Page 427 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

The one that walked through the threshold long after witching hour.

Sighed as he stripped.

Closed the ensuite door and filled the space with a woodsy smelling steam.

Climbed into bed, making the springs and wood frame squeak under his weight.

It took Adrastos Balaskas longer than usual to find sleep.

His breaths took longer to slow than they did most nights.

Fighting to steady my hands, my breathing, I waited.

When I was certain, I finally shifted.

When I was certain, I slipped from the couch.

Crossed the short distance.

Gingerly climbed onto the bed.

Straddled him like a lover.

And put the warm blade to his godsdamned throat.

EIGHTY-SIX

RECKONING

BLYTHE

Dark eyes snapped to my face, half-hooded, his pupils blown wide beneath the stream of silvery moonlight. Those ample lips tipped to one side, a dark brow rising.

Adrastos’ rumbling voice was a ghost across my arm. “Do it.”

“You,” I spat, blade shaking in my fist against the delicate skin of his throat.

“Yes,” he said, hands settling on my hips⁠—

“Don’t move,” I snarled, not recognizing the feral edge to my voice as it splintered and cracked.

Turning his chin, Adrastos dropped his head back, exposing his jugular. Red bloomed across his neck where the blade bit through his stubbled skin. Dark eyes stayed locked on mine. Without shifting his grip, he angled himself beneath my shaking hand until the flat pressed over his carotid.

“Here, princess.” He shifted beneath me, and my body zeroed in on the hard length of him pressed right against my center. What kind of psycho was aroused by the threat of death?

“Y-you were the monster—the monster outside the cabinet.” Even as the words tore from my chest, tears stung my eyes, the bridge of my nose.

He didn’t look afraid, or even sad. He was… resigned. And somehow that was more unsettling than anything else he could’ve done.

“I’ve done many monstrous things, darling. This isn’t news.” I could feel his swallow through the hilt of my stolen dagger.

“You killed my mother.”

“So do it.” His fingers tightened on my waist—in challenge, in a dare, or in doubt that I could follow through, I wasn’t sure. “Surely your conscience will forgive you for ridding the world of the bastard prince.”

“Y-you left me there,” I stammered, unsure of what, exactly, I wanted him to say to that.

As with all things, the man didn’t hesitate. Flat. Devoid of feeling. “I did.”