“My lady usually gets what she wants,” Thea observed. I twisted for a look at her, frowning, but she looked as blank as ever. And she had a point, didn’t she? I usually did get what I wanted, and I wanted the Barbarian. In the dark garden his hands had landed on my shoulders, perhaps to push me away, but his fingers dug into my flesh and his teeth had drawn blood from my lip.

“It was all terribly thrilling.” I lifted my arm so Thea could massage my side. “He’s such a brute. He’d have dragged me off and had his way with me, if his lanista hadn’t come out just afterward.” Too bad . . .

“Sandalwood oil or jasmine, my lady?”

“Jasmine. I wonder what Father would do if he found out—” I giggled, arching my back. “He’d be furious. But really, what’s the difference between what I want and what all those patrician ladies want?”

Of course it would be an enormous scandal—a young girl of good birth, seduced by a gladiator. But didn’t that all just make it more thrilling?

“And really, why should absolutely everything go to Marcus?” I mused aloud. “Why shouldn’t I get something? I know enough to act scared on the wedding night, and bring a little bag of chicken blood to the bed like all the brides do, in case the husband’s too drunk to perform. But this way I’d have something else to bring to bed. Something to think about while I’ve got boring old Marcus draped all over me.” I closed my eyes as Thea dabbed jasmine oil behind my ears. “I’d have a pair of big strong arms to think about instead of—”

“My lady,” Thea interrupted me—interrupted me! “I don’t want to hear about it.”

“You don’t?” My eyes snapped open. “Why is that, Thea? You’re no Vestal Virgin. I’ve heard you panting under my father often enough.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. I spoke out of turn.” She busied herself among the perfume vials and massage oils. “Would you like your robe, now?”

“I know why you don’t want to hear about it, Thea.” I smiled, feeling a little thrill of satisfaction inside. Finally something had cracked behind that long blank face of hers. “Because you’re jealous. Yes, you are. You’ve got a little crush on the brave, savage Barbarian, haven’t you? Were you hiding behind a bush last night, watching when he kissed me? Were you just aching and wishing it was you?” I uncoiled languorously, rearing up so close I could feel Thea’s breath on my face. “Shall I tell you what it’s like, Thea? To be crushed by those hard arms, yanked off the ground by those callused hands, scraped by that rough jaw—”

Her face was like wood, but her eyes hated me.

“Poor little Thea,” I smiled. “I’ll give you a few coppers next time we go shopping, and you can buy one of those garish little portraits the vendors hawk by the Colosseum. Hang it around your neck on a ribbon, and sleep with it under your pillow—”