“Is that how it’s done?” Titus rested his bony elbows on his knees, thoughtful. “If it were my daughter, and I were the one vetting her suitors, I think I’d want to hear about their bad qualities.”

“Points for originality.” Sabina pushed her hair behind her ears. “So? Let’s hear about your flaws.”

“Well, to start, I’m just sixteen years old,” he said. “Just finished my education, so obviously I have no career yet. And no money except an allowance from my grandfather, so I can’t offer you a house of your own.”

“Go on.”

“I’m a dreadful stick,” he confessed. “I’m not witty. I’m not brilliant. I’m certainly not handsome. I never have anything original to say, so I just quote other people. Like Horace. Cato too; I’m terribly boring about Cato.”

“You’re doing very well at this,” Sabina approved. “Keep going.”

“I expect I’ll have the usual sort of career—tribune, quaestor, praetor, and so forth. But I’m a thoroughgoing plodder, so I doubt I’ll ever bring much luster to the family name.”

“Does that worry you?” Her smile was gone; she looked serious.

“Not really,” he found himself saying quite honestly. “The Empire runs because of plodders. I’ll do my work, and I’ll do it well. But I won’t rise high—I’ll just serve. No wife of mine is going to end up an empress, that’s certain.” He spread his hands. “That’s all, I suppose. There isn’t much to say about someone as insignificant as me.”

Sabina tilted her head to one side. “I give up,” she said at last. “You need no help from me in learning how to propose marriage. Just give that same speech to the right girl, and she’ll fall headlong into your lap.”

He grinned and looked down, smoothing a hand back over his cowlick. “You’re sure you won’t marry me?” he asked, looking up. “I may not be very keen on going to Syria, but I think we’d have a good time together anyway.”

“I’m tempted.” Sabina rose. “But you’d find me a very unsatisfactory wife in the long run. I hate parties, I love adventures, and I’m very fond of getting my own way. If you gave me all your faults, it’s only fair you know mine.”

“I like your faults.” He rose too, holding out the armload of violets. “I suppose we never like the people with the right faults to match our own, do we? It’s always the unsuitable person we want instead.”

“Yes, it is.” She looked thoughtful at that. “Sometimes a very unsuitable person.”

“Have you got your eye on one?” he said a little wistfully.

“Thank you for the flowers.” She buried her nose in the bouquet. “I love violets.”

“Your guard said you did.”