Page 212 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“I… my door… I⁠—”

“What?! You what?!”

“It opened.”

“And you thought wandering around unguarded was wise?” he demanded. “You, of all people, know exactly what the king does to his playthings—let alone his enemies.”

There. Beneath the brutal line of his jaw, beneath the fury, something else flashed. Something I’d seen in that alleyway. Later, in Magnolia’s living room. In the desert, when his eyes found me the moment we realized how badly we were outnumbered.

Fear.

Deeper still.

I blinked the threads into existence, and for the first time since arriving here, my power reached for the one I’d forbidden it to touch from the moment he came back for Magnolia: dark as midnight, speckled with embers of dancing black flame…

“Don’t,” he rumbled, the warning so thick it nearly dripped from that lone syllable as he scoured my face, gaze flicking from my eyes, to my lips, my throat.

A disbelieving breath escaped me. Fuck it. Fuck him. He wasn’t the only one capable of seizing an advantage when it appeared.

Adrastos’ eyes slammed shut as my magic wrapped around that one tether—the anchor that shouldn’t exist, the one binding us long before that day on the sidewalk outside Magnolia’s house—and gave it a hard pluck. Like a guitar string stretched taut, it thrummed. Something soul-deep hummed through my chest in answer—apprehension and ecstasy, joy and sorrow, elation and grief all tangled together.

Rendered motionless—and apparently breathless—I watched the fine hair rise along his arms, goosebumps pebbling his skin.

Every thread around him shifted, swaying as though I’d plucked a note his soul recognized. A melody written between us alone, sending a shiver through every bond he’d forged.

One by one, his threads began to glow, stealing what little breath I had left. For all their complexity, the way every tether answered that single touch was… magic. Beautiful. There was no denying it, even if I stood there gaping like an idiot.

My power caressed the braid. Silvery-blue light sparked along its length, bright stretches glowing like bioluminescent surf beneath a midnight sky.

It was the only tether anchored directly to his solar plexus—to the power inside him.

“Don’t,” he rasped, bowing his head until his heat crowded my skin. His chest heaved, forcing me to steady my own breathing as the taste of him seemed to gather on my tongue. Smoke. Embers. Something distinctly masculine and—bergamot, maybe?

Heart hammering, breath coming in sharp gulps, I studied his face—the muscle working in his jaw, the livid cords in his neck, the pebbled skin over his vascular arms… the agony carved into every line of him.

Out of pure spite—and, admittedly, a bizarrely masochistic curiosity—I plucked it again.

I didn’t get to watch this time. The prince growled, guttural and nearly inhuman, and his hand closed around my throat. He pinned me to the godsdamned wall hard enough to punch the breath from my lungs, the ropes of fate vanishing at once.

Eyes wide, both hands flying to his wrist, I pulled uselessly at the fingers clamped around my neck. Not enough to cut off blood flow. More than enough to remind me exactly who I was trapped in a room with.

“I said don’t,” he growled, haunted eyes lifting slowly to mine, resentment packed into every ragged breath. “Have you gone deaf?”

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, short nails scrabbling for purchase against his skin. I might as well have tried to pry apart steel.

“Had you been discovered by anyone else, they would’ve thrown you at Moros’ feet, and there would’ve been nothing I could do to stop them from breaking you, Briar.” His fingers tightened just enough to force my mouth open. A threat more than an attack. “Do you understand? These new liberties are tenuous at best.”

“You’re hurting me,” I rasped, still clawing at his skin, copper tainting the air. This time the words punched through his rage. His pupils swallowed the brown of his irises before Adrastos jerked his hand away as if I’d burned him and stumbled back. He spun, dragging both hands through that unruly mane.

“What…” I panted. “What was that?”

“Answer my question first,” he demanded, whirling back to glare at me while palming his jaw, visibly forcing his breathing under control. “What the hell were you doing out of your room? In the goddamn dungeon, no less?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I squeaked, gulping air until my pulse stopped trying to climb out of my throat.

“You’re not in a position to interrogate me, Briar. I don’t owe you a thing.”

I scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Of course not, master.”