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Eboracum, Britannia

It is a quiet night, the worst sort for a restless mind. General Marcus Acacius sits on the edge of his cot, tracing a finger idly over the flat side of a dagger. He keeps the weapon with him out of habit, a token of security to ward off an unnamed threat. If the rumors of a Caledonian surrender are true, he will have no use of blades in the months to come.

He’s on the verge of falling asleep when the ruffling of the tent’s canvas jolts him to attention. His heart races as he rises abruptly from the cot, but there is no danger. Only a startled young legionary.

“General Acacius,” the legionary says. “The emperor wishes to speak with you.”

“Which one?” Acacius inquires. He is none too eager to sit through more of Emperor Caracalla’s midnight ramblings.

“Emperor Severus, sir. He is here with Augusta Domna.”

Acacius rubs the weariness from his eyes as he follows the legionary out into the camp. It is a cruel state that he should be so exhausted yet unable to sleep even if he tried. At least the emperor’s summons gives him an excuse to be awake.

The legionary leads him to a newly assembled tent in the middle of the camp where he leaves Acacius to enter alone. Inside, Emperor Severus is seated beside his wife, flanked by several Praetorian guards and other servants. A third seat has been left open for the general.

“Augustus Severus, Augusta Domna.” Acacius bows to both. “What brings you to this camp tonight?”

“It is good news on all accounts, general,” Severus says. “I have negotiated our terms with the Caledonians. They will withdraw north beyond the Antonine Wall. Our efforts have been successful, thanks largely to your skill.”

The servants pour a glass of wine for the emperor and the general. Acacius can tell by the color that it is far finer than the diluted variety served in the barracks.

“I’ve only done my duty under your leadership,” Acacius replies.

If Emperor Caracalla were present, he would have shouted out in protest of being excluded from this statement. But the younger emperor is absent tonight. With the news of victory, he must have ventured out to the nearby brothels to celebrate early.

“Your modesty is admirable though misplaced,” Severus says. Domna smiles at this remark. “My wife tells me I ought to borrow some from you. But whether you wish to boast of them or not, your contributions to the campaign have been instrumental.”

“It is an honor to hear such praise from you,” Acacius gives the customary response.

In truth, his unwillingness to boast of his efforts in Caledonia stems less from modesty than a desire to forget as much as his stubborn memory will allow. He takes little pride in the image of the wheat fields burning while those who once tended them fled unarmed into the flaming brush. Someone more creatively inclined in the imperial court will undoubtedly paint a more heroic picture.

Despite this, Acacius still holds high respect for Severus. As a military commander, the emperor is ruthlessly effective. Under this shrewd leadership, Acacius has witnessed the rise of a dynasty from civil war and seen his career grow alongside it. And for that, he remains grateful.

“The sentiment of honor is mutual then.” Severus raises his glass in a toast and Acacius does the same. “Domna and I have been discussing how to reward your achievements. But to that effect, I must first ask, what do you intend to do when the legions return home?”

“I purchased an estate in Ostia a year before the campaign and plan to return there,” Acacius relates.

“Would you be living alone?” Severus asks.

“For a time, yes, though I hope it shall be brief.” Acacius is unsure why this should be relevant but sees no reason for secrecy on this matter. “I plan on searching for a mate soon after my return.”

“It is a shame that an alpha as accomplished as yourself should return to an empty home,” Severus observes. “That is precisely why I would like to propose an arrangement. Please, sit down.”

Acacius takes his seat and waits for the emperor to continue.

“I’m sure you are aware that the second of my twin sons is in fact an omega,” says Severus. “At age eighteen, he is still unmated. Domna and I have tried for years to find a mate for him with no avail.”

“You must understand, Geta is a very special omega,” Domna adds. “He has the highest of standards for potential mates.”

“And of those potential mates, he has scared off everyone on the list.” Severus shakes his head. “I must warn you he can be very disruptive. You will have to control him, but after leading the legions, this should be well within your reach. I can think of no better match for Geta than yourself.”

Acacius is unsure what to say at first. While he would consider his estate in Ostia lavish compared to the setting of his upbringing, he knows it cannot compare to anything on the Palatine Hill. Furthermore, he doubts he can afford Geta’s impensa for marriage. It is customary for alphas marrying a male omega to offer a monetary gift known as an impensa to the omega’s paterfamilias, thus compensating for the family’s loss of a son.

“I am once more honored by your words, your majesty,” Acacius says. “Unfortunately, I do not have the funds to marry your son. I imagine that any son of yours would require a very high impensa.”

“That is where this arrangement would differ from most engagements of its kind,” Severus exchanges an unreadable look with Domna before continuing. “Due to your impeccable military record and loyalty to our family, Domna and I are willing to gift Geta to you without an impensa, under one condition. The children produced by this marriage will be yours in the law in every way except they will bear the name of Septimius. Should the marriage produce a son, he will be given the title of caesar and treated as heir apparent to the throne.”

Acacius tries to tease out the disadvantages of this plan but finds none that would be too intolerable. Having little attachment to his own family name, Acacius has scarcely used it in official correspondence, and he certainly is not attached enough to the name to deny the emperor.

“Is Geta amenable to this arrangement?” Acacius asks, more out of curiosity than any practical reason. It is not uncommon for omegas to be uninformed of their intended mates until the negotiations between the paterfamilias and the alpha suitor have taken place.

“We will write to him tonight on the matter so that he will be prepared when we return to Rome,” Severus replies. “In the interim, I request that you do not correspond with him. That way you may have a truly pure impression of Geta on your wedding day.”

“I see.” Acacius is familiar with this custom and decides not to argue about it.

“Do you accept our proposal?”

Acacius smiles. The proposal still seems so surreal that he almost wishes to laugh at it. But unusual as it may seem, the offer has been made in earnest.

“I accept this generous proposal,” Acacius answers.

“Then let us raise you to legatus augusti pro praetore.” Severus delivers the sweeping promotion so suddenly, even the stoic guards seem surprised. “I will give you command of the soldiers stationed in Rome itself alongside a monetary donativum.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Acacius searches for the proper words. “I do not know what else to say to show my gratitude, but I promise I will treasure your son.”

“Thank you for that, Acacius,” Domna interjects. “Geta is a fine young man.”

“Yes, he is the dearest prize we have to offer.” Severus nods, though Acacius thinks he caught a hint of hesitance in the emperor’s voice. “We will be in touch, Acacius. There is much to be done.”

The letter arrives on the eve of Emperor Severus and Emperor Caracalla’s return to Rome. Geta reads it over several times, as if doing so would change the contents within. After finding the message immutable, he resolves to burn it. He sleeps late that night, watching the ashes cool in the fireplace over an illicit glass of wine.

When Father returns tomorrow, Geta’s access to the imperial wine cellars will be cut off. The consumption of alcohol is yet another route to unchastity for omegas, or so the ancient laws claim. Geta has always found this ironic, thinking that most omegas have far more worries to drink away than the average alpha. Nonetheless, Geta has been successful in circumventing this rule with bribes and careful timing. He has only gotten caught once, but he counts the reprieve from the drink worth risking the beating.

Soon, even this indulgence will be stripped away. If this General Marcus Acacius is at all like the other legates, he will expect his mate to live by all the traditional standards in addition to whatever arbitrary specifications he has conceived for the omega ideālis.

Long before his own presentation, Geta would observe the mates of the legates and the centurions during military ceremonies. He would witness the cowering of the younger omegas and the resignation in the eyes of their older counterparts. And when the sacrifices were made in the evening, Geta would pray alongside his brother for a favorable presentation, one that would secure their family’s claim to the title augustus through two heirs.

But for all these prayers, Geta still woke up in the middle of the night a month after his twelfth birthday, crying from an unidentified ailment. Six years later, he can still remember the look of devastation on Father’s face when the medicus shared the news.

Geta tries to put these thoughts out of his mind for tonight. His family will return early tomorrow. He must sleep well while he can.

“Legatus Augusti pro praetore.” The camp prefect whistles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Am I still allowed to drink with you, or am I stepping out of place?”

Acacius laughs at the question as he welcomes his old friend into the tent.

“You know I rely on you to help me finish the bottle before it spoils, Renatus,” Acacius says. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you on the wedding day.”

“Oh, you’ll have more than enough help from the patricians.” Renatus pours the last of the bottle into his glass and sits down across from the general. “The entire Senate is full of alcoholics. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’s part of their nomination criteria.”

“Just as well that we keep the patricians drunk and happy. It might make them tolerable.”

Acacius lies back in his seat. It is his last night in the camp before returning to Ostia, and he is happy to spend it with good company. While he has the respect of his legion, there are few he would truly consider to be friends. Renatus is an exception. Having fought alongside each other since the war against Pescennius Niger, the fact that they’ve kept both their lives and companionship intact is no small matter.

“It is a shame that you cannot attend the wedding,” Acacius remarks.

“I do wish I could go, but Prisca has been alone long enough,” Renatus says. “And the baby is due in a month or so. I need to be there to watch over her and our sons.”

“I understand. They must all miss you.”

“Well, that’s all part of the soldier’s life, isn’t it? Though it’ll be better for you with a male omega, I’d imagine. It's easier to get them approved to travel with the troops, or so I've heard. Prisca's got no interest in applying anyway. Do you plan on bringing your mate to the camps?”

Acacius has not given much thought to the subject. The engagement still feels surreal to him. Respecting Emperor Severus’s preferences, Acacius has not corresponded with his omega fiancé. It is challenging to make any concrete plans without either a voice or a face to go with Geta’s name.

“I suppose I would during peacetime.” Acacius thinks he would enjoy having the company during the long journeys. “Though it would be challenging to bring him along once we have children.”

“I reckon it depends on how old the little ones are,” Renatus speculates. “I’ve heard some of the centurions actually prefer to bring their omegas to the camps during pregnancy. That way they can keep them close, and they say the army medici are better than most midwives for the actual birth.”

“Wouldn’t that cause problems with nesting?” Acacius knows little about nesting, only that it is important to omegas during heat and pregnancy.

“But nesting isn’t absolutely necessary for them, is it?” Renatus frowns as he considers this question. “My understanding is it’s a preference, but not a necessity. We give up plenty of creature comforts in the camps. It would be the same idea for omegas, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Acacius doesn’t feel informed enough to disagree.

He still plans on purchasing new fabrics for his mate to nest properly, at least while they are in Ostia. Geta will be accustomed to a pampered life on the Palatine Hill and will surely expect such comforts to be readily available.

“It’s strange to talk about these things,” Acacius muses. “Mates and children. When I first joined the army, I didn’t think I’d live long enough to aspire to either.”

“Now, you’ve won both those things and so much more.” Renatus sets down his empty glass and claps Acacius on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you. I’d ask you to write to me once you have an heir on the way, but I reckon all of Rome will hear about it before the letter reaches me.”

“I’ll write to you regardless.” Acacius walks his friend to the exit. “And I wish you safe travels back to Londinium.”

That night, he dreams of the road home to Ostia, the gentle February climate and the life awaiting him there. After the long winter in Caledonia, the battlefield is finally behind him.

Geta opens his eyes to the bluish black hues of early dawn. He pulls the blanket over his head. His family won’t be home for another few hours. He takes comfort in this fact, until the sound of his father’s voice in the hall proves him wrong.

Of course, the damn carriage simply had to be ahead of schedule! Geta reluctantly sits up. He won’t have time to get dressed and will undoubtedly receive an earful about it. Never mind that he had no way of predicting the carriage would be early…

The wine bottles are still out on his desk. Geta rushes to conceal the contraband. He’s locked the door but given that Father has the key to every room, that won’t stall his parents for long. He has just enough time to stuff the bottles in his dresser beneath several of his night robes before the door swings open.

“Good morning, Father and Mother,” Geta greets his parents. “I take it the journey from Caledonia went smoothly.”

“The horses traveled with remarkable haste,” Father says, frowning at Geta’s unkempt appearance.

“They must have been excited for our victory, hence our early return,” Mother adds with the gentleness of one speaking to a child. The coddling annoys Geta, but he is still grateful for the embrace. “I’ve missed you.”

“You look as if you just hauled yourself out of bed,” Father observes. “I should hope that if we had arrived at the expected time, you would have been properly dressed and present in the atrium to greet us.”

“Of course, Father.” Geta takes a few steps forward to block the dresser with the wine bottles, idly grabbing a comb from the top shelf to avoid suspicion. “I received your letter last night.”

“Yes, it seems we’ve finally found an alpha willing to marry you.” Father looks upwards as he says this, as if thanking the gods for this development. “You should count yourself fortunate. General Marcus Acacius has a stellar reputation. I promoted him to centurion myself after the Battle of Issus, and since then he has been instrumental in many campaigns. He hails from a more modest background than many of your suitors, but through his service in the military, he has earned sufficient wealth and station to own an estate in Ostia. The wedding is scheduled for the twelfth of January. We will travel down the day prior.”

Geta knows these details well enough from the letter, though he still wonders how Acacius plans on paying Geta’s impensa. Since this tradition’s conception, the sum of money offered for impensae has grown quite exorbitant for a high-born omega. The impensae offered by Geta’s past suitors have ranged from thousands of Denarii to lucrative properties.

“Will he visit the palace beforehand?” Geta immediately regrets the question after seeing his father’s scowl.

