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I stumble back as Nero cries out, “What are you?”

“The closest thing to a god you will ever lay eyes on.” Memnon’s voice has deepened, taking on an unnatural lilt. He releases his hold on Nero’s hair, but only so he can grip the emperor by the temples. More magic pours out of him and strands of it slip into Nero’s nose and mouth.

The young emperor’s back arches and his eyes glaze over.

“Roxilana, the woman before you,is mine.” The hairs along my arms rise as I hear the power in his voice. “You will send in a marriage agreement, one that she and I will sign and you will oversee. You will personally sign off on our marriage because you believe in its validity.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the order. Memnon is not merely asking the emperor to do his bidding; he is asking Nero to alter his very thoughts. Setting aside whether such a spell is even possible, wielding this sort of power is wrong. Unholy.

And I will be married to it.

“I have committed no wrongs,” Memnon continues, power still threading through his words, “and you have come to remember that youdidallow me entrance into the city. I and my people are honored guests, and my future wife and queen is to be treated with utmost reverence while we are here.”

I edge away from the two men, my pulse racing.

Memnon pauses, and his head lifts. Those glowing eyes appear sightless, even as they look at me.

You’re safe, little witch, he says softly down our bond.

I think that was supposed to be reassuring, but those illuminated eyes and his unyielding grip on the emperor are souring the effect.

Returning his attention to Nero, Memnon says, “You won’t remember any of this.” Magic tinges his words. “If anyone questions your decisions on this matter, you will make it clear thatyouare the emperor and everyone else must give you their unquestioning loyalty.”

Memnon releases Nero, then backs up slowly. His hair lowers and the glow of his eyes begins to fade.

Memnon doesn’t give a command to the individuals lying asleep on the ground, but they begin to stir, and then, one by one, they wordlessly rise to their feet.

I expect them to appear confused, but they stare blankly ahead. Not even outspoken Agrippina does much other than frown a little.

Another chill moves through me.

Nero blinks and his shoulders straighten. “Well,” he says a few moments later, clearing his throat. “This has been a thoroughly enlightening discussion.”

I tense, a part of me sure this is where we get executed.

“Burrus,” Nero calls out over his shoulder, his eyes still on us, “bring me a wedding document.”

“A wedding document?” Agrippina murmurs as one of the guards exits the room.

Nero’s eyes are on Memnon when he says, “The Sarmatian wishes to make a Roman woman his queen. We could do with an alliance between our nations.”

Agrippina’s frown deepens, but she still has that absent look to her eyes.

“And with an alliance,” Nero says pointedly to Memnon, “perhaps we could discuss some business matters? Rome is always in need of mercenaries, and word is that you and your men are the best.”

Memnon inclines his head. “I am always willing to do business with Rome,” he says demurely, as though he didn’t have this man by the hair only seconds ago.

Only you and I remember such events, Memnon says down our bond.To him, we are honored guests.

I glance at the Sarmatian king, astounded, even as his attention remains focused on Nero.

The emperor nods, scrutinizing Memnon, perhaps a touch suspiciously.

But whatever momentary suspicions come over him, they smooth away at the sound of quiet footfalls against the stone floor. Burrus, the prefect, reenters the room with a roll of papyrus, a reed pen, and an inkpot.

“Ah yes, the moment we bind you to your bride.”

I shift my weight as Burrus comes up to Nero and hands him the pen. Two servants enter the room, carrying a small table between them. Crossing over to us, they set the piece of furniture down in front of Nero, then leave, quiet as mice.