Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
B reakfast was far more subdued than dinner had been, though it was a family affair as well.
There didn’t seem to be an early riser at this table, save perhaps for the king. His features were unchanged, the same relative amount of unhappiness to be dining with his daughter’s two Socairan suitors.
And Korhonan, of course, who lived on the same soldier’s schedule that most men in Socair did.
Jocelyn appeared as put together as she had the night before but had even less to say. The others all moved like they were half alive, pouring copious amounts of dark coffee into their cups and wincing whenever Ellie squealed too loudly.
Even the twins had little to say. And Rowan, who I only had to force out of bed before noon on a handful of occasions, ate her plate of biscuits with one eye half open.
Though she still found the energy to glare at me.
The food was nearly gone when a shadow fell over the doorway.
“Lively as ever this morning, I see,” a wry voice intoned.
Two figures walked in, near mirror images of each other.
There was something about the set of their mouths and the shape of their cheekbones that reminded me of the queen. Both had the same rich hue to their skin that so many of the Lochlannians I had met possessed. What stood out as different, though, was their striking shade of red hair.
It wasn’t bright like Rowan’s or her immediate family’s. Instead, theirs was a darker, deeper red. Less fire-like and more like ruby.
The woman was narrower in the shoulders and a couple of inches shorter, her features more delicate and her lips fuller, but the resemblance between the two was nonetheless striking.
“You mock, Gwynnie, but you’ll never understand our pain,” Davin responded, confirming my assumption.
“You’re going to find out what real pain is if you call me Gwynnie one more time,” she shot back, stepping closer to snatch the remaining cinnamon bun from her cousin’s plate.
They continued to banter while Rowan leaned toward me.
“Look,” she whispered. “It’s your future bride now. Perhaps you can come up with a proposal for her nearly as aalio as the one you made to me.”
I refrained from asking her if she would have preferred me to simper and fall all over myself the way Korhonan did, instead raising my eyebrow as I turned back to survey Lady Gwyn.
Despite the rather over-eager way she attacked the cinnamon bun before licking the icing from each of her fingers, every part of her exuded a lethal sort of grace.
She wore a rapier at her hip, sheathed in a jewel-encrusted scabbard that matched her pale blue traveling gown. Her skirts were split at the front like the ones I had commissioned for Rowan in Bear, indicating she had likely ridden here on a horse, rather than a carriage, which matched what I knew of her.
She was all lithe muscles and warrior’s grace, moving like someone who was intimately aware of the position of their body, the space they took up. I found myself curious about her fighting style, wondering how it compared to the average Socairan soldier.
Movement caught my eye, and I looked in time to see Rowan’s hand clenched around the handle of her coffee mug before she turned slightly away from me. The entrance of the next two people stopped me from wondering about her reaction, though.
Or gloating about it.
In addition to being the queen’s brother, Prince Finnian was the Captain of the Guard in Lochlann, and every fiber of his being reflected the authority his position held. He assessed Korhonan and me with his oddly golden eyes, before nodding a greeting.
Then he stepped aside, making way for the final member of their party. The one I was the most curious about—the woman who might have been my stepmother in a different life.
Who had grown up with the same monster that I had.
Princess Isla didn’t strictly look like Rowan, but the resemblance was obvious all the same. They both had small frames and large hair, pale skin contrasting with deep crimson curls that the king’s family were known for.
Isla’s features were gentler, though, her frown sincere as she took in the room. She looked from me to the queen, who nodded. She walked around the table to where I sat, and I stood to greet her.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the woman. Relief that she hadn’t been stuck with my father? Apathy?
Her eyes were identical to my stepmother’s, from the almond shape to the deep green hue, but where Ava’s stare was hard and merciless, Isla’s gaze was shadowed with unmistakable guilt.
“Lord Evander,” she said quietly. “I’m?—”
“Princess Isla,” I supplied.
She nodded.
Despite years of training, of reading body language, I was somehow still taken off guard when she leaned forward to throw her arms around me. Like time had been rewritten and she had entered into the very marriage this kingdom had started a war to avoid.
Like she was a parent comforting her child.
I went still, fighting between pushing her away and returning her entirely unfamiliar embrace. When was the last time someone had hugged me? Let alone a stranger, in a room full of people?
