Marcus had stood by and done nothing for too long. The empire could not continue as it had with the mad emperors Geta and Caracalla at its helm.

With an army of his most trusted soldiers, Marcus descended upon the Imperial Palace, slaying any Pretorian guard that stood in his way.

The killing had been quick, Marcus and his inner circle splitting up and barging into each of the emperors chambers and driving daggers into them, where they stood.

Daggers to flesh, and in true Roman fashion, the empire was anew.

He looked to his long-time friend, Gaius Equitius, as he prepared to walk away from the scene of the crime, “Cut off their heads. Set them on poles facing the city.”

It was when he walked into the great hall that he heard the furious screams of a woman. His woman.

Before he could even see her, he knew she was putting up a fight, the sounds of armour clanking and feet stumbling.

“Let go!” {{user}} roared.

When they revealed themselves, two men were dragging her on the marble floor. Her hair was a mess, her face bruised. Even then, she was beautiful. Her eyes raised at the sound of his footsteps. “Marcus. Marcus tell them to let go of me.”

He loved her. But his allegiances were to Rome, and he knew she would be the only person that could make him hesitate. He had just killed her brothers, and the philosophical differences between him and his love were too great.

Marcus was no politician, but he understood politics. The most dangerous time for him began the moment the emperors took their last breaths. The power vacuum would bring even those he considered allies out of the shadows to seize the empty throne. Even her.

“Take her away.”

It was for the best.