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“Why wouldn’t I?” I fight to hide my amusement.
“I’ve hardly given you reason to.” He looks distinctly uncomfortable, and it’s an effort not to laugh when I respond.
“Is that...an apology? Sands, I do believe I shall need to make use of the fainting room again.”
He narrows his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts up.
“Kings never apologize,” he replies in a carefully bland tone.
“Of course not. How silly of me,” I muse. “I accept, nonetheless.”
He gives a couple of prolonged blinks, opening his mouth as if to speak, then closing it again. Finally, he shakes his head, but I don’t miss the sparkle of laughter warming his eyes.
“If you truly wish to accompany me to the festival, we ride out at midday.”
He turns to leave without waiting for my response, like the imperious ass that he is.
I try not to let the relief show on my face that we’ll be taking horses instead of another vomit-inducing carriage ride, but my smile does turn more genuine.
“Noon, it is.”
When I spot sight of the king, I realize that, once again, my relief has come too quickly.
We aren’t taking a carriage, that much is true, but we are also not riding anything I am familiar with.
I stand several yards away from a small sled attached to a team of what can only be wolves, though they are at least three times the size of any wolf I’ve ever seen.
I glance between my beast of a husband, my ever-growing cat, and the larger-than-life wolves before me.
Is everything in this kingdom massive?
Einar beams at his lead dog, one with midnight fur and gleaming amber irises, roughly scratching its ears and grinning like a child.
His silver-blond hair is pulled back into a knot, accentuating his high cheekbones, square jaw, and glacial eyes. His beard is a bit shorter, freshly groomed, and he donned the same shades of green that I wear now. The sunlight catches on the glint of silver around his neck and on the pommels of the swords strapped to his back.
By all appearances, he looks more like a warrior than a king. However, the way he plays with the giant wolves brings out a boyish charm in him that I haven’t seen before.
The canines range in color from deep charcoal to a shimmering shade of pearl, and they appear to be somewhat tame.
Not that Khijhana cares. She hisses again, bravely standing between me and the dogs.
The king laughs, and I am struck by the way it rings pure, unlike his mocking chuckles in the past.
He loves this, I realize. The blustery outdoors, the sled, maybe even the festival itself, but he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. Only now that the fatigued lines around his face are minimized do I realize the weight he carries with him the rest of the time.
I find myself wanting to draw closer to the warmth of his laughter, like a flame in this endless sea of ice. Before I know it, I’m halfway to the precarious-looking sled, my black and white, fur-lined boots making dainty footprints next to Khijhana’s round ones.
Snowflakes are falling all around us, and I can barely even feel a chill through the fur-lined pants and tunic. The cloak is exquisite, the color of pine trees and the darkest parts of a forest.
I pause a few feet away, unsure where I fit into this mechanism. Einar stands in the fairly small space between two raised handles. There is no seat and nowhere else to stand, only a flat section of gleaming polished wood between him and the wolves that I assume is for cargo of some sort.
Einar registers my hesitation, and he takes a small step back, gesturing to the space in front of him. When I still don’t move, he holds out a hand, as though it’s my balance I’m concerned about.
“It’s tradition,” he says, but his outstretched hand feels like more than the empty gesture of custom.
It feels like a second beginning I’m not entirely sure I want at this point. I war with my emotions for only a split second before I place my slim, gloved hand in his colossal one and let him lead me into my place on the sleigh.
Riding a sled isn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. It’s not even close. But, taking his hand in that moment feels like something else entirely, something that sets my nerves on fire and sends adrenaline coursing through me.
