Page 13 of Obsidian Throne
“Tenuous?” I clarified.
“Arès and Ivan Lusikka from Bison didn’t sign.”
“What does that mean for us?” I asked.
He finally set me down, though he didn’t take his hands off of me.
I couldn’t blame him, since my fingers were roaming of their own accord up his biceps, over his shoulders, down his chest.
“It means that there’s a chance this won’t stand...a chance I plan on actively pursuing, but since my father did sign, we have to make some pretense of...obeisance.”
I digested this information. “So, bowing and Your Majesty-ing?”
He blinked irritably. “Unfortunately.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re both so good at pretending,” I smirked, though it occurred to me that really only one of us was when it came to things like this.
It apparently occurred to him as well, because he returned my expression with a somewhat dubious look of his own.
“Indeed,” he said drily. Then he studied my features. “Speaking of which, it’s important that my father not understand that there is...actual affection between us.”
I almost laughed at how hard that was for him to say, but his face was serious enough that I refrained.
“Why?” I said instead.
“It’s best if he believes he has control of a situation,” he explained, his eyes searching mine.
Was he worried I would be upset?
“For that matter,” he went on, “the dukes tend to pounce on any perceived weakness as well. Things will be easier if they believe this is nothing more than a political alliance.”
I sighed. “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?”
Evander’s gaze darkened. “You don’t have to dance withallof them.”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion before comprehension dawned on me. If Iiro was king...Theo was a duke.
“Jealousy, Evander?” I teased. “On our wedding day?”
“You know I don’t like other people to touch what’s mine,” he growled, and the sound tugged at things low in my abdomen.
I shook my head. “I’m sure there are points to be made.”
“You’ve made a hell of a point already,” he pointed out, looking significantly at my dress.
I shrugged one shoulder. “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.”
His features darkened on the wordwhore. “Rest assured, Lemmikki, they weren’t saying it where I could hear it.”
“The dances…” I reminded him.
He sighed. “Yes. It would beprudentto 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.” The ruthless flash in his eyes sent a small thrill through me, and I nodded.
“Well then, we can hope Mikhail struggles to control himself,” I said.
The corner of his lip tilted up. “One can dream.”
* * *