Emperor Geta Fanfic - Blog Posts

a days worth

synopsis: a slice of life with geta and his child. (2k)

pairings: emperor geta and his child: emperor caracalla and his niece

contents: animal fighting, gladiatorial fights, blood and gore, mentions of nightmares, author doing her best for historical accuracy, geta being a girl dad! a/n: part two!! this poor girl is still unnamed, but it's alright! she's doing her best. a venatio is an animal fight where a wild animal faces off with people within the colosseum!

divider by @saradika

masterlist!!

when geta is awoken, it's with a warm cheek pressed into his side.

the windows are opened, and the sun lightens the entirety of the room. the room is comfortably warmed by the sun, nearly lulling geta back to slumber.

his child is curled around a pillow, seemingly sideways with her breath fanning out into the air as she lies on his chest, wrapped in linens. it seemed that she had stolen his linens in the night, as she was nearly buried in them.

his child looks endlessly peaceful in her sleep, content in somnus' realm. geta knows he should get up, summon the servants, and tuck her back underneath the linens, only able to see her in passing until the games later that day.

instead, he plays with a string of curly hair that peeks out of the blanket, listening to the sound of his child's breathing as they bask in the sun, their responsibilities lingering outside of his door.

-

the streets were bursting with chatter and festivity as seemingly every roman citizen clambered their way to the colosseum, rowdy with the promise of bloodshed.

his people feasted on war and bloodshed, even if they did not wish to admit it. geta felt the heat of rome on his skin, the warmth radiating from the sun as he stood behind the curtains leading to the emperor’s box, ignoring the way his brother shifted anxiously, consistently paranoid about the threat of assassination. 

he could hear the roar of his people from behind the curtains, the excitement brimming in the bones of thousands, ready to animalistically tear apart the gladiators below. 

this was not war by any means, but it would keep his empire calm for the day.

behind the curtain, he can hear his mother conversing with a general as everyone waits for them to step out from behind the curtain, to allow the games to commence.

however, it's with a nudge to his forearm that he looks back, grinning at the sight of his daughter, dressed similarly to both him and his mother, donning a smaller version of a laurel wreath upon her head.

"my child," his voice seemed to boom within the room as his brother also turned to grin at the child, who grins back. his hand finds the warmed cheek of his daughter, stretched in a grin that bears her teeth.

much like him, she dons a wide expanse of jewelry, wearing an identical blue ring on her left hand. as the sun peaks through the curtains, his child seems to radiate as the gold grows brighter underneath the sun.

"father? are you well?", geta had to strain his ears to hear the question, despite the fact his child wasn't too far away, pressed against his arm, seeking comfort before the games. her eyes seemed to grow impossibly wider as the question went unanswered.

after a minute of looking at his child, geta nods and turns around before he drops his hand, his child's nose still pressed to the back of his forearm as she stands behind, yet between them. he faintly thinks of how much his citizens will talk about this.

it seemed that the sight of his daughter soothed the unrest of the citizens. when the whispers of their vanity and cruelty ran rampant through the streets, geta was always careful to bring his daughter out.

while well-loved by the citizens, geta knew his child was often a cruel topic between senators and generals alike. it seemed to upset the men within the box, that his child held a considerable amount of power in the eyes of roman citizens.

geta had killed men and women alike the minute he caught wind of any ill-intent towards his child, the senators and generals that sat within the box were no different.

for a moment, he debates sending his child back to her servants, to keep her safe from the looming threat of being in front of rome's people. but as a servant pulls the curtains back, and the noise of the colosseum swallows them, he knows it's too late.

-

excitement seemed to fill the colosseum as geta watched from his chair next to caracalla, bathing in the bloodshed below. his child was on her knees in front of them, head peeking over the edge of the box. her cheers seem to blend in with every other cheer.

he can barely hear anything past the yelling and cheers of the citizens below, and the roaring noises erupting from the rhinoceros within the stage. the ventaio had only just begun, and the rhinoceros had already gained the upper hand.

his child turns to laugh as caracalla begins wildly giggling next to him as the rhinoceros roars and rushes toward the man on the stage.

unfortunately, the man is not quick enough, and the rhinoceros is quick to charge at the man with its horn. caracalla is giggling next to him, feeding into the crowd’s excitement as the rhinoceros tramples the man to death.

entrails hang from the greyed horn, swaying in the wind and sending blood splattering onto the walls. the animal continues its tirade against the smashed corpse of the man until no identifiable limb is left in sight, a mush of blood and body on the ground. 

grinning, he waves a hand, joining his family in laughter as the rhinoceros is led out of the ring, and a new pair of gladiators enter the ring.

