Chapter 1
Solveig was going to rip this male’s insides out through his cock.
Honestly, she should be praised for her patience after dealing with this snake for centuries.
She would have to speak with the queens again about Maddock before she did something rash like spear him through the mouth—neutralizing whatever poison he was about to spew.
Her mothers likely wouldn’t be surprised given the amount of effort she’d already made trying to remove him from council.
“My liege requires an explanation. Why have Their Majesties continued to fail in our collective endeavour to restore magic? Perhaps they ought to leave the decision-making to a more suitable . . . king.” Maddock sneered, challenging Solveig to rise to his bait.
Frankly, the punishment for attacking a council member seemed less severe than having to sit through his arrogance. The condescension dripping from his tongue made Solveig want to cut it out and shove it up his ass.
Centuries of practicing patience were barely enough to give a diplomatic answer. “And what would Jotunheim have them do, Commander?” she asked as politely as she could bear.
“Perhaps, to avoid another misstep in leadership like the Vanaheim Battle, we should . . .”
Solveig stopped listening lest she begin an entirely new war by gutting the Giant heir with her spoon. If she had to hear one more time how his armies would have been at the Vanaheim Battle if he’d been informed one day earlier, she was going to lose her fucking mind.
She had led the Asgardian armies that day. One hundred and fifty years later, the thought of the slaughter still stung, her heart throbbing with the pain as though it were yesterday. She tried to close her mind to the memories, but they came unbidden just the same.
A surge of mortal soldiers sprang from the ground in an ambush, wiping out the entire Vanaheim army.
Digging through the carnage, screaming as she knelt beside bodies of those who trusted her to protect them. To bring them home.
Her battalion was one of five, each concealed around the outskirts of the field to strike the mortal army from all sides in Vanaheim’s surprise attack.
When the Queens had appointed her, a Vanir, as the general of the Asgardian army and chief of the Vanir Southern Wilds Legion, she’d been proud to serve.
The pride had been replaced with guilt and shame that she had not died alongside her kin.
A throat cleared.
“General Tordottir.” Maddock’s voice was heavy with exasperation.
“Yes, Commander. My apologies,” Solveig responded, realizing the council had continued speaking while she drifted into the past.
She refocused on the discussion at hand, mentally shaking out of her dark thoughts. Running a hand through her copper hair, she listened to Maddock drone on about the failures of the past.
“As I was saying, in lieu of any fruitful action by your queens, my king has decreed that a heavily armed raid be organized and discharged,” he told the council. “Today,” he added as an afterthought.
The nerve of this male to come into her camp and make demands on behalf of a monarch who did not rule her people. Solveig’s blood boiled, treaty be damned—she clasped hands together until her skin turned white with restraint and her knuckles ached.
One more word out of the Giant’s mouth slighting her mothers and he’d find himself splayed out on the table, both of Solveig’s swords sticking out of his chest.
The Asgardian Queens had once been held in such high regard by all races—no one dared challenge them. Only since the War of Realms had the Giants begun pushing back against the Trifold alliance of the Fae, Elven, and Vanir, or witches, as other races liked to refer to them.
Solveig glanced around the room at the thirty or so council members who sat at the round table. She tried not to make eye contact with the dignitary from Asgard—he would share her sentiments and it would not do well to fuel her fire.
The other council members hushed as she studied them.
She was certainly not the youngest member, but she had created an illustrious name for herself.
In the two centuries since becoming Asgard’s war general—though her identity remained hidden to most, a plan instituted by the Queens—she’d garnered respect among the leaders and a violent reputation throughout the realms.
“As I have already mentioned, Commander, our queens have not sanctioned such an act,” Solveig responded, barely disguising her contempt. “With the continuation of missing persons, we have decided that all raids will be carried out by a small group of covert soldiers.”
It was taking all four hundred and twenty-five years of her life’s experience in patience to not kick this male’s ass, sending him straight back to his father—the King of Jotunheim.
The once beautiful realm that held Giants of myths and legends was now a barren wasteland, home to scavengers, liars, and cheats.
They might have been a formidable foe had their race fared better in the aftermath of the destruction of the Yggdrasil.
Whispers spread around the table, arguments breaking out between dignitaries.
Solveig sighed inwardly. Maddock wouldn’t budge an inch on this decision.
Her queens had given explicit instructions to cooperate with the other realms. Work together.
Do what must be done to keep the peace, as fragile as it was.
They were worried about an uprising. People made dangerous decisions when their way of life was threatened.
A century and a half was a long time to live without magic, even for immortals, and restlessness brewed among the conquered realms, creating mistrust between allies.
Desperation for power was a poison and rebellions had formed within the Trifold.
A seed of that same restlessness grew in her own heart.
The Asgardian Fae and the Vanir could not afford to make enemies, no one could, but especially not what was left of the Trifold with the Elven removing themselves from council, leaving their allies in a precarious position.
“We shall put it to a vote,” Solveig announced over the sound of arguing.
She had endured enough of these meetings to know when a decision had been made—no need to drag it out. As war general to the Fae Queens of Asgard and leader of the Southern Wilds, the war camp in which they gathered, she was responsible for leading the vote.
A vote which would not go in her favour.
Most of the dignitaries held allegiance to Ragnvald, the King of Helheim.
He rarely made an appearance at council meetings, yet his power over the other races had grown the longer magic remained out of their grasp.
Especially over Jotunheim, whose inhabitants were as power hungry as a race could be.
It was imperative she keep them pacified, lest her identity be divulged.
Jotunheim would only keep her secret for so long.
“All those in favour of sending a small group of four soldiers to raid the western mortal village?” Solveig scanned the room as she raised her hand. Two of the seven voting council members voted with her.
“Those in favour of sending a large group of fifteen soldiers?” She dared Maddock with a look to contradict her suggestion, as he’d likely wanted more. The remaining four hands rose high in the air.
“So be it,” Solveig whispered ominously. Maddock caught her eye, the most arrogant smirk plastered on his conniving face. Visions of blood dripping down his neck and onto her hands flooded her mind.
She stood, swiftly leaving the council tent.