly disagree with the emperors. How could I persuade such frightened men to take up swords against them?”

Marcus watches your eyes dim as you defeatedly pull your scarf over your chest. It kills him to watch you lose hope.

“It will take some time to convince the emperors, but it can be done.” He reassures you. “I only need to be smart about it. And we need to be patient.”

You trust what your husband is saying, but you can’t shake the fear that he won’t be able to get the emperors to change their motivations before they decide to join another war—sending your Marcus away once again for who knows how long and condemning Rome to another century of adversities.

Marcus gazes at you as you confer with yourself. He’s used to it by now, you going into your own little world to think things through. Your forehead creases and he immediately brings a hand up to smooth the lines out. “What plagues your mind now?” He asks softly.

You shake your head. “Nothing.” He frowns.

“Tell me. Please. My heart cannot bear to return home to a worried wife,” he insists.

A smile makes its way onto your lips. “Then you have chosen the wrong woman to be wed to for the rest of your life.” He smirks.

“I didn’t choose.” His hand travels up along the side of your body, slowly tracing your outline. “Something I did pleased the Gods so greatly that they granted me a gift—a goddess of their own.” You gasp when his hand pauses at your neck, the same spot he’d placed tender kisses upon the night before when you’d been in bed. He rubs gentle circles on the skin there before his hand begins its trek upwards again. “And now I live to serve and protect her. To love her,” he strokes your cheek softly. “And prove that I am worthy of such a generous gift.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile graces your lips at his praise. He runs a thumb back and forth over your bottom lip, a fond smile gracing his lips too.

The attention is too much. You take his hand in yours, bringing it between the two of you. “I am not a goddess and you live to serve the emperors,” you say.

His eyes gleam with sincerity. “Maybe. But it is my duty to protect you and you must let me do that, my love.”

His beautiful eyes shine so bright with earnestness that you have no choice but to kiss him. He lets you, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing the other to the back of your head so that he can gently push you against the wall to deepen the kiss. The action sparks something in you. You run your hands over his shoulders, moaning in satisfaction when you feel the hard muscles under his clothing, when suddenly he pulls away. He chuckles at your groan of disapproval and rests an arm against the wall above your head, slightly caging you in.

“Tell me, what can I do to soothe your worries, my wife?”

Your chest tightens at just the mention of the millions of things that worry your mind. The viciousness of the emperors, the possibility of the collapse of your city, the fear of your dear husbands’ departure-or worse–death. These days there are many things that plague your mind and cause you to bite your nails down to the quick. But so many of those things are out of Marcus’ control. So, you ask of him only what is fair.

“Just come home to me tonight, safe,” you ask, eyes shining.

He nods then ducks down to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Of course, my love. Always.” He pulls away. “Now go home and rest.”

You reluctantly take a step away from him. “I’ll go home, but I will not rest. My body will not be subdued until I know you are safe in our bed.”

Marcus once again crowds against you, a hand on your waist pinning you against a column. “Then wait for me in our bed. Naked. And when I arrive home tonight I will subdue your body myself.”

“Marcus!” you whisper from the shadows of the columns that line the enormous courtyard on the west side of the palace, not far from where you’d snuck in just moments ago.

He turns swiftly, the gold of the medals pinned to the top of his tunic glimmering in the sunlight. His face is stern, guarded as he scans his surroundings looking for the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?” he demands.

The order sends a chill through your body. You should feel intimidated and you’re sure you would if you were only a plebeian. But you aren’t. And so Marcus’ powerful voice and cold demeanor that terrify even the bravest of Rome’s soldiers serve only as a distraction to you.

It isn’t often that you get to see your husband decked out in his formal attire— a white tunic layered with heavy armor and a paludamentum over his shoulders, flowing down to his ankles. It’s even rarer that you are at the receiving end of his fright-inducing demands, his voice never rising against you even when he is at his wit’s end. There were exceptions in the bedroom, of course, but only when you’d ask. And even then you’d have to beg for that tone of his—earn it. That tone that he uses so freely now. Sometimes you envy his soldiers.

Just as you open your mouth to respond, a group of senators passes overhead on the upper story of the palace, their footsteps echoing throughout the courtyard. You quickly retreat to the shadows, your sandals scraping against the smooth concrete as you hurry to conceal yourself. Even with your face hidden behind a scarf, you must be careful. You don’t know what the punishment is for sneaking into the emperor’s palace and you aren’t at all eager to find out.