-

geta can tell the exact moment his child grows tired.

her body seems to slump against the edge of the box, and her hands cushion her chin as she watches the fight below. both men were fairly new to the gladiatorial games and seemed unsure of what to do as the crowd screamed at them.

he allows his attention to drift for the slightest of moments, stretching out a veiny hand to pull his child closer. she seems to feel the grab coming as she leans back and his hand wraps around her shoulder.

she stands on shaky legs before joining him on the chair, slightly leaning against the arm of the chair. his attention swiftly returns to the fight as his child settles in next to him, leaning against a pillar behind her head.

he allows himself to get lost in the craze of bloodshed once more, grinning and cackling as the gladiators finally turn against one another instead of trying to rebel.

a sick glee fills his chest as the men dance, swords flying through the air and blood splattering.

-

geta splits away from his child once more when they return to palatine. she’s still dozed from her nap, blinking away fatigue as she waves goodbye from behind a servant’s hip.

he’s immediately swept away with caracalla, whispers of an invasion against a neighboring village filling the air.

general acasius is by their side, harshly drilling into the other generals as maps are sprawled across tables and opinions are thrown back and forth.

-

it’s deep into the night when the battle plans are finalized, and geta is left with his brother. caracalla’s eyes are deceivingly bright, still energized despite the day’s events.

for a minute, they sit in silence, engulfed in the warmth of the torches of the study, sitting as brothers instead of emperors.

caracalla is the first one to break, muffling a yawn as he stands from his chair, rushing off into the halls. no words are exchanged by them, just a slight nod, and caracalla is gone into the night.

a headache pummels itself against his head, irritated by the constant bickering of their generals. he's thankful for the silence of the study as he bathes in the warmth of the torches, and the stillness of palatine.

a stillness that is promptly interrupted by the door creaking open, and soft sniffling that has his head swinging back. his sweet daughter stands in the doorway, peering over at him from behind a servant's back.

with a crook of his fingers, his daughter is shuffling his way, and the servant is leaving, gently shutting the door behind them. she stands in front of him for a minute before sniffling again, wrapping herself tighter in the linens she brought with her. the flickering torchlight cast shadows across her pale face, revealing the telltale flush of sleep on her cheeks. he could see the way her eyes glistened, heavy-lidded with fatigue.

“father?” her voice was barely a whisper, tinged with a raspy-ness that sent worry down his spine. she inched closer, the linens draping around her like a shroud.

“what is it, my dove?” geta asked, forcing himself to remain gentle, as his child always startled easily when drowsy. he gestured for her to come closer to him, and gently tugged her onto his lap, cradling her body against his chest. she fit so perfectly against him, as if she belonged there, and he wished he could shelter her from the world forever.

“i had a bad dream,” she murmured, her forehead resting against his chest. “there was a rhinoceros in our chambers, and it ate you!" he stroked her hair, muffling a chuckle into her ruffled hair.

"i'm right here, my dove. there are no rhinoceros' within our home, if there were, i'd have their horns." the thought of rhinoceros' within palatine was laughable, the vile, bloodied beasts just walking the halls was a sight they would never see.

alas, venatioes always gave his child nightmares, the beasts that fought for their lives always ended up in her dreams, always inflicting pain on a member of their family. it would send his child rolling into his arms, awaking in a pitiful fit of cries.

"but i don't feel good, can i stay here with you, father?" her voice quivered, pushing her head underneath his chin.

geta sighed, as much as he would love to stay in the study, basking in the warmth, the study was far too vulnerable, and he could lose her easily to fate’s cruel hand.

“then you should be in bed, resting. this study holds too many dangers, our bed is far safer." she looked up at him, big eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “but father, i want to stay here, it’s much warmer.”

irritation sparked in his chest. his child rarely went against him, but the few times she did, it enraged him. she knew he did everything in her favor, did everything he could to keep her safe from the cruelties of rome.

despite this, his child held an affection for rebelling against his wishes. geta could count the amount of times she had directly gone against him on one hand, but the few times she had, it hadn't ended prettily. his daughter’s vulnerability, whilst heartwarming, ignited a flame of craze within him. losing her to sickness, injury or her own naivety was a fate he refused to entertain.

“alright, my dove,” he sighed, his voice low and smooth. “we will go to our chambers. let’s get you in bed, away from those dreams of rhinoceros.” he anchored himself, shifting to rise, and pulled her onto his hip effortlessly, her weight a welcomed comfort against him.

she nestled against him, her small form bundled in linens that felt chilled from her descent down to his study. his grip tightened instinctively around her, as if holding her too loosely could expose her to the dangers lurking within the halls of palatine. as he stepped into the dimly lit halls, shadows danced in the flickering torchlight, and his mind raced through the myriad of potential threats: the whispering intrigues of too many ambitious men, a rebellion, or perhaps, in his daughter's mind, a rhinoceros.

-

once again, geta awakes with a cheek pressed to his side. this time, his daughter is curled up against his side, hidden underneath their shared linens.

it is dark in their room, the rain pattering down the sides of palatine as a storm washes over rome. with one lasting look to the darkness outside of their chambers, geta turns to his side, and pulls his child a little closer.

they have a few more hours, so for now, geta will rest.

Oh my, this is so beautifully written??

