Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Here.” Einar strolls toward us holding out what looks to be a large turkey leg. “It’s a snowbird. You promised Odger that you would try one. We wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would we?”

For how territorial he is in the man’s presence, he doesn't seem too concerned about my actually enjoying Odger’s company. I can’t help but mess with him a little.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Then what would we have to talk about the next time we play...chess?”

Einar’s eyes narrow, but he speaks with a deliberate casualness.

“You plan to play lots of games with him?” A loaded question, if ever I heard one.

“It’s what I live for.” I meet his eyes to let him see the sarcasm in mine.

Einar grunts, but I don’t think I mistake the relief in his eyes. He masks it by taking a bite of his own giant bird leg, while thrusting mine at me.

It’s so heavy, I nearly drop it.

“Why does everything in this place have to be so large? Aren’t there any normal-sized things, foods, or people here?”

He stares at me for a moment, laughter in his eyes.

“Most women aren’t disappointed in that sort of thing. It’s when things are too small that it’s a problem.”

I roll my eyes and look down, trying to hide the flush in my cheeks. Gunnar and the female guard laugh freely.

“It’s nice to know some things don’t change, no matter what kingdom you’re in. Men everywhere, king or not, are little more than debauched teenage boys.”

The king shrugs, not bothering to deny it.

“Eat your food, wife.” He smiles around another mouthful.

I can’t deny that the glazed poultry looks and smells divine. I pull a piece off with my fingers, as the warm juices drip down my hand. Khijha is practically drooling, licking the drops of grease from the snow near my feet.

When I finally pop the small bite into my mouth, my eyes practically roll to the back of my head.

It’s delicious. Savory, with a hint of sweetness, but I don’t even mind. Each of my tastebuds are grateful and over-eager as I continue tearing chunks off with my fingers, refusing to eat the leg in the same manner as my brutish husband, no matter how tempting it is.

We walk as we eat, and I look up to find we’ve wandered into a section with games and contests. Men and women alike arm wrestle, shoot bows, or throw things at targets.

“Care to give it a try?” Einar’s wry grin is a challenge.

“After you,” I allow. “Didn’t you say that axe was for more than show?”

I tell myself I am using the opportunity to size him up, to learn more about him. Khijha nudges me with her head, and I wonder what she senses from me in that moment or if she’s only asking for food.

I decide it’s the latter and slip her the giant bone with some meat still on it.

The king’s smug smile is his only reply before he makes a beeline for the axe throwing booth. I follow, and of course, Khijha trails along, her tail straight, a proud gleam in her eye while she carries the snowbird leg. Even if people would have crowded their king, they give the chalyx a wide berth.

“His Majesty cares to try his luck with the axes?” The woman who mans the booth announces this loudly while she sets down three axes in front of him.

Despite the cold, the cloak she wears over her tight-fitting dress opens to reveal a triangle of cleavage. Her smile is brash, and she eyes the mammoth of a man standing next to me without an ounce of shame.

I can’t help but glance at Einar to see if he is returning her look, but he has eyes only for the axes. Breath whooshes out of me in what is most definitely not relief, just in time to see a massive crowd gathering around us.

Gunnar and Helga ensure they keep their distance, though the mood seems to be good-spirited. Still, I place a hand on Khijhana’s head to keep myself from being overwhelmed by the boxed-in feeling.

Einar’s face, however, is pure excitement, his eyes practically lighting up when he meets mine.

“It’s not luck if you’ve got the skill,” he counters loudly to the crowd, but his eyes don’t leave mine.

The people laugh and cheer, and the king’s grin is broader than I’ve ever seen it. He throws the first axe, and it sinks squarely in the middle circle of the target.

The crowd roars, and the woman gives a throaty laugh.

“Anyone can do it once, My King, but you’ve got two more!” She is clearly enjoying the show she puts on for the onlookers, and the king takes it in stride.

“Fair enough, my good woman.” He picks up the second axe and brings it over his head.

