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Chapter Text

Capua's sweltering summer heat had become nearly unbearable by midday. Octavia fanned herself and glanced over her shoulder at the two men who accompanied her. Both looked as cool as if they were relaxing in the shade of the villa, snacking on chilled raspberries and milk.

"Barca," she called softly, and the taller of her guards stood at attention. With a small hand against him, she gave him a light push to the left. Barca moved easily at her will until his head finally blocked the sun from her view. "Stand right there and do not move," she commanded.

"Domina," he answered with a curt nod of his head.

Octavia returned to examining the shopkeeper's wares. Soaps and perfumes were her desired product of the day. The heat and low water supply had begun to make the stench situation back at the villa dire. She and her parents were always kept well bathed, and the body slaves bathed once a week, but nothing could contain the stench radiating from the ludus down below.

She wished the gladiators would ask to be bathed in reward for their victories, but they never did. They were always for wine and cunt. How the women stomached the stench of the men grunting over top of them, she would never know.

Octavia handed the man a bagful of soaps she had chosen: a handful of floral scents, a few that smelled of honey or apples, and a few that simply smelled like soap. She knew her father well enough to know he would choose to smell like shit before smelling like flowers. She handed the man two denarii for her purchase, a price much steeper than it had been before the drought, before handing the Syrian her purchases. "Domina," said Ashur, before putting his hand upon her.

She didn't have the time to be offended before understanding his movements. A slave was attacking one of his masters not more than ten feet from them. She glanced to Barca, wondering if she should dispatch the Beast of Carthage to subdue this wild animal. She realized quickly that there was no need for her assistance when a handful of other handlers surrounded the man. He fought on, bravely or foolishly, depending on your perspective, until one managed to sneak a blow in that knocked him from his feet. "Fucking cunt!" the first man hissed, blood dribbling from his nose and mouth from the slave's attack. He raised sword to spear the man in the neck, striking him from this world.

"Stop!" she heard herself shout. When the man hesitated, she stepped around Ashur to approach. "I would make purchase of this slave."

The savage looking man on the ground gave her a curious look, but she ignored him. Focusing instead on the confused look of the man with the sword. It was apparent that he was not the slave's true master, but rather hired help. "This slave belongs to Marcus Crassus," he argued.

Octavia hesitated for the briefest of moments. It wasn't every day in Capua that you did business with the wealthiest man in the Republic, even if the transaction was absent the man himself. "I do not suppose Crassus became so heavy with coin by killing slaves he could yet sell," she replied calmly, grateful to Barca's towering presence behind her as the gladiator approached. "Ten denarii for the man," she offered. "A fair price for an untamed stone layer." She could sense the man's hesitation and knew she had to act quickly. "And five denarii to weight your own purse."

The man chuckled at that, his entire demeanor changing. He sheathed his sword and offered out his arm to her. She clutched it and winced at the strength of his grip around her forearm. "A bargain well struck!" he agreed before turning to the rest of his men. "Raise the bastard up!"

Octavia watched the slave rise as she dug in her purse, pulling out fifteen denarii. Her stomach churned at how light her purse suddenly felt. She could only pray her purchase had not been in vain, or father would be displeased. "Let your master know I appreciate doing business with him," she said with a smile before turning on her heel, gesturing for Barca to grab the slave and help him along.

His consciousness came and went. The first time it came he was still being led through the streets, dust and dirt flaring up around him as he struggled to maintain any sort of footing in place of being dragged. He was accustomed to the beatings and had suffered far worse than this before. Such was the life of a slave with an affinity to fighting when his pride was bruised too much.

The second time he was in a villa, or approaching one, not like his master's, no, this one was more modest … though things that were too close were blurry, he could make out the shapes of people, just a few of them, and hear a bit of muffled conversation before his vision went black once more.

He was lying down when he began to stir a third time. Gentle fingers were brushing against the parts of him that hurt the most; above his eye, his cheek, his lip, even at his ribs, something grazed him, gentle as feathers, then a voice as sweet as honey spoke out, "Will he be alright?"

"Previous scars would suggest he is accustomed to this, Domina," another one replied.

"He hasn't woken yet," the voice was closer, he could feel breath hot on his cheek and the smell of apples filled his lungs. "I pray my fifteen denarii did not purchase a corpse." Crixus's eyes opened, vision still blurry but rapidly clearing up. "Bring some water."

"Your father will wonder where you are, Domina. If you are down here with the slaves—"

"It was water I asked for, Ashur, not-ah … he lives." Her blue eyes were kind, expectant but gentle as they looked down at him, her smirk a welcome sight and for a moment, he did not believe her. Surely she was the goddess of mercy here to take him to the underworld. She ran a cool cloth across his head as he tried harder and harder to focus.

"My master—" Crixus tried, suddenly remembering he had actually been tasked with something before the altercation.

"Is me now," she interrupted, pressing him firmly down. "I do hope you'll be more obedient under my ownership than you were with your previous master?" She pushed his hair back off of his sweaty forehead and he found himself staring up at her in awe. He must've died for this was something beyond life. Why would the gods bless him, though, with such a radiant sight?

"Water, Domina." Octavia looked up to Ashur, who had a disapproving look on his face, as if wanting to say more, but resisting the urge to. She gave him one last warning look before bringing the drink to the new slave's lips.

"Drink," she insisted, and he did, without a moment's hesitation, he would obey whatever command she gave.

The man spluttered and spit up more water than he took down, but he grew stronger with every drink he took. By the time the cup was empty, he seemed able to sit on his own, though Octavia kept a gentle hand behind his head to make certain he remained so. The last thing she needed was for him to pass out and crack his skull. Fifteen denarii and all she would get were his brains spilled upon the ludus. "What is your name, slave?" she asked when he seemed coherent enough to answer.

"Crixus," came his reply.

"Do you know where you are, Crixus?" she asked.

He had forgotten her question by the time his name left her lips. Had his name ever sounded so sweet? His eyes found their way to her lips, pink and plump and pursed expectantly as she awaited his answer. "No, Domina," he answered, forcing his eyes back to hers.

"You are in the House of Batiatus," she informed him. "My father is a lanista. He trains gladiators," she explained needlessly. Crixus knew what a lanista was. The clashing of steel he heard just outside was beginning to make sense. Did she mean for him to become a gladiator, he wondered. He looked to her with imploring eyes, and suddenly the hand at the back of his head found his cheek, clean fingers brushed against the dirt that had been caked on for weeks. "You are capable of much more than laying stones," she told him. "I see it in your eyes, your potential, your strength ..." Crixus nodded in agreement, though his head was growing cloudier by the second. But then his mind was clear as she took a step back, releasing her hold, fading into the shadows of the dimly lit room. His mouth fell open in silent protest as he reached a hand toward her, before quickly forcing it back to his side. "Or was I wrong to place my faith in you?"

"No, Domina," he answered, with more conviction than she had thought his weakened form capable of. "I will not disappoint you."

