Domina Aurelia Lavinia, 19 (Future Empress of Nova Roma)
The imperial garden lay bathed in the golden hues of a midday sun, its carefully tended paths winding between sculpted hedges and marble statues. At the garden's heart stood a grand fountain, water cascading over tiers of white stone with a soft, continuous murmur. Towering above the fountain, an exquisite statue captured the likeness of Domina Aurelia, daughter of the Emperor Aurelius. The sculpted version of her, draped in flowing robes and crowned with a laurel wreath, gazed down with serene authority. But the real Aurelia, standing in its shadow, felt none of the calm elegance imposed on her stone counterpart.
She wore a delicate gown of deep violet silk, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light with every subtle shift in her posture. Her fingers, however, betrayed her anxiety as they worried at the edge of her nails, scraping and pulling at the cuticle until the skin reddened. Around her, a throng of senators—men of considerable age and experience—gathered in small clusters, their voices a low, buzzing hum. They spoke of politics, grain shipments, and the looming spectacle of the Lusus Mortis, debating whether the provinces should receive their rations before or after the gladiatorial games. It was a conversation they clearly relished, eager to flaunt their wit and knowledge in the presence of the Emperor's daughter.
Yet none of their words were meant for her. Not really. They addressed Domina Aurelia, not the young woman she was beneath the title. To them, she was less a person and more a symbol—a figurehead to be impressed, a vessel for Imperial approval. They sought her opinion only when it suited them, their questions carefully constructed to elicit the expected answers. Anything she said would be dissected, weighed, and used to measure her worth—not as a leader, but as a potential Empress and wife. Her status hung heavily upon her like the shadow of the statue above, and the presence of these men, with their perfumed robes and wine-bloated bellies, only amplified her distaste.
She despised gatherings like this. Dozens of people milling about her garden, all with the singular intent of assessing her—judging her poise, her demeanor, her future as a bride. They exchanged thinly veiled compliments and remarks, each trying to outdo the other, while she remained a silent ornament among them, expected to nod and smile at the right moments.
As their voices blurred into a murmur, her mind drifted elsewhere, detaching from the tedious scene before her. Her eyes wandered upward, past the marble and gilded embellishments, toward the open sky. There, high above the garden, an eagle soared in wide, graceful arcs. Its copper feathers gleamed in the sunlight, catching the rays as it glided on the warm air currents, alone and unbound. Aurelia's breath hitched with longing as she watched it, the tension in her chest momentarily easing. For a brief, wistful moment, she imagined herself as that eagle, free from the constraints of duty and expectation, flying above Rome's sprawl, away from the gaze of scheming men and relentless scrutiny.
But the group of voices pulled her back, and she forced her attention to return, her nails still digging into the flesh of her fingers. The senators were waiting, their eyes sliding toward her as they sought her response to some minor point in their debate. She straightened, her expression smoothing into the practiced mask she'd worn since childhood. Whatever she said next would have to be measured, carefully calibrated to align with the image they all expected. It was a performance, after all, and in this garden, under the gaze of the empire, she had no choice but to play her part.
Aurelia straightened her posture, allowing a measured silence to fall over the group as she considered their debate. The men leaned in slightly, expectant. "The grain shipments should be delayed," she said, her voice calm but laced with the authority befitting her station. "Let the Lusus Mortis run its course. The victor's triumph will captivate the people, and once it's done, the distribution of grain will not only feed their bodies but also soften the sting of loss for those whose chosen champions fell. Timing is everything. Give them something to cheer for first, then something to sustain them."
Her words hung in the air for a moment. Then, almost as one, the senators nodded in agreement, their previous murmurs dissolving into assent. Aurelia could see the wheels turning behind their eyes, each one likely calculating how her suggestion could align with their own interests. They launched into further discussion, elaborating on her point and layering it with their own insights, but to Aurelia, the conversation had lost its flavor. With a soft sigh, she felt herself drifting away once more, the men's voices melting into a distant hum.
