Page 42 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Breakfast was far more subdued than dinner had been, though it was a family affair as well.
There didn’t seem to be an early riser at this table, save perhaps for the king. His features were unchanged, the same relative amount of unhappiness to be dining with his daughter’s two Socairan suitors.
And Korhonan, of course, who lived on the same soldier’s schedule that most men in Socair did.
Jocelyn appeared as put together as she had the night before but had even less to say. The others all moved like they were half alive, pouring copious amounts of dark coffee into their cups and wincing whenever Ellie squealed too loudly.
Even the twins had little to say. And Rowan, who I only had to force out of bed before noon on a handful of occasions, ate her plate of biscuits with one eye half open.
Though she still found the energy to glare at me.
The food was nearly gone when a shadow fell over the doorway.
“Lively as ever this morning, I see,” a wry voice intoned.
Two figures walked in, near mirror images of each other.
There was something about the set of their mouths and the shape of their cheekbones that reminded me of the queen. Both had the same rich hue to their skin that so many of the Lochlannians I had met possessed. What stood out as different, though, was their striking shade of red hair.
It wasn’t bright like Rowan’s or her immediate family’s. Instead, theirs was a darker, deeper red. Less fire-like and more like ruby.
The woman was narrower in the shoulders and a couple of inches shorter, her features more delicate and her lips fuller, but the resemblance between the two was nonetheless striking.
“You mock, Gwynnie, but you’ll never understand our pain,” Davin responded, confirming my assumption.
“You’re going to find out what real pain is if you call me Gwynnie one more time,” she shot back, stepping closer to snatch the remaining cinnamon bun from her cousin’s plate.
They continued to banter while Rowan leaned toward me.
“Look,” she whispered. “It’s your future bride now. Perhaps you can come up with a proposal for her nearly asaalioas the one you made to me.”
I refrained from asking her if she would have preferred me to simper and fall all over myself the way Korhonan did, instead raising my eyebrow as I turned back to survey Lady Gwyn.
Despite the rather over-eager way she attacked the cinnamon bun before licking the icing from each of her fingers, every part of her exuded a lethal sort of grace.
She wore a rapier at her hip, sheathed in a jewel-encrusted scabbard that matched her pale blue traveling gown. Her skirts were split at the front like the ones I had commissioned for Rowan in Bear, indicating she had likely ridden here on a horse, rather than a carriage, which matched what I knew of her.
She was all lithe muscles and warrior’s grace, moving like someone who was intimately aware of the position of their body,the space they took up. I found myself curious about her fighting style, wondering how it compared to the average Socairan soldier.
Movement caught my eye, and I looked in time to see Rowan’s hand clenched around the handle of her coffee mug before she turned slightly away from me. The entrance of the next two people stopped me from wondering about her reaction, though.
Or gloating about it.
In addition to being the queen’s brother, Prince Finnian was the Captain of the Guard in Lochlann, and every fiber of his being reflected the authority his position held. He assessed Korhonan and me with his oddly golden eyes, before nodding a greeting.
Then he stepped aside, making way for the final member of their party. The one I was the most curious about—the woman who might have been my stepmother in a different life.
Who had grown up with the same monster that I had.
Princess Isla didn’t strictly look like Rowan, but the resemblance was obvious all the same. They both had small frames and large hair, pale skin contrasting with deep crimson curls that the king’s family were known for.
Isla’s features were gentler, though, her frown sincere as she took in the room. She looked from me to the queen, who nodded. She walked around the table to where I sat, and I stood to greet her.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the woman. Relief that she hadn’t been stuck with my father? Apathy?
Her eyes were identical to my stepmother’s, from the almond shape to the deep green hue, but where Ava’s stare was hard and merciless, Isla’s gaze was shadowed with unmistakable guilt.