Chapter 82
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
W e held the funeral the following day.
It was a tedious, pompous affair, and I was grateful that Mila had taken the time to prepare my wife since I had scarcely had a moment to breathe since we arrived at the estate.
At least, I assumed Mila had, since Rowan played her role to perfection, hosting graciously and not even grimacing when the lords stood to tell blatant lies about my father.
Though, some of it was true. Those parts were almost worse, remembering that he, too, had once been surrounded by men who gave their loyalty willingly, their respect without reservations.
Then the time came for me to officially claim my title as Clan Duke. Taras knelt before me, leading the customary vows as my official second-in-command.
“I am honored to serve my new duke,” he said at the end.
Each one of my closest men echoed him. Kirill’s voice rang out the loudest, but even Yuriy spoke in a tone that carried, alongside Henrick and Pavel and several others.
That wasn’t part of the proceedings, but Taras met my eyes solidly, as though daring me to argue with the change.
I nodded, accepting the faith I hoped I would keep in the months to come.
Through it all, Rowan never left my side. She was a small, steady presence, quieter than usual but no less fierce. I thought back to the first time I had seen her in the Council Room in Lochlann, the moment I had realized she was capable of acting like a queen.
Or a Clan Wife. The Clan Wife.
Albeit, a slightly violent one.
My people would be more grateful for that than they realized when the time came for war. And it would.
Because as soon as the ceremony was complete, I walked straight to my desk and drafted a letter to Iiro. I still hadn’t taken over my father’s study. I wasn’t sure I wanted to when the walls were bathed in all the blood he had forced me to spill.
To Sir Iiro , I penned. Not king .
Clan Bear declines your attempt at levying taxes on any goods that we have obtained through any means. In addition, Clan Bear formally revokes the signature of the previous Duke on the document supporting your position as king, as it was derived by duplicitous means. We withdraw our support, effective immediately.
Sincerely,
Sir Evander
Duke of Clan Bear
Hailstones large enough to crack the windows tumbled down ominously, though, notably, not a single one connected with the fragile glass. Rowan thrummed with energy while she surveyed the churning clouds.
“It will get worse before it gets better,” she informed me darkly.
“I don’t disagree,” I muttered, thinking of Iiro’s reaction to my letter.
I still had to write Nils, for that matter, and all of our allies, verifying that the partnerships would stand. As angry as Nils had been, he wasn’t likely to back out after he had acknowledged the longstanding friendship between our clans. Not to mention the general insult taken that Iiro would slay one of his own allies.
Taras would take Mila to talk to Arès in person, since we couldn’t very well send a bird letting him know to rally his troops just in case. There were a thousand other arrangements to be made, along with the standard amount of work that went into preparing my clan for the harsh winter ahead.
Though we at least had food stores this time.
Rowan sank onto the armchair in my study, pulling Boris into her lap while she furrowed her brow.
“What happens next?” There was no fear in her tone, only resolve, and for that I was absurdly grateful.
“Either he peacefully abdicates.” Which was deeply unlikely, but not completely outside the realm of possibility, assuming I could gather enough support. “Or there is war.”
“War,” she repeated, running her hand thoughtfully along the ginger menace. Well, the other ginger menace.
I met her eyes, letting her see that I was not afraid of the possibilities. We had impressive armies, and we were by no means defenseless if it came to that.
But I would still try to avoid it.
“We’ll certainly prepare for that, but there is still hope for diplomatic measures.” If a very, very small hope.
She raised her eyebrows, like she had heard the caveat I didn’t voice aloud, but she still didn’t look afraid. Instead, her gaze hardened, and she lifted her chin.
For better or worse, I knew that when war came, she would be ready to stand at my side. There was no way in hell the daughter of the Warrior Queen would stand at the parapets of the estate waiting for me to return from the battlefront.
But I had known that when I married her, and I couldn’t deny it gave me a small amount of comfort to know how well she defended herself.
I wouldn’t have to leave her side.
I wouldn’t have to face the weight of the coming storm without her.
The next weeks passed in a blur of meetings with the lords and missives to my spies that were met with increasingly sinister silence.
Nothing at all from the Obsidian Palace or the massive aalio who occupied it.
Nils returned my vaguely worded letter in the affirmative.
Of course, you know where we stand on the pride of our clan. Our armies are always prepared to fight if the need arises.
That was true enough. Though I prided myself on both the size and training of Bear’s army, Nils was relentless with his men as well. While there were mandatory periods of service for Bear, Wolf required every able-bodied man in the kingdom to report for yearly training and maintain an affiliation with the military, regardless of their trade.
Their forces were fearsome, and they stood directly between us and the Obsidian Palace—or Elk, for that matter.
Crane also responded, letting me know in no uncertain terms that they would not stand for a king who killed one of his own dukes. They were close to the Ram border, which would be beneficial for keeping Mikhail from joining any potential conflict.
He wouldn’t decimate his clan for the sake of a war he couldn’t win, and he wouldn’t send forces out with enemies on all sides.
I already knew where Arès stood. Though his clan was the richest in resources, his focus on fishing and farming had detracted somewhat from his military. Still, he had a large enough army, and the placement of his soldiers was advantageous, spanning the entire western border of the Obsidian territory.
