Chapter Eight
Was that true? Were they all waiting for him to take the first bite?
It seemed so ridiculous, but he supposed it made sense and all of the hall’s eyes were watching him expectantly. He’d been so wrapped up in speaking with Skadi he’d not noticed until now.
When he did nothing, she continued with an exasperated expression, ‘I would not wish for the food to spoil. You insisted on a feast, but we will be limited this winter without more supplies coming from outside, Sven provides our winter grain…or, at least, he used to.’
He reached for the circular loaf of bread.
The top was dusted with what looked like a colourful burnt yellow spice that would cost more in weight than his leather and fur-lined boots.
A flower motif had been cut into the dough before baking, the petals rising up, as if seeking the sun like a waterlily.
He glanced at the other side dishes and noticed they were presented in similar ways. The honey had been poured into an elaborate gold and rock-crystal jar, designed to look like a beehive, the gold spoon crafted into the shape of a bee, with an extra-long stinger as its handle.
The roasted vegetables were in pottery dishes made to look like wicker baskets, as if they’d come straight from the field, and arrived at their table already cooked and drizzled in an herb-infused oil.
The braised cabbages with bacon were in pottery bowls shaped and painted like cabbage leaves.
Even the butter had been moulded into a silver cup shaped like a butter barrel, the blunt knife stabbed in its centre looking like a churning oar.
Whimsical and ridiculously extravagant.
But he supposed this was what came of idle hands. Skadi might not realise it, but she had been kept prisoner for nearly twenty years. A willing prisoner, but still a…captive.
He tore off a petal from the bread and reached for the honey, the silver stinger thin and fiddly in his hands.
But he persevered, drizzling a small amount on to the tip of the delicate petal.
The salt dish was nearby and, of course, it was shaped into a sapphire flat fish.
He pinched a little of it and sprinkled it on to the honey.
He glanced at Skadi and her face was tight and pale as she watched his movements. He wondered if it was the tradition of sharing bread and salt that bothered her—as by the laws of hospitality, it ensured no harm came to a visiting guest.
But, of course, he was not a guest. He was Thrudheim’s ruler and now her husband.
No, it was obvious, what bothered her was that he knew how she liked her bread and honey. Or…at least, how she’d used to eat it.
All those years ago, on that terrible day when he had arrived to claim his betrothed, he’d watched her in fascination at the evening meal, as she carefully added a tiny sprinkle of salt to her bread and honey.
It had confused him and he had tried it himself immediately, surprised by how the sweetness seemed to intensify with the sprinkle of salt.
He lifted the petal and held it in front of Skadi’s lips. Her eyes widened but, with a quick glance at the watching crowd, she opened her mouth and bit into the bread with pearly white teeth.
The crust of the bread crunched with a soft crack and then she pulled away delicately, chewing the bread and wiping the crumbs away with an embroidered napkin.
His entire body stiffened with longing and he wasn’t sure what had aroused him.
Was it the secret knowledge they both shared, or the sight of her lips so close to his fingers, willingly opening for him?
He shifted in his seat, for once grateful for the discomfort as it brought him back to his senses. Over half of the petal was left and he popped the entirety of it into his mouth and chewed.
The spell was broken.
The awaiting crowd immediately began to eat, with a tide of clattering dishes and cracking of bread, the sounds running from the front to the back of the hall in a noisy wave, although most of it was from his men.
Thrudheim’s people were solemn after their quick and unexpected defeat.
The locals did not care to speak with his men, as if they were still uncertain and afraid of his arrival.
He could understand that—he’d tried to limit the damage of his invasion, but there had still been a handful of deaths and plenty of injuries.
He carved the suckling pig, for the first time confident in his task, and grateful that it meant he had to stand up.
There was a large silver trencher beside it and he laid the slices of meat and crackling on top.
After he’d filled the trencher, he turned to Skadi, who was watching him thoughtfully while sipping from her glass of wine.
‘Is that enough?’
‘I should think so,’ she replied tartly, then nodded to a nearby servant who lifted the remainder of the suckling pig and took it to a nearby table to add to their offering.
