Page 414 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Adrastos flinched, disgust twisting his face as he jerked back like her touch might stain him.

“The world in chaos? Check,” Adrastos said, his eyes now fixed on the woman sprawled at his boots.

Alvara stirred nearby. The nearest soldiers recoiled, as though the mere shift of her weight might kill them all. But Adrastos’ focus didn’t stray.

A cruel smile played across his lips as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, blood-streaked hands clasped. The king watched with something like grim satisfaction. In the end, they weren’t so different—both of them took a certain joy in torment before triumph.

“The satisfaction of the Commander of Grayshell’s heart ceasing to beat?” Adrastos cocked his head. “Check.”

“No!” the witch screamed, launching toward him.

Adrastos didn’t so much as blink. He flicked his hand, and shadows leapt from the marble, spearing forward to seize her throat. Darkness dragged her upright just as the Commander forced himself to his feet.

“Oh yes,” Adrastos said, smug. Then, as an afterthought: “Admittedly, that part was…personal.”

Alvara groaned behind them, trying to rise. A soldier stepped in, landing a brutal kick to her ribs. She collapsed with a choked gasp, blood pouring from reopened wounds. If they didn’t tend her soon, she and the great Commander might both be lost.

Adrastos barely spared her a glance. His dark eyes slid toward the soldiers now swarming the Angel of Death. “Torment her all you want,” he said, voice cool. “By all means—you’ve earned some enjoyment after so many years. But I need her alive for the next part.”

He leaned back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Thanks to my foresight, we now possess three pieces. And as Aren has no heirs, that gives us half the puzzle, brother. I’d say I’ve done more than my part in your grand design.”

“Glad to see math still isn’t your strong suit.” Moros ground his molars as Adrastos sighed dramatically, canting his head with wolfish delight.

His shadows lifted the witch again, suspending her by the wrists, arms stretched overhead. Her head lolled back, neck bared as the darkness wrapped a gag around her mouth. Tears streaked her bruised cheeks, but her eyes refused to leave the prince’s.

Still staring at her, Adrastos gestured lazily to Alvara. “I believe you’re all well acquainted with Amadeus’ pet—the Angel of Death,” he said. “The Raven has always stood in these halls.” He tapped his own chest, devilish smile cutting sharp across his face as he stepped closer to the witch.

At last, their cousins flanked the blonde. It was Bartholomew who grinned first, looking her over with open curiosity.

“Good to see you, witchling. Bit of a predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Her eyes flew wide before contorting into a snarl. She thrashed against the binds, shadows muffling her screams. Her face snapped toward Adrastos—now only inches from her own.

He inhaled slowly, deeply, and the king narrowed his eyes.

“Your fear is a delicacy,” Adrastos purred. Then, louder, lifting his voice for all to hear:

“Brothers. Sisters. I am pleased to introduce you to Blythe Briar…the prophesied witch of the East.”

To be continued…