Page 1 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

Prologue

ONE WEEK AGO—Keuron, Capital of Inatia, at High Keep

The servant knows to stay hidden tonight.

Maybe it’s intuition, or survival instincts, or even some guidance from the gods. Regardless, something warns her to take refuge in the shadows. Though she can’t place the feeling, or where it comes from, she knows better than to ignore it.

For starters, she probably shouldn’t be out of her room this late. If it was any other night, she would be in bed, sleeping. It’s hours after sunset, and High Keep’s halls are dark. Her path to the servants’ quarters is lit only by the candle in her hand.

But she’d been so busy with her chores that she’d skipped dinner, and couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how hard she tried. She’d laid in bed for what felt like ages, wide awake. The hunger pangs ravaging her stomach had made it so that she couldn’t take her mind off her body’s demands. So, she got out of bed and lit the candle waiting on her nightstand.

I’ll just go to the kitchens for a piece of bread, she’d reasoned with herself. I’ll be back to bed in no time.

Now that her hunger has been satisfied, the servant makes her way through the castle and back to her chamber. She climbs the first half of the main staircase and is about to start the second when a sound echoes in the foyer above.

That’s strange, she thinks. Who would be awake right now?

But then she smells something. It’s a foul, metallic smell that she can’t place right away.

Though, it only takes a moment before a single word fills her mind.

Blood.

Still in her veins where it belongs, the servant’s own blood goes cold. Fear skitters across her skin, and more than anything, she wishes she’d stayed in bed. Blowing out the candle, she presses her body to the wall. It’s hard to make out what exactly she sees at the top of the stairs, but she knows the signs of a struggle when she sees them.

Two bodies tangle with each other in the dark. They come from the East Tower, and she knows this can’t be right. Something is wrong. Only the High King and his personal guard are supposed to be in the East Tower.

One of the dark forms drags the other, leaving a trail of blood behind them. The first figure—a male, the servant realizes, noting the broadness of his shoulders—tugs and tugs and tugs.

It’s then that the servant realizes the second body is just that.

A body.

The male yanks the corpse one last time and hoists it up onto his shoulder. The servant clamps a hand over her mouth. Her stomach rolls over, knotted, and queasy. She thinks she will vomit.

But fear tightens its iron fist around her throat.

The servant doesn’t think she breathes, though, she knows that can’t be true. Indeed, she goes so still, it’s as if she’s a corpse herself. Pure survival instinct courses through her. She’s only human, after all. If she wants to live, then she can’t be seen, can’t be heard.

And the male…

The servant knows that he is fae because of the way he moves. No man, no human, could move the way he does. With lethal grace. His footsteps barely make a sound. She can only hear them because of how deathly still she is, her frozen hand clamped over her mouth.

She watches the male lift the corpse higher than she thought possible. She watches him summon wings, and fly upward, bringing the dead weight with him. And she watches him drive his sword through the dead male’s chest so hard, it nails him to the stone wall.

The servant thinks she will faint.

But she doesn’t. She watches. She waits. She doesn’t even blink.

The male takes something shiny, something metal, and places it beneath the corpse’s feet. As if summoned by her fear, the clouds covering the moon dissipate, and silvery moonlight shines through the windows. It illuminates the foyer, making the metal on the floor seem to glow.

Her breathing quickens.

Gods above, she thinks, in a terrified frenzy. She panics now. Survival is but a forgotten memory.

The metal on the floor, lying in a pool of blood, is not just any metal.

It’s a bronze crown. The crown of the High King.

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