Page 83 of Onyx Cage: Volume II

He only shrugged. “Can you blame me if I want an excuse to have my gorgeous wife pressed up against me?”

I cleared my throat, staring pointedly at Rowan while she pretended not to notice that her uncle had outed her real reason for signing us up for this particular event.

Not that I was complaining.

Especially not when Prince Finn explained the rules in his booming voice, including the exact position in which I was to carry Rowan. I studied her for signs that she was plotting, but she seemed to be lying to herself as thoroughly as she was lying to me.

Removing my swords, I played along with her nonchalance, sinking into a squat so she could climb onto my back the way the other wives and fiancees were doing. All day, we had been locked in a precarious battle of wills, an endless interchange of teasing while we ceded and recovered our battlegrounds.

I wrapped one hand around each of her shapely thighs, each muscle evident through the thin fabric of her dress. All the while I dispelled images of the last time I had wrapped my hand around her thigh, how similar our position had been, only withher in front of me. How she had tugged at my hair as she sank her teeth into my bottom lip.

She plastered her warmth against my body, her chin on my shoulder, her breath on my skin. For the first time all day, I wasn’t sure who was winning our game.

Or if this was one contest we were both destined to lose.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Whatever my thoughts on the competition had been initially, I couldn’t deny the energy that thrummed through my veins as I carried us across the finish line. First, obviously.

Throughout my life, I had sparred, both to train and burn off rage, had exercised for those same purposes, but I wasn’t sure I had ever exerted myself purely for fun.

Save for the times I had bested Korhonan in the sparring ring, but that had hardly counted as exertion.

Though there was a purpose behind our participation today, it was still an unfamiliar feeling, the triumph at our win that was unencumbered by the looming threat of death or clan pride or my complicated history with Elk.

By the time we secured our victory, Rowan and I were both spattered in mud, though significantly less than some of the couples who finished just behind us.

I tried to picture my cousin in this particular race, determinedly toting Mila through the mud with his usual stoic expression, and a chuckle escaped me. It was drowned out by the sound of Rowan’s laughter and that of the couples around us.Even Jocelyn giggled when Oliver set her on the ground with a flourish, wiping a bit of mud from her cheek.

I reluctantly followed suit, lowering myself until Rowan could dismount. I didn’t hesitate once her feet hit the ground before pulling her in against my side.

For the show we were putting on for the people, obviously. Not because the sudden absence of her warmth was more jarring than I expected it to be.

Ours was one of the last games of the day, taking place alongside the competition wherein the men tossed giant tree trunks—the one Rowan’s father participated in. The sun was setting by the time we made our way back toward the main festival. I stopped to pick up my swords from where Prince Finn was standing guard over the weapons, sliding them back into the sheath on my back. Whatever Rowan’s potential ulterior motives for the race had been, the people were, in fact, looking at us both with considerably more warmth than they had around the sparring beam.

They parted easily for us to pass, more out of courtesy than the fear of my sabres they had shown before.

We made our way through to a wide, flat field that had been cordoned off as a makeshift dance floor. Lanterns glowed around the space, lending an ethereal feel to the clearing.

Rowan’s hand tightened on my arm, and I looked around in concern before I realized there was no danger this time, nor anxiety. Her eyes were bright, and she bounced ever so slightly on her toes when the musicians started up.

There was, to my everlasting relief, a notable lack of bagpipes this time.

Rowan’s parents led out the first dance. Whatever my own interactions with her father had entailed, it was clear, that he adored his wife. He doted on her with unabashed affection,displaying an intimacy that would have signaled a weakness in Socair.

I wondered what the dukes would have said if they could have seen the scourge of their entire existence dancing with his giggling Warrior Queen without giving a single damn who saw the depth of his admiration.

For that matter, I wasn’t sure if I felt uncomfortable or strangely…envious.

Before I could contemplate that too deeply, the music picked up in tempo. High-pitched squeals sounded out in the crowd as all of the women clamored for the dance area, including the maid-spy, who had given me a wide berth today. One of the younger twins came to drag Rowan away, and even Avani allowed herself to be dragged by the other twin, a semblance of a real smile on her wan features.

The crowd clapped in tandem, three quick beats, which was apparently a symbol for the women to begin. Even among her own people, Rowan was short enough that I lost her in the massive crowd. I picked my way through the onlookers to search for her as the tempo slowed down to a steady beat that even the children could easily follow.

The queen and Isla were helping several of the smaller ones through the series of kicks and stomps and twirls. Then the beat picked up speed, increasing with each iteration. A few of the slower dancers and the children faltered after four rounds, making their way away from the floor and turning to watch the others, but I still couldn’t see my lemmikki.

My skin prickled uncomfortably, and I resisted the urge to go for my sabres, instead making my way around to the other side of the floor, peering through a sea of flower crowns and crimson curls.

Queen Charlotte and Isla left in the next round, more because they were too busy falling all over each other laughing to focus on the dance than from any real lack of skill.

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