“No, he absolutely will not,” Father answers swiftly. “If you had read my letter properly, you would not feel the need to ask this question. This match has been arranged under special circumstances, Geta. Circumstances that will greatly help our family. I did not spend months devising this arrangement for you to ruin everything again with your impertinent behavior.”

“I wouldn’t…” Geta swallows. There is no point arguing about the past, but he can at least try to reason about his current case. “I would simply feel more at ease if I could meet him once before the union. Is that really so unreasonable?”

Father tenses as if to strike him, but Mother reaches out to stay his hand. Geta remains on edge. He spots a wine glass sitting by his bedside and realizes he’s forgotten to empty the last few drops of red liquid. For now, Father seems to be too distracted by the issue of the engagement, though Geta doubts this will end any better for him.

“Geta, you know I have been more patient with you than most,” Father does not shout, but the edge in his voice is still palpable. “Any other father would have thrown you into the streets for your shameful behavior towards the suitors.”

Geta needs no reminder about that point. How could he forget being dragged out of bed at the age of fifteen and taken on a midnight carriage ride to an omega brothel? He can still hear his father threatening to leave him that very night if he did not learn to behave himself. If he closes his eyes now, he can see the faces of the starving prostitutes staring at him from the window. He suffered nightmares for weeks after that incident, and Caracalla mocked him about it to no end.

“But no,” Father goes on. “I have tolerated your stubbornness, your hedonistic disdain for tradition, for four years past your coming of age. I have paid for your suppressants and given you a life of luxury despite you disgracing me at every turn. Your mother and I have slaved away arranging countless meetings for you with eligible alphas only for you to turn up your nose at them and embarrass both of us. Now, we have finally found a respectable alpha who is willing to take you as his mate, and you still have the gall to call me unreasonable?!”

“You misunderstand him, Severus,” Mother intervenes. “I’m sure that wasn’t what Geta meant. He’s smart enough to know that this is all for the best. Isn’t that right, Geta?”

Geta sees no use in dissenting.

“How much did you decide upon for the impensa?” he asks.

“That is part of why this agreement is so unique.” Father regards him coldly, but his rage seems to have settled down. “Courtesy of your reputation, we have exhausted the candidates willing to pay an impensa for you. I have agreed to let Acacius take you as his husband without an impensa, provided that the children you produce will carry the name of Septimius. Given Acacius’s humble origins and your brother’s lack of success producing an heir, this will be mutually beneficial for all of us. I have included a monetary donativum gifted to Acacius for his service and openness to this arrangement.”

“I would have hoped I’d be enough of a war prize that you shouldn’t have to offer an additional dowry.”

The moment he utters these words, Geta knows he should have kept silent. He barely winces when Father backhands him. Mother remains silent, shaking her head. If Geta asks her about it later, he already knows he will be scolded for provoking his father, though Mother has conceded that Father “often overreacts”.

“If you had any sliver of decency in you, you should be thanking me, the gods and your future husband for granting you this privilege despite all your errors!” Father seethes. “Do you realize how shameful it is that I should even have to think of marrying my omega son without an impensa? Anyone else would be grateful, but you insist on acting like a sullen brat! This is precisely why I sought a match for you amongst the officers. You need someone who can manage an unruly omega. Since the hour of your presentation, I have tried to teach you respect, but evidently, I have failed. I pray that Acacius will find greater success. Mind you, the legates are not nearly as tolerant of impudent omegas as I am. You’ll learn soon enough just how patient I’ve been with you.”

Geta cannot claim to be disappointed. What else could he have expected? Still, the confirmation that his father has intentionally chosen the cruelest of alphas leaves Geta gripped by dread.

“Listen to me for once, Geta.” Father seizes him by the shoulder and holds him against the wall. “You will comport yourself with dignity during the wedding. You will do precisely as you are told, and you will strive to be a dutiful omega from this day forward. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.” As he speaks these words, Geta sees himself once more reduced to a panicked child, and with that realization, any will to resist leaves him.

He remains slumped against the wall as his father strides out of the room. He pays little attention to his mother’s words of comfort, only half-listening until she mentions the general.

“I think you’ll be very pleased with General Acacius,” she says. “He’s known to be handsome. The other omegas will be jealous. He seemed like an honorable man too when I spoke with him in the camps. He’ll make a good mate and a good father. Your father and I have actually passed his estate in Ostia before. It seems like such a lovely place to raise children…”

“I don’t care, Mother,” Geta snaps. “I don’t want to think about any of it.”

At the moment, he would like nothing better than to dig the wine bottles out of the dresser and drink himself into a stupor. Father is already furious with him regardless of his actions. If Geta is to be punished one way or another, he might as well reap the benefits of breaking the rules while he can.

“I know it will be a difficult transition for you, Geta.” Mother reaches out to adjust his crumpled robe. “But I do believe this will be for the best. All the omegas your age have already found mates of their own. Don’t you think you’d be better off with a companion?”

“Don’t you understand it’s not the idea of a mate that’s so…” Geta shakes his head. “Why am I even bothering to explain it? Everything is decided upon. As far as Father is concerned, this is the only choice we have, even though the obvious solution is staring him right in the face! Even after everything, I thought that these last months of the campaign might make him change his mind, but I realize now how naïve that was.”

“Geta.” Mother guides him to sit down with her. “You promised me we wouldn’t go back to this.”

“I know, but things have changed since the last time, haven’t they?” Geta knows it is futile to argue with his father, but perhaps with his mother’s mediation, he could at least have the chance to state his case. “I’ve been managing imperial affairs in Rome – albeit with the help of the consuls – while Father and Caracalla have been abroad.”

“You’ve been managing their correspondences in their stead. That’s very different from running the administration yourself, Geta. And mind you, your father already made an exception to the rule by allowing you to perform these tasks temporarily.”

“I realize that, but I learned how to manage my part easily enough, didn’t I? If he would only teach me, I could do more. Was that not the plan from the beginning? Remember how Father used to speak of how fortunate we were to have two heirs…”

“That was many years ago, Geta.” Mother closes her eyes in exasperation. “Many things changed on the night that you presented. Yes, your father and I had envisioned the future a certain way, but we must adapt to what life has dealt us. The title of augustus cannot be held by an omega.”

“It isn’t illegal. I’ve read the laws.” Geta feels an ounce of satisfaction claiming this defiance. Despite his father’s best efforts, he has continued to sneak documents out of the imperial libraries. “There are laws barring omegas from the Senate, but it isn’t explicitly stated anywhere that the title of emperor cannot be held by a male omega.”

“There is a difference between what is written in the law and what is understood by tradition. You must consider both. Your father has made exceptions for you. I know you may not realize it, but he has. We both have. What you are asking would defy centuries of imperial rule and cause an uproar in the entire establishment.” Mother embraces him in a futile attempt to soften the blow. “I know this is not what you desired, but it is time you focused your thoughts on what is instead of what could have been.”

Geta squirms his way out of his mother’s arms.

“Well, Mother, considering you’ve said your piece, and I’ve said mine, I don’t see any need for further discussion.” He turns away to go about his morning routine. He refuses to look at his mother again. “Leave me alone. I need to get dressed.”

“Try to give some thought to what I said.”

He hears his mother pause on her way out. It seems the gods are determined to have everything go wrong today.

“Geta, there’s wine in this cup, isn’t there?”

“How attentive of you to notice,” Geta replies.

“Where is the rest?”

“In the middle drawer of the dresser.” Geta sighs. “Must you tell Father?”

“I won’t, but you must stop this. It isn’t appropriate behavior for an omega.”

Geta offers a non-committal groan in response. He hears the door shut behind him. Left alone, he faces the mirror to inspect the damage. His father’s blow has left a faint mark that will likely darken as the day goes on. Caracalla will have something awful to say about it.

Geta swallows the lump in his throat. He clenches his fists and turns his fraught reflection into a glare. He refuses to cry.

“What did you do this time?”

Geta does not look up from his copy of The Aeneid. He isn’t truly paying attention to the book, having read the epic countless times since he was a boy. But it gives him something to take his mind off the impending marriage, that is until Caracalla rips the book out of his hands.

“Welcome home,” Geta deadpans. He is reclining on a chaise in the atrium with a plate of apricot-glazed libum.

“Some brother you are.” Caracalla tosses the book to the floor. “I’ve been gone for ten months, and you didn’t even bother to greet me properly.”

“Well, excuse me for not realizing how desperate you were for my company,” Geta replies, tiredly. “We saw each other three months ago in Eboracum, and you complained endlessly about me being there.”

“I still think it’s ridiculous that Father allowed you to travel that far outside Rome.” Caracalla spits onto the floor to emphasize his disgust. “Though now, it does make sense. He wanted to show off the merchandise to the legates, so they could decide if you were worth claiming. Speaking of Father, what did you say to get him in such a foul mood? He’s been brooding ever since he stepped out of your room. Were you sneaking wine again?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Geta retrieves his book, brushing off the cover and turning to an arbitrary page. He hopes that his brother will grow bored and leave, but he is not so fortunate.

“You’d better not do that after you marry the general,” Caracalla says with a malicious grin. “They don’t have any tolerance for drunk omegas in the camps. He’ll have you bound and flagellated if he catches you. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“I didn’t realize you were so worried about me,” Geta replies dryly. “Are you upset that you’ll have to write your own letters moving forward or are you simply trying to be an annoyance for the sake of it?”

“Hmm, I suppose even if you are in the camps, you’ll be too busy sucking off your mate to be my secretary.” Caracalla illustrates the point with an obscene gesture. “They’re always incredibly lustful after a battle. He’ll use you like a whore and still have the vigor to go off to the brothel to find something better while you’re pushing out your seventh or eighth child.”

“Your perception of the gestation period is incredibly bizarre if the child is born moments after it is conceived.” Geta refuses to voice any indignation in response to the crude commentary. His brother feeds off his aggravation like a leech. “I suppose it would be helpful if they could grow so quickly, considering Father has charged me with singlehandedly continuing our dynasty. You really must force me to do all the work.”

The comment seems to shock Caracalla into momentary silence. It occurs to Geta that Father might not have revealed the details of the arrangement to both sons.

“Strange that he thinks you would help at all.” Caracalla narrows his eyes. “As if a scrawny, whimpering thing like you could produce alpha sons.”

“Well, you clearly don’t have any skill doing so either,” Geta retorts. “I suppose Father is just that unlucky.”

“If I could only find a decent omega, it wouldn’t have come to this!”

Caracalla slams his fist on the armrest of the chaise. Geta startles, spilling the plate of libum onto the floor. Fortunately, this response seems to satisfy Caracalla’s rage, for he does not lash out further. The alpha paces about the room, breathing heavily and muttering something to himself while Geta watches with apprehension. Finally, Caracalla comes to a halt and – after looking about the room as if baffled by how he came to be here – wanders out without another word to his brother.

Geta calls the servants to clean up the mess. While this chore is underway, he tries and fails to occupy himself with his book. Caracalla’s words concerning a “decent omega” strikes new worry now.

It has been only two years since Caracalla’s first wife was found strangled in the Domus Tiberiana. Caracalla himself had been away from Rome at the time, but his indifference to his mate’s demise and Father’s eagerness to close the investigation spoke volumes. Since then, Caracalla has been far more interested in concubines than a second marriage, much to Father’s frustration. Though Caracalla has generally favored betas, he has thus far kept the company of two male omegas, both of whom lasted less than six months before being cast out for failure to produce viable offspring.

Now, Geta wonders if the same fate will befall him. Acacius will certainly desire heirs as much as any other alpha. Sons, specifically, with the assumption that each will present as an alpha at the appointed time. And should the union fail to produce offspring meeting these criteria, Geta will bear all the blame and whatever punishment Acacius sees fit for this guiltless crime.

Geta stops himself from speculating any further. He has no control over what the union shall yield and has a whole lifetime ahead of him to worry about it. But for this moment, he indulges in the privilege of denial and all the peace it brings.

In the time leading up to the wedding, Acacius exchanges frequent letters with Severus. They begin marking the auspices a week in advance. The emperor is excited to share that his family has had many favorable dreams boding well for the union. Acacius is relieved to hear of these, considering his own dreams have not deviated from their usual grim routine. He does not share these with the emperor. However, on the eve of the ceremony, Acacius sleeps peacefully through the night, and he counts this as a good omen.

It is a cloudy morning, but the sun has already begun to peek through the grey cover. The skies will be clear by the time of the ceremony: another fortuitous sign. The Flamen Dialis arrives early alongside the augurs to declare the setting fit for marriage and bless the alpha groom. Acacius has just finished putting on the traditional gold-rimmed toga when he spots a messenger approaching down the garden path.

“Legatus Augusti,” the messenger addresses Acacius by his new title. “I am here on behalf of Augustus Severus and Augusta Domna. They wish to inform you that they have moved Geta from the Temple of Juno to the Temple of Apollo. He is waiting there for you to lead him home whenever you are ready, sir.”

“I was just about to leave for the temple,” Acacius says. “I do not mind the change, though I would like to know the reason behind it.”

“I believe Geta dreamt last night of the statue of Apollo in the Septizodium,” the messenger replies. “I do not know the details of the vision, but from what I’ve heard, it was quite remarkable.”

