“Sorry,” he murmured to her. “Glabrio will skin me alive if I’m late again, and then who would spoil you?”
She flicked her ear back at him in a gesture that was the horse equivalent of an eye roll.
Max practiced excuses in his mind as they approached Narbo. Punctuality was not his strong suit, but he’d resolved to do better. Heneededto do better if he was going to make decurion, after all. Then, he’d be responsible not just for himself, but for a squadron of thirty men. He should have been promoted already, given his ten years of service, but too many incidents of lateness or accidental impudence had held him back.
When they reached the stables, Max untacked Elephant, brushed her down, and released her into the pasture as quickly as he could. Then, he jogged outside the walls of the city to the field before the eastern gate that the legion used for drills and assemblies.
Shit, he was definitely late. The whole legion was assembled already, facing the road on which the new governor would arrive. Max held his breath and tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible as he slipped through the ranks to find the spot that had been left for him in his cavalry unit. His height was usually an advantage, but today, he was fairly sure that all five thousand men of the legion were watching him fumble around.
He finally found his spot next to his friend and bunkmate, Drusus, and slipped into it.
“Where in Dis have you been?” Drusus breathed.
“Riding,” Max replied.
“Idiot.”
Max nodded in agreement. His one consolation was that Glabrio, his centurion, was at the front, facing forward, so might not have noticed Max’s tardy arrival. Then again, the man seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, so Max doubted he’d get off easy. Besides, someone else would probably rat him out to curry favor.
Between the heads of the men in front of him, Max could just glimpse the legion’s commander, Petronax, pacing before the ranks. He wore a bright white cape, and sunlight glanced off the gold filigree in his ceremonial breastplate. Petronax had been acting governor of the province in the months since the previous governor finished his three-year term. Petronax probably wasn’t looking forward to giving up the power and prestige that came with governing a profitable and peaceful province like Gallia Transalpina.
They waited for several minutes. Then, a scout on a fast horse came riding down the road, hooves thumping, and relayed a message to Petronax, likely announcing the imminent arrival of the traveling party. At the front of the legion, trumpeters lifted their instruments and launched into a loud, jaunty tune.
Moments later, a small procession rounded the curve of the road and came into view. A few men rode horses in front, followed by a small, enclosed carriage. Several carts packed high with crates and boxes brought up the rear.
The frontmost rider surveyed the assembled legion with an air of command as he drew his horse to a halt. He must be the province’s new governor. His close-cropped hair was graying at the edges, but he sprang down from his horse with energetic ease. He patted the horse on the nose before handing the reins to an eager legionary. A good sign—Max liked men who were kind to their animals.
Petronax stepped forward, ready to greet the new governor, but the other man turned toward the carriage, which had pulled up behind them. He waved away another attendant and opened the door himself, extending a hand up to assist the woman inside the carriage.
A jolt of shock pulsed through Max. He sucked a ragged breath through his teeth at the sight of the woman who emerged from the carriage.
Over the past ten years, he’d often had moments like this, where he’d thought he’d seen her. But it was always just another woman with the same shade of dark-honey hair, or a build similar to hers, petite and slender.
Though other women might share the same hair color or figure, no one had ever matched her bearing: prim but not haughty, dignified but not cold. She’d carried herself like that even when they were adolescents, and the woman who stepped down from the carriage moved with the warm grace he remembered.
It was Volusia, his childhood friend and source of deep infatuation. He hadn’t seen her in ten years, not since one disastrous kiss had ruined everything between them. He knew she married shortly after they had parted. He didn’t know her husband would become the new governor of Gallia Transalpina, or that she would accompany him all the way from Rome.
He swallowed hard. Petronax and the governor were exchanging a formal greeting, but Max couldn’t tear his gaze from Volusia. She stood patiently behind her husband, glancing over the ranks with a small smile. A fair-haired attendant stood at her side, and Volusia leaned over to whisper something to her.
His chest felt tight. He had never expected to see her again, had resigned himself to it, despite comparing every woman he flirted with or the few he bedded to her. Now, she was to live here, in the same town.
But they would probably never see each other. He didn’t often cross paths with the governor’s household, and Volusia would have no reason to venture outside of the comfortable house she’d soon be installed in. She was married now—to a governor, no less—and he was just a soldier who couldn’t even land one promotion.
Regret pulled at him. Once, they were the best of friends. But fate had torn them apart, and they’d never be able to recapture what they once had. He’d keep his distance, and she’d never even know he was here.
Chapter 2
Volusiasurveyedtheflurryof unpacking happening in her new quarters. They had just arrived in Narbo after a month of travel, and so far, the city seemed to consist only of surly, grim-faced soldiers.
Iris, her maid, attempted to shake the wrinkles out of the linen and silk dresses that had been crushed into trunks for the duration of their journey. Some other women made the bed with fresh linens.
Volusia rifled through her trunks to locate a small wooden box containing her jewelry. She opened it and glanced over the contents, making sure nothing had gone missing on the journey. She wasn’t given to dousing herself in jewels as some women were, but the jewelry represented security. She was in a strange city, hundreds of miles from everyone she knew, except Iris and Avitus. The jewelry was a promise that she could take care of herself, if the need arose.
She sifted a pearl and ruby necklace through her fingers. It brought forth a pang of longing. Avitus had given her this necklace upon the birth of their son, Lucius, nine years ago. Lucius remained behind in Rome with his grandparents. He was a bookish lad with a delicate constitution, and she worried about the effect of the journey on his health. Also, his education was paramount if he was going to follow in his father’s footsteps as a successful statesman, and she didn’t want to interrupt it. But she’d missed him from the moment the carriage rolled away from their house in Rome.
“All well, mistress?” Iris asked quietly.
Volusia hastily put the necklace down. Iris had been given to her as a wedding present, and over the past ten years, Iris had become a trusted confidant, always attuned to Volusia’s moods. “I’m just tired from the journey.”
