Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 10 (Historical Fiction SI)

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Zoe sat glumly, nursing a cup filled with a strong, spiced drink, while Constantine worked at his desk. The room was over-lit with far too many lamps—an unnecessary expense, she noted, though the oils were of a quality typical of the provinces. Beside him stood his eunuch, a figure Zoe was certain was her father's creature, though she dared not say it aloud.

Once her safety for the night had been assured, Constantine turned his attention to his men and their feast. Apparently, he had prepared a banquet for his bandon. Zoe, however, sat in silence in a dark corner, much to her dismay. It was necessary to avoid questions about why one of the Porphyrogenita was in an army camp.

From her secluded vantage point, she watched as the men devoured the meal: flatbread, cheese, slow-roasted lamb, and fruits. It wasn't palace fare, and under normal circumstances, she would have hesitated to eat it. But her brother ate with gusto, and if Constantine deemed it edible, she had little room to complain.

The feast itself, however, left much to be desired. There were no entertainers, no music, no vibrant chatter. Just tired, sweaty men eating their fill in low tones before retreating to their beds or duties.

And now, here they were again, her brother unloading scrolls into the eunuch's hands.

"Make sure they have everything they need," Constantine ordered.

Zoe watched with mild interest as the eunuch glanced over the scrolls. Constantine paused, his gaze shifting to her. She straightened under his scrutiny, wondering what he was thinking. Then, he turned back to the eunuch.

"Stephanos, we have the latest batch, yes?"

"Yes, purple-born," the eunuch replied.

"Mind giving my sister a sample?" Constantine asked.

Stephanos nodded and left the room. Constantine, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, relaxing.

Zoe took in her surroundings. His quarters were surprisingly spartan. Aside from a few scented candles that sweetened the air, a rug, and some fluffy pillows, it looked no more luxurious than a soldier's tent. It was spacious enough for her to move around, but its simplicity was striking.

"What was that?" Zoe asked.

"You'll see," Constantine replied, picking up a quill and turning back to his work.

Zoe set her drink aside, grabbed a pillow, and hugged it close, her chin resting on top. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Working," came his curt reply.

"At this hour?"

"The demands of Empire rarely rest," Constantine said without looking up.

"You sound just like Uncle," Zoe muttered.

Constantine hummed in agreement. "Well, that's what happens when you spend six years with him."

A jolt of irritation flared in Zoe. "So you'd rather be working than spending time with a young, beautiful woman in your tent?"

"You're my sister," Constantine said flatly, his lips thinning.

Zoe scoffed, pressing a hand to her chest. "True, but I am a young, beautiful woman, no?"

She let the pillow fall forward and posed, her curly hair framing her face, red lips curling into a playful smile. Constantine glanced at her, bemused, then snorted and returned to his work.

"I've seen better," he teased.

The pillow Zoe hurled at him hit its mark.

"I risked life and limb to get here, and the least you could do is entertain me for the night!" she cried.

Constantine sighed dramatically, picking up the pillow and tossing it back onto the bed. Zoe grinned in triumph as he stood and flopped onto his side of the bed.

"Good," Zoe proclaimed.

"You're lucky I love you," Constantine muttered.

"I know, I know," she replied, beaming.

As they settled into a comfortable silence, Zoe studied her brother. He had grown, a lot. His frame was muscled and sharp, his voice commanding, his presence magnetic, and his smell pleasant. His hair was shinier than most men, and his skin vibrant despite the constant battles. She noticed the lingering glances his maid had given him earlier and suppressed a smirk. Zoe was quite sure she was doing more than swooning.

"So, how many women have you seduced?" Zoe asked, just as he was lifting a cup of wine into his mouth. Constantine snorted, spitting out his drink onto the rug. Scandalized, he turned to Zoe.

"Who the fuck starts a conversation like that? I just sat down!" Constantine cried

Zoe burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as Constantine glared at her, shaking his head.

"And for your information, only one," Constantine replied. "I've been far too busy for such things." Then, with a sly grin, he added, "Like starting a business."

"A business?" Zoe asked, raising an eyebrow.

Constantine nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. We have a generous allowance, so why not put it to use? Of course, it's technically beneath Imperial dignity to pursue commerce, but if our dynatoi bothered, they might discover other ways to generate revenue besides squeezing taxes out of their commoners."

