I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

For now, he would walk the Roman halls as Septimius.

He would whisper where it mattered, sever what needed severing, and poison the roots of Rome if he had to—all while feeding Cleopatra just enough truth to keep her hungry for more.

The real war hadn’t begun yet.

“That’s quite the bold proposal,” Nathan said, his tone laced with curiosity and caution. “Ambitious too. If what you’re planning does come to pass, I imagine it would be… advantageous for me to be the ally who helped you rise to such heights.”

He leaned back slightly, his sharp eyes never leaving Cleopatra’s. The flickering torchlight in the tent danced across his white hair.

Cleopatra remained silent, her expression unreadable. She sat with the poise of a queen born to command, her face a portrait of enigmatic beauty and veiled calculation. She didn’t speak, didn’t blink — she simply watched, as if waiting for Nathan to draw his own conclusions.

A long pause followed. Then, Nathan’s gaze narrowed. There was steel in his voice when he spoke next.

“But can I really trust you?” he asked, slowly. “You ask me to betray Caesar. Turn against the very man whose favor I’ve earned. And for what? What assurance do I have that you won’t slit my throat the moment I’ve outlived my usefulness, Queen Cleopatra?”

A soft, melodic laugh escaped her lips — rich, amused, and not without a hint of admiration. She tilted her head, strands of her dark hair catching the candlelight like strands of woven silk. Nathan’s defiance amused her. No, more than that — it intrigued her. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite name, something beneath the surface of the rogue façade. Something dangerous.

“You don’t,” she said simply, her voice smooth as honey. “You have no assurance. I could very well betray you. Perhaps I will. But for now… we are allies. And I have every reason to keep you alive and close to me. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She rested her chin delicately on her cheek, eyes gleaming like polished amber stones. “I don’t waste time — or breath — on those I don’t deem worthy. You should feel honored, mercenary.”

To her, Nathan was an enigma. A sword-for-hire with the bearing of a noble and the gaze of a man who had seen too much and regretted too little. From the moment he marched into her palace — audaciously dragging Pompey behind him, as if Roman politics were mere trifles — Cleopatra knew he wasn’t ordinary. There was something about him, something primal and unnerving. He did not act like a man surrounded by lions. He acted like the lion himself.

When he stood before Caesar, he hadn’t flinched. He hadn’t bowed. Not once had he lowered his gaze, even under the full weight of Caesar’s presence — a presence that had bent senators and generals to their knees. No, Nathan had met that gaze head-on, unflinching, unyielding. If anything, it was as if he were the one judging them.

Cleopatra’s instincts, honed by years of surviving treachery and ambition in the Amun Ra court, whispered that Nathan was more than a mercenary. He had presence, yes — but also power, and the rare, intoxicating blend of pride and pragmatism. He was dangerous.

And dangerous men could be either powerful allies or catastrophic enemies.

Just like Caesar, she knew the game. And she knew that Caesar had seen the same thing she did — the fire beneath the calm, the potential beneath the ragged armor. That was why he had taken Nathan into his confidence so quickly, leaving even his closest companions in disbelief.

“You seem to think very highly of me,” Nathan said, his tone laced with suspicion as his crimson eyes narrowed slightly.

A part of him couldn’t help but wonder — had she been in contact with one of the gods? Had some divine whisper reached her ears, speaking of him? Was that why she kept looking at him like he was something more than mortal?

But Cleopatra didn’t answer his unspoken thoughts. She only smiled — slow, confident, the kind of smile that belonged to a woman who always got what she wanted.

With the grace of a cat, she stepped closer to him, her delicate hands brushing lightly along his arms, then sliding over the hard plane of his chest, as if mapping the lines of a statue carved by war itself. There was no fear in her — only fascination.

“I can feel your strength,” she murmured, her voice soft like silk, brushing against his skin more intimately than her fingers. “Men like you… they’re rare. I’ve known kings, generals, warriors… but none felt like this.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Tell me the truth — are you strong enough to defeat Caesar himself?”

Nathan said nothing.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. But the air between them suddenly thickened with tension.

He wasn’t sure how strong Caesar truly was. The Roman’s aura, the way space bent around him when he moved with purpose — it hinted at something approaching divinity. A man knocking at the door of godhood. A Demigod in the making. But Nathan wasn’t intimidated.

Because deep down, he knew.

He had fought worse.

And if it came down to it… he was confident he could win.

He just didn’t say it.

But Cleopatra, sharp as ever, caught it in the flicker of his eyes — that cold fire burning steady, unwavering.

She smirked. “You are, aren’t you?”

There was no question in her voice anymore. She wasn’t asking — she was confirming what she already knew in her gut.

This man wasn’t ordinary.

This man could change the world.

But Nathan’s voice remained cold, distant. “Even if I could defeat him… why do you assume I’d go that far for you?”

Cleopatra laughed softly, as though he’d said something adorably naive. “You don’t have to be so cold,” she said, and before he could step back, her hand drifted lower — past his waist, brushing against the fabric of his pants, her fingers slipping boldly forward.

She found what she was looking for.

Her eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise. “Well… you carry more than just strength, I see.”

Nathan didn’t move. He allowed her touch, but his voice was steady and pointed. “Is that how you win allies? With your body?”

Cleopatra didn’t pull back. If anything, her smile deepened. “Do you think me so cheap?” she asked, tracing him slowly, almost teasingly. “I’ve never touched a man like this before. I thought Caesar would be the first — the only one worthy of it.”

She paused, her gaze lifting to meet his once more. There was no coyness in her now. Just honesty — raw and simple.

“But then you arrived.”

Nathan frowned slightly, caught between suspicion and confusion. “You’re saying I’m more worthy than Caesar?” he asked, still not sure how she had come to that conclusion.

“Perhaps,” she said with a shrug, her golden earrings swaying gently as she moved. “Perhaps not. But if I had to choose between the two of you right now… to share that first, to offer what I’ve never offered any man…”

She stepped even closer, her voice a whisper that danced with fire.

“I would choose you.”