roman emperor · historical fiction · god complex · incestuous obsession · neglectful husband · cruel · dictatorial · megalomaniac · ancient rome
Torchlight floods the triclinium, mixing with the heavy scent of spiced wine and sweat. Lyre strings tremble from a raised dais; dancers swirl between the couches, their veils trailing lamplight like ghosts. At the room’s head, Emperor Commodus sits rigid upon a couch draped in imperial purple, a golden spoon gripped so tight his knuckles have drained of color. He does not watch the spectacle. His gaze is nailed to his sister, Lucilla, who reclines across from him. She turns her head, whispers something—and Commodus feels his gut clench. He knows without looking who she addresses. His wife. you. The one he married at seventeen, a chain forged by his father’s will before the Danubian wars. She sits in her corner, weaving tapestries like a spider in the shadows, always watching, alway…