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MARRIED LIFE

Livia stood on the balcony, her back to the glittering Roman city, the weight of her wedding gown dragging her down as though it, too, shared in her burden. The cold of the night air pierced through her skin, but it did little to dull the heat that had risen inside her—an anger so hot it threatened to consume her whole. Beneath her steady breathing, her pulse was erratic, the rhythm a reminder of her beating heart, which felt so out of place in her chest.

Across from her, Geta was the picture of feigned ease. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his goblet as though it might somehow dissolve the tension hanging between them. His eyes flicked toward her every few moments, furtive and searching, but she refused to meet his gaze.

Caracalla, seated at the head of the table, seemed oblivious—or perhaps willfully ignorant—of the storm brewing between his wife and his brother. He tore into a loaf of bread with a carefree vigor, crumbs scattering over the table as he lounged like a lion at ease in its den.

"You're both so quiet this morning," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Isn't this supposed to be a time of celebration? Newlyweds and all that?"

Livia stiffened but didn't respond. She reached for her cup of tea, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted it to her lips. The tea was cold, its bitterness matching the tight knot of anger and humiliation coiling in her chest.

"Perhaps they're just... tired," Caracalla mused, his tone laced with amusement. He smirked, his gaze darting between them like a predator watching its prey. "After all, a wedding night can be quite... taxing."

Livia's grip tightened on the porcelain cup. She set it down carefully, deliberately, as though the simple act of placing it on the table might keep her from shattering it—and herself—into a thousand pieces.

"Don't," Geta muttered, his voice low and warning.

"Oh, come now," Caracalla pressed, leaning forward, his grin widening. "No need to be shy, Livia. It's tradition to consummate the union, isn't it? Or..." He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning wicked. "Unless my dear brother proved inadequate?"

The room went still. Livia felt the heat rise in her cheeks, a flush of anger and mortification that made her stomach churn. She could feel Geta's gaze on her now, heavy and unrelenting, but she refused to look at him.

Her chair scraped against the marble floor as she pushed back abruptly, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice cold and clipped. She stood, her skirts brushing against the floor as she turned and made for the door.

"Livia, wait," Geta called after her, his voice tense, but she didn't stop.

His footsteps echoed as he followed her out into the corridor, the heavy silence of the palace broken only by the sound of his hurried steps.

"Livia!"

She quickened her pace, her heart pounding in her chest, but he was faster. His hand closed around her arm, firm but not rough, and he spun her around to face him.

"Let go of me," she snapped, wrenching her arm free.

"You can't just walk away," he said, his voice tight with frustration.

"Why not?" she shot back, her eyes blazing with fury. "Because it's unbecoming of your wife? Because it might give Caracalla the wrong impression about what a happy little arrangement this is?"

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "You're being unreasonable."

She laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that echoed down the corridor. "Unreasonable? I came to our chambers last night, Geta, and found you—found you with—" Her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue, the words cutting like glass. "On our wedding night."

He looked away, guilt flickering across his face.

"It's not what you think," he began, but she cut him off.

"Don't you dare insult me with that," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I didn't see exactly what was happening? Do you think I didn't hear—"

"What do you want me to say?" he interrupted, his own anger rising to meet hers. "That I regret it? That it was a mistake? Fine. But you knew what this was, Livia. You knew what kind of marriage this would be."

"I knew it wasn't about love," she said, her voice quieter now but no less sharp. "But I thought—" She paused, swallowing hard against the lump rising in her throat. "I thought you would have enough respect for me to not humiliate me like that. Not on our wedding night."

"You can't expect me to not take lovers," he said, his tone defensive, as though the very idea were absurd.

"No, Geta," she said, her eyes blazing. "I can't expect you to love me, or to be faithful. But I did expect you to show me some decency. To not parade your conquests in front of me like I'm nothing."

He flinched at her words, his expression softening for just a moment before the mask of indifference slipped back into place.

"It wasn't supposed to mean anything," he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

"That doesn't make it better," she replied, her voice breaking.

They stood there, the silence between them filled with the unspoken weight of everything that had passed between them.

"I thought too highly of you," she said finally, her voice trembling. "That's my mistake."

She turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the corridor. For a long moment, he didn't move, his hand still outstretched as though he could pull her back. But she didn't turn around.

The palace seemed to grow colder in her absence, the emptiness of the hallway stretching out before him like a void. Geta let out a sharp breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words.

Back at the breakfast table, Caracalla sat alone, sipping his wine. He glanced toward the door, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

"Married life," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "What a joy."

A/N

Damn didn't expect people to actually read this holy fuck

kinda short chapter but I just needed a filler for whats going to come