I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 173: A Conversation Between Siblings

The night air on the secluded garden terrace of the Palatine Hill was cool and scented with jasmine and dew-dampened marble. Below, the sprawling city of Rome was a vast, sleeping creature, its million souls dreaming under a canopy of stars. Alex had summoned his sister here, to this quiet, neutral ground, far from the listening ears of the court. This was not a meeting of state. This was a reckoning.

Lucilla arrived, a shadow moving through the moonlit colonnade. She was flanked by two towering German guards, but dismissed them with a flick of her wrist, leaving them at a respectful distance. She was wary, her posture radiating a coiled, suspicious energy. She was still flush with her recent political victory in the north—the official sanctioning of her new legion, the Legio II Norica, a personal army bought with ambition and legitimized by the crisis she had helped to inflame. She believed she was here to negotiate the terms of their new, shared power. She believed she came from a position of strength.

"Brother," she said, her voice as cool and smooth as the marble balustrade she leaned against. "To what do I owe this clandestine, late-night summons? Have the gods graced you with more divine pronouncements?"

Alex ignored the sarcasm. He did not rise to the bait. He smiled, a warm, fraternal expression that was utterly disarming. "No pronouncements, sister. Only congratulations."

Lucilla's eyes narrowed slightly, surprised by his tone.

"I have read the reports from Maximus," Alex continued, walking to stand beside her, the two of them looking out over their sleeping city. "The Legio II Norica is a formidable force. Your scouts are bold, your new legionaries disciplined. You have done well, Lucilla. You have proven yourself a true Roman leader, a worthy daughter of our father."

The praise, so unexpected, so freely given, wrong-footed her completely. She had come prepared for a confrontation, for a new round in their endless chess match. This felt like a concession, an acceptance of her new, elevated status. A flicker of triumph lit her eyes.

Alex let her savor it for a moment before he smoothly, almost gently, began to tighten the noose. "But leadership carries with it a great burden, does it not?" he said, his voice turning philosophical, almost melancholic. "The burden of legacy. Of what we leave behind for future generations. The choices we make that echo long after we are gone."

His words were deliberately vague, but they shifted the mood from one of celebration to one of somber reflection. He turned from the view of the city to look at her, his expression now changed, the warmth replaced by a look of cold, almost sad pity that she could not comprehend.

"I have been thinking much about family lately, Lucilla," he said, his voice a soft murmur. "About the bonds that tie us. About children. And about the secrets we keep, the terrible sacrifices we make, to protect them."

He paused, letting the words hang in the cool night air. Then, without raising his voice, without any trace of anger or accusation, he uttered the name that was the key to her entire life, the single word that held the power to destroy her.

"Heraclides."

The name was not a shout. It was a whisper. But it struck Lucilla with the force of a physical blow. The color drained from her face, leaving her skin a waxy, translucent white in the moonlight. Her carefully constructed mask of cool, confident authority did not just crack; it shattered into a thousand pieces. The hand that rested on the balustrade gripped the stone so tightly her knuckles went white. For the first time since he had met her, Alex saw his sister not as a political serpent, not as an ambitious rival, but as a terrified, cornered animal. As a frightened mother.

He knew everything. The secret she had guarded for over a decade, the secret she had built her entire public life upon, the secret that could see her stripped of her titles, her wealth, her very name, and cast out into the darkness—it was in his hands.

Her first instinct was denial, a panicked, sputtering defense. "I... I do not know who you mean."

Alex simply looked at her, his expression unchanging, his silence a more potent accusation than any words could be. He let her squirm in that silence, let the full, horrifying weight of her exposure settle upon her. He had seen her terror, and that was enough. Now, he would show her an unexpected mercy. He would not threaten to expose her. He would not demand she crawl and beg for his silence. He would do something far more cunning, far more effective. He would offer her a deal. A pact.

"Your children are safe, Lucilla," he said quietly, his voice gentle now, almost kind. The sudden shift from threat to reassurance was a dizzying piece of psychological manipulation. "I have seen the reports. A boy in Lugdunum. Another boy and a girl on the estate near Massilia. They are healthy. They are well-cared for. And their existence will remain a secret, known only to you, to me, and to a very few, very discreet others. They are, after all," he added, the words twisting the knife of her predicament, "my own blood. My nephews. My niece. A part of our family."

Tears welled in Lucilla's eyes, a mixture of terror and a strange, bewildering relief. She stared at him, unable to speak.

"They will remain safe," Alex continued, his voice now taking on a harder, business-like edge. The price for his mercy was about to be named. "In return for my protection, in return for this... family pact... your ambition will now and forever serve my purpose. Your new legion, the Legio II Norica, will be my loyal and unwavering instrument in the northern war. You will cease all political maneuvering against me in the Senate. You will use your influence not to undermine me, but to support me. You will be my staunchest, most public ally. From this day forward, we will present a united front to the world. A new divine dynasty: the Brother-Emperor and the Sister-General, two halves of a whole, together saving Rome from the darkness."

He stepped closer, his final words a soft, absolute, and inescapable promise. "Your children's safety, their very lives, is now directly and inextricably proportional to your loyalty to me. Think of it as a scale, sister. On one side, your ambition. On the other, their future. As long as you are my loyal shield, I will be theirs. The moment you are not... the scale will tip."

Lucilla stood there, broken, trapped, and utterly defeated. He had taken her greatest vulnerability and transformed it into an unbreakable chain. She could fight him, yes. She could try to rally the Senate, to use her legion to spark a civil war. But she would do so knowing that with a single word, he could destroy her far more completely than any army. He could reveal her secret and turn her into a pariah, a monster in the eyes of the Roman people, her name a byword for adultery and treason. Her children would be branded bastards, their lives forfeit.

She had no choice. She had been completely and utterly vanquished, not by force of arms, but by a single, whispered name. Alex had not destroyed her. He had done something far worse. He had enslaved her.

With a shuddering breath that was half a sob, half a sigh of resignation, she gave a single, sharp nod. The bargain was sealed. Their relationship was now a twisted, unbreakable pact of blackmail and forced allegiance, built on a foundation of shared secrets and the lives of three innocent children in a faraway province. The civil war she might have started was over before it ever began.