It's been a while since I read something on these two and I'm so glad the first fic after that time was this<33

You didn't disappoint, hope I'll read more angst like this from you<33

I very much recommend reading<33

and if you go, i want to go with you.

⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ synopsis: the sister of the empire has died, the emperors subsequently follow. (2.1k)

⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ contents: death, depictions of dead bodies and decay, mourning, buckle up for this, intrusive thoughts, angst, suicide, heart attacks and brain hemorrhaging

⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚: caracalla x sister!reader x geta

⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ a/n: making my comeback with something sad!! let me know how you feel about this, as i’m slightly unsure of it! thank you all for being so patient with me, it truly means so so much to me!! a few people wanted angst, and i hope i delivered it properly!!

my masterlist!

the halls have begun to stench.

down the hall, next to geta’s chambers, the doors to their sister’s chambers are thrown open. through the doors, caracalla can see her body, cloaked by a white cloth. his hands wrap tighter around the flowers in his hands, thorns digging into his hands, yet the sting is dull. he hasn’t felt much since she died, flowing through his days as if he was stuck in a wine bottle, slushing around.

he can see geta’s hunched form, laying over their sister.

the moon illuminates the room, casting a light over the now abandoned room, dust covering the untouched surfaces. he can see the jutting of geta’s back through his night robes, the bumps of his spine protruding out as if he was the one dead. they’re the same robes that he had worn when they found their sister, curled into her bed, her soul ascended to the heavens.

it was no murder plot that took her life nor a fit of rage or a sudden spark of depression. no, it was her brain, physician after physician had been dragged into the room, crinkling their noses as they studied the deceased empress, gently pointing out the slight swelling of her head. they had murmured about blood pooling in her skull, leaking from a burst vessel.

even now, a week later, they cannot move her body.

there’s a pile of vomit next to her bed, rotting into the carpet, a sign of her struggle. next to it lies a pile of fabric she had been messing with, giggling about dresses and shawls. it pains him, to stare at the multitude of projects and hobbies littered around palatine, forever frozen in time. incomplete and forgotten. even now, in her bed, with the slight sheen of blistering and bloating, foam leaking from her nose as if she had a cold, caracalla cannot help but think she is beautiful.

he knows geta thinks the same.

even now, lingering at the door and trying to ignore the stench of his rotting sister, caracalla can see how geta holds her as if she’ll awake any minute now, clinging to her like a small child. his hair is matted from his refusal to bathe, darkened by grease as he curls into the side of the bed, refusing to leave. at night, when he sleeps in the room next to geta’s, desperate to be close to his siblings, caracalla will even hear him talking to her, crying pitifully.

but who is he to judge?

at night, caracalla curls deep into his bed, mourning the loss of his anaticula. the bed is no longer warmed by the sleeping body of his sister, seeking out comfort in the dead of night while geta works. no longer do the halls smell of berries and flowers, the curtains drawn tight as the smell of her body fills palatine. no longer does caracalla have support against geta, no one to run to when their brother gets mean. at night, he’ll cry into his bedsheets, trying to cling to the lingering scent of her perfumes.

the servants have left alongside their mother. all that is left is the two of them in their grief, guarded by the praetorian.

-

rome mourns the loss of their empress alongside the brothers.

a darkness spreads over rome, the streets no longer bustling with life and activity when the news breaks. the games are indefinitely paused, any celebrations or parties getting lost in the wave of grief.

banners are hung over every window, aristocrat or commoner in remembrance of the now late empress. a procession is led through town by the praetorian guard once her body is removed from palatine, getting taken through palatine. deification had started later, with an uncanny wax version of the empress being presented in the temple.

when they first see her, the brothers cannot look away.

not while an uncannily similar version of their sister rests upon a bed of ivory and gold, dressed in her finest robes, gold and jewels strewn over her body like garland. a laurel wreath is wrapped around the figure’s head, large and commanding of attention as people pour in to pay their respects. on the left side of her body, the senate sits, cloaked in black as they stare ahead while the brothers sit on the right, dressed in their mourning robes. their outfits are eerily similar to their war uniforms, cloaks dangling off their shoulders with gold plates pressing into their chests, yet instead of white, they’re dressed in black fabric.

on the final day of mourning, geta is the one to seal his sister away, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before the bier is whistled away.

-

they break tradition.

there is no cremation, no pyre that raises to the skies and carries the scent of death throughout rome. instead, their sister is embalmed and entombed within the pantheon. neither of them see her body before it’s put in it’s tomb, still intact. however, caracalla is cursed to see it while her tomb is getting shut, a glass pane spread over the top of her coffin, her face staring back at him before the door is slammed shut.

he pukes in the pantheon, nasty, gagging sobs leaving his mouth as the image of his sister’s embalmed body sinks into his eyelids.

that night, caracalla dreams of too dull eyes and pale skin.

