I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 599: Roman-Amun Ra Alliance

Silence settled over the vast chamber, thick and heavy, as if the very air had been frozen in place.

Arsinoe stood unmoving near the center of the room, her slender frame rigid, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. Her blue eyes—wide, shimmering, disbelieving—were fixed on the figure standing before her.

Cleopatra.

For a heartbeat, then another, Arsinoe wondered if her mind was playing a cruel trick on her. More than a month had passed since she had last seen her sister, yet the separation had stretched in her memory like an eternity. She had replayed that final image again and again: she being taken into Caesar’s custody, defeated and in a pathetic state.

They hadn’t been allowed to speak then. There had been no time for apologies, no whispered reassurances, no promises of reunion. Arsinoe had stood helplessly, doing nothing—saying nothing—and the regret had eaten at her ever since.

She had never expected to see Cleopatra again.

Never thought of deserving to see her again.

Cleopatra had been chased out of Alexandria, the city where they had both been born and raised, cast aside in the chaos that followed their father’s death. The loss had wounded her deeply, and the injustice of it had ignited a fury that Arsinoe knew all too well. Cleopatra’s anger—sharp, fierce, and uncompromising—was justified. Anyone with eyes could see that.

And yet, despite everything, Arsinoe knew one truth with painful clarity: Cleopatra had cared about her.

That was what hurt the most.

Arsinoe had never felt worthy of that care.

“Sister…” she finally managed to say, her voice trembling as it broke the silence.

Cleopatra did not answer at once. She studied Arsinoe carefully, her beautiful bright amber eyes assessing every detail.

Despite her imprisonment, Arsinoe looked well. Her clothes were clean, her posture proper, her face free of the marks of hardship. Someone had clearly ensured that she was presentable—prepared for this moment, for this reunion. Cleopatra noticed it immediately.

“I see you are doing well,” Cleopatra said at last, her tone cool.

“I… yes…” Arsinoe replied softly, lowering her eyes.

“You are free now,” Cleopatra continued. “You should thank Septimius for making that possible.”

“I know…” Arsinoe whispered.

Cleopatra tilted her head slightly. “And what do you plan to do next?”

The question struck Arsinoe harder than any accusation. Her chest tightened, and the fragile composure she had been clinging to shattered. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the room, blurring even Cleopatra’s face.

“Sister, I…” Her voice faltered. “I… I just want to go home. And be… be with you.”

The words hung in the air.

Silence followed—deep, unbearable silence.

Cleopatra watched as Arsinoe’s tears spilled freely, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her fear and longing. For a long moment, she said nothing, as if weighing not only Arsinoe’s words, but her heart.

Finally, Cleopatra spoke.

“This is your last chance.”

Arsinoe lifted her gaze sharply, hope and terror colliding in her expression.

“I will not accept another betrayal from one of my siblings,” Cleopatra said, her voice low and dangerous. “And do not…force me to kill you.”

The threat was real. Arsinoe knew it was. And yet, beneath it, she heard something else—pain, exhaustion, and a warning born not of cruelty, but of survival.

Arsinoe broke.

She burst into sobs and rushed forward, throwing her arms around Cleopatra, clinging to her as though she might disappear again if she let go.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she cried, her words tumbling out between gasps. “I’m sorry! I love you, sister! Please—please! Take me with you. Don’t… don’t abandon me…”

Her tears soaked into Cleopatra’s shoulder as she trembled in her embrace.

For a moment, Cleopatra remained still.

Then, slowly, she raised a hand and gently ran her fingers through Arsinoe’s hair, the gesture unexpectedly tender.

“Then you should get ready,” Cleopatra said quietly.

“Guards, accompany her,” Crassus ordered.

Arsinoe pulled back just enough to look at her sister, a fragile, tearful smile breaking through her grief. She nodded eagerly and followed the guards out of the room, her steps lighter than they had been in weeks.

She could not remain here. Discussions would follow—serious ones.

Once the doors closed behind her, Fulvius gestured toward the seats arranged within the chamber.

“Then shall we begin?” he asked.

As it had been when Nathan spoke, there was a single seat set apart, facing four others occupied by the Pope, Crassus, Servilia, and Fulvius himself. The arrangement was deliberate, symbolic—one ruler facing a council of power.

It had been a calculated move to present Arsinoe in such excellent condition before initiating talks of alliances and political terms.

And it had worked.

The tension lingering around Cleopatra had softened, just slightly—enough to be noticed.

Enough to matter maybe.

Cleopatra moved first, taking her seat without hesitation, her movements composed and regal. Apollodorus stepped into place behind her, standing straight and vigilant, his presence silent but unmistakably protective. He said nothing, yet his sharp gaze swept the chamber, ever watchful.

Across from her, the four Romans followed suit, settling into their seats one after another. The arrangement was deliberate, formal—power facing power.

Crassus folded his hands together and inclined his head slightly.

“Shall we begin, then?” he said. “Let us try not to complicate matters. We should be finished in time for the judgment of Julius Caesar.”

“I am very much looking forward to it,” Cleopatra replied, a faint smile curving her lips.

For the briefest moment, even Crassus faltered, caught off guard by the effortless confidence and charm she exuded. He quickly composed himself, clearing his throat as though nothing had happened.

