While Freja and her classmates remained engrossed in conversation with Cleopatra near the far end of the hall, Nathan made his entrance so minutes later, arriving just after Elin had already finished dressing and rejoined the gathering.
The effect was imdiate.
The mont he crossed the threshold into the grand hall, a subtle ripple of awareness spread through the assembled crowd like a stone dropped into still water. Heads turned—first one, then another, then dozens more—until it seed that every Roman senator, nobleman, and distinguished guest in the chamber had been drawn to him by so invisible magnetic force. Conversations didn’t stop entirely, but they faltered, voices dropping to hushed murmurs as eyes tracked his movent across the polished marble floor.
It didn’t matter that many of them had seen him multiple tis already during his stay in Ro. It didn’t matter that his face had beco familiar, that his reputation preceded him into every room he entered. They couldn’t help themselves. Their gazes found him again and again, drawn by that inexplicable quality that separated the ordinary from the extraordinary.
Nathan had transcended re celebrity during his ti in the eternal city. He had beco sothing more—a living legend, a figure whose very presence seed to blur the boundaries between mortal man and mythological hero. His exploits in the coliseum, the whispered stories of his prowess both in battle and in more intimate settings—all of it had woven together into a tapestry of reputation that preceded him everywhere.
Yet Nathan himself seed entirely unbothered by the weight of all those stares.
He moved through the hall with the sa calm, unhurried confidence he always carried, his expression neutral and unreadable. The attention might as well have been directed at soone else entirely for all the reaction he showed. His path took him toward one of the long rectangular tables that lined the walls, their surfaces laden with an abundance of wine, fruit, and delicacies befitting a senatorial banquet.
He reached for a crystal goblet, pouring himself a asure of deep red wine with the casual ease of any other guest simply enjoying the evening’s festivities rather than the man every tongue in Ro seed compelled to discuss.
"Hey, hottie," a familiar voice purred from just beside him, rich with amusent and unmistakable confidence. "Care to share a drink with ?"
Nathan turned, a slow smile forming on his lips as he found Fulvia standing there, her own wine glass already cradled elegantly in one hand. She regarded him with that particular look she wore so well—playful, knowing, challenging in a way that invited engagent rather than offense.
His gaze swept over her with open appreciation, taking in the graceful line of her neck, the way her garnts draped to accentuate rather than conceal her figure, the confident tilt of her chin that spoke of a woman entirely comfortable with her own allure. She truly was a woman of exceptional beauty, the kind that drew eyes and held them captive. It was no wonder at all that she was counted among the four greatest princesses of Ro, standing alongside Servilia, Licinia, and Julia as won whose beauty and influence were spoken of with equal reverence.
She wore her attractiveness like a crown—not with vanity, but with the self-assured ease of soone who had long ago accepted it as simply one more weapon in her considerable arsenal.
"What are you staring at?" Fulvia asked, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt as a mischievous smile played across her lips. She took a leisurely sip from her own glass, her eyes never leaving his. "Are you already feeling horny, Septimius? In need of a willing body to satisfy those urges of yours?"
Nathan’s smile widened slightly at her directness—one of the many things he appreciated about Fulvia. She never bothered with coy gas or false modesty when she could simply speak her mind.
"I had my fill not long ago," he replied with complete honesty, raising his glass to his lips. "So I’m quite fine for the mont."
And it was true. The mories were still fresh—the feel of Freja’s skilled hands on him, the heat of Elin’s mouth, the breathless intimacy they’d shared in those stolen monts before the banquet. The subsequent sex with Elin had been equally satisfying, leaving him pleasantly sated rather than desperately hungry. His desires hadn’t vanished entirely—they never truly did—but the imdiate edge had been thoroughly dulled.
More importantly, reality cast its shadow over any thoughts of indulgence tonight.
This was the end. His ti in Ro had reached its conclusion. Within hours, he would be gone, leaving this city and these people behind as he returned to his own ti, his own world. The finality of it hung in the air between them, unspoken but understood.
Fulvia knew it as well as he did. The knowledge showed in the subtle shift of her expression, the way her playful deanor gained a slight lancholic edge.
"When are you leaving?" she asked, her tone gentler now, stripped of its earlier teasing. She didn’t bother asking who had satisfied him earlier—whether through intuition or simple lack of caring, she accepted the answer he’d given without pressing for details.
"Right after this little banquet," Nathan replied, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. There was no point in softening the truth or drawing out the inevitable.
Fulvia exhaled slowly, a sigh that seed to carry more weight than such a simple breath should hold. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though whether in acceptance or resignation, it was difficult to say. "Then... do I have to say my farewells to you now? Here, among all these people watching us?"
The question held layers—practical concern mixed with sothing deeper, sothing that spoke to the genuine connection they’d ford during his ti in Ro.
Nathan didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hand settling against the small of her back with familiar ease, and gently drew her closer to him. The gesture was intimate without being overtly sexual, filled with warmth and affection rather than re lust. She ca willingly, closing the distance between them until only inches separated their bodies.