This one, he throws with a flourish that almost makes me laugh. The game-master isn’t the only one playing to the crowd. I wonder if I will ever be that comfortable with so much attention on me.

Another cheer goes up when the axe meets its target. The king looks at me, and I give him a begrudging applause, though I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips.

Finally, he reaches for the third axe. He turns to face his adoring fans before he throws this one.

“If I win this one, what shall I claim as my reward?”

Suggestions are thrown out from ale to eiswein, trinkets, and more than a few lewd ones. The king listens and laughs before pointing with the axe toward the side of the crowd. I blanch, knowing full well what comment was just called from that direction.

“A kiss from the lady it is!” he roars.

He very pointedly does not look at me as he raises the axe over his head and turns to throw it in one fluid movement. Without even the barest of a second to aim, he hits the center solidly.

The onlookers shout ‘Huzzah!’ and laugh, but I curse internally. Wasn’t one public kiss enough for the man, for his people? My face is heated, from anger, obviously. I try to keep my expression neutral for the sake of our audience and likely fail.

He turns to look at me, his eyes shining with a mirth I don’t feel. Then abruptly, he sinks to one knee.

“Well, my lady?” he says to Khijhana, putting his cheek directly in her face.

She hesitates only a second before obliging him, dropping her bone to slide her rough tongue against his cheek before picking her treat up again.

Laughter breaks out among the crowd, and I marvel at this man who has never so much as given a genuine smile in my presence, entertaining half a festival’s worth of people with his antics.

It’s more than that, though. All day, Khijhana has received reverent glances, and terrified ones as well. Now, the people smile in her direction. With one calculated move, he has changed the way they look at both of us.

And suddenly, I am equal parts impressed and wary of the man who sees so much more than I gave him credit for.

“Now, it’s your turn.” Einar looks at me, and I feel my features go tight.

Is he going to kiss me in front of all these people, after all?

But he gestures to the booths around us after only a moment.

“Choose your weapon, My Lady,” he says loudly.

I narrow my eyes at him, because I know he was off-footing me intentionally, but again, I realize he is playing to the people. They look at me with more warmth in their curiosity already.

There is something refreshing in the way they take women and weaponry in stride, something that emboldens me more than it should.

Axes are out, because I could never outdo him there. I am unlikely to win in an arm-wrestling match, and my skill with a bow is mediocre, at best. That leaves knives and throwing stars. I mull over my choices for a moment before heading toward the stars.

The crowd gives us a wide berth, but they stay gathered to watch my performance.

“The stars are harder than they look,” Einar warns, but the challenge hasn’t left his gaze.

I shrug my shoulders innocently and stride over to the booth, my fingers already itching for the familiar cold steel.

“Why this?” His voice is quieter now, the question only for me.

They’re easy enough to maneuver, versatile and light enough that there is no real danger in missing. But I give him a different answer.

“They remind me of my home,” I tell him in a low tone. Or, at least whatever semblance of home I had with my sisters.

Why did I admit that? Aika loved any weapon she could throw, and she has been on my mind today, but it’s more than that. Somewhere between his challenge and his performance, a feeling of recklessness is seeping in.

I should ignore it.

But I don’t.

“The King’s Lady at the stars!” the man at the booth announces, though the horde of people around us could hardly grow any larger.

I instantly like him for saying Lady instead of Consort. The king hands over a small coin, and the man lays out three silver stars, each uniquely engraved and freshly sharpened.

I pick one up on the pretense of examining the detail, but I use the opportunity to take its measure, the weight and balance, before I aim for the target.

I throw the first one in the most basic fashion. A light, overhand toss that spins toward the middle of the target.

Applause rings out behind me.

“Beginner’s luck,” the man announces, but his smile is kind.

The crowd’s response isn’t as rowdy as it was for the king, but they are loosening up toward me.

The second one, I barely take time to aim. I throw it sideways and it hits closer to the center, just across the bullseye from the first.

This time, the reaction is more exuberant.

“Oho!” the man exclaims. “Let’s see if she can finish strong!”

