I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“You have come a long way, Queen Cleopatra,” Crassus remarked, his tone measured but not without a trace of curiosity, as their group advanced through the grand stone corridors of the Theatre of Pompey. Marble pillars rose on either side of them, casting long shadows beneath the open sky, while the muted echo of footsteps carried across the ancient structure. Ahead lay the main building, where formal discussions were to be held—where words would weigh as much as armies.

“Indeed,” Fulvius added smoothly, folding his hands behind his back as he walked. “We do hope that such a journey was undertaken with the expectation of a fruitful alliance—one that could give rise to lasting cooperation and mutual benefit between our two Empires.”

Cleopatra did not slow her pace. Her chin remained lifted, her gaze serious as she surveyed the Roman architecture with thinly veiled appraisal. “I do not care for wasting my time,” she replied coolly. “I came here to negotiate a truce and to reclaim my sister, Arsinoe. As for alliances—those require discussion, and more importantly, clear advantage. If there is nothing to gain, then they will have to wait.”

At her words, Crassus’s expression tightened, and Fulvius’s polite composure faltered, just for an instant. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

Nathan had promised them an alliance—spoken of it as if it were already a certainty. Now it became evident that his assurances had been… generously embellished. Sweetened, perhaps deliberately so. Neither Crassus nor Fulvius believed him foolish enough to speak on Cleopatra’s behalf without knowing her intentions. No—he must have known. He had simply offered them pleasant words to ensure Cleopatra would be welcomed without hostility, to secure these talks, and above all, to ensure Arsinoe’s release.

It was diplomacy dressed as optimism.

Walking a few steps behind Cleopatra, Apollodorus observed the slight tension ripple through the Roman delegation. As her closest advisor, he was well acquainted with her nature—how arrogance clung to her like perfume, even on foreign soil. Sensing the growing unease, he cleared his throat and stepped in smoothly.

“Of course,” Apollodorus said with a courteous incline of his head, his voice calm, “the Queen does hope that this meeting will one day lead to an alliance between our Empires. One founded on honesty and shared interest—something rather different from the promises once offered by Julius Caesar, which we believe were built upon convenient falsehoods.”

Fulvius let out a low scoff. “Julius Caesar,” he said mockingly. “A man whose words should never be taken at face value. Every decision he makes serves only himself. At first, you might believe you are gaining more than he is—but in truth, it is always the opposite.”

Cleopatra allowed herself a faint smile. “I realized that the moment I met him,” she said. “Which is precisely why I relied on him to reclaim my throne. A man so arrogant, so obsessed with victory, would never accept failure—especially not in front of the world. He would go to any length to prove his superiority.”

She had understood him perfectly. Caesar craved spectacle, triumph, and the illusion of absolute control. Alexandria had been his stage, and she had merely provided the provocation. By appealing to his pride and his hatred of losing, she had guided him exactly where she wanted—and it had worked.

As for the consequences that followed… she had chosen to ignore them at the time. Those, she told herself, could be dealt with later.

Perhaps it was obsession. Perhaps it was desperation. But her throne was not merely a seat of power—it was her entire existence, her name, her purpose. Without it, she was nothing.

And yet, despite all of that, someone unexpected had entered her life. Someone who clearly changed how she viewed things.

Septimius.

“Where is he, by the way?” Cleopatra added lightly, a trace of amusement glinting in her eyes. “I would very much like to see his unsightly, defeated figure for myself.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and unapologetic.

Those walking alongside her exchanged uncertain glances, unsure how to react. Even for Rome—where insults were traded as casually as greetings—such a statement was bold. Julius Caesar, disgraced or not, had once been the most powerful man in the Empire.

Yet Cleopatra spoke as if his fall were nothing more than an amusing inconvenience.

For all their private contempt toward Caesar, none of them could openly echo her mockery. She showed no hesitation, no restraint, no concern for Roman sensibilities. She spoke as a queen who owed no explanations—and expected no rebukes.

Servilia, walking quietly at the side, observed Cleopatra with careful attention. Nathan had spoken of her before—briefly, almost dismissively, as though greatness were an obvious thing that required no elaboration. But now, seeing her in person, Servilia realized how inadequate his words had been.

Everything she had heard about Cleopatra suddenly felt… understated.

Servilia could understand it now. Why Nathan regarded her so highly. Why he spoke of her not merely as a ruler, but as something rarer.

She was young—what, nineteen at most?—yet she carried herself with an authority that many seasoned statesmen lacked. There was no nervousness in her stride, no insecurity in her gaze. Her presence alone bent the atmosphere around her, commanding attention without demanding it.

Maturity radiated from her in waves. So did allure—subtle, effortless, dangerous.

