Ptolemy climbed into her lap, nuzzling into her arms, and though she tried to stay strong, she clutched him. She did not want to show Octavian that she loved them. If he knew this, he’d be more likely to kill them.

“Send them away,” she ordered, desperate to keep herself from crying in front of her children. Their father was dead. Did they not know it? Cleopatra had grown up with only a father, her mother having died birthing her. Did her children not feel the strangeness inside her?

“But, Mama,” said Ptolemy, tears already streaking his face. He had a toy with him, a small lion carved out of ebony, and he showed it to his mother. His fingers on the toy were chubby, and she knew he would never survive without her. He was a baby still. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she held him tighter for a moment, then let him go.

He stared at her, bewildered. His eyes looked just like Antony’s had in those last moments. Antony, who’d been convinced she had betrayed him.

The twins comforted their brother. Cleopatra Selene, the beautiful, black-haired daughter, looked back as she was led toward the doorway. Her eyes smoldered at Cleopatra.

“Who are you?” she asked, her tone sharp. “You are not our mother.”

Cleopatra was silent for a moment, though her daughter’s words felt as the sun had, searing and blistering. What did her daughter see?

“I am not well,” Cleopatra told her finally, her voice shaking. “Your mother is not well.”

“They say you betrayed our father,” Selene said.

“They lie!” Cleopatra shouted. Her sons cringed away from her, and she pushed herself back into her chair. She should not scream at this child. Her own child. “Who told you that?”

“They say that you killed a man in the mausoleum,” the daughter persisted, her eyes wide and scared but her tone harsh.

“Who says that?” Cleopatra asked again. “Tell me who.”

“Is it true?”

“You must not speak to your mother that way, Selene,” said a voice from the doorway. “It is not respectful. She is your queen.”

Cleopatra raised her head slowly.

There the monster stood, a slight blond man with unsettlingly pale gray eyes. He had not bothered to put on formal dress for the meeting.

Ptolemy ran to the conqueror, and Octavian scooped the child up into his arms. Cleopatra stood up, her muscles aching with the effort of remaining on her own side of the room. She must keep them safe. She must pretend she didn’t care.

Octavian put Ptolemy down and waved his hand at Cleopatra’s twins. They let themselves be led from the chamber, only Selene looking back.

“You betrayed us,” Selene said. “They say you betrayed our father, but you betrayed us.”

Then they were gone.

Octavian sat down disrespectfully in Cleopatra’s chair, leaving her standing. He appraised the queen, slowly looking her up and down. Discomfited, she sat on her couch. She would not be forced onto the bed.