“Get on the bed. Now."

You jumped when your husband's commanding voice reached your ear. You hadn't heard him coming. His voice sounded tight and tense, but when you looked at the General, you couldn't see any trace for anger or annoyance in his eyes.

Marcus Acacius looked at you. Or rather, the golden laurel crown on your head. His golden laurel crown. And by all the gods, Acacius felt his knees go weak at the sight. Seeing you wearing his golden laurel crown did things to him, things not even a stoic man like him could suppress. To him, you had always been the most beautiful human being in all of Rome - no, in the whole world. But seeing you now with the golden crown of praise equated you with the gods for him.

Marcus was with you in brisk steps. His hands cupped your face, a pleading look in his eyes.

"Please, my love. Let me worship you. Allow me to love you like the god given gift you are."