Centuries ago, such a dream would signal that the male omega should be led from the temple rather than their family home. With the change in customs such that all highborn male omegas were to be led from the temple, the dreams came to indicate a more specific venue. There have been many reports of such visions, but few are regarded as credible. Consequently, the Temple of Juno has come to serve as the traditional choice. Acacius thinks Geta’s dream must have been quite notable for Severus to change the itinerary so soon before the ceremony.

“That is good news indeed,” Acacius tells the messenger. “Inform the emperor I am on my way to retrieve Geta.”

He watches the messenger depart before mounting his own horse. As he rides down the front path, he finds the garden already bustling with imperial servants. It feels strange to see the house so busy. The jarring transition leaves Acacius uneasy. He tells himself it will be better in the evening, once the guests have left and he can enjoy the company of his new mate. He hopes life will not be too quiet for Geta. Undoubtedly, the emperor’s son has grown accustomed to the bustling scene of the Palatine Hill.

The Ostian Temple of Apollo lies a half hour further away on horseback than the Temple of Juno. Passersby cheer as Acacius crosses through the forum. Word of the upcoming union has traveled quickly it seems. Much too quickly.

Finally, he sees the grand staircase leading to the temple. Acacius breathes a sigh of relief to free himself from the gaze of so many strangers. Geta ought to be waiting near the entrance. But the omega is nowhere in sight.

Wandering deeper into the temple, Acacius begins to worry that the messenger was mistaken. Perhaps Geta has been waiting in the Temple of Juno all along. By now, the imperial family would already be assembled for the ceremony. Acacius cannot possibly return to them alone, stating that he could not find his omega groom. It does not take an augur to classify such an event as a bad omen.

“General Marcus Acacius.”

The voice belongs to a young man standing behind one of the translucent curtains lining the hall of columns. It seems he has been watching for some time. He is dressed in a white tunic with a scarlet cloak, the hood of which is secured by a golden clasp and obscures much of his face. A belt of intricately woven red thread encircles his waist, tied with two knots in the traditional fashion for omega grooms. Acacius shall untie the first tonight at the conclusion of the ceremony and the second upon entering their bed chamber.

“Publius Septimius Geta,” Acacius addresses his fiancé for the first time. “I have come to take you home.”

“Must we go now?” Geta asks flatly. It is expected that omegas should voice reluctance on their wedding day. Some even sob openly as a sign of purity. But Geta does not weep. He sounds too exhausted to do so.

“The deities have chosen this day for you,” Acacius recites the customary phrase. “Come with me now. They are waiting for us.”

Geta emerges from behind the curtain, approaching the alpha cautiously. His scent is muted as expected. It will take time for the suppressants to wear off. Acacius has heard that some alphas have had to wait many hours into the night to bond with their omega for this reason.

“Well, if the gods and my father would have it this way, it must be done,” Geta says. He stares at the alpha with deep brown eyes, his gaze surprisingly solemn for a man his age. “Take me home then.”

Chapter Text

After a morning confined in the dim torchlight of the temple, the midday sun is jarring. Geta pulls his hood forward as far as he can, both to block the light and to conceal his face. He only succeeds in the former. Word of the change of venue has spread quickly amongst the populace, and there is already a crowd at the steps of the palace.

Geta does not recall the last time he saw such a gathering for his presence. He has seen thousands assemble for the imperial family as a unit, yes, but not for him. As a young boy, he would dream of riding his horse before the ranks of soldiers as they called out to him as augustus. But he hears no such honorifics held to his name today. Instead, the jubilations praise the general for his newest acquisition and call upon the gods for their union to be fruitful.

The thought brings Geta’s attention back to the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his lower abdomen. Since his presentation, he has never been deprived of his suppressants until last night. He began to feel the change in his inner shifts this morning and knows these will soon be manifested in his scent. No amount of rose water will be able to purge the “omega stench” as his brother loves to call it. Geta wants nothing more than to retreat to his bed chamber, bury himself beneath the blankets and wait for his humiliation to pass.

But that luxury is many miles behind him. The Palatine Hill is no longer his home. There is nowhere to hide.

The general leads him to a white stallion and offers his hand to help Geta onto the horse. Geta accepts it wordlessly. Seated behind the general, he realizes that he has no choice but to cling to the alpha for the duration of the ride, else he will fall off along the way. He tells himself he ought to get used to it. The alpha will expect much closer proximity soon enough.

The squirming sensation has morphed into a twisting pain. Geta winces, waiting for the discomfort to subside. In the palace, the shelves of his bed chamber were stocked with remedies for various omega ailments. A concoction with the proper herbs and a little honey would soothe his pain easily. But these medicines have been locked away along with his suppressants and contraceptives. While detailing the procedures for the ceremony, Father explained that the medicines would be entrusted to Acacius so that the alpha may distribute them according to his discretion, to which Geta responded that they might as well dump everything into the Tiber. Father did not appreciate this commentary. Geta still has the bruise on the back of his head to show for it.

“Are you alright back there?”

The question catches Geta by surprise. He notices now that his grip around the alpha’s waist has tightened due to the discomfort.

“I can manage,” Geta answers. He doubts the alpha would take well to any other reply.

“There is no tolerance for whining in the military,” Father would often lecture him. “Especially mewling omegas.”

“We’re almost there,” Acacius tells him. “You’ll be able to rest when we are home.”

Geta counts this as the first of many false promises. How long will the alpha keep up the act? Hopefully, the pretense will cease soon. Geta would much rather see the ugliness now and count his losses for the life ahead of him.

The general’s estate has come into view. It has been called an estate by Geta’s parents and technically fits the definition of the term. Looking at the dwelling, Geta already misses the spacious halls of the imperial palace.

The front gate of the estate is adorned with garlands of roses and lilies. Petals from both blossoms line the path to the front door. The trail will continue inside, leading to the lectus genialis where the bond will be formed.

Acacius leads the horse at a brisk trot through the front gardens. The guests have gathered on either side of the garden path to applaud the arrival of the grooms. Many are clad in armor. Acacius’s officers, presumably. The rest of the guests are gathered beneath a laurel tree, looking up at something in the branches. Upon approaching the tree, Geta spots a dove making its nest. His parents will be pleased to mark yet another fortuitous auspice.

Finally, Geta sees his family assembled beside the Flamen Dialis. As both paterfamilias and pontifex maximus, Father stands at the center. Neither father nor son can look each other in the eye. Mother whispers something to Father. Seeing the pride in her eyes today, Geta knows that for all her loving words, she too is happy to see him cast out.

Unsurprisingly, Caracalla is rapt with glee. In the weeks leading up to the wedding, he has already begun planning what to do with Geta’s abandoned belongings. Geta can already picture his brother lounging in the omega’s old chambers, glutting himself on wine and prostitutes.

Geta turns his gaze to the ground and follows Acacius to the edge of the threshold. The guests will attribute his despondence to modesty. Another boasting right for Father to claim that he raised his omega son well. The old verses praise omegas who shed tears in righteous fear of their bonding day, but Geta refuses to weep before the crowds. He must salvage that last shred of dignity.

“You look very handsome,” Acacius says.

“I’m glad you think so,” Geta mutters.

A warning look from Father tells him to hold his tongue. For once, Geta complies without argument. Words will do him no good anymore.

The ceremony of confarreatio offers little room for variation. The ancient script designates precise roles for the betrothed based on primary and secondary sex. The Flamen Dialis opens by lamenting the sacrificial quality of male omegas before celebrating the ability of confarreatio to balance this misfortune.

“Thus, through this sacred bond, the fallacy of nature is corrected, and the omega atones for his frailty at his alpha’s side.”

Geta seems to shrink into his cloak hearing these words. Seeing this, Acacius is hesitant to remove the omega’s hood but does so when instructed by the Flamen Dialis. They are then told to join hands as Emperor Severus formally relinquishes Geta to Acacius:

“With the authority vested in me as paterfamilias, I offer to you, Marcus Justus Acacius, my omega son, Publius Septimius Geta. I affirm that under my guidance, he has lived a virtuous life and learned obedience. From this moment on, I entrust his life to your hands.”

Geta’s hands are quivering. Acacius wishes to console him, but he cannot interrupt the ceremonial script. Once the vows are sealed and the wedding banquet begins, Acacius makes a note to retrieve Geta’s medicine chest from Severus. At the very least, he can alleviate the pain the omega seems to have incurred during the journey to the estate. He has heard that the first transition into heat can be uncomfortable for omegas. While Acacius is unfamiliar with the remedies available, he thinks there must be some way to lessen this discomfort. It would be a shame for Geta to be unable to enjoy the banquet.

Looking at the omega now, however, Acacius fears Geta isn’t inclined to enjoy any part of the festivities. It is expected that the omega would feign reluctance, but Geta’s unease does not look like a mere act. He can barely look at Acacius when called upon to recite his vows:

“By the will of my father and the gods, I pledge myself to you. If you will have me, alpha, accept me now as your mate.”

“With our kin and our Manes as witnesses, I accept you, omega, as my mate,” Acacius answers.

With the vow sealed between them, Augusta Domna steps forward with a small loaf of emmer bread. She hands the bread to Geta who divides it and offers half to Acacius. Once both alpha and omega have tasted their share, Acacius leads Geta over the threshold and the Flamen Dialis declares the marriage complete.

“May I?” Acacius whispers to Geta, indicating the ceremonial belt around the omega’s waist. While the request is not within the ancient script, it seems misplaced to simply seize the belt from the emperor’s son.

Geta nods and steps forward for Acacius to untie the first knot on the belt. His scent is slightly more noticeable now, though it is not as sweet as one would expect from an omega. Acacius finds it unusual but pleasant.

“Come now!” Severus calls to his family. “We have much to celebrate.”

Geta looks on wordlessly as the imperial family disperses to receive the many esteemed guests. His posture is stooped, and he looks rather pale.

“Are you still in pain?” Acacius asks.

“I’ve had worse,” Geta replies, straightening his posture before offering his hand. “Shall we go to the banquet?”

“Yes.” Acacius isn’t sure what more to say.

Despite the commotion, Acacius still feels the weight of the silence between them as they venture into the atrium. The lectus genialis awaits them at the front of the banquet, decorated with even more flowers. Acacius thinks the imperial gardens must be utterly bare in the aftermath of the wedding. It will take an army of servants to sweep all the petals from the house, and even then, Acacius is sure he will still find them scattered throughout the atrium for the next month.

The lectus genialis provides just enough room for both of them to recline together. Acacius is the first to settle down. Geta stands staring at the couch for a moment, as if trying to calculate the appropriate space between them. Finally, the omega sits down, shuffling awkwardly against Acacius before swinging his feet onto the couch. He eyes the array of food set out in front of them warily.

“I’d imagine you must be quite hungry,” Acacius tries once more to break the silence. “Have you eaten since going to the temple?”

“No. They offered me ientaculum before, but I wasn’t very hungry then either.” Geta retrieves a piece of fish from one of the platters and picks at it with little enthusiasm for the meal. “I have a small appetite.”

Acacius has heard quite the opposite from Augusta Domna. The empress was sure to remind him in her letters that her son took great pleasure in culinary delights and that she would gladly supply new cooks for Acacius’s estate if Geta’s favorite meals proved difficult to prepare.

“Your mother mentioned you enjoy roasted gadwall.” Acacius brings the dish in question closer. “I made sure to have it prepared specially for you.”

“That’s kind of you.” Geta gives a lackluster smile that soon vanishes altogether. He curls up on the couch and inhales sharply.

“Are you feeling ill again?” Acacius spots Severus on the other side of the atrium, speaking animatedly with several centurions. “We should retrieve your medicines from your father. I’m sure there is something that will help with the pain.”

“There is no need. I’ll try to eat more.” Geta grabs the drumstick from the roasted gadwall to make good on his words. “I can manage. The issue isn’t my stomach at any rate.”

“It’ll only take a moment.” Acacius shakes off a garland of flowers tangled around his ankle as he leaves the couch. “You should not be anguishing away for the entire feast. Come with me.”

Geta rises from the couch reluctantly. The pain must be worsening for he now must lean against Acacius’s arm to walk. Acacius thinks now that Geta would have been better off staying behind during this errand, but tradition dictates that alphas guard their omegas for the duration of the banquet. The hours between the vows and the consummation of the marriage are said to be a vulnerable time.

They find Severus alongside his wife and his brother, Publius. Caracalla has wandered off away from his family, though Acacius can hear his boisterous laughter even from across the atrium.

“Here he is. Our esteemed son-in-law!” The emperor addresses Acacius warmly. “It is about time we met under more comfortable circumstances than the battlefield.”

“Yes, the celebration is quite unlike any other.” Acacius has not actually been to enough parties to compare, but he imagines none can meet the imperial extravagance.

“We’ll have many more to come in the future.” Severus glances at his omega son for the first time during this encounter. “When your first heir is born, we will have an even grander celebration on the Palatine Hill itself!”

“You’ll hear from us long before then, of course,” Domna says. “I’ll travel down to Ostia to help Geta while the little one is on the way.”

“A few visits, perhaps,” Severus amends the statement. “But we must also give them their space, Domna.”

“Look at you both!” Publius chuckles. “It’s a little early to bicker about this, isn’t it, Severus? Even the most virile of alphas cannot conjure an heir with such haste, though I’m sure Acacius has no intention of delaying things.”

