#geta gladiator

You sat beside your husband, Emperor Geta, dressed in flowing silks the colour of rosewater, your eyes wide and trembling behind the delicate veil you wore.

The scent of iron was thick in the air, and though Geta sat straight and proud, enjoying every second of the spectacle with his brother Caracalla on the other side, you could barely breathe.

You turned your face, eyes squeezed shut as a scream pierced the air, followed by the sickening sound of metal sinking into flesh.

The crowd cheered louder.

“Love,” Geta leaned in, his voice gentle, though tinged with confusion. “You are not watching.”

You couldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry… I thought I could, but-”

Another cry.

Another flash of blood.

You felt your stomach churn.

Geta’s smile faltered. “You are unwell.”

“I can’t… I can’t bear it,” you whispered, voice quivering. “There’s so much blood, and they’re hurting each other."

Caracalla laughed from beside Geta. “She’s soft, brother. Doesn’t have the Roman stomach.”

You flinched, heart pounding.

You didn’t belong here. You never had.

You weren’t a woman of war or vengeance.

You loved flowers and quiet mornings, and Geta’s soft hands when they weren’t calloused by sword hilts.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you murmured. “Forgive me.”

Geta’s expression changed then.

The pride and amusement faded from his face, and something more tender replaced it.

He looked at you, not as a disappointed husband or a stern ruler, but as a man who loved a woman too delicate for this brutal world.

Without another word, he stood.

“Brother?” Caracalla asked, raising a brow.

“I’ve seen enough for today,” Geta said, offering his hand to you.

You hesitated, eyes flickering toward him. “But… it’s not over.”

“I don’t care,” he said softly. “Come. Let’s go home.”

You rose with him, unsure, and followed quietly through the stone corridors until the roar of the crowd became a distant hum.

When you were finally alone, back in the quiet of your garden within the palace walls, Geta sat you down gently on the marble bench beneath the olive tree.

He knelt before you, a hand on your knee. “I didn’t know it would upset you like that.”

“I know you love the games,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to be a disappointment.”

“Disappointment?” he echoed, frowning. “You think your soft heart is something to be ashamed of?”

You looked down. “It’s not fit for an emperor’s wife.”

Geta reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It’s exactly what I need. Do you think I wish to come home to more blood and fire?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You are my peace. My gentleness. My reason not to become like him.”

You knew who he meant, his brother.

Caracalla, who thrived on carnage. Who bathed in it.

“You could have any woman,” you said. “Someone brave. Fierce.”

“I don’t want brave,” he said, lifting your hand to his lips. “I want you. The way you gasp when butterflies land on your fingertips. The way you cry when you read poetry. The way you hate to even see a bird wounded.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the clarity in his voice.

“You keep me from losing myself,” he said. “Don’t you see? If I forget what it means to be gentle… I’ll become a monster.”

You threw your arms around him then, burying your face in his shoulder. His arms came around you instantly, warm and solid, his hands stroking your back with comforting tenderness.

“I love you,” you said against his skin.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I love you, my gentle Empress.”

Later, as the sun dipped into dusk and the air turned cool, Geta led you through the gardens, your fingers laced in his.

No crowds. No violence.

Just the sound of birds and the rustle of leaves.

And that night, he held you tightly in bed, his breath at your temple.

“I won’t make you go again,” he murmured. “Not ever.”

You smiled into his chest. “Thank you.”

He kissed your hair, pulling you closer. “I’d rather lose the crowd than lose you.”

And from that day on, though he ruled Rome with strength, the people said Geta had grown softer.

They didn’t know the reason was love.

“I think it’s going to be a boy,” Geta mused, hand roaming over the growing expanse of your stomach. “A strong boy. The future of Rome is in your belly, you know that, Carissima?”

“And what if it’s a girl?” you asked, a giggle on your lips bringing a smile to the Emperor’s own.

“Then she shall take after her mother and be the most beautiful in all of Rome,” he said, hand caressing the skin of your belly. “And I’ll have to give you another.”

“Geta!” You playfully scolded, hand swatting at his as he laughed. “Another so soon?”

“Of course, my love. I need an heir. And to see you, swollen with child again so soon…” he leaned forward, pressing kisses to your neck. “Would be a gift. The gods have truly blessed me.”

You hummed, melting into his touch. You were sprawled together on your huge bed, dressed in your bed clothes for the night. His body curled behind yours, hands roaming your body wherever he pleased. Up and over your breasts, pinching at your nipples before moving back to your stomach; then down between your legs, feeling for the wetness he knew would be waiting for him.

“My love…” he whispered seductively against your ear. “Is there something you want?”

You whined, pressing back against him. He knew what you wanted, and he wanted it too. You could feel him already hard against your backside as he dipped his fingers between your folds. He collected your slick on his fingers and brought them to his lips, sucking them clean, tasting your essence. “Divine,” he remarked. “Somehow, you taste even sweeter.”

He lifted your tunic over your body, baring you to the night and his eyes alone. His hands trailed over your soft skin, so beautiful and flawless in his eyes. Perfection sent to him from the gods themselves.

