“I,” she began, “thank you for coming. Blessings to you both as you hunt.”
The princess nearly tripped over her own feet as she stooped to grasp her skirts and turn, bustling through the line of guards. She heard Tiern hiss, “What’s wrong with you?” but she didn’t dare turn to catch Paxton’s response.
She halted and turned when a young guard caught up and called, “Shall I have him removed for his insolence, Princess?”
“What? No, of course not.” Her skin was still flushed from the feel of Paxton Seabolt’s eyes. “He’s a hunter. We knew some of them would be . . . rough by nature.”
The guard frowned. “Your Highness, he was blatantly disrespectful—”
“Enough. Gentleman or not, he’s putting his life on the line. Let him be. I don’t plan to get close enough to allow another moment of indecency again.”
The guard pursed his lips, and Princess Aerity turned to walk once more, catching a look on Wyneth’s face she couldn’t decipher. Perhaps a mix of astonishment and humor. They walked faster, putting some space between themselves and the guards.
Wyneth whispered under her breath, “I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t be so quick to take up for him if it’d been one of the other men who ate you up with his starving eyes.”
“Let’s not make something of nothing.”
“Truly, Aer. I thought at first you were going to smack him, and then just as quickly it looked as if you might kiss the lad!”
“Hush, you.” Princess Aerity smashed her lips together so as not to smile in her embarrassment.
As they neared the venue gates, voices rose behind them. Aerity turned to see men pointing out at the bay. The late day sky matched the water.
“Oh, my skies above,” Wyneth breathed.
An extraordinary Ascomannian ship was making its way to the docks. Princess Aerity had only seen such a sight in books. Its wooden hull was raised high and curved at the end like the grandest of vessels. Several light-haired men jumped from the ship to tie it, but one man with a silver breastplate stood tall, surveying the land before him. His shoulder-length blond hair caught the breeze and he raised his sights to the hunters now standing at the entrance to the commons. His blond beard was cropped short, neat in comparison to the other rugged Ascomannians.
“It’s Lord Lief Alvi!” One of the Ascomannian men yelled. Men from the coldlands erupted in cheers.
A lord? Was he joining the hunt or simply here to support his men?
As Lord Alvi made his way up the dock, Princess Aerity couldn’t help but stare. Like many of the Ascomannians she’d met that day, he wore less clothing than men from other kingdoms—ironic since the temperatures in their lands were much lower. They must have been numb to the elements. He wore a leather kilt to his knees, fur-lined leather boots, and a sleeveless tunic with a burnished breastplate over it.
His arms . . . seas almighty. His arms were all muscle, bulging without even flexing. Same with his calves. And his face was chiseled as in the coldlands tales of old.
Wyneth grasped the princess’s hand as they stared.
Several guards and one of the king’s primary advisers met Lord Lief Alvi at the edge of the docks. They conversed for a moment, shook hands, and then led the man straight toward the princess. She and Wyneth straightened.
The king’s adviser brandished a hand toward the girls and opened his mouth to make introductions, but before he could, Lord Alvi bent to one knee and lowered his head. Now that was how a gentleman greeted royalty—with civility and grace. This was the type of male Aerity was accustomed to meeting . . . minus the kilt and breathtaking Ascomannian beauty.
Given all of that, the princess was surprised she did not feel the same heat course through her that she’d felt for the rude commoner moments before.
Lord Alvi stood and his crystal blue eyes went straight to Wyneth. He reached for her hands and her eyes bulged.
“Princess Aerity,” he crooned in a low voice.
Whoops.
Aerity bit the inside of her lip to hide a giggle as her cousin’s cheeks reddened.
“No, kind sir. I am Lady Wyneth Wavecrest. This is my cousin Princess Aerity herself.” Her eyes were still huge as she turned to gesture toward the princess.
Was it Aerity’s imagination, or had he appeared momentarily crestfallen as his eyes changed course toward her? He stepped over and gave another bow, taking Aerity’s hand. When his gaze rose to her, full of brazen confidence and an easy smile, she thought she must have imagined his initial disappointment.
“Forgive me,” he said in a deep rumble of northern accent. “I was told the princess had hair like fire.”
Aerity smiled. Compared to Wyneth’s vibrant curls, her own hair was a sorry excuse for red. But his eyes were far too kind to take offense.
“Nothing to forgive, Lord Alvi,” the princess said, giving a small curtsy in return.
“Please, Princess. Call me Lief. I’m told it’s not too late to join the hunt.”