Page 90 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

I take a shaky step forward but stop, hemmed in by the table.

Why is he chained? Is he here against his will? Did he come to save me? Strangle me? Does he remember me at all?

I inhale raggedly, the thoughts like daggers.

Oh, no, the Meden Cup!This…can’t look good.

Here I am, dripping with obsidian jewels like the perfectVolkish princess, teasing the God of the Hunt. I’m clearly no prisoner.

For all that is holy, I just sipped booze from a god’s navel…

The blindfold falls from my slackened hand.

“Basten,” I murmur breathlessly.

Basten is silent, staring ahead with dark, unreadable eyes—not at the dazzlingly bright gods, but atme.

Chapter 25

Basten

Sabine Darrow is even more beautiful than her portrait in Rian’s locket. I’ve seen plenty of artists embellish their subjects—adding extra curves, omitting unsightly freckles—but the real-life, in-the-flesh Sabine Darrow?

She’s avision. The kind that makes you forget to breathe for a second. Her black gown, studded with iron rivets and obsidian jewels, gleams in the faint dawn light like stars trapped in dark velvet. It’s regal yet hard-edged, like armor. And she carries it with the grace of a queen—no, something wilder.

But it's not about the gown. It’s her. The way she holds herself, chin high, like she’s daring the whole room to challenge her. Her skin glows in the warm light, untouched by the dust and filth I’ve dragged in with me. Her hair—pure sunlit gold—brushes her shoulders in soft waves, framing a face so sharp it could cut glass. And those eyes…impossible to describe. Though, right now, they’re wide with something I can’t read, flickering between fear and defiance.

She’s still. Frozen. Like she’s caught in a moment that she doesn’t understand.

Neither do I.

I both know her and don’t in a way that has my insides twisting in knots.

Oh—and then there’s the fae.

Themotherfuckingfae.

It’s a strange world when a girl consumes my attention more than the five immortal gods who, by all accounts, should be nothing but myths. Yet here they are, lounging like kings in their palace, their fey lines glowing in the dim light, looking both amused and bored by this little banquet.

And I’m standing here, chained up like a damn criminal, trying not to let my mind shatter from the weight of it all.

I’ll admit—it’s a bit of a surprise. Okay, it’s an earth-quaking, bone-rattling surprise. But I guess that’s Sabine Darrow for you. She outshines the stars, so why not gods, too?

Hundreds of eyes bore into me, so I have to piece things together fast. Okay…the gods are real. They’re awake. At least, half of them are. Plus, from the reek on their breath, they’re drunker than sailors.

I can guess their identities—the tall one in a crown must be Vale—but the one I would know anywhere is Iyre.

Perched on the foot of the table, she bites into a honeycake and takes her time licking the crumbs off her lips.

I onlywishI could forget about that bitch.

For weeks, I’ve been clawing myself apart to learn every detail about Sabine. The sound of her laughter. If she snores. Which foods make her happy. I want to know everything.

Once, Ididknow everything about her.

And now?

My muscles tense like a caged beast, wrists straining until the chain between my iron shackles pulls taut with a metallic snap that echoes in the hall, making half the courtesans jump.

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