Chapter 40
Monarchs, Majesty, and Moonlight
The salted boar was dripping with sweet honey, and the grilled haddock was perfectly seasoned with fresh herbs.
Skjold cracked open another clam, dipped it in melted butter, and slipped it onto Skadi’s tempting pink tongue.
Odin’s eye, I cannot wait to dance with her beneath the stars…
and make love to her for the first time as my wife.
The silver fox fur shimmered in the firelight, the same icy hue as her pale blue eyes. “You are a goddess,” he whispered, kissing the pearlescent skin of her soft cheek. “And I thank all the gods you are mine.”
Jarl Rikard’s deep voice interrupted Skjold’s sensual reverie. “I am relieved to hear that úlvhild has recovered from her critical injury in ísland. You say that Haldor summoned Freyja to heal her?”
“He did indeed, áfi,” Skjold said, leaning slightly forward to address his grandfather. “In the same Dragon’s Leap cave where he summoned her twenty winters ago—when he was the same age I am now.”
“Ah, yes,” Rikard murmured, raising his ornate elkhorn. “When she bestowed his falcon power with Freyja’s Mark.” Jarl Rikard pensively sipped his mead, no doubt recalling the tale of how the goddess had granted Haldor his extraordinary ability to shift into a falcon.
Skjold eyed his blond brute of an uncle, seated on Lord Thorfinn’s right in the place of highest honor.
It had been eight winters since he’d last seen Sweyn, who had been at that time the same age that Skjold was now.
And now, his faeir’s younger brother—the legitimate son of the late King Harald Bluetooth—ruled both Denmark and Norway, a massive and majestic Viking king, crowned by blood and conquest.
“Njord informs me that Sigurd matched my land offer of the Isle of Sheppey with an equally impressive gift of the Isle of Skye as part of Svanhild’s dowry.
” Sweyn twisted his forked blond beard which gave him his eponymous name.
He glanced at Tryggvi, seated beside Skjold, a greedy grin stretching across his scarred, savage face.
“With your marriage to Svanhild, you’ll be Jarl of Sheppey and Skye — a stepping stone for me to reclaim lost Norse territories in Aengaland…
and knock at the door of AEthelred the Unready.
” Sweyn raised his intricately carved horn, etched with blackened runes and adorned with amber beads.
“We’ll hold a summer solstice wedding for Tryggvi and Svanhild,” he said to Jarl Rikard and Sk?rde, “at my royal hall in Heieabyr!”
Skjold glanced around the festive Great Hall, its tall wooden walls adorned with garlands of ivy woven with white hellébore blossoms and mistletoe berries.
Elegantly clad guests laughed and shared good cheer, the clatter of knives and the crackle of the roaring fire in the stone hearth mingling with the appetizing aroma of roasted meats and fresh fish.
Attendants served the final course of the winter solstice wedding feast, a variety of sumptuous desserts— honey cakes sprinkled with toasted walnuts, apple tarts dusted with cinnamon spice, winter pears poached in honey, and tender figs stuffed with creamy goat cheese and crunchy hazelnuts.
As the sweet taste of fruit and the tang of cheese melted on Skjold’s appreciative tongue, King Sweyn rose majestically from the seat of honor.
Silver crown glinting in the firelight atop his braided blond hair, he proudly proclaimed to the enthralled throng, “Let the presentation of royal gifts begin.”
At the king’s gesture, a Danish warrior clad in a gleaming chain mail brynja strode across the polished pinewood floor, a pair of silver armbands laid on a swathe of black velvet reverently held in his outstretched hands.
Sweyn’s deep, sonorous voice reverberated across the Great Hall of Chateau Blanc.
“To Bodo Wolfborn and his fire-hearted bride Sif, I offer this pair of matching silver bands, coiled in the shape of Fenrir, to honor you as úlfhéenar warrior and his chosen lupine mate.” He nodded to the royal guard, who offered the thick silver armbands, engraved with the image of the legendary wolf, to Bodo and Sif.
Skjold watched as Bodo fitted the royal band onto Sif’s slender arm, then placed his own torc around his thick, sinewy limb. Gratitude, honor, and pride shone on their beaming faces as they both bowed humbly before the generous king.
Amidst murmurs of appreciation and hearty applause, Sweyn continued the presentation of royal wedding gifts.
“To Njord ívarrsson, Wolf of the Nordic Seas and his wife Elfi Thorfinnssdóttir, newly named La Louve Blanche—I bequeath a drakkar warship, swift as wind and fierce as wolves. A magnificent vessel unlike any other, she bears the name Sjórúlfr, the Sea Wolf. May her prow bear you into legend—as wolves of wind and sea.”
