Page 7 of The Rebel's Prize

He pushed open the door, waving her through. She smiled at him as she passed, and she was several steps into the room before she registered who was sitting at the table.

Not an unknown caravan master but a man she knew all too well.

One who knewherall too well. And had no reason to be glad of that fact.

Indeed, his green eyes were cold as she met his gaze, turning the fizz of anticipation in her stomach to ice. As cold as the expression on the face of the woman sitting beside him.

For a moment, she wondered if she'd fainted and might be dreaming. Because the woman beside her husband was Sejerin Silya. An Andalyssian seer. Who should have been in Deephilm where she belonged.

"Hello, wife," Lucien drawled, and she was suddenly icily certain that this was real.

A wave of anger filled her, and she whirled to face Samuel. "You bast—"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Sorry, love. But yourhusbandoutranks me by quite some way, and he's a goddess-damnedTruth Seeker. I've no mind to fall afoul of the Imperial judiciary."

"You could have warned—"

He glanced over her shoulder, expression wary. Looking at Lucien, no doubt. He was very carefully avoiding touching her, his hands braced on his hips. "You need to hear him out. He's come looking a long way for you. Don't be so quick to dismiss."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she hissed.

He smiled lopsidedly. "Maybe, but maybe neither do you. Talk to your husband. I'll be outside."

He pushed her a little then, a gentle shove toward the table, and before she could register any further outrage, he vanished back through the door and the lock clicked firmly shut.

Perfect. Trapped in a room with her outraged husband and an Andalyssian.

She closed her eyes a moment, hand tightening on her dagger. If Samuel was wise, he wouldn't be waiting outdoors for her when she emerged from this room, because she might just succumb to the urge to bury the blade in his gut.

Reluctantly she turned. Sejerin Silya wore her usual unimpressed expression, her ice-colored eyes steady on Chloe, the faint lines at their corners deepened slightly. She wore a plain gray dress without her usual red cloak, and her pale red-gold hair was braided for travel around her head, but she was no less intimidating for not being cloaked in the trappings of her office.

Lucien sat beside her, all his attention focused on Chloe. Perhaps someone who didn't know him would have assumed his stony expression meant he was also unimpressed, but Chloe knew better. He was furious. The emotion practically stained the air black around him. No bond required.

She could see him willing himself to stay seated and appear calm. She stayed where she was, not sure that approaching the table would be wise. And for possibly what would be the first time since she'd met the woman, she was somewhat glad that Silya was there. Surely Lucien couldn't strangle her to death in outrage with an Andalyssian seer to witness his actions?

"Would you care to sit?" Lucien asked, his voice cold. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he nodded toward the chair opposite him.

Chloe ignored the chair, keeping her eyes on him. If they'd been traveling fast trying to catch up with her, neither of them showed any signs of it. Lucien's deep green jacket was as immaculate as always, his blond hair neat. His stony expression only highlighted the chiseled lines of his face. Perhaps slightly too chiseled. Had he lost some of the weight he'd gained after his illness? She wanted not to care, but she couldn't stop herself from studying his face, even as she fought to keep any trace of concern off her own. It was probably only the impact of hard travel.

But regardless of how arduous the journey had been, it had clearly given Lucien time to work up quite the temper. She didn't want to be too close if he exploded. "I think I'm fine here," she said carefully.

"Sit," he said. "After all, you must be tired from your travels." His eyes scanned her briefly, and she saw his mouth tighten as his gaze lowered to her hands. Bare of his rings.

For the briefest moment, she had the urge to hide them behind her back and stay where she was. But everything about Lucien suggested it wouldn't be wise to push him. Still, she didn't rush toward the table to take her seat. Instead, she moved slowly and deliberately pulled out the chair with exaggerated care before she smoothed her skirts and sat. "I will admit that the journey has been tiring."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Do you think this is a time to be flippant, wife?"

"I thought, perhaps, that it might lighten the mood you seem so clearly to be in."

His head tilted slowly as though she was a specimen he was studying. "I fear you were mistaken. I do not find myself in the mood for merriment."

Chloe clasped her hands in her lap, feeling that it was safer to keep them there rather than betray the fact that they were trembling. She had seen Lucien in many moods over the years. Happy. Sad. Bored. Even angry. Rarely had that anger been aimed at her. And never, even at his most irritated, had she felt as though she'd pushed him beyond his limits.

Though whether her quivering fingers were from concern over just how angry Lucien might be or from resisting the sudden overwhelming urge to crawl across the table, climb into his lap, and let him hold her until she felt safe again was not entirely clear. So she stayed silent. All three did, until the room fairly rang with the lack of sound.

Under the weight of Lucien's frosty green gaze, Chloe broke first, seeking to steer the conversation into polite and safe waters if she could. "Sejerin Silya," she said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

Silya raised one eyebrow. "Indeed, Lady Castaigne. This is not particularly where I had envisioned myself when I accepted the emperor's invitation to Lumia."

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