He peered down at her through a veil of dark lashes, an odd quirk to his mouth. ‘I often have blood on me,’ he said, just as quietly. ‘It is very rarely my own.’
‘Oh. I see.’ She was struck by a surge of embarrassment. She took a step backwards, her arms coming around herself. How painfully naive she must seem to him, thinking the king of Gevra was somehow injured in his own palace, that he might need her concern. She felt foolish for even offering it, but that slight smirk remained, and at the very least, her question seemed not to have bothered him.
His gaze slid over her, narrowing on Johan. ‘Don’t bring her down here again. I know she’s bossy as hell, but as my personal steward, you should know better.’
‘Of course, Your Majesty. My mistake.’ Johan dipped his chin. ‘I’m sorry.’
Alarik closed the door with a determined thud, without looking at Greta again. She slumped against the wall, relieved to have navigated the encounter without another scolding. Though she couldn’t say the same for poor Johan.
‘Sorry,’ she said, sheepishly.
He sighed. ‘I’m used to it.’ He turned back towards the palace. ‘He’s usually angry with me about something. It’s been like that ever since his younger brother died. The war in Eana only made it worse. Sometimes, he blames the poor weather on me, too.’
Greta fell into step with him, feeling a pang of sympathy for Alarik Felsing. She had heard of the loss of Prince Ansel over a year ago – like the rest of the kingdom, the people of Carrig had sent lanterns up to the sky to mourn him – but she had never stopped to wonder how deeply that unexpected loss had affected the king. She wondered if the raw anger he so often wore might be cloaking something deeper and far more painful.‘Are you really the king’s personal steward?’
Johan nodded, somewhat glumly.
‘I thought you worked for the kitchens …’ she said, remembering the night he had brought her that tiny birthday cake, and wondering now if it truly had been the king all along who had sent it. Butno. It was an absurd thought … that a man who wore the blood of his enemies with such casual indifference, and whose scowl alone could frighten off a mountain lion, would ever do such a thing. And yet she couldn’t help but ask …
‘Do you remember the night you brought me that cake, Johan?’
He nodded, distantly.
‘Where did it come from?’
‘The kitchens,’ he said.
‘Yes, but from whom?’ she clarified. ‘Who wrote the note?’
He took a long time to answer. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and though she didn’t know Johan very well, she sensed the lie in his words, read the caginess in his darting eyes.
A smile curled her lips as they returned to the stairwell.
Later that afternoon, Greta was in the arena, working on recall with a pack of unruly wolves, when the king came to find her. She didn’t notice him at first because she was busy scolding Tollo, who had rolled on to his back and was playing dead in the middle of her lesson.
‘Get up, you shameless drama king!’ She whistled through her teeth, and the other beasts stood to attention. She had made progress with them at least. ‘This isn’t funny, Tollo.’
Tollo kept his eyes shut, but snuffled as if to say,treats please.
‘He has the right idea, if you ask me.’ Alarik’s voice floated across the arena. She startled at the sight of him striding towards her, dressed impeccably in a fitted blue frock coat, dark trousers and high black boots. His hair was perfectly coiffed, and there was no sign of the blood she had seen on him earlier. ‘I could do with a nap, too.’
Greta dragged her hands through her hair. She hated the king seeing her like this, nagging a wolf, instead of wrangling it. ‘He’s learning, I swear. He’s just angling for lamb strips.’
‘Clever beast,’ remarked the king, who had not so much as batted an eyelid at the other animals in the arena. He was as comfortable with them at his back as he was with them at his front, which meant he either truly trusted the animals, or he truly trusted her.
‘We’re making fine progress,’ Greta felt compelled to say. ‘Despite this hiccup, there’s been considerable improvements across—’
‘Relax, Iversen. I know you’re good at your job. I’ve been watching you.’
She flushed, a violent heat stealing across her cheeks. Why did that make her so nervous?
He went on, ‘You can train my beasts however you see fit, so long as you make them chew up my enemies when it counts.’
Her stomach twisted at the hint of war. It was absurd to admit,but even though she was training a regiment of the Gevran army, she didn’t like to think about battles or bloodshed, or pain or death or—
‘Can you finish up here? We have somewhere else to be.’
‘Don’t you ever say please?’ The words flew out of her mouth before she could catch them.
