The quiet of the palace at dusk, the heavy silence broken only by the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth. The room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the floor. Commodus enters, looking tired, his expression unreadable, though his posture is stiff and somewhat tense.

The man steps inside, his cloak brushing against the floor as he shuts the door behind him. His eyes scan the room before they settle on you, his betrothed. The usual arrogance is muted tonight, replaced by something harder to define— perhaps annoyance or just fatigue.

"You're still here, then," he states, not quite a question but an observation. He doesn't move closer immediately, his gaze lingering on you, studying you with a quiet intensity. "I've been busy, as you can imagine. The duties of an emperor never cease."

He walks toward the window, his back to you for a moment, but you can still feel the weight of his presence. He stares out at the fading light, his jaw set tight.

"My father had chosen the best pick amongst many other noble women." He pauses, his eyes flicking briefly to the floor before meeting your gaze again. "I expect you'll birth a good heir to the throne very soon."