Geta’s grip on Acacius’s arm is now laden with sweat. The omega has slowly shifted behind Acacius throughout the course of this conversation, as if seeking to disappear entirely.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to address the matter of heirs once one is conceived.” Acacius clears his throat. “In the meantime, I wanted to ask where I can find Geta’s medicines. He has been in considerable discomfort since the ride from the temple, and my understanding is that there are draughts that can alleviate this.”

Severus’s spirits falter at the change of subject.

“Has he been pestering you for them?” The emperor inquires.

“No, no.” Acacius doesn’t care for the wording of the question. “In fact, he was quite insistent that he could handle it on his own, but I noticed he wasn’t eating well. I thought he might fare better if he took something for the pain.”

“He’s fine. I apologize for his dramatics.” Severus gives Geta a stern look before addressing Acacius amicably once more. “I’ll have the servants carry in his medicines along with the rest of his belongings. They’ll be entrusted to your care, and you may give them to him as you deem appropriate.”

“And do try to convince him to eat,” Domna adds.

“I’ll… strive to do that.” Acacius turns to his new mate. “Shall we return to our seat?”

“I would like nothing better,” Geta says.

They scarcely make it a few steps before the younger emperor arrives at the scene. From the sway in his step, Caracalla has evidently been enjoying the wine at the banquet. He staggers over to Geta and inhales deeply.

“Oh, look at you now, brother,” Caracalla’s words are slurred but the cruel streak is still clear. “You smell like a proper omega now, don’t you?”

“You ought to have your senses checked,” Geta retorts. “My looks and my scent have nothing to do with each other unless you’ve stuck your eyes up your nose.”

Acacius chuckles at the omega’s wits, but the humor is soon cut short.

“Geta, behave yourself for once!” Severus snaps.

Geta shrinks at the reprimand. Whatever spirited streak gave rise to the quip is immediately quelled. The change only emboldens Caracalla. He steps even closer to his brother, forcing Geta to recoil until the omega is pressed against Acacius.

“You’ll learn a thing or two about having things stuck in places soon enough,” Caracalla jeers. “The way you’re smelling, I give you an hour at most before you’re bent over with your legs…”

“Emperor Caracalla,” Acacius calls the younger man by his honorific, but that does not hide his disdain. “Vulgarity has no place here, and I certainly will not have it directed at my mate. You may be our emperor and our kinsman, but you are still a guest in our house. You will speak to Geta with the respect he deserves.”

“How…” Caracalla stutters in shock. “How dare you ask me to be silent! After all the honors we’ve given you!”

“Caracalla, come here and leave them be,” Severus calls back his son. “This household belongs to Acacius. We must not disrespect that which is his.”

“Father, he was goading me,” Caracalla points at Geta in accusation as he stumbles back to their parents. “He never behaves. You know he never behaves.”

“He is your brother, Caracalla,” Domna says. “You mustn’t treat him like this.”

“Regardless of Geta’s behavior, this is still Acacius’s household,” Severus adds. “I need you to control yourself…”

Acacius decides it is best to leave Severus and Domna to calm their volatile son. For all the honor of joining the imperial family, Acacius is grateful for the distance between Ostia and the Palatine Hill. He drapes an arm over his new mate as they return to the lectus genialis. Geta holds his head high, but Acacius can see the hurt beneath the poise.

He reasons that Severus must be stressed from planning the wedding, hence his unusually short temper towards his omega son. The emperor has always spoken fondly of both sons, though he has voiced his impatience finding an alpha for Geta. Hopefully, father and son will part on better terms tonight.

While Geta is in no mood to enjoy any food, his body aches with hunger courtesy of his inner shifts. He has not experienced such cravings since his youth, before the fluctuations stabilized into a rhythm that could be regulated by suppressants. Now, all of these instincts have returned with a vengeance. Before the sun sets on the banquet, Geta has polished off the entire gadwall.

“It’s good to see you eating well,” Acacius remarks. “How is the pain?”

“It’s subsided mostly,” Geta replies, grateful that this is indeed true. The ache in his abdomen is nearly gone, though he still feels a stirring sensation that radiates downwards. “I don’t think I’ll need my remedies tonight.”

“That is good. I was worried you’d be unable to partake in the feast, but I’m glad I was wrong. I imagine it doesn’t compare to what you’ve had at the palace, though the cooks tried to follow the recipe your mother provided.”

If he were dining back on the Palatine Hill, Geta would have mentioned that the meat was a little on the dry side. But he remembers his father’s cautionary words about ingratitude and decides it isn’t worth the risk. Tonight will be difficult enough without testing Acacius’s temper, though Geta is sure he will witness that harsh streak ingrained in alphas before long. It is only a matter of time before he utters the wrong word and the façade of gentleness shatters.

“I appreciate your efforts,” Geta says. It would be difficult to claim that he did not like the food with the pile of clean bones on his plate. “It does remind me of home.”

“There’s a lake used for hunting gadwall and other waterfowls not far from here.” Acacius pauses to chew. “I grew up in these parts. When I was a boy, I had a hound who was trained to pick up the scent and retrieve the bird. I’d go with my little sister sometimes, and our mother would scold me for helping her sneak out.”

“Is your sister here today?” Geta has little interest in conversation, but he prefers it to sitting in silence, thinking of what is to come. He has not spoken with any of the general’s relatives throughout the wedding reception, though many of Acacius’s fellow comrades of various ranks have approached to congratulate their general.

“No. She passed away two years ago.” Acacius gives a pensive sigh, looking out at the gathering. “She would have liked to be here, though. She was always the sociable one between us. I wish you could have met her.”

“I think I would have liked that.” Geta turns away, embarrassed to know so little of his mate’s family. Of course, Father made no effort to explain these facts to him, stating only that Acacius lives alone in Ostia.

A chorus of guffaws rattles through the atrium as a troupe of Acacius’s soldiers stumble over to the lectus genialis. After much muttering, pushing and shoving, one of the soldiers parts from the group and gives an ill-coordinated salute. His half-full wine glass sloshes from the swaying motion, splattering a few drops onto Geta’s white tunic. Geta grimaces at the stain. He doubts he’ll ever wear the outfit again, but he still hates to see it ruined.

“General, congratulations!” The soldier staggers forward, leaning in close to Geta and spilling more wine onto the floor. “And talassius to your sweet, sweet omega. We’ve been talking, General, about how you’re a lucky alpha indeed. I’m sure this one will be a good lay once you teach him what to do. He has the build for it.”

Geta gasps as Acacius pulls him close. He can feel the tension in the alpha’s defensive grip as he clutches the omega to his side.

“We have no use for drunken speculation,” Acacius says. “Leave us now, and if I catch you attempting to smell him again, I’ll have you all cudgeled.”

Even in his intoxicated state, the soldier is wise enough to heed the warning. He stumbles back to his comrades who depart into the crowd with haste. Seeing the soldier’s gone, Acacius releases his grip on Geta, though he keeps his arm folded over the omega.

“Did I hurt you?” Acacius asks.

“Not in the slightest.” Geta nearly laughs at the thought – if only Acacius knew everything his new mate had endured – but his suspicions keep him grounded. He reminds himself of the other suitors, how kindly they would greet him only to reveal their callousness as the negotiations progressed.

“It is already past nightfall.” Acacius’s gaze wanders over the omega’s frame. “We had better draw the banquet to a close before the guests are too drunk to leave.”

Geta recognizes the desire at once. His own breathing has grown shallow as the distraction of food and idle conversation slips away. The stirring sensation within his nerves is now too uncomfortable to ignore, and he knows his scent has betrayed his vulnerability. The unyielding constraints of confarreatio sink in, and he realizes just how defenseless he has become.

“Geta?”

“Send the guests away then.” Geta catches the curtness in his voice and tries unsuccessfully to soften it. “You are the alpha. You may do as you see fit.”

It takes nearly an hour to wrangle all the guests to leave the house. Per tradition, the family of the omega groom is the last to depart. Caracalla has drunk himself into a stuporous but much more benevolent state of mind than before. He leans on the shoulder of his uncle for support and reaches out to bat Acacius on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, frater senior,” Caracalla drawls. “May Priapus bless you with heirs.”

“Talassius again, Geta,” the brothers’ uncle says, struggling to herd Caracalla towards the door. “Come now, Caracalla. You can sleep in the carriage home.”

Domna gives her omega son one last tearful embrace which Geta stiffly accepts. The omega has been listless throughout the farewells. He has not wept to see anyone go, even his own kin.

“Promise me you’ll cherish him, Acacius,” Domna says. “If you find that he lacks anything here in Ostia, you need only send a letter, and I will see that it is sent to you with haste.”

“You have my word that your son will live in comfort here.” Acacius bows to his new in-laws. “Emperor Severus, thank you again for this honor.”

“There is no man more worthy of it than yourself,” Severus replies. He looks at Geta as if to offer a word of encouragement, but the omega turns away. “We will see you both in April.”

“I wish you safe travels back to the Palatine Hill,” says Acacius.

He waits for Geta to offer his own farewell, but the omega is taciturn. Severus seems unbothered by his son’s reticence and leads his family out to their carriage. Acacius shuts the door behind them. Finally, he is alone with his new mate.

In the solitude, Geta’s scent is much more prominent than before. The fragrance stirs an innate longing within Acacius. The patrician class has given many peculiar euphemisms for the desire of alphas. As a soldier, Acacius prefers to simply call it a rut.

But the omega’s scent is tainted by bitterness. The reason is no surprise. Geta is rapt with fear. Even a true heat could not overcome that fact. Seeing the distressed omega, Acacius feels his own urges waning.

The house is perfectly still, save the soft crackling of the torches. The firelight flickers in Geta’s wide eyes. The omega’s breathing has taken on a frantic pace, giving him the appearance of a cornered man even in the commodious atrium. Acacius has seen that face before a thousand times on the warpath, and each time, he has walked away with fresh blood on his armor. He sees now why the mating of alpha and omega grooms has been likened to conquest. How ironic that he should form this bond to commemorate his reprieve from war.

“Will you claim me on the lectus here or would you rather drag me to the marriage bed?” Geta looks pained by the question.

“The bed upstairs would be more comfortable for both of us, I believe, though I have no intention of dragging you there.” Acacius hesitates, contemplating the best course to take to assuage his mate. He has heard that inexperienced omegas must be approached carefully with gentle words during the first night, but he doubts that words alone will suffice here. “Would you like some time to settle down first? I know this is all very unfamiliar to you. Perhaps you would feel more at ease if you had a moment to bathe and refresh before we bond.”

Geta nods in agreement, though he remains tense.

“Follow me.” Acacius guides the omega to the main staircase. “You’ll find the bath on the ground floor straight down that hall. The bedroom is on the second floor, the large door on the right over there. I’ll bathe after you and then join you upstairs. Would you like that?”

“I would.” Geta faces the alpha and offers the last knot on his ceremonial belt. “Shall you untie me before I bathe then?”

“Here.” Acacius unties the knot, allowing the belt to fall to the omega’s feet. Traditionally, he would then disrobe his mate entirely for the first time, but this would surely upset Geta even more. “You will find a basket for your dirty clothes by the bath and a fresh robe upstairs. The servants don’t stay the night here, but they’ll be back in the morning for the laundry.”

“I won’t be long,” Geta says. As he walks to the bath, he glances behind him, as if apprehensive of Acacius’s gaze.

After they have both bathed, Acacius quenches the torches in the atrium and checks that the doors are locked before going upstairs. He thinks it best to knock on the door to the bedroom before entering. There is no answer. After a second knock elicits no response, he decides to step in, wondering whether the omega has fallen asleep. Geta did seem quite exhausted.

Acacius has smelled terror many times. It is a unifying trait amongst all the secondary sexes, one that can overpower nearly any other scent. Tonight, it has eclipsed the entire room.

Geta is curled up on the bed, bundled beneath the covers. He crawls out when the alpha enters but does not utter a word. When Acacius climbs onto the bed, Geta closes his eyes, looking as if he were trying to free himself from a foul dream.

The bath has washed the makeup from Geta’s face. In the past century, it has become acceptable for male omegas to don tasteful makeup for their wedding day. But in Geta’s case, these cosmetics have served another role. Even in the dim lighting of the room, the bruise on his face is easily visible. An angry blotch of purple and greenish hues.

“May I touch you?” Acacius asks, though he knows there is only one proper course of action. He will not seal their physical bond tonight, lest he force himself on the mate he has sworn to protect.

Geta opens his eyes. He gives a slight nod.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Acacius rephrases the question.

There is a long pause. Geta draws in a shaking breath.

“I don’t know,” the omega says at last.

“I see.” Acacius thinks this is as close to the truth as Geta is willing to divulge. “It is alright. We can wait.”

“You may touch me if it would please you.”

As he speaks these words, Geta bows his head, trembling. Soon, his entire frame is wracked with sobs as he weeps openly.

At first, Acacius finds himself at a loss. He has never been skilled offering comfort through speech alone. He does not know if Geta will accept comfort from him in any form. Still, he cannot simply leave his poor mate so distressed.

He opens his arms as if to embrace the omega and waits for Geta to accept the gesture. To his surprise, the omega slowly begins to move towards him. When he is close enough to hold, Acacius folds his arms around his mate, stroking the omega’s hair.

