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Memnon has the grace to look apologetic. “I didn’t want you to see me as anything but Memnon—your Memnon.”
“From the gods that made me to the gods that take me,” Memnon recites, “from this first breath to my last, I am yours.”
You can hate me, but you will do so in my arms.
“The only one I bow to is you.”
“If you try to come between me and my husband again, I will bury my blade so deeply down your throat, you’ll be shitting it out.”
Such a good wife, he praises. So good. So obedient— “You’re about to get a foot in your face.” He laughs against me. Fine, he concedes, rarely obedient. Highly vicious.
“My fierce little witch,” he says fondly. “I could spend the rest of my life doing nothing but gazing upon your face. It would sustain me for all my days.”
“This is not how we end,” I whisper. “We are eternal.”
If we cannot have this life, then we shall have another.
“I will find you again, my king. I am eternally yours.”
