Silence settled over the vast chamber, thick and heavy, as if the very air had been frozen in place.
Arsinoe stood unmoving near the center of the room, her slender frame rigid, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. Her blue eyes—wide, shimmering, disbelieving—were fixed on the figure standing before her.
Cleopatra.
For a heartbeat, then another, Arsinoe wondered if her mind was playing a cruel trick on her. More than a month had passed since she had last seen her sister, yet the separation had stretched in her memory like an eternity. She had replayed that final image again and again: she being taken into Caesar's custody, defeated and in a pathetic state.
They hadn't been allowed to speak then. There had been no time for apologies, no whispered reassurances, no promises of reunion. Arsinoe had stood helplessly, doing nothing—saying nothing—and the regret had eaten at her ever since.
She had never expected to see Cleopatra again.
