Free Heart of Iron by Bec McMaster Page B

with bullets as explode on impact. But nothin’ of cures, princess.”
    To her credit, the lady never even flinched. Instead, she picked up the clockwork spider, letting it crawl over and under her fingers. “I see your knighthood has taken none of the savagery from you.”
    “Did you expect it ought?”
    “Fifty years ago you were dangerous, Blade. Times change. Our resources have changed. If we wanted to get rid of you, we’d simply send the Spitfires in and burn the rookery to the ground.” The duchess poured more blud-wein into her glass and stirred it like tea. As if she weren’t speaking of war. “Right now, you’re…an inconvenience. Out of sight and out of mind. Like someone’s embarrassing, black sheep cousin who keeps showing up to balls.”
    “If you’re tryin’ to grease me up for this favor you want o’ me, you ain’t doin’ much of a bang-up job, princess.”
    The duchess stopped stirring, tapped the spoon against her goblet three times, then set it aside. Her almond-shaped eyes lifted, thick dark lashes fluttering against her smooth, pale cheeks. “Who said the favor we wished was from you?”
    All eyes turned toward Will.
    Leo grimaced. “I thought to warn you—”
    The hair on the back of Will’s neck rose. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared back. “No.”
    “You haven’t heard what it is yet,” the young Duke of Malloryn murmured.
    “I don’t like you no more ’n Blade does. And I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.” He eyed the handsome young peacock and bared his teeth. “A struttin’ tom like you? Why, I figure I could throw you a fair way too.”
    Malloryn raised lazy eyes toward him. A quick flick of his wrist and a knife appeared, balancing on point on his finger. “You’d have to get close enough.”
    “Auvry, that’s enough,” Barrons murmured. Their eyes met and Barrons straightened, his posture screaming out the silent challenge in the air between them.
    Malloryn shrugged—and the knife disappeared. “You’re no fun anymore, Barrons.”
    “Let’s at least remain civilized long enough to give some credence to our claim of being gentlemen.” Barrons eased gracefully into a chair by the fire, hooking his ankle up on his knee. Despite the appearance of relaxing, his lazy-lidded eyes examined the room.
    “And you’re the ones as want somewhat,” Blade replied, sinking into one of the other chairs. He tested it, impressed with the padding. “Never treat with a man as ’olds a blade to your throat. That’s what I always says.”
    Will stayed on guard. A sound in the hallway alerted him. Three separate footfalls, all moving with purpose toward the room.
    The door opened and a pair of the elite Coldrush Guards entered first. As part of the prince consort’s retinue and custodians of the Ivory Tower, they were taken from their families when it became clear they’d been infected, put into the strict tower camps, and trained to kill. Will sized the pair of them up. One of them returned his stare with a wary surveillance. Not fear. But marking him as a potential adversary.
    The man who followed them towered over the guards. With thick brown hair and glassy, almost-colorless eyes, he strode into the room as if he owned it. His long red coat swirled around his hips, and a gleaming metal breastplate protected his chest.
    Will had always thought the prince consort was an older man. He was surprised to find that he was perhaps younger than Blade. Ascending to the Regency nearly thirty years ago, he’d steered the young human princess through the treacherous waters of the Echelon after her father had been overthrown. To consolidate his power, he’d then married her when she came of age, ten years ago.
    The fact that he’d been the one who’d overthrown the human king wasn’t something that was generally mentioned in polite company.
    “Your Highness.” The men stood and bowed.
    The prince consort strode to the fire, holding out his hands to