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It takes me several moments to see the squat, peaked structures marring the sharp line of the horizon. Once I do, I know what it must mean, even before Memnon’s words brush my mind.

We’ve made it, Roxi. We finally made it home.

I touch my cheek self-consciously. I’ve used magic daily to clean my body of sweat and grime, to braid and upsweep my unruly hair, to mend and whiten my travel-worn wedding dress and polish my sandals. Still, no amount of magic can fully hide the fact that my tunic has thinned and my sandals are scuffedand my body hasn’t been immersed in water in many, many weeks.

Beyond my physical appearance, there are deeper issues I’ve ignored until now. Namely, that I am nothing more than a tailor’s assistant. That I neither read nor write. I’m a poor shot with an arrow, and I can only passably ride a horse. I have never been placed in a position of power and would not know the first thing about ruling.

I am unfit to be the wife of the Sarmatian king, and soon all his people will know.

What terrible thoughts poison your mind, Memnon says.Many outsiders marry Sarmatian nobility. This has always been our way. No one balks at this, just as no one will balk atyou, he reassures me.But I also do not think you see yourself as my people will see you—radiantly beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes men’s knees weak. And ferocious, with your tamed panther. And then there is your magic and the wild, wonderful things they will see you do with it. No, Roxilana, I am certain my people will be just as enamored with you as I am.

I don’t know what to say to such an overwhelming compliment. But I clutch at his faith in me.

Memnon whistles then, the sound bringing the group to a stop.

“Men,” he calls out, “get your armor on and whatever else you wish to wear before our people.” Memnon turns to me. “Forgive me, little witch.”

I look at him quizzically as he hops off his steed and reaches into a saddlebag. “Forgive you for what?” I say.

I swear, if he tells me something awful, like that he is actually already married, I will throw myself off this horse as dramatically as possible.

He turns, and in his hand, something glints. “I had wedding presents for you,” he explains, coming over to my horse.

Wedding presents? I stare down at him, still braced for bad news when he takes my hand and slides a ring onto it.

“I meant to give you this back in Rome,” he says as I stare down at the golden band fitted with a polished carnelian stone. “But I got a little distracted, and once I remembered, the timing never seemed right.”

Emotion clogs my throat. Finally, I laugh, though it sounds more like a sob. My relief is great, but even it is being eclipsed by this unexpected sweetness.

My hand trembles as he takes it, then tries the ring on each finger, not stopping until he finds it fits perfectly on my middle one. “I have heard that the Romans spouses wear these.”

I nod. “They do,” I say, finding my voice. My eyes meet his. “It is too lovely.”

He shakes his head. “Not too lovely. Not when you are the one wearing it.” He grins. “And thank the gods you like it because I have a whole matching set.”

He returns to his saddle bag and pulls out the rest of the jewelry as I stare at the carnelian ring, my heart beating fast.

It hadn’t fully felt real—eloping, leaving. But wearing this ring and preparing myself to meet Memnon’s people feels real.

I hop off my horse as Memnon brings forth a necklace and earrings and a bracelet. All of them are gold and embellished with carnelian stones. The necklace alone must have thirty of them, each one hanging like a teardrop. I have rarely seen such wealth, and now I will be the one wearing it.

If I had felt like an imposter before, it is nothing compared to now.

“Hush those thoughts,” Memnon admonishes, reaching around me to fasten the necklace around my neck. “You are a queen—myqueen—and this jewelry honors that fact.”

Once it’s around my neck, my fingers brush against the metal and stones while Memnon, with a little help from his magic, fits the earrings through my lobes.

“When did you get all of this?” I ask.

“I have had these for many, many moons,” Memnon says.

I swallow as he takes my hand and places the gold-and-carnelian cuff onto my wrist.

“I always intended to come for you,” he says, meeting my eyes.

I rise to my tiptoes, then and kiss him.I love you.

And I love you, he says, stroking my cheek, the back of his hand rubbing against one of my earrings.