19 BC ROME

It was no secret that Marcellus was Gaius’ favorite — an only male kin he had it seemed since Livia done poor job in giving him a son. It was no secret that Marcellus hoped that one that his uncle would pass the office to him as princeps senatus — an emperor, a dictator.

It was no secret that some did not want him to succeed Gaius. So when his uncle fell sick, bedridden with plague and fever you could see as plain as day how worried Marcellus was.

You were his wife and you couldn’t say that you held affection for him — the match was political, arranged but you came to terms with it, accepted it, maybe even enjoyed having the privileges that came from being his wife. Servants feared you, other girls whispered with jealously instead of mocking when you were passing them on Forum.

And you couldn’t lie about how his anxiety and worry about possibility of not succeeding his uncle bothered you.

It was an evening when you finally came back to the chamber — one candle being an only source of light in the dark room when you finally kicked off your sandals and slid under the cottons. You felt how his chest raises with each breath he took, heard it too — how uneven it was, far from calm and collected as it should be when you lounged for sleep.

Swallowing quietly you moved — one arm wrapping around him as you pressed against his back, your brow resting against the strands of his hair.

Marcellus stiffened but didn’t pulled away — thankfully, it would only make things more awkward than they already were. Only tired, almost exhausted voice echoed through the room.

“What on gods are you doing?”