Drusus burst into his brother's cubiculum to find Nero Caesar already asleep.
A half-melted beeswax candle shone, its flame wavering in the cold draft from the open window—the only light, for the moon had already hidden herself behind the clouds.
The night breeze smelled of spring, touched with the sweetness of honeyed nectar.
There, in the center of the room, lay his older brother, cocooned in his blanket, softly snoring—peaceful, without a care in the world.
'While I…' Drusus clicked his tongue.
Disheveled, his sling slipping loose, he stood beside the sleeping Nero.
"Brother!" he whisper-screamed, stirring a small ruckus.
His brother didn't twitch.
'Are you a corpse?'
"Tsk!"
Drusus leaned down and shook Nero's body, but his brother only groaned, then pulled his blanket up his head as if blocking him.
'Hah?'
He tried again.
"Wake up!"
But no matter how much he forcefully disturbed his brother's sleep, he wouldn't wake up.
Drusus decided to become insolent.
"Nero!"
He pinched his brother's side—still nothing.
Nero just swatted Drusus' hands away.
Annoyed, he clenched his crutch—briefly tempted to beat his brother awake with it.
He even imagined how satisfying it would feel—before tossing it aside in frustration.
"You won't believe what I just heard!" he hissed, not giving up.
Still no movement.
'Curses…'
"Nero, you dolt!"
He began to rudely pull his brother's blanket.
"Brother Nero!"
His older brother groaned, barely lifting his head.
Peeking through half-lidded eyes, Nero muttered, "By Jupiter, what do you think it is you're doing?"
Noticing that it was still dark, Drusus' brother groaned in annoyance.
"It's late…" his voice was heavy with sleep.
'Finally!'
Drusus' eyes widened—excited—he couldn't hold it in any longer, he wanted to scream.
"Father wants to retire!" he blurted at last.
He struggled to convey all of his resentment at what he had heard.
"He wants to leave Rome—leave everything behind! We can't let him!" Drusus' words tumbled out, sharp and urgent.
But was only met with silence.
Only Drusus' ragged breathing filled the room, his face twisted in desperation.
He waited until Nero slowly sat up.
Impatient, he started tapping his foot on the floor.
"Leaving Rome?" Nero rubbed the sleep from his blue eyes, blinking them into focus.
'Yes!' Drusus nodded, expectant, then he added—
"He said it's for good!"
But what followed next was…
Not what he expected.
No shock crossed Nero's face.
No outrage.
His long light brown hair was sticking up in all directions.
"If…" Nero began to say, a thoughtful look now in his eyes.
'He finally understands how grave the situation is!'
"If that's what father wants…" Nero sighed.
His gaze drifted to Drusus' eager face—breath held, waiting for Nero Caesar to say what he desperately wanted to hear.
But what came was…
"... then let it be," Nero mumbled.
Drusus felt as though he had been struck, shocked—
"What?"
He stopped tapping his foot, his mouth agape, his mind suddenly short-circuited.
'First it was father… and now you?'
The second betrayal that night.
"That's it?" Drusus demanded.
'What's with the lame reaction?'
"You don't care?" he snarled, his voice rising.
Nero frowned, not liking his brother's tone, his patience thinning.
His face said it all—'you wake me in the middle of the night for this nonsense whining?'
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Nero asked him.
Drusus exploded, his face reddened.
"Don't you see what this means? He's throwing everything away! He wanted to live on some lousy farm that even the gods won't bless! What about us? What about—!"
Nero yawned, turning to the other side of his bed, fixing his pillow.
"Let it go. He knows what's best."
Then he snapped his head back to Drusus, snatched his blanket and lay back down.
"Hmmm…" Nero settled back to sleep, dismissing his younger brother.
Drusus stood frozen.
'But I'm not done yet…'
Disappointment washed over him in waves.
'I still have many things I want to say!'
He had come seeking an ally, someone who would share his fury, and would give him comforting answers.
But instead—he found indifference.
He turned on his heel, about to storm out, his heart pounding.
Drusus was mad.
"He didn't understand!" he whispered to himself.
"He clearly didn't!"
'Fine!' he seethed inwardly, his mind racing, halting at the door.
"What a blockhead… and to think I came here for his aid."
He looked back at his brother—already snoring.
Drusus just wanted someone to agree with him, to understand, to find answers together.
'Was that too much to ask?'
"Hmp," he sneered, finally turning away.
But his brother's indifference haunted him more than he cared to admit.
A week had passed, yet Drusus still couldn't shake the sting of betrayal.
His father's words gnawed at him, and his frustrations with his older brother only grew worse by the day.
He sat sulking on the patio, waiting for his nanny to bring the 'tree branch' he had made-up—one that didn't even exist—to be fashioned into a sword.
For a week he had punished her with impossible errands—ordering her to fetch this or that.
At first it amused him to watch her grovel and scramble to magically materialize things he had invented on a whim.
Drusus knew he was being petty, but until his irritation faded, he would keep at it.
But now he was getting bored.
He sighed, stretching out lazily as he thought of new ways to subtly torment the nanny.
Then—his attention was caught by a hollow laugh coming from the white-marbled bench in the hortus.
It was his mother and father, along with the sissy—
"Caligula," he muttered.
The name still sounded foreign to him.
A nickname he had suddenly earned after that trip to Germania.
"He was just called Gaius when he left."
He observed the three.
His mother and father sat by Caligula's side, acting stupidly happy, as if they were trying to cheer the kid up.
But his younger brother continued to stare into the distance.
Drusus traced his gaze.
"There's nothing there…" he frowned.
'What stupid game are you playing?'
Now that Drusus thought about it…
Ever since Caligula returned—
He never spoke.
Never played.
Never even twitched.
'He was like a doll.'
The thought came quickly—and Drusus dismissed it just as fast.
His nanny came running, sweat glistening on her forehead, carrying a stupid tree branch presenting it to him like it was some precious treasure.
He took it, measured it, swung it, then tossed it away.
The nanny gasped.
Drusus didn't care.
His mood was off.
The usual gloating satisfaction never came.
If anything, he was feeling more… displeased.
He stood without a word and went inside the domus.
The next day—the same unusual trio.
The same scene as yesterday.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
By the third day, his fist curled.
Drusus couldn't understand why—but it pissed him off.
By the fourth day, his breath hissed between clenched teeth.
By the fifth day, cold crept in.
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
His nails dug crescents into his palm, drawing blood and leaving faint marks even after he let go.
What truly disturbed him on the seventh day was how his parents doted on stupid Caligula.
'Did your brain rot or something?'
"Why don't you say or do anything other than stare dumbly off in the distance?" he found himself asking.
But nobody could answer it for him.
Agrippina and Germanicus had never played favorites before—until now.
'They were always with him, wherever I turned.'
Suddenly, Caligula wasn't just their son.
It was as if…
'He was their whole world.'
A bitter thought slipped through before he could stop it…
"Why him?"
His eyes narrowed to a slit.
"Why not me?"
**