Page 465 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

The guards released me, taking stilted steps back.

Shoulders screaming, neck aching, my lips parted as I stared at the monster before me, fighting the compulsion to reach up and check my scalp for abrasions.

Cold.

I was too cold.

Fear tangled my insides into a knot as I searched and prodded, only to realize…

My magic. He’d snuffed out my magic.

Tears burned in my eyes and I blinked them back as he flexed his hand in a clear order. My throat thick, I slipped my fingers into his icy palm and shakily rose to my feet. The king’s expression softened, if incrementally.

“After all, it isn’t every day we host a royal.” Those voidlike eyes brightened.

An argument scaled the walls of my throat… only to stop. Lodged at the back of my tongue, threatening to cut off my breath was every denial—I wasn’t a royal, hell I wasn’t even an heiress. He’d lost his godsdamned mind. There was a hierarchy to the north that bore the name he spoke, but it sure as shit wasn’t mine.

I was a Briar. A healer born of a healer.

And yet…

If only the clever little fox had the stomach to walk among beasts, to lie and endure until she could aim where the armor was cracked, the story might have had a very different ending.

My lip trembled as Adrastos’ words played in my mind.

I need them to see you as the prophesied power we promised.

Gone. He was gone. He’d… he’d left me here. With a ring and a godsdamned letter. Smith said when acting of his own accord, Adrastos did nothing without intent. I wouldn’t put it past him to have accounted for death itself.

My least favorite thread requires you wear this. Left ring finger. It will buy you time until they find you.

August? Freya? Reyna? Would they come for me, even here? Now?

Rumors circulated that there was a usurper within the line. That’s what he and Smith said in Mags’ house when they told us the fable of Rhiannon. A usurper who rose after the auspicious death of not only the late queen, but of her most favored daughter. The angry brother to the most gifted son.

I thought of Mags before the dais, of Nat before the council, of Adrastos sauntering across that bloody whipping field… and straightened my spine, lifted my chin. Glowered up at the soulless onyx eyes set into a too-symmetrical face.

I thumbed the polished band of the gold ring now weighed down with the gravity of Adrastos’ warning. With every ounce of ice I could muster, I breathed, “I am not your bride.”

“Come now,” Moros purred, a spark of challenge alight in his eyes. “All debts must be paid, Princess, and I fear your mother left you with something of an estate in shambles.”

“No,” I said simply, the waver in my voice betraying my bravado as I aimed for where the armor was cracked. “I cannot be your bride.”

“It wasn’t a question, Miss Thornquist.”

“I cannot be your bride, Your Majesty, because I’m already his.”

An incremental shift—that narrowing of his eyes. So small I could’ve missed it. So small it was really just a tightening of skin, the fan of crow’s-feet framing the voids growing narrow for only an instant before they vanished into a smile so stiff it looked pained.

“Say that again.”

Shoulders curling in, bracing for a blow, I lifted my left hand to my chest, only for him to seize my wrist and yank me forward.

“Thief,” he hissed, “abomination.” Any momentary hint of civility fled his eyes as quickly as it had flickered into being as they snapped to my face. “Where did you get this?” Moros whirled without waiting for an answer, dragging me toward the looming stained glass windows.

I scrambled to stay upright as he jerked my hand into the dim light. Movement beyond the glass caught my attention. I’d never been in this room before. Never crossed to this side of the palace. Beyond the stained panes of glass—frothing waves. The sea slamming into the cliffside far below us.

“You’re hurting me,” I gasped as he jerked my wrist at an unnatural angle.