Chapter 41 #3
"That's the understatement of the millennium," she says with a weak laugh. "Which apparently is a timeframe I now need to consider."
"You'll adjust," I assure her, my thumb tracing circles on her palm. "And you won't be alone." The thought of spending lifetimes with her fills me with a joy I didn't think possible after so many years without a partner.
She meets my eyes, something vulnerable in her gaze. "Promise?"
"I promise." I squeeze her hand, pouring every ounce of certainty I possess into those two words and through our bond. "Wolves mate for life, Astrid. And our lives are very long indeed."
She's quiet for a moment. "Does this mean I'll still look thirty-three when I'm a hundred and fifty?"
"More or less," I say with a smile. "Aging slows considerably. You'll change, but very gradually."
"Well," she says with forced lightness, "at least I don't have to worry about anti-aging creams anymore."
I chuckle, relieved to see her humor returning. "There are benefits."
She shakes her head, still looking somewhat dazed. "I am not going to meet a thousand-year-old Siren queen while looking like this. I need a bath. And clothes."
"You'll do fine," I assure her.
"You think there's a traitor in her ranks."
"It's really the only explanation," I say. "Or it’s Nimue herself. The sirens claim to support the Knights, but they have been on a mission to save the soulmate magick that was broken nearly five centuries ago."
“Soulmate magick?”
“The sirens were matchmakers. You would go to them to receive a blessing and a dream that would show you your soulmate.”
“But you don’t anymore? I feel like there’s a story there.”
“A long one. One I will tell you soon.”
"Can Nimue be trusted at all?"
"Nimue keeps her word,” I answer. “But she's selective about what she promises. Never assume she's told you the whole truth. Assume she’s left herself a loophole somewhere."
"Great," Astrid mutters. "A manipulative, thousand-year-old sea witch who may or may not be plotting against us.”
"She's not a witch," I correct.
"Not the point, Fen." She rubs her temples. "How am I supposed to navigate all this? I was a GUIDE agent a week ago. Now I'm some kind of semi-immortal wolf-woman about to play political chess with thousand-year-old beings."
I rise and move behind her chair, placing my hands on her shoulders. "You're still you, Astrid. That's what matters. Your instincts, your intelligence. Those haven't changed. Trust them."
She leans back against me with a sigh. "Five hundred years old," she says, shaking her head. "I bet you've seen some things."
"I have," I acknowledge. "And now we'll see many more. Together."
The servants return briefly, announcing that our bath is ready in the next room.
In the adjoining chamber, a large copper tub steams invitingly, scented oils floating on the water's surface. Once we're alone again, I help Astrid remove her cloak, letting my fingers trail across her skin as the heavy fabric falls away.
"We should hurry," she says, though her voice has grown husky. "Your grandmother can only keep Nimue waiting so long."
Her words say hurry, but her body says something else entirely. The pulse at her throat quickens beneath my gaze.
"Frigga said to enjoy ourselves for three hours," I remind her, stepping closer. Heat pools low in my belly as she tilts her chin up in that defiant way that drives me wild. "And she is the All-Mother."
A smile tugs at Astrid's lips. "Is that an order from your grandmother? To enjoy ourselves?"
Mine. The possessive thought crashes through me with such intensity. Her body, her smile, her spirit. All mine to protect, to pleasure, to cherish.
"More of a royal suggestion," I murmur, bending to press my lips to the mark on her neck. The taste of her skin makes my head swim. The bond between us flares, desire echoing between us in endless feedback.
She shivers, not from cold this time. I affect her as powerfully as she affects me.
"The water will get cold," she protests weakly as my hands slide down her sides to her hips. The curve of her waist fits perfectly in my palms, as if she was made for my touch.
"I'll keep you warm," I promise against her skin. I want to devour her, mark every inch of her body. Over and over and over.
We do eventually make it into the bath, though the water has indeed cooled somewhat by then. Astrid leans back against my chest as I wash her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp.
"Tell me more about what to expect with Nimue," she says after a while, bringing us back to the matter at hand.
I gather my thoughts, choosing my words carefully. "Just be deliberate. Don’t let her rush you."
"I've interrogated suspects before," Astrid reminds me. "I know evasion techniques."
"This is different," I warn. "Sirens can sense emotions. If you feel defensive, she'll know and press harder. If you feel confident, she'll try to undermine that confidence. The key is to remain neutral."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is," I agree, rinsing the soap from her hair. "But necessary. Especially when we don't know her true purpose here."
