‘Well, wrangler,’ he said, dipping his head to whisper in her ear. ‘Tell me honestly, am I better than my wolves?’
She rewarded him with a tinkling laugh. ‘You certainly look better in a frock coat,’ she teased, as he spun her. ‘Unfortunately, they tend to bunch around a wolf’s tail.’
‘And you must admit, my footwork is far superior.’
‘Perhaps. But you’re unnervingly quiet. You haven’t howled once.’
‘That would really give the Halgard nobles something to talk about.’ A laugh sprung from Alarik at the very thought.
She broke into a grin. ‘Much better,’ she said, approvingly.
‘Are you saying I laugh like a wolf?’
‘I’m not saying anything, Your Majesty.’ Her eyes twinkled as she spun away from him. ‘Only dancing.’
‘Now, I’m wracked with insecurity. I’ll never laugh again.’
‘You should count yourself lucky,’ she said, returning to his arms. ‘My sister’s betrothed laughs like a woodpecker.’
Alarik laughed again, and this time she joined in, the music of it following them across the dance floor. The waltz was far from over and he already wanted more. He wanted this waltz and the next one, and three more after that, but he was conscious of his mother’s disapproving face at the edge of the ballroom,not to mention the whispers that followed them across the dance floor. He would have to release his wrangler once the music changed, and no doubt watch her return to that giddy-faced falconer and his bowl of sugared cranberries.
He shook off his annoyance, resolving to make the most of this last minute together. But when he looked down at his wrangler, she was fixated on something above his head. She quailed, her face slackening with horror.
Alarik stilled. ‘What is it?’
‘Some kind of winged beast,’ she said, stepping out of his embrace. ‘I’ve never—Oh.’
Alarik saw it then, not inside the ballroom, but through the windows. A pair of huge crimson wings soaring over the mountains. And behind it, another, and another. There appeared to be a flock of them, but as they drew closer, Alarik saw they were not birds at all, but gliders. Soldiers.
Soldiers from—
‘CAPTAIN VINE!’ he roared, just as an almighty crack rang out. Just over the mountains, the sky burst into flames. The earth trembled at their feet, and an ice sculpture crashed to the floor. The ballroom erupted into screams.
Captain Vine barrelled towards the king. ‘GRINSTAD IS UNDER ATTACK!’
Over the rising din of panic, Alarik heard his wrangler’s voice. ‘It’s the elk! They’ve gone for the elk!’
Alarm gutted Alarik as those distant flames rose to lick the sky, spitting up plumes of black smoke.
‘RIDE OUT!’ he yelled. ‘TO THE GRAZING FIELDS!’
Captain Vine rushed past him, barking orders, while the dowager queen leaped into action, trying to calm the startled guests.The king’s soldiers assembled with remarkable speed, but the beasts were still in their pens and the horses in their stables. They had to movenow.
He spun on his heel, trying to think.
Focus, Alarik.
What would his father do?
He would go at once, and fast, before those cowardly gliders fled.
‘The bear!’ cried Iversen, pointing to where Borvil was now standing by the king’s throne, jostled awake by all the commotion. ‘He’s swifter than any horse!’
‘Yes, of course!’ Alarik gripped her shoulders. ‘I’ll ride out ahead. Go to the forest and check on the beasts,’ he said, but his wrangler was already turning from him, picking up her skirts and bolting for the door.
Alarik whistled through his teeth, calling Borvil from his perch. The bear lumbered towards him, parting the guests in a fresh sea of screams. Elva alone remained. She waded towards him and grabbed his arm before he could mount the beast.
‘You can’t ride out there alone! Wait for your soldiers!’
