As though she had reached out and prodded him with the sheer force of her longing, the king lifted his chin up, his icy gaze finding hers from all the way across the room. It pinned her to the door frame, then roved slowly, taking in her crown of flowers, the pale column of her throat, the curve of her waist and then, the dramatic spill of her skirts.
Greta stood frozen, letting him devour the sight of her.
Something glowed in his eyes and his mouth twitched into a frown. Her throat tightened at his disapproval. She had clearly chosen the wrong dress, fussed too much on her hair. The flowers had been a mistake. Perhaps he had expected her to come in her uniform, just as Captain Vine had.
Greta flinched. She had been a fool to listen to Nanna, to let the servant primp and preen her into some poor impression of a princess. She was a wrangler and she belonged in the arena with the beasts. By the way the king was glaring at her, he was plainly thinking the same thing. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
She was relieved when the music arched, and Elva returned to the king’s arms, laughing as she spun him away.
Greta was about to turn around and flee when Aren’s voice floated through the milling crowd. ‘Greta! Over here!’ He was standing by a serving table, waving a goblet back and forth. He had forgone his uniform tonight in favour of a simple green frock coat trimmed in pewter fur, his usual mop of dark curls tamed into artful waves.
Aren’s smile was so bright and kind, Greta couldn’t bring herself to run from it. She unstuck herself from the door frame and drifted towards him.
‘Thank you,’ she said,taking the goblet and sipping from it. The frostfizz zipped through her, replacing her simmering dread with a welcome, giddy warmth. ‘I was just about to flee.’
‘You did have the look of a frightened doe about you,’ he said, with a chuckle. ‘Which is funny, seeing as you’ve faced far worse challenges thanthisin the arena.’
‘Depends on what you consider a challenge,’ murmured Greta, stealing another glance at the king. He was glaring at her again.
She quickly looked away.
‘You look nice,’ said Aren, a little ineptly. ‘Better than nice, really. Beautiful. Very beautiful.’
She smiled into her goblet. ‘Nanna made a project of me tonight.’
He nodded knowingly. ‘She caught me in the hallway and made me return to my room to shine my boots.’
‘That sounds about right,’ she said, feeling better already. And perhaps a little bold. Aren looked particularly handsome tonight, and he was gazing at her in a way she hadn’t noticed before. His brown eyes glimmered with hope. Would it be so wrong to entertain it? After all, their friendship these past few weeks had cheered her on many dark, lonely nights. Could it be something more? Something safe … a diversion from other more traitorous desires. ‘Do you dance, Aren?’
‘I wish I did,’ he said, sheepishly. ‘I’m afraid I have two left feet.’
Greta wasn’t much better but the frostfizz was making her giddy and the music was so achingly beautiful, she wanted to crawl into its heart. ‘What if I let you stand on my toes?’ she said,teasing.
‘That depends … Is it bad luck to squish the king’s wrangler right in front of him?’
‘I doubt he’d even notice,’ said Greta, though the back of her neck prickled, and she had the unnerving sensation that he was still watching her. ‘Why don’t we revisit the subject after another glass or two of frostfizz?’
‘A fine idea,’ he said, clinking his goblet against hers.
They lingered at the edge of the dance floor, chatting and laughing as they sampled the mouthwatering food, ranking each dish by its deliciousness, and finding only winners. Other soldiers drifted over to join them, the conversation turning playful as the frostfizz took hold. It made for a welcome change from Greta’s first week at Grinstad, when the soldiers would hardly look at her. But as time passed, and she was able to prove her skill with the beasts, she began to feel accepted. Like one of them.
Brynn, a stocky red-haired guard with a howling laugh, grabbed a bowl of sugared cranberries and whipped up a game, tossing a berry several feet in the air before catching it in her mouth. The others joined in, tossing cranberries to each other with great delight.
Greta plucked one from the bowl and threw it to Aren. He caught it on the first go, grinning as he swallowed it down.
‘Good toss, Iversen!’ said Brynn, with a wink. ‘I wonder what you could do with a throwing axe.’
‘Keep wondering!’ said Greta, secretly pleased to have proven her worth, even if it was just a silly game.
Aren took a step back. Greta tossed another berry, giggling as it hit his forehead. He jerked his head to the side and rolled it expertly into his mouth.
The soldiers crowed with laughter.
‘Your turn!’ Aren grabbed a berry and lined up his shot. Feeling confident, Greta stepped back until she teetered on the edge of the dance floor.
Aren tossed the cranberry with impeccable aim, and she leaped, catching it between her teeth. She grinned around it, then used her tongue to curl it into her mouth, enjoying the burst of sugared tartness.
The others erupted in applause, but Aren stilled, his face falling.
