Chapter 61 Solveig
Solveig felt the pain in her shoulder before anything else. She must not have been out for very long, or it would’ve started to heal. When she attempted to straighten her head, a warm band moved across her midsection, pulling her tighter.
“I have you. Hold on,” a concerned voice murmured in her ear.
Many things came clear all at once. The voice was the prince’s, the warm band was his arm, and he was straddling her from behind as they rode on a horse.
Her eyes snapped open, and upon glimpsing the copper hair, she relaxed. They were riding Helle. She tried to orient herself, but her head spun and lolled back against the prince’s chest.
“Did we all make it out?” Solveig asked, voice hoarse. She adjusted her hips and the prince let out a small cough.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.
“I didn’t ask you to ride behind me,” she muttered under her breath.
“That’s an odd way of saying thank you.” His voice filled with relief.
“Did I miss the part where you saved me from getting shot with a magical arrow?” She moved her shoulder and winced. “Never mind, I must’ve imagined that.”
He chuckled. “Even half conscious, you’re still barbed.”
“What can I say, you bring out the worst in me, Prince.”
A small sigh escaped his lips. “Well, you could thank me for getting you out of the village alive. That has to be worth something.”
“I have a feeling that was Helle’s doing more than yours.
” She cringed as she reached down to pat the side of Helle’s neck, her horse giving a small whinny in response.
“I’m shocked she’s letting you ride her,” she said as she sat back against him.
Only because she had to. Her head spun, too dizzy to sit upright.
“When I tried to put you on Njord, she threw what I can only describe as a temper tantrum.”
Solveig laughed quietly. “Looks like they don’t quite trust each other yet after all.”
“I think they’re getting there.”
“Maybe,” she said after a loaded pause.
“You obviously couldn’t ride by yourself, seeing as you were completely unconscious.”
“Again, magical arrow, Prince. Magical arrow that pierced my impenetrable Dwarven-made armour,” she slurred, her head fuzzy as though she was suffering the after-effects of too much ale.
“Your armour was made by the Dwarven?” Shock coloured his tone.
“Shit, I think that was supposed to be a secret.” It had been a secret—only the queens and Gerrie had known, as her mothers were the ones who’d sent her to Svartalfheim to have it made and Gerrie had accompanied her. She twisted in her seat to look up at him.
She hadn’t been this close to his face since he’d woken her from that nightmare. “Promise you won’t betray me.”
He stared down at her with an intensity that was not warranted by this conversation.
The rough pads of his fingers traced her jaw before he carefully cupped her face as he leaned closer, ensuring her sole focus was on him.
For a moment Solveig thought he was going to kiss her, and her lips parted on an inhale.
His eyes flicked down at the movement but quickly returned to meet her glassy-eyed stare.
“I promise,” he vowed.
Magic surged under her skin and a spark of light flared between her cheek and his palm, an invisible thread joining them before her magic shocked them apart. Neither spoke for a while until a thought occurred to Solveig.
“Is Njord okay?” she asked, voice laced with worry.
“It hurts to hear you’re more worried about a horse than about me. What if I’d been wounded? You didn’t even ask,” he said in mock outrage.
The horse must be fine if he was joking around.
“If you were wounded you obviously wouldn’t be capable of holding me up, you ass.”
“If Helle would let me, I’d throw you off this horse right now, you ungrateful witch.”
A genuine smile spread across her face and she leaned over to pat Helle’s neck again. The prince’s body shook with his laughter. She tried not to think of what else she could feel with him sharing her saddle. There was not enough space for both of them.
His strong legs cradled her hips and thighs, each of the muscles presenting as he expertly guided Helle through the forest. The movements of his hips rocked against hers with the sway of her horse climbing over tree roots and rocks.
The arm, his arm, she felt upon waking had not moved. Someone had removed her armour, and the prince’s was gone as well. She assumed it was in a saddlebag somewhere.
His large hand curled up and around her rib cage.
Every once in a while, his thumb stroked her in a slow, thoughtful movement.
She tried not to think about how her body was reacting and failed miserably.
Unarmoured and weakened from her injury, she expected to feel vulnerable and exposed. She didn’t. Quite the opposite.
Despite him making light of the situation, he could easily kill her right now. She didn’t know what it meant that she knew he wouldn’t. She was . . . safe.
With his heart beating against her back and his slow steady breaths that caressed her neck, there were other feelings she had instead.
“To answer your question”—the prince’s words jolted her from her thoughts of his body against hers—“Njord is perfectly fine. Noren is leading him a few horses up.” He gestured ahead of them, bringing his chest more fully against her back, the arm around her waist pulling her just the tiniest bit closer.
She didn’t think they could get closer in the already too small saddle, but somehow he managed.
Looking ahead, riding on Njord, was a mortal man with blond hair, and from his profile she could see his beard covering almost his whole face.
“The Lionhead,” she whispered. “We got him.”
“Your arrow took him down and your guards captured him.”
“At least this mission wasn’t a total disaster.” At least she hadn’t been a total disaster is what she really meant.
“I hope it was worth it,” the prince said darkly. She shifted so she could see his face, surprised at his sudden change of tone. He was staring daggers at the back of Latham’s head. That’s when she beheld the size of their party.
“How many?” she whispered, not sure she was ready for the answer.
The prince tilted his chin down, their faces close. His eyes were a swirl of outrage and mourning. “Sixty-five Vanir and thirty-seven Fae.”
