With Arsinoe slumped unconscious across his shoulders, Nathan strode through the palace corridors like a tempest made flesh. Whispers followed in his wake, murmurs rippling among the nobles and servants who dared glance his way. Yet he paid them no heed. His gaze was fixed ahead, unflinching, his steps purposeful as iron.
He ascended the marble steps of the inner sanctum and pushed open the gilded double doors of the throne hall with a force that echoed like thunder in the chamber. The heavy doors swung open with a dramatic groan, interrupting the council in session.
It was a scene fit for a painting—Cleopatra seated in majesty, draped in flowing silks, surrounded by her courtiers and Roman allies. At her side, the imposing figure of Caesar stood in quiet discussion with Octavius, their voices cutting through the air—until they didn't. Silence fell like a curtain as all eyes turned toward the man who had dared to storm into the chamber unannounced, as if he owned it.
