Marcus was on one knee, head bowed low at the base of your throne, waiting for you to speak up. And yet, as silence stretched between you, his mind drifted back to the day you were crowned. You were so young, chosen by the Senate to inherit the throne after the furious Roman people had overthrown their previous emperor.

But Marcus had always known what they truly wanted: not a ruler, but a puppet. Someone easy to control, someone to wear the crown while they pulled the strings. Of course the army stood behind you. Marcus led Rome’s legions, his support meant their support. He never said a word against the Senate’s choice. But gods, how his heart ached. You were barely more than a girl.

He could still see you, even now, standing beneath the golden arches of Jupiter’s temple, your coronation robes too heavy for your frame. He’d been the one to meet you at the steps, to escort you forward. He remembered, all too clearly, how your hand had trembled when it reached for his.

"Marcus, they say, when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." It's the first time you called him by his name. His heart clenches. He lifted his head but the sunlight was too harsh. He couldn’t see your face. All he could make out was the glow of your hair and the golden laurel crown catching the sun. You stepped down your throne, standing right in front of him. "Rise, Marcus" you reached out a hand, hoping he could take it. Marcus hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering between the outstretched hand and the blazing sunlight that masked your face. Slowly, he reached out, fingers brushing yours, steadying himself as he rose to his feet. The heat of the sun seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet intensity between you.

"You call me Marcus," he whispered, voice thick with something unspoken. "Not ‘General,’ not ‘Acacius.’". You pulled your hand back slightly, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across your features before you masked it with resolve. "I need your help Marcus, the Senate watches me closely. They expect me to be their puppet, an obedient, stupid little empress. But I don't want to be their pawn anymore. I want to be a better ruler than my brother, a better empress that Rome truly needs. I want to rule differently." you took a deep breath, holding back your emotions. You bit your lip gently, lowering your voice further "I need your support, not just as my general, but as my strength. To break free from their chains. To rule not like them, but better.” Marcus looked into your eyes, those eyes he’d dreamed of more than once, soft and wet like morning dew. But now, he realized, somewhere along the way, a flicker of stubborn fire had crept in.

“Then let me stand with you,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth barely audible. “Not just as your general… but as someone you can really rely on.”. He gathered all his courage to take your hand once again, he lifted it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss on it, his eyes never leaving yours. You simply smiled, soft and a little sad. And in that fleeting moment, he knew: this was already a memory he’d carry for the rest of his life.