Chapter 86: Rome’s Blessing

May 17, 221 AD, Civitas Aurelia, Gallia.

The midday sun cast shadows across the floors of the dining hall. Isolda sat alone at the table, a cup of mint tea resting before her.

For the past month, the Forge Master and the Director of the Shadows had maintained a schedule, coordinating their operations over the midday meal.

It was the one hour they reserved for each other, away from the furnaces and the maps.

Yet, the sun had crested its peak, and Lucius was absent.

Isolda rested her chin in her hand, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes. She was not a woman accustomed to waiting. Beneath her gown, the corslet supported the weight of her pregnancy, but it did nothing to ease the irritation in her chest.

The doors at the end of the hall swung inward.

Lucius strode into the room, his tunic dusted with charcoal. But what caused the temperature to plummet was the woman walking beside him. Valeria was leaning in close, a flush on her cheeks, her hand resting on the Forge Master’s forearm.

Isolda’s eyes narrowed into slits.

Lucius, whose mind had been consumed by thermodynamics, looked up and saw his wife.

He froze mid-step, his survival instincts overriding his focus, and he pulled his arm away from Valeria’s grasp.

Valeria blinked, thrown off balance by the rejection.

She looked between the Forge Master and the woman sitting at the table.

Despite the tension, Valeria’s patrician arrogance refused to let her back down.

"Isolda, my apologies," Lucius started, clearing his throat and stepping away from the noblewoman. "The time escaped me. Valeria and I were in the drafting halls, and the discussions ran longer than I anticipated. I did not mean to neglect our meeting."

Isolda did not look at him. She kept her stare locked on the Governor’s daughter.

"Discussion?" Isolda repeated, her voice dripping with venom.

Valeria lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with pride.

She had spent her life navigating the social circles of the Roman elite, and she was not about to be cowed by a barbarian.

"Yes, Domina," Valeria interjected. "Lucius and I were discussing the logistical realities of the Mediterranean. I was explaining how an alliance with my father’s naval fleets could legitimize his rule in the eyes of the Senate. It is a reality, something that requires an understanding of Roman tradition."

The implication was not subtle...

Valeria was insulting Isolda’s northern heritage, suggesting the Gothic princess lacked the sophistication to secure the Syndicate’s future.

Isolda’s hands flattened against the table.

"You are a hostage, Valeria," Isolda stated. "You exist in this palace because we allow it. Do not mistake the Forge Master’s indulgence of your curiosity for influence."

Valeria let out a laugh, stepping closer to Lucius as if to claim him. "A hostage? Or the key to the southern seas? Lucius understands the value of my bloodline. An alliance with the Gratus house requires a union of equals, Isolda. Perhaps you should accept that the Syndicate requires a Roman patrician to rule Rome."

Lucius felt the blood drain from his face. The audacity of the girl was staggering...

Before Isolda could order the *Custodes* to drag the girl to the dungeons, Lucius stepped between them.

His eyes locked onto Valeria.

"Valeria, you have overstepped your boundaries," Lucius commanded. "You will never speak to my wife with that tone again, or I will put you on the next galley back to Massilia and let your father sell you to the Claudians. Do I make myself clear?"

Valeria recoiled. The reprimand hit her with force.

Her lower lip trembled, the color draining from her cheeks. Unused to such scoldings from men she admired, tears welled up in her eyes.

Without a word, Valeria spun on her heel and fled the dining hall.

Silence descended over the praetorium.

Lucius exhaled a breath, turning to face his wife. Isolda had crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze averted toward the hearth. Her jaw was clenched.

"You should go comfort your diplomatic asset," Isolda muttered. "A patrician girl has likely never had a man raise his voice to her without offering a silk concubine’s veil in return."

Lucius’s chest tightened. He closed the distance between them, ignoring the glare she shot him as he approached. He reached out, gripping her shoulders.

"Look at me, Isolda," Lucius requested.

Isolda kept her eyes fixed on the burning coals of the hearth, refusing to yield.

"Isolda," Lucius repeated. He slid his hands up, cupping her cheeks and turning her face toward his. "Look at me."

She met his gaze. Her eyes were shining with tears.

"I know what that girl’s words triggered in your mind," Lucius said, his thumbs smoothing across her cheekbones. "You believe that when the time comes to secure the Mediterranean, I will set you aside and marry a Roman aristocrat to legitimize my empire, simply because she possesses the Gratus name."

Isolda’s breath hitched.

"Listen to me," Lucius whispered. "I am going to burn the Senate to ash. I do not care about Roman tradition, and I do not need a patrician’s daughter to legitimize what I take with iron and fire. When I wear the crown of this empire, you will be the only woman sitting on the throne beside me."

A gasp escaped Isolda’s lips. She had never doubted his genius, but hearing him secure her place in the dynasty they were forging broke through her defenses...

"You are a fool, Lucius," Isolda whispered, her voice trembling as she grabbed the lapels of his tunic.

Before he could respond, she pulled him down, capturing his lips in a kiss.

Lucius responded, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her back against the table.

After a moment, Isolda placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed him away.

Lucius blinked, disoriented by the rejection. "Did I miscalculate again?"

Isolda let out a laugh, shaking her head as she smoothed the front of her gown. "No, Forge Master. But as much as I would love to barricade these doors for the afternoon, you have a weeping political asset having a breakdown in the guest wing. If the girl does something stupid out of spite, we lose our leverage over the southern ports."

Lucius stared at her in disbelief. A chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"You want me to leave, right now, to go comfort the very woman you were ready to execute five minutes ago?"

Isolda sighed. She gave him a push toward the doors. "If you don’t soothe her wounded ego, she is useless to my espionage network. Go. We can finish this tonight."

Lucius shook his head. "I am married to a monster," he murmured.

"And you wouldn’t have it any other way," Isolda smirked, turning back toward her mint tea.

Lucius left the dining hall, navigating the corridors of the praetorium until he reached the guest wing.

He stopped before the door of Valeria’s chambers.

Taking a breath, the Forge Master raised his knuckle and knocked on the wood.

The sobbing hitched, followed by a pause. A voice called out from the shadows of the room.

"Enter."