“I won’t touch anything else,” he says. “Is this alright?”

Geta hiccups. Between sobs, he utters a single “yes”.

“Please…” Geta shudders. He attempts to steady his voice. “Please don’t send me back. My father… he’ll do horrible things to me. He’ll… he’ll…”

“I won’t,” Acacius vows. “You’ll be safe here. And I promise, I will never force you to do any act against your will to please me. I would take no pleasure in seeing my mate so distressed.”

“What purpose do I serve then?” Geta has finally gathered himself enough to speak, albeit with a tremor in his voice. “Did you not marry me for pleasure and heirs?”

Acacius thinks back to that first meeting with Severus two months prior. He cannot deny that the promise of both these prizes guided him to accept the proposal. The thought of coming home to an affectionate omega and their beloved offspring sounded like the perfect break from his solitude. But what good would that do anyone if their companionship rose from obligation alone?

“You are the son of the emperor, Geta, and as of today, you are my husband with the Manes and the gods as our witnesses. I would never treat you like a slave or concubine.” Acacius looks his mate in the eye. For the first time, Geta’s gaze seems to warm to him, though the omega remains wary. “As your husband, I hope to have your companionship if you would have mine. As for the rest, if it is to happen, it will happen with time, but I will never force you to do any part of it. I promise.”

“Why should I believe that?” Geta inquires, shaking his head in disbelief. “You have everything to gain and nothing to lose from using me.”

“I know, you have no reason to believe me now,” Acacius says, scrambling to find the right words. “But, if you would have it, perhaps I can earn your trust.”

“Does the trust of an omega really hold so much value?” Geta says bitterly.

“It does to me.”

Geta does not dispute these words. Resting in Acacius’s embrace, he has finally stopped trembling.

“Will you stay with me like this even if we do not bond tonight?” he whispers. “I cannot bear to sleep alone in unfamiliar chambers.”

“Of course, I will stay.” Holding his mate, Acacius can feel the subtle rhythm of Geta’s heartbeat beneath his hands. “I’ve never liked lonely nights myself either.”

Chapter Text

It is an hour after midnight when Acacius awakens to something soft rubbing against his chin. Geta is still asleep in his arms, his head resting against Acacius’s collarbone. The omega stirs. His face contorts into a grimace as if gripped by a nightmare. Acacius is about to wake him when Geta pushes back against him, tilting Acacius’s head upwards.

The honeyed scent of the omega permeates the room. Acacius feels his own urges stirring again, quickly overcoming any lingering somnolence. Geta leans back again, his hair tickling the alpha’s neck. He whimpers but doesn’t open his eyes. Acacius swallows, feeling the pressure building in his groin. He needs to put a stop to this now before both of them fall to the mercy of their instincts.

“Geta.”

The call fails to wake the omega. Instead, Geta only shifts closer to the alpha, eliminating what little space remained between them. Seeing that the situation can only devolve from here, Acacius resorts to more desperate measures and shakes his mate awake.

“Geta!”

The omega murmurs something unintelligible. Slowly, he rolls over onto his back, squinting up at the alpha.

“What happened?” he asks.

“You were…” Acacius hesitates before deciding to simply be direct. “You were trying to scent yourself against me in your sleep."

Geta gapes at him. Even with his unconscious efforts cut short prematurely, the evidence is still there. The omega sniffs at his robe and curls up, hiding his face in embarrassment.

“There’s no need to be ashamed.” Acacius is itching to hold his mate again, but he thinks that would send Geta into a panic. “It is only natural.”

“No, I don’t…” Geta shudders. “I don’t like feeling this way. Please, Acacius. I just… I can’t. I don’t know what to do.”

Acacius considers the conundrum. Geta has made his feelings about bonding tonight clear. He seems to be fighting against his inner shifts at every turn. Acacius imagines this must be causing him a great deal of discomfort, and soon it will all be in vain. The omega is on the verge of heat. Acacius suspects he has been in this precarious state for hours now. Had he followed tradition and begun the process of claiming the omega after the wedding, he thinks Geta would have already fallen over the edge. But even then, he can only resist for so long, and Acacius hasn’t decided what to do with either of them when Geta loses the battle.

“You want your suppressants, don’t you?” Acacius sits up in bed, looking down at his ailing mate in pity. “I should have offered them to you earlier.”

Even as he makes his decision, he feels a shudder run down his spine. The omega isn’t the only one struggling against his urges.

“I don’t know,” Geta repeats, wringing the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know what to do. Please, Acacius.”

Acacius hurries to gather the medicine chest from the pile of Geta’s belongings. They will have much unpacking to do in the morning. The servants seem to have been content to pile the chests and leave.

Fortunately, the medicines are on the top of the heap. Acacius opens the box and looks down in confusion at the array of herbs and vials. Unable to tell which is which, he resolves to bring the entire chest to the bedside.

When he returns, Geta is buried beneath the blanket with only his face and a few locks of hair visible. It occurs to Acacius that he forgot to bring the new blankets and pillows to the bed in preparation for the omega’s arrival. He doesn’t know much about nesting, but it must be difficult to do with only an old, thin sheet. They have not even been married for a day, and Acacius has already faltered providing for his mate.

He imagines how many other legates would have leapt at the opportunity to take Geta as their husband. Acacius is certainly not the wealthiest amongst them. The abstract esteem of dignitas does not manifest as material luxury. Acacius is confident he can keep them comfortable, but in the hands of another alpha, Geta could be truly pampered. Is this why the omega has been so withdrawn?

Despite these insecurities, Acacius finds his confidence in other areas has not faltered. Or more specifically, his body has refused to let him falter. Geta is sure to notice even as Acacius tries to be discreet.

Acacius has been told he’s large even by alpha standards. When he was a younger soldier, he would preen over the fact. There have made many jokes about his “prowess with both swords” in the barracks. And truth be told, Acacius is still quite proud of his dimensions. But he knows Geta isn’t in any mood to be thrilled by this trait.

“Here.” Acacius sets the chest down on the nightstand. “I’m not sure which ones you need. You can take whichever you please.”

Geta draws back the blanket just enough for his hand to emerge and grab the box. He stares up at Acacius and opens his mouth to say something but hesitates as his gaze is drawn downwards.

“You’re…” Geta’s voice trails off. He withdraws further into the blanket.

“I know,” Acacius says, his voice remarkably even given his erection. He needs Geta to look back at his face. Having no other ideas on how to do this, he clears his throat as if he were discussing the logistics of a construction project with his officers. “We’ll handle it… pardon me, I will handle it if you would excuse me for a moment alone. I imagine you’d like some time alone to take your suppressants too.”

“I… well, yes,” Geta stutters. “If it would be, um, acceptable. I could still… if it would serve you better… I could…”

“No, you’re here as my companion, not my servant. I stand by my word, Geta.” Acacius takes a deep breath. “I will only be a moment.”

Indeed, it only takes a moment. Without a partner to motivate his endurance, Acacius brings himself to a climax quickly with the omega’s scent still fresh in his mind. Of all the ways that he envisioned his wedding night, sitting on the edge of the bath alone pleasuring himself was not one of them. The release brings him a perfunctory relief that ends in hollowness.

He takes the opportunity to retrieve the new blankets and pillows from downstairs, pausing by the front door. He thinks he locked it prior to going to bed, but with the hectic events of the night, he could have easily forgotten. It takes two more checks to satisfy his doubt. And even then, as he returns to the bedroom, his mind still dwells on prowling figures.

Geta is sitting on the edge of the bed. He watches Acacius closely as the alpha returns to the bed, the tension building in his limbs as if he intends to bolt from the room. But the omega stays where he is, his resignation as heavy as the lingering scent that has persisted despite the suppressants.

“I bought these for you,” Acacius sets down the bundle of blankets beside Geta. The omega offers no reply. “The pillows were imported from the east. I found the blankets in the marketplace not far from here, but the vendor said much of the material is from Leptis Magna. I believe they should be softer than regular linen.”

He pauses again for Geta to speak. The omega runs his hand over the blanket, pinching the edge of the fabric between his fingers to test the thickness. He looks pleased with the gift but when he finally speaks, his words carry anything but gratitude:

“Are you that eager to see me pregnant and nesting, general?”

“You do nest outside of pregnancy, don’t you?” Acacius sighs, wondering why every gesture seems to provoke more animosity. They cannot go on like this. “I’m only trying to make you comfortable.”

“Why? So that I’ll be more agreeable to letting you fuck me?” Geta gives a cynical chuckle. “I think it would be easier on both of us if you claimed me now, so you won’t have to resort to pretense. I’m not nearly foolish enough to fall for it. I know how alphas are. You’ll take what you want if I don’t give it willingly.”

“That isn’t the life I desire for either of us.” Acacius sits down next to the omega. “Geta, please, look at me.”

Geta turns to him with a glare that could bring a legion to its knees. The muscles of his jaw twitch, drawing attention once more to the bruise on his cheek. In the pale hues of the moonlight, the mark seems etched into his face like a scar.

“I know you’ve had many suitors before me,” Acacius says. “I know that they must have painted a very different view of what marriage would look like, but it does not need to be that way. I do not want it to be that way anymore than you do. I don’t expect you to trust me based on nothing but words, but I ask that you give me a chance to prove my intentions, and I cannot do so if you always assume the worst of me. Please, Geta.”

At the conclusion of the alpha’s plea, Geta sits in silence. The rage in his eyes falters, but he looks away before Acacius can catch any semblance of warmth.

“My father always sought to find an alpha who could control me,” Geta spits out the last two words. “That is why he picked you. Was he wrong?”

“Do you agree with your father on all matters?”

The question sounds far bolder than intended. Acacius fears at first that he has gone too far. In-laws or not, the name of Septimius still warrants imperial respect. But Geta takes no offense to the inquiry. In fact, he must take well to it, for he smiles in earnest for the first time since their meeting.

“I’m expected to say yes to that,” Geta replies. “Omegas don’t typically have the luxury of voicing our opinions. At least not without repercussions.”

Acacius thinks to ask about the bruise but decides it would be better to save that discussion for tomorrow.

“Well, if that is a luxury, then that is one luxury I can easily provide.” Acacius yawns. “We should try to get some rest.”

Geta nods and crawls under the new blankets. After much shuffling, he seems to finally find a comfortable position. Acacius settles down on his side of the bed. He has just closed his eyes when Geta speaks again:

“I do um… nest to answer your question from before. So, the blankets and pillows are appreciated.”

“Good,” Acacius replies groggily, feeling much too tired for more of a conversation. After a moment, he senses the omega is still awake. “Do you need something?”

“I was wondering actually…” Geta hesitates. “I was wondering if you could hold me again like before.”

Acacius silently shifts closer until he can wrap his arms around his mate. Geta adjusts the blanket around them one final time before closing his eyes. Soon, the omega is deep in slumber. In the morning, their scents will inevitably intertwine. The effects will be fleeting, but Acacius still cherishes the thought as he drifts off to sleep.

That night, Geta’s dreams take him on a careening course from one nightmare to another. The dread clings to him in the morning, holding him paralyzed against the bed until he finally fights his way back to the present.

The room is bright even with the curtains drawn shut. Acacius is gone, but his scent lingers on the sheets. Geta can smell traces of the alpha on himself as well. There is an arboreal quality about the scent. Geta is reminded of the pine groves the imperial entourage would pass through during his rare journeys outside the city. It is a surprisingly pleasant scent, and Geta is embarrassed to find himself wanting more. There isn’t enough to leave a lasting mark, but as an unmated omega, Geta notices even the faintest signs.

An unmated omega. The realization that he still fits the definition leaves Geta with a pang of guilt. The laws and ceremonies do nothing to change the natural signs. Without the physical bond sealed, it will be clear to all who meet him that he remains unclaimed. People will whisper about him being defective, and when this cruel speculation reaches the Palatine Hill, Father will know that his errant son has shamed the family yet again.

And what will Acacius have to say if confronted with these accusations? What alpha would come to the defense of an omega who spurned them? Geta has heard of alphas seeking to annul marriages over much less. Even the dissolution of a union formed by plebeian customs would humiliate the omega and their kin. To dissolve a marriage bound by confarreatio would be unspeakable. Father would surely kill him for this disgrace, or worse, cast him out into the streets.

With these threats roiling in his mind, Geta wants nothing more than to shrink back under the blankets and deny whatever the day might entail. But he knows that will only make matters worse. Judging from the height of the sun in the sky, the time is well into the latter half of the morning. Acacius must already be waiting downstairs.

Geta finds the alpha in the atrium, overseeing the servants as they sweep away the dried flower petals from the wedding. The lectus genialis has been stripped of its garlands and set aside in the corner of the room. Devoid of the decorations, the house feels barren. Geta doesn’t know how Acacius can possibly live in such dreary conditions, but the alpha seems to be managing well enough. He greets Geta warmly as the omega descends the stairs, offering his hand for the final few steps.

“Did you sleep well?” Acacius asks.

“Yes,” Geta lies. “What time is it?”

“A few minutes past eleven.” Acacius must note the look of shock on Geta’s face. He clutches the omega’s hand in a gesture of reassurance. “Don’t worry. I thought you ought to sleep in. Last night must have been quite draining for you.”