Geta undid his own robe, revealing his glorious body fully naked, cock hard and standing proud as he gazed down at you. “You are so beautiful, Carissima.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he drank in your beauty. “Will you sing for me tonight?”

You giggled, knowing he didn’t exactly mean a ballad. “Perhaps if I feel inspired, my Emperor…”

A wicked smile crossed his face as he leaned over you, kissing up your body until he reached your lips. “Oh, how beautiful a melody I could pull from those lips…let me show you.”

He gently moved you onto your side, careful of your stomach. Geta had treated you like you were made of glass since he discovered your pregnancy. He had been overjoyed, but if you thought he was overprotective before, he became a whole different beast with his beloved wife carrying his potential heir.

He consulted the augurs at the beginning of your pregnancy. Since then he has prayed daily to the goddesses of childbirth; Eileithyia, Hera, Juno. He has left them daily offerings at their temples and shrines to ensure the safe delivery of your child.

You always had an entourage with you with your servant staff, but now you had a guard of Praetorians following your every move, as well. Even servants to taste your food before you could eat. Speaking of your food, Geta suddenly insisted on you receiving the healthiest, finest foods in the Empire. He still allowed you your fig cakes, at least.

The only time you got any peace, any time alone, were these cherished nights in bed with your Emperor. When he dropped his cruel and ruthless persona and became your husband. He would take care of you, massage your belly with oils each night. It was your favorite part of the day.

Once you were comfortably laid on your side, Geta moved back behind you, his body spooning against yours. He brushed your hair back over your shoulder, placing kisses against the skin of your back. “Do you remember our wedding night?”

“How could I forget?” You smiled, the memory rushing back to you. It had been less than a year, but felt like a lifetime.

It had been a beautiful ceremony. Everything you could have dreamed of. Your father had been proud to marry his daughter to an Emperor. The augurs had been consulted by Geta himself to ensure propitious omens and favor from the gods. You wore your beautiful white tunica recta, a gorgeous veil atop your head. There had been a delicious cake, as he had heard of your sweet tooth beforehand.

Afterwards, Geta took you to the bridal lectus, where he took you apart piece by piece until you were nothing but writhing pleasure beneath him.

Geta hummed against your back. “Do you remember how I surprised you in your chambers before the ceremony?”

You blushed. Of course you did. It had been such a surprise to find Geta waiting for you in your chambers, you weren’t even supposed to see him before the ceremony. You had been scared at first, you still hardly knew one another and you had heard plenty of stories, but his plans for you had been more than pleasing.

“I simply had to have a taste of my bride to be,” he continued. “It was all I could think about once I saw you for the first time. It plagued me those three months of our betrothal leading up until our ceremony. It was all I could think of when I was alone. Even just touching your hand to place the ring on your finger…” You felt Geta shiver behind you. “Carissima, I was yours, body and soul.”

He reached down to grasp onto your thigh, lifting it up and over his own leg between yours. You felt his thick tip prodding at your entrance, and you sighed, already so responsive for him.

“You’ve been so sensitive since you have been carrying our child,” he remarked as his fingertips traced slowly over your clit, before dipping down to press inside of you. You gasped loudly - you could feel his smirk against your skin. “I absolutely love it.”

You moaned as he pumped his fingers into you a few more times, but you were so wet you really didn’t need any preparation. He removed his fingers, sucking them clean with a groan, before pressing his tip against your pussy once again.

He didn’t ask before he started sinking inside - the Emperor did not ask for permission. But he knew you would have given it over and over again had he asked. Your head fell back against him as he filled you from behind, holding your leg up high to allow him enough room to get as deeply inside as he liked to be.

He bottomed out quickly and began thrusting in and out of your perfect tight heat, groaning deeply against your neck. His fingertips dug into your thigh as he fucked you like you needed to be fucked. He knew your body better than anyone, even yourself.

“Carissima,” he moaned; a weakness in his voice he would never let anyone else witness. It was raspy, desperate for more of the perfect fit of your pussy. He called your name over and over again in your ear, the title never sounding more sinful than it did in that moment.

“You feel so good,” you whined, your hips bucking back to meet his thrusts, to have him fuck you harder. He didn’t like to take you roughly with you in your current state, not like he used to. You missed it desperately. “Please, my Emperor, take me harder.”

Geta groaned loudly at your words, his composure faltering as his sloppy thrusts stuttered. “My beloved,” he said, his raspy voice pained. “Do not say things such as that. You do not know how hard it is to keep my control.”

“Please,” you begged again, back arching as you felt your release beginning to build. “Please, Geta, please fuck me.”

His grip tightened on your thigh and he groaned again, like you were causing him physical pain. He thought to deny you once again, but his primal instincts took over and he began fucking into you fast and hard. The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room, and you were certain between that and the moans you were both emitting, the entire palace could hear your lovemaking.

“Close,” you whined out, eyes falling closed as your orgasm built faster and faster. You could feel your pussy beginning to clench around his cock, and he felt it too, his hips stuttering again as he neared his own imminent release.

