‘I would just like to say that if there is a dragon hiding out around here somewhere, I would very much like you to keep it out of sight for the wedding. For one thing it would completely ruin the ambiance.’
‘And it would probably eat all our guests,’ Elva chimed in.
Lief let out a cry of alarm.
Captain Vine frowned. ‘What’s all this about a dragon?’
‘Nothing,’ said Alarik, smoothly. ‘It was just an old bedtime story.’ He glanced pointedly at his wrangler.
She forced a laugh. ‘Nothing to get worked up over.’
‘And you should thank your lucky stars, Lief,’ added Alarik. ‘Because if there was a dragon around here somewhere, I’d make sure you and these hideous flower arrangements were its first meal.’
Lief quailed.
For a brief moment, there was blessed silence.
Then the conversation turned again, the steward boldly launching into an out-of-tune bridal march as the pass widened and the mountains fell away, taking their hidden beast with them. The sled emerged into a sprawl of frosted fields. They stretched on and on, spilling into a glorious patchwork of skeleton trees and silvered grass. And there, grazing just up ahead, were hundreds of magnificent weaver elks, a mere fraction of the beasts King Nilas had promised as a wedding gift to Alarik and Elva.
‘Holy snow!’ The wrangler hopped to her feet, propping her leg on the bench to steady herself. The sled jerked at a dip in the road, and she yelped, losing her balance. Alarik lunged to steady her and for one thundering heartbeat, she stood flush against his chest, his arm tight around her middle, cradling her body in the heat of his own. He heard the soft pitch of her surprise as she searched for breath, smelled the jasmine in her hair and on her skin, felt the supple curve of her hips as they swayed against him. A groan gathered in his throat.
She pulled away, slumping on to the bench and gripping the edge to steady herself. ‘Pardon me,’ she said, not quite looking at him.
‘That’s all right,’ he said, not quite looking at her.
And then, all at once, they had arrived, the sled coming to a stop at the first frost-kissed meadow.
‘Tell us, Greta,’ said Princess Elva, as they disembarked the sled. ‘Have you ever wrangled a weaver elk before?’
‘Not yet,’ said the wrangler, rolling her shoulders back. ‘But I’m certainly up for the challenge.’
The weaver elk were huge – each as tall as a fully-grown ice bear, and larger even than the wild moose that roamed the untamed reaches of Gevra. Their bronze coats were short and shiny, save for the coarse woollen shag that clung to their necks, lending the impression of a heavy winter scarf. Their gold-tipped antlers protruded in menacing points, each tip as sharp as a blade and filled with the strongest poison known to man. But more impressive than their natural weaponry was the speed with which they charged, moving so fast and deftly through the towering oak forests of Halgard that they had earned the nameweavers.
‘I want to see them run,’ said Alarik, as they slowed to observe one grazing nearby.
Elva snorted. ‘I’m afraid our elk are wilfully stubborn. You’ll have to make it worth their while.’
‘Shall I pat that one on the rump?’ suggested Vine.
‘Only if you want to lose your hand,’ said Elva.
‘Let’s give them something to chase.’ Alarik looked over his shoulder, to where Lief looked up from his corner of the sled, eyes wide. ‘I have someone in mind.’
‘Just don’t touch the tips of their antlers,’ warned Elva. ‘And keep your gloves on at all times.’
‘Gladly,’ mused Alarik, imagining all the damage they could do in war.
His wrangler, meanwhile, was a world away, assessing the creature before them in contemplative silence. She circled the elk, chewing on her bottom lip. He hated when she did that, finding it unreasonably distracting. He was still watching her from the corner of his eye when she dipped her chin, her shoulders stiffening as she came to some internal decision.
He drifted towards her. ‘Don’t do anything reckless.’
She smiled at him, shrugging lightly.. ‘I’m a wrangler, Your Majesty. You might as well tell the snow not to fall.’ She took a handful of steps, then paused to look back at him. Concern flickered across her face. ‘Don’t come any closer. This will be dangerous.’
His brows raised. ‘I’m the king of Gevra, Iversen. You might as well tell the wind not to howl.’
She rewarded him with a laugh, the music of it making clouds between them. He wanted to snatch them from the air and stow them in his pocket.
Get a hold of yourself, Alarik.
