Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison

Chapter Twenty-Two

Einar shows up for breakfast the next morning as though he does so every day. Only this time, he comes through the front door.

I’m not expecting him, so I’m in the middle of teaching Khijhana to pick an object hidden in a cup. Her brilliant eyes follow the three upside-down cups with interest as I rotate them around on the table.

After a moment, I space them evenly apart and back up. She looks at me, then the cups, before nudging the one on the far right with her nose. It clatters over, revealing the feathered toy I have hidden inside.

“Good job, Khijha,” I praise her, scratching the fur under her neck as she purrs in delight, while we wait for the king to make his purpose in being here known.

I don’t have to wait long. He strides across the room until he is a respectable distance away before speaking.

“I’m glad I found you,” he begins, but his tone is too polite for me to take him at his words just yet. “I have good news for you.”

“Oh?” I ask, suspicion overtaking me.

“Yes. I thought you might be pleased to know that Sigrid has found a willing owner for the chalyx.” He nods at Khijhana, and something between fury and panic seizes my chest.

Then, I catch the teasing glint in his eyes and realize I am giving him the exact reaction he wants even before he speaks again.

“You know, since pets are frivolous and all...” He leaves his sentence dangling like a question.

I feign a yawn instead of taking his bait.

“Khijhana wouldn’t like that, I’m afraid. She’s grown accustomed to my presence, whether I wish it or not. Besides, from what I’ve learned about the beasts, they can be rather temperamental when they don’t get their way,” I say in as nonchalant a tone as I can muster.

He cracks a small grin.

“Indeed. Well, I wouldn’t want to enrage any temperamental creatures.” His gaze lingers pointedly on me before sliding over to Khijha. “So, if you’re certain it’s not too much of a sacrifice, I’ll have Sigrid let the person know it’s not necessary.”

“Very well,” I reply, even though we both know there is no ‘person’. “Did you come all the way here just to tell me that?”

“No.” He stands up a little straighter and clears his throat but doesn’t say anything else.

“Then, to what do I owe this rare delight?” I prompt him, smiling to show him I am teasing. Somewhat.

“Last night, at dinner.” He peers at me like I’m a riddle he can’t quite solve. “You covered for me.”

“I did,” I confirm without offering an explanation.

“You could have let Lord Odger undermine me.”

“I could have,” I agree, mostly to annoy him.

It works.

“Why would you do that?” he finally asks outright.

“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.

I push down the feeling, removing my hand from his, and call out to Khijhana. She takes a moment to decide if she’ll join us or not before reluctantly climbing aboard the cargo hold of the sled. She doesn’t look pleased, but I get the feeling she has no intention of leaving me with these wolves on my own.

Once she’s situated, Einar settles in behind me. The heat he seems to carry around with him spreads from every point of contact. I realize this is the closest I’ve been to him since the day he stopped my fall on the stairs, and it’s strange how I am so unaccustomed to his closeness. Stranger still how tempting it is to relax back into him, to steal some of his warmth and laughter for my own.

His breath is hot when he leans down to talk into my ear.

“Lean into the curves.”

I give a sharp nod, and he calls out an order. The hounds take off, jarring the sled with a motion that sends me hurtling backward into Einar, who doesn’t so much as falter. They move as one, their long legs crossing the snow-covered hills in quick, graceful strides.

I glance back at the castle as we leave the grounds. The stained-glass window is once again what stands out the most, but this time I notice the small difference in the shape of the petals on the mosaic. They are not rounded or soft like a normal rose. These have sharper edges with a subtle hint of silver in the middle.

Maybe the designer took some artistic license, or maybe it represents something so much more than a simple rose. It hardly matters today.

We must come upon a curve, because I feel my balance slipping and hear Einar’s chuckle as I quickly turn back around.

I lean into the rest of the bend and focus on the journey ahead of us. The wind whips around us, but I barely feel it. I’m firmly caught up in our smooth glide across the terrain, nothing like the bumpy, nauseating carriage ride from my arrival. When I close my eyes, it’s easy to imagine that we’re flying through the air.

It’s easy to imagine that I’m finally free.