Free Love, Eternally by Morgan O'Neill

of the double meaning not lost on her. It’s too soon, too dangerous.
    When he let go, she opened her eyes and found him smiling down at her again. But now, she realized, his gaze didn’t have the same intensity. It held a trace of uncertainty, of hope superseding desire, and she was glad to see he wasn’t always in absolute command of a situation.
    He touched her cheek, brushing at a wayward strand of her hair, and Gigi had an overwhelming urge to press her cheek against his palm, to remember what tenderness was like. She wondered how his lips would feel.
    “We must speak,” he said. His expression turned serious, the air between them stilled with a deeper purpose. “I have told Silvia you are not to bear the slave collar.”
    She was stunned. “But, what if … ” she fumbled and started again, “the emperor — ”
    “Has thousands of slaves. You are but one woman in his vast menagerie, just one woman, and yet,” his voice wavered, “you are … ah, I would not see your beautiful throat marred for all the riches of Rome.” Again, he brushed the strand of hair, then, with only the slightest pause, traced the length of her neck, lingering in the shallow at the base of her throat.
    She closed her eyes, her heart wildly hammering.
    “Gigi!” Silvia yelled from the kitchen.
    Magnus stepped back and glanced over her shoulder toward the building. “You are needed, it seems. Thank you for the drink.” His gaze found hers again, his expression intense despite the level smoothness of his words, and another spark leapt between them.
    “Gigi, where are you?” Silvia yelled again.
    “I, too, must go,” he said, then softly added, “Do not lose hope. You are not alone.”
    Before she could respond, he bowed, mounted his horse, and rode away.
    You are not alone. Her mind replayed his words and she struggled to have faith, to believe it was true, but another strident cry from Silvia broke into her thoughts. But I am alone, Magnus. I’m alone when you’re not here.
    Shaking with frustration, Gigi wanted to run after him and beg him to take her away from all this, no matter the danger to either one of them. The strain finally caught up with her and tears threatened, but she fought them back, reaching deep inside to regain a semblance of control.
    She lifted her chin and watched as the dust kicked up by his horse settled, the last trace of him gone. Her heartache resumed, but nothing like before. Touching her throat, she felt him still, the memory of his caress just enough to sustain her through her misery and fear, until the next time he came.
    • • •
    Clutching a scroll, Galla Placidia tried to suppress a giggle but failed as she ran through her chambers, past the darkened balcony, heading for the niche where her nurse slept. A single oil lamp lit the alcove. By flickering light, Elpidia glanced up from her evening prayers.
    “Oh, my dear Elpidia,” Placidia gushed as she waved the scroll. “Forgive me for interrupting your devotions, but I do believe this is what we’ve awaited these many months. My brother has summoned me on the morrow.”
    “It would seem so,” Elpidia chuckled, looking at the scroll. “Perhaps your brother’s new bride has prodded his memory toward your needs.”
    Placidia let loose a deep, throaty laugh. “You think so, too? It is true then. Honorius has decided!”
    She threw out her arms and twirled around to face the balcony and its star-flecked sky. She breathed in the deliciously cool night air, her mind buoyant, brimming with possibilities.
    Who will he be? Placidia wondered, remembering how Honorius had taken the time to go over a list with her, promising to consider her dreams and desires.
    Who will be my husband?
    • • •
    The morning mist had burned off, and with it, the hope of any respite from the swelter of late spring. Honorius stood on his shaded balcony and gazed beyond the docks, canals, and lagoons, watching whitecaps on the Adriaticum. He breathed, catching a