She was just beginning to lose herself in thoughts of the eagle again, still soaring free above them, when a more familiar voice sliced through the noise. "Ah, I see a council of the wise has gathered," her father's voice rang out, warm and commanding.
The senators immediately broke off their chatter, turning in unison to greet the Emperor Aurelius. "Imperator," they chorused, each one bowing deeply with a mixture of reverence and anxiety. He acknowledged them with a nod, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and authority. But his gaze quickly shifted to Aurelia, who felt both relief and apprehension under his steady regard.
"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'd like a word with my daughter," Aurelius said, his tone polite but unmistakably dismissive.
The senators quickly agreed, bowing again as they made their exit with hurried steps. The garden seemed to breathe easier once they were gone, the cloying air of politics lifting like a cloud.
Aurelia let out a small, exaggerated breath of her own. "You've interrupted the most thrilling debate, Father," she said dryly. "They were this close to deciding whether we should change when the grain is allowed back to the towns."
Aurelius rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Senator Marcus is only pushing for that because his lumber workers are still on strike. He's never been one for seeing beyond his own problems."
She couldn't help but laugh lightly, appreciating the rare moment of candor. Her father reached for a small tray resting on a nearby table, plucking a delicate macaroon and biting into it with the enjoyment of a man who could afford to be whimsical in the heart of his empire. "Delicious," he said, holding the tray toward her.
Aurelia waved it away, more focused on the familiar comfort of his presence than any confection. He offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to guide her through the garden's winding paths.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, content to walk in silence, away from the calculating eyes and sharp tongues of the senators. The sun filtered through the leaves, dappling their path with shifting patches of light. Aurelius finally broke the silence, his tone more serious now. "You handled them well. You always do."
Aurelia glanced at him, her expression softening. "It's what's expected," she replied, though the bitterness beneath her words was clear.
"Yes," he agreed, a hint of regret in his voice. "But just because it's expected doesn't mean it's fair. I know gatherings like these weigh on you, Aurelia. But know that you have more control than you think." His eyes, often stern and commanding in public, held a gentleness reserved only for her.
She gave him a small smile, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Maybe. But I'd rather be up there," she said, nodding toward the eagle that still circled above.
Aurelius followed her gaze and sighed, a knowing look passing between them. "One day, perhaps, you'll find a way to do both—fulfill your duty and fly free. But until then, let's make the best of the ground we walk on."
They continued their stroll, the world of politics and duty momentarily held at bay by the simple act of walking side by side, father and daughter, through the garden that had always felt more like a refuge.
The garden was a masterpiece of cultivated opulence, a testament to the wealth and influence of the imperial family. Rare and exotic plants, sourced from the furthest reaches of the empire, thrived in carefully maintained beds. There were towering ferns from the mist-shrouded mountains of the east, their fronds swaying gently in the breeze. Vibrant orchids of impossible hues bloomed among the foliage, their petals curling in intricate spirals, each one unique and priceless. Along winding paths of polished white stone, delicate lilies in shades of azure and gold stood in shallow pools, their reflections rippling with every breath of wind. Vines of deep crimson wound their way up marble columns, their flowers emitting a faint, sweet fragrance that clung to the air.
But the true wonders of the garden lay deeper in, where glass-domed greenhouses sheltered the most precious flora—plants that couldn't be found anywhere else in the Empire. Bioluminescent blossoms from distant rainforests glowed softly even in daylight, while creeping vines with silver leaves shimmered under the sun. Aurelia knew every inch of this garden, yet it never ceased to amaze her how her father's obsession with rare plants mirrored the careful way he curated the Empire itself—an Empire he was preparing her to inherit.
As they walked, her father's voice grew lighter again, though there was a trace of something more serious beneath it. "Aurelia, a few of the Senators have brought their sons to the Reaping viewing tomorrow. It's no secret that some are also putting themselves forward."
