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.
“You’re Memnon, aren’t you?” she says. “I knew I’d be able to pick you out of the crowd.”
She said something earlier about this, hadn’t she? Something that made me laugh, but I can’t quite grasp it now…
“Go back to the dance.” Memnon gives the words a magical push, and Sybil backs up.
“If you’re sure you’re okay,” she says, her brows drawing together. She’s fighting Memnon’s magic, her eyes lingering on me.
“I am,” I rasp out, the lie tasting bitter as it leaves my lips.
She hesitates a few more seconds before finally turning around and rejoining a larger group of witches, as though nothing were amiss.
Almost everyone else is regaining their bearings.
“What the hell was in that witch’s brew?”
“What just happened?”
“Did I miss something?”
“Was that supposed to be part of the evening?”
There’s a smattering of laughter, and though I notice a few supernaturals look suspicious—I mean, we are witches, so we know a thing or two about magical interference. But overall, people are eager to get back to enjoying themselves.