Page 359 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

She sang instead. A lullaby that was sad and strange—only later did I learn it was about the Battle of Culloden. A massacre, wrapped in melody. Seemed fitting now.

Freya dove for Mother’s throat, missed, and was kicked so hard she flew backward. She hit the ground hard, gasping, her eyes flying to mine—panic flashing like lightning in the dark.

I could feel Cali tremble beside me, fighting the same need to move, to do something. But what? We dishonored them both to intervene.

Freya challenged.

Mother accepted.

There was only one way this ended.

Carr stuttered to a stop next to me, his breaths coming hard, no doubt from sprinting through the manor to stand beside me for this special kind of hell.

“Pathetic,” the Queen sneered, turning to see who Freya had looked to. Me. How ironic, considering Freya held her by the balls with her Guardians. Not even sure where her mate was.

“After this, you think they’ll follow you?” Mother spat. “You think you can rule?”

“Me?” Freya scoffed, staggering to her feet. “No.” She gestured toward me, her voice shaking with effort. “But he sure as fuck can.”

“You challenge me only to present my son as an alternate?”

“He was chosen,” Freya said, breathless. “Marked.”

“He’s male.” She said it like a curse.

And then they were moving again. Every swing, every grunt of pain—it was mine. I would’ve taken the blade if I could’ve.

Mother charged. Freya blocked, struck out—but Mother caught her wrist and pulled her in.

And I felt it. Felt it as if I were the one stabbed.

Her steel rammed into Freya’s side.

No.

No.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe as blood spilled.

For a moment, it was my own, like I’d transported back into the ring with Nix. I catalogued the haunting similarity in their strikes—the eerie pattern between our fights. Before I could wrap my head around it, time rushed in as Freya doubled back, gasping, lips parting around silent pain. My mother pushed her, kept advancing, a victorious gleam in her eyes.

I couldn’t do this.

Couldn’t watch this.

I’d just found her—just started to fight for her.

I couldn’t fathom existing without the rumble of thunder or the crack of lightning across a purple summer sky any more than I could fathom breathing if she lost.

Couldn’t live without her storm.

All the honor I’d fought for—gone.

The balance I’d protected? Irrelevant. My life’s work burned to ash the moment I saw her bleed. I staggered forward but Calypso’s hand snapped to my shoulder to anchor me in place. My fists clenched.

Move.

It wasn’t a command. It was a prayer. Her eyes locked to mine. Wide. Blinking rapidly. She was still upright, still fighting. Somehow, she moved. Somehow, she fought back.