Scarlet Princess: An Enemies-to-Lovers Fantasy Romance (The Lochlann Feuds Book 1)
Scarlet Princess: Chapter 7

Our trek to dinner was filled with the same polite sort of conversation. As we approached the dining hall, however, it quickly dampened into an oppressive silence, reminding me once again how different Socair was from home.

In Lochlann, the noise from the table alerted you to the meal even more than the savory smells floating in the air. That was most definitely not the case here. Though the table was filled, no one spoke.

There was no out-of-turn stealing of a roll from the bread basket or chatter about the happenings of the day.

It was only silence and waiting.

“Princess Rowan, how nice of you to join us,” Iiro finally said from his seat at the head of the table, his words echoing in the quiet space.

Theodore flushed with shame, and I gathered that we had dawdled too long.

“The pleasure is mine,” I said in a bland tone, pretending I didn’t know that he was displeased.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and the room fell into another uncomfortable silence.

A gorgeous woman sat to Iiro’s left, dressed in clothes similar to mine, only hers were shades of blue and white and silver.

Davin sat on her other side, and when he met my eye, it was easy to see he was just as baffled by the awkward atmosphere as I was. I kept silent, though, as Lord Theodore showed me to a chair directly across from him, before taking the seat between me and the duke.

The man on my right shot me the horrified glance I was coming to expect and scooted his chair several inches away. I noticed with some irritation that the woman in red, on the other side of Davin seemed to have no such compunctions, shooting him coy glances that he returned in kind.

As soon as we were all settled, Iiro raised a hand and the maids around the room jolted forward, making quick and efficient work of serving each person seated.

Iiro made a gesture in the air. As if on cue, a gentle hum of conversation began, most of it in Socairan.

“This is my wife, Inessa,” Sir Iiro gestured to the woman at his side.

Her hair was pale like Theo’s, though her eyebrows were several shades darker, hanging low over deep-set brown eyes.

“Welcome.” Her voice was polite, but forced, and I wondered what I had already done to offend her, or if it was just my presence and hair that did the trick.

One of the maids stepped up behind me, ladling a bright red soup into my bowl. A pungent, tangy odor drifted up from the bowl, and I warily tried to identify the contents.

“It’s borscht,” Theodore offered in his usual high-handed tone. “Beet soup.”

We had beets in Lochlann, but only ever served them with salads or as a side dish, so this meal was wholly strange to me. Dipping my spoon into the bowl, I took a discreet sniff before tasting it, and immediately regretted it.

At closer range, the cloying scent of vinegar stung my eyes, and I tried to blink it away. The entire table seemed to be observing me, so I quashed my hesitation, lifting the spoon to my lips and tilting the contents into my mouth

I nearly spit it back out.

It was cold, for one thing. Why? Why was soup cold in the middle of autumn? And how did it taste even worse than it smelled?

“Mmm,” I said, trying not to cringe at the sour aftertaste.

Perhaps the slimy concoction would have been better if I hadn’t smelled it, or if it had been warm. Or perhaps it was always going to taste like vinegar and dirt.

Either way, I felt the eyes of both Iiro and his brother on me, like my reaction was some sort of test.

I refused to let them know how disgusting I found it, then steeled my features into neutrality while forcing my hand to dip the spoon and bring it to my lips once more.

“How do you like it?” Duke Iiro asked, though his features told me he knew perfectly well how I liked it.

“It’s quite…” I cut off with a cough, the vile soup in the back of my throat threatening to resurface.

“Delicious.” Davin broke in before I could lie badly, his tone overly polite. “We don’t have this in Lochlann.”

Something I’m grateful for.

I shot him an appreciative glance and the corner of his mouth tugged up in response.

Iiro muttered something noncommittal in response, and the scrutiny seemed to be lifted from me, at least for a little while.

Whatever was next smelled tantalizing and completely beet-less, and I found my mouth watering as the servants presented us with the next course. The steel domes over the dishes were removed to reveal noodles and hunks of beef in a creamy gravy.

Much better.

Just as I was about to take a bite, Theodore cleared his throat.

“Stroganoff,” he intoned, just as stiff as before. “You eat it with the large fork.”

I was tempted to continue using the small fork just to see if he would actually die from the breach of propriety, but I dutifully plucked up the larger one. The dish looked and smelled delicious enough that I didn’t really care how it was eaten.

It was an effort not to groan with pleasure as I took my first bite. The gravy-soaked beef practically melted in my mouth, and I knew then that it would take more than a few dirty glances to keep me from licking the plate when I was finished.