I turn to look the king straight in the eye, and for a fraction of a second, I let my mask slip. I let him see the fire that burns through me in an answer to the challenges he keeps throwing out.

He raises his eyebrows, and it’s like he’s daring me. A long-hidden part of me rears up in answer.

Without breaking his gaze, without taking even a second to aim, I pluck up the last star and throw it with a flick of my wrist. Silence descends in the fraction of a moment it takes to sail toward the dead center of the target.

Einar and I both turn to see the results. The final star wedges itself between the other two, sinking a solid inch deep into the sturdy wood.

Raucous approval meets our ears, but I have eyes only for the king. For the expression that is tinged with awe, with satisfaction, even, but not the slightest hint of shock.

I should be worried, but I am high on the energy of the crowd, the win, the way that for the first time in as long as I can remember, I didn’t have to hold a part of myself back to make someone else feel larger.

“What does the lady claim as her reward?” the grizzled man in charge of the booth asks.

The people’s enthusiasm is contagious, and that’s the only excuse I have for what I do next.

“I think a kiss from the king should just about do it.”

They roar their approval, and I tell myself that’s why I did it. For the people, for the show we’ve put on all day, to gain favor with them and him both.

It’s not because I see myself mirrored in the man across from me. Not because I think he sees it, too, and isn’t shying away from it, isn’t emasculated by it. It’s certainly not the way he looked while throwing that axe.

Besides, surely this gesture will be as empty as the first.

In the end, I tell myself a thousand different things, but I know every one of them to be a lie.

I meet his gaze with the same challenging expression he always has for me.

Your move.

The cocky look he gives me is all the warning I have before he puts his enormous hands around my waist and pulls me toward him, lifting me up until our faces are level, then pressing his lips heartily against mine.

I have a second to register that they are the warmest thing at this entire festival, warmer even than the raised bowls of stones, before he sets me down again.

“To the king and his lady!” The man at the booth leads a cheer, but I hardly hear it.

All I make out is Einar’s voice in my ear.

“Your cheeks are red.”

“It’s freezing out here,” I murmur back, though we both know the temperature hasn’t changed in the last minute.

“Of course. How silly of me to not have noticed the sudden gale,” he calls me out.

I open my mouth to deny his implication, but then I see something that makes me freeze in my tracks, effectively eradicating every last vestige of amusement.

The face turns to disappear before I can look twice, but it doesn’t matter. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.

No.

But the denial sounds weak even in my head, because I would know that shaggy black hair anywhere.

I try to follow the figure with my eyes, but he is a master of blending in, better even than the sister who has been on my mind so much today.

The villagers have come to congratulate Einar, and though they are becoming accustomed to me, it is their king they wish to see. It’s an easy manner to slip away and make my way through the rapidly dispersing crowd.

I weave through the people in a zigzag fashion, both to better spot the man and in an effort to lose Gunnar. When I still don’t spot him, I duck behind tents and booths, in between the large carts of the vendors, but all of my efforts are fruitless.

He’s gone.

Khijhana mews, as if she’s wondering why we’re chasing after a shadow.

Part of me is wondering the same. Surely, if it was him, he would’ve made himself known.

“Is everything all right?” Einar’s deep voice sounds behind me.

I don’t miss the underlying worry in his tone, so at odds with every interaction we’ve had for weeks, and I turn to face him.

Something in his eyes unnerves me. The way I want to be honest with him, and the way he makes me feel like I could be. But it isn’t real, not any of it. When we get back to the castle, I’m sure he will be back to being his usual ass, and I’ll just be the unwanted bride he was shackled with for reasons I still don’t understand.

I shake my head, forcing a smile while I wrap my arm around his.

“Of course. I was just exploring a bit. There’s so much to see,” I say with more animation than I feel.

Whether or not he or the guards behind him believe me, he plays along as we walk around and take in more of the festival.

By the time we leave, I’ve almost convinced myself that I was imagining the familiar face. But even I know that would be too easy.

Damian is here. And that means none of us are safe.