“I suppose. I’m not very used to having um… fluctuations.” Geta still feels a little wobbly on his feet after oscillating from the brink of heat back to a neutral state. “I’ll be fine though.”

“You do look tired still,” Acacius says. “You must be hungry. There is bread and honey in the kitchen, though I suppose it is nearly time for prandium. I believe the cook is preparing fish if that would be agreeable.”

“What kind of fish?” Geta asks.

“I don’t recall the species.” Acacius hesitates. “Though I can assure you that it is fresh.”

Geta thinks it is quite pathetic that he should give food merit merely for being fresh. He sorely misses the palace dining hall. The cuisine was one of the few aspects of palace life that rarely disappointed him.

Still, by the time the dish is served, he is hungry enough to eat a healthy portion of the mediocre offerings. He observes the servants scuttling in and out of the room as he eats. They are all betas as far as he can tell, which means they likely cannot smell that he is still unbonded. That doesn’t solve the issue of appearing in public, but at least Geta will not be perceived within his own home.

It is strange to call such unfamiliar territory his home. The abode evidently belongs to Acacius. Geta still feels like a guest, or worse, an intruder.

He speaks little with his husband until the servants have cleared the table and left. Once they are alone, Geta swallows his pride and tries to articulate an apology for the previous night. However, Acacius speaks before him:

“It occurs to me that I did not have the opportunity to give you a proper tour of our new home yesterday.”

“I think I can find my way around,” Geta says.

“Yes, I realize it’s much less space to navigate an the imperial palace.” Acacius chuckles. “But I’d like to show you around nonetheless if you’d be agreeable.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Geta tries to muster up more enthusiasm but his tone falls flat. Years ago, one of his suitors took offense at his sullen tone and, after making a melodramatic display of withdrawing his offer for an impensa, declared Geta an ungrateful brat.

So, he offers a polite smile and nods along as Acacius leads him through the house, narrating the location of various rooms. The estate is three stories, but few of the rooms are furnished. Consequently, the tour is rather brief.

“I’ve thought of adding some statues here,” Acacius says as he leads the way out to a small courtyard at the center of the estate. “I’ve never had either the skill or the passion for those sorts of decorations, but I’ve been told it might make this all feel more like home for both of us.”

“Both of us?” Geta frowns. “I thought you’ve been here for years.”

“Well, I’ve owned the estate for nearly two years now, but I’ve been away in the camps for the better part of that time,” Acacius replies. “Hence why the house is so empty. We’ll have to find a way to fill the space. Actually, I was hoping that we could go to the marketplace this week. I know a trustworthy carpenter, the same one who crafted our bed.”

“Perhaps you should go alone.”

The alpha’s face falls, and to Geta’s surprise, he finds himself feeling sorry for the man. How bizarre that he should pity an alpha.

“It isn’t your company that I’m concerned about, of course,” Geta clarifies. Acacius looks relieved by this information. “I just worry… no, I know that the other alphas will notice that I don’t um… I don’t have your scent on me. I don’t want to embarrass either of us.”

“Ah.” Acacius nods, contemplating the predicament. “Well, there is a way for me to scent you without consummating the rest of the bond just yet.”

“Is there?”

To his dismay, Geta realizes he knows little of the process of scenting. The omega mentors his father employed to teach him about these dynamics only spoke in depth about consummating the bond. Scenting was relegated to the ambiguous list of “affectionate” activities that would take place after an omega was properly mated. For this, Geta received only a vague explanation that he should comply with whatever activities his alpha deemed fit to strengthen the bond. In fact, most of these lessons provided no clear instructions beyond the mandate of absolute subservience. It was no wonder that Geta always left them feeling nauseated.

“There are a few methods.” Acacius pauses, and for a moment, the alpha looks unsure how to proceed with his explanation. “Of course, permanent scenting would be the result of… of a full rut during heat, if you’ll excuse the crude terminology. But there are other ways that would leave a temporary scent. It would be indistinguishable from permanent scenting for a few hours at least, unless one pays particular attention to telling the difference, and there should not be any alphas paying that kind of attention to you in public. I would chase them off long before that point.”

“What would the um, temporary method entail.” Geta doesn’t care for the ambiguity. This subject is confusing enough already. “I don’t mind the ‘crude terminology’ as you said it. I’d rather know what I’m getting into without having matters confounded by euphemisms.”

“Right then,” Acacius says. “There wouldn’t be any actual penetration for temporary scenting. There are some methods that are more blatantly sexual than others, but the one I had in mind is more of… an intimate embrace, one could say.”

“An embrace,” Geta echoes. “Surely, you don’t mean that you would merely embrace me and somehow scent me for hours with that alone.”

“No, it would take some time. It would be best done lying down. I’d hold you close against me, much like we did last night, only this time I would be more intentional about leaving a mark.” Acacius stops to gage Geta’s reaction before continuing. “I’d scent areas of your neck, perhaps your chest as well though the neck alone would be sufficient. I’d have you lean into me, much like you did last night actually, though I doubt you’d remember that. You were fast asleep the entire time until I woke you.”

Geta flushes at the memory of being jolted awake and noticing the alpha’s scent clinging to his skin. He hates to think of himself in such a state of longing. Such desire can only bring vulnerability, and vulnerability can only lead to exploitation.

“Take some time to consider,” Acacius says. “There is no rush, Geta. For now, I would simply be content if we could dine together again for our meals and share a bed when the day is over.”

“I never knew an alpha with such simple wishes,” Geta replies dryly. “Surely, you would rather scent me now rather than wait. I’ve already made you wait to bond longer. You cannot possibly be contented with this.”

“If you are asking whether I find you desirable, I do,” Acacius says. “You’re lovely, Geta, and I suspect you know that well. But that isn’t all that I desire for us. I respect you, and I’d like to earn your respect in turn. And above all, I would like your company.”

“I’m not very sweet company in case you haven’t noticed.”

Geta can hear his brother jeering at him for being a bitter omega. Had his father witnessed this exchange, he would have struck Geta long before the conversation reached this point. But neither Father nor Caracalla are here, and Acacius has not said a word against Geta’s sharp tongue.

“I don’t fault you for that,” Acacius replies. “But if you really must know, I’d rather you be truthful than sweet. I’m a legate, Geta. Not a poet. I’d rather people be direct with me than spin pleasant words with no substance.”

“Even from an omega?” Geta scoffs. “You’ll regret this, general.”

“I’ll take that risk then.” Acacius gives him a bemused smile. “And please, call me ‘Acacius’. I should hope that marriage would at least put us on a cognomen basis.”

“I was raised on the Palatine Hill.” Geta shrugs. “I’m accustomed to titles.”

“Is there a title I should use for you?”

The question is a playful one, but the subject is still sobering. Acacius must notice the change in the mood, for he is quick to amend his words.

“I did not mean that as an insult,” he says.

“I know.” Geta tries to subdue the acrimony in his voice. Acacius has done nothing to deserve it. Not yet. “I’m sorry, Acacius. I was merely thinking of other things. Foolish, distant things. To answer your question, I don’t have any title worth noting. At any rate, I’m rather fond of the way you say my name.”

“That is a relief. It would be a problem if you resented the sound of your name on my tongue.”

Geta laughs before he can restrain himself. It is a quiet laugh, but still enough to leave Acacius beaming at him. Geta tentatively offers a grin of his own. As he enjoys the moment, he hopes that this is real.

Chapter Text

Acacius often leaves the room in the middle of the night. The habit has become clear to Geta now that they’ve shared a bed for a month. The alpha tries to be subtle but Geta always awakens to the shifting of the mattress when Acacius climbs out of bed and ventures into the hall.

What Acacius does after he leaves is a mystery. All Geta knows is that at least thrice a week, he is left in a strange, dark room with no company besides his wandering thoughts. No good can come of rumination at such a miserable hour. The solitude brings him back to a cold, suffocating place. His heart pounds, and he is once again a terrified youth grappling with the threat of execution and the throbbing marks from the scourge. The door opens and he expects guards.

But it is only his husband returning to bed. Geta can tell from the scent, despite remaining physically unmarked. He lies very still, pretending he has been asleep the entire time, as Acacius makes his way back under the covers. When the alpha seems to be asleep, Geta rearranges the blankets and nestles himself at his husband’s side. Sometimes he feels an arm drape over his side to hold him.

They do not speak of it in the morning.

Geta is listless. He will deny it if asked, which makes finding a solution impossible. When Acacius first inquired what activities Geta amused himself with in the palace, the omega merely stared at him and stated, “I sat around and looked pretty for the suitors, because everything else was deemed unacceptable”.

So, Acacius has been left to guess. He purchased a collection of poetry scrolls after he found several works of Virgil while unpacking Geta’s belongings. The scrolls have been left in a pile beneath the bed. None of them look to have been unfurled a single time. The boxes of snacks and imported sweets that Acacius has brought home from the marketplace have met a similar fate. Geta will nibble on a fraction of the food like a mouse but leave the rest untouched for Acacius to begrudgingly finish to keep it from spoiling.

Acacius feels guilty leaving the omega confined at home while he tends to affairs at the barracks. Having been sheltered from the greater part of Rome for most of his life, Geta runs a high risk of getting lost. He has rejected Acacius’s offers to show him around Ostia, fearing that he will be perceived as unmarked. Acacius has not broached the subject of scenting again since they first discussed it. He doubts Geta would be interested.

Some days, he returns home and finds Geta looking exhausted. They exchange customary greetings, and Acacius knows by the stilted quality in Geta’s voice that the omega has been crying. But when he asks, Geta will rattle off a mundane reason for his fatigue and say no more on the matter.

Acacius doesn’t probe him further. Instead, he’ll excuse himself to go about his evening chores, cleaning his armor and other mundane tasks. With his generous salary and father-in-law’s donativum, he could delegate most of these chores to servants or slaves, but Acacius has always preferred to handle his own business, down to the smallest task.

Geta will often wander back to him midway through these tasks. The omega will find a place to recline and watch. He reminds Acacius of the cats that perch on the fenceposts in the marketplace, looking down at the crowd of plebeians with disdain. But of course, Geta is no stray. There is something inherently regal about him, even with the unnamed burdens weighing on him. It is odd seeing dried tears on a face so sublime.

At sunset, they will eat cena together. During the meal, they will exchange a few words about idle matters that interest neither of them. Then, they will retire to bed. Geta will often position himself at the edge of the mattress, but by morning, he will have wordlessly curled up in Acacius’s arms. They do not speak of this either.

The next day will be the same.

“Have you received any word from General Acacius?” Domna asks her husband.

They have just returned to the palace after conducting the rites for the first day of Parentalia. It felt strange to hold the ceremony without Geta present. For seventeen years, the family has gathered to honor and appease the Manes. As a young boy, Geta was both fascinated and terrified by the thought of such spirits journeying back to the living realm. He would ask countless questions only to be even more frightened by the answers. At night, he would demand to sleep in his parents’ room. Domna permitted him to do so until age 6, ay which point Severus decided the boys were too old for such coddling.

Now, that fearful boy has grown into a bright young man, married and soon to have sons of his own. Domna tells herself that he is ready for it. Severus is quick to remind her that Geta has already married later than the customary age for high-born male omegas. Still, Domna cannot forget the look on Geta’s face when she left him in Ostia. She has always known him to be emotional. He has often succumbed to bouts of rage over arguments with his father and brother despite all the lectures concerning the omega virtue of equanimity. But never has Domna seen her son so phlegmatically resigned as on the day of the wedding.

“I haven’t heard anything, Domna, but I did not expect to,” Severus replies. “It has only been a month. We must not intrude on Acacius’s autonomy establishing his household.”

“Don’t you think it is unusual that Geta has not sent a single letter? He was always so diligent about sending prompt replies in the past.”

Truthfully, Domna is much less concerned about hearing from Acacius just yet. Geta is a prize to be treasured. If Acacius has any sense at all, he must be more than contented with his blessing of a mate.

“Geta does not have the same obligations anymore. From the moment I relinquished him to Acacius’s manus, his responsibilities changed.” Severus hesitates, and for a fleeting moment, he appears doubtful. But he soon reaffirms his resolve. “He ought to have made that transition long ago. Perhaps that was why he was so recalcitrant to discipline. But that will be different now. He will learn. I expect everything will be much improved in April. He will be happier too, Domna. This is what he needed.”

“He did not look happy when we left him,” Domna says.

“You know how he is.” Severus sighs. “He’s been a sullen youth since his presentation. Considering his history with the suitors and what happened at the temple, I was worried he would make a scene at the wedding. But he behaved well by his standards. As I said before, he will learn.”

“You mean that he shall learn his place. You never held me to such narrow expectations.” It isn’t the first time Domna has voiced the contradiction. “Nor did my father confine me to them.”

“Young men are different,” Severus answers as he always does. “A man cannot raise an omega son as he would an omega daughter.  Why else would the old verses draw the distinction? The gods form them differently.”

Domna is quite aware of the ancient texts in question. She must have read them hundreds of times after Geta’s presentation, trying to understand why the gods had given him this taint. The verses have always called it just that. Male omegas and female alphas are counted as contradictions to their primary form, incurred by their family as either a punishment or a trial by the gods. After many sacrifices and prayers, Domna has come to believe that Geta’s presentation was not a curse but a challenge, both of his strength and that of his kin. But she knows Severus thinks differently. She still remembers how Severus forfeited sleep for nights after Geta’s presentation. He would spend hours pacing about their chambers, ruminating over horoscopes and omens. When she asked him to come to bed, he would pose the same question to her over and over again:

“What did I do to bring this upon him?”

