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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.
