Page 14 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

“And you think too little of yourself,” Asheros counters. His eyes linger on her for a moment, and it stirs an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.

I suddenly have the urge to slam my fist into Kheldryn’s jaw, if it means she’ll stop looking at him like that.

Ceren’s voice echoes in my mind.

“Do not let your emotions get the better of you. Yielding yourself to them means that you are not in control.”

Immediately silencing the thought, I turn my face to the campfire. I take a deep breath and banish the twinges of jealousy threatening to sink their claws into me.

I’m in control. Asheros Larmanne has no hold over me. There’s no reason for me to be so…possessive where he’s concerned.

I take the bowl with my dinner from Asheros and lift it to my mouth to sip.

Asheros raises his brows when I do, and then touches his palm to the back of his neck.

I ignore him, swallowing another mouthful of broth. It wasn’t ladylike behavior, but I’ve never claimed to pay attention to etiquette. I’ve never had to. Though, if I ever make it to Illnamoor, I will need to conduct myself like a lady.

I wrinkle my nose.

With the introductions out of the way, the others return to their conversations, acting as if I’m not here.

Good.

It’ll save me the trouble of having to play nice.

“Do you dislike it?”

My head snaps to the voice. “What?”

“You’re scowling into your broth.” Asheros points to the bowl in my hands, now holding one of his own. “Do you dislike it?”

“Ah—that.” I tilt my head back in understanding. Then I shrug. “I’ve had worse.”

He cocks his head, as if I’ve piqued his interest. “Have you?”

“Yes,” I tell him, my tone even. “When I was training to be a member of the Guard, there was a time I lived off gruel—morning, noon, and night.”

Asheros furrows his brow, that usually straight mouth of his curled into a frown. “You can’t be serious. How are you to train hard if you’re malnourished?”

“It’s a test of willpower,” I explain, glancing at him while we eat. I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve. “To see who’s strong-minded enough to endure. After the first four weeks, they switch our meals to steamed meat and vegetables.”

“Ah. Do many pass this test?”

“Less than you’d think.”

“Interesting.” He redirects his attention to his broth, tipping his head back as he sips. “In that case, I’ll have to tell Orim that you enjoyed the soup.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise that the cheery, golden-haired male is the one to thank for the meal. I can’t imagine any of the others being much good of a cook.

Neither one of us says anything for a moment.

Then Asheros breaks the silence. “Are you always this tense?”

“Only when I’m in enemy territory.”

Feigning pain, he leans back and raises a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Bladesinger.”

“Where even are my blades?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost them.”

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