Chapter 41 Alarik
Alarik
As the sun rose over the spires of Grinstad, Alarik marched towards the guest wing, where he knew Princess Elva would soon be waking up.
He had to see her urgently, to steal a quiet moment alone before her lady’s maids descended with their trunks of flowers and jewels.
He was not looking forward to their conversation – or the ensuing diplomatic fallout of cancelling an entire wedding with barely half a day’s notice – but he was resolute in his decision.
He was choosing love. He was choosing Greta. He was choosing hope.
He could only pray that Elva would understand. That she wouldn’t begrudge him a fool’s chance at happiness. And if she wanted to flay him for the timing of it, then he would let her. He deserved it.
As for the pressing matter of Vask, Alarik did not intend to shy away from war.
He would rail against Regna’s forces until he dethroned the rapacious queen and taught her a brutal lesson in humility.
Even if it meant asking the witch queens of Eana for help.
Even if he had to get on his knees and beg.
A battalion of witches would buy him the precious time he needed to regroup, to build up his own army of soldiers and beasts, and come up with a longterm solution to restore Gevra to its former glory.
He would do it for his kingdom. He would do it for the possibility of a life with Greta. And though the plan was risky and far from certain, for the first time in weeks, Alarik finally felt like he could breathe again.
He steeled himself as he reached the guest wing, ignoring the curious glances from servants who watched him climb the stairwell in his nightshirt.
He wanted to tell them to put down their vases of fresh flowers, to set aside the seating cards and centrepieces, and fold away all the last-minute preparations, but he owed the truth of his decision, first and foremost, to Princess Elva.
When he reached the hallway that led to her bedchamber, he slowed, surprised to find the princess of Halgard striding towards him with the same look of fierce determination on her face.
She was wearing a green nightgown and a pair of slippers.
Her blonde hair was loose and unkempt, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
‘Oh good,’ she said, with a huff. ‘This saves me a much longer walk.’
Alarik shook himself from his momentary stupor. ‘What are you doing out here?’
‘Looking for you. Somewhat urgently.’
They met halfway along the corridor. Alarik looked her over, trying to make sense of her anxiety. Her hands were bunched into fists and her shoulders were narrow and hunched. ‘What’s the matter?’
She swallowed thickly. ‘I want to call off the wedding.’
Alarik’s eyes went wide.
‘I can’t go through with it,’ she said, firmly. ‘I don’t want to go through with it. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said at once. ‘You don’t have to be sorry.’
He was so relieved, he could have lifted her from her feet and spun her around until he was too dizzy to stand.
‘Ah.’ Her lips curled, understanding softening the lines on her brow. ‘It seems we are in agreement, then.’
‘It seems we are,’ he admitted.
‘It’s one thing to marry a king for an alliance, but it’s quite another to marry a man who is hopelessly in love with someone else.’
Alarik tried not to flinch. ‘Is it really so obvious?’
‘Gevrans are not known for their subtlety.’
‘I suppose not,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry, Elva.’
‘This is a kindness to us both, Alarik,’ she said, gently. ‘I don’t want this marriage any more than you do.’
‘Does your heart lie elsewhere, too?’
‘Oh yes.’ Her smile broadened to reveal her pearly teeth.
‘You see, I am in love with my freedom. I thought coming here would give me more of it, but the truth is, Grinstad is not nearly enough for me. It’s too cold.
Too isolated. Too wild.’ She looked past him towards the snow-dusted forest, the howling wind filling the momentary silence.
‘I want to know the warmth of sunlight again. I want to see meadows sprung with flowers and towns filled with people. I want to cross the Southern Sea and explore what lies beyond the boundaries of our maps. I want adventure in all its forms. Coming here has made me realize just how much further I wish to go. I want more than this place. This life.’
‘You deserve more,’ said Alarik, and he meant it.
Elva was effervescent, a creature destined for more than the snowy tundras of Gevra.
She was meant for flowering hills and thrashing waves, for sun-drenched isles and exotic foods.
To fly, not to roost. He knew he could not make her happy, even despite his heart’s leanings.
