Page 91 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Shetook Sabine away from me. Robbed me of my memories. Left me doubting the one person in my life who’s ever given a damn about me.

My gaze swings back to Sabine like gravity's pulling it there.

Her wide eyes on my shackles, she staggers forward to catch herself on the table as though about to faint and says again, “Basten.”

My legs nearly give out. One utterance of my name on her lips, and I’m a lost soul.

“Daughter? Do you know this man?” Vale’s voice rasps like he’s been sleeping underground for a thousand years.

Wait—wait. I blink hard.

Daughter?

I only have seconds for my mind to churn over this information before Sabine makes her unsteady way around the table, clutching onto the chair backs for support.

“Basten. I—I know how this looks.” Her bottom lip trembles as she fumbles with some piece of string around her finger. “It isn’t what you think. It was only a game. A stupid game…”

She comes to a short stop a few paces before reaching me.

“A game?” I repeat, confused.

She chokes back a sob as she points a shaky finger at the fae on the table. “Artain, I mean. Whiskey. The Meden Cup…”

Her words are gibberish to me, but if she thinks it shocksme to see revelers, well,reveling, then she has no idea how much time I’ve spent in taverns.

Okay, itisjarring. To know her lips were on another man’s body. But frankly, I don’t give a fuck what she’s done—she could stab me in my own navel, and I’d thank her for it.

Doesn’t she get it? We’re just like in the story Runa told me.

I’m Aron.

She’s Aria.

Memories or not, jealousy or not, nothing can come between us.

“Do you…do you even know who I am?” Tears glimmer in the orbs of her eyes. She can’t seem to decide if she wants to reach for me or not, her fingers hovering in the air between us.

I say measuredly, “I know who you are.”

Her throat bobs in a hard swallow. She takes another step forward?—

But like a thunderclap, Vale is there, one hand gripping her upper arm. “Sabine. Stay away from this captive.”

Her eyes go round as silver coins. “Father, this is?—”

“An Astagnonian war prisoner.” He shoves her protectively behind him, where another fae—I’m guessing Woudix from the whole “cold as death” vibe—closes his hands around her shoulders, holding her back.

Vale wrenches my face to his and thunders, “Who are you?”

“Basten Bowborn,” I mutter between smooshed lips, fighting the urge to rip my jaw out of his grasp. For Sabine, I have to play nice. “First Sword to King Rian Valvere.”

Vale tightens his fingers until something cracks in my jaw. “Spying for your king?”

“No, Majesty. When I left him, it was with his blood on my fists. I’m no loyalist. King Rian does not deserve the throne. His greed will cast Astagnon into an age of darkness.” Pain shoots through my jaw as I speak. “I can help you. I am the true son of Berolt Valvere. The rightful heir to the Astagnonian throne. Test my blood—it will prove my claim.”

Agitated murmurs ripple through the courtiers until Vale silences them with a raised hand.

“Or better yet, ask your daughter.” I point the best I can with my bound wrists. “She knows my claim is true.”

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