It was torn apart in moments by his hungry men—they’d not had fresh meat in months.
The sheer glut on display was overwhelming, each table had mutton stews, or some kind of roasted joint available.
They crammed it in their mouths as if afraid they would never taste it again.
He knew that feeling well and smiled, which only made Skadi look at him with further disgust.
He sat back down on the cursed throne. It was somehow even more uncomfortable than before.
Had she made an offering to the house elves, asking them to place tiny thorns in the stone?
He swore his trousers snagged on the seat as he shifted awkwardly for the hundredth time.
He offered the trencher of meat to Skadi, who stabbed at it with her eating knife and picked up one small slice, before laying it carefully on her plate.
He was sure she’d taken so little just to make him appear foolish.
‘I can get the rest,’ she said firmly. ‘There is no need to serve me every dish.’
It felt like a rebuke, although he had no idea what he’d done wrong.
He had thought to show her respect. Irritated by her ill humour and his own discomfort, he began to serve himself in silence, heaping the variety of food on to his platter and then eating it with relish.
He hoped that some sort of inspiration for conversation would soon flow.
Had Thrudheim become his prison now?
After everything he and his mother had sacrificed to regain his birthright, was a miserable marriage his only reward?
This was not the marriage he had imagined. No, he’d thought it would be a little awkward at first, as he would have to learn to forgive her, but he’d hoped in the end they would be comfortable together. Except, she’d not asked for forgiveness…and it was clear she hated him.
He’d been so focused on getting to this point—of finally winning back Skadi and Thrudheim, that he’d not actually considered what married life with Skadi would be like.
You have everything you ever wanted…and you are still not content?
But what did he want from her? Love? Such things were for lust-addled youths, not grown men and women. Besides, what could he possibly say to charm her?
Condolences for your dead husband…the one whom I killed.
Better to be practical—she would understand him in time. ‘You should make a speech to your people. Reassure them that all is well.’
Skadi stopped chewing and stared at him as if appalled by the suggestion. ‘Is it? Is all well?’
‘Yes, as I have said before, you and your daughter are safe with me.’
Skadi leaned in close, and he caught the scent of her perfume, which was also extravagant and whimsical, like her array of pretty dishes.
One of the many requests she’d made today had been to order a special perfume made and brought to her personally by her handmaid.
He’d taken it—perhaps wrongly—as a sign that she might be more willing to welcome him as her husband.
However, he’d not felt particularly welcomed since sitting down to eat with her.
Which was proven even further, when she hissed back at him, ‘Safe? You broke into my home and forced me to marry you!’
‘It was necessary,’ He shrugged, dismissing her outrage. In his mind, he’d done nothing wrong and, eventually, once she began to trust him, his Queen would feel the same… He hoped. ‘Your perfume smells nice,’ he added, hoping a compliment might ease her anger.
‘I’m not…’ She blinked, confused by his awkward flattery—she wasn’t alone. He was beginning to wonder if he would fail at the one task he’d thought would be easy…being happy. Her mouth snapped shut for a moment, before she huffed, ‘You had no right to do any of this!’
‘I do and you know it.’ He kept the statement crisp and calm, not wanting to rile her, but wanting to make his point clear.
Fixing her with a heavy look, he added, ‘We were betrothed. I stood right there…’ He pointed at the bottom of the dais with his eating knife.
‘Twice! Once to ask for your hand in marriage—which was granted!’ He barked the last word sharply.
He might have only seen six winters the first time, but he remembered it clearly.
‘And…well, we all know what happened when I came to claim you for the second time after your father’s death. ’
For the first time, while speaking to him, her eyes softened with genuine sympathy. ‘You were too young.’
‘As were you.’
Her spine stiffened and her black-rimmed eyes narrowed with fury and indignation.
‘I did the best for my people and for myself! A ten-year-old boy could not rule Thrudheim, or even be a true husband to me for several more years! The petty Kings were planning to overthrow me! Do you have any idea what I was facing?’ Her voice had risen, but he knew it was fuelled by guilt as well as rage.
She had doubted her decision, he was now certain of it, and it gave him a glimmer of hope for the future.