Aurelia immediately sighed, the tension returning to her shoulders. "Of course they are," she muttered with thinly veiled sarcasm. "They'd propose to a statue of me if they thought it would improve their standing."
Aurelius gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow raised. "You need to take this seriously, Aurelia. The future of the empire isn't just yours—it's ours. Every day you remain unmarried, our position weakens. Both of us."
She met his gaze, frustration flashing in her eyes. "None of those men care about me, Father. They care about marrying the emperor's daughter, about securing their place in history, but not one of them sees me as anything more than a stepping stone."
Aurelius's expression softened, but his voice remained firm. "It's understandable that your status would be their first motivation. It's what you represent to them. But that's why you need to get to know them, to see who they are when they're not rehearsing their lines. You might be surprised at who you actually like. Love doesn't always come where you expect it."
Aurelia didn't respond, her expression guarded as her thoughts churned. Her father, sensing her resistance, sighed and came to a stop in front of a wall of sweetpeas, their soft, pastel blooms swaying gently. He took her hands in his, his eyes holding a rare vulnerability. "You know," he began, his voice quieter now, "by all rights, I should be choosing for you. It's what every emperor before me has done. If I followed tradition, you'd already be married to Senator Tiberius."
Aurelia grimaced at the name. Tiberius was a man nearing sixty, more concerned with hoarding wealth than anything resembling companionship. The very thought made her skin crawl.
"Yes, that Tiberius," her father confirmed with a wry smile. "He's been pressing for years. More than willing to take your hand, despite the age difference."
"Or because of it," Aurelia retorted.
Aurelius squeezed her hands gently, his tone growing serious again. "The longer you delay, the more power you give men like him. You know I loved your mother—truly. It's why I never remarried. I want that for you, Aurelia, I do. But I can only give you so much time. This festival season is the limit. By its end, you need to choose. I'm giving you that freedom, but freedom has its limits."
The weight of his words hung in the air between them. Aurelia looked away, her eyes tracing the delicate petals of the sweetpeas, their fragrance a bittersweet reminder of fleeting moments. She understood the stakes, understood her father's fears. But the thought of choosing someone—of submitting to a union that felt more like a transaction than a partnership—still felt like a cage closing in.
For now, though, she said nothing, and her silence spoke volumes. Aurelius let out another soft sigh, dropping her hands and giving her a look that was both stern and tender. "You're stronger than you think, Aurelia. Just don't let that strength harden your heart."
With that, he gestured for them to continue walking, the delicate harmony of the garden wrapping around them once more as father and daughter faced the reality of the Empire together—an Empire that waited, with both anticipation and expectation, for its future Empress to make her choice.
As they continued their stroll, the garden gradually opened into a grand circular courtyard, where the viewing party for the Reaping was already gathering. Lush greenery encircled the space, with elegant marble benches set around the perimeter. A small crowd of nobles and Senators mingled beneath colorful canopies, their laughter and chatter blending with the distant melody of harp music. At the center of it all stood a tall man, broad-shouldered and dressed in a finely tailored tunic that did little to conceal his athletic build. As soon as he saw them approaching, he broke away from the others with a confident stride.
"Domina Aurelia," the man greeted her with a charming smile, bowing his head slightly. "An honor, as always." His voice was rich and smooth, the kind that carried easily even in a crowded space.
Aurelia recognized him immediately—Brook Michels, the celebrated victor of the Lusus Mortis from the province of Maria, the port town. Five years had passed since his victory, but the memory of his brutal triumph still lingered in the minds of many. Now, here he was, trying to parlay his fame into something far more significant.
"I was just telling some of the others how the games this year are shaping up to be quite the spectacle," Brook continued, clearly eager to impress. "There's a fighter from the southern part of my town who's shown incredible skill—a real crowd-pleaser. But no one compares to what I did five years ago, of course." He flashed a grin, as if expecting her to be dazzled by his casual confidence.
