Dawn of a New Rome

The morning after the wedding feast, Constantine found his new wife waiting for him in the palace gardens. Fausta stood observing a mosaic of Orpheus charming the beasts, her expression thoughtful. The charade of the blushing bride was gone, replaced by the cool composure he had first noted.

"My father departed at dawn for Italy," she said, without turning. "He is pleased with his work here."

"He has secured a powerful ally and a peaceful northern frontier for his son," Constantine replied, stopping beside her. "He has reason to be pleased."

"He believes he has found a strong sword to wield against Galerius," she corrected, finally turning to face him. Her gaze was direct. "He does not yet realize that the hand holding the sword is not his own. You should not underestimate him, however. My father is a master of seeing opportunity where others see only chaos."

"A trait we may find we have in common," Constantine echoed her own words from the feast, allowing a rare, thin smile. It did not reach his remaining eye. "Your loyalty, Empress. Does it travel south with your father, or does it remain here in Trier with your husband?"

Fausta smiled back, a subtle, intelligent expression. "My loyalty, Augustus, is to the stability and future of the imperial house into which I have married. My ambition is for my husband to be the most powerful man in that house. I believe our interests are, for now, perfectly aligned."

For now. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Constantine gave a curt nod. The parameters of their arrangement were understood. They were allies, bound by shared ambition, until the day their interests diverged. She was a dangerous, fascinating woman.

Maximian’s departure did little to ease the new tensions within the palace. Fausta’s retinue, composed of sophisticated, ambitious Romans from Italy, immediately clashed with the more austere, military-focused court Constantine had established. But the true fault line lay between Fausta and Helena.