Page 63 of Bedeviled

I stare out into the darkness. The lamps are still lit on the property, and they illuminate the oak and pine trees scattered around the yard. Beyond that, I cannot see anything else.

Behind me I hear Memnon’s sure, solid footfalls. My witchy orb bobs overhead, and then, once more, I feel the heat of the sorcerer’s body as he steps up behind me. This time, however, he reaches around me to press something warm into my hand.

When I look down, I see it’s a steaming mug.

“You made this for me?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.

“I believe you modern folk call it a midnight snack,” he says as Nero comes to my side.

I smile a little at how strangely thoughtful he is, and I bring the drink to my lips. I’m expecting coffee or tea. Instead, the taste of milk and honey hits my tongue. Of course that’s what he made me. He grew up on mare’s milk, and now the taste of this drink reminds me of that long ago home. This is unabashedly sweet.

“Ready for that tour of your house?” Memnon asks.

I find I’m nodding.

“Alright, this way.”

The house is staggering, both in size and opulence, though many of the rooms are decorated in an impersonal way that makes me think Memnon bought the home with the furniture it was staged with.

There are several bedrooms, an office, a couple bathrooms, and a living room with several arched windows that honestly seem like even they’re unsure what purpose they serve. But it’s the three large canvas prints hanging on the wall across from them that have me pausing.

All three of the images are photos from our wedding day. One of them is our “first” kiss with Nero at our side, another is the two of us laughing, and the third one is an intense shot of the two of us gazing at one another, the Pacific Ocean stretching out in the background.

I don’t think I breathe as I take them in.

Memnon glances at the images, then at me, his eyes soft. “Do you like them?”

Like is the wrong word. I’m transfixed by them. I’ve never seen us like this, and I find myself mesmerized by our magnetic connection, one that photographer masterfully captured. I’m sure I was in pain in at least two of the shots, but you’d never know. All I see is our devotion and our obvious chemistry.

“I love these,” I say quietly.

“I have more photos from that day,” Memnon confesses. “Whenever you want to see them, I’ll show you.”

“I’d like that.” I’m a little shaken by how much I want to see the rest of the photos.

I take a deep breath, trying to tamp down my raw feelings. “Can I see the rest of the house?”

Memnon’s gaze lingers on me an extra second, and then he nods. “This way,” he says, and we continue on.

There’s a kitchen done up in pale granite and marble that is as large as Ravensmeade’s communal kitchen, and that’s not even including the nearby wine room. The space should feel extra cavernous with just us and Nero in it, but between Memnon’s size and the commanding way he moves through the space, it doesn’t feel nearly so empty.

I have a momentary flashback to the palace at Panticapaeum. We had wandered about the palace grounds there, nomads who were unused to solid walls around us. Even then, however, Memnon hadn’t looked out of place. The king in him always seems to be comfortable, and why shouldn’t he be? He lives and moves in a world that bends to his every whim.

Memnon brings me next to the second-floor landing, and here he pauses.

“Do you want to know why I purchased this place?”

“There are stables out back, aren’t there?” I guess. The dude’s a horse lord. He needs his steeds.

He raises his eyebrows, then barks out a surprised laugh. “There aren’t, but I was planning on adding some.”

Memnon wanders over to a bookshelf resting against the back wall of the space. He reaches out and taps a purple clothbound spine. “Can you read me this book?” Memnon asks.

I arch a brow, even as I wander closer. “Now?” But even as I ask, I reach for the book. Grimm’s Fairy Tales is written in gold foiling along its spine.

I’ve only just pulled the top of the book away from the shelf when I hear the snick of a latch tumbling, and then the entire shelf swings out. I stumble back into Memnon, my eyes wide.

“Is this…?”