Work Text:
When you step into Emperor Geta’s chamber, an icy cold hits your face, like the breath of a tomb. It feels as though Emperor Geta’s invisible eyes are watching you from between the walls.
In the center of the room stands a bed, rising like a throne, draped with a perfectly laid dark red velvet cover that declares its dominance. The patterns embroidered with golden threads shimmer like flames, but even daring to examine them up close requires courage. Seeing a wrinkle on those covers would be a crime inviting the Emperor’s wrath.
You silently place the basket in your hand into a corner. On the table sits a half-finished wine goblet. Beside it, there’s a plate with dried fruit remnants—it’s clear that Geta left in a hurry. As you tidy the table, your hand trembles while holding the goblet, because if it were to fall, it would be a harbinger of the disasters to come.
The moonlight streaming through the window falls on the columns next to the bed. The curtain sways slightly, and even this small motion breaks the silence enough to make you flinch.
You think Geta is ready to spend the night here now. Every corner has been straightened, every speck of dust wiped away, and everything is exactly as it should be—because if it’s not, Geta’s madness will find you with the first light of day. You take one last look at the bed’s cover, ensuring it’s perfectly smooth, and then check the table.
With trembling hands, you lift the wine decanter. Made of silver with delicate engravings, the decanter glimmers like a blade in the moonlight. If Emperor Geta decides to drink suddenly during the night, his goblet must always be ready. You’ve heard this rule countless times, and you know all too well how severe the consequences can be if you forget even once.
You tilt the decanter gently and begin pouring wine into the goblet. The thick, dark red liquid flows slowly into the glass, filling the room with a faint scent of wine. At that moment, in a fleeting lapse of attention, your hand slips from the decanter’s handle. For a brief instant, the decanter seems to float in the air before crashing to the ground like a lightning bolt meeting the earth. A sharp ringing echoes off the walls of the chamber.
The wine spreads rapidly across the marble floor like a bloodstain. That dreadful red seeps outward with a mercilessness that rivals the covers on Geta’s bed. Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart pounds as if it might burst out of your chest. For a moment, you’re frozen in place, as though any movement might magnify the horror of your mistake.
Geta must not see this. Absolutely must not!
You drop to your knees and frantically try to wipe the wine with your hands. Your fingers slide helplessly across the slippery marble, the crimson red staining your skin. Your breath grows uneven, sweat drips from your forehead into your eyes, but you can think of nothing else except cleaning the spill. You begin wiping the floor with the hem of your dress, desperate and panicked.
Just then, the ominous creak of the door’s hinges freezes your entire body. The door swings wide open, and Emperor Geta storms in like a raging wind. The moonlight illuminates one side of his face, while the other vanishes into darkness.
His eyes dart immediately to the ground, to the shattered decanter and the wine stain that looks like blood.
For a moment, your gaze locks on his crazed eyes, glowing in the moonlight. The corner of his lips twitches upward—it resembles a smile, but there is no warmth in it—only menace.
“Do you have something to explain to me?” he asks, leaning down toward you, his voice dropping to a whisper.
In that instant, even breathing feels impossible. Your arms fall limply to your sides, and you’re frozen, unsure of what Geta might do as the wine stain continues to spread across the cold marble.
“Please, forgive me… My Emperor. I… it was an accident,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you sink to your knees. Bowing your head to the floor, you cover the wine stain, as though you could erase your shame along with it. You clasp your hands together, bowing before him in a pleading posture. Your heart pounds mercilessly in your chest; the knowledge that a single word from him could seal your fate makes it hard to breathe.
“Stand up,” he says in a tired, deep voice. Not out of anger, but more out of exasperation. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you today. Clean it up and leave the room.”
His words carry the weight of a command, yet they lack his usual fury. His hair is slightly disheveled, and the faint shadows under his eyes reveal how exhausted he is.
“Yes, my Emperor. At once,” you reply, springing into action. Though your movements are clumsy, your trembling hands continue wiping the wine with the hem of your dress. As the stain on the marble floor slowly fades, Emperor Geta walks heavily toward his bed.
For a moment, you find yourself staring at his leather sandals and the fine silk fabric clinging to his frame.
Suddenly, Geta stops and begins to undress.
You hold your breath, lower your head, and focus on the remnants of the wine as if those stains were the most important task in the world. But the soft sound of his silk tunic falling to the floor causes your eyes to involuntarily shift toward him.
Geta had discarded the tunic, and under the moonlight, the breadth of his shoulders and the definition of his muscles resembled that of a Greek statue. His shoulders, the contours of his back… they seemed like a flawless work of art, delicately crafted by a master sculptor.