I had just taken a second bite of the divine noodles when Davin’s voice rang out. “Sir Iiro, perhaps you would like to tell us more about this Summit now.”

Ever the diplomat.

Iiro nodded once in his brother’s direction, a sharp dip of his head.

“As you may know, there are nine clans in Socair,” Theodore began. “Since the monarchy was destroyed, the clans have operated independently, but there are still a very few laws which we all adhere to for the sake of order. When something comes up that affects all of the clans, a Summit is called in neutral territory.”

“I have already alerted my closest allies to your presence, as well as sent messenger birds to the other clans with a summoning,” Iiro added. “They will decide what happens to you.”

“You mean, whether we’re ransomed or set free?” I asked hopefully.

“I mean whether you live or die,” Iiro corrected.

Logically, I had been expecting that, but the indifference in his tone had blood rushing in my ears, the roaring noise drowning out whatever Davin said in response. I stared at my cousin, suddenly more terrified than I had ever been in my life. It was my fault he was here, and it would be my fault if he died.

I toyed with an idea I had been chewing on in the back of my mind, convincing myself it would work. The rest of the table was conversing, even Theo and Iiro discussing something with their heads close.

I nudged Davin’s foot under the table, and he turned his attention to me.

“Did anyone announce you?” I asked in a low tone.

“No. I was on time,” he teased. “Speaking of which, what were you and Lord Theodore up to?”

“He was giving me a tour.”

“Of what?” He raised his eyebrows to convey his meaning, and I scowled at him, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention.

“So no one has mentioned…who you are?” I barely mouthed the last words.

He shot me a quizzical look, but answered. “No, no one has spoken to me.”

Perfect.

I turned to Iiro.

“Did you tell the clans why you were gathering them?” I asked, interrupting the duke as he spoke to his brother. “Did you tell them we were here?”

Inessa looked appalled, but I ignored her, staring directly at the man in charge.

Iiro narrowed his eyes at me before answering. “No.” He glanced pointedly around the room. “Though, I daresay your presence won’t remain a secret for long.”

I nodded slowly, taking a deep, steadying breath.

“Of course. I have to go answer for my…deeply heinous crimes. But, Davin…” I let the idea hang in the air. I wasn’t worried about the name. It was common enough in Lochlann, and I doubted the Socairans were familiar with every member of the extended royal family.

Iiro looked intrigued, but my cousin only looked horrified, like he suspected exactly what I was about to do.

“Rowan, no.” Davin’s words were a warning I ignored.

“When we were in the dungeons, Lord Theodore astutely noted that my companion was merely my guard. Surely, a nonroyal citizen, someone of no importance or rank—” I cut off when a foot connected solidly with my shin.

Barely suppressing a wince, I went on.

“Surely someone like that would be well within your own authority, you being such a powerful duke of a vast territory such as this.”

Iiro’s expression told me he knew I was flattering him, but he appeared to be considering it, nonetheless. I didn’t breathe, hardly dared to hope, until, miraculously, he gave a slow nod.

“Your guard would have no need to be seen by the Summit, especially provided you remain amicable and accommodating.”

Ah. That explained why he even considered it.

“Absolutely not,” Davin said sharply. “It was both of our—”

“No.” I cut him off with a sharp look. “This is my decision. I outrank you, Davin.”

Not once in the seventeen years I had been alive had I pulled rank on my older cousin, but this was about his life. He opened his mouth to argue, and I held up a hand to stop him.

“You swore fealty to my family.”

“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. “I swore to protect—”

“You swore to obey,” I corrected. “And I’m certain you wouldn’t want to break that oath, certainly not here, in front of our new friends.”

Davin’s eyes glowed with more fury than I had ever seen in them, but he clamped his jaw shut.

“As you say, Your Highness,” he gritted out.

“Now,” I turned back to Iiro, changing the subject intentionally. “I assume I’ll want to prepare a statement of some sort, to explain—”

“My dear,” Iiro cut me off. “You won’t be speaking to the Summit. It is only because of your station and your unfamiliarity with our ways that you have been permitted to speak your case here, at this table.”

I blinked. Surely, he was joking. I had assumed Inessa’s sour looks were because I was from Lochlann, but now I wondered if she was merely offended that I had the audacity to speak at all.

Iiro went on before I could form a response, which was probably just as well.

“Even if you were Socairan, and a man, you could not make your own case before the clan leaders.” His words were edged with condescension, as if that were painfully obvious.

“My brother will speak on your behalf,” Theodore offered, and Iiro nodded like that, too, had been a given.

“That’s very…gracious of you.”

What else could I say, really, when he held both of our lives in his hands?