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her shoulder. “Especially when there are women of more—consequence—who might claim your attention.”
    Herod was at her side in a moment and took the cup of wine she had poured for herself. “And you are indeed a woman of consequence.”
    Were his words flattery or mockery? She studied the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the long lashes. The full lips as hebrought the cup to his mouth. She could not read him, and it was unnerving.
    She poured another cup and raised it to his. “To our mutual concerns.”
    Herod eyed her over his cup. He had a way of holding one’s gaze for a moment longer than appropriate, then looking away with a smile, perhaps of amusement or perhaps simply pleasure. He crossed the room to the low couch. “Have we mutual concerns?”
    “But of course.” She joined him on the couch, sliding too close. He smelled of all parts of the world: deserts sands and Eastern spices and even the flora of his hilly Galilee. His powerful blending of Eastern and Greek influences made him more like her than any man she’d been with, and the attraction was too potent. She pulled away, tried to focus on her objective. “I remember your father well.”
    He chuckled. “I should think so. Without his help, Caesar would never have had the armies of Mithridates, nor the Nabateans, to give him success here in Alexandria.”
    She sipped her wine. “Hmm, yes, well, the Nabateans are no friends to either of us now, I hear.”
    Herod’s eyes flickered in surprise. “Your sources keep you well informed. I have only just come from Malik in Petra. I offered even to leave my nephew as security against my requests for soldiers and funds, but the Parthians got to him first, and he had me dismissed as a common enemy.”
    She tsked and shook her head. “Unthinkable. Was not your mother a noblewoman in Petra?”
    Herod’s fingers tightened around his cup. “I spent the better part of my childhood there, in protection against my father’s enemies in Judea.”
    Cleopatra hid a smile. Men were out of balance when their precious pride was wounded, and she liked it that way. “Well, he is no ally of mine either, I can assure you.”
    Herod leaned on one elbow along the couch, distancing himself from her. “And that is saying something, as you are a woman adept at gaining allies.”
    She gave him a quick, half-amused smile. “There have been some who found it advantageous to ally with me, yes.”
    “Come, don’t be modest. You are something of a legend in Rome. The way you charmed your way into Julius Caesar’s heart within hours of his landing on your shores. You put all your hopes into Caesar, I suppose? Thought perhaps your son would take the throne of Egypt and then be handed Rome as his birthright as well?”
    Cleopatra stood and strolled to the wine again but, noticing the shakiness of her hand as she lifted the jug, she thought better of it and took a bit of cheese instead. She kept her back to Herod. This interaction was not proceeding well. She was accustomed to gaining the upper hand from the start of the conversation. The room was chilly, and she crossed to the single burning brazier, lifted the leather-wrapped rod with the torch end in the fire, and used it to light two more braziers. The delay gave her time to consider her next words.
    “There was none more saddened than I by the brutal slaying of Caesar. His death was a loss to Rome, and to all the world.”
    “Yes, no doubt Antony said much the same thing when he found himself in your bed soon after.”
    “Two years!” She turned on Herod, the poker solid and hot in her hand. “It was two years before Antony . . . won my affection away from the memories!”
    His smile spoke more than words. He had bested her by wounding her pride—a point scored on his side now. They were too evenly matched for comfort.
    He stood and came to her, took the rod from her hand, replaced it on the edge of the brazier, but did not release her hand. “What is it you