-

geta becomes cruel once their sister is gone.

he’s a mean shell of a man, screaming and launching items at caracalla as if he were a stray dog, haunted by the ghost of his sister. at night, he sees her still, curled into her side of the bed, head swollen with blood leaking out of her lips. he cannot move once the phantom joins him, unable to move or talk. he stays awake until the day breaks, the illusion of his sister disappearing once the light begins to seep into his room.

everywhere he goes, he sees her. phantom laughs echoing through palatine, flickers of tan skin and curly hair running through the garden, whispered proclamations of love flowing through the library. catching glimpses of white dresses running around a corner, forever out of his reach.

her death keeps him awake, constantly aware.

paranoia seeps into his chest as he continues on his duties, waiting for someone to take advantage of his weakness, waiting for the inevitable knife to slice through his chest. he cannot look at caracalla, haunted by his eyes that shine the same way their sister’s did. he pushes for more military invasions, not wanting to spend anymore time with the mourning look in general acacius’ eyes when they meet, pushing back any attempts of consolidation. geta wishes for pain, for suffering.

he wishes for sleep.

one night, he lies next to his phantom sister, mind sluggish with exhaustion and grief. the room is swelteringly warm, silence pressing into his chest as he thinks back to the warm nights he’d spend with his sister, sitting out on the balconies and watching rome, unbothered by their duties outside of their relationship.

and he wants to do it again.

he wants to loosely braid his sisters hair as she looks at the stars, stumbling through the stories of her day as she basks in the warmth of rome’s nights. he wants to bury his head in the junction of her neck and shoulder, to feel the comforting scratch of her nails in his hair as he cries. he wants to hear uncontrollable laughter and the slight rasp of her breath as she sleeps.

-

he finds himself standing in front of her tomb.

the pantheon is empty, bare of it’s vestal virgins and priests, the moonlight seeping in through the windows, illuminating her tomb. his fingers dig into the stone as he pushes the door open, ignoring the loud creaking and dragging of the door.

his sister stares back at him.

if he didn’t know better, he’d assume she was stuck in her coffin, still breathing. heart still beating. she looks like nothing had ever happened, like she never rotted in palatine for days, organs and muscles deteriorating. as if her vessels had never exploded. as if geta didn’t spend weeks mourning over her dead body, feeling her skin grow cold and nasty as she blistered.

he knows he should turn back. that he should slam the door closed and return to the ghostly apparition waiting in his room. but he finds himself creeping closer to her coffin, stretching out a hand to lay against the glass panel, feeling the chill of her tomb creep into his body.

and then he cannot stop.

he’s slamming the coffin door open, the embalmed body of his sister falling into his arms as he sinks to the stone floor, holding her body close.

he cries like a baby into pale skin, tangling his hands in the familiar curls of his sister’s hair. he knows deep down, that it’s not truly her body, a mess of wax and embalmed organs lying in his grasp, the remnants of her hair blended in with hair that didn’t belong to her. he knows that it’s the body from her mourning, not the decomposing mess they had removed from palatine.

but he seeks out comfort from it nonetheless.

in the morning he will be found, clutching her close, wrists sluggishly bleeding as his body is removed from her tomb, freshly deceased. weeks later, he will be entombed in the same tomb, forever next to his sister.

-

caracalla is left by himself.

there is no one for him to lean on, no comfort to be found in the sprawling halls of palatine as he mourns the loss of his older brother and younger sister. the weight of rome rests upon his shoulders now, cruel and demanding as he plans for geta’s mourning, for his brother’s embalming.

enemies have begun to press into rome, hearing whispers of the back to back loss of the empire. riots break throughout the streets, the people angry with the lack of consideration, with the lack of support and leadership. but caracalla cannot bring himself to face the masses of people, selfishly wishing that he could still hide behind geta’s demanding attitude. to be safe behind his brother’s iron throne and his sister’s popularity with their people.

hallucinations haunt him at night, twisting his preexisting sickness into something crueler.

terror seeps into his bones at all hours of the day, his heart forever seized in terror as he waits for his inevitable return to his siblings. every creak and whisper of wind within palatine sends him into a fit of terror, hiding underneath geta’s bed like a small child, curled around the linens that used to comfort his brother.

it’s with one clamber of a sword that caracalla is sent over the edge.

his body grows heavy with something he cannot explain, head spinning wildly as he curls into the linens deeper, terror spreading through his chest. he can do nothing but grasp the linens tighter as his body grows heavy, the world spinning as the pain in his body grows deeper.

in the morning, the praetorian guard will find him seemingly asleep underneath geta’s bed. the physicians will whisper about a broken heart and stress as he’s carried off to the temple, body being placed upon the same bier that held his brother and sister. caracalla will join them in the tomb, placed on the other side of his sister.

maybe in another life, they are not emperors and empresses, instead they will be small children once more, unburdened by power. every life they will find each other once more, together even in death as they’re reunited again and again. in some lives, they will be siblings, in others they will be classmates or soldiers in a war. in some they will be born to royalty once more, facing the same tragic fate of sudden death. in every life, their sister dies first and they follow suit, forever chasing her through time.

