“A betrothal ring for the bride!” Domitian roared. “Paulinus, don’t tell me you haven’t given it to her yet? Here, let me.” He fumbled for Calpurnia’s shrinking hand and shoved a sizable ruby onto the wrong finger. “Betrothed! Time to kiss her again, Paulinus. No, no, not like that!”—as Paulinus planted a smeary peck on Calpurnia’s lips. “I suppose I’ll have to do this for you, too”—and the Emperor kissed Calpurnia, teeth mashing against her lips. Her muffled squeak disappeared into the mocking drumroll of the musicians.

“Caesar,” the Empress said sharply, speaking for the first time all evening. “You’re frightening the poor girl.”

“Frightening?” The black Flavian eyes narrowed. “What would you know about kisses? Cold as an icicle—wouldn’t melt in a volcano, you scheming frozen—”

The Empress rose from her couch, not a hair out of place. “Thank you for a delightful evening,” she said at large. “Marcus, Lady Lepida. Prefect Norbanus, Lady Calpurnia. Good evening to you all.”

“That’s right,” the Emperor muttered as she drifted out. “Get out of here—frigid scheming bitch—” He beckoned a pageboy violently, and I watched with hazy eyes as he emptied a packet of little crushed leaves into the wine flagon. “What’sat?” I giggled.

“Herbs—Indian, I think—” He downed an explosive mouthful. “Makes—makes colors—Paulinus, here—and Calpurnia—”

“I don’t want any,” she said distinctly.

“DRINK!” The Emperor thrust the goblet into her hand so half the wine slopped over her expensive gown, and she drank. I reached over to wrest the cup away, feeling Marcus’s disgusted eyes as I drained the dregs. Old Falernian, with something bitter at the bottom.

“Good,” the Emperor panted. Sweat crowned his forehead. “Feels, feels—good—hot in here—music—SOMEBODY FETCH ME ATHENA!” he shouted.

Warmer all of a sudden. Mosaics twisting and swirling like they were alive. My body grew hot and loose.

“Oh, gods, I feel sick.” Calpurnia half fell off the couch and vomited by a rosy marble statue of a bathing Artemis.

I felt a quick rustle on the couch next to me as Marcus rose. “I think I’d better take Lady Calpurnia home, Caesar. She isn’t well.” He cupped a hand around her elbow, lifting her up. “Paulinus—”

But Paulinus sprawled panting and flaccid across the couch, his pupils swallowing up his eyes. “Y’re beautiful,” he mumbled to me. “Y’re beautiful—”

“Good night,” said Marcus, and he dragged out the reeling Calpurnia.

Paulinus’s curls were moving. Twining around like snakes. I put out an interested finger, pulling back before I could be bitten. He rolled over and seized my wrist, attacking my shoulder and throat with his mouth.

“ATHENA!” the Emperor roared, and I looked up over Paulinus’s shoulder to see Thea gliding through the door in apricot silk, at first pinprick-tiny like at the end of a tunnel, and then suddenly looming huge. The stone at her throat had grown into a vast black mouth. As Paulinus fumbled with stupid fingers at the clasp of my stola, the Emperor grabbed hold of Thea’s arm, so hard his fingers left white marks on her flesh. “Drink,” he whispered, forcing the goblet against her teeth. “Drink—we’ll see what kind of goddess you are—” and as she choked on the wine he kissed her, eating her with his teeth and his hands.