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‘Similarly, it would be undiplomatic of me not to sample your native cuisine,’ she said.

The prince’s attendants brought out an array of dishes, shoving aside the Roman feast to make room on the table: spices arranged in a rainbow of colours, grilled meats on wooden skewers, bowls of rose water with floating petals, and dishes of sauces full of parsley and garlic.

Claudia was momentarily annoyed that Darius had taken over, until the delicious smells of saffron, cardamon and turmeric filled her nostrils, making her mouth water. She could barely wait for the imperial poison taster to sample it all, declaring it fit for consumption. Claudia helped herself to a little bit of everything, as did Gia.

‘Maybe you should marry him,’ Gia joked, under her breath.

The inclement weather had subsided, the white of the autumnal sky breaking through the clouds. Claudia’s nerves finally settled and she allowed herself to enjoy the feast, even allowing Gia to share from her plate as they exchanged their favourite culinary discoveries.

Their hands touched at their sides, their feet tangled together under the bench, exchanging flushed looks as the lyre player launched into a beautifully haunting song that made Claudia’s eyes sting.

And yet, here was her promised prince, her fated fiancé, seated at her side at long last.

She could not have been less interested in him.

At the end of the meal, Darius was sure to point out that the Persian dishes had been devoured more definitively, leaving more empty bowls and plates, declaring himself the winner of a competition Claudia had not agreed to enter. Yet she was happy to concede defeat.

‘I may have to give you this one, Prince Darius,’ she said, pointing at him with a spoon as she devoured the last bit of honey cake. ‘You’ll have to share some of your recipes. Call it a cultural exchange.’

‘And what will you offer in return?’ he said.

‘I am yet to find something that impresses you, but when I do, I shall be glad to give it to you.’

‘I am a difficult person to impress,’ he said. ‘I’m quite particular about what I like – fussy, some might say.’

His advisor adopted a deadpan expression, as though unwilling to agree with this in public.

‘It isn’t meant as an insult, though. When I love something, I truly love it – unconditionally and eternally.’

This was unexpected from a man who had been described as a rogue. Gia’s posture stiffened beside her.

‘That… is good to know,’ said Claudia, staring at her plate. ‘Duly noted.’

Darius didn’t speak, leaving the sentiment hanging.

‘Perhaps we should move on… to the gift-giving ceremony,’ said Claudia, to break the silence.

‘I will follow your lead, Empress,’ said Darius.

They retreated into the throne room nearby – where more marble columns and golden cherubs awaited, to the prince’s displeasure.

Gia faced off against a man with a scarred face and missing teeth, while Damocles bowed to the small, bearded man in the tall hat, introducing himself as consul.

‘Damocles.’

‘Mehdi,’ he said, bowing back.

Hieronymus shuffled off to retrieve a red, silk bundle from a pillar. He gave it to Claudia, in a very officious manner, and she handed it to the prince in an equally ceremonious fashion.

‘Sepas,’ said the prince, in thanks.

He opened it, looking down at the Roman hamper Damocles had assembled, including figs grown in the palace orchard, a terracotta amphora painted with scenes of the gods, and a precious jar of Pompeiian garum, saved from the disaster.

Still, the prince appeared unimpressed.

Mehdi elbowed him again, shooting him a pointed look.

‘I am grateful for… the spirit of your generosity,’ he said.