Page 307 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Think, Freya,” he gritted. “He was already in place when you arrived. You think that was an accident?”

I did. I tried to. But memory stirred.

Blaz, unconscious, held carefully in Cyrus’ arms—like something irreplaceable. Nix already bloodied. Rage flooding the air, not just at disobedience, but because Blaz had been hurt.

And after they’d captured me, Cyrus had vanished.

For hours.

“How long were you out for?” I breathed, snapping my gaze to Blaz—who, to his credit, at least looked apologetic.

“About as long as it took me to get him your location,” Cyrus supplied.

The secretive calls. The sideways glances at texts he’d hurried to hide whenever his mother neared. Realization dawned—and landed like a fist. “You were already dressed and cold the night we lost Darius.” An ache pressed into my ribs, sharp and unforgiving.

It was Cyrus to explain, “We both felt something was wrong. I dropped him at home.”

“That’s how you knew Reyna had the capacity—and the systems—for those refugees.”

Cyrus turned into me, inhaling deeply—relief, maybe. The heat of him scrambled my balance, and I leaned into him for a moment, voice softening as the pieces clicked into place.

“You intend to end the feud?”

“The moment Calypso takes power, we’ll push for negotiations. We’ve already outlined the concessions she’s willing to make. Ideally, Blaz will have more ground to stand on—Reyna is an insufferable bigot. No offense,” he added, glancing toward his cousin.

“That could be centuries from now,” I said, though guilt curled low in my gut. Not because Reyna and I agreed on everything—far from it—but because she fought with honor. And because…perhaps I hadn’t given Reagan’s heirs the credit they deserved.

“Maybe. But it’s better than an eternal war.”

“And if Adrastos puts you on opposite sides of this one?” I challenged. As my anger eased, Cyrus’ grip softened, too.

He watched me closely as I turned and backed up until my legs hit the bed. I sank onto it, keeping both of them in view. Cyrus’ expression had shifted to something open, almost pleading. “Why do you think we were meeting that night?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Blaz exhaled, his shoulders sinking. “It has to end, Freya.”

I looked between them, shaking my head. So alike. Blaz still held onto that boyish charm, where Cyrus was—God help me—all man. Fully ascended, like me. “The Prince of Paladin wants to broker peace?”

“Hard to believe, I know,” he said with a smirk.

“You’re not exactly off to a good start with Reyna.”

“She belittled you.” He said it so simply. As if that slight alone outweighed the centuries of tension and bloodied treaties. “And yes, before you ask, ma moitié, of all her transgressions, condescending to the most infuriatingly brilliant woman I know is the one I will not tolerate.”

Blaz dropped his gaze with a grin, like he was intruding on something too private to witness. God, I wished I could speak to him mind-to-mind, if only to spare myself the embarrassment of asking out loud⁠—

“What does that mean?” I snapped.

“It means mates are sacred. Whether they reciprocate or not,” Cyrus said, voice clipped. “And I will not let her direct that kind of vitriol at you. Not because of me, or what I want—but because she will show you respect. Or she’ll face the consequences.”

Not what I meant. But before I could find the words, he turned to Blaz.

“We think Adrastos is using an alias to hide his identity—but we have reason to believe his origins aren’t so different from ours. Can you bring us your mother’s private collection on Bellpost and the Knights?”

Still reeling, I added, “Anything from the Twelve might help.”

“You think the Bellpost survivors are involved?” Blaz asked, glancing between us.