Page 257 of Onyx Cage: Volume II

He and the other dukes shot cautious glances out the window.

“You were saying,” I prodded, wanting his attention on me and not the courtyard, just in case.

He slowly turned back to me. “Yes. I assume you’re ready to accept the taxes on imported goods, for the betterment of our great kingdom.”

I pretended to consider it while I took several steps closer to him. His guards had been well trained, though. They stepped in as well.

“Tell me,” I said conversationally. “Will you be collecting nearly half of all dowries going forward, or is that treatment limited to Bear?”

Iiro’s eyes narrowed. “When those dowries are moved in from another kingdom, I will.”

Whether he was off his guard because of my wife’s weather, or had grown too comfortable on his throne, he had given the wrong answer. The dukes shifted uncomfortably, many of them likely considering the benefits of their own alliances in Lochlann. Even his allies murmured in disagreement.

But I didn’t really care what he said, just that we conversed long enough for me to be the closest one to his throne, and that he remained distracted until Rowan got here.

“I see.” I let a facetious note enter my tone. “And the taxes on food, what do you plan on doing with the surplus?”

Iiro huffed out an irritable breath. “I hardly see how that is relevant for you to know.”

“I would like to know as well,” Arès spoke up. “Surely you believe the clans have a right to be told where their tithes are being used?”

Ignoring their back and forth since it would hardly matter in a few minutes, I took the opportunity to survey the room again. Everyone was in position—the Elk soldiers were split between the door and the front of the room to protect their king. Interspersed among them were the deep purple uniforms of Iiro’s soldiers.

Bear, Crane, and Lynx soldiers were separated enough between the other clans that it would make it easy for them to not be surrounded. Wolf would respond, and likely Viper, but I had my doubts that Mikhail’s men would make a move when he had no guarantees how this would go.

There was no reason for anything to go wrong. Except…

Except that anything could go wrong in a battle. My wife was more than capable, but it only took one good opening for someone else to best you. She had pointed that out herself, more than once.

A small web of panic crept through my veins as I considered her position. But I quickly stamped it out. She was surrounded by an army who wouldn’t let anyone get close to her. Besides, panic would accomplish nothing, and I needed to keep my head.

Vaguely, I registered Iiro directing a snide comment toward me just as the doors to the room burst open and the very woman in question strode into the room.

And she was…stunning. Covered nearly head to toe in her black armor, a wicked saber in each hand, and her eyes burning with resolve.

It wasn’t just her that everyone was looking at. The army ofBesklanovvyat her back had their rapt attention. And right on cue, the Elk soldiers stepped back to allow them in.

Iiro’s eyes widened with betrayal, but I didn’t give him time to process what was happening before I advanced on his nearest guard. Arès and Danil had drawn their weapons as well, and I had a moment to be grateful for the deeply traditional nature of Socairan laws.

The king couldn’t disarm his dukes. All he could do was bolster himself with guards, but unfortunately for Iiro, nearly half of his were already against him.

All around me was the clashing of steel and the grunts of pain. Lynx and Crane and Bear soldiers split between holding back the neutral clans and fighting off others.

I brought down my sabers, cleanly severing a head from its purple-clad uniform. Then swept them to the side to slice across the chest of a Wolf soldier, all the while keeping my focus on the Obsidian Throne and theaaliostill sitting upon it.

As quickly as they could, theBesklanovvywere filing into the room, adding to our soldiers, and I reveled in Iiro’s fury the more our numbers swelled.

Another clean strike, another head on the floor until I was face to face with the man I had hated for most of my life.

Movement caught my eye to my right, and my stomach twisted in dread. Kirill was on his knees, blood pooling between his fingers, gushing from the dagger embedded in his eye socket.

The world narrowed to a pinprick, time slowing with the heavy thud of my heartbeat. We had already lost Igor and Dmitriy and Pavel. And now Kirill, the closest thing to a friend I had known outside of my cousins.

For the barest fraction of a moment, I was tempted to go to his side, even though there was nothing I could do.

I wasn’t a healer.

I was a soldier. An executioner.