Page 90 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
King Logan narrowed his eyes at her, picking up his sparkling wine in a grip so tight I feared for the delicate glassware.
“We are…glad to welcome Lord Evander to our family,” he said without actually looking at me. Or Rowan.
She scoffed quietly at my side, but Prince Oliver spoke loud enough to cover it.
“Let the record reflect that on this day, the King of Lochlann hath shed tears of joy—” he began in the voice of a court announcer.
“Many, many sincere tears,” Davin interjected in the same theatrical tone, “whilst welcoming his future son-in-law to the illustrious family.”
“I believe I see some even now, Brother,” Oliver took back over, a dramatic hand over his heart, “glistening in your very eyeballs.”
Blair and Bronwyn let out a synchronous giggle, followed by titters around the room from nearly everyone. Even Jocelyn shook her head with a soft smile at her husband and son, and both Queen Charlotte and Isla were laughing outright.
Finally, the king followed suit, letting out a chuckle on a slow breath.
“Ach, haud yer wheesht, Oli,” he muttered after a beat.
I wasn’t familiar with the phrase, but the intent was clear.
The tension bled from the room, dissipating into the usual chaotic atmosphere that punctuated these dinners.
The queen raised her glass, welcoming me to the family with a great deal more sincerity than her husband had shown, and similar sentiments went up around the table. Rowan leaned subconsciously closer to me throughout dinner, her arm brushing against mine each time she lifted her glass.
Or perhaps it was conscious, tied to the way her eyes seemed to linger on my features for longer than usual.
Still, she laughed good naturedly at the jokes her family made about everything from her temper to our wedding night. Though, that last was a subject only Davin had been brave enough to comment on, and only until Jocelyn smacked him on the arm.
No one brought up where we would live, though. If Rowan had made a decision, it didn’t appear she had shared it with anyone.
Though I told myself the decision rested entirely with her, I couldn’t help but wonder how I was supposed to content myself with the handful of weeks we would spend between our Lochlannian wedding and our Socairan one.
And how I would walk away from her when it had taken all I had to let her go the first time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When I returned to my rooms, I had a stack of papers waiting on my desk to review. The marriage contract.
While we had discussed terms ahead of time, we were now entering into the nuanced items. I scanned the documents, looking closely at the figures for her dowry—which we had worked out would consist almost entirely of food stores—and the columns under it, detailing average prices for traded goods beyond that.
It seemed fair enough, but I penned a few questions, sealing them in a letter for Taras to deliver to the Lord of Finance at Clan Bear.
I couldn’t suppress a small amount of bitterness at the excess they had sat on while my people starved because of a twenty-year-old conflict. For that matter, Rowan never would have been taken to begin with if trade had been open for her precious vodka.
It was strange to think we might have met under normal circumstances. Would we still have hated each other at the outset?
The moment she had entered Socair, her life had been in danger. I may not have appreciated the king’s choices as theypertained to my people, but a part of me understood. It wasn’t like I hadn’t made sacrifices to protect the people I cared about, let alone the people of my clan.
To say nothing at all of the choices I had made whereshewas concerned.
Just as I was writing his name on the outside of the envelope, the passageway door pushed open.
Given my slew of visitors of late, I had to turn to see who had graced me with their unannounced presence this evening. It was Rowan, still dressed from dinner with a half-full glass of whiskey in her hand.
She stood in the doorway, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, while her gaze lingered on me.
I couldn’t help the smirk that came to my lips, wondering what, after the days of tension between us, had finally brought her here, to my rooms, wearing an expression that was more cautious than angry for a change.
But that smirk died when she finally spoke.