Page 41 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

Asheros’s eyes widen. “Then the rumors would be true.”

“Fuck the rumors. I don’t give a damn about Viridian’s bloodline or superstition,” I shoot out, rising to my feet. My hand slips from Asheros’s. Fury swells in my chest and has me hardening my mouth. “It might not be Vorr’s blood running through his veins, but he’s still Vorr’s son. He’s my friend and my High King. I will protect his rule at all costs.”

I expect silence to follow my declaration. Or, if there isn’t silence, then I expect Asheros to argue with me.

Neither of those things happen.

“As will I,” Asheros says firmly, with a dip of his head, and rises to meet me. I’m surprised that there isn’t a hint of doubt in my mind that he means it.

Still, I can’t help but wonder.

“So, you’re telling me that you truly don’t want to be High King?” I lean back and cross my arms. “You can’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”

“It has.” Asheros’s brows knit together. He takes a breath, and when he exhales, I see fatigue wear down his defined features. “My father… He’ll likely disown me if I don’t enter the Fyrelith. It’s been ages since the Silver Court had control of the throne. But I can’t—I won’t. Viridian and I may not be the closest of friends, but I respect him. I respect his rule. And this tension, the Fyrelith, a potential war… This will only cause pointless bloodshed.” He stares into my eyes now. “So no. I have no desire to be king.”

I part my lips but can’t seem to summon any words.

I’m speechless. Truly speechless.

I still don’t know whether or not to trust him. Every instinct I have, and every fiber in my body tells me to keep him at arm’s length.

But damn it all, something in me wants to believe him.

“What happened to wanting me to help you persuade Viridian to step down?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Not even a moment ago, you told me that was your plan.” He’d gone as far as kidnapping me, intending to use me to aid his plans. That sort of commitment to a plan, that sort of risk taken to his Court and to his life, doesn’t disappear overnight. I’d be a fool to think otherwise.

But maybe…

Maybe he’s been considering alternatives for some time.

The corners of Asheros’s mouth curve up into the hint of a smirk. “That’s still in the back of my mind. Let’s call it a failsafe—in case this all goes horribly wrong.”

“Perhaps, but even if Viridian did step down without a fight,” I say, holding his gaze, “the Fyrelith would still be bloody.”

“It would.” He nods. “But if it comes to that, the loss of life caused by the Fyrelith alone would be far less than a war.”

“Fair enough.” I eye him, mulling over his answer. “Well, then, if we want to save lives, and maybe prevent an all-out war, where do we start?”

“Hunting down Vorr’s killer.” Lost in thought, Asheros shifts his weight, tilting his head side to side as he does. “Whoever they are, they’re the ones orchestrating all of this. Maelyrra Pelleveron, the other Heads of House and heir-apparents, they’re all puppets, pawns in someone else’s game.”

“Right. Maelyrra’s wanted the throne ever since Vorr became king.” Instinct takes over, and I feel as if I’m in a war room, trying to piece together the enemy’s strategy. “Vorr’s killer must have known that questions about Viridian’s true parentage would come up after he died and wanted that to happen. With Vorr gone, there’s no one to stop the nobles from talking about what happened that night a century ago. The night Vorr was cursed.”

“And the more they talk, the more doubt arises about Viridian’s bloodline, further fueling the fire.” Asheros’s gaze is firm on my own. “This was all meant to cause a rift between the Courts. To shift alliances.”

“And maybe, to start a war.”

Asheros nods.

“But why?” I ask, struggling to wrap my mind around it. “Is this truly about power? About who’s sitting on the throne?”

“It must be,” Asheros says, stroking his chin. “Why else would someone go through the effort?”

I look away. I can’t explain why, or how, but I know that’s not all there is. “There’s more to this,” I say at last. “I know it.”

“I believe you.” He sits and pats the bed beside him. “Let me wrap those hands before you go and hit something again.”

If not for the gravity of our discussion, I might have laughed. But the weight of it is heavy on my mind, and I can’t stop thinking of who would want to divide the kingdom.

I sit down while he unrolls the bandages. “Who do you think is behind it?”

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