Page 56 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Iyre.

Ghost.

Whisper.

They’re fae—they’reallfae.

Ghost leans in to trace his finger through the raspberry jam smeared on my cheek. He licks it off, slow, deliberate, his lips curling into a grin as his pointed incisors flash. "Well, well, Lady Sabine. Dropping in unannounced, are we? Had we known you’d make such an entrance, we’d have kept our glamours on. But I suppose the secret’s out now, isn’t it?"

I. Can’t. Breathe.

Panic sets in as all eyes within the Hall of Vale gaze down at me, splayed among the buffet fare, as though I’m the most delectable item on the menu.

I might not have landed on the altar, but I feel like an offering just the same.

Chapter 17

Basten

When people ask why I’m loyal to the Lord of Liars, I tell them about Beauty.

Beauty was Lord Berolt’s prized hunting dog, a russet bloodhound of unbelievable swiftness with a nose that rivaled my own. If a fox was within ten miles, Beauty would corner it before the other dogs even caught its scent. Back then, when I was a gawky-eared lad of fifteen, I’d silently accompany the riding party as the Whip, tasked with rounding up the stray dogs and herding them back into the pack.

Once, a dog latched onto the wrong scent—a rabbit carcass—and led me far from the main hunting party. While I was tracking it, I picked up on voices ahead, as well as the sound of Beauty’s pained whines.

Stopping my horse, I listened in on Lord Berolt speaking to the hunt master and Rian in the distance.

“She’s our strongest hound, Father,” Rian argued, his teeth grinding so hard in his jaw that I could hear it from nearly half a mile away.

“Which is precisely why you must do it,” Berolt ordered. “The hunt is meant to make bumbling nobles feel as skilled at archery as Immortal Artain himself. Beauty is too good. She traps the fox before those dolts can even pull their fat asses into a saddle. She makes them look like fools.”

Beauty’s whines clawed against my ears—they must have tightly leashed her.

I waited to see what Rian would do. If he would heed his father’s advice and slaughter the only competent dog of the pack to make some rich idiots feel better—or if he would spare Beauty.

“Go, Beauty! Run!” Rian yelled.

The forest filled with the sound of Beauty fleeing through the undergrowth with her leash trailing behind her.

“You disobedient fool.” The sound of a sharp smack echoed through the woods.

“Fool?” Rian seethed. “Fools kill their best subjects to spite the stupidest.”

After that incident, Rian was locked in his room for three weeks with only water, and when he was finally released, he’d lost thirty pounds—but not his cold, defiant smile.

That is the Rian I know, I would tell people.

Today, though?

Today, we aren’t youths scrabbling over hunting dogs. Today, Rian sits on a throne that, by all rights, should be mine. The power he wields exceeds what Lord Berolt could have ever dreamed. If Rian wanted, he could better this kingdom. Keep the fae gods at bay. Hell, maybe even improve life for the common folk.

But Rian isn’t still that boy who would defend the defenseless.

And I’m going to fuckingendhim.

After leaving Folke and Kendan, I head straight from the burned-out house to Hekkelveld Castle.

To Rian’s floor.

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