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“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.”
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.
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“Your magic didn’t hurt me.” Or Ferox, for that matter. He gives me a sad smile. “It is incapable of doing such a thing. Every bit of me loves you. Even the wretched parts.” It’s quiet between us, with only the fire’s final crackles filling the air. “So which is it?” I finally murmur. “Are you kind and gentle or ferocious and violent?” Memnon searches my face. “I’m all of it,” he admits sorrowfully. The weight of that confession looks heavy. “And I am sorry for it.” He bows his head. “But all of me—all my power, all that you love and fear about me—I lay it at your feet. It is yours.”
“It is because I love you, dear daughter, that I insist you become a dangerous thing. Otherwise, how can you protect yourself or your king? Or your people? Because you will certainly need to.”
