Page 240 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Cyrus.”

I blinked into the gloom of The Middle, straightening in the armchair I’d occupied for the better part of thirty hours. As I wiped the sleep from my eyes, my heart stuttered at the bold black ink now covering my arms.

Wings.

Poe had marked me before the coven even answered our summons. Cali had even called home Elinora—our most trusted truth-sayer—to ensure we could manipulate the narrative to land in our favor. Every member of the coven had studied the markings with reverence before diving into the plan. I couldn’t blame them. I had no idea how many times I would stare at these feathers before it would finally sink in that they were mine. That Poe had offered not just his blessing—but the ultimate token of faith. He’d waited all this time to be sure I would earn them.

My job now was proving him right.

It had been twenty-four hours of healing baths in the Middle, tinctures, and pleading to a universe I wasn’t even sure was listening before Jo finally said Freya was out of danger and deep into ascension. Only then had I slept—and apparently, three meager hours were all Poe needed to weave his magic over every inch of my skin. The implications of that were...vast. And they would not be inconsequential.

“Cyrus. It’s now or never.” Carr’s hand tightened on my shoulder, but his gaze remained on Freya, who slept soundly, a pinch of concern in his brow. Given what I was about to face, I couldn’t blame him. There may be no place for fear in a Paladin’s heart—but there was always room for preparation.

“Protect her,” I ordered as I stood, locking onto those warm sapphire eyes.

“Do it yourself,” he shot back—more a demand than a retort. My chest tightened. Nix might be an asshole, but Carr’s allegiance would be a double-edged thing. Yes, he had my back—but at what cost?

“He is your brother,” I said gently, hoping it landed softer than it sounded in my head.

“And he wove his fate. See that he faces it.”

Jo entered the room, as though summoned by our shared purpose. I’d always admired Jo. Her mind was a sharp match for my sister’s, but it was her gentleness that set her apart. Healers were rare behind Paladin walls—gentleness even harder to come by. But somehow, she managed both.

Her chocolate hair was woven into an intricate braid, a few strands framing her tan face as she studied Freya’s sleeping form. I couldn’t help but do the same.

I didn’t know how the hell to process this.

I had a mate.

Not just any mate. The woman who had saved my life—not once, but three times.

Maybe I’d repaid the last debt by dragging her out of that hellhole, but life debts meant nothing once eternal bonds were forged. This was why we’d hesitated to strike the final blow. Why we kept showing up in the same goddamn places like magnets destined to collide. Our souls had known long before we did. She might feel differently when she woke, but from everything I’d read, that tether would remain—whether we wanted it to or not.

Again and again, fate would draw us back together like a moon pulled by gravity.

In this life, or the next, this soul would be mine. Whether that became a burden or a gift was now up to us.

While most mate bonds evolved into romance, it wasn’t a requirement. The bond tied us together regardless, into all eternity.

The stunning redhead ascending in my sheets was my other half.

And if I didn’t move quickly, she’d be executed before she even woke.

Jo held her hands over Freya’s chest, light blooming from her palms as she checked the vitals she’d monitored on the hour since the wound stabilized. She didn’t look at me, didn’t need to—but when her head turned, she nodded.

“I have her. Go rattle his cage, Prince.”

Karma was coming for Nix Landry. I just prayed I was enough to deliver her.

The grand hall was full when Carr and I strode through the double doors, the hinges creaking. Chattering Paladins grew so silent it was deafening—my ears grasped for the steady rhythm of breathing, heartbeats, anything beyond the impenetrable shields they’d all snapped into place, cutting me off as I marched toward metaphorical gallows.

My eyes found my mother’s, where she was braced in her throne with a clear view of the circular platform now raised in the center of the room, as though she sat on the precipice of battle. Dad sat beside her, eyes distant, jaw tight, fixed out the window of Luminark Manor. On her other side, Calypso stood with her spine long, exuding royalty, already a queen in the making.

The council sat below the dais in a semi-circle, a nod to Luna, their expressions a blend of apprehension and excitement. After all, it wasn’t every day two souls in the line of succession were accused of treason.

As we closed the distance, I locked eyes with every one of them.

This was my hall.