For such an important announcement, it came quietly. Two men entered from the atrium. Senator Otho, his black curls glossy and perfumed, his smile so brilliant it warmed the room. Piso, pushing the folds of his toga off his head, looking weary and dazed. Marcella saw her sister freeze, saw the ripples spread outward through the guests as Otho moved into the room exclaiming greetings and an exhausted Piso trailed in his wake. Marcella was already framing sympathies before she realized what they were saying.

“Congratulations to Senator Piso!” Otho threw back his head, smiling. “Our future Emperor!”

A roar of applause swept through the chamber, and Piso looked even more dazed, and Cornelia was somehow at his side, turning him away a little so his first smile came for her. She murmured something, and his smile finally broadened. His dark hair gleamed in the lamp-light and he looked rather taller.

Who would have thought it? Marcella mused. Galba had weighed his two possibilities for Imperial heir, and in the end chosen lineage and respectability over charm and popularity. Emperor Lucius Calpurnius Piso Licinianus.

The party spilled out into the night. Lollia arrived very late, looking rather hastily put together in a great many emeralds, but she poured congratulations on Cornelia. “I was beastly to you.” Her remorseful whisper carried to Marcella’s ears, and Cornelia hugged her with no stiffness at all. Diana came, still babbling on about her wretched new Reds team until Marcella hoped they’d all break a leg. Dull as Diana was, two more senators proposed marriage to her. Why not? She was no longer just a beautiful little bore, but a beautiful little bore related to the future Empress of Rome.

As am I. Strange thought. Still, Marcella couldn’t see that it would make much difference to her life. History would always march on regardless of what man wore the purple, and historians would always be there to watch.

Though perhaps she could leverage Cornelia’s influence to get Lucius a post here in Rome. So she could have her own household at last, and finally get herself out of Tullia’s . . .

“Allow me to present my congratulations, Senator.” Otho pressed Piso’s hand. Surely his cheeks ached, Marcella thought, with holding that smile. “You are fortunate in the Emperor’s favor.”

“Fortunate?” Piso’s voice was lordly, already Imperial. Marcella wondered if he might be remembering the day at the races when Otho outshone him so effortlessly at his own party. “Fortuna favors the worthy. Not the fools.”

A ripple of laughter spread across the room: a hundred guests all eager to find the Imperial heir a wit. For just an instant, Otho’s smile froze. Then he threw back his head and laughed as heartily as anyone else.

“A good jest, Senator. I do hope it gave you pleasure. In future there will be so little time for baiting us poor fools.”