Chapter 4
T he first dance of the Summit was as titillating as ever.
No matter how bleak the topics of Summit meetings could be, it didn’t stop our people from treating them like a party. It was a vague gesture toward the civility between clans that was rarely displayed otherwise.
In the middle of a clearing, under the low light of lanterns hanging in the trees, was a makeshift dance floor. Long tables lined either side, laden with succulent foods from all nine clans. Meanwhile, medovukha was passed around like it was water and we were in a drought.
As much as I would have loved to abstain from the festivities, I had my own role to play. I would lose any respect I had garnered as my father’s heir if I flouted custom so blatantly.
I had even changed out of the uniform I wore earlier in the day to something a little more formal for the party. Black trousers and a white tunic shirt under an obsidian jacket with the outline of a bear on the sleeve. It had a stiff, high collar, and gleaming silver buttons down the middle.
I spent the early portion of the evening fulfilling my obligation to accept several drinks before dancing with the dukes’ wives, daughters, and nieces, pretending not to notice the way so many of them peered up at me with barely concealed terror.
Including Lady Galina, my current dance partner.
She went through the motions as if on instinct, belying both skill and years of training. But her ramrod straight spine was from more than etiquette, and her widened ice blue eyes were just a hint too telling.
Of course, she had more reason than most to be afraid. When my father sent me to villages on the western front, the survivors would sometimes flee to Ram, especially if they had family on the other side of the border.
Lady Galina had the rare privilege of witnessing Bear’s carnage, firsthand - or at least, of witnessing the aftereffects.
Still, it was my duty to make polite conversation, and I could never hope to cultivate the alliances my people needed if I was seen to be defying any part of Socairan custom.
“The aster is blooming late this year,” I finally commented, having noticed her wandering over to examine the purple blooms more than once since the dance started.
We turned, and it was then I caught sight of the princess, dancing with Mikhail.
Now that word had spread about who she really was, her long crimson curls were free, brushing against her lower back. She wore a sparkling golden gown that only seemed to amplify her curves, putting all of her on display like she was some prized trophy for Clan Elk to flaunt.
The aging Duke whispered something into her ear, and she blanched, openly horrified. A tendril of irritation unfurled in my gut.
Wasn’t Iiro supposed to have her on a leash, rather than wandering around to be harassed and subsequently make herself look even worse?
What was he playing at?
“It is,” Lady Galina agreed blandly, pulling my attention back to her.
“You were admiring them earlier,” I pointed out.
If anything, her face lost even more color. Did she think I had designs on her hand in marriage because I had noticed what any casual observer would?
Storms.
It wasn’t as if I could blame her for not wanting to be my betrothed and have to witness the carnage firsthand. Whether or not the village burnings were the Duke’s orders, I had been the one to carry them out. He stayed behind at the estate while I became the nightmare of Clan Bear.
It was for the best, though. I didn’t have the inherent power of a duke yet, so I relied on that fear to keep the world from realizing there were cracks in the foundation of my clan.
My family.
Fortunately for Lady Galina, it meant I would not be vying for her—or anyone’s hand—any time soon. Not to mention she was all but engaged to Korhonan already.
She recovered quickly, shutting down her features with an ease that would put even Lady Inessa to shame. Gone was her fear, and also the intelligence I had seen sparking there only moments ago.
“They are quite beautiful. I especially enjoy stitching them into my needlework, my lord.”
“An admirable hobby.” I returned her incredibly boring turn of conversation in kind.
A flash of red hair winked into my periphery, and I found myself wondering vaguely what a polite conversation with the princess would have looked like.
Did she have polite conversations, or hobbies that didn’t involve stabbing people or landing herself in dungeons?
The music ended and I thanked Lady Galina for the dance, which she returned with a demure bow.
I took advantage of the reprieve to obtain another much-needed glass of medovukha, but I knew better than to actually let my guard down. Sure enough, only one sip in, the Duke of Bison appeared at my side.
“I trust you’ll give your father my best,” he said.
“Certainly,” I agreed.
“Since he couldn’t make it,” the duke tacked on.
I had been wondering when someone would bring that up outright.
“Didn’t want to is probably closer to the truth,” I said in a conspiratorial tone. “But such is my duty as his heir.”
The duke let out a short laugh, as I had known he would. “Would that I had thought to do the same,” he lied.
He wouldn’t have because it wasn’t generally done. My only saving grace had been that there was no actual law against it. Still, I had won him over by pretending to let him in on the truth.
He wasn’t suspicious now. Just irritated, which we could smooth over. Well, I could.
In between more dances, I fielded an endless slew of probing questions and pointed remarks about my father while I collected information of my own in an effort to discern how everyone felt about this summons and its bizarre purpose.
And when I wasn’t doing any of those things, I carefully studied her .
I watched her try and fail to suppress another look of disgust when Mikhail openly fondled her during yet another dance - one of which I was sure she would rather not be participating in, but wasn’t really given a choice—watched fear and confusion flicker across her features at the Duke of Wolf’s clear disdain.