Octavia smiled as she stepped toward him again. "No," she agreed. "I do not expect you will." She extended a hand to him and Crixus stared down at it. "Can you stand, Crixus?" His gaze shot to her again upon hearing his name. He gave a curt nod and proved himself by pushing off of the stone tablet and standing. He wobbled only slightly but was pleased he could show he was still strong enough to stand without assistance. After all, what use would he be to her as a gladiator if he was weak? His domina looked him over from head to toe, and he was relieved when she seemed pleased. "Come, then," she commanded, stepping toward the light that was coming from the only exit.

Crixus followed his new domina out into the blinding sunlight. He shielded his eyes for a moment, waiting for them to adjust, as the clashing of steel subsided. When he opened his eyes again he saw two dozen gladiators before him, heads all bowed in silent respect as Octavia crossed the ludus. "Gannicus," he heard her call, her voice barely above a whisper.

Crixus watched as one of the gladiators approached, a smirk playing on his lips. "Domina," he greeted the girl, less formally than Crixus had heard from the other slaves. In fact, everything about the man seemed oddly familiar when Crixus considered that one was a master and one was a slave. He stood closer than the other gladiators had, he smiled where the others had been somber.

What vexed Crixus even more was that his Domina did not seem to mind. "I would have you train the newest recruit," she informed Gannicus, whose eyes shifted to Crixus upon hearing the command. "He is a purchase of my own and I would see him as skilled as possible before my father lays eyes upon him."

The smirk on Gannicus's face grew to a grin. "And so you come to the Champion of Capua," he said, swaying slightly where he stood.

"Who happens to be a drunken fool," said Octavia, though there was no bite to her word. "Forget it. Oenomaus will handle things, as he's always done," she said, turning on her heel.

Gannicus caught her wrist with a gentle grip, bringing her to a stop. Octavia hesitated where she was, staring down at the hand on her wrist, wondering why it's placement was making her head feel light. It lingered for another short moment before Gannicus realized his mistake and flexed his hand, bringing it back to his side. "Apologies," he muttered, looking to the ground now, his face absent its usual smirk.

"I should think so," Octavia answered. "Where is Oenomaus?"

"I would do it, Domina," Gannicus said firmly. "For you." She smiled and Crixus stared between the two, confusion etched in his features, he could feel it there. His head hurt as he tried to make sense of the interaction, the looks between them.

"Crixus," she called, and it was like a song. "I want you to listen to Gannicus, he is the champion here, so he must be doing something right," she smirked at the cocky man again. "Heed his training, and learn your skill quickly. I'd hate to disappoint father. Wouldn't you?" she asked them both.

"Yes, Domina," they answered in unison. She smiled and nodded at them in approval. "As you wish," Gannicus added.

"Bring glory to us and I'll make sure you are heavily rewarded. Disappoint me and, well," she giggled sweetly. "I'm certain you know what awaits you should you fail."

"The only reward I request is to see your smile, Domina," Gannicus said, his arrogance rising and falling quickly. Crixus gritted his teeth as he looked after her, she nodded and left, her soft curls swaying behind her in the dry wind. Her dress swayed and stuck to her body in such a way, he was mesmerized until he felt a sharp shove from behind.

"You heard our Domina," Gannicus grunted. "Collect your sword and shield, or I'll start without you." Just like that she was gone, disappeared like a dream he'd awaken from too soon. He wanted her back, longed for her gaze, her scent again. When would he see her again?

He suddenly fell forward to the ground, his mouth filling with dirt and the pain in his back was excruciating. "What the fuck did I just say?" Gannicus laughed from above him before a sword landed in the dirt beside him, a shield soon followed. Crixus cringed before reaching for the sword and shield and rising to face his assailant.

It didn't take long for the rest of his body to hurt, but for every mistake he made, he did not make it again. His only fortune came from the fact that the swords they fought with were wood, and not steel. He would not disappoint her, he thought to himself as he swung and ducked, dodged the strikes from the man with ten times his skill.

Chapter Text

Octavia felt a nervous flutter in her belly as she waited for her father to return home. A few months ago, her purchase of a slave would have been a thing of little concern. But the drought had put a serious strain on their purse. It was too hot for the games to proceed as usual, and fewer and fewer were being held as time went on.

Her father had always been an ambitious man. Always scheming, always overreaching. The House of Batiatus had risen and fallen a hundred times since she was old enough to remember, but her father continued on, desperate to elevate their house to something more. To rise the steps of the senate and leave the humble ludus behind.

"Domina," a voice called and Octavia turned sharply.

Her body slave, Melitta, stood before her. There was a panic to her face that matched the urgency in her voice. "What is it, Melitta?" she asked, quickly approaching the woman.

"There are men waiting," Melitta explained, stepping further into the room and grabbing Octavia by the arms. "Roman men, and they appear of a mood. Your father has not yet returned. Stay here, and I will keep them occupied until he returns-"

"Melitta," she said, gripping the older woman's face in her hands. "These Roman men have come to a ludus filled with the most deadly gladiators in all of Capua. I do not think they have come for a fight."

"And if they have?"

Octavia hesitated for the briefest of moments. Her father had more enemies than she could count. It was not entirely ridiculous to assume that one of them would make attempt on the villa. "Have Barca join us presently," she commanded one of the guards waiting outside of her bedroom before following Melitta to the entrance of the villa.

There were only two men waiting for her in the foyer of the villa, and only one truly looked angry. The other, a blonde man, looked her over with vague amusement as she approached. Whoever the men were, however, Octavia knew they were important by their uniforms. She opened her mouth to greet them, but the angry looking man beat her to it. "Are you the one who made purchase of my slave?" he demanded, a tone of authority in his voice that could not be denied.

The question hit Octavia hard as she gave the man a more attentive look. The man she had struck a bargain with had said the slave belonged to Marcus Crassus, but she hadn't believed him, not truly. She believed that Marcus Crassus stood in her home now, awaiting her answer, even less. "I purchased a slave today," she admitted, when she realized she had gone too long without answering. She hated the voice that left her lips, small and timid. She swallowed, trying to gather her courage as she waited for Barca to arrive and bolster her confidence. "I am not certain he was yours."

"A Gaul," the blonde man answered before the other could speak again. "A stone layer by trade, horribly unkempt. More beast than man," he said, looking her over as he subtly approached. "Does any of this bring your man to mind?"

She heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind and let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Yes," she said. "I made purchase of such a man this morning. He trains with the gladiators as we speak, should you wish to lay eyes upon him." She glanced to her side just as Barca reached her, his towering form a greater comfort than he would ever realize. "Barca would be honored to take you to the man."

Without waiting on an answer, Octavia turned curtly on her heel, flashing Barca an anxious look before beckoning the men to follow her to overlook the ludus. She gripped the edge of the balcony as she looked down on her gladiators, hoping that having something in her grips would steel her nerves. "There's your man," said the blonde one, grabbing the balcony beside her, his arm brushing against her own. Octavia swallowed and wondered if it would be cowardly to step away from his looming presence. "Who does he train with?"