Zoe scoffed, folding her arms. "You're right. It is beneath our dignity. What are you, a Jew?"

Constantine's face cringed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in a language Zoe didn't understand though he did mention her name. And something about Christ?

"What did you just say?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Constantine groaned. "Just that you might want to brush up on your etiquette lessons."

Zoe rolled her eyes, but Constantine pressed on. "Anyway, I've decided to engage in commerce for one reason only: money."

"The Patriarch would disapprove," Zoe remarked, her tone skeptical. A part of her wanted to dismiss the idea outright, but this was her brother.

"Yes, well," Constantine replied, "this is, in a way, a faithful service."

At that moment, the tent flaps opened, and Stephanos entered, carrying a small wooden box. Zoe watched with curiosity as the eunuch set it down on the table, bowed, and silently left.

"Come on," Constantine said, gesturing for Zoe to join him. He stood and walked toward the box, while Zoe slid off the bed and followed, her steps unhurried.

Constantine removed the lid, and Zoe peered inside. The contents were curious: two brightly colored bars of what she quickly realized was soap, thin wooden sticks tipped with what looked like horsehair, a small red ceramic jar that smelled faintly of sweet flowers, and something she was certain was mint.

Constantine picked up one of the brightly colored bars of soap and held it aloft like a prized artifact.

"Behold!" he proclaimed with mock grandeur. "The finest soap in the provinces—crafted with olive oil, goat's milk, and a secret blend of herbs. Not only does it clean, but it moisturizes. Imagine, Zoe: soft, luxurious skin even on the battlefield."

Zoe raised a skeptical eyebrow but despite that, she was already thinking on how to use it. Such things would always be good for her and her beauty.

Next, he picked up one of the thin wooden sticks with horsehair bristles. "These," he said, "are toothbrushes. Inspired by the Arabs, improved by yours truly. No more chewing on sticks or scraping with cloth. Just a dab of salt or mint paste, and your teeth will shine like pearls. Improve breath too."

Zoe looked at the toothbrush with mild interest before glancing back at her brother. "I'm sure the soldiers will be thrilled to scrub their teeth between battles," she said dryly.

"They'll appreciate it for the cleanliness it will give," Constantine remarked. "The biggest killer among armies is poor hygiene. Once that is taken care of, the army shall worry little about plague."

He reached for the small red ceramic jar next. "This," he said, unscrewing the lid, "is a vapor rub. It is made from mint, camphor resin, and other secret mixtures. Clears the sinuses, soothes the chest, and even calms headaches. Perfect for weary men on long campaigns or sisters with poor attitudes."

Again, Zoe rolled her eyes before leaning in to smell. Her nose wrinkled as the sharp, minty aroma wafted toward her. "It smells like you're trying to pickle someone's lungs."

"It works, I promise you," Constantine insisted. "All the things here, I use it myself. Why do you think I smell so pleasant?"

"Is that why your hair is shining?" Zoe pointed out.

He nodded. "Indeed," he smiled. "With this, I intend to start a market for products like this. A kit, I will sell to the nobility or those with money to afford them. Lower quality products, I intend to launch for the hoi polloi. From this, we shall have a healthier, cleaner Empire. Plagues will find it difficult to kill us when most of our people will be clean."

Zoe turned to look at the box. Then back towards Constantine. "Surely you are not putting your face in this?"

An imperial prince participating in hygiene? The scandal that would come from this would be legendary.

"Of course not. Uncle would disapprove the dynasty getting involved with fopperies as he would call it," Constantine snorted. "So that is why I have agreed to form a company with Stephanos. He manages it for me while I patronize it from the shadows."

Zoe watched her brother with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, her mind spinning as she tried to reconcile the image of her brother with this…merchant. The box of hygiene products sat innocently on the table, a strange testament to his peculiar vision. How could Constantine, a Porphyrogenitos, lower himself to the level of commerce? The very idea was absurd, even laughable. Yet, as he spoke, his words laced with passion and certainty, she couldn't help but admire his audacity and admittable wisdom. Clean things rarely found rats on it, attracted to rubbish as they were. There would be an obvious benefit to smelling wonderful among other things.

