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His hands were shaking. He clenched them to stop the trembling. Admit it. He was downright terrified of that human princess in the room behind him. Terrified he would do or say the wrong thing. Terrified he would hurt her and thereby hurt the alliance. Worried he would not be enough.
“Brother?” Weylind’s voice drifted through the hatchway.
Farrendel quickly straightened and wiped all emotion from his face. “Did you require something?”
Weylind dropped down the ladder and into the passageway. “No.”
That meant Weylind was checking to make sure Farrendel was all right. As much as he appreciated it, Farrendel gritted his teeth against the constant hovering. He was fine. He would deal with this.
Farrendel pushed from the door and strode closer to Weylind. “I am fine.”
He had to be. It was not Weylind’s job to piece him back together if he was not.
Weylind paced across the passageway. “You have already sacrificed greatly for Tarenhiel. You are not alone in this. I will stand by you. And if she turns out to be a spy or an assassin sent by the humans…”
“She is not.” Farrendel was certain she was no assassin. He could not be so certain that she was not a spy, but it would not matter. The humans would quickly learn they had married their princess to the wrong elf if they had wanted access to the upper echelons of elven politics. Besides fending off raids when called upon, Farrendel kept to himself and stayed out of the life of the elven court as much as possible.
Weylind scowled. “Do not be so trusting.”
Farrendel nearly huffed a frustrated breath on that one. Perhaps he should have learned his lesson by now. He had the scars to prove the dangers of being too trusting, too naïve. But he could not bring himself to treat her as an enemy instead of a wife. “I am not.”
The door to Farrendel’s room opened and shut with a click.
Bracing himself, he turned to his wife. Blinked. Blinked again. Tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
She was wearing his clothes. His plain, green tunic sagged from her shoulders while the sleeves of his shirt hung over her hands, even though she had rolled up the ends. She wore one of his trousers underneath with a pair of low boots that must belong to her since that was the only part of her ensemble that was not his. Her vibrant red hair had been taken down from its style on the top of her head to lie down her back, vivid against the green of the tunic.
She was the most adorable sight he had ever seen.
His mouth dried, his heart pounded harder. Something flipped in his chest, painful and tight.
“Those are mine.” He clamped his mouth shut. Had he really just blurted that out loud? In Escarlish? What was wrong with him?
She faced him, her eyes a blue-green. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow them. I don’t have any elven clothes yet, and these are much more practical for scrambling around boats and whatever else we are going to do for the next part of the journey to Estyra. You don’t mind if I borrow it, do you?”
Had she even paused for a breath for that entire paragraph? He was not sure if he should be bewildered at all those words strung together or impressed at her lung function. What was he supposed to say to that?
Next to him, Weylind eyed him and raised an eyebrow, as if, for all his misgivings about this marriage, he found it highly entertaining that Farrendel would find himself stuck with a human who could talk at such a rapid rate.
What was Farrendel supposed to do when she stood there wearing his clothes and giving him such a wide-eyed innocent look? Finally, he managed to shake his head.
Princess Elspeth let out a small huff, but her mouth quirked into a smile. “I will take that as a no, you don’t have a problem with me borrowing your clothes. I’m sorry I left your room in a mess. I didn’t know what to do with my wedding dress. I like it. It made me feel like the princess I am. But it will hardly be in style in Estyra.”
Words. He needed words. Farrendel swallowed, and it took all his concentration to remember how to breathe normally.
She gave a shrug and waved over her shoulder. “Anyway, your room is available. If you want to change into your other tunic. I’m sorry I took this one.” She paused, glanced at him, and shifted. “What am I supposed to call you? Farrendel? Or do you prefer Laesornysh? Do elves have nicknames? Can I call you Farren?”
Farren? He struggled not to let his disgust show on his face. Thankfully, the emotion gave him the words he needed. “Farrendel is fine.”
“All right.” She rocked on her heels, her smile dimming after a moment. “So am I allowed on deck? I’d love to see the Tarenhieli shore as it approaches. It always looks so mysterious from across the river, just a smudge of green trees. If you don’t mind me wandering around alone, you don’t have to escort me. You probably want to change, and I can find my way to the bow of a boat.”
While he did not want to spend the night sleeping in these clothes, he did not have to change yet. She had taken the clothes he had intended to sleep in that night, but he had others on the train. He traveled with enough clothes that he would not run out if a few became too blood-spattered to be salvageable.
But he could not form the words to tell her that. Instead, he held out his arm to her. With a shrug, she took his elbow again and trotted at his side to the ladder, which she scrambled up without any prompting.
On deck, she hurried to the bow and leaned on the rail. The nighttime breeze toyed with strands of her red hair, and Farrendel found himself watching her more than the shoreline of his homeland drawing closer.
“How are we going to travel to Estyra? Do you elves have trains? You must. You have a steamboat, after all. Well, not really a steamboat since it is powered by magic. But you do have your own version of technology. How long will it take to get to Estyra?”
