When his mouth leaves mine and trails kisses down my neck once more, I press my hand to his cheek and say, “Golmarr, we’re not married yet.” The words hurt because I know they will put an end to this.
He presses a moist, lingering kiss to my throat and then rolls to the side, balancing on one elbow. He is breathing hard, and his cheeks are flushed. With a frown, he says, “I wasn’t going to cross that line with you…yet.”
His shirt is up around his ribs, exposing his firm, suntanned stomach. I place my hand on it, feeling the strong muscles beneath his skin. I slide my hand up over his ribs and press it against his heart. It is beating hard and so fast that the beats are all jumbled together.
“Sorrowlynn,” he growls. I look up at him. His eyes are fiercer than I have ever seen them before. “You need to remove your hand from me right now.”
I smile, and slowly, feeling every rippling muscle in his torso, trail my hand back down to his stomach and remove it. He pulls his lips tight against his teeth and cringes as if my touch has caused him physical pain.
“You northern princesses may play innocent, but you, Sorrowlynn, are going to drive me crazy. You have me asking to court you in the morning, begging you to marry me in the afternoon, and then you can’t keep your hands off me!” He kisses me quickly on the nose and stands. “Come on. We need to hurry up and get around other people.”
“Why?”
“I think we need a permanent chaperone if we don’t want your mother’s army coming after me for ruining your good name.”
We walk the rest of the way to town so I don’t have to dismount on stiff, unbending legs in front of a group of people who prize horseback riding above every other sport. We cross a wide stone bridge that spans the Glacier River—the very river that flows down to the outskirts of Faodara—and when we step from the bridge, I pause and stare, for people are lining the city streets as far as I can see. They see us and start cheering, and a wave of panic makes it hard to breathe.
Golmarr puts his arm around my waist, with his hand resting on my hip, and looks at me. “It appears as if my brothers told more than my father that I was coming home. Are you nervous?”
I stare at the eager faces and nod. “I’ve rarely been around crowds,” I whisper. Golmarr’s arm tightens, and he kisses my forehead.
“I’ll keep you safe, and I won’t leave your side. My father’s home—my home—is at the far end of town, close to the sea, so we still have a little way to walk. Will you be all right?”
I nod. Together, we walk forward, and the crowd starts calling Golmarr’s name. Their beloved young horse lord has returned. As we walk down the cobbled street, with Golmarr holding the horse’s reins in one hand, his other hand holding mine, people throw flowers at us. Children dart out of the crowd and hold chains of woven blossoms up to Golmarr. With a smile, he kneels so they can place them on his head or around his neck. When he has so many that there is room for no more, he takes them off and puts them around my neck, or on my head, or tucks them into my belt or the laces on the front of my shirt. By the time we reach the other end of town, he and I are both covered with flowers.
His people call a goodbye to us as we turn down a narrow dirt road. At the end of the road is a huge, two-story house, and behind it an open field with stables and grazing horses, and beyond that the blue-gray ocean. As we approach the house, people start pouring out of it: men, women, children of all ages. The children run to meet us, and the littlest ones throw their arms around Golmarr’s legs. “Uncle Golmarr!” they cry, and pull him away from me.
Not far behind the children, Golmarr’s tall, strapping brothers and their wives come striding toward him, clapping him on the back or hugging him, laughing at his short hair and Satari clothes. With each new person greeting him, I am shoved slightly farther away, until I am standing at the edge of the crowd, holding the reins of the horse, and no one seems to realize I am here.
Golmarr’s father comes out, and even from where I am standing I can see the tears on his cheeks above his beard. “My son!” he bellows. He walks up to Golmarr, and they throw their arms around each other. The crowd circles them, so they are surrounded by family. “I thought I’d lost you, boy!”
“Not yet, Father,” Golmarr says.