It was no wonder she was revered like a goddess in the lands of Amun-Ra.

Had Cleopatra been born in Rome, Servilia was certain she would have risen just as high—perhaps even higher. The Senate would have feared her. Men like Caesar would have either worshipped her… or tried to destroy her.

And with a twinge of bitterness she scarcely wished to acknowledge, Servilia knew something else as well.

If Cleopatra had been in her place, she would never have been ensnared so easily. Never lulled by charm, promises, or false affection. Cleopatra would have seen through Caesar from the very beginning—and turned his vanity against him without ever losing herself.

She was not an ordinary woman.

At eighteen, she had raised an army of resistance against her own brother—who commanded the full might of the Empire—and had stood her ground without flinching. She had spoken to Caesar not as a supplicant, but as an equal, unshaken by his reputation, unmoved by his power.

Even Caesar himself—master manipulator, seducer, and conqueror—had failed to bend her. His usual tactics had proven useless. His words had not found their way into her heart.

She was of a different breed altogether.

“Julius Caesar is still in Septimius’s custody,” the Pope replied calmly. “He has stated that he will bring him here today.”

At those words, Cleopatra’s lips curved into a genuine smile—one that held no mockery, only satisfaction.

“As expected,” she said softly. “He truly impresses me more with each passing second.”

When Nathan had first spoken to her of his plans—to bring down Caesar as though it were a simple matter, almost a casual stroll—she had been stunned. Even after he revealed his true appearance, doubt had lingered in her mind. Not because she underestimated him, but because what he proposed bordered on the impossible.

And yet, now…

After hearing everything that had transpired. After learning how swiftly, how decisively Caesar had been defeated—how the man who once ruled Rome now sat imprisoned by Nathan’s hand—she found herself at a loss for words.

She had always known he was special. Extraordinary, even.

But this…

This surpassed every expectation.

A month ago, he had spoken of Caesar’s downfall without the slightest hesitation. Without bravado. Without uncertainty.

And now, barely a month later, he had done it.

No—he had done more than that.

He had become a living legend in Rome.

“We have been wondering,” Crassus said at last, breaking the steady rhythm of their footsteps. His voice was calm, carefully neutral, yet the curiosity behind it was unmistakable. “Would you be willing to tell us the nature of your relationship with Septimius?”

The moment the question was spoken, silence fell.

Every conversation ceased. Every step slowed. Even the echo of sandals against stone seemed to fade as those present subtly leaned in, their attention sharpening. It was not a question asked lightly—nor was it one meant only for politeness.

Nathan had spoken clearly to them before. He had stated, without hesitation, that Cleopatra was his woman now. Still, words spoken by another carried weight only to a point. They wanted confirmation from the Queen herself—spoken plainly, unmistakably, from her own lips.

Apollodorus reacted immediately, as though anticipating the tension before it could fully take root.

“Septimius is a great ally of the Pharaoh,” he said smoothly, a polite smile forming as he spoke. His tone was measured, diplomatic, carefully chosen.

“A great ally, you say?” Fulvius repeated, narrowing his eyes slightly. His gaze shifted past Apollodorus, settling squarely on Cleopatra. “And yet, I believe we were hoping for the Queen’s answer.”

Cleopatra slowed her pace just enough to be noticed. She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful, as though weighing something far more complex than the question itself.

“Hm,” she hummed softly.

Then, with effortless calm, she spoke.

“Let us say,” she said, her voice low and composed, “that he is the only man worthy to share my bed.”

The effect was immediate.

For a heartbeat—then another—no one spoke.

Crassus stared. Fulvius froze mid-step. Even those accustomed to political audacity found themselves momentarily stunned. It was not an outright declaration, not a formal proclamation fit for record or treaty—but it was unmistakable nonetheless.

Cleopatra had chosen her words carefully.

She did not openly announce a relationship—such matters were delicate for a Queen, doubly so for a Pharaoh. To bind herself publicly to a man viewed by many as little more than a mercenary would have been reckless. And yet, the implication carried enormous weight.

Some moments later, the group was guided toward a secluded chamber deeper within the complex. This room was larger, more refined than the one where Nathan had previously conducted his negotiations—its purpose clearly different.

Crassus and the others halted at the threshold, instinctively stepping aside to grant Cleopatra precedence. No words were exchanged. No objections raised.

Cleopatra offered no further commentary. She simply passed through the doorway, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. Apollodorus followed closely behind her.

The chamber was quiet.

At its center stood a single figure—a young woman clad in the traditional garments of the Amun-Ra Empire, her back turned toward the entrance. She stood still, almost rigid, as though bracing herself.

The moment Cleopatra entered, the girl turned around.

Time seemed to pause.

It was Arsinoe.