Page 12 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

Whether I want it or not, I have a job to do. And I’ll be damned if I let Asheros Larmanne stop me from doing it.

Even if it means I have to kill him to get it done.

Chapter Five

Irefuse my dinner that night.

And the next.

On the third night, the short, gruff-sounding female approaches my tent, with a wooden bowl in her hand. There’s some kind of broth within it, still steaming from the campfire. She holds the tent’s flap open with her shoulder, arm outstretched with the bowl waiting in her palm. Her coppery hair hangs wild around her round face, though most of it has been pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of her head. An orange shade similar to her hair, her eyes remind me of a falcon’s—calculating and predatory.

I remember her from the ambush—she’s the one that wields dual hand axes.

Scowling at her, I make no move for the bowl.

“Fine,” she says, her voice thickly accented. I can’t tell what region she’s from, but I know it’s not mainland Inatia. “Be like that.”

She steps back, letting the tent flap fall to shield me from the camp outside. I haven’t left since Savell and Ronan dragged me back after—

After Theelia made it known that Asheros and I are fated.

I needed this time to plan my escape, I reason with myself. The next time I make my move, I won’t get caught.

My stomach growls in protest.

I was stupid to refuse the food. But if I’m being honest with myself, I’m only partly rejecting it out of spite. The truth is, even if I wanted to, I don’t think I’d be able to eat. My body is on edge, tension gripping my bones. Every so often I have to remind myself to loosen my shoulders, otherwise they’d be up to my ears. And though my stomach grumbles in hunger, the thought of consuming anything makes nausea roil in my abdomen.

Asheros’s words replay in my mind.

“If we want to do this successfully, then we need her alive.”

I swallow.

“We need her alive.”

Why in the gods’ names would he need me alive? Me, the second-born daughter? Me, the former Captain of the High King’s Guard? In the grand scheme of things, I’m no one of consequence. Not politically, anyway. My usefulness comes from my closeness with Viridian. Perhaps it’s Viridian that Asheros is after, and he’s using me to do it. Because of the two of my mother’s daughters, Vestella would be the more likely target if he was making a political move. She’s the heir-apparent, not me.

And what could any of this have to do with our bound fates?

The voices outside my tent pull me from my thoughts. “Again?” A smooth, masculine voice asks.

Asheros.

“Again,” comes a gruff-sounding, feminine reply.

“Let me try.” Asheros says, “Thank you, Gryska.”

Gryska.

So that’s her name. It only confirms my suspicion that she’s not from mainland Inatia. Names like that aren’t common around here. Not in the Steel Court, at least.

A head of silky, white-blond hair pokes through the tent’s opening, and the rest of Asheros’s body comes into view when he steps inside. He’s wearing a white shirt that hangs loose on his torso, the thin fabric doing little to hide his leaned, toned abdomen. The “V” shaped neckline frames his chiseled collarbones, his tanned chest visible underneath. Black leather pants hang low on his hips, his shirt untucked.

Furrowing my brow, I harden my jaw.

Leaning down because he’s too tall to fit inside the tent at his full height, Asheros walks in and sits down next to me. He places the bowl on the ground beside him and then his hands move toward me.

“Don’t touch m—”

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