“I’m free for sampling all afternoon. Nothing princely planned until supper.” He forces his features into serious composure. “Will that be enough time, my lady?”
I lean in and dust a quick kiss onto his lips. “It’s certainly a start.”
FOUR YEARS BEFORE
The visitor stood on the dock, parents fussing behind him, weary from travel, though the journey hadn’t been far. Just across the ?resund Strait—a trip he could make with his eyes shut and in his own boat, if given the chance.
And he was planning to take that chance within the year, permission or not.
The day was clear, sun beating down, drying the wooden planks of the dock faster than the sea could make its mark, the waves angry the entire way from Rigeby Bay.
Footmen filed down from the castle, whisking away the visitor’s parents, trunks, and duties, leaving him alone with the beach and his thoughts. At fourteen, those thoughts were mostly of girls.
Brunettes.
Blondes.
Redheads.
All of them swirling in his head despite what he knew to be true about his station—his mother and her metaphors constantly in his ear.
“Tulips wilt no matter their beauty; jewels of the crown shine forever.”
“Blood lasts longer than a whim.”
“The royal vase has room for but one flower, no matter the harvest.”
His feet led him to the sand, eyes snagging on two girls prancing along the beach, slim forms moving in time with a song that barely reached his ears.
A few yards more and the girls stopped, eyes and fingers pointed toward a sandbar, belly up in the swirling waters. That’s when he recognized them—two girls from the village, best friends always up for an adventure, just like he was, though he got the feeling the blonde was rather difficult to impress. Trailing behind them was a boy, his cousin. Another prince.
Then the girls began to remove their dresses, petticoats suddenly catching the sun’s rays in all their angelic white.
He couldn’t look away.
Not when they folded their dresses and laid them on the sand. Not when they sprinted into the waves. Not when he realized the current was as strong as it’d been in the strait, though he was too distracted by daydreams of their petticoats to warn them.
It was only moments later, when the prince dove in behind them, that the visitor was rudely awakened.
The visitor’s feet told him to run. To help. Neither girl had surfaced—it had been too long. He took five steps and halted. His father in his ear this time, another ?ldenburg ruler in a land full of them.
“Do not be a hero, Iker; you are already a prince.”
His own kingdom needed him alive. If something were to happen to him, the future of his home and his family would be in danger. Yet still, another voice, his own, knocked around in his ears.
“But Nik . . .”
His cousin had grown tall of late, at least six feet already, but he’d seen tulips thicker than his arms, harpoons wider than his legs. The visitor was the same height but built with all the vigor of the Vikings. He was strong. He could help.
Still, he stayed rooted to the spot. Holding his breath as his cousin finally surfaced, a black-haired rag doll drooping in his arms. Strong and steady, Nik swam for the beach.
As the two landed in the sand, the visitor breathed again, watching in awe as the boy of twelve did all the right things to expel water from her lungs. Citizens gathered around their prince now, Lithasblot preparations halted, all of them getting a good look at the latest near tragedy in a history full of them, the sea well fed in the whale-wild ?resund Strait.
All the relief he’d felt fled the second his cousin began barking orders to the men standing around, their inaction frustrating him. The men finally dove into the water, but Iker knew his cousin. Knew his heart. Knew what he would do. He was going back too.
These girls had been a part of him for years, one the left arm, one the right. They were both beauties—even Nik had admitted it during his last visit. The raven-haired girl was more his cousin’s style, but the visitor knew the blonde was the one who saw Nik in that way—it was obvious.
The visitor watched the prince dive back into the waves, and then he ran, all the strength of his Viking blood carrying him as he tore across the sand.
He yelled at the men swimming back to shore empty-handed, soggy from their attempts at finding the girl. “You there, men, don’t leave your crown prince to do the dirty work alone. Back in the water with you—your hope does not fade until Prince Niklas’s does.”
Immediately, the men turned for the waves, diving in, hope the last thing set in their features. Every cut of jaw locked with the knowledge that this was just how things went in the ?resund Kingdoms. The sea took as much as she gave.
But he wanted them there in case Nik faltered. These men were insurance for the prince. Their shared family could not suffer this blow, no matter how heroic.
“Evelyn, are you all right?” He crashed to her side, palms cupping her elegant shoulders.
“Iker?” She blinked at him as if he were a ghost, those midnight eyes of hers dark with terror. “Anna. Nik—”
“I know,” he said in his best prince voice, the one he’d been perfecting in front of the looking glass when stranded in the castle, his heart yearning for the sea.
Iker turned back to Evelyn. Tears welled in her eyes, gratitude in the curve of her lips. He knew enough about the girl to know how she felt about him, how she wanted to kiss him right there. He knew enough about her class—the fishermen, the worker bees—to know that she wouldn’t.
Instead, her fingers tightened on his forearm as if she were still fodder for the undertow and he’d rescued her himself.
“It’d kill me to lose either of them.”
She glanced down at her hands as if the answer were there, hidden in the web of lines—heart, life, and fate.
“There is so much I wish I could do,” she said, her voice still so weak.
That was it. There was so much he could do. Nik was his cousin, true, but he had always felt like a brother. And no matter the correct name for their relationship, he was family. And family did what had to be done.
Iker squeezed Evelyn’s shoulders for the barest of moments, and then he was gone, yanking off his boots as he ran toward the foaming undertow.
15
“OH, EVIE, IT WAS WONDERFUL,” ANNEMETTE SAYS after half falling into the window seat in our room. Her blond waves are as wild as the tide in a storm, spilling at all angles around her shoulders. The cream of her face is flushed with pure joy, deep-blue eyes sparkling.
I’m so happy to see her like this. Iker and I spent the afternoon swirled together in a rush of touches and sweet words, two pebbles in a whirlpool, and I can only hope that she and Nik did as well.
“Nik is wonderful,” I confirm, but she grabs my hand.
“More wonderful than I could have ever dreamed, but so are you. There is no way I would have had the day I just had without you.” Her eyes swell, the skin there growing pink.
I squeeze her fingers. “It’s nothing,” I say, though I can’t imagine the last few hours with Iker would’ve happened without her either. I can’t picture him arriving at the castle and then hiking into its shadow to find me in the tiny house at the end of the lane. It’s difficult to imagine grand Iker confined by a home smaller than this entire palace bedroom—even when he’s on his little schooner, his personality still has room to burst into the open air of the sea.
“Do you think he’s falling in love?” I ask as I change dresses for tonight’s Lithasblot festivities.
“I think so,” she says. “I hope. More time would help.” She smiles weakly.
“The sooner we get going, the more you’ll have. Almost ready?”
She fastens up the last few pearl buttons on her pink silk gown. “Almost,” she says and then looks at my worn navy dress. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I nod. I could probably conjure up a range of dresses too if I put my mind to it, but that would really send the town chirping. Everyone knows what’s in my wardrobe.