“Impressive, my queen,” Memnon says across from me. His eyes glow like embers, and his hair ripples with his power. “Truly. I didn’t expect to have to give in to my truest nature for this fight.”
His magic strengthens against mine, and all the ground I thought I was gaining is undone at once.
I scream from exertion, nearly falling to my knees. Using this much magic all at once is becoming painful. I feel as though I’m ripping my own muscles away from their bones, the magic unmaking my body bit by bit.
Worse, despite my efforts, people are still suffocating; I can see their eyes bulging out and their faces changing colors as they’re deprived of oxygen.
I draw on yet more magic. The throbbing beneath my skull has increased, and the haze at the corners of my eyes has spread, obscuring my vision.
The first witch falls, her body hitting the floor with a dull thud.
“Stop,” I plead.
“Agree, and I will.”
Another body falls. Then several.
Now I do drop to my knees, my muscles weak and shaking. I can hardly see him through my blurred vision. “Please, Memnon, end this.”
“I will, once you agree to my terms,” Memnon says.
Burning away, everything is burning away…my high school memories, then my childhood ones. I’m sure of it.
“Speaking of terms,” he continues, his hair billowing in some invisible wind, “there is one more demand I forgot to mention earlier.” He strides toward me, magic billowing out of him with every step he takes. “I’ll need you to agree to it too.”
I stare up at him as he comes up to me, his ominous form looming.
“Marry me.”
CHAPTER 43
“What?”
I want to laugh. I want to scream. Around us, bodies are still hitting the ground, and I’m the one on my knees, and this can’t possibly be an actual proposal.
Memnon’s hand slips beneath my chin. “Marry me.”
I can’t see him well through the strain shrouding my eyes, but my ears heard him correctly.
“Agree to lift the curse and be my wife in earnest, and I will release these people.”
“You’re sick,” I whisper.
His grip tightens on my chin.
“You’re running out of time, little witch. Better decide fast.”
“No,” I say breathlessly. “Choose different terms.”
He lets out a laugh, as though there’s anything amusing about this moment.
“Why would I?” he says. “I have you right where I want you.” His expression grows serious, and his gaze burns. “I am still awfully bitter about being locked away for fucking millennia.”
I glare at him as he kneels before me, putting us at roughly eye level.
“But I love you,” he continues, his entire demeanor gentling. “I have always loved you. The night I found you half dead in that forest made me face a truth I tried to bury. I cannot live without you.” Iron enters his voice. “I won’t.”
My body trembles, and the throbbing in my head only increases. He’s given me an impossible ultimatum, one I must agree to if I want these people around me to survive tonight.
“If you do this,” I say softly, “I vow to make every day of your life a living hell.”
A slow, wolfish smile spreads across his face. “I look forward to it, est amage.”
More magic is pouring out of me, though it’s sluggish now, and it’s battering uselessly against the sorcerer’s. My mind is starting to feel hollowed out. I’ve overdrawn my power, and still more supernaturals are falling to the ground.
There’s no escaping Memnon’s demands. Not in any real sense. My hate and anger nearly swallow me whole, but the sorcerer is right. I don’t want anyone else to die on my behalf.
Around me, the room has gone quiet, except for a few panicked gurgles and those unsettling thumps.
My shoulders heave with every ragged breath I take. I’ve done everything I can. It just isn’t enough.
“Fine.”
With that, I collapse forward, falling into his waiting arms, my breathing heavy, my magic spent.
CHAPTER 44
I lie in the arms of my enemy.
My soul mate.
My future husband.
I stare up at him tiredly as my vision clears.
Memnon brushes my hair back from my face, a soft look on his own. I guess victory has gentled him.
Around us, guests gasp for air.
I whisper, “Is everyone—?”
“Alive?” Memnon finishes for me.
I nod.
“Yes. They are all alive and well.”
I relax a little. He made good on his end of the deal—he released these supernaturals from certain death.
Which means I’ll have to uphold my end. I grimace at the thought.
The sorcerer’s hands slip under my body, and he rises from the floor, lifting me with him.
“My fierce queen,” he murmurs, clutching me close. I don’t have it in me to fight this embrace. My body is shaking; my mind is frayed. “You are a warrior at heart. I couldn’t be prouder. I may have defeated you tonight, but you have honored yourself and honored me by battling so valiantly.”
I’m going to marry this man. That thought echoes on repeat. He nearly killed a room full of people, and somehow that earned him everything he most desperately wanted.
“Selene!” Sybil’s panicked voice carries through the crowd.
“Sybil,” I call back, my voice wispy and feeble. My friend sounds shaken but okay.
Memnon glances up, his expression turning cold once more as he takes in Sybil and the rest of the guests. Their eyes are frightened, their bodies huddled in on themselves.
The sorcerer’s magic sweeps out of him and over the room. Before I can ask what spell he just cast, I see shattered glass lift from the ground and reform in their original panes. Trees and shrubs that were knocked askew now straighten and re-root, and their scattered soil returns to the gardening beds. Shattered coupe glasses repair themselves, their spilled contents returning to the delicate cups before the cups themselves float back into various guests’ hands.
Most astounding of all are the guests themselves. They blink and look around, their former fear transformed into confusion.
The sight of Memnon using all that magic after I spent nearly every drop of mine makes my nausea rise. I was never going to win this battle.
“Selene!” Sybil calls out again. This time, however, her voice is gentle and worried.
I catch sight of my friend, her long hair cascading over her dress as she hurries over, eyeing Memnon with suspicion but not fear.
What did he do to her mind and everyone else’s here? No one is screaming at him, and though we’re drawing a few curious looks, it seems to be because Memnon and I are disheveled, and he’s holding me like I’m his war prize.
Which, unfortunately, I kind of am.
“Are you okay?” Sybil asks, her eyes landing on various parts of me where there must be some scrape or smudge.
No. I want to weep. I’m not okay at all.
“I’m…fine.” I force the words out. “I just…twisted my ankle.” I give a weak laugh, one that sends a bolt of pain shooting beneath my skull. “This is why I don’t wear heels.”
Sybil frowns, searching my face. When her gaze moves to Memnon, it snags on the bloody bit of shirt peeking out above my body. Her expression hardens with loathing.