Elfi and Njord rose together and bowed before the king. Njord’s deep voice boomed across the silent hall. “We thank you for this rare and generous offering, King Sweyn. To command Sjórúlfr, a vessel named for us as sea wolves, is a royal wedding gift that Elfi and I shall forever honor.”
As Njord and Elfi resumed their seats, Skjold squeezed Skadi’s hand, his heart hammering like Mjollnir at the realization that his uncle Sweyn would present their wedding gift next.
Skadi flashed him a radiant smile, the silver kransen atop her elaborate braids glistening like the wedding band upon her pearlescent finger.
Clad in deep blue and shimmering silver, like the frosty fjords of Denmark and Norway, King Sweyn stood in sublime regal splendor before the hushed hall. He turned his scarred, fork- bearded face toward Skadi and Skjold. “For my nephew Skjold, prophesied Son of the Dragon,
and his bride Skadi, Ljósálfar healer and wielder of frostfire flame, I bestow two royal gifts. First, the drakkar longship Hrímdreki, her frostdragon prow carved with the image of the bride, her keel kissed by flame. May she carry you swiftly across the nine seas, in a saga of fire and ice.”
Sweyn’s commanding voice rose like waves crashing against the white chalk cliffs below the castle.
“And second, I grant you land on the island of Austv?goy, in the wild north of Norway, and with it, the clifftop castle of Hrimborg—the Frost Fortress—where the wind howls like wolves and the sea glows with starlight. As soulbound mates of frostfire flame, may Hrímborg be a haven for you both.”
At a subtle gesture from the king, the mail-clad attendant appeared again, the swathe of black velvet draped across his forearms. Resting at its center, gleaming dully in the firelight, lay a single iron key—ornate yet austere, its bow wrought in the shape of outstretched frostdragon wings.
“The key to Hrímborg,” Sweyn declared, his deep voice echoing through the hall. “May her gates know none but you, and her halls echo your names into skaldic song."
Hand in hand, Skadi and Skjold rose and bowed before the king.
“Your royal wedding endowments are a tremendous honor, Uncle,” Skjold proudly proclaimed.
“A clifftop fortress in Norway and a magnificent frostdragon ship—each a legacy worthy of saga.” He turned to Skadi, lifting her hand to his lips in quiet reverence before facing Sweyn once more.
“My bride and I are deeply grateful for your unparalleled generosity.”
When King Sweyn, Skjold, and Skadi sat down, and the last echoes of Skjold’s words faded into the firelit hall, a reverent stillness settled over the gathered guests. From her seat at the high table, Queen íssla rose with elegant grace.
Pale blonde locks like liquid silver, ethereal gown of pure white silk, moonstones in her elegant crown glowing with otherworldly light, the radiant Ljósálfar queen illuminated the entire hall.
Her limpid voice flowed like a pure, crystalline spring as she bestowed her royal wedding gifts.
To Bodo and Sif, she offered a large moonstone from álfheim, imbued with Ljósálfar protection for their hearth and home.
To Skadi and Skjold, she gave a moonstone cottage on the eastern shore of Lyrian Lake, where they might commemorate their wedding—and celebrate each winter solstice—by gathering frosted starfruit from their very own trees.
“And to my son Njord and his sjóvaettir bride Elfi,” the queen declared, “I offer the clifftop castle of Miralir— Lyre of the Sea. Built from sacred Ljósálfar moonstone, the luminous castle overlooks the Elandrian Sea.”
Queen íssla motioned for Elfi to stand.
With a quick, expectant glance at Njord, Elfi rose and faced the ethereal queen.
íssla’s ephemeral voice floated like falling snow.
“So that you may enter álfheim and dwell in Miralir with Njord and your daughter soon to be born, I shall enhance your sjósóngr power as a billow maiden mermaid with the Ljósálfar magic of mir glir—the Light Elven Song of the Sea.” With a graceful flutter of long, lustrous fingers, Queen íssla bathed Elfi in radiant white light.
A collective gasp swept across the rapt crowd as the shimmer of Elven light was absorbed into Elfi’s glowing skin.
At the high table, the three couples rose and bowed before the resplendent queen.
Skjold humbly inclined his head, resting a hand over his pounding heart. “Your gifts honor us, Queen íssla. Skadi and I are deeply grateful for the moonstone cottage in álfheim.”
Skadi added softly, “The frosted starfruit of Lyrian Lake will remind us always of you.”
Bowing his head with Sif, Bodo expressed his reverent gratitude. “Our hearth will always carry your blessing.”
Elfi grasped Njord’s hand and smiled at Queen íssla. Ljósálfar light shone in her sea goddess eyes. “And Miralir shall echo your eternal name with the Ljósálfar Song of the Sea.”