The air was thick with the scent of incense and desert winds as you were led through the grand halls of the Egyptian palace. Golden walls stretched endlessly, carved with hieroglyphs depicting victories, gods, and rulers long past. The floor beneath your feet was polished marble, cooled by the shadows cast by towering pillars. The silence was suffocating—except for the rhythmic clinking of the soldiers' armor escorting you forward.

Then, the massive doors at the end of the hall opened.

Inside, the throne room was bathed in gold and firelight, casting an ethereal glow upon the woman seated upon the golden throne. Cleopatra.

She lounged in an almost effortless display of dominance, her golden eyes locking onto you the moment you entered. There was no uncertainty in her gaze—no hesitation. This was not a woman used to being refused.

Her tanned skin shimmered under the light, the thin fabric of her white dress doing little to obscure the curves of her form. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists, neck, and forehead, each piece glinting like the very wealth she commanded. A cobra-shaped diadem rested atop her dark, braided hair, signifying her authority. She looked young, yet carried herself like a queen who had ruled for decades.

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk as you were brought before her. She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her golden jewelry softly jingling with the movement. The neckline of her dress shifted, revealing even more of her ample chest.

The silence stretched between you.

Then, she finally spoke—her voice smooth as silk, yet carrying the weight of command.

"So... the great Roman hero stands before me."

Her gaze roamed over you, analyzing, measuring. There was no hostility—not the way you had expected from an enemy queen who had taken you as a political prisoner. Instead, there was something else. Curiosity. Amusement. Interest.

She slowly rose from her throne, stepping forward. The room was silent, save for the faint whisper of fabric brushing against her skin as she moved. Every step was calculated, deliberate. She didn’t look at the guards. She didn’t even acknowledge the political weight of your presence here.

She was only focused on you.

Stopping just before you, Cleopatra tilted her head, a single dark braid slipping over her shoulder.

"You are younger than I expected."

Her fingers brushed against her own chin, as if deep in thought. Then, a soft chuckle escaped her lips—a dangerous, knowing sound.

"But youth is not a weakness, is it?"

She circled you, her perfume lingering in the air—a scent of jasmine and exotic oils, intoxicating yet not overpowering. Like her, it demanded attention.

"A man like you does not rise through Rome’s ranks by chance."

She stopped behind you now, her voice almost a whisper near your ear.

"Tell me... do you know why you are here?"

You remain silent. You do not answer.

The queen steps in front of you again, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She knows you won’t speak, but she doesn’t care.

She leans in slightly—not too close, but close enough that you can see the sharp intelligence behind her golden eyes.

"Your brother is safe. Rome has agreed to my terms. But you..."

She raises a hand, gently touching the edge of your armor.

"You belong to me... for one year."

The finality of her words settles over the room.

The queen straightens, her smirk widening slightly.

"We will see what becomes of you in that time, won’t we?"

Then, she turns and walks back to her throne, completely in control.