Chapter 36
Not ready to return to camp, Solveig took refuge in the training ring, soaking wet and eyes red from crying until no more tears came.
Too many thoughts swirled in her mind—she needed to dry off and regroup.
She threw knife after knife, enjoying the small thrill of satisfaction as each one met its target with a thud.
Losing herself in the practice, she finally grew strong and steady again.
When her right arm was too tired to continue, she moved on to her left. This was one of her favourite exercises, and Gerrie had supplied her with a countless number of throwing knives. Even so, she was nearing the end of her pile.
Before she threw the last one, she switched her aim at the last second.
The knife flew past the original target and embedded itself in a tree, right beside the prince’s face where he leaned against its trunk, arms folded across his broad chest. The cold blade was a hair’s breadth from touching his skin.
He didn’t flinch, and Solveig had to give him points for that.
The prince grabbed the knife and yanked it from the bark. Solveig watched wearily as he flipped it a few times in his hand before pocketing it with a smug smile.
“That’s not yours,” she reprimanded, narrowing her eyes.
“Any blade thrown at me is fair game. If someone is foolish enough to leave me alive, they deserve to lose their weapons.”
“I wasn’t aiming to kill.”
“I know.”
“Take the warning, Your Highness, and leave.”
“Please, call me Westley.”
“I think I’ll stick with Your Highness.”
“Very well, General,” he emphasized. He stalked closer, inspecting the private ring she and Gerrie had constructed. He tugged at the ropes and kicked a tree stump, his eyes scanning the weapons laid out on the dirt.
“Does His Highness approve of my set-up?” Solveig mocked.
“No,” he retorted. “His Highness feels that a general should not train so far from her legion.”
“I do not train here exclusively. I also use the camp’s main ring. This is only for my private use,” she defended.
“And why do you need such privacy?”
“To avoid irritating interruptions by Fae princes who are not welcome.”
Westley put a hand to his chest. “Are you saying I am unwelcome here?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, forgive the interruption, General.” He made no move to leave.
“Did you need something, Prince?”
“Not really.”
She waited for him to explain his presence, but he didn’t. Instead, he continued to inspect the weapons, running his hand along the blades and axes. Solveig ignored him and went to collect her knives from the forest.
Some were buried in tree bark while others rested on the ground. She had to jog quite far to retrieve some of them, and by the time she returned with her arms loaded with steel, she was panting from the exertion.
The prince dragged his gaze down her body, lingering a little too long at her chest before meeting her eyes.
She pinned him with a look, and he shrugged in a What do you expect? gesture. She busied herself rearranging the knives in a neat pile, taking pains to line them up exactly. When she was done, she had no other option but to face him. She ignored the flare of her magic as she did.
“Who told you about this place?” She could probably guess, as only six other people knew of it.
But he surprised her by answering, “The healer, Laeknir.”
“Laeknir told you where to find me?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I asked and he answered.” The prince shrugged again. Solveig was beginning to hate the gesture. “Oh, and he said to give you this.” He handed her a waterskin. She didn’t have to open it to know it held the Drink. She downed the liquid, hiding her grimace from the prince.
“A thank you is usually the polite response when someone does something nice for you.”
Solveig snorted. “You think bringing this to me was nice?” She held out the waterskin to him. He stepped closer to smell the contents and pulled away quickly, his nose wrinkled.
“What the Hel is that? Did you actually drink it?”
“It’s the Drink. It’s the most horrendous thing you’ll ever taste.”
“Why on Yggdrasil would you drink it, then?”
“Why don’t you try it and find out?”
“No, thank you.”
Solveig chuckled and the prince’s eyes flashed. “Why are you here?” she asked without looking at him, putting the cap back on the waterskin and setting it aside.
When he didn’t answer right away, she crossed her arms as she leaned against a tree stump. He sighed.
“Besides bringing you what I can only assume is poison because Laeknir clearly wishes you dead,” the prince said, smirking, “I thought we should speak without an audience.” She waited for him to continue, but he only stared at her intently.
Solveig returned his intensity, taking in his tall frame and broad shoulders. The edges of a tattoo peeked out of his shirt collar at the side of his neck.