-

*. 🪷𓂃.

A Geta x Fem!Dancer Fic

A/N: Just a funny idea that came to me when my eyeliner got caught in my contact lenses. Lol! I was just like, it'd be kind of hilarious if this happened to Geta 😆 Might add another chapter or two!

Word Count: 3.9k

Tags & Warnings: period-typical sexism | Brotherly banter, bored emperors, squabbling senators, lulling dances, intense eye contact

Summary: A senator presents a pair of dancers to the emperors, seeking their decision on which of them should feature in the upcoming Festival of Floralia. As Geta observes the more exotic of the two, he suddenly finds himself in a state of tears.

━━━━━━━༻❀*̥˚༺━━━━━━━

Eyeliner Problems

Tap tap tap tap…

Geta rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly before they shifted sharply at his brother, who was sitting beside him and incessantly tapping his rings against the gold filigree of his seat.

Typically it would not bother him this much, but the lavish party they had enjoyed the night before had run well into the early hours of the morning and Geta had, unfortunately, entirely forgotten about the meeting the Senate had called for.

He blinked and sat up straighter, lowering his hand and attempting to focus on what was being said.

Something about funding. More funding for the coming Festival of Floralia — complete with games and performances. It was always an appealingly licentious event, though also considerably expensive.

Caracalla yawned loudly and Geta dug his nails into his palm as he watched the older men argue amongst themselves. They would argue and try to problem solve before coming up with some solution or another and turn to him for approval. He just had to wait for them to finally get there.

He rolled his neck, the tension and the soreness easing only slightly, and he sighed under his breath. He then reached for his goblet of wine, taking a long sip before sitting forward in his seat, blinking his eyes again and focusing on the words he was hearing.

“-we bring in more foreign dancers, not less! That will incite the crowd and prove a better investment in the long run.”

“It’s a waste of money. The dancers we have will suit just fine.”

“You have to keep things novel. Different. The people will grow bored of the same thing.”

I grow bored… Geta thought morosely.

Around and around they went. He bit down on his teeth, setting his goblet down with a soft clank and running a hand over his mouth. Just get on with it already, I beg you.

“Let us see those dancers fight one another to the death! A brawl!” Caracalla sat up suddenly and bellowed. “The prize?! A night with their emperors!”

Geta sent him a sidelong glance of disapproval before he slid his attention back to the senators. The impression he tried to make of being somewhat professional was always circumvented by these sorts of outbursts. He wanted the senators to take them seriously, but some days it was like an uphill battle.

“Imagine!” His twin continued. “They-”

“Calla…” Geta muttered under his breath, eyes intent on the looks that were cast in their direction.

At this point, most of the older men were used to some level of outrageous remark, and they looked to Geta, as if looking for permission to disregard it. Geta gave a small nod, relieved that they were not overly concerned, though he couldn’t imagine what they might be thinking.

Incompetent, maybe? Ridiculous? He shuddered to consider it.

He gave his heavily-lined eyes a roll before running a hand across his forehead. The more this dragged on, the more restless Caracalla would become, and the more likely future such declarations would be.

He might next suggest to throw the senators themselves into the arena! …which admittedly wasn’t such a terrible thing to imagine.

“Let us compare! We have two dance side by side, one local and one more exotic, and you tell me which of them is more exciting!”

“You intend to bring a pair of women in here?” The other asked, outraged. “That is unacceptable, even to prove a point.”

At least the heat had been taken off of Caracalla, Geta noted.

“Outside then.”

“You’re inconveniencing everyone!”

The other man opened his mouth to retort before Geta breathed in and firmly brought a hand down on the arm of his chair. He stood, voice resonant and firm. “Outside it is! Come, let us see these dancers and resolve the matter.”

The eyes of the senators turned to him in surprise, unused to his interrupting their deliberations before his final decision was called upon.

But he had had more than enough of this for today. Without sparing them another glance, he led the way out of the stuffy room, Caracalla cackling behind him as he moved lazily to follow.

They crossed out toward a balcony before descending a set of stairs to a courtyard. Geta took a seat on one of the benches, Caracalla moving toward one parallel, where he languidly lounged.

Geta lifted a hand once the senators had filtered into the yard with looks of trepidation.

“Let’s get on with it then,” the emperor declared.

The initiator of this entire ordeal summoned one of his servants over. “Bring the girls. Quickly now!”

“You were prepared for this, I see.” The naysayer crossed his arms and shook his head.

Geta leaned forward as he waited, hands clasped together, the bracelets on his wrists glinting in the bright light that filtered down from above them. He ran his thumbs together, rings gliding against each other in a soft clank of metal.

Caracalla tugged on the broad leaf of the plant beside his own bench, tearing it free before proceeding to slowly tear it to shreds.

There was a tense silence across the space, during which there was only the mutters from the senators and the breeze swaying through the trees overhead.

