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Some of the haze fades from Memnon’s face.

“Is this your attempt at making me feel regret?” he says, wiping his lip with his thumb. “Guilt? Shame?” His hand drops, and his features grow serious. “Because, my queen, this is absolutely what victory feels like.”

“Victory Over what? Our highly dysfunctional relationship?”

Memnon smiles down at me. “I have anticipated this evening for a long, long time.”

My brows draw together, even as unease coils in my belly. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’ve done with all the time we’ve been apart?” he asks, tilting his head.

I never knew.

He shakes his head slowly. “There is so much you don’t know about who I am.” Memnon steps in close. “Like you,est amage, it is not in my nature to grovel. I am in the business ofpower.” He puts a finger beneath my chin and tilts my head up. “And you,my love, are wholly unready for it.”

I search his eyes. This is where I need to pull away. Or attack. But he has me bewitched, both by his look and his touch.

“Even as a king, I would ride into battle with my horde.”His voice grows soft, intimate, and he’s switched to speaking Sarmatian. “But sometimes, when I faced a particularly obstinate foe, or one I wanted to make an example of, I would leave my warriors a ways away from the battlefield, and I would ride in alone.” As he speaks, the lanterns above us dim, as though shrinking from whatever ominous story Memnon is set on telling me.

“Do you know why I would face my worst opponents alone?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I say softly.

He flashes me a whisper of a smile, though it holds no actual humor.

“Sorcerers have vast amounts of power, but when used in such large quantities, our magic can grow a bit…feral.”

I think he’s about to tell me the story of how he lost his conscience to his power.

Instead, he says, “The stronger the magic we cast, the less we can control who that magic touches. Friends—and family—are always in danger when we let it loose.” He pauses to let that sink in. “So I would face my enemies alone, and the fearsome, obstinate rulers I faced would see firsthand the sort of destruction I could wreak.”

I feel myself growing cold, terrified by what he’s insinuating.

“Fields would be strewn with entire armies, and I would sit there on my steed, untouched.”

In my mind’s eye, I can see fields of corpses and blood-spattered wheat and Memnon in his scale armor sitting astride his horse. I can practically taste his ominous, overpowering magic thickening in the air.

“And sometimes,” he continues, “if I had particularly good control of my power that day, I would save the ruler’s death for last. I’d let him survey the ruins of his army. I’d let it sink in that he should’ve surrendered to me when he first had the chance.”

It’s obviously a warning, one that leaves me shaking. Distantly, I can hear the music playing and people laughing, and my phone vibrating between my cleavage as someone tries to call me, but it feels a world away.

Through my fear, however, my anger rises, along with my magic. This is my moment—my opening for true revenge.

My power gathers in my palms.

Memnon glances down at my hands. “Are you going to strike me, little witch?” He sounds amused. “Ilikethe thought of that. It may even tickle.”

My magic burgeons in response to the insult, building and building. I can feel the chaotic movements of it within me.

He nods to my chest. “Your phone’s been ringing. I imagine it’s urgent,” he says, backing away. “Why don’t you answer it?”

I glance down at my chest for just a moment, but when I look back up, Memnon’s gone.

Damn it.

I stride after him, my power already receding into me now that I’ve lost sight of the sorcerer. My heels click as I wind through the aisles, searching for Memnon. But he’s vanished entirely.

I stop, peering around at one empty row of trees and shrubs and another where a couple is making out against the trunk of a palm tree.