Chapter 22
The elevator stopped, doors parting on a prism of glass and light. I strode into the Sky Tower’s foyer. The last strands of sunset filled the circular chamber, reflecting off the gilded accents and igniting the space.
Every square inch of me was sore. My feet, my nails… my arms didn’t have it in them to redo my braid, and now my hair was a tangle of damp, matted layers.
But I didn’t care. This feeling… it was magnetic. Ever since I’d landed that first punch, a jab to Gunnar’s chest, after the match with Freyja, the adrenaline hadn’t stopped coursing through my veins.
We’d stayed in the ring after all the other Eyes had left. Until our noses were numb and our knuckles were raw and our sides were sore from blocking.
I shot him a glance, the orange, red, and yellow streaks funneling through the windows illuminating him in the alpenglow. My steps grew heavier as we left the naturally lit foyer into the stone-walled hall. I froze in front of my door.
“How am I supposed to go back to this cage?” I huffed out a cold laugh.
Dimples indented his cheek. “Because that’s what the queen has ordered.”
My muscles quivered, weak from being knocked to the ground so many times.
I let myself slouch against the doorframe.
Gunnar followed the movement. “You should get some rest.”
He was right: I should go inside, I should listen to him, I should avoid pissing Her Royal Highness off.
But the thrill from today, from this very moment, tore away reason, so instead, I blurted out, “Let’s do something.”
He raised a dark brow.
“I deserve a little fun,” I added. “I got the shit kicked out of me today.”
“And you were a total champ about it.” He bit his lip to hold in a smile.
“I won’t be in Iceland much longer—your queen is supposed to guide me to Jarearbaeli tomorrow. After that, I’m out.” I should get points for persistence, right?
“Providing encouragement in direct conflict with the queen’s orders is flirting with treason.
” Clasping his hands, he walked backwards towards the elevator, dark eyes gleaming with mischief.
“But if one was interested in having dinner and drinks outside their gilded prison with off-duty Eyes, one might head to the lower tunnels.”
The lower tunnels. Was Gunnar inviting me to… something? Butterflies whirled in my stomach. “Where might one find those?”
“Rumor has it they’re two floors beneath the main level.” Putting his palms up, he added with a smirk, “But what do I know?”
Hand hovering over the doorknob, I asked, “And when should one expect to be there?”
He seemed to weigh the risk of replying. Just as the elevator doors slid shut, he answered, “Eight thirty.”
Palms sweaty, I pushed open the door, warmth from the fire welcoming me immediately.
I hustled across the room, past the mirrored hutches and cabinets, in a blur of damp black nylon and messy brown hair.
My phone lay on the coffee table, where I’d left it. Finger tapping the screen, I huffed out a breath. Seven forty-five. No time at all to shower, change, and successfully find Gunnar’s meeting point.
“You’re back late.” The voice had me almost jumping out of my skin, but of course it was Eldi.
“Sorry, I…” Forgot you were there felt a bit rude to say. “I had a draining day.”
The flames billowed, almost playfully. “I can see that.”
There was so much I wanted to ask her, so much I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t have the time. Pulling off my shoes, I headed for the bedroom, the hardwood creaking beneath my hurried steps.
“Where are you off to now?”
“Dinner! With some of the Eyes.” Ripping off my hoodie, I craned my neck just past the doorframe. “The queen won’t care, right?”
Fiery shadows flickered off the floral wallpaper. “I can’t say she’ll be thrilled. All the more reason to go, in my opinion.”
“I like the way you think.”
I rushed into the bathroom and stopped on the threshold, the ivory stone cool beneath my toes. The tub was already filled. Steaming, with bubbles.
“Helga,” Eldi called, picking up on the silence. “She filled and drained it twice. She didn’t know when you’d be back. I would’ve just kept it heated for you, but I’m in here.”
My palm covered my heart. Bless her.
There wasn’t enough time to soak and actually enjoy the bath, but at least I could lather my hair with shampoo and conditioner, which I did as fast as humanly possible, even if it meant rinsing it out as soon as it went on.
Water dripping off my skin, I wrapped myself in a towel and tiptoed to the vanity.
I pulled out a drawer. The handle fell off the wood, screws clattering to the floor.
Oops. I’d packed my own toiletries, but most of those were nearly empty, their caps having busted open on the airplane.
But these… Picking up a glass bottle, I pulled off the lid, and sprayed—vetiver and jasmine.
These looked new, and lavish, and smelled better than anything I’d brought.