Because Gevra would never make her happy. ‘You deserve freedom.’
‘For now, I’ll settle for unpredictability,’ she said, dreamily.
‘That too, then.’
She took his hand. ‘Sometimes happiness is a place. And sometimes happiness is a person,’ she said, squeezing it. ‘You’re lucky that yours lives in this palace.’
Alarik smiled. Lucky indeed.
A slant of sunlight slipped through the glass, bathing them in golden warmth. They regarded each other in the upper hallway of the guest wing, their faces softened by relief, their eyes bright with hope.
Elva blew out a breath. ‘What now, then?’
‘I’ll tell Lief the wedding is off,’ said Alarik.
‘Although it’s too late to halt the Halgardian nobility.
They should be here by noon.’ He quailed at the thought of King Nilas’s reaction to their decision.
‘I’ll have to come up with another way to thank your father for his assistance in the Battle of the Blackspires. ’
And to compensate for his many losses there.
Even though Princess Elva was content to dissolve their alliance, he still owed much to the kingdom of Halgard. He would have to offer them something invaluable to prevent another diplomatic disaster. He already had enough war on his hands.
‘Gevrans are resourceful. You’ll think of something, I’m sure,’ she said, encouragingly. ‘And in the meantime, you’ll be glad to learn that my father enjoys a tense negotiation every bit as much as a good party. It would be a shame to let all that frostfizz go to waste.’
Alarik embraced Elva. She might not be his bride, but she had become a most treasured friend. Now, and always.
He left her to inform her own lady’s maids, taking the stairs two at a time as he went in search of his wrangler. He ran into Johan on his way to the courtyard, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close.
‘I have a job for you, Johan.’
His steward blinked in alarm. ‘Your Majesty, you are still in your nightshirt.’
‘Never mind that now. Go and tell the servants that the wedding is off. The king and the princess have changed their minds.’
Johan’s brows shot up. ‘Truly?’
Alarik nodded. ‘I’ll double your salary if you tell Lief, too.’
Johan winced. ‘Oh dear.’
‘Now. Where is my wrangler?’
‘Yet to surface, I believe.’
It was past sunrise. Greta was never late. Unease coiled in Alarik’s gut. It sent him marching back into the palace and down the stairs, where the rest of the soldiers had already risen and dressed for the day. He knocked on Greta’s door, then waited.
And waited.
‘Greta?’
He opened the door and peered inside. There was no sign of her. The bed was unmade, and the closet was wide open, her clothes spilling out like she had rifled through them in a hurry. The oil lamp on her wall was gone and so was her satchel. There was water and glass all over the floor.
He frowned. Had she left him? Grabbed her things and fled in the night?
No, no. She’d never leave without saying goodbye. And where would she go?
His heart climbed into his throat as he stomped from the bedchamber.
The ground rattled beneath his steps, the wind roaring through the stone walls.
He paid it no mind, his focus solely on his wrangler.
She was not in the dining hall or training in the arena.
She was not in the forest or by the pens.
He arced around the palace, making for the elderberry trees, just as Captain Vine came running across the front lawn.
She stopped Alarik in his tracks, her greeting drowned out by a sudden, thundering crack. The mountains shook as the rock cleaved, the earth thrumming from the force of the quake.
‘I’ve just gotten word from the guards at the gate,’ she said, half breathless. ‘Greta has gone into the mountains. With Elias.’
Alarik’s heart juddered. ‘She wouldn’t,’ he said at once. ‘And certainly not with Elias.’
What business did Elias have in his mountains?
With his wrangler?
Dread gripped Alarik, new suspicions suddenly rising to the surface.
Regna’s words rang in his head:
Vask has eyes everywhere. Even in that glittering eyesore of a palace of yours.
‘Elias means to free that damned dragon.’
And he intended to use Greta to do it.
Alarik was running before Vine could respond, spearing his way towards the mountains like a snow leopard on the hunt. They groaned as if to warn him away, but Alarik’s whole heart was inside that trembling rock, and he was going to rescue it – rescue her – even if it killed him.