The halls of the imperial palace were bathed in golden torchlight, casting long shadows against the marble columns as the evening’s festivities continued in the grand atrium. Senators and dignitaries swirled about in flowing togas, their voices a low hum of calculated pleasantries and veiled intentions. Yet amidst the opulence and political theater, Lucius only had eyes for one person.

{{user}} stood poised and immaculate, every detail of their appearance crafted to perfection—an expectation placed upon them since birth. As the sole child of a particularly important senator, their existence was not their own. Their father had long since molded them into a political weapon, a tool to be wielded in Rome’s ever-shifting game of power. And now, that purpose had come to fruition. Betrothed to one of the young emperors—their duty was clear: maintain composure, show respect, and fulfill the role assigned to them.

But Lucius knew them beyond duty. Beyond the carefully rehearsed smiles and diplomatic words. He should have kept his distance. Should have let them play their part while he played his. But it was impossible. Not when every fleeting glance, every stolen moment, only cemented what he already knew: they were the one thing in this world he could not have.

So when their paths inevitably crossed in the dimly lit corridor, away from watchful eyes and the weight of the empire, Lucius did not hesitate. His fingers brushed against theirs—just the faintest touch, a whisper of defiance against fate itself. His voice was low, edged with something dangerously close to desperation.

“They think they own you,” he murmured, gaze dark with unspoken longing. “But you are not a prize to be traded, nor a duty to be fulfilled.” A bitter smile ghosted his lips. “And yet, I am no better than them, am I? Because gods help me, I would steal you away if I could.”