The sponsalia—the formal betrothal contract—rested on the heavy oak table in the Secretarium. It was a thick roll of premium Egyptian papyrus, sealed with the heavy red wax crest of the Decius family.
Romulus stared down at the Latin script, his jaw tight.
According to the contract signed months ago by his father, General Orestes, the marriage to Lady Valeria came with a massive dowry. But in exchange, the Emperor had promised Senator Decius full tax immunity for a decade, and exclusive control over the grain imports from Sicily. It was a parasite’s contract, designed to make Valeria’s father the shadow-emperor of Ravenna.
Standing across the table, Lady Valeria watched him. She had returned, unchaperoned, to finalize her father’s demands regarding the new Imperial Writs. She expected him to blindly sign whatever was placed in front of him.
Instead, Romulus picked up an iron stilus and violently scratched a deep, black line straight through the tax immunity clause.
Valeria’s breath hitched. "What are you doing?"
"Renegotiating," Romulus said flatly, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I will not be bought with my own treasury. I am not giving your father a monopoly on Sicilian grain. If I do, he controls the food, which means he controls the mob. Which means he controls me."
Valeria stared at him, completely taken aback. She stepped closer, her expensive silk stola brushing against the edge of the table. "My father is the paterfamilias. You cannot alter a signed sponsalia. He will withdraw his support for your new banking syndicate."
"Then he will lose his chance to shape the new world," Romulus countered smoothly. He set the iron stylus down. "I am changing the dowry. Instead of taking land from him, I am granting the Decius family a permanent seat on the Consilium Principis—the inner imperial council. I am offering him a percentage of the new frontier taxes. I don't want a father-in-law who hoards grain like a rat on a sinking ship. I want a partner who helps me build a new empire."
Valeria stood frozen. In her fifteen years of life among the Roman elite, she had only ever known old, corrupt Senators who poisoned each other for silver. But looking at Romulus now, she saw a terrifying, brilliant sovereign. He was treating her not as a breeding mare for a political alliance, but as an Empress.
A slow, genuine smile spread across her lips. It was a beautiful, lethal expression.
"A seat on the inner council," Valeria murmured, her voice losing its patrician ice, replaced by a warm, predatory purr. "And I handle the negotiations with the lesser patrician families. You focus on the barbarians. I will bring the Senate to heel."
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Romulus looked at the fierce, brilliant girl standing before him. Gods, he thought, we are going to be terrifying together.
"Deal," Romulus said softly.
Just then, the heavy doors opened, and Cassiodorus slipped into the room, holding a fresh stack of wax tablets.
"Augustus," the administrator said, bowing his head to Romulus and then to Valeria. "The Imperial Writs are circulating. But we have a new problem. Odoacer is taking ten thousand men North. The Ravenna garrison is entirely depleted. If the Senate decides to hire mercenaries, the Palatium is defenseless."
Romulus turned away from the table, his eyes hardening. "Then we build a new army. Cassiodorus, draft an imperial edict tonight. A mass conscription and hiring decree."
Cassiodorus paused, his stylus hovering over the wax. "From which patrician estates shall we draft the men, Augustus?"
"All of them," Romulus ordered. "And not just the estates. Open the hiring to everyone. Plebs, freedmen, starving farmers, foreigners—anyone who can hold a spear and wants a hot meal and a silver coin. We accept everyone."
Valeria looked shocked. "Augustus, a mob of untrained peasants and foreigners is not a Roman legion. They will break at the first sight of blood."
"They won't be untrained," Romulus said, a cold, dangerous smile forming on his face. "Send word to Odoacer's camp. Before he marches North, I want him to leave twenty of his most brutal, veteran chieftains here in Ravenna. We are going to pair them with our old Roman Magisters. The Roman generals will teach the recruits formation and discipline. The barbarian chieftains will teach them how to butcher."
Cassiodorus’s eyes widened as the sheer brilliance of the strategy dawned on him. A hybrid army. The tactical genius of Rome forged in the savage brutality of the North.
"It shall be done, Augustus," Cassiodorus said, bowing deeply.
A hundred miles away, the foggy harbor of Classis smelled of rotting kelp and cold salt.
At the edge of the deepest pier, a single, sleek dromon galley was preparing to cast off. Standing on the wooden gangplank was the young guard from the Ravenna market, his right arm still tightly bound in a linen sling. Beside him stood fifteen other hand-picked Roman guardsmen.
A cloaked figure handed the young guard a leather satchel sealed with heavy lead.
"You must not be stopped," the corrupt Senator whispered in classical Latin, looking over his shoulder nervously. "Deliver this to Emperor Zeno in Nova Roma. Tell the East that the boy Emperor is destroying our economy and handing our military to savages. Beg Zeno to send his legions to save us."
The young guard gripped the satchel with his good hand, his face a mask of solemn duty. "I will not fail you, Dominus."
The Senator hurried away into the fog.
The young guard boarded the ship, waiting until the heavy oars hit the black water and pulled the vessel out into the Adriatic Sea. Once they were safely away from the docks, the guard walked to the edge of the deck.
He looked down at the treasonous letters in his hand. Then, he reached inside his tunic and pulled out a small, gold medallion bearing the personal seal of Romulus Augustulus.
A cold smirk touched the young guard's lips. The Senate thought they were sending a loyalist to trigger a civil war. They had no idea that the boy whose shoulder had been dislocated in the mud was now the Augustus’s most loyal, unquestioning spy.
The Emperor wanted to know exactly what the East was planning, and the corrupt Senators had just paid for his ship