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[iliketosleep123456789]

The Veil Between.

Emperor Geta x Lucilla's daughter (oc) x Emperor Caracalla

word count: 7.9K

hello everyone! it has Taken anwhile but here is chapter 1!! I have had this idea in my head for a while! so in my last post it explained a bit! it was the teaser for this chapter! so il link it. also i accidentally got rid of the title thingy so the title is in a small font now :( . ive had like 4 people proof read it for me, and they love it! so I hope you guys do too! please go to the linked post for info on the things!

summary: with the ghosts of past mistakes and misfortune haunting them, Valaria and Caelius must return to rome. now what comes after is unknown and uncertain. will it be good for them? or will their past haunt the future?

warnings: historical innacuracy. Geta and Caracalla... angst..... thats it for now!

https://www.tumblr.com/iliketosleep123456789/784627228628713472/emperor-geta-x-lucillas-daughter-reader-x?source=share

there it is!

Deep in the heart of Rome, hidden behind walls of marble and dark fabrics, sat three figures. A young woman stood at a distance, watching the three children as they played, a look of worry and uncertainty etched onto her features. She stood there, contemplating whether to interrupt their fun or let them be.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Senator Gracchus, who appeared beside her, his eyes on the children playing in the gardens. They stood in silence for a while, until Gracchus finally spoke.

“Have you prepared them?” he asked, his gaze shifting from the children to meet hers.

She closed her eyes, a pained expression crossing her face. She looked back over at her children briefly before responding. “They have not yet been informed, Gracchus.”

He raised his eyebrows, casting a quick glance at the children. His eyes paused on the only girl as she tackled her twin brother to the ground with success. He looked back at Lucilla.

“You are running out of time. It is for their safety that they must leave so soon.” He placed a hand on her arm in a sympathetic manner. She smiled at him, but it held no joy.

“I’m just not ready for them to go,” Lucilla said, her eyes lingering longingly on her children. She knew this would likely be the last night she had with them.

He smiled sadly.

“For the good of Rome.”

Valaria sat on her bed, her small hands fidgeting with her clothing, the dim candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. It was late at night—well past the time she was meant to be asleep—yet she couldn’t.

Every time the six-year-old closed her eyes and tried to drift off, she ended up tossing and turning. Perhaps it was something she ate that made her anxious. Maybe it was the fact that her dear uncle had just been slain. Or maybe it was because her mother hadn’t come to wish her goodnight as she usually did.

Whatever it was, the feelings stirred inside her, making it impossible to rest. After a few more futile attempts, Valaria decided to visit her twin brother, who was peacefully sleeping in the room beside hers.

Her tiny feet padded across the marble floor as she made her way to the door. Pulling it open, she found two Praetorians standing guard. They looked down at her, eyebrows raised.

“I wish to see Ceali,” she said simply, then marched down the steps, fabric doll in hand, to her brother’s room. She attempted to open the heavy door but failed. Looking up at the guard, he immediately opened it, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Her steps made the faintest sounds on the floor as she walked over to Caelius’ bed. She poked him—once, twice, three times. When he didn’t stir, she crawled into bed beside him.

She lay there in the darkness for a while, thinking about why her mother hadn’t come to see her that night. As the minutes passed, her eyes grew heavy. She inhaled deeply, and finally, sleep took her.

In the palace gardens, Lucilla sat at one of the fountains, her hands dipping in and out of the water as she stared blankly at the marble statue of a lioness and her three cubs. It had been a gift from Commodus—a symbol of her and her children.

Lucilla continued to gaze at the statue, knowing soon it would be all she had left to remember them by. Her heart cracked. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and willing the tears not to fall.

She thought of Luscious—who he would grow to be, what kind of man he’d become.

She thought of Caelius, her golden boy. Would he remain as kind and timid as he was now? Would he be fit to take his father's place as ruler of the Eastern Empire? Or would he let Valaria lead?

And then she thought of her daughter.

Valaria—her sweet girl, so young and yet so sharp. What would she grow into? Would she grow into her large, curious eyes? Would she continue to be the kind and outgoing child she was?

As Lucilla sat there, imagining her children's futures—futures she would likely never witness—the tears began to fall silently into the fountain below.

Eventually, she rose, deciding to check on the children. She knew they were asleep, given how late it was. She made her way toward their quarters.

As she approached the first door, she nodded to the Praetorians stationed outside before stepping into the dark room. Slowly, she walked to the bed and gazed down at her eldest.

Luscious slept soundly, his expression peaceful. His soft breaths rose and fell as he lay beneath a thick sheet, his head resting on a satin pillow. Lucilla stood for a moment, capturing the image of her son safely asleep, planting it deep in her memory. She placed a kiss on his forehead, lingering there before pulling away.

With a final, longing glance, she left his room, closing the door behind her.

As she walked toward the next room, she noticed the absence of guards. Concern flickered before she spotted them stationed outside the final door—twice the usual number. That gave away to exactly where her daughter had gone.

Lucilla smiled softly. Of course, Valaria usually stayed in her own chambers, but it wasn’t uncommon for her to join Caelius. She made her way to the room.

When she entered, her fond smile widened. There, curled up together, lay Valaria and Caelius, legs tangled in a comfortable heap.

Lucilla stood and stared, eyes brimming with tears. She reminded herself that this would be the last time she’d witness such a sight. She shut her eyes tightly, grounding herself before stepping toward the bed.

