Page 54 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Folke adds, “Of course, Rian won’t give up the throne willingly. Even if we publicly reveal your true claim, there will be months of disputes. The only way forward is for Rian to suffer an…accident.”

My blood goes cold.

Murder on top of treason would get a man flayed within an inch of his life, then drawn and quartered by plow horses, his ripped-apart body displayed on the four sides of the city walls.

I stare at Folke incredulously. “This is treason.”

Kendan takes a deep breath. “Lord Basten—brother—the fact that you even care is why it is you who deserves the throne. Precisely because you do not want it. You do not see it as a path for your own enrichment. You do not enjoy political games. The political machine of greed and power hasn’t ruined you.”

I shoot him a stone-cold glare, but it’s hiding a strange fire stoking to life in my chest. My throat bobs, but it does nothing to douse the feeling that maybe Kendan is onto something that I haven’t wanted to admit.

By right, the throne should be mine—and by lettinganother man sit upon it, am I shirking my responsibility? This kingdom is filled with so many boys like me, raised in the streets. Girls made to prostitute themselves or marry into misery. Am I turning my back on my former self, knowing I could have improved life for me?

Or am I unwavering in my loyalty?

I clear my throat and lean forward. “Listen closely.”

Both men lean in.

I adjust my position in the chair, the wood groaning under my weight. Sweat drips from my brow, painting lines through the grime in my face.

In enunciated words, I say, “You were wrong before. Not everyone is plotting against Rian.I’mnot. I don’t give a fuck whose blood is in my veins. I made an oath. I swore to give up the throne to Rian, and my word matters.” I shove to my feet, fists braced. “If you think I’m going to betray the man I owe everything to?—”

“He sold her out.” Kendan cuts me off sharply, eyes flashing.

A chill spreads through the room as I narrow my eyes. “What did you say?”

Silence slides between the three of us, the tension flowing as thick as water. Folke murmurs something under his breath as he digs around among a half-burned cabinet and pulls out an intact bottle of whiskey.

“At least let him have a drink first.” Folke uncorks the bottle with his teeth and slides it to me across the table.

My body tense, I pick up the bottle and sniff. When I verify it isn’t poison, I down half the bottle in one long glug before slamming it back down. “Now, let’s try again. Whatthe helldid you say?”

Kendan smooths a hand over his chainmail sash,holding my gaze. “You made a deal with the Lord of Liars. Are you surprised he lied?”

“What do youmean?” I shove my empty chair over, tired of dancing around the point.

“One of my spies saw Rian meeting with a captain in King Rachillon’s army.” Kendan slowly slides the whiskey bottle to his side of the table. “Rian made a deal with Rachillon. And his bargaining chip was Lady Sabine Darrow’s location.”

I cock my head, not certain I can trust my ears. Maybe I breathed in so much lamp oil that my senses are confused. A bitter taste slides backward up my throat, and as my breathing grows quicker, I lean over and spit, “That’s a fucking lie.”

“Think about it.” Kendan digs in his breast pocket as he drops his voice. “How else did King Rachillon know exactly where to send Immortal Iyre? Lord Basten, I have proof.” He draws out a folded letter. “My spy recovered the letter that Rian sent by messenger crow to?—”

I swipe the letter out of his hand, crumpling it before hurling it to the floor. “This is just another Valvere plot! Folke, you aren’t seriously falling for this, are you?”

Folke swirls the whiskey bottle. “Read the letter, Wolf.”

My feet are antsy. I can’t stop pacing. My muscles twitch, begging for a fight. But there’s a small, suspicious part of me. I drop down to pick up the letter.

It’s dark, so my night vision switches on, the world going to shades of gray.

My hands begin to shake as I read. Myarcher’shands, which do not shake even if a wolf is bearing down upon me.

The handwriting is the same that I’ve seen for nearlytwenty years. It used to be the High Lord’s signature. Now, it’s the King’s.

And it breaks me.

It breaks me into a million shards, all of which crash to the floor like the half-full whiskey bottle that I turn and hurl against the wall.

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