"There is no farewell," he said softly, his voice pitched for her ears alone despite the crowd around them. "Just a short absence. A temporary separation, not an ending." His eyes found hers, holding her gaze with quiet intensity. "I hope you won’t forget while I’m gone."
Fulvia’s response was imdiate—a short, inelegant snort that sohow managed to be both dismissive and affectionate at once. She lifted her free hand to his face, her palm warm against his cheek as her fingers traced the line of his jaw with tender familiarity.
"What a stupid question," she murmured, though there was no real bite in the words. "How could I ever forget you, Septimius? You’ve left marks on this city—on all of us—that won’t fade simply because you’ve gone elsewhere." Her thumb brushed across his cheekbone in a gentle caress. "Still... I’ll be missing you. A lot. More than is probably wise."
"I’ll miss you too," Nathan replied, aning it. His gaze shifted then, moving past her shoulder as his peripheral vision caught movent. He spotted Servilia approaching through the crowd, her composed expression and graceful bearing unmistakable even at a distance. "All of you."
"Septimius," Servilia greeted him warmly as she drew near, a genuine smile softening her usually reserved features. Her eyes flickered briefly to Fulvia, acknowledgnt and understanding passing between the two won in that single glance.
Nathan eased back slightly from Fulvia’s embrace, though his hand remained resting lightly against her waist. Fulvia turned to face Servilia properly, and a knowing smile curved her lips—the expression of a woman who understood the dynamics at play and found them amusing rather than threatening.
"Well," Fulvia remarked lightly, her tone carrying just enough playful edge to make her aning clear without being unkind, "it seems you’re recovering your popularity quite nicely, Servilia."
"All hypocrites," Servilia replied, her voice carrying a bitter edge that cut through the pleasantries of the mont. A scoff escaped her lips, elegant even in its disdain. "Every single one of them. They stopped spitting their venomous insults the very mont Crassus inford them that I was coveted by Septimius. Suddenly, the woman they’d been condemning beca untouchable. Fascinating how quickly their moral outrage evaporated when faced with your favor."
There was no mistaking the satisfaction beneath her bitterness—the vindication of watching those who had scorned her forced to swallow their words and paste false smiles across their faces.
"As long as they don’t lay any hands on you," Nathan replied, his tone deceptively calm but carrying an underlying current of steel. The implication was clear: words could be endured, overlooked, even forgiven. Physical transgression would be t with sothing far less forgiving. "That’s all that truly matters."
Servilia’s expression softened at his words, the hard edges of her resentnt lting away as warmth replaced coldness in her dark eyes. She approached him with unhurried grace, closing the distance between them until she stood near enough that he could catch the subtle fragrance of jasmine and roses that clung to her skin and hair.
Without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and possessive—a claim made publicly, a statent to anyone watching that she belonged to him and he to her, regardless of what Ro’s gossips might whisper.
"I will be missing you, Septimius," she murmured against his mouth before pulling back just enough to et his gaze. The vulnerability in those words was genuine, stripped of the armor she usually wore when facing the world. "More than I can properly express."
"I know," Nathan replied, his smile gentle and understanding. He did know. He could see it written in every line of her face, feel it in the way her body leaned toward his as though drawn by invisible threads.
Servilia’s hand drifted downward then, coming to rest against her stomach with a touch that was almost reverent, protective in a way that spoke of instincts already awakening. "I hope you will be back in ti, at least for our child’s birth," she said, her voice carrying a mixture of hope and carefully restrained expectation. She wouldn’t demand—that wasn’t her way—but the desire was unmistakable.
Nathan’s eyes followed the movent of her hand, settling on where it rested against the still-flat plane of her abdon. So it was confird then. She was indeed pregnant. It hadn’t even been a week since their last intimate encounter, yet she already knew with certainty. In a world where magic flowed as freely as wine at a senator’s banquet, where priests could heal mortal wounds and seers could glimpse fragnts of the future, it wasn’t surprising that thods existed to detect pregnancy far earlier than would be possible in his original ti.
Still, seeing the evidence before him—the gentle protective curve of her hand, the subtle glow of maternal joy already beginning to shine in her eyes—struck sothing deep within him. Another child. Another life he had helped create.
"I will be," Nathan said, his voice taking on a weight of absolute certainty, of solemn promise. "I swear it to you, Servilia. I will be here."
The guilt already sat heavy in his chest—a familiar burden he carried like a stone. Too many births he had missed. Too many first cries he hadn’t heard, too many small hands he hadn’t been the first to hold. His children scattered across ti and space, growing without him there to witness their earliest monts. The thought of it twisted sothing painful inside him, a regret that never quite dulled no matter how many tis he told himself it was necessary, that he was doing what needed to be done to keep everyone safe.
It wasn’t that he chose to be absent out of neglect or indifference. Gods, no. He would have given anything to be present for each and every one of them. But circumstances always seed to conspire against him—threats that needed addressing, dangers that couldn’t wait, responsibilities that demanded his attention at precisely the worst possible monts. He had always placed the safety of everyone else above his own desires, even when it tore at him to do so.
