Page 11

Titus moves to the doorway, standing behind the magistrate. His knees visibly weaken, and he grips the doorframe tightly. When he glances back at his son and then me, I see the whites of his eyes.

“Father,” my groom says, releasing my hand, “what is it?”

Before Titus has a chance to answer, the older man’s attention returns to the courtyard. Then, rapidly, both he and the magistrate begin to back up.

“Get back!” the magistrate instructs us.

Livia whimpers as she moves to the far wall. The sound of her fear is so unusual that it nearly snags my attention.

But then I hear Memnon’s voice—not in my head but outside, beyond the confines of the insula.

A shiver courses through me, drawing out goose bumps along my skin. In real life, his voice is fuller, deadlier, and more commanding.

“No one strikes another unless I give the order,” he says in Sarmatian. The order is followed by the sound of metal clinking, leather straining, and boots scuffing on the stairs.

I can sense you within these walls , he says across our connection. I am eager to meet you, my future wife.

As though in a dream, I step forward, drawn by his words and this strange feeling I can only call fate.

“Memnon,” I call out.

Quadratus recaptures my hand. “You need to stay back,” he murmurs.

From Memnon, I feel a surge of excitement.

Your voice is lovelier than I could’ve imagined. I cannot wait to see you.

From the doorway, I notice strands of deep blue smoke—no, not smoke. Magic .

Memnon’s magic.

My breath catches at the sight of it, and I stare, entranced, as it curls around the magistrate and Titus, forcing them to stumble back into my home.

Then, the biggest man I have ever seen fills the doorway, followed by four other bearded individuals at his back.

The smile that has begun to spread across my face wilts away. It’s all I can do not to shrink back. There are five armor-clad barbarian warriors standing just outside the threshold.

My eyes, by their own accord, return to the first man, and I go still at the sight of him. He’s the most foreign and ferocious person I’ve ever gazed upon. He’s also the most beautiful —if something so obviously deadly could be called beautiful.

His skin looks like bronze—deeply tanned and oiled. His black hair hangs in waves down his back, held in place by a gold circlet, and more hair covers the lower part of his face.

The man’s gaze immediately finds mine, and his smoky-amber eyes glitter like gems. It’s impossible to notice them without also noticing the wicked scar that puckers the flesh to the side of one of them: the scar he got the day his magic Awoke.

My heart knows this man intimately, as does my magic. My very essence ends where his begins, and now that I’ve laid eyes on him, nothing— nothing —will ever compare.

“Hello, my amage,” he says in Sarmatian, the sound drawing out goose bumps. When he speaks to me, the roughness in his voice gentles. “My eyes have waited years to see you.” His gaze deepens. “But it was worth the wait.”

Memnon ducks his head as he steps inside, the other four men following him.

Livia is screaming and Titus is shouting.

The room collectively seems to shrink back as the men enter, and with good reason.

All of them wear scale-mail armor and leather breeches.

Scars and weapons adorn them like jewelry.

These do not look like kind, placating men.

The magistrate, who’s been lingering near the door, now edges around the five men and, casting them a final, frightened look, he slips out of the apartment, clearly not ready to lose his life over the brewing situation.

Memnon’s gaze sweeps over the gathered group. “I am Memnon the Indomitable,” he announces, “King of the Sarmatians.”

King? I echo softly, a wave of vertigo washing over me.

Memnon has never mentioned anything about being a king.

But right now, he certainly looks it with the circlet on his head and the gold decorating his scale mail and weaponry.

He carries more wealth on him than most people in this city see in a lifetime.

He continues. “My people are fierce, and my kingdom is vast. And today”—his gaze returns to me—“I’ve come to make this woman my queen.”

My heart leaps at his words. For several inhalations, no one reacts.

Finally, I glance over at Livia. She cowers at the back of the room, her body visibly trembling, and again the sight of her frightened takes me aback. For so long, she was the looming menace. To think that she is terrified of Memnon, the one comfort in my life, is a strange twist of fate.

I face forward just as Memnon crosses the room to me. He couldn’t look less Roman if he tried. The long sleeves of his kurta have been pushed up, and his sun-darkened skin and several tattoos are exposed. That combined with his long hair and his strange battle attire have me mesmerized.

Quadratus moves in front of me, the effort as valiant as it is misguided.

