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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