Instead he found a stranger. Saw the bold Flavian nose shadowed against the lamplight; the curling Flavian hair he’d seen carved in marble, curling now over the collar of a Vestal’s robe; the dark Flavian eyes filled with Domitian’s enigma.

A buried memory surfaced: a tiny princess carrying the flags of childhood games.

“I’ve known you forever,” he’d said to her once, “long before I ever set eyes on you.”

“Julia?” he said to the daughter of Emperor Titus, the grand-daughter of Emperor Vespasian, the niece and—according to some—mistress of Emperor Domitian: Lady Julia Flavia of the Imperial and divine Flavian dynasty.

I offered to marry her, he thought foolishly.

“Julia,” echoed the Emperor. The look on his face was so strange, so complicated, that Paulinus knew he couldn’t identify it in a thousand years.

But he was afraid of it.

“Sir,” he said rapidly, “I apologize for allowing this impostor into your presence. I will remove and deal with her as she deserves to—”

“No,” the Emperor said absently, eating his niece with his eyes. “No impostor. Tell me, Paulinus—did you know?”

His mouth was dry.

“No,” said Justina—Julia. “He suspected nothing.”

“Much becomes clear.” Still in that musing tone. “Why, for instance, you chose to pardon that worthless Flavia. The pardon is invalid, of course. Since only Vestal Virgins can override an Imperial death sentence, and you—you are no virgin of any kind.”

Incredibly, she smiled. Becoming Justina again, instead of some anonymous Flavian princess. “Ah, but if you were to override my so-very-public pardon, then the people would demand an explanation. What would you tell them?”

“An Emperor does not explain himself.”

“You’ve been explaining your way out of my father’s shadow all your life.”

A restless movement. “And where have you been all this time, Julia?”

Paulinus opened his mouth—and found himself desperately wanting to hear the answer. He closed it again.

“In the Temple of Vesta. Where I always wanted to go. I had to die before I could go there.”

“People said it was a child—”

“No child. I tried to stab myself, but—” A smile illuminated her face. “Vesta did not want me dead yet. So I went to her. She didn’t seem to mind about the virgin part.”

“Someone helped you to escape,” Domitian snapped.

“The Chief Vestal—dead now. One or two others, whom I won’t name.”

A long pause. “I can still kill Flavia, you know.” Abruptly. “I may have remanded execution to exile, but she goes tomorrow to Pandateria. Do you know what that is? A bare rock in the middle of the ocean, not even a mile square. A number of Imperial women have died there, one or two bearing your own name. Who’s to know if one more royal prisoner falls off that rock and breaks her neck?”

“The people will know. They’ll believe the worst because, Uncle, they don’t much like you.”

Vix, curled up on the floor like a dog, let out a faint snort. Domitian sent him a sharp glance before turning his eyes back to his niece. “So they dislike me. You think I torture myself over that?”