Though everyone here was pretending to give us privacy, the reality was that in a culture with as many feelings as this one had, it would be a slight to ignore her.
If I was being honest, that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t pick her up and plop her back several feet away from me. Her remorse was palpable, empathy for a child of the man who tried to barter for her, someone she didn’t know and had no reason to feel loyalty toward. There was something inherently maternal about her, something I couldn’t help but respond to.
I gently removed my arms from her awkward hold and wrapped them around her. Then she said something so low and so unexpected that it took me a moment to process her words.
“I never would have left you there if I had known.”
Pure conviction dripped from her tone, raw and uncompromising. She was telling the truth.
And I had no idea what to do with that.
I wanted to hate her, this woman who started the war that pushed my people into a famine, who was indirectly responsible for me being raised by her monster of a mother.
But it was hard to hate someone when they had suffered at the same hands of your abuser—something I could sense as surely as my lemmikki could sense an oncoming storm.
It was hard to hate someone who would have fought for me, at a time when no one else did.
The negotiations were already going swimmingly, though at least Korhonan wasn’t here since I had reminded him that being her twice-almost-betrothed gave him exactly no privilege in a room discussing my private affairs with her.
“I still don’t understand why you think a handful of days will change my mind when I was already in talks with a perfectly viable alliance.”
I bit back a smirk, half-wishing I had allowed Korhonan to stay to hear the incredibly bland way my lemmikki referred to him.
“Because, while Elk might be perfectly viable , it doesn’t make nearly as much sense as Bear does. The better question is, why wouldn’t you change your mind when it’s the superior choice for your people?” I challenged.
She took a deep breath through her nose. “Because you’re a giant arseling.”
“Rowan,” the queen sighed, but I didn’t blink.
At least she had saved me the trouble of pointing out that the only reason for her to forgo the practical option was to spite me. She wasn’t pretending to the Council Room there was a legitimate reason…or bringing up my father. Arseling, I could work with.
I shrugged. “We won’t have to be around each other if you’re concerned about that.”
Her lips parted at my dismissal. “Ah, yes,” she spat sarcastically. “How could I forget about your glorious plan to inhabit different kingdoms? Because nothing says unity like a couple who can’t even live in the same castle.”
Only she could manage to be this unreasonable when she held all the cards and had all of the decisions at her feet. I fought down a surge of irritation, spreading out my hands.
“You’ve brought up problems, and I’ve provided solutions.”
MacKinnon cleared his throat thoughtfully. “Princess Rowan isn’t wrong, though. If?—”
“No.” The king cut him off with a single, clipped word. “Ye already pushed her into a marriage alliance. She’s doing what she can for her people, at your urging, and I willna stand for more than that.”
MacKinnon raised his eyebrows a bit, enough of a reaction that I could gather it was unusual for the king to shut his council down so unquestionably.
“She is indisputably safer here,” Laird MacBay chimed in. “It would hardly add to unity if something else were to happen to her on Socairan soil.”
He looked sideways at me, like I had taken the whip to her myself. I kept my features blank, but MacKinnon seemed nearly as perturbed as I was, shaking his head like an exasperated parent trying to reason with an unruly child.
Rowan only pursed her lips, refusing to comment one way or another on her safety, or her wishes at all.
Was she worried about Ava? About my father?
Or only angry about the entire proposal that hadn’t come on the timetable she wanted it? If she had wanted it at all.
Prince Oliver sat forward. “If Lord Evander is offering the benefits of the alliance with the added protection of the princess staying here, it isn’t a terrible thing to consider.”
Though he was far warmer than the Duke of Lynx, there was an insightful, even quality to his approach that reminded me of Arés.
MacBay muttered something about a better option being not marrying our enemies at all, while the king grunted out an agreement. Queen Charlotte chewed thoughtfully on her lip, surveying Rowan’s features, and MacKinnon once again brought up unity.
There were merits to both sides, though the implication that I couldn’t keep my wife safe in my own clan rankled. I had only proposed that solution because she clearly hadn’t wanted to go to Socair, and because she held that concern.
I would make damned sure no one touched what belonged to me, not even my father.
But that hardly seemed likely to sway them, and it didn’t matter, anyway. The decision rested with the unusually silent princess sitting across the table from me.
