Page 348 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Just power napping, Nix.” I coughed. “Don’t get too excited.”

Talking hurt.

Breathing hurt.

Existing hurt.

But I was still here.

Still alive.

And that meant the game wasn’t over yet.

They were gonna kill me.

I became sure of it about two knockouts ago, when my head stopped spinning long enough for the nausea to settle in. A nonconsensual ride on the tilt-a-whirl from hell.

But the Queen wouldn’t let it happen here—not in some lightless hole where no one could watch. No, her son’s death would be a spectacle. A reminder that no one stood above the Accords.

Except, of course, her.

Would she even watch? The trial should’ve protected me. Should’ve come before the interrogation. Before the torture. Alas. Rules were for pawns. Not for royals.

She’d make a show of it. Public, symbolic. Tomorrow—today? Maybe during Cali’s party. If anyone were gonna act, that would be the window. Unless they bought into the narrative. Then I was cooked.

So fucking be it.

I’d rather die with my honor intact than keep serving this nightmare.

Besides, if this week had proven anything, it was that Freya really was feral—and I kind of hoped she’d show them just how clever she could be. Freya. Fuck, what would this do to her?

“Hmm, thinking about that little thief of yours?”

His words slithered across my nerves, every syllable a blade.

“You know, if you put this much effort into therapy, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” He drawled it like a sneer. “I’m not the one threatening the monarchy, so maybe worry about yourself.”

“I am. I’m thinking about what I’ll eat for lunch when they realize you’ve lost your goddamn mind and I mount your head on a pike at my front gate.”

Footsteps thundered above us, dust raining down from the cracked stone ceiling.

God, I hated this place.

“You didn’t like that,” he drawled, amusement curling around the words. “Me mentioning your pet.”

Freya wasn’t a pet. Freya was the storm and the silence after. She was the laugh that broke a funeral, the last burst of strength in a losing battle. If revenge had a body, it was five-foot-eight and breathtaking in its savagery.

And whatever she was avenging? It had the Queen shaking.

Would she actually kill me? Or just make it convincing enough to bait Freya? This was for her. It had to be.

Kneeling slowly, like a predator scenting weakness, Nix said, “You know the guard will tear her apart before she even reaches the gates.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Freya Porter,” he said, and it sounded like venom from his mouth. “They’ll enjoy every minute of making her scream—for everything she’s done, for corrupting our precious prince. I reckon your mother will savor every sound as payment for your loss.”