Page 74 of Obsidian Throne

The clearing was silent as Rowan’s words rang out.

I want you to beg for your life.

My eyebrows rose, somewhere between impressed and concerned. I had always known ruthlessness lurked within her, but it was still shocking to see it unfold, especially when I knew it was on my behalf.

Kirill moved to intervene, but I held out a hand to stop him. This was her decision, her way of carrying out whatever threats she had made, and she wouldn’t thank us for intervening.

Rowan muttered something so quiet, I could only make out the wordsdie begging and screaming,and then she stabbed Ava. Twice.

Blood spattered on her dress, her face, but her features didn’t waver. I walked over to where she straddled Ava’s body, still staring coldly down at it.

My eyes flitted over the body of the woman who had made it her mission in life to make mine a living hell, and just as quickly, I looked away. She hadn’t deserved a second thought while she was alive, and she sure as hell didn’t now.

Instead, I looked at my perfect, gorgeous, slightly savage wife.

“Lemmikki.” I closed the distance between us, extending a hand.

The motion tugged at the wounds on my back, but it was far from the worst lashing I had ever had. The way it overlapped old scar tissue, I hadn’t even felt all of them.

What I had felt was the weight of Rowan’s tearstained face. And her fury.

Her love, as she ordered me not to do this for her.

Her fierce protection, as she took her vengeance, not because of what Ava did to her, but because of what Ava did tome.

The darker part of my soul couldn’t help but be grateful, and a little bit proud.

Rowan looked up at the sound of my voice, placing her hand in mine.

“Your Grace,” she responded, getting to her feet in one fluid motion.

Her tone was casual, like we were conversing at a dinner party and not over the slain body of a woman we both hated more than words.

I gently dropped her hand to see to the execution of the few remaining traitors. It was a swift process that left no doubt in the rest of their minds what would happen to anyone who dared to hurt my wife, or to threaten me.

When we were finished, we piled the bodies in the center of a sparse field and left a few trusted men to burn their corpses. There was no sense in leaving evidence of what exactly had transpired.

As soon as we were in the carriage with the curtains drawn, Rowan turned to me, her features still distant and cold.

“Your back,” she said, digging a medical bag from under the bench.

Her voice, at least, had been strong outside, but it was hollow now.

“Your neck,” I countered.

I had avoided looking at the blood smeared across her throat, her collarbone, knowing how close it had come to taking her from me.

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s nothing. It’s already stopped bleeding, which is more than I can say for you. You’ll stain the carriage seats.”

There was forced nonchalance in her tone, but it was easy to see she was precariously close to...something.

So instead of arguing, I turned to give her access to the wounds.

She used my flask to clean her hands before silently pouring the remaining vodka over my wounds as well. I winced as it burned my open flesh, but it was nothing compared to the solution she applied next.

It burned like every kind of hell.

I forced myself not to flinch, taking slow breaths as it bubbled away on each of my seven lashes.