“No, Lady.” But the guard still looked uneasy as he tramped out; Plotina could see that. “I think I shall have to take care of him, don’t you?” she told her husband. “Perhaps a convenient fall from one of these rocky cliffs. What do you think?”

Trajan’s corpse lay silent. His flesh had a marble chill and his limbs had gone stiff, but the heaped blankets had concealed that quite artfully.

“Now, I hope you aren’t angry with me,” Plotina chided, sinking back onto the stool at her husband’s bedside. She didn’t bother lowering her voice—a few slaves lined the walls, waiting to be called upon, but they all knew she’d have them crucified if they ever spoke of what they’d seen in this room. “It’s just a tiny deception, husband. We’ll announce your death as soon as Dear Publius arrives from Antioch. For now, everyone can go on thinking you’re alive. It will make the transition much smoother, and you know how I always like to smooth things out for you.”

The Praetorian had done a good job indeed. He had a gruff voice not unlike his Emperor’s; he had stood concealed in the shadows of the bed’s curtains and read the lines Plotina had given him. Plotina’s only task had been to chafe Trajan’s dead hand and shed a tear or two. The clerk who recorded the last wishes of Marcus Ulpius Trajan had been sitting well back, far too occupied with the importance of the moment, and the crowd of witnesses stood at a respectful distance in the dimly lit room. Plotina had only ushered them back into the bedchamber once she’d had everything made ready, and most had been weeping too hard to notice that the Emperor’s chest had not been rising and falling under the heap of carefully arranged blankets. Sabina would have noticed, but Sabina had been confined and kept out of the way.

“I didn’t hurt her, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Plotina told Trajan. “Just shut her away for a few days, until I could settle everything satisfactorily. I know you were fond of the girl, but you must admit she has a tendency to interfere. I couldn’t have that, now could I?”

Plotina paused a moment, frowning. That Girl with her indecent dresses and her tart tongue and her odd ideas of charity had Plotina’s own position now. First lady of Rome. Somehow it was the first time Plotina had considered the reality of it. That foul-mouthed little slut, taking my place?

Well, hardly. Little Sabina would have other duties, after all. And perhaps, somewhere, along the line, she could be quietly divorced. Her connection to Trajan had served its purpose, after all. Another girl could be found if necessary, someone more biddable. Her sister was a likely prospect, if the laws could be sufficiently bent…