Reflections from the golden laurels upon Geta’s head and the extravagant chain around his neck reflected onto his marble skin, casting upon it strange, warping shapes of light and shadow.

He watched the morphing movements a moment before the soft sound of footsteps echoed upon the paved walkway. A glance upward revealed the returned servant, two women on either side, and a trio of musicians behind them.

Senator Acisculus had certainly been prepared. He probably wanted to capitalize on his investment in exotic entertainment, for which he was beginning to make something of a name for himself. It was a self-interested move, of course, but Geta was inclined to appreciate the ambition of it.

His more reserved opposition, Ectorius, stood by crossly with his arms folded. Geta had a feeling that there wasn’t much of anything that could convince him. His mind was already made up. But perhaps the majority would be swayed and Geta could vote in favor of what they expressed a greater want for. He hoped it would be a decisive thing and that he would not have to continue to bear their grievances.

“My Lords,” Acisculus bowed and cast them a beaming smile before extending a hand toward the pair of women. “I present today’s exhibition. Whichever you find most delights you will be at the forefront of our performances at Floralia’s festival!”

Caracalla clapped loudly, sitting up slightly now that something was about to happen. Geta simply nodded for the man to proceed.

A stronger gust of wind swept over them, warm and fragrant with the scent of orange blossoms. The dust was stirred and Geta reached over with a slight frown to remove the particles that had settled over the exquisite ivory and gold-accented sleeve of the garment he wore.

“I will prevent our Roman dancer first,” the senator motioned for the first woman to step forward.

She complied, gliding forward as her sheer, lavender stola fluttered in the breeze. Geta tilted his head, eyes mildly inspecting. He thought he’d seen her at a few of their performances. She was someone obviously practiced and her expression seemed to further convey that fact.

The musicians began a classic beat and the woman moved rhythmically, her movements solid and vaguely provocative.

Geta glanced at Ectorius, who was nodding approvingly and whispering words to the other senators nearby, no doubt securing their votes in favor of this one. The emperor then flicked his eyes toward his twin, who had barely spared the woman glance,having gone back to his destruction of the nearby plants. He cast down the petals of a flower, yawning widely.

A solid performance, yet certainly without much novelty. Entertaining enough, but hardly exciting.

When she had finished her dance, a racous wave of applause sounded from Ectorius and the senators nearby. Geta lifted his hands and offered her a bit of unenthusiastic applause as well.

The woman bowed her head, golden hair falling in waves as she did.

“Thank you, Marcella.” Acisculus motioned her aside before calling the other forward.

Geta adjusted his stance expectantly. This was the one which the man had been promoting. The one whom he seemed quite convinced would draw the crowds.

Let’s see if you’re up to the task, he thought, hoping for some level of exhilaration.

“One of my most treasured finds,” Acisculus declared with a wide grin. “A rare find from somewhere within the mysterious orient. Discovered by happenstance within the ports of Egypt.”

The woman removed the veil she had been wearing — for dramatic effect, Geta supposed — and revealed a set of features he hadn’t quite seen on anyone before. Her dark eyes had a slant to them, her cheekbones high and well-defined. There was a slender, delicate quality to her figure and features, and her black hair looked as smooth and sleek as silk.

His mouth twitched upward, something bordering on desire rising in his gaze as he held her gentle stare.

“Is this what they’re hiding out in the far east?” Caracalla interjected, sitting forward too. “You don’t look like you’re capable of much, but the softer, sweeter dispositions can be surprising, can’t they, brother?”

Geta shot him a look, bristling a little at the obvious interest his brother had in her too. He gave the senator a nod though, urging him to begin.

Acisculus motioned for the musicians and they struck up a surprisingly slow rhythm, before the woman began to move her hands in strange, flowing motions. Her movements were equally slow, with graceful turns of her body and shifts in posture, as if she were nothing but a wisp of wind.

Geta blinked, waiting for the dance to take a shift. To reach some sort of climax, but it continued its lulling serenade. He sighed as his posture slumped, somewhat disappointed. Though it was an artful display, there was nothing particularly enticing about it. It was as reserved-looking as the woman herself.

This was what Acisculus believed would draw the crowd?

Caracalla chuckled. “What is she doing? Mimicking a sea at rest?”

Another shaft of wind swept over the courtyard, shifting the dust and sweeping over them. Geta blinked as a bit of it struck his eyes and he lifted a hand to wipe at them before a harsher sting had him turning his head to blink fiercely.

He waited it to pass as his eyes watered, but it only grew worse. A glance down at his hand revealed a smear of the kohl he’d used to line his eyes and he reasoned it was the reason for this uncomfortable stabbing sensation.

A mess of it I’ve made, surely, he thought in frustration as he gritted his teeth.

He blinked a few more times before attempting to shift his focus back to where the woman still danced, that dreadful breeze fluttering over her gown and sending her feather-light hair flowing across her face. She gave even further impression at being in oneness with the air.

