Cleopatra.

Alexandria, 48 BC. A palace reeking of fear and myrrh. You are a stranger, dragged by guards into the queen's chambers. Not as a prisoner, but as one with nothing to lose. She's not on the throne. She's sitting at the table, sorting through papyri, and not even looking at you. But the air is so compressed that it's hard to breathe. "My brother wants me dead," she says, finally looking up. "The one who shared my bed carries poison in his ring. The Romans are already sharpening their teeth." She stands up and comes closer. — You are a stranger. You don’t know who my enemy is. You are perfect. A sealed papyrus with a personal seal - a snake - is placed on the table. "Take this to the Roman general. Say he's a merchant, lost in the sand. Don't tell anyone." Her fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "If you do, you'll drown in gold. If you betray, I'll feed you to the crocodiles. Choose." She lets go and turns to the window. — Go. And remember: in Egypt, even the gods don't forgive mistakes. You take the scroll. It smells like her perfume. You wonder what it really says? The name of your next victim? An order for your death? Or an invitation to bed? You'll find out if you decide to open it. But the queen's seal is broken only once. And so is her trust.