‘Someone around here should,’ she said, before she could stop herself. It was too late now. She might as well go down swinging.
Alarik glowered at her words, but Greta was beyond caring. She could hear the distant squall of Saga’s cubs and knew the leopard was seconds from bolting.
She leaped to her feet and rolled her shoulders back. Undaunted. Unyielding. ‘I’m taking Saga back to her cubs. You are welcome to join me.’
Before the king could formulate a retort – or worse, swing his sword – she spun on her heel and gave a low whistle. Saga sprung to her feet and ran for her pen, Greta jogging a few steps behind the leopard to guard her back. Without the shield of her adrenaline, her panic returned with a vengeance.
You foolish girl, scolded the voice in her head.You’ve disrespected the king and squandered your future, all over the fate of a snow leopard.
Greta shook off the words, but more came in their place, taunting her. The king would never forgive her for such impertinence. She had yelled at him, threatened him, faced his sword and all but mocked him in front of his soldiers. She curled her fists, blinking back her tears.
Don’t let them see you cry. Don’t let them see you break.
There came the telltale crunch of footsteps behind her. She didn’t dare look back to see if the king was following, but she prayed it was he and not one of his soldiers come to drag her off to the dungeons. More than that, she wanted Alarik Felsing to see what she had fought for just now. She wanted him to look upon Saga’s litter and understand the kind of joy that sparked at the other side of warfare. Not death, but life. Two perfect cubs, like matching tufts of mewling snow. Both blind and helpless, crying out for their mama.
Saga darted inside her pen, snuffling as she returned to her cubs. Greta felt the creature’s relief like a breath of cool wind as she lingered by the gate, watching them.
‘So, you are not a liar, at least,’ said a voice close to her ear. ‘Just a brat.’
Alarik Felsing stood behind her, peering over her shoulder into the pen.
Greta stiffened at his sudden nearness.‘I’m not a brat.’
‘An impudent terror, then.’
She turned to glare at him, her hair brushing the underside of his chin. ‘These are your precious beasts. If they live, they will ultimately serve you, like the rest of us. Surely evenyouwould not enjoy striking down a new mother and leaving her newborn cubs to die?’
He dipped his chin to return her glare, suddenly so close they were sharing the same breath. ‘What makes you think Ienjoystriking down anyone?’
‘Everything I’ve ever heard about you,’ she said, before thinking.
‘Do you talk about me often, Iversen?’
‘Hardly ever, in fact.’
‘Then you don’t know me,’ he said, curtly. ‘Orwhat I enjoy. So, you may refrain from guessing.’
‘Fine,’ she said, conceding the point. She looked away, suddenly all too aware of his body half curled around hers, how his breath ruffled her hair. ‘The sight of those cubs might not tug at your heartstrings, but you must admit it would be a terrible waste of resources to harm their mother. They would die without her. Someday, one of them might save your life in battle.’
‘You have made your case, wrangler.’ Greta could have sworn she detected a hint of amusement in the king’s voice. ‘Your little leopard will live to maim another day.’
She turned around, pressing her back against the fence. ‘That’s not funny.’
As if only just realizing how close they were standing, the king cleared his throat and stepped away from her. He frowned as his gaze dropped to her filthy coat and trousers.‘You are covered in blood.’
Greta had hardly even noticed. ‘Well. I apologize for my distasteful appearance.’
His frown sharpened. ‘Are you injured?’
‘Me? No. This is not my blood.’
He blew out a breath, taking another step back. A slow blink, and whatever thought had scrunched his brows was gone. At last, he sheathed his sword. ‘Tell me exactly what went on here today, so I can ensure it does not happen again. Where were you when that leopard attacked my soldiers?’
Greta winced at the memory, scrubbing her hands through her hair. ‘There was a third cub in the litter. A female. It wasn’t … she didn’t make it.’ She gestured at the blood in the pen, the blood on herself, trying to push away the sadness that came with it. How she had wept to find it dead in the corner of the pen, still in its birth sac. ‘I … took the body away. To bury it.’
The king blinked. ‘You buried it?’
Greta nodded, her cheeks heating. She knew it was absurd. What kind of wrangler buried its war beasts? ‘I wasn’t gone long,’ she said. ‘I found a shovel in the hut, then a patch of wet earth in the forest. I was quick. When I heard the shouts, I came running …’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I should have bolted the pen and taken the key. I shouldn’t have trusted them to …’ She trailed off. ‘Never mind.’
