And his wrangler – he liked her, too.
He frowned. Why was he thinking about his wrangler?
Because you are always thinking about her.
The clarity of the thought made Alarik bristle. He shook it off, making himself think of Elva instead. He could see her there,across the room. She was flitting from guest to guest, like a butterfly alighting on flowers, shaking hands and kissing cheeks wherever she went. She wasn’t even a princess of Gevra, and she was doing a better job than he was, standing stiffly in his aching crown, offering tight smiles and curt words to everyone.
‘Elva will make a wonderful wife,’ said Queen Valeska. ‘She is artful in her ways, a true poised and practised princess.’
Alarik hummed unhappily. He didn’t want practised and poised. He wanted wild and untamed, snow-kissed and windswept. He wanted— No.
Don’t do that.
Don’t even think it.
He snatched a goblet from a passing servant and downed it in one go. The frostfizz rushed through him, cooling his blood. He set it on the tray, fighting the urge to reach for another. Not yet. It would be a long night, and the music hadn’t even started.
Pace yourself.
Alarik plastered on a kingly smile and welcomed a hundred more guests, shaking clammy hands and learning names he quickly forgot.
Tonight’s welcome ball marked a crucial step in his alliance with Halgard, but the thought of his actual wedding day curdled inside him like spoiled milk. How had it come to this already? How much further would it go? At night, he lay awake, staring at the stars through his window, wondering at the true cost of this alliance. He could admit at least that a strategic marriage was the right decision for his kingdom. It was a far more appealing solution than calling for aid,not that he hadn’t considered sending word across the Sunless Sea to the witch queens of Eana.
But even if Wren and Rose agreed to help him, Alarik could not keep their magic here forever, nor use it to sustain his own borders. And it was magic that had weakened Gevra in the first place. Magic had killed his brother and thousands of his soldiers and beasts.
No, magic was not the answer. It was nothisanswer.
And neither was begging. If Alarik wanted aid, he would have to offer something in return, even if that something was himself.
The stern words of his father, King Soren, rang in his head:a ruler who cannot defend their own territory does not deserve it.The only way to defend Gevra was with an army of Halgard’s finest soldiers marching alongside his own, and enough weaver elk to trample a battalion of Queen Regna’s crimson-armoured warriors.
Marrying Princess Elva wasn’t just a wise decision, it was theonlydecision.
And yet … andyet.
Alarik couldn’t bring himself to welcome the sacrifice of it.
‘Enough niceties,’ he huffed, after enduring yet another limp, sweaty handshake, this time from a duke of Halgard. The ballroom was heaving now, the frostfizz flowing freely. It was time to begin the night, if only so it might end quicker. He clicked his fingers, bidding the musicians to play.
The quiet rattle of drums gave way to a soaring Gevran waltz. Alarik spied Captain Vine lingering by the chocolate fountain. She was in her uniform and chatting animatedly to Vesper Hale, who had come dressed in an obscenely tight black leather gown with a slit that would make even Anika blush.By the way her hands were moving, mimicking an explosion, he guessed she was talking about fire lances.
Finally, a little entertainment.
He took an eager step towards the fountain just as his mother said quietly, ‘They played this waltz at my wedding to your father. It was our first dance.’ He turned to look at her, and the warm smile she had been wearing was gone, replaced by a haunted look he knew all too well. She stared through him, her eyes glazing. ‘It’s been so very long now. Years have passed, and yet my heart still aches for him. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I swear I can feel the shadow of his arms around me. I can hear his laughter on the wind.’
Alarik swallowed thickly. Grief was a thundercloud in his chest, and he was afraid if he opened his mouth all that darkness would pour out of him and make her pain worse. He couldn’t think of anything to say anyway, and the longer he failed to fill the silence, the more she retreated into herself, curling her arms around her body as though the melody was wounding her.
He briefly considered drawing his sword on the musicians and smashing every one of their instruments, but then he thought of his brother, Ansel, and wondered what he might do. Some gentler instinct stirred inside him, and Alarik found himself reaching out to his mother. ‘Shall we dance?’
She blinked in surprise. ‘I’m not sure I remember how,’ she said, slowly.
‘You will,’ he said. ‘And even if you don’t, I am a master of the waltz. Everyone will be looking at me anyway.’
He took her hand in his, her other rising to rest on his shoulder, and before she could recede into the tide of her grief,he swept her on to the dance floor, away from the long shadow of their past and the sadness that dwelled there.
They danced like starlings in spring, gliding and spinning in the flickering candlelight, until the other revellers fell out of their conversations to watch them, and then to join them.
‘This is wonderful!’ said Valeska, laughing as they whirled. ‘I had forgotten the joy of waltzing!’
