And I Repeat

"We're taking a risk meeting like this. You shouldn't be in this part of the palace," I whispered, glancing around nervously. "All the praetorians are off fighting, and the servants are busy preparing for the games. Don't worry, my dear, I know what I'm doing," my father replied, easing my fears. I still felt uneasy, even though we'd chosen a secluded spot in a distant hall, hidden from prying eyes by a row of columns. Sunlight barely filtered through a couple of narrow windows, and this hall was rarely visited—almost no one ever came here. "What did you want to talk about? We don't have much time, and if Geta..." I cut myself off, too afraid to even imagine what would happen if the emperor uncovered this plot. "Today's the big battle, Alfrea. And Acacius's execution. There won't be a better moment," my father said with a smile. "I'm not killing him. I've told you a hundred times, and I'll say it again. Don't even try," I snapped, firing off my words in hopes one would hit its mark. He laughed—not loud enough to draw attention, but enough to sting my pride. "Has my daughter fallen in love?" he said, still smiling, though his expression shifted. "Have you forgotten what his brother did to you?" "Geta's different." I had no real arguments, just a gut feeling and intuition. "Oh, sure he is. He's a liar, my dear. Just a common liar who happened to be born into the right family." "You don't know him," I shot back. "I know enough. Do you really think Caracalla's the villain and Geta's your hero? Be reasonable, Alfrea. They're both the same." My father paused, waiting as I struggled to find words. "Do you honestly believe you'll become his wife?" "I've done what you wanted. I live in his palace, eat at his table," I insisted firmly, "but I'm not staining my hands for your ambitions, Father. Not this time." "I won't leave my daughter to rot in that beast's golden cage," he said, raising his voice. He never shouted, always preferring a smile. But when his voice wavered, I knew he was truly angry. "Don't ask me to kill him. You just need to come up with another plan," I argued. "As long as they're together, I can't do anything. Geta's not as simple as you think, and you've fallen for the wrong man at the worst time. He needs to be removed if you want to rule the empire. We take him out, then Caracalla—and power is ours." "Do it yourself. Deal with Caracalla however you want, but I won't let you touch Geta." Our eyes locked, and silence hung between us for a moment. He stepped closer, placing his tanned hands on my shoulders and leaning toward my face. The height difference between us felt almost nonexistent now. "You're his mistress, and he's a master manipulator. You won't marry him, and he doesn't love you," my father pressed. "Is this the life you've chosen?" "He's kind to me." "He's involved with Caracalla—don't you see? You're just a distraction, a front for his schemes," he insisted, refusing to acknowledge I had a choice. "Then kill Caracalla," I suggested. "I don't even recognize you," he said, sighing and shaking his head, clearly baffled that today, of all days, I was done dancing to his tune. "For years, you lived for revenge, and now, when we hold all the cards, you've decided..." I ran through ways to end this pointless conversation. My father wanted me to act, and despite all my hatred for Caracalla, I was absolutely certain I loved his brother. "I have to go." I turned my back on him, striding along the marble colonnade. "Alfrea, wait," he called, raising his voice again, but I didn't stop. "I'm sorry, Father. Not now... not now," I whispered, not expecting him to hear. I caught a glimpse of him standing there, stunned, as I rounded the corner. I headed to the other end of the Palatine Palace, toward my chambers, not far from Geta's. My father wasn't wrong—the palace did feel empty. I figured the servants were likely preparing the emperors for the games, and in Geta's case, probably trying to bring down his fever. I wanted to check on him, but I feared running into his brother. One wrong move, and I'd be exposed—Caracalla would make sure of it. I shouldn't have been wandering the palace so freely, even if Geta had allowed it. But the luxury surrounding me was overwhelming, and I couldn't help wanting to step beyond my chambers to admire the grandeur. I also loved spending nights in the garden—no one went there, and only the servants tended to the bushes and fountains in the evenings. To the emperors, this opulence was ordinary, but I vividly remembered my impoverished childhood, when Emperor Septimius banned games in Rome, leaving my father without a livelihood. We wandered small towns with a handful of gladiators my father bought on the cheap. They were useless, and earning from their victories was nearly impossible. Septimius had all but stopped waging wars, making it harder to find new slaves at a decent price. We barely scraped by until my father came up with his next grand idea. And now, when he was so close to getting what he wanted, I started asking questions. I'd become inconvenient. But I was tired of sacrificing myself for his ambitions—ambitions he had in spades. I'd forgiven him for that incident with Caracalla, but I was done being a pawn in his game. I had my own plans, and they mattered more than anyone's thirst for power. The moment I could be useful again, my father's tender love for me conveniently reappeared. No one had ever loved me or shown me affection—Geta's kindness was the only good thing in my life.