Chapter 12 Rowan
Rowan
Iwalk into the dining tent feeling no less self conscious than I did at the lake, though this time it's the clothes rather than lack of them that are the culprit.
Theron sits at the head of the main table, his gaze sliding over me with undisguised lewdness that makes my skin crawl.
He raises his goblet in a silent toast, his smile too wide, too knowing after what he witnessed at the stream.
To his right, a cluster of advisors watch me with narrowed eyes and shared whispers.
One woman with a captain's insignia on her collar doesn't bother hiding her contempt, fingers drumming against her goblet as if imagining it's my throat.
The tent itself doesn’t help. It’s a jarring pocket of opulence in the middle of a military camp, so out of place that I can’t work out whether it's all a joke to mock our sham of an engagement or the way these fae actually carry on.
Crystal goblets, porcelain platters, delicate arrangement of meats cut thin and arranged into flowers.
“You don’t pack light for a military campaign, do you?” I murmur to Kai.
“Prince Theron doesn’t pack light,” Kai answers just as quietly. “Stop squirming like you’ve fire ants in your underclothes.”
"I feel like I'm on display," I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest.
"That's rather the point. Better to be admired than dismembered.”
“Around here, those are not mutually exclusive.” The people around the table are admiring me in the same way a butcher admires a particularly well marbled cut of meat.
“Rowan. Kai.” Kyrian appears at our side with the silent grace that still unnerves me and settles his hand at the small of my back.
If Kai's formal blue is so dark it swallows the light, Kyrian’s dress military whites of Flurry are a pattern of stars in snow.
It’s beautiful. Just like he is. Kyrian inclines his head, the heat of his palm burning through the thin silk of my gown. "This way."
He guides us to a pair of empty chairs near Theron, the seated officers and standing at the ready stewards all tracking our movements. I keep my chin high in defiance, hoping they can’t smell my discomfort.
They probably can.
“Where is Logan?” I ask Kyrain.
The finger-drumming captain sneers. “Hopefully ridding himself of fleas. The last thing we need here is an infestation.”
“This isn’t his scene,” Kyrian answers curtly as Kai pulls out my chair to seat me.
“Logan?” Theron looks pensive for a moment then snaps his fingers and gestures magnanimously with a wine goblet toward Kyrian. “That is your other brother in arms, isn’t it? None of my clerks have found anything about his pedigree. Do tell us where you picked him up.”
Kyrian takes a too lazy sip from his own goblet. “The same place I met Prince Kai. At the draken trials.”
Around the table, forks freeze halfway to mouths, quiet conversations cutting off mid-word.
Kyrian’s face remains nonchalant but I know him well enough to feel the smugness behind his casual swirl of wine.
Not only had he said nothing about the draken to Theron before now, but he’d done it on purpose.
To let his brother walk right into this very moment.
Nice. Juvenile, but nice.
I make a mental note to ask the males about the trials. I’d assumed the pairings were a matter of skill and mount availability, like an elite cavalry, but clearly there’s more to it. And from the reactions around the table, that more is savage.
Theron smiles tightly. "It’s fortunate you found two competent companions willing to look after you.” He nods graciously to Kai. “You have my gratitude for carrying my brother’s weight on the mountain. It couldn’t have been easy.”
A muscle ticks in Kai's jaw. “It was actually Prince Kyrian that did the carrying, your highness.”
“Of course, of course,” Theron waves a bejeweled hand. “Diplomatic as always. I’d expect nothing less from a prince of Slait.”
Before Kai can answer, a small cluster of servants swarms the tent, setting down the main course before each of us.
The slice of meat on my plate looks as though it’s never seen a flame, much less been touched by one.
Across the table, the captain gives me a measured look, then motions to a servant, who tops off my wine glass with generosity.
I can’t claim myself an admirer of the drink either, but at least it's unlikely to run off.
Theron cuts into his meat with attentive precision, a drop of red sliding down the silver cutlery as he raises a piece to his mouth and chews thoughtfully.
"You must truly be special, Rowan, to have been accepted by Prince Kai's draken.
I'd have thought the majestic beast would have balked at keeping company with someone who's dedicated her life to torturing their kind. "
I almost blurt out that I’ve not actually met the animal, at least not closer than seeing it fly overhead, but then the full weight of Theron’s words penetrates. The ones about me torturing Eryndor’s enemies.
I set down my fork, refusing to let my hand tremble.
“I must say, it is ironic to hear a commander of fae armies that regularly raze entire human settlements to the ground speak of cruelty.” Taking a sip of wine, I let the bitter liquid burn down my throat.
"Don’t get me wrong, I understand that war is war.
But I do find it curious to hear you speak of yourself as a victim. Is that a strategy?”
"Strategy?" His voice carries a dangerous edge now, the practiced charm slipping. "No, my dear. Simply perspective." He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled and it is the captain who finishes the answer for him.
“When one uses civilians to shield its armies and weapon depots, some of those civilians do, in fact, perish.
Those 'razed settlements,' as you so colorfully put it, are tragic but predictable consequences of your Queen Ainsley's decisions. Or is it Commandant Ainsley who makes the call? I’ve always been curious.”
"You make a fair point.” I give up even the pretense of pushing the raw meat around my plate and lay down my fork. “If Eryndor would just stop trying to defend itself and let Flurry enslave its population, there would be no need to worry about fae attacks at all.”
The captain sighs and snaps her fingers at the server behind me, the same pale eyed young woman who’d given me extra wine. “Celeste, run her venison back to the chef and have it ruined, lest we are accused of starving the Slait bride to be.”
My plate disappears.
Kai's shadows curl around my wrist beneath the table. Not really a restraint, but certainly a warning. I ignore it.
"The alloy I create," I continue, meeting the captain's gaze directly, "is a defensive weapon. It neutralizes your magic, putting fae and human opponents on equal footing. Frankly, the simplest way to protect oneself from taking an auric arrow, is to simply stay off Eryndor territory.”
“Mmm.” Theron makes a sound deep in his throat. He has just enough resemblance to Kyrian to make me unsettled. “Will that be the official position of Slait court when you are wed?” he inquires of Kai. “That Flurry should, ‘stay off Eryndor territory’?”
Shit. This is why I don’t do diplomacy. Or people.
Kai shrugs one shoulder. “Having just spent two years enjoying Eryndor’s hospitality, I certainly recommend staying as far away from it as you can manage. But wise people rarely ask me to opine on politics. That’s the other twin.”
“Right you are.” Theron's smile shows his teeth. "This is no time for politics, especially in the face of love that transcends war. Speaking of that, how did you fate-crossed lovers meet?”