Page 33 of Enamored
As though sensing my attention upon him, he slid me a sideways glance and cocked his brow. The look was entirely too appealing, revealing his spell-binding blue eyes and lending him a roguishness that sent a thrill through me.
“Your Royal Highness?” His question hinted at mirth, almost as if he knew I was thinking on his state of undress.
“In your message, you mentioned you had found a way to help me with my choice.” I returned my focus to the waterfront as we steadily approached, several guards riding beside and behind us.
Upon leaving the castle, I’d expected some of the noblemen to see me and ask to accompany me. But I’d learned most were in discussion with the king after receiving news King Canute’s army was amassing near the Norvegian border.
While I was disturbed by the show of aggression, I was also relieved for a chance to spend a little more time with Maxim before my betrothal ceremony, before things had to change between us. Though he was right in setting boundaries for our future together, I felt a sting of disappointment in knowing our interactions would be limited so soon after renewing our friendship.
I was also eager to discover his means of aiding my decision. “You must tell me of your plan.”
“We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
A grin quirked the corners of his lips. He was enjoying his opportunity to puzzle me.
Was he planning to take a boat to one of the islands in Ostby Sound? Such excursions were popular in the summer when the Cimbrian Strait and White Sea were calm, providing idyllic conditions for birdwatching, hiking, and boating.
Though the sea grew more malcontent the closer we came to winter, the waters would remain mostly safe for another month, until the winter storms turned them deadly. Perhaps the guards could row us out to one of the islands so we could partake of our repast somewhere we could be unhindered to truly be ourselves—like we had been last night—without everyone watching us.
Even now, the shopkeepers and tradesmen stopped their labor to view our passing, the men doffing their hats and bowing their heads and women curtsying.
The sights and sounds of the busy markets had always fascinated me. The sea-roughened faces of the people, the weather-beaten buildings. The shouts of the incoming fishermen, the flapping of sails against creaking beams, and the squawk of seagulls circling overhead.
Normally I breathed in the salty sea air and appreciated the opportunity to venture outside the castle walls. But today I could think of naught else but Maxim.
Though I’d experienced an undercurrent of panic from the moment I’d awoken on this, my eighteenth birthday, I’d resolved to make the most of the afternoon. “You must give me a clue, Maxim.”
“Very well, Your Highness.” He rode quietly for several beats before he offered me a riddle. One puzzle led to the next until at last the clues led me to the Stavekirche at the city center near the waterfront. The church was constructed of hewn logs—staves—rising vertically from the ground and interlocking to form sturdy walls. The central building was cross shaped, but arched buttresses and gabled roofs had been built one upon another, adding a loftiness that made the church rise high above the surrounding buildings.
Four carved dragon heads perched upon the main roof ridges, pointing toward the sky. Normally, I didn’t think anything of the historical artifacts that helped drain water off the shingled roofs. But after seeing the draco yesterday, my attention lingered on the dragons so similar to the draco.
The priest allowed us entrance, bowing almost all the way to the ground. I passed him into the silent sanctuary ahead of Maxim, our footsteps echoing against the plank floor up to the high wooden ceiling.
“Where to now?” I whispered as we reached the chancel, adorned with but a few silver candelabras and a central cross on the wall above the altar.
Maxim nodded to the altar draped in linen. “The relics, Your Highness.”
The Stavekirche, like most important churches, housed sacred holy relics passed down through the ages. I’d viewed them at times over the years when they’d been removed from their resting place underneath the altar and displayed inside a reliquary on a special stand.
The priest shuffled forward and lifted the linen to reveal a set of stone doors. He unlocked one and removed a box draped in black velvet. He placed the box upon the altar, made the sign of the cross, then nodded at Maxim. Clearly, the priest was working with Maxim with whatever plan he’d uncovered.
After the priest disappeared into an anteroom, Maxim lifted the black cloth away to reveal a red cedar box.
“Is it the Sword of the Magi?” My question tumbled out. With the length of the box, it had to be the special relic. I was well aware of its presence here in Norvegia along with a nail and sliver of wood that had belonged to the cross of Christ. While I’d seen the nail and wood from time to time, the sword had always remained locked away in the cedar box.
The few times King Ulrik had asked to have the sword removed, the priests had never been able to figure out how to open its case. Some had even been hurt trying to do so, and eventually the king had stopped asking.
Maxim traced a finger along one edge and pressed into the crack.
“Careful, Maxim.” I placed a hand on his arm to halt him. “’Tis dangerous to open. None have been able to do so—”
The lid clicked and lifted to reveal the ancient sword in all its glory.
I sucked in a breath. Cushioned against crimson velvet, the sword radiated energy and power. Candlelight glinted off the polished silver blade and highlighted the jewels encrusted into a round pommel.
Maxim took a step back, and side by side we admired the relic, my mind reviewing all I’d ever read about the sword.
