Chapter 22 #2
Talk about making an entrance. The gods didn't skimp on their home improvement budget.
I lean into Rhyland, my voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like we should knock. Or, like, announce ourselves. Do they have a magical doorbell we're supposed to ring?"
Ever the pragmatist, Erik strides forward and places his palm against the gleaming surface. The doors swing open with a groan that shakes the ground beneath our feet, revealing a cavernous hall.
The moment we step inside, I'm gobsmacked.
If I thought the outside was impressive, the interior is like someone took every fantasy palace ever imagined and said, "Hold my mead.
" The ceiling soars so high that it might contain its own weather system, complete with constellations that spin and dance overhead like a living planetarium.
Chandeliers that would make the Palace of Versailles look like cheap motel lighting cascade down like frozen waterfalls of crystal and starlight, each one probably worth more than the entire global economy.
Columns that look carved from captured moonbeams rise around us, their surfaces etched with runes that pulse with power.
The floor beneath our feet is some otherworldly stone I've never seen before—darker than a midnight ocean but shot through with veins of living gold that seem to shift and flow. It's like walking on a moving river.
Tapestries hang between windows tall enough to park a Boeing 747 vertically, making me question everything I know about textile production. They ripple and move like they're alive, their scenes shifting and changing as we watch—probably telling the entire universe's history.
The whole place screams, "Gods live here," in a way that makes my mortal brain want to curl up in a corner and contemplate its own insignificance. I mean, how do you even dust something like this? Is there a cleaning service? Do they have Roombas?
Great, now I'm imagining tiny Valkyries with feather dust—
"Welcome, dear ones."
I nearly give myself whiplash, spinning at the melodic voice like a kid caught doing something terrible.
A woman stands there—though 'woman' seems inadequate to describe her.
Her golden hair falls in gentle waves around a face that manages to be both fierce and kind, like a warrior queen who also bakes delicious cookies.
Her eyes are summer-sky blue and seem to hold the wisdom of ages within their depths.
"You must be Danica," she says, her voice warm but with steel undertones—the perfect blend of maternal warmth and authority. Her gaze shifts to Rhyland, and a smile curves her perfect lips. "Rhyland, welcome back."
She turns to Erik, extending a hand with the elegant grace of someone who's had millennia to perfect the gesture. Erik, our resident master of stiff composure, looks flustered— like a diplomatic vampire caught without his backup plan.
"My lady," he bows slightly, all proper Victorian manners. "I am Erik, Rhyland's brother."
"Ah yes, the vampire brother." Her eyes sparkle with ancient knowledge. Erik clears his throat—holy shit, is Mr. Stoic nervous? File that away under 'things I never thought I'd see.'
"Yes, madam," Erik manages, his usual refined confidence wavering slightly under her knowing gaze.
She waves away his formality with a gesture that somehow manages to be regal and motherly. "Please, none of that 'madam' business," she laughs, the sound like silver bells. "I am Frigg and any family of Rhyland's is family of mine." Her smile could probably melt glaciers—"even the vampiric ones."
Erik's face softens into one of his rare genuine smiles, and Frigg beams like she just won some achievement for cracking Erik's armor.
"Come," she gestures with ethereal grace.
"Let us get you settled. You must be exhausted from your journey, and I'm sure you'd appreciate a chance to refresh yourselves before dinner.
" Her eyes sparkle with knowing humor. "Odin awaits your company this evening—though perhaps with fewer layers of winter gear. "
Oh god, yes. The thought of a hot bath and getting out of my yeti cosplay makes me want to weep with joy. Don't get me wrong, this expensive snowsuit probably saved me from becoming a frozen statue, but I'm pretty sure I'm sweating in places I didn't even know could sweat.
"Thank you," I manage to say with what I hope is appropriate gratitude, though I keep getting distracted by the Herculean statues lining the halls.
Each one depicts some ancient Norse deity looking appropriately badass and immortal, and I'm pretty sure I should know who they are.
However, my brain is too busy dancing about the promised bath to remember my mythology lessons.
"Heimdall has informed us of your arrival," Frigg's melodic voice drifts back to us as she leads our little group through hallways that could probably fund a small country. "We have prepared a feast in your honor, and eagerly await the pleasure of your company this evening."
I can practically hear my stomach doing a happy dance at the mention of food.
Apparently, trudging through the arctic tundra and riding magical horses really revs up the old appetite.
Though considering this is ásgard, I'm guessing the menu isn't exactly burger and fries.
Probably more like roasted bilgesnipe and mead served in golden chalices.
"That sounds wonderful," I manage to say with a smile that hopefully doesn't scream 'I'm hangry enough to eat my own arm.
' "We're looking forward to it." And by 'it,' I mean stuffing my face with whatever delicacies they place in front of me.
Manners are great and all, but at this point, I'd wrestle a Valkyrie for a dinner roll.
Rhyland's arm snakes around my waist, pulling me against his side like I'm his personal teddy bear.
I glance up at my beefcake, and my heart does a little flip—his ocean-blue eyes practically glow with joy, like a kid who just discovered he inherited Disneyland.
Can't blame him though—this is literally his ancestral home turf.
The power radiating through our bond feels like pure electricity, hot and wild as a lightning storm.
Let's hope my sexy demigod can keep a lid on all that power before he accidentally turns someone into a S'more.