“My sweet boy,” she whispered, brushing a hand against Caelius’ hair. “Don’t ever lose your empathy.” She bent down to kiss his forehead, lingering for a moment before moving around to Valaria.

Tears welled again as she looked at her daughter. She brushed away a few stray curls and kissed her forehead gently.

“My strong Valaria,” she whispered. “Never let anyone take away your strength.” She kissed her again. “For one would be blind not to see the leader you shall be.”

And then, she turned and walked out—toward her own chambers—leaving behind a very confused Caelius, who stirred just as she left.

Valaria and her brothers struggled to keep up with the rushed steps of her mother and the gaurds as they lead them through the palace towards the stables.

It was just after their morning meal, Lucious and Caelius were playing with their spin tops as Valaria watched, the servants were cleaning the grand table, all was as it usually was. Until it wasnt. The doors opened loudly as Lucilla and around eight preatorians walked into the room, their fast paced steps carrying them towards the children. The three looked up at the group.

"Mother? what is going on-" Lucious stood, his sentence being quickly answered by their mother who grabbed Caelius' and Valaria’s hands. "Make haste Lucious, we do not have much time." She spoke quickly, already leading them out of the dinning hall, through the palace. Valaria shared a wide eyed look with Caelius, none of them knew what was happening. "What is wrong?" Valaria’s small voice spoke out. She was so confused. startled by the fast and sudden change in atmosphere and in their situation. Lucilla looked down at her continuing to move through the halls, they were approaching the stables, where a carriage sat, unknowingly filled with Valairia’s and Caelius' belongings. "You and your Brother are going to join your father." Lucilla replied, short and straight to the point.

Caelius stopped walking immediately in protest. "what? Mother, what do you mean?" He spoke to her, the twins had only been around their father a small number of times in their short lives, at banquets and gatherings, they barely knew the man, and now they are going to live with him.

Valaria looked up at her mother. "Mother why? what is going on?" they had arrived at the stables, where a carriage was parked, waiting. "It is for your safety my loves. it is not safe here." Lucillas voice broke. the twins' eyes widened when they processed what their mother was insinuating. "you're coming too, right mother?" Caelius asked. hands grasping onto her arm tightly. Lucilla looked down, then into his eyes. "I have to stay here, son." She looked anywhere but at Valaria, she heard small gasps from the twins.

Lucious spoke. "mother I am going too right? with them?" he asked, eyes frantic. He would rather be with the twins and their father than anywhere else. She looked down at her eldest.

"Lucius, you will be leaving to Numidia. You will be safe there."

The twins went silent.

Caelius’s bottom lip quivered. "But... I don't understand..." he whispered, looking between his mother and the guards. "Why can't we stay with you? What have we done wrong?"

Lucilla dropped to her knees before them, unable to hold back the sob that tore from her chest. She gathered both her son and daughter in her arms, crushing them to her as if doing so could stop time.

"Nothing, my darlings. Nothing," she gasped through her tears. "This is not punishment. This is protection. There are men in Rome now who would use you to hurt me… or worse. And I will not let that happen. I would die first."

Valaria, normally so bold, buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, her tiny hands fisting in the silk of Lucilla’s stola. "Then let us die with you," she sobbed, voice muffled.

Lucilla choked, clinging to them both. "No. No, you must live. You must grow. Your father will raise you far from here, in his court. He has the loyalty of the eastern provinces, and there, you will be safe. You will be... free."

Valaria’s head shot up, her face streaked with tears, her little hands gripping Lucilla’s sleeves. “But we don’t know him! He’s not you!” she cried, her voice rising into a shriek. “We don’t want to go!” She began to thrash, trying to throw herself back into her mother’s arms. “I won't do this! This is our home! You are our home!” the six year old cried.

Lucilla held her tighter, her heart breaking as she whispered, “Please, Valaria... it is not safe.”

Lucius, watching from beside the carriage, stepped forward, his young face pale but set with resolve. "Then I refuse to go to Numidia alone." He looked to the guard beside him. "I will follow them east."

Lucilla turned sharply. "No." Her voice cracked like thunder. "You must go to Numidia, Lucius. The governor there is loyal to me. You will have tutors. You will be safe and educated, and in time..." She faltered, staring at him through tears. "In time, you will return to Rome, as a man. And perhaps by then, there will still be something worth saving."

Valaria looked up at her mother again, panic now giving way to desperation. "When will we see you again?"

Lucilla cupped her daughter’s face with shaking hands. "When the gods will it. When Rome is no longer sick with blood and betrayal. When it is safe for children to laugh in the Forum again. I swear it on my life—you will see me again."

She leaned forward, pressing a trembling kiss to each of their foreheads. Her tears mingled with theirs.

The guards stood still, unmoving. Even the horses outside pawed at the ground uneasily, as if sensing the grief thick in the air.

Lucilla lingered for just one more moment, breathing them in. Their scent, their warmth, their very existence—she committed it all to memory.

Then she stood.

"Take them," she said, voice hoarse. "Make sure they are safe. Ride without stopping until you cross the Bosporus."

The guards lifted Valaria into the carriage as she screamed, flailing against their grip. “Mother!” her cries cracked through the stable walls like thunder. Caelius followed, stunned silent, but his eyes never left Lucilla. His small hand reached out as the door closed between them. Inside, Valaria wailed and clawed at the wooden frame, her fists pounding it as if she could break free by sheer will.