Her fingers traced the edge of the box as she considered his words. A cleaner empire. Fewer plagues. Healthier people. It was almost ridiculous in its simplicity. And yet, there was a strange brilliance to it. But then there was the risk. If anyone discovered Constantine's involvement, the backlash would be ferocious. The court, the clergy, even their uncle—all would see it as an affront to imperial dignity.

For his sake, and the Empires' sake, she would have to be quiet about this.

Still, Zoe couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. Constantine's vision, however unorthodox, was rooted in care for the empire and its people. But then again, he always was like this. She glanced up towards his smiling, preening face. Even since they were little, he was always kind, always caring. For as long as she could remember, her older brother spoke firmly for the Empire, it's past, its present, its future. And then there was how he treated her.

​He had never shied away in involving her in his plans. For a moment, she feared that Constantine had changed to be like their uncle, secretive and cold. But such was not the case.

He was still the same Constantine.

The same brother that held her to sleep. The same brother that told her and Theodora wonderful stories. The same brother she knew would protect her.

"I'm sleepy," Zoe murmured.

Constantine raised an eyebrow, then smiled warmly, the kind of smile that only a brother who had spent years looking after his younger siblings could give.

"Then sleep," he replied softly, gesturing toward the bed.

Zoe hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him. For all his bold ideas and ambitions, Constantine had always been her constant—her protector, her confidant, her partner in childhood mischief. There was a profound comfort in his presence, the kind of safety that could melt away her fears, even in the middle of an uncertain future.

She slipped onto the bed, pulling a blanket over herself. But instead of lying down, she sat upright, her fingers twisting the edges of the fabric. "Stay with me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Constantine paused, his smile fading into a more thoughtful expression as he studied her. He knew Zoe too well to dismiss the request as a simple whim. Without a word, Constantine moved to sit beside her on the bed, his arm resting lightly across her shoulders.

"You know why I ran away," Zoe began.

"The Unholy German Confederate, yes," Constantine nodded knowingly.

"I don't want to marry him," Zoe whispered. "I'm scared."

He was a stinky German: the king of a land that mocked everything the Empire stood for. She would be far away from everything she knew and loved, alone in some cold mountain stronghold, surrounded by rough men who ate sausages and drank beer. Far away from the Queen of Cities, far away from civilization. From Rome.

And her brother, the only man who treated her as an equal, who made her feel like she mattered, who saw her as herself, not just a pawn.

"Who told you about this?" Constantine asked gently.

"The maids," she admitted. "A Frankish bishop visited, asking Father for an Imperial bride."

"And how did Father react?"

"He summoned me and asked for my thoughts," Zoe confessed. "I told him I needed time to think."

"And running away is your answer?" Constantine asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zoe giggled. "You always said actions speak louder than words."

"Yes...well, there's a time and place for such things, Zoe," Constantine reminded her. "A simple 'no' would have sufficed."

"But I missed you," Zoe moaned, her voice turning petulant.

"Aww," Constantine cooed, leaning in to pinch her cheek despite her protests. "You missed me? Oh, how my heart leaps with joy!" he teased.

"Dwont gwet uswed tew et," Zoe mumbled through puffed cheeks as Constantine finally let go, his hand moving to gently cup her face. She instinctively leaned into the warmth of his hand: rough, calloused, and familiar.

"I don't want to go," she whispered again.

"You won't," Constantine murmured. "I'm sure of it."

"Really?" Zoe asked, her eyes filling with hope.

"For one, running away like this is sure to sour relations," Constantine said with a snort, earning a glare from Zoe.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"And two," he continued, "your outright refusal will make Father think twice. You and the German haven't even met, and there's already a scandal. If he sends you off now, the Germans would end up with a feisty queen who'd give the chroniclers something to write about."

"You make it sound like I'd start a war," Zoe protested. "I'm not that bad!"

Constantine shot her a look. She huffed and pulled away, pouting as she turned her face from his hand.

"And three," he added, "I can't see what benefit there is in you marrying Otto. His mother, Theophano, our cousin, was wed to foster closer ties and attempt to bind the Germans to us. If you were to marry Otto, it'd serve the same purpose. We'd secure peace, elevate the Western Court's prestige under ours, and...other diplomatic gains."

