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Someone must figure it out because an arrow whizzes past me. I pour out another round of magic.

“End my opponents,” I whisper. The spell cuts like a knife along the throats of the remaining Alani fighters, the incisions brief, efficient, final. Blood spurts, and the few surviving fighters fall or slump over.

It is quiet for a moment, unnervingly quiet. Then the Sarmatians roar, whooping out their victory.

Memnon rides in, blood and sweat dappling his skin. He slows a little as he approaches, but only so he can lean deeply to the side of his horse, arm outstretched for me.

I barely have time to note what he’s about to do when he scoops me off the ground and sets me onto his horse.

An instant later, his mouth is on mine, branding me in a fearsome kiss.

You are a wildfire,my fierce queen, he says.I could not be prouder of the way you protect our people.

I ignore the shiver that runs through me, the last line of that voice still echoing in my head.

Murderer.

Fire crackles in our tent’s brazier, and my naked body drapes itself half on Memnon’s, half off.

I stare at those flames, trying not to think about those voices that sometimes whisper to me on the battlefield. The ones that remind me of what I’ve become.

Memnon strokes a hand down my back. “What do you want most?” he asks in the darkness.

Peace. Love. Family.

Beyond that? I’d like to learn more languages, and I’d like to teach someone besides Memnon how to read the growing list of Sarmatian words I’ve transcribed.

But even all those desires are secondary, because what I want most, I already have in my arms.

“What do I want most?” I say teasingly, threading my fingers through Memnon’s. I smile, then maneuver myself on top of him. “You. Again.” I lean down and kiss him, grinding my hips suggestively.

He groans into my mouth, his hand sliding away from mine so he can grip my hips. Memnon manages to tear his lips away. “Besides sex.”

I nuzzle him. “Too many things.”

“When it comes to you, there is no such thing,” he proclaims. He rolls us so my back is on the bed and he’s the one leaning over me.

His hand moves between my breasts, sliding down over my belly before finally,meaningfully, resting on my lower stomach.

I try to not let my mind wanderthere, to that place his touch implies. Some things are beyond even Memnon’s vast power. And mine. So I stopped wishing for them a long time ago.

“I think I want to give you a palace,” he declares, gazing down at me with such softness in his expression. His eyes shine bright, so bright.

I tuck a strand of his long, wavy hair behind his ear.

“We already have a palace,” I gently remind him.

“One you must sneak off to,” he says. “But what about one we would stay in for at least part of the year?”

I rear back as best I can in this position and stare at him, searching his face.

“Steppe life can be hard,” he says. “And so much of it is grueling, dirty work, even for a queen.”

Living in tents and wagons, no matter how lavishly they’re constructed,canbe uncomfortable, particularly during the bitter winter months.

Memnon leans forward as if to kiss me and whispers against my lips, “I’d like to see you ruling from a palace like a proper empress.”

My mouth brushes against his as I whisper back, “I don’t need another palace.”