Page 229 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
She studied my expression briefly before her own hardened into that mask she’d been wearing earlier this morning.
“Good.” Her tone was now back to the cold efficiency from the morning of the battle. “Consider me the Princess of Lochlann in that room since that’s the only way I’ll have a say.”
Must you always be so difficult, Lemmikki?
I let out an irritable breath, my patience thinning at the loss of whatever small bit of ground we had gained. With an enormous amount of effort, I declined to point out that, had I wanted her to have no say in the war room, I would have simply neglected to mention the meeting, but storms forbid she give my motives a single ounce of grace.
For all of the incredible things she was capable of, her sheer obstinance was still a wonder to behold.
“I’ll consider you my wife in that room.” My tone held far more patience than I felt, though I was unable to resist reminding her that she belonged to me. “And the Clan Wife of Bear. And you will have a say.”
“Oh?” She let out a bitter laugh, her icy façade cracking like the surface of a frozen river, revealing the treacherous waters beneath. “Like you did when you left me, naked, in an inn room with my former betrothed? Tell me, is that standard practice for wives these days?”
Verdant flames flashed in her eyes, twin beacons of all the moral high ground she was sure she possessed. My precarious patience with her unending reproach snapped as I blinked away images of her perfect body in pieces, nailed to stakes like their own banner of death and decay.
She hadn’t seen the villagers. Aside from a passing hint here and there, she remained blissfully unaware of the extent of Iiro’s sadism when the mood struck him, but she was as ready as ever to forge ahead into a battle where she was armed with more indignation than information.
I could have told her, I supposed. Could have regaled her with tales of mouths frozen in the scream on which Iiro and his men had ended their lives, but the nightmares that had ripped her from sleep since her flogging had finally abated these past months, even in the midst of the war.
I couldn’t bring myself to add to them now, or, if I was being entirely honest with myself, to rip apart the links of the armor I would need to get through the day when she was standing ready with her arms full of sharply honed blades.
“I believe standard practice for wives is doing everything you can to ensure they don’t get captured and tortured and killed.”
Her lips parted and she took a step closer, energy crackling in the air around her like a portent of the lightning she looked liable to summon again at any moment.
“Right, because they couldn’t possibly do that for themselves.” She ground out each word. “Tell me, were you planning on handing me over to Theo when you traipsed back here to die? Did you have a pact for him to take over our marriage so he could take care of my delicate person once you were gone?”
My hands fisted at my sides, my jaw clenching at the notion of anyonetaking care ofmy wife whether I was cold and in the ground or not.
“Lemmikki,” I cautioned her with every vestige of calm I could muster. “Kindly refrain from referencing marrying another man. Ever again.”
Lest I kill every man that ever so much as looks at you again.
Something flashed in her gaze, distinct from her anger but no less potent. We stood there, taking furious breaths of the same air while I imagined every single way I would remind her that she belonged to me.
That she wanted me, craved me, like I did her.
My mouth watered as I thought of the taste of her skin and the press of her body against the wall, the sounds she would make as I claimed every inch of her so thoroughly that she would be ruined for every other man that ever lived for long after I was gone.
Her chest rose and fell, a blush creeping up her neck that told me her thoughts were not far from my own. Then her head shook side to side ever so slightly before she spun to take off in the direction of the war room.
The energy hadn’t faded, though. It thrummed through the air between us with each step to the massive mahogany door.
I opened the door, waiting for her to enter before leading her to the head of the table.
“Lady Stenvall,” I said casually, gesturing to the chairs at the head of the table.
Her gaze flitted between me and the newly arranged chairs, her features morphing for a fraction of a second into something more surprised than furious before she donned an indifferent mask that belied neither. A few sounds of disbelief rang out around the room as she finally took her seat.
My attention snapped up to meet the offended lords’ gazes. I let them see the full weight of my intention, my authority as Duke of Clan Bear.
Whatever mixed feelings I had about the risks she had taken, there was no denying that she was every inch the warrior of every man here, and twice the leader of most of them.
“Surely, no one is objecting to your ClanWifebeing here,” I said bluntly. “The woman who raised her own army in less than two weeks and used it to take down the forces who, I might remind you, had breached our walls. What she did was nothing short of a miracle, and if you don’t think that’s earned her a seat at this table, now would be the time to leave.”
My tone on the wordleaveleft no room for interpretation. Anyone who left would forfeit their place in this room from that moment onward.
Silence descended like an invisible mist, filling the spaces where their words, their arguments, had just been. When no one challenged it, I continued.