“This is my brother’s second daughter, Julia Flavia,” Domitian said casually. “He’s long divorced her mother, just like he divorced that stupid slut Lollia. You can take over Julia’s care now. It will do you well enough until we have our own. As much as I’ve plowed you, you’ll have started one already.”

“No,” Marcella muttered, “no,” but Domitian brushed that aside.

“My brother will be wanting me. Arrange your wedding clothes for tomorrow. I’ll see you at dinner.” He dropped a casual kiss on her cheek. “You know, I dislike the name Marcella. We’ll have to change it.”

He was gone. Marcella stared after him, so filled with shock she felt rooted to the spot.

“Domina,” the nurse said respectfully, thrusting Domitian’s niece forward. Marcella brushed her away, wailing inside. No, no, I don’t want this. Not a life filled with children and Imperial dinner parties, dress fittings and running the palace household. Not for me. Not for Marcella the historian, not for the girl who brought down four emperors.

But already there were Praetorians closing in around her door to protect her and spy on her, and curious courtiers bustling outside in the pillared hall. A wall of people to close her in, to make sure she was never alone again.

I’m going to be Empress, if Domitian has his way, Marcella thought in utter horror. And I will not have the power to bring down anyone.

No. Surely not. Surely Domitian would get tired of her long before that. He’d demand a divorce, and everything would go back to the way it was. Oh, Fortuna, just make that happen and I swear I will never meddle in the affairs of emperors again—

“Lady.” A wary voice broke through her panicked thoughts. “Welcome to the Imperial household. We’ve met before, a few times—I am Nessus.”

“Nessus?” Hardly hearing him.

“My lord Domitian has been good enough to appoint me as Imperial astrologer.” A chubby little man bowed before her—already balding despite his youth, swaddled in a new robe embroidered all over with astrological symbols.

“You told him I’d be his wife, didn’t you?” Marcella’s hand shot out, catching the little astrologer’s sleeve. “Well, undo it! Tell him I won’t make a good wife, tell him I won’t bear him any children—”

“You won’t be a good wife,” Nessus said. “And you won’t bear him any children either, but that doesn’t have anything to do with me. Good-bye.”

He tugged at his sleeve, but Marcella’s fingers latched into the cloth. She could see the slaves staring, feel the baby hand of little Julia tugging at her dress, but she ignored them all. “What do you mean?”