Page 49 of Onyx Cage: Volume II

I chewed on his words, wondering if I had ever been outnumbered, outmatched. I had always had more skill, more men at my back, an array of weapons.

The prince adjusted his stance, crossing his arms as he studied me.

“Why don’t you stay for training this morning?” he suggested.

I still wasn’t sold on his methodology, but neither was I naïve enough to underestimate a man who had fought in a war he was destined to lose, where he had been targeted for his position alone, and come out on the other side.

“You would offer that to your enemy?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He raised his eyebrows. “I would offer that to anyone who might someday be the last defense of someone I love.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant his niece, or if he was referring to the fact that I had suggested his daughter as an alternative—not that I could imagine the latter ever needing or wanting anyone to defend her. Either way, it was an opportunity I would have been an idiot to pass up.

True to his word, the captain—or Finn, as he insisted I refer to him—ran the men and his daughter through a series of drills that forced them to adapt to various circumstances. He had them assisting one another blindfolded, removing one or both shoes, and dueling with whatever they could find in the arena that was not a crafted weapon.

That last one reminded me a bit of theBesklanovvyarming themselves with pitchforks and whatever else they had at hand, in the absence of swords.

I still doubted they were a match for the relentless training and stamina of my men, but his methods weren’t without merit. So, I was resolved to consider how I might put his tactics to use to train my men once I returned home.

Since my arrival in Lochlann, I had wondered more than once what would happen if I were to return with a semblance of a trade agreement only to find that the villages in Bear had been razed to ash in my stead. I had never been away from my father for so long, had never left another to manage his whims for more than a couple of weeks.

And while I could read between the lines of Taras's letters, I suspected there was plenty he would decline to mention through correspondence. Where the duke was concerned, there was sure to be at least one incident in the time I was away.

As a result, my men had learned to be adaptable in a different, entirely less pleasant way, but I had never thought to train them without basic equipment.

The prince and I debated a few more points of training while we walked to breakfast. We were some of the first to arrive, only Jocelyn, Oliver, and Isla having beaten us. Korhonan was next,of course, and I couldn’t help but smirk as I gestured to his seat like I was hosting him.

He sank into his chair with a grimace, greeting me tersely before turning more warmly to the rest of the room. Even with Gwyn having to wash up first, she reached the small dining room just a few minutes later, followed shortly by the king and queen, along with their three youngest daughters.

Then four sets of footsteps trudged around the corner.

My lemmikki didn’t even spare the energy to glare at me before sinking into her seat, resting her head on her hand. Her cousins and sister followed, all looking decidedly worse for wear.

The king shook his head as he looked at them all, but a grin tilted the corner of his mouth as he took a sip of his coffee, slamming his mug down on the table with far more force than was necessary.

Gallagher winced, but Avani glared at her father outright, looking like she was prepared to match every inch of his temper with her own. The only one unbothered by the noise was Gwyn, who continued piling food onto her plate as if nothing was going on around her.

“Didn’t any of you think to ask Clara for a tonic this morning?” Oliver asked, shaking his head in a combination of amusement and annoyance.

Rowan scoffed. “Well, we would have, but she said Mamá and Auntie Isla had taken her last two this morning, so she’d have to brew some more.”

The queen smothered what I was sure was a laugh, while Isla shrugged her shoulders in a show of feigned innocence.

Rowan went on, her voice hoarse as she gestured to Gallagher. “And you know Gal refuses to—” she cut off abruptly, straightening slightly in her chair. “Make tonics for us,” she finished.

I narrowed my eyes, noting the way the energy at the table had gone noticeably tense.

“I just feel that my energy could be better spent,” Gallagher said with a smirk that was a little too pasted-on.

“I hope your head is killing you right now,” Davin muttered, pouring a steaming mug of coffee.

Gradually, everyone eased their shoulders.

“Probably not as much as yours is,” Gallagher shot back.

The servants interrupted whatever response Davin might have made when they brought a tray of steaming cinnamon buns out. Rowan turned noticeably green next to me.

I leaned down to murmur in her ear. “You know, I thought you might have been ill upon your return, but I think I’m beginning to understand why your family was so surprised to see you eating.”