Interlude
PRINCESS THYRA FALK, HOUSE OF THE WHITE HAWK
Her heart hammered as the princess and the scoundrel slipped outside to stroll the castle grounds. She stole a glance at the male, the one the stars had chosen as her equal.
“Like what you see?” He winked.
She scoffed. Why did he have to tease her so when she had a potential political marriage to tie herself to?
Perhaps because I’m acting like a moon-eyed youngling?
Still, political marriage or no, Thyra spoke no argument when Thantrel had followed her from the dinner table, saying that she required an escort.
As if Thyra wasn’t as skilled at fighting as her mate, and yet, she also hadn’t argued then.
Nor after she gathered her fur cloak from her room, and he didn’t leave her side.
No, she hadn’t argued at all, but rather suggested they go for a walk.
“Perhaps I’ve rendered you speechless?” her mate added, to which the princess laughed.
“You wish.”
“I’d love it if you talked more.” He clasped his hands behind him, as though trying to keep them off her. Occupied. “I’d like to know you better than anyone else.”
And there he went again, acting like she hadn’t rejected him publicly and cruelly. Even if she had been kinder since those spiders tried to tear his wings off, why did he have to do that?
The pain of that day within the mountain sliced through her, as cutting and horrible as if she was reliving that moment.
From the time they left that cavern, Thyra Falk understood that it was only a matter of time before Thantrel wormed his way into her heart.
She hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly, but the more she got to know him, the more she realized he had a way about him. A disarming manner and a charm.
But having him in her heart and accepting him as her mate were two entirely different things. The former seemed increasingly inevitable, whereas the latter would be a choice Thyra would have to balance in the face of war.
What if she did accept Thantrel and in doing so, Lord Balik pulled back his support? Thyra didn’t know the Warden of the South well, and the slightest retraction could have dire consequences. So many were loyal to her. She did not wish to let them down.
“What do you want to know?” Thyra asked, gazing up at those olive-green eyes lined with gold. A stunning combination.
“Too much for a brief walk around the castle grounds.” A mischievous grin overtook his face. “What do you say we find a tavern and get drunk?”
Since their arrival in the largest city of the southlands, there’d been no time to let loose. Actually, since Thyra had become the leader of the rebellion, there’d been little time for frivolity. When was the last time she’d pretended she was a normal fae and just had fun?
She couldn’t remember, so she pivoted to the castle gate. “I expect you know where to go?”
The ale went down smoothly, far better than the swill the rebels drank.
“You aren’t a stranger to the drink, are you?” Thantrel teased, fanning out his fiery wings behind him and garnering attention from others. Thantrel was a large personality. Handsome and striking without trying to be so. Everywhere he showed his face, males and females were equally drawn to him.
“This is only my second ale.” She stuck out her tongue. “But no. Ale and I are old friends. Sometimes, at Valrun, we couldn’t get food. Water and ale were all that we would have available to fill our bellies for days on end. Your lot joined us when our larders were full.”
He leaned close enough to her to smell his fresh, spicy scent. She swallowed down the desire welling inside her.
“Where did you grow up?”
“That’s your first question?” she asked. They’d set rules on the way here. Three questions a piece. One chance each to veto a single question.
“Yes.”
Thyra pressed her back into the wooden booth, tucked in a far back corner.
Thanks to her long, hooded cloak, no one had recognized that she was one of the princesses their lord had sworn to earlier that day.
Or one of the fae who had gone to the library with the High Lord of the Southlands.
The anonymity suited her, as it always had.
“After I fled Avaldenn with Brynhild, we moved around a lot. I don’t remember that time well. Too young.” She took another drink of ale. It was impossible not to think about what had been befalling Isolde during the same timeframe.
Thyra’s lips pressed together. Her upbringing had not been luxurious or easy, but at least she’d always been free. Had lived in Winter’s Realm, where they both belonged. And no monster had ever sipped at her blood.
“We stayed in Kethor for a few moons, but Brynhild never felt safe there. Too close to Avaldenn, and I had that Falk look about me.” She pointed to her eyes, which looked much like her father’s.
“King Magnus has the same color eyes,” Thantrel said.