With his sleeves rolled up she could also see a long, thick line of dashes, almost like tally marks, running down his forearm. She was curiously drawn to the scars—the Fae’s healing abilities were renowned. They were probably cut with iron and salt.
She wanted to ask him what had done that to him but was trying to keep her distance. He set her magic on edge, and she didn’t care to test its bounds just yet.
“You’re staring again,” he said.
“I was wondering how a Fae prince came to a life of war.”
“You mean, what would a royal want if not a life of luxury?” He picked up one of the broadswords, his capable hands gripping the hilt, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he tested its weight. “Show me what you’ve got, General.” He entered the ring, assuming a fighting stance in front of her.
He cocked his head to the side and gestured to the sword strapped to her back. She made no move to unsheathe it.
“Why would I do you the honour of clashing blades?” she asked.
“I want to see if the rumours I’ve heard are true. I know for a fact now that some of them are false.”
“What would make you think that?”
“For starters, I cannot see any stubble, so you haven’t shaved recently.
Therefore I must conclude that you have not choked the life from your enemies with the length of your beard.
Nor have you pissed on their bodies. That one I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty.
I’m simply taking an educated guess. It is much harder for females to aim their piss. ”
Solveig blinked at him. Then burst out into laughter. Her body shook and she bent over, bracing her hands on her knees. When she met his gaze, he was staring at her with awe before schooling his expression into a mere smile.
“You cannot be serious!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, I’ve heard these and other rumours several times.”
Solveig wiped her eyes as her laughter died down. “I know most assume I’m male—I prefer it that way. But this? Oh, you must tell me more.”
“Maybe I will,” he said with a shrug and then raised his sword, beckoning her. Before she could hold it back, she gave him a genuine smile.
His eyes widened and her smile turned wicked as she unsheathed her sword in one slow movement. The ache in her arms long gone thanks to the Drink.
“You asked for it,” she taunted.
Instead of waiting for him, she made the first move, feigning a lunge forward and then quickly slashing to the side. He jumped out of the way, but not before she cut a slit in his tunic. He raised his eyebrows at her smirk.
“If that’s how you want to play, General, let’s play.”
The clang of metal echoed through the trees as their swords met again and again. The fight was a violent dance set to the rhythm of their increasingly laboured breaths. They slashed, twirled, and dodged around each other. He was stronger, but she was faster.
Only Gerrie ever challenged her like this, and she had to admire his skill. Even with his muscular frame, he was light on his feet and moved with grace.
His eyes were set in fierce determination, sweat trickling from his brow down his face. Solveig’s magic pushed her on, enjoying the fight, revelling in the closeness of her blade to him. She wanted to be closer.
No sooner had she thought it, their blades came crashing together, crossing in front of their faces. As they locked eyes, something passed between them. Hatred? Respect? She didn’t know, but she didn’t like it.
She shoved away from him with all her might. A spark flew from her hands when her skin touched his, shocking him back.
“What was that?” he asked, chest heaving, staring at her.
“What was what?” she said, feigning ignorance.
The prince scoffed, seeing through her lie. “You know what. What was that spark?”
“I’m not sure.” It was only half a lie. She could guess it was her magic, but if so, she had no idea how it had escaped.
“I felt a shiver go through me, General.” His voice was lethally calm, and her hackles rose.
“Please excuse me, Your Highness, but if you’re experiencing tingling in your body, I can’t be held responsible,” she sneered. He raked his eyes over her figure, his gaze lingering on her thighs and slowly dragging up to her face.
“You’re right. It would take more than a touch for you to make me tingle.” That sounded like a lie.
Solveig kept her sneer in place, and he glared back. Moments stretched between them until he shook his head and turned away from her. Her eyes followed him as he stalked off, going straight to Njord.
When he mounted his horse, Solveig examined her hands, flipping them over.
She caught him staring when she glanced up, still feeling his presence. She stuck her middle finger up, hoping he’d been around mortals enough to know what that meant. He chuckled and pulled the reins, galloping away before she broke into a smile.