Emperor Otho and his brother and their wedding party of guests were already waiting when Lollia stepped out into the gardens: grouped as artistically as statues, laughing among themselves and making graceful jokes. Beautiful as any Greek frieze, but her unease just increased. For the first time in Rome’s history, an emperor had gained his throne by the sword. Could so many people really just laugh at a party afterward as if everything were exactly the same?

Perhaps it was the same. If they could laugh, then so could she: Lady Cornelia Tertia again, known as Lollia the scandalous, who did nothing but go to parties and enjoyed them too.

She gulped a goblet of strong wine under the red veil before proceeding out, and her fourth wedding went much the same as the others. The ritual cake, the words “Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” the procession to the altar of Juno for the sacrifice. Emperor Otho was there only for a brief blessing at the temple before slipping off—of course he was far too busy establishing himself as Emperor with the Senate to waste much time on weddings. She swallowed another goblet of wine as she saw Cornelia’s dry hating gaze follow him out.

Lollia took her bland and handsome new husband’s hand, kneeling before Juno’s statue. She tried to pray, but the prayer trailed off before it even began. Venus had always been her goddess, not Juno—beauty and love, rather than marriage and children. Besides, Lollia didn’t know if she trusted Juno. She certainly never answered any of Cornelia’s prayers.

The priest was just leading a white bull out for sacrifice when the guests stirred. Twisting, Lollia saw a slight figure winding through the crowd: Diana, her plain wool robe not at all suitable for a wedding. She had something in her hand, wrapped in a sack, and she went straight to Cornelia.

“I brought you something,” she said. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

She held out the sack, and Lollia saw that it was bloodstained. It couldn’t be heavy, but Cornelia staggered.

“I had to go all over the city,” Diana said sturdily, sunlight slanting on her pale hair. “I must have visited every Praetorian in the barracks before I found the right one. But I got it for you.”

“Oh, Fortuna,” said Marcella, quicker on the uptake than the priest who started fussing, or Lollia’s new husband who just looked bewildered. Lollia quieted them both as Cornelia looked into the sack.

She looked for a long moment.

She looked back up at Diana: so stalwart, so anxious to please.

Then Cornelia’s face broke into pieces.