Chapter 47
With mixed emotions, Solveig watched the prince retreat, his shoulders hunched like he carried the weight of the world.
She supposed as a royal he had heavy responsibilities.
Though she’d been brought up by the queens of Asgard, she’d never experienced the full weight of the crown.
She had no intention of being their successor, and they knew it well.
But her responsibilities as their general weighed her down. The sheer amount of people she was responsible for, the fight for their magic, not to mention trying very hard not to start an internal war with the Trifold by exposing Idavoll for the traitors they were.
With her emotions haywire, she couldn’t necessarily trust herself not to do something rash and stupid. Like confront the prince.
Why was he here? To punish her more for her failings? There had to be another purpose, other than to sort out their leadership issue.
Idavoll was hiding something, and she didn’t know what it was yet, but she was determined to find out. And the prince’s involvement, however deep, could not have the power to derail her. She wouldn’t allow it.
The feel of him pressed into her lingered on every inch of her body.
The hunger in his eyes hadn’t helped her own dangerous and ill-timed desire.
Surprisingly, she’d only had a brief flutter of panic at being on her back, until he brought his mouth close to her ear.
Her heart had sped up for an entirely different reason.
She was shaken from her thoughts of the prince when Quillon cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him.
All the humour had left his face, and Solveig mourned the loss of it. She’d felt lighter in the past thirty minutes than she had in months, and it was likely that it would not happen again any time soon.
“It was a good move, to spar like that with Prince Westley,” he said.
“But?”
“It may be too little, too late.” Dread pooled in Solveig’s stomach, erasing the last of her good mood. “While the fight will surely be viewed in your favour, I’m not sure it will be enough to sway the majority.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Quillon?”
“Latham called an emergency vote after the prince administered Leif’s punishment,” he said gravely.
“He doesn’t have the authority to do that,” Solveig said, bristling.
“Maddock seconded the motion, and one by one, the council agreed.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow at dawn,” he said solemnly.
She was supposed to have three more weeks. She needed three more weeks. Though she was feeling better—her nightmares less frequent—there was still much healing to be done.
“Better go get my pistol,” she muttered in a fake mortal accent. The jarl chuckled softly.
“That’s the spirit.” He reached out and clasped her shoulder. “No matter what happens, the people stand with you, General.”
Solveig blinked back the stinging in her eyes. Her title didn’t matter to her, but she didn’t want to lose the power to help her people. She took a deep breath. One. Two. Three.
Fuck.
Gerrie’s solid body held Solveig in place as the thrashing subsided. Her nightmare was more vivid tonight, no doubt caused by her anxious thoughts about the council vote. Not to mention the incident with Leif that had left her shaken with memories that ought to stay buried.
No light shone through the tent walls. She still had time to shake off the horrific images her mind conjured in the night.
“Do you want company?” Gerrie asked as Solveig slid out of bed.
“Not today.” She peeled off her sweat-soaked night clothes and put on a pair of black tights, clasping a band around her breasts before throwing on a loose-fitting shirt and tying up the laces on her shoes.
As Solveig left the tent, the crisp air cooled her clammy skin. Rain that had started sometime in the night fell lighter now, soothing her heated, sweaty forehead. She took a moment to relish the scent that was embedded into her senses.
She reached her arms over her head to stretch out her aching muscles. Her deep breath filled her lungs, another freeing sensation, before she let it out slowly, counting to three out of habit.
Then she ran.
She ran until her muscles burned and her lungs screamed for air. She ran through the familiar forests, racing away from the memories that plagued her. Numb to her pain, both physically and mentally, she ran, and ran, and ran, escaping all that she was and all she was meant to be.
There was only so much one person could endure. In her four hundred and twenty-five years she had encountered all manner of horrors, had doled out all manner of horrors. Not once had she broken until the cave. Until them. Him.
But she was not broken anymore.
Her head cleared and she focused on her goal today. Light began painting the sky, black night shifting to watery pink as the sun stretched its rays over the forest. For the first time since she’d escaped, the sight of the sun did not cause her dread. It gave her purpose.
