Page 115 of Consort's Glory
Olivier’s eyes, wide enough to show the white all the way around his gold irises, locked onto her face. For a long, tense minute, no one spoke. No one except Theodore, who stood with a relaxed sort of readiness that hid the tension she knew he felt, seemed capable of it.
Finally, with a reflexive crunching of the newspaper in his hand, Olivier choked out, “Gods, Solbourne, what have you done to her?”
Unease was a tangled knot in her belly, the sense of familiarity between her and Olivier increasing with every word, with every draw of his scent into her lungs. The implication of what that might mean made her knees weak.
Baby, I know him.
Theodore’s voice was so gentle. Tell me how.
He was there. In the dark. During my change, I swear, I heard his voice.
She leaned into Theodore just as he slid his arm around her shoulders, drawing her into the study. Nothing would soothe away the scars of that time in the dark, not even the gentle explanation that her experience with the change wasn’t at all unusual. The memories bit at her heels, more real than when she explained the terror of that week to Theodore the previous night.
Margot’s voice trembled. “He hasn’t done anything to me. Theodore’s my…” The words fell from numb lips.
Olivier wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixated on the point at which she and Theodore were connected — his big, gloved hand curving to hold the dip in her waist like it was made to fit there.
Slowly, the surprise bled out of Olivier’s expression. It was replaced with the cold type of rage that would terrify any sentient being with a shred of self-preservation.
With his white hair and hard, pitiless gaze, Olivier du Soleil looked like a man carved from pure ice. When he spoke, there was no inflection, none of the raw intensity of before. His voice was flat, hard. “Take your hands off of her. Now.”
Theodore didn’t stop drawing her slowly around his huge, live edge desk. His posture was totally relaxed as he put the hulking piece of furniture between them. “No.”
Olivier didn’t blink. He held Theodore’s stare even as the newspaper slid from his hand. His gloves, Margot noticed, were silver-tipped too, but made of gray suede to match his charcoal, pin-striped suit and light overcoat.
In that inflectionless voice, Olivier asked, “So this is your scheme? To repeat history and strike at the heart of us at the same time?”
Theodore didn’t rise to the bait. Still, she felt his claws flexing over her ribs, his only tell. “You always had an overblown sense of your own importance, Olivier.” He pulled her closer, nearly tucking her under his arm. I’m safe, she thought, the shadows of her nightmares receding. I’m safe with him.
Theodore stroked her side, his protectiveness a steady current in their bond. “But in this I can absolutely assure you, neither you nor your family played any role in my relationship with my consort.”
“Bullshit.” The single word was cutting; almost as sharp as the look he leveled at Margot when he snapped, “Come here.”
She stared, astonished, as Olivier lifted one of his gloved hands and crooked his fingers — beckoning her.
Margot’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t know what he’s told you, but whatever it is, he’s lying to you. Step away from him.” Olivier curled his fingers sharply. “Come here.”
Theodore let out a low whistle. “Big mistake.”
Margot acknowledged Theodore with an absent wave of her hand, her indignation rising to a boiling point the longer she stared at Olivier du Soleil’s imperious little sneer.
“Who do you think you are?” Margot felt the crackle of electricity in her veins, in her hair, as her temper snapped. “You think you can call me over like a dog? You don’t even know me!”
Olivier blinked, his arm lowering a fraction as he took in the crackle of electricity around her eyes. He almost looked startled — for a moment. “I don’t have time for this. I need you to step away from the sovereign now, Margot! Don’t make me come over there and separate you.”
Oh, she wanted to swipe that cold, imperious look off of his sharply handsome face! It was bad enough that he thought he could order her around — her, a healer, a gloriana, a fucking Goode! — but threatening to get between her and her husband? It snapped what few chains remained on that clawing thing inside her.
Theodore warned her that increased aggression was one of the main reasons elves in the grip of the pull were generally left alone, but until then, she couldn’t have comprehended the whiplash of fury that scorched a path through her at the idea of being separated from him.
Margot lunged, fingers curled into claws, and might have made it across the desk if Theodore didn’t already have his arm around her waist, restraining her easily. She snarled, fighting to be free so she could get rid of the man who wanted to take her husband from her, who dredged up all those terrible, scarring memories like they were nothing.
“Shh, darling,” Theodore soothed. He ignored the startled elf on the other side of the desk. Petting her hair, he leaned down to murmur in her ear. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” When she stopped fighting him, her chest heaving, he pressed a hard kiss to the crown of her head. “There now. Everything is okay. He doesn’t know.”
Lifting his head to send Olivier a wide, sharp-toothed smile, Theodore explained, “You’re lucky I was here. If my consort got to you, there’d be nothing left to find.” He cocked his head to one side, his playfulness barely concealing an anger that roared through their bond. “The only reason I didn’t let her do it, by the way, is because she would regret it. I might actually enjoy seeing you torn apart. My consort is softhearted, though.”
“She is not your consort.” Olivier’s voice hadn’t changed, but the way he held himself, the shifting of his weight on his expensive Italian shoes, gave the air of tightly restrained menace.
