"The Games start in a week." Caesar said, playing chess. He moved the bishop to the left, and so forth.
"Yes, it does, my lord." Celsus agreed.
Caesar bit his lip, looking down.
"Is everything all right, my lord?" Celsus asked.
"Yes, yes. Please, go get me some Mustum."
Celsus seemed baffled.
"My lord, why such low quality wine?"
Caesar looked at his chest.
"Just do it!" Caesar commanded.
Celsus jumped, and did as Caesar said.
When Celsus came back, Caesar was sitting down,
motioning Celsus to do the same. Celsus uncomfortably sat down, worried at what Ceasar was wanting. Hopefully it wasn't execution.
"România is known for its deadly entertainment, Celsus. Do you know that?"
"Yes, my lord." Celsus answered.
"And, it's known for a lot of death, is it not?"
"It is."
"And for its wickedness?" Caesar continued.
Celsus seemed baffled.
"My lord, what do you mean?"
"I mean," Caesar began, tapping his fingertip on the table. "We are one male short. And nobody can fill in that place."
Celsus gasped. He pointed to himself.
"M-Me...?"
Caesar wickedly grinned, giving an eery sensation of feelings inside of Celsus.
"What did I do to deserve this, my lord?" Celsus complained.
"Oh," Caesar brought his hands in the air, as if he was waiting for the rooms response.
"I thought you loved the Games."
He put on a crooked smile.
Celsus dropped to his knees, cupping his hands.
"My lord!" He whined, tears rolling down his face.
"Please! Don't do this to me!" Celsus continued on, as Caesar walked out of the room, with a villainous smile.
Two guards appear and take Celsus away, as Caesar walks out, with a guard shutting the pearl doors.
YOU ARE READING
Gladiators
Исторические романыAelius, just a mere boy, has to enter the arena, to kill, to survive, to save his family. Will he win? Will he lose? Will he meet? Will he betray?
