“I wish I didn’t have to wear red,” Cornelia said ruefully, looking down at her dark-red gown with the jet beads at the hem. “Diana swore she’d behave herself today if I just wore red for her precious team. Not my best color—why couldn’t she support the Greens instead?”

“Nonsense, red suits you. Do sit down, my dear, you’ve been sprinting about since dawn.”

“I want everything just right. The Emperor may drop by, after all.”

“Doubtful. He dislikes festivals.”

“But he likes you.” Cornelia reached up to smooth a stray strand of her husband’s hair. “Perhaps he’ll make the announcement today.”

“Why today?”

“He’s made himself very unpopular lately with all the new tax levies, that’s all.” All Rome knew that Galba’s stern-faced accountants had swept up the jeweled butterflies of Nero’s court and were squeezing them for every sesterce they had ever sucked away from the treasury. There was a great deal of complaining, of course, as people watched their houses, their jewels, their slaves and estates flowing into Galba’s eager, wrinkled hands—but Cornelia approved. Everyone knew Nero had spent the treasury empty. Had no one thought the account would ever come due?

But still, people were inclined to mutter resentfully now when they heard Galba’s name. He’d want to soothe the crowds, give them something new to talk about.

Like an Imperial heir. A young, handsome, able, and vigorous heir.

“You look very handsome, Piso. Very distinguished.” Very Imperial. “Shall we go?”

They came from the atrium to the brilliant sunlight of the steps outside. Piso lifted a hand for the litter, and Cornelia raised the sunshade over her face.

A man’s voice came from the glitter of sun. “Senator Lucius Calpurnius Piso Licinianus?”

Cornelia blinked and saw a soldier at the foot of the steps before their house. A soldier in full armor and red-plumed helmet, a half-dozen guards behind him.

“Yes?” Piso’s voice sharpened.

“Centurion Drusus Sempronius Densus of the Praetorian Guard.” The man stepped forward into a crisp salute. “I have the honor of serving as your escort and bodyguard, by order of the Emperor. I am yours to command, Senator.”

The Praetorian Guard. Second only to the Emperor . . . or to members of the Imperial family.

Yours to command.

Cornelia felt a smile breaking over her face, but suppressed it with as much nonchalance as she could muster. Piso looked cool as cream—like he’d had Imperial bodyguards at his heels all his life. She all but burst with pride. “Thank you, Centurion,” she heard Piso say. “We would be pleased if you would escort us to the Circus Maximus.”

“Senator.” Another salute, and the Praetorians fell in behind the litter. Piso nodded dismissal to the centurion, but Cornelia came forward down the steps.

“Drusus Sempronius Densus, you said?”