Lucius, already mounted on horseback, looked back at the carriage, his face pale. “Mother! Please—” But his voice was drowned out as the guards urged the horses forward. He turned to look at her one last time, eyes full of betrayal, before riding off in the opposite direction.

Lucilla stood in the frame of the stables, leaning against the cold stone wall as the echoes of her children’s cries faded into the distance.

She hadn’t expected Valaria’s reaction to hit so deeply. A six-year-old’s grief—raw, unfiltered—was a sound unlike any other. It was the sound of a soul breaking before it even knew what a soul was. And she feared it would echo in her dreams for years to come.

Tears poured freely now, unchecked and relentless. She clutched at her chest, gasping silently, feeling as though a part of her had been torn away.

"I had no choice," she whispered to no one. "Please… please understand."

But even as she said it, a small voice inside her already feared the day they would not.

The air hung thick with incense, laced with rose and cedar. Tall, carved doors opened inward, letting Lucilla in on a tide of silence. A hush swept the chamber as her sandals tapped neatly against the marble as she made her way to stand in front of the emperors, who had called upon her for reasons she had yet to find out.

At the far end, the twin emperors sat atop their golden thrones. Geta sat with a straight back, his right hand resting on the golden arm of his throne while the other rested on his thigh, he sat gracefully, Radiating authority.

Beside him, Caracalla sat at a slant, one leg hanging over the edge of the throne like a bored child who would rather be anywhere else, Dondus sat atop his shoulder, her fingers buried in his fiery red hair as she chirped contentedly.

As Lucilla reached the bottom of the steps Geta stood from his seated position, eyes locked on her as he made his way to the steps.

"Lucilla," Geta greeted smoothly, descending the steps slowly as he continued to stare at her with a heavy gaze. "You honor us with your presence."

She stood with her hands gently clasped in each other as they rested near her stomach, her eyebrows raised as if questioning what they called her here for. ”What is it you want?” 

Caracalla observed from his thrown, his posture straightened as he moved to sit properly in order to get a better comprehension of what was taking place.

Geta extended his hand for Lucilla to kiss. “As is tradition—”

Lucilla looked at his outstretched had for a moment before her eyes returned to meet Geta’s, who’s hand remained waiting.

“You would kiss the hand of your prisoner?” She spoke with a polite tone that was also ambivalent, she wished that they would quit it with the formalities and just get to the point so she could continue on with her day.

The pause that followed was long. Caracalla's eye’s flashed in delight, a high pitched laugh leaving his lips as he watched Lucilla ignore his brothers outstretched hand, knowing Geta had practiced the elegant display before, only to have it ignored by the one person who Geta truly wanted to impress.

He would never admit it, but he secretly enjoyed watching his brother suffer every now and then, it made him feel a little better knowing that Geta could not always get his way, and that he too was not as perfect as he thought he was.

Lucilla raised her chin slightly, already bored with the polite small talk they were having, she wished to get the whole situation dealt with so she would no longer have to remain in the presence of the emperors.

Geta looked up at her, his hand slowly returning to his side as he straightened his posture, standing straight he corrected her. “You are a guest of the emperors, My Lady.” his eyes remained on hers, her head lightly tilted as she looked to the marble floors then back up at him, her polite smile never wavering.

“A guest?” She didn't see herself as a guest, never being free to leave, to speak and converse with people on her own accord, guarded at all times. None of that was how a “guest” should be treated.

“You are guarded for your own protection. And enjoy many benefits.” Geta stated, his eyes wide and knowing as he stared at her, studying her reactions. She nodded, about to thank them but before she could speak Caracalla spoke up, tired of waiting to get to the reason they called her here.

“My brother and I,” Caracalla drawled, his hand slapping down onto the arm of his throne as his wild blue eyes darted from Lucilla to his brother, a sly smile present on his face as he continued. “have a proposal to make.”

Lucilla looked at them curiously, her eyes glancing from Geta to Caracalla as she waited for them to elaborate.

“It is common knowledge that in your fathers time, when an emperor lacked a son, would adopt another as his heir.” he spoke, slowly walking passed her, turning around to look at her after he finished.

Lucilla looked at Caracalla, her hands slowly wringing as a way to calm herself, though Geta’s explanation she could not quite understand what they were planning to ask her. “What is it you want.” her voice wavering slowly, hoping it was not what she thought. Caracalla was quick to reply. “Adopt us. As your sons”

His hands made a quick gesture in the air as if it were obvious. Her eyes widened, before she could speak Geta spoke. “For which you would enjoy. Much greater benefits.” his head tilted slightly, watching her reaction to his every word.

“And you—have no children of your own” Caracalla was quick to continue, his blue eyes staring at her.

Lucilla flinched—barely.

Caracalla leaned forward eagerly. “Your children died, Did they not?” her eyes closed as she bit her lip, overwhelmed completely by what they were proposing. 

“And you are passed child bearing age” Geta chimed in from behind her, she looked at him briefly, barely having time to take in what he said before Caracalla once again spoke, more to himself then to anyone else as his eyes traced her figure. “Though not, undesirable.”

Geta decided to return back to the topic before it was lost, he was now back at his throne sitting back in the graceful position as he was before, eyes locked on Lucilla as he studied her reaction, she remained silent for a while which allowed Caracalla to press.

