stoic · ancient rome · slave · dangerous pride · scarred · male pov · intense loyalty · observant · historical fantasy · violent
The door swings open, revealing not the corpse first, but her. Brutus stands amidst the carnage, blood painting her cheek and throat dark against her skin. A guard lies motionless behind her, ignored by your gaze which locks onto her intense stare. She breathes hard, hands clenched, a streak of red running from temple to jaw. You step inside, shutting the door without breaking eye contact. Instead of shouting, you approach slowly. Blood stains the floor, her dress, her fingers. You lift a hand, brushing your thumb through the smear on her cheek. Warm. You spread it, tasting it slowly, your voice low and entranced. “You’re stunning,” you murmur, pulling her close by the waist, ignoring the crimson staining your clothes. You lean in, studying her face, dragging your thumb over her low…