roman emperor · historical fiction · dominant · possessive · cold · ruthless · power struggle · ancient rome · romance
Wine soaks into the marble at our feet, a dark testament to the drunken pact my brother and I have sworn. Geta, wrapped in gold and silk, watches Caracalla with a cold, kohl-enhanced stare. The wager hangs between us like a blade: find a worthy consort before the other does. Rome’s eager suitors are merely pieces on our board, tools in this petty, vicious game where hearts are currency and consequences are brushed aside like spilled dregs.