I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After parting ways with Freja, Nathan carried Elin to Ameriah without hesitation.The night had fallen thick and silent, the stars veiled by drifting clouds that dulled their shimmer. In that darkness lay purpose—time to resume Ameriah's treatment, to end what had been long and painful, and to finally return her whole to Tenebria.

Back to her sister. Back to Azariah.

Azariah had already noticed Ameriah's absence, of course. The bond of sisters was too strong for such disappearances to pass unheeded. Yet Nathan, ever meticulous, had Scylla deliver his words to her: he would bring Ameriah back.

And Azariah, though racked by worry, had chosen trust over doubt. She trusted her Lord Commander, her beloved, the one man she believed capable of bending fate itself. That faith in him was precious—Nathan knew it well. And he would not let it shatter. He intended to bring Ameriah back not merely healed, but radiant, at the very peak of her strength.

The Roman estate of Servilia lay quiet when he arrived, an island of pale stone and shadow among the olive groves. Nathan descended into the atrium, his steps echoing faintly against marble worn smooth by years. The air carried the scent of extinguished oil lamps and faint incense, though the night's stillness pressed down heavier than any fragrance.

There, on a carved seat by the fountain's edge, Servilia sat slumped. Exhaustion weighed on her posture, and the tracks of dried tears marred her cheeks like scars of grief. The moment she noticed Nathan's arrival, she rose at once, as though the strength she had lost had suddenly been rekindled by his presence. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears not yet fallen.

"You know where they are," Nathan murmured, turning his gaze to Elin. "Go on."

The girl nodded, obedient though still puzzled by Servilia's silent despair. With a quick glance back, she departed deeper into the villa, leaving Nathan alone with the Roman matron.

Servilia's composure, however, crumbled the instant Elin was gone. She rushed forward and clutched Nathan's arms with trembling hands, desperation spilling from her in every breath.

"W...where were you?!" Her voice cracked. "My… my son...Brutus! He's gone! Caesar… Caesar has taken him!"

"Calm yourself," Nathan said firmly, though not without gentleness.

"I...I can't!" she sobbed, her voice breaking under the weight of terror. "He will kill him! My boy...he has imprisoned him, and I have no way to reach him!" Tears streamed freely now, her hands covering her face as though to shield herself from the truth. "I know Caesar. I know him! He will kill Brutus!"

Nathan's gaze hardened, though his voice remained steady. "No. He won't. He needs him alive."

But Servilia shook her head violently, refusing such comfort. "He only needs Brutus until the House of Junii bends to his will. After that—after that's done—my son will be nothing to him!" Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the cold marble, her grief breaking her in plain sight.

Nathan studied her, his mind sharpening on the unspoken threads behind this move. Caesar—or perhaps Octavius the one who received orders—had been quick to act, snaring Brutus in isolation while letting word slip to his mother. It was a tactic as cruel as it was effective: make the mother anxious, drive her to confession of any complicity in Marcus Antonius's death, or in any secret dealings they suspected.

Politics wrapped in cruelty. Caesar's specialty.

"Did you speak to him?" Nathan asked quietly, voice weighted with importance. "To Caesar?"

Through tears, Servilia shook her head. She had said nothing. She had only waited, clinging desperately to Nathan's promise, hoping he would come, hoping he would save her son.

Nathan bent down onto one knee, his imposing frame softening as he reached out. Gently, he lifted her chin, his touch wiping away the tears streaking her face. His crimson eyes met hers.

"I will bring your son back," he said with quiet steel. "I will keep my promise."

"B...but Brutus…" Her voice wavered with fear.

"He will endure," Nathan assured her. "He must. Caesar still has need of him, and so long as that remains, his life is safe. This—this is meant to hurt you, Servilia. To make you break."

Her trembling lips pressed together as she nodded faintly, though her fear lingered.

"You must remain strong," Nathan continued, his tone now edged with command. "Whatever threats he hurls, whatever cruelties he enacts—you must endure them. If you yield, if you surrender your secrets, Caesar will discard you the moment your usefulness ends. You know this. And if he kills you, Brutus will follow you to the grave. Is that what you want?"

