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He settles in behind me, stepping closer than he had yesterday.
Is it my imagination, or is he exuding even more heat than usual?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
This time when we arrive, there are rows and rows of people to greet us, and their smiles are contagious. Einar and I wander through the crowded passageways and alleys, taking in the sights and reluctantly enjoying one another’s company.
I tell myself that it’s just for show when he holds my hand as we walk, just as the other couples do. I tell myself that it’s all right to pretend to enjoy the way it makes me feel to be so close to him.
Something in the distance catches my eye, and we make our way to the outskirts of the festival to examine it. People are crowding around and building a dome-like structure out of snow, solidifying the creation with cold water that forms an icy glaze around each snow brick.
There are several more further down the hill, but this one sits a little further back and looks a bit bigger than the others.
Einar notices me watching, captivated by the strange creations.
“They’re called igloos.”
“Igloos?” I ask, trying to recall if I’ve ever heard the word before in my studies of the country.
“Yes. They are basically natural huts that the villagers camp in for the duration of the festival.”
“Aren’t they cold?” I ask, trying to imagine how miserable it would be to sleep in a frozen room surrounded by snow and below-freezing temperatures.
Einar chuckles. “No, it’s actually quite enjoyable.”
“Sure, it is.” My brows twist in disbelief, and he laughs again.
It’s difficult not to completely lose myself in every sight and sound and smell. It would be so easy to become attached to this place and these people, if I could only let myself.
A vendor calls out and beckons us toward him, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Eiswein! Eiswein for Your Majesties.” I don’t miss the plural in the titles.
Einar doesn’t correct him, either, and I mentally tuck that away for later.
When we approach the vendor, Einar speaks the common tongue.
“Henrick! My good man!” Einar clasps wrists with the man, their grins stretching wide. “What’s it been, forty years since I last laid eyes on you?”
Henrick laughs and hugs the king tightly.
“I think this to be so, Einar,” he answers in the common tongue as well, his accent thick and endearing. “Though, I have been back to here for two year. You have just not been coming to festival to know this. In fact, I hear it has nearly been twenty years since you are come to festival.”
Einar sighs, but before he can respond, Henrick places a hand on his shoulder and smiles.
“I figure you must be going through phase. You were so young when you become the king. You are still young, my friend. It would make the sense if you needed a few decades to learn more about who you are.”
I swear I see a small flush in Einar’s cheeks at the words, but my mind is spinning. Finally, Henrick looks at me and introduces himself.
“I am think this is more than phase.” He laughs again, but bows to me, placing a kiss on my hand. “It is pleasure to meet my friend’s bride. Welcome. You would try theEiswein, Lady?” he asks, holding out a delicate wooden stein with intricate carvings and details of a winged woman with pointed ears next to a tree.
“I would be honored, Sir.” I happily take the mug, examining every gorgeous detail.
Henrick offers one to Einar as well, and they clasp hands again, speaking Jokithan and catching up on what has been happening in the years since they’ve seen one another.
It’s one more thing that’s strange to think about with these people. And how young Einar is by comparison.A phase, for twenty years?
I catch a few statements in their conversation that nearly bowl me over entirely.
