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Imperial Palace, Rome, Provincia Italica, Imperium Romanum.
May 15th, 1617 A.D.

He stood on the balcony, dressed in his normal steel grey Legion tunic, leaning on the railing. From here, up on the hill, the entire city was spread out before him. The old city center, with its historic buildings, parks, and museums, where Romans had lived and worked for more than two thousand years; the tenements, shops, and warehouses surrounding it, where the common people, his people, still lived and worked; on the hills, the palaces, baths, and theaters where the rich and powerful lived and played; on the outside, like a ring of fortresses, the great manufactories which turned out everything from children’s toys to the latest jetflyers. Behind him, behind the palace, the marble, steel, and glass of the Imperial Ministries, the nerve center and brain of the Empire.

Not, however, the heart; not any more. That was away to the north, beyond the Alps, in the great cities of Germania and Gallia. They were the beating heart of the Empire now, and had been for more than a hundred years. Already they had more than three times the population and twice the wealth of Italica. And in a hundred more years? Where would the Empire’s heart be then?

A sudden pang pierced the normal dull ache in his guts; he winced and pressed his belly with his palm, which seemed to help a little. Ah, God, must my end be slow and painful? Have I sinned so much as that? Familiar footsteps behind him; he turned to greet her.

She approached him, wearing a favorite red silk dress which suggested much while showing little. The worry in her eyes, on her face, was plain. He smiled and took her hand.
“Is it worse today?”
“Not worse, not better. No matter; He will take me when it is time and not before.” He straightened and drew her to him.
“The doctor …” His fingers on her lips stilled her.
“He can do nothing to stop it; it is far too late for that. The most he can do is ease my passing, which he will do when it is time.”
“He told you that?” Pain in her voice.
“No. But he did not tell me otherwise, either. You know as well as I that what is not said is often more important than what is said.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “Do not grieve yet, my love. There will be time for that later, after I am gone. We must make the most of what time is left to us.” He walked her back inside, to his office.

“The ministers have agreed to my choice of regent. I would rather have had a clear choice of heir, but that is not to be; with three daughters and three bastard sons to choose from they cannot bring themselves to agree on one.”
“And if you force a choice on them they will resent it and do all in their power to thwart you. So a regent it must be, to keep the Empire until they make a choice. Whom did you choose?”

“You, my love. You will rule when I am gone.”
She stared at him, speechless for a moment; he used the opportunity to pull her in and kiss her. She pushed him back a pes and held him there. “Me? They agreed to that?” She searched his smiling face.
“The one thing they did agree on.” He shrugged and seated himself on the edge of the desk. “In truth it surprised me as well; normally I have to knock heads together to get them to cooperate.”
“And the regency council will be?”
“Yourself as regent. Titus, Faustus, and Paulus for the Ministries. Flavius for the Church, of course. And Honorius.”

“Honorius? Isn’t he one of the potential heirs?”
He sighed. “Not any more; that was their price for naming you regent. No real loss, though; he as much as told me that he does not want the job.”
“So he says. But the choice may not be his to make.”
“Careful, my love. You cannot openly advocate your own son; you know how they feel about nepotism, and why they feel that way.”
“I do. But even you will agree that he is the best choice.”
“He would be, if circumstances were otherwise. But they are not and you will have to choose another. Please, my love, do this for my sake, for the sake of the Empire; leave Honorius where he is. Let him be the new Emperor’s strong right arm, as he has been mine.”
She scowled at that. “If we can find a better man, and he will serve, and the council will accept him, yes, I will do as you ask. But if not it will be time for Honorius to shoulder the burden.” She looked him in the eye; he held her gaze, then gave a brief nod of acceptance.

Sleep would not come. She sighed, then leaned over and kissed him lightly, careful not to wake him. She slid out of bed, donned a robe, and made her way to the chapel. The guards and servants did not alter their routines; she had done this many times before. She closed the doors, then knelt before the statuette of the Savior.

She wiped the tears from her face, rose, bowed, then left. He was still asleep; she slid back into bed, up against his warmth, then closed her eyes.
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