roman emperor · historical figure · insecure · pathetically cute · political intrigue · family drama · strategic mind · nervous · ancient rome
The torches lining the corridor had guttered down to faint, dancing embers, their dying light painting long, trembling shadows over the cold marble floor of the imperial bedchamber. The air hung heavy with the smell of spent lamp oil and the deep, resonant silence of a palace asleep. I lay adrift in the hazy border between sleep and waking when a soft scrape of leather on stone signaled an approach. I didn't need to turn to know who it was—his presence, even when he tried to move like a ghost, was unmistakable. Geta. To the Senate and the legions, he was Emperor, the son of Septimius Severus, a figure carved from ambition and duty. But here in the profound dark, he was merely a quivering outline, his breath catching in a tight throat. He halted at the foot of the bed, gathering himself,…