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‘What if he turns up here in all his princely regalia, gifting you precious rubies and gold statues or gods know what?’ said Gia.
Claudia shrugged. ‘I assume he will, at some point.’
‘Let’s say he comes, and he expects you to marry him. I doubt he’ll leave quietly, even if you decline. What happens then?’
‘I… I don’t know,’ Claudia admitted.
The sounds of the other party could be heard below them, getting even louder now, as if some of her guests had said their sweet farewells then stepped behind enemy lines to attend Marcellus’s party.
‘I don’t know what the future will hold,’ said Claudia, taking Gia’s hand and raising it to her lips to kiss, ‘but I do know that nothing and no one shall come between us. I will move the heavens if I have to. I will venture into the depths of the underworld. Whatever it takes.’
‘You can’t promise that.’
‘I can. I just did. Didn’t you hear? I’m going to be empress.’
Gia sighed, and smiled.
‘Fine, we’ll put it aside, for now,’ she said. ‘There’s no point worrying about something that might never happen.’
‘Right,’ said Claudia, relieved to have removed one worrying thing from her pile of worrying things. ‘I can think of a thousand better ways for us to spend our first evening in the palace.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Gia.
‘Yes, in fact, I think I promised you some kind of tour.’
4. THE GODDESS OF VICTORY
Claudia awoke the next morning in Gia’s arms, their hair meshed together like a tapestry of threads, their bodies entwined as if they were matching halves designed by a sculptor. For a moment, Claudia was at peace, unburdened by the world’s weight, before two blunt realizations crushed her chest, forcing her eyes to snap open.
The first realization was that Minerva hadn’t appeared to her in her dreams as she’d hoped. Claudia was sure she’d remember it if she had, as she did before. She recalled only venturing barefoot through the darkness of Asphodel, calling out to someone who didn’t respond. Her offering and her words had no apparent effect. Minerva was still absent.
The second realization was that it was the morning of the Senate meeting. By nightfall, she would either be empress, or dead. Such a fate tended to fall on those who failed to claim the power they sought. Once named as emperor, Marcellus would need only instruct his soldiers to kill her and they would do so without question.
Would she do the same, if the situation were reversed? Claudia didn’t know, and not knowing things bothered her.
To calm herself, she twisted around to gaze at Gia instead, memorizing the shape of the brows so often quirked in amusement, and the curve of her lips, which seemed to smile even in sleep.
Claudia adored the shape of her nose, the angle of her chin, every tiny mark and mole on her skin. She listened to her breathing. She felt that heady, surging feeling, like being back on the sinking ship again, waves crashing over her.
The hunger inside her scared her. She could no longer imagine a world in which they were not together. Her want had grown into a need, and there was nothing more terrifying than needing someone.
She was smart enough to hide it, at least.
It was still early, the room bathed in faded dawn light, but Claudia couldn’t settle. She hadn’t yet prepared what she might say, when they asked her to outline her plans for the empire.
Claudia had been thinking about the question for years already. She knew what it was that she represented and what she hoped to achieve, if given the chance. But if she fumbled her words now, of all times, she wouldn’t convince anyone. The battle was already pitched uphill as it was. If she was to captivate the Senate, to convince them to switch sides, she was going to need a grand speech.
No, more than that. She was going to need a miracle.
Carefully liberating herself from Gia’s arms without disturbing her, Claudia sat at the window, looking out over the Forum and the Pantheon. She looked to the Curia Julia, a boxy marble building with a pillared porch and giant bronze doors, where senators sat in rows on either side of a parliamentary court – a monument to murdered Caesar.
She imagined that it was full of robed woman senators, and that the streets were patrolled by women soldiers in armour. She imagined that a woman and her wife lived in the palace, patrons of all women in Rome, and that it was them. Her and Gia.
It was a beautiful vision. Perhaps she ought to commission an artist to paint it as a mural.
A soft knocking interrupted her thoughts. Startled, Claudia moved back to the bed, drawing the red curtains to hide Gia’s sleeping body before opening the door a crack, revealing a doe-eyed, freckled handmaid.
‘It’s time to rise, Empress.’
