Page 191 of Onyx Cage: Volume II

“You can’t hope to win with a handful of men,” Rowan called out, her words cutting off with a gasp as Orik squeezed her tighter.

The muscles in my biceps twitched as I imagined every way I would make him suffer for deigning to touch my wife.

“On the contrary,” Ava responded evenly. “Evander is going to order his men to stand down.”

Kirill growled from behind me while Henrick spat on the ground, his grip tightening around his sword. They would fight with me, to the death, if that’s what it took.

I knew it. Ava knew it. Orik and Samu knew it, too.

“There’s no reason to bring the wrath of Lochlann down on us for killing you unless we have to,” Ava continued, looking to her great-niece. “And my stepson understands that. Don’t you?”

She also knew that I would do anything to keep my wife safe. It had been one thing lying to my father and the other dukes about my relationship with Rowan. But Ava had been watching more closely.

She saw the one thing in this world that I cared about more than anything else. The one light in my eternal darkness, and she would take it from me. She would hurt her to hurt me more.

I looked away from the woman I despised with every fiber of my being to focus on the one I couldn’t live without.

Piercing green eyes focused on mine. She shook her head slightly, realization washing over her like an icy ocean wave.

“No,” she said, the agony in her voice threatening to crush me where I stood.

“Yes,” I responded evenly. She had to know there was no other option for me when it came to her safety.

I turned back toward my stepmother before speaking again. “Let her go, and I’ll come with you. My men will escort her back to the estate, safely.”

Ava’s thin mouth stretched into a violent grin. She cackled, the sound like iron nails raking over my bones.

“The king wants her back at the Obsidian Palace as well,” she said. “And your men will come, too, to ensure they can be kept in line.”

“I’ll go,” Rowan said quickly, her panicked gaze darting between whatever she saw in my expression and my stepmother’s cruel features.

“I’m not leaving you,” she added, desperation lining her words. “And she’s right, he has more to lose by hurting me than he stands to gain.”

I gripped the hilt of my sabers even tighter, damning Iiro and Ava for putting us in this position. Damning myself for not seeing how easily they had led us from one trap to another. Iiro hadn’t fought nearly hard enough to keep us there, but I had been too distracted to notice, too relieved to care.

Ava nodded at Orik, and he dug his blade into Rowan’s skin even deeper. She hissed, a single tear spilling down her cheek as she braced herself against the pain.

“Stop,” I roared. “I’ll do it.”

There had been few times in my life where rage had overtaken me so thoroughly, so completely. My muscles were vibrating with the force of my anger, my pulse racing under my skin like liquid flames.

I barely registered Ava’s delighted tone as she ordered my flogging. Barely registered my wife’s feral cry as she screamed in outrage.

Instead, I focused on each of my movements, the methodical process of sheathing my sabers before removing my double baldric. With one last look at my lemmikki, I slowly turned away from her to walk to the massive elm tree on the other side of the clearing, forcing Samu and Ava to turn toward me.

And away from Rowan.

My stepmother beamed as she handed a leather whip to Samu. There was something animalistic in her wild eyes as she tracked each of my movements.

I rested my weapons at the base of the tree. Next, I removed my coat and tunic, neatly folding them before laying them over one of the branches.

Then I braced myself against the elm’s trunk, looking for all the world like I was obeying her command. Like I was cowed and beaten and ready to surrender.

I wanted Ava to think she had won. I wanted Samu to throw everything he had into this flogging. I wanted them to be so caught up in this victory of theirs that they couldn’t see the furious resolve of my vengeful wife.

My skin was numb, my mind singularly focused on the design of Rowan’s gown and the left pocket that gave her access to her prized dagger.

I barely heard the crack of the whip. Barely felt the way it bit into my scarred flesh or the wet, warm blood that pooled down my back.