She stepped towards him, like she was approaching a wild beast.
Is that what he looked like to her? Some kind of rabid creature in need of taming? Or was that spark in her eyes borne of something beyond caution? Was it the thrill of a challenge?
If he was in his right mind, Alarik would have walked right past her, reached for a morsel of fresh air instead of this beautiful woman draped in the colours of Gevra – a woman who was not his bride-to-be – but it was too late for second thoughts,and anyway, Alarik never had been adept at impulse control. Gevran, to the bone.
It was only a dance. A fleeting moment of having her in his arms and then he would let her go. Of course, he would let her go.
She didn’t belong to him.
And he was engaged.
She was his wrangler.
His best friend’s sister.
And – he was suddenly before her.
‘Your Majesty,’ she said, evenly, uncowed. ‘Why are you scowling? Are you angry?’
He blinked. ‘No.’Just mildly tortured. ‘I’m … hungry.’
He fought his flinch. Why had he said that? What was wrong with him?
She frowned. ‘Hungry?’
‘For sugared cranberries,’ he added. ‘I noticed you were tossing some about just now.’
‘Oh.’ Her cheeks erupted. ‘Youareangry,’ she said, covering her face with her hands. He hated how she did that – hid herself from him whenever she was overwhelmed. It was then that he liked to look upon her the most. ‘And after I scolded you about that silly lemon in your war room! Now here I am, tossing fruit about in your ballroom as part of some merry little game. It’s so careless.’
Alarik swallowed his groan. In a bid to recover his own embarrassment, he had said the wrong thing entirely.
‘I should know better, I know, but I was just so nervous when I arrived and it seemed like a bit of fun,’ she went on,in a rush. ‘A helpful distraction from all this intimidating grandeur, not to mention all the beautiful people, and I suppose I wasn’t thinking—’
‘Iversen.’ Alarik took her hands and nudged them away from her face. ‘Stop spiralling and dance with me.’
She stared at her hands in his. ‘W-what?’
‘Do you know how to waltz?’
‘Well, yes … I …’ Her breath hitched as he stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. Once, and then again because he couldn’t help it. ‘Well … I’ve only ever danced with my sisters.’
‘I will endeavour to match their grace,’ he said, leading her on to the dance floor and ignoring all the curious sets of eyes that turned on them.
‘There was nothing graceful about Hela’s technique,’ she said, smiling a little. ‘She accidentally broke my toe. Twice.’
‘So, the bar is low.’ He swept her into his arms. ‘I promise I will be gentle.’
She looked up at him, her eyes softened by curiosity, as if she was wondering whether that was even possible for a brute like him.
Yes, he wanted to tell her.Let me show you.
As the music stirred into another soaring waltz, he placed his hand on her waist, suddenly conscious of how his fingers brushed against the delicate boning of her corset. He exhaled through his nose, trying to ignore the flare of heat that rippled up his spine. She raised her arm, her left hand coming to his shoulder, so feather-light, he could hardly feel it.
‘I won’t break, Iversen,’ he said, quietly.
‘Nor will I,’ she said.
He pulled her flush against him, his right hand finding hers and dwarfing it. He squeezed a little and she squeezed back, a smile breaking across her face that was more lovely than a snow-kissed dawn. The music arced and he led their waltz, pleased to find that she was not only competent, butgood.Graceful and nimble and smiling all the while, like there was nowhere else in the world she would rather be. She closed her eyes, her chest swelling as she breathed in the music.
