The Winter Queen by Amanda Mccabe Page A

sound over and over. ‘You need not go into a spin, Lady Rosamund, merely stay upright and move forward.’
    That alone sounded difficult enough. ‘On two thin little blades attached to my shoes.’
    â€˜I vow it is not as hard as it sounds.’
    â€˜And neither is dancing.’
    â€˜Then shall we prove it to ourselves? Just a small, harmless wager, my lady.’
    Rosamund frowned. She thought he surely did not have a ‘harmless’ bone in his handsome body! ‘I don’t have any money of my own yet.’
    â€˜Nay, you have something far more precious.’
    â€˜And what is that?’
    â€˜A lock of your hair.’
    â€˜My hair?’ Her hand flew up to touch her hairwhich was carefully looped and pinned under a narrow silver headdress and sheer veil. Her maid Jane had shoved in extra pins to hold the fine, slick strands tight, but Rosamund could feel them already slipping. ‘Whatever for?’
    Anton watched intently as her fingers moved along one loose strand. ‘I think it must be made of moonbeams. It makes me think of nights in my homeland, of the way silver moonlight sparkles on the snow.’
    â€˜Why, Master Gustavson,’ Rosamund breathed. ‘I think you have missed your calling. You are no diplomat or skater, you are a poet.’
    He laughed and that flash of seriousness dissipated like winter fog. ‘No more than I am a dancer, I fear, my lady. ’Tis a great pity, for it seems both poetry and dancing are highly prized here in London.’
    â€˜Are they not in Stockholm?’
    He shook his head. ‘Warfare is prized in Stockholm, and not much else of late.’
    â€˜It is a pity, then. For I fear poetry would be more likely to win the Queen’s hand for your king.’
    â€˜I think you are correct, Lady Rosamund. But I must still do my duty here.’
    â€˜Ah, yes. We all must do our duty,’ Rosamund said ruefully, remembering her parents’ words.
    Anton smiled at her. ‘But life is not all duty, my lady. We must have some merriment as well.’
    â€˜True. Especially now at Christmas.’
    â€˜Then we have a wager?’
    Rosamund laughed. Perhaps it was the wine, the music, the fatigue from her journey and the late hour, but she suddenly felt deliciously reckless. ‘Very well. If you cannot dance and I cannot skate, I will give you a lock of my hair.’
    â€˜And if it is the opposite? What prize do you claim for yourself?’
    He leaned close to her, so close she could see the etched-glass lines of his face, the faint shadow of beard along his jaw. She could smell the summery lime of his cologne, the clean, warm winter-frost scent of him. A kiss , she almost blurted out, staring at the faint smile on his lips.
    What would he kiss like? Quick, eager—almost overly eager, like Richard? Or slow, lazy, exploring every angle, every sensation? What would he taste like?
    She gulped and took a step back, her gaze falling to his hand curled lightly around the goblet. On his smallest finger was a ring, a small ruby set in intricate gold filigree. ‘That is a pretty bauble,’ she said hoarsely, gesturing to the ring. ‘Would you wager it?’
    He held his hand up, staring at the ring as if he had forgotten it was there. ‘If you wish it.’
    Rosamund nodded. ‘Then done. I will meet you in the Waterside Gallery on Christmas morning for a dance lesson.’
    â€˜And as soon as the Thames is frozen through we will go skating.’
    â€˜Until then, Master Gustavson.’ Rosamund quickly curtsied, and hurried away to join the other maids where they had gathered near the door. It was nearly the Queen’s hour to retire, and they had to accompany her.
    Only once she was entirely across the room from Anton did she draw in a deep breath. She felt as if she had suddenly been dropped back to earth after spinning about in the sky, all unmoored and uncertain. Her head