He paused, glancing at her. Zoe's eyes widened.

"You...aren't considering marrying me off, are you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Constantine shook his head. "No. You'd pick a fight with a noblewoman or two before the wedding feast. I think Theodora would be a better candidate."

Zoe blinked, processing his words. "But she's too blunt and soldier-like," she muttered. "Sure, I'd cause a scandal or two, but Theodora? She'd insult someone and mean it."

"True," Constantine admitted, "but only if she wasn't given clear instructions. Theodora is dutiful. She takes her responsibilities seriously. If Father or Uncle ordered her to marry, she'd perform her role well. Theodora is more than she seems, Zoe. She's hard to approach, slow to warm, and reserved. But she has a fierce and intelligent mind. You're not the only sister I talk to, after all."

A flicker of jealousy burned in Zoe's chest. She knew Constantine shared his affection with Theodora—he was that type of man. But a selfish part of her wanted his attention all to herself.

"Hmph," Zoe huffed, turning her face away.

"Jealous, are we?" Constantine asked, his tone amused.

"Shut up," Zoe muttered, her cheeks flushing.

Constantine chuckled softly, leaning back and resting his hand against her shoulder. That brought her comfort, and courage to continue.

"So," she started, her voice quieter now, "what happens next?"

"Taronites is sending you back with a detachment of loyal men. You will return to the capital by mid-day, if the winds and tides are swift." Constantine replied.

Zoe frowned. "I meant with the marriage, you idiot."

Constantine sighed, his expression thoughtful. "Well, again, you ran. That will be a turn off for anyone. So Otto really might have to choose Theodora instead."

"But I am the elder sister, I carry more weight," Zoe complained.

"Father loves you, Zoe. He will listen." Constantine noted. Or rather, the man would be savvy enough to know that Zoe would be a political disaster.

"But what if he does?" Zoe asked, her voice trembling slightly. "What if he sends me anyway?"

"Then I'll stop it," Constantine said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Zoe's head shot up, her eyes wide. "You'd do that? Risk angering Father? Risk everything?"

Constantine shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You're my sister, Zoe. My annoying, stubborn, impossible little sister. Of course I'd do it."

For a moment, Zoe was silent, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. Then, without warning, she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce hug.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Constantine hesitated, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air, before he sighed and returned the hug, patting her back lightly.

"Don't make me regret it," he muttered. "I've got enough trouble without you adding to it."

Zoe pulled back, grinning now despite the tears shining in her eyes. "I'll try. No promises, though."

Constantine shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. "Of course not."

And thus, Zoe fell back, satisfied, as she turned over. Constantine sat by her side, a hand on her shoulder, humming her a song.

She slept well into the night.

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She would wake up to the sound of grunting and the sharp clang of metal against metal. For a moment, Zoe blinked in confusion, her mind still clouded with sleep. The dim light of dawn seeped through the fabric of the tent, casting long shadows over the rug-covered floor.

She glanced around, noting that the tent was empty. Constantine wasn't there. Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head, her joints popping softly. She rubbed her eyes, then swung her legs off the bed, her bare feet sinking into the thick rug. The cool morning air nipped at her skin as she stood and padded toward the tent's opening.

The sound of sparring grew louder as she pushed the flap aside and stepped out. The early morning greeted her with the soft glow of the rising sun, its rays glinting off the dew-covered grass. A light mist hung over the camp, giving everything an ethereal quality.

And there, just beyond the tents, she saw them.

Constantine stood in the clearing, his armor stripped down to a simple tunic and breeches, his sword glinting in the sunlight. Opposite him was one of his Varangian guards, a hulking figure of a man with arms like tree trunks. The guard's axe swung in wide arcs, heavy and deliberate, but Constantine moved with practiced grace, dodging and parrying with ease.

Zoe paused, watching them. The rhythmic clash of metal against metal echoed across the camp, accompanied by the grunts of exertion and the occasional barked command from Constantine. She folded her arms over her chest, leaning slightly against the tent pole as she observed.