But the vision of her obscured again, watering and distorting and Geta glanced down, cursing under his breath as he breathed harshly.

“Emperor?” He heard Acisculus ask. “Are you well?”

Geta lifted a hand to wave him off before lifting the other to cover his eyes.

There was a moment before Caracalla seemed to notice his state. He gave a sharp laugh before leaning toward him. “What has gotten into you, brother? Are you actually crying?”

“Of course not!” He lowered his hand in aggravation before wincing again. "Oh- He breathed in shakily, body trembling with it. “By the gods…”

“Is it the dancing? Does it move you so?” Caracalla asked, still amused. “How flushed you are!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geta mumbled, voice thick before he tilted back his head and took several long breaths, warmth leaking furiously from his eyes and streaking down his face.

“Well well!” Caracalla announced. “It seems we have our answer, senators! This dancer has moved by brother to tears. We simply must have her as this festival’s lead!”

Geta shook his head. “Wait-” he breathed out, blinked, widened his eyes, then directed his focus back to the group before him. All of the senators were staring at him in stunned silence, surprise visible on their faces. They seemed unsure of what to make of what had just happened.

Senator Acisculus, though, was smiling behind a pair of clasped hands.

“As lovely as your dancer is,” Geta’s eyes flicked toward the woman. “I don’t think-”

“Bring her here! Let us get a good look at her!” His twin interrupted loudly.

Acisculus bowed his head enthusiastically before urging the woman to step toward the pair of emperors. Geta found it interesting that these men chose to unquestionably heed Caracalla’s orders when it actually suited them.

The corners of Geta’s mouth pulled down in dissatisfaction before he shifted his attention to the foreign woman as she drew forward. Her eyes were held low, hands clasped together meekly.

Really, how was any of this meant to be exciting? He sighed, left eye still stinging in a way that seemed to radiate across that whole side of his face. He blinked at her as she slowly lifted her gaze, the movement measured as she shifted her attention first to Caracalla, who had ordered her forward, before settling it on Geta.

He stared back at her somewhat impartially as he lifted a hand and brought it over his eye, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee. There, at least the tears were held back. The pressure helped with the jabbing sensation too.

Something unreadable passed through her dark, exotic eyes, before she pressed her lips tighter thoughtfully, glanced to her feet, and then met his stare again.

Geta tilted his head, faintly curious what it was that had passed beneath the stoic expression she wore before she opened her mouth and spoke, the sound of her voice as wispy and delicate as everything else about her — her appearance, her movements, the robe she wore — everything, he noticed, except for her eyes, which held a surprising weight. It made him wonder what was churning beneath the veneer of gentleness she wore.

“If I may…” she said in strangely accented, unpracticed Latin before motioning toward herself and then at him. “Would you let me help?”

Geta’s brows creased in confusion at her meaning and she was quick to explain by way of indicating her own eye.

“Help?” Caracalla asked as Geta breathed in and gave the woman a dubious look. “What’d you mean help?”

“Will you allow me to come forward?” She asked again, glancing between he and his brother. “I will assist with what afflicts you.”

She bent her head in another respectful bow before fixing her unwavering gaze on him again.

The emperor deliberated another moment before lifting a hand and beckoning her forward.

The woman neared him with an unhurried gait and Geta slowly straightened in his seat, eyeing her approach intently.

She stopped and stood over him, unreadable things within the dark depths that stared back as he inclined his head up to her. The woman offered a fraction of a smile before she slowly reached for his hand, soft fingertips grazing his skin, her expression careful and continuing to ask for his approval. Geta replied with a small nod before her fragile hand fully gripped his, prying it away from his eye.

His gaze fell to her hold, to the way her slender fingers encircled his palm. Her skin was so thin he could see the network of veins in her wrist and he could see the movements of things beneath her skin as she settled his hand onto his lap. As she gently released him, he again noticed those streaks of kohl on the pale skin of his hand and tried not to consider how unsightly the state of his face must be.

Geta felt a brush against his forehead and his eyes were drawn back up to hers. She smoothed his hair aside and leaned in closer, the fragrance of jasmine pulsing from her tall neck as her soft, warmth breaths feathered against his cheek.

“Open your eye,” she directed airily. “And look up.”

Geta released a tense breath before fluttering his eye open, wincing at the sting before he tilted his head back and looked above her, up to the towering tree overhead, where the leaves swayed against the dappled sunlight. The sight blurred as the sting returned and the woman rested one hand upon his shoulder to steady herself before bringing the other over his eye. Her fingers hovered there, ghosting against his eyelashes as she leaned in to inspect him.

“Hold still.”

Geta complied before flinching as she brushed a finger directly against his eye. It was one swift, precise move and then she was easing back.

“Is that any better?”

He straightened his head and blinked his eyes a few times before slowly nodding, noting in relief that the jabbing was gone. He sniffed and lifted a hand to swipe more of the condensation away. “What was it?”

As answer, she lifted her index finger, revealing the small lash there.

