Page 88 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
“Right. My mistake.”
But the knowing look in his eyes never faltered, and I got the irrational feeling that it wasmewho was missing something.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After my interesting exchange at the armory, I picked up Rowan to escort her to dinner.
She was dressed in gold-colored silk, pale and fitted enough that I could see the outline of the muscles in her abdomen that hadn’t been present in Bear.
“Have you been sparring a lot?” I asked unnecessarily, since I knew the answer.
She took the arm I held out to her, raising her eyebrows at me. “With the abundance of spare time I have around our…planning?”
She always stopped just short of using the word wedding when she could avoid it. But as always, I pretended not to notice.
Instead, I smirked. “You’re always welcome to train with me at sunrise.”
She made a thoughtful sound. “I could get up at an unholy hour to exercise. Or, alternatively, I could stab myself in the eyeball with one of the dinner forks tonight.”
A low chuckle escaped me. “If you were willing to incur Princess Jocelyn’s wrath for ruining the aesthetic of ourwedding.” I emphasized the word just slightly, noting her slight wince.
We rounded the corner to the family dining room. Rowan averted her gaze from the painting of her with her father that hung outside the door, just as she did from the real-life version of the enormous man seated at the head of the table.
The king was even less happy to see me than usual.
I wasn’t the only one to notice, since the queen shot him a hard look.
“We’re celebrating tonight,” she announced pointedly, gesturing to the tall, narrow glasses of sparkling wine already set out on a beverage cart.
The room was thick with tension that didn’t seem entirely attributable to the king, a weighty silence replacing the usual clamor of banter and bedlam.
We took our seats while Rowan alternated between glaring at her father and ignoring him. Gwyn and Gallagher were the last to arrive, then the servant handed out the sparkling wine.
It was quiet enough to hear the clink of the glass on the table, something that had never yet been discernible in this room. Had I missed an incident?
Or was this all because Rowan was preparing to marry one of their enemies? Preparing to marry at all?
She glanced up at me, raising her glass with an edge of sarcasm.
“To our very platonic alliance,” she smirked, mischief lighting up her gaze, though there was something almost serious lurking in the background.
If that’s the way she wants to play it.
“To the sacrifices we make,” I responded, raising my own glass in turn.
Let her make of that what she would.
A huff of air escaped her full lips, and she nodded as if to acknowledge that had been fair, taking a sip without tearing her gaze from mine. It was easy to forget about the strange mood inthe room when her tongue darted out to catch a stray drop of sparkling wine.
Storms, it was easy to forget there even was a room until her younger sister’s voice rang out.
“Is the wedding really in just over a week?” It was Bronwyn who asked, discernible only by the slightly different pattern of freckles on her cheeks.
“And then you’re going to leave again?” Blair added, her usual bubbly tone subdued.
Ah. So that was where the mood had come from.
I should have known it wouldn’t take long for someone to out the source of the tension. They were, after all, both Lochlannian and kin to Rowan.