Constantine's movements were fluid, almost like a dance. He sidestepped a heavy swing from the Varangian, his blade flicking out in a quick counterstrike that stopped just short of the man's throat. The guard moved, stepping back and adjusting his grip on the axe before lunging forward again.

Zoe couldn't help but smile. The way he moved was mesmerizing. He was faster now. Bigger, broader than the boy she remembered. In the morning light, she saw his thickened arms, his stance widened. He really was a man now. The kind of man who had felt another man's breath against his neck as he opened his ribs with a blade.

Zoe gripped the edge of the tent tighter.

She should have turned away, should have laughed at the sweat and the dirt and the display of it all. But she watched. Every strike. Every shift of his weight. Every time his muscles pulled beneath the thin linen.

But then her gaze shifted to the Varangian, and she frowned. He was massive, a bear of a man with a thick blond beard and piercing blue eyes. His strikes were powerful, each blow carrying enough force to shatter bone, and that Varangian did bruise her, the brute. She winced as Constantine barely dodged a particularly vicious swing, the axe whistling past his shoulder.

As the sparring match continued, a few other guards began to gather around, forming a loose circle to watch. They whispered among themselves, some placing quiet bets on who would gain the upper hand. Finally, after a particularly intense exchange, Constantine disarmed the Varangian with a sharp twist of his wrist, sending the axe spinning to the ground. He stepped forward, his sword raised, and the guard raised his hands in surrender, a hum leaving his lips.

"Well fought, Porphyrogénnētos," the Varangian said, his voice thick with a northern accent.

Constantine lowered his sword, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. "How was I?" he asked.

"I do not have to teach you anymore," Miroslav rumbled.

"Ah, but I will miss you," Constantine laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder before turning toward the onlookers. His gaze landed on Zoe, their eyes met, and his smile widened.

A flash of something filled Zoe, a warm feeling coursing through her. Suddenly, she was aware of how she looked, wearing a borrowed tunic, hair loose, and raw. Then, she closed the flaps, and went back inside, her breath heavy.

She stood in the dim quiet of the tent, the flap settling shut behind her, the world outside muffled once more. But the noise hadn't left her. It thudded through her ribs. Her hands hung at her sides, half-curled, useless. Her chest rose and fell, faster now, her skin flushed in places no sun had touched. She turned away from the entrance slowly, moving without thought, without aim.

And then it hit her.

The warmth.

It coiled between her thighs like heat from a brazier, persistent and pulsing.

Zoe blinked. She hadn't expected that.

She crossed the tent in silence, brushing past the low stool, the iron-clasped chest, the folded tunics on the bench. Her bare feet barely made a sound against the rug. She pressed her hand to the inside of her thigh through the linen, like testing the edge of a bruise. Heat bloomed there, not pain but pressure, slow and heavy. It left her unsettled.

She sat heavily, almost too quickly, on the edge of the cot. One hand gripped the blanket, the other fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

It had been so sudden.

He hadn't done anything but fight. But not like boys did playing pretend. He moved like he had nothing to prove. Like he could kill and be quiet about it. Like all the years between now and childhood had carved something hard and unshakable in him. Zoe pressed her legs together. She felt the shame rise in her throat, hot and acidic, but she didn't move to cool it. Didn't reach for water or a veil or a prayer. She just sat, staring at the inside of the tent wall, lips parted, chest tight.

Her brother.

The one who taught her stories. Who once plucked a thorn from her foot with a needle and didn't laugh when she cried. The only one who ever said her name like it wasn't a burden. The only man who ever kept his promises.

Good God....

Why was she feeling this?

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The beach glimmered under the morning sun. Waves lapped gently at the shore, their rhythmic crashing the only sound besides the occasional cry of a gull overhead. The ship, a sleek Imperial galley, bobbed in the shallow waters, its sails furled and its oars raised like a resting beast. The guards stood in formation near the gangplank, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, while servants bustled about, loading the last of the provisions onto the ship.

Zoe stood at the edge of the sand, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and sadness. The wind tugged at her hair and the hem of her cloak, but she didn't move. Constantine stood beside her, dressed simply but still carrying the air of command that seemed to follow him everywhere.

"Make sure to eat well, and healthily, when you go back," Constantine reminded her, his tone half-serious, half-teasing.