“Sing for me,” he encouraged you, laying your thigh on his leg so he could move his hand between your legs. You cried out loudly as he paid delicious attention to your aching clit, and your orgasm hit you, pussy spasming hard around your Emperor’s thick cock.

“That’s it, Carissima, let all of Rome hear how you sing for me!”

Geta gripped back onto your thigh, fucking into you fast and hard with no rhythm until he finally stilled pressed against you, shooting rope after rope of his seed deep inside you as he let out the most divine moans you’d ever heard.

He rode out both of your releases, shallow thrusts until all of his cum had been spent inside of you. He pulled out, laying on his back next to you as his chest heaved with his breaths. He opened an arm for you, and you laid against him.

These moments of bliss were your absolute favorite. These moments of quiet and peace and love between you and your husband. It was rare for an Emperor to find a true love like this. Rare for a woman to be so lucky in her marriage. You reminded yourself of your fortune often.

You reached up, playing with a lock of his ginger hair. He smiled down at you lovingly, the look on his face one of pure adoration. The truth of it was seen in his eyes, to his very soul.

“The child will be here soon,” Geta said, his hand once again splayed on your large belly. “I have arranged for celebratory games to be held for the next two weeks. I want all of Rome to join in our celebrating the forthcoming birth of our heir.”

You turned to him. “Geta, I’m not sure I should-“

“Shh, my love,” he hushed you. “You do not have to attend, anaticula. I know you do not care for them. And I would rather keep you both safe from harm.”

You smiled gently at your husband. Somehow, he continued to surprise you with how much he loved and cared for you, and now the child in your belly, too. You knew no matter if it was a boy or a girl, Geta would be the perfect father, would love this child fiercely. He would not let harm come to either of you.

“He needs a strong name,” he thought to himself. “Lucius. Septimius. But perhaps we should meet him first? See what kind of personality he will have?”

“We do not yet know if it will be a he,” you teased him, your hand resting on your belly next to his. You felt a small kick beneath your hand and quickly grabbed Geta’s, moving it to that exact spot. After a moment of waiting, a grin spread across the Emperor’s face, pure jubilation evident in his eyes.

“Boy or girl, they’re nice and strong,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “I love you, Carissima.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you, my beloved.”

Geta rubbed your belly gently, soothing your nausea and pains as you relaxed into him in your large, plush bed. As you began to drift off to sleep in the arms of your Emperor, you heard his quiet voice one last time in your ear.

The air of the Imperial Palaces is buzzing with laughter and music. Expensive wine is flowing freely between Rome's Elite, a parade of wealth and charm where every guest is competing for attention in the glittering spectacle. From their golden dais, the twin emperors oversee the festivities, though each is engrossed in his own way.

Caracalla lounges lazily in his gilded seat, the lack of enthusiasm evident. He is barely paying attention, too focused on his beloved monkey that is sitting on the armrest. While taking long, careless sips of wine he occasionally fed Dundus with grapes. 

Geta on the other hand is sitting upright but his face is mirroring the boredom of his brother, his dark eyes observing the crowd with mild interest.

These elaborate displays of power and wealth had quickly lost their appeal and soon became tiresome rituals of their rule. Necessary evils, as even Emperors have to maintain appearances.

Caracalla throws a grape in the air, watching Dundus catch it mid-air. His eyes momentarily move towards the crowd before returning back to his monkey. With a sigh, he breaks the silence, gesturing toward a group of dancers performing in the center of the hall. “Do you ever wonder why we bother with all this? I’d wager most of them don’t even remember why we are holding these festivities.”

Geta glances at his brother, with a hint of humor in his voice he asks, “Do you?” Caracalla narrows his eyes at the teasing but keeps silent, his attention back to the monkey.

“It’s necessary,” Geta continues, his eyes resuming to oversee the guests. “The spectacle reminds them of our power.”

“Power,” Caracalla echoes with a grimace. “If they were truly loyal, we wouldn’t need to remind them at all. Loyalty bought with wine and music isn’t loyalty. It’s theater.”

“Perhaps,” Geta shrugs his shoulders. “But the people thrive on theater. It keeps them entertained and compliant.”

Caracalla sighs, swirling his goblet, “We should have asked Macrinus to send some of his gladiators.”

Geta tilts his head, amusement coloring his features. “We can’t have people die at every festive occasion, brother.”

Caracalla’s grin turns wicked as he strokes Dundus’s fur, “Says who?” 

That elicits a faint chuckle from his brother. Geta reaches for a new goblet of wine, with his lips curved into a half smile. “The night’s still young, Caracalla. Let’s see what this evening brings before you write it off entirely.”

As if on cue, the grand doors of the atrium swing open, catching both brothers’ attention. A new set of guests enters the hall. Another senator with his family, but something about them is different, their arrival causes a subtle shift in the room. Heads turn and hushed whispers travel through the crowd.

“More senators,” Caracalla releases a tired breath, his attention already elsewhere.

Geta is about to dismiss them as well but then the senator steps aside, revealing two young women trailing behind him. Geta straights in his chair lightly, his attention sharpening.

