‘Poison-tipped antlers?I’m afraid the dowager queen would have a conniption,’ said Lief. ‘You might as well fetch a witch to curse the entire union.’
‘Now there’s an idea.’ And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Alarik had been cursed, though thankfully he had managed to free himself from that particularly unfortunate bind. He exchanged an amused glance with the princess. Without a shred of true love between them – or the intention to kindle it – wasn’t their union already cursed?
Elva turned to the wrangler. ‘What do you think, Greta? Skulls or antlers?’
Greta shifted in her seat, a frown tugging at the sides of her mouth. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, with a little shrug. ‘This isn’t really my area.’
‘Do you have a betrothed back on Carrig?’ said Elva.
The king stilled, staring hard at his wrangler.
She shook her head, chewing on her lower lip.
A dangerous heat curled in Alarik’s stomach.
‘What? Not even a lover?’ Elva pressed.
That heat grew to lick his ribcage. A nobler king and a better man would have ended the conversation right there, told Elva his wrangler’s home life was none of her business and that these questions were clearly making her uncomfortable,but Alarik was not a good man, he was a Gevran, prone to brutality and possession, so he said nothing, clamping his lips together and letting the silence swell until she filled it with her answer.
Because he wanted to know it.
‘There aren’t many, um, options … for me … on Carrig,’ she said, muddling through her awkwardness. ‘Unless you count the fishermen, I suppose.’
Alarik decided he hated the fishermen of Carrig. Then scolded himself for the thought. It was protectiveness, that was all. Wariness borne of his responsibility to Tor, his best friend and brother in arms.
‘My sister, Kindra, is betrothed to a fisherman,’ she added, as an afterthought.
‘Ooh. Is he handsome?’ said Elva, greedy for more.
The wrangler wrinkled her nose, neatly skipping over the truth, which was plainly that he was not. ‘Mikkel is a good man,’ she said, diplomatically. ‘He’s kind and dutiful. And he does his best to keep us fed—’ She stopped abruptly. Her cheeks heated and she looked away, to where the mountains spilled out on either side of them, the glassy road narrowing as it led them through the pass.
‘Why does he need to keep you fed?’ said Alarik, quietly.
She turned back to him. ‘That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘How did you mean it?’
‘Just … that he’s good to us,’ she said, a dent forming between her brows. ‘He brings us fish.’
‘Do you need fish?’
‘No.’ She shook her head, her throat bobbing. What a poor liar.
Alarik’s frown deepened.He willed her to look at him. She would not. ‘Iversen.’
‘No,’ she said again. Another lie.Whywas she lying to him? ‘Not fish.’
‘Enough about fish,’ said Elva, flopping back against her seat. ‘Back to love!’
‘Back to centerpieces!’ said Lief.
‘No.Love,’ said the princess firmly. ‘Do you plan to marry, Greta?’
‘These are … difficult questions,’ she said, her cheeks turning an absurdly alluring shade of pink.Stop that.Alarik pinched the back of his hand until it stung. ‘Can’t you ask me about beasts instead?’
‘Well, you can’t very well marry a beast,’ said Elva, with a crowing laugh. ‘Perhaps you might find yourself a nice soldier here at Grinstad …’
Alarik shot her a blistering look. ‘Iversen came here to work.’
