Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
W hen I returned to my rooms, I had a stack of papers waiting on my desk to review. The marriage contract.
While we had discussed terms ahead of time, we were now entering into the nuanced items. I scanned the documents, looking closely at the figures for her dowry—which we had worked out would consist almost entirely of food stores—and the columns under it, detailing average prices for traded goods beyond that.
It seemed fair enough, but I penned a few questions, sealing them in a letter for Taras to deliver to the Lord of Finance at Clan Bear.
I couldn’t suppress a small amount of bitterness at the excess they had sat on while my people starved because of a twenty-year-old conflict. For that matter, Rowan never would have been taken to begin with if trade had been open for her precious vodka.
It was strange to think we might have met under normal circumstances. Would we still have hated each other at the outset?
The moment she had entered Socair, her life had been in danger. I may not have appreciated the king’s choices as they pertained to my people, but a part of me understood. It wasn’t like I hadn’t made sacrifices to protect the people I cared about, let alone the people of my clan.
To say nothing at all of the choices I had made where she was concerned.
Just as I was writing his name on the outside of the envelope, the passageway door pushed open.
Given my slew of visitors of late, I had to turn to see who had graced me with their unannounced presence this evening. It was Rowan, still dressed from dinner with a half-full glass of whiskey in her hand.
She stood in the doorway, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, while her gaze lingered on me.
I couldn’t help the smirk that came to my lips, wondering what, after the days of tension between us, had finally brought her here, to my rooms, wearing an expression that was more cautious than angry for a change.
But that smirk died when she finally spoke.
“We need to talk.” Her tone was wary.
I mentally sorted through a list of what might have concerned her enough to come here in the middle of the night, not to hurl accusations at me, but to have an actual conversation.
Our wedding was looming closer, and with it, her trip to Socair. The king’s words resounded in my head, the rage that she would return to a kingdom that had tried to kill her, the way she had frozen in her seat when he said it.
I nodded as I stood to fully face her, understanding washing over me. “About what your father said?—”
But she shook her head, interrupting me. “No, not that. Just...ignore him.” She scowled. “I am.”
I bit back a sigh, not sure it was better that she was once again prepared to walk in without a single concern for the enmity surrounding her and the implications therein.
“He isn’t wrong about the danger,” I cautioned her.
She stepped closer, scoffing quietly. “And you think that I don’t know that?” She lifted her chin, boring her gaze into mine. “That I don’t have the reminder permanently etched into my skin?”
Rage resided perpetually within me, somewhere behind the careful control I had worked a lifetime to master. Most of the time, I was able to keep it at bay, sealed within an impenetrable fortress.
But fury seeped through the cracks, flooding my veins every time I remembered exactly how she had gotten those scars.
Still, she couldn’t claim on the one hand to keep those reminders close and then disregard her father’s warning on the other.
It was an effort to keep my tone even when I responded. “I think that you have a habit of behaving recklessly, and we’re going to need to proceed with extreme caution, especially until our...alliance is official in Socair and you have the protection of a Clan Wife.”
She bit her lip thoughtfully, which was better than the indignation I had prepared myself for. Taking a breath to calm myself, I crossed the room to my decanter and poured a generous serving of whiskey.
Whatever she had actually come to discuss, I assumed I would need it, let alone after the visceral memory of her bleeding out in the snow. Besides, it was easier to think when she wasn’t standing quite so close to me, when I couldn’t feel the energy humming off her skin.
Shaking that off, I gestured to the sitting room. It was the first time we had used it. Perhaps the only intentional conversation we had engaged in since Bear that wasn’t filled with insults and accusations.
Though, I supposed that remained to be seen. I could at least endeavor to keep things civil, difficult as she made that sometimes. Especially with the distraction of her standing so very close to my bed.
And my person.
Fortunately, she followed, settling into the chair across from me.
“Will that even matter, when Ava is a Clan Wife, too?” she asked, returning to our discussion at hand.
That was a conundrum I had considered at length.
“On the surface, yes,” I began. “Even the dukes can’t harm their own wives. It’s probably the single limitation to their power, lest the people revolt. However, given Ava’s underhanded methods, it’s not a perfect solution.”
I owed her full transparency when it came to the woman who had successfully hurt her once before, though it rankled at every part of me to acknowledge my limitations in keeping her safe.
She met my eyes, letting me see a rare glimpse of her serious side. The part of her that actually did consider the stakes of a situation, who tended to my wounds in the hours after Dmitriy’s and Igor’s deaths.
“This is assuming your father even agrees to this.” Her voice was quiet, understandably.
I didn’t like to discuss my father, something she knew perfectly well, but her question was warranted.
