Page 56 of Obsidian Throne
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ROWAN
Pressure built in a steady incline along my spine over the next couple of days, intensifying as we drew closer to the Obsidian Palace. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was from far more than the impending windstorms that were rolling in.
Evander felt it too, growing quieter with each mile until I finally couldn’t take it anymore and needed to break the tension.
Stars knew we would have enough stress to deal with once we were at the palace. We didn’t need to be miserable the entire ride there.
It struck me just how little I knew about my husband, small things that were harder to observe in our day-to-day lives. We had never filled the silence with the kind of fluffy conversations that courting couples usually had, so I didn’t bother to ease my way into it.
Instead, I just blurted out the first question that came to mind. “What’s your favorite food?”
He cast a startled glance my way. When he saw that I was curious, his lips quirked in a considering way.
“Beef stew.” Somehow, that wasn’t surprising. “Yours?” he asked, almost hesitantly.
This was new to us both.
“Cranachan,” I answered without delay.
He raised an eyebrow, and I went on to explain the parfait-like dessert with layers of sweet cream that H’Ria was known for, and whiskey-soaked, toasted oats and raspberries. Evander made a dubious face, eliciting a chuckle from me.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “You would probably hate it nearly as much as I hated the meat goo.”
“I confess,” he said, wincing, “there was a moment I thought you might actually vomit at the table.”
“There were several moments I thought so, as well,” I assured him before moving on to my next question.
I should have taken a moment to think about it, but of course, that wasn’t my way. So, what came out of my mouth was, “Were you really going to marry someone else in Lochlann if I had said no?”
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “That was quite the escalation from food.”
I shrugged, like I had no regrets about asking, even as my insides churned.
“No, Lemmikki,” he said plainly. “I just wanted to see how you reacted when you thought that was a possibility. If I’m being very, very honest, I wantedyouto see how you reacted.”
My lips parted in aggravation, but I thought back on that day. I had been keeping my composure reasonably well until he brought that up.
Reluctantly, I had to admit his tactic was sound, if anaalioone. Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he held a hand up.
“No, it’s my turn.”
I closed my lips dramatically, gesturing for him to go on. He searched my features for long enough that I knew it wasn’t going to be a lighthearted question.
“How long did it take you to stop hating me, after I took you?”
My mind raced back to our furious discussions when we danced, the way his eyes burned into mine. To his hands on my waist as he lifted me onto my horse, and the muscle that ticked in his jaw--the one I now knew meant he was biting back a laugh--when I mocked his men about eyeing my chemises.
I thought of how warmth had spread from his fingers to mine, as early as when he handed me that sword, the means to defend myself.
A small, residual, prideful part of myself wanted to lie, wanted to give him a date or an event or a moment. But this question mattered to me, and we had come so far from all of that.
“I never hated you,” I admitted. “Even when I should have.”
Evander studied my face, as though he was searching for the lie, so I let him see the truth blazing in my gaze. Slowly, his shoulders eased, and I wondered how long he had been carrying that around.
Though it should have been awkward, conversation continued more easily from there. We continued with our back-and-forth questions, some silly, some serious, until I sensed an oncoming windstorm and we called it an early night.