Page 128 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“August,” he supplied softly, like he was explaining something frightening to a child. “Your mate sent me, Ally. Remember?”

I was already shaking my head by the time he pulled his arm through the bars.

“I… I know I should know him.”

“Christ,” he said, whirling away and stalking three paces across his cell. His hands tore through his hair before he turned back to me. “They better fucking hurry.”

I did not understand what he meant, but I could not help agreeing. I raised an arm to wipe the blood from my lips and breathed, “Hurry.”

TWENTY-THREE

I’D RATHER WEAR WALLPAPER

BLYTHE

133 days…

The following day, a knock at the door had me flinging the damn thing open only to come face-to-face with the blonde bitch from the dining hall. Her lip twitched somewhere between humor and disgust before she thrust the garment bag hooked over one finger at me.

“The prince sends his regards,” she muttered, looking at me pointedly, as if expecting an invitation through the wards. She sure as shit wasn’t getting one. Was she high? Should I check her for a concussion? One too many slams into the headboard, if you asked me. “He says you’re to wear this the night after tomorrow.”

I glared at the black bag, eyeing it and then her before quirking a disapproving brow.

“I’m good. I’ll endure my exile in what I have, thank you very much.”

She let out a derisive snort. “He also summons you, witch. I suggest you hasten,” she drawled. American, like me. Curious. I’d been two seconds from breathing fire before and hadn’t bothered to notice which accent clung to her insults. She gave the bag a pointed shake, her eyes skating past me to survey the room behind my shoulder.

Glamour or not, I didn’t need word getting around that the healer above the dungeons had a tapestry hidden in the corner. I was confident in my wards, but not arrogant enough to believe the betrayer surrounded himself with brainless eye candy. A man like him required more entertainment than getting his dick wet. With that in mind, I shifted to block her view and slapped on the most vicious smile in my arsenal.

“As I said, I’ll pass.”

“As I said, he wasn’t asking. You can get yourself dressed tomorrow, or he’ll send one of us in there to do it for you. You can march to where you’ve been ordered or he’ll have one of his men throw you over their shoulder. Choice is yours.”

“Some choice,” I muttered, snatching the bag and slamming the door in her face before she could open that insufferable mouth again. With a growl, I crossed to the bed, hurled the damn thing onto it, and ripped open the zipper.

Oh, he had to be kidding.

In any other circumstance, the luxurious gown—a masterpiece of gossamer and intricate beading—would’ve had me drooling. I tugged at one flowing sleeve and found an off-the-shoulder neckline, exactly the kind I would’ve chosen for myself for a wedding or ceremony. Rich glacier blue. Perfect for making my eyes pop. Which was the last goddamn thing I wanted in these halls. I wanted nothing highlighting my appeal, whether it was my eyes or the décolletage I’d spent years flaunting. Gods, I used to brush highlighter over my collarbones—contour my breasts, for pity’s sake.

Now, I wanted nothing more than a turtleneck over this flimsy little smock. Hell, I’d wear the wallpaper if it meant going unnoticed.

Apparently, our little clash had already drawn more attention than I’d ever intended.

With a snarl, I gathered the fabric in my arms, marched across the room, and hurled it into the fireplace. I stepped back with a satisfied smile as flames licked around the edges of the bag, creeping inward until glacier-blue fabric caught like kindling.

The bastard could force me to heal, but I would not be a doll he could dress for his entertainment. I was no man’s pet.

Somehow, the minor act of defiance left me breathing harder, my heart ticking faster. Foolish? Sure. But it felt like something Freya would’ve done in my shoes, and that was plenty for me. Granted, Freya probably never would’ve found herself in my position to begin with. She would’ve seen the trap. Seen my captors coming from a mile away.

Irritated, I returned to my tapestry, my heart settling as I surveyed the work. It wasn’t pretty. Shoddy at best. But considering no one had ever shown me how to weave the ropes of fate, I wasn’t about to complain—especially given the complexity of this piece. Emerald and gold intertwined in a majestic dance of silken color. I ran my fingers over the frayed spots, willing the tangles smooth and chewing my lip when they refused to cooperate.

Fruitless? Perhaps. But I had to do something. And while my captors believed me cowed, they’d left my magic intact, so I might as well use it.

A second knock at the door—this one distinctly male—pulled a sigh from me as I turned, throwing a glamour over my work.

“Witchling?”

“I’m not wearing it,” I snapped, crossing the room and throwing the damn door open for the second time in as many minutes. Barry stepped inside, skeptically eyeing the raging hearth before those wide eyes landed on my face.