“She’s a tad nervous—boating accident when she was a kid.”
The kindness in Nik’s face makes me melt. “I know what that’s like. I haven’t told you about my recent incident, have I? It was scary, but the best way to beat the fear is to get back on the water. And you’re with an expert sailor today, Mette,” Nik says, slapping Iker on the back. “The best there is. You’re safe here. I promise.”
Annemette nods but doesn’t move to come aboard.
“Here, jump to me,” says Nik. “I’ll catch you.”
Annemette takes a deep breath. After several seconds, she leaps into his arms.
I stumble back out of the way just in time to give them more room. Nik’s excellent balance keeps them upright, andMette lands as gently as possible on the little schooner’s stern, a grateful smile at her lips as she beams up at him, scooped against Nik’s chest. Exactly where she needs to be.
“Summer wine, Mette? It calms the nerves,” Iker says, sitting down on the bench next to me. Annemette shakes her head at his offer.
I meet Nik’s eyes. “Perhaps some water?” Nik nods for Iker to retrieve it from the chest he filled with chipped ice.
We’d made it to the mouth of the harbor with ease and were now pleasantly floating. Well, pleasant for everyone except Annemette, who can barely look over the rail.
Iker returns and slips the canteen to Nik, who uncaps it for Annemette.
She takes a greedy pull. “Better?” Nik asks, and she gives another unconvincing nod.
Iker grabs a large jug and fills a tin cup with the contents—from the smell of it, hvidtøl.
“Starting early, Iker?” A glint rises in Nik’s eye, and he takes a swish of Annemette’s water.
“Starting right on time. And who do you think you are, second-guessing the captain on his own boat?”
“Someone who is often in charge and remains sober for his duties.”
“This is a festival, and there has been entirely too little drinking for my taste. I am eighteen and a prince. I can enjoy myself on my own ship as I please.”
“Iker, may I have some water?” I ask, because they can’t continue this way. Not that I’m sure I can stop them, but I’ll settle for distracting them as a means to turn this around. It’ssupposedto be a romantic jaunt.
Iker plops down on the bench and takes a long swig from his tin cup.
“If your sober prince wants to share, of course you may.”
I eye the flask—most likely Iker’s personal water jug and no more. It sits lightly in Nik’s hand, a third gone with two measly glugs.
“Not to second-guess the captain, but is that all you brought to drink?”
Iker shakes his head into the cup. “Like I said, there’s summer wine,” he says before raising the jug in his hand. “And hvidtøl too. I’m not an idiot—I know it’s hot.”
I roll my eyes. “What about to eat?”
Iker stands and flips open another chest of ice, plunging his free hand into the depths. “Ah, yes, cheese and fruit and not a single thing more. What is this? A garden party? There’s not even a herring.”
“Mette’s allergic,” Nik says. He was in charge of packing the food.
“Well, I’m not. And allergy, my arse. She’s just being particular to watch you fall all over yourself to accommodate her.”
Annemette winces and heat grows in Nik’s cheeks, a true argument brewing in his veins. While I’m pleased tosee fire from Nik regarding Annemette, it does nobody any good if the boys toss each other overboard.
I place my hand on Iker’s forearm. The bickering is too much and almost as bad as the lack of water and food. If it goes on, this day will truly not go as planned. He turns to me and I give him a calming smile.
“We have the sun and blue sky and each other. We have enough.”
Iker draws me in to the flat of his chest—the scent there more than salt and limes, a sour note from the hvidtøl ruining the balance. Nik glances down.
