Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
T he morning brought with it the final council meeting before our wedding, aside from the signing of the documents which would take place the day prior. That would give me time to hear back from Taras regarding the terms, since I had been rather too distracted to post the letter after Rowan’s unexpected arrival the night before.
The birds were faster in the easy spring weather, so I should have his response by tomorrow evening or the day after.
We debated the finer points of the traditional marriage vows, which I should have known Rowan would have feelings about.
“We can safely remove the word obey,” she said, meeting my eyes for the first time since she entered this morning.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who struggled to separate myself from last night’s conversation…and all of its implications.
“We could, but there hardly seems a point since we can’t take it out of the Socairan vows.”
“Perhaps you don’t see the point in my refusal to be subjugated in two kingdoms rather than one, but I have rather different feelings on the matter. If you’re so attached to the word, however, do feel free to transfer it to your own portion of the vows.”
Der’mo .
I mentally calculated the chances that we would get through our Socairan wedding without her offending every duke in attendance, counting in my head for patience.
“It‘s hardly subjugation, Lemmikki, when storms know that you would actually rather set yourself on fire than do anything anyone told you to.”
Her father let out a small snort at that before he scowled at himself, then me, in turn.
“And I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” I added, responding to her ever so helpful suggestion.
“Suit yourself.” She shot me a saccharine smile to accompany her shrug. “As long as it’s taken out of mine.”
Several sets of eyes turned to me, and I sighed, deducing quickly that there was neither a point nor a reason to argue with her on it. It didn’t matter what she vowed, she wasn’t exactly the obedient type, regardless.
All I actually needed was for her to make some small pretense of it in Socair, and since the only Socairans in attendance were men I trusted, that wasn’t an issue here.
I dipped my chin in assent, and she settled back into her chair smugly.
“As discussed, Lord Evander will adopt the title of Prince in our kingdom, while Princess Rowan will be referred to as Lady in his,” Oliver read out from the next section of the agreement.
That had been a more difficult hurdle to overcome than I would have anticipated. While Rowan didn’t especially care, her family was offended at the notion that my people would deny her rightful title. I had to explain several times, in various levels of detail, how the people would respect her more as a Clan Wife of their own kingdom than a princess of their enemy’s. The title would remind them who she was to them.
Though they had reluctantly included the language, even now, several sets of shoulders tensed.
I nodded again, more tersely this time, and Rowan followed suit.
Once all of the nuances were read through, Oliver read out the final versions of the vows and announcements, and we both agreed. In spite of the small pockets of dissension, we had managed to finish up early.
Which was just as well since the relatively short morning had been frustrating enough to make me itch for the sparring ring, despite spending an hour there training with my men at sunrise.
But the arena would apparently have to wait.
I was just pushing my chair back when the queen spoke up.
“I thought we could spend some time together this afternoon.” Her tone was full of false cheer as she looked pointedly at her husband, then at me. “ All of us.”
Rowan went still in her seat, but there was no graceful way for me to refuse the offer, so I nodded without hesitation. The king let out a sigh before following suit, and they led us back to the family wing.
Their suites were in the corner of the castle, wide open windows on two sides of the vast sitting room. Green and purple ivy spilled from pots that dangled from the ceiling, while brightly colored plants decorated the tabletops.
There was more of the same style artwork here that adorned the walls of the family hall, including a single portrait of an infant wrapped in pale blue furs, the canvas surrounded by a wreath made of white and yellow flowers woven into bright greenery.
I wondered if the wreath was replaced daily, since not a single flower wilted on it, nor the one directly next to it.
The second wreath had been crafted with deep blue flowers, interspersed with larger white blooms. It encircled a canvas of a man close to my age with wavy chestnut hair and eyes a shade darker. Mac. Though I had seen him in other portraits, none were painted with quite the care of this one. He had the kind of face that exuded happiness, something in his wide smile reminding me of Kirill.
Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, after all, that the king balked at my presence, when I bore so little resemblance to the son-in-law he was accustomed to, and had obviously approved of.
Avani sat with her back to the wreaths, her perusal of the room halting before her eyes could land on them. Rowan and King Logan likewise avoided them, but Queen Charlotte trailed her hand over the flowers as she passed like it was a ritual for her.
“I was thinking we could play Dominion,” she announced, pulling out an unfamiliar game set.
“Because nothing eases familial tension quite like destroying one another’s pretend armies,” Rowan muttered under her breath—not quietly enough, if the queen’s glare was anything to go by.
She launched into an accounting of the rules, which were simple enough. It was similar to the strategy exercises I had been trained on, though I had never considered engaging in one for amusement.
The king didn’t look particularly amused either, but I assumed that was more from present company than the actual game.
