Chapter 3 Latham
With as much patience as he could muster, Latham waited after Gerrie left, so he and Solveig could ride back to camp together. He paced back and forth, Blesi hoofing at the ground, nearly as impatient as his rider.
Solveig came racing through the forest, her dark brows furrowed in determination.
High cheekbones cut her square, angled face in the sunlight.
He guided Blesi one step behind Helle, knowing she was not yet ready to speak.
Instead, he trailed her, while her shoulder-length auburn hair whipped behind her, free of its usual intricate braids.
It pained him to see a weight so heavy on her shoulders.
He wished she had not been born to such greatness. The moment she came into her power, she’d carried the burden of her birthright. If only she would let him help her.
Before the Block hit, magic had been the main determining factor in who ruled the realms. Since Solveig’s magic was stronger than even the Queens’, she could’ve taken control of Asgard, even as a Vanir.
But she respected her mothers too much to challenge their power.
When she’d made the decision to decline the throne, Latham had been frustrated at first.
How could someone reject that much power? Until it hit him that if she were to take Asgard’s throne, she’d likely have to marry some pointy-eared Fae asshole-diplomat. And she would’ve been bored out of her fucking mind.
Solveig was a warrior, and her purpose was not to sit on a throne, but to win wars and lead her soldiers into battle. He’d certainly follow her anywhere. When he was with her, he was safe, she never let her guard down. Even when they were safely settled at camp, she remained armed to the teeth.
Her swords were slung over her back and at least three daggers were hidden somewhere beneath her usual fitted black pants and loose white tunic.
As she dismounted, he couldn’t help but admire her physique. Her lithe body rivalled that of the Elven, taller than the average Vanir female, but stronger, sturdier. For the millionth time, Latham cursed the boundaries she’d set in their relationship.
He had yet to really touch her or taste her like he wanted to.
There was something between them—he understood it even if she didn’t. Ever since they were witchlings, they’d been inseparable. When maturity hit, all hormones and anger, they fought and pushed each other, the tension escalating as they aged.
Their one night together had been both spectacular and devastating.
The way her skin had felt under his hands—the soft, dark freckles that dusted her body after years of training in the unforgiving Asgardian sun.
Her scars and calluses formed a beautiful map of her life.
He wanted to take the time to memorize her.
But she wouldn’t allow it again until her duty was complete and magic was restored. He couldn’t let it go so easily, it was forever imprinted on his mind.
Shortly after their magic had been ripped from them, leaving them vulnerable and seeking comfort, she succumbed to the pull.
One night, after too much rage and too much war, they came together in a mess of tongues and teeth.
He’d buried himself in her and it was, quite honestly, the best night of his life.
No one understood him the way Solveig did.
She instinctively knew what he wanted and needed before he did—touching him everywhere like she couldn’t get enough.
He’d been elated and full of hope, though war still raged around them and their magic was gone, as he lay in the tangled sheets, drifting into a peaceful sleep.
In the morning, he rolled over to bring her closer, but the sheets had gone cold. When he opened his eyes, she was already lacing up her boots.
He had replayed their conversation in his mind a thousand times. Every single time, it stung like it did that day.
“Where are you going?” he had asked her, his voice like gravel from sleep.
“I have to get out to rounds. Larson will be on my ass if I’m late.”
Latham breathed a sigh of commiseration. Captain Larson was as strict as they came—he would make anyone running late to duty pull extra hours of labour in the camp, including Solveig, though she outranked him.
“He’s such a prick,” Latham agreed, closing his eyes. “I have the day off today, but come find me when you’re finished. We’ll grab a bite to eat.” He was already missing her, and after last night, couldn’t wait to have her again.
There was a pause. Latham opened his eyes, taking her in. Wiping away the sleep, he saw her clearly for the first time. She wasn’t looking at him.
“Sol, what’s wro—” he began to ask.
“Last night was a mistake,” she said harshly, lifting her head to look at him. Her eyes were guarded, shoulders braced. Latham’s stomach dropped, those five words blasting a hole through his heart.
“No, last night was perfect. You were perfect, we were perfect,” he insisted.
“Latham,” she sighed. “We were both hurting. We needed the release.”
He was already shaking his head.
“No,” he said more firmly. “We may have needed it but we also needed each other.” He sat up fully, feeling a little too exposed now that he was naked and she was fully dressed.
Her eyes softened, filling with pity. His stomach roiled, nausea building with each second she let slip past without caving.
“I’m sorry, Lath. I thought I was clear. Despite our feelings, we can’t be together that way. Last night was a mistake, I never should’ve let—”
“Stop.” He swung his legs out of bed and quickly pulled on his pants from the day before. They were still caked with mud and blood from the brutal battle. He stood in front of her, laces still undone. “I know what you feel for me, even if you don’t quite know it yet yourself.”
She furrowed her brows, but before she could speak, he went on.
“We belong together. I know it. Everyone knows it.” He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“I have waited for you to be ready—I’ve made my feelings clear, and last night was just the start, saeta.
You’re scared and that’s okay, but everything will work out. ” He smiled and leaned in to kiss her.
Before he could reach her lips, she pulled out of his grasp, glaring at him.
They were almost at eye level given they were about the same height, but it was as though she was looking down on him. She took one deep breath, likely counting to three in her head. It was what she did when she was trying to keep her cool.
He didn’t understand how she could be upset right now. She was the one saying all the wrong things. Her voice was steady when she spoke.
“Let me make two things very clear. First, you do not get to tell me how I feel. Even if I was confused, which I am not, it is not your place to decide for me just because you disagree. Second, I am not scared. I have always made myself very clear about how I feel.
“We are at the very heart of war, our fucking magic was just stripped away and we have no idea how. I cannot let my feelings for you interfere with my role. I cannot have you disobeying my orders because the lines of our relationship are blurred.”
He was more than willing to put her life above everyone else’s. She didn’t love him as much as he loved her, but he was going to change that. He would show her how he could support her during this war—that when he challenged her, it was to push her to greatness, not to disobey her.
She was wrong. He wasn’t a hindrance.
“Latham, I’m sorry but I have to go now.” She moved away, but he grabbed her hand.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I should’ve known you weren’t ready.
I got excited,” he said, calculating how he could turn this around for himself and make her see how much better life would be if they were together.
“This won’t happen again. Not until you ask.
” She nodded slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she exited the tent without another glance.
Latham blew out a long breath as the memory swirled in his head.
He had proven his ability to be a strength for her. He’d been her second in command—her support. When he disagreed with her plan of action, he let her know it. She grew into a strong leader because of him, because he didn’t lie at her feet like an animal.
She had yet to invite him into her bed again, though she’d taken other lovers.
To hide his devastation, he did the same, always picturing her when his hands roamed the breasts of another.
Pretending it was her voice calling out his name as someone else moaned.
And when he came, he pictured her coming undone at the same time.
The females always left his bed satisfied, but he could never remember their faces. Only hers. His cock hardened as he watched her walk away—one hundred and fifty years of watching her walk away from him. He would need to relieve this ache before following her.
It would be irreverent to have a hard-on while they worked to form the raiding party, considering at least one of them would die.
He called out to tell her he’d be there in ten minutes. She barely acknowledged him, only lifting her hand in answer, and he went to beat off to the bittersweet memory once again.