Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison

Chapter Eighteen

The cozy room feels crowded as soon as Einar’s massive form stalks in. Even the overly confident man across the table from me shrinks ever so slightly next to the king.

Still, he doesn’t turn to acknowledge the bigger man.

“Check mate,” he tells me, his tone more intimate than the words require. “Truly, you played remarkably well, all things considered.”

All things like my female anatomy, you mean?

“You’re too kind,” I say instead, managing the words without a trace of irony. “Perhaps we’ll have a rematch soon.”

Very soon, if I have anything to say about it. Even if I do feel like I need to scrub every part of my body the moment I leave here, like his personality left a physical residue.

I don’t even glance at my giant brute of a husband as I stand up to make my way out.

Odger doesn’t follow my lead, though. He stands up and looks the king squarely in his marble face before bowing several inches shallower than is appropriate.

“Thank you, My Lord, for allowing me the pleasure of entertaining your wife.” He draws out the word pleasure, and Einar’s face darkens infinitesimally.

The king looks to the spot where I have stilled to watch his exchange with Odger, then to Khijhana, who stands facing Odger with her features on alert. Finally, he turns back to the slighter man.

A slow smile spreads across the bastard’s face, and I narrow my eyes.

Something amusing, dear husband? I don’t ask, though, not in front of Odger.

“I’m sure the pleasure was all hers,” the king responds.

The corner of my mouth tilts up ever so slightly. He believes he has read the situation perfectly well, that he’s caught on to my game.

But I haven’t even gotten started.

I close the space between Odger and me with two long strides, placing my hand lightly on his arm.

“Indeed, it was. I look forward to next time.” I widen my eyes just enough that he believes it is the king being made a fool of rather than himself.

It works, if the way he struts from the room is any indication.

I turn back to Einar in time to see an irksome shadow cross his face, but he is already moving to the chess board.

“Care for a game that’s a little more your speed?”

Why does it always feel like he’s saying more than the sum of his words?

“What makes you think the game with Lord Odger was not my speed?” I ask, because two can play at double entendres.

“Just a feeling.” He shrugs arrogantly, as if my answer couldn’t possibly matter less to him.

My pride nearly has me walking out the door before my sense gets the better of me. Haven’t I been looking for a chance to understand him better?

I take my seat across from him. He pulls a Jokithan coin out of his pocket and moves to flip it.

“Heads,” he calls.

“Betting on your own face?” I quirk an eyebrow.

“It’s the only one I can trust.” There it is.

An undercurrent of anger, and, if I’m not mistaken, even jealousy.

I can’t pretend I’m not pleased to have permeated his icy exterior enough to rankle him, but he isn’t the only angry one. I haven’t forgotten yesterday.

“And here I was about to say the opposite,” I counter. “I’ll take the wolf.” It’s the other side of the Jokithan silver.

He narrows his eyes but says nothing. The small silver coin lands with his pompous face staring up at us, and he flips the board so that the alabaster tokens are in front of him.

Though Odger had assumed I required the advantage of going first, I actually prefer to let the king make the first move.

He leads out with a pawn in a classic opening, one I get the feeling is intentionally neutral. I counter with a move just as bland, and our game begins.

We spend the next several turns in silence, each taking the other’s measure, and neither gaining nor giving away the advantage.

Finally, he pauses with his nimble fingers hovering over his knight, the light catching on his silver wedding band.

“Am I to understand you meant to imply you would trust a wild animal over your king?”

It’s an effective way to distance himself, though I hardly think of him as my king. He moves his piece, and I wonder if his question was as much to distract me as it was genuine.

I study the board. I see a solid dozen ways out of the trap he is weaving, but only a handful that would trap him in turn.

I know I should let him win, but something in me itches to play in truth, to pit my mind against his and see where it leads us. Besides, I’ve thrown one game today already.

Meeting his eyes, I slide my rook into position. The moonstones on my ring dance under the golden candlelight, like they’re celebrating the small victory with me.

“Check,” I announce, then respond to his question with one of my own. “Am I to understand you would blame me for such a notion?”

His glacial eyes don’t leave mine, but neither does he respond. Anger rises in me, unbidden.

“Tell me, my king, how much trust you might have for someone who fills the space in their marriage bed with secrets and false niceties?”

