Only her pleasure. Above all.
“There,” Manford declared with a clap of his hands. “That’ll do very well for Her Majesty’s men, though it will take us weeks working round the clock to finish them. In the meantime, Ms. Helsdóttir provided some preliminary measurements and sizes so we could bring some stock samples and quick items for you to try. I thought surely there had been a miscalculation, but I see I was entirely mistaken. None of the jackets will fit you three larger lads, I’m afraid, but we do have some trousers and simple shirts that may suffice until we can get back to the warehouse.”
“These trousers are fine for me,” Myrk said.
Manford’s chest puffed up and his cheeks started turning red again. “I believe your ‘trousers’ are athletic shorts, sir. Such bottoms may be acceptable in a gymnasium or sporting event but not in the presence of royalty.” Myrk snorted, shaking his head, and Manford gave him a considering look before continuing. “‘Twould be a shame to deny your queen the pleasure of seeing you well dressed as befitting Her Majesty’s prominence and station in this world.”
Gunnarr stepped out from behind several racks and posed in front of a full-length mirror, turning this way and that. “Count me in for doing anything that might put a spark in our queen’s eyes. Not my usual style?—”
Lokken smothered a laugh with a cough.
“But I clean up pretty snazzy if I do say so myself.”
Manford stepped over to him and fussed with the white collar of his shirt. “You’re meant to wear a tie with it, of course, but given the casual attire you were wearing before, this is imminently more acceptable. I believe you need a bit more room in the shoulders, though. Hawkins, see to it.”
“Yes, sir,” the young human male disappeared behind the rack.
The door to the queen’s dressing room opened. Without her normal confidence, Helayna hesitated in the doorway. I was closest, always, so I was privileged to see her first.
Her beauty shone in the darkest level of Hel, whether she wore human-style clothing or not. I couldn’t care less about how her hair might be styled or what she might choose to wear, as long as she was safe and comfortable and loved.
She wore a fluffy, soft long-sleeved top in midnight blue and pants the color of my skin in this form. Charcoal gray smudged with black. They’d trimmed her hair so it no longer hung jagged and uneven about her face. Now the cuts looked intentional,framing her high cheekbones and falling in soft gentle waves to her shoulders.
In this human-like form, my chest constricted, my unfamiliar heart laboring to beat. Darkness still stained the tips of her hair where I’d cut her free. I thought for sure she’d want the stains removed. Every time she saw those dark spots, she’d remember being trapped inside Jörmungandr.
I stepped closer, fighting the urge to fall to my knees before so many humans. Not for the sake of my pride but hers. I doubted she wanted the tailors to see me offer my throat.
“What do you think?” She asked softly.
Fuck it. I dropped to my knees at her side and pressed my forehead to the back of her hand. “Your glory is unequaled in whatever clothing you choose to wear, my queen.”
She stepped closer, turning her hand to stroke my cheek, her hand sliding around my neck. Leaning against me, inviting touch despite the strangers. So I cradled her gently in my arms, my fingers trembling as I reached up to touch the darkened tips of her hair.
“What do you think of my new duds, my queen?” Gunnarr asked. It surprised no one that he strutted back and forth across the floor with bold turns. Apparently he also had an imaginary crowd of queens to which he bowed and scraped several times.
Laughing, Helayna clapped her hands. “Oh, Gunnarr, you look magnificent. I can’t wait to see what else you pick out.”
“Oh, trust me, my queen, I’ve got my eye on several interesting items on those racks. We should put on a fashion show for you.” He whirled toward the racks. “Stokes! Hawkins! I need more outfits for my queen!”
“Who’s next?” Manford asked, scanning us all with a challenging look.
Svar and Myrk both rushed toward the racks, shouldering their way past Gunnarr.
“Can’t let the bear pick out all the best,” Myrk said.
Lokken came to us, already dressed in fresh clothes of his own. “Thank you for arranging to have my clothes delivered, Your Majesty. Though am I dressed too informally? I’ve never served in this capacity before.”
He wore a similar soft-looking woven shirt as our queen in creamy gray with distinctive blue stitching around his neck and shoulders that matched his eyes. His pants were the same sturdy material I’d seen the wolf brother wear.
“Not at all, Lokken. I love it. Though Clara is the one to whom we owe thanks. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to contact another court.”
“And there’s no need for you to,” Clara replied. “It’s my pleasure to handle these small things for you, Your Majesty.”
Helayna tipped her face to mine. “You should pick out more things to wear before they take everything.”
I shrugged. “I’ll wear what’s left.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and she turned to Manford. “Can I make some requests for my Darkest’s wardrobe?”