“Whiskey, Evander?” Queen Charlotte asked, the higher octave to her voice belying the strain she didn’t outright acknowledge.
Yes, please, for the love of every storm in Socair.
Outwardly, I only nodded graciously. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“None of that.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s Mamá now.”
I opened my mouth to argue, not entirely sure what to say. My mother died shortly after I was born. I didn’t have so much as a single hazy memory of her, let alone an idea of how I would have referred to her.
This felt…overly familiar and entirely foreign to me.
“There’s no point in arguing with her. It’s what Mac called her.” Avani’s tone was practical, but there was something more intentional in her emerald gaze.
It was rare that she mentioned her husband at all. But from what little I had gathered about him, Mac had also never had a mother. Aside from that, she was letting me know that it would be somewhat of an insult when the queen’s first son-in-law had obliged her.
“You don’t have to—” Rowan interjected, but there was no real reason for me to refuse.
It wasn’t like I associated the name with anyone else, and it clearly mattered to the queen. Given the limited time I would have to spend in Lochlann, it would cease to be an issue soon enough, anyway.
I nodded again, though this one was more clipped than I meant for it to be. “Mamá, then.”
She beamed. “And you can call Logan?—”
“Your Majesty is fine,” he barked.
Avani let out a startled laugh, and I couldn’t help but share the sentiment. I had expected no less. Rowan, however, tensed at my side, and the queen…Mamá…Charlotte glared outright.
“Newest member of the family can choose their color first,” Avani said after several silent beats, clearly trying to alleviate the tension.
That, at least, was simple.
“Black,” I answered.
She nodded, handing out the rest of the pieces without asking. Rowan’s were crimson, like the darkest strands of her hair. There were a handful of colors left in the box, but the way Avani’s hands tripped over the white pieces left no doubt as to who had played with those.
The king’s eyes tracked the movement, his jaw clenching before he looked away.
While we claimed sections of the map, Charlotte—which seemed like the most innocuous way to think of her now—presented an inquisition that made the after-dinner brandy evening look relaxed by comparison.
“Does every man in Socair join the military?”
“Every able-bodied man,” I confirmed. “They start training at fourteen for two years and serve for another three, then they are given a choice about whether they wish to continue with their trade within the scope of the military or outside of it.”
“No matter their class?” she pressed, barely glancing at the board as she placed her green figurine in one of the least defensible places.
“Correct.” I chose my spot with far more care, spacing my pieces just far enough that it would be easy to conquer whoever was in between, but not so far that I couldn’t unite the separate fronts.
“So you joined at fourteen as well?” Charlotte’s eyes sparked with genuine interest, and I sensed this was where she was always going, to a general accounting of my life.
What I was slightly more surprised by was the twin expression on Rowan’s features. It struck me how little we knew about one another’s lives, and it must have occurred to her as well. I had gleaned plenty from what I had observed in this castle, but she had spent most of her time in Bear locked away in one of our rooms.
So I answered in more detail than I might have given under normal circumstances, both to satisfy that curiosity and because there were things it would be helpful for her to know about the culture of my clan.
Conversation flowed relatively easily until we landed on my family, more specifically, the uncle who was no longer with us because he had been buried under the rubble of the explosion King Logan had created.
The war our kingdoms blamed one another for.
Even the king himself looked vaguely uncomfortable at the reminder, but this time it was Rowan who interceded.
“Do you have more cousins, then, who are even more uptight than Taras?” A smile played at her lips, and I forced myself to look away before her father could hate me even more.
“I do have more cousins,” I answered, studying the board. “Two, both women.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided the second part of that question.”
I said nothing, and she chuckled under her breath. Charlotte picked up her inquiry once more, but this time she was careful to steer away from my family, fortunately staying far from the topics of my father or Ava.
While I explained the difference in Socairan dialects, Rowan moved to make an attack on her father’s borders. He had carefully scaled back to create an opening that he would close just as quickly, shutting her within his borders.
I broke off mid-sentence, turning to my future wife. Avani and Charlotte had both spoken up more than once, so I knew it wasn’t against the rules. It might have been more strategic to let him expend his forces attacking hers so I could move in from the outset, but I couldn’t let her decimate herself so early in play.
“He’s baiting you into that,” I murmured, leaning down closer to her.
King Logan shot me a look that was devoid of any ire for a change. If anything, he might have looked reluctantly impressed.
Rowan studied his reaction, then the board, chewing thoughtfully at her lip.
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But I don’t have another move.”
It was like her to assume she had to move in order to win. Waiting was not her strong suit, and I could already tell she was more of a reactive player than a defensive one.
I gestured toward her poorly guarded territories. “Then fortify your borders.”
She pursed her lips, denial written on her features.