"Gannicus," she answered, and as if on command, Gannicus glanced up to the balcony, looking between her and her two companions with a confused expression. "The-"

"Champion of fucking Capua," he finished, looking mildly impressed. While he might have been a fan of the games, it was apparent that his companion was not.

"Fifteen denarii is what I paid for the man, should you wish him returned to you," she said, turning her attention to Crassus, who looked the girl over with an appraising gaze before glancing to Crixus.

"He's worth no more than seven," he stated. Most of his anger had left him upon meeting the girl. He had took the purchase of his errant slave as an attempt at maneuvering him, as some sort of scheme. He hated to be manipulated, especially by a lesser man. But as he looked the girl over, he began to fear himself a paranoid old man. He never would have stormed the poor girl's villa if his man had informed him that it had been a teenage girl who made purchase.

Octavia pursed her lips, wondering what her father would have her do. If she were to purchase a man for fifteen denarii and then sell him for seven, he would be furious. But if she were to offend Marcus Crassus, a man he never would have dreamed to have in his villa to begin with … she could hardly imagine his rage. "In your hands, perhaps," she answered, deciding the eight denarii difference was too much to ignore. "But I paid fifteen for the man."

To her surprise, the blonde man chuckled, "Our lady is either stubborn or unaware as to how poor of a deal she made for the slave. What is it that about the Gaul that holds your interest?"

"I merely see the potential in him that his previous master overlooked," she said. Crassus observed her with a more stoic stare than Caesar, who still looked at her if she were a puzzle he had never tried to solve before.

It was intimidating, but she'd been around powerful men before. She'd seen her mother hold her head up high as she spoke to those above their station about the slaves. She knew she could do this, and besides, they were just men. What else were men but cocks with mouths? Crassus was looking bored, she noticed, and looked on the verge of just letting her keep Crixus.

Until Caesar spoke up, "I have an idea," he said suddenly. "Batiatus has given the crowd at least one champion, it would be unjust to assume his daughter has learned nothing of the trade. Let us give the girl of the ludus opportunity to prove herself."

"How do you mean?" Octavia asked with a narrowed gaze. Crassus mirrored that gaze as he stared down, wondering where Caesar was attempting to go.

"Let the slave fight with the champions."

Her heart lunged at the thought of it. "I've hardly had the Gaul a few hours, he couldn't possibly—"

"A week," interrupted Caesar. "Until the next games are upon us. That seems more than fair, wouldn't you agree?"

"If he survives the arena, how do I know you will press no further to have him returned to you?" she asked, looking at Crassus now. "I will not risk the man's life for empty words."

"All a man has is his word," said the blonde, his eyes remaining firmly fixed on hers, though his hands seemed to wander, exploring the material of her dress, the bracelet at her wrist. It was a weakness of men that her father had taught her to take advantage of, but she faltered before this man, uncertain of whether he was under her spell or simply preparing to crush her with his own.

"And Caesar's is worth very little," Crassus interrupted, leaving Octavia grateful for the diversion. She hesitated in her next step, looking from the first man to the second again. She had found comfort in denying to herself the idea that Marcus Crassus stood in her home, but now the other man had been named Caesar and it was becoming more difficult to lie to herself. She was beginning to feel light headed and terribly out of her depths. "Instead I offer mine."

"Terms well struck!"

Her father's voice washed over her in an awesome wave. She turned to see him rushing to join them on the balcony, her mother close behind. Her father's face held a smile, but her mother's betrayed the concern she knew both of her parents were feeling. "Batiatus," said Crassus. "I presume."

Batiatus nodded, his eyes shifting to Octavia for a brief moment before returning to Marcus Crassus. "Apologies for being unable to receive you," he said. "Pressing matters in-"

A hand raised quick as a whip cut her father off mid explanation. "None required," he said firmly, looking as if he didn't have the patience for an apology. "Terms agreed upon will grow to fruition in one week's time."

"At the games?" asked Batiatus, though his only answer came from a swift exit. Caesar hesitated only a moment after his friend, bowing a respectful head to her parents before joining his companion.

Lucretia waited only until both men appeared out of earshot before rounding on her daughter, grabbing her by both arms and inspecting her for any sign of mistreatment. "By the gods, what were they doing here," she demanded shrilly, though Octavia could not tell if she was asking Octavia herself or her father.

"I made purchase of his slave," she answered anyway, thinking it best to be forthcoming with such matters. "In the market. An errant stone layer, they meant to kill him. I made purchase instead. He trains with Gannicus presently."

Lucretia's eyes flitted down to the ludus, to where the Gaul lay flat on his back after meeting Gannicus's elbow. "You threaten that man's rage for a fucking stone layer," she hissed, more fear than anger in her voice.

"She but seizes the fucking heavens!" her father laughed, grabbing her roughly by the cheeks and planting a kiss on her forehead.

Elbow throbbing from its connection to the new recruit's rather formidable jaw, Gannicus rubbed it tenderly as he looked up to the balcony. He saw Barca standing behind the girl, but their Dominus was nowhere in sight. It was not a common thing for daughter or wife to be home absent the husband and father, and they never had guests during Batiatus's absences.

He heard the Gaul grunt as he forced himself to his feet and lunged for the more experienced gladiator. Gannicus sidestepped the man, this time bringing his elbow to Crixus's shoulder, but meriting the same result of face hitting dirt. He could hear the man groaning beneath him, but kept his eyes focused, even when he saw Batiatus and his wife appear. "Absent full attention, you still best me," Crixus said from the dirt.

Gannicus looked down to see him sitting up but clearly in no rush to make another foolish attempt. "I could best you absent a leg and both arms tied behind back," Gannicus assured him.

"It will not always be so," replied the Gaul. A chuckle emitted from the Celt's throat as he reached an arm down and pulled Crixus back to his feet. "Gratitude," said Crixus, before allowing his eyes to follow the Celt's. "The domina holds your attention," he observed.

An irritated look passed Gannicus's face as he understood the implication in the words Crixus spoke. Had there ever been such a foolish and fruitless affection? What use did Gannicus have for a woman whose touch he would forever be denied? "Put voice to accusation again and see head parted from chest."

Crixus was not sure if this was a realistic threat, given their domina's investment in him, but he could think of wiser things to do with his time than assess the validity of the man's words. "Apologies," he said. "Offense was not intended. I merely stand curious of my new master and her reasoning behind your instruction."

"Do bruises not stand answer enough?" asked Gannicus, looking the man's battered body up and down. Only a fraction of his current lacerations were courtesy of Gannicus. He jerked his head toward the balcony where Batiatus stood, overlooking his gladiators. "Your master stands the man. Octavia is but loving daughter."

"Octavia," Crixus repeated, an odd sensation spreading through him at putting a name to the face.

Gannicus looked at Crixus out of the corner of his eye. It was his own affections for the girl he had masked with accusations, Gannicus quickly realized. "She will be the death of you," he said solemnly, before abandoning a confused Crixus in favor of Oenomaus. "Fucking Gauls," he muttered to the man.

