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“Fuck, I’m sorry, Roxi—I love your charms, gods how I love them. But I cannot take them anymore.”

With that, he stands, dragging me up with him. Still seated inside me, he takes my legs and wraps them around his waist as he moves us. My back hits a nearby wall, and Memnon’s magic is there, propping me up in place.

His smoky-amber eyes flick to mine. “Hold on.”

That’s all the warning I get.

He pulls out of me only to brutally thrust back in. Just as swiftly, his cock retreats, only for him to hammer into me again—and again and again. He fucks me senselessly, his balls slapping against my skin as sweat collects between us, his cock driving deeper and deeper. It’s all I can do to hold on.

I’m stretched around him and held in place by his body and magic as that sweet friction and those powerful, punishing strokes drive me closer and closer to the edge.

Then, all at once, I tip over it.

My limbs tighten around him and my core clenches as I shatter, my orgasm rippling through me.

Memnon groans, cupping me to him, his teeth lightly running along my shoulder as he feels my climax through our bond.

And then he’s coming, emptying himself inside me, his hips snapping forward as he tries to seat himself deeper still.

His orgasm draws out my own, the aftershocks going on and on.

Memnon holds me close, his arms around my legs, his face nuzzling my neck.

He presses a kiss to the skin of my throat. “I’ve made a decision, my queen.”

“Mmm?” I stroke his hair, a happy, little smile playing at the corners of my lips. Awkward as this position is, I think I could stay here forever.

“I think I want you to read to me every night.”

CHAPTER 33

ROXILANA, 22 YEARS OLD

58 AD, Panticapaeum, Tauris

Despite seizingcontrol of the palace of Panticapaeum, we don’t linger much within its walls. Instead, we ride out past the city proper to the tented settlement at its edges, where most Sarmatians have made camp.

There, we train and eat and preside and sometimes even sleep. It’s a strange situation, straddling two very different lifestyles, but as the days roll into weeks and the weeks roll into months, we fall into a routine.

Today, Memnon and I ride next to each other out on the training course, my gold earrings tinkling like bells with each hoofbeat. The first true chill of winter has settled in, and the sharp wind would be cutting through my thick felt layers and numbing my fingers if Memnon hadn’t placed a spell on me to stave off the biting cold. Only a few other Sarmatians have braved the elements to be out here, their forms speckling the flat expanse of land.

Flakes of snow drift down as I draw back my bowstring and sight my target, my steed galloping fast. I release the arrow,hearing it thump into the wood an instant after Memnon’s. Quickly, I grab another projectile, getting off a second shot that knocks Memnon’s askew before I pass the target.

Your skill is almost as good as mine, Memnon teases.

Almost? Check your eyes, oh mighty king, I say.Today is the day your student has surpassed you.

Memnon sidles up next to me, his gold circlet tamping down his long, dark hair, which spills over his shoulders.Power really does look good on you, he says. His eyes heat as he takes me in, and at the sight, my pulse begins to race. That he can set me aflame with a single look speaks to his own commanding nature.

Power looks good on you too, I whisper down our bond.

Over Memnon’s shoulder, far in the distance, something catches my eye. A form appears seemingly out of thin air.

It takes only a few more inhalations for me to realize the figure is a woman. Prickles race down my skin as I sense her identity long before I see her pale hair.

Memnon, Eislyn is here.

Following my gaze, he looks over his shoulder.