But this ti would be different.
Ro was his territory now—a land he had conquered, claid, and secured. There were no external threats looming on the horizon, no apocalyptic dangers requiring his imdiate intervention. He could afford to be here. He would be here. For Servilia, for their child, he would make absolutely certain of it.
Servilia’s face transford at his words, blooming with pure joy that erased years from her features and made her look almost girlish in her delight. If Nathan said sothing, then it was as good as done. He didn’t make promises lightly, and he didn’t break the ones he made. That knowledge, that absolute trust in his word, ant everything to her.
"Wait—you’re pregnant, Servilia?!" Fulvia’s voice cut through the intimate mont, sharp with surprise and sothing that might have been a touch of envy. She had been quiet until now, observing the exchange with her characteristic perceptiveness, but apparently this revelation was too much to absorb in silence. Her eyes were wide, darting between Servilia’s face and the hand still resting on her stomach. "Since when?! How did I not know about this?"
"Not long ago," Servilia replied, turning to face her friend with a smile that managed to be both serene and slightly smug. "I only confird it recently myself. The timing seed... appropriate to share the news now, before Septimius leaves."
Fulvia stood frozen for a mont, processing this information, and Nathan could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. Her hand lifted unconsciously, mirroring Servilia’s gesture as it ca to rest against her own flat stomach, as though checking for sothing she might have missed.
"Oh..." she said softly, the single syllable heavy with consideration and possibility. "Perhaps I should check myself as well. I an, we’ve had sex several tis now, and if Servilia could conceive so quickly..." She trailed off, but the implication hung clear in the air between them.
"Fulvia," Nathan spoke up then, his voice taking on a more serious tone that cut through her speculation. He shifted to face her fully, wanting to make certain she understood what he was about to say. "Don’t make such a decision on a whim. This isn’t sothing to rush into simply because others are doing it."
Her eyes snapped to his, surprised by the sudden gravity in his manner.
"Servilia is mature," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "She’s established in her life, secure in her position, and ready—truly ready—to take on the responsibilities of motherhood. If you want to have a child, that’s your choice to make, and I would never deny you that." His gaze held hers, making sure she heard every word. "But only make that choice if you’re absolutely certain you can take care of it. That you want to take care of it, not just now in this mont of emotion, but for all the years that follow."
The hall seed to quiet around them, or perhaps it was simply that Nathan’s focus had narrowed so completely on Fulvia that everything else faded to background noise.
Fulvia, surprisingly, fell silent.
It was rare to see her without a quick retort or playful coback ready on her tongue, but now she simply stood there, actually thinking about what he’d said. Her earlier excitent dimd, replaced by sothing more contemplative, more uncertain. Her hand remained on her stomach, but the gesture had changed—less exploratory now, more questioning.
"He’s right, Fulvia," Servilia added, her voice gentle but firm with the authority of soone who had already walked this path of decision. "Having a child is the greatest blessing the gods can bestow. I truly believe that. But first, you must be ready to be a mother—not just in body, but in spirit and purpose."
She took a step closer to Fulvia, her expression softening with sothing like sisterly concern.
"You’re still young," Servilia continued. "You have ti—more ti than you think. So take it. Think carefully about what you want to do with your life, what you want to accomplish, what brings you joy and fulfillnt. Consider what you’re capable of handling, both now and in the future. Because yes, motherhood is the most loving job you’ll ever have, but it’s also one of the hardest. It demands everything from you—your ti, your energy, your heart. You don’t get to take breaks when it becos difficult. You don’t get to change your mind once the child is here and dependent on you."
Fulvia exhaled slowly, a long breath that seed to carry away so of the impulsive excitent that had seized her monts before. Her shoulders dropped slightly, posture relaxing from its earlier tension.
"I know," she admitted quietly, her usual confidence dimd to sothing more vulnerable, more honest. "I know you’re both right. It’s just..." She paused, struggling to find the words for feelings that were still tangled and unclear even to herself. "He’s going to leave today. You’re leaving," she corrected, looking directly at Nathan. "And who knows when you’ll co back? What if it’s years? What if sothing happens and you can’t return at all?"
The fear beneath her words was palpable—not fear of being forgotten, but fear of missing her chance, of letting this mont slip away and never being able to reclaim it.
"I just said I will co back surely for Servilia’s childbirth," Nathan reminded her gently, trying to ease that fear without dismissing it entirely.
Fulvia’s eyes lit up with sudden hope, a spark of her usual mischief returning to dance in their depths. "Then will you make pregnant by then?" she asked imdiately, seizing on the promise like a lifeline. "If you’re coming back anyway, if there’s a definite ti we’ll see each other again?"
Nathan couldn’t help it—he wanted to laugh at her persistence, at the way she could pivot from contemplation to determination in the span of a heartbeat. She was incorrigible, really, but that was part of her charm.
"If by then you have truly chosen," he replied, allowing a smile to curve his lips, "and if you genuinely want it rather than simply feeling like you should want it—then yes. I’ll give you a child, Fulvia. Gladly."
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