Page 251 of Kingdoms of Night

Right now, in this moment, without any foe to send his fists into, Geraint wasn’t sure what to do.

Enid stood before him. Her lavender body was pale in the cold air. Her slight form was buried beneath his cloak. She didn’t shiver. She didn’t quake. She stood stoic, like a water lily with deep roots in a calm pond. But she must be in turmoil inside.

Geraint wanted to pull her into an embrace. Though he doubted she’d welcome more male attention. Perhaps he should talk to her and ask her how she was feeling. But if she told him, would he know how to respond?

Loren would know how to respond. She’d know exactly what to do or say in this situation. His former friend and brother was not here. Nor did he want her here.

If she had been present, she’d likely have tried to take over the situation. She would’ve shouted something or other about girl power and convinced Enid that she was her champion, maneuvering Geraint onto the sidelines once more.

He would be the hero of this story. He would win the damsel’s affections. He would swoop Enid off her feet after he slayed the mustachioed villain.

After obtaining the fairy’s express permission to touch her person, of course.

“I will be your champion, my lady,” he said.

“I just need your sword.”

Enid’s pale gaze dipped lower down to his torso. In response, Geraint’s pants tightened. He knew which sword she was referring to. It was the one that rested on his hip, not the one that was swiftly raising a tent between his thighs.

It looked as though she noticed. She didn’t blush. She took a step back from him.

Without him realizing it, he’d taken a step toward her. Was she frightened of him? The answer was likely yes. He had to remind himself that to her, he was nothing more than a loaded weapon. She’d only come to him for the use of his strength, not for anything tender. She had no experience of him as anything other than a blunt force object.

Geraint wanted to show her how tender he could be. How gentle.

“A word, brother.”

Geraint had trouble turning to face Wain. He’d forgotten his brother had accompanied him on this quest. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be dragged a few feet away from Enid. Only far enough that he could still smell her sweet scent in the bitter cold.

“G, we can’t start a war with the Frost Giants,” said Wain.

Geraint had no intentions of starting a war. Just a quick battle that would be over before it began. He would show this ice giant no mercy for what he’d done.

“We’re not even supposed to be in this realm,” Wain continued.

“Arthur knows we’re here.”

“Arthur believes we’re in Alfheim with Loren.”

Geraint scowled at the mention of her name. Loren broke the rules all the time. And often for selfish reasons. Yet here he was, about to embark upon a righteous mission that the chivalric code commanded him to undertake, and he was getting pushback?

Gawain must have read Geraint’s thoughts because the man held up his hands in a placating fashion. “I’m not saying you’re not in the right to want to pummel this guy.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying stop and take stock of what’s happening. Have you even looked at our surroundings?”

Geraint had. A little. All there was for the eye to see was white snow. Snowcapped mountains. Tall trees whose branches were lit with icy snow that shimmered under the sun’s light. A wedding arch strewn with white lace and lavender flowers. A seating area with at least one hundred chairs all in rows. And an altar.

“It looks like a wedding ceremony,” Geraint said at last.

“And your fairy is in a white gown and veil.”

Geraint took Enid in again. The wind had claimed the veil, which had sailed up into one of the trees. It waved like a white flag signaling surrender.

“She’s a princess,” Wain continued. “She called this Vidar a prince. Perhaps it’s an arranged marriage?”

Arranged marriages were the only types of marriages when he was growing up. Romantic love was a newfangled notion. The thought of Enid being forced to do anything she didn’t want to do grated at the base of his skull.

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