Page 19 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Days to sink his claws into her mind and pierce her reality.

Weeks to make her slow… and question.

With an irreverent sigh, Adrastos explained, “She clings to her visions, but she’s beginning to doubt those too, now that they’re trapped within dreams.”

The king didn’t smile. Didn’t reveal that he would rip reality from her grasp before long. If the creator had possessed any sense, he would’ve gifted Moros with both mind-reading and mentalist abilities. As it was, the bastard prince was finally proving useful.

Between Adrastos and Moros, the girl would break, scattering her truths like shards of glass.

And broken dolls were the easiest to steer.

“Good,” he muttered flatly. “How much longer?”

Adrastos shook his head, a deep line bisecting his brow before he appeared to put considerable effort into neutralizing his expression. “I’m not sure. She’s strong, brother. The strongest mind we’ve ever attempted to break.”

“I’m confident you’ll try harder.”

Moros shot him a sidelong glance before refocusing on the woman in the cell. Her beautiful face was hollower than it had been mere weeks ago. Skin dull. Eyes flat. Lips colorless. Her hair hung in a tangled mess, her wrists restrained in leather cuffs, their chains anchored to the walls behind the padding.

Alvara squeezed her eyes shut as though she could silence the world around her.

Make it vanish.

Moros sneered at her through the small cell window as his half brother ground his teeth.

“I’m confident you wouldn’t continue belittling my efforts if you’d witnessed their complexity. Should you desire quicker results, perhaps you can try breaking the Angel of Death yourself. She had too much time to prepare herself to be easily overtaken. Her foundation is… deep.”

The words tumbled through his exhaustion with uncharacteristic frustration.

Moros glared at him, sick of the prince’s loathsome insolence in all things.

With the witch he insisted they needed.

With his requirements for the rotation of guards inside Moros’ goddamned castle.

“If you had done your job last year, she never could’ve woven that bond back to Mr. Porter,” he pointed out irritably. “Her grasp on her old life would’ve disintegrated. So don’t pretend our struggle to secure her submission has anything to do with me.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d kidnapped her before they met. That Soul Bond is permanent—eternal,” Adrastos drawled, his expression bored as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “More powerful than anything we could possibly do to her. They would’ve found each other. August Porter would’ve risen to power, and even under our command, the bond would’ve drawn him to her. Demanded that he help her. Free her.”

Adrastos’ gaze hardened.

“And he will find her now. It’s not a matter of if, but when. Don’t delude yourself into believing otherwise.”

The king swallowed a sigh. “Since when are you such a pathetic romantic?”

“Soul Bonds have little to do with romance and everything to do with fate.”

“Fate,” Moros scoffed. “There is no fate.”

“If you have stood beside me for this many centuries and still believe that, you truly are a hopeless cause.”

Moros ignored the barb as he scowled down at Alvara Porter, once the second-in-command of Grayshell. Soul-Bound subject to The Great Commander. Something cruel slithered through the shadows of his mind.

“How deeply did their bond solidify?”

“It’s permanent. Complete. There’s nothing to pull on there.”

Adrastos’ throat bobbed, as though his words were true but incomplete.