Surviving as a Prince of Britannia

Author’s Note : This episode contains mature content. This is the final interlude in the short SPQR-focused arc. The main storyline will resume with Chapter 26 next.

In this fic, the EU has been replaced by the SPQR. Its official languages are Latin and Greek. For readability, SPQR dialogue is generally rendered in English unless the language itself matters to the scene. In-universe, characters are speaking Latin, Greek, Britannian, or other languages as appropriate.

This episode is told from the point of view of Regulus Cissingensis, former Head of the Bureau of Barbarians.

Thanks to the wineglass I had thrown earlier, one side of the television screen was cracked, but miraculously, it was still working.

Phew

I panted heavily as I glared at the screen.

[Breaking News.]

[A figure dressed in a black suit has appeared from the rear gate of the headquarters of the Bureau of Barbarians. Could this be the person who announced the press conference earlier?]

Beyond the camera lens, a man in black sunglasses and a black suit appeared.

Reporters were already swarming around him, as if they had been waiting for this exact moment.

Grrr

“...Who the hell is this now?”

I ground my teeth.

Just moments ago, Vitalis and Eirēnarchos had finished drawing out the public apology from Sergios Nikēphoros Daphnēs, the most senior remaining Chartoularios, that is, Division Chief, of the Bureau of Barbarians.

They had done so in the visitors’ room of the headquarters of the Bureau of Barbarians, and then had simply left after a brief interview.

However, the moment the subtitle appeared at the bottom of the screen—

“What in the devil...”

I nearly pulled my hair out.

[Ericus Terrigenus / Protonotarios, Team Chief of the Special Team]

“...That bastard.”

A native of Gaul.

A junior from Iacobus Chiracensis’s homeland, and a junior from the same school.

And—

Ericus was exactly the team chief who had been the only one to answer my call out of the dozens I had made earlier.

His answer had been:

“Fuck off, idiot.”

Ericus took off his sunglasses on the television screen.

Facing the camera directly, he opened his mouth clearly.

“My name is Ericus Terrigenus.”

“I have served as Protonotarios, Team Chief of the Special Team, in the Bureau of Barbarians.”

He took a moment to compose himself before continuing.

“I am here today prepared to accept all disciplinary action and legal responsibility for disclosing my identity and other secrets.”

Hah

Fat chance.

“Disciplinary action? Who is going to punish you?”

“ὁ ἐπὶ τῶν βαρβάρων, that is, the Director—me—has been fired.”

“All Logothetai—department chiefs—except Archís have been arrested.”

“Even Archís has completely exposed himself at the Roman Senate hearing, and the most senior remaining Chartoularios, I mean, Division Chief, Sergios, apologized live.”

“So what?”

Ericus raised his head on the television screen.

“I will omit formal titles.”

“I present to you proof of Archís’s testimony before the Roman Senate today.”

Behind him, two agents wearing black sunglasses stepped forward.

And—

Thud

A burlap sack was dumped on the floor.

A baseball bat, a hammer, a straw cutter, thick gloves, cable ties, and black plastic bags spilled out.

An exclamation burst from among the reporters.

“During the time when the traitor Eugene’s speech was being delivered, I received instructions through the upper command chain to ‘secure’ several people.”

“Archís and Sergios were not included in this command chain.”

He said it clearly.

“The orders were clear.”

“‘Take action until they admit that Eugene is the Emperor.’”

“καὶ σὺ, τέκνον...”

“H, how could you...”

“The Bureau of Barbarians is an organization based on the principle of obeying one’s superior.”

“I could not refuse those orders.”

“However—”

Ericus’s gaze wavered for a moment.

“Caesarissa personally intervened, and Eugene was immediately dragged to hell.”

“Soon after that, the order was revoked.”

He lowered his head deeply.

“I thank Caesarissa.”

“And I apologize to the citizens.”

At that moment, the screen switched.

At the main gate of the headquarters of the Bureau of Barbarians, merchants with strong Gallic accents were shouting.

“Free tomatoes! Free eggs!”

At first, there were only a few of them, but soon passersby began to gather.

And then—

“Go to hell, you scum of Satan!”

