She walks across the atrium, Britannica beside her. At the threshold of the dining room, she pauses. The voices have gone ominously quiet. For a moment, she wonders if it’s better to wait until they have finished, but the anger and curiosity are too much, and she pushes the door open. Victoria and her gladiator are sprawled over a couch. Amara can see the muscles on the man’s bare back, the tension of his shoulders as he moves. She gasps. Then Victoria sees her and scrambles up, yanking her dress back over her breasts. “Amara!”

The man does not rush himself. He picks up his own tunic, pulling it over his head before he turns to face her.

“Felix.” The shock of him standing in her home is so great Amara cannot say anything other than his name.

“Only command me,” Britannica says, her knife drawn. “And I kill him.”

Felix has his hand on the hilt of his own weapon. “That declaration seems a little overconfident.” He turns to Amara with a mocking bow. “Are you in the habit of threatening to murder your guests? I imagine a dead pimp might not be such a welcome scandal for posh boy at the start of his political career.”

“Get out.”

“Not even a tour of the place?” Felix saunters toward her, although she notices he keeps his eyes trained on Britannica’s weapon. “Very thoughtful of your lover to choose musical nymphs to decorate your rooms. A happy reminder of when you whored yourself out for me.”

“I said get out!”

“Then tell the bitch to put down her knife,” he says, no longer bothering to affect a casual tone. “Unless you want me to open her fucking throat in your boyfriend’s dining room.”

Amara turns to Britannica. “Make sure he leaves, but don’t touch him. Then come back here.”

Britannica lowers her arm with reluctance. “You try anything,” she hisses at Felix. “You a dead man.”

Amara does not look at Felix as he passes, but he stops, forcing her to acknowledge him. “I always keep my promises,” he says. They stare at one another, then he turns away, walking beside Britannica to the door.

“How could you do this?” Amara can hardly bear to look at Victoria standing quivering by the couch. “How could you bring him into my house?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Is that all you can fucking say? Did you ever even have an affair with Crescens, or has it always been Felix?” Victoria is silent, and Amara guesses the answer. “I don’t believe this. You lying, cheating whore!”