Ashen

Forced

A/N: This chapter contains an assault. Please don't read this if it will upset you. It is not graphic but it is there. This chapter is important to the story as well as shaping the characters lives. Thanks and enjoy!

Poppilia sat at the table, her hands in her lap. The food on the table was appetising, yet she could barely push three polite bites into her mouth. Across from her, Julius was shoveling bite after bite of veal stew into his mouth. Her soon-to-be husband was in a state of rapture, his eyes glazed over and his mouth open wide with delight.

Poppilia found it disgusting.

"Julius, did your men cooperate today?" She ventured to make conversation. Her parents were too busy exchanging glances over his unpleasant manners.

He looked up, wiping a drop of broth off of his chin with his sleeve.

"Mm? Oh-my men. Yes, yes, quite good, quite good." He returned to his soup.

Poppilia looked down at her own bowl. God, it'll be unbearable when it's just us. She grew red thinking of the the things she'd have to do with him when they were married. Pushing her soup away, she looked brightly at her father.

"Shall we retire to the garden?"

Her father clearly had no intent of rescuing her. "Actually, dear, your mother and I were thinking of going on a stroll. And I do believe Theodora has some books she is reading, don't you, Theodora?" He nudged his head upwards as if ordering her upstairs. Her sister nodded and left the table.

That left her and Julius alone.

"Oh! Lovely, Julius and I will join you!" Poppilia quickly tried to save herself.

Her father shook his head. "Nonsense, I don't believe he's seen the courtyard. Why don't you show Julius our fine garden? My orchids have just started blooming."

It wasn't a question. Poppilia nodded her head and quickly stood. "Julius, this way." She smiled, on the inside feeling like crying. She didn't want to spend her life with this fat snob who could care less about her very existence! She wanted a rush, something that excited her, made her feel alive.

Why did Augustus come to mind? She quickly shooed the thought away.

Julius grunted and excused himself, following his bride-to-be .

The two stepped into the open air courtyard and Poppilia breathed in the flowery scent of orchids and saffron. The pairing was an odd combination, but Saffron was Poppi's favourite herb and she'd convinced her father to plant it for her when she was young. The sweet, yet slightly bitter scent hung in the air.

It was sickening. Poppilia suddenly felt nauseous.

"Julius, do you see the orchids? They're my father's pride and joy. He has seven different varieties," She declared proudly. She pointed to the far end of the garden, hoping he would walk over and increase their distance.

Julius was quiet a moment. "So many orchids, yet none so beautiful as you." He looked at her, his fat face locked in a silent gaze.

She smiled. "I'm not so sure about that. They're incredibly rare." Why was he suddenly noticing her, as if for the first time? During dinner she was practically invisible.

"Rare, yes. But beauty like yours? Even rarer." He moved closer.

Poppilia stepped back. "Julius, wh-what are you doing?'

He stopped advancing. "I'm sorry. I got carried away in the moment." The two stood awkwardly. "I'm glad you are going to be my bride," he said after a pause.

She only managed a small nod. "Julius, I-"

"Poppilia, I have never noticed you in such a light. Your eyes-they shine, and-and your lips, they tempt my soul. Please, satiate my one craving and you'll never hear a word from me again. Not until we are one."

The thought of marriage made Poppilia shudder. But Julius' words shook her even more. He suddenly had eyes for her? He was suddenly lusting for ... her lips?

"N-no. That isn't a good idea. You won't have to wait much longer." Poppilia started back inside. Julius grabbed her arm.

"Poppilia, I look at you and all I see is your beautiful nose, sculpted like one of Caesar's statues. And your lips, fuller than Aphrodite's own. Just one kiss will fill my longing heart." His voice was now flowing with passion and he roughly pulled her to him. The stench of his breath reached her nose.

"Julius, you're hurting me!" She cried in terror. He shoved his face on hers, his lips seeking her lips, his arm wrapped around her back in a vice. Poppilia lurched, trying to wrestle herself away. She clawed at his face, pushing him off of her so she could scream. Instead, she found his hands wrapped around her neck, and her back slamming into the wall. Pain seared through her bones.

He shoved his face close to hers and whispered in a gruff voice, "You try that again, you little minx and you'll regret it. You'll regret the day you were born." His hands clenched tighter and she choked for air, tears pouring down her face. "I'm in charge here. You're nobody. You do what I say. And if you decide to tell anybody about this little encounter, I'll be telling Daddy about you disappearing to executions against his orders." He smirked. "Oh. Not to mention your little friend. What's his name? Ah, Augustus. It'd be a shame if anything were to happen to him." Julius loosened his grip.

Poppilia was stunned. "How did you-?"

"I've got eyes everywhere, darling." He walked away, pausing at the door. "See you at the altar." And with a smug smile, he vanished.

Poppi slid down the wall and melted into a pile in the dirt, sobbing. His true colours had come out. And they were blacker than she could've imagined.

She clutched her throat, gasping for air.

He knew about the execution, he knew about Augustus, he knew everything. He knew! And Poppilia knew what this meant for her. There would be no use in telling her father. He was a man who cared only about power and wealth for his daughters. His way of showing love was by marrying them well to a man who had money. Julius would provide that, and that was all that mattered.

But Augustus. She knew Julius' threats toward him were empty. The Petronius family had more power than Julius, and if he hurt Augustus without reason, he would be an easy target. Yet if Julius told her father she had been with him... Why did she have a feeling her father would be unhappy?

Popilia wiped her face with her sleeve, crying and trying to scrub every bit of him off of her. Her eyes blurred with an ocean of tears. She grabbed dirt and scrubbed her lips, trying to feel anything but his forceful, chapped mouth on her. Shaking, she lobbed the handful of dirt across the courtyard in utter anger. Nothing could stop the panic. Nothing could stop the fear. Nothing could stop the dread. The dread of it happening again. The dread of seeing his face again. Of living with him. Of having his children.

Poppilia put her hand to her mouth and vomited. She ran to her chamber and threw herself on the bed, crying forceful sobs of agony.

She wanted to die.