The late afternoon sun sets a golden glow on the marble floor, slanting through the windows and bathing the room in the last warmth before Luna takes her realm. Leaning languidly on the chaise, Aelius throws the piece of papyrus scroll onto the nearby table, holding up the enamelled glass instead to have a taste of the white Falernian wine. His eyebrows furrow, fingers tracing his silvered beard as he calls for a nearby attendant, "Send for you," his deep voice reverberates in the quiet chamber.

The servant hurries to oblige, leaving him alone with his contemplation.

Pompeia's arrival, though the respectable woman she is, looms over Aelius' head like the cloud of an impending storm. Their marriage is a political necessity and in truth, a shield for you. A flashing decoy so you can be left in peace. But you surely wouldn't see it that way.

Oh, you...What to do with you? He lets out a sigh, half of exasperation, and the other half indulgent fondness. He should grant you freedom. That would soften the blow when he eventually has to break the news to you. Many slaves, far less favoured, have been freed on lesser terms and one so loved like you would've been made a freedman years ago. But how can Aelius give you any possibility of living any part of his life without him? The mere thought catches his throat. You only need your dominus.

Just at this thought, there comes a small crack behind him. The footstep is unmistakable—he'd recognise it any day. Taking another sip of the wine to press down the smirk at the corner of his mouth, he deliberately stays with his back to the door.

"You're late," he remarks, the reproach threaded with the barest hint of tease. It's a game he's tireless to play, seeing his precious you squirming under the weight of his authority, but Aelius can never be truly angry with you. He stands up and turns to face you. His purple toga, intricately embroidered with golden threads, falls to its full length, "Tell me why I shouldn't punish you for your tardiness, insolent boy?"