“Ah,” Geta replied as he glanced to it with both brows raised. “I see. That explains it.”

He lifted his hands then, running them along both eyes to try and remove the smudged lines of kohl.

“Whoa!” Caracalla rose from him seat, clapping his hands. "Well done! Surgical precision that was." He cackled. “I guess I spoke too soon. It seems my brother wasn’t moved to tears at all. Was only a little lash that plagued him.”

Geta shot him a swift glare as he continued trying to make his appearance presentable. How he wished for a mirror! He glanced at the woman still standing before him and then leaned toward her. “Have I missed any?” He lifted a hand to indicate the dark lines smeared there.

She glanced once between his hand and his face before stepping forward again with a small shake of her head and bringing a finger to the corner of one of his eyes, where she firmly pressed it against the crease there. She tilted her head in assessment before humming beneath her breath and stepping back again.

Geta felt a trace of warmth from where she’d touched him and his stare fixed on her again. He gave a purposeful nod. “I thank you for your assistance.” His mouth lifted into a crooked smile as he leaned forward again. “What is your name?”

“Akemi,” she answered simply and with another bow of her head as her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Akemi…” He repeated, smile inching higher. “And where are you from? Before Egypt, I mean.”

Another miniscule smile from her and a soft hum, indicating she already knew what he was asking. “A small island far in the east. Oyashima, we call it.”

“Hm…” He replied, glancing at the senators surrounding them. They all continued to watch their exchange as if not quite sure what to make of it. “I have not heard of it.”

“We are a small nation.” She supplied.

He breathed out a laugh. Yes, one of those insignifanct places in the furthest reaches of the map. Hardly worth glancing at.

And yet, he thought as his eyes drifted back to her. I am all the same curious about this place. What mysteries might such a seemingly unassuming place as that be hiding? As unthreatening as this woman herself was. Unthreatening, yet carrying such profound things within.

“Perhaps I will ask you sometime,” he tilted his head, beaming at his own suggestion that they two would be awarded another moment with one another. How would she respond to that? “Just how it was you came to Egyptian shores. And how you were discovered by Senator Acisculus here.” He gauged her reaction closely, eyes sparking with something roguish.

She stared at him in silence, eyes still frustratingly unreadable, before she slowly nodded. “If that is something you wish to discuss, I would be happy to oblige.”

A reserved answer, but Geta felt somewhat victorious all the same. He ran his eyes over her again, watching the way the wind danced over her, as if she might be taken up and carried away with it. Carried back to whatever mysterious island she’d come from. His eyes then flicked to Acisculus, who stood by with a recognizable, excited gleam.

“So?” The senator asked. “Will you feature her at the festival?”

Geta glanced between him and Akemi, considering again. The dance…that lulling dance. He’d nearly disregarded it. But perhaps there was something to be said for allowing oneself to be slowly drawn in. A little patience and a closer look and there was something exciting to be found there.

“Yes,” he answered, eyes burning as he stared at the woman. “She will be featured.”

The man clapped loudly, there were protests from those who’d been opposed, but the only thing the emperor could focus on was the way the slender woman’s little smile tilted the corner of her mouth higher, something burning back at him.

He tilted his head then, eyes narrowing slightly. Had she anticipated this? Was there something ambitious hiding behind that mask? Perhaps it should have angered him, the thought that she might have subtly manipulated him into featuring her, but it had been more of an advantageous maneuver, hadn’t it? After all, it was not as if she had thrown first that dust, then the kohl, then finally the lash into his eyes. She’d recognized a need for assistance and provided it, as she should. A thing which had proven mutually beneficial to them both.

And why should they not get on one another’s good side? There was much more which could be gained.

No, Geta did not mind. It merely added to that hidden gravitas she held. Ambition, when not a threat, was an attractive quality.

“Let us have that conversation sometime soon, hm?” he said as he rose from his seat and approached her. He brought a hand beneath Akemi’s chin, lifting her head to gaze upon it fully. “And perhaps we might also discuss more of these featured performances in the future.”

A spark again. Flashing through her eyes. Geta smirked down at her. I see you, he thought as he smoothed his thumb across her chin once before releasing her.

There was another silent moment between them, his eyes flicking over each of her features in turn, analyzing and admiring them before he finally turned. “Come, brother.” He announced. “Let us make ourselves presentable for the races this afternoon.”

“Make yourself presentable, you mean!” Caracalla moved to follow. “I was not the one reduced to a weeping mess at the sight of such a delicate woman.”

“That was not the way of it.”

“Oh really? What is your name?” Caracalla mocked as their voices followed their exit, the courtyard falling behind them. "Where are you from?  Let us talk sometime."

“Enough.” Geta snapped before they both disappeared from view, Akemi’s dark eyes lingering on the spot they had vacated.

A victorious feeling surged through her as strongly as it had the emperor, before she glanced to her hand, where lines of the kohl he’d worn had also marked her skin.

A symbol of the success she’d claimed.