After a week, Severus finally ceased his nocturnal meandering.

“I have failed Geta,” Severus told his wife that night. “I did not see it until now. It’s a sign from the gods, Domna. A warning for me. I will not fail him again.”

The next morning, Severus sent a team of servants to remove any material from Geta’s room deemed unsuitable for an omega boy. Domna can still hear Geta pleading with her to have his notes back, asking why his lessons had been canceled.

“Regardless of the verses, you have been especially strict with Geta since his presentation,” Domna says. “More so than our kinsmen with omega sons. I know you care for him, as do I, Severus. But you have been very harsh at times.”

“If I was not harsh with him, he would never find a mate. You remember how he behaved in front of the suitors even after my efforts to correct him. And with each day, he only grew more unmanageable. If I’d allowed him everything he wished to indulge in, no respectable alpha would bond with him. And where would he be then?” Severus stops to take a breath. “We will not always be here for him, Domna. All throughout the campaign in Caledonia, I worried what would happen to Geta if I were to fall in battle. We both know his brother would not provide for him.”

“Well, I am grateful for General Acacius then.” Domna has shared similar concerns, though she often feared Caracalla would do much worse to his omega brother than Severus ever perceived. “Still, I would like to receive word from him, if not from Geta himself.”

“I am sure they will inform us when they are expecting their first heir.”

Since the wedding, Severus has been preoccupied with the subject of heirs. The previous week, the augurs noted favorable signs for fertility in Geta’s horoscope, convincing the emperor that a son will be born by the end of the year.

“We should visit when we receive word of it,” Domna says. She assumes Geta would inform her immediately. Even with the lingering tensions in the family, surely, he would not neglect to tell his own mother of his pregnancy.

“Of course, we shall visit, and when the pup is born, there shall be festivities on Palatine Hill unlike any other,” Severus declares. “It will be a relief to have the public see Geta finally taking on a proper role. He may actually smile at the ceremonies this time.”

“It would be a relief to see him smile again,” Domna agrees and decides not to ruminate any further on the matter.

She tells herself that they have made the best of what the gods have given them. She tells herself that Geta is happy. For if those two facts are true, then what else can she ask for?

It is past midnight. Acacius has left the bedroom again. Geta is curled up, wringing the edge of the blanket. The room is cold. Was it always this cold? He has heard stories of strange spirits leaving behind chills in the air like footsteps in the snow. He pictures the restless Manes of those whose families failed to perform the proper rites of Parentalia. How miserable to be discarded by one’s own kin…

He rolls over in bed and tries to will himself back to sleep. Unsurprisingly, these efforts prove in vain. Sleep rarely comes easily to Geta. He has gone days with scarcely a few hours, often in the time preceding an introduction to a new suitor. The dread would keep him wide awake until the encounter itself. Afterwards, he would rest uneasily, weighed down by cruel words and wondering whether there was any truth to them. Exhaustion has a way of summoning doubts.

Finally, Acacius returns. Geta could swear he leaves for longer intervals each night. At this rate, they’ll be spending even more time apart at night than they already do during the day.

So much for all your sweet words about sharing a bed together, General.

Mulling over these bitter thoughts, Geta rolls onto his side away from his husband. He refuses to crawl up to the alpha tonight, no matter how desperately he craves the warmth. Marriage already leaves so little dignity for the omega, he must not loose the sliver that remains.

“Geta.”

Of course, the damn alpha has to try to talk to him now. Geta does not open his eyes, hoping this will discourage the conversation. It doesn’t.

“My apologies for waking you. I attempted to be quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Geta murmurs. He still does not open his eyes.

Acacius doesn’t speak. The mattress shifts as the alpha climbs into bed. Geta thinks this must be the end of it. Then, he feels an arm drape over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!”

The exclamation is much louder than Geta intended. Acacius recoils his hand so quickly he looks as if he is about to tumble backwards off the bed.

“I…” Geta lowers his voice. “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“And I did not mean to startle you.” Acacius stares at him, brow knitted in deliberation. “I thought you wanted me to hold you tonight, but it seems that was my mistake.”

“No, that’s not it,” Geta answers with such haste he surprises both of them again. “I do… I would like for you to hold me. It’s simply that… that given the state of everything else, it seemed out of place.”

Acacius tilts his head in perplexity, an oddly innocent gesture in any man of his age, much less an alpha.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he says.

Amidst the fatigue and anxiety, Geta struggles to gather his thoughts. He can scarcely sort through his feelings for his own comprehension, much less explain them to another person.

“I do like it when you hold me.” Geta winces at the phrase. He sounds like the perfect stereotype of a naïve omega. “But not if you don’t truly… not if…”

Of course, the cursed stutter is coming back. He initially overcame the habit in childhood (more specifically, he endured countless strikes from the wooden switch until the stutter somehow subsided on its own), but it has been reemerging in bouts lately. He clenches his jaw, as if he could bite back against the tremor on his tongue. This stops the stutter, but it also makes him sound far angrier than intended when he finally articulates the phrase:

“I don’t like empty gestures, Acacius. If you do not wish to be around me, you don’t need to feign affection.”

Geta watches the alpha closely, wondering if he’s finally pushed his mate too far. As a boy, he witnessed his omega mentors beaten by their husbands for much less. Each time, they would assure him that the blows were deserved, as if the idea of such an explanation would comfort him.

But Acacius does not raise a hand against him. Instead, he stares back at the omega, as if struggling to decipher a conundrum.

“Geta, I have told you countless times before that I wish for your company.” Acacius sounds genuinely dejected. Could an alpha of such high station be hurt by the words of an omega? “Why do you still doubt me?”

“You leave nearly every night for hours at a time,” Geta says.

“I leave because I have trouble sleeping, Geta.” Acacius looks baffled. “It’s been that way for years. I thought it better to leave than disturb you by tossing and turning.”

“But you…” Geta isn’t sure what point he intends to make. Acacius’s answer seems genuine and, in retrospect, more plausible than Geta’s assumption.

“Did you truly think I was leaving to keep away from you?” Acacius asks.

“I was worried, I will admit.” Geta looks away in shame. “And I am sorry for shouting at you. Please don’t be too upset.”

“I appreciate the apology,” Acacius says. “You startled me.”

For a moment, Geta expects Acacius to berate him. He shrinks back, knowing how quickly the ire of alphas can rise. But Acacius simply adjusts his pillow and lies back down.

“You’ve been a great comfort to me, Geta. I’d like you to know that.”

“How? I haven’t done anything for you.” Geta wonders if this is some sort of trick to cajole him into sex.

“It’s a simple matter, truly. I’ve been lonely. Having someone else in the house has been comforting to me, especially overnight.” Acacius must know that Geta remains unconvinced, for he continues to argue his sincerity. “You realize that alphas desire other forms of comfort besides the physical.”

Acacius speaks with such desperation to be believed, Geta has the mad thought to actually trust him. But he shakes it away with a cynical smile. He’s heard similar words before from his suitors, only for their intentions to become clear days – or sometimes hours – later. All the love professions and other histrionics could be surmised by the base desire to breed him.

“Is it really so hard to believe that I enjoy your company?” Acacius asks. “I understand our conversations have not been the most intriguing of late. But even then, I can tell you have sharp wits. I could tell from the wedding. If only you were not so tentative to show them, I think we would have much to discuss.”

“I’ve been told my tongue ruins all my other features,” Geta replies flatly. “Though I’ve also been told that the rest is quite flawed as well from multiple sources.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t recall the precise number of suitors who rejected me, but I’m sure my father informed you that the tally is high. And he was never very contented with any part of me either.” Geta gives a tired, humorless laugh, unsure how else to react to these recollections. “If you want the details, it would take some time. I do believe I’ve been informed of nearly every inadequacy one could have in an omega at some time during the past six years. The alphas in my family told me I was too plump when I first presented. Then, by the time the suitors started flocking to Palatine Hill, they told me I was too thin to bear sons, amongst other defects. None of them appeared particularly charmed by my company.”

“You do not truly believe them, do you?”

Acacius sounds agitated. Geta thinks at first he must have upset the alpha but soon realizes that the anger is not directed at him.

“Of course, I don’t.” Geta decides on a simple answer. He has not actually made up his mind on the matter. His defiant streak has often allowed him to dismiss the castigations. But there have been times when he entertained the question.

He considers himself a logical person. It was only logical to wonder why his omega peers had succeeded in earning their impensae with far fewer options whilst he was discarded. Discarded by the largest pool of eligible alphas of any omega in Rome, if Father was to be believed. Faced by these facts at fifteen, Geta could not help but wonder.

“That is a relief,” Acacius says, though Geta senses that the alpha perceives the lie. “You are a very fine omega, Geta. Both in appearance and wits.”

“Thank you, Acacius.” Geta is surprised to feel such relief hearing these words. He did not realize he was so concerned about Acacius’s opinion. The fact is disquieting.

“I’ve lived the better part of my life surrounded by alphas, Geta,” Acacius adds. “I can tell you that many of us take rejection very poorly, especially from an omega. Your past suitors sound like the sort who would blame you for this.”

“I did not reject them, strictly speaking,” Geta clarifies. “They were the ones who went storming up to my father, telling him what an awful specimen of an omega I was and retracting all that they’d offered. I even had one insist that I give back a tiny broach they’d gifted to me as part of the courtship.”

“You did not have the authority to reject them,” Acacius replies. “But clearly, they did not earn your favor. It is for the best. They did not deserve it.”

They did not deserve it. These words thrill Geta more than any other compliment before. He delights in the idea that his favor was a privilege, one that he could decide to bestow or withhold as he saw fit. He longs to trust Acacius’s earnestness, if only to make that statement true.

But then he remembers what he has learned. He has lost count of how many men would wax poetic about cherishing him only to overhear them inquiring about his diet and health as one would an animal, asking his parents to attest that he would bear sons. They would come with gifts and empty praise. Before the week was through, they would be unabashedly ogling him. Some would go further and attempt to touch him. He can still hear them now, telling him that it was only fair that they knew what they were bargaining for before making such an exorbitant investment.

“You needn’t worry about the scent. There are ways to avoid a permanent mark. If your father asks, I’ll take the blame. I would do that for you, Geta.”

Geta is grateful he was rarely alone with any of the suitors for long. His father’s traditional beliefs served him well in this scenario only, for the suitor’s proposition would be interrupted by Geta’s cubicularii before any further aggression took place. In the night, Geta would retreat to his quarters. Even after the cubicularii saw to it that he was thoroughly bathed, he would return to the baths afterwards. He would wash himself until his skin was raw, trying to cleanse himself of the leering gazes and the sullying feeling of being reduced to a commodity. But the water would go cold before he could purge the stench. Afterwards, he would drag himself back to bed and pray for someone to protect him.

As time went by, Geta gave up searching for a protector. Father did nothing but bring new threats and punishments against him. Mother offered him pity but was ultimately complicit. By the time he was sixteen, Geta knew there was nothing to do but nurse the old wounds and harden himself for the new ones. But most importantly, he knew better than to trust any sweet-tongued alpha.

He must keep that in mind now. Acacius is no different. Yes, he has been more patient than most alphas, but ultimately, Father chose him for a reason. Even the exceptions cannot differ so drastically from the norm.

So, Geta offers Acacius no more than a non-committal smile and a curt “thank you”. The alpha nods and, after a stretch of silence, says something about both of them being tired. They exchange “good night”s a few hours before daybreak.

Acacius stays on his side of the bed. Geta tosses and turns. When he finally closes his eyes, he is awoken what feels like seconds later by a murmur.

Acacius is still asleep but breathing heavily. His eyelids flutter but remain shut. Geta watches him, hoping the nightmare has gripped the alpha will subside quickly. It doesn’t. They never do.

He thinks at first to wake his husband but decides not to. He knows how jarring it can be to be torn from sleep. They have spent the better part of the night awake already.

The only solution in mind feels foolish. Still, it feels wrong to simply watch his spouse in distress. Acacius would attempt to aid him in such a state. At least, Geta likes to think that he would.

Geta scolds himself again. Most alphas would not be bothered with a nightmare-plagued omega, especially not a war-hardened general. Acacius is no different.

Nonetheless, Geta moves quietly to the alpha’s side. He does not dare pull Acacius into a full embrace. He has heard of men awakening from foul dreams swinging at their partners, mistakenly thinking they are being attacked. Instead, Geta places his hand on Acacius’s back and rests his forehead against Acacius’s chin. He curls up there, idly stroking his hand down the alpha’s flank. Acacius’s breathing remains heavy but the pace has slowed. The alpha remains asleep, but his hand moves to Geta’s side as if to hold him.

They stay like this until dawn. Slumber evades Geta, but when Acacius rises at the sound of the cockerel crowing, the omega pretends to be asleep. If Acacius notices, he does not disturb him.

After retrieving his armor and sword, the alpha leaves without a word. His scent lingers. Geta tries to find a name for it. Pine, perhaps? No. The scent is not as abrasive as pine. Whatever it is, Geta finds the smell comforting. He wraps the blanket tightly around himself, breathing in the mixture of their scents. The combination is even more pleasing than either alone. With that source of ease, Geta settles in for a restful morning.

