Cornelia waited until he was out of earshot, then couldn’t resist giving a little squeal and whirling in a circle. A stifled laugh, and she realized the centurion was still standing in the doorway. She giggled at him, unable to stop herself. “I’m sorry, Centurion. I shall be more dignified soon, I promise.”

“I won’t tell, Lady.” He bowed. “Where shall I escort you this morning?”

“The Temple of Fortuna.” A sacrifice to the goddess of luck seemed very much in order. “And the Temple of Juno.” For a more personal sacrifice. “After that, I can rejoin my husband at the palace to hear the augurs give a pronouncement. And there’s sure to be a banquet this evening.”

Cornelia took more pains with her appearance than usual. Her hair went up into a more elaborate coil, she chose a stola in deep-green silk clasped with gold brooches at the shoulders, and she unhesitatingly took out the necklace Piso had given her at Lupercalia last year: a massive square-cut emerald on a slender gold chain, with square chunks of emerald for her ears. A simple matron might not wear jewels during the day, but the wife of an Imperial heir had to look the part. Galba would expect them to keep up appearances now (though Piso had already noted, dryly, that the Emperor had offered them no increase in allowance to help pay for an Imperial lifestyle). And even though Piso wouldn’t be Emperor until Galba died, Cornelia’s own duties as first lady of Rome would begin much sooner. Galba had no wife, no mother, no sisters—he would certainly call on Cornelia now to act as Imperial hostess!

Centurion Densus bowed very low when she finally appeared, pulling up a gold veil to cover her hair. “Empress,” he said.

“Not yet, Centurion,” Cornelia chided.

“Empress in spirit, Lady.” His eyes went over her admiringly. “Every inch.”

She could feel people whispering as she alighted from the litter before the shrine of Fortuna. “She’s to be Empress,” the whispers flew. “Her husband’s been named heir!” They made way even without the Praetorians clearing a path, and Cornelia knelt alone, center of all eyes, before the statue of Fortuna. The goddess of luck, carved in pink marble with her feet upon the wheel with which she turned the fortunes of men. The wheel that had spun Piso and Cornelia so high. She closed her eyes in heartfelt thanks, and the priests did not hesitate to bring out their best bullock to be sacrificed.

Cornelia rose, careful to avoid the spatters of blood. “She’s to be Empress,” the whisper went up again as she descended the steps.

“Those emeralds—”

Definitely, she had been right to wear the emeralds. Plebs were pleased by a bit of display.