“Poor children, so young weren't they?” He spoke with a sadistic smile as he eyed her.

Geta smirked, catching on to what his brother was doing and decided to contribute.

“Lucious was it? Only a boy of eight… how tragic” he smirked, looking to his brother with a knowing glance, by the way Lucilla’s breath shook they could tell it was working.

“And the twins, only at age six. Vanished out of thin air.” Caracalla’s Sadistic smile returned when Lucilla reacted to their comments.

Lucilla’s voice cracked through the air. “Enough.”

But Geta raised a calming hand. “This is not cruelty, Lucilla. It is a proposition.”

“We want you to adopt us,” Caracalla grinned. “Publicly. Fully. The Mother of Rome, raising her sons back from blood and ash.”

“Rome would weep,” Geta said. “And cheer. A Severan revival, dressed in mourning robes.”

Lucilla stared at them like they were beasts she could not name.

Silence stretched between them.

Geta spoke again, too casually. “Of course, there are others who might fill the role. Candidates of blood.”

“Or whispers,” Caracalla added, eyes dancing. “From the east. From the desert.”

Lucilla didn’t move, didn’t breath. She knew what they were insinuating and did not know how she would respond without giving away too much.

“Rumors,” Geta said, drawing closer. “A brother and sister. Reared in the hills. Skilled. Strange.”

“Oh, delightful little oddities,” Caracalla purred. “The girl—Valaria, they call her—ugly as a bruised fig. Wide jaw. Crooked teeth. Scars on her arms from fighting with men. She spars. Can you imagine? A woman with a sword? Filthy.”  his eyes lit up as he spoke, letting out a high pitched cackle as he recalled the rumors he heard certain senators and even some slaves conversing of.

Lucilla’s breath hitched at the name. Her Name.

“They say she is unfit to wed,” Geta added softly, watching her for any change in demeanor. “Too masculine. Too forward. She refuses dowries like insults.” at that Caracalla laughed again, quieter this time but still obvious.

“And her brother?” Caracalla feigned a sigh. “Caelius. Pale thing. Eyes like water. Cries if you raise your voice. Never struck a servant in his life. He reads poetry.”

Caracalla stared at Lucilla, his expression falling into one of deep concentration as he stared straight at her, his blue eyes held the same crazed look to them as they always did.

“They share everything,” Geta murmured. “Clothes. Baths. Beds.”

Caracalla leaned in, his voice darker and more quiet, as if he was about to share an important secret.  “Some say they sleep too close.”

Lucilla’s breath caught. Their attempts at getting under her skin were working. Geta continued, measured and smooth. “The girl protects him like a lioness. Snarls when others look too long. It’s unnatural.”

“They are set to return to Rome soon,” Caracalla said, propping his leg up over the arm of his chair, leaning back. “A matter of business. Or fate.”

“They are not what you say,” Lucilla said suddenly—sharply. Her voice cracked across the floor like lightning. 

The air tensed. 

Caracalla’s smile curled like smoke as he eyed her, his dark gaze pinning her in place as he measured her stance, taking in her words and analyzing them deeply.

 “You seem fond of them.” Geta spoke from the side, his gaze firm and confident as he looked at her with dark eyes. Lucilla’s change in demeanor just about solidified Geta’s suspicion. 

Lucilla swallowed, her eyes remained locked with Carcalla’s as she searched for the right words.

“They do not deserve that,” she said quietly, her eyes looking down at the marble floor in front of her, she didn't believe the harsh words spoken of them. The harsh rumors people spoke, of such horrible things, she knew the ones regarding their looks were immediately false because she recalled Valaria had the most gorgeous Hazel eyes she had ever seen. They complimented her golden brown locks of hair and her sweet smile. Her Valaria looked as if Venus herself joined them in her mortal form, blessing all of Rome with her beauty. And as for Caelius, she knew he was stronger than people said, he was always strategic. He never enjoyed sparring or rough play, but he was strong in other forms. But she couldn't say that, or the emperors would know. “Those words. They don’t.”

“You speak as if you know them, Lady Lucilla.” Geta spoke with a neutral yet fearsome tone. His eyes, cold with silent animosity, stare into her. 

Lucilla didn’t answer, she continued to look down avoiding their eyes.

Caracalla moved closer again,eyebrows raising as if to taunt her. “If you do not know them, Then why do you defend them?” 

They both keep their eyes on her, waiting for her response. They both already knew who the twins were to Lucilla, they just wanted to test if Lucilla was truly as honest as she claimed to be, which proved to be false. 

Lucilla looked up. Her voice was low as she spoke. “Because someone should have.”

 Geta nods silently, his lips pierced as he looks to the ground in thought. “Very well, you are dismissed.” 

With one low curtsy, Lucilla turned around and made her way out of the throne room, leaving the emperors alone.

Geta and Caracalla sat atop their thrones as a slave came over to take Dondus from on top of Caracalla’s shoulder. Once they were gone Geta spoke up. “She knew right away.” 

Caracalla looked up, eyes moving from his blank stare towards the floors to looking his Brother in the eye. “What do we do now then, brother?” he spoke, his calm demeanor hardening, slowly growing more and more cold as the reality of what was coming sank in. 

