Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
B ear Palace hadn’t played host to all of the clan dukes since before the war.
It was strange to have them all under one roof, the tension within the walls like the charged moments before a lightning storm. Between having my spies stationed amongst the serving staff, providing insights into the chatter and gossip between the clans, and my most trusted men constantly updating me on everyone’s whereabouts, I was busier than ever.
Exhaustion clawed at the edges of my vision, but I would have been a fool to allow Iiro or Mikhail under my roof without taking more than the usual precautions.
With these measures in place, I managed to keep the Duke of Elk away from my father—and even more impressively, managed to keep myself from setting both him and his younger brother on fire, but I wasn’t enough of an idiot to trust his affable farce.
He was too smarmy, too content, considering all the things that had blown up in his face, considering that he was attending a wedding for an alliance he should be very much opposed to.
But regardless, I played my part, playing host to him and the other dukes, pretending my father was in charge of the clan while I circumvented his orders at every turn, even working along with the woman I despised most in the world to keep up our entire ruse as the strongest clan in Socair.
There was a storm the day of the wedding, strong enough to rattle the stained-glass windows high in the ceilings of the great hall. I tried not to see Rowan’s knowing expression as she looked into the distance, to not picture her curls standing out starkly against an obsidian gown, a bright contrast to Mila’s controlled brown locks.
I tried not to think about her at all, though that was impossible when my every conversation was spent navigating the mess she had left me with.
Again.
All week long, I had fielded subtle and less-subtle remarks about my captive, including several furious comments from Nils about our allowing her to escape—a fact I wasn’t about to acknowledge—but the reception was the first time that Iiro dared to broach the subject.
He approached me near the refreshment table, striding over with a chilled glass of my best vodka in his hand.
“I was surprised that it was not your own wedding announcement we received,” he said, with a not-so-sly glance toward my father, who was also standing in our small group. “Especially considering that Lady Mila is the highest-ranking available lady… in Socair .”
Iiro’s lips curved into an oily smile as he raised his glass to his mouth. I hadn’t missed the way he stressed those last two words, and the implication therein. He was both baiting me and fishing for information I had no intention of giving him.
It did, however, provide an excellent opportunity for me to remind him of his standing with any ladies who were not in Socair.
“Indeed,” I said, taking a sip from my own glass of vodka. “It’s fortunate you are in talks with Mikhail again, considering the messy business with my clan’s ownership of your brother’s previous choice.”
I shot him a cold smirk, and his own tightened in response.
“Yes, where is your property these days?” he countered.
Probably eating pastries and attending balls and enjoying a life well away from the whirlwind of excrement she left the rest of us.
It was my father who answered, his voice like ice. “She is wherever we allow her to be.”
Of course, Iiro knew perfectly well that wasn’t true. At least, he thought he knew that. Surely, his brother must have told him about Rowan’s escape , at the very least. Not that Iiro could reveal that information without implicating his brother and his clan.
The Duke of Elk opened his mouth, then closed it once more. The room had become quieter, the conversation picked up on by more than one subtly listening ear, and that was not the Socairan way.
“As you say,” Iiro finally acknowledged with an incline of his head.
Another clap of thunder boomed through the room, and the moment passed, but the satisfied glint in Iiro’s eyes remained.
I reminded myself that we were now allied with three of the nine clans, including the most militant and the most influential. Our armies were larger than Elk’s, and our coffers were deeper. Iiro couldn’t possibly hope to gain any traction for the throne with those odds.
And yet, his smirk didn’t waver.
Der’mo .
The pass opened shortly after Taras's wedding. There was no army waiting on the other side of the melted ice and snow, nor was there any threat of one materializing. No word from Lochlann at all.
I sent several of my spies out, and all returned with the same news.
Iiro had tripled the guard around the tunnel, likely anticipating a two-pronged attack, but there were no signs that Lochlann was inclined in that direction. Aside from a slightly bulkier presence on their side of the pass, there was no change at all in the state of the border.
I had no doubt that the other clans were already reaching out for alliances, but I bided my time. King Logan appeared to have every ounce of his daughter’s temper, and no great love for our people, least of all my clan.
My single encounter with him was one of the many things I had no desire to dwell on, even as the memories assaulted me. A pale, delicate hand on his bicep, stopping the motion of his sword. A quiet plea. Lips parted on unspoken words that formed and died in the frigid night air.
When I had waited as long as I could, I finally drafted out a carefully worded request for Taras and Mila to visit Lochlann.
The messenger bird returned a day and a half later, a tersely worded affirmation with a short list of parameters I had no choice but to agree to, including a limit on how many men I could send.
It was a small number for a retinue, placing the onus for a show of trust entirely on my clan. An itch formed between my shoulder blades, but the Lochlannians appeared to be more brash than they were underhanded.
Taras and Mila would be safe, though, which was my primary concern in that regard. One of my soldiers was worth at least four ordinary men. Perhaps the King of Lochlann knew as much, and that was why the limit was placed.
Besides, she would never let any harm come to her friends—and no matter how she went about leaving, I knew that she considered both Mila and my cousin just that to her.
I wrote to my cousin to call him back to the estate, working out the timing, mentally recalling a list of books on Lochlannian customs to ensure we gave them no reason to deny us—aside from the obvious.
Then, I strode out to the sparring ring and calmly plucked two practice swords from the wall.
“The first one to disarm me has three days of leave, effective immediately,” I said, walking to the center of the ring.
It took six hours and four waves of men, and I still couldn’t banish the sight of her wayward curls blowing in the midnight breeze the night she walked out of my life for good.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when the bird arrived.
Hadn’t I seen Iiro’s shifty expression? Heard that his precious brother had been at the tunnels when she left?
Hadn’t I known that Iiro would do anything to get the throne and that Korhonan would do anything to get her ?
My heart pounded furiously in my chest as I crumpled the letter in my hand. Her bright green eyes flashed in my mind, along with the sound of her laughing with my men, the smile that curled her bowed lips.
Had she been elated when she got his proposal? Begged him to reach out to me?
She sure as storms hadn’t said no, or he wouldn’t have been on his way to Lochlann when he sent the storms-blasted damned bird.
When she left, I had sworn to myself that I would leave it alone. She was safer there. She could make her own choice on who she married, live out her life free from the fear of someone destroying her perfect flesh on a vengeful whim.
But this…
Uncrumpling the letter, I scanned it once more, resisting the urge to throw it into the fire instead.
Dear Evander,
I have been writing to Princess Rowan, and she has agreed for me to visit her at Castle Chridhe to discuss the terms of our marriage in Lochlann. I will be departing this afternoon, likely after you receive this letter, but I am sure you understand my urgency.
Since you were amenable before, it is my hope that you will be open to considering the same agreement to allow our marriage to take place in Socair when we return.
I look forward to your response.
Sincerely,
Theodore
A muscle clenched in my jaw, and I crumpled the letter once again.
Urgency, indeed. They were planning to force my hand. To marry in Lochlann and use the new alliance to pressure me into compliance.
A dark chuckle hissed past my lips as I tossed the parchment into the fire.
It was exactly something Iiro would do. Perhaps Korhonan was following in his brother’s footsteps after all—or trying to.
I took a deep breath, then another, the thread on my temper more fragile than I could ever remember it being.
Like hell would I sit here while they found a way to destroy everything I had been trying to protect by taking her from the storms-damned Summit to begin with. While they tried to claim what was always going to belong to me .
Without another thought, I began packing my things. Taras was set to leave this afternoon, except even if he did go, he didn’t have the power to stop her from marrying.
But I did.