Aurelia forced a polite smile, offering a nod in response but nothing more. She was used to men like him—handsome, bold, and keenly aware of their own appeal. But the superficial charm held no allure for her; she saw through the practiced bravado, recognizing it for what it was—a performance.
Before Brook could continue his self-aggrandizing tales, her father smoothly intervened. "Brook, I'm sure Domina Aurelia will be most interested to hear more after the Reaping," Aurelius said, his tone courteous but firm, effectively ending the conversation.
Brook's smile faltered slightly, but he nodded, stepping back with another respectful bow. "Of course, Imperator. I look forward to it." With that, he retreated into the crowd, leaving father and daughter alone once more.
Aurelia watched him go, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought before turning back to her father. "Can victors even ask for my hand?" she asked, half-curious and half-exasperated.
"As a Nova Roman citizen, anyone can," Aurelius replied, his tone pragmatic. "But that doesn't mean it's always a wise political choice." He glanced at her, measuring her reaction. "If you did choose him, I'd honor it. The people love him, and he's proven himself in ways that matter to them."
Aurelia gave a small, unimpressed shrug. "But none of that matters to me." Her voice was edged with a touch of disdain.
Her father nodded slowly, accepting her disinterest without further comment. "Just remember that some paths seem clear until you walk them," he said gently, "but I trust you to make the right choice. And I do hope you'll find someone who is more than just a strategic match. You deserve that, Aurelia."
She didn't respond, but the faint tension in her brow told him she was considering his words, even if she wasn't ready to acknowledge it yet. As the musicians shifted to a livelier tune, and the energy in the courtyard grew with anticipation for the Reaping, Aurelia found her attention drifting again. Brook Michels was exactly the kind of man the citizens of the empire admired—charismatic, strong, ambitious, and well-liked. But she had no interest in being reduced to a prize for a man like him. She wanted something real, something far removed from the glittering spectacle that surrounded them. Alternatively, the political figures who made up her world admired a more pragmatic type of man, someone who could lead armies, sway a political crowd and offer something intellectual to her reign. She had doubts Brook could even write his own name legibly let alone help her rule. Equally, the people of the Empire had little love for some well read crusty old senator.
Her father, sensing her inner retreat, sighed softly and patted her hand. "We'll get through this, Aurelia. One way or another." He gave her a reassuring smile, though his eyes carried the weight of fatherly concern.
Aurelia shakes her head letting the topic drop as they walk together through the garden's lavish paths, which opened up to the grand viewing area. Here, the elite of Nova Roma lounged on intricately embroidered cushions, dressed in their finest silks and jewels. Platters of delicacies—grapes, olives, figs, and delicately spiced meats—were passed around by servants as the guests murmured among themselves. The atmosphere was one of eager anticipation, the buzz of excitement building as the Reaping approached.
At the far end, a massive silver screen gleams in the sunlight, its polished surface reflecting the vibrant colors of the surrounding garden. As Aurelia and her father approached, conversations fell silent. The nobility turned their eyes toward the Imperial pair, bowing and offering greetings with respectful murmurs of "Domina" and "Imperator."
Aurelia and her father ascended the steps to the raised platform in the center, where two intricately carved thrones awaited them. The thrones were works of art, adorned with symbols of power—eagles, laurel wreaths, and gilded lions. Once they were seated, the guests visibly relaxed, returning to their conversations but keeping an eye on the central screen.
Aurelia settled into her throne, trying to push thoughts of tedious suitors from her mind. She looked out over the gathering, where the powerful families of Nova Roma casually sipped wine, feasting on the finest foods the Empire has to offer.
And there we have it, our final POV character. I'm rather proud of the symbolism in this chapter and I feel this a chapter that will end being an important one to read back at the end of the story. Well if everything works out how we intend haha.
So now we've met all of our POV characters, who's your favourite? How do you think the Tributes will react to Aurelia and her to them?
The reaping chapter is next and also from her POV but it's far too long so I'm doing that in a separate chapter!
Until next time!