Page 184 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

I scanned the room and counted twelve. Twelve guards within responding distance of their prince. At least twice that remained on the terrace. The odds were garbage, which meant escape was our best option. Our only option.

Sixteen windows. The exit down the hallway. The front door. The archway into what looked like a piano room—and, judging by the light across the bookshelves, at least one more window beyond it.

I held that evaluative stillness until Atreus reached for me.

Something broke.

Because it was bullshit. If Cyrus’ little outburst proved anything, it was that his silence meant more than I’d let myself believe. That bond wasn’t dead. Not really. Even if he wanted it to be.

I stepped neatly out of reach, looked down at Atreus’ hand hovering inches from my arm, then slowly lifted my eyes to his. My expression must’ve said everything my mouth hadn’t, because his eyes widened.

“Freya?” He stepped forward, pleading creeping into his voice. I held my ground. Kept the glower too, for good measure. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, my lord.”

Frustration—or irritation—pinched his brow. “My lord?”

“Who knew we were meeting tonight?”

Silence cut between us. Carr moved to my side, watching my back while I stared down the prince.

“Who. Knew?” My hands started to shake. A faint creak sounded overhead, and my gaze snapped to the room. The windows.

“My father. My personal guard. Freya, you can’t think⁠—”

“My head of security might be irritatingly territorial, but his concerns were valid,” I purred.

For all our bullshit, Cyrus was not a fly-off-the-handle kind of man.

He was not impulsive.

He was calculated.

Whatever hell we’d put each other through, Cyrus had acted on instinct tonight—and that instinct panned out. As far as I was concerned, the mate bond lifting its dormant head and demanding he move meant one thing: I had been in very imminent danger. That was what always dragged us back together, wasn’t it? We weren’t poetry and prose or drinks on a terrace. We were survivors. At the heart of it, that was all we’d ever been.

“I would like you to assure me I’m not a goddamned fool. Otherwise this hierarchy is about to learn exactly what it means to cross The Wraith.”

“Freya, I swear to you, this wasn’t us.”

“Then how the hell did they get inside the wards?”

He raised both hands, placating. A soft rattle drew my eyes to the bronze chandelier trembling overhead. Interesting.

What is that? Carr demanded down the line.

Atreus kept talking, and my gaze snapped back to him as the rattling stopped. “I told you this alliance matters as much to us as it does to you. I don’t know how they breached. But it wasn’t us.”

“Prove it, Prince Atreus. Because from where I’m standing, your father conveniently wasn’t ready for our scheduled dinner—allegedly because he wanted to ‘put on a show’—and you were the one who guided us outside.”

“Wild things don’t do well caged.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You don’t strike me as a woman who enjoys being cooped up. Fresh air seemed more aligned with your nature.”

I deadpanned, “My. Nature.”

“Yes, gods, fuck, just let me explain.”