Is this your intended? Memnon asks. I cannot see his expression, but for a moment, my heart trips and fear floods me.

I will make graves of these grooms, he had said.

Memnon’s long, scarred fingers grip Quadratus’s shoulder, and my magic begins leaking out of my palms. I don’t know what will happen next, but now that I’ve seen Memnon in the flesh, I know with certainty that he is capable of ending lives. The violence written on his body is a testament to that.

But rather than accost my groom, the Sarmatian king pushes him aside as though the man were nothing more than a nuisance. Quadratus sucks in a sharp breath at the action, but he does nothing more. Whatever protection my intended was willing to give me, it stops here.

Pity for him , Memnon says, he will leave this house brideless.

He stands before me, massive, looming, and opulently attired in his armor, weaponry, and jewels. My mind could’ve never imagined a man as wildly beautiful as Memnon is.

Just as I drink him in, he takes me in as well, his eyes scorching in their intensity.

He cups my face, and gods, his touch! My knees go weak at the connection, and I cannot help but press my hand over his, just to keep that wonderful contact in place.

Memnon’s surprisingly light eyes search mine as his thumb strokes the skin of my cheek. Roxilana, the one who saved me from death, the one who Awoke my power. His face breaks into a soft smile. You are lovelier than I could’ve imagined. He strokes my cheek again.

There’s not enough air to breathe, and a deep part of me is sure my life only started now, at this very moment.

I remove my hand from his to lightly touch his face.

My fingers trace the wicked-looking scar he received the day his magic Awoke.

I follow the brutal trail of it across to his ear and down to his jaw.

At the end of it, my fingers skim over the skin of his chin, then up to his full, curving lips. I soak it all in, entranced.

I cannot believe you’re real , I say. I could spend a hundred years studying him and I’m sure it would not be enough.

My eyes rise to his, and for a moment, I fall into the depths of those intricate, brown irises, which are as dark as polished wood at their edges and light like amber at their centers.

My hand flattens against his cheek, and I lean forward, drawn in by?—

“What is the meaning of this?” Titus demands, finally finding his voice.

Memnon, who had also been leaning in, now straightens, his gaze cutting to the man in question. Before he can respond, Livia steps forward, emboldened by Titus.

“G-Get your hands off my daughter, barbarian .” Livia spits that last word out like an oath. Her eyes bounce from Memnon to the warriors that stand like sentinels near the door. “You offend the gods, coming in here on my daughter’s wedding day.”

“Ah, yes, her wedding day,” Memnon says, his attention moving to my stola, then my flower crown and veil. Memnon says each word slowly, deliberately. “The only person Roxilana is marrying is me ”—his gaze sweeps the room—“unless one of you would like to challenge me for her hand?”

It’s quiet for several inhalations, likely while each person in the room measures up the Sarmatian.

“‘Roxilana’?” Livia breaks the silence. “That is not my daughter’s name. Whatever business you have with this Roxilana, you have come to the wrong house.”

Memnon swings his gaze to her, and his eyes grow cold. “Have I, Livia?”

She blanches at the sound of her name on his lips. “How do you know who I am, barbarian?” she whispers.

He takes an ominous step forward. How I have yearned to meet this woman, Roxi , he says to me. I have fantasized about the many ways I might punish her for making you suffer.

To Livia, Memnon says, “I know many things about you, most of them unpleasant.” He takes another step toward her. “Shall I list them? Or shall I save us both the hassle and simply cut you down where you stand?” As he speaks, his hand moves to touch the pommel of his sword.

A sense of calmness moves through me. My mind has agonized over this moment for the last two months, the moment I must act.

“No,” I say, stepping between my adoptive mother and Memnon. “No blood will be spilled. Not when I chose you, Memnon.” Just as I have chosen you every day before this one , I add down our bond.

Memnon’s expression softens, longing replacing vengeance on his features.

Titus’s voice cuts through the moment. “What sort of cruel trick is this, Livia?” the older man asks.

“Trick?” she says, her voice shrill. “ I am the one who has been tricked.” Livia grabs me roughly by the upper arm. “I don’t know what this is, girl,” she whispers harshly, “or who you’ve gone and whored yourself to, but I will not have you ruining all my hard-made plans.”

