The Curse that Binds (Bewitched #2.5)

by Laura Thalassa

I wish it so strongly, my heart aches from it. I envy the sun that gets to touch your skin. And the bread that gets to kiss your lips. I envy the air that shares space with you and the ground that gets to hold you.

You are the only thing that matters to me in this godsforsaken world. The confession burns coming out, but it doesn’t matter. There is iron in my soul. I won’t let you die, Memnon. Not today.

So long as I am alive, you will never die, I vow. I won’t lose Memnon like I did my family.

I wish I could give you more than my voice. Memnon hesitates, then continues. I wish I could be there and hold you in my arms until all your pain and sadness were gone.

How do you truly feel? I ask timidly. Like I could conquer the world just to lay it all at your feet. His voice turns serious. Roxi, you are my first and last thought each day. I have longed for you more than I care to admit—not just as my friend and confidant but also as my lover and wife and amage.

Yes, he says. We were meant to be together. I am yours, Roxilana. Just say you will have me.

Little witch, he continues. I’m coming for you.

No, little witch, he finally says. I hear his ominous laugh. You won’t be marrying anyone besides me. His voice is confident and uncompromising. I am coming for you. I will leave tomorrow at first light, and I will get there before a wedding takes place. And when I do, he continues, I will make graves of these grooms and anyone else who comes between us. Violent delight threads his words. You’re mine.

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

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

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.”

“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.”

Memnon’s grip on me tightens a little. “It is a wonder, finally having you in my arms,” he breathes against my ear. “Do you feel how perfect we fit against each other?” he says. “You were made to be here.”

He makes an amused sound. “I rode for two months so that I might feel your embrace.” His eyes dance like fire. “Of course you can touch me.”

“This looks like it hurt.” At my touch, Memnon’s eyes close again. “It did,” he murmurs, “but I am grateful for it.” I move to his jaw and shave away the last bits of his facial hair. “Why is that?” I ask, focusing on my work. I cannot imagine being grateful for something so heinous. “Because it made you stroke my skin.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered what form you came in, as my heart has always been yours, but still, you are perfect.”

Memnon, my old friend and confidant, who cared for me when no one else did and whom I’ve loved for a very, very long time. He draws me into his arms, and for the first time since the Romans burned my village, I feel safe. Home.

Memnon shakes his head. “No. Tomorrow, I will have you help me create the ward⁠—” “Really?” I can’t help the eager smile that spreads across my lips. Memnon looks enraptured by my expression. “If making wards together means you’ll look at me this way again, then gods, yes, my queen, we can make all the wards in the world.”

According to what my father knows of gods and magic, we are a bonded pair, our essences entwined through our power. We have been since birth, and we will be until death.

I don’t know when I started smiling, but my cheeks hurt from the intensity of it. It’s everything I already knew about our situation, yet hearing Memnon state it like this makes it beautiful, poetic. As though our love was scribed in the stars. I guess you’re stuck with me forever, I say. Forever, Memnon echoes, though it sounds more like a vow than anything else as he stares at me.

“You flirt with your fucking death when you speak ill of my wife.” Memnon’s voice has deepened with his anger. Wood creaks as he pulls the bowstring taut. “Now, who’s next?”

I am unfit to be the wife of the Sarmatian king, and soon all his people will know. What terrible thoughts poison your mind, Memnon says. Many outsiders marry Sarmatian nobility. This has always been our way. No one balks at this, just as no one will balk at you, he reassures me. But I also do not think you see yourself as my people will see you—radiantly beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes men’s knees weak. And ferocious, with your tamed panther. And then there is your magic and the wild, wonderful things they will see you do with it. No, Roxilana, I am certain my people will be just as enamored with you as I am.

“I always intended to come for you,” he says, meeting my eyes.

“I will get you whatever your heart desires so long as you draw breath—maybe even after that as well,” he says with a wry twist of his lips.

“I will conquer the world,” he vows, echoing his long-ago words to me, “just to lay it all at your feet.”

You don’t need to add another ward, I tell him. You’ve already placed a dozen or so on me. His hand lingers on me, his fingers skimming my jaw. When it comes to you, there can never be enough.

“I would’ve given up more if that’s what it took to get you back. I would follow you to the ends of the earth—into the very afterlife if I had to.