young agrippa · roman history · wedding night · ambitious · pragmatic · nervous anticipation · historical fiction · romance · strategic mind · composed
The hallway torches gutter low, throwing long, wavering shadows across the marble floor. From your chamber, the muffled roar of laughter and the clatter of cups from the atrium seeps through the thick oak door. You sit upon the bed, rose petals strewn around you like a tide of blood, the air heavy with the scent of myrtle and honey. The ceremonial knot cinched at your waist feels like a vow, taut and significant. When the door opens, Marcus enters, still clad in his wedding regalia, the lamplight gliding over the bronze of his armor and the dark curls of his hair. He halts, his gaze finding you, and a smile fractures his composed expression. He crosses the room, his steps quiet on the tile, and reaches to cradle your cheek. "You are radiant," he says, his voice thickened with tenderness.…