Page 100 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

There’s no greater turn-on than knowing Sabine Darrow is sleeping under the same roof. Now that I’ve seen her again, any doubt is gone:I know she’s mine the same way I know water is wet.

The days drag, and I get real damn tired of staring at the same water stain on the ceiling. But the time isn’t a total waste. In those five days, I’ve overheard every scrap of gossip about what’s happening within the castle walls.

And these are the key pieces:

One. Captain Tatarin departed two days ago to lead a goldenclaw team to the southern Volkish coastline to Immortal Thracia’s newly discovered resting place.

Two. Vale won’t launch a full-on war against Rian until all the gods are woken—which means, if Captain Tatarin succeeds in locating Thracia, he’ll have four more gods to find.

Three. Unrest is growing along the border. The rulers of the neighboring kingdoms are growing worried. The Queen of Clarana has increased her troops along all borders. The Kravadan king—whose kingdom is the only one to share a border with both Volkany and Astagnon—has sent emissaries to propose a peace deal.

On the sixth day, a different set of footsteps approachesdown the hall. Unlike the guards, who reek of boot polish from two floors away, my new visitor carries the expensive scent of myrrh mixed with iron.

I bolt upright, already waiting at the door when it swings open.

King Rachillon—no,Vale—tosses me a bundle of cloth.

I catch it, lifting an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

He rasps flatly, “Fresh clothes acceptable for royalty. Go ahead, change. The bloodtaster arrived and verified your claim, King Basten. Servants will move your belongings to a stateroom in the Aurora Tower.”

His face is stiff as bark, his eyes dull.Oh, yeah. He still hates me.

“KingBasten? No need for insults. Call me Lord Basten until there’s a crown on my head.” I toss the expensive clothes onto the bed, then grip my old shirt by the back collar and drag it over my head. I slap my dirt-lined chest. “You’ll find that even under the finest clothes, I’m still a scoundrel.”

“You do not appear to seek the approval of a god.”

I shuck off my pants, flashing my ass before pulling on the new woolen pair. Emphatically, I say, “I don’t.”

He strokes his graying beard. “Nor a father’s approval. Not that I would ever grant it. Sabine is not yours; do you understand? You will be granted some freedom of movement around Drahallen Hall, within limits. Go near my daughter again, however, and it won’t matter that you’re a king. Everyone rots the same in the dungeon.”

I fasten the silver buckle and button up the brocade vest. “Marrying a future king isn’t good enough for her? She’ll have the richest kingdom in the known world at her feet.Power, too—she and I will rule together as equals. What more could a father wish for his daughter?”

“Much more,” he growls.

I turn away from him as I rake my sweaty hair back into a tie at my nape. Anger snaps in my chest. I could care less if I piss off the King of Fae—Sabinesees potential in them.

Me? I only see bullshit.

“Come.” Vale begrudgingly holds open the door. “It is time we discuss what comes next.”

With a low thrum of wariness, I follow him through the military offices on the Stormwatch Tower wing’s lower levels, then pass through the towering central foyer. The Hall of Vale is straight ahead in the Sunflare Tower wing, but he leads me instead through the kitchen garden toward the stables.

“What exactly does come next?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t look back as he murmurs, “A deal, Lord Basten, if you are so inclined. It seems we both have something the other desires.”

We pass a pair of kitchen maids, baskets of lettuce underarm, who bow to Rachillon from beneath their sunbonnets.

He signals to the stable attendants, who roll open the doors. Drahallen Hall’s stable is like nothing I’ve seen. It’s circular, for one. A high dome rises overhead. The curved outer wall houses fifty stalls, each holding a horse worth a thousand gold coins. In the center is an intricate mosaic tilework. High, round windows let in beams of light that catch the errant flecks of freshly raked straw floating in the air.

We pass a stablehand braiding a stallion’s mane, then head to a round iron door that leads to a secondary, smaller,domed stable. This portion of the structure looks far older than the more modern construction of the rest of the stable.

The iron door is bolted shut by a heavy steel bar that must take ten men to slide open.

Vale places his hand on the bar, and bolts of fey blast from his palm. The lines of energy wrap around the bar, sliding it open with sheer magic alone.

“This chamber is old,” Vale says, noticing how I eye the stone walls. “Older even than Drahallen Hall’s foundation. The one place we can have complete privacy.”

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