Marcus hears the scuffle of your feet and follows the noise, it leads him right to you, face-to-face where you can see the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead above his glorious brown eyes.

“Reveal yourself,” he says, keeping at his position. Your hands come up to push away the scarf concealing your hair and mouth as you step towards him into the sunlight. His eyes widen immediately, only taking half a second to recognize you. And then you’re being pushed back into the shadows, Marcus looking over his shoulders to check for any onlookers. He sighs in relief when he finds none, then turns his attention to you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. You fight the urge to chuckle at his expression. There isn’t a hint of anger in his eyes, only pure bewilderment. That isn’t common for your husband.

“I wish to know about the meeting,” you say casually, your hand coming up to fiddle with one of the gold tassels that hang over his shoulders.

He only looks more confused. “How did you get inside the palace?”

“I have my ways,” you shrug. He raises an eyebrow. “You can’t leave your blueprints out on our kitchen table and expect me not to look at them,” you reason.

He lets out a sigh but you catch a smile playing on his lips. “Am I right to assume that you snuck in from one of the hidden entrances?”

“The hidden entrances that no one but the General is supposed to know about? Yes, you are right to assume so.” He shakes his head in amusement.

“And this?” He holds up the folded paper you’d addressed to him telling him to meet you in the courtyard as soon as the meeting adjourned.

“I slipped it to a servant on my way over. Don’t worry, she has been paid greatly for her silence.” You release the tassel and move your hand down to the golden design over his chest, tracing the outline of it with your finger.

“Your persistence amazes me,” he says in honesty before looking over his shoulders once again. “But you must leave.” You sigh, dropping your hand.

“I will as soon as you tell me about the meeting. What did the emperors say? Were you able to convince them to turn their attention away from the gladiator games and towards the suffering of their people?”

Your husband’s eyes fill with displeasure and you know the answer already.

“Oh, Marcus,” you sigh.

“The emperors are uninterested in attending to the needs of their subjects. They dismiss poverty as if it is nothing more than a word.” His jaw clicks. The revelation makes bile climb up the back of your throat.

“To hell with the emperors then!” You say just as another group of senators begins to pass through the courtyard from above. He grasps your wrist and pushes you gently against a wall further into the darkness before bringing a finger to his lips.

“We must be careful,” he whispers in a reprimanding tone. “Any indication of disagreement could mean devastation.”

You snatch your arm away from his grasp even though his touch was not rough. “Rome is already devastated.”

“Not for Rome,” he hisses. He glances down at your fiery eyes and softens. “Any punishment I earn could be taken out on you, my wife,” he says gently. His hand drifts down to your stomach, well-hidden by your tunic, and rests on the peak of it. “It could mean the harm of our children.”

You’re barely showing, but your midwife insists that you are carrying a pair. It wasn’t what you and Marcus were expecting, but you’ve both been delighted since you found out and even more grateful to the Gods for their abundance of blessings upon your family. But with Rome’s growing list of troubles, it has become harder for either of you to imagine a future for your cherished children in the very land you call home. It is for that reason that rage engulfs you at the picture of Rome’s most powerful pupils disregarding the very people that they have sworn to protect.

“Rome’s people cannot survive another season of suffering whilst the powerful indulge in their barbaric games.” You swallow down the distaste in your mouth. “Something must change.”

Marcus nods in agreement, beginning to gently rub your arm up and down. “Change is possible. I know it. But the emperors are euphoric from their successes in war and bursting with power. It will take time to get through to them.”

You aren’t so convinced. “I worry for you Marcus. How soon before their thirst for war returns and you are sent off to fight? You must remember that no matter your status you are only a pawn in their games.”

He nods. “I have not forgotten. It is for that reason that I must appear as though I am playing my part while guiding them ever so slowly towards the right path. One that guarantees freedom and contentment for all of Rome’s people, not just the wealthy.”

“And if you cannot?” You whisper.

He cocks his head. “Do you question my capability?”

“Never,” you assure him. “I only mean that these leaders are young, bloodthirsty, and motivated only by their boredom. Who is to say that anyone’s guidance will be respected?”

Marcus sighs. “It will have to be. There are no other options.”

