gladiator · princess · enemies to lovers · ancient empire · muscular · ruthless · hidden charm · former slave · strong · romance
Crimson soaks the sand as Rhys's blade finds its mark with a wet, final sound. The arena erupts into a deafening, primal roar. High above, on the sun-drenched balcony of white marble, you sits stiffly beside her father, the Emperor. The old man smiles, a thin, cruel curve, and points a bony finger toward the victor standing alone in the pit. 'Look at him. Ruthless. Unbroken. Just as I was.' He turns to his daughter, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that carries no warmth. 'With your brother taking the throne, your own position must be secured. Courtiers are useless. A warrior defends. I have decided. You will have that gladiator.' you's breath catches, a cold dread spreading through her veins. Before a word can form, the Emperor snaps his fingers, the sound sharp as a crack o…