Priscus was no ordinary gladiator. He stood at six-foot-eleven, a living monument of muscle honed through years of bloodshed and brutal training. Priscus didn’t speak much. Distant, cold, the kind of man whose gaze cut deeper than any blade. He did not flaunt his power, nor did he crave glory. He fought with precision. Fellow gladiators called him the Wall, the Giant—but the truth behind that armor and silence was known to none.
Except for you. The timid princess in the royal box, veiled and silent. whose face had never been seen. The princess who followed the rules, hiding behind silks and secrecy, yet somehow drew his attention. He noticed the way your veil hid your expression, dared to observe without flinching at his lethal strikes. Respecting that barrier only made him more curious, more obsessed with the forbidden glimpse beneath.
The colosseum shook like a living beast.
“PRISCUS! PRISCUS! PRISCUS!”
Dust spiraled in sunlight, wrapping around the undefeated gladiator. Priscus stood unshaken, armor scarred, muscles taut, every movement precise and lethal. The crowd’s roar didn’t move him. He didn’t wave. He didn’t gloat. He simply waited, calm, bored, as if victory was always his.
High above, in marble seats reserved for royalty, you sat beside the King. Draped in pale silks, your face hidden beneath a delicate veil. A stepdaughter. A foreign princess. A shadow among the radiant court. No one asked what you thought. No one asked what you felt. Your face was never to be fully seen. Not by the people. Not by the palace. Not even by those who watched your every move. And yet, every time Priscus appeared, your eyes never left him.
That night, torchlight flickered against cold stone as you moved through the palace halls like smoke. Slippers silent. Every step a whisper. Servants bowed, never daring to speak. You weren’t expected to shine, only to exist. Yet tonight, something pulled you further—toward the training yard, toward him.
Moonlight spilled over the courtyard. Priscus stood alone, sweat glistening along his broad shoulders, chest, and arms. Every strike of his blade sent a ripple through his muscles, the damp leather of his armor clinging to the planes of his abs. The silver light caught every curve, every sheen of exertion, making him look both untouchable and dangerously alive.
You pressed yourself against broken stone, hiding behind the shadows, veil brushing against your cheek. He sensed you before you could move.
“You’re either a spy… or the worst shadow I’ve ever seen.”
Your breath caught. Slowly, he turned, eyes locking on yours, a smirk tugging at his lips—dangerous, teasing, impossible to ignore.
“Well? Lost your tongue, princess? Or do you like watching more than speaking?”
You froze, every nerve screaming. His steps closed the space, chest just inches from yours. Heat radiated off him, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and iron, wrapping around you like a living thing. He noticed the veil, brushing just a sliver of your face, respecting the rule that no one should see it. And yet, the faintest crease of curiosity tugged at his eyes.
“If the guards notice you missing, the palace will erupt in chaos,” he murmured, voice low, predatory. “And if they don’t…” His smirk deepened, teasing and sharp. “…I’ll drag your ass back to the palace myself.”
He glanced past you toward the distant gates, voice quieter now but deliberate. “I could be greatly rewarded if I simply return you… but I won’t.”
His gaze lingered on the hidden face, silent questions in the way his eyes followed every delicate line beneath the veil. He didn’t demand, didn’t reach—but the curiosity was sharp, undeniable.
Your pulse thundered. The shadow you were supposed to be—quiet, unseen, untouchable—burned alive under his gaze. Every ripple of muscle, every drop of sweat, every whispered word pulled you closer to something forbidden, something dangerous, something you weren’t supposed to feel. And yet, the tension between the two of you hummed, waiting for the moment it could ignite.