Chapter 43
The last word had barely left Latham’s mouth before Leif lunged at Westley, dual swords drawn and slicing viciously through the air.
Westley dodged them, steel clanging as he used his sword to push both blades away. This Vanir had no finesse. Leif hacked again and again at Westley, who easily eluded each attack. He caught Solveig’s eyes at the edge of the ring.
She hadn’t moved from her relaxed position, aware that he was playing with the Vanir, putting on a bit of a show. When he winked, he caught the small smile that tugged at the edge of her mouth.
Her full lips were at the forefront of his mind because when not pulled in a taut line, they looked soft and inviting. Sometimes he even thought she wanted him to lean into her. Goddess knew he’d wanted to close that distance when they’d been the ones clashing swords.
Speaking of swords, his attention was pulled back to the present when his red-faced opponent managed to get a little too close for comfort.
Westley decided that the few minutes he’d let this go on was enough.
He bared his teeth in a menacing smile, exposing his canines, and leapt forward, startling Leif into taking a step back.
Their roles reversed with that one small movement. Westley spun and swung his sword in one movement. The clash of steel against steel rang out as Leif brought both swords in front of his face to protect himself. Leif’s eyes went wide, fear flickering through them.
With a twist of his wrist, he disarmed the Vanir. In another spinning move, he was behind Leif, sword at his throat. Westley wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Be careful who you challenge in the future. It would be wise to accept your limitations,” he whispered in the young Vanir’s ear.
“You have to draw blood to win, you filthy Fae,” Leif spat, attempting to jab him with his elbow, but Westley’s grip was tight.
“Look down,” Westley replied. The Vanir tilted his head, noticing a droplet of blood leaking from a small cut on his wrist. Westley had nicked his skin when he disarmed him.
A disappointed murmur rippled through the crowd at the short fight and anticlimactic ending.
Westley dropped his hold on Leif, gave him a small cursory nod, and made his way over to Conalle without waiting for Latham to announce his victory.
The lord was grinning at him when his face fell, his eyes widening.
Westley spun just in time to see Leif charging towards him, swords raised.
Before the prince could react, Solveig stepped between them, not a weapon in sight, and tackled Leif to the ground. His swords clattered away as Solveig pinned his hands behind his back.
“You dare disparage our customs?” she hissed in his ear.
“He’s a Fae!” Leif spat back, struggling without success to break free.
“Solveig, what are you doing?” Latham cried, rushing over to them. As she had all day, she ignored him—this was none of his concern. Her focus remained on Ivarson.
“You disgrace the name of Vanaheim.” She pulled him to his feet and turned to Quillon, who stood on the outskirts of the ring. “Jarl Bjornson, since this vermin is not yet a fully initiated soldier in the ranks of my army, I suggest we collaborate on his punishment.”
Quillon paused, then in a loud, sure voice said, “Take him to the Vault.”
Guards came and collected Leif from Solveig. He thrashed, spewing profanities as he went. Their small dungeon was usually reserved for the mortals they captured, as well as any drunk Vanir who needed to be sequestered.
Leif was taken away and all the while, an annoying insect buzzed around her vying for her attention. She swatted Latham away. Though the prince was at her back, her magic reacting to his presence, she did not acknowledge him. Stepping away from the heat of his body, she left him to go to the jarl.
“We must meet to discuss his punishment,” he said quietly and she nodded.
“Gather the heads of houses and the battalion captains. We will convene in an hour in the council tent,” she ordered. He nodded his agreement and left to arrange the hearing, Latham trailing after him in an attempt to be heard. Solveig took a deep breath and faced the prince.
“Well, that was exciting,” he said blandly.
“Oh, yes. So exciting it was almost a party,” she retorted. His smile transformed his face from that of a warrior to, well, a prince.
“Thanks for saving my life.” He almost sounded sincere.
“We’ll have to test the blades for poison to see if I was right. And if I was, to determine if it was deadly or would’ve merely reduced you to a lump on the ground with no control of your bodily functions.”
He grimaced at the mental picture she conjured. “I’m not sure which sounds worse.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Let’s get this over with, Prince.” She started walking away and he followed.
