Lyra/Leila's POV
Kaelen planted himself between us, his broad back to me while he stared at them.
Vivivene grunted, jabbing her finger my way. "That bit–" she tried to curse. She had a second look at Kaelen's serious expression, and she changed her mind. "Your wife started it first. She insulted us."
"Yes, she did." Adrian supported, stepping forward, jaw framed tight and definite from suppressed rage.
Kaelen glanced back at me, his stare was nearly rebuking. He gritted his teeth gently, jaw tightening. He looked like he wanted to rebuke me, but decided against it, and he shifted back to them.
"It doesn't matter who started it," Kaelen rebuked. "You both should know better than to treat a lady who just survived years of coma with less courtesy." His tone dropped a shade now. Almost like that of a school teacher disciplining some school kids.
Vivivene wasn't convinced. She jabbed her finger harder in the air, grunting. "She should have treated us with courtesy, too. All we did was be nice to her." She challenged fiercely.
She tried to move past Kaelen and charge at me again. She stopped when his hard gaze pinned her down. He said no word, he just stood calmly, fixing her with a stare, only the ripple of muscles along his broad shoulders hinted at movement.
Vivienne stepped back, like a puppet on strings, dragging her hand back to her side, her face a visual representation of unactualized murder.
She gritted her teeth.
The slice of humiliation that split her face was bliss to my soul. I held Adrian's gaze over Kaelen's shoulder, refusing to back down from the heat.
I wished I could tell him who I am and show him just how much I have missed him with my claws tearing down his handsome face, and not clutching my dress as they were doing now.
Kaelen glanced around at the crowd of elegantly dressed nobles. By now, the music from the orchestra had died to its final hum, so every word he muttered whipped through the room like a law. "We will all forget this happened, and we will continue the party."
"But…" Vivienne protested.
"But what?" his hard, authoritative voice whipped the room again, his stare, like a peg on her.
Her lips moved, but no words came out. He forced a smile at the whole crowd again. "Now, the party can begin once again." He ordered.
His gaze found the orchestra on the podium, and he nudged his chin toward them. A signal. And once again, the slow, almost romantic music stole the air, struggling to diffuse the tense ambience.
He stared at the crowd until everyone dispersed to their whims and withdrew their stares, then he snatched my arm.
"You, come with me." He gritted the words through clenched teeth.
"I don't want to—" but he was already dragging me down the tiles, his thick fingers like a band around my arm.
He threw me against the wall of the desolated hallway, pinning me to the wall with piercing amber orbs. They shone like sunlight trapped in a glass as they swept me carefully. Even though packed with a truckload of condescension, flaring my skin with heat, they still somewhat appeared tender.
"What the hell was that about, out there, Leila?" he scowled.
My first attempt at reply was a throaty rumble. My concentration was affected by the closeness of his face, so close his warm breath stung my nose.
I found myself staring at his dark, full lashes, his brown hair, from which a lock dropped, curling in a sinful 'C' before his face. I found myself unconsciously tracing the symmetry of muscles that coalesced into the aggressive V-shaped jaw that clenched tighter as he stared at me.
"Talk," he snapped, his deep voice like a whip again.
That dragged me fast from la-la-land faster than possible. I snatched my eyes away from his face and shut them tight, jamming my teeth in rebuke at myself.
How the hell did I let myself ogle him? I exhaled. Focus, Lyra. Focus.
I opened my eyes back to meet the hostility in his. "Nothing happened. They insulted me, and I returned the favour."
"That wasn't you returning the favour. That was you bringing a gun to a stick fight."
"They deserved it, and deserved worse."
"I don't care if they deserved it or not. What I care about is you ruining things for me. Couldn't you have saved it for later?"
"You don't tell me what to do?" I fired back, struggling to appear unbothered about the stifling heat from his big body pressing down on me.
"Actually, I tell you what to do. You are my wife, and you act in line as that."
"I won't." I am not your wife. I wanted to yell that at him, and hell, I was tempted to.
His lips parted, and the disgust in his eyes thickened. I waited for the counter, but he just sighed wearily. He must have realized we wouldn't get anywhere arguing like an old couple. His jaw ticked, the V-shaped as defined as it could ever be.
"How did you even know about those details about the Valens. You barely even know them before the coma."
I forced on a stiff, unapologetic smile. "I was in a coma for years, I wasn't dead. I heard whispers from the doctors and nurses and maids."
He scoffed and then leaned lower, bringing down more of the heat from his big, powerful body on me. His amber orbs narrowed, searching me closely as if trying to stare the truth out of me.
I shouldn't be stifled. I should be in control, I should be calm. Yet when I tried my best to hold his gaze, I found myself swallowing hard. His eyes flicked to the column of my throat, and for a moment, I thought they strayed lower to my breasts. He whipped his eyes from me so fast I couldn't be sure.
He snapped back abruptly. "I don't care about whatever you have going on with the Valens." He straightened, taking a step back, and pretending to adjust his cufflinks.
"Now, we are going to return to the party, like a husband and wife in love, though I very well hate your guts. And you will act calmly and civilly to all the guests. Is that clear?" He demanded.
"It isn't," I challenged. "I am not going to—"
He snatched my waist, pulling me from the wall. His possessive grip silenced my protest.
He made me a wry grin. "Well, wife. I wasn't asking." He said. And he led me back to the party.