Page 15 of Red Ruin

But if my mother finds out I’vespokento a Trezzoran, she’ll be rabid, trying to sell me off.

Not to Vhex.

Probably to one of his rich, ancient uncles with better connections for Ashbourne to exploit.

I shudder.

Transcendents hate title-chasers.

I’m not doing this again.

I step around the devil in my way.

The woman with the double axes wears a shield-shaped badge pinned to her coat, marking her as the Farguard’s Warden.

My soon-to-be superior.

I swallow a mouthful of flutters. “Sorry for the lack of protocol. I felt the Sentinel distress and instincts took over. I’m Iris Ashbourne, S-class. Formerly of the Eastern Legion’s Deathguard.”

I don’t bother mentioning my old rank.

Even though I did all the duties of a godsdamnedGuardian—the highest rank a Guide can achieve without joining Faervaine’s imperial family—Kyorgos kept me registered as Kevan’s consort.

Ugh.

I’d be mad, but yet again, the neglect worked out for me.

The bureaucrats wouldn’t have let me run away to the Northern Legion if anyone had ever taken the time to properly test and register my power.

“Right. The transfer. My mistake.” The woman scratches her forehead. “I thought that was a joke?”

“Not a joke.”

“Well, once you’re here, you’re ours. Don’t even think about leaving.” Offering a broad and seemingly genuine smile, she reaches to shake my hand. “I’m the Farguard’s warden, Cherise Dell, A-class Guide. Just call me Cherise. Welcome to the chaos.”

“Thanks. I hope I can be helpful.” Her smile eases a little bit of my tension.

She’s A-class, so her aura is weaker than mine, but raw power isn’t enough to rank up as a Guide.

Especially not out here.

You have to put in the work.

Cherise must’ve killed enough monsters and saved enough Sentinels to earn the Warden’s badge.

I’m happy to serve her tea or fight at her side.

As long as there’s a place for me.

Cautiously optimistic, I reach to return her shake. Before our hands touch, Vhex clamps my wrist.

“Your Grace?” Cherise asks in a pinched voice.

“She’s not for you,” Vhex says, dangerously low. The hellfire I worked so hard to tame reignites as his soul-silks bristle in red-hot porcupine spikes. “She’smine.”

My heart skips, but I’m better than my biology.

I don’t care if Vhex is an S-class and a duke.

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