Oenomaus followed his gaze to Crixus before nodding in agreement."Our numbers swell with piss and shit."

"To be remedied swiftly."

Chapter Text

She pulled her skirts up at the waist, a fruitless action, as she placed a sandaled foot upon the sands of the ludus. She had waited for hours to be able to do so. She had waited for her parents to rise, for them to leave, for them to disappear from vision into the streets of Capua. She knew her father would never allow her to step into the ludus amongst the men. He had only permitted her to do so by his side a handful of times in her youth, and he had never allowed it when she was on her own.

This was, of course, not to say she had never done so despite his forbidding. Sometimes propriety had to make way for necessity. Sometimes her will grew a mind of its own and there was little that could stop her. How many times had she snuck into the ludus in her youth? After all had fallen to sleep. All but one.

He was always up the latest. After one of his countless victories. He spent his time in his private room, doing things Octavia had never let herself think on, before taking wine to the sands of the empty ludus. How many times had she joined him? How many firsts had she experienced at his calloused hands? Her first sip of wine, then her first bottle … her first time holding a sword, and her first cut at the end of one. She swallowed hard as she remembered his panic, his concern. The way he had clutched her thigh as he inspected the tiny little cut that still bore a scar beneath her dress.

How many other firsts had she dreamt of him taking?

She forced the thought from her mind, as if the gladiators could hear her thoughts as plainly as the wind. They would at least, she thought, be able to read the reddish hue to her cheeks. "Doctore," she called needlessly. All men upon the sand had frozen upon detecting her presence. "I would speak to Gannicus."

Gannicus followed Octavia to a shaded area of the ludus, near the wooden men. "Domina," he said, looking her over curiously as he waited to hear what had brought her to the sands.

"How does Crixus fare?"

"The man never held a sword before I placed one in hand," he informed her.

Octavia bit her lip, closing her eyes in silent frustration. "I don't suppose he has a natural talent," she murmured.

Gannicus didn't understand her concern for the new recruit. He'd never seen such attention be paid to a man absent the test. Was she merely concerned about her investment finding profit? Or had she given the Gaul a reason for his affections? "Something resembling skill could be carved from the man," he offered. "In time."

"You have less than a week before he fights in the games," said Octavia, biting the tip of her thumb as she looked past Gannicus to where Crixus sparred with Barca. He was not faring well against the spear.

"The games?" demanded Gannicus, his voice rising. "The man has not yet earned the mark!"

"Choice has been removed in the matter," she said, returning her attention to him. "All I ask is you prepare him the best you can."

"He will not last the fucking oration!" he exclaimed, his mounting frustration more evident than he ever would have let it become were Batiatus present. He stepped away from her, needing a moment to reel his anger in, but she caught his hand and prevented his easy escape.

Gannicus looked down at their hands; tan, slender, soft little fingers held a gentle grip on his bloody ones. "Words from the champion may improve chances," she said softly.

"Words from you would carry greater meaning," he replied, his eyes still focused on watching the tips of his fingers curl around hers.

"On how to combat a spear?" Octavia laughed.

Gannicus lifted his eyes to meet hers. "On reason to prolong life," he corrected.

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the look he was giving her, it was gentle, and so full of … honesty, "And … is that what gets you through a fight?" she asked with bated breath.

The smile flickered on his face in amusement and he leaned in slightly, "My Domina gives reason enough," he said. "If a week is all we have, your words would sooner benefit him than later." He nodded towards Crixus, who had fallen again and been left to wipe the blood from his lip as it seeped down his chin.

Octavia nodded, giving him one last look, wishing now, more than ever, it was only them upon sands, that the skies were dark enough to hide whatever secrets they wished to share. Alas, it was not so, she was his Domina, and he her slave, and none of the Gods in the temples could change that.

She went to Crixus as he moved himself to train with the wooden men. Octavia assumed he had not taken it upon himself to do so by the sour look on his face, but that his partner had merely grown bored and went to find an actual challenge, "Crixus," she said and he seemed to freeze for a moment before turning to her.

"Domina," he managed after a moment before scrambling up. She tried not to smile at his eagerness. That was good, she thought, perhaps it would encourage him even more.

"How goes your training?" she inquired, regardless of its necessity. He faltered and searched for the words to defend himself, but none came. "So well it leaves you absent words?" she asked, giving him a smile. He looked to her in surprise before the gentle smile crept across his face until hers faulted. "I need you to succeed."

"Yes, Domina," he said, his brow furrowed. Of course she needed him to succeed, that was why he was here in the Ludus, it wasn't to fail, it wasn't to embarrass her.

"Can you do that?" she asked. "For me?"

His eyes widened slightly at her request, "Yes, Domina," his tone was more hushed, but more eager and she pressed her lips together. Did she tell him his life was on the line? Could he feel it in the air between them?

"Yesterday against Gannicus you showed something resembling promise," she stated, willing herself not to look over her shoulder to where she knew the Celt had returned to training. "And yet today against Barca, who is, you should know, an inferior gladiator, you have spent much of the morning on your back."

His eyes found the sand again and she was beginning to wonder if she was being too harsh on him. She spoke with a gentle enough tone, yet every word of criticism seemed to hit the man like a whip. "The spear is not known to me," he admitted, gesturing to where Barca wielded his with deadly expertise.

"Then remove spear from equation," she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation. The man truly did not have a head for the games and that was nearly as important as skill with a sword. He had to have a sense for it, of what to do, of how to move, of what his opponent would do next.

"Yes, Domina," he murmured, still examining the details of her sandals.

Octavia sighed, taking the opportunity to assess the man. He looked more animal than man, with wild hair and a beard that covered half his face. It would not last long, she was certain. Gannicus seemed to be the only one able to get away with such a hairstyle, and that was likely to his status as champion. "Heed Gannicus's instructions," she commanded. "I would not have you fall from this world." By the time Crixus managed to look up, Octavia was already halfway across the ludus and Gannicus had taken her place, forcing sword back in hand.

Octavia stared through the sheer curtains that surrounded her bed in lovely lilac, as a sweet rose scent wafted through her room. It was hot, as were most nights, and even with the thin robes she wore and the lack of fabric on her bed, she felt as if she were drowning in fire.

There was no breeze, not even with as late as it was, as clear as it was, why she could even see the stars out the window, a thousand eyes staring at her and a name in them …

She rolled over to her other side and let out a sigh, forcing her eyes closed, trying to empty her mind so that she could fall asleep at last … before being shaken awake by a voice. A distant voice, but it was there, filling the silence all the same. Singing; loud, drunk singing. Irritated, she rose from her bed, grabbing an even thinner robe to throw on over her small clothes and forgetting her sandals as she stormed through the halls of the estate and towards the voice … hesitating for a breath once she realized she was heading towards the ludus.

