“Stand!” Aemelia said, coming behind her.

She did as much, turning around to face the oldest and greatest of the Vestal Virgins; the most powerful woman in the city.

The view didn’t disappoint. Aemelia was a vision to behold. This close, the thin veil did little to hide the magnificence of her. Tall and strong. Her long arms graceful like a swan’s neck. Her legs supple and long like willow branches.

Then she looked closer. Aemelia’s face was an impassive mask, but her neck, pulled too long, looking stiff and wiry, betrayed her. She was angry? Afraid, perhaps?

They could only be six at the top. Six Vestal to light the sacred fires. Six Vestal to pray each morning in the Basilica for the good of the King. A new Vestal, particularly one in the age...

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