The elder of the two wears a pale bluish almost lavender colored dress that shimmers in the light of the chandeliers. Her hair is pinned up, exposing her neck and shoulders. An air of quiet confidence surrounds her as she walks, her head held high as she speaks with her father. The younger one, in a soft, rose-colored gown, clings to her sister’s arm. Her movements try to mimic the elder’s, though she lacks the sisters' confidence. They exchange a few words with their father before he drifts off with their brother, leaving the two to stand at the entrance. 

Caracalla notices Geta’s interest and raises an eyebrow. “Something worth noting?” But Geta doesn’t reply right away. Caracalla follows his brother’s line of sight, observing the young women briefly before turning back to Dundus. “They’re pretty, I’ll give them that. But half the women here are pretty.”

“True,” Geta murmurs softly. 

Caracalla has to smirk, to him they look like every other noble daughter. “Careful, Geta. You seem interested. Should I have them sent up?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geta scoffs at his brother, before leaning back in his chair, his eyes moving over the crowd again.

Caracalla chuckles softly, tossing another grape to Dundus. “The night’s young, indeed.”

The air smells like flowers and honey. Your eyes dart between the crowd, as you take a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves. The practiced mask of composure quickly slips into place. With a pet of your sister's hand on your arm, you smile at her, “Shall we?”

Sabina nods, giving you a faint smile of her own. Her calm exterior is just an act and you know that. You can feel the unease radiating from her. The court is a beautiful prison, a place where every glance and every word carries meaning. Tonight, the eyes of friends and foes will be on you. A dance you’ve learned long ago but it's still new to your little sister.

With Sabina’s hand securely around your arm, you lead her through the hall, exchanging brief pleasantries with the various nobles and acquaintances you encounter. The conversations are fleeting and filled with hollow friendliness. Not wishing to spend the night with unhonest smiles alone, you two continue moving through the crowd.

When a servant approaches with trays of wine, you take two cups, handing one to Sabina with a quiet instruction. “Drink slowly. It keeps your hands occupied.”

Sabina accepts her cup, taking a quick sip. “It’s impressive how you do it.”

You cast her a small reassuring smile, petting her hand on your arm. “All practice, Sabi. Trust me, soon it’ll come as naturally to you as it does to me.”

She shakes her head softly, moving forward through the guests. “No, it’s not that. When you do it, it looks simple. Like you were born for this.”

With your eyes on the nobles around you, you say, “Thank you for the compliment, but I am born into this and so are you. Soon enough, you’ll handle it with ease. Just watch Marcus and me.”

Sabina nods silently, her steps quickening to match your pace as you lead her further into the hall. You come to stand before one of today's entertainments, beautiful exotic dancers. Their bodies move like water as they glide across the floor in a swirl of colors. As you two watch them, servants continue to offer delicacies, exotic fruits, pastries filled with honey, roasted meats sliced finely. You sample a bit of everything, savoring the fleeting pleasure of it.

As you take a small piece of a fruit you haven't heard from before, you nod subtly toward a woman standing near a pillar. "See Lady Amagus, the one in green? She’ll divorce her husband soon. He fathered a bastard with her youngest sister.”

Sabina’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth, momentarily forgetting to conceal her reaction. The shock fades quickly again. "By Jupiter... the humiliation."

You nod, your gaze following the woman. "I can’t imagine it. But she’s holding herself with outstanding grace despite it."

The two of you continue your way through the crowd, gossiping quietly as you walk. Eventually you stop near the archways leading to one of the many palace gardens. The fresh cool evening air is a welcome gift. You turn your back to the arches, enjoying the air brushing over your shoulders, your little sister quickly following suit.

Sabina leans in, her voice lowered as she speaks. “I’ve heard Julia Meranius will marry into House Heras. Not the son, but the father. Lady Heras just died and they’re already making wedding plans.”

You shake your head, your jaw tightening in disgust. "Tasteless. Makes you wonder if her illness was more than just a coincidence.” Sabina glares at you but you just shrug your shoulders. “Unfortunate, no less.”

The music changes and you allow yourself to breathe, savoring the cooling breeze that drifts through the heated hall. Unfortunately, the peace is short-lived, as from the corner of your eye, you catch Sabina’s gaze wandering, drifting upward to the side, to the golden dais.

The Emperors.

“Stop it.” You admonish her quietly, the calm mask on your face intact despite the warning in your tone. “It’s unwise to draw their notice.”

Sabina startles slightly, her eyes snapping back to the crowd immediately. “They look-”

“Don’t.” You cut her off with a sharper edge, casting her a quick warning glare.

Your sister exhales softly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she lifts her cup, sipping in silence.

Shortly after your arrival, you’ve stolen a quick glance at them yourself, when moving through the crowd. You know what she was going to say.

That the twin emperors might as well be statues - cold, motionless, carved from arrogance itself. They can’t even bring themselves to feign interest in the spectacle before them.

You glance at Sabina, ensuring her focus remains elsewhere while your own thoughts betray you. War, death and bloodshed are known to be your ruler's true passions and it seems neither music nor wine can compare. True to their title, the mad twins. A name only uttered in the smallest of whispers in the darkest of Rome's corners.

