Alarik flinched. ‘She’s not mypet,’ he said, slumping on to the bench, burdened by the gathering weight of one essential truth, which he had been trying so very hard to ignore. ‘She’s a living, breathing dream.’ He rubbed the spot between his brows. ‘She’smywildest dream.’
Silence, then.
Alarik felt his friend’s shock like a whip of cold wind.
‘You’re in love with her,’ said Tor, surprise rippling in his voice.
Alarik’s shoulders slumped. There it was, as plain as could be. He was desperately, hopelessly in love with Greta Iversen. His prized wrangler. His best friend’s sister.
‘Freezing hell,’ muttered Tor.
Again, Alarik nodded. Itwasa kind of hell, being engaged to Princess Elva, and being in love with Greta Iversen. Wanting her so badly, it kept him awake at night. ‘Believe me, it’s far worse for me than it is for you.’
The bench creaked as his friend sat down beside him. ‘Does she know?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Alarik. ‘Sometimes I think I wear it so obviously I might as well be screaming it from the mountaintops.’
‘Please don’t.’
Alarik managed a half-smile. ‘I’m doing my best.’
‘You’re betrothed to another.’
‘You do not have to remind me.’
Tor was about to say something else when the door flew open. A howling blast of wind knocked them clean off the bench and sent them sprawling on to the floor.
Then a voice rang out. ‘Stop fighting, you brutes! I demand peace!’
When Alarik looked up, Wren Greenrock, the witch queen of Eana, was standing in the doorway, her emerald-green travelling cloak rippling behind her.
She dropped her hand, curbing her tempest magic, and the wind died out. She took in the scene before her with a frown. ‘Oh. My mistake. I thought you two would be senselessly brawling in here. And preferably shirtless.’
Tor got to his feet. ‘I really wish you’d stop using your tempest magic so indiscriminately,’ he said with a sigh, for what Alarik guessed must be the hundredth time. ‘Gevrans hate magic.’
Wren smiled wickedly. ‘But you know I like to make an entrance.’
He chuckled, his mood softening as he went to her. ‘Well, you have succeeded, my love.’
‘You should go after your sister. She’s run off with your wolf, and by the way, Elske was making moon eyes at her, I’m not sure you’ll get her back.’
Wren and Tor stared at each other for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. ‘All right,’ he relented, bending to kiss her. ‘See if you can talk some sense into him while I’m gone.’
Wren offered a meddlesome smirk. ‘You know I love a challenge.’
Tor marched out of the room, leaving Alarik alone with the witch queen he had once pined after. Ever since the Battle of Eana, Wren had become a dear friend to him, even if he would never give her the satisfaction of openly admitting it.
‘Talk about awkward timing,’ she said, skipping over to embrace him. It was quick and friendly, making a welcome change from Tor’s greeting, which had likely fractured Alarik’s nose. ‘We probably should have announced our arrival.’
‘I doubt it would have changed anything,’ Alarik admitted. The minute Greta had brushed her lips against his, he had become putty in her hands. A slave to his own dizzying desire. He would have kissed her even if the palace was falling down around them. ‘Did you speak to her just now?’
‘She fled too quickly. But I know a ravished woman when I see one.’
Alarik offered no denial. ‘At least you’re not trying to smash my face in.’
‘Well, I do know what it’s like to be wrangled by an Iversen,’ she said, with a wink. ‘Resistance is futile.’
He chuckled, and she joined in, their laughter shattering the lingering tension in the room.