Chapter Text

“Oh, you look just lovely.”

The empress does not give meaningless compliments. Knowing this, Geta really should feel honored. But he takes no joy in the remark. He’s too clever to delude himself into anything close to pride. Perhaps that’s why the old texts say intelligence is such a hazardous trait for omegas.

He has learned how to smile, enough at least that father will not strike him after the fact for being sullen. It is a smile made of marble. Fitting, given that his role at the rites seems to be tantamount to a statue.

A statue that grows soft and warm enough at an alpha’s whim to bring pleasure. His mentors have started to discuss this duty with him. Geta refuses to be swayed by their poetic descriptions of passion and intimacy. None of that can explain why no one wants to give him a clear answer when he asks, “Does it hurt?”, and the fact that he knows the answer won’t matter.

“Today is very important, Geta,” Mother tells him yet again. Lately, Geta finds that nearly every day in the Roman calendar have been deemed important in one way or another, and he doesn’t see the point in designating them as such. “Rome’s most esteemed officers will be in the procession, following behind your father and brother. Many of them have just returned from battle after fifteen years or more, and now, they are looking for a mate with whom to enjoy a life in peace.”

“Given that I’ve barely existed for fifteen years, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have much to contribute,” Geta replies. “But I suppose they don’t care to have me contribute my thoughts to begin with. What is it that Antias said again? Something about an overactive mind being unfashionable for omegas. Funny. It’s as if he’s saying it would be more fashionable for me to have a rock for a brain.”

“Don’t let your father hear you saying things like that,” Mother scolds him. “And please, by the gods, do not speak that way to the suitors. We’ve taught you better than that.”

“Very well then, Mother. I won’t say a thing.” Geta holds up his head and walks out onto the balcony. He likes looking down upon the preparations from here, watching all the silly soldiers practicing their poses for the crowds like the worst actors in all of Etruria. “If anyone asks me anything more in depth than my name and age, I’ll go mute and point their questions towards you and Father.”

“You can be tactful without being cold. Now, you’re just insisting on making this difficult.” Mother joins him on the balcony. “Geta, you are an omega with so much to offer Rome and a noble legacy to carry. You are blessed with these things. You must not squander it.”

“Did you say the same to my brother, this morning?” Geta asks.

“Why, yes, I did,” Mother replies. “You may have different gifts to offer, but both of you were born to bring great things to the empire. You merely need to reorient your perceptions.”

“Tell me exactly what I am misperceiving about this, Mother,” Geta snaps. “Caracalla has something to gain for what he gives. He has the army, the accolades, and all of Rome as his inheritance. Meanwhile, I am expected to give every fiber of my being, and I have no reward except the chance to beg the gods that my husband will treat me as something more than a whore! Tell me what part of that I have misunderstood!”

Mother only stares at him in disappointment. She adjusts her stola before turning for the door.

“You have fifteen minutes to think about your behavior, Geta,” she says. “Then I expect you downstairs with an apology ready before our departure for the procession. Do not be late for either.”

For a moment, Geta stands hunched over, gripping the railing of the balcony with such rage, he thinks he will either crack the stone or break his fingers trying. Then, his legs feel weak. He hobbles back inside and crumples onto the floor by his bed. He thinks of the alphas staring at him from the chariots, ravenous in their lust and unyielding in their contempt for his kind. He wants to sink into the stones of the palace, find a crevice and hide there until the procession is over, and the alpha officers with their hungry eyes are gone.

There in the vastness of Palatine Hill, surrounded by so much talk of grand destinies and dynasties to uphold, Geta faces the tangible truths. He is barely fifteen. He is alone. He is terrified. And none of that matters to anyone.

Three years after that realization, Geta sits by the window in Ostia. The gardeners are tending to the rose bushes lining the entryway, sweeping away the petals from the path. One of the servants offered a basket of them to him, asking if he wanted to press them into perfume. Geta likes perfume well enough, but he hasn’t any idea how to make it on his own. He supposes this must be one of the frivolous activities that some highborn omega somewhere has decided to busy themselves with and turn into a new fashion. A few years ago, an idiot in Verona decided that beadmaking was an excellent way for respectable omegas to entertain themselves, and Geta was gifted with bag and after bag of colorful rocks for this purpose. He remembers sitting by the palace fountains, tossing them in and making curses instead of wishes with each one. Then Mother noticed them and had the servants fish them all out just to pile them up and lecture him.

Today, Geta has more to worry about than perfume or beads. The letter in his hands is wet with sweat. Fortunately, the ink is still legible, if a little smudged. He really ought to fold it away and leave it on the table, but for some reason, he keeps wanting to fiddle with it.

The letter is addressed to Acacius alone. Geta realized the fact too late. Seeing the imperial seal, he assumed incorrectly that it must have been intended for him. Now, there’s no hiding the fact that he’s read it, nor can he forget the contents.

The gardeners are just about finished with the rose bushes when Acacius’s horse appears in a distance. The white stallion’s age and origin are unknown, as Acacius claims to have found him wandering the battlefield after losing his former stead the day prior to a Parthian sword. Now, the stallion goes by the name of Horatius, named after the war hero Publius Horatius Cocles. Geta thinks the horse would have been more aptly named Lupus, given that lately, he’s developed the habit of whinnying in the middle of the night presumably at the moon. Acacius has been theorizing about this behavior. Geta is less interested in the horse’s reasoning and more concerned about his own lack of sleep.

The general allows Horatius to drink from the garden fountain before leading it off to the stable. With the horse tethered for the night, Acacius makes his way down the path to the door. Geta withdraws from the window. He doesn’t like the idea of being seen peeking out like a frightened child whose parents have come home to a mess.

“Apologies that I am late today,” Acacius says upon stepping over the threshold. “There was a debacle with the construction today. It seems some of the new legionaries did not understand how cement works and we nearly ended up with a mile of footprints on the road.”

The general chuckles to himself at this image. The man is easily amused, Geta thinks.

“There was a letter for you,” Geta says, having nothing in particular to add to the discussion about the road. “I opened it. I thought it was for me considering it’s from my parents. I read it before I realized it was addressed to you alone. I’m… sorry.”

The apology could not sound more insincere. Geta can’t be bothered to amend it. If Acacius wants to shout, Geta can just pretend to listen. If the alpha wants to hit him, Geta can take solace in the fact that he’s had worse and pick himself up knowing the gentle phase is over.

“If it’s from your parents, I can’t imagine there would be anything to hide from you,” Acacius replies, taking the letter.

“Well, considering they hid our engagement from me up until the time that it was set in stone, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Geta says.

He’s pushing his luck now. He knows it. He can hear his mother giving him that despondent look, telling him how she raised him better than this. Father would have already bludgeoned him several sentences ago.

“I was in the room with them the other day, brother.” Geta remembers Caracalla sneering at him, lounging in the courtyard and toying with the knife from a platter of cured meat. “Father was asking what to do with you. Mother, Papinian and that old idiot Euodus had nothing to say. So, I told him that if we sliced out your tongue, all our problems would be solved. And do you know what, Geta? I could tell that Father thought about it.”

“It’s a shame that your father was so insistent on hiding it,” Acacius says. “I would have liked to court you properly.”

Geta doesn’t know whether he’s being scolded or mocked. Regardless, he counts himself fortunate to have gotten this far without a black eye. He witnessed that fate publicly inflicted upon one of his childhood companions three years prior. Poor Cittinus presented a year before Geta and married a centurion at fifteen. They’d been talking with each other before the Ludi Plebeii. Cittinus’s husband was being honored for a valiant defensive move against the Garamantes, and Cittinus himself was expecting. He was eager to share with Geta how he’d been praying to Juno to show him a sign as to whether the baby was a boy or a girl. Unfortunately, his alpha misheard this as a prayer for a girl over a boy and struck the omega in the face. Cittinus spent the remainder of the games whimpering in the back of the imperial box, massaging the darkening bruise. And Geta knew, even as a youth, that it was going to be worse at home.

Acacius sits down to read the letter. Geta joins him at the table, thinking it would look stranger to stand hovering about.

“You said you’ve already read it.” Acacius glances down at the letter again before setting it aside. “So, you know they’ll be visiting in three weeks.”

“Yes.”

Outside, the gardeners have finished their work. In the kitchen, the cooks are wrapping up cena. Most of the other servants have already headed home. Geta wonders what stories they carry with them when they go. The servants are all betas, from what he can tell, and therefore, less keenly attuned to scents. But does that mean they are truly ignorant?

“Do you think the servants have noticed we haven’t physically sealed the bond?” Geta asks in a hushed voice. “I know they’re betas, but I can never be sure. And I’m sure you know that every whisper of gossip makes its way back to my father one way or another. Popularity earns a man many ears.”

Acacius blinks at him and then laughs.

“What exactly is so funny?” Geta snaps.

“Just the way you phrased that.” Acacius smiles and shakes his head. “Popularity earns a man many ears. Did you come up with that yourself or did you read it somewhere?”

“I’m the first one to say it as far as I know.” Geta’s annoyance with the alpha falters. “I… um, I didn’t think you’d like it so much.”

“It’s clever,” Acacius replies. “And unfortunately, very true. But I don’t think the servants would have noticed. They might catch traces of scents, but I don’t think they can distinguish a true mark from a fleeting one. We’ve been sharing a bed, and that alone has led to some mixing. As far as a beta is concerned, we might as well be bonded.”

Geta sniffs his own tunic. So, it isn’t his imagination that their scents have been mixing from proximity alone. The realization leaves him with a bizarre feeling of warmth in his core.

“My family will notice,” says Geta. “It’s one of the joys of being the only male omega in generations. They notice everything about me. Though in this case, I expect they’re already suspicious as to the lack of an incoming heir.”

Acacius blinks.

“It’s barely been two months,” he says.

“My brother and I were born ten months after my parents’ marriage,” Geta replies. “And that was before my family had the imperial title to uphold.”

“I can explain the situation to your father,” Acacius says with such gravity, Geta knows he is sincere in his intentions. “I will explain to him that you are not at fault, that…”

“No. Don’t tell him. Please.”

The last word trembles on Geta’s lips. He calms himself, gathering all the poise he’s learned over the years to speak and smile without crumbling. He’s already let Acacius see him fall apart on their wedding night. One time is too much.

“I don’t want him to know,” Geta speaks steadily. “He won’t take well to it. It’ll be easier if you bond with me before. Let them think we did it when we ought to have.”

Acacius wrinkles his brow, and Geta knows he’s been perceived. He can feel the pity in the alpha’s gaze. It burns.

“We do have another choice.” Acacius reaches across the table and takes Geta’s hand. Geta refuses to flinch. “With your permission, I could scent you before the visit and during the nights while your family is in Ostia. That would be sufficient to have us perceived as bonded for their visit.”

“Or you could fuck me for real and spare us the charade,” Geta scoffs. “If I stop my suppressants now, we may even conceive in time.”

“Not like this.” Acacius’s hand clasps over Geta’s fingers. “If the day comes that we do seal the bond, I would like it to be on our own accord. I want the moment to be mutual.”

Geta looks down at his hand. He doesn’t pull away. The touch is gentle.

“And how would you plan on making it mutual?” Geta wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Only one of us has the equipment for it to be pleasurable.”

“Is that what you think?” Acacius sounds truly surprised. “I’ve heard differently from other omegas. My experiences abroad seem to speak to that as well, though my understanding is that it does depend on the alpha’s abilities.”

“And I suppose you have abilities that would make me feel…” Geta frowns at the thought of other omegas. “Whatever it is the rest felt.”

“Maybe one day.” Acacius pauses before adding, “The others were before our marriage, of course. I was much younger.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.” Geta clenches his teeth. “You’re the alpha. You’re free to do as you wish.”

“Well, what I wish to do has changed over the years.” Acacius laughs softly. “I’m more intrigued by consistency over quantity now, and I’d like you to have the assurance of being the only one.”

“Very devoted of you.”

Geta rolls around the alpha’s words in his head, finding the echo pleasing. There have been times since his presentation when he’s fantasized. Tradition strictly forbids omegas from exploring their bodies on their own, but Geta has found ways to sneak in time for himself just as he smuggled wine from the cellars. The surreptitious ventures first centered on his late fiancé, then on a nameless version of an alpha that suited his fancy. That was before he knew better, before his mentors made it clear that an omega’s wishes must always defer to the alpha’s needs. After that fact became law in his mind, the act of self-pleasuring felt like a sour crime, reminding him of all the feelings no alpha would ever take interest in.

Now, when Acacius’s fingers slip from Geta’s hand, Geta misses the touch. He thinks of the nights spent curled against the alpha. He imagines those hands wrapping around him, moving down to explore all the places that long to be touched.

He stops himself before his mind can wander any further. He hates being disappointed more than he likes hoping.

“But that won’t be for some time,” Acacius says. “I’ll give you some time to think about the idea of scenting. For now, we ought to eat before it gets to be too late.”

Geta tells himself to be grateful for the distraction. He follows the alpha into the triclinium. There, he turns his attention to matters of grain and meat. The bread is still warm, the gadwall is not nearly as dry as it was before, and Geta is contented.