⟢ Lavinia is lucky.
Lucky to serve Vesta, lucky to escape marriage to a foul old man she does not love, lucky to be free of the constant scheming of the capital, lucky to be surrounded by a sacred sisterhood.
At least that's what she tells herself...
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The Vestals. Lavinia knew of them. Of course she did, how could she not? One could hardly be a Roman and not know them. The Vestals, virginal priestesses of the goddess Vesta, clad in white veils, floating through the city, feet never touching the ground lest they were within the temple of their goddess. Always so secretive, so insular, so larger than life, trained since birth to fulfill their duty. And now the emperor himself wanted her to be among their ranks?
She had heard of such a thing, young widows recruited by the pontifex maximus to take up the mantle, but never a girl unwed, never a girl as old as she. And besides, whenever an older woman was taken to be a Vestal, there was always grumbling among the nobles about bad fortune, and suspicion cast onto the man who chose. She could not fathom Titus's reasons for doing this, but she was not about to question it, not when the shouting of the guests had reached a fever pitch.
Titus's hand was warm and steady, and Lavinia allowed herself to be dragged from the room and into the rapidly cooling night air. On the cobbled street, a proper carriage waited, led by two gorgeous white stallions. The carriage driver did not even cast a second look towards them, as Titus ferried Lavinia into the carriage and climbed in after her, despite the fact that she was clearly still dressed in her wedding veil. It was almost as if he had planned for this, had known what to expect.
The door to the villa burst open, Publius in the doorway, face flushed with fury. Several other men spilled into the street, and Lavinia felt a calloused hand grip her tunic. She cried out in fear, yanking her tunic away and cowering into the recesses of the carriage. "Drive," Titus commanded calmly, and with a lurch, the carriage clattered down the street. Lavinia cast a frantic glance behind her shoulder but to her relief, Lavinia saw that no one was following them. Merely shouting, a few men smashing goblets onto the street and cursing.
Her racing heartbeat finally calming, Lavinia risked turning to face Titus. "Why did you do that," she gasped, barely remembering to tack on a hushed "my lord." Titus turned to her, smiling brightly, and all together looking quite pleased with himself.
"You won't be under the goddesses protection until we enter the atrium of the temple," he said, instead of answering. "You're still a part of your father's household until that. And I daren't tread on his authority any longer than I already have."
"Then I suppose we'd better do that," Lavinia said weakly, allowing the ride to lapse into silence.
The streets of Rome passed by in the growing darkness. Slaves wandered the path, lighting lanterns, and casting wary looks at the imperial carriage speeding down the street. Lavinia, for her part, was beginning to feel a bit nauseous as they made their way down the viae towards the Palatine Hill, and the fact that she'd barely eaten didn't help. These were streets she had walked her whole life, by the side of her mother and sister, she recognized shops and restaurants, theatres and homes, yet they were all turned dark in the unfamiliar night, suddenly each was a threatening tooth in the maw of a great beast waiting to swallow her whole.
