Alarik bristled at her unrestrained insolence, this mouthy little maidservant who barely reached his collarbone, but she was already turning from him, her steps quickening as she slipped past Captain Vine and hurried from the room without looking back.
All three of them stared after her.
Too late, the king found his voice. ‘Who in freezing hell was that?’
Although a part of him was already knitting it all together. Through the fog of his surprise, he had noted the shine of her copper hair and the telltale lilt of her accent, not to mention the fact that she had been waiting for him – seemingly – in his war room.
By the smirk on Vine’s face, he could tell she had come to the same conclusion. ‘I believe that was your new wrangler.’
An Iversen, then. And one that was sorely in need of an etiquette lesson or two. Alarik’s lips twisted, his gaze falling on the crushed lemon. ‘I wasn’t expecting her to be so—’
‘Dainty?’ said Lief.
‘Short?’ guessed Vine.
‘Brazen,’ said Alarik, in a growl. He didn’t care if she was his best friend’s sister. That wayward wrangler owed him an apology.And a simpering bow. ‘Get her back here.’
Vine peered out into the hallway. ‘She’s long gone.’
But Alarik was already moving, marching from the room like he was going into battle.
CHAPTER 8
Greta
Greta’s heart thundered as she bolted down the hallway, trying to put as much space between herself and the king as possible. But no matter how fast she ran, whizzing past bewildered-looking soldiers and startled beasts, she couldn’t outrun her own foolishness.
Why had she spoken to him like that? Why had she spokenat all?
For days, she had been preparing herself for the importance of this moment, the one upon which the fate of her family rested, and in a few short sentences, she had completely messed it up. Instead of dropping her head in deference and introducing herself properly, she had snapped at Alarik Felsing over a damned lemon.
She hadscoldedtheking of Gevra.
Stars above. If Tor was here, he’d wilt with disappointment. If Hela found out, she would come down on Greta like a hurricane. And then there was the king himself. Alarik Felsing had been wild-tempered, and yet when the suit of armour fell, revealing her hiding place, her surprised yelp had startled him into silence.
Greta was not foolish enough to consider that silence a reprieve. She had heard too much about the king to think he wouldn’t punish her for her insolence. After all, she had disrespected him in his own palace, in front of his stewardandhis war captain.
And then, to make matters worse, she had bolted from him like a frightened doe.
She wasstillbolting from him.
Greta’s manners were far from impeccable, but her survival instincts were second to none. She reached the staircase and swung herself around the balustrade, nearly crashing into a maidservant. She shouted an apology over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time, nearly barrel-rolling to the bottom. It was not far enough from the glare of that icy gaze or the flash of those sharp canines, which, in the dim lighting of the war room, had made Alarik Felsing look more wolf than man.
And yet, in that interminable moment when she had found herself caught out by the king, she had felt the beast inside her rear up, not in deference but in defiance.
Thatstupidlemon.
It was a dangerous thing, Greta’s inborn sense of unbridled honesty. Papa had warned her about it when she was a child, cautioning her to leash her words when she felt her temper rise. Between all the hunting and wrangling, Greta had never quite learned to swallow her tongue. All she could do now was run from the consequences of it.
Another staircase led her down to the atrium, where two stern-faced soldiers stood either side of the front door. She didn’t dare flee. That would only make matters worse, and despite her woeful first impression, she still needed this position.Badly.
She headed away from the eye-watering grandeur and priceless tapestries. She needed to go somewhere she could blend in, a place to hide while the king worked through his anger. She would return to find him later, bend her knee and apologize profusely for speaking to him in such a bold manner. In no uncertain terms, she would pledge her support to the palace and its beasts. Hell, she would even take a vow of silence if she had to. She had come too far to return to Carrig empty-handed. She was far more afraid of letting her family down than she was of the king and his diamond-bright gaze.
She followed the sound of growls to the back of the palace where she slipped outside into the chilled morning air. The north wind kissed her cheeks and cooled the fire of her panic. She inhaled the familiar scent of snow and pine and felt her shoulders loosen.
The courtyard sprawled before her in a patchwork of granite and weathered stone. In the centre sat a grand arena hemmed in by a high wall that was gated on two sides. Greta climbed the steps to peer over the wall and noted three separate tunnels leading out of the arena into the vast cedar forest behind the palace, where she could see hundreds of holding pens.
There were three young snow tigers in the arena and twice as many soldiers. They were so frightened she could practically scent their fear as they pressed their backs against the wall, clutching their swords with both hands. The tigers seemed not to notice them at all, and were instead lazing together in a shaft of morning sunlight, licking their paws. Greta smiled, her heart lifting at the sight of the beasts who appeared to be well-kept and even-tempered.