One hundred and two soldiers. Which meant only forty had survived. All for the price of one mortal. Rage brewed in Solveig’s blood and she tried to nudge Helle forward, but the prince pulled on the reins, attempting to hold the strong-willed horse and rider back.
Neither were happy about it.
“Think clearly, General. If you go barging in there headfirst—and wounded, I might add—he’ll find a way to ban you from the Southern Wilds entirely, and you won’t be able to help your people at all.”
Solveig hated that he was right. Latham would take advantage of the fact that she couldn’t hold her weapon, let alone herself, right now. Bastard.
“So I just sit here and do nothing?” she hissed, redirecting her anger.
“For now. Then I’m sure that beautiful brain of yours will come up with the perfect revenge scheme.”
Solveig stiffened in her seat. Revenge. She’d been plotting revenge on the Fae who had captured her, though with everything going on at camp, it had taken a back seat.
Even with the distractions, she was making very little headway. So far, Booth had been the only one who’d suffered. Soon, though . . . she let that thought trail off as she leaned back against the prince.
Revenge on Latham was certainly an intriguing thought. If someone had told her a year ago that she would have a reason to even think about harming Latham, she would’ve laughed in their face.
“I don’t want revenge on Latham,” she said suddenly, realizing it was the truth.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
The prince paused and then asked, “Do you still love him?”
“It’s complicated.” The prince stiffened, but she went on. “When we were young, I thought I was in love with him. I thought he was my Hjarta, my twin soul, and I wanted a future where I chose him.” Solveig paused, remembering their youth and how sure she’d been—despite her mothers’ hesitations.
“But when we moved up the ranks together, I began seeing what kind of male he was when under pressure, especially when I became General and outranked him.
“We were both stubborn, but he was not pliable for teaching and learning. Or taking orders. It made me doubt him, and I started to lose faith in us. I wouldn’t let us be together because he was dangerous to be around.
He put many of our soldiers in deadly situations because he thought he knew better.
“When our magic was taken, I assumed I would lose that kinship feeling with him, since the Hjarta is a magical bond, but after we spent a night together and nothing had changed, I knew we weren’t meant for each other.
Latham could never accept that. I still loved him, in a way, but in my heart, I let him go.
“It’s always been that way. Latham has tried to hold on, to prove himself worthy of the bond, but it’s just not there.”
Besides Gerrie, she had never let anyone in like this before. It unnerved her to be so comfortable sharing with the prince—she chalked it up to the poison from her wound addling her mind.
It was a while before he said anything.
“I used to be pitied for not having a mate.
Most Fae find theirs within the century after maturation, but I never did.
I was so angry and jealous watching my sisters and brother find their mates.
I tried to force myself into a bond when I fell in love the first time, but it never took.
Even finding someone to marry without a bond, which my parents had tried to arrange, was difficult.
“Eventually, I assumed the gods hadn’t made someone for me.
They needed me to focus on my duties for the Riddari.
Or maybe I was going to die early and they didn’t want me leaving a broken mate behind.
” His voice cracked before he cleared his throat.
“Whatever the reason, I count myself lucky that I never bonded.
Every single day, I witness the heartache of mates who lost their very soul to the war or had their bond stripped away by the Block.
“To be connected to someone so deeply and then have it torn away would be devastating. It must’ve been difficult for you to feel that with Latham only for him to let you down.
I’m sorry.” The apology was so loaded, Solveig didn’t know what to do with it.
She nodded and placed her hand on the arm around her, giving it a light squeeze.
“I’m not surprised no one could bear mating with you. You’re an arrogant ass,” she teased. The prince laughed and the sound rushed through her, cracking the walls of her heart.
“Better an arrogant ass than a viperous witch,” he teased back. Solveig chuckled too, and they fell into a thoughtful silence.
The trek back to camp was uneventful, Solveig and the prince trading stories of their respective lives. He was easy to talk to, and Solveig found herself genuinely softening towards him. She made sure to insult him whenever she felt anything more than tolerance.
She insulted him a lot.
By the time they finally made it back to camp, Solveig’s shoulder was searing with pain and it was difficult to speak through her clenched teeth. The prince helped her dismount before they made their way to the infirmary with the other injured soldiers.
When they reached the main medical tent, Laeknir’s back was to them as he directed the flow of soldiers to beds. Solveig’s stomach lurched at the grave look he wore when he faced them.
“What happened?” Solveig whispered, knowing she most likely didn’t want the answer.
Laeknir didn’t give one. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope. It was addressed to her from the queens. The seal was damaged beyond recognition like the person opening it hadn’t had time to be careful.
“You opened it?”
“Turn it over,” he said gruffly.
On the other side of the envelope, there were instructions for someone to open the letter if Solveig wasn’t there when it arrived. She didn’t recognize the handwriting as her vision blurred.
“What does it say?” Solveig’s legs began to shake with the effort of keeping herself upright.
The pain in her shoulder had spread throughout her upper body.
Before she had a chance to collapse, the prince was there, supporting her.
Laeknir watched the interaction with blatant curiosity but said nothing.
“Just read it, Sol.”
Solveig opened the letter with trembling hands and began to read. Her eyes grew wide as she took in the five short sentences. The letter was written so quickly it almost didn’t look like Aelfsi’s usually composed handwriting.
Solveig, it’s time. You are summoned to Asgard. Arrive in one month’s time. Not a second later. Gerrie is gone.
Gerrie is gone. I got out.
Gerrie is gone. I got out.
Gerrie is gone. I got out.
Solveig’s mind screeched to a halt, and she let out a scream that rattled the nearby mountains.