Page 29 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

I let the last of the soil fall between my fingers as my blood runs cold.Why?

Your cup held wine, she says.But the fae’s cup did not.

The cloudfox doesn’t wait for my response. With a flick of her tail, she springs off into the woods, disappearing in a blur of silver-blue. I watch her vanish, my heart pounding harder than it should. Her final words echo in my mind, making my stomach twist.

I glance back at Iyre’s carriage.Your cup held wine. But the fae’s cup did not.

My throat tightens, a bitter taste rising.

Blood. I knew it. Iyre had been drinking blood.

But why? Is that what she does with Paz? What does she gain from it? I’ve read every story in the Iyre chapter of the Book of the Immortals, which say nothing about drinking blood.

I press a hand against the tattered ribbons on my bodice, forcing myself to breathe, but the knot in my stomach only tightens.

When I turn back around, Iyre is right behind me.

I jump, sucking in air. “Iyre!”

Her eyes glow faintly. “We’re almost to Norhelm, princess. And I need to remind those boys who’s really in charge here.”

My shoulders ease as I realize she didn’t see my exchange with the cloudfox. I glance over her shoulder at the Blades gathered around the campfire, their laughter cutting through the smoke. “How exactly are you going to do that?”

“Easy.”As she reaches toward my temple, I realize a second too late what she has in mind. “Like this.”

My muscles tense, but there’s nowhere for me to run. Iyre’s silken fingertips graze my hairline to the left of my brow, and before I can even suck in my next breath, everything goes dark.

I fall, fall, fall into a void as black as night.

Chapter 9

Basten

New city, same damn pageantry.

After six days of travel, we enter Old Coros with all the pomp that a rising king should expect. Golden banners—in honor of the Valvere color—drape from the main gate to dust us with glitter as we enter. Scrolls displaying the Valvere coin emblem hang from every municipal building. The streets are lined with the capital’s residents, so eager to glimpse their new regent that they throw elbows and climb onto rooftops.

I can’t help but let out a snort. Rian, the golden boy, being fawned over as the future king.

He must fuckingloveit.

I’d like to say that the public’s enthusiasm stems from deep devotion to Rian, but that would be a lie. The Valveres ruled Duren, sure, but that’s a trashy backwoods town to most of these aristocrats—they only care that he’s fresh blood.

Young, handsome, and full of promise for juicy scandal.

I’m sure he’ll deliver all that and more.

I shift in my saddle, pulling at my collar to release the noonday heat. I’m grateful to ride midway through the travel party. Not at the head, where Rian rides Colossus like a conqueror surveying his domain.

It isn’t lost on me that, had fate been different,Iwould be heading this procession. It would be me the crowds fawned over. Me wearing the golden circlet of the rising king.

Well, thank the fucking gods it’s not.

Still, as I adjust my seat on Dare, there’s a tiny prick of remorse, like a splinter under the skin. A part of me wonders what it would be like to have accepted my rightful title, to have the power to change things. Was it right for me to shirk that mantle onto another’s shoulders? Am I missing my calling from the gods? But then I remember the responsibility, the constant scrutiny, the damn starched collars, and I snort.

Besides, screw the gods.

Every kingdom needs a rogue, and I wearthattitle like a second skin.

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