Page 128 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Nix—” Carr warned, straightening.

“You think Paladin is supposed to be some fantastical kingdom of vigilantes. But we’re not. We’re balance keepers. This is why your mother doesn’t take you seriously. Why Poe won’t give you Wings. Your head’s too far in the clouds. You’ll get yourself killed because you hesitate when you shouldn’t—all because your mark reminds you of a fairytale.”

“Nix. Shut the fuck up,” Carr said again. But I wasn’t looking at him.

I stared only at Nix as he froze beside the pool.

“She responded to ‘Valora.’ She is who I say she is.”

“You’re trapped,” Nix insisted. “Trapped in the mind of a little fucking kid who can’t come to terms with the fact that they failed—and something terrible happened.”

“Don’t,” I growled, my fingers white-knuckling the basin. Frost crackled in spiderwebs under my hands.

“If you’d been a little more grounded—just a little more down to earth—Charles would still fucking be here⁠—”

Shadows lashed forward. The strike knocked him off his feet before his own power could snake from his body. He rolled back to standing, but I had him in the air before he could regain his footing.

“Say his name again,” I growled, tightening the noose of shadow around his throat. My grip trembled with the memory of my little brother—his screams as they tore him apart, the searing pain of my own forced ascension, helpless to save him.

My fault. My fault. My fault.

All because Charles wanted to win our mother’s favor by unearthing history, and I didn’t have the spine to tell him no.

“And I will strike you dead where you stand,” I hissed. “As I recall, you didn’t stop us either, Nix. You were the oldest. Just as liable as I was. But don’t forget—we both saw the Oracle. You were weighed and found wanting. We both know how this ends.”

Because in a kingdom ruled by balance, power was the metric that mattered. And mine was superior.

Despite Poe’s lingering hesitation keeping me from my gauntlets, the Oracle had already spoken.

If strength alone determined succession, I—not Calypso—would be the next Stuart on the throne. The only thing keeping her ahead was the matriarchal enchantment. And Calypso had never wanted the crown anyway. She was content in her labs, happy among her beakers and equations.

Leading negotiations? Balancing power? Navigating the thorns of the throne? That was all deadweight to her. Which meant she'd lean on me more than she’d admit. That dependency would make the crown look weak. And a weak crown meant a vulnerable hierarchy. It had plagued us both since we were ranked.

The only grace? We worked well together.

We’d prepared for this—for our line to be tested. Which meant if our insufferable cousin opened his mouth one more goddamn time, I’d be forced to silence him.

Without another word, I rose from the tub, unbothered by the fact I’d stripped every bloody scrap of clothing before stepping in. Water dripping down my skin, I crossed the soft, luminous grass and stopped in front of him.

“Just when I thought you might’ve grown into a half-decent Wing, you open your fucking mouth and remind me you’re still the same piece of shit you’ve always been.” A memory flashed—Nix’s hands on a body he had no right to touch—and I inhaled sharply. “You might wear Paladin gauntlets, but mark my words, Nix. You will kneel before your prince—or I’ll have those Wings carved from your flesh.”

“You’d never…get it past…the trial,” he choked, lifting his chin in defiance even as my shadows coiled tighter around his throat, his own magic useless against my grip.

“Everyone has skeletons,” I said quietly, thumb brushing the raven on my signet ring. “Lucky for me, your closets are shallow. And I’ve always had a talent for digging.”

I stepped closer. “If you really think I’ve lost my mind, then stop whining and challenge me. Call a meeting. Demand a trial. Only a coward insults a naked man soaking in a medicine bath. You a coward, Nix? You know what the hierarchy thinks of men without honor.”

His mismatched eyes locked on mine. Behind the fury and fear, I saw it—something deeper.

Hatred.

Resentment.

That same slithering snake of betrayal we’d sensed as kids but never had the words for.

With a huff, I released him and turned my back on my mother’s newest Captain of the Wings.

The dull throb of an oncoming headache rang in my ears the next morning as I nodded along, only half listening.