Page 468 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Boom.

Dust rained down from all sides and I jammed my eyes closed, holding my breath as the walls themselves shuddered with the battle raging beyond.

“No one cannot take a bride.”

I pried my eyes open and found Moros prowling closer to his brother. Chills ran down my arms as a cruel smile stretched across Bellamy’s cheeks, a pointed drawl slicing between them. “And yet. I marked her mine long before she was ever dragged into this house.”

“So you dilute your seed in the daughter of the Solskari whore?” Moros scoffed.

“Honestly, brother, if you aim to wield insults, at least feign creativity. Can you truly think of nothing original?”

I braced for the blow. For the strike or the crack of leather. None came. Instead, Moros smiled before hissing one word. “Silence.”

Boom. Closer now. August was closer. Or I hoped he was.

“You will. Be. Silent. You ungrateful little shit.” With every word, Moros took a leisurely step forward, as though he had nowhere to be. As if the world wasn’t crumbling. As if armies weren’t battering their way toward us right now.

And it clicked.

This. This was what he meant. This was how we bought time.

This moment, as the prince smiled a lupine grin that promised devastation. Moros might’ve bound his tongue, but his arrogance dripped upon the floor, pooling beneath them as the brothers stared each other down.

“You will watch as I wed your whore—” the usurper tightened his hand in thin air, and Adrastos’ maniacal smile strained, “—as I fuck her and chain her to the goddamn dais until she delivers me a son.” He squeezed harder, and the prince swayed, nearly doubling over, his broad hand slamming to the floor as he braced himself.

“Stop it!!”

Bellamy’s eyes met mine, imploring, almost… scared.

“You will watch as I remind you that you are nothing.” Moros bent down toward the prince as he gasped for air.

So soft I barely heard him, the prince purred, “I will brand you just as you have marred my mate,” and lunged.

NINETY-SIX

A BEAST TO CONTEND WITH

FREYA

I can’t fucking hold this any longer, I hissed to Cyrus mind-to-mind where Lana and I perched in the goddamn rafters.

Just another minute, he insisted, circling the cliffs beyond the windows. Trust the king to play his cards.

Cards, I scoffed, watching that sick son of a bitch prowl toward Adrastos. We were his cards. To his credit, the bastard king put on one hell of a performance—gasping and spluttering as I funneled his power down into the cruel usurper who’d held him captive for centuries. I’m running out, I gritted back as the last traces of Balaskas power left my well.

Got anything close enough to buy him time?

August’s?

Too sharp.

Then, no.

But I wouldn’t need it. Because whatever Adrastos muttered had the color draining from Moros’ face a beat before the bastard king finally moved. With a gasp, I snapped the line between me and the motherfucker he was here to execute.

Moros was Adrastos’ fucking problem. The healer was mine.

In one synchronized drop, Lana and I hit the ground, rolling to a halt beside Blythe, whose eyes flew wide.