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His eyebrows rise. “Can’t you just tell me?” he fires back.

Gods.Fine.

“You’re pretty,” I rush out. “Really, really pretty. And I cannot seem to?—”

“I’mpretty?” Memnon’s eyes are wide with disbelief and the corner of his mouth is twitching.

“Yes,” I say. “Is that truly so?—”

Memnon’s lips crash into mine, and all thoughtsvanish. I fall into the kiss the way I fell into each one last night. The memory of Memnon’s skin against mine heats my blood, and I want him now as I had him then.

Memnon groans against me, breaking off the kiss to lean his head against my own. “Gods, it was bad enough being in my own head all day, Roxi. But now hearing your thoughts really isn’t helping.”

They don’t have to be just thoughts, I say across our bond.

He curses. Then shakes his head.I want to make an actual bed for you to lay on before I’m inside you again.

Memnon pulls himself away from me and clears his throat. “Do you know how to build a fire?” he asks.

I give him an arch look. I cannot believe we’re actually going to do this when we could be resuming last night’s activities.

“No,” I say grumpily, “I’m completely inept at this one very necessary life skill. Yes, of course I know how to build a fire.”

Memnon narrows his eyes. “But can you build one without ever touching a log?”

Now I hesitate, and my sexual frustration dissipates.

As Memnon stares at me, he reaches out a hand to his side and says, “From broken boughs and dried-out logs, I call forth wood of this wilderness to gather before me.”

My skin tingles, and I feel the brush of his power as it passes by me.

“That was an incantation—words spoken with magical intent,” he explains. “Incantations can help amplify your power.” As though on cue, the shrubs around us rustle, then part as branches of varying sizes barrel into our makeshift camp, clattering to the ground between us.

“All right, little witch, use your magic to build us a fire.”

I reach out a hand, just as Memnon did, biting back a grumble. I assumed Memnon was going to teach me about wards tonight, not ask me to play with sticks. I focus on my power anyway and try my best to move it down my arm and out my hand. A small burst of pale orange smoke releases from my palm, and I give it a single command:stack the firewood.

It doesn’t surprise me when the branches do just that, arranging themselves exactly how I pictured they would in my mind.

“Good job, Roxi,” Memnon says. “Now, light the fire. And this time—incant the spell.”

“Gods, I forgot what a bossy teacher you can be,” I mutter.

Memnon steps in close. “Would you like me to supplicate myself before you later? Would that make you feel better about my demands of you now? Because for you, Roxi, and you alone, I would. I might even enjoy it…” His breath tickles my skin, and my eyes lift to meet his.

I can feel the heat between us rising up, up, up?—

Memnon’s gaze drops to my feet, and he curses, kneeling before me. I glance down in time to see the hem of my tunic has caught fire.

The Sarmatian king grabs the fabric and, using his bare hands, stifles the fire until it’s extinguished. He holds the ruined linen and begins to laugh. “You were supposed to light the wood on fire, little witch, not yourself.”

“But I did get you supplicating yourself before me.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

A surprised laugh slips out of Memnon, and I feel his delight at my remarks. “That you did.”

Before I know what’s happening, he wraps his arms around the backs of my thighs and rises, picking me up with him. I yelp, grabbing for his shoulders as he spins us around.

“Beautiful, beautiful Roxi, if I’m a terrible teacher, then you’re a terrible student.”