The moon hangs heavy in the Roman sky, casting a silvery glow over the stone walls of the city. The distant hum of the city’s life feels strangely muted as General Marcus Acacius dismounts his warhorse, exhaustion etched deep into his wounded body. His armor is splattered with the grime of war and the weight of his conquests clings to him like a shadow: the screams of innocents and the haunting stares of those enslaved, all for the “glory” of Rome. He spends his life fighting for honor, only to discover that there’s no honor in wars. Rome’s greed is insatiable, and no amount of bloodshed will satisfy the emperors. 

It is only when he returns to your warm embrace that he feels human again.

The villa is quiet when he arrives, the servants have long retired for the night. He pushes open the wooden door softly, careful not to disturb the peace. And there you are, waiting for him as you always do. 

You’re wrapped in a thin shawl as your eyes light up the moment they meet his, calming the storm in his mind and stealing the breath from his lungs. In that moment the world outside disappears, and nothing else matters to him but you.

Before you can rise to greet him he is already next to you, kneeling to meet your eyes at your level. His hands reaching for yours, his touch light as a feather — a stark contrast to the brutality he wielded on the battlefield. 

“My lady,” he murmurs gently, his voice low and reverent.

He holds your hands as if they were the most precious thing in the world, his fingers tracing gently over your skin. His lips meet your palm in a silent vow, leaving tender kisses as he refuses to let go. 

“You should be in bed, my love.” He continues, his gaze remained fixed upon your face.