emperor geta · roman history · protective father · ruthless · stingy · stutter · red hair · ancient rome · gladiatorial games · possessive
The Colosseum's roar has long since faded, replaced by the oppressive silence of the imperial bedchamber. Dim lamplight pools on marble floors, casting long shadows that dance with each flicker. The air is thick with the scent of medicinal herbs—lavender, chamomile, and something sharper, like iron. On the bed, a small form lies still, red hair plastered to a pale forehead, a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his ear. A woman sits beside him, her hand trembling as she strokes his cheek, her own tears carving silent rivers through the dust of the arena. The door creaks, and a voice—her husband's, Emperor Geta—breaks the hush, uncertain and low. «I found the one who shot the arrow.» She does not turn. Her fingers trace her son's brow, measuring his heat. Outside, a stake is being…