Page 287 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“I never meant to shackle you,” the woman breathed. “I didn’t know what we were.”

“I know,” Freya said softly.

“You!” Reyna’s voice cracked across the field like a whip. I turned as she stalked toward me, eyes blazing. Ice frothed over my fingers, a spear coiling beneath my skin. Freya grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me back, but I held my ground. The warrior couple stepped between us, casual but protective.

Behind Reyna, two scowling Bellaton soldiers flanked her, and the rest of the Grayshellians watched with wary tension.

“Who do you think you are, crossing the divide!?”

“Cyrus Stuart,” I said flatly, holding a mirroring set of my mother’s fucking eyes. “Prince, actually.”

“I know exactly what you are, you Paladin bastard.”

“Reyna, I can explain,” Freya blurted. “The meeting we scheduled⁠—”

“And here I thought we were aligned, Miss Porter,” Reyna snapped, slicing her off. “When were you planning to tell me you were climbing into bed with the enemy?”

“It’s not like that⁠—”

“I’m not interested in lies from traitors,” she snarled. The more furious she got, the thicker her twang became. Just like my mother. The male warrior stepped forward, his partner’s hand bracing him. I beat him to the punch.

“You will not speak to her as if she is below you,” I growled.

“I take no orders from my sister’s progeny—or Paladin filth.”

“Then you’ll see exactly how volatile we’re bred to be.”

“Oh, shit,” said the russet-haired archer, circling cautiously with his bow still in hand. “Look, I know there’s some family dysfunction unfolding, but can we maybe focus on the giant snake that just ravaged a field?”

Reyna ignored him. “You are on Bellaton land⁠—”

“Your Majesty, if I may,” one of her men said. Tall, lean, brown-skinned, with careful eyes. She didn’t look at him, her glower firmly planted on me, but she didn’t stop him either. An officer, maybe? “He might be on the wrong side of the river, but he saved Freya’s life. And mine. He fought well.”

“Um. Guys?” The tremulous voice drew every head. The blonde Grayshellian stood at the field’s edge, terror etched across her face. “It’s spreading.”

We bolted toward her. All tension dissolved as we stared at the blighted field. The ground, beyond the scorched border, was decaying—just like everything the snake touched.

“Impossible,” the first warrior breathed.

“Unless we’re all hallucinating, apparently not,” the archer muttered, kneeling to examine the line of desecration as it crept forward.

“It’s like...” he whispered.

“A blight,” Reyna finished, crouching beside him.

The pyro stepped forward, tossing her hands wide. A perimeter of fire roared into life, consuming the infected ground in a burst so hot we all stumbled back. I raised an arm against the heat. But when it died down, the decay kept creeping.

“Oh, fuck,” Freya and I said in unison.

I threw ice. Still, it spread. Everyone tried—fire, wind, shadow, lightning—but nothing stopped it.

The pyro dropped to her knees, setting her hand to the earth. Her mate pulled her back only when the blight reached her fingers.

“Anything?”

She shook her head. “I can’t see.”

“Okay,” said the male warrior—Freya’s brother, apparently. “Anyone have any clue what kind of magic this is?”