Page 43 of Iron Crown

She looked at me, blinking in surprise. Then she flushed, her eyes darting away from me. “I was a whore, Eoghan. I whored—”

I grabbed her chin and turned her to face me, feeling my heart pounding in my chest.

“I donotaccept your premise, Love,” I said through clenched teeth, whispering despite the power of my emotions. “You were saving a life. Your father’s life. I accept that as nothing short of an act of desperation and love. I, of all people, should understand such a thing.”

She looked at me, her eyes searching my face for any sign of a lie. I shook my head.

“Do not doubt me, sweet Muse.” I ran my knuckles against her skin, and she looked away.

“You are perpetually forgiving me, it seems,” she said, as she pulled my hand from her face and clasped it in both of hers.

“This is not something that needs forgiveness.” I bowed my head, planting a kiss on her hands again. “That was how you became aligned with Paradigm?”

She nodded.

“Tell me honestly: Are you really my wife?” Were the papers, the name, the marriage falsified? Or could they be waved away with a simple sleight of hand from Jericho’s contacts?

“Yes,” she whispered, the softness of her voice did nothing to blunt the conviction within them. “The marriage is real.”

“Is it?” I was asking a question that was slightly different from the first. “Tell me plainly. I need to hear it. Are you truly mywife?”

“I am!”

How many times had she cried before me? How many tears had she shed in my presence? How many were caused by me? How many should I have prevented? I wasn’t sure. Too many to count, and I didn’t know how to make it stop. She blinked her tears away, her lips pulled down in a frown.

“I want to be.” Her voice delicately wavered with her honesty. “If you let me.”

Of all the most ridiculous notions she had, this was the silliest. The fact that she believed I had any choice but to worship at her feet.

I got up, went to one of the bags, and pulled out the large emerald ring that I had placed on her finger when we wed. Icame back, sank down onto one knee, and kissed the back of her hand.

“Will you wear this for me?” I asked.

It wasn’t a proposal, but it was better than a contract and money. It was better than an ironclad prenup in her favor. At least, it was to me.

It was my mother’s ring. One I hoped to give our son when he was ready to choose his bride.

She looked at me, her eyes bright with tears. She didn’t say anything. She simply swallowed and nodded her head, offering me her hand, her ring finger extended. I put the ring back where it belonged and let out a relieved breath.

I bent down to kiss her hand again and said the words, “My Wife. My Muse. My Kira.”

Chapter twelve

On Your Head Be It

Kira

Cosima had changed. The woman who sat across from me was not the same woman I had known three years ago. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, her lips surrounded by the parentheses of frown lines.

She had lost the soft angles of youth. Now, she was all jagged lines and harsh angles.

“The Irish prick and his little whore.” At her words, my steps stuttered. Eoghan had to tug me along.

Her once sweet voice had deepened, and she was coming out of the gate swinging. I wasn’t used to her this way. I had alwaysknown she was capable of great insult, and many of the Mafia feared her. But not once had she ever directed it at me.

At my hesitation, her lips pulled into a snide grin.

Eoghan pulled out a chair for me, pushing it in as I sat down before he took his own, picking up my hand and placing it on his thigh.

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