Page 75 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

Shifting onto my back, I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up, giving myself a moment while my vision adjusts to the low light. Blankets rustle when I move, the mattress creaking beneath me.

I’m in a bed?

Of course. Last night Asheros mentioned spending the night at the inn. I must have fallen asleep before we arrived. I press my palms to my chest, expecting to feel my leathers.

But I don’t.

The fabric greeting me is lightweight. My shirt. Asheros must have carried me up here and removed my leathers.

“You’re awake.”

My head snaps toward his voice. Shirtless in bed beside me, Asheros sits with his back pressed to the headboard, toying with something silver in his hands. His white-blond hair is tousled, the tendrils falling in front of his eyes failing to hide the dark circles that have taken root underneath them.

If he’s here, in bed with me, then that must mean…

Gods above.

This isn’t how I imagined our first night in bed together.

I pause.

How did I imagine our first time? Have I even ventured far enough to let myself imagine what a night of pleasure with Asheros might be like?

“Bladesinger?” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Never mind. Perhaps you’re still asleep.”

“I’m awake,” I assure him, though I don’t feel it yet. My braid has all but fallen apart, no doubt tangled from sleep. Instead of re-braiding it, I opt to let my blue-black hair fall down my back for the time being.

Asheros’s mouth curves with amusement, still mindlessly spinning the silver in his hands. “So you say.” He’s silent for a moment and his brows pinch together. “It’s early. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” I say. “Though that’s not because of our accommodations. They’re quite comfortable, actually.” The light from the city lanterns lining the streets below cast a warm glow into our room, allowing me to see it in more detail. There’s a dark blue, plush-looking rug beneath the bed that takes up a good portion of the floor, two sturdy looking wooden nightstands on either side of the four-poster bed, two bureaus on the far wall, and a door that likely leads to a washroom.

“You were awake even earlier than me.” I look at him, though he doesn’t meet my gaze. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I slept…” He presses his lips together. His hands go still. “Well enough, I suppose.”

“Those dark circles would say otherwise.”

Tension works at Asheros’s jaw.

We’re silent for a moment. I want to ask about what’s on his mind, but something tells me that he’ll open up to me when he’s ready. I let my eyes fall to his hands, and I get a better look at what he’s been toying with. The hilt of his silver dagger glints in the low light—the one he used to cut my rope bindings when the troll attacked us. Which feels like so long ago.

I still haven’t asked him about it.

Or his shadow-wielding.

I gesture toward the dagger. “Is that what you use to conjure?”

Asheros leans his head toward me, pale brows stitched together in question.

“The dagger,” I explain.

“Ah.” He leans his head back, and then forward. “Yes, it is.”

“May I see it?” I don’t really know where the question came from, nor do I expect him to agree. But to my surprise, he relaxes his grip and holds the hilt out to me. I stare at it for a moment, my eyes wide. Blinking away my awe, I take it.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him, studying the silver in my palm.

The blade itself is sleek, with a tapered edge on either side. The silver glows like the moon, and if it wasn’t solid in my hand, I might think it a thick, malleable liquid instead. Polished black leather wraps around the hilt, reminding me of a snake, and a rounded pommel of frosted metal sits at the base.

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