Page 42 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

“I don’t know.” Asheros’s eyes narrow. He holds out his palm, and I place my right hand in his. “Someone in a position with much to gain.”

“You don’t think it’s Maelyrra?”

Asheros makes a face that tells me he’s considering it, while weighing the other options. “She’s the obvious choice, without question,” he says, wrapping the bandage around my hand. “But I think that’s what the real killer wants us to believe.”

“What makes you think it’s not her?” I ask.

“Maelyrra wants the throne for House Pelleveron,” Asheros tells me. He secures the bandage, and then beckons for my other hand. “She always has. But the throne is meaningless without a kingdom to rule.” Taking my left hand, he wraps the other bandage around my split knuckles. “She may be arrogant, but she’s no fool. Though she’s willing to go to war, she wouldn’t risk jeopardizing the kingdom’s ability to recover after the war’s been won.”

“Fine, not Maelyrra.” I don’t hide the disappointment in my voice. I would love a reason to wipe that smug expression off Maelyrra Pelleveron’s face.

“Not Maelyrra,” Asheros agrees, tying the bandage. “There.” He grins. “Don’t go and ruin my masterpiece.”

Admiring his work, I flex my hands. For a noble fae lord, he knows how to wrap a tight bandage. Almost as well as a member of the Guard.

“I’ll do my best,” I say, “but I can’t promise you anything.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I want to ask what’s wrong, but I don’t want to push it. He’s already opened up to me more than I thought he would tonight.

“Come.” He stands, holding out a hand for me. “Orim’s preparing a feast.”

I let him gently pull me to my feet. “Wonderful. I’m starved.”

Chapter Twelve

The moment Asheros opens my chamber door, the aromas wafting up the staircase reach my nose. My mouth waters. The smell alone is enough to have me tasting whatever it is that Orim’s preparing downstairs.

Mouth agape, I turn to Asheros.

He nods, emphasizing my surprise, and touches the pads of his fingers to his chest. “I wasn’t lying when I told you he’s preparing a feast.”

“After a bite of whatever’s the cause for that heavenly scent,” I say, “I’ll never doubt you again.”

Asheros chuckles, his voice sounding lighter than it did a moment ago. “Careful, now, Bladesinger. I might actually think you tolerate me.”

Cautiously, so as not to loosen my bandages, I shove him and make my way down the staircase. Following my nose, I walk through the doorway opposite to the sitting room, and find myself in a large, but modest, grand dining room. There’s a carved wooden table sitting in the center, with eight padded chairs around it. Savell and Ronan sit on one side, while Kheldryn and Gryska sit across from them.

I peer at the back wall where there’s another open doorway. My nose tells me that’s the source of the mouthwatering smells. I make no move to take a seat, waiting for Asheros to pick his first.

He pulls out the chair next to Kheldryn and sits.

My stomach twists. What do I care if he chooses to sit next to her?

I don’t.

So I pick the chair next to Savell. Directly across from Asheros.

Kheldryn runs a hand through her hair, brushing it back. Silvery-white strands get caught in her eyelashes, and Asheros—damn him—sweeps his fingertips across her forehead to free them.

“Thank you,” she says, lips parted into small smile.

“Of course,” he replies, without hesitation.

Turning my face, I force an exhale through my nose. Savell looks my way when I do. Catching his eyes, I waggle my brows and cover my mouth with a comically exaggerated motion, like I’m jokingly suppressing the urge to vomit.

His serious expression breaks, mouth split into a grin. Ronan laughs with a hand pressed to his abdomen, earning a glare from Asheros.

Those diamond-like eyes slide to me, a brow arched.

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