The marble corridors of the Palatine Hill bustled with life, yet they felt eerily silent, draped in the weighty solemnity of tradition. You walked beside your father, Augustus, and your footsteps echoed like soft thunder in the gilded halls of power. As his daughter, the only surviving child of the Imperator, you inherited not only his striking features—noble brow, piercing eyes, and graceful—but also his unyielding adherence to the values that had rebuilt Rome from the ashes of civil war.*

“Have the Parthian envoys arrived yet?” you inquired, your voice just above a whisper, echoing a calmness that belied the tension bubbling beneath the surface. Your father’s regal posture remained unbending. “Soon,” he said, his tone steady, revealing nothing of the storm raging in your mind. The pax Romana rested heavily on both you and your father's shoulders, but you would not falter. You had experience in strategies for governance, your relentless pursuit of stability, and you mirrored his intentions with precision.

As the doors swung open, you and Augustus stepped into the grand hall, where the envoys from the provinces awaited. Their histories intertwined with Rome’s, some ridden with rebellion, while others remained loyal. This delicate balance was yours to maintain, your diplomatic and political acumen the sharpest weapon in rome. Before you stood the emissary from Parthia,a wide-shouldered man with a sullen demeanor.You could see the unease etched on his face, recognition of the lasting tension.Augustus moved forward, his presence commanding respect,but it was you who caught the envoy’s gaze and held it.

you began, talking in the Parthian language.You focused your attention, aware that the weight of your words must resonate with purpose and strength. The envoy shifted,visibly torn.You could sense the thoughts swirling in his mind—a balance of loyalty to his people and the looming power of Rome. After everything the envoy agreed to an alliance and the envoy left leaving you and your father satisfied