“I have taken measures to ensure that he will,” I assured her, having no desire to go into more detail than that. Technically, he had agreed already, but that agreement was as dubious as everything else about his mental state. “Looking for a way out already, Lemmikki?”
I was only half teasing. It would save her the trouble of backing out if my father refused to give his consent. If she had changed her mind.
But she only sipped her drink, cheeks flushing lightly.
“Just wanting to be sure what I’m walking into.” The words were strained, like it hadn’t been quite what she wanted to say. Or not all she wanted to say? “Is there anything else I should know about, then?” she asked in a lighter tone. “Any arcane blood rituals or sacrifices to the god of foul-tasting soup?”
Again, there was a hesitant quality to her words, like she was dancing around what she wanted to know, which was unusual for her.
I studied her carefully, watching as she averted her eyes, taking yet another sip of her drink like she needed it to calm her. I might have thought she genuinely was concerned about a blood sacrifice, if not for the way her lips were pursed like they were when she was trying to hide something.
“No,” I said slowly, gauging her reaction. “From what I understand, it’s similar to weddings here.”
She shook her head slightly, then squared her shoulders, finally looking at me. Finally ready to get to whatever point she was trying to make.
“And...” she trailed off, faltering in the bravery she had summoned before she took a deep breath. I had half a second to wonder how concerned I should be before, at long last, she blurted out what it was she wanted to know.
“What about the wedding night?”
That…was not what I had been expecting her to ask. I blinked, my mind going still for several heartbeats while I tried to rein in the images that came to mind whenever I considered our upcoming wedding nights.
I took a sip of my whiskey to aid in that regard, clamoring for my usual rationality before I responded.
“What is it you want to know?” I asked.
Do you want to know all the ways I have considered putting our mutual stamina to use, Lemmikki?
Crimson crept up from the low neckline of her dress, in no way helping with my line of thought.
“How is the consummation...verified?” she gritted out.
The pieces clicked into place, effectively sapping the tension from the room. I settled back in my chair more comfortably. This was an easier question to answer, if entirely less fun.
Though, it could be fun in a different way. Forcing my expression into neutrality, I prepared to bait her.
“Well, old Socairan law dictates that a room of witnesses is the only reputable method...” I told her truthfully.
Abject horror overtook her features, and I fought to not laugh outright.
“But those laws are not generally adhered to anymore,” I assured her.
She scowled, though her shoulders visibly relaxed.
“Even my dear father isn’t quite that archaic.” Though, I suspected that had been entirely out of respect for my mother. Given his choices, he would love a chance to humiliate the Lochlannian princess, but there was no way in hell I would allow that to happen. “It’s just the standard examination the next morning.”
She wasn’t quite as relieved by that as I had anticipated.
“What standard examination?” she asked.
I tilted my head. Either she was getting retribution for me letting her believe that she would have to consummate our marriage in front of Iiro or she genuinely didn’t know. I searched for a delicate way to explain it, having been wholly unprepared for a discussion of this nature tonight.
Or any night, for that matter.
Generally, this was a talk a woman in the bride’s family would see to, but nothing was ever typical where Rowan were concerned. I took a slow sip of my whiskey, willing myself not to be uncomfortable about something that would occur between us in less than a week.
“Of your...maidenhood,” I settled on, given that it sounded better than all of the alternatives that ran through my head. “Or lack thereof, as the case may be.”
She nodded, though protest was written plainly across every one of her features. “I see.” Her words were clipped to indicate that she very much did not see.
Or at least, that she didn’t want to.
She shot back a considerable amount of her drink, her movements jerky with an emotion I couldn’t quite read.
Though her actions and reactions would speak to the contrary, I considered that perhaps I had misjudged her stance on our wedding night. For all that I was, and the things that I had done, I was not a monster, and no treaty or vows would compel me to force a woman into my bed.
Surely, she knew that.
Then again, she had always thought of Socairan laws as barbaric. Was that why she had come here? Why she had brought all of this up? For yet another way we could be married in name only?
“We don’t have to...do anything you don’t want to do.” I told her what should have been obvious.
A muscle tensed in her jaw. “So, we can forgo the charming exam?” she shot back. “Which, for the record, is not standard here.”
“So I gathered by your line of questioning.” Though I was fairly certain it had been standard in the old laws, it made sense that it had since been abolished, once I considered what I knew of her family. Between the Warrior Queen, Princess Jocelyn, and the king who had five daughters to marry off, it was difficult to imagine any of them supporting a custom that singled out the woman in a relationship.