She bit her lip before stepping through towards the sands, flexing her toes before digging them in. It was still warm from the sun beating down upon it all day, she could hear the singing more clearly now, it had really taken her no time at all in her fury, it was coming from the cliff, one of the slaves was standing before it and for a breath of a moment, she thought he meant to jump off, "… my cock rages on! My cock rages on!" she pursed her lips as she stepped closer, a touch too loudly, causing him to spin around and quiet immediately upon the sight of her.

The smile was quick to creep across her lips, "Gannicus," she greeted.

"Octavia …" he said, still seeming stunned at her presence, but that didn't stop the half grin from forming. "Apologies, Domina—"

"It is only you and I upon these sands," she said, unwilling to admit aloud how much she liked the sound of her own name when falling from his lips. "What has caused you such loud and joyous celebration that you must pull me from my bed?"

"Were my words so effective as to raise you from your slumber?"

"Sleep was not involved, it is only my bed I am parted with," she corrected.

"I would prefer to have joined you than parted you from it," he said, his smile lazy as he sauntered closer to her, stumbling only slightly in his drunken state. "You are without shoes."

"And you without shame," she said, pressing her fingers to the center of his chest in an attempt to push him away. She thought his mind slow, but did not take into consideration how quick he would move, especially now, as his hand grabbed hers quickly and pressed it closer. "Gannicus …"

"Octavia," he said again, his other hand reaching for her cheek. "Is this yet another of my dreams?" She took a sharp breath, reveling in the rough texture of his hand, years of calluses were like the finest silks at that moment. He dreamt of her?

"How often do I visit your dreams?" she inquired, studying his handsome features. How was it fair for such a man to exist so far out of her reach. If only he had been born Roman, if only he did not wear the brand of the House of Batiatus …

"More and more frequent," he admitted, stepping closer now, should she breathe too deeply, her chest would graze him. "I am sorry I have stolen you from your sleep," he muttered, moving his fingers to her temple and pushing heavy curls away from her face, and gripping the side of her head.

"I am not," she said looking up at him with big, blue eyes, pools of the cleanest water, so pure, he felt as if he would fall into them … no, not into them, but against her, he dipped low, bringing his lips gently to hers. He let a sigh slip out at how soft, how sweet she was, and even sweeter the way she tasted, more so than any wine. Her name on his tongue had always been enough until now, and even now, he knew, nothing else would ever come close.

Her tongue was hesitant, but made an attempt to part his own lips, surprising him, but pleasantly so as he deepened it even more, feeling her go weak against him. He wrapped his arms quickly around to support her, refusing to let her break away, not yet, not so soon. Her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly, were he a weaker man, he would think she meant to remove it. Her chest heaved against him, as did her hips, whether it was his doing or hers, he felt himself grow aroused at the mere thought, thoughts that only grew wilder as she whimpered.

He forced her away, "Octavia," his voice was rough and he looked down in time to see her eyes open blearily. "Apologies, I cannot … I will not—"

"I will," she insisted, attempting to wrap her arms around him again, pulling him down, attempting to kiss him once more, but he placed his hands on her shoulders and kept her hungry lips at bay. "Gannicus," his name was music on her tongue and he bit his lips with a grunt. "I see … the night grows darker by the moment … perhaps … I should get back to bed."

Gannicus woke late the next morning, long after the midday sun. A splitting headache was his only companion as he stumbled out into the sands. He spotted Batiatus above them, standing on the balcony, and felt his heart seize in his chest as memories of the night before came flooding back.

Any pleasure at the memory had faded to fear with the presence of his Dominus. Had Octavia spoken word of that night to anyone, he would be hacked into pieces. He turned his gaze from Batiatus and toward the sand, moving quickly to grab sword for practice. He nearly leapt out of his skin when Oenomaus placed hand upon his shoulder. "Has gladiator made way for frightened rabbit?" his oldest friend inquired. A chastisement for his late arousal had been on Oenomaus's tongue, but it had fallen in favor of concern.

"Octavia?" asked Gannicus upon realizing Oenomaus meant him no harm.

"Arrived with the sun," said Oenomaus, his brow furrowed. He had always known the two shared a fondness for each other, but Gannicus had never put words behind it, nor spoken the girl's name so boldly. "With mind towards Crixus."

Gannicus turned sharply, seeking to lay eyes upon the Gaul. When he spotted the man entangled with Barca, he turned back to Oenomaus. "And presently?" Oenomaus hesitated in his response, but the look on his face told Gannicus he had put foot out of line with questioning. "Never mind," he muttered, abandoning his Doctore in favor of the Gaul.

Time had never moved more slowly for Gannicus. A pain he exacerbated by checking the balcony as often as he swung his swords. Time and time again he searched for her presence and came up empty handed. Batiatus overlooked, then the wife, then the wife and a blonde woman, then Batiatus again. But he did not lay sights upon daughter, nor did he see her the next day, though he made certain to rise with the sun.

He was the first to the sands that morning and his brothers seemed surprised to see him there, but still their Domina did not make an appearance. Where had she gone to to evade him so? He could think of no time when she had ever been absent from sight for more than an afternoon.

It was on the third day when she presented herself again.

"How does Crixus fare," she murmured as she stepped beside her father, resting her arms against the balcony.

A resounding crack interrupted Batiatus before he could respond, and both shifted attention to the source. Barca stood overtop of Gannicus, grinning like a madman, with blood sprayed across his shield. Even from such a distance, Batiatus could see the blood pouring from his champion's mouth. "Better than Gannicus," he grumbled, glancing to his daughter to find her oddly disinterested in the Celt's condition. "He has been off form as of late."

"I give no shits towards Gannicus," she answered. Octavia strained to keep her eyes away from the scene where Gannicus was struggling to get back on his feet.

Batiatus laughed at that, watching as Gannicus stumbled and looked toward them again, blood staining his chin. "There was a time when that was the only name that fell from your lips," he reminded her. "Now I see it replaced with Crixus."

"The only name of concern is Crassus," said Octavia. "Will he not be impressed by transformation of rabid dog to obedient gladiator?"

"I fear his passing would be a greater blessing." Her eyes widened as she regarded her father, who had the grace to look mildly sheepish. "The Gaul best serves as an introduction to the man and all the power he has. I fear he will not react as you hope to being proven wrong about the man's potential."

"You want him to die," murmured Octavia, watching Crixus train with more vigor and dedication than any other man upon their sands. An odd feeling passed through her belly that she couldn't quite describe.

"I've made humble suggestion that the Gaul be paired against the spear," her father admitted, having observed Crixus's failings against the weapon with his own eyes. "You look disappointed. Has my daughter attempted to ignite a fire within her new favorite?"

"Purchase does not imply favoritism," she responded. "My only interests lie in the elevation of our house."

Batiatus smiled, looking almost as if he believed her. Truthfully, he knew better where his daughter was concerned. She'd always had favorites. First it had been Oenomaus, much to Batiatus's own irritation, until Gannicus arrived. Nothing and no one had torn her attention from the man in a decade. "I would not forbid such an attempt," he murmured, his eyes shifting to Gannicus, who had spent the past ten minutes looking up at the balcony. Batiatus was not fool enough to think he had anything to do with the man's attention. "Especially with Gannicus. His form fades in recent days and I would have him at his best for Crassus and Caesar."