With a slight shake of your head, you try to banish these traitorous thoughts. You’re not here to dwell on politics, that is reserved for your brother and father. You are here to enjoy the evening.

Sabinas' sudden firm grip on your arm quickly demands your attention. She leans closer to you. “Senator Domitianus just arrived.”

You take another slow sip of your wine, eyes flicking over to where the elderly senator stands. “Pay him no mind. He’s toothless. A few years left to live and even fewer alliances to call his own. In a few months, he’ll be nothing more than a whisper in the wind."

Sabina smiles faintly, her fingers tightening just slightly around your arm. It’s comforting in a way, this quiet understanding between you two. “Hold your head up high, Sabina. He will be soon forgotten, while we are still standing despite his efforts. We are proud and everyone shall see it.”

Up on the golden dais, the emperors still watch the growing crowd. Dundus is squeaking happily, performing tricks for his master, much to his delight.

Geta rolls his eyes, annoyed by the loud, little creature. Resting his head on his hand, he suppresses a sigh. This night really does feel endless, the music and chatter blending into a monotonous hum. His eyes wander over the dancers without much interest. He watches their performance for a moment, before a flicker of blue in his periphery catches his attention. At once his gaze shifts again, landing on the sisters he noticed earlier tonight.

The older sister stands out, not only in her appearance but in her demeanor. The woman in blue carries herself with effortless elegance, a composure that sets her apart from the peacocks who parade themselves before him and his brother. Unlike the other women in the hall, she seems unconcerned with drawing attention to herself, oozing quiet confidence as though she has nothing to prove.

“What do you think of them?” Geta asks, his voice low as he turns to his brother, though his gaze never leaves the sisters. “They seem out of place.”

Caracalla glances over at them, his face twisting into a smirk. “Which one caught your attention, the proud dove or the trembling chick?” 

Geta’s lips twitch slightly but he didn’t look away. “The one in blue. There is something about her.”

“That so? And what would that be?” Caracalla asks, his eyes landing on the girls briefly again before looking back at the monkey. “She’s just some noble’s daughter, here to remind us that her family still exists. Probably hoping to secure a good match for herself or the skittish one by her side. And if you’re not careful, she’ll think you’re interested.”

As if sensing their eyes on her, the woman in blue turns her head slowly, her eyes sweeping the room until they nearly meet Geta’s. But before their gazes can lock, a familiar figure strides into the hall, stealing the emperor's attention.

“Fabius Verrinus.” Geta observes quietly, looking at his brother with a knowing grin. He straightens in lazy anticipation. “Finally, some entertainment.”

The brothers share a look of amusement. Senator Verrinus is infamous, known for his sharp mind and even sharper tongue. A man of the kind that thrives on attention and over the time the emperors have become eager spectators. 

“Let’s see who he targets tonight,” Caracalla says, leaning forward with rekindled interest.

Verrinus exchanges a few words with a fellow senator when his gaze finds the two sisters. He pauses mid-sentence, his lips curving into a predatory smile. Geta's brows knit together, it seems the sisters haven’t only captured his interest. 

The senator excuses himself, making his way towards the two women in purposeful strides. By the looks of it, the elder one notices him first, her posture tensing lightly in anticipation.

Verrinus' voice breaks though the music, loud enough to draw attention of the close by nobles. “Ah, the daughters of House Cassius! A vision, as always.” 

The crowd parts slightly as he approaches the sisters. Fabius' voice is laced with honey but his smile fails to reach his eyes. “I must say it's quite surprising to see you in attendance tonight. I’ve heard your family is facing hard times. I heard your father struggles to keep his trading routes safe. Perhaps he should take notes from more capable men.”

His words are calculated, insults cloaked in feigned civility. The younger girl stiffens visibly, her wide eyes darting nervously between her sister and Fabius.

Caracalla chuckles quietly from his seat, leaning in to watch the exchange. “The little one looks like she’s about to cry.”

Geta ignores him, his eyes focused on the elder one. She is completely unmoved by Verrinus' words. 

With a small step, she positions herself between the man and her sister, regarding the senator with a calm expression. “It is said that true nobility lies in enduring challenges with grace, my lord. Perhaps that is why my father commands respect, while others must resort to empty words to make themselves feel important.”

Geta arches an eyebrow, surprise evident in his face. Her boldness gains even more attention, subtle murmurs carry through the crowd of onlookers.

Verrinus' smile falters for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing at her. “Lady Y/N, surely you’ve heard about the rumors that your father-”

“Rumors,” she interrupts him, her tone smooth but direct. “Are like smoke, Senator. They may cloud the air for a time, but they vanish quickly when met with light. Only fools grasp at shadows in their search for relevance. It’s truly a blessing to know my family is above such things.”

The crowd’s whispers grow louder, encouraged by her eloquent retort. Verrinus opens his mouth to respond but before he can so much as utter a word, she silences him with a brilliant smile. “If you’ll excuse us, Senator. My sister and I would rather enjoy the tranquility of the garden than linger in such smoke.” 

Without waiting for a response, she takes her sister’s arm and guides her through the archway to the garden, leaving Verrinus to stew in the bitter humiliation.

