Page 119 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
I rubbed my thumb along Rowan’s palm and her lashes fluttered in response. She leaned a little closer, though she still didn’t look my way.
Eventually, Rowan’s hand slipped from mine as she strode away to speak with Davin.
I flexed my fingers, already despising the loss of her warmth.
They spoke in low tones for a brief moment before Avani announced to the room that it was time to see us to our marriage bed. Rowan’s shoulders stiffened, and Davin threw his head back and laughed.
All eyes were on Rowan and me, and I began to wonder if this was why she had grown distant.
While she had molded her body to mine, infused fire into every kiss she pressed against my lips, teased and taunted with her words, her teeth and tongue, there had been clear lines she wasn’t ready to cross.
I moved to her side, placing my hand on her lower back to lead her out of the room of deafening applause and bawdy comments that were being thrown around.
Unfortunately, everyone and their brother decided to accompany us—an offense that any self-respecting Socairan would have fallen on their sword before committing.
They followed us all the way to the honeymoon suite, calling out suggestions and commentary for what may or may not be good wedding night etiquette. Rowan shook her head wryly, though she did walk on markedly faster footsteps until she was safely tucked behind the walls of our room.
I shut the door without a backward glance, just as someone made a comment about how she shouldn’t“be afeared. They all look that way!”
Words that likely doused the final embers of any desire she might have had previously.
For all of my kingdom’s faults, I had never found myself wishing to be back in Socair more than I did at this moment.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The silence that engulfed the room despite the raucous crowd we had left behind was evidence of the soundproof walls, which made sense for a wedding night suite.
At least the Lochlannian impropriety stopped at the doorway.
That wasn’t the only thing I gleaned from the sudden hush, though.
Rowan hadn’t said a word in nearly an hour, except for her brief exchange with Davin wherein I could assume she had responded to him. That wouldn’t have been noteworthy for a Socairan bride, but the idea that my lemmikki would let me speak for us both in her own kingdom was downright laughable.
Yet here we were.
She studied the room while I studied her, trying to determine if her reticence was from more than nerves. Her gaze followed a path of white rose petals to a cream-colored bed, the sheets already turned down, but her features revealed no trace of anxiety or anticipation.
And she refused to look in my direction.
She took a breath, stepping away from me to lower herself into a squat, plush armchair. Piece by piece, she began to freeher carefully arranged curls from her tiara in a silence that was starting to feel louder than the shouts of advice had been.
I crossed the short distance, reaching out a hand to expedite this process, but she moved away from my touch.
“I’ve got it,” she snapped.
I froze, studying her once more. She had never been afraid of me, and she wasn’t now, either. Her posture was tense, her lips pursed.
She was angry. With me.
I mentally reviewed the evening, from the elation on her face down the aisle and the open desire during our dance to the stilted silence when we walked into this room, trying and failing to figure out how we had gotten here.
“Lemmikki?” It was a question and a demand.
If something was wrong, we could damned well talk about it like adults rather than spend our entire wedding night in this veritable tomb of silence.
She swallowed, but didn’t respond, finally wrestling the tiara free from her endless mass of curls and setting it on the table beside her. Her hair tumbled down her narrow shoulders, crimson tendrils that contrasted sharply with the pristine white lace of her gown.
She looked perfect. And like there was nowhere she wanted to be less.