This magnificent man, whose name traveled on the tongues of everyone in the palace, always made you scoff. “You admire that madman? You must be out of your mind,” you’d think to yourself. Yet now, as you tried not to look at him, you couldn’t explain why your heart was racing so fast.
You swallow hard and lower your gaze back to the ground. The wine stain is completely gone. Quickly, you stand and place the shards of the decanter into the basket. “Forgive me, my Emperor. With your permission, I’ll take my leave,” you say, bowing your head and moving toward the door.
But just as you reach it, you hear a voice behind you.
“Wait.”
You freeze. Your eyes remain fixed on the wooden surface of the door. “Yes, my Emperor?”
“You forgot to extinguish the candle on the table,” Geta says, his tone sharper now but still tinged with fatigue.
“My apologies, I’ll do it immediately.”
You are forced to turn back. Without lifting your eyes from the ground, you walk toward the table beside the bed. As you lean forward to extinguish the candle, you can feel Geta’s presence looming above you; he’s lying on the bed, but it feels as though he’s still watching you. Your hands tremble as you hastily snuff out the candles.
“Tell me something. I can’t sleep.”
You raise your head slightly, looking at him in surprise. Is he joking, or is this some kind of game? There’s a glimmer in his eyes—tired but still menacing.
“What would you like me to tell, my lord?” you whisper, your voice trembling.
Geta, reclining on the bed with his back propped against the pillows and one arm lazily stretched out to the side, speaks with a faint smile on his lips. “I don’t care. Tell me a tale, a story. But don’t be boring, not until I’m asleep.”
The subtle threat in his words seeps into your very core. Even as your knees still tremble, you find yourself standing in the middle of the room—before him, less like a servant and more like a prisoner. You clench your hands, clear your throat, and begin to speak about the first thing that comes to mind—your village. At that moment, you struggle to string your words together, avoiding Geta’s gaze.
“I… I come from a small village west of Tarentum, my lord,” you say. The words spill out slowly, your voice low but trying to remain steady. “There, my father was a farmer. Our land was small, but it was fertile. Every spring, the plains would turn green; the air would smell of lavender everywhere. At sunset, the light would shimmer over the fields like golden dust, and at night, the sky was full of stars. My mother… she used to weave small tapestries at home with my siblings…”
You pause for a moment, swallowing hard as the warmth of the memories washes over you. But Geta’s impatient voice snaps you back to reality. “And then?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, one eyebrow raised.
Your eyes drop to the floor, your breath tightening as if you’re reliving it all over again. “Then… then your armies came. At first, we saw the smoke. Rising over the forest, from the other side of the village. My mother told us to run, but it was too late. The soldiers… they set everything on fire. My siblings… they got lost in the chaos. My father tried to fight, but…”
The words catch in your throat. You clench your hand into a fist, taking a deep breath. “Then they found me. A soldier grabbed me by the hair and dragged me away. Since that day, I’ve been here, serving in the palace.”
Your words hang in the air, heavy, as a cold silence settles over the room. The final images of your village flash through your mind—the smoke, the screams, the scent of scorched earth. But Geta’s face betrays not the faintest hint of emotion. Instead, his eyes travel over you, scanning you from head to toe.
“So, a farmer’s daughter,” he says, his voice carrying a mocking undertone. “From lavender-scented fields to cleaning my chambers. What a charming story…”
The ridicule in his words cuts into your heart like a sharp blade, but you remain silent. In moments like these, silence is survival. And yet, you notice how the pain your story stirs within you has captured Geta’s attention. Perhaps some fragment of it has touched something deep within his deranged mind—or perhaps he’s merely found his entertainment for the evening.
The deep silence of the room swells, spreading like the shadows on the walls. Geta slowly turns his head, fixing his gaze on you. At first, you think you’re only imagining his eyes on you, but when your eyes meet his, you’re certain—he’s truly watching you.
“Well…” he says, his voice drowsy but tinged with a faint curiosity. “There was someone in your village, wasn’t there? Someone who made your heart race?”
The question catches you off guard. Your face flushes as you lower your gaze to the floor, clasping your hands tightly in your lap. “No, my Emperor. There was no one,” you reply softly.
Geta’s eyebrows draw together slightly, as if your answer wasn’t what he expected. Resting his head against the pillow, his gaze shifts to the ceiling, and his tone takes on a contemplative edge.
“Love…” he repeats, as though savoring the word. “Sometimes I wonder if it truly exists. Poems are written, wars are fought. But I…” He pauses, his gaze shifting back to you.
The exhaustion in his eyes deepens, giving way to a profound emptiness. “…I’ve never felt it. Not once.”
You swallow hard. For an emperor—especially one as cruel and mad as Geta—to make such an intimate confession feels almost unreal. For the first time, his face seems open, vulnerable, as though a part of his mask has slipped.
