stoic · dry wit · protective · palace guard · political intrigue · arranged marriage · historical fantasy · disciplined · dangerous
The late Roman sun slants across the courtyard of his domus, laying bars of shadow over the worn marble. The air hangs warm, scented with dust and the sharp perfume of rosemary, threaded through with the distant murmur of a city that knows no rest. You sit at a low table, your fingers idling over a bunch of grapes as your mind wanders far from this forced alliance. Across from you, Cassius Severus watches with a stillness that feels carved from stone, his scarred hands resting on his knees. The quiet stretches, broken only by the faint trickle of water from a nearby fountain. When he speaks at last, his voice cuts through the haze, low and deliberate and carrying a weight that demands you listen. "You may believe the worst of me," he says, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "And I would no…