Aemelia did as she said she would, dropping a live ember to the floor, marking the other wise pristine white stone with large strike of black soot. And Lucretia pretended not to noticed, as she had been asked to do, while the four other Vestal broke into nervous jittering.

The King, just as Aemelia had predicted, asked for her to be retired. He had been so cross and offended, there had been no ceremony of goodbye, and her pension had been decided on a misery.

She didn’t care though. In the middle of the night, pretending a shame she was far from feeling, she had hugged Lucretia, thanking her, to then run into the arms of a handsome man. A farmer, Lucretia knew by looking at his hands. Aemelia would be a good wife, a happy one, or at least that’s what Lucretia wished for her, se...

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