Page 168 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“To ensure you get dressed.”

I looked down at the medical scrubs I’d worn all day and threw my hands up. “I am dressed.”

“Your Highness,” he said, finally snapping the book closed and flashing what he clearly thought was an award-winning smile from where he leaned against the wall.

I arched an irritable brow. “What?”

“You may call me Your Highness.”

“Are you high?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been higher.”

I blinked, trying to decide whether he was serious, but the bastard only pushed off the wall and strode forward. His gaze lingered on the glamoured corner, clenching my stomach, before he stalked to the bed and dragged one finger down the comforter.

When it became obvious I wasn’t going to volley back whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean, his eyes flicked to mine, dark and lethal. “I’ll clarify. Why aren’t you in the dress Charlotte brought up for you?”

“Charlotte?”

“Blonde, sharp-tongued, basically implied you are my brother’s lackey.”

“Huh. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

He wet his lips, eyes narrowing. “Briar, what I lack in patience I make up for in creative persuasion, so I will say this precisely once. Get. Dressed.”

“It’s this or a shift,” I said flatly, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

“You will wear the dress I sent for you, or my brother will likely parade you naked by that leash around your neck.” He sat on the end of the mattress, book still in hand. “And while I am easily amused—and you never seemed particularly vexed by male eyes on your body—I somehow doubt that’s the evening you’d choose for yourself.”

My core clenched uncomfortably, heat washing over my skin and into my cheeks. “You really should have your whores explain the stakes before shoving your gifts in your pet’s face. Had I known the alternative, maybe I wouldn’t have burned it.”

That smile turned devious, and I was fairly certain my face would combust shortly. “You’ll find I get what I want in these halls. And having you downstairs at this ball is my current requirement.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You are English, correct? I’m not combating a language barrier I didn’t know about? You seemed plenty fluent during your performance.”

“It wasn’t the word putting a question in my tone, sunspot. It was the fact that you honestly believe you have a leg to stand on.”

“Two, actually. I did your bidding today. I healed the bastards killing my friends, and now I’m tired, my well depleted. I came back to rest and found another bastard in my room. Bluster all you want, but there’s nothing left for you to take from me. So get out.”

Adrastos rose without a sound and stalked across the room with lethal slowness. My hackles rose, but I refused to drop his stoney gaze.

Only when we were nearly chest to chest did he breathe, “You are either very misguided or very naïve if you believe this is as bad as your life here can get.” He pressed the book firmly against my sternum, and I caught it on instinct. It would be sacrilege to let a book hit the ground.

“I promise there isn’t a master crueler than the king on this throne, and should you wish to find out just how much farther you have to fall, I assure you, he’s champing at the bit to rob me of yet another treasure.”

Treasure. Seven Sisters, this man was so full of shit. The instant he caught the retort forming, his hand whipped out, snatching my jaw and squeezing until it ached.

“You’ve no idea the lengths we have gone to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible here, witchling. I suggest you look around before opening your mouth again, lest you come across as ungrateful in front of ears less benevolent than mine.”

He moved close enough that the heat of his breath skimmed my cheek. When I tried to lean away, he tightened his grip, forcing me still. His eyes held mine with that maddening boredom he wore like a godsdamned shield.

His words ghosted over my lips. “Now get. Dressed.”

The instant he released me, I dragged in a lungful of air and stumbled back a step. “I meant it. I burned it.”