Caracalla bursts into laughter, clapping his hands once. “Oh, she’s good! Did you see his face? Like a fish gasping for air.”

Geta huffs a laugh, his gaze shifting briefly to his brother, then back to the archway where the sisters disappeared. Caracalla leans back, clapping his hands again. “That was entertaining. What did he say her name was?”

Geta gestures to a nearby squire. “The woman in blue, who is she?”

The squire bows deeply before answering. “That is Lady Y/N Cassius, Your Majesty. The oldest daughter of Senator Gaius Cassius. Their grandfather was a merchant who built the family’s fortune. Senator Cassius expanded their influence further before securing a seat in the Senate.”

“Merchants elevated to Patricians,” Caracalla sneers, his earlier respect dimming by the family's status. “Hardly remarkable.”

With his eyes lingeing on the archway to the gardens, Geta points out, “Remarkable enough to silence Verrinus,”

The squire explains further, “House Cassius faced challenges of late, but they are still highly respected by many.”

“Respected,” Geta repeats, deep in thought. “Yes, I see why.” He dismisses the squire with a wave of his hand. Leaning back slowly in his seat again, his expression turns unreadable.

He was no stranger to the name Cassius, the family isn’t unfamiliar but the woman herself is. Geta realizes now that he’s never truly encountered that woman before tonight. That in itself feels like a peculiar oversight on his part. How had he overlooked someone like her, surely he would have noticed her before tonight.

Caracalla's mind is already distracted again as he leans against the armrest, his little Dundus sitting on his shoulder. “You see that one over there?” He gestured idly toward a group of noblewomen, his voice dripping with indifference. “She’s been staring at me for the last hour. Desperate for attention, like the rest of them.”

Geta doesn't reply, his focus still drawn toward the garden. Verrinus' still standing off to the side, his face still flushed from embarrassment or rage, likely a combination of both. The man’s pride is clearly wounded and yet Geta feels no pity nor amusement. There is only a quiet, growing curiosity about the woman who had so effortlessly dismantled the most vicious man of the city.

“Are you even listening, brother?” Caracalla asks, tossing a grape towards him.

“Hm?” Geta responds absently.

Caracalla frowns at him, “Brooding about the girls, are you? Don’t waste your time.”

Geta’s expression remains impassive as he keeps silent, his mind still working. Their father is a senator and by the looks of it, his eldest daughter has more wit than half the Senate combined. 

Eventually his eyes shortly move back to his brother before returning to the archways, “If her father’s political acumen matches her wit, House Cassius might prove useful.”

Caracalla laughs, loud enough to make a few nearby guests glance their way. “You always think in terms of politics, brother. Sometimes a woman is just a woman.”

“Sometimes, yes,” Geta agrees quietly. “But not this one.”

Caracalla laughs again, even louder this time. “And what of it? Haven’t you seen that little sister? That girl looked like a frightened fawn. I’ll take her, she seems easy to break. You can have the sharp-tongued one.”

Geta rolls his eyes, his tone dry. “How magnanimous of you.”

Caracalla only grins. “Her tongue will be the death of her. Verrinus won’t forget this. A shame, really. She’d make an entertaining court jester.”

“Or a useful ally,” Geta muses, swirling his wine thoughtfully.

“So? Are you going to sit there brooding all night, or are you going to follow her?” Caracalla teases lightly before tossing a grape into his mouth. “You look like a dog sniffing after a bone.”

“Unlike you, brother,” Geta finally tears his gaze away to meet Caracalla’s amused expression, “I don’t make a habit of chasing every pretty face. And I certainly don’t declare my intentions aloud in the presence of the entire court.”

Caracalla laughs, unbothered by the bait. “Oh, come now, Geta. Admit it - you’re intrigued. The noble merchant’s daughter, standing tall amidst the wolves. It’s practically a tale out of one of those tragic love poems you pretend not to enjoy.”

Geta ignores the jab about poetry, but his curiosity is undeniable. Caracalla's eyes met him again. “But don’t let it distract you from the reality of who we are.”

“And what’s that?” Geta asks, his annoyance clear in his tone.

“Gods,” Caracalla states simply, flashing a sharp grin. “And gods don’t chase mortal girls, no matter how clever they are.”

Geta drains his goblet, setting it down with a decisive clink. Rising from his seat, he adjusts the folds of his imperial robe.

“Oh, so you are going after her,” Caracalla drawls, leaning back with a smug grin. “Be careful, Geta. That rose seems to have thorns.”

Geta doesn’t spare his brother another glance, as he descends the dais. “I’d rather deal with thorns than another evening listening to you.”

The moon is rising behind the horizon, casting its brilliant silver glow across the sprawling opulent gardens of the imperial palace.

You dare to take a deep breath, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. Verrinus is such a coward. Instead of searching the confrontation he so clearly wished for with your father he chose the assumed easier opponent.

A mistake, clearly. Your father was a good teacher and you an even better student. Still, the confrontation was nerve racking and unnecessary. The rivalry between your two families shouldn't be so open on display. 

