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He’s talking about his healing magic, of course, but that’s not what I’mthinkingabout. I’m half dead and tired beyond measure, yet somehow my enemy is making me think about screwing his brains out.

What is wrong with me?

My injury finishes stitching itself back together, saving me from my own thoughts.

Memnon removes his hand, which is still smeared with my blood, and rises to his feet.

Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he lifts my legs so he can sit where they rested on my bed. Then he places them both in his lap.

Softly, he strokes my legs. Again he murmurs a healing spell beneath his breath.

His magic sweeps over my legs, burrowing into the open wounds of my feet and my calf. The sensation is warm and itchy and uncomfortable. But Memnon keeps stroking my legs, and his hands feel so good.

“Tonight, I intend to heal you, Empress,” he says, his attention fixed to my feet. “But tomorrow, I want answers.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Why do you have to make that sound so ominous?” I say as the last of the wounds on my legs and feet seal up.

“Because,” Memnon says, lifting my feet so he can stand once more, “Iamominous. And Idowant answers.” Memnon kneels next to me, his face tantalizingly close. “And youwillgive them to me,est amage.”

This close to him, I can see the thick sweep of his eyelashes and those complex brown eyes that seem to glitter. I can even see that wicked scar that trails along the side of his face. He looks like some lost relic.

I lift my chin obstinately at his words, but instead of replying, I reach out and touch his scar. I don’t know what possesses me to do such a thing.

Memnon goes still, letting me explore his face. I trail my finger over the line of the scar, following its brutal path along his face. It’s a wicked one.

“How did you get this?” I ask.

His brows come together. “I already told you, Selene.”

He has?

“Tell me again,” I say, continuing to feel my way along the scar’s path.

He frowns but answers, “My people were expanding their territory into Dacian land. Their king didn’t take that too kindly. He met us in battle and gave me this to remember him by.”

My eyes widen at that. “It looks like he nearly took your face off.”

“He tried to,” Memnon agrees.

I can feel my own horror at the thought that someone would try to take anotherstill-livinghuman’s face off.

The sorcerer’s eyes twinkle, and his lips curve up playfully. “Just when I assumed you could not get any more innocent, you go and hide yourself in a future that is even more…civilizedthan the Roman one you were raised in.”

“What happened to the king who did this to you?”

“I ran him through with my sword. And then I made his skull into a wine chalice.”

What?

“You’re lying,” I say.

“I’m not. It was one of my favorites.” He says it so calmly thatfuck, if that’s true…

I shrink away from him.

Memnon frowns at my reaction. “It was the custom of our warriors to do such things. Just as it was custom that every Sarmatian woman ride into battle and kill at least one enemy before she was allowed to marry.”

What?