Silence follows for a moment. Marcus’ hand continues to rub your arm. Even when you look up at him with firm eyes.

“There is one,” you suggest. He closes his eyes to hide the eye roll, already knowing what it is that you’re insinuating, but you hold your strong gaze to let him know that you’re serious. His hand falls from your arm and runs through his damp waves of hair.

“To overthrow the emperors would take the support of nearly all of Rome,” he reasons.

“You’re the General, you know how to rally the people. Who better to lead the movement than you?” You insist.

“Movement,” he breathes a humorless laugh. “There is no movement. There is barely any man in the senate who will dare to openly disagree with the emperors. How could I persuade such frightened men to take up swords against them?”

Marcus watches your eyes dim as you defeatedly pull your scarf over your chest. It kills him to watch you lose hope.

“It will take some time to convince the emperors, but it can be done.” He reassures you. “I only need to be smart about it. And we need to be patient.”

You trust what your husband is saying, but you can’t shake the fear that he won’t be able to get the emperors to change their motivations before they decide to join another war—sending your Marcus away once again for who knows how long and condemning Rome to another century of adversities.

Marcus gazes at you as you confer with yourself. He’s used to it by now, you going into your own little world to think things through. Your forehead creases and he immediately brings a hand up to smooth the lines out. “What plagues your mind now?” He asks softly.

You shake your head. “Nothing.” He frowns.

“Tell me. Please. My heart cannot bear to return home to a worried wife,” he insists.

A smile makes its way onto your lips. “Then you have chosen the wrong woman to be wed to for the rest of your life.” He smirks.

“I didn’t choose.” His hand travels up along the side of your body, slowly tracing your outline. “Something I did pleased the Gods so greatly that they granted me a gift—a goddess of their own.” You gasp when his hand pauses at your neck, the same spot he’d placed tender kisses upon the night before when you’d been in bed. He rubs gentle circles on the skin there before his hand begins its trek upwards again. “And now I live to serve and protect her. To love her,” he strokes your cheek softly. “And prove that I am worthy of such a generous gift.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile graces your lips at his praise. He runs a thumb back and forth over your bottom lip, a fond smile gracing his lips too.

The attention is too much. You take his hand in yours, bringing it between the two of you. “I am not a goddess and you live to serve the emperors,” you say.

His eyes gleam with sincerity. “Maybe. But it is my duty to protect you and you must let me do that, my love.”

His beautiful eyes shine so bright with earnestness that you have no choice but to kiss him. He lets you, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing the other to the back of your head so that he can gently push you against the wall to deepen the kiss. The action sparks something in you. You run your hands over his shoulders, moaning in satisfaction when you feel the hard muscles under his clothing, when suddenly he pulls away. He chuckles at your groan of disapproval and rests an arm against the wall above your head, slightly caging you in.

“Tell me, what can I do to soothe your worries, my wife?”

Your chest tightens at just the mention of the millions of things that worry your mind. The viciousness of the emperors, the possibility of the collapse of your city, the fear of your dear husbands’ departure-or worse–death. These days there are many things that plague your mind and cause you to bite your nails down to the quick. But so many of those things are out of Marcus’ control. So, you ask of him only what is fair.

“Just come home to me tonight, safe,” you ask, eyes shining.

He nods then ducks down to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Of course, my love. Always.” He pulls away. “Now go home and rest.”

You reluctantly take a step away from him. “I’ll go home, but I will not rest. My body will not be subdued until I know you are safe in our bed.”

Marcus once again crowds against you, a hand on your waist pinning you against a column. “Then wait for me in our bed. Naked. And when I arrive home tonight I will subdue your body myself.”

“Marcus!” you whisper from the shadows of the columns that line the enormous courtyard on the west side of the palace, not far from where you’d snuck in just moments ago.

He turns swiftly, the gold of the medals pinned to the top of his tunic glimmering in the sunlight. His face is stern, guarded as he scans his surroundings looking for the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?” he demands.

The order sends a chill through your body. You should feel intimidated and you’re sure you would if you were only a plebeian. But you aren’t. And so Marcus’ powerful voice and cold demeanor that terrify even the bravest of Rome’s soldiers serve only as a distraction to you.

