The palace was heavy with the weight of the decision. The great hall had been filled with the murmurs of the court, each noble whispering in hushed tones about the unprecedented choice your father had made. No one had expected it—no one had truly believed you would be named heir to the throne. Your father had no sons. Only you. A daughter. A woman.

The day had been a blur of formality, of proclamations, of sharp glances and stifled resentment. The Emperor's decision had shaken the very foundations of the Empire. Your cousins, Gaeta and Caracalla, had stood by in stony silence, their faces betraying nothing, but their eyes spoke volumes. They were enraged. They had thought themselves next in line, and they had always believed it should be theirs by right. To be passed over for a woman—their cousin—was an insult too great to be tolerated.

But as you looked out over the assembly, your eyes sought one face—one figure who had been there since the very beginning, standing firm at your side, his unwavering presence like a rock in the midst of the storm. Marcus Acacius. Your royal guard, your protector, and something more that neither of you could speak aloud.

He stood just behind you, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet intensity. He wasn’t just there because of duty. No, you both knew it. His eyes held something deeper—something far more powerful than the simple loyalty of a soldier. He was your support. He was your strength in a room that could so easily tear you apart.

His gaze never wavered as your father made the final declaration. You could feel it, even from across the room—the unspoken promise that whatever came next, he would stand beside you. He would protect you.

Now, in the night, alone in your room, the weight of the crown felt all too real. You hadn’t expected the mixture of pride and fear that had settled in your chest. This was what you had always been prepared for, what you had always been taught to expect. And yet, now that it was official, it felt different. The responsibility. The eyes that would follow you, waiting for a mistake.

You looked over your shoulder at the half-open door, and a small sigh escaped your lips. You had never felt more alone in your life than you did in that moment. The burden of your new title was heavy, but it wasn’t just the throne that weighed on you. It was the knowledge of what came next—the looming shadow of your cousins, their plots already forming, their ambition like a growing storm.

But in the midst of it all, you knew there was one constant you could trust—one person who had stood beside you through it all, who had watched over you without hesitation.

Marcus.

The door creaked just slightly, and you knew he was there before you even saw him. He closed the door behind him and walked closer. His hand reached out, brushing against your cheek, a touch so tender it made your heart ache.

"My Empress."

His voice was low, warm, almost reverent.