Chapter 59
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
B y the time we left the sparring room, there was a small part of me that felt—if not hopeful—at least slightly less tense about moving forward with this plan.
Though there had still been a handful of soldiers who balked at training with her, most of them fell in line and were even curious to take on my feral princess themselves.
After cleaning up, I left Rowan in our rooms to do the same, and headed to first assess my father’s headspace before meeting with the castle steward to discuss my plan for dispensing some of my wife’s dowry to the villages. From there, I had an afternoon of meetings with some of my least favorite lords to look forward to.
A far cry from the way I had spent my previous afternoons, and much less enjoyable.
After a week with her at my side, it was more difficult than I expected to leave Rowan behind. Or rather, to send her off to luncheon with the ladies of court.
Kirill was with her, of course, working his new assignment as her personal guard. Mila would be at the lunch as well. In her short time at Bear, she had already ingratiated herself with the ladies, something I was hoping she would be able to assist my wife with.
Still, it was a relief when I finally made my way back to my rooms before dinner to find her half-dressed at her vanity, looking no worse for wear after her afternoon excursions.
She tucked a rogue curl behind her ear, applying a small bit of rouge to her lips as her eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Lady Stenvall,” I greeted her.
“Lord Stenvall,” she returned, but there was less warmth in her tone than I expected.
“How was your afternoon?” I asked, making my way to the small bar against the wall.
There would be drinks at dinner, but after an entire hour of Lord Bolshoi’s grating voice, I had been looking forward to a dram of the whiskey Davin had sent as my wedding gift.
“It was interesting,” she responded bitterly.
I furrowed my brows, waiting for her to continue as I poured myself a healthier serving than I had originally planned.
“I especially enjoyed meeting Lady Katerina,” she added with a heavy dose of sarcasm, and I froze.
Der’mo .
“A warning would have been nice,” she tacked on in a far more serious tone.
I swallowed, my gaze sliding up to meet hers. She was no longer facing the mirror. Instead, I met the full force of her glare. Her jaw was set, her lips pursed in anger as she studied me.
Der’mo, indeed.
“It was a long time ago, Lemmikki,” I said flatly, not bothering to remind her that I’d been forced to hear about her exploits from other people, see them firsthand, or that she had thrown them in my face on more than one occasion.
“And when exactly was I supposed to bring that up? Did you want me to casually mention it this morning on the way to the sparring ring, or perhaps while we were in the bath?”
Her skin flushed a deep shade of scarlet, and she stood from her dressing chair.
“At literally any point before I had to figure it out at this luncheon would have been preferable,” she fired back. “Honestly, how would you have felt in Lochlann if you had been sitting down to cards with the lairds and happened upon the realization that the one sitting next to you had bedded your wife?”
My grip on the whiskey bottle tightened, my jaw clenching as I imagined severing the imagined man’s head from his neck.
While I hadn’t always appreciated my wife’s forthrightness in flaunting her former trysts, at least I hadn’t been caught off guard by them. And I knew now that they hadn’t quite gone to the extent that my own…liaisons had.
“Fair point,” I acknowledged, and she sighed.
“I’m not complaining that you have a past, Evander. But in the future, perhaps you could just...let me know what I’m walking into.”
It was a reasonable request, though that didn’t necessarily make it a simple one. It wasn’t that I wanted to keep my handful of former lovers a secret from her, but more that after a lifetime of playing my cards close to my chest, it wasn’t going to be easy to just change that now.
Still, I nodded. For her, I would try to be more mindful.
Her brows rose as she looked at me expectantly.
“I’m giving you the chance, right now,” she said irritably. “Before another luncheon tomorrow.”
Fortunately for both of us, my choices in bedmates through the years had been chosen specifically for their discretion and their lack of complication.
Katerina was the only lady at court that I had a history with, usually preferring to keep my dalliances limited to the occasional discreet barmaid. I may not have been able to prevent a future encounter with the former, but I certainly never needed to put Rowan in a position to encounter the others.
“I’m not Davin, Lemmikki.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “It’s not as though I’ve been with half the court.”
“I’m sure he’d be offended that you think it’s only half,” she scoffed, but her expression softened.
She was grinning now, but her eyes went distant, flitting to the mountains the way they always did when she was homesick.
So, I set the bottle down, giving her a genuine smirk in return as I moved across the room to stand in front of her.
“If it matters to you, I will make sure that you are...informed, should the situation arise.”
She tilted her head, looking up at me through her dark lashes. “Yes, it matters to me,” she said softly.
Then she stepped even closer, her fingers gliding up my chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The scent of amber and citrus washed over me as she stood on her tiptoes, whispering in a possessive tone that sent a rush of adrenaline through me.
“Or did you forget that I own you, Evander?”
I swallowed, letting out a low, dark chuckle at the echo of my words on her lips. She did, in fact, own me, just as surely as I owned her.
“I could never forget that, Lemmikki.” The words came out in a growl as she slipped free of her dressing gown to reveal a delicate bit of silk and lace that did little to cover her.