"Which is why your grandmother is making her wait," Astrid realizes. "To put her off balance."
"Exactly,” I say, impressed at how quickly she grasps political nuance. "Nimue arrived unannounced, claiming urgency based on rumors. Making her wait demonstrates that while we acknowledge her status, we won't be manipulated by her tactics."
"Court politics," Astrid murmurs. "Not my strong suit."
"You’re doing well," I assure her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're already more observant than most who've spent centuries at court."
We finish bathing and dress in the clothes Frigga has provided. For me a pair of dark leather pants, a deep blue tunic embroidered with silver runes, and a black cloak clasped with my family's moonstone wolf sigil. It’s fancier than everyday clothing, meant to show honor for our royal guest.
Weeks of Earth clothes have left me unaccustomed to the formal cut, the deliberate weight of status woven into every thread. The prince returns. I roll my shoulders, feeling the material stretch and adjust. My body remembers this, feels at home in this, even if my mind has been elsewhere.
I catch Astrid watching me, curiosity in her gaze as she sees this version of me for the first time—not just her mate or the wolf-warrior, but Prince Fenrir of Asgard. The thought makes me stand straighter, chin lifting slightly.
For Astrid, a floor-length gown of silver-gray, cut high to allow freedom of movement while still highlighting the female figure. She eyes it dubiously at first but relaxes when she discovers leggings and soft boots included beneath the flowing skirt.
The gown transforms her. Not into something she isn't, but into everything she truly is. Warrior, woman, wolf. All aspects of her nature are perfectly balanced in the silvery fabric that catches the light with every movement.
My breath catches in my throat. She was born for this. The thought strikes with absolute certainty. Not just for me, but for this world, this life.
"What?" she asks, noticing my stare. "Is something wrong with it?"
Words fail me for a moment. How to tell her that she outshines every royal I've known in five centuries? That she wears the garments of my people as if they were made for her alone?
"Nothing's wrong," I finally manage, my voice rougher than intended. "You look... like you belong here. Always have."
My gaze catches on something glinting atop the carved wooden dresser. A silver chain with a familiar pendant. I walk over, lifting it carefully between my fingers. The small moonstone wolf gleams with inner light.
My grandmother's. She's worn this for centuries. It’s one of her favorites.
I stare at it, understanding the significance of Frigga leaving this particular piece. Not just protection, but full acceptance. Family. My throat tightens unexpectedly.
"Fen? What is it?" Astrid's voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I return to her side, the pendant warm in my palm. "My grandmother left this for you."
I step behind her, carefully brushing her hair aside. Then fasten the silver chain around her neck. The small pendant settles perfectly at the hollow of her throat.
"What's this?" she asks, touching it curiously.
"My family sigil. The moonstone is from Asgard's sacred caves." I pause, watching how the stone seems to brighten against her skin. "It contains protective magick that will shield you from the influence of siren songs."
Her fingers trace the pendant's smooth surface, eyes narrowing with that tactical assessment I've come to recognize. Always the soldier, evaluating advantages and weaknesses.
"Siren songs? So Nimue could... what? Control me?" Her jaw tightens.
I take her hand in mine, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Certain sirens are more capable than others," I explain carefully. "But yes, Nimue could easily manipulate your thoughts, emotions, and actions."
Astrid's shoulders square, chin lifting defiantly. "And this prevents that?" She lifts the pendant, studying it with new intensity.
"Completely."
"Why doesn't everyone wear it, then?" Her eyes meet mine, sharp and questioning.
"The stones are very rare." I reach out to touch the pendant, feeling its familiar energy pulse beneath my fingertip. "This particular one is one of my grandmother’s favorites."
Her eyes widen. "Your grandmother's?" Her voice drops to nearly a whisper. "And she gave it to me?"
"She did."
Astrid's fingers close around the pendant protectively, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "So this is a significant gift."
"Very," I say, watching the emotions play across her face—surprise, honor, and beneath it all, a flicker of fear.
I cup her face in my hands, making her look at me. "It means you belong here, Astrid. Not just with me, but with all of us."
A shaky breath escapes her. "No pressure or anything," she mutters, but the corner of her mouth lifts in a half-smile.
"Ready?" I ask, offering my arm.
She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "As I'll ever be." She takes my arm, her grip firm. "Let's go meet this Siren Queen."