A whirl of red silk. Cornelia lunged for Diana’s arm, but too late. Vitellius was already looking with surprise down at the slim scarlet girl under his nose.

“Do not”—Diana jabbed a finger at the Emperor of Rome—“insult my Reds. They ran a good race. Better than your Blues.”

Derricus laughed, looking down at her from under the Emperor’s jovial arm. “Lady Diana here is a Reds fan,” he grinned. “And a poor loser, but—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, and a ripple went around the onlookers. Vitellius’s brows beetled. Cornelia froze in her chair. Gaius stopped with his mouth open. Lollia gave a pleading shake of her head, but Diana turned her narrowed blue-green gaze back on the Emperor and kept going.

“The Reds had bad luck, Caesar—the Whites ran them off the track. Plenty of teams would pull up and quit then, but not my Reds. They made a race of it and they nearly beat your Blues, because your precious Derricus here was so busy counting his victory palms he’d dropped the pace. Shut up,” she said again as the charioteer bristled. “That’s bad driving, Caesar, and it’s worse than bad luck any day. So don’t you be calling my team cowards.” Jabbing a finger into the massive chest of the Emperor of Rome. “Because my Reds can beat your precious Blues any day of the week.”

Complete silence. Diana stood with her scarlet silks fluttering, hair sliding down her back in a tumble of white-molten gold, chin thrust out. The Emperor’s ruddy face was immobile, his eyes glittering, and suddenly Cornelia saw the man whom three legions had proclaimed Emperor in Germania.

Diana glared up at the Emperor, unafraid. Derricus stared daggers at her. Cornelia dragged in a frozen breath and prepared to jump in with some bright social nicety.

Suddenly, the Emperor threw his head back and laughed. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Your Reds ran a good race. I shouldn’t have called them cowards.” Tossing his arm around her shoulders, he turned to the Imperial steward. “Put the spitfire here on my couch tonight too. We’ll talk strategy, Lady, and I’ll get you to admit that my Blues are faster than your Reds.”

“Are not,” said Diana from under his arm, still glaring, and a titter of laughter went around the balcony as Vitellius grinned at her and then turned away, calling for wine. Cornelia laughed too, feeling her knees weaken. Diana, you mad little fool. Only Diana could have gotten away with it. Only Diana.

Cornelia heard Fabius murmuring to the steward. “Put Lady Cornelia beside Alienus at the feast tonight, or maybe Suonius—one of the officers who can appreciate a juicy young widow.”

First lady of Rome, Cornelia thought, her laughter suddenly withering. I was first lady of Rome once. And now all I am is a juicy young widow.