Page 66 of Obsidian Throne
I glared at her as Iiro looked from me to the blade in question, still held in Evander’s hand, still dripping with Aleksander’s blood. There was a pause before Iiro spoke.
“There will be an investigation immediately,” he snapped. “Everyone is to adjourn to the throne room.”
He held out a hand to Evander expectantly. “Give me the weapon.”
Evander was unnaturally still as he stared back at the king. His narrowed eyes were the only thing that gave away the intense rage I knew was coursing through his veins.
His eyes swept the room, landing on the three other dukes, his stepmother, and finally, me. Reluctantly, he handed over the weapon.
Then we made our way to the throne room, though I couldn’t help but think that every measured step felt more like walking toward the gallows.
* * *
Each of the clans stood at the front of the throne room, with their soldiers filling the rest of the space.
Inessa sat behind Iiro to his left, her eyes darting between her husband and me with disquiet.
Her small throne was ornate and made of the same obsidian stone as the palace, with a curved back and smooth, polished crystals that dotted the armrests and each leg.
Still, it paled in comparison to Iiro’s.
His was a massive, imposing black structure, carved and polished to perfection. The wide back had nine pointed, black crystals rising up from it. It was obviously the most important feature in the room, demanding even more attention than the ostentatious crown that sat on Iiro’s head.
“Lady Stenvall,” Iiro began, interrupting my thoughts.
Ava and I both looked up, and he clarified. “LadyRowanStenvall. Do you confirm this is your dagger?”
Evander tensed at my side, but he refrained from speaking for me.
“Yes, but it went missing this morning,” I said.
Iiro’s smile was frigid.
“How convenient. I assume you reported this to someone.” His smug tone said he knew damned good and well I hadn’t.
“No,” I gritted out. “But--”
“Brother,” Theo cut in. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that the princess bested a seasoned warrior with no more than a dagger.”
I would have glared at him for that if he hadn’t been trying to help me. Murmurs of agreement sounded through the other dukes, the whole misogynistic bunch of them.
Iiro let out a condescending chuckle. “Naturally not.”
Arsehat.
He had literally watched me take out members of the Unclanned, though admittedly, that had been with a sword. I supposed it hardly mattered as long as he wasn’t accusing me.
My shoulders sagged in relief, until his gaze landed on Evander.
“But someone else had easy access to Lady Rowan’s dagger,” he said, just barely able to keep the glee from his tone. “Only one person, in fact. Someone who had ample motive to want Sir Aleksander out of the way.”
And too late, I realized Iiro’s game.
Evander’s eyes snapped up to the self-proclaimed king’s, burning with pure murder.
“If I wanted my father out of the way,” Evander growled, having apparently found his voice. “Why would I wait until I was in your castle, surrounded by potential witnesses?”
“Because he was about to help me enact a law to feed our people, one you staunchly disagreed with.” Iiro’s tone was matter of fact. “We all heard how you felt about that.”