Love, Eternally by Morgan O'Neill

name down, for at thirty-two he was too old for her. And besides, her brother would never call him great again, not after his capture by Alaric.
    Smiling, Honorius sipped his wine. Placidia suddenly wondered if her reasoning could be wrong.
    “Brother, I am sincerely perplexed by your reference to a military man.” She hesitated. “You did not by any chance mean Magnus, did you?”
    “Bah!” Honorius looked as if he’d swallowed poison. “The witch’s phallus? We think not.”
    Blushing again, Placidia ignored his vulgarity and kept her voice low. “Magnus is not the kind of man to consort with his enemies, certainly not a witch.”
    Honorius looked bored. “Enough talk of Magnus. We swear it gives us a bellyache.”
    “But, if not Magnus, then who?”
    His lips twisted into a little smile. “Ah, patience has never been one of your strong suits, has it? Well, we have concluded that our cousin and mother-in-law, Serena, has given us the best suggestion, and in spite of our loathing of her, we have approved of her reasoning, and, therefore, her choice is ours as well.”
    Placidia froze at his words. Serena had raised them both, but had never shown any interest in them beyond what they could do for her. A surge of foreboding swept through her, and sweat sprang onto her brow. What had they done? Whom had they chosen?
    “The lucky fellow,” Honorius continued, “has himself reassured us he has harbored tender feelings for you for some time and shall strive to be a good husband to you. You are young and strong, and he is anxious for sons. Flavius Constantius — ”
    “Constantius?” She drew back in horror. “Oh, Honorius, how could you? He is so ugly — and old. When he looks at me with those bulging eyes … God save me! How could you listen to Serena’s advice? He must be at least fifty. I cannot — I will not marry him!”
    His mouth dropped open. “What did you say?”
    She swallowed. “Honorius, he is repulsive, a mockery of my wishes and my status. If you insist upon this folly, then I will do as Pulcheria and remain a virgin.”
    He lunged, hurling his wine straight into her face. She was stunned, as much from the cruelty of the act, as from the fearsome stinging in her eyes, the blinding insult to her dignity.
    Suddenly, her scalp was blazing with pain as he grabbed her hair and wrenched her off the couch. This was not her brother. No, no, this was a stranger, a mad man! The transformation was startling, overwhelming — and the pain, the pain! She heard herself shrieking.
    He dragged her across the room, roaring, incoherent, until he stopped before the doorway. “By Christ’s wounds, you will marry him,” he seethed. “No one disobeys our royal commands. No one!”
    He flung her down, her jaw whacking against the floor, teeth clattering.
    “Guards!” he yelled.
    Placidia was barely aware as brutal hands grabbed and lifted her. She was limp, so far gone she could hardly whimper, let alone struggle against them.
    “Henceforth, dear little sister,” Honorius’s hot breath filled her ear, “you shall be confined to your villa under heavy guard. You shall not leave until you acquiesce and marry Constantius.” He moved off, ordering his men, “Remove her from our sight!”
    She had never cursed anyone before, never. But now, she was like a creature caught in a snare, a prisoner of her humiliation and despair, and she lashed out.
    “Damn you, Honorius, damn you to hell!”
    • • •
    “In the name of Jupiter, what happened to her?”
    Placidia could hear the anger in the man’s voice. But who … who was speaking?
    She opened her eyes. Her jaw ached, and she moaned. Magnus’s face hovered above her.
    She drifted off, whether for moments or hours, she could not say. When she reawakened he was still there, sitting by her bed, holding her hand. Elpidia stood nearby, her lips tight, her eyes burning with hatred.
    For whom? Whom does Elpidia hate?
    “Placidia,” Magnus said, “I cannot