‘I agree,’ he said. ‘The Thrudheim blue clashes with the scarlet of my banner.’
‘It does.’ She nodded. ‘Red is such a garish colour. I have never liked it.’
‘It is cheaper to produce than blue. Especiallythatshade of blue.’ He flicked a wrist towards her banners.
‘Indeed…’ She smiled wickedly before delivering another verbal slap. ‘I suppose that is why you picked it, because it was cheap.’
‘Do you think me ashamed of my past?’ he asked, a little irritated that she’d struck home with her poisoned arrow.
She shrugged. ‘I think it would be a disgraceful waste to destroy hundreds of years of Thrudheim tradition on anuglyred banner.’ She then sipped her wine and smiled pleasantly at the servants positioning the final dishes to their table. He was surprised they’d managed to fit much more on.
‘Is everything to your liking, Your Highness?’ asked one of the girls, looking nervously towards him and then back at their mistress as if uncertain.
Did he look annoyed?
He didn’t really care too much about the banners, although, he would like his insignia present—the wolf’s head meant a lot to him. His mother had been known as the She-Wolf and, as he’d grown up, he’d grown to have more in common with the snarling beast than his father’s corrupt side of the family.
A self-conscious thought rattled through his head.Did she think him as ugly as his banners?
The battle for revenge had not been kind to his face. He was covered in scars and women tended to be afraid of him—despite him hardly ever approaching them.
He was significantly younger than Heimdall at least, something which was finally in his favour. But perhaps she had truly loved her husband—she’d certainly been infatuated with him as a young woman. Uncomfortably, Agnar realised that if he’d been the same age as the handsome Heimdall, Skadi might still not have accepted him, regardless of their betrothal. She was certainly far too beautiful to be besotted by someone with his face.
‘It looks delicious, thank you,’ Skadi said sweetly to the servant, before turning back to face him, and adding quietly, ‘It is customary for a king to serve his Queen first and then for him to eat the first bite… A small piece of bread will do if you are not hungry. Otherwise, no one else can begin…’
Chapter Eight
Was that true? Were they all waiting for him to take the first bite?
It seemed so ridiculous, but he supposed it made sense and all of the hall’s eyes were watching him expectantly. He’d been so wrapped up in speaking with Skadi he’d not noticed until now.
When he did nothing, she continued with an exasperated expression, ‘I would not wish for the food to spoil. You insisted on a feast, but we will be limited this winter without more supplies coming from outside, Sven provides our winter grain…or, at least, he used to.’
He reached for the circular loaf of bread. The top was dusted with what looked like a colourful burnt yellow spice that would cost more in weight than his leather and fur-lined boots. A flower motif had been cut into the dough before baking, the petals rising up, as if seeking the sun like a waterlily.
He glanced at the other side dishes and noticed they were presented in similar ways. The honey had been poured into an elaborate gold and rock-crystal jar, designed to look like a beehive, the gold spoon crafted into the shape of a bee, with an extra-long stinger as its handle.
The roasted vegetables were in pottery dishes made to look like wicker baskets, as if they’d come straight from the field, and arrived at their table already cooked and drizzled in an herb-infused oil. The braised cabbages with bacon were in pottery bowls shaped and painted like cabbage leaves. Even the butter had been moulded into a silver cup shaped like a butter barrel, the blunt knife stabbed in its centre looking like a churning oar.
Whimsical and ridiculously extravagant.
But he supposed this was what came of idle hands. Skadi might not realise it, but she had been kept prisoner for nearly twenty years. A willing prisoner, but still a…captive.
He tore off a petal from the bread and reached for the honey, the silver stinger thin and fiddly in his hands. But he persevered, drizzling a small amount on to the tip of the delicate petal. The salt dish was nearby and, of course, it was shaped into a sapphire flat fish. He pinched a little of it and sprinkled it on to the honey.
He glanced at Skadi and her face was tight and pale as she watched his movements. He wondered if it was the tradition of sharing bread and salt that bothered her—as by the laws of hospitality, it ensured no harm came to a visiting guest.
But, of course, he was not a guest. He was Thrudheim’s ruler and now her husband.
No, it was obvious, what bothered her was that he knew how she liked her bread and honey. Or…at least, how she’d used to eat it.
All those years ago, on that terrible day when he had arrived to claim his betrothed, he’d watched her in fascination at the evening meal, as she carefully added a tiny sprinkle of salt to her bread and honey. It had confused him and he had tried it himself immediately, surprised by how the sweetness seemed to intensify with the sprinkle of salt.
He lifted the petal and held it in front of Skadi’s lips. Her eyes widened but, with a quick glance at the watching crowd, she opened her mouth and bit into the bread with pearly white teeth.
The crust of the bread crunched with a soft crack and then she pulled away delicately, chewing the bread and wiping the crumbs away with an embroidered napkin. His entire body stiffened with longing and he wasn’t sure what had aroused him. Was it the secret knowledge they both shared, or the sight of her lips so close to his fingers, willingly opening for him?
He shifted in his seat, for once grateful for the discomfort as it brought him back to his senses. Over half of the petal was left and he popped the entirety of it into his mouth and chewed.