“Take that back.”
“His are not half as pretty as yours, though. They have none of the warmth your eyes possess.”
A small smile curved her lips. “After leaving Kethor, we moved from village to village. Staying at each place for no more than six moons. When I got old enough, Brynhild settled us in Vantalia. So I guess, if anywhere is home, that is. Mostly, I grew up everywhere in the eastern part of the kingdom.”
“Never been this far south?”
“Is that number two?”
“No!” He looked alarmed at having to give up a precious question for something he’d said so offhandedly.
“It’s my first time in Myrr,” she replied, deciding to go easy on him. “Now, my turn.”
What to ask? Thyra hoarded questions concerning Thantrel. Most of which she’d never considered voicing, but the ale was loosening her up, and he was watching her as though he wanted to share the most intimate parts of himself.
“Who’s your mother?” The question left her lips before she knew that she’d settled on it.
Thantrel gave a sad smile. “Was. She’s dead.”
“Join the club.”
He chuckled. “She was a lesser noble elf, from about as far south as their kingdom goes. Her family had little coin but an ancient name. My father had already been elevated to the title of High Lord when I was born, but he still ran his merchant empire and traveled a lot. They got together, and she became pregnant. She died after I was born, and my living elven relatives sent me here.” He shrugged as if that wasn’t hurtful, but she could see that it affected him.
That others hadn’t wanted him when he was so young and innocent.
“Their loss.” She placed a hand on his arm.
His gaze strayed to where she touched him, seeming to savor the sight before he looked up again. “Have you ever been in love?”
She blinked, shocked by the question and sensing what he really wanted to ask beneath it. Had she ever been in love, and was she still in love?
“No,” the princess replied. “There wasn’t time for that, even when we stayed in Vantalia.
And to be honest, Brynhild was a strict mother figure.
Males held little interest for me until I was about seventeen, but if I’d been more into dating, or Fates-forbid seriously courting, I doubt Brynhild would have let me. ”
She remembered when she turned seventeen, being confused by how her keeper was still so protective. By that time, Thyra defended herself well enough to take down most fae who would try something untoward. Now she understood better.
Brynhild protected Thyra from males or females who might break her heart or hurt her, but also from Thyra attaching herself to the wrong person.
Even then, Brynhild saw that the princess might wish to rise and claim the throne.
Brynhild understood that Thyra keeping her heart to herself until the time was right would be of the utmost importance.
“Well, if I didn’t already like Brynhild, I would now,” Thantrel placed his elbows on the knotty table as his face brightened. “Your turn.”
She wanted to ask him what his thoughts were on Queen Inga poisoning Harald Falk’s mind, and if he thought his father was right to keep the queen’s secret.
But Thantrel, like most others, remained in the dark about the queen being a whisperer.
She respected her twin’s mate enough to keep that secret a while longer.
So she turned the tables on him instead. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”
He laughed. “I should have seen that one coming.”
“Well?”
Thantrel let out a long hum. “Twice. To be honest, I’m surprised the number isn’t higher. When I was young, I fell into romance with anyone who caught my eye.”
“You’re still young,” she stated.
Thantrel had turned twenty during their stint at Valrun, though he hadn’t told her as much until she’d gone to see him in the healer’s sanctuary. He hadn’t wanted a celebration then, hadn’t even mentioned it, because he’d been heartbroken by her rejection.
“Yes, but I spent a lot of time in brothels growing up—my brothers and I were raised by the ladies there. I learned a lot from them.”
“I see . . .”
“Not in that way,” he added. “No one laid a hand on me. But they spoke about their relationships. Since the age of twelve, love and lust have fascinated me. And when I first felt those pangs of lust, I dove into a relationship and never looked back.”
She remained silent, wanting to ask their names, these fae who had stolen his heart. But she wasn’t willing to use her third question on names of fae she’d likely never meet, not when she had something better planned.
“I’ll give you what you want,” he said, reading the conflict on her face and wanting to share more. For her to know him deeply. “My first love was a nymph. We were both fourteen, and she still lives in Avaldenn. Works at a food stall.”
Thyra made a note to learn which food stall and, if they won the war, never to go there.
