Chapter 53
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
M y heart thumped in my chest when the music started.
While my father had waxed poetic about all the ways we could use my marriage against my wife’s family as we had our traditional pre-wedding vodka, Kirill had shown up with my freshly polished ceremonial baldric. It was the signal we had worked out to let me know that Rowan had arrived, but I still hadn’t seen her to verify it with my own eyes. Which only contributed to the unease prickling along my spine.
I didn’t know whether she was safe and happy or injured.
Only that she was here.
Mila’s features were carved into Socairan neutrality as she entered through an inconspicuous side door, but she gave me the barest hint of a nod. It still wasn’t enough. I needed to see my wife.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than the gilded entryway doors opened, emitting a tiny figure covered entirely in black. I had no doubt that it was Rowan, though.
Just as when I had picked her out of a crowded ballroom in Lochlann, I was intimately familiar with the way she moved—decidedly more so now than I had been then.
She looked even smaller than usual, standing at the end of a never-ending aisle surrounded by so many people who despised her.
Maybe that was only because she was so vivid in my memories, taking up so much more space in my mind than her small form required in reality.
Even underneath the long black veil, though, I could see that she walked with her shoulders squared. There was no sign of injury or cowering. She was a woman walking onto a battlefield.
I let loose a subtle breath, but I wouldn’t know true reassurance until I saw her face.
She walked down the aisle with perfectly timed steps, either by instinct or by coaching, gliding until she was beside me. I took her hand with none of the urgency that coursed through my veins, keeping myself aloof for the sake of our audience, in spite of the lightning that zapped almost hungrily from her skin to mine.
We hadn’t had time to discuss our Socairan wedding before I left.
Did she understand the pretense that was necessary? That tonight would look nothing at all like the intimate ceremony we had in Lochlann?
I swept my thumb over her wrist, the only reassurance I could offer her until we were alone. She squeezed my hand in return, a subtle acknowledgement that eased a bit of the pressure in my chest.
Gently, I turned her toward the magistrate, who had already launched into the traditional wedding discourse. I took a slow, deliberate breath when the man instructed my stepmother to remove Rowan’s veil.
Each step she took toward my wife was a dagger slicing along my skin. My fingers itched to wrap around the hilts of my swords, to end Ava’s life before she could put her conniving hands anywhere near my lemmikki.
I waited for Rowan to tense up as well, but her hand didn’t so much as twitch in mine. She stood calmly, like a woman who wanted her dead wasn’t approaching her unguarded back.
Ava pulled the veil from Rowan’s shorter form, finally revealing the face I had missed more than I wanted to acknowledge, more than I could adequately describe. Jade eyes connected with mine for a single heartbeat before she turned her head to look over her shoulder, eyes boring into my stepmother’s instead.
“Admiring your artwork?”
I was so focused on the unobstructed view of her perfect face that it took me longer than it should have to register her words and the collective shock of the entire Great Hall.
Rowan’s lips were painted dark and tipped up at the corners in a cold smirk that faltered the slightest bit when she met my eyes with a question. I heard the echo of the question she had asked so many weeks ago in a tone that matched her furious semblance of a smile.
Any black dress?
Slowly, I raked my gaze down the lacy shoulders of her gown, forcing my features to remain even as I took in the back of her dress. Or, where the back of her dress should have been, since she had apparently decided to forego that part of her ensemble entirely.
Every one of her flogging scars was on display, evident to anyone who had ever witnessed the punishment before—namely, everyone in this room—and her pointed question had left no doubt as to who was responsible.
Her defiant features certainly made more sense now. Even the commanding way she had entered the room. She could have worn a dress that revealed the scars with little commentary, but she had opted for one that highlighted them.
It was a warning to my stepmother that she wouldn’t be silenced—and a message to the rest of the guests that she wouldn’t be tamed.
Pride warred with frustration, but neither of those things were helpful now, so I cast them aside.
However I felt about what my dearest wife had done, I only had two options now. If I showed even a hint of my disapproval, every person in this room would be proven right about my wayward Lochlannian wife. The plans I had been forming to slowly integrate her as something more than a typical Clan Wife, something she might not feel quite so stifled by, would unravel before they even began.
We would both lose the respect of the Bear lords if they believed I had no sway over my own wife, let alone the dukes.
So really, I only had one option, and that was to make my full support clear. Better it look like we both decided to let the room know that she would not be cowed by the men who had been prepared to send her home in pieces or the woman who nearly did.
I would find a way to deal with my father later.
Returning her feral grin with one of my own, I pitched my voice just loud enough to carry. “You look ravishing today, as always, Princess.”
Let them make of that what they will.
“And you as well, My Lord.” Her smile turned softer, and I knew that no matter what the consequences had been, I never could have left her alone in this moment.
She was mine to protect, even when the biggest threat was from her own storms-damned recklessness. Which it usually seemed to be.
I had never been more grateful for the custom of giving the new couple a moment alone than I was by the time our ceremony finally ended.
Her familiar scent of amber and citrus invaded my senses with each passing minute, taunting me with visions of our single night together. Energy hummed from our single point of contact, and I wasn’t sure I could get through the next several hours of our reception without having my lips on her.
I walked stoically at her side, keeping a foot of space between us until the moment the guard shut the door. My self-control followed him right out the door.
I spun Rowan around, letting down my mask to show her exactly how much I had missed her in the weeks we were apart. Her eyes blazed into mine with the same intense wave of desire. Lifting her up against the wall, I had just enough restraint to avoid the carefully applied cosmetics on her face, instead pressing my lips against the bare skin of her jaw, her neck, and the bare edge of her collarbone.
