“Quite a few soldiers do.” The cool voice was amused, and he shot her a sideways glance. For a priestess, she was prone to comments of distinct worldliness.

“My friend Trajan does,” Paulinus said ruefully. “He says men are easier than women. He’s probably right, too, but it’s not the way for me. I’ll marry Calpurnia Helena Sulpicia, and have sons.” He looked at her. “Did you ever regret it—not marrying?”

She blinked. “Well—no, I was—I never even thought about it. I was, well, nine years old when I was chosen. I certainly wasn’t thinking about marriage then. And then the Vestals swallowed me up, and I never looked back. Anyway, Vestals do marry sometimes. After they’ve served their thirty years and retired.”

“Really?” It was his turn to be taken aback.

“It doesn’t happen often—it’s considered bad luck to wed a former Vestal. But our former Chief Vestal was planning to marry when she retired. She was executed instead.”

Paulinus looked Justina straight in the eye. “She should have waited, instead of taking him as a lover.”

“Oh, he wasn’t her lover. They’d known each other for years, but she never broke her vows.”

“The Emperor handled the case himself. Do you think he would have convicted her without ample evidence? You don’t know how careful a jurist he is.”

“You don’t know how seriously Vestals take their vows.” Her voice cooled.

Paulinus opened his mouth—and reminded himself it was impolite to argue with a priestess. “I would never wish to impugn the Vestals.” Carefully.

“And I would never wish to impugn the Emperor.” A crooked little smile tilted her mouth. “Let’s not argue.”

LEPIDA

A. D. 93

PAULINUS’S proposed bride was no threat at all to me. Lady Calpurnia Helena Sulpicia was as sturdy as a pony, with square hands and a snub nose. A year older than me, too. I’d worried considerably that I’d lose my stepson to some sly sylph of a fifteen-year-old, but this ample widow was not worth worrying about. I’d met her on a handful of occasions but had never spoken with her for long. Now the year had turned, however, and it was Lupercalia and the Lupercalia festival was a time for lovers, so the augurs had finally fi xed a betrothal date for Paulinus and his little pony of a bride.

“My dear, what a very interesting gown,” I greeted her as she entered my hall dressed for her feast at the palace. “Blue? Such a bold choice, with skin like yours.”

“Thank you, Lady Lepida.” Her voice was placid. “Could you check the clasp of my bracelet? It’s come loose.”

I bent over the clasp. Her sapphires were bigger, bluer, and better than mine—I’d worn blue for the banquet, too. “It’s not loose at all.” I searched her face, but the wide hazel eyes were innocent as a child’s. No one would ever write odes to her gemlike gaze. I loosened the clasp of my stola to show a little more shoulder, arching my neck. “Paulinus will be late, of course. He’s so taken up with his duties.”