Page 14

Body after body hits the ground with a dull thump, and I choke on a scream at the sight of them lying motionless on the floor, my knees growing weak.

Are they…dead?

No, merely unconscious , Memnon says, overhearing my thought.

Nero glances around him, aghast. “W-What have you done?” he demands, his voice rising. “Guards!”

Memnon steps into Nero’s space, and the young emperor stumbles back, then falls, hitting the marble floor hard.

Nero glares up at Memnon. “I shall have you whipped in the streets for this and your whole army crucified,” he declares, a panicked note to his voice.

Memnon bends down and threads his fingers through the emperor’s curly hair. “Will you?” he says, amused as he tilts Nero’s head back.

Then, to my horror, Memnon drags him upward, causing the young ruler to yelp and reach for his head, wriggling like a fish on a hook. “I would enjoy seeing your rotting corpse command my death,” Memnon says.

Nero tries to lunge for the Sarmatian king, but it does no good. Between Memnon’s magic and strength, it’s painfully obvious the foreign ruler is entirely in control.

Memnon jerks Nero’s head back again, baring his neck. “Look how vulnerable you are, mighty emperor. I could kill you —that might make a nice wedding gift for my stolen bride. I could make it slow, then force your men to fight one another so it looks like a rebellion from within your guardsmen.”

I stare at Memnon as though he’s a stranger. And that is the terrible truth. I never imagined him to be this cruel and calculated.

Nero is now visibly shaking, and for all his earlier confidence, he looks genuinely terrified. “What you’re saying is impossible.”

Memnon cocks his head, his hair stirring a little at the movement. “Is it?”

Over Nero’s shoulder, two of the unconscious guards begin to rise, their bodies limp. I stagger back at the macabre sight. Memnon’s magic churns around them, clearly propping them up. I’ve never considered using my power this way. I didn’t know it was even possible.

The moving bodies catch Nero’s attention, and I can see the whites of his eyes as he stares at the upright men with limp limbs.

The emperor returns his gaze to Memnon. “H-how are you doing that?” he asks, his voice wavering.

“Do you still intend to stop me?” Memnon says. I swear his eyes begin to glow.

In Nero’s own eyes, tears have formed. “Please…no. We can come to some sort of agreement.”

Memnon raises his brows.

“You can have the woman,” Nero adds.

“I want to believe you,” Memnon says, “but you do not strike me as a man of your word. Shame.” His power stirs up again.

Now I know I’m not mistaken—Memnon’s eyes are glowing.

“Wait!” Nero pleads. “Wait?—!”

But the light doesn’t dim from the Sarmatian king’s eyes. Strands of Memnon’s hair lift into the air.

I stumble back as Nero cries out, “ What are you? ”

“The closest thing to a god you will ever lay eyes on.” Memnon’s voice has deepened, taking on an unnatural lilt. He releases his hold on Nero’s hair, but only so he can grip the emperor by the temples. More magic pours out of him and strands of it slip into Nero’s nose and mouth.

The young emperor’s back arches and his eyes glaze over.

“Roxilana, the woman before you, is mine .” The hairs along my arms rise as I hear the power in his voice. “You will send in a marriage agreement, one that she and I will sign and you will oversee. You will personally sign off on our marriage because you believe in its validity.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the order. Memnon is not merely asking the emperor to do his bidding; he is asking Nero to alter his very thoughts. Setting aside whether such a spell is even possible, wielding this sort of power is wrong. Unholy.

And I will be married to it.

“I have committed no wrongs,” Memnon continues, power still threading through his words, “and you have come to remember that you did allow me entrance into the city. I and my people are honored guests, and my future wife and queen is to be treated with utmost reverence while we are here.”

I edge away from the two men, my pulse racing.

Memnon pauses, and his head lifts. Those glowing eyes appear sightless, even as they look at me.

You’re safe, little witch , he says softly down our bond.

I think that was supposed to be reassuring, but those illuminated eyes and his unyielding grip on the emperor are souring the effect.

Returning his attention to Nero, Memnon says, “You won’t remember any of this.” Magic tinges his words. “If anyone questions your decisions on this matter, you will make it clear that you are the emperor and everyone else must give you their unquestioning loyalty.”

Memnon releases Nero, then backs up slowly. His hair lowers and the glow of his eyes begins to fade.

Memnon doesn’t give a command to the individuals lying asleep on the ground, but they begin to stir, and then, one by one, they wordlessly rise to their feet.

I expect them to appear confused, but they stare blankly ahead. Not even outspoken Agrippina does much other than frown a little.

Another chill moves through me.

Nero blinks and his shoulders straighten. “Well,” he says a few moments later, clearing his throat. “This has been a thoroughly enlightening discussion.”

I tense, a part of me sure this is where we get executed.

“Burrus,” Nero calls out over his shoulder, his eyes still on us, “bring me a wedding document.”

“A wedding document?” Agrippina murmurs as one of the guards exits the room.

Nero’s eyes are on Memnon when he says, “The Sarmatian wishes to make a Roman woman his queen. We could do with an alliance between our nations.”

Agrippina’s frown deepens, but she still has that absent look to her eyes.

“And with an alliance,” Nero says pointedly to Memnon, “perhaps we could discuss some business matters? Rome is always in need of mercenaries, and word is that you and your men are the best.”