Octavia pursed her lips, refusing to look down at the Celt below. "I fear I would fail in the task," she admitted.

Her father had a smile on his face when he looked at her, and yet Octavia knew there was little joke to the man's words. If he wished her to make attempt on Gannicus, it would be done. "I would not ask this of you if I thought it beyond your reach."

"I will set mind to purpose and see what riches can still be plucked from the man," she said, forcing a smile, before backing out of the balcony, Melitta close behind.

Chapter Text

A week had come and gone in an instant and had left Octavia begging for just a few more moments. With another day, she was certain Crixus would be ready for the challenge. His transformation over the past week was nothing short of miraculous. The man was now a warrior, nearly unrecognizable in his new skill, yet she craved just a bit more time before casting him into the hellfire they dared call an arena.

She cast a sidelong glance at her father, wondering whether he too felt the pain of sending his own gladiators to face the brutal trials of the arena. It took but a heartbeat for her to dismiss the thought. Batiatus grinned upon catching her gaze and, with a hearty clap upon her back, "Strike the worry from your eyes!" he commanded. "The girl could ignite fire from a fucking corpse!" He then turned his focus to Lucretia, eager to extol her triumphs with Crixus.

It was indeed a truth that Crixus poured forth greater vigor into his training following their encounters. At least, that was the word passed down from her father. She had taken great care to steer clear of the man and all who bore his likeness. How long she could endure the confines of a ludus without laying eyes upon a gladiator remained uncertain, yet she would strive for an eternity. "She has produced a man from the beast who arrived at our ludus," Lucretia concurred, her smile proud as she regarded Octavia.

Gaia, her mother’s companion, did not share in the same enthusiasm for her achievements. She opened her mouth to express her discontent but fell silent as more esteemed guests arrived. Those already seated in the pulvinus rose at the entrance of Marcus Crassus and Julius Caesar, yet Crassus merely gestured with an impatient hand, bidding them to take their seats once more.

Octavia couldn't help but think he looked terribly annoyed to even be there. She wondered if he was just of a generally unpleasant disposition or if he hated the games. She refrained from posing the question as he settled into the seat across from her, while Caesar positioned himself before Gaia. A fleeting glance from Crassus to Caesar questioned the empty space left between them. "The girl holds more stake in this than either of us; should she not have a vantage to witness the events unfold?" asked Caesar.

A summoning jerk of Crassus's hand was all the reply he offered, prompting Octavia to rise hastily. She cast an anxious glance at her father before advancing to the forefront of the pulvinus, where she took her place nestled between Crassus and Caesar. "Gratitude," she whispered, her gaze glued to the blood-soaked sands ahead.

Caesar's eyes followed her as the first battle commenced. A handful of expendable slaves, each harboring dreams of greatness, met their swift demise by blade or spear, staining the ground with their lifeblood—offering the sands a taste of sacrifice, paving the way for those more adept.

Boredom enveloped her, a shroud woven from years spent in the ludus, where the scent of blood was as familiar as the dawn. Each day, she witnessed the grim spectacle of men falling, limbs severed, faces marred by the brutality of combat—more than most women her age could fathom. It was only when her stone layer turned gladiator stepped onto the sand, that interest ignited within her. "And who shall he face, Batiatus?" inquired Caesar, his curiosity piqued.

"Auctus is his name," her father replied, seizing the moment to draw nearer to the influential men. "Deadly with the spear."

A chill gripped Octavia's heart as she recognized his opponent. Auctus stood among her father's finest gladiators, a warrior forged through years of relentless training in the ludus. How could Crixus dare to stand against such a foe?

The clash began with Auctus making the first strike, and she felt a surge of tension as Crixus deflected the thrust, sending the spear wide. He countered with a sweeping blade aimed at his opponent, only to be met by Auctus's small shield. The battle unfolded—a flurry of jabs and blocks, shouts echoing, bodies tumbling. She watched, breath held tight, unable to look away from the fierce contest before her.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as crimson finally erupted, a deep wound carved into Crixus' chest, splattering the sands with his blood. His pained cry echoed in her ears, yet he pressed on, undeterred. With a fierce swing, he drove his blade into Auctus' shoulder, eliciting a howl of agony from the elder gladiator.

A wild grin spread across Crixus' face, as if the shout had ignited a fire within him. He swung again, parrying another strike, forcefully knocking the shield aside, then with a mighty blow, he shattered the spear. Raising his weapon high, he delivered a brutal kick to Auctus' chest, sending him crashing to the ground, and poised his blade at the man's heart, pausing to glance up at the pulvinus, awaiting judgment.

Octavia forced a strained smile as her eyes flicked to Crassus, fully aware he held the power to decide the man's fate. Would he show mercy? She doubted it, recalling his notorious disdain for weakness. The fate of the fallen warrior dangled precariously, and yet Crassus remained seated.

Instead, his attention shifted towards her. "The warrior is yours to command, is he not?" he asked. Octavia's throat tightened, acutely aware Marcus Crassus was displeased with the outcome of the clash. "The choice is yours."

Never before had she been granted such power. Her father had always relegated the weighty choice to more esteemed guests of the pulvinus or claimed the honor for himself. As she approached the edge, uncertainty gripped her, Crixus's gaze heavy upon her. Typically, Octavia would advocate for life, wishing the warriors to train and fight another day. Yet, she feared that her mercy would be seen as frailty by the men who stood behind her. They would misinterpret her kindness as a sign of weakness. She would not allow them to make that error.

With a decisive motion, she lowered her thumb, and in that heartbeat, Crixus drove his sword with brutal force into Auctus's throat, blood erupting and splattering his knee. Just as swiftly, he withdrew the blade, its tip directed at her as he lowered his eyes in deference. The crowd roared at the sight of blood, and Octavia reclaimed her seat. "The memory of your heel has long since faded, Marcus," Caesar remarked beside her, amusement lacing his voice. "The Gaul has found a new master."

Heat rose to Octavia's cheeks as she fixed her gaze on the sand, watching the lifeless body being dragged from the arena. "He but honors the girl," Marcus said. "Who forced gold from shit. The man will remain with you, where he serves far greater purpose."

"Gratitude, well received!" called Batiatus from behind them, gesturing for Melitta and Naevia to fill cups with wine in celebration.

Crassus held up a hand to stop him, before finding his feet. "We move toward more pressing matters," he stated. "Far from the stench of the arena."

Batiatus bowed his head in deference, fully aware that a Roman senator's whims were not to be trifled with. Yet, Caesar's audacity knew no bounds. As Crassus prepared to depart from the pulvinus, Caesar remained resolute in his seat. "Would you have me forgo the primus?" he challenged, as Crassus turned to him, irritation etched upon his face.

"You show favor for the champion of Capua?" Crassus inquired, striving to mask his annoyance at his companion's stubbornness.

