Page 124 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

I’d trusted him.

The glass in my hand squeaked before cracking, jolting me back to the task. Blood blossomed across my fingertips. I scowled at the offending skin, set the cup atop the pile on my tray, then brushed my fingers over my palm and soothed the shallow slice closed.

Ridiculous. Seven years at Saltwick Academy. Ten years learning to wield a scalpel. And now I was a godsdamned slave in a dish pit. Judging by the sear of his stare across my profile, the demotion existed entirely for the betrayer’s entertainment.

Only after the counters and sinks were empty did I leave the kitchens and cross the hall toward the bathrooms. I kept my chin high as I neared his table, seething—too livid to risk eye contact with the bastard and still hold my composure.

Unfortunately, that meant I heard the shatter before I saw the glass in pieces at his feet, orange juice creeping through the puddle.

“Oops,” his latest conquest tittered. “So clumsy. Apologies, slave.” She cocked her head, surveying me with a nauseatingly sweet smile.

I watched the orange juice creep toward my feet, then noticed the bloom of crimson where a shard had pierced my skin. The sting registered a beat later, but irritation swallowed it whole—amplified by every expectant eye fixed on me. I stepped to skirt the mess, only for a ribbon of shadow to snake around my neck like a noose and cinch tight.

“Oh, pet,” came that grating drawl. “Forgetting your new role, are you?”

“I am not your maid,” I bit out. The hair on my neck rose. When I lifted my eyes, both Marlana and Moros were watching from the head table with interest. Not good.

“Aren’t you?” His shadows tightened, a ribbon of corporeal smoke tipping my chin up as he nudged the blonde aside and rose to his full, towering height. “I bought you to serve the royal family, did I not?”

“Bought,” I scoffed, my gaze flicking between his siblings and his smug face as ire rose like a tide. I stepped into his space and glowered up at him. Quiet enough for only him to hear, I bit out, “I would think anyone of logical prowess would recognize the waste of talent in putting a surgeon behind a sink.”

Something sparked behind those eyes. Even beneath bruises so dark he couldn’t have slept in days, a flicker of the man—the role—I knew tugged painfully at my chest.

He reached for me. I jerked back, and the noose tightened until breathing became work. Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced my gaze to his as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and closed his calloused palm around my jaw.

“She cannot speak to you that way,” the blonde chided, her voice more grating than metal dragged across glass.

“On your knees, bitch.” The woman behind her sneered.

“F—” The curse died beneath whips of magic sealing my mouth. The few remaining onlookers snickered. I could feel the king and his sister watching but couldn’t see past Adrastos’ mammoth frame—or the iron will in his eyes. The warning burning there.

“Even the most stubborn of pets breaks with the right collar and a leash around their neck,” he drawled, eyes boring into mine. Movement pulled my focus toward Moros—or, more accurately, the red-haired woman beside him. Odessa’s eyes flashed with anger, but she brought one hand to her chest and tapped over her heart. The scraps of fabric artfully draped over her alabaster breasts could hardly qualify as clothing, yet her back stayed straight. Chin lifted.

No matter what is said, no matter what they do to you, they cannot break you. Only you.

The shadows squeezed, dragging my attention back to Adrastos as Kennon’s words steeled my spine. My breath hitched. The magic against my skin went suddenly, brutally cold.

Metal, I realized one beat too late. His shadows had turned to metal. I tried to snarl, but the gag held firm as the leash jerked my head back, then down, forcing me to my knees. That was when the jeers started.

“Now, can you be a good little pet, or must I housebreak you here in front of everyone?”

Cheeks burning, chest heaving, I stared up at him. Glass glittered around my knees. One wrong shift and I’d slice myself open, so I stayed still and weighed my options.

Docile. I was supposed to be the docile little healer. The one who saved Moros out of obligation to her vows. I needed them to see an asset, not a threat—to erase any suspicion that I might be dangerous inside these walls.

Fuck me.

I gave a jerky nod. His smile went wry before he turned toward his brother and the blonde bitch. “I told you she’d be compliant.” He sprawled back into his chair, entirely too pleased by the sight of me kneeling at his feet.

I hurried to magic away the glass and spilled juice, certain my face had gone a mottled shade of tomato. The delighted cackle from his concubine confirmed that humiliation was the point. I decided the bitch was far too easily entertained.

Once I was back on my feet, my eyes snapped to Adrastos as he stripped the gag from my mouth.

“Anything else, Master?” I spat. My eyes flew wide when the shadows yanked me into his lap. Ribbons of magic wrapped my chest before I could fight, hauling me tight against him, spiraling up my throat and tugging at that godsdamned collar.

His hands came next. Every muscle locked as those broad hands—the same hands I’d watched move over Magnolia’s hips and legs like something sacred—landed on my bare skin. One settled at my throat, fingers spread across the collar biting into my neck. The other slid over my stomach, down my hip, then up my thigh. Terror pooled cold and heavy in my center.

“Remember who owns you, witchling. Remember who bought and paid for you to remain free of my sister’s brothel. Remember your place—as a pawn on a board you know nothing about.” His rough hand skimmed the hem of my dress, his legs forcing mine wider as though he were putting on a show for the crowd at our backs.