“You look beautiful as ever, Adara. Would you stop worrying?”
Lucius stood behind her, already dressed in his toga, his arms crossed as he looked down at his wife where she was seated at a small table, gazing into a bronze, ivory-handled mirror she had bought in Lindinis only a few days before.
A chunk of incense burned in a dish nearby, the stealthy plumes of smoke catching in the curls of her dark hair which she had re-arranged a few times already.
“You don’t understand, Lucius,” she said, not looking at him, but continuing to adjust her locks yet again. “I haven’t been to a banquet since Coria, and I don’t want to think about that one again.”
“You’ll be the prettiest woman there,” Lucius soothed, leaning down and wrapping his arms about her shoulders, kissing her gently to the side
