Page 23 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“You know you don’t always have to lay your head on the block, Blair. Not alone. Let me be with you.”

“What happened to Ysadora was my fault and mine alone. I’m your wingleader.”

“I’m your mother.”

“You are my third, flying under my command. Leave. It’s an order.” Blair’s tone had changed, turned cold and distant.

Every other witch knew better than to jut her chin up, but Sofya had never been that way. Her eyes shimmered with determination. “I will stay with you.”

Blair’s hand shot out so fast, her silver claws digging into Sofya’s neck, drawing blood that even Sofya seemed surprised about it.

Blair pulled her nearer so that her silver teeth got close to Sofya’s tender skin. “Do not question my orders, ever, Sofya.”

She pushed her mother back and turned on her heel, striding through the double-winged iron door without looking back.

Blair stared at the violet wall opposite her with her hands clasped behind her back. Gods, how many hours of her not-so-mortallife had she been staring at those walls? At the suffocating, monotonous, violet stone, hewn and forged and polished by the enslaved dwarves her aunt kept deep, deep below the tower in the mines.

Too many.

Today, it took a solid hour until the door to her aunt’s chambers opened. Seven of her aunt’s closest witches poured in, their heads hidden under heavy hoods, their robes’ hems gliding over the shining floor. None of them so much as acknowledged Blair’s presence as they sat down at the long, black table. It was an honor for a witch to be recognized by one of the seven, and Blair hadn’t earned that honor yet.

Not in almost a century of serving.

Nor with her cruelty or the name she’d gained from it—the Scarlet Death.

It took another half an hour before the door on the other side of the room, leading to her aunt’s private chambers, opened and her Aunt Gatilla came striding out, followed by Caryan. He walked close enough to her to make it clear he belonged to her, as her aunt demanded.

His short, black hair was messy, his remarkable eyes black, save for his irises. They were a bright red, tinted by her aunt’s blood, Blair knew. The rest of his too-perfect face was void of emotion.

Blair sometimes wondered how he could bear it. How he found the strength to go on. Bow to her aunt. Fight for her. Serve her in more ways than Blair wanted to think about.

She pushed the thought away and kept her face impassive while Caryan took her in.

No feathery wings—he rarely had them out. Just black battle gear clinging to his strong, tall body, accentuating every rip and pane of sculpted muscle. But the sheer feeling of his gaze on her was more than enough to make Blair’s knees turn weak. Make her heartbeat pick up a notch. The slight incline of Caryan’s chin told her he had heard. He knew.

A warning flashed in his eyes before he looked away.

Blair straightened when her aunt finally took her seat at the head of the table. Blair had always believed her aunt was the less good-looking version of herself. Gatilla was beautiful, by human standards, with the same symmetrical face, alabaster skin, and luxurious, dark-red cascade of silky hair, but Blair was outstanding. Outshining her aunt in beauty.

Yet, the longer she took in her aunt, the more she started to think differently. Her aunt possessed features and a demeanor that made her not beautiful, but alluring.

That made everyone fall silent when she spoke. Made everyone pause and look at her when she entered a room. She had that kind of presence. Of dominance.

And Blair couldn’t help but feel suddenly ordinary.

It didn’t help that her aunt’s scent still clung to Caryan like an assault. She knew exactly why her aunt had taken so long and why his black hair was disheveled.

It took everything in Blair not to scrunch up her nose, not to snarl and bare her teeth at her aunt.

It was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if Caryan had a choice. She had never been jealous in her life. Not once. Not even a hint.

But now the full wave hit her like an avalanche. Like that avalanche that had made Ysadora plummet from the sky like an angel with shredded wings.

“Blair,” her aunt eventually addressed her, her features limned with disdain as if Blair was a stain on her embroidered damask tunic.

Blair made the fatal mistake of looking at Caryan again. Foolish. Her treacherous heart skipped another beat before she caught herself.

“My queen. Caryan,” she answered along with a bow.

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