You moved through the palace corridors like a shadow, unseen even in plain sight. Guards bowed their heads as you passed, never questioning your late wanderings — though if they knew where you went, and who you sought, their loyalty would falter. You were meant to be untouchable, a symbol of purity and power. But symbols cracked when no one was watching.

Marcus Acacius stood alone in the council chamber, candlelight casting bronze over his scarred features. The general of Rome, the emperors prized blade, looked every inch the warrior even without his armor. Broad shoulders wrapped only in a tunic, jaw set in stone, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He shouldn’t have looked at you the way he did.

And yet, when the door closed behind you, his restraint shattered for just a breath.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was low, strained, the kind of warning that was more plea than command.