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Memnon’s eyes flash with amusement just as Nero leans toward him. “Will you show me your tattoos?”

Thus begins the emperor’s single-minded focus on Memnon, who looks less annoyed by the attention than I know he is, thanks to our bond.

While they chat, I watch race after race of chariots circling the arena.

“There is no better entertainment than the games,” Nero says to my right. “I doubt you have anything like it to the east, save what we Romans bring you.”

“I have seen one arena local Romans have made in Panticapaeum, but it is nothing like this.” Memnon gestures to the massive stadium we’re seated in.

“But there is battle,” Nero says, like that’s some sort of consolation. “And there must be plenty of it. Otherwise, yourkind wouldn’t be known for your ferocity.” None too smoothly, the emperor adds, “Rome could use a strong ally such as yourself.”

I rub at my chest again, feeling a growing pressure bearing down on it. The sensation is accompanied by a restless tug beneath my skin.

Probably just nerves.

Memnon opens his mouth to respond when Nero leans forward, his eyes on the arena.

“Oh, oh, it’s beginning, Sarmatian,” he says, distractedly grasping Memnon’s forearm.

What does he mean,beginning? The chariot races have continuously run throughout this entire…

The thought withers away when I return my attention to the arena. The chariots that streaked across the racecourse have disappeared, the clouds of dust they kicked up now resettling.

An announcer holding a metal cone shouts something too muddled for me to make out, but as the arena’s repeaters shout it to their stadium sections, it causes the crowd to roar.

Moments later, men enter the arena and their names are announced, to various degrees of applause. None of it means much to me, but I watch it with a sick sort of fascination.

These must be gladiators.

“Some of these men are criminals, some are trained fighters, and some are both,” Nero explains. “We make wagers on who will win. I’ve got my eye on Darius right there.” He points to a muscled Roman with a receding hairline and a broad, crooked nose who strides onto the field. “He is a beast in the arena,” he tells Memnon excitedly. “Wicked as the worst of them but a gods-blessed killer.”

I shiver as a round of applause goes up for him, and the man raises his arms, hands clenched in fists.

Roxilana.

I glance over at Memnon, only to find he’s looking at me, even while Nero prattles on next to him. A soft smile tugs the corner of his lips as he studies my features.This is not at all how I imagined our wedding day going, he admits,but it is still the single greatest day of my life.He punctuates his words by laying out his arm, palm facing up in invitation.

Tentatively, I take his hand, threading my fingers through his.

How to explain his touch? Like a memory and a dream rolled into one. It’s equal parts thrilling and comforting.

Before I can even fathom a response, a roar rises from the crowd.

With my free hand, I rub my sternum as several thick, wooden doors inset into the walls of the arena lift. From one of the darkened doorways, a cheetah slinks out. The large cat looks severely emaciated, and as it enters the arena, the gladiators scatter about, running to grab a few weapons someone must’ve set out while names were announced.

Nero makes a disappointed noise. “I forgot about the hunts today,” he says.

Hunts?Memnon echoes down our bond.

From the other gates bound two snarling lionesses, both looking just as hungry and desperate as the cheetah.

The announcer is shouting something about the creatures as they pace across the arena, their eyes quickly fixing on the gladiators. I can see the bony protrusions of their ribs and hips and the ridges of their spines. The sight turns my stomach, and that pressure in my sternum deepens.

The crowd shouts as one of the lionesses slinks around a gladiator and gingerly swipes at the man, then roars again when the fighter jumps out of range. Nearby, the cheetah cowers at the noise from the stadium, its ears flicking as it glances around itself.

I hate this. I hate this so much.

The gladiator swings at the lioness and?—