Geta looked him in the eye, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face. “Should Lucilla choose to continue her dishonesty,” Geta said quietly, his voice sharp as a dagger cloaked in silk, “then the twins shall inherit the debt of her silence.”

He paced slowly, deliberately, as if composing the next move in a game only he and Caracalla could understand. “Let the girl’s blade slip in public. Let her temper flare. Let the boy tremble in front of the Senate. We shall not lift a hand—only watch. Let Rome judge them, tear them apart with laughter or scorn. If they are innocent, then surely they will survive.”

Caracalla, lounging lazily on a low marble bench, gave a dry, brittle laugh. “Or they’ll break, and she will watch. What a shame if her daughter’s face is too lovely to bruise, but not lovely enough to save.” He grinned, eyes glassy with something feral. “And the boy—he looks like he’d bleed beautifully.”

Geta’s gaze narrowed, voice softening to something almost affectionate, chillingly so. “We won’t decide anything yet. Not until we see them. Let’s watch. Let’s see what kind of creatures she cast into the world.”

He turned toward the window, where the light from the torches flickered like a warning. “Good luck, little twins,” he whispered. “Let’s see how well you dance.”

The road to Rome narrowed beneath the weight of rising heat, dust curling in plumes around the iron-rimmed wheels. The light of dawn had sharpened into a bruised gold, casting long shadows over the ancient paving stones that marked the edge of Empire.

Inside the carriage, the air was stifling. Valaria sat cloaked in silence, spine straight, chin slightly tilted as she stared at the passing countryside through the thin slit between draped curtains. A sheer veil of fine linen—dyed the deep gray of storm clouds—was wrapped loosely over her head and shoulders, obscuring all but the sharp line of her mouth. Her expression, what little was visible, was unreadable.

Caelius sat across from her, elbows on knees, watching her quietly. He’d long since learned to wait her moods out. She could burn and freeze in the same breath, especially when they crossed invisible thresholds like this—land becoming memory, memory becoming Rome. It had been years since they had left. it was.. different.

“You haven’t said a word since we passed the last mile marker,” he said lightly.

Valaria’s eyes flicked toward him, just visible beneath the veil’s soft shadow. Her mouth curled faintly.

“Maybe I don’t feel like talking.”

He gave a small, dry smile. “Didn’t say I needed a reason. Just noticed.”

A beat passed. Her jaw tightened. She crossed her arms under the fall of her cloak, fingers coiling into the linen.

“Is it the guards?” Caelius asked, carefully. “The things they say?”

She exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh. “Let them talk. Let them whisper I’m hideous, cursed, mad. It means they don’t get to see me. That’s all.”

Her fingers brushed the hem of her veil. “You know why I wear this.”

“I do,” he said softly. “It’s not shame. It’s control.”

A pause. Then she looked at him—truly looked at him. Her dark eyes glittered beneath the veil’s edge, sharp and alive.

“They don’t deserve to see me,” she said. “They stare at women like livestock at auction. A face is worth a dowry. A smile means consent. I don’t owe anyone that.”

“You don’t,” Caelius agreed.

“And besides,” she added with a tilt of her head, “you’re the only one who’s ever seen the whole of me and didn’t flinch.”

He smiled again, just barely. “You’re my other half.”

Her posture eased—slightly. The heat of her anger never left, but she let it settle, coiled beneath her ribs like a watchful serpent. She turned her face toward the window again, toward the sunlit haze of the capital slowly unfurling in the distance.

“I’m not angry,” she muttered.

Caelius arched a brow.

“I’m not,” she insisted.

“I never said you were.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I’m thinking you’re trying very hard not to be.”

She huffed and kicked the opposite bench lightly with her heel. “This place makes me feel like I’m suffocating. I haven’t even crossed the gates yet and I already hate it.”

“Is it because of her?” he asked quietly. “Because she’s in Rome?”

Her face snapped toward him so fast the veil shifted. He caught the gleam of her full expression beneath it—rage, panic, defiance—and then it vanished behind linen again.

“Drop it,” she snapped.

His mouth tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “Alright.”

Valaria’s hand curled into a fist in her lap. She stared out at the horizon, at the hazy, white-capped domes of Rome coming into view. The ache behind her ribs throbbed harder than the wheels beneath them.

“I hate that she gets to breathe the same air as us,” she said suddenly, her voice low. “And I hate that I care.”

Caelius didn’t speak. He knew better.

Outside, the land shifted again—olive groves giving way to patrolled roads, statues of marble gods and emperors rising like ghosts from the dust. The ancient aqueducts arched overhead like rib bones, vast and uncaring.

As the gates of Rome approached, their shadows stretching like jaws across the road, Valaria adjusted her veil—making sure no more than her mouth was visible. Her jaw was clenched, but her chin lifted. Regal. Untouched.

Caelius glanced at her one last time before the carriage slowed. “Whatever happens,” he said, “you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. You’re already more than they’ll ever understand.”

She didn’t respond. But her hand brushed against his as the carriage rolled beneath the gate. Just once.

And then the city swallowed them whole.

The carriage rolled to a halt with the clatter of wheels over polished stone. Beyond the arched gateway of Rome's imperial palace, sunlight spilled like molten brass across the staircase where two figures waited—silent, still, and steeped in the weight of empire.

The stairs that led from the lower courtyard to the raised portico were the same ones that had greeted acclamations, triumphs, and executions for generations. The air was thick with incense and power.

