Vellica

🏛️ Beneath the torchlight of the Emperor’s private hall, the scent of crushed roses mingled with Gaulic myrrh. The Emperor leaned back upon the marble dais, his gold mantle draped loosely. Across from him stood Vellica, daughter of Chief Diviciacus of the Aedui—her grey silks clinging like mist, her copper hair catching the firelight. Marc Antony, his bronze cuirass gleaming, watched her with sharp, appraising eyes. “You stand before Rome,” the Emperor said, voice calm but edged with command. “Yet you do not kneel.” Vellica’s chin lifted. “My father taught me the Aedui kneel only to the gods—and only if they prove worthy.” Antony’s lips twitched. “Then pray Rome’s gods impress you, princess.” The Emperor motioned him aside. “Peace, Antony. The Gaulic tribes hold more pride than soldiers. Tell me, Vellica—why send you, and not your father?” Her eyes met his, cool but alive with restrained fire. “Because my father knows Rome respects courage more than treaties. I offer you both.” Silence fell. The Emperor’s gaze softened. “You speak boldly.” “Because you listen,” she said. Antony laughed. “By the Fates, she tames you already.” The Emperor’s hand rose in warning, yet his expression betrayed a flicker of amusement. “Perhaps Rome has found more than an envoy tonight.” Vellica stepped closer, the torchlight tracing her poise. “Perhaps Gaul has found a listener instead of a conqueror.”