“—do a great deal of entertaining, of course. The Emperor expects a feast every time he comes to dine, sixty courses at least, but you’ll manage. You’ll do a damned sight better than that stupid slut I married.”

Cornelia rallied. “You will not call my cousin—”

“I suppose I should settle matters with your brother.” Fabius overrode her, rising businesslike from the fountain’s edge. “The dowry and so forth. It won’t take long. Gives you two a chance to know each other.”

“My dowry isn’t much,” Cornelia managed to say, looking past Fabius to the shaggy Alienus. “You could find a much richer wife than me, sir.”

“I want you.” The first words he had spoken. He had a guttural voice like a German.

“I’m barren,” she said desperately. “Eight years I was married to my last husband, and no sign of a child—surely you want a wife who can give you sons?”

“If I want sons,” he grinned, “I’ll just get another wife. Keep you for a concubine.”

Fabius guffawed, and Cornelia looked at him. He’s enjoying himself even more than Alienus. She wondered how long Fabius Valens had looked at patrician girls like her, aloof untouchable girls he could never have. He can have us all now, either to take for his own or dispose of as he likes. We’re all his, and we hate it. He likes that.

“I’m busy with the new Praetorian Prefects all afternoon,” Fabius was saying, “but you’ll both dine with me tonight. Dusk—no, better make it an hour after.”

It’s your duty, Cornelia reminded herself. Your duty.

She nodded, and Alienus’s hard fingers closed on hers.

“Your betrothed’s a pretty one, Alienus.” Fabius’s fingers brushed along her arm. “Maybe she and I should dine alone tonight instead. I’ll try her out for you.”

His fingers brushed along her breast, closing on the nipple. Cornelia sank her teeth into the inside of her lip. Duty. Duty.

His smile broadened, fingers stroking her as he looked at the grinning Alienus. She could smell his hair pomade. “I’ll see she’s wet for your wedding.”

Cornelia threw his hand away and slapped his grinning face, as she would have slapped an insolent slave. “Go to Hades, you sticky little pleb.” She jerked her hand from Alienus’s. “And take your German thug with you.”

She turned and stalked away, past the fountain with its sparkling spray, past the slave who stood ready with a congratulatory flagon of wine, past Gaius where he waited to give his formal consent to the betrothal. “Cornelia?” he said, puzzled, but she walked straight past him to the stairs, to her bedchamber, and shut the door. It was quiet inside, cooling the blood that thundered in her ears. Probably the last quiet she would get in quite some time. Cornelia sat on the bed, waiting. Didn’t have to wait long.