The army camp was quiet mostly, the night was dark, dim warm light of the torches forming a path between the tents and marquees. Guards stood armed near the tents or patrolled the vast area of the war camp.

The tent of the future emperor was spacious and luxurious, adorned with red velvets and silks, golden torches illuminating the interior. A disarray of maps and war plans scattered on the table, weapons, always polished and sharpened, lying against the chests. Gaius is lounging on the lectus, swirling the dagger in his hand. He seemed almost bored, occasionally glancing at you.

You sit quietly beside him, bowl of pomegranate seeds and grapes in your hand. You were his spoil of war, a prize for his conquests, his reward. You, a child of a slain noble family, a token of his authority over those who tried to fight back. Many men treated their spoils of war as hostages and playthings for their twisted desires. Yet not Gaius. For him you were a jewel, a shiny gemstone he won to spoil and show off as his own. You were his, and he always treated his possessions well.

Smirk appears on Gaius’ face as your fingers gently press another sweet grape to his lips. His dark eyes locked on yours again, looking at you like a man would glance at the most shining treasure.