Chapter Twelve
The unmistakable sound of Freya’s footsteps trailed behind as Astrid stormed from the great hall to the castle, her cloak billowing behind her.
How utterly humiliating. Not Freya herself, though it was hard to deny Freya’d started it. But Astrid had reacted poorly. She’d challenged Freya, knowing exactly what she was getting into. Together, they’d caused a spectacle Astrid had no doubt would be a source of gossip for some time to come.
Somewhere along the way, the absurdity had struck Astrid, and she’d been unable to hold in her laughter. She had laughed with reckless abandon, unable to stop. Everyone would think she was in hysterics—unfit to be queen any longer.
The guards at the castle doors moved aside for Astrid to enter, but she could hardly see them through her tears.
“Your Majesty!” Freya called.
The urge to retreat overwhelmed Astrid. There was too much attention focused on the two of them. When had the barrier Astrid put up between herself and her subjects become so thin when it came to Freya? Was there anything left keeping them apart?
Not if Freya was chasing Astrid down the castle halls.
Stars.
Astrid picked up speed. Freya was fast, but Astrid’s legs were longer. Alarmed castle guards—not even of her félag—joined in her stampede, protecting her while she was unguarded.
She grabbed her cloak in her fist and leaped up the stairs two at a time until she was back at her own wing of the castle.
Hedda stood at the top of the stairs. Right away, she jumped into action.
Hedda dismissed the guards who followed Astrid, thanking them for their service. A responsibility for Astrid’s captain.
More laughter bubbled up Astrid’s throat. Only one orc was doing her job properly around here, and she’d openly expressed her distaste for Astrid. What a fine queen Astrid was, stomping out of dinners and throwing tantrums.
Astrid threw open the door to her antechamber. Down the hall, Freya shouted again. Damn her.
Stubbornly, Astrid slumped into one of the chairs and waited for everyone to catch up.
A breathless Freya came in first, followed by Hrothgar and Hedda.
Hrothgar looked sullenly at Hedda, but Astrid said nothing to dismiss anyone.
She was tempted to tuck her head into her knees on the chair like when she was little.
The simple life of merchants with little worry, a lifetime away, appealed to her more than ever.
How she wished for something like parental guidance now.
Astrid waited. The ensuing claustrophobic quiet enveloped the group. She measured the beats between Freya’s frantic breathing until it evened out, then she said, “Leave us.”
There was no question of who she meant by us. Hedda and Hrothgar bowed and exited the room.
“I need air,” Astrid said, and pushed through the door to her bedchamber. The cat yowled as Astrid passed.
She didn’t stop until she was on the balcony.
The crisp air of autumn barely cut through her heavy wool, but she felt it on her cheeks and ears.
She leaned against the stone railing into the breeze.
It centered her to be on the precipice, looking down on the world.
She closed her eyes and gulped down a lungful of cold air.
“Your Majesty?”
Astrid opened her eyes. Freya had taken the spot to her right.
Maybe it was not the balcony that centered Astrid after all.
“Please let me explain. I thought—”
“That the food could be poisoned,” Astrid said. “I know.”
“Then why did you…?”
Why indeed? Astrid thought she’d been in the mood to test Freya’s limits after several weeks of Freya gently terrorizing her with unnecessary precautions. She shouldn’t have done it in public.
She was so, so close to snapping.
“It wasn’t poisoned,” Astrid said. “I have trusted the kitchen staff with my life for fifty-two years, and I won’t stop now.”
“There was someone I didn’t recognize.”
Comprehension dawned on Astrid. She had to stifle another inappropriate bout of laughter. “The head chef’s second daughter,” she said. “They told me she’d be starting this week. She’s old enough to work.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?” Freya asked, her voice tight.
“Must have slipped my mind.” Like so many other things.
Astrid felt a fresh wave of embarrassment at what the onlookers at dinner had perceived.
She’d been so overwhelmed when Freya leaned over.
That citrus smell. She had felt the heat of Freya’s hand through her glove on her wrist, somehow more intimate than if Freya had touched her directly.
Freya swallowed audibly. “My Queen, I know I have been…overstepping lately.”
Overstepping? Astrid wanted to laugh again, to cry. Freya had been overstepping since Astrid met her. She noticed things Astrid would never see and took action where it was needed, whether Astrid wanted her to or not. Astrid needed someone like that in her life.
But she couldn’t tell Freya.
