Page 294 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“I have friends in most low places. I won’t apologize for cleaning up after your mess.”

“And why in all seven levels of hell should we believe you’ll turn on the mortals now?”

“Even a king’s bastard knows a lost cause when he sees one. The rebels don’t stand a chance with Grayshell’s seven out of play.”

Kade’s hard teal eyes flicked to the man behind me, then to the hand tracing from my stomach toward my inner thigh before Adrastos’ palm enclosed my knee. The gesture was somewhere between possessive and…

Something. Something I didn’t get time to name before his hand slid back up my thigh, beneath the hem of my dress, and settled there as if he’d found the perch he wanted.

Heat pooled low even as fear soured my tongue. I must’ve stiffened—done something that broke the illusion—because Adrastos whispered, “Relax, pet. He may look, but I don’t share with other monsters, remember?”

I squirmed in his lap and⁠—

The hard ridge of him pressed against my backside as my thighs clenched. I swallowed audibly. Both kings seemed to note the movement.

Scrambling, I shifted in his lap as if searching for relief rather than escape. All three men chuckled.

Adrastos set his goblet down and refilled his brother’s glass. All the while, his free fingers traced the sensitive skin of my thigh.

The kings’ attention rotated between one another and me.

Moros tracked his brother’s hands, pupils blown wide where they fixed on my skin. My stomach dropped.

Kade watched my face. My throat. Like he could see my pulse hammering there.

A spectacle. The motherfucker had turned me into entertainment.

When the carafe was passed to him, he refilled his glass before handing it to Marlana.

“As we were saying.” Kade cleared his throat. “The bad blood between our fathers does lend me a degree of apprehension. I do hope you understand…” The last word trailed off as he lifted the goblet. His body went still. Covering the pause, he leaned back, eyes on Moros as he swirled the merlot and… inhaled. Deeply.

Shit, shit, shit. My stomach turned to lead as he closed his eyes, as if savoring the scent.

Did he know? Could he sense it, somehow?

Moros called him a son of death. Did that give him some awareness the others lacked?

When Kade opened his eyes, they locked on mine, a spark there that hadn’t been before.

He smirked, set the glass down, and turned back to the king without giving away what the hell that meant.

To my complete shock, Moros growled, “Fine.”

My attention might’ve been split between the calloused fingers on my skin and the men around us, but I still caught Kade’s smirk when Moros drank.

“So, we’ve struck an accord?”

“Very well,” Moros said, irritation naked as he slammed his glass down, dark crimson sloshing dangerously near the rim.

Up and down. Up and down. The steady strokes stoked heat I refused to assign meaning to. Chemical, I reminded myself. Touch across skin starved for months was firing neurons. Neurons didn’t care that the hand belonged to a monster. The audience probably didn’t help.

“I have an in,” Kade said, promise sharpening the words. He drew a blade from the sheath at his ribs, and the guards jolted forward.

Both kings lifted placating hands, stopping them in place. Kade leaned back and deliberately propped his boots on the table, holding Moros’ gaze and daring him to object. When the king only ground his teeth, Kade’s canary smile widened. He rolled the blade between his fingers twice, rested his head against the wingback chair, and began lazily sliding the tip beneath his thumbnail.

“With the rebels,” he finally finished.

The table went still.