It isn’t often that you get to see your husband decked out in his formal attire— a white tunic layered with heavy armor and a paludamentum over his shoulders, flowing down to his ankles. It’s even rarer that you are at the receiving end of his fright-inducing demands, his voice never rising against you even when he is at his wit’s end. There were exceptions in the bedroom, of course, but only when you’d ask. And even then you’d have to beg for that tone of his—earn it. That tone that he uses so freely now. Sometimes you envy his soldiers.

Just as you open your mouth to respond, a group of senators passes overhead on the upper story of the palace, their footsteps echoing throughout the courtyard. You quickly retreat to the shadows, your sandals scraping against the smooth concrete as you hurry to conceal yourself. Even with your face hidden behind a scarf, you must be careful. You don’t know what the punishment is for sneaking into the emperor’s palace and you aren’t at all eager to find out.

Marcus hears the scuffle of your feet and follows the noise, it leads him right to you, face-to-face where you can see the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead above his glorious brown eyes.

“Reveal yourself,” he says, keeping at his position. Your hands come up to push away the scarf concealing your hair and mouth as you step towards him into the sunlight. His eyes widen immediately, only taking half a second to recognize you. And then you’re being pushed back into the shadows, Marcus looking over his shoulders to check for any onlookers. He sighs in relief when he finds none, then turns his attention to you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. You fight the urge to chuckle at his expression. There isn’t a hint of anger in his eyes, only pure bewilderment. That isn’t common for your husband.

“I wish to know about the meeting,” you say casually, your hand coming up to fiddle with one of the gold tassels that hang over his shoulders.

He only looks more confused. “How did you get inside the palace?”

“I have my ways,” you shrug. He raises an eyebrow. “You can’t leave your blueprints out on our kitchen table and expect me not to look at them,” you reason.

He lets out a sigh but you catch a smile playing on his lips. “Am I right to assume that you snuck in from one of the hidden entrances?”

“The hidden entrances that no one but the General is supposed to know about? Yes, you are right to assume so.” He shakes his head in amusement.

“And this?” He holds up the folded paper you’d addressed to him telling him to meet you in the courtyard as soon as the meeting adjourned.

“I slipped it to a servant on my way over. Don’t worry, she has been paid greatly for her silence.” You release the tassel and move your hand down to the golden design over his chest, tracing the outline of it with your finger.

“Your persistence amazes me,” he says in honesty before looking over his shoulders once again. “But you must leave.” You sigh, dropping your hand.

“I will as soon as you tell me about the meeting. What did the emperors say? Were you able to convince them to turn their attention away from the gladiator games and towards the suffering of their people?”

Your husband’s eyes fill with displeasure and you know the answer already.

“Oh, Marcus,” you sigh.

“The emperors are uninterested in attending to the needs of their subjects. They dismiss poverty as if it is nothing more than a word.” His jaw clicks. The revelation makes bile climb up the back of your throat.

“To hell with the emperors then!” You say just as another group of senators begins to pass through the courtyard from above. He grasps your wrist and pushes you gently against a wall further into the darkness before bringing a finger to his lips.

“We must be careful,” he whispers in a reprimanding tone. “Any indication of disagreement could mean devastation.”

You snatch your arm away from his grasp even though his touch was not rough. “Rome is already devastated.”

“Not for Rome,” he hisses. He glances down at your fiery eyes and softens. “Any punishment I earn could be taken out on you, my wife,” he says gently. His hand drifts down to your stomach, well-hidden by your tunic, and rests on the peak of it. “It could mean the harm of our children.”

You’re barely showing, but your midwife insists that you are carrying a pair. It wasn’t what you and Marcus were expecting, but you’ve both been delighted since you found out and even more grateful to the Gods for their abundance of blessings upon your family. But with Rome’s growing list of troubles, it has become harder for either of you to imagine a future for your cherished children in the very land you call home. It is for that reason that rage engulfs you at the picture of Rome’s most powerful pupils disregarding the very people that they have sworn to protect.

“Rome’s people cannot survive another season of suffering whilst the powerful indulge in their barbaric games.” You swallow down the distaste in your mouth. “Something must change.”

Marcus nods in agreement, beginning to gently rub your arm up and down. “Change is possible. I know it. But the emperors are euphoric from their successes in war and bursting with power. It will take time to get through to them.”

