The final hours of sunlight had long since retreated behind the western hills, and soft moonlight bathed the Eternal City in a pale silver hue.
The day had been long—weighted with orders, doctrines, and the orchestration of wars yet to be fought—but for a few brief hours, Julius allowed himself something dangerously rare.
Peace.
Not of the empire.
But of the heart.
He and Serena had walked the secluded upper gardens of the imperial palace—silent save for the rhythmic rustling of wind through cypress leaves and the soft crunch of gravel beneath their steps.
No guards followed.
No servants watched.
Just two sovereigns walking not as ruler and chancellor, but as man and woman.
Serena laughed quietly as Julius pointed out a half-finished sculpture nestled in the hedgework—an attempt made by a sculptor to create a visage of the emperor before Julius stopped the man as the artist was blatantly exagerating his features to appear almost godly.
