Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison
Chapter Twenty-Three
As we near the festival, he whistles for the wolves to slow. His body, so carefree only minutes ago, is now thrumming with tension. It takes me a moment to figure out why.
Heads turn in our direction, starting with a handful of people, then spreading until the entire crowd is focused solely on us. It’s surprising to see so many faces after so long in the castle, but hadn’t the people of Colby been maskless as well?
They continue to stare, and I wonder if it’s the wolves, but the way they look at Einar... It’s more than that. Crown or not, he is every inch their king.
The sudden, piercing blare of a horn sounds, and the people bow in unison.
It’s a curious sight, dozens of villagers with pale-white or deepest-brown skin, men and women alike taking a knee. I can’t see Einar’s expression, but I feel his breath whoosh out of him in relief. Had he doubted his people’s response to him?
Still, his hand tightens around the steering bar.
The people rise with varying degrees of speed, their expressions ranging from excitement to disbelief and even confusion. More than one eyes us with suspicion, or even anger. The former wave, while the latter stand stoically by.
I do my part and wave back, beaming and leaning into Einar in a show of intimacy. He squeezes my hand in thanks before stepping off the sled. I turn to face him, and several of the people move to approach us.
“Where are your guards?” I ask in a low tone, always hyper-prepared for a situation getting out of hand.
“They’re already here.” He pauses, arching an eyebrow. “Why? Are you worried about me?”
“Worried about myself, you mean.” My response is dry, but he smiles.
I don’t mention that it is completely unheard of everywhere else for a king to ride into a crowd without the safety of his guard.
“My people are loyal,” he answers in a more serious tone. “Even if they’re angry, they respect their leader,” he adds confidently. “Besides, the axe I carry isn’t just for show.”
Then, he takes a deep breath, and I realize that, for all of his bravado, he is still nervous. Maybe it’s not for his safety, exactly, but the anxiety is there.
Einar plays his part better than I do, gallantly holding out a hand to help me off of the sled, then keeping his arm firmly around me even once I’m safely on the ground.
The crowd edges in around us, and I have to focus to keep my breathing steady in a sea of humans who tower over me.
Congratulations are offered. Questions of the castle's welfare are asked, and evaded smoothly for the most part, I note.
Some people make passive comments about not having seen him in years, their suspicions and even judgment clear in their tone, and Einar is nothing but diplomatic about it all.
When there is finally space to breathe and the crowd dissipates a bit, I move back toward Khijhana, who has successfully stayed away from the mob, but has been unsuccessful in her attempts to extricate herself from the sled.
“You haven’t been here in a while?” I ask tentatively.
Einar sighs and looks around at the winter festival. Booths and snow-covered hills. Torch lights and the smiling people.
“No,” he offers after a moment.
“Why not?”
He breathes out, and the joy that I saw on his face as we were leaving the castle is shadowed by sadness and resignation.
“It felt wrong to enjoy the festival when my people could not.”
Could not?I mull over his words in my mind, but before I can ask for clarification, another man comes up to greet him.
I decide to let the subject drop for now. As much as my curiosity wants me to push the issue, I also don’t want to ruin whatever semblance of peace we’ve managed to wrangle between us.
A man comes to see to Einar’s wolves, but I intercept him before he can venture too close to Khijha. She’s trembling as it is, eyes wide, while her claws bury into the woodgrain beneath her.
I’m still coaxing her off the sled when the sound of children laughing reaches my ears. I glance up to see a group of them throwing balls of the fluffy snow at one another.
One dives for cover behind the sled near Khijha and me, sending a sheet of snow flying up into our faces.
Khijha shakes her head irritably, letting out a low growl, and I bite back a laugh at her uncharacteristic grouchiness.
“I have sorry, Lady,” the boy says, eyeing me with the same wide-eyed fear and curiosity he gives my chalyx.
His cheeks are rosy, and he’s panting from the excursion of their snow battle. The simple act of a child being a child with no strings attached both fills and breaks my heart at the same time.
A smile stretches over my mouth, one that is far more authentic than any of the others I’ve offered recently. It’s one that reaches my eyes and down to my very soul.
“It’s all right.” I lean down to help him up before wiping the icy water from my lashes and hair.
He gives me a toothy grin of his own before running off to return to his friends. I wave at them while they giggle and whisper to one another.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would suppose you were almost enjoying yourself.” Einar’s deep voice rumbles through my center as he approaches from behind.
“Well, I shan’t accuse you of ignorance in such a crowded place,” I murmur back.
I’m only half paying attention to him, my concentration flitting from snowball fights to ice sculptures. It amazes me, the way these people have found a million uses and entertainment from the one thing in their kingdom they will never be short on.
“Indeed,” he allows, and I look up to find him observing me closely. “My mistake. I see that now.”
I don’t know what to feel about what he sees on my face now, so I turn the conversation around.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d accuse you of smiling. That is, if that rabid animal on your face would move long enough for me to actually be able to tell.”
Although, I can see now how common it is. If anything, Einar’s beard is a bit shorter than those of the burly men around us. He strokes the thing protectively and feigns offense.
Before he can respond, someone calls his name from across the snowy field. They’re holding two pints and gesturing toward him with one.
“Go on. I’ll catch up with you,” I assure him.
Truthfully, I could stand a moment to collect myself. It’s a lot. This crowd, standing at the king’s side, the way he and I are almost...getting along.
He hesitates for a brief moment, his lips parting slightly. Then, he nods at a man in the crowd and back at me before walking away.
The towering man he gestured to has dark skin, and his hair is silver and pulled away from his face in a half knot. If he’s the guard Einar was referring to, I can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t have to wear a mask while the others do.
A tall woman who looks nearly identical to my guard falls in line behind Einar. He keeps a female guard? Is she more than that?
I shouldn’t care, but it’s hard not to wonder when I look around. The Jokithan women are, as a whole, nothing short of stunning. Strong, buxom bodies that move with a blend of confidence and grace. Was this what he always pictured himself with?
And, if so, what made him look outside his kingdom for a bride who was so very far from what he wanted?
I push the thought away. We’re getting along today, and that is rare enough that I hardly need to borrow problems. Besides, it shouldn’t make any difference to me.
It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t.
The smell of roasted nuts and meats wafts up from the center of the faire, beckoning me closer. I set out to explore with my guard following close behind.
People call out from the booths, showing me scarves or foods or cloaks. Some have simple jewelry, sweets, or even weapons. Others have gear for animals, artfully made leads for the dog sleds and the largest saddles I’ve ever seen.
I would probably be freezing even in my warm clothes, but there are raised bowls of crimson stones emitting waves of heat.
It’s overwhelming after being cooped up in the castle for so long, but I can imagine my sisters would love it. So, I smile in spite of myself, determined to enjoy this small moment for them.
I meander slowly through the shoppes, stopping a few times when something stands out. A tiny flame earring catches my eye. As I’m examining it, thinking to bring it home to Aika, one of Einar’s guards steps up, the one who had been trailing me.
“I am Gunnar, Lady Consort.” His voice is deeper than I was expecting, his teeth a sharp white contrast to his skin. “My sister is Helga.” He gestures to the woman with the king. “The king has sent funds for you.” The gesture is well-intended, but it makes me feel like...a kept woman.
My title of Consort doesn’t help that.
I take the coins, trying not to notice the scrutiny the booth teller sends my way. I can hardly blame her. Curiosity abounds for the foreign bride with her exotic pet as we stand out like a blood-red rose in the pristine snow.