‘I understand why you felt that way.’
Her face reddened, but after a quick glance at the watching and curious crowd—who’d become significantly quieter since the start of their argument—she lowered her voice.
‘You understand? Yet you still judge me for it! Killed my husband—Thrudheim’s King—and for what?
A promise given to a child? You threatened the life of my daughter and forced me to marry you, all so that you could be King!
Have you even considered that perhaps the reason my daughter does not wish to attend our wedding feast is because you murdered her father!
A father she has not yet mourned, because he died only two weeks ago! ’
By the time she had finished her rant, she was breathless and he realised how much Heimdall must have meant to her. His hope died just as quickly as it had flickered to life. He could not find the words to answer her.
‘Do you deny killing him?’ she snapped.
It was clear she would never forgive him for killing the man she loved. He met her eyes and sealed their miserable fate. ‘I do not deny it.’
‘You have no shame for what you have done?’
‘None. And I would do it again.’ Turning away, he picked up his glass chalice and was about to sip from it, resolved to the grim future that lay ahead.
A knife clattered to the dais floor, metal on stone. Skadi must have dropped her eating knife. He glanced between the two thrones, but saw nothing. Skadi was staring at him expectantly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the knuckles white as bone.
‘My eating knife… I think it landed by your feet. Please can you get it for me?’ she asked politely, which threw him far more than anything else she’d said tonight.
The thrones were made of heavy stone, so he couldn’t push back his seat to take a better look.
Putting down his chalice, he nodded and crouched down beneath the heavy tablecloth. On the dais floor he saw the knife lying on the ground a couple of feet away. It was further from their feet than he would have expected.
However, crawling beneath a table was far more pleasant than facing her accusations or that awful seat, so he shuffled around until he could reach it, then clambered back out with as much dignity as he could muster. He took the time to wipe the blade with his own untouched linen napkin.
At least it had given him a moment to consider his next words to her, ‘I am not sorry about Heimdall, but I am sorry about Astra losing her father at such a young age. We both know the pain of that.’
Skadi continued to stare at him with a red face. She didn’t even thank him as he handed her the knife. Instead, she stared at him intensely and then surprised him by asking, ‘You must have had help to grow such an army. Have the petty Kings decided to revolt against King Sven?’
‘Many are not happy with him, but very few have the courage to go against him.’
She frowned. ‘But you convinced some of them? King Leif? If you think he will support you against King Sven, then you are mistaken. The man lacks warriors and a spine.’
‘Not him.’
‘Surely not King Erik?’
‘You think all of my men are gathered together from an assortment of disgruntled petty kings, with no real alliance to speak of?’ He laughed, picking up his glass chalice and gesturing to his men with it. Her shrewd eyes followed his movement like a hawk.
‘Are they not?’ she asked the question just as he was about to drink, reaching out her hand to rest it on his elbow to stop him. The touch surprised him, and he lowered his arm to see her better. The heat of her palm soaking through the cloth of his tunic raised goosebumps along his arms.
‘There were a handful of mercenaries who sought glory—but they proved themselves to be unfit.’ He frowned as he remembered the men who had attacked Skadi in her chamber. ‘Half of my army is made up of the men I fought and trained with in the east.’
Her hand tightened on his elbow and his lower body stirred with desire. ‘The other half?’
‘King Olaf.’
He smiled at the shock on her face, and lifted the glass to his lips, trying to pretend he was not affected by her touch, despite feeling lightheaded.
Why did her touch unsettle him? His heart seemed to leap into a running beat whenever she was close.
Gritting his teeth against the intoxicating scent of her, he opened his lips to drink.
Suddenly, she jumped, or thumped his arm—he wasn’t sure which—and the chalice spilled scarlet liquid down his tunic.
Thankfully, his reactions were quick and he managed to save the precious glass from falling…
or at least he would have, if her hand hadn’t then flicked out a second time to knock it out of his hand.
It smashed on the stone floor beside him, and he stared at the shattered pieces and spray of wine on the dais floor in shock, as an uneasy thought slowly crept in.
Poison.