He drops his gaze, features tightening with what I might have thought was remorse, if I could have believed him authentic.

“Everyone has secrets,” he responds quietly, deftly maneuvering his king out of danger.

The hypocrisy of me arguing that statement is not lost on me, but I do it anyway.

“Indeed,” I allow, countering his move before continuing. “Does everyone also restrict entire sections of their home from their wife?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but I barrel over him.

“For that matter, does everyone bark orders at a woman they barely know in a room full of those who are strangers to her? A woman who, if anything, he should show more than the usual respect for?” I don’t expect him to apologize, but he can damned well acknowledge what he did.

His face turns to stone again, but he isn’t too distracted to make another move.

“Everyone does not have the responsibilities that I do.”

So much for remorse.

Whatever else had happened in that wing, he had no problem with the way he belittled me, the way he shut me out of everything that was going on in this castle, like I’m some random intruder instead of his wife.

“I see.” It is an effort not to shake with the ire now trembling through my veins.

Khijhana presses herself against my leg, and I soak in her warmth gratefully, trying in vain to ground myself. I don’t speak again until I’ve countered his move.

“I suppose that’s all the reason you need for your behavior. I would hardly expect a man in as lofty a position as your own to lower yourself by offering explanations to a woman who will never be anything more than your glorified whore.” I manage to keep my voice remarkably calm, but I spit that last word out all the same.

He rears back as though I’ve slapped him.

“I’ve never touched you!” The way he says the words with blatant disgust doesn’t help his overall case of being an arsehole, but that was never the point.

He could have given me a hundred titles if he didn’t want to make me Queen, but there is an ownership associated with a consort. He may as well have snapped a collar around my neck for all the pride he has afforded me, and I know it shouldn’t matter. I remind myself of that constantly.

But it does, and it’s not the only thing I can’t get past.

“It doesn’t matter what you do once you call me that, a fact we are both well aware of. So, tell me, my king, my master, just how your consort should view you now, so that I may follow that order as well.”

His face is red with fury, his mouth opening as though he genuinely has no idea how to respond. If that's the case, he’s the only one who’s short on words, because I can’t seem to stop mine.

“Is that why you wouldn’t permit me to bring my own ladies or maids along? What need does a prisoner have of companionship?”

His flinch is barely perceptible, but I notice as he leans forward, no doubt to defend himself. Still, I don’t stop.

“Perhaps you could force me to wear a veil as well.” I am as close to shouting now as I ever come, closer than I can remember being in years to losing the carefully cultivated threads of my temper.

“Or have you already commissioned one? How much fabric do you think it would take to obscure the hideousness of my own features from Your Majesty’s untainted gaze?”

I have moved subconsciously closer to him with each word until we are mere inches apart by the time I stop speaking. This close, I can see that his eyes aren’t really blue — at least, not entirely. They’re flecked with silver, like jagged shards of ice. His lips are parted in acrimony or something I might interpret as desire on anyone else.

We sit like that for another heartbeat, frozen in time but for our furious breaths. Then he swallows, closing his mouth and backing away from the charged moment.

“I would never force a veil on anyone, let alone my own people.” He delivers the statement without inflection, his attention solely on the queen he is now sliding slowly across the board. “There are things beyond you here, things you don’t understand.”

I take a deep breath, studying the minute changes in his features. The slight furrow in his brow, the vein pulsing in his neck.

To the untrained eye, he could appear emotionless, but there is something there brimming below the surface, something I can’t quite name. None of it makes sense, though. If he doesn’t force his servants and guests into masks and veils, then why speak so sharply to the girl cleaning the slime that day?

And why hide their faces, if not at his command?

“How can I possibly understand something you refuse to explain?” I finally interject, but he holds up a hand.

“You can’t understand, but you can look outside the bubble of your own making to acknowledge that much before jumping to conclusions, something you have clearly not bothered to do.” He stands up in a single, fluid movement, not breaking eye contact with me.

“Check mate.”

I look at the board in disbelief, but he isn’t wrong. And for once, I wasn’t pandering. He’s outwitted me.

By the time I glance back up, he has swept out of the room, leaving the room feeling even emptier than it did when I arrived.