“Stella. Choc,” Ernst hollered toward the kitchen. “Ice cracking.” He pointed to Gus’s chest.
“We heard.” Gus held Daffy’s chair. “Ernst, did you find this Emmanuel chap?”
Slipping off his coat, he warmed his hands by the fire, shoving—no, deleting—the “true love” comment from hisbeing. Why would he say such a thing? Coral and Robbi had scrubbed him of romantic overtures, his verbal poetry, his princely charm. And why did Ernst point to his chest? Right where his heart lived? Weird old geezer.
Gus looked up as another booming crack penetrated the pub’s thick plaster walls.
“Yes, Emmanuel.” Ernst leaned over the table, arms barely able to fold over his expansive chest. But Stella called him, and Ernst toddled off, calling, “Wife number one.”
Daffy made a face and laughed behind her hand. “What did that mean? I can’t understand him. Do you think George Lucas visited Dalholm when he was dreaming upStar Warsand Yoda?”
“There is a rumor—”
“Hot choc.” Ernst set down two large mugs of cocoa. “Emmanuel. Come.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Gus ignored the hot drink. “Where is he?”
Ernst pointed to the door. “There.”
Gus stared, waiting, then checked with Daffy, who watched Ernst.
“Ernst, is the man invisible? Because I—”
The pub door opened and ashes from the fireplace stirred from the hearth. A man, dressed in a long, woolen anorak from another century and leather boots, stepped inside.
The pub’s atmosphere sparked and shifted. Every bleary eye fixed on him. The clanking of dishes and glasses ceased. Even the music from the mounted speakers silenced.
“I’m looking for the prince.” The man’s voice filled the room as he removed his worn leather hat and shook snow from his boots.
“Welcome, carpenter.” Ernst pointed toward Gus’s table. “A choc?”
“That’d be fine.” The gentleness in his answer matched his commanding size. He moved with sublime grace and his expression, while stern, was kindness itself. His eyes seemed to glow, making their own light. Gus imagined he walked down the mountain without a torch.
Gus stood, offering his hand, all the while resisting the urge to bow.
Emmanuel spoke first. “Your Royal Highness. I’m the carpenter, Emmanuel.” He carried the scent of the high forest—snow and rain, sunshine and wind. He turned to Daffy, who was also on her feet. “You must be the princess.”
“Me?” Her cheeks flamed with a quick blush. “No, I’m a curator with the Royal Trust. Daffodil Caron.” She shook his hand. “We’re so hoping you can help us. You see, a very valuable chair, theKing Titus—”
“I know this chair. Seen it many times.”
“Goodness, well, you see, the chair—” Daffy frowned. “You’ve seen theKing Titus? Many times? It’s only come out of storage twice in the last twenty-five years. Before that, I believe it never left Hadsby.”
“And now it is in need of repair?”
She glanced at Gus, who felt her expression. This was no ordinary man. “Have you repaired it before?” she said.
“Indeed, I have.”
“But our records indicate the last repairs were—”
“Daffy, let the man sit.” Gus pulled out a chair. “We don’t care about the past, do we? We care aboutnow.”
Emmanuel smiled at Gus, taking a seat as Ernst arrived with a mug. “Thank you, my friend. And how’s Stella?”
“Kitchen. Sends love.”
“Send mine in return.” Emmanuel took a sip of hot chocolate. “So, tell me about the chair.”
