Page 57 of Tragic Empire

“I hear that some of you are daring to question my husband,” I speak, voice clear and dripping with disapproval. The crowd shifts, an awkwardness blooming all around, but I’m not quite done chastising this group of men. The ones who aren’t guilty won’t be affected by my scorn, but the ones who are will take their tongue lashing or face greater wrath.

“Doubting your own Duke’s integrity when he reports my well-being,” I continue, nodding to Gerard’s place to the left, I click my tongue. “I’d like to know who believes their conspiracies to be more trustworthy than your leaderships?”

When no one speaks up, I make a short hmph noise.

“I see.” Eyes scanning over the group, I fold my arms and sit back further in Cassio’s lap. “I trust that my presence here today clears up any misguided confusion, hmm? I am very clearly alive and unharmed. I do not appreciate needing to leave the solitude of my home for petty theories.”

“You haven’t been seen outside of yer home for over a month,” a throaty Irishman in the back pipes up. “We have a right to be concerned.”

It would be touching, if it didn’t piss me off so much.

“My mother is dead,” I snap, glaring though I can’t see him clearly. “I have no desire to return to the social niceties I used to enjoy. I am in mourning. And even if I weren’t, Gerard has reported my well-being more than once, has he not?”

When no one answers, I turn to the Duke himself. “Have you not?”

“I have, my lady,” he replies, using the silly title Cole insisted I be called. He was their “lord” after all. Both he and Killian, until Killian becomes Monarch.

“I thought as much,” I reply, looking back at the men with clear disapproval in my gaze.

“What about Cole?”

The quiet question makes my spine stiffen.

“Do not—” Cassio begins, voice dark and deadly.

“Cole would have your tongue for questioning me,” I threaten, wishing I could find the voice responsible for the inquisition. “All of you know it.”

There’s a tense shift amongst the men, and I nod.

“Do not question my safety or my marriage. Cassio is the only reason your ranks haven’t fallen apart in your Monarch’s absence.”

As far as I know, the men have all been made aware of Bron, Cole, and my mother’s death. As for where they think Killian is, I’m not sure. I hope our attackers believe he’s dead, purely so that they won’t come looking for him. But I think Gerard and Cassio have made up some excuse about family business in London to the men.

They can’t believe their Monarch is gone, or they might have a much more difficult time accepting my husband. Temporary leadership from an outsider is one thing, a permanent placement would likely be met with serious outcry. But I doubt Killian would want his people to know about his recovery, needing to remain a figure of strength and hope.

“You may not want to be his best friend,” I continue, voice hard. “But he is taking care of you, just as he takes care of me. Do not make me come back here, or I will not simply scold you as the boys you are acting like.”

“Yes?” Gerard barks, signaling them to answer.

“Yes!” A loud ripple of replies blares.

“I’ll be going now, Husband,” I tell Cassio quietly, leaning back to press a kiss to his cheek. But as I stand, he does as well.

“I’ll escort you,Wife,” he returns, voice gravelly.

Sirius follows us to the elevator like the dutiful good boy that he is, but Colton and Armani hang back at Cassio’s instruction. As soon as the metal doors shut, I breathe out heavily and lean against the wall. Delayed panic washes over my whole body and I grimace, feeling light headed.

My eyes slam shut as I try to push away the awful sensation. I never expected to be so unnerved and on edge in that room. But the reminders of Cole and Killian were everywhere. And though it was nothing like the shotty little room our kidnappers put us in, the basement had the same kind of cold cement walls that made my skin crawl.

“Don’t… ever… do that again,” Cassio says, his voice thick with tension. His hands are on my biceps, rubbing up and down like he knows I’m in desperate need of comfort.

Startled by this, my eyes pop open. “W-what? I thought I did good?”

“You did fucking amazing, Ana,” he grits out.

Sighing, I swallow and ask, “Then what’s the problem?”

“You don’t do that,” he demands, pointing harshly toward the door. “Do not ever put those people above yourself. I don’t care if they think my family has you under some kind of spell, or that I have you locked up and shackled to me against your will. You will not make yourself sick with panic to help us, do you hear me?”