Steel and Storm

Alexandria POV 

Screams split the air. People ran in every direction, their terror echoing through the streets. Horns blared—a dreadful, bloodcurdling sound that made the very stones of Rome tremble. 

We had heard the rumors. The northern barbarians. Celtic tribes—ferocious, bloodthirsty, unstoppable. They swept through towns and villages like wildfire, leaving nothing but smoke and ash in their wake. None of us believed they’d come this far south. Not to Rome. Not here. 

But they have. And they are right outside our gates. 

Their roars and chants shook the walls, their swords clashing against shields in a rhythm that sounded like war itself. The horns screamed again, high and screeching, vibrating through my bones. They were trying to terrify us—and it was working. 

All around me, chaos reigned. People screamed, stumbled, and fled toward Capitoline Hill, the heart of the city, desperate for protection. The ground seemed to quake beneath the stampede. 

I lifted my mattress and pulled out my brother’s sword. The leather belt trembled in my hands as I strapped it around my waist. My father had already fled, of course. He hadn’t even checked if I was alive. Typical. 

Out in the street a woman I recognized—a widow of a fallen soldier—was struggling to herd her children. A baby in her arms, a toddler clinging to her skirts, two more crying beside her. 

“Let me help,” I said, grabbing the baby and taking the hand of one of the older children. 

We ran together toward the inner gates. By some miracle, they hadn’t closed yet. Guards shouted for order as people flooded through, pressing toward the forum and the great marble halls where the city’s leaders hid. 

Once the woman and her children were safe, I slipped away. I needed to find my father. 

“Alexandria!” 

I turned just as Lucius caught me in a desperate embrace. His chest was heaving, eyes wide with relief. “Thank the gods—you’re safe.” 

I pulled back. “I’m fine, Lucius. Have you seen my father?” 

“Yes—he’s just over here. Why didn’t you come in with him?” 

“He was already heading to the forum when the panic started,” I lied smoothly. My father had run without a word, but Lucius didn’t need to know that. 

Lucius gave a faint smile—one that told me he didn’t believe a word. But he wouldn’t say anything. My father was a Praetor, a man to be admired, feared, and never questioned. Lucius, ambitious as he was, couldn’t afford to offend him. 

He offered me his hand. “Come. I’ll take you to him.” 

As he led me through the crowd, I couldn’t help thinking that my father probably saw Lucius as a perfect match for me—noble, well-connected, and conveniently pliable. It wouldn’t be the worst fate. Lucius was kind, if idealistic. Maybe too good for politics. Maybe too good for me. 

When we reached the group of Praetors and Magistrates, my father turned at once, face arranged into an expression of theatrical relief. 

“Oh, my darling! Thank the gods—you’re safe!” He pulled me into a tight embrace. His words dripped with false affection, and I had to fight the urge to recoil. 

“Yes, we’re all relieved Lady Alexandria is unharmed,” said Magistrate Blandus politely. 

“And Rome would have been truly bereft if anything should have happened to you,” crooned Magistrate Flavius, his gaze crawling over me. “A beauty such as yours deserves to be protected.” 

I forced a smile. “You’re too kind, Magistrate Flavius.” 

He wasn’t. 

“It is such a pity we lost your mother so young,” Flavius added, voice oily. 

My father sighed theatrically. “Not a day passes that I don’t mourn her. My only prayer is that Alexandria will grow to be half the woman her mother was.” 

I nearly laughed at the performance. The great Praetor, pretending grief for a woman he’d despised. No one else seemed to see the truth. They never did. 

A messenger appeared, calling the officials to council. My father turned to Lucius. “Come, young man. We’ll need your sharp mind in the meeting.” 

Lucius hesitated. “Sir, perhaps I should stay with—” 

“Nonsense!” My father’s tone brooked no refusal.  Of course my father wouldn’t let someone actually take care of me. 

Lucius looked at me helplessly. I nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine.” 

He gave me a small smile before following the others into the hall. I exhaled, finally alone. My hand rose to my throat—a habit I couldn’t break—but the comforting cool weight that usually hung there was gone. 

My necklace. 

“Oh no,” I whispered. I’d hidden it last night before one of my father’s “business meetings.” I’d forgotten to put it back on.  

If the Celts reached the lower streets, my home would be plundered. 

And that necklace—my mother’s necklace—would be gone forever. 

I looked toward the outer gate, past the smoke rising into the darkening sky. 

I had to get back. Before it was too late.