“We’re just prizes up for grabs, all of us.” Lollia shrugged. “So we might as well grab what we want while we can.”

“Your logic is very backward,” Cornelia sighed. “But I’m too tired to figure it out.”

“Of course you are, my love! You haven’t been getting any sleep lately, and for good reason. Now, about your soldier—can he get away for a few days?”

“What?”

“Well, if he can get away, then find some excuse to get out of the city and have yourselves a proper idyll.” Lollia stood up, dusting off her hands. “Diana’s clearly managing to see her man without any trouble, whoever he is. Uncle Paris wouldn’t notice if she moved a charioteer into her bedchamber—horses, chariot, and all. But you must be having quite a time of it sneaking out under Tullia’s eagle eye. Get yourself a holiday if you can.”

“How will I do that?” Cornelia looked up at her cousin.

“You’ll manage. Clearly you’ve gotten quite good at sneaking.” Lollia pulled Cornelia to her feet. “Yes, a vacation. It will give you something nice to remember when everything goes to Hades.”

“Will it go to Hades?”

“Oh, my honey. It always does.”

“DON’T—I can’t, you know that—”

“Come on, just let me—”

“I can’t.” Marcella pushed Domitian’s hand away before it could slide up her thigh. “Why do you make it difficult for me?”

“For you?” He buried his face in her throat. “You’re killing me.”

“I’m the wife of Lucius Aelius Lamia—”

“Barely!” Domitian bristled. “And he’s in Crete now—you could divorce him—”

“My family wouldn’t allow it. And until the day they do, I’m a Roman matron. Not a courtesan to be tumbled in a litter.” Marcella pulled away, tidying her hair, and let Domitian see a flash of thigh as she rearranged her skirts. He groaned and fell back on his side of the litter, and Marcella felt the bearers shift below as they turned a corner.

“Some day,” Domitian said, his eyes unreadable, “I’ll have you all to myself.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled. “Until then—? I thought we were here to discuss the army.” With the Moesian legions crossing into Italy now, even Vitellius couldn’t pretend everything was all right. His troops had been hastily assembled and finally marched north.

“The army’s at Hostilia, sure enough,” Domitian was saying. “They’re dug in, and negotiating. Negotiating! You swore they’d change sides!”

“They will. Just wait. Didn’t your precious Nessus tell you all would be well?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Domitian folded his arms across his stocky chest, drumming his fingers on the cushions. “What about Fabius Valens? He’s still loyal to Vitellius.”