The closer we get to the dais, the more Lady Gerline begins to tremble. Her hand is sweaty in mine, and when I look over at her, she's blinking rapidly, a fine sheen of perspiration on her face. Wow, she really is nervous, though she's still smiling with pleasure and it seems genuine. Even so, I start to get a sense of unease. I glance around the room, looking at the people gathered. I don't see weapons anywhere, or armor…but there's definitely a lot of men in the room and they're all staring at us as if we're the buffet.

Granted, we do have boobs for miles, so that might be it, but it's still unsettling. I'm not sure what to think, and I don't blame Yulenna for not wanting to come down. Aron will protect me, but it's hard to say if he'll do the same for her.

She bows, and so I do too, though mine is more of a curtsy so my dress doesn't spill open. When we straighten, she looks at her husband with bright, shining eyes, and then to me. All right. I turn to Aron, smile, and take a step forward.

Lord Secuban frowns, putting a hand out. "Did my wife not speak to you of our customs?"

I turn to look at Lady Gerline, who has an equally puzzled look on her face. "She said you guys share everything?" This seems like a weird place to talk about clothing, but maybe I'm supposed to thank them for the swap? "The clothes are nice. Thank you."

He smiles, and then it turns into full-fledged laughter. He glances over at Aron, amused. "Your concubine has amazing wit."

"She does," Aron says. That's all he says, his expression impossible to read. He hasn't moved from the throne, and he looks for a moment as remote and ominous as the first night I met him. A little shiver creeps up my spine.

"It is tradition in Novoro to honor guests by sharing all that we have with them," Lord Secuban agrees, inclining his head slightly. "We will give you and your party all that you ask for. New clothes, fresh food, weapons, anything you need, it shall be yours. We only ask that you share your blessings in return."

Aron's eyes narrow, his gaze focused on Novoro's lord.

I'm still not following his meaning. "I…okay?" I gesture at Aron. "Should I not sit with him at dinner, then?" I keep my voice to a low whisper so I don't embarrass anyone. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"We share our bounty with the gods, and we hope that the gods share their bounties with us," Lady Gerline whispers, her words pointed. She licks her lips, smooths her hands down the front of her dress—Yulenna's dress—and then sinks to her knees in front of Aron, putting her forehead to the floor. "It will be the greatest honor for Novoro to share with you, Lord Aron."

Er.

I blink. I'm starting to get an idea of what they mean by sharing, and surely…surely I'm wrong. I look at Aron, and his eyes are tight, his mouth a thin line of disapproval as Lady Gerline lifts her head and then crawls over to his leg and touches it with her hand, practically fawning over him.

Lord Secuban waits, watching me.

They…have to be joking.

Share me? I look around the room with horror, at the lascivious, leering faces of the men in the hall. Their gross, leering stares suddenly make sense, and I clutch at the deep neck of the gown. No fucking way. Secuban thinks he gets me…does everyone else, too? Is that why're they're all piled in to the feast hall so eagerly? It's not for the food?

Yulenna was right to hide upstairs. I should have, too. No wonder Lady Gerline freaked out and insisted one of us had to come down. One of us had to be the sacrificial lamb. Fuck.

Lord Secuban moves forward and reaches out to take my arm.

Before I can jerk away, Aron's cold voice cuts through the room. "If you touch her, it will be the last thing you do."

A hush falls through the room. Thunder crackles overhead and my ears pop with the force of the sudden storm. A headache stabs between my eyes, too. Lady Gerline cowers at Aron's feet, but she doesn't move away. No one moves at all.

Lord Secuban recovers first. He bows to Aron, his expression one of confusion. "My lord, I thought you brought your concubine as a gift to share with those of us in Novoro. It is tradition—"

"I do not give a fuck what your tradition is. That one belongs to me." Aron points at me, and the air practically crackles. I'm gleeful at his defiant claim.

"But—"

Aron turns his wrathful gaze on Lord Secuban. "Did you not hear me?” He leans forward, his hands clenching the arms of the throne, and there’s so much electrical energy building that my hair is starting to float around my head. Oh Jesus. I’ve never seen Aron this angry.

And it’s all because they want to share me. I’m a little stunned, because in the past, Aron’s made it clear that mortals are expendable and not on the same level as he is.

Lord and Lady Novoro drop to their knees. “Tradition—” Lord Secuban begins.

I swear, the man does not know when to shut up. I step forward, moving to Aron’s side. There’s a little pillow at his feet where I guess a good slave girl is supposed to sit, but fuck that. I slip into Aron’s lap, and I’m relieved when he lets me and then puts a possessive hand on my hip. “Aron is the Lord of Storms,” I tell them. “He does what he wants. If he doesn’t feel like sharing, he doesn’t feel like sharing. End of story.”

“I do not feel like sharing,” Aron says, biting out each word furiously. “I would rather raze this place to the ground and salt the earth.” His hand tightens on my hip and he pulls me closer, until I’m practically astride his big lap.

Woo, all righty then. “Let’s not salt anything,” I say, keeping my tone conciliatory. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to offend. It’s just a difference in customs.”

Lord Secuban sits up, rocking back on his heels. His face is pale, grave with the realization of his insult. “Simply bless us, my Lord of Storms, and we will be your army.”

“I need no army,” Aron tells him arrogantly. “I need nothing from any of you. If I left now and burned this place to the ground, it would change nothing.”

Gerline quivers, her forehead still to the floor. Lord Secuban’s mouth works, opening and then shutting silently. I look around the room and see everyone is silent, from the knights to the serving women. Off in a corner, I see Secuban’s slave women curled up in the laps of other lords, and one of the maids stands between two men, frozen, their hands on her. The plates on the long tables are only one for every two people, same with the goblets. It’s clear that sharing is part of the culture here.

It’s also clear that Aron hate, hate, hates the idea. I can tell by the change of the pressure in the air, the hallmark of one of Aron’s temperamental storms. My head throbs in response to the sudden onset of weather, too.

I see Markos and Vitar out of the corner of my eye. Their faces are tense, their hands at their sword belts, ready to act. Aron might be fine if he fights his way out of here, and me too—but what about our people? What about Yulenna, who’s cowering upstairs?

“Aron,” I murmur quietly, and put a hand on his chest. I lean in and whisper in his ear, his nearness threatening to distract me. “I don’t think they meant to offend you. Let’s bring it down a notch, okay? No one’s going to touch me but you. I promise.”

His eyes blaze at me for a long, silent moment, and I feel as trapped under his outrage as the others do. I don’t dare breathe, my hand still on his chest. When he continues to remain silent, the air practically crackling around us, I rub my thumb against the fabric of his new tunic, just over his heart, and arch an eyebrow at him.

The terrible tension in him seems to ease a bit. His hand relaxes on my waist, and Aron gives a curt nod.