“That was impressive.” Your little sister beams at you, awe reflecting in her eyes. “He was stunned into silence.”

You two come to stand in front of a marble fountain. You lean against the cool stone lightly, before addressing your concerns. “Father will have a wonderful time in the Forum next time.”

Sabina looks at you with a small smile, petting your shoulder. “But what else could we have done? Ignore him? Surly Father will understand.”

Of course he will but that doesn’t make it any easier. Verrinus is a man who holds grudges. Father will not be thrilled. This will have consequences.

“On another note,” Sabina’s smile grows, “Did mother tell you about her recent encounter with Verrinus' ex-wife?”

Getas' feet take him slowly through the garden, following where the sisters had disappeared earlier. The feast is still lively, the music and laughter echoing in the distance but the Emperor doesn’t take notice. His eyes are set onto the two figures in the middle of the garden.

His pace slows down as he watches the sisters. The younger one is grinning brightly, gesturing wildly as she tells a story. The older one, Y/N as he has learned, listens attentively. The soft blue seems more lavender now, shimmering in the pale light. Her face, shining with a genuine smile, looks like a painting brought to life. Beautiful.

She seems to notice eyes on her, her head turning towards him. In an instant the smile is gone, replaced by the expression of careful composure he came to admire earlier tonight. 

“Lady Y/N,” Geta greets, his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. “A word?”

You dip into a respectful curtsy, your heart taking on speed again. Sabina quickly follows suit, though her gaze carefully darts around, as though searching for potential onlookers.

“Your Majesty,” you greet him back, tone carefully measured despite the storm in your chest. “I hope you are enjoying your feast.”

“I was,” Geta lies, his expression unreadable. “But I couldn’t help but notice you earlier. Not many would dare speak to Verrinus in such a way. You have a sharp tongue, though you wield it well. It’s rare to see such grace under pressure.”

Your heart keeps pounding violently in your chest, fearing guests might taking note of this exchange. With a tight smile on your lips, you reply, “Your Majesty is too kind.”

Geta steps closer, his attention fully on the woman in front of him. “And now I find myself wondering why I have not seen you before tonight.”

“You have, Your Majesty,” you dare to correct him carefully, “I am a rare attendant to the court but we were introduced at the Colosseum some years ago, though I wouldn’t expect you to remember. There are many faces demanding your attention. It would be understandable if mine was forgotten.”

Geta’s brow arches, the response only deepening his curiosity. “I assure you, Lady Y/N, your face is not one I would forget.” 

His tone is almost playful but there is a weight behind his words that makes you feel even more on edge. “I am honored by your kindness, Your Majesty, but it is likely true. After all, I am one of many.”

Sabinas' eyes move toward a group of men lingering near the garden entrance, Fabius Verrinus among them. She subtly touches your wrist, a silent warning.

Your expression hardened ever so slightly, as you caught the men in the corner of your eye as well. Quickly you return your focus back to the Emperor. “I am honored to have spoken to you, Augustus, but I don’t want to keep you from the feast for too long. Surely you have more pressing matters than to concern yourself with a mere daughter of House Cassius.”

Geta’s eyes narrow subtly. Why does he get the feeling she is trying to leave? At the realization, his voice hardens, “I decide what matters concern me, Lady Y/N. And at this moment, you do.”

Your sister shifts nervously and you place a reassuring hand on her arm. “I am flattered by your attention, but surely it is misplaced.” You attempt a soft laugh. “I doubt I am deserving of it.”

Getas' jaw clenches faintly, “I disagree. You’ve spoken of the arena, do you attend often?”

“Always.” You tell him, a genuine small smile cracking through your mask. “I have never missed a game since my father became senator. I find the games to be fascinating.”

“Fascinating?” The Emperor repeats, intrigued. “Most noblewomen I know prefer the banquets to the arena. Why do you favor the games?”

You hesitate, sensing the weight of his curiosity. “The arena is a place of stories, of triumphs and tragedies. It shows the strength and spirit of Rome and it reminds us of the cost of greatness.”

Slowly Sabina takes your arm, applying soft pressure. A few nobles decided to take a stroll in the garde as well, although they are out of earshot, their discreet glances don't escape the young Cassius. 

Your back straightens instinctively. “The hour grows late and I fear we’ve already taken too much of your time, Augustus. With your permission, my sister and I will return to the palace to find our father.”

“You seem eager to leave.” Geta observes, his voice calm but with an edge of suspicion. He steps forward, blocking her path slowly, a silent challenge. He watches her for any crumb of reaction, anything that might shatter her controlled composure.

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” You sling your arm around your sisters, offering a casual smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “But my sister tires easily. It would be remiss of me not to see her safely back to our father.” 

Sabina is about to open her mouth to speak, ready to elaborate on the excuse but you subtly squeeze her arm, silencing her before she can undo your carefully chosen words.

Geta’s jaw tightens as he considers the women, his piercing gaze flickering between the two. That little one didn’t look the least bit tired only a few moments ago. A very poor excuse, one Geta recognizes for what it is: a dismissal.

He is the emperor. He does not get dismissed.

