She held the goblet out and very deliberately poured the rest of her blood-wine down the front of her dress. “Oh no. It appears I have stained my dress. What a pity.”
Oleg smirked at her. “A pity indeed. Did I pay for that one?”
“Of course you did.” She looked down. “I suppose I will need to leave. I wouldn’t want to drip blood around Pavel’s beautiful home.”
And without another word to him, Tatyana turned, walked to Pavel, and spoke quietly to him before she took her leave with the Hazar surrounding her. Whatever she’d said did not change the devastated expression on Pavel’s face.
Ivan sat up but didn’t stand up, sitting on the ground near Oleg’s feet and glaring murderously at his brother.
“Did you have something else you wanted to say?” Oleg snapped his fingers, and the fire hovering over Ivan’s head floated back to his palm.
“No, Knyaz.” Ivan’s murderous gaze was ice-cold. “Nothing.”
She was waitingfor him in his day chamber when he finally returned to the house.
Oleg stepped inside his burned room. “Hello, my wife.”
She said nothing.
“What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t displeased to see her, but he was a bit startled. No one came to this chamber save him, but then, he’d made a point of giving her the codes to his room. It was unreasonable for him to be offended when she used them.
Despite his inquiry, she still said nothing, and he wondered how long she’d been waiting.
Mika and Ludmila had met with him in private after Pavel’s social secretary had wrapped up the spoiled reception and ushered the guests from Pavel’s home with as much decorum as possible.
Ivan had slunk away, escaping the party as soon as he could. Many of the guests left not long after the Scandinavian regent stalked out in disgust.
Both Ludmila and Mika understood immediately why Oleg had created the scene at the party, though Ludmila once again pushed for a discreet and quick assassination to deal with the problem of Ivan, and Mika expressed concern about Pavel’s reaction.
Oleg had already called Lazlo to deal with Pavel. His older brother—the most taciturn among them—would know what to say.
Tatyana stood in the middle of his room. He knew from the churning energy in his blood that she was angry, and he also knew it was not an act for the public. She was still wearing her stained dress, and her arms were crossed over her chest.
She stared at the charred marble mantel with a blank expression. “You cleaned.”
“A little.”
He hadn’t cleaned. Not really, but he had spent some hours the night before hauling out the burned furniture from the room. He’d left it in a pile in the middle of the hall where it had miraculously disappeared by dawn without a single question being asked.
The only thing remaining in his day chamber was a simple pallet for him to sleep on, a few books he was reading piled next to his bedroll, and a large battle-axe propped in the corner.
The axe had come in handy while getting the burned bed out of the room.
“What was that?” She turned to him, her arms still crossed over her chest. “Do you know how much work Pavel put into that party? How much negotiation went into the guest list?”
Oleg nodded. “I do.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking…” He leaned against one soot-stained wall and picked at the burned fabric that covered the plaster. “I was thinking that it is good to remember that even the friendliest hound can turn and bite.”
She blinked. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you the hound in this story?”
“Ivan said that marrying you was very civilized.”
Her expression was still unreadable. “Was that an insult?”
