Page 78 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

“No, Highness. We aren’t.” Artain’s eyes dance with mischief as he faces the crowd and announces loudly, “A toast to Lady Sabine, the fairest new member of our court!”

The courtiers cheer and lift their glasses. Since I’mempty-handed, Artain waves the ale tankard in my face until I snatch it.

Hesitantly, I sniff the bitter ale and grimace. What was it that Tati said?There’s no going back to life as it was before.

“Fine—but I want wine.” I shove the ale back at him.

Artain laughs as he signals to a servant, who brings me a glass. “To Lady Sabine!”

“To Lady Sabine!” the crowd answers.

Cheeks warming, I take a small sip, but then Artain tips the glass’s bottom until the sweet liquid fills my mouth. As wine spills down my chin, I cough and stagger backward, swiping a hand over my lips.

Artain pats me on the back with a grin. “Keep practicing, princess, and maybe I’ll get that night with you after all.”

“Not likely.” Samaur raises his own flagon.

Woudix circles the base of his wine glass with one long finger, his cloudy eyes fixed to the middle distance. “One night with you, brother, and she’d beg me for death.”

“Leave the poor girl alone, boys.” Iyre lounges back in her chair, waving a silver chalice in the air. “Have you forgotten that she’s taken? Look—she still wears that little string around her finger.”

I bristle, placing a protective hand around the loop of twine. “It’s an engagement ring. But of course, you know the full story about it, don’t you? You’ve seen it in Basten’s memories you stole.”

Iyre merely chuckles as she sips deeply from her chalice.

I turn sharply away.

As my nerves jangle, I grab another wine glass from a passing servant and down it in one chug. These damn ear caps hurt like thumbscrews. On impulse, I tug them off and drop them in my empty wine glass, trading it for a full one.

Relieved, I massage the top of my aching ear.

“Are you looking forward to tonight’s competition, Daughter?”

I jump to find Vale looming behind me. Like the others, he wears his human glamour, and without the dazzle of fey lines, I can clearly see myself in his features.

It steals my breath—it’s something I’ve never had.

Clearing my throat, I motion my wine glass toward the ceiling wreckage. “Shouldn’t we clean that up first?”

He winks. “You’re absolutely right.”

He claps his hands with a theatricality that makes my stomach feel giddy—apprehensive. He turns to address the head table. “Brothers. Sister. Come—Lady Sabine has rightly pointed out that this mess is unacceptable. Let us do something about it.”

The music stops, and the crowd drifts forward amid whispered speculation, their curiosity palpable. As the other fae make their way to the front of the hall, my father lightly touches his anatomical heart brooch, begins his transformation from King Rachillon to Immortal Vale.

His wiry, graying beard smooths out until it gleams like molten silver. Fey lines break across his temples and down the sinews of his neck. His ears lengthen to fine points, curved at the end like goat’s horns.

By the time the other fae come to stand beside him, they, too, shine in their full fae splendor.

“Lord Woudix.” Vale sweeps a hand toward the wreckage. “The first turn is yours.”

With Hawk pressed against his outer leg to lead the way, Woudix approaches the debris. He tilts his head as he lightly runs his hands over the table, feeling the dust and overturned silverware, his face as immobile as hardened clay.

He finds a full silver chalice, drinks deeply from it, and then tosses it to the floor.

A few drops of blood spill onto the stones.

My stomach tightens, dampening my mood. No one else, it seems, is bothered by the fact that he drank someone’s—or something’s—blood.

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