“Oh, Father! Why must we go to a convent? With a civil war there will be so many handsome soldiers about!”

He didn’t stop to argue, but neither did he miss the look of lust in her eye. “You both have five minutes,” he said sternly, moving quickly to his other daughters’ bedchamber. Here he stopped, allowing himself the pleasure of viewing his two younger girls in sleep.

His lovely Helena was so like Zoe, with her sunshine blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. Eventually, she would marry the boy emperor who was Andronicus’ heir.

Little Theadora slept with her thumb in her mouth, the sweet line of her innocent little body visible through the thin cotton shift. She was his mysterious one. He often marveled that, of all his children, she was the one with his quick, intuitive mind. Though barely out of babyhood, Theadora seemed much older. Her features were delicate, as his mother’s had been: she would grow into an extraordinary beauty. Her coloring was unique in this family. Her skin was like heavy cream, her cheeks faintly touched with a soft apricot pink. Her hair was dark, the color of rich polished wood, and it gleamed with golden lights. Outrageously long, dark lashes tipped in gold hid Theadora’s amazing eyes-eyes that changed from amethyst to deep purple. He was suddenly startled to find those eyes open and upon him.

“What is it, Papa?”

He smiled down at her. “Nothing to fear, chick. The emperor has died, and you, Helena, and your mother are going to St. Barbara’s for a while.”

“Will there be war, Papa?”

Again she startled him, and he surprised himself by answering plainly. “Yes, Theadora. The empress got a deathbed signature. She is sole regent.”