She couldn’t tell Freya, either, that Freya didn’t overstep enough. The truth was, Astrid ached for Freya’s connection. Every time Freya involved herself too far in Astrid’s business, Astrid was overwhelmed with how much Freya cared. How far she was willing to go.
Go farther, Astrid wanted to say. Overstep right into my arms and into my bed.
“Is there a reason for the increased precautions?” Astrid said instead. “Ambassador or not, you were not this concerned at the last history fair. I am in no more danger now than I was then.”
This had bothered Astrid more than cats and rugs—not knowing the inner workings of Freya’s mind.
Freya stood staring straight ahead, chewing her lip like she did when she was being thoughtful. Astrid hated that her heart swelled at the sight of Freya. If anything happened to Freya, Astrid would be beside herself.
The problem was that nothing had to happen to Freya for Astrid to lose her. She just had to live her life fully and die at an impossibly young eighty years old, and Astrid would be left alone for the rest of her long orcish life.
It wasn’t fair.
“I’m afraid of losing you,” Freya said, and Astrid wondered if Freya really could read her mind.
“Of losing me?” Astrid choked.
“I wasn’t raised like you,” Freya said. “I lost everything up there.”
In the north, she meant, during the human wars. The last time they’d spoken of Freya’s past before she’d escaped to Torden had been when she first arrived ten years ago.
“My family,” Freya went on. “My mother and my father and my siblings. Smaller things, too, only a child would be upset by. A soft, hand-woven blanket. A rock with the indentations of a face. Those don’t matter, but I remember them because of how it felt to lose them.
” She cleared her throat. “And I lost things you and I cannot see.”
Astrid’s chest was heavy. Condolences came to her tongue, but voicing them would be empty. It was not sympathy Freya searched for now.
“Brenn and I found each other. Helped each other. I kept her close, and we got out of there. Out of the frying pan,” she said dryly, “and into the fire. When we reached orc country, I finally thought—” She clutched a hand to her cheek.
“I finally thought we were free. We’d made it out of the north.
But then we were on the wrong side of Torden, and Ulfur captured us. I thought it would go on forever.”
“But it didn’t. You made it here to me.”
Surprised, Freya turned to her. Astrid bit down on her tongue, hard. She had not meant to imply Freya had come to Torden to be with Astrid. Back then, Freya hadn’t known who Astrid was.
“I did,” Freya said slowly. “I did make it to you. That’s… I mean to say, the things I value, I hold close to me. Very close. Because I know how terrible it is to lose them.”
Astrid could hardly handle the weight of Freya’s gaze, but she forced herself to look into those stony gray eyes. The longer Astrid looked, the more watery Freya’s eyes became. She had never witnessed this level of emotion in Freya. Her first instinct was to dismiss it as a trick of the moonlight.
There was no way Freya could be crying for her.
“Are you going to make me say it?” Freya shook her head, incredulous.
“Say what?” Astrid breathed.
“I value you, Your Majesty. I—”
“Just Astrid.” Astrid wanted to rip off her cloak, rip off her skin. How stifling—Your Majesty.
Freya chewed her lip some more. “All right. I value you, Astrid, so I try to keep you close. And lately, I’ve been under the impression you felt the same.”
Astrid did not know what had possessed her to tell Freya to dismiss the formality, but the usage of her name, however awkward on Freya’s tongue, made her warm and dizzy, so dizzy she had to cling to the balcony’s railing for support.
How long had she lied to herself about Freya’s role in her life?
Never had Freya acted solely as spymaster or bodyguard or handmaiden.
She had been many things, everything, and Astrid relied on her more and more until Freya was of utmost importance to her.
She could not imagine a future without Freya, and yet she had to. She wouldn’t be given a choice.
Astrid clutched at her heart. “Freya, I can’t discuss this right now.”
“Why not?” Freya demanded. She rocked back on her heels, using the railing for support. “Do you not feel the same?”
“I can’t answer,” Astrid said honestly. “There are so many things wrong with… We can’t do…” She swallowed. “You serve me, so the dynamic is unfair. I have my country to think about, and I can’t indulge distractions. And you will be gone in a few decades, but I will be here.”
“So many can’ts,” Freya said. “Can’t do this, can’t do that. Do they sound like excuses to you as much as they do to me?”
Without Astrid realizing, Freya had stepped closer. Astrid glanced at Freya’s hands. Those hands had braided her hair so delicately and touched the palm of her hand out of instinct. Everything Freya did occupied Astrid’s mind much longer than it needed to.
She swallowed again.
“It’s not a matter of excuses,” she argued.