Page 112 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Finally, I can breathe.

Ever since that black void opened in my head and swallowed my little violet, it’s felt like a cannonball has rested on my chest. It’s been a struggle to put one foot in front of the other, weighted down by the knowledge that somewhere out there, a woman waits for me, and I can’t even remember her face.

But tonight?

Here in the confectionery, it’s a gods-damn sugar-spun dream to hold Sabine against my chest, her feather-light weight lifting weeks of punishing pressure off my bones, the lingering taste of her on my tongue every bit as sweet as the honey she sucked off my finger.

Finally—fuckingfinally—she’s mine.

Her silken hair drapes over my shoulder as she traces the map of old fighting scars on my torso. Her stomach audibly grumbles like a grumpy old man, and a delicious shade of pink floodsinto her cheeks.

I swipe one of the honey cakes off a shelf and nudge it against her lips.

In the darkness, she squeaks before realizing what it is.

“Eat,” I tease. “Or your complaining stomach will draw the kitchen maids straight to us.”

She hesitantly takes a bite, her eyes rolling back as she moans at the flaky pastry. A drop of honey rests on her bottom lip, and her tongue darts out to lick it off.Fuck. That moan from her pretty throat has my balls tightening again already.

“So, what happens now?” Resting her head in the crook of my arm, she absently traces the cuts that spell her name on my forearm.

I blink, trying to mentally shift from honey to politics.

“Once the deal with Kendan is set, I’ll have to return to Astagnon.” I lock my arm around her, bending down to place a kiss on her crown. “We need to figure out how you can come with me.”

I can hear her hold her breath, not saying what’s on her mind.

Finally, she haltingly asks, “What if we’re wrong?”

I shift, adjusting my arm around her. “Wrong about what?”

“There’s so much here that we don’t understand. My father, this place—there’s a power here I can’t ignore. I’m not sure I’m ready to turn my back on it. It might be crazy, but what if I can make a difference? Convince my father to listen to me? There’s a chance I could stop a war before it even starts.”

I shift again, suddenly unable to get comfortable. “We can’t wait forever, Sabine. If we don’t leave when we have achance, we might be trapped here. And Rian will drive Astagnon into ruin in the meantime.”

Her body tenses under my arm. “I want to see Rian punished as much as you do. But leaving Volkany instead of working directly with the fae? I don’t know if that’s the answer.”

I rub the bridge of my nose with my free hand, trying not to let my panic show. “Every day we stay here, Rian tightens his grip on the throne. He’s already scheming, and Vale—your father—will only match his warmongering tenfold. If we don’t act soon, it might be too late.” I pause. “I never wanted the throne. I still don’t. But it’s the only way to keep you safe.”

Sabine slowly extricates herself from me, sitting up, hair veiling her expression. “Even though you still barely know me?”

My throat tightens with panic that she might slip away. “We have a lot to learn about each other. Or…relearn. I get it. It will be a long road ahead to get back to where we were. Hell, maybe it won’t ever be the same. But I came here blindly, on a belief I couldn’t shake. I trusted in you. In my dreams. In my heart. Now that I’ve met you, I’m more certain than ever. You and me—we justare.”

She pulls in a gentle sigh.

I curl my fingers around hers. She softly strokes the back of my hand, then links our fingers and squeezes. “I want that, Basten. I feel that, too.”

“You’ll leave with me, then?” My heart wallops, waiting.

She tips up her head to look at the dark ceiling, at her father’s castle looming overhead. She squeezes my hand again. “Yes.”

It’s all I can do not to grin like a damn schoolboy. I rattleout, “It won’t be easy. I’ve been watching the guards. Two armed soldiers are posted in every hall. A godkissed locksmith at the main gate. If we try to run, or sneak you out, your father will know.”

“What if we just walk out?” A curious hitch lifts her voice as an idea seems to strike her.

“I don’t follow.”

“Plume,” she whispers excitedly.

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