Page 53 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Folke moves to the front of the chair, cupping his balls with one hand as his face contorts with pain. He adjusts himself as he paces in front of the house’s burned-out hearth. “You’re a hard man to get alone. We had to jump you while you were away from the castle. Sorry about the sack. And the ropes. We knew you’d start swinging at the first shadow.”

I lean forward as much as I can, my hair falling into my eyes as I try to process that my best friend doesn’t seem to have kidnapped me for some hair-brained ransom attempt.

“You couldn’t have sent a fuckingmessenger?”

“Not for this.”

He adjusts his bruised balls once more as the second man comes around from the back of the chair. Before I lay eyes on him, my senses are already gathering information. The soft clink of a chainmail sash. A trace of cologne. Footsteps that move with grace.

“Kendan Valvere.” I lean back in the chair, narrowing my eyes as he steps into my line of sight. Rian’s eldest brotherhas made an attempt at a disguise, dressed in a brown woolen cloak like Folke’s, but his flawless skin, unmarred by malnutrition or pox, immediately clocks him as a nobleman. “You’re behind this—this—what the hellisthis, anyway?”

Kendan turns to Folke with a frown. “You’re certain it’s safe to free him?”

Folke pats the front of his pants. “He already did his damage.”

Kendan reluctantly draws a knife and frees my bound arms. As the rope falls away, I massage my wrists, pausing over my left wrist guard. But they don’t comment on the bandages.

“This,” Folke announces to the burned-out husk of a house, “is a meeting that could get all three of us put in a nice deep grave.”

A groan travels up the length of my throat.Fantastic. Exactly what I need right now, on top of a fae stealing my memories, dreams of a woman who haunts me each night, and a fancy new title that means I have to bathe regularly.

“Well?” I bark. “I’m waiting.”

Folke looks to Kendan, who sweeps back his cloak so he can sit on a bench opposite me. His hazel-green eyes gleam. They’re so like Rian’s—and yet that is really the only similarity between them.

The cut of Kendan’s jaw makes me feel as though I’m looking in a mirror, at a version of myself in a different life. A pampered life. Awell-fedlife. Kendan’s hair is lighter than mine, his eyes hazel-green to my brown ones, but the resemblance between us as brothers is undeniable.

“Forgive the unorthodox greeting, Lord Basten.” Kendan drags a hand over his square chin as though he, too, notes our resemblance. “I asked Folke to arrange this meeting onbehalf of a small group of powerful individuals who bear deep concerns about the kingdom’s future. Above all, given your news that Immortal Iyre is awake and the Third Return has begun.”

“You’re afraid of the fae?” I ask. “Good. You should be.”

He smooths his hands together. “Not just the fae, but leadership in this kingdom that will have to go up against them. My brother is, shall we say, untested. That’s the kindest word I can use in his favor; I assure you my associates use far viler words. If Rian is anything like our father, then he will only use his position as king to negotiate with the fae to further his own aims and bring ruin to the Astagnonian people.”

Ah—so this is what’s really going on. Kendan Valvere fancies himself a savior of the realm.

I want to snort in his face, but I begrudgingly have to consider the sizeable risks he’s taking by questioning his brother’s rule. He could be executed if caught.

I tip my face toward Folke. “And you agree with this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Folke holds out his hands.

“Rian suspects you’re plotting against him.” I watch carefully to see Kendan’s reaction.

He shrugs, unbothered. “He’s a Valvere. Everyone’s plotting against him.”

I rake my hair back. “Well, I can’t argue against that. Lady Runa already suggested I murder Rian and marry her.”

“Funny. She made me the same offer—except involvingyourdeath.” Kendan leans closer, tenting his hands. “Lord Basten, I know the truth about your parentage. You are my full brother. You have Valvere blood in your veins. Which is a curse in itself—yet you were not raised in Lord Berolt’s household. You were not taught to scheme and betray. Forthat reason, my associates and I have questioned whether you might be the superior ruler for this kingdom.”

Oh, fuck.

“This isn’t about puttingyouon the throne?” I bark.

“No.” Kendan tips a long finger in my direction. “It’s about putting you on it.”

Treason? They’re proposing gods-damn treason?

I whip my head around the burned-out house, looking for an old fire poker I can stab myself with. Because a quick death now would be vastly preferable to a lifetime in the dungeon.

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