I picked up my own silver cup. "During that period, nearly four governors will come and go. I will place my candidate upon that seat eventually, but that day is not coming up anytime soon."
Cato watched me carefully over the rim of his cup. "Does this mean you are willing to let the Senate make the choice?"
"I am," I answered simply.
I watched the subtle shift in his posture. I could practically see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Cato was a creature of ambition. I knew he harboured his own plans for Qohor. He wanted to expand his blacksmith enterprise to the Western Frontier. Securing a foothold in the ruined city would make it much easier for him to trade directly with the Free Cities.
I did not begrudge him these ambitions. A fed hound is a loyal hound.
"You are also welcome to manoeuvre for your own benefits in this matter, Cato," I stated smoothly.
A genuine smile broke across the senator's face. He offered a deep nod of appreciation. "I am grateful for the latitude, Dominus. On the subject of manoeuvres, I attempted to curb the Lorathi influence over Argus. I approached them to buy his debt."
"And the result?"
"They were not willing to part with the major chunk of it," Cato admitted. "They only handed over a meagre portion."
I cast a casual glance at the meal spread on the table so far I had enjoyed only the olives. My appetite did not seem to take a liking to fish so I pushed the plate away. "The Lorathi would naturally never hand over their control over a Senator of Rome. It is worth far more to them than the money owed by the man. Though from the communication I had with the Lorathi envoy they have accepted our conquest of Qohor even if begrudgingly so they are unlikely to act against us so soon."
"Shall I prepare measures against them Dominus?" Cato asked cautious. He now seemed eager to crush this supposed opposition before it rose. I blamed him not for his enterprise would be the first on the chopping block should the Lorathi begin interfering in Qohor.
"Leave it be," I instructed, setting my cup down. "In time, there will be major changes with regards to the Western border. Any hasty moves now will only serve to diminish returns in the future."
Cato blinked. The irritation of his failed transaction vanished, replaced by sudden shock. He leaned closer. "Are you planning to wage war once more?"
A smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I looked past him, letting my gaze rest upon the black-eyed portrait on the wall. I left the truth of the matter hidden securely within my own mind.
"I have no such intention in the near future," I finally said. "But circumstances can change."
His eyes gleamed with understanding. "I see Dominus. May I make a request?"
"You may."
"Were I to present a governor candidate before the Senate could I count on your support for his election?" asked the man humbly but the underlying intent was clear.
I smiled. "Certainly Cato unless someone presents me with an even more beneficial trade than your own I will not forsake you. Though it would be wise of you to keep an eye on what the other factions may offer in the coming days."
I shook his head smiling. "I would not have it any other way Dominus. An understanding based on corporeal rewards is far greater than flimsy relations that can break with a few spoken words."
I smiled not quite agreeing with him but also seeing the point he was making. He left soon after finishing his wine. I was now alone with my thoughts. I swung my hand as the curtains darkened the room and I closed my eyes.
…
Third Person POV
The afternoon sun filtered through the high, arched windows of the Imperial Palace, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. The hall was vast and quiet, a sanctuary of cool stone removed from the ceaseless thrum of the capital. Massive columns of white marble stood like silent sentinels, supporting a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations that slowly shifted and rotated under their own subtle enchantments.
In the center of the hall, seated at a heavy table of dark mahogany, a thirteen-year-old Octavian stared intently at the board before him.
He was a boy caught in the fleeting space between childhood and the burdens of his bloodline. Short, dark hair framed a face that still held the lingering softness of youth, yet his jawline was already beginning to sharpen into the severe, aristocratic angles characteristic of his lineage. A faint, silvery scar tracked down his forehead, narrowly missing a striking, electric-emerald eye before terminating near his chin.
Across the board sat Hadrian. The Emperor wore a simple tunic of spun dark silk, his posture relaxed, though his own green eyes missed nothing.
Octavian tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair. The board was a battlefield of carved obsidian and white marble. The boy's forces were marshalled defensively, a solid phalanx of pawns protecting his king, while Hadrian's white pieces had aggressively seized the center of the board, probing for weaknesses.
"You are hesitating," Hadrian observed quietly, his voice carrying easily in the silent hall.