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My eyes, by their own accord, return to the first man, and I go still at the sight of him. He’s the most foreign and ferocious person I’ve ever gazed upon. He’s also the mostbeautiful—if something so obviously deadly could be called beautiful.

His skin looks like bronze—deeply tanned and oiled. His black hair hangs in waves down his back, held in place by a gold circlet, and more hair covers the lower part of his face.

The man’s gaze immediately finds mine, and his smoky-amber eyes glitter like gems. It’s impossible to notice them without also noticing the wicked scar that puckers the flesh to the side of one of them: the scar he got the day his magic Awoke.

My heart knows this man intimately, as does my magic. My very essence ends where his begins, and now that I’ve laid eyes on him, nothing—nothing—will ever compare.

“Hello, my amage,” he says in Sarmatian, the sound drawing out goose bumps. When he speaks to me, the roughness in his voice gentles. “My eyes have waited years to see you.” His gaze deepens. “But it was worth the wait.”

Memnon ducks his head as he steps inside, the other four men following him. Livia is screaming and Titus is shouting. The room collectively seems to shrink back as the men enter, and with good reason. All of them wear scale-mail armor and leather breeches. Scars and weapons adorn them like jewelry. These do not look like kind, placating men.

The magistrate, who’s been lingering near the door, now edges around the five men and, casting them a final, frightened look, he slips out of the apartment, clearly not ready to lose his life over the brewing situation.

Memnon’s gaze sweeps over the gathered group. “I am Memnon the Indomitable,” he announces, “King of the Sarmatians.”

King?I echo softly, a wave of vertigo washing over me. Memnon has never mentioned anything about being a king. But right now, he certainly looks it with the circlet on his head and the gold decorating his scale mail and weaponry. He carries more wealth on him than most people in this city see in a lifetime.

He continues. “My people are fierce, and my kingdom is vast. And today”—his gaze returns to me—“I’ve come to make this woman my queen.”

My heart leaps at his words. For several inhalations, no one reacts.

Finally, I glance over at Livia. She cowers at the back of the room, her body visibly trembling, and again the sight of her frightened takes me aback. For so long, she was the looming menace. To think that she is terrified of Memnon, the one comfort in my life, is a strange twist of fate.

I face forward just as Memnon crosses the room to me. He couldn’t look less Roman if he tried. The long sleeves of his kurta have been pushed up, and his sun-darkened skin and several tattoos are exposed. That combined with his long hair and his strange battle attire have me mesmerized.

Quadratus moves in front of me, the effort as valiant as it is misguided.

Is this your intended?Memnon asks. I cannot see his expression, but for a moment, my heart trips and fear floods me.

I will make graves of these grooms,he had said.

Memnon’s long, scarred fingers grip Quadratus’s shoulder, and my magic begins leaking out of my palms. I don’t know what will happen next, but now that I’ve seen Memnon in the flesh, I know with certainty that he is capable of ending lives. The violence written on his body is a testament to that.

But rather than accost my groom, the Sarmatian king pushes him aside as though the man were nothing more than a nuisance. Quadratus sucks in a sharp breath at the action, but he does nothing more. Whatever protection my intended was willing to give me, it stops here.

Pity for him, Memnon says,he will leave this house brideless.

He stands before me, massive, looming, and opulently attired in his armor, weaponry, and jewels. My mind could’ve never imagined a man as wildly beautiful as Memnon is.

Just as I drink him in, he takes me in as well, his eyes scorching in their intensity.

He cups my face, and gods, his touch! My knees go weak at the connection, and I cannot help but press my hand over his, just to keep that wonderful contact in place.

Memnon’s surprisingly light eyes search mine as his thumb strokes the skin of my cheek.Roxilana, the one who saved me from death, the one who Awoke my power.His face breaks into a soft smile.You are lovelier than I could’ve imagined.He strokes my cheek again.

There’s not enough air to breathe, and a deep part of me is sure my life only started now, at this very moment.

I remove my hand from his to lightly touch his face. My fingers trace the wicked-looking scar he received the day his magic Awoke. I follow the brutal trail of it across to his ear and down to his jaw. At the end of it, my fingers skim over the skin of his chin, then up to his full, curving lips. I soak it all in, entranced.

I cannot believe you’re real, I say. I could spend a hundred years studying him and I’m sure it would not be enough.

My eyes rise to his, and for a moment, I fall into the depths of those intricate, brown irises, which are as dark as polished wood at their edges and light like amber at their centers.

My hand flattens against his cheek, and I lean forward, drawn in by?—

“What is the meaning of this?” Titus demands, finally finding his voice.

Memnon, who had also been leaning in, now straightens, his gaze cutting to the man in question. Before he can respond, Livia steps forward, emboldened by Titus.