She tasted exactly the same, her gasp sounding in the room around us. Her dagger dug into my hip, only adding to the heat that spread through to my limbs.
Of course, she was armed underneath this dress.
It was probably a mistake, giving myself even the smallest moment with her when there were hours still before I could take her to our bed, but I was desperate to feel even a fraction of her warmth again. To remember that my hands were capable of more than slaughter and warfare, that there was still a spark of color in the bleak unending landscape of my responsibilities here at Bear.
“How long do we have in here?” She panted out the words.
At least I wasn’t the only one who had suffered during our time apart. As much fun as it would have been to take her up on that implication, we would be expected to return far too soon.
I chuckled darkly along her skin, reminding myself of all the reasons we couldn’t afford to tempt fate anymore today.
“Not long enough,” I told her.
“Well, that’s a shame.” Her lips tilted down into a pout that tested me all over again.
“ Der’mo , I missed you, Lemmikki.” Storms knew I had missed her body, but I had missed this, too, all the teasing and forthrightness that had driven me insane from the moment I’d met her.
“I missed you, too,” she breathed. “No more plans like that.”
Though I had no desire to be apart from her again, the plan had been a success.
“It worked,” I said in lieu of the agreement she wanted. “You’re here, safe.” You didn’t have to return to my father’s wrath or spend the weeks before our wedding watching me play executioner.
Not that I thought we’d be so fortunate for the rest of our marriage. My role here was a reality of our lives together, but she was hardly ignorant to that fact. At least, now, my father couldn’t demand she be part of the carnage.
“And now, with the protection of a Clan Wife,” I added for my own sake as much as hers, running my thumbs along the bare skin on the sides of her ribcage. The dress had plenty of perks, whatever fallout it created. “Even Iiro wouldn’t risk his tenuous position thwarting one of our most sacred laws.”
She rested her hands on my shoulders, and I couldn’t bring myself to put any space between us yet.
“Tenuous?” she asked, reminding me that she had no idea what had transpired since I left. Especially since I doubted Taras had been forthcoming with her, given his general taciturn nature.
“Arès and Ivan Lusikka from Bison didn’t sign.” The other seven clan signatures were by no means insignificant, but two parties standing on neutrality would help.
I could assume Arès was more opposed than neutral, but he was smarter than to acknowledge that openly, and we hadn’t gotten the opportunity to speak away from prying ears. Between my father’s demands and the wedding itself, there had been time for little else.
“What does that mean for us?” Her brow furrowed in concern, and I finally forced myself to set her down so we could have this conversation, because holding her was not conducive to anything remotely productive—other than the obvious, which we’d already determined we didn’t currently have enough time for.
“It means that there’s a chance this won’t stand,” I explained. “A chance I plan on actively pursuing, but since my father did sign, we have to make some pretense of...obeisance.”
Rowan nodded, lips twisting in distaste. “So, bowing and Your Majesty-ing?”
My sentiments mirrored hers exactly. “Unfortunately.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re both so good at pretending.” She smirked.
As much as I appreciated her attempt at levity, she was in no way good at pretending to possess even the barest semblance of demureness.
“Indeed.” Doubt filled my tone, so I moved on. “Speaking of which, it’s important that my father not understand that there is...actual affection between us.”
The word felt both too flowery and too simple to explain my relationship with Rowan, but she seemed to understand, without offense, nonetheless.
She raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
I heard the echo of my father’s voice as he described in vivid detail all the ways he wanted to destroy her family, the ends he thought I was working toward as well. I should have expected her to question this, but explaining the finer points of how I manipulated my father would have taken more time than we had, not to mention that it was a grim undertaking for our first conversation in months.
Ultimately, I decided on a simpler truth to give her. “It’s best if he believes he has control of a situation.”
Of course, his wasn’t the only opinion we had to concern ourselves with.
“For that matter, the dukes tend to pounce on any perceived weakness as well,” I told her. “Things will be easier if they believe this is nothing more than a political alliance.”
She let out a breath, leaning her head back against the wall. “Ah, yes, the dukes. Well, we’re in this together now, so I suppose I should do my part. Shall I assume it would be prudent for me to dance with all of them, as I did at the Summit?”
An unwanted image of her clinging to Korhonan at the ball in Lochlann came to my mind, and I scowled. “You don’t have to dance with all of them.”
She tilted her head before huffing out a short laugh. “Jealousy, Evander? On our wedding day?”
“You know I don’t like other people to touch what’s mine.” Especially not when those people try to claim my lemmikki for themselves.
“I’m sure there are points to be made.” She shook her head like I was being shortsighted, which was comical, all things considered.
“You’ve made a hell of a point already,” I couldn’t help but remind her, my gaze sweeping purposefully over her gown.
She shrugged. “They were calling me the Lochlannian whore, regardless. Now that they know how little I care, maybe they’ll find something more interesting to talk about.”
The rage that had moved up to live closer to the surface of my soul than usual lately flared in full force. Perhaps I wouldn’t mind adding to the bloodshed of the past few weeks, after all.
“Rest assured, Lemmikki, they weren’t saying it where I could hear it,” I bit out.
She ran her hands up and down my arms. “The dances…”
“Yes,” I relented with a sigh. “It would be prudent to dance with the dukes, but this won’t be like the Summit. If a single one of them puts their hands where you don’t want them, it will be completely within my rights to end them. A right I will take full advantage of, with pleasure.”
Her eyes flashed with vengeance. “Well then, we can hope Mikhail struggles to control himself.”
In spite of everything, a grin tugged at my lips. Life hadn’t been precisely boring without her, but it had certainly been darker.
“One can dream.”