"I will," Zoe muttered, her voice tinged with annoyance. She glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes. "Do you think I'm incapable of feeding myself?"

"No," Constantine replied with a smirk. "But I do think you'd survive on honeyed pork and flatbread alone if given the chance."

Zoe huffed, looking away, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Breakfast had been quick and simple: flatbread, cheese, and fried pork coated in honey. It was good, filling even, but Constantine had teased her when she reached for a third helping of the sweetened meat. She'd scowled at him then, and she was still scowling now as she thought about it.

"Have a taste for peasant food now?" he poked at her.

"You don't have to act like a Father," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Constantine raised a brow, his smirk fading into something softer. "I'm not trying to be a Father, Zoe. I worry about you, as a good brother should."

She glanced at him sideways, her irritation ebbing slightly. "I'll be fine, you know. I've got the guards, and I've travelled before."

"Not like this," Constantine said, his voice quieter now. "You ran away, Zoe. That won't go unnoticed. There'll be rumors, whispers. Some might see it as a sign of weakness, and others..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

"Others might see it as an opportunity," Zoe finished for him, her voice equally quiet.

Constantine nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Exactly. Hence, I will be sending my best men with you too."

Her eyes flicked to the guards standing by the ship—tall, imposing figures in their polished armor. They watched with both professional courtesy and quiet amusement, never having seen their Caesar be so soft.

"I didn't mean to make trouble for you," Zoe said after a long pause.

Constantine looked at her, his expression softening. "You're my sister, Zoe. If keeping you safe is trouble, then it's trouble I'm happy to have."

She bit her lip, her throat tightening, her heart drummed. She hated how easily his words could break through her defenses.

"Stop being so sentimental," she muttered, brushing at her eyes before he could notice the moisture gathering there.

"I'm not being sentimental," Constantine said with a grin. "I'm being practical. If something happens to you, I'll never hear the end of it from Theodora, Father, or worse, Uncle."

Zoe managed a small laugh at that, shaking her head. "Uncle would probably just call me foolish and then send an army after me."

"Exactly," Constantine said, his grin widening. "So do us all a favor and stay out of trouble, will you?"

"I'll try," she said, though her tone lacked conviction.

"That's the best I can hope for," Constantine replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "Oh and do prepare yourself, Zoe,"

"Eh? For what?" Zoe blinked.

"Why, your punishment of course. Father will have to punish you for this stunt, you know." Constantine sang.

Fuck.

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

A call from the ship's captain interrupted them, signaling that everything was ready. The moment had come, and Zoe felt her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Constantine turned to her, his expression serious again. "Write to me when you get home. Let me know how things are."

"I will," she promised, her voice barely above a whisper, her lips frowning.

He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You'll be fine, Zoe. You're stronger than you think."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "And you? Will you be fine?"

Constantine smiled faintly. "I always am."

It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was the only one she'd get. With a deep breath, Zoe stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a brief but fierce hug. He returned it, his hands resting gently on her back.

"Take care of yourself," she murmured, her face buried in his shoulder.

"You too," he replied, his voice soft.

When they pulled apart, Zoe turned toward the ship, her steps slow and reluctant. The guards followed her, forming a protective circle as she walked up the gangplank. She paused at the top, glancing back one last time.

Constantine stood on the beach, watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. He raised a hand in farewell, and she did the same.

As the ship began to pull away from the shore, Zoe felt a lump rising in her throat. The beach grew smaller and smaller, and with it, the figure of her brother.

And soon enough, when she would arrive back at the Queen of Cities, she was met with a dozen armed guards, and Constantine VIII, her father. But he was not dressed in his usual attire of silks and furs, no, he stood tall, proud, and with the Imperial diadem around his head. And he wasn't smiling.

No, he looked absolutely furious.

Fuck!

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A/N: And so here we have, Zoe Porphyrogenita. I hope her character is to ya'lls liking. Psellus noted her to be charming, extroverted, and loved conversation. A socialite of the extreme. Theodora on the other hand...I am quite sure she was autistic.

Imagine that, a gal bijou little sister, and a strict autist. No wonder the never got along.

Anyway, the chapter next is going to focus on some kingdom building stuff and getting a letter from the Emperor to move into Ohrid, post-haste.