First, I tackled the essentials: deodorant, moisturizer, brushing my teeth. The blow-dryer was convenient, if out of place. But that’s how everything in this castle was. A hodgepodge of magic and electricity, ice and stone, everything so at odds.
After drying my hair, I tried another drawer. Stuck. I pulled harder, and it abruptly shot forward, stopping just before it crashed to the floor. Oops, again.
Makeup: an even more foreign concept. My body trembled with the swell of nerves as I fanned out the concealer, blush, liner, mascara. The first did an okay job covering up the faint bruising along my jawline.
I opened a compact next, the powder bright and shimmering. Bronzer? I feverishly applied it to my cheekbones and moved on to my eyes, swiping neutral color on my lids, then combing out my lashes.
There. Stepping back, I looked in the mirror. Ugh, those brows. They were utterly untamable without Mau. My entire face was. No amount of makeup could hide the bags under my eyes, or the swell of my lip where Freyja had decked me earlier.
Why did I care so much? It’s not like this was a date; it’s not like this was just the two of us. Gunnar was my friend. He had invited me to some kind of get-together. Other people would be there.
I backed away from the counter and headed straight to the armoire, throwing open the doors.
My shoulders curled in relief. I don’t know why, but I was fulling expecting sparkly dresses and frilly blouses. It did have those, including a lacy pajama set I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, but other than that…
“It’s spelled to have what you need,” Eldi called, as if she knew where I was standing just by the pattern of my footsteps, by the squeal of the rusty metal hinges.
As I riffled through the layers of fabric, I realized I was missing a majorly important detail. “Shit. I forgot to ask him what to wear.”
“Knowing the Eyes”—a log snapped in the hearth—“I’d recommend stylish but practical. They like their posh dinners, but they also have no problem wrestling an arctic yeti after dessert.”
“Noted.” Given that detail, I landed on a pair of ripped black jeans, ankle boots—good for my dagger—an olive silk camisole, and a cropped wool jacket. My hair I swept into a bun.
As I strode through the living area, the trinkets shaking in their glass hutches with the heavy thuds of my heels, a quiet voice floated in the air, stopping me in my tracks.
“Have fun tonight.” The slight sadness to her words was like a stab to the chest.
“I will, Eldi.” I turned towards the fireplace, where her flames were tinged blue. “Thank you.”
The elevator dipped below the glacier, dropping me into what felt like the heart of it. A shudder ran up my spine, the air growing colder the lower I went.
Part of me figured the Eyes would’ve already left by the time the lift stopped—that it was all a joke to begin with, that when the doors parted and the soft light from the passage filled the car, Gunnar wouldn’t be standing there in his dark pants, burgundy coat, matching beanie, back pressed against the wall.
But he was.
My breath clouded in front of me. “You’re here.”
Dropping the heel of his boot from the stone to the floor, he straightened. “You’re early.”
“Oh.” My heart stuttered. Why was it doing that? “I thought I was late.”
“Well, you’re still earlier than I thought you would be.”
“Hey.” I smacked his bicep with a playful backhand, but a cool breeze pulled the smile from my face. “Where does this tunnel lead to?”
He put his hands in his pockets, curling his shoulders for warmth. “The royal driveway.”
Royal. “Is Freyja coming?” The question knotted my stomach, especially as he easily strode forward, shooting me a backwards glance.
“She is.”
I matched his quick steps. “Doesn’t she have, like, official princess stuff to do?”
It was much less showy down here, no murals or pictures or decorative bowls, just mud and snow, the icy worn cobblestone, and the sporadic sconce.
“This is more pressing.” The golden light from the flickering Galdur gleamed in his eyes. “It might be good to get you guys together in a less stressful environment. If—”
“She wasn’t so stubborn we might get along?” I cut in.
“And what have you done to attempt to befriend her?”
“I’ve done everything! She just hates me.”
“Freyja doesn’t hate you. She has a hard time trusting people.” His lips eased into the kind of grin that made me stumble over the flat ground. “Kind of like someone else I know…”
A cool draft funneled through the corridor. I pulled my jacket tighter, specks of snow catching on the wool, and focused on my feet.
“Honestly,” he added, “I think she sees something in you.”
“Like what?”
“Something she likes. And it spooks her.” The shadows started to disperse, icy white moonlight pouring in from the end of the tunnel and pooling over the stone.
“As a princess and a soldier, she has to work hard to find genuine friends. Even the ones that claim they’re loyal are by her side one second, and the next they’re talking shit about her. ”