Livia's heart thrums fierce and wild, as if to break free from within her. And with her breath racing unchecked, it only pushes the muscle to work harder. She had stopped here, just outside the door, to find her courage, but she worries she may not be able to.
Fear. She cannot allow herself to show it, not when she walks into that room.
She's not had much experience in this - entertaining guests and such. She's barely had time to stay in one place long enough to keep a household. And it was all the fault of the monster beyond the door, the one currently lounging in her home, despite the fact that she knows he's been told of her husband's absence.
What could he possibly want with them? How would he even know where to find them? The questions chase through mind, round and round, enough to make her head seize in pain.
Eyes closing as she sets a cool hand on her forehead, she reminds herself that they've done no wrong, she and her husband, and that many others have been shown mercy for falling on the wrong side of this civil war, most of them far more dangerous politically.
Livia absolutely does not think about the hundreds of senators who've been put to death. Nor the hundreds more innocent men, women, and children in the city when it was sacked. To send a message - a warning.
She grounds her teeth in frustration. This isn't helping, and she can't keep him waiting forever. Peering at the slaves who stand unmoving in various places around the atrium, she wonders if any of them would lift a finger to help her if she should need it.
Not likely.
With a deep breath, followed by another, she knows she's as ready as she'll ever be.
Stepping lightly within the room, Livia admits surprise to see him where he is. Not lounging on their lectus, drinking her husband's wine as if all were his, but standing tall and straight, eyes taking in the words of Greek Poets that she'd left here the night prior.
His long, elegant fingers hold the papyrus with care as he unfurls the scroll a bit more, and she half wonders if he's read it before.
She must make some sort of noise, or perhaps he senses her presence, but either way, the attention that had been all for the words in front of him, is now focused solely on her. She tries her hardest to hold back the tell-tale signs of her fear of him, attempting to appear as poised and unconcerned as he.
"Sappho," she says dumbly, before clearing her throat and hoping the strange greeting hasn't given her away.
He nods, glancing at the scroll before rolling it again carefully. "At mere sight of you, my voice falters, my tongue is broken."
He's only quoting, but with his calculating gaze and precise enunciation, it seems to glide from between his lips with a different purpose.
"Apologies to have kept you waiting."
He waves away her apology with a stiff politeness as he sets down the scroll. "No need, I came unannounced. It's I who should be apologizing."
He reminds her a bit of the cat that roams within her home. All long and lithe, its movements graceful yet deliberate. And its eyes... so sharp, she's certain it doesn't miss a thing as it stalks its prey. And when his eyes flit down to her throat for the briefest of moments, she worries he's caught the flutter of her heart.
She's his prey, she realizes darkly, swallowing down the desperation to flee.
Needing an excuse to look elsewhere, and gather some strength as she does so, she offers him wine. He declines. And when the thick silence sets between them once more, she feels like a silly girl who's never learned how to play homemaker - she's no idea how to do this.
"I'm afraid my husband's not here."
Holding out a hand to the lectus, he silently asks her to sit, so she does, easing down onto the cushions as gracefully as possible, and he in the sella across from her.
"It's not him I'm here to see."
She's not certain how to reply to that, uttering a soft "oh" as she tries not to squirm under his piercing gaze.
"When are you due?"
Her arms wrap protectively around her swollen belly. "Four months. Perhaps three."
He doesn't appear relaxed, she notices. Confident, yes, but not relaxed. And she wonders if she makes him nervous as well.
But why ever would that be?
"My wife, Scribonia, is also with child."
A polite smile pulls at her lips. "Congratulations. I pray the gods grant you a healthy one."
"And you as well."
"Your first," she asks. This facade of deference is becoming a bit easier to portray as they go on. But perhaps that's what he wants - to lure her in before striking.
"It is. And I hope I am up to the task."
"I'm sure you will be. You are..." He waits patiently for her to finish, but she's not sure how. He is so many things. A cruel murderer, a scheming tyrant, or perhaps simply just the monster that haunts her nightmares. "Strong."
"And you, this is your second, yes?"
Her breath catches, and she reminds herself to control her reactions.
How would he know that? He must've asked - learned about her family. Does he know about her father, she wonders, who fell on his own sword instead of allowing himself to be captured by him. Or her husband, an honest man who would not stand down from what he thought was right, and as punishment, has spent years on the run.
Those were her years too. Ever since she was newly married and first pregnant. Never safe, always paranoid of those who would swear loyalty or friendship. Escaping into the night, fleeing from one city to city - this last one still in ruins, and it's ground soaked in blood. All to try and keep one step ahead of him and his soldiers.
He's taken much from her. But he can still take so much more.
"Yes, this is my second."
The wooden seat creaks beneath him as he slowly leans forward. A hushed, unnerving sound that interrupts the stillness that's fallen between them. And as he moves in, crystal blue eyes caressing her face, she feels exposed before him, both in body and in mind.
