“Is everything okay?” Amelie’s voice comes from behind Astley. “The wolf snuck on somehow. I didn’t smell him.”
The woman in the senator suit, sitting on the aisle diagonally behind Astley, gives us a look. I can’t even imagine what she’s thinking.
“I have a few tricks,” Nick says. He smiles like he’s proud of it. I smile back. And he sees me do it and his smile leaves his face in a slow torturous movement of lips. He focuses all his attention on me. “No matter how I feel about your turning, I couldn’t let you do something so dangerous alone.”
“She is not alone,” Astley barks, no longer masking his anger.
Nick looks him up and down and there’s no mistaking the intent. It’s all about sizing up another guy, seeing if he’s worthy. The muscle in his cheek twitches and he says, “She is alone.”
Astley flies out of his seat, pushing himself up until he’s a mere inch away from Nick, who is taller and broader. They stand there for half a second and if they could breathe fire and ice at each other, I swear they would. Amelie whispers a curse and tries to move forward. The lady in the aisle seat gasps.
“You don’t even know how to protect her,” Nick growls.
“She doesn’t need protecting,” I burst in, referring to myself in the third person and trying to unbuckle my seat belt. My hands aren’t behaving.
Astley talks as if I’ve said nothing. All his focus is on Nick. “I know how to love her. That is more than you.”
Love? Something in my stomach seems to flip and fall. I finally unclick my seat belt and start to stand up.
Just then, almost on cue, the flight attendant scoots up to us and says, “We really can’t be blocking the aisle. I’m going to have to ask you to return to your seats.”
And miracle of miracles, they do.
Astley and I sit there for a second, both of us staring straight ahead at the seat backs in front of us.
Finally he goes, “Well, that was awkward.”
“Yeah.” I reach forward and trace the square of the monitor screen with my finger. It’s shaking.
He swallows. His own hand lifts up like it’s going to touch mine, but at the last second he pulls it back, rests it on his leg, and says, “I apologize.”
“You don’t need to.”
His eyes close. He pushes his head into the seat. “Yes, yes I do. You are not some prize to fight over. You may be the queen to my king, but that does not mean that I should battle over you like some—like some—” He can’t find the word, I guess, because he doesn’t finish his sentence. “It is just infuriating sometimes to deal with all these emotions that I have for you when your heart does not belong to me. That is not your fault. I do not blame you, Zara. You must love whom you want to love, but it is a bit of a distraction at the moment, and I need to be in top form for what is to come, as do you, as do all of us.”
I move my hand, brush a piece of his blondish hair out of his face. My fingertips graze his skin. He is so brave, tries so hard to be good, to let me make my own decisions. I lean toward his ear and whisper, “I am so lucky to be your queen.”
His eyes flash bluer as he turns to look at me. I can’t believe I almost lost him to that poison. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to know how I really feel.
“Zara—” His voice breaks on my name.
Smiling at him, I nod. “I am. I am honored and lucky and so very glad.”
I sit back in my seat, wrap my hands around his arm, and lean my head against it, letting my head and my heart rest.
“You are a magnificent pixie,” he whispers into the hair on the top of my head. “I have never known a pixie quite like you.”
LANDING ANNOUNCEMENT ON FLIGHT 132 TO ICELAND
Flight Attendant: Weather at Reykjavik is zero degrees Celsius with some broken clouds, which we are working to fix before we land. As you disembark, please gather all your belongings. This includes children and significant others.
We land in Iceland, land of super-short days and super-beautiful people. We are going to spend the night in Reykjavik and then journey to the volcano resort area tomorrow morning. Last time we were here, Astley and I stayed at an adorable hotel that was really modern, like IKEA times a hundred, but I fell out a window there. So this time we’re staying at a Hilton that’s about five minutes away from the center of town.
Issie and I share a room of epic proportions. Two seconds after we step inside she pretty much screams in delight and collapses on the gray covers of the king-sized bed while I open the curtains to the huge window that covers an entire wall.
“You can see the ocean, I guess,” I say, staring into the darkness.
“All I see is dark and city lights.” She sits up and then joins me peering out. She gives up trying and spins around, probably so she can have a better look at the rich wallpaper and the black modern-lined desk and chairs and headboard. “It’s very swankified. I feel like a celebrity.”
I nod. “I know. Astley’s completely slumming it in Bedford. You should see his treehouse place in New York.”
I let myself think about the other home he told me about on the Island of Skye and for a second imagine what it would be like to walk through that azalea garden with him, holding hands maybe, seals barking in the ocean, the sun beating down, no snow anywhere. I miss the sun, and flowers. If the Ragnarok happens, people will never enjoy that again.
We’ve already changed into our pajamas by the time Astley comes to the room to say good night. I’m wearing flannel bunny pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. He’s still in his street clothes. His eyes are soft and kind and worried and strong all at the same time as he says hello. I wish they would just stay one color.
“You still wear your anklet,” he says to me.
“Nick gave it to me.”
“I know.”
“You want me to not wear it?” My tone is uncomfortable.
Issie’s been sitting at her desk Skyping with Devyn. She hops up and grabs her laptop, carrying it carefully as she scurries away. “I’m just going to talk to Devyn in the bathroom. Yeah. That’s not weird or anything. We do it all the time.”
As soon as the bathroom door shuts gently behind her, Astley strides across the room. He stops at the window, puts his forehead against the glass, tilting his head so his brow is the only thing that touches. I walk over there too, sigh, and wrap my arms around his back, rest my head against the softness of his shirt.