You want to say something, but the words stick in your throat. For a fleeting moment, your heart swells with an odd sense of compassion for him. The fear inside you gives way to what might be the one thing Geta needs most in that moment—understanding. But you are only a servant. How much right do you have to speak?
"What do you think?" he asks suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts once again. "Does love exist? Or is it just a fairy tale?"
You don’t know how to answer. "Your Majesty, I…" you whisper, but the words hang in the air. He has already turned his gaze away from you and back to the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, he narrows his eyes, his fingers tracing along the edge of the pillow.
"It must be a fairy tale," he mutters to himself. "Too absurd and hollow to be real."
As your heart continues to race, the words slip from your lips almost on their own,
"I’ve never been in love, Your Majesty. But I believe true love exists."
The moment your words fill the room, a faint look of surprise crosses Geta’s face. You expect him to make a mocking remark, but he doesn’t. His eyes fix on you, as if trying to understand what you mean.
"True love?" he repeats, his voice both curious and skeptical. "What does that even mean?"
"I don’t know. But it must be something that stirs your heart, fills you up, and makes you forget the emptiness," you say softly but with conviction.
"Like believing without seeing. You can’t hold it in your hands, you can’t see it with your eyes, but you feel it. A glance at your eyes, a touch in your voice is enough. It makes you forget your fears, it completes you."
Geta remains silent for a while, as though he’s absorbing your words. The tired expression on his face gives way to deeper contemplation.
"That has never happened to me," he says finally, his tone softened. "I’ve seen hundreds of people. I’ve taken what I wanted. There were even those who claimed to love me—or so they said. But… something inside me has always been missing. Always."
Could the emptiness within a man who has lived like a king be the despair of someone who has never truly chosen anything in his life?
"Perhaps what you’re looking for is still waiting for you, Your Majesty," you say quietly.
"Leave," he says at last. "But come back early in the morning. I want to… talk more."
Bowing your head, you quickly make your way out of the room.
As the first light of morning strikes the stone walls of the palace, you carefully prepare the table in Geta's chamber. Silver trays, gold-embellished plates, and food still steaming… Everything must be perfect. Your heart is still racing from the strange conversation you had last night. Perhaps you had dreamed it all; how could an emperor speak so candidly with a servant?
Lost in thought, you suddenly hear Geta’s voice. “You’re so quiet. Are you that happy to see me this morning?”
You quickly turn your head. Geta is standing by the door, the long fabric of his robe elegantly draped around his body as he watches you. Behind his cold gaze is that familiar weariness, but there’s also a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
“Your Majesty…” you begin, but you falter, unsure of what to say.
Geta walks slowly toward the table and pulls out a chair before sitting down. Gesturing toward you, he speaks. “Set those trays down and sit.”
Your eyes widen in surprise, your heart nearly stopping. “I—”
“That was an order,” he interrupts, his tone still gentle but carrying an authority that leaves no room for argument. “Sit at the table.”
Wiping your trembling hands on the folds of your apron, you slowly take a seat at the table, though perched on the edge of the chair, ready to rise at any moment. Noticing your hesitance, Geta raises his eyebrows and shakes his head slightly.
“This trembling of yours is starting to annoy me,” he says with a hint of mockery. Then, taking a piece of fruit from his plate, he pops it into his mouth. “Keep talking. What you said last night was interesting. Tell me about your village.”
You swallow hard. The situation feels so strange that you almost forget how to form words. But Geta’s gaze remains fixed on you, filled with an impatience to learn more.
“My village…” you begin hesitantly. “Everything was simpler there. Our small houses, our fields… But I miss the horses the most, Your Majesty. Riding them along the edge of the fields in the morning… I was free then.”
“Free.” Geta repeats, as though hearing the word for the first time. He leans back slightly in his chair, resting his chin on his hand. “Riding? Is that what it feels like?”
A smile spreads across your lips, a warmth you haven’t felt in years lighting up your face. “Yes, Your Majesty. When you’re on a horse… the wind whips through your hair, the world shrinks. It’s like… your chains disappear. It’s just you and the wind.”
Geta watches you in silence for a moment. The emptiness in his eyes seems to fill slightly; he appears to truly be trying to understand what you’re describing. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—a small, almost imperceptible smile.
“I wish I could feel this ‘freedom,’” he says thoughtfully. “I’ve ridden horses many times, but I’ve never felt that way.”
He picks up a piece of bread, extends his arm to the edge of the table, and pushes it toward you. “Eat,” he says simply. “You look hungry.”