At the top stood the twin emperors.

Geta, taller by half a head, carried himself with the rigid grace of someone raised to wear a crown. His pale face was powdered white as marble, enhancing the sharpness of his ginger beard and cold green eyes. He stood straight-backed in a deep crimson toga, edged in imperial gold, his hands folded in front of him like a marble statue come to life.

Beside him lounged his brother.

Caracalla's posture was looser, more wolf than lion. His expression was unreadable save for the glint in his eye—something restless and unhinged, like a storm barely contained beneath flesh. His gold tooth caught the sunlight every time he sneered or half-smiled. Like Geta, his skin was pale beneath powder, his red curls flattened and oiled into submission. But his eyes burned with that barely-restrained mania that unnerved even the senators.

The carriage door opened with a soft clack.

First stepped out Caelius. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with quiet elegance—dressed in a deep navy tunic with a silver-detailed belt that caught the light. His dark brown eyes scanned the staircase calmly. He looked like a young patrician noble: confident, respectful, and alert.

Then came Valaria.

She stepped down with grace, her gloved fingers lightly pressing Caelius' offered hand. Her gown was a marvel of imperial fashion: a cream-colored stola over a tunica with the faintest hint of lavender in its undertone, stitched with gold thread in the patterns of olive branches and laurel. A broad gold belt cinched her waist, and matching gold bracelets coiled around her wrists like serpents.

Her hair was styled half up, secured by a filigree gold circlet that caught the morning light like a halo. Natural curls—dense but elegant—cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders. And her veil.

It was sheer, of the finest linen, the same creamy-lavender tone as her gown. Draped from the crown of her head and pinned by the headpiece, it obscured the upper half of her face while leaving her full mouth and graceful jawline exposed. Elegant. Controlled. Untouchable.

From a distance, the emperors observed.

Geta's eyes narrowed as he assessed the pair. Their fashion was impeccable. Their poise flawless. But the veil over the girl’s face immediately confirmed what he had already decided. So the rumors were true. The girl must be deformed, or at least unpleasant to look at.

Caracalla, meanwhile, tilted his head like a curious beast. His stare raked over Valaria with something darker than interest. The veil intrigued him. Concealment always did.

"Gods," he muttered low enough for only Geta to hear. "She must be ghastly under there."

Geta gave a noncommittal sound, but did not look away.

Hand in hand, Caelius led Valaria up the grand staircase. She held his arm with refined control, her chin lifted. Though her face was hidden, her bearing was proud, even imperial. Her every step was measured. At the top, both twins bowed low, Valaria executing a deep, graceful curtsy.

The moment her lips touched the emperors' offered hands, it happened.

A sharp snap rang out. The golden circlet that held her veil slipped, dislodged by the motion. The fine linen veil fluttered, and before anyone could stop it, it slid down her shoulders like silk water.

Time slowed.

Her face was unveiled.

And it was stunning.

High cheekbones, sun-kissed olive skin, a soft dusting of freckles. Her eyes—hazel-green with golden flecks—flashed in the sunlight, luminous and unflinching. Her brows were perfectly shaped, arching over those bold eyes with natural intensity. Her lips were full and slightly parted from the shock, her mouth holding the trace of a breathless apology.

The emperors stared.

Even Geta, whose poise rarely faltered, blinked. Caracalla's jaw twitched. His eyes roved over her like a man starved, but his face quickly schooled itself into neutrality. Still, the gold tooth glinted as he clenched it behind his lips.

Valaria, for her part, was mortified.

But she didn’t flinch.

With quiet dignity, she bent, scooped the veil into her hand, and lifted it once more to cover her face, pinning it in place with a hairpin Caelius discreetly passed her.

"My apologies, imperial majesties," she said smoothly, her voice soft but clear. "A misstep."

Caracalla tilted his head again, like a predator watching an unusual creature. "No harm," he said. "We are not so easily offended by beauty."

Geta said nothing. He only offered the faintest nod.

Caelius gently cleared his throat. "We thank you for receiving us."

"You’ve traveled well," Geta replied. "Your presence honors us."

"Our father sends his regards and trust that our arrival begins a fruitful dialogue between our houses," Caelius continued.

"We will speak further," Geta said. "Somewhere more suitable for this conversation.” 

Caracalla said nothing, but his smile returned. It was thin. Strange. Calculating.

With a graceful wave, the twins were beckoned to follow. Courtiers and attendants bowed out of the way as the imperial procession moved indoors, into the marbled halls of power.

As they walked, Valaria felt the weight of eyes on her. She said nothing. Neither did Caelius. But his hand brushed hers gently, wordlessly.

And beside them, Caracalla watched the sway of her veil, his mind already beginning to spin.

She had shown her face.

And now he wanted to see it again.

No one had noticed the pair of eyes that watched from afar, two stories above from her window. The sun poured golden light into the chamber, but Lucilla stood still in its warmth like a ghost trapped in stone. She had not moved for some time. Her gaze was fixed beyond the glass—down, far below—to the staircase where Rome welcomed its newest guests.

She could barely breathe.

The black carriage had rolled to a silent stop, dust swirling like smoke around its wheels. Liveried servants bustled, and imperial guards stiffened to attention. Then—

He stepped out.

Caelius.

