‘He already knows that,’ said Alarik, reaching for a cloth to wipe his face and the back of his neck. It was an effort for her to tear her gaze from the golden sheen of his skin and the way the charcoal streak in his hair flopped across his eyes. He raked it back again. ‘Elias is my spymaster.’
Greta raised her brows. ‘You must know a great many things, then.’
‘Almost everything, wrangler,’ he said, with a silky laugh. ‘Or should I say, elk tamer?’
‘I make a mean cup of tea, too. You can add that to your notes.’
Alarik laughed, setting the ember in Greta’s chest aglow.
Elias smirked like he could see it. ‘Have you come to spar with us, Iversen?’ he said, swirling the point of his sword at her. ‘Are you as good as your brother? If so, I insist—’
‘My wrangler abhors violence,’ said Alarik. ‘Raise that sword to her, and I’ll take the hand that wields it.’
Elias quirked a silvered brow, but said no more, trudging over to the bench to stretch out his legs.
‘Is something wrong?’ said Alarik, facing her now. She felt his gaze drift over her like a warm breeze, and knew he was searching for scrapes, marks, new injuries.
‘It’s the beasts. I need something for the next stage of their training.’ She edged into the room. ‘They have to learn your scent, so they’ll know who to protect in battle. The older ones might remember it, but I’d rather not bet on it. And the younger ones don’t know you well at all. An item of your clothing should do it. Or a pillowcase. Something that smells like you.’
Her skin prickled at her own words. Or perhaps it was the sharpened point of his attention, so like the blade he had just discarded. Why was the king looking at her like she had made an indecent proposal? Why did it feel like shehadjust made one?
He cocked his head. ‘So, you want my shirt?’
‘I— No. Not right—Oh.’ He pulled off his shirt in one fluid movement, revealing the corded muscles of his arms and the glistening planes of his chest.
Greta gasped, her hand shooting up to cover her eyes. But the devastating image was burned into her mind: the king standing before her, half naked and smirking, as if he were her lover. Her cheeks burned at the thought, the same heat spiralling deep in her core.
Oh no.
‘Iversen?’
‘Yes?’ she said, still shielded.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I am somewhat uncomfortable.’
I am a living flame, Your Majesty.
Press your lips against me and put me out.
Greta crushed her nails into her palm in a desperate attempt to regain control of herself.
The floorboards creaked and then he was before her, the broadness of him casting her in shadow. His hand came to her wrist, his fingers gently circling it. He tugged her self-made blindfold from her eyes with a low chuckle. ‘Am I so hideous that you can’t even bear to look at me now?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, far too swiftly. ‘It’s the opposite.’
His brows lifted, his gaze taking on a strange new intensity. She realized too late that he had been teasing her,and she had shown her hand, revealing her embarrassing crush. She took a step back, clearing her throat. ‘I didn’t mean to make you undress, Your Majesty.’
He wasn’t blinking.
Whywasn’t he blinking?
‘That was not what I meant,’ she went on. ‘Or my intention.’
He offered her a wan smile. ‘I apologize for my indecency but I’m nothing if not efficient.’ He held his shirt out. ‘You may take this with you. Use it however you like.’
‘Thank you.’
