Page 33 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“You admire her?”

“I’ve sworn my loyalty to the leader of my hierarchy.”

Snorting, I pointed out, “That wasn’t exactly an answer.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, that wasn’t an answer, or yes, you admire her?”

“The latter.”

“Come on, Darius, give me something.”

“Stop distractin’ yourself with gossip. Shift change is in an hour.”

With a sigh, I lamented, “Don’t hold out on me now. I’ve got to keep myself awake somehow.”

Grumbling, he said, “Reyna took a husband.”

“Took a husband,” I repeated, rolling my eyes at the continued formality. “Where is he now?”

“Dead.”

My head snapped up. I turned to look at him, voice suddenly mouse-ish as regret thickened my throat. “What?”

Darius exhaled the weight of history in that single breath. “Blaz’s father was killed by the Renown when Reyna was six months pregnant.”

“Jesus.”

“She stood down from a mission, and he went to the divide without her. Her guards delivered his body hours later. The Reyna I swore allegiance to—the Reyna your Commander adored—died that day with him. The woman you see now is a result of that loss.”

Silence, befitting the cruelty of the truth, settled between us. My grudge against her cracked, just slightly. It was a long stretch later when Darius finally broke it.

“Few know how to build walls as efficiently as my queen, but you’ll meet fewer still who can dismantle evil as efficiently as she does. Give her a chance, Freya, and her tactics might make sense someday.”

Before I could respond, something—instinct—pressed against my center, like a string pulling taut. My head whipped down to the bank’s front door as a tall male figure held it open for a curvy woman with long black hair. The collar of his peacoat was popped up, a buffer between him and the world, a rimmed fedora blocking my view of his face.

Power. That was power I was sensing.

Canting my head, I watched as he slung an arm around her shoulders in undeniable familiarity before guiding her inside the bank.

“That’s interesting,” I murmured.

“Her story would be.”

“Not that,” I said, words clipped as I stood from my perch, brushing icing and pastry crumbs from my jeans. I adjusted my Guns N’ Roses cropped tee and straightened my jacket before heading for the fire escape. “Watch the door.”

“Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“Following a hunch.”

“I’ll accompany you,” he said, shifting to stand. My outstretched hand stopped him.

“Watch the door, and my back, big guy. I’m gonna get closer.”

“I’m not supposed to leave you unsupervised.”

“And you won’t,” I insisted, quirking my head. “As long as you watch. The. Door.”