Chapter Twenty-One
The fire crackling in the hearth and the even breathing of Astrid’s sleep were the only two noises in the room. Astrid was nestled into the nook of Freya’s arm. It was so comfortable—more comfortable than Freya had been in a long time.
And yet Freya could not sleep.
Without a doubt, this was the most surreal night of Freya’s life. She could not believe she’d finally had the chance to be with Astrid. Her fingers flexed at Astrid’s side, remembering the sensation of Astrid around them. She’d been unbelievably soft. Perfect in every way.
Freya feared the possibility that, once they returned to Vakker Castle, everything she’d done tonight would become a far-off dream.
How easy it was to engage in this romance when they were separated from everything they knew.
When they came back home and settled into their old roles…
Keeping up this sort of relationship might not be possible.
Astrid might not want this in the long-term.
As a lover, Freya was a distraction. She felt a hypocrite for hoping Astrid would keep her around exactly like they were tonight. If Freya wanted Astrid to be a good queen, shouldn’t she support her however she could?
The problem was not the matter of support. No matter how Astrid chose to keep Freya in her life, Freya would stay.
But after she’d had a taste of this, it would break her to lose it.
Freya’s stomach roiled as she watched the peaceful look on Astrid’s face. This was the most untroubled she’d ever seen her. Freya yearned to shut down her worries, to close her eyes and fall asleep at Astrid’s side and have a long, dreamless night.
If she fell asleep, she would lose precious seconds of their time together.
She couldn’t bear to waste it, not knowing what the future might hold.
Loss, Brenn had said. Maybe she had meant the loss of this.
The best scenario for both of them was if Brenn’s prediction meant the loss of their relationship and not the loss of Astrid’s life.
Astrid shifted in her sleep. Not wanting to disturb her, Freya held as still as she could. Dawn would break in a few hours, and then they would have to go back. Astrid deserved a good night of sleep.
“Freya?” Astrid mumbled.
“I’m here,” said Freya.
Astrid blinked at her blearily. “Is it time to get up?”
“No,” said Freya. “Go back to sleep.”
“Have you slept?”
“No,” said Freya again.
More mumbling noises came from Freya’s armpit as Astrid shifted, peeling her skin from the blankets.
Neither of them had bothered to dress after they’d made love.
Freya was luxuriating in the skin-to-skin contact.
When Astrid leaned back far enough to see Freya, the places where their skin had been touching raised goosebumps.
“Is everything all right?” Astrid asked.
Her hair was looped haphazardly through her horns.
Freya reached out to rearrange her hair, biting down a smile at how casually they could touch now.
The awkward encounter when Freya had handed Astrid her own fingers seemed long ago, like it happened to someone else.
“Can’t sleep. This bed is very different from mine,” Freya said, opting for a half-truth.
Astrid rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “You’ve slept on my floor,” she pointed out.
Freya shrugged. “You can go back to sleep. Here.” She held out her arm for Astrid to return to.
Astrid did return, settling her horns into the open spaces so they didn’t press into Freya too harshly.
Freya’s chin burned from the trails left behind from Astrid’s tusks during all of the kissing.
She didn’t mind, but she appreciated the thoughtfulness.
“I want to stay up with you,” said Astrid. “What are you thinking about?”
Freya chewed her lip. “The future, I suppose.”
“Oh.” Astrid ran a finger over Freya’s clavicle, making her shudder. “What about it?”
Freya had half a mind to speak the truth. It would press at her until she knew the answer. “What it holds for us,” she said.
Astrid cleared her throat. “Actually,” she said, “I had something similar on my mind.”
“Really?” asked Freya.
“I was thinking… You and I talk strategy and politics and money, but we don’t talk about us. Who we were before this. I don’t know much about your past.” Astrid moved her head to look up at Freya with her warm eyes. “I would like to, though.”
Freya’s lips pressed into a thin line. This seemed to be about the past, not the future, but she decided not to voice this thought. “What would you like to know?” she asked.
“What were you like before all this?” Astrid asked.
Freya’s breath caught. Before? She couldn’t discuss the person she was before coming to Torden.
Part of her was always afraid she had too much of the old Freya inside of her—the one who had done what she had to in order to survive, and maybe worse.
