“Perhaps,” Marcus said mildly. “But he is a good Emperor, is he not?”

“A monster can’t—”

“Of course a monster can be a good Emperor, Paulinus. Domitian’s personal habits may leave much to be desired, but there is no doubt he is a good administrator, a fine jurist, and a capable general. We have enjoyed stability under his reign. Stability, and boring peaceful things like a balanced economy and historically low corruption levels.” Marcus rotated a pen between his hands. “You may be too young to remember the Year of Four Emperors, Paulinus, but many who do may be willing to balance a little monstrosity against stability.”

“I’m not one of them.” Paulinus looked him square in the eye. “I believe Domitian must be removed.”

Marcus wondered how much blood those words had wrenched out of his son’s heart. “Why ask my advice, then?” Quietly.

“Because you’re a man of principles. Maybe the only one left. If you tell me Domitian is not worth his office, that’s good enough for me.”

Another pint of heart’s blood, Marcus judged. Fortunate that he has so great a heart to spare it.

He opened his mouth—and the door crashed inward.

“Marcus,” said Calpurnia. “Paulinus. There’s someone here to—um. Here’s Lady Athena. And this is—?”

“Arius,” the big man said. “You’ll know me.”

“Who?” Marcus said politely.

“Never mind.” Thea crossed the room, her eyes burning Paulinus.

Marcus looked at Calpurnia. “If you don’t mind, my dear—”

“Oh, I’m leaving.” She raised a hasty hand. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.” As she shut the door—“I’ll just go keep the slaves quiet.”

“Good girl.”

“Paulinus.” Thea stopped before Marcus’s son. “We need you.”

Paulinus looked at her, and his gaze didn’t slide away. “You want your son back.”

“I want my son back,” said Thea. “And I want the Emperor dead.”

Marcus spoke. “We all do.”

Thirty-one

DIVORCE?” Lepida perched on the edge of Marcus’s desk, raising her penciled brows. “Really, Marcus, why should I do that?”

“The Emperor is besotted with you, from all accounts. Six months now, isn’t it?” Marcus shrugged. “I thought you might wish to make yourself . . . available.”

“Oh, a man doesn’t want his mistress to be available unless he suggests it.” But Lepida preened a little. “You heard he’s besotted with me?”

Marcus hid a smile. “He must have a stronger nose than I, if he can stand that vulgar perfume.”

“Claws in, darling. I’m not getting rid of you yet. Though if he does decide to make me his Empress . . .”

“If.”

She bristled. “Why not? He divorced his wife once; he can do it again. Aren’t I worthy of a crown?”

Marcus looked at his wife: slim and luscious in saffron silk with a collar of Indian gold covering her throat and ropes of scented black hair coiled around her elegant head. “Every inch the Empress,” he agreed. “Let’s hope he lives to crown you.”

“You’ve been listening to gossip.”