Chapter 42 · The Cost of a Crown

The door didn't open. It explodedoff the hinges.

I had a silver letter opener and a belly too heavy to run with. My entire arsenal.The dresser I’d shoved against the wood skidded, then tipped. Boots hit the boards. A low, mockinglaugh drifted in—the sound of a man who’d already decided exactly how I’d die.

Vane steppedthrough last. He always did. He liked the room quiet before he started in on his favorite lies.

“Luna.” He said it like a curse. “You look… comfortable.”

“Get out of my bedroom.”

“*Whose* bedroom?” He stepped over the wreckage, unhurried, his sword stillsheathed. The ultimate insult. He didn’t think I was worth the steel. “Iron-Crag belongsto whoever’s standing when the sun hits the peaks. I plan on being that man.”

Three wolvesfanned out along the wall. Young ones. I knew them. Corin had hauled my firewood that first winter—backwhen I’d been stupid enough to believe in bonds.

“Corin,” I said, my voice flat. “Think your mother wants to hear about this?”

He wouldn’t look at me.

“Don’t,” Vane purred, closing the distance. He stopped close enough that I could smell the cheap wine on hisbreath. “They aren’t here for a chat. Neither am I.”