“The second was when I was older. Seventeen. He was a squire to a knight. Our relationship didn’t last long. He went to battle an orc horde and never came back.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Thantrel looked down at the table. “I am too. He wasn’t meant for me, but he didn’t deserve the end the Fates dealt him.”
Before she knew what she was doing, she laid her hand on his. Her winter magic came to life inside her, swirling like a storm in her belly.
His thumb began to rub small circles across her skin, and Thyra swallowed, disliking how her head and her instincts warred.
“My turn.” He put them both out of the awkward situation and broke the connection. “I’ve got something I’ve been dying to ask.”
“Have at it.”
“What are you and Isolde going to do if our side wins the war? Have you decided who will sit on the throne?”
Her stomach plummeted. They had not. They avoided that discussion. And it didn’t feel right speaking with Thantrel about it before Thyra and her twin worked things out.
“Pass.”
“Alright then,” Thantrel mused. Perhaps he’d even expected her denial. “Do you have smaller magics?”
Besides her winter and shadow magics, he meant. As he’d been there when King érebo unlocked her shadow magic, he wasn’t being coy. Just keeping a secret in a public place. She appreciated the subtlety from a male who was anything but subtle.
“I do. The powers appeared about a turn back, and I haven’t developed the ability, but I’m a dreamer.”
“Being a dreamer is unique.”
Dreamers were like seers, but they saw visions only in their sleep.
And the visions were difficult to differentiate from regular dreams. It had taken Thyra many moons to have a paltry three visions, and only after the third did she realize visions were shiny whereas normal dreams were not.
Since she’d understood that distinction, she hadn’t had a single vision.
She shrugged. “I can’t control it. Maybe if I’d grown up in Frostveil and had the best tutors, things would be different, but none of the rebels could help.”
“You should talk to Saga.”
“Isolde doesn’t even know yet. I’ll wait until I tell her.”
“Why haven’t you told her?”
She smirked. “I’ll give you that one for free. I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise, but I despise being bad at things. Best to not mention it unless I can control it.”
“Should have known.”
She scoffed. “Are you quite done?”
“I await your final question.” He leaned forward again, filling her nostrils with the scent that sent her heart racing, and then and there, Thyra changed her question. Perhaps changed the course of the kingdom.
“Do you want to kiss me?” she blurted out.
His torso stiffened. “Is that a joke?”
“Not the best decision, considering what Isolde and I agreed to with Lord Balik, but I don’t care.”
“What agreement?”
Fates she’d done it. She hadn’t meant to mention the intricacies of the alliance, but tonight might be her only chance to feel something similar to what her sister had. An enviable partnership. One any fae would long for.
“Lord Balik wishes for me to marry Sian Balik. Or for someone in the next generation of Falks to wed into his line.” She left out the accepting her mate part.
It made things too complicated when she should wed a Balik.
That she shouldn’t pass this responsibility on to another generation when she’d been the one to make the deal.
Thantrel chuckled. “You’re aware that Sian prefers males, right?”
Her lips parted. Was that what Lord Balik meant by his son having preferences? She’d thought that maybe he loved a mistress at court, and Thyra had not cared to explore the matter further.
“I did not.”
“He has a pact with Sayyida Virtoris to wed her and do their duty to their houses. Once that’s done, they can explore their pleasures as they wish.”
“Oh.” Her heart fluttered. “Well, in that case, I don’t feel bad about asking you my question. But I wonder, will you ever answer?”
An incredulous look passed over his face, to be replaced by a feral expression that made her mouth go dry. Thantrel slipped from his side of the booth, took up the spot by her, and tilted her chin up with those slender, strong fingers.
If she’d been standing, her knees would have buckled.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“No, but I need to do this,” she whispered back.
His lips crashed into hers, and that cold magic that always swirled inside her turned to fire. A hot, blazing fire that made her toes curl and pulled an embarrassing sound from her throat.
He deepened the kiss, maybe thinking he’d never get another, that he’d need to make this kiss last a lifetime. Thyra’s tongue slipped into his mouth, swept over his, and she allowed her body to fall into him. To give herself over to the moment that had been haunting her dreams for weeks.