Memnon’s eyes fall to where Livia’s hand grips my forearm, her nails digging into my skin. The mood of the room shifts. He’s still so close to her, and that banked vengeance rises once more as his magic pours out of him, magic that no one else in the room seems to notice.

Faster than I can follow, Memnon grabs Livia by the throat, forcing her to relinquish her grip on me, and in three quick steps he shoves her up against the back wall.

She gasps, pinned like a fish on a hook.

Memnon lowers his voice as he stares at her. “For years, I have fantasized about all the ways I could make you pay for hurting my mate.”

Mate?

Livia chokes, her hands scratching at Memnon’s. No one else in the room moves, all of us held in place by shock.

Ever since our minds first touched, Memnon has been my friend and confidante. But now, I’m having to face the reality of what he is: a king and a brutal warrior. One who moves and works with all the impunity a ruler has.

“It pains me to be merciful to scum such as yourself. But the woman you have repeatedly slighted I hold before all others, and since she has, unfortunately, asked me not to spill your bitter blood, I will stay my hand. But you will apologize to her.” The command is punctuated by a ribbon of blue magic that encircles Livia’s neck and settles into her skin.

With that, he releases my adoptive mother.

Livia crumples to the ground, her hand going to her throat as she gasps for air.

Behind me, I hear someone move forward.

Memnon reaches out a hand. “ Don’t ,” he cautions, never looking away from Livia.

When Livia glances up, she gazes fearfully at Memnon before turning to look at me. The eye contact is heavy; years unspool between the two of us—all that pain and companionship laid bare.

She opens her mouth, and I brace myself for her response, sure that whatever she has to say, it’s not contrite.

But the moment Livia’s lips try to form words, her tongue seems to tie itself.

She tries again, and the sounds come out as nothing more than a gargle.

Her cheeks pinken with embarrassment and a touch of anger.

It takes me a moment to realize that whatever Livia was attempting to say, it was not an apology, hence why Memnon’s magic stifled it. I stare, shocked that Memnon’s magic can do this. That perhaps my magic can do this. I haven’t used it in this manner before.

Livia presses her lips together then, giving up on saying anything. But now I sense rather than see that ribbon of Memnon’s magic tightening around her neck. It begins to squeeze and squeeze like a phantom hand.

Livia’s throat works, and she touches it, fear clouding her expression.

“I’m sorry.” The words are ripped from her mouth.

I see her swallow once, twice, three times, trying to shove something else down.

The magic hasn’t released its hold. “I’m sorry for hurting you and being…

being a terrible mother,” she finally says.

Tears prick her eyes. I wish those tears were for me, but I doubt it.

There is a place within me where my pain and anger toward Livia fester.

Where they might continue to fester long after today.

But for the first time in my life, I can walk out of this house and leave her behind entirely.

That is my sincerest wish—to never see her again, for her to become a memory and nothing more.

I move to her as though in a trance, crouching an arm span from where she lies.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “And I’m never coming back.”

Livia flinches.

Straightening, I cross over to Memnon, the gaping stares of my groom and his father pricking at my skin.

Memnon glances at his men, who have stoically watched this entire event unfold. “Ready the horses,” he says in Sarmatian.

“This, this is outrageous,” Titus says, but the words are spoken too softly to be a direct challenge.

Memnon’s attention shifts to the man until he shrinks back. Then the Sarmatian’s gaze flicks to the marriage document still resting on the table. He crosses over to it, the metal scales of his armor tinkling. His eyes rove over the text, and with a shock, I realize he can read.

He places his fingertips on the papyrus. A tiny blue plume of smoke is expelled from his hand, and as it curls against the document, fire sparks, then spreads.

“This wedding is called off,” he says as we all watch the papyrus burn.

The Sarmatian king’s eyes fall to mine, and they seem to smolder. “I have crossed rivers and kingdoms, I have fought armies and bandits to be here before you. For you are mine and I am yours, and those are my soul’s deepest truths.”

He reaches out, his palm extended in invitation. “Be mine before all the gods and live out your life as my queen and the ruler of my people,” he beseeches.

I draw in a shaky breath. This is the strangest proposal I have ever heard , I tell him silently.

Memnon smiles a little.

After a moment, I take his hand in my own. “Yes,” I say softly. “I will.”