“You are worse than Judas Iscariot!”

“Lucifer and Hades will be waiting for you in hell!”

With those curses, tomatoes and eggs began to cover the exterior wall of the building.

Someone pulled out an effigy shaped like a brown owl, the symbol of the Bureau of Barbarians.

A fire was lit.

I stared blankly at the television and muttered.

“Alas...”

“When Iacobus took that flight bound for Paris to bring the retired Leila back to the city of Rome...”

“I should have shot down that plane, even at the cost of civil war.”

Yes.

About 35 years ago, there had been a civil war.

At that time, the Chairman of the Roman Senate, Franciscus Petrensis, a Gaul, objected to the then Imperator Basileus appointing not him, but Auxēsios Chalybidēs, Chairman of the Constantinopolitan Senate, as Megas Logothetes, or Prime Minister and Foreign Minister of the Senatus Populusque Romanus.

Petrensis rebelled with his comrades—

Antonius Olivarius Veterocurius, a Roman senator from the province of Lusitania;

Philippus Hippophilus, a retired general and fellow Gaul;

and Franciscus Francus, a younger general from the province of Tarraconensis.

Petrensis wore the golden laurel and purple robe after using both carrot and stick against the then Archbishop of Rome, and even temporarily set foot in Constantinople as well.

But after three years of civil war, the victor was Chalybidēs.

The Gauls had to wait another nineteen years before one of their own—Liberius Gallus—finally became Megas Logothetes.

Anyway...

“I should have listened to Medea.”

Grrr

The domestic situation was over.

I activated the remaining secret lines.

The few lines that had not yet been completely recovered amid this chaos.

First, Sinica.

No, the Chinese Federation.

“Do you not know the saying, ‘Never feed a stray dog’?”

Taijian Gao Hai’s voice was cold.

“Please, spare me...”

“I do not dream of becoming your man. Just provide me with shelter... or a place to hide as your guest.”

But at my plea, Gao Hai asked a dilemma.

“Really? In that case, tell me how far the Bureau of Barbarians was involved in the sudden death of the late emperor.”

“...Fuck.”

How could I confess that I had been behind the poisoning of the late Tianzi, out of fear that his ambition to form a triangular alliance among the then-independent nation of Japan, the Senate and People of Rome, and the Chinese Federation would spark a war between us and Britannia?

Should I have let him live and do whatever he pleased, so that Britannia would not conquer Japan and turn it into Area 11, one of its colonies?

No.

Liberius Gallus, the Megas Logothetes at that time, had been having his way in the sub-Saharan African colonies with the phrase:

“Rome sine magnitudine Roma esse non potest.”

Rome cannot be Rome without greatness.

So, in order to stop Gallus’s runaway ambitions and prevent him from being re-elected as a Roman senator, I had no choice but to poison the late emperor of the Chinese Federation, the father of the current Chinese Empress, Jiang Lihua.

Click

The call had ended long ago while I was lost in thought.

Next were the weirdos of the Southern Hemisphere.

The Republic of Straya.

“Yes. This is Sophia Luna, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Free and Equal Straya Federation.”

“I will give you all the information and black money! Just spare me!”

“The wolf who dreamed of a world that was neither free nor equal—”

“Does not belong in the land of sheep.”

Click

That crazy bitch!

Never mind...

I eventually contacted my enemy.

Britannia.

Lysander de Britannia’s second mistress and secret intelligence officer, Millirze Altheim, answered with insults.

“Shut up, you worthless old man.”

“I heard it from my senior, Caroline.”

“She said you were the mastermind behind the Emblem of Blood, right?”

“T, that is...”

Actually, I had only been a Chartoularios, that is, a Division Chief, at that time.

But since I had been the one to suggest to my superiors that the Senate and People of Rome should initiate a rebellion against Charles zi Britannia—a suggestion that had been accepted, but failed thanks to Marianne, Bismarck, Nova Mel, and... oh, what the hell.

I had been ditched to East Africa and forced to please the “King of East Africa,” one of the two figureheads Liberius Gallus had propped up in sub-Saharan Africa.

