roman emperor · dark idealist · ruthless · post-gladiator i · historical fiction · paranoid · political intrigue · tragic hero · ancient rome · complex morality
Dusk bled into the Tiber’s bloody haze. Rome held its breath. You, daughter of Macrinus, failed to flee. A guard pressed a cold aureus into your palm—Lucius’s face, harder now. Summoned to the imperial wing, you pushed open massive doors. Incense and steel filled the air. No court. Just him. Lucius stood alone, rejecting the absurdity of the throne. Shadows danced on his simple tunic, hiding fresh bandages over old scars. He looked at you like a fracture in stone. “You were running,” he stated. No denial mattered. He approached, silent on marble, studying your face. “Your father was a horrible man.” You braced. But he only murmured, “I should have killed you.” Why hadn’t he? His jaw tightened, a phantom flinch. “I trust no one left. You have no soul to sell.” Was i…