Page 186 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
Theodore stared back, nostrils flaring as he sucked in a breath.
“You know that I cannot, as I was with you.” The words were damning, not just to me, but to whatever respect remained for the man he had tried to defend to me only hours ago.
I wondered if Iiro knew that the price of this plan would be his brother’s regard. He may have been realizing it now, as he took a fraction of a second too long to nod in response.
Even his wife didn’t look entirely happy with him, her pale eyes moving between the boy she looked at as a son, then her husband, then my wife.
Whether he felt the weight of their disapproval or not, Iiro’s features were carved into their usual smarminess by the time he faced us once more. He settled dramatically back into his chair, basking in a victory he hadn’t quite managed yet.
Though I supposed it was close enough. Whatever his long-term plan was, he had enough support with the dukes in this room, had planted just enough suspicion that, at the very least, he would be able to detain me.
Leaving Rowan alone and unarmed, without me to defend her.
Would Korhonan keep her safe? Would I let it come to that?
My body pulsated with the impotent force of all the rage, the fury, I hadn’t managed to direct into a single useful tactic, my heart pounding a deafening staccato in my ears as I tried in vain to search for a single solution that didn’t involve turning this room into a bloodbath.
Movement caught my attention from the smaller throne at the head of the room.
Perhaps if Iiro had been a little less prone to theatrics, just a single iota less committed to smugly taking in the room, he would have noticed when his wife straightened in her chair. When she squared her shoulders and schooled her features into a perfect mask of neutrality.
When she inhaled a slow, smooth breath, only to let it out on a lie.
“I can vouch for their whereabouts.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
The silence that fell was as sharp as glass, each slow ticking of the clock, each stilted breath threatening to crack it wide open.
Iiro slowly turned to stare at his wife, his eyes widening, his jaw clenching.
“If that’s true…” he began, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “Why not speak up sooner, my dear?”
His chest rose and fell as he waited for her answer.
Inessa swallowed, calmly glancing between my wife and me, before cutting her eyes back to Iiro.
“I confess, it was a matter of propriety,” she said simply. “Lady Rowan reached out to me with questions of a delicate nature, and I visited her rooms to answer.”
I froze, too afraid to react, to risk putting my wife in further danger by even blinking and giving away the blatant falsehood that just might serve as our salvation.
Iiro appeared to be frozen as well, though in his case, it was from shock. He tilted his head, as much in genuine bafflement as the show of doubt he tried to portray.
“And you spoke of such things in front of Lord Evander?” he pressed, not yet willing to outright accuse her of lying, butclearly giving her another opportunity to help him implicate at least one of us.
“He was unwilling to leave,” she said, shrugging in a show of innocence with her gaze still solidly fixed on her husband’s.
Iiro hesitated, his posture rigid as he processed her response.
Tension continued to roll through the room like distant thunder, low and rumbling, waiting for that next clash of lightning to set it free.
“And how long were you there?” Iiro bit out.
“I had only just left when we heard Lady Ava’s cry,” she responded, not so much as blinking in discomfort while she effectively destroyed the last shred of possibility that he could pin this crime on either of us.
I studied her features, each one carved into serenity, but for the barest defiant tilt of her chin. In the time I had known her, I couldn’t remember her ever stringing this many words together at a time, let alone to contradict her husband. But now she was lying to him, for my sake, or more likely, Rowan’s.
She had hugged her goodbye that day at the Summit, had talked with her at our wedding. Was that enough to explain the shift in loyalty that had always been so singularly fixed on Iiro?