“Horsehair?” My nose slightly curls. I try to stop it because I don’t want to be offensive, but . . . horsehair? “Are you . . . are you killing these horses for their hair?”
“Of course not.” Katla dismisses me with her hand. “All horsehair is properly harvested.”
Properly harvested? What the hell does that entail?
“The reason I ask is because if it’s synthetic and long, we might want to forgo the candles or opt for fake ones,” Adela says, but sorry, I’m still caught up on the horsehair.
How are we harvesting horsehair?
Does PETA know about this?
I can’t imagine they’ve given the thumbs-up on harvesting horsehair.
“I believe King Theo will want her to have horsehair, just like I did and his mother before him. I believe we still have our wedding lengths in the vault. We could dust them off and give them a try,” Katla announces with pride.
Age-old horsehair? This has got to be a joke.
Imagine the smell.
Musty.
Dusty.
Horsey.
Like dipping my head in a hay bale.
I don’t want to be rude, but . . . I’m shivering over here from the thought of ancient horsehair being threaded with mine.
“Uh . . . something we can think about.” I offer a solid smile because what else can I really do at this moment? Can’t quite curl my nose in distaste. This is hand-me-down, something-borrowed horsehair, a tradition that dates back for generations. “Maybe just to be safe, we do fake candles. I know Pottery Barn makes some great ones . . . errr, you don’t have a Pottery Barn here, do you?”
“Not quite.” Katla smirks. “But Adela will be able to get us anything we need.”
“That’s right. I’ll start looking into fake candles.” She moves around the altar. “This has plenty of room for the sword ceremony as well.”
“Sword ceremony?” I ask. “Don’t tell me Keller and I are going to battle it out. Trust me when I say there’ll be bloodshed on his end.” I joust my hand toward Keller, who doesn’t even flinch. “I’m coming for you, you big oaf.”
He just stares at me, unmoving.
God, not even a crack of a smile.
“I believe it.” Katla pats Keller on the arm. He continues his silence, just stands there, observing. What I wouldn’t give to know what’s going on in his head.
Probably thinking what a lunatic I am.
Also . . . how does he feel about the horsehair?
Would he lusciously run his fingers through it on our wedding night?
“The sword ceremony is a grand tradition at the end of the wedding where you exchange swords, indicating your commitment to each other to provide for and protect each other and your family,” Katla says.
“Ah, I see.” I nod. Sounds kind of sweet. “How big are these swords?”
“Seven feet,” Keller replies, finally coming to life.
“Seven freaking feet?” I nearly yell. Where does one even purchase a seven-foot sword? “Is anyone going to give me a crane to lift the thing up?”
Katla takes my hand in hers, a smile on her lips. “He’s teasing you.”