Obviously, Socair had a different set of ideals, but we couldn’t afford to push back on a custom that would give our marriage legitimacy when the dukes would want so badly to withhold it. Not to mention the small concern that my father actually would insist on witnessed consummation. I explained as much to her.
“And no, given Socairans and their traditions, we can’t forgo the examination and hope to maintain any sort of legitimacy. But we can...forgo the events the night before,” I clarified.
She narrowed her eyes, consternation overtaking her features. “Then how exactly would you expect me to pass the ever-important legitimacy examination?”
Her tone was sharp, her blink irritable, and I suppressed a sigh. Given the open nature of her family, particularly her favorite cousin, I had a hard time believing she was unaware that her past liaisons would be sufficient for her to pass the examination.
Which begged the question of why she had come here in the middle of the night to give me hell about a custom I couldn’t change when I was making every effort at accommodating her.
“Lemmikki.” I raked my hand through my hair, taking a calming breath before I snapped at her outright. “Is there a reason you’re being inordinately difficult about this?”
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes like she was piecing together a puzzle and was entirely indignant about the picture it formed. Like she was the one with reason to be irritated by this conversation.
Honestly, I would have gladly submitted to an examination of my own if only to never discuss it with her again. I took another drink of whiskey in a bid for patience, and a huff of air escaped her.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be difficult about this?” she demanded. “Do you enjoy random strangers putting their hands in your...orifices?”
I inhaled sharply in surprise, choking on my whiskey in the process. Though why I let anything she said shock me now was beyond me. So much for things she could discuss with her mother.
But when she put it that way, I supposed it was rather invasive. For that matter, I didn’t particularly like the idea of any man putting his hands on my wife, let alone in any of her…orifices. Though, only one was in question here.
She huffed out a small chuckle at my reaction, though there was no real amusement in it.
“To clarify, both of those things are singular,” I told her, having no other comfort to offer. “Only one stranger...and only one orifice.”
This time, her laugh was more genuine, edged with a hint of surprise. The tension that had been mounting along with her frustration eased somewhat.
“Well, that’s much better then,” she said sardonically. “Truly, I have nothing to be concerned about.”
Though the logical side of me knew the consequences might outweigh the benefits, I couldn’t stop myself from extending an unreasonable offer, if only to put her mind at ease.
“I’ll see what I can do about the examination,” I told her.
“No, no.” She shook her head, still half-smiling. “As you said, sacrifices must be made. And I...can’t wait.” The grin fell from her lips as she met my eyes more seriously. “We both know we can’t afford for the legitimacy to be questioned.”
She was right about that. On the other hand, the story of her in a state of undress with Korhonan had run rampant, alongside the testimony of Juho about their time together…and later she had stayed in my room, in my bed for several weeks.
“Given the...rumors, I may be able to convince them that it doesn’t prove anything.” The trick would be waiting until after our wedding night so they didn’t revert to the old ways out of spite, or even caution.
She looked away, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth before meeting my eyes once more. Uncertainty churned in her pale-green gaze, the expression every bit as unprecedented as the rest of this conversation.
“Does that bother you?” she asked in a small voice.
That was an interesting question.
Did it bother me to consider another man’s hands on her? Absolutely, it did. I would happily set fire to everyone who had touched any part of her perfect skin.
But I couldn’t rationally fault her, either.
“A certain...lack of propriety has followed you around from the day I met you,” I hedged, rather than explaining that.
“That’s not an answer,” she pushed back immediately.
This mattered to her, so I forced myself to be more specific. Removing myself from the surge of rage that accompanied the memory of her in Korhonan’s tent, I gave her the rest of the truth. Or, as much of it as she needed to hear to answer her question.
“Does it bother me that you aren’t a paragon of purity?” I clarified. “Storms, Lemmikki, I’m not that much of a hypocrite. What you’ve done in the past is your business.”
She chewed on her lip again, her eyes darkening, and my mind traveled an even less pleasant path.
“Or are you asking if it bothers me that you were in Korhonan’s bed after you were in mine?” Though I knew perfectly well she hadn’t been in my bed in that sense of the word, she had nonetheless already been mine.
And I wasn’t sure I could lie about my feelings on her…rekindling of their dalliance in the interim. I calmed myself by picturing a myriad of ways I might one day take care of Korhonan, so caught up in the reverie that I almost missed her quiet, reluctant rebuttal.
“I wasn’t,” she bit out.
“What?” I asked sharply, assessing her for signs of a lie. Her assertion was clear enough, and she looked to be telling the truth, but I was certain I hadn’t imagined her many comments since I had arrived.
