Page 182 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“And so they hid. For a long while, the stag’s magic kept them safe. Eventually, though, the fox was expecting a litter.”

“And the beast didn’t like that.” I accepted his outstretched hand and let him pull me upright. His other palm settled on my shoulder to steady me.

“No. I fear he didn’t. He made it his mission not only to hunt down the woman promised to him, but to destroy the entire fox kingdom for the slight. To make her live with the consequences. Because where power is concerned, love does not exist.”

“They found them?”

“They found them, darling. In their flight, the fox crossed paths with her friend, the bird—a bird who knew of a passage out of their keep. She followed the bird to freedom. And though she escaped death, the beast stole her mate, leaving her only the pup in her womb.”

“I don’t think I like this story,” I whispered, my voice betraying me.

“As with most predators, once the beast tasted fox blood, he never knew peace again. He hunted the realms until he found her.”

“The pup?” I breathed, so quietly I was surprised he heard me.

“Rumor says the monsters devoured mother and pup in a single bite. The world has been darker ever since.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because monsters love nothing more than destroying something beautiful. They do not respect beauty. They understand one language: power. Power to wield. Power to fear. You are still breathing, little fox, because you were clever—because you did not play dumb when I announced you as the witch of the east.”

I lifted my chin, studying the wall behind his eyes. The hard set of his brow said he needed me to listen now. Really listen.

I wasn’t the prophesied witch. I knew in my bones that Mags outranked me in every conceivable way. And yet I’d stayed quiet. Never contradicted him. I still wasn’t entirely sure why I’d done it. Why he’d done it.

But as I stared into the chocolate eyes I’d memorized long ago, understanding settled uneasily into place. Maybe it was only that unruly fool’s hope—the desperate belief that some small part of him had meant it.

“Glad to be useful,” I said at last, my voice stronger. The smile that spread across his face made me stand a fraction taller.

“Now I’m going to ask you for a favor, darling. I have no intention of winning you over, but I need you to… perform for a while. Had the clever little fox possessed the stomach to walk among beasts—to lie, endure, and wait until she found the crack in their armor—her story might have ended differently. You have my full blessing to hate me. Hate me forever; I’ve earned it. Hate all of them, for all I care. But they need to see you as the prophesied power we promised. Symbols hold power. The witch of the east is untouchable in her gifts, and your healer’s heart will have them dropping secrets at your feet. I need them to love and fear you in equal measure. Refuse, and the prophecy is for naught. Do you understand?”

I stared at him, fighting the tremor threatening my legs. When I finally nodded, he said only, “Good girl. Now. We’re late. Don’t forget your bargain.”

The ball was somehow exactly what I’d imagined and nothing like I’d expected.

It was every bit as formal as anticipated—elegant decor draped across everything from chandeliers to stone walls. For souls who relished barbarity, they put on one hell of a show of propriety.

Nothing like the party I’d witnessed during our first week in captivity. No orgies. No masks. Alcohol was abundant, but no one seemed particularly off their nut. The women wore gowns much like mine, the men suits. Hell, even the more stable Renown managed button-down shirts.

Surreal. Like I’d slipped into an alternate reality and caught a glimpse of what this hierarchy had once been. Maybe something like the Bellpost the traitors had spoken about so nostalgically on Mags’ couch.

Rather than perching on the dais above everyone, even Moros and Marlana moved among the crowd, dressed to the nines and changing partners as they danced.

The first man to ask Adrastos for my hand was a decorated warrior, dark brown hair braided down his back and medals pinned across his jacket. I was still wondering about the ornamentation when Adrastos’ voice slipped into my mind.

The most pretentious peacocks are the first to fluff their feathers when presented with a new female.

I choked on a laugh and disguised it as a cough, catching amused brown eyes across the crowd.

Prove me right.

Two warring spirits gnashed their teeth inside me. One lifted its head in curiosity. The other snarled a warning, demanding I refuse to help the bastard.

Then the peacock started talking. He asked seemingly innocuous questions about Hazelharbor, my work as a healer, and finally—with all the subtlety of a brick—about my relationship with the prince.

“Master and pet,” I purred. “Or did you miss his little displays?” I batted my lashes as the man nodded solemnly.

Interest sparked in eyes so blue they tiptoed violet. “And yet he parades you on his arm?”