Page 120 of The Queens and the Kings
She sensed that his hesitation had everything to do with the weight of His Glory hanging in the distance. This was either the end, or the beginning.
“I don’t care what the soldats do,” Pedr said, “it has nothing to do with Kapurnickkians or dragul Keepers. The Stenberg soldats need to fix Stenberg. Stay with me, Britt. We have a ship to catch and our own mystery to figure out. Remember, you’re here for Kapurnick, not for Henrik.”
With those firm words she couldn’t rebut, Britt stroked her hand down Denerfen’s wings, enjoying his sleepy coo.
Pedr left, leaving Britt to scour the now-empty sky.
The soldats packed their belongings within ten minutes. Einar wrapped Britt in a brotherly hug, nodded to Pedr with far too much promise beneath, and happily hopped onto a rowboat that Pedr offered.
“It knows what to do,” was all Pedr promised.
Britt stood near Pedr’s quarters, watching while Henrik heaved his bag up onto the deck. He followed with spry steps upthe final rungs. The grace with which he moved never ceased to amaze her. With a kick of his boot, the hatch closed at his back.
He hesitated in front of her. They stood two steps apart. He touched her cheek with his thumb, palming her cheek in his hand in the most intimate caress he’d given. She held onto his wrist, leaned into his touch. Wind swept her blonde hair over her shoulder, whipping it like banners.
Henrik didn’t quite meet her eyes. “We’re taking Arvid right to General Nils so we can firm up our plan with the mainland. If we set sail before His Glory’s soldat arrives, we have a chance to stop a war before it begins. If that’s what His Glory is doing.”
“Be as safe as you can.”
He tucked a strand out of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She gave a quick smile. “Being a selfless hero? Doing what you are called to do? Rushing off to save those who need you?”
His frown deepened. He shook his head. “I don’t know who I am or what I’m sorry for, just that I am. I . . . I don’t want to go.”
She leaned closer to whisper, “I know who you are, Henrik.” Her hand rose, pressed to his chest. The thud of his heart rapped steadily. “No matter what your mind tells you, a heart as powerful and compassionate as yours wouldn’t stand off to the side. Nor do I expect you to stay behind and comfort me.”
His haunted gaze locked with hers.
“I have to do this.”
“You do.”
“Until I release myself from His Glory, from Stenberg, I’ll never belong to myself. By extension . . . to you.”
It was the firmest explanation he’d given.
“I trust you, Henrik. But,” she squeezed his fingers, “I do expect you to be safe. Pedr and I have our own mysteries to solve, anyway. I’ll be busy saving Kapurnick while you’re off saving Stenberg. It fits.”
She forced a lighthearted tone that lied. The wrenching separation created an awful chasm. Unstoppable, unavoidable.
“Return to me,” he commanded. Not a question, not a plea, and certainly not a request.
“I will. Same to you.”
Henrik wrapped a hand around her neck, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply. She melted into him. His arms wrapped her back, held her close. Every bone turned to liquid, every thought to fire, until she clung to him to stay upright. Henrik was all softness and warmth. Tenderness turned corporeal. When she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue invading the seam of her lips, he turned her inside out.
Breath taken, she clung to his shoulders. He tightened his arms around her waist. Pressed against his hard chest, her lips tingling at his touch, a chorus of wolf whistles and taunts shouted from Einar. She ignored him, grinning, as Henrik reluctantly pulled away from the too-short kiss.
“A promise for later,” he growled.
Foreheads pressed together, she smiled. “Take care of yourself, soldat. There’s more waiting for you where that came from.”
He pressed their lips together in a savage promise, tore out of her arms, threw the pack onto his back, and stalked across the ship. Britt watched him go, breathless. Every muscle in her body wanted to follow him, but Denerfen’s stirring presence on her shoulder drew her thoughts to her responsibilities. Eyelashes fluttering, she made herself take a deep breath.
She had promises to her old life, just like Henrik. Kapurnick needed answers. There were Wyvern Kings and Siren Queens and curses and other questions at play.
Pedr whistled once, twice. Light activated as he plucked ropes, shifting sails, moving canvas, altering their heading. Ropes retracted, snaking away from the rowboat as the twobroke apart. Pink flames burst from Rosenvatten’s canvas sails. Heatless, they wreaked no havoc, but as Pedr stood at the helm, the flames snapping, his beard burning with the same rosy fire, she couldn’t deny that he painted a terrible figure.