The color drained from her face. "N...no…"

"Your son is strong, isn't he?" Nathan asked.

"Y… yes," she whispered, clinging to that truth.

"Then trust him. And trust me." Nathan's hand lingered against her cheek, steady and warm. "I will bring him back alive. To you."

Her tears flowed anew, though now they were laced with fragile hope. Servilia grasped his arm tightly, as though anchoring herself to him, the only pillar she could trust in a crumbling world.

"I… I have been so blind about him until now…" she muttered weakly, the words falling from her mouth like something she had been carrying too long. "I thought he was a good man and he would protect me and Brutus and that he cared for us…"

"The only thing Caesar care about is himself," Nathan said, voice low and unyielding, as certain as the lines carved into his face.

Servilia nodded, eyes flicking up to him as the realization burned through the last of her illusions. "I… I understood how wrong I was about him and the more I am with you the more I understand it."

She reached, hands unsteady, fingers finding the planes of Nathan's cheeks as if seeking proof that he was real. She kissed him, her soft lips pressing against his, a touch at first that trembled but did not turn away, a plea and a thank you tied together.

Servilia stayed like that for a few more seconds, suspended on the taste of him, before she pulled back to breathe, pupils blown wide.

"Thank you for your protection… and your words… Septimius," she said, his family name falling like a vow, like the clink of a key turning in a lock.

Nathan leaned in once more and kissed her back, surprising Servilia with the sudden heat he poured into her mouth. "Hmmm—hnn," she sounded against him, but she accepted the kiss, her lips parting, her tongue meeting his when he chased her deeper.

Nathan's kiss was stronger and fiercer than hers, and he tasted her juicy lips like a man who had found something forbidden and claimed it. He pressed forward until her spine bowed, and then, with a helpless little gasp, she let herself fall onto the floor of her atrium, the cool stone kissing her shoulders and back while her light brown hair spilled out behind her, a fan painting the ground.

The sounds of kisses filled the silence, wet and hungry, echoing off columns and walls as Servilia gripped Nathan's shirt and pulled him closer. She felt her whole body getting hot, heat blooming up her throat and down between her thighs, her nipples tightening beneath the thin fall of linen.

Nathan pulled back just enough to open her to a rain of slow attention. He kissed her cheeks, soft and reverent, then the point of her chin, then he licked her neck, a deliberate drag of tongue over the little pulse that fluttered there.

"Haa… ahh… haa…" Servilia breathed out, breath stuttering around the syllables.

"Stay strong and faithful to me," he whispered, lips brushing the tender skin beneath her ear. "And I will get rid of Caesar and give you safety, power, and my protection."

Saying that, he lifted her Roman gown, hands sliding under the fabric and sweeping upward with intent, palms mapping the supple heft of her thighs. His fingers plunged into the warm shadow between them, spreading heat wherever they touched, as if he were lighting lamps along a dark corridor.

"Hmm… oh—" Servilia shivered at his touch, her knees falling open even as she tried to hold herself together, the marble under her calves cold while the rest of her burned.

"Rule behind Rome for me," he said, eyes on hers while his hand moved with sinful patience. "And no one will dare to touch you… except me."

His fingers traced the soft curls at her pubis, reverent, then lower. He skimmed along the tender folds, teased moisture to the surface, circled, pressed, slid—slow, precise, mercilessly sure of what he wanted to draw out of her.

"H… haa… haaa—haa!" Servilia's eyes widened and then closed on a cry, her cheeks flushing red as pleasure crashed through her without warning. Her body clenched and soaked his fingers, the shock of it stealing her breath, the world narrowing to the place where he touched her. She could not believe it. She came just by his touch, and it left her trembling and open, mind white and bright.

"Haa… y… yes…" she breathed raggedly, looking up at Nathan through wet lashes, nodding as if nodding could keep the ground from tilting. She swallowed hard.

Nathan smirked, a private triumph in his eyes that said he had measured her and found something rare. This woman was special. And special women belonged to him.