Chapter 62
I should have been prepared for the sight of Rowan in the sauna this time. Maybe I was, for that matter.
Maybe what I wasn’t prepared for was watching her watch me in turn, her eyes dark with an emotion I couldn’t quite read.
Or the way her searching gazes continued until we were upstairs in the bed that suddenly felt much smaller than it had the night before.
For the next three days, I tried to focus on negotiating the terms of this marriage alliance, on making sure Taras was secure in his decision. On making sure my clan had every advantage for the war that was brewing. On the very notion that whether it was with Lochlann, or another civil war that would cripple Sociar even more, a battle was coming.
And yet, it was hard to focus on anything with her constant peal of laughter ringing through the house, and those damned inscrutable looks she kept sending my way. With her perfect body on display every night in the sauna while she braved the heat of the stones on my end, close enough to make out each curve of her lips as she smiled at a story Mila told.
I shouldn’t have been looking at her at all, but it was impossible to look away. Especially when she stared right back.
The tension between us mounted, pulling taut the invisible string that always seemed to stretch between us until it was on the verge of snapping entirely.
And I wasn’t ready to think about what would happen after that.
A lifetime of carefully and meticulously looking to the future, of planning, of battle strategies and tactics, and I couldn’t bring myself to think about the fallout that might come if I allowed this thread to break.
The first time my father ordered me to take care of a village, I was sixteen years old. I had just been granted my own command, and that was the first mission I ever took them on.
Afterward, Dmitriy found me emptying the contents of my stomach in a field nearby.
Didn’t your mother have a cabin nearby?
He had been on her personal guard, so of course he would have known about her favorite place. So he had brought us here, a small, weary contingent still stained with the blood of innocents.
We stayed here for two days. No one spoke or laughed or ate.
Finally, Dmitriy had brought us out here, to the sauna. He poured us ales.
“The things we do are not easy, but we protect our clan at the end of the day, even if we have to do ugly things in their name. We keep as many of our people safe as we can, however we can. No one can take that from us. Not even him.”
It was close to treason, those words, but I drank them in like a man wandering the desert. I used them to craft the armor that allowed me to survive my father’s rule, to protect as much of our clan as I could.
We drank our ale and we ate some bread, and that night, I finally slept.
The next night, he brought us back to the sauna. Once we were all pouring in sweat, he got abruptly to his feet.
“You know what we need?” he asked.
“To cleanse our souls of all the terrible things we just did?” Kirill offered, downing his drink.
“Close. We need to put our arses in the snow.”
I gaped at him, and he pulled my arm, shoving me toward the door.
“You too, Van. You, especially.”
I blinked several times, and my cousin echoed my sentiments.
“I have no words,” Taras commented, though he stood up along with Dmitriy.
“And you’ll have even less when you see the perfect outline of Igor’s cheeks.” Dmitriy called over his shoulder, refusing to let go of my arm until I joined them. “Come on, then.”
It had been our ritual ever since. Come, eat, sauna, drink, put our arses in the snow.
There were no gods in Socair. The legends of the fae who used to roam the lands were long gone. There was no worship, no one to lay our sins at the feet of and have any hope of forgiveness.
There was only this.
Ale in the sauna. Arseprints in the snow.
Maybe that was why I allowed it to be a reprieve when I so rarely took one. And maybe it was why I let my guard down a little more as Rowan participated in our little customs, and how much she seemed to enjoy them.
The moonlight reflected in her bright green eyes as she met my gaze, daring me to join her in her games.
I studied the flush in her cheeks, her wild curls, frozen from the lake, and the challenging expression on her devilish face.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you this time, Lemmikki,” I chuckled and gestured toward my arseprint. “Mine’s the fourth one in, and it’s clearly the superior arse.”
“You’re clearly a superior arse,” she muttered in response.
Maybe it was all the vodka and medovukha I’d had earlier, but before I could stop myself, I threw my head back and laughed. Really laughed.
Rowan’s wild curls were frozen from the lake, clinking together as she shook her head in disbelief that I was capable of such a thing.
And maybe I had been… before .