Memnon inclines his head. “I am always willing to do business with Rome,” he says demurely, as though he didn’t have this man by the hair only seconds ago.

Only you and I remember such events , Memnon says down our bond. To him, we are honored guests.

I glance at the Sarmatian king, astounded, even as his attention remains focused on Nero.

The emperor nods, scrutinizing Memnon, perhaps a touch suspiciously.

But whatever momentary suspicions come over him, they smooth away at the sound of quiet footfalls against the stone floor. Burrus, the prefect, reenters the room with a roll of papyrus, a reed pen, and an inkpot.

“Ah yes, the moment we bind you to your bride.”

I shift my weight as Burrus comes up to Nero and hands him the pen. Two servants enter the room, carrying a small table between them. Crossing over to us, they set the piece of furniture down in front of Nero, then leave, quiet as mice.

The prefect sets the inkpot on the table, then unfurls the papyrus. My eyes devour the marriage document, noting the lines and lines of indecipherable text written on it. It looks a little different than the one I saw earlier today, but my heart still pounds at the sight of it.

Stepping forward, Nero dips the reed pen into the ink and writes his name at the bottom of the parchment. “Sarmatian,” he says, still holding the wedding document in place, “do you write as well as speak Latin?”

In response, Memnon steps forward and takes the reed pen from the emperor. Turning the papyrus to face us, Memnon places a bracing hand on the document and writes his name in Latin.

Nero grunts after the king is finished. “Not bad for a barbarian.”

Memnon turns to me and holds out the reed pen.

I stay rooted in place, even as my pulse gallops away. I traded one marriage for another. The fact that it is with a man I have loved for many moons does not matter to my nerves at the moment.

That, however, is only partly why I hesitate.

I don’t know how to write , I admit.

Memnon’s expression gentles, the shift causing my insides to tighten. Then we’ll do it together , he says.

I swallow, then nod. Okay .

Tentatively, I take the pen from Memnon and turn to the papyrus before us, ignoring how my hand trembles. I sense Nero and Agrippina watching me, and my cheeks flush at their attention.

Moving behind me, Memnon reaches out and wraps his hand around mine. I can feel his heat and the way his much larger body molds against mine. I’m so distracted by it that I nearly miss the moment he dips the pen in my hand into the inkwell.

“If the girl is illiterate, any marking will do,” Nero says.

“I want all who read this to know my wife’s name,” Memnon says.

“Very well,” Nero says, turning back to his mother and muttering something under his breath.

Slowly we’ll do this , Memnon instructs. R-O-X… He goes letter by letter, naming each one as we write them. Though the letters look a little shaky, eventually my Sarmatian name appears on the paper.

Next to my ear, Memnon lets out a sharp exhale, and I can feel his shock down our connection as he stares at the parchment.

We’re married, little witch.

“Well, there it is,” Nero says. “You’re…

” His eyes unfocus, and my gut twists at his conflicted expression.

He blinks. “I almost forgot—the vows .” To Memnon, he says, “To complete the ceremony, you must say your vows. Sarmatian, they are quite simple. All you have to say is ‘Where you are,’ and your woman will finish the rest.”

Memnon moves to my side and takes the reed pen, setting it on the table. Then he grasps my clammy hands, turning me to face him.

For the first time since I entered this room, I fully face him.

I would be lying if I said Memnon no longer looks terrifying.

Everything about him, starting with his wicked scar, seems to elicit fear.

But his eyes are soft and oddly devoted as they look at me, and his thumb strokes the skin of my hand in a disarmingly comforting way, and I can feel his earnest intention.

Memnon doesn’t wait for preamble. “Where you are,” he begins.

Despite my nerves and the pounding of my heart, I give his hands a squeeze. Cannot believe I’m doing this. “There I am.”

Now , we are married.

My heart still thunders, and my skin feels like lightning dances along it. Across from me, Memnon smiles so big, it seems to reach every corner of his face, and it transforms him from a menace into something else entirely. At the sight, my blood heats and my lower belly clenches.

He ducks his head after a moment, as though to hide his earnestness. That, somehow, only makes him more endearing.

“Congratulations,” Nero says. “I give your union my personal blessing. May it be long and prosperous.” After a moment, he glances at Agrippina. “Don’t you agree, mother?” he says, clearly goading her.

Agrippina couldn’t appear to care less. Her eyes are still a little clouded and distant and her face is empty of expression.

Nero frowns, seemingly annoyed at even her tepidness. Facing us again, he says, “There are gladiatorial games later today. In honor of your nuptials, you will attend as my guests.”

“That is very benevolent of you—” Memnon begins.

Nero smiles a little, looking pleased with himself, and Agrippina murmurs something agreeable.

“However,” Memnon continues, “my men are eager to get back to our lands, and I…” Memnon’s eyes drink me in, but he seems at a loss as to what to say. I can feel the heat of his emotions but nothing more.

“Nonsense,” Nero interrupts. “You’ve traveled all this way. You barbarians shall have a taste of Rome before you leave it, so you might know for certain that it is the best city in the entire world.”

Memnon looks like he might protest, and his magic is beginning to spill out of him once more. But after a pause, the Sarmatian gives Nero a terse nod.

“Excellent!” Nero says. “My guards will lead you and your men to some rooms. Take a bath. Enjoy your wife. We will speak again this afternoon.”