“Theo hasn’t touched me since that day at the negotiations,” she said in the same stilted tone. “And before that, we didn’t—I haven’t?—”
For some reason, she seemed more reluctant to admit she hadn’t been in his bed than to imply that she had. In fact, despite the rampant gossip that surrounded her everywhere she went, unless I mistook her meaning, she was telling me she had never been in anyone’s bed.
Her confusion over why I thought she would pass the examination would have certainly made more sense in that light, but it didn’t add up with the many things she had alluded to in the past.
“Did you not tell me in the tent that you and Korhonan were hours away from a natural stopping point ?” I reminded her.
She averted her gaze, clenching her jaw more tightly.
“Well, you were being an arseling,” she said, as if that explained anything.
“And did you not imply again this week that you knew he was sleeping, thus indicating you were in his bed?” I revisited that conversation, trying to picture her features for signs that she had been lying.
Chin raised, eyes glowing in indignation. I had assumed it was only from spite.
How many times had I wondered if she was only latching on to the person nearest to her? She had seemed to prove my point by running straight back to him.
Except that, apparently, she hadn’t.
Something inside of me eased, another fraction coming into clarity of the enigma that she was.
“Please see my previous response for reference.” She swallowed, her features twisting while she still refused to look at me. “And if you’ll recall, I was certainly the only one being chaste that night,” she snapped.
Somewhere buried under the mask of accusation was the unmistakable undertone of hurt. Just as it always did, the realization chipped away at the guard I tried so hard to keep when she was around.
“Lemmikki,” I said softly, willing her to look at me.
She complied, slowly turning her head to face me.
“What?” she breathed.
“No one has been in my bed since you left it.” Did she hear what I wasn’t saying?
That from the moment I saw her in a ridiculous veil in the middle of a sparring ring, all other women had ceased to exist for me, even if I hadn’t acknowledged it at the time.
She raised her eyebrows in a challenge. “Then why were your blankets rumpled when you are so obsessive about them being neat?”
Because I couldn’t sleep with the idea of you in this castle anywhere that wasn’t in my bed. Where you belong.
“Because I had been attempting to sleep in it before I gave up,” I said instead.
“You don’t sleep on both sides of the bed.” She leaned forward in her chair, a small note of condescension in her tone as though my lie had been obvious.
It wasn’t, but I didn’t especially feel like explaining this to her. It touched closely on all the things we didn’t discuss, the endless weeks after she left and the unexpected toll they had taken.
“No, but I sleep in the middle of it,” I countered carefully.
She shook her head, eyes glowing with ire and skepticism rolled into one. “No, you don’t.”
I let out an irritable breath. Leave it to her to argue with me about how I slept in my own storms-damned bed when she wasn’t around.
“Yes, I do.” The frustration bled into my tone, my voice louder than usual.
“I think I would remember—” she started to fire back.
“I do since you left.” The words escaped me before I could stop them, tumbling from my lips on a wave of exasperation.
The ensuing silence was somehow louder than the argument had been. She blinked several times, her chest rising and falling more rapidly than it had before.
It was rare—so rare that I spoke without thinking. A combination of my Socairan upbringing and the precarious situation with my father and stepmother had branded the need for forethought into my very existence.
Only my lemmikki had ever forced me to scramble for balance on the precipice of my hard-won control.
Her mouth opened and closed, but all she managed to say was, “Oh.”
I had no response to that, nothing at all that wouldn’t give up even more than I already had, considering I had all but told the woman who didn’t want to actually be married to me that I slept even less when she was away.
The silence stretched on uncomfortably, wrapping around the reluctant confessions we had both left scattered on the ground around us.
To the surprise of no one, Rowan was the one to break it.
“Well then, I suppose we’ll both be making...sacrifices for our people.” She stumbled over the word sacrifices like she wanted to say something else.
My lips curved up in spite of myself. Though I had offered more than once for her to abstain from our wedding night, she hadn’t appeared to be remotely tempted, nor did I believe for a moment it would feel like a sacrifice to her.
It sure as storms wouldn’t feel that way to me.
“Ah. Indeed,” I indulged her.
She swept her gaze over my features, lingering on my lips long enough to shift the air in the room once more.
All at once, she leapt to her feet, clearing her throat again.
“I should get to bed,” she said abruptly. Her gaze flitted to my bed, her cheeks flushing as she added, “My bed. Alone.”
Well, if I had doubted where her mind had run off to before…
My amusement morphed into a full-fledged smirk, satisfaction flooding my veins. Her fists clenched at her side and she shook her head.
“Goodnight,” she gritted out, spinning on her heels and practically running out of the room.
Which was probably for the best, considering the current state of my self-control and the singularly alluring princess that managed to unravel it without fail.