Iiro was an arseling, but he was a strategic arseling. He, too, would not start a war he couldn’t win, which gave me an iota of hope that he would not start this war at all. As it stood, there was no way he could plan to defeat the entire north. At best, he would set us into a decades-long conflict like the one Lochlann had been engaged in before their treaty.
And that was assuming that the Lochlannians didn’t join the fray, which was unlikely, given how well Rowan’s family would take to a threat against their daughter.
Even Iiro’s own dukes wouldn’t stand for those odds, with resources stretched as thin as they were and armies that would outnumber them by the thousands.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something, as seemed to be the case where the false-king was concerned as of late. Iiro was far too quiet, the territory around his palace locked completely down. So I continued with my preparations, along with the daily running of the clan, unraveling the tangled mess of my father’s reign and shoring up my armies.
At least I was distracted from the suspicious glances my people still cast my way, as they wondered whether I had killed their precious, murderous duke or their sadist of a Clan Wife.
Distracted from the visions of my father in life and in death that followed me around the castle where he had raised me.
And distracted from the pale pink scar along my wife’s neck that reminded me every day how I had failed her.
Though I hadn’t realized quite how much I had been avoiding the latter until she slipped into my study in the dead of night, well after I assumed she was sleeping.
She walked in on her usual light footsteps, the soft padding sound accompanied by a whisper of silk from her dressing gown sliding against her skin with the movement.
I was nearly finished with this letter, so I quickly penned out the rest of the sentence, signing the bottom. Instead of waiting in the armchair like she normally did when I was in the middle of a task, she crossed the distance to where I sat, bringing her hands to massage the tight muscles in my neck.
I hadn’t realized how long I had spent hunched over my work until she deftly worked through the knots that had built up over the long hours and even longer days.
I set my quill down, raising my head at last.
“What time is it, Lemmikki?” My voice was rough with disuse. It must have been later than I thought.
“Late,” she answered in her usual vague way. But I hardly minded since she leaned down to murmur the word against my skin.
How long had it been since I had felt her body against mine? Since I had reminded her that she was the single most important thing in the world to me?
Heat spread from her lips, wrapping tendrils of desire around every part of my body.
Too long . It had been far too long.
I put my hand on hers, pulling her around to stand in front of me. Her black robe clung to the sides of her body, but she had just barely bothered to belt it. It was completely open in the middle, reminding me that my wife preferred to sleep in nothing at all.
Pale skin contrasted with the black fabric, too tempting for me to keep from tasting, even if I hadn’t already realized how fiercely I had missed her. Heat sparked in her eyes, desire pebbling her skin and making her lean ever so slightly toward me.
Der’mo .
It was intoxicating, the way she was responsive to the smallest look, how the molten need that coursed through my soul found its twin in hers, time after time.
Holding her stare, I untied her robe slowly, letting my fingers slide along her skin while I watched her plump lips part on a gasp. I pushed the fabric out of the way, claiming her with my gaze the way I was about to do with my body.
I didn’t shy away from the scar on her neck this time, raking it in along with the rest of her. She was still here, and she was still mine. I would not take that for granted for another second, let alone wallow in the kind of regret that accomplished nothing.
Resolved, I grazed my lips along the smooth skin of her stomach, relishing the hitch in her breath.
“I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting you in truth this time,” I said as she arched further against me.
She didn’t respond. At least, not verbally, though her eyes glazed over with want and my favorite deep pink blush traveled all the way down her creamy skin. I traced its path with my mouth while I reached up to slide the neat stacks of papers on my desk out of the way, making room for my wife.
There was only one priority that mattered right now, only one task that needed accomplished, and it didn’t have a single storms-damned thing to do with the endless amount of work on my desk.
She let out a small squeal of surprise as I hoisted her onto the desk. Then she rested back on her arms, shaking her glorious hair out behind her and giving me a full, unobstructed view of the body I had tasted every inch of, each perfect curve framed by black silk and crimson curls.
My lips were back on her skin, drawn to her by a magnetic force I had no desire to resist. I teased my way up to her graceful collarbone, the subtle muscles in her shoulder, and the sensitive skin of her neck, each of her ragged exhales bringing me closer to coming completely undone.
“Evander,” she gasped when my teeth grazed her neck.
I froze, trying to recapture the control she was steadily unraveling, just as she always did when she said my name like she was begging and ordering me all at once.
Had I ever told her that? If not, I was sure as storms going to rectify that now.
“ Der’mo , Lemmikki,” I said in a low tone, my hands clenching around her. “Do you have any idea what the sound of my name on your lips does to me?”
A shiver went through her, bringing her even closer to me until my patience fled me entirely. Being with her like this was the closest I came to deliverance, the only fragment of redemption in a soul that had been long past saving by the time it joined with hers.
The distraction from the past few weeks was no excuse for how I had let our time pass us by when the future ahead of us was uncertain, at best; when we both needed to communicate with so much more than words.
I could tell she felt it, too, the contradictory mix of relief and remorse seeping through the cracks of our mutual desire, mingling with our ragged breaths and finally dissolving in the frigid night air when we rediscovered ourselves in one another.
Just as it was always supposed to be. Just as it always would be.