The key was stuck. Zelda teetered on her heels as she bent to peer at it. The old, tarnished key had gone in, turned once, and then refused to budge. She dropped her purse and set down the flask of hot coffee with more care. Taking a better grip, she jiggled the key. The lock wiggled in the door. Her eyes darted to the hinges. It would be just her luck for the damn door to fall off with her key still in it. Downstairs, a neighbor exited his apartment with no hassle. Zelda forced herself to take a deep breath and unclench her jaw. She couldn’t afford a dental catastrophe on top of rent. Not that the rent was doing her much good these days. Her watched ticked away on her wrist, TICK-tick-tick-tick-tick-TICK-tick-tick, like a metronome. Her heart rate sped along with it, as every attempt to loosen the key failed. Pull up, pull down, push in, yank, nothing! She slammed her toe into the ancient oak and swore, her toes bruising as much as her ego. Twin gasps sounded behind her. Zelda turned, favoring the failed battering ram of a foot. Domina Ricci and her son were glowering at her from across the hall. Little Tony held his schoolbooks in front of his face, peering past them as though at a monster. He should, there was sweat on her upper lip. “Scuzi… Good morning?” Pages: 1 2 3

Surely this was not natural. Zelda’s teeth clattered together, and she rubbed her arms for warmth. Another gust of wind blew down the open platform, sending tiny droplets of rain that didn’t quite want to be snow against her frozen cheeks. She took another gulp of air and jammed her hands back into her pockets. Fates, why had no one told her it would be this cold in Germania? And where was her luggage?

She was beginning to think so. Perhaps Reinard was right, and she just wasn’t cut out for hardcore journalism. No one would talk to her. The locals had no time for her, bordering on outright rudeness. Her frustration with their street signs—all signs, in fact—seemed to be all the tip off they needed that she was ausländisch, foreign. After half an hour trying to find a book shop, to purchase what else but a Latin to Germanian dictionary, she finally asked someone for help. They pointed the way, and walked away muttering something that sounded like a slurred “outlandish.” The next time she heard it, she scoured the pages of her new guide and found the term. The term hurt, for no explicable reason. Rationally, she knew that she considered the Germanians practically another species, but to have them call her such a thing? She was Roman, she was welcome anywhere in the Empire! They were the provincial minority.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

Note: I swore to myself I wouldn’t have a prologue. There’s so much cliche associated with them. But I see now that I need one. This takes place about 6 years before the rest of the book. . The sun was hot on Zelda’s skin, but not uncomfortably so. She basked in the light, stretching languidly. The lawn chair beneath her creaked. She would have to remember to tell her mother that even the Emperor’s furniture squeaked now and again. They were out by the pool, drying off after several rounds of diving competitions. It was a beautiful, cloudless day. A perfect start to their summer vacation. Except for poor Cleo, who was practicing the piano forte inside. The music rose and fell, coming to them through an open window. It added the perfect regal touch to their hedonistic lounging.

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