Chapter 453: 448 -
The tavern eventually began to thin.
Not because the laughter died—
But because even legionnaires had limits.
Many had already long since passed out under the influence of the devil’s drink.
Chairs scraped against wooden floors.
Tankards were drained to their final bitter drops.
One by one, soldiers staggered out into the cool embrace of the Eternal City’s night air.
Zeff rose slowly from the bench, stretching his broad shoulders.
"Well," he declared, clapping Julius hard enough on the back to nearly send him forward, "I believe you’ve suffered enough for one evening."
"I disagree," Julius muttered. "I believe you have not yet paid for half of what you said."
Zeff grinned. "Ah, but you see—I have something you do not, at least not yet."
"And that is?"
"A wife who terrifies me into staying in line."
Julius snorted.
They stepped out into the street together.
The night air was cool, the earlier heat of the tavern replaced by a breeze rolling down from the upper districts.
Lanterns glowed warmly along the thoroughfares.
Distant music drifted from somewhere deeper in the city.
They walked without a destination.
Two figures among many.
Drunk—but not foolishly so.
Aware enough to avoid stumbling into patrols.
Aware enough to note shadows.
Aware enough to speak truths one rarely voiced sober.
Julius folded his arms behind his back as they moved along the stone roads.
"There is another concern," he said after a long silence.
Zeff groaned theatrically. "Gods, it never ends with you."
"My children."
"You do not have any yet."
"Precisely."
Zeff blinked at him. "You’re worried about children that do not exist."
"Yes."
Zeff stared at him for a moment.
Then burst into laughter again.
"You are unbelievable."
Julius frowned. "This is not humorous."
"You’re walking through the capital after announcing your marriage, and instead of worrying about the ceremony, alliances, future wars or assassins—"
"I am always worried about assassins."
"—you are worried about imaginary sons overthrowing you."
"It is a legitimate historical trend."
Zeff rubbed his face.
"Ah. Of course it is."
Julius continued, voice steady despite the ale warming his blood.
"Empires fracture most often from within. Succession crises. Brothers turning against brothers. Sons rebelling before fathers have cooled in their graves."
"You’re not even married yet."
"And already I must consider how to prevent internal collapse."
Zeff stopped walking and turned to him.
"Or," he said carefully, "you could raise them properly."
Julius blinked.
"That is... simplistic."
"It is effective."
They resumed walking.
Zeff gestured broadly as he spoke.
"Raise them strong. Raise them disciplined. Teach them the burden of the throne. Or just make them think you have incredibly high standards that they’ll spend their entire lives striving to achieve."
Julius exhaled slowly.
"And if one of them desires it too much?"
"Then you make sure the others desire the Empire more than the crown, or you prove to the little brat just why your the one called Emperor."
Julius glanced sideways at him.
"You speak as though this is obvious."
Zeff shrugged.
"I have three. You learn quickly that if you do not guide them, they guide themselves. And children are idiots."
Julius almost smiled.
"You include yourself in that category, I assume."
"Frequently."
They walked in silence for a while after that.
Passing night vendors closing stalls.
A pair of musicians arguing about tempo.
A patrol of city guards who gave them only cursory glances.
The capital did not sleep.
It simply breathed slower.
Julius tilted his head back slightly, looking at the stars barely visible beyond the city’s glow.
"Do you think," he asked quietly, "that I would be a good father?"
Zeff did not answer immediately.
Instead, he watched Julius carefully.
"You worry about their rebellion before they are born," Zeff said at last. "You worry about the Empire they will inherit. You worry about whether you deserve your wives."
He snorted.
"You’ll be fine."
"That is not reassurance."
"It is from me."
Julius huffed softly.
They turned a corner.
Then another.
And somewhere between discussing succession laws and Zeff’s insistence that one child inevitably inherits their mother’s temper—
The streets blurred.
Lanterns became streaks of gold.
Conversation drifted.
Laughter returned.
At some point—
Julius distinctly remembered explaining to Zeff why it would be strategically sound to create sibling rivalry tournaments as structured bonding exercises.
Zeff had responded by calling him insane.
After that—
Memory became unreliable.
—
Julius awoke to softness.
And silence.
That alone was wrong.
His eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling above him was familiar.
Carved stone.
Imperial insignia.
Heavy drapery.
His bedchamber.
He stiffened.
How—
He turned his head.
There was a weight beside him.
A distinct lump beneath the blankets.
His body reacted before thought.
He rolled sharply, hand reaching instinctively—
Only to find no blade.
He froze.
The lump shifted.
Snored.
Julius stared.
Very slowly, very carefully—
He pulled back the edge of the blanket.
There—
Fully clothed.
Boots still on.
Face smashed into a pillow—
Was Zeff.
Snoring like a dying warhorn.
Julius blinked twice.
Then lay back against the mattress.
"...Of course."
Before he could process how they had traversed half the capital and infiltrated the palace without him remembering—
The chamber doors exploded inward.
They did not open.
They were assaulted.
The doors slammed against the walls with a thunderous crack.
Julius shot upright.
Zeff however did not content to remain in dreamland.
Into the room stormed Mirine.
Hair unbound.
Eyes blazing.
Still in her own night robes—but radiating a fury that could rival battlefield commanders.
She took one look at the bed.
One look at her husband.
And her expression darkened further.
"Zeff."
It was not loud.
It was worse.
Julius slowly scooted backward toward the headboard.
Zeff stirred.
"Mmm... five more minutes..."
Mirine crossed the room in three strides.
She grabbed Zeff by the ear.
Hard.
Zeff bolted upright with a strangled yelp.
"Wha—?!"
"You," Mirine hissed, dragging him bodily across the bed, "decided to spend the night corrupting—"
She froze mid-sentence.
Her eyes flicked to Julius.
They widened slightly.
There was a beat of silence.
Then she inclined her head respectfully.
"Your Majesty."
Julius, still sitting upright in his own bed, hair disheveled, blinked.
"...Good morning, Mirine."
She nodded once.
Then resumed dragging Zeff.
"—corrupting His Majesty on the eve of his wedding."
Zeff flailed uselessly.
"He needed emotional support!"
"He’s the emperor he’s got all the support he could need without your drunk foolish self trying to help out."
Zeff yelped as she hauled him off the mattress entirely.
He shot Julius a desperate look.
"Help."
Julius folded his hands calmly.
"I believe this is a domestic matter."
"Traitor," Zeff muttered as he was dragged toward the door.
Mirine paused at the threshold.
She turned back to Julius once more.
"My apologies for the disturbance, Your Majesty."
"...None taken, he certainly deserves whats coming to him."
She nodded.
Then with one hand closed the doors behind her as Zeff’s protests echoed down the corridor.
Silence returned.
Julius stared at the ceiling.
His head throbbed faintly.
He turned his head toward the empty space Zeff had occupied.
Then sighed.
His stag night had ended not in debauchery—
But in shared snoring.
He let out a small, tired laugh.
Perhaps—
That was fitting.
For an Emperor who feared his unborn children’s rebellion—
And a man who still needed to learn how to sleep without strategizing the future.
Outside his chamber, Mirine’s voice continued lecturing.
Inside—
Julius closed his eyes.
And allowed himself—
Just a few more minutes of peace.