Hot frustration blooms in Geta’s chest at her defiance. He considers insisting her to stay, forcing her to remain in his presence, but something about her makes him hesitate. 

He has the power to make her yield, to bend her will with a single order. Yet, for now, he lets it go.  With a controlled breath, he eventually steps aside, allowing them to pass. “Good night, Lady Cassius.”

The two sisters bow down again in unison, wishing him a good night as well, before walking towards the palace. 

The moment you move past him, your grip on your sister’s arm tightens like a vice. With swift, elaborate steps, you steer her back towards the archways. She is about to look back over her shoulder but you tug her forward.

“Move,” you almost bark under your breath, the pressure of the night’s interactions finally catching up to you. 

Sabina, despite it, leans in closer, her voice teasingly soft, “He’s handsome.”

With slightly hurried steps, you return to the Atrium, your grip is unrelenting, “I’ve noticed.”

Geta stands still, rooted in place with his mood souring as he watches the women leave. The bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue. All the women in the atrium would fall over themselves for his attention, desperate for any scrap of it, but not her. 

She evadied him at every turn, so politely and as elegantly, it wasn’t just frustrating - this was fascinating. For a brief, aching moment, Geta is consumed by the thought. But then it shifts into something darker, something sharper. He knows he will see her again. And when he does, he’ll make sure she won't slip through his grasp again so easily.

Chapter Index:

Your POV

You grew up living in Rome with your father, Senator Titus. (Yes, a new character!) Your father was good friends with Senator Gracchus and met with him many times in secret about how to overthrow the senators.

You spent your days braiding hair, drinking wine, dancing, socializing, and entertaining guests. You were a pianist, and your talent was in demand by whoever sat on the throne in Rome. Your father let you go and play for guests as long as you took 2 of your security guards. So you did.

This experience of playing in the palace introduced you to Calla and Geta. You met them at a young age as they were both maturing. They were lanky and pale and soon to rule. They intimidated you.

One day you got close with Calla after talking to Dundus and giving him snacks.

You became friends with Geta quicker. He trusted you and you would help him throughout the day. You were often at his right hand side much to your father’s dismay. Your father disliked your closeness to Calla and Geta.

You were intrigued with the relationship between Calla and Dundus because you had never seen someone so trusting and needy of a pet.

Then there was Calla and Geta’s relationship. It was not one you wanted for yourself. Geta watched over Calla to where it took a toll on him. You could see the light dimming from Geta’s eyes day by day.

…

It was to your surprise that one night, when you were already asleep at home, you were awoken to your guards announcing Geta’s arrival. You quickly threw a robe over your pajamas, slid your knife into your pocket, and ran downstairs. Geta was pacing at the bottom of the steps, and he looked worried. You bow and quickly ask, “Geta, what may I do for you this late?” He answers, “I need to talk to you.” You nod and lead him into the sitting room closest to you. You sit on the couch next to each other, and he confesses, “I’m not fit to rule. There are so many things I haven’t done and so many things I still haven’t learned. I’m not ready for this.” You place your hand on his rubbing circles on it and say, “Geta, you are ready. You’ve always been strong and confident in your ability to lead. Whatever is shaking you up tonight, push it aside because you are fit to rule.” He says, “I haven’t even kissed a girl yet.” You reply, “Oh well, that’s easy to check off. It also does not affect your leadership... You should just kiss me.” His eyes widen, and he asks, “Really? Do you mean it?” You answer, “If it’ll help you sleep tonight and make you feel fit to rule, yes, I mean it. I will kiss you.” He smiles, leans in, and kisses you.

…

If people thought you two were close before, then that is nothing compared to after the kiss.

Geta never failed to find you in a crowd. If you were there, he would know and he would request your presence.

Once, you had just entered into the palace into a big crowd and Geta’s guards found you just like that. When you made it over to Geta, you ask, “How’d you know I was here already? I just arrived.” He answers, "I'll always look out for you." You smile, and he softly presses a kiss to your cheek. He pulls you into a different room and says, “I’ve been thinking about our kiss, and I think we should do it again.” You wrap your arms around his neck and ask, “Are you really going to do this every day that we see each other? It’s been 6 months.” He shrugs, wrapping his arms around his waist, and says, “Why? It could be our thing.” You smile, and he presses a kiss to your lips.

That night ends differently than your usual nights. Geta requests you to walk with him in the gardens. You notice he seems fidgety and off. You ask, “Geta, what’s wrong?” Geta answers, “Nothing, I just have something on my mind.” You keep walking and reach an area with your favorite flowers. Geta asks, “Are these still your favorites?” You answer, “Yes, they’re truly beautiful too.” He nods, bends down on one knee, and exclaims, “I bow to no one. But... as tradition goes, when a man asks a woman for her hand in marriage, they should kneel. I am entranced by you, my sweet, beautiful Y/N. You bring me light, and you are always supportive. I have come to rely and depend on you. I find myself wishing you to be here every night and every day by my side. So... I guess what I’m asking is will you marry me?” You answer, “Yes!”

…

You move in within 2 weeks after Geta proposes.

Geta can hardly handle his excitement that he throws a feast to celebrate your engagement.