“Sometimes winning requires patience, Lemmikki.” I echoed my father’s most frequent reminder from a time when he had been far more lucid and no less ruthless.
It was strange to impart to her the strategy he had taught me, knowing how he had used it against her people. But it had been true then, and it was true now.
“And an actual plan,” I tacked on, since I suspected that was not obvious to her.
She wouldn’t even make a plan for where she was going to live in a month’s time, let alone for fictitious world domination.
She studied the board for another several moments, blowing a few wayward curls out of her face. Reluctantly, she moved her pieces to the edges of her kingdom.
The king sent his miniscule soldiers after mine next, so I ostensibly retreated. When my turn came, I took out half of Charlotte’s tiny green men in a blatant offense, taking the opportunity to move a few pieces closer to the king’s borders. My strategy was a long game, conquering in small batches so that the placement of my forces appeared incidental rather than intentional.
All the while, I felt the unfamiliar sensation of the king’s scrutinizing gaze. It was more than a little uncomfortable after I had grown used to his insistence on ignoring my existence.
Several turns passed before the plan came to a head. I moved three pieces into place, the ones that would solidify my other forces to surround the king’s.
He raised his eyebrows, approval shining in his gaze before he could suppress it. A smirk tugged at my lips, but the expression came a hair too soon. Once Rowan had moved her pieces, taking out several of Avani’s, King Logan launched a targeted attack directly through the center of my men. It was a gamble, but a calculated one that paid off as he escaped my immediate assault.
I was beginning to understand more and more why Rowan had looked so terrified on my balcony when she asked if I would lead my men to the front.
The dukes referred to the Bastard King as someone who was backed by sheer strength in numbers and a single lucky blow, but the man was every bit as calculating as a Socairan.
And every bit as ruthless.
How many people would have died if we had been forced to pit our armies against one another?
I nodded at him, eliciting the first hint of a smile I had ever received from him.
Avani’s next turn saw Charlotte out of play. The queen looked more relieved than disappointed. It wasn’t hard to surmise that she had suggested the lengthy game more for her husband’s benefit than for her own. Perhaps for mine as well.
“Well, I’m starvin—” she cut off abruptly with the gentle sound of a slippered foot connecting with flesh.
Rowan stared at her in horror, and it wasn’t hard to divine where the kick might have come from.
“Stars, Mamá,” Avani murmured, while even the king gave a small wince.
Charlotte looked at me in apology, but I waved away her concern. It was hardly the first uncomfortable subject that had been broached today, and it would likely not be the last.
She went on in a more subdued tone. “I’ll order up some tea and pastries to hold us over until dinner.”
The idea of stomaching something that sweet without even the balance of a proper meal was nothing short of revolting to me, but I wouldn’t argue with the food provided, certainly not after the reminder of what my own citizens would do for food.
Probably not before then, either. Even this far from home, there were customs too deeply ingrained to break free of.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about voicing an objection.
“Evander doesn’t like pastries,” Rowan told her mother.
I raised an eyebrow at her. That was a mild way of putting it, but it wasn’t like I had made that disgust known. I dutifully consumed my sickening dessert each evening out of the same decorum I desperately hoped she would adopt in my kingdom.
Yet she had noticed something that would have escaped my own men, in spite of her outward avoidance of me since my arrival. Not only that it wasn’t my choice of food, but that I directly disliked nearly every confection that came across the table, especially the ones here.
What else did she notice behind her mask of obliviousness?
Not that it was all feigned, but she had certainly been paying more attention than I realized.
“Bread and cheese, then?” Charlotte suggested without hesitation. There was no offense, concealed or otherwise, the way there would have been if I had argued with the offerings of another clan.
“That would be perfect.” I returned to my perusal of Rowan’s features.
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What?”
“I’m just...surprised you noticed,” I admitted.
She raised both of her eyebrows, smirking. “It wasn’t hard to guess that you would get no joy from something perfect and sweet.”
Staring down the princess who was far more real than anything perfect and far more interesting than anything sweet, I shrugged a single shoulder.
“I don't deny that,” I acknowledged in an undertone. “Why have perfect and sweet when you can have bold and unexpected?”
I didn’t have to wonder if she had heard the double meaning in my words. Her skin flushed with the praise, and her eyes lit up with a glow I couldn’t look away from. Avani cleared her throat, pulling my attention reluctantly back to my turn.
I expected to feel the weight of the king’s glare, as I usually did when he caught me displaying the sheer audacity of speaking with my betrothed, or worse, looking at her. This time, though, his expression was more thoughtful, his dark eyes shadowed with an emotion that felt both heavier than his disdain and infinitely more complex.
I wasn’t sure if it was an improvement or not.