Greta’s heart galloped. Was he asking her to sing for him? She couldn’t think of anything more nerve-wracking than serenading the king of Gevra in the ashes of a forest fire. Her voice was scratchy from the smoke, and she could barely hold a note thanks to the chattering in her teeth.
She shook her head. ‘It was only a lullaby,’ she said, running her hand over the cubs on her lap. ‘The little ones were frightened. I was trying to soothe them.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I thought you were dead.’
She blinked in surprise. ‘Oh.’ Was that why he had looked so pained just now? Was he afraid the fires had gotten to her,or was he aggrieved at the prospect of having to find another wrangler?
‘Well … I’m not.’
He gave a dry chuckle. ‘So I have deduced.’
She glanced down at herself, wincing at her ruined dress. ‘Although I am a bit dirty.’ A severe understatement. She had completely destroyed her gown, and Saga had made quick work of her slipper, both articles of clothing that had been generously loaned to her by the palace. ‘I’m sorry about the dress.’
He threaded his arms through the slats, watching her in that unnerving way of his. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think it looks better this way.’
She bit back her smile. ‘I was about to say the same thing about that lovely frock coat of yours.’
He snorted, dusting ash off one of his sleeves. ‘Now, it really brings out my blackened soul.’
Greta didn’t know whether to laugh or not. She had witnessed enough of the king’s quick temper and uncompromising brutality to fear him, but ever since coming to Grinstad, she had found his kindness most surprising of all. It wasn’t the warm and effusive kindness of her sisters, but a quieter sort, dealt in careful smiles and bracing words. She found it in their shared enthusiasm for his beasts, and in his fierce protectiveness of her as his wrangler. It was the king’s unseen kindness that made her feel safe here, like she was not quite as far from home as she once thought.
He opened his mouth to say something else, then paused at a faraway chorus of shouts. Soldiers were trawling through the forest to assess the damage now that the last of the fires had gone out.
The king grimaced.‘I think you have the right idea, Iversen.’
‘What idea is that?’
‘Hiding.’ He unlatched the gate and slipped inside the pen. He sank to the ground beside her, pulling one leg up to his chest and anchoring it there with his arm. With the other, he reached out to absently stroke Saga’s back. The leopard snuffled in appreciation.
‘See?’ he said, his teeth winking in the moonlit dark. ‘We’re best friends again.’
‘It’s a shame you don’t have a lamb strip in your pocket. Then you’d have her for life.’
‘I’d like to tell you I’m above bribery, but it’s actually the cornerstone of my reign.’
She laughed and he joined in. She lost herself in the music of it.
‘Fickle creatures, beasts,’ she said, ruffling the cubs on her lap. ‘Would you like to hold one?’
‘No.’
‘Too late.’ She plopped one in his lap. ‘You can name him if you like.’
He frowned at the cub, even as he held it with a gentleness that surprised her. ‘My father always warned me not to name the beasts,’ he said, as he combed his fingers through its fur. ‘It makes it harder when they die in war.’
‘I think it’s hard either way,’ said Greta, tickling the cub’s chin. ‘At least with a name, they can be remembered. It’s a matter of honour, I think.’
He turned to face her. ‘I never thought of it like that.’
‘Well, you’re not a wrangler.’
‘Just a vicious king.’
She smirked at the cub in his arms. ‘Not so vicious now.’
He arched a brow. ‘Stop trying to humanize me, Iversen.’
‘I won’t tell a soul,’ she whispered.