Only after that had I been promoted to Logothetes and returned to the City of Rome.

So I had already paid for my misjudgment.

Anyway, at my silence, Millirze sneered.

“Among the noble families purged back then, I believe there was a survivor from the House of Breisgau who fled to Rome.”

“I heard he settled in Gaul, married a woman there, and had a boy and a girl.”

“I believe you know that girl’s name, don’t you?”

Fuck.

How could I not know it?

Leila Vittonia Malcalia.

So Millirze was blaming me for Leila’s birth?

Crap

Click

The communication cut off.

My one and only last chance.

Medea... please.

“Medea, please help—”

But then—

Rustle

No.

It cannot be.

“Are you sure you want to be my second mistress, Medea?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“My loyalty to the Senate and People of Rome has not fallen.”

“But I obey your command.”

“Therefore, it is only logical that I cease being Regulus’s mistress and become yours.”

“I would not dare replace Lady Milly, Lady Shirley, Lady Kallen... or your first mistress, C.C.”

“Just... think of me as a double-crosser between Britannia and the Senate and People of Rome, Your Highness.”

Although I had ordered Medea to seduce either Lysander de Britannia or Lelouch vi Britannia when I sent her as Minister of the Senatus Populusque Romanus Legation in Area 11...

that did not mean she was supposed to leave me and become Lelouch’s second mistress!

“Medea! You bitch!”

Instead of answering—

Click

She switched the phone into video-call mode.

Medea stood in the dim light, her fingers trembling as they traced the hem of her suit.

With a slow, deliberate breath, she took off her clothes, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slid over her shoulders and pooled at her feet.

Her body, pale and flawless, emerged into the air, the soft curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts catching the light.

She tossed the dress aside and moved toward Lelouch, her eyes dark with a ravenous hunger that belied her usual composed demeanor.

Lelouch stared, his breath hitching as he watched her.

He didn't waste time; his hands were on his belt, the buckle clicking sharply in the quiet room.

He shed his clothes quickly, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

When he was bare, he reached out, his large hands gripping Medea's waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

His lips crashed onto hers, a desperate, bruising kiss that tasted of salt and longing.

He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

They stumbled backward, their lips never parting, until his knees hit the edge of the plush bed.

He lowered her onto the sheets, the mattress sinking under their combined weight.

Medea arched her back, her skin flushing a deep, rose-pink as Lelouch's mouth explored the sensitive curve of her neck, his tongue tracing the line of her pulse.

He moved between her legs, his gaze locked on hers, burning with intensity.

He positioned himself at her entrance, his erection heavy and demanding.

Without another word, he thrust forward, the connection between them sudden and searing.

Medea gasped, her back arching off the mattress, her nails digging into Lelouch's shoulders.

The sensation was blinding, a wave of pure pleasure that washed over her senses.

They moved together in a frantic rhythm, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room, punctuated by their ragged breaths and soft cries.

Lelouch gripped her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Medea met him, her hips rising to meet his, her body trembling with every impact.

Her moans grew louder, a symphony of ecstasy that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

“Your Highness..."

"Please, call me Lelouch, in private."

"Y, yes...Lelouch, more...”

She gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head.

The pleasure was building, a coiling tension in her lower belly that tightened with every stroke.

Lelouch’s eyes locked onto hers, watching her face contort with bliss.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth again, swallowing her cries as he increased his pace.

The climax hit them both simultaneously, a blinding flash of white light that tore through their minds.

Medea’s body clenched tight around him, her walls spasming around his length as she cried out his name.

Lelouch groaned, his own release spilling deep inside her, the warmth flooding her core.

They collapsed against each other, their chests heaving, their bodies slick with sweat, locked together in the afterglow of their passion.

“Aaaaaah!!!”

Click

I could feel my anger boiling to the top of my head.

So I went to the refrigerator and took out a drink.

And then—

Thud

I collapsed.

W, what the...

The bottle fell from my hand and struck the floor.

I could see a tiny logo printed on the bottom of the bottle.

E.H.

Eirēnarchos Hodopoulos???

I could not get up.

My eyes slowly closed.