Cleopatra lashed forward with a paw, clawing the arm of the bestiarii before her. She did not desire to kill him, and so she dodged his sword. He did not wield it well, in any case. Some of the fighters were screaming and slashing with their eyes closed. Dust flew up and obscured the bleeding lion beside her. The rhinoceros heaved his way up from below the stadium, its great ivory horn as sharp as a dagger, and its eyes flashing black and beady as it began to run, thundering across the circus.

Cleopatra caught sight of a sword, slicing directly at her head, and leapt forward to tear the fighter’s throat, savoring, even if only for a moment, the heat of his blood.

She gathered her haunches and lunged at the stands, feeling the dead weight of a lioness beside her, anchoring her to the ground.

She gloried in her invisibility, straining at the chain that bound her and feeling the links stretch, the metal protesting. They did not know her. They had no idea she was coming. At last, she felt the chain break, whipping out from her throat and lashing across the ground. Red splattered her eyes and the moans of the dying rose around her.

Her muscles tensed for the leap over the trench, and for a graceful moment, she was in the air, high above the crowd, higher than any true lion could leap.

Augustus’s face was shocked and upturned. She could see his heart beating through his throat. Terrified of her at last. He had underestimated Cleopatra.

The force of her landing threw the emperor to the ground, and he cowered on his back before her.

“You took my family!” she screamed, her voice still that of a lioness. She dug her claws into his shoulders, relishing his terror. “You took my country!”

“Get it off me!” the emperor shrieked. His eyes were wide, and reflecting in them, Cleopatra could see two female figures. First an old woman, and then a young. The elder had a distaff in her hands, and she raised it in the air, spinning it so swiftly, Cleopatra could scarcely see it move. The old woman looked into the queen’s lioness body and saw her. Her eyes flashed silver-white, and Cleopatra felt her body begin to weaken as though she was suddenly bound with ropes, caught in a web.

The young girl rose up from her seat, smiled and lifted her hands, throwing some glittering substance into the air.

It showered over Cleopatra, and for a moment, Cleopatra was no longer a lion. She felt herself melt back into her human form, crouched atop Augustus in his laurel crown, her fingers bloodied.

She did not care.

Everything ceased to matter as she finally saw the face of the man who stood beside the witches, the man she’d thought an impersonation of her husband.

“Antony!” she screamed.

The knowledge ripped through her. It could be nothing but dreaming —but she reached out her hands to touch him. Did she imagine it? Did he cringe back from her?