You aren’t so convinced. “I worry for you Marcus. How soon before their thirst for war returns and you are sent off to fight? You must remember that no matter your status you are only a pawn in their games.”

He nods. “I have not forgotten. It is for that reason that I must appear as though I am playing my part while guiding them ever so slowly towards the right path. One that guarantees freedom and contentment for all of Rome’s people, not just the wealthy.”

“And if you cannot?” You whisper.

He cocks his head. “Do you question my capability?”

“Never,” you assure him. “I only mean that these leaders are young, bloodthirsty, and motivated only by their boredom. Who is to say that anyone’s guidance will be respected?”

Marcus sighs. “It will have to be. There are no other options.”

Silence follows for a moment. Marcus’ hand continues to rub your arm. Even when you look up at him with firm eyes.

“There is one,” you suggest. He closes his eyes to hide the eye roll, already knowing what it is that you’re insinuating, but you hold your strong gaze to let him know that you’re serious. His hand falls from your arm and runs through his damp waves of hair.

“To overthrow the emperors would take the support of nearly all of Rome,” he reasons.

“You’re the General, you know how to rally the people. Who better to lead the movement than you?” You insist.

“Movement,” he breathes a humorless laugh. “There is no movement. There is barely any man in the senate who will dare to openly disagree with the emperors. How could I persuade such frightened men to take up swords against them?”

Marcus watches your eyes dim as you defeatedly pull your scarf over your chest. It kills him to watch you lose hope.

“It will take some time to convince the emperors, but it can be done.” He reassures you. “I only need to be smart about it. And we need to be patient.”

You trust what your husband is saying, but you can’t shake the fear that he won’t be able to get the emperors to change their motivations before they decide to join another war—sending your Marcus away once again for who knows how long and condemning Rome to another century of adversities.

Marcus gazes at you as you confer with yourself. He’s used to it by now, you going into your own little world to think things through. Your forehead creases and he immediately brings a hand up to smooth the lines out. “What plagues your mind now?” He asks softly.

You shake your head. “Nothing.” He frowns.

“Tell me. Please. My heart cannot bear to return home to a worried wife,” he insists.

A smile makes its way onto your lips. “Then you have chosen the wrong woman to be wed to for the rest of your life.” He smirks.

“I didn’t choose.” His hand travels up along the side of your body, slowly tracing your outline. “Something I did pleased the Gods so greatly that they granted me a gift—a goddess of their own.” You gasp when his hand pauses at your neck, the same spot he’d placed tender kisses upon the night before when you’d been in bed. He rubs gentle circles on the skin there before his hand begins its trek upwards again. “And now I live to serve and protect her. To love her,” he strokes your cheek softly. “And prove that I am worthy of such a generous gift.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile graces your lips at his praise. He runs a thumb back and forth over your bottom lip, a fond smile gracing his lips too.

The attention is too much. You take his hand in yours, bringing it between the two of you. “I am not a goddess and you live to serve the emperors,” you say.

His eyes gleam with sincerity. “Maybe. But it is my duty to protect you and you must let me do that, my love.”

His beautiful eyes shine so bright with earnestness that you have no choice but to kiss him. He lets you, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing the other to the back of your head so that he can gently push you against the wall to deepen the kiss. The action sparks something in you. You run your hands over his shoulders, moaning in satisfaction when you feel the hard muscles under his clothing, when suddenly he pulls away. He chuckles at your groan of disapproval and rests an arm against the wall above your head, slightly caging you in.

“Tell me, what can I do to soothe your worries, my wife?”

Your chest tightens at just the mention of the millions of things that worry your mind. The viciousness of the emperors, the possibility of the collapse of your city, the fear of your dear husbands’ departure-or worse–death. These days there are many things that plague your mind and cause you to bite your nails down to the quick. But so many of those things are out of Marcus’ control. So, you ask of him only what is fair.

“Just come home to me tonight, safe,” you ask, eyes shining.

He nods then ducks down to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Of course, my love. Always.” He pulls away. “Now go home and rest.”

You reluctantly take a step away from him. “I’ll go home, but I will not rest. My body will not be subdued until I know you are safe in our bed.”

Marcus once again crowds against you, a hand on your waist pinning you against a column. “Then wait for me in our bed. Naked. And when I arrive home tonight I will subdue your body myself.”