Page 13 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

Before I can finish, he gently presses my shoulders down, returning them to a normal level. “At ease, Bladesinger. No harm will come to you here.” His eyes find mine. “I promise.”

Without meaning to, I take a deep breath and release the tension lingering in my body. “For now,” I counter, a sharp edge undercutting my words. “Until whatever you need me alive for has come to fruition.”

Asheros sighs and looks away from me. His hands slip from my shoulders. “You heard us talking the other night.”

“It’s your fault for being so loud.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Fair enough.” He looks at me as though he’s expecting me to respond. “I’m willing to bargain with you,” Asheros starts when I don’t say anything. The planes of his face have gone utterly serious, and that sly, cunning air about him is nowhere to be found. Still, with him, it’s hard to be sure. “A truce. If you don’t attempt to kill me, then I won’t attempt to kill you. As long as I’m safe with you, you will be safe with me and my companions.” He pauses, searching my expression. “Do we have a deal?”

Pressing my lips together, I exhale through my nose. “Deal.”

Asheros nods, though his expression doesn’t shift, still staring at me with a pensive look playing at his mouth.

Despite our agreement, we both know the truth. If we’re not mates, then one of us is bound to kill the other. As of right now, we don’t know which will come to pass.

“Come,” Asheros says, holding out his palm. “Dine with us.”

I stare at his hand for a long while, and then, for some gods-damned reason, I take it.

He picks up my bowl with his free hand, and then leads me out of the tent. The others are sitting on downed logs that act as benches with their own bowls of broth in hand. Savell, Ronan, and a curly, golden-blond-haired male sit on one, while the two females—the coppery-haired Gryska, and a white-haired female with a longbow strung across her back—sit on the other.

They turn to look at us when we approach. I quickly yank my hand from Asheros’s, but not before the others see. A flicker of emotion crosses his face when I do—something akin to disappointment or rejection—but he composes himself before I can determine which.

“I’d like to introduce you all to our guest, Lady Lymseia Wynterliff,” Asheros announces.

I roll my eyes.

Guest.

He says it like it’s my choice to be here. Not that he’s holding me captive against my will.

I have half a mind to tell him that to his face.

The fae seated around the fire slow their movements, though many still cradle their bowls close to their bodies. I can’t tell whether they’re happy to meet me, or if they’d rather strike me down where I stand.

Either is a legitimate option.

“You’re already acquainted with Savell Wrenwrith and Ronan Darir,” Asheros says, looking at me while ignoring his companion’s reactions.

Savell dips his head, and Ronan lifts his chin by way of greeting.

Asheros slides his attention to the golden-haired male. “This is Orim Brennor.”

Brennor…

The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place how I know it.

Orim gives a little wave, flashing me a sweet grin. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Same to you.” I force a polite smile. Though, judging by the look on Savell and Ronan’s faces, I don’t think it comes across the way I intended.

“Next, meet Gryska Xellamora.” Asheros gestures to the coppery-haired female with the heavy accent.

Seeming as if she can’t be bothered, Gryska merely grunts a short “Hello” in between mouthfuls of soup.

“And last, but certainly not least,” Asheros continues, turning to the white-haired female sitting beside Gryska, “is Kheldryn Vaslythe—the best archer you’ll ever meet.”

Kheldryn chuckles with a roll of her fern-green eyes. “You speak too highly of me.”

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