The following is a complete work of fiction inspired by Roman history, with a strong fantasy aspect for the use of artistic license. The original story which was previously posted on Literotica has been revamped. The idea of intrigue, betrayal and a power struggle is the still the same. However, changing to a fantasy setting allowed me to play more with the idea of pagan magic and other aspects that I found were limited in a historically accurate Roman setting. If you enjoyed the original, I am sure you will still enjoy this one. For those who wrote to me about this series regarding its lack of overly explicit sexual content, I will state for your peace of mind that it is NOT a stroke story. If that interests you, you'd be better off reading something else.
As always, the names, places and events are fictitious and this is meant merely to be a source of entertainment, not an accurate depiction of history.
Disclaimer:
The following story may contain erotic situations between consenting adults. If it is illegal for you to read this please leave now.
Any resemblance between the characters and any real life person is completely coincidental. Please do not copy or distribute the story without the author's permission.
Important -
Please feel free to send any feedback or comments through the writing journal or you can send it directly. Please just remember to add something in the subject line so I know it's not Spam. This is a new style for me so constructive commentary and suggestions are always welcome. Enjoy!
*
After she had left the temple and finalized the last of the funeral arrangements, Portia returned to her bed chamber to ready herself for the evening's procession. She felt weary, like a shadow of herself that was stretched too much for comfort.
The funeral proceedings would continue for several days and nights as was their tradition. The representatives of the cities that they were allied with would be arriving within a few days to pay homage to her father as well as solidify their unions with the new ruler. Games of politics would be masked by grief.
Portia sighed as she sunk deeper into the marble tub that had been filled with hot water up to her chin. Fragrant steam wafted up from the water to flush her cheeks with color as she lay back with her eyes closed. Water was supposed to have healing properties and the public baths in Celaenia were a celebrated practice. But not even the warmth sluicing sensually over lean limbs was enough to soothe her troubled mind. There were long hours ahead of her, requiring her to wear her many masks when all she wanted was to undress, and lay in her bed of silk and satin where she could fall into the forgetfulness of dreams and know nothing more of lies and betrayals.
Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of her father and of Caius, staring at her with blank eyes and accusing faces. She heard their voices in her dreams and they haunted her steps. She refused to take anything to aid her with sleep. She had not yet reached such levels of desperation that she would willingly alter her state of mind. She needed her wits about her. Despite her show of bravado in front of Commodus in the temple, she knew perfectly well that she didn't have such luxuries. To strengthen her hold over the city she would have to maneuver carefully. Every part of this play had to be written with no thought of anything but perfection.
She sighed heavily as she allowed her head to loll back against the edge of the tub. Commodus's words echoed over and over again in her mind. She knew that he had spoken the truth and yet she could not bring herself to completely accept it.
She hated Marcus Aurelius. He represented everything that she was not. He did not have to work for respect or for power. Both were given freely to him and he was too much a fool to accept that gift.
Her hand splashed gently in the water. He was a handsome man. He was also intelligent and he could be an asset at her side. Together they could make the country great, but she knew that he would never allow that to happen. The Fates had placed them in opposition one another by giving him everything she wanted.
Her hands tightened on the edges of the tub till her knuckles turned white.
"Gemella?"
"I am here my lady."
Portia nodded. She rose out of the water and quietly took the silk robe that the servant girl held out. The steam had flushed her cheeks, the heat rising from her skin. The silk was a cool contrast as she slid her arms through and belted it at the waist.
"It is going to be a long evening, my lady. Is there anything special that you need?"
"No thank you Gemella," Portia, responded softy.
They had been going through similar routines most of her life. Gemella had been given to her as one of few useful gifts from her father. She had been 13 and Gemella barely seventeen. The Emperor had decided that she needed a lady-in-waiting to subdue her wild spirit and encourage a more docile femininity.
Gemella had seen her through every milestone in her life and rarely had she seen her mistress cry. She did not mention the faint tracks still visible on her flushed cheeks, because Portia never liked to be reminded of her own weaknesses. Instead, she reached for the brush on the vanity table.
"Sit down, my lady. I will pin your hair. There is tea on that tray. Melina brought it up for you."
"Thank you."
"There is no need to thank me, my lady. I live to please you."
"Yes, you do, don't you?," Portia murmured. She watched Gemella's reflection in the mirror. "You are my only friend, Gemella. Do you know that?"
"My lady?"
"You are. I have no one else who can ever understand me the way that you do." She said it more to herself than to the older woman, as she stared into the mirror. The words were the truest ones she had ever spoken. The Weavers of Fate never gave anything without achieving something for themselves in return. She was getting her throne, but at what price? No one had ever died from loneliness, but suffering could go on for a very long time.
"Do you ever feel that your life is not what it should be?"
"I... I do not understand, my lady."
"Of course you do. You were born to a life of servitude. Have you always accepted that?"
"It is my lot in life, my lady."
"Yes I am aware of that but have you not ever wished for more than was given to you?"
Gemella looked confused. "No. I live happily with the knowledge that I am fulfilling that destiny." She paused, her expression concerned. "Have I displeased you in some way?"
Portia shook her head, sighing. "No. I am just tired. Continue with what you were doing.
Gemella nodded silently. Portia watched the girl as Gemella moved behind her to run the brush through her damp ebony strands with gentle grace. Her hands were nimble at brushing the thick strands till they gleamed, then oiling them and pinning them carefully into place.
"You should rest some before the procession, my lady. Forgive my impudence, but your shoulders seem heavy with unease."
Portia's lips quirked into a humourless smile. She felt the weight of the diadem sink into her skull as Gemella settled into those shining strands. "There is no rest to be found for me on this day, Gemella. I am to be married soon. Did you know that?"
"Yes my lady. With permission, I would say that Marius of Syantix is said to be a good man. It will also make us friends of his country."
"Yes. The politics of it all are indisputable," Portia agreed. She sighed. She felt older than her few years. "I do not love him, Gemella. I do not even know him."
"That comes with time, my lady. There is not a man in the world who could not love you. You are a great woman. You will make a great queen."