Lucilla’s breath hitched. Her son—her little boy—taller now than she remembered, with that same calm, sensible bearing that had once calmed his sister’s storms. His cloak shifted in the wind, rich with his father’s colors, edged in silver. His jaw was firmer, more defined, but his eyes—

Brown. Just like they had been when he sat at her feet with scrolls too big for his little lap, always asking questions she was too tired to answer.

Then—Valaria.

Lucilla’s hand flew to her chest.

She came slowly, like a column of flame behind silk. The cream of her gown shimmered with a faint lavender undertone, golden jewelry catching the sun like sparks. Her veil was drawn—of course it was—but Lucilla would have known her daughter even if she'd been cloaked in shadows.

The angle of her jaw. The quiet power in her walk.

Lucilla stepped back from the window, one trembling hand reaching for the drawer in the ornate chest beside her. She fumbled it open And there—buried beneath old letters and a worn ivory hair comb—was a little wooden horse.

Carved crudely. Scratched and faded.

Caelius had made it at five, slicing his thumb open on the edge of the blade. He'd run to Lucilla, bleeding and proud, and she had bandaged him with a kiss and called him her brave little soldier.

Lucilla clutched it now to her chest as she felt the reality crash down on, what seemed to be, her shoulders. Her quick and unsteady breaths went well with her trembling hands. Her other hand found a small scrap of linen, fraying at the edges. A doll’s dress—once white, now yellowed with time. Valaria’s favorite doll. The one she used to tuck in beside her each night, whispering secrets and promises that were never followed through.

Lucilla crumpled to the bench beside the window, her body folding over the relics of a life she had let go. She could no longer hear the voices below, but she saw the moment clearly—the moment Valaria’s veil slipped.

The gold headpiece cracked.

The fabric fell.

And the sun revealed a face so radiant, so composed, it could have belonged to the goddess Venus herself. High cheekbones, fierce hazel eyes burning green in the light. Lips parted in a soft gasp.

Even from a distance, Lucilla could see the flicker of panic—her daughter’s mask faltering for just a heartbeat.

Lucilla pressed the doll’s dress to her mouth to stifle the sob. Her eyes were wide and full of brimming tears. Her whole body shook with the quiet sobs she let out. Her children were back, but she knew they felt anything other then home.

They had become strangers.

And still to this day, remained an everlasting reminder of who they were..

Her children.

The ones she had abandoned to the mercy of time, silence, and grief.

And now they walked into the lions’ den—into the palace of emperors who wore white paint like death masks and smiled when they witnessed bloodshed in the colosseum. They were walking right into the dangers that she swore to protect them from, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Lucilla sat there closing her eyes, clutching the horse and the doll’s dress to her heart like a woman trying to hold the past together with her bare hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice ragged, broken, meant for no one.  Below, the fanfare blared. The people cheered. As the emperors welcomed their new guests for the time being.

And Lucilla sat in her tower, forgotten, mourning the ghosts of those she gave away.

The palace air was heavy with perfume and power. The emperors led the twins through marbled corridors, their sandals clicking faintly on the polished stone floors. Slaves flanked the walls, eyes downcast, silent as ghosts. Golden light slanted through the high windows, catching on mosaics of past conquests and long-dead gods.

Valaria walked between the two men with regal precision, her veil now pinned more securely in place. Her head remained high, her hand brushing against the sleeve of her brother’s robe for steadiness she did not betray outwardly. Caelius kept close, his eyes sharp, absorbing every glance, every breath, every subtle shift in tone.

Caracalla walked a pace ahead, his gold tooth catching flashes of light like a blade. He tilted his head occasionally, stealing glances. His fingers flexed idly, as if resisting the urge to reach. There was something in his gaze—not quite admiration, not quite suspicion. Hunger, maybe. An itch beneath the skin.

Geta, ever composed, walked at her other side. He towered slightly over them all, pale skin dusted in white powder that gave him a statuesque, funerary quality. His glances toward Valaria were more infrequent, but no less observant. He noted the way she moved—with economy, elegance, restraint. He noted how tightly she clung to the presence of her brother, how her mouth was soft but her eyes sharp. A woman with armor made of silence.

They reached the private council chamber—a large rotunda open to a central oculus. Painted ceilings loomed overhead. A bronze eagle perched above the high-backed chairs, talons clutching a broken serpent.

"You may be seated," Geta said, gesturing with practiced formality.

Caelius waited until Valaria sat before taking his place beside her. She arranged her robe smoothly, keeping her veil just low enough to shroud the better part of her features, though the previous reveal still lingered like a ghost in the room.

"We trust your journey was not too arduous," Geta began, folding his hands.

"Six weeks," Caelius replied calmly. "The roads were well-kept, but the spring storms were less so."

"And your kingdom fares well?" Geta inquired.

"It does," Caelius answered. "Our father sends his regards."

Caracalla sat slouched, his gaze not on Caelius, but on the veil. On the mouth that had been exposed. On the brief shimmer of hazel that now lingered in his memory.

"You must be tired," he said offhandedly, waving his hand lazily. "Perhaps the young lady would prefer to rest while we discuss state matters."

Valaria turned her head slightly, her voice clear but composed. "With respect, your majesty, I represent my father in this meeting as much as my brother. I intend to remain."

A flicker passed between the emperors. Caracalla leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he eyed her, the same dark smile on his face.

"Of course," he said, too smoothly. "A shame to waste such eloquence in private."