And so the negotiations began.

Politics filled the room—dense, intricate, and relentless. Alliances were discussed, borders debated, trade routes outlined, resources promised and exchanged. Every word carried weight, every pause calculated.

Most of the Roman arguments were handled collectively, though Fulvius and Servilia took the lead. They spoke with ease and experience, navigating treaties and precedents as if they were second nature, their voices steady and precise.

On the opposing side, Apollodorus spoke for the Amun-Ra Empire. Calm, articulate, and sharp-minded, he laid out their advantages and conditions with clarity, ensuring that not a single concession went unaddressed. Cleopatra listened closely, occasionally interjecting with a subtle nod or a brief remark, but for the most part, she allowed Apollodorus to lead.

She could have spoken herself—of that there was no doubt—but trust bound them. Apollodorus had proven himself time and again, and she saw no reason to doubt him now.

Outside the Theatre of Pompey, far from the suffocating weight of politics, Nathan stood alone in the gardens.

His arms were crossed as he gazed absentmindedly at the greenery around him, the faint rustle of leaves carried by a gentle breeze. He had no desire to interrupt the negotiations inside, nor any interest in listening to endless discussions about alliances and borders.

They were necessary, of course—but unbearably dull.

All he cared about was the final outcome.

Caesar’s judgment.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed footsteps approaching until a familiar voice broke the quiet.

“What are you doing out here?”

Nathan turned to see Licinia walking toward him.

“Getting some air,” he replied simply. “What about you?”

“I… am here to assist with Caesar’s trial,” she said.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure you want to be involved in that? Last I remember, you wanted to sleep with him,” he said casually. “You even tried using a love potion. Quite the failure, though.”

Licinia’s cheeks flushed instantly.

“Because of whom, I wonder!” she snapped. “A..And besides, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about him anymore.”

“You only cared about his status to begin with,” Nathan replied flatly.

“That… may be true,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I also thought he was amazing once.”

“Past tense,” Nathan noted. “Looks like his pathetic fall didn’t sit well with you.”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “That’s not it. I saw what he did to Rome. What he became. He’s just… an arrogant monster.”

Nathan studied her for a moment, then let out a quiet huff of amusement.

“I didn’t think you were the type to worry about people.”

Licinia stopped short and shot him a sharp glare.

“And how exactly do you see me?”

Nathan finally turned fully toward her, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“An arrogant, selfish woman,” he said without hesitation.

“I see,” Licinia scoffed.

She turned on her heel, clearly intending to leave—but she barely took a step before the world shifted.

In the blink of an eye, Nathan was beside her.

Before she could react, his hand pressed against the wall beside her head, cutting off her escape as his other arm pinned her in place. The movement was so fast, so sudden, that it stole the breath from her lungs.

It all happened within a single second.

Licinia froze, shock written across her face as her back met the cold stone, her heart pounding violently in her chest.

“Wh…what are you doing?” She asked, her voice breaking into a stutter.

Being this close to him was overwhelming. His presence pressed in on her from all sides, his warmth, his scent, the sharp awareness of how little space separated them. Heat spread through her body before she could stop it, her pulse racing wildly against her ribs.

“It seems you’ve gained a new sister,” Nathan said calmly, his tone almost casual despite how close he was.

“Julia… yes,” Licinia answered quietly.

“Take care of her,” he added.

Licinia looked at him for a moment, really looked at him—his expression unreadable, his gaze steady. Then she turned her face away, her jaw tightening, her fists clenching at her sides. Frustration twisted inside her chest, tangled with something far more painful.

Jealousy.

“What about me…?” She asked, her voice low. “You don’t care about me at all, do you?”

Nathan lifted his hand and gently touched her cheek, his fingers warm against her flushed skin. The contact made her breath hitch.

“All you ever wanted was to become the Empress of Rome,” he said. “And now, as Crassus’s first child, that dream might actually come true. So tell me—what more could you possibly want—”

“I want you.”

The words spilled out of her before she could stop them, raw and desperate. Her eyes widened slightly, as if shocked by her own honesty.

“Look at me,” Nathan said softly.

Licinia hesitated, then slowly raised her gaze. Tears clung to her lashes, her cheeks burning red. She looked vulnerable—nervous, conflicted, and faintly afraid of what she might hear next.

Nathan held her gaze for a long moment, searching her eyes.

He knew she might still be affected by the remnants of the love potion. He wasn’t willing to cross that line—not like this, not now.

“The next time I return,” he said at last, “if you still feel the same way—if you still want me—then I’ll consider it.” His voice was steady, sincere. “Can you wait?”

Licinia swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

“I… I will,” she whispered, nodisoning her head.

“Good,” Nathan said, stepping back and giving her space.

But the moment he did, Licinia reacted on instinct.

She grabbed his shirt, pulled him down, and pressed her lips against his in a sudden, clumsy kiss. It wasn’t practiced or elegant—just impulsive, rushed, and burning with emotion.

Before he could say a word, she pulled away, her face blazing, and turned on her heel.

Then she ran, leaving Nathan standing there alone in the quiet garden, the echo of her footsteps fading into the distance.