The prince’s wife tilted her head. “What about heirs?”
The room fell silent. It always did when Princess Jocelyn spoke, but the quiet this time was decidedly more uncomfortable. The king cleared his throat in disagreement, and Jocelyn blinked at him.
“It’s a legitimate question with this proposed plan,” she said pointedly.
I found myself unwilling to look at Rowan. It was a legitimate question, and not one I would have chosen to address in a room that felt increasingly crowded by the minute. It was one thing when she balked at my proposal, but I didn’t want to see whatever was in her features at the idea of us having…heirs.
Neither would I push her into something as important as children, something I wasn’t even sure I wanted. I was ill-equipped to be a father, all things considered.
Fortunately, that wasn’t news to me, and I had already decided on a contingency plan.
“Lord Taras is next in line for my position, and any heirs he produces with Lady Mila will be sufficient to continue the succession,” I explained, dispelling the memory of the tiny red-headed menace in the portrait that came back to me, unbidden.
Queen Charlotte coughed, like something distasteful was lodged in her throat. “So, in the scenario you’ve proposed...Rowan would never have children?”
She sounded more like I had cursed Rowan with leprosy than offered to follow her wishes on parenthood, so I made myself clearer.
“If...the princess wants heirs, that can be arranged,” I explained, still not quite looking at the princess in question.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to be looking at her to hear the furious huff of air that escaped her.
“Arranged?” she echoed in a deceptively calm voice. “Tell me, will you be sending someone to provide a stud service, or will you come all this way yourself?”
Now it was my turn to choke on air.
I had known a storm was coming when she started speaking in a rare, rational voice, but I had misjudged the extent of her decorum amongst her own people.
And like hell would I let anyone else touch her.
I squeezed my eyes shut, counting in my head to maintain some semblance of patience while even her father sighed in exasperation.
“Dammit, Rowan,” he breathed.
There were similar reactions around the room, with the queen biting her lip on what I could have sworn was a laugh. And Oliver, of course—or Davin Senior, as I thought of him.
Jocelyn braved the ensuing awkwardness alone. “In fairness, Rowan’s question is legitimate, also.”
Then all eyes in the room turned to me, like they expected an actual answer to her asininity. Perfect. There was nothing quite so diverting as discussing your marriage bed in front of your future father-in-law, who also happened to be the king of the people who hated you.
I took a breath, calling upon the patience that only ever seemed to fail me where she was concerned. Finally, I met her eyes, twin spring green orbs that were sparking with challenge.
“I would, obviously, be providing that service myself,” I gritted out.
I would obviously be murdering anyone else who tried , went without saying.
She smirked, though there was no warmth in it. “Well, no need to put yourself out. In the unlikely event that we wed, I also have no need of heirs. The twins are next in line, then Davin, then Gallagher and Gwyn. We really have no shortage of heirs here.”
It was curious she said no need of heirs, but didn’t comment on whether she wanted them.
“You still need to decide whether a potential child between the two of you would belong to the Socairan lineage or Lochlann’s,” Laird MacBay offered in a voice far gentler than the one he used when he was addressing me.
The smirk fell from her features, and she blinked, averting her gaze.
“Can’t we discuss this later, or more likely, never?” she muttered, for all the world as though she hadn’t been the one furthering this conversation.
I expected the room to cater to her, but though his voice was kind, her uncle shook his head.
“It is part of narrowing down terms, which you agreed to consider,” he reminded her.
She looked at me, this time a question in her eyes, but I wasn’t sure which one. Did I want children? Did I want them to be in line for the throne or the Clan?
Either way, that wasn’t a decision I planned to make.
I raised my eyebrows, letting her know the choice was with her, and she let out a slow breath.
“I don’t want any children I have with...either of them, in line for the Lochlannian throne,” she finally said, holding my gaze with intent. “There’s no need for anyone else to become a pawn in the games of Socairan men.”
My jaw clenched, but I kept the rest of my features even.
We both knew if there was anyone who had turned her into a pawn, it sure as storms wasn’t me. Still, I couldn’t argue with her, not entirely.
Anyone living under a duke would be a player in the games of Socairan men. Aleksander or Iiro.
I didn’t envy her that choice.