RAP, RAP, RAP!
Hours later, they jumped apart at a knock on the door.
Alarik stifled a curse as he rolled to his feet. ‘What is it?’ he barked.
Johan ducked his head around the door. ‘Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty. Uh, Lief is looking for you. There’s a problem with the string quartet. It seems Nova has chewed through one of the—’
‘Musicians?’ said Alarik, hopefully.
‘Uh, cellos,’ said Johan. ‘Now the others are refusing to practise the wedding march.’
Alarik groaned, slamming the book shut. ‘I’ll be right down.’
Greta winced, weathering the cold, hard slap of reality. The spell between them had shattered. The truth was as searing as the sunlight slipping through the drapes. She was a wrangler, and he was the king of Gevra. He was promised to a beautiful princess with a kingdom and Greta belonged to the wild. Nothing in the Blackspires had changed that. Nothing ever could.
Alarik set the book back on his bedside table, and she pulled the blankets up to her chin, wishing she could disappear entirely.
‘Stay here and rest,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
She nodded, closing her eyes until he left. Once the patter of his footsteps had faded, she threw off the covers, stumbled out of bed and bolted from the king’s bedroom. One flight of stairs followed another, and another, as she spiralled down, down, down into the underbelly of the palace.
Back to reality, and back to her bedroom.
Back to her place.
CHAPTER 33
Alarik
Alarik was arguing with a hysterical Lief when his mother swept into the ballroom. Sunlight gilded her yellow gown and cast pinwheels across her slippers as her steps echoed in the cavernous room. It was a far cry from the grand majesty it had beheld at the welcome ball. The room lay empty now, a blank canvas that Lief would bring to life in the days to come. It would soon be a ballroom fit for a royal wedding. A glittering monstrosity for hundreds of noblefolk to feast on.
Whether Alarik liked it or not.
‘What on earth is going on?’ demanded the dowager queen. ‘I can hear you yelling from the west wing.’
Alarik folded his arms. ‘Nothing. It’s all in hand.’
‘It is not in hand!’ cried Lief, rushing to the queen like a shameless tattletale. ‘The king’s wolf chewed up Herbert’s prized cello and then made off with my best neckerchief!’
Queen Valeska released a long-suffering sigh.
‘It’s sabotage!’ said the steward. ‘He has sent his beasts to sabotage my vision!’
Alarik rolled his eyes. ‘If I wanted to sabotage this wedding,Lief, you would be dead.’
The steward whimpered.
‘Alarik,’ chasisted the dowager queen. ‘I know you’ve just returned from battle, but Grinstad is a civilized place. Please do try to be less murderous while you’re here.’
‘I’mtrying,’ he said, through his teeth. ‘I’ve already offered to replace the celloandthe gaudy neckerchief. But if you want my opinion, Lief, you could stand to lose it.’
Lief threw his hands up. ‘That’s more of it! Abuse! Ungratefulness! And now slander! Why do I even bother?’ He stomped off towards the door, muttering a slew of swear words. Alarik had never liked him more. ‘You can deal with His Majesty’s foul humour. I’ve had enough.’
Alarik watched him go. ‘You should lend him to the local theatre. He’d make a killing.’
‘What is this really about?’ said Valeska, wearily.
He arched a brow. ‘You mean other than my complete and utter aversion to this marriage?’
