Page 11 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Trust me, Briar. We are every terrible thing you believe us to be, but Adrastos has a plan. I suggest you go along with it.”

“And the alternative?”

“You stay here until another guard arrives and drags you before the royals, where you’ll be distributed like loot.”

I felt every drop of blood drain from my face and pool in my tightening belly, ice tiptoeing down my limbs.

“After that, Moros does what he always does with petals he wants to crush. You cannot help Alvara if he breaks you first.”

“I’m harder to break than you might think.”

“I believe it.”

“What of Alvara?”

“A dainty, untrained healer can be easily contained with a couple of well-placed shackles. The Angel of Death walking around on her own two feet is not something any of us can negotiate.”

His emphasis on the word ‘untrained’ made me bristle. His eyes narrowed—almost imperceptibly—as though he needed me to hear the words he wasn’t saying.

Don’t talk about our time with Aren and his team. Was that the warning? And if so, why was he helping me? Or pretending to? What sick game were they playing?

My head spun mercilessly, my stomach along with it.

“If you intend to piece her back together long enough for help to come, you will swallow your pride, come with me, and play the terrified, subservient prisoner.”

Throat thick, I looked down at Ally. At last, her bruises had faded, and her sleep was peaceful rather than fitful.

They would break her. Repeatedly, until she knelt—a fate the Angel of Death would die before facing. I knew it to the depths of my soul.

My only hope was to get back to her and pray she could hear me well enough to hold on until they found us.

Because they would find us.

August Porter would move heaven and earth to reach his mate. If that left me cowering as a servant for a few weeks, so fucking be it. In a fucked-up way, working within these damned halls was a blessing in disguise. It might offer me a glimpse of the layout. A chance to learn how the manor functioned.

I hadn’t even agreed when he nodded.

“Good. Let’s go. The more docile you look, the faster we can secure you privileges. And I know you don’t trust me, but you must believe me when I tell you he’ll do what he can to protect you.”

“I don’t have to believe shit. Not a godsdamn thing any of you say.” Despite the trembling in my chest, the words were mercifully steady.

“Okay, poor choice of words,” he said, tapping out the joint against the floor before tucking it behind his ear and summoning the key through the bars. “But I’m telling you, the prince is a better friend than foe.”

“The prince,” I scoffed, shaking my head as my lip curled in disgust. “He’s so tangled in webs he can’t even find himself.”

“Maybe. But he keeps his promises. You, of all people, can see that.”

My stomach dropped for a heartbeat, but I was grateful my face was too exhausted to show it. Before I could ask what the fuck that meant, he was standing.

“Come on.”

Bartholomew exchanged the manacle around my ankle for handcuffs, slipped out of his leather jacket, and draped it over them as though hiding my shackled hands. It was an oddly mortal thing to do before he guided me out of the cell and pushed me along when I hesitated, my eyes fixed on Ally.

My throat constricted, my heart aching to remain with her.

But the asshole urged me onward, and my leaden feet scrambled to keep ahead of my body as the gate creaked and clattered shut. The captain locked it with a wave of his hand, then ushered me down a long hallway and through a steel door before leading me upstairs into the castle.

We passed the open doors of a bustling ballroom filled with laughter and the clink of glasses. I turned to see men in suits and women in ornate gowns.