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I try to ignore that burning gaze as I bring the dagger’s edge up to his jawline. If I knew little about cutting hair, I know even less about this. Luckily, I have a little magic to work with.

I use it now, calling on it to guide my movements as I draw the blade up his cheek, cutting away his facial hair.

Memnon stays still and lets me—for the most part. I notice that when I cup his face to get the angle of the cut just right, he leans into the touch. And just now, when my fingers graze his cheek, he turns and casually brushes his lips against them.

I narrow my eyes, even as I smother a smile. “You’re a sneaky, wicked man,” I say.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

I get to the section of his beard that obscures the bottom of his scar. Once I cut the hair away, I trace the thickened line of flesh, frowning. “This looks like it hurt.”

At my touch, Memnon’s eyes close again. “It did,” he murmurs, “but I am grateful for it.”

I move to his jaw and shave away the last bits of his facial hair.

“Why is that?” I ask, focusing on my work. I cannot imagine being grateful for something so heinous.

“Because it made you stroke my skin.”

He opens his eyes and gazes down at where I kneel in front of him. Thatlookagain. I feel it in my very marrow, just as I have felt it before across our connection. My blood heats as I recognize it for what it is.

Longing.

I lower the blade, my gaze dropping to Memnon’s lips. Want flares through me at the sight of them.

Those lips aremine.

The thought surprises me.

They are, Memnon agrees.All of me is yours.

I drag my gaze back to his eyes, and once more I see that yearning. I could swim in the depths of it, it’s so vast. And it matches the ache within me, the one I thought I’d have to live with forever.

But I no longer have to simply yearn for Memnon; he’s right here.

Of course you can touch me, he’d said moments ago. I hope he meant it.

I place a hand on his smooth cheek. There’s no point in denying this pull I’ve felt to him. Without another thought, I lean in.

The moment our mouths meet, it’s heat and flint and sparks. A shiver runs through me, and down our bond, I feel Memnon’s elation.

His calloused hands cup my face so, so gently as his lips respond to mine, each sweep of them coaxing.

I drop his dagger, the weapon landing on the ground with a heavy clink. Then my hands are on him, skimming over hismetal armor and the taut, warm flesh of his neck before I thread my fingers through his hair. I cling to him like I might fall away if I let go.

I can feel the full power of him then. Not just his physical muscle, but the magic he’s steeped in. I swear I taste it—on his lips, his tongue. I’m breathing it in and bathing in it.

The longer we kiss, the more I notice this growing, spiraling need within me, one that I don’t fully understand but that has me tugging at Memnon’s armor.

Against my lips, he laughs softly.

I stiffen at the sound, and heat floods my cheeks at the mocking edge of it.

No, no, my queen, not mocking, never mocking, he insists.I have dreamed of this moment for years, and still it surpasses my wildest imaginings.He runs the back of his index finger along my cheek.

His words banish my worry, and I’m simply happy. So unbelievably happy.