“Your Majesty, I can’t. I…”
“This morning, the rules are subject to my whims,” he interrupts again, his gaze hardening slightly. “And I want to have breakfast with you.”
Reluctantly, you take a piece of bread and begin eating slowly. Geta watches your movements intently, as though even this simple act fascinates him.
“You know,” he says after a while, his tone softening. “Everyone in this palace… they’re all the same. Artificial voices, fake smiles… Even their mediocrity is false. But you…”
He pauses for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours as he continues. “You’re interesting. Your village, your stories, your belief in freedom… Ordinary yet sincere. And for the first time, I think I like that.”
It’s impossible to describe how strange you feel. Yet at the same time, you grasp the truth behind Geta’s words—his loneliness, the pieces of humanity still hidden somewhere deep within him.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you whisper. You can’t say anything more because even the slightest word would shatter the magic of this moment.
As you clean the table, your mind remains caught on Geta’s words. Why would an emperor like him find an ordinary servant interesting? And why would he openly admit it? These thoughts swirl in your mind as you notice Geta leaving the room. The echo of his footsteps, the heavy door closing behind him… You’re left standing there in silence.
A few hours pass. The morning’s conversation is almost forgotten amidst the palace’s bustling daily routine—until another servant rushes in, out of breath, and says, “Emperor Geta is waiting for you in the back garden.”
The garden? And with you? Why? No explanation is given; only the command is to be obeyed. With sweaty palms and your head lowered, you follow the order.
When you arrive at the garden, the sight before you surprises you once again. Two horses, meticulously prepared, stand waiting. Geta is beneath the shade of a tree, hands clasped behind his back, impatiently looking at the ground. When he notices you, he lifts his head, and for a moment, the stern expression on his face softens.
“Come,” he says, beckoning you with his hand. “You said you missed the horses, didn’t you?”
“Your Majesty, but…” you murmur, your breath catching. “I… I haven’t ridden in years. Is this… proper?”
Geta approaches you with a slight smile and places a hand on your shoulder. “When you’re with me, everything is proper. Now, stop making excuses and get on the horse.”
You hesitate as you approach the horse. Your hand brushes against the cold leather of the saddle. It doesn’t feel natural, as it did when you were a child. But Geta watches you patiently. Finally, with a trembling breath, you climb onto the horse.
Geta steadies you with a firm grip around your waist, ensuring you’re secure before swiftly mounting his own horse with practiced ease.
The movement of the horse creates a brief moment of tension in you, but as the steps smooth out, your body adjusts to the rhythm. Something you had almost forgotten begins to resurface: the touch of the wind on your face, the freedom within the gentle trot. Your eyes well up involuntarily.
Guiding his horse skillfully, Geta rides closer to you. “See? You haven’t forgotten how to ride,” he says. His voice seems stripped of its usual arrogance, replaced with admiration and curiosity.
“No, I haven’t forgotten,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve missed this feeling so much…”
Geta remains silent for a while, as though he’s sharing the same feeling, though he’d never admit it. He orders the guards trailing behind you to stop. Now it’s just the two of you, heading toward the depths of the woods in the back garden.
Geta approaches the horse you’re riding. He halts his own horse beside yours and, without warning, pulls himself up onto yours, giving you no time to turn and look at him. His hands grip your waist firmly as he whispers, “Let go of the reins. I’m steering now.”
Your heart begins to race. Feeling his strong arms around your waist, the warmth of his breath brushing against your neck… No matter how much you try to relax, your body tenses.
“Calm down,” he says in an almost teasing tone. “I won’t let you fall.”
As the horse quickens its pace, you feel Geta’s hold tighten. His grip is firm but reassuring. The space between you has completely disappeared. For a moment, you sense the rhythm of his breathing aligning with the beat of your heart.
After a while, Geta pulls the reins, slowing the horse to a stop. “You see?” he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “Stop tensing up,” he murmurs.
In that instant, you catch a sincere spark in Geta’s gaze—a spark that seems to beg you to see him not as an emperor, but as a person.
With the reins back in his hands, the horse’s movements return to a steady rhythm. Having the Emperor this close to you, feeling his breath on your neck, is utterly overwhelming.
“Calm down,” he whispers again. But instead of soothing you, it has the opposite effect. Calm down? That’s impossible. Because Geta’s presence seeps into you, breaking through the palace walls and settling deep within.
For a while, you ride in silence. The horse’s gentle rhythm, the sound of hooves hitting the ground, creates a melody of its own. But the silence is broken when Geta leans closer to your shoulder, almost pressing his lips to your skin.
“May I ask you something?” he says, his voice low, almost intimate.
“Of course, Your Majesty…” you murmur, your voice trembling.
“You said you truly believe in love. Do you know where to find it?”