"I have intrigue," Caesar said. "Caesar replied, his gaze unwavering. "Whispers have long circulated about Gannicus; I would see that they are not false." Crassus's eyes bore into Caesar, silently urging him to reconsider. But Caesar's attention was already drawn to the Gladiators who had begun to enter the arena, the crowd's fervor rising in anticipation, and a smile spread across his face.

Crassus settled into his seat, spine rigid, jaw clenched, biding his time until the contest reached its conclusion. Octavia observed him, contemplating whether to adopt a similar demeanor. She resolved to mask any hint of interest in the bout, striving to project an air of indifference. Witnessing Gannicus in battle was a familiar spectacle for her. He was their champion, her champion, a thought that sent a tremor through her heart.

Gannicus lifted his blades, that signature grin illuminating his face, playful and brimming with confidence. She pursed her lips as his eyes found hers first before shifting focus to his adversary. Her breath hitched at the sight of the man before him, one of Solonius's warriors, a figure she recognized. A hulking brute, easily twice Gannicus's size, wielding a war hammer with ease. She thought she heard a trail of curses flow from her father's lips from behind her, and lost any thought of appearing indifferent.

Though she was cross with the slave, she did not wish him death, "The Gods have blessed us with an excellent opportunity to witness Gannicus's skill," Caesar said, looking almost as a child with a new toy. Octavia barely managed a fleeting glance in his direction before the clash of steel drew her attention, her focus locked onto the fierce struggle unfolding below.

Which seemed to go on forever, as more and more blood sprayed the ground from both men, cuts and gashes, though Gannicus stood as quickly as the larger man, who fell ever harder upon the ground with each counter blow Gannicus gave. And still the crowd roared, regardless of length, or time it took for the men to exhaust themselves, until the large man over swung, and lost footing with a slice of Gannicus's blade on his heel and across the man's belly, spilling what was once inside upon the ground.

As the giant sank to one knee, Gannicus seized the moment, delivering a decisive slash across the man's throat without a moment's hesitation

The crowd erupted in a chant of his name, each repetition growing louder, while Octavia fought to suppress her smile as she beheld the bruised and bloodied champion below, raising his blade toward the pulvinus, directing it with unwavering intent at her.

It was a wonder, Caesar thought, that a girl of so few years could stand so composed after such an honor. The Gaul had been almost expected. She was the only reason he yet stood among the livings. It was proper tribute to honor her after his first victory in the arena. But Gannicus … Gannicus had stood the Champion of Capua for more years than would allow the girl to have anything to do with his current standing. Batiatus stood the man's true dominus, and yet the man himself favored the girl.

Batiatus paid no mind to the insult, and chose instead to celebrate the further swelling of his purse. "Do all gladiators hold you in such high favor?" Caesar inquired, leaning closely to the girl so that she would be the only one privy to the question.

"He honors his domina," said Octavia. "As all slaves should."

"I had thought your father the lanista," Caesar replied. "Does the man stand but humble puppet under your charge?"

Octavia shook her head curtly. "My father stands the best lanista in all of Rome."

"Yet, there is a certain quality your father lacks, much like Crassus," Caesar remarked, inching closer with an unsettling ease. Octavia felt a wave of discomfort, wishing for Crassus to grow weary of the games and command their swift departure. But no such decree was issued as Caesar's fingers glided softly along her arm. "Clenched fist is but pale shade of control in comparison to the gentle touch of a woman, is it not?"

"You speak with more authority on the matter than I could muster," she said, her gaze fixed on the way his fingers intertwined with hers. He was a man of wild unpredictability, she mused, and was left uncertain whether his touch sought a tender caress or aimed to shatter her very bones. "I fear I am not given ample time with slaves to test such a theory."

Caesar's fingers froze as the words left her lips, and then he removed himself entirely. "A situation to be remedied," he said with a smile.

Octavia mustered a smile as he rose, his companion following suit. Her father’s presence halted them, extending an invitation to revel in the day’s triumphs. She choked back any protests that threatened to escape her lips. Her father would stop at nothing to elevate their house, heedless of the cost or his daughter's unease.

The dawn and midday hours were consumed by preparations. For hours, she was bathed, tended to meticulously, tweezed and braided, enveloped in fragrances, dusted with powder, adorned in finery, only to be stripped bare again when her mother deemed the chosen gown unworthy. Meanwhile, the rest of the household bustled about, scrubbing surfaces, draping silks, and igniting candles and sconces that flickered along the walls.

Servants hurried to and fro, bearing platters of food and wine, while golden goblets and dishes were arranged with care. The more esteemed and exquisite items were polished, painted, and readied for the occasion.

The gown was exquisite, she mused, her fingers gliding over the delicate fabric, a familiar gesture she had performed since childhood. Her hands would always seek out the silks, satins, and wools that adorned her parents or enveloped her. Yet this hue was unlike any she had known, and a smile graced her lips as Melitta tightened the belt around her waist, her fingers tracing the elegant curve of the neckline that lay against her chest, where a slender gold chain dangled.

"You grow more and more beautiful by the day, Domina," she sighed, reaching for a comb and running it through her hair.

"How often have you broke those same words?"

"And yet each time, they are held true," Melitta said with a smile. "Come, your absence will not go unnoticed." Octavia nodded, following the slave out of her room, the scent of roses trailing behind her as the lighter blue at the bottom of her dress danced around her feet, fading up to the darker blue at her breasts.

She could hear the chatter from the main rooms, the splash of water from fountains she was familiar with was drowned by them. She hesitated only once when the gladiators lined the wall she walked past, her gaze falling on Gannicus. She couldn't remember the last time he had appeared cleaned, and could not deny it wasn't an altogether unpleasant sight

"Octavia!" her father's voice called, denying her even the idea of hesitating to speak to him.

She shifted her gaze to her father, who beckoned her toward a more refined section of the gathering. This intimate enclave, adorned with flowing silks, was designed to provide seclusion for those her parents honored most. This night, their ranks had grown. Caesar was the first to catch her eye, with Crassus lingering close by. Gaia was there, accompanied by her intended, Varis, and his companion, Cossutius. A few other Romans mingled, their names eluding her memory, yet she sensed their significance. Only Solonius appeared somewhat out of place among the esteemed company, but she trusted her father's judgment in extending the invitation.

"I had begun to question if it were not past the girl's bedtime," Varis greeted, a smile upon his lips that could make flowers wilt.

"It is," Octavia replied with grace. Caesar made a grand gesture of stepping away from Crassus to offer her a seat, which she deftly sidestepped, opting instead to nestle between Gaia and her father. "Yet the company of such cherished friends has kept me from it."

"A sentiment well received," said Gaia, placing wet kiss upon Octavia's cheek before raising her cup of wine, the rest among them following suit.

Octavia felt as if she could breathe again once attention had shifted from her. Such solace was a luxury Caesar would never grant her. "Will the little one not indulge in the drink?"

