Page 191 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Moros studied me for a long beat before cracking a smile clearly meant to charm. It didn’t have the same effect his brother’s did, instead settling like oil on water. “Well then, thank you, Dr. Briar. I find your honesty refreshing.”

“I don’t think your brother feels the same.”

“Adrastos is used to being pampered. I fear your words may bruise his ego.”

“And what would your ruling be if that’s the case?”

That smile turned wry, but cruelty flickered in his eyes. Unlike his brother, Moros had very few threads. Apparently the promise of his cruelty was enough to keep people in line. Maybe Adrastos made the bargains for him. Moros carried the same red rope I’d seen tethered to his brother and an emerald-green one I easily recognized as Marlana’s. A handful of short black threads likely belonged to cousins or advisers. Two dormant gray ones disappeared toward the After. Parents, maybe?

The red one twisted and tightened as he said, “I think it’s long overdue. He’s spent his eternal life spoiled. Should his temper turn on you, please make me aware—I will not have the royal healer fall victim to his antics.”

He was not joking. I buried every ounce of disbelieving humor before it reached my face and said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Was the healer’s wing up to your standards? The world knows that Hazelharbor has the best resources at your disposal.”

“It was adequate,” I said tightly.

“Adequate but not satisfactory?”

I gave him a tight smile and an even tighter shrug. “Some of my usual herbs and roots aren’t inventoried here, but I can make do.”

“Nonsense. If you’re going to be treating my cousins and subjects, you’ll have what you need. Give the high healer a list and it will be done.” My eyes snapped to his. He tipped his head again. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Am I supposed to be honest?”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“I suppose I’m surprised you care about my preferences. Aren’t I your prisoner?”

“We both know you’re more than that.”

“Because of the prophecy?”

His cruel smile said there was more to it, but the king only answered, “Yes. Because of the prophecy. The Witch of the East will be crucial to bringing our plan to fruition. Should you require a rare root from the summit of the Himalayas, I will send someone to retrieve it.”

“Fascinating,” I breathed. Silence settled, and I focused on not recoiling every time his rough hands skimmed my back, my arms, my skin. He touched me at every opportunity. I couldn’t help wondering how his gifts worked—whether, like his brother, contact mattered.

A throat cleared, and we both turned toward a face I’d nearly forgotten. Smith stood in a button-down and slacks, hands clasped behind his back. I’d barely seen him in months, which meant he was probably out on missions... killing my people. The dangerous edge in his eyes now snapped every instinct I had to attention.

Beyond him came the unmistakable hiss of whispers. I scanned the gathering. Some couples still danced, oblivious, while others had gone still or clustered in tight knots to speak under their breath.

“Apologies, my lord. But a coven has arrived with news from the west. I believe you’ll want to be the first to hear it.”

That got Moros’ attention. His expression hardened as he surveyed the room, silvery hair shifting beneath the preposterous crown on his head.

“The men are waiting for you in the foyer. Should you will it, I will chaperone Miss Briar until you can return.”

“Very well,” Moros cut in, passing my hand to Smith like I was an object changing custody. Relief flooded me the instant the king put distance between us.

Smith set a careful hand at my waist but kept his eyes on Moros’ retreating back.

“You all right, witchling?” he murmured, finally dragging those hard brown eyes back to me.

No. No, I wasn’t. The king’s touch left me feeling contaminated and desperate for a shower. I didn’t say that. Couldn’t. I only nodded tightly. He was too observant to buy it, but his gaze swept the room over my head, inventorying everything before he murmured, “Follow me.”

“What?” But he’d already released my waist and was hauling me through the bodies crowding the dance floor.

“Hurry, Briar.”