She had wrung out her old self, salvaged the parts that made her useful to her queen, and tamped down the rest.
“Ask me something else, please,” she said, strained.
Astrid’s eyes softened in understanding. Her fingertips brushed the back of Freya’s hand. “Would you tell me how you got the scars?”
Freya flexed her scarred hands. In the dim light of the room, she could just see the shadows of irregularly raised skin, unnaturally shiny. In daylight, her scars were paler than the rest of her, just faintly pink against her tan skin. She closed her eyes, remembering.
“Poison plants,” Freya said. “We had to pick them. When you were too little to be useful for anything else, the warlords would put you to work how they could. I collected the plants with my bare hands. I’d get sick for days afterward.
The plants were poisonous even to the touch.
Blisters and all that, and it had thorns.
I was always scraping my skin against them, over and over.
” She lifted her hand to her face, turned it. “The marks don’t go away.”
Freya looked up at Astrid. Her queen’s eyes were watery, her lips parted in surprise. But where had she thought the scars were from? There was a reason Freya hid them most of the time.
“Oh, Freya,” Astrid said.
The sympathy discomfited Freya. She cleared her throat as the room blurred in her vision. “What about you? You’ve been so at home here. I imagine your life was pretty different before becoming queen.”
Astrid’s eyes lit up. “You have no idea,” she said. “All the traveling with our parents. Learning the merchant trade, but so many other things, too. Ruga and I were thick as thieves. I was always getting in trouble and she was always getting me out of it.”
“That hasn’t changed,” Freya pointed out lightly.
“No, it hasn’t. Stars, but I miss her,” Astrid said.
“I loved traveling. Every place had something new. People thought I was so cute as a child. They indulged me when I wanted to see how the blacksmith forged swords, how the archer nocked an arrow, how the falconers trained their birds. I was so hungry for it all. Learning new things made me feel alive. I was good at them, too.”
She didn’t have to be humble, Freya knew. Part of the reason she’d been elected queen was her skill in nearly everything she tried her hand at.
The more Astrid spoke, though, the more Freya realized how limiting queenhood was to her. For someone who wanted to try new things, much of her time was spent on diplomacy and bureaucracy and running the country. Freya had never seen her go to the archery range or forge a sword.
“You never wanted to be queen,” Freya whispered.
Astrid jolted upright in the bed.
Of course. It had been at the tip of her tongue, the side of her brain, an ever-present feeling.
But if Astrid, who never wanted to be queen but was so good at it, who had the queenly traits Freya admired so much, didn’t like that side of herself…
How could Freya say she really appreciated the whole of her?
“No,” Astrid said. “I never wanted to be queen.” She swallowed.
“I wanted to be a soldier. Soldiers have lots of free time to do whatever they please when they’re off-duty.
And I liked things that were physical. All the training and whatnot.
It made me feel strong. It made me feel like I was contributing to Ruler Lyn’s success by being able to protect what they had created. ”
Freya touched Astrid’s arm. She might not have been as strong as she once was, but she had plenty of muscle left.
“And then you shot Ulfur,” Freya filled in.
“Right time and right place, I suppose,” Astrid said. A darkness came over her face.
Instantly, Freya regretted mentioning Ulfur’s name. “I’m sure there was more to it than that.”
“Can I tell you something, Freya? And will you promise not to share it with anyone?”
“What is it?” Freya asked, concerned. She searched Astrid’s face for what had caused the sudden emotion, and she could not read what was there.
“It wasn’t merely a lucky shot. Ulfur had already murdered Ruler Lyn in combat, and Varin was running things as best as he could. The castle was a disaster. We were divided up, trying to hunt Ulfur down and stop her once and for all.”
Dread clawed its way up Freya’s throat. She had the sense that once Astrid was done speaking, Freya would never see Torden the same.
“There was a brutal skirmish,” she said.
Her eyes were wide, frantic, desperate to get the story out.
“It was outside Ravn. Hedda and I were posted there under our captain’s command.
We fought all day long until both parties had to retreat.
We were sore, and injured, and mentally drained.
” Astrid’s chest heaved as she caught her breath.
Freya waited. Her fingers itched toward Astrid’s sternum and rested there. Without a word, Astrid closed her hand over Freya’s.