Her father signaled for Melitta to fill her cup, but Octavia raised a hand to halt the woman. "I do not care for honey in my wine. It serves only to mask bitter taste." A phrase she recalled Gannicus uttering long ago. Though she did not fully agree, she refused to be seduced by sweetened wine that dulled her senses.

"A delightful coincidence," Caesar remarked. "I share your distaste."

Octavia found herself powerless to decline when he presented his own goblet, and she fought against the urge to recoil as the acrid liquid scorched its way down her throat. "Gratitude," she muttered, casting him a venomous glare as his attention momentarily drifted to the newly arrived guests.

She followed his gaze to find Gannicus now among them, and Crixus at heel.

"The Celt in the flesh," said Caesar. "Words of his prowess in the arena were not inflated."

"He's been but a cock in my ass if not for my daughter," admitted Batiatus. Gannicus only seemed to train on the days that Octavia was present. His only motivation to leave the shade was if she happened to be watching. "She does seem to have her way with the slaves. She whispers words unknown and they fall to her as if under a spell."

"A gift," said Crassus. "To be sure."

"He is of a form," Gaia said. "I heard he had fell victim to many cuts. He looks near perfect condition."

"Let your hands explore what your eyes long to," Lucretia said and Octavia straightened slightly, meeting Gannicus's uneasy gaze for but a fraction of a moment. Gaia did not need persuading and stood, approaching the gladiator and letting her gaze wander around him. She glanced at Crixus as well.

"A Gaul you say," she said. "He looks as if a beast, wild and unkempt. How do you fall upon such luck?" She ran her hands across Crixus, his chest, his abs, the cloth about his waist, lingering as if she were curious of more than what was readily on display.

"One cannot help if the gods show favor to the House of Batiatus," Octavia said taking a sip of wine as Caesar yet again lent her his cup. She bit the tip of her tongue to stop herself from cringing. "One champion might suit us for now, but we shan't deprive ourselves should he fall."

"You think Crixus to stand his equal?" asked Crassus.

"I think he shows great potential of becoming the new champion of our great Ludus," she said with so much confidence Gannicus looked to her with narrowed gaze.

"You say such things to the champion who honored you in the arena?" Caesar asked. "Over his own Lanista? A crueler woman there has never been. What has the man done but defend you upon the sands?" Octavia glanced lazily over to Gannicus, meeting his gaze passively if not only to show him her indifference.

"And I am honored," she said firmly. "He should be granted many pleasures for the honors he has brought us, as he often is.”

"His performance today was nothing short of magnificent; perhaps we should consider a fitting reward for him. Tonight is indeed a night of significance, is it not?" Caesar proposed.

"He may have his choice of any wine or slave he desires," Batiatus proclaimed. "He need only utter the command!"

"Nay, not just any slave," Gaia interjected, stepping before Gannicus, her wine held tightly in hand, a sly grin dancing on her lips. "On this momentous occasion, champion, is there a particular delight you yearn for?"

Gannicus cast a furtive glance at Octavia, only to be met with a warning stare that compelled him to lower his gaze to the ground. "I but wish to … honor the House of Batiatus," he murmured, stealing another look at Octavia, as if to confirm that these were the words he was meant to utter.

"The man speaks with false tongue," said Varis, though the truth was evident to all present. Words had never been spoken with less conviction.

"And yet eyes hold truth," Caesar remarked, a peculiar expression crossing his features as he scrutinized Gannicus. He could count on one hand the rare instances when the Celt's gaze strayed from the girl. There was a twisted satisfaction in seeing his suspicions validated, mingled with a twinge of annoyance.

Batiatus had long observed the glances exchanged between his daughter and the slave, dismissing them as mere trifles. What sheltered girl would not be captivated by the Champion of Capua? What gladiator could resist the warmth of the only kindness ever bestowed upon him? He had never imagined that such tender feelings would lead him to this precarious moment. "Put voice to desire," urged Gaia, her hand once again trailing down his chest, "and see it quenched."

Octavia held her breath as those among her waited for answer to fall from tongue. Gannicus had long since learned to control his gaze, keeping it firmly fixed on the woman who stood in front of him, but he offered her no answer. "You have an errant slave on your hands, Batiatus," said Caesar, taking to his feet alongside Gaia. "A wound that must be mended before it begins to fester."

"Gannicus," her father warned, and Octavia's heart sank. Her father was her last line of defense. If he had no intention of quelling the rising storm, no one would. Octavia found her eyes wandering past Caesar, to where Crixus stood, his arms in chains, where Gannicus stood freely. She found herself wishing she had slipped the man a dagger, so he may plunge it into Caesar's back. "Seize fucking wit and find voice toward desires!"

And yet, Gannicus remained steadfast in his decision not to speak. He looked as if he hadn't heard Batiatus give command, and had no notice of the Roman man behind him growing more angry by the minute. Unaccustomed to being denied anything, by anyone, let alone by some fucking slave, Caesar turned look of wrath upon Batiatus instead. "Gannicus," she interjected swiftly, her voice slicing through the tension before her father could fully rise, before the guards could be summoned, before Oenomaus was called to unleash his whip upon the defiant slave. "Given the choice, what is it that you desire most in this world?"

"You, domina," he replied, his words simple yet profound.

It was the response she had anticipated, yet it struck her with a force that left her momentarily breathless. Pushing aside the tumult within, she redirected her gaze to Caesar. "The wound has been tended," she declared. "Put mind at ease and reclaim seat."

"Ah, we are all but humble slaves at your command," was Caesar's reply. He flashed her a smile as he fell into his seat next to Crassus once again. For a brief, foolish moment, Octavia thought perhaps that it was over. That lasted only until Caesar looked to her father again. "I believe the man was promised a swift answer to desire."

Octavia's lips parted, yet the words to counter the Roman's command eluded her as he placed a hand upon her back, urging her to stand. Gaia, brimming with excitement, seized Gannicus's wrist, drawing him into the throng of onlookers that Octavia was hastily joining.

"Caesar, surely—" Batiatus interjected.

"Where is your honor?" Caesar asked with a laugh. Lucretia was gripping Batiatus's wrist, her nails digging into it, but words failed her as well as they watched their daughter stand before a man twice her size. Even as she turned to them, her eyes filled with desperation, they remained paralyzed, powerless against the swift tide of Caesar's commands.

"Remove your cloth," Caesar ordered the gladiator, who clenched his teeth, hesitating for a heartbeat too long. "Gaia, it appears his wits have abandoned him again; why not lend him your hands?" Without a moment's pause, Gaia stepped forward, eager to behold the Celt's offerings. She retreated once the fabric fell, encircling the two with a predatory grace.

"Domina," Gannicus whispered, his eyes piercing into hers.

"She is yours to take, Gannicus, Champion of Capua, let it be done before the girl falls asleep," his voice was commanding, though his words seemed playful. He shifted in his seat in annoyance when they continued to hesitate. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order, a more willing slave to show him where to place his cock?"

"Fall to command, Gannicus," Octavia urged.