The ladies gave her a wide berth, avoiding the curls that blew in the breeze like they were poisonous vipers. The lords didn’t seem to know what to do with her, alternating between disdain for her lineage, fear of her hair, and openly lusting after the ample curves even her southern gown couldn’t hide entirely.
I observed as she watched Korhonan, wondering if she knew he was all but betrothed to the willowy blonde in his arms.
And unsurprisingly, I noticed Iiro’s icy glare that he shot her way each time she opened her mouth to decline a dance with one of the lords, quickly prodding her into submission.
Yet, she continued to play his game, despite all evidence that her personality was to the contrary. I intended to find out why.
She didn’t appear to notice me standing in front of her until I held out my hand in an offer for her to dance. Her green eyes flitted between my hand and my face as she glanced up at me with a smile that was more of a grimace.
“Ah, another upstanding gentleman coming to feel out the Lochlannian princess,” she muttered, all but throwing her hand into mine.
Disgust flooded me at the insinuation. I was a monster in plenty of ways, but I had never and would never put my hands on an unwilling woman.
“I can assure you that’s the furthest thing from my mind.”
She almost looked offended at that, a reaction I wasn’t going to touch as I moved us to an open spot on the dance floor.
“So, what, then?” she challenged. “You didn’t get your fun in calling me a fraud in front of the entire Summit? Now you want to dance?”
Want. As if I wanted to be at this Summit at all, let alone having this conversation or attempting to untangle the mess Clan Elk was throwing our entire kingdom into.
“I wouldn’t go right to want ,” I said drily, keeping my expression neutral.
“Yet, here we are,” she remarked, bitterly.
I took a moment to examine her up close as the music started and we prepared to dance, studying her fearless expression and casual stance. Her audacity.
Had she been reckless enough to taunt the dukes this way? It wouldn’t do for her to actually entice them into killing her, not when my clan would bear the brunt of a war with Lochlann as a result.
The mountain pass between my clan and her kingdom was the only way to move an army into Socair. Fortunately, while the clans might still be furious about the last war, none of them seemed eager to rush into another one.
“Haven’t you noticed that Socairans live and die on decorum?” I asked after a moment, hoping she would take the hint, the warning , as we glided across the dance floor. “Quite literally, in your case.”
“And now you’re mocking me?” She reared her head back, causing her insane mass of hair to bounce with abandon. “Do you think it’s funny that I might die at the end of this week?”
I sighed in exasperation. She had to know how unlikely it was that the Summit would start a war, let alone that a man like Iiro would ever risk his own clan by bringing her here. Then again, maybe that’s why she was making so little effort.
Time would tell if she could push them into acting against their better interest through sheer annoyance.
As we moved through the other dancing couples, her graceful movements with the steps caught me somewhat off-guard. It was different from the practiced ease of Lady Galina, but still, she followed my lead effortlessly. She had stumbled through the other traditional Socairan dances, and this one was nothing like the ones I knew of from Lochlann.I doubted seriously they had adapted the dance, given their general disdain for all things Socairan.
Yet, she had no trouble keeping up.
For some reason, the information felt interesting, if not necessarily important, and I filed it away before responding to her inane question about her imminent death.
“Come on, Princess.” I scoffed. “We both know it won’t come to that.”
Her lips parted in fury. “ We don’t know any such thing.”
The words grated on my unusually thin patience. “Don’t pretend to be na?ve. It doesn’t look good on you.”
She glared harder, her small fingers closing around the neck of my tunic like perhaps she would rather be closing them around my neck. “I’m not pretending to be na?ve any more than you’re pretending to be an arsehole.”
I nearly stumbled on that last word.
Did she actually just call me an arsehole when she believes I am one of nine men deciding whether she lives or dies? I didn’t know whether to be offended or impressed.
Mostly, it only honed my suspicions, but clearly subtlety was not the way to go with her.
“No?” I prodded. “So, you aren’t scheming with the ever-crafty Lord Iiro?”
Whatever semblance of control she had been holding fast to snapped with my blunt question.
“Scheming for what?” she all but yelled. “The illustrious opportunity to put my life in the hands of a group of men who won’t so much as let me speak on my own behalf?”
As I was attempting to process her words, she lurched forward, putting the full weight of her heel on my black leather boot.
She was. Such. A. Child. I grunted in irritation, but before I could otherwise respond, Korhonan’s voice sounded instead.
“I believe it is my turn,” he spat.
For all that he was Socairan, he didn’t bother to hide his emotions nearly well enough, either. His tone dripped with jealousy. With a level of possession that made me want to keep her here, just to spite him.
She looked at him like he was her savior from me, the obvious villain in her tale, and I suppressed another scoff. It’s not like I was the one who had dragged her here and forced her to dance with a group of men who hated her and lusted after her in equal turn.
And if she truly was a captive, then I certainly wasn’t the one taking advantage.
In any event, Korhonan had none of his brother’s underhanded tendencies. Between him and Princess Can’t-control-her-features-to-save-her-own-life, I was starting to believe that Iiro had plotted all of this alone, or, at the very least, without the two of them.
I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.