“As you command, General. Where to?”
“Since you’re the offended party, you’ll need to attend Ivarson’s hearing.”
“Right now?”
“We don’t like to drag these issues out. Better to get it over and done with.”
“Hard and fast. I’m learning so much already,” he said sarcastically. “We Fae like to take our time with things. Really learn the ins and outs of something before we finish. Makes it more satisfying.”
“Or you don’t know what you’re doing so you have to hide that fact behind unnecessary lengthy procedures.”
“Oh, you have no idea how lengthy I can be.”
A dangerous line. They were walking a dangerous line here. Solveig’s core tightened, her blood heating. She couldn’t let him see how much his words, teasing though they may be, affected her.
With a flip of her hand, she replied without looking at him. “Being lengthy without skill is just as disappointing.”
Before he could retort, a commotion drew their attention. They shared a glance before simultaneously drawing their swords and racing towards the front gate. When they arrived, Solveig relaxed her weapon with an exasperated sigh, but the prince kept his sword raised, his body visibly tense.
Maddock rode through with all the pomp and circumstance the Jotunheim Giants regarded themselves with. Perfect timing.
“Citizens of the Southern Wilds, thank you for your warm welcome.” His beady eyes searched the crowd. His smile turned callous when he found Solveig, but all humour dropped from the Giant’s face upon seeing the prince standing beside her, sword still drawn.
“Well, well, well. This is a surprise. Prince Westley of Idavoll. I didn’t know you would be here.”
“Funny, I could say the same thing about you, Maddock.”
Solveig regarded the exchange with intrigue. Maddock dismounted his horse and handed the reins to a stable lad. The stocky commander made his way over to them.
“Lovely to see you again, Tordottir.”
“Wish I could say the same, Maddock.”
“The King of Jotunheim sends his well wishes for a speedy recovery.”
“As you can see, I am quite well, thank you,” she said, gesturing to her fully intact body. The farce of politeness was going to kill her.
“Yes, well, not all wounds are visible,” he said with mock concern. That wiped the fake smile right off her face.
“Careful, Maddock,” the prince hissed. Surprise flitted across Maddock’s expression before he could contain it.
“Say, Prince Westley, have you heard from my brother recently?”
The prince stiffened, the tension in the air thickening.
“I wasn’t aware your brothers mingled with the Fae as you do,” Solveig said. As far as she was aware, the King of Jotunheim had spawned many sons, but the number was always fluctuating. Earning the Giant throne typically required much bloodshed, much to the pleasure of their father.
“Half-brother, I’ll admit. He’s something of an outcast in our family, but the prince here is well acquainted with him.” A muscle in the prince’s jaw twitched when Solveig glanced at him, her confusion growing. “A nasty sort of fellow. I wondered how . . .”
“Enough.” The prince gave the command with such authority and force that Maddock took an involuntary step back. After a second, the Giant raised his hands in the air.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. I was out of turn. If you two will excuse me, I must be going. I have a meeting with General Arlanson.” He strutted away.
Solveig seethed, knowing she shouldn’t let him get under her skin. But no matter how many centuries she lived, there were certain personalities she’d never get used to.
“Who’s his brother?” she asked instead of dishonourably chucking a dagger at the Giant’s receding back.
“No one worth knowing,” the prince responded, his face emotionless. Solveig decided to let the matter drop for now.
“I hate that horrible excuse for a Giant.”
He swivelled his head to look at her, one eyebrow raised.
“What?” she asked.
“I never thought we would agree on anything,” he said matter-of-factly.
Forgetting herself, she smiled at him, his expression reminding her of seeing the moon glow through the clouds after a dark storm. As they stared at each other, something shifted between them. Solveig retreated and broke whatever spell they were under.
“We’d better get to the hearing,” she said.
She led the way as they walked through the camp. The prince followed a bit closer than usual, and when he got so close their hands almost touched, her skin tingled at his presence, energy pulsing between them.
Try as she might, she could not seem to keep her walls firmly intact. If she wasn’t careful, he would ruin her.