Chapter 35 Alarik #2
‘I don’t know,’ said Alarik. ‘Sometimes I think I wear it so obviously I might as well be screaming it from the mountaintops.’
‘Please don’t.’
Alarik managed a half-smile. ‘I’m doing my best.’
‘You’re betrothed to another.’
‘You do not have to remind me.’
Tor was about to say something else when the door flew open. A howling blast of wind knocked them clean off the bench and sent them sprawling on to the floor.
Then a voice rang out. ‘Stop fighting, you brutes! I demand peace!’
When Alarik looked up, Wren Greenrock, the witch queen of Eana, was standing in the doorway, her emerald-green travelling cloak rippling behind her.
She dropped her hand, curbing her tempest magic, and the wind died out. She took in the scene before her with a frown. ‘Oh. My mistake. I thought you two would be senselessly brawling in here. And preferably shirtless.’
Tor got to his feet. ‘I really wish you’d stop using your tempest magic so indiscriminately,’ he said with a sigh, for what Alarik guessed must be the hundredth time. ‘Gevrans hate magic.’
Wren smiled wickedly. ‘But you know I like to make an entrance.’
He chuckled, his mood softening as he went to her. ‘Well, you have succeeded, my love.’
‘You should go after your sister. She’s run off with your wolf, and by the way, Elske was making moon eyes at her, I’m not sure you’ll get her back.’
Wren and Tor stared at each other for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. ‘All right,’ he relented, bending to kiss her. ‘See if you can talk some sense into him while I’m gone.’
Wren offered a meddlesome smirk. ‘You know I love a challenge.’
Tor marched out of the room, leaving Alarik alone with the witch queen he had once pined after. Ever since the Battle of Eana, Wren had become a dear friend to him, even if he would never give her the satisfaction of openly admitting it.
‘Talk about awkward timing,’ she said, skipping over to embrace him. It was quick and friendly, making a welcome change from Tor’s greeting, which had likely fractured Alarik’s nose. ‘We probably should have announced our arrival.’
‘I doubt it would have changed anything,’ Alarik admitted. The minute Greta had brushed her lips against his, he had become putty in her hands. A slave to his own dizzying desire. He would have kissed her even if the palace was falling down around them. ‘Did you speak to her just now?’
‘She fled too quickly. But I know a ravished woman when I see one.’
Alarik offered no denial. ‘At least you’re not trying to smash my face in.’
‘Well, I do know what it’s like to be wrangled by an Iversen,’ she said, with a wink. ‘Resistance is futile.’
He chuckled, and she joined in, their laughter shattering the lingering tension in the room.
Alarik felt himself relax. ‘It’s good to see you, Greenrock.’
‘You too, Felsing. Even if you do look a bit worse for wear.’
He went to the window and perched on the sill. ‘It’s been an eventful few months.’
‘I could tell by your mountains.’ She sat down beside him, kicking her legs out.
Her boots were scuffed from travelling, her leathers damp from the falling snow.
It had curled the dark strands that slipped free of her silver-streaked braid and brought a pinkness to her cheeks.
Wren Greenrock didn’t quite look like a queen – not like her sister, Queen Rose, who was ever the picture of poise and elegance – but even so, there was something undeniably regal about Wren, an innate ancient power that simmered in her veins.
A sense that she belonged exactly where she had ended up – on a throne beside her sister, and with her beloved Tor at her side.
‘You could have told me you were going to war,’ she said, her expression sobering. ‘You have a strong ally to the south. Witches, Alarik. Twin queens who are both fierce and very beautiful.’
He gave her a half-smile. ‘As much as I revere the impressive and frankly horrifying reaches of your magic, Gevra has to be able to stand on its own two feet. If I can’t fend off the threat of invasion from a neighbouring country without the magic of another kingdom, then what future does Gevra truly have?
You and your witches cannot stand at my borders forever, Wren. ’
‘That does sound rather boring,’ she said, pouting. ‘As much as I like to make snow angels.’
‘And that’s to say nothing of frostbite,’ he added.
‘I understand your reasons,’ she said, after a moment. ‘But the offer stands. If you call on Eana for aid, Eana will come.’
‘I know that, Wren. I’ve always known that.’
‘You’re just too stubborn for your own good.’
He hummed in agreement. Perhaps there was that, too.
‘Do you love her?’ she said, into the falling silence.
He nodded. ‘Desperately.’
‘How do you know?’
He arched a brow. ‘Do you think me incapable of it?’
‘Well, you’re not exactly an emotional creature.’
He snorted. Then laid his head against the window, considering her question. ‘Before Greta, the last person – the only person – I’ve ever felt any sort of feelings for was you.’
‘Well, you are only human.’
He chuckled. It was no longer an uncomfortable truth, but a strange memory. A brief period of time when Alarik’s feelings had become tangled with an ancient curse, causing a close bond between them that had stirred up unexpected emotions for him.
‘That feels like a lifetime ago now,’ he murmured, and she nodded in agreement.
‘Back then, I always wanted to best you,’ he went on.
‘To say the smarter thing, the funnier joke. I wanted to be brave and invulnerable. Someone who impressed you.’ He paused, trying to give voice to the feelings he had for his wrangler, and the bonfire she had made of his heart.
‘But with Greta … I want to be utterly myself. Not funny or clever or fearless, but honest. I want her to know every part of me, just as I want to know every part of her.’
He smiled at how easily the words came, freed at last from the tip of his tongue.
‘Every day, I marvel at her empathy and humanity, her boundless love for the challenge of life. I want to learn from her, to be the kind of man that deserves her friendship.’ But it was bigger than that, still, this kind of love.
‘She makes me proud to be a Gevran, Wren. She makes me want to serve this kingdom with utter devotion, so that people like her can inherit it.’
Wren stared at him like she had never seen him before. ‘That was very mushy. Ansel would be proud.’
He huffed a laugh. ‘And Tor would probably drown me.’
‘No way,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘After a declaration like that, Tor would walk you down the aisle himself.’
Alarik’s face fell. There could be no aisle, no wedding, no forever with Greta.
No matter how badly he yearned for it, he was promised to another bride.
Another kingdom, whose soldiers had already fallen in his battle.
By the pitying look on his friend’s face, he knew she had heard about Princess Elva, and the impossibility of his situation.
‘Are you going to tell Greta how you feel?’
He shook his head. ‘What can I offer her?’
What was his heart worth, without his hand? Without his crown?
‘I once looked at Tor and thought the same thing,’ she confessed. ‘I used to lie awake at night, torturing myself with that question.’
But this was a different dilemma. Alarik’s kingdom was weak, and he was at war. If he listened to his heart, he would doom his kingdom to ruin. And yet, if he put his kingdom first, he would doom himself.
Wren rolled to her feet, laying a bracing hand on his shoulder. ‘There’s always a loser in war, Alarik. You just have to figure out what war you’re fighting, and what you’re willing to sacrifice.’
‘That’s not helpful,’ he grumbled.
‘I’m not here to be helpful,’ she said, flashing a smile. ‘I’m here to eat your food and drink your frostfizz.’