Page 190 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“It was Solskari,” I called when she reached the corner, haloed by the light pouring through the windows behind her. She said nothing. Her steps slowed, though, and curiosity tugged through the bond as she glanced over one shoulder without turning around. “The light you wielded tonight—the power you siphoned—was Solskari.”

She halted, turning enough to give me her profile. “You can’t know that.”

“I read every account of the war I could find, then memorized the surviving texts. I know what I saw.”

Slowly—painfully slowly—Freya crossed her arms and turned back to me, her hunger for information finally outweighing everything else.

“Viktor?” she breathed, expression giving away nothing. Relief hit when she kept talking. “I pulled from Viktor when he went down, and Atreus admitted they don’t know the full scope of his gifts. Someone helped him spellbind his magic. What are the odds the lost heiress was an heir?”

“A misdirect?”

“Maybe.”

“If your bloodline were being hunted, how far would you go to protect it?” Something dark flickered in her eyes. Then she turned away again, dismissal clear. “Freya?”

I fear you know the answer to that.

THIRTY-SEVEN

REQUIREMENTS OF KINGS

BLYTHE

“You look well, Miss Briar.” Moros didn’t smile as I reluctantly took his hand and settled my other on his shoulder. He didn’t smirk the way his brother did, either, but the words carried the same hidden implications Adrastos favored.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Are your quarters satisfactory?”

I nodded tightly, forcing myself to smile softly. “Yes, thank you.”

“And my brother?”

How the hell was I supposed to answer that? My stomach dropped like I’d stepped off a platform and discovered the stairs had vanished.

Did he expect Adrastos to debase me—to use me the way the other prisoners and slaves were used? Rape me like the girls Marlana had ‘bought’? How, exactly, did a prince in these halls treat his pets?

I should’ve asked more questions before agreeing to this bargain. My swallow clicked audibly, and the sadist’s gaze dropped straight to my throat before dragging back to my face.

“I do what is asked of me,” I said softly, lowering my eyes to our feet as he guided me around the dance floor. His dark chuckle scraped over my skin like talons.

“I’m sure you do. I heard he sent you to the healer’s wing today.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He hooked one knuckle beneath my chin. If I’d thought Adrastos’ touch was abhorrent, it was nothing compared to this monster’s skin on mine. I’d been wrong before. The brothers’ eyes might share a shape and shade, but nothing else. Adrastos’ rich brown held warmth—life. Moros’ were flat, nearly black, like voids. As if even with the horseman leashed inside him, the demonic power had stained the soul beneath.

“I never properly thanked you for your help.” I fought back a sigh when his hand fell away.

Forcing down another tight swallow, I dipped my chin, aiming for subservience. “The plants were generous enough.”

“I fear I often struggle to express my gratitude.”

“Are kings required to do that?”

He chuckled again, head tilting a fraction in apparent curiosity. “Required? No. But I find my subjects are far more inclined to devote their lives willingly to a leader who shows gratitude.”

“That seems like a fair assessment.”