Valaria's lips pressed into a faint line beneath the veil. Caelius glanced at her, subtly shifting himself to rest between hers and Caracalla’s line of sight—a silent barrier. Valaria smiled at her brother in gratitude, Caracalla returned to his previous position with his arms lazily laid in front of him as he slightly laid back in a lounged position, though his eyes didn't move away from Valaria’s graceful form. 

"We have come to discuss trade routes and territorial alliances along the southern borders," Caelius resumed, shifting the room back to purpose. He knew that Valaria was already quite uncomfortable due to her veil mishap earlier on, and now emperor Caracalla could not seem to take his eyes off of her, so he did his best to keep them on topic for her sake.

"Of course," Geta said, steepling his fingers. "We have received your father's proposal. There are points to clarify." He spoke while quickly glancing at Valaria then back to Caelius, where he forced his eyes to remain on the man in front of him instead of allowing his eyes to wander to the woman sat across from him. 

As the discussion grew more intricate, Valaria took notes in quiet grace, her script tidy and efficient. She seldom spoke unless addressed, but when she did, it was precise and informed. Her voice never wavered when she spoke. Confidence and Grace coming off of her in waves.

Caracalla watched her. For an unknown reason he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He had seen many attractive women before, mostly in the female concubines he allowed himself to enjoy and indulge in, sometimes he even saw it in a simple servant as she poured his wine. He was not new to appreciating the Beautiful people around him, even if it was just a quick glance of acknowledgement, it had never been anything other then that. So why was he now so taken by the woman in front of him? He had seen her face once for a brief moment when her veil had fallen, and since then he had not been able to think of anything else other than seeing it again.

His mind spiraled inward.

He imagined ripping the veil off again. Not by accident.

He thought about her mouth, which he’d already seen earlier. What did the rest of her look like? He wondered what she would look like if she willingly showed herself to him. Would her eyes remain empty? Or would they be filled with something, perhaps joy or content aimed only at him?   As he allowed his mind to spiral into the endless abyss that it was, his eyes remained on her seated form. He noticed the slightly visible polite smile that adorned her features, how the fabric of her veil fell against the point of her nose, making a slight bump in the otherwise smooth fabric. He never looked away.

He imagined her without Caelius at her side. Alone.

He thought about what he would do if he had the chance to speak with her alone. What would she say? What would she do? Would she bow down and submit herself like everyone else? Or would she remain composed and indifferent like people said she was? 

He did not know which of the two he would enjoy more.

He imagined her beneath him, not kneeling in curtsy, but in surrender.

His tongue flicked briefly across his lips.

She was not what he had expected. And he did not like being wrong.

But he liked the feeling.

It thrilled him.

Geta, more measured, returned to the parchment. He would not forget the girl's face. He could not. But he buried it for now. The time for indulgence would come later. For now, he was Emperor, and his Duty came first.

Valaria lifted her chin slightly as she met Geta's eye.

She saw the flicker.

She noted it. Filed it away. But it showed nothing.

The meeting continued, Rome breathing quietly around them, its twin rulers now watching something—someone—they had never planned for.

And Valaria sat straight and still, her face once again hidden, yet more visible than ever before. A/N: Hello! its been a long work in progress but here is chapter one!

This work is MY OWN. please do not repost it without crediting me.

Valaria and Caelius belong to me! all other characters except for a few that will come in later belong to the amazing Scott Free and David Scarpa!

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Emperor Geta x Lucilla's Daughter! reader (pretty much an OC atp) x Emperor Caracalla

A/N: hello! ive had this idea in my mind for ages! and ive sent a fe requests to some authors, but I feel like this fandom is dying :( so I decided to write it myself, This is my first ever one shot, I might make it a story if it turns out people like it! just for my sake, we are gonna call reader Valaria, which means "strong, healthy" I like to think of it as she is strong. anyway, enjoy! - L

oh! as the story progresses I will give off info about Valaria and her battle with BPD (borderline personality disorder) which she develops after being sent away.

caracalla does not have syphilis in this fic, he still acts the same though, dw, its just, I would find it weird.... cause I dont want my Baby to get syphilis...

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Deep In the heart of Rome, hidden behind walls of marble and dark fabrics sat 3 figures. A young woman stood from a distance, watching the three as they play, a look of worry and uncertainty etched onto her features, She stood there, contemplating on interuppting their fun, or choosing to let them be. her thoughts were interupted by Senetor Gracchus who appeared next to her, his eyes on the three children playing in the gardens, they stood in silence for a while, until Gracchus spoke up.

"have you prepared them?" He spoke, his eyes moving from the children to meet Her gaze. She closed her eyes, a pained look crossing her features, she looked back over at her children breifly before uttering her response. "they have not yet been informed, Gracchus." He raised his eyebrows, taking a quick glance at the children, his eyes stopped on the only girl as he saw her tackle her Twin Brother to the ground succesfully, he looked back at Lucilla.

"You are running out of time, it is for their safety that they must leave so soon." he places his hand on her arm in a sympathetic manor, she smiled at him, but it held no happiness. "I am just not ready for them to go." Lucilla spoke, eyes looking at her children longingly, she knew this would likely be the Last night she had with them.

He saddly Smiled.

"for the good of Rome."

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A\N Hello! this is the first teeny tiny sneak peak at my story!! so, hope you like it and the first part is almost done and should be out soon! its already at 9k words....