Graceful fingers brushed against mine as she grabbed my glass of whiskey, meeting my eye in a challenge as she took a long drink.
“ Der’mo , Lemmikki.” I breathed out the words against her neck before carrying her to the bed to remind her exactly how much she belonged to me.
Since I doubted either of us was ready to face the entire court again, I planned our first dinner with Mila and Taras alone. Taras and I sat back, watching as our wives animatedly gossiped about their afternoon before gushing over the new style of dresses Rowan was introducing to the court.
It reminded me of being at the cabin, the rare bit of peace something I had never risked indulging in at the estate. Even now, I was cognizant that a messenger could come from my father at any moment, shattering the flimsy illusion that moments like this created.
That didn’t stop me from letting out a small chuckle, nearly choking on my bite of stroganoff when my lemmikki brought up the world’s most unappealing nightdress.
“He found them to be quite provocative,” she told Mila, sliding her gaze to me.
“Indeed, I did,” I said evenly, recalling the striking image of her wild curls and horrified expression as she stood in said shapeless nightdress. “I’m not sure how I kept my hands off you then, what with the seventeen layers of irresistible ruffles.”
It was only partially a joke. Even in the ridiculous outfit, there had still been a small part of me that had wanted to rip apart the hideous fabric concealing her perfect body.
Mila distracted me from those memories with a howling laugh, one that even brought a smile to my cousin’s usually terse expression.
“I’m fortunate that my father was more lenient than most dukes,” she said when she got herself under control. “I was never forced to suffer those.”
“A fact for which I am grateful,” Taras said with a grin.
“Speaking of your father,” Rowan said, looking at her friend. “He looked...displeased as he was leaving the other day.”
My cousin and his wife shared a private glance.
“Yes, well, Iiro is pressuring him to sign.” She pointedly avoided looking in my direction as she continued in an even tone. “And he isn’t thrilled that as Bear’s ally, it’s harder for him to stay neutral. But neither was Evander here to prevent this from happening.”
She added the last part more quietly, not as an accusation, but more as a private insight.
For Rowan. One I had not given my wife in the wake of all the other things that had gone wrong because of our alliance and my time in Lochlann.
I hadn’t seen the need to list out every casualty that had resulted from our union.
Rowan’s features fell. Her brow furrowed as she processed the information, glancing between the three of us before her expression shifted to one of accusation.
“Well, we’re working on that,” I assured her truthfully.
“How?” she asked flatly.
That was a fair enough question, if not a complicated one. The last thing I wanted was to spend a rare private dinner enmired in the endless politics that may or may not save us from Iiro’s tyranny, but I also didn’t want to dismiss her question.
“Slowly,” I answered as simply as I could. “And carefully. We’re trying to find diplomatic solutions, and if not…” I trailed off, allowing her to put the pieces together.
It didn’t take her long.
“And if not, there will be war.” Her voice came out hollow.
I nodded, a single, reluctant dip of my chin. Though I would do everything in my power to maneuver away from an outright conflict, it was only a matter of time before Iiro refused to tolerate the only two clans denying his rule.
Rowan furrowed her brow, pulling her lip thoughtfully between her teeth.
“How would that work,” she asked me slowly. “With your father supporting him?”
That was also a fair question, one I wanted to consider even less. Our alliance with Arès would not supersede a war fought for a king we had actively put on the throne. Not in my father’s eyes, nor those of the other clans.
That was part of why Arès was so furious, and rightfully so.
Taras's words cut through the silence, lending voice to the thoughts that had been haunting us since learning that my father signed the storms-damned petition.
“It’s an unlikely outcome, given the odds, because…Bear would have no choice but to fight for Iiro.”
Rowan looked stricken, her lips parting in horror.
The once lively room fell completely silent, the reality of war—and being forced to fight on the wrong side—hanging over our heads like an executioner’s axe.
I glanced from my cousin’s grim expression to his wife’s trembling hand before looking back at my lemmikki.
She stared down at her plate, half-heartedly bringing her fork to her lips when I knew she had lost all desire to eat.
I placed a hand on hers, silently offering comfort where words were failing. There were no promises I could make her right now, none I could offer to Mila or Taras, either. Not yet, anyway. But I hadn’t spent a lifetime cautiously circumventing my father’s waning sanity only to cave to his worst decision yet. I would find a way.
As angry as Arès was, we were already working together on that front.
Before I could decide how much of that to divulge in present company, Mila dropped her fork with a delicate clatter.
“All right.” She said the words like a declaration, squaring her shoulders. “I hereby ban further discussion of politics this evening.”
Though her tone was light, I didn’t miss the shadows that darkened her eyes as she suggested we move our party to the sauna, joking about arseprints in the snow.
My mind drifted back to the cabin and Dmitriy. Taras's eyes met mine, and I knew he had gone to that same place.
I wondered if Dmitriy had known that would become his legacy, helping us forget the bleakness of our lives and the blood on our hands by sticking our arses into the storms-damned snow.