With renewed energy, Solveig made her way back to the gates, her footsteps slowing as she heard voices. A female was speaking.
Solveig couldn’t make out the words, so she stepped as lightly as she could to get closer. Rounding the bend, she stopped short, quickly placing herself behind a sizable tree.
Latham, Trella, and the prince stood huddled together.
Solveig’s heart pounded in her ears, her empty stomach churned as a foreign sensation stabbed her heart. What was the prince doing with them?
She slammed a wall up against her emotions and refused to think of anything but listening. A muscle ticked in the prince’s jaw. His eyes blazed with emotion.
“All I’m saying is that it would make sense if she’s a traitor,” Trella said, her voice low and husky, intentionally provocative.
“I need more than a theory to take back to Idavoll. Do you have any proof?” The prince looked between Latham and Trella, who glanced at each other.
“There are many eyewitnesses who witnessed Solveig deliberately make the choice not to capture the Lionhead at the last raid,” Latham answered.
What the actual fuck?
“That alone is not enough reason to believe her treasonous,” the prince replied. Did he sound angry, or was she projecting her own feelings?
“Under her leadership, our attempts to gather solid information against the mortals have constantly been thwarted. We never captured the right person. When we have caught someone, they’ve died before we could properly interrogate them.”
Had Latham always had such a snivelly voice?
“In your stint in charge, have you been able to glean any vital information?” the prince asked coolly. Latham had the good sense to appear at least a little chagrined.
“Well, no, but we haven’t had the chance since we’ve been dealing with Solveig’s absence,” he said, clearly grasping at straws.
“The monarchs of the realms are getting restless, but I will not settle for anything less than absolute proof of involvement with the mortals. Or at least a reasonable motive that connects these incidents,” the prince said gravely.
“What about her coming back? No one has ever escaped before, yet she did, with barely a scratch on her,” Trella insisted.
Like someone had stabbed her, all the blood drained from her body. They would use her escape against her? The prince seemed equally troubled. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat.
“No, that is not a good enough reason.”
There was a long pause. Latham appeared to wrestle with indecision before letting out a long sigh.
“Her father was a mortal,” he said quietly.
No.
How could he? How dare he? No one knew that information, save for the queens and Latham. And Trella, apparently, because she did not look at all shocked by the revelation. The prince, however, did.
He reared his head back, disbelief colouring his features.
“That’s not . . . That’s not possible,” he whispered.
“It’s true. Solveig told me herself,” Latham said.
That bastard. Solveig was going to kill him, but first, she would rip his tongue out and shove it up his ass, as promised.
“She was raised by the queens, was she not?” the prince asked skeptically. Latham hesitated again, but apparently he’d made up his mind to spill all the secrets.
“She was. As you know, Queen Koa’s mother was one of the strongest Vanir who ever lived.
She was a force to be reckoned with, but she had one weakness—her mate was a mortal.
” The prince shook his head absently. “Yes, she was married to an Elven, but she found her mate later in life. A mortal man was brought in as a slave and the mating bond struck her to her knees the first time she saw him. Such a thing was unheard of, and her Elven husband was forced to watch his wife fall in love with a pathetic human. That human sired her a child—Solveig.”
“You’re saying that Queen Koa is Solveig’s half-sister? And her father was mortal? How is she so powerful?” the prince asked, clearly unconvinced.
“Her strong Vanir heritage overrode her mortal half, and as she grew, she showed signs of her mother’s great power.
Threatened by Solveig, the Elven husband had her father murdered.
He then poisoned his wife, but not before Koa became aware of what was happening.
She was too late to stop her father and watched her mother die when Solveig was a babe.
Koa and her wife took Solveig in and raised her as their own shortly after being sworn in as Queens of Asgard. ”
The prince took all this in, but Solveig couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he believe it? His face was set in deep concentration and he slowly nodded his head.
“So you see, she’s half human! Her father was mortal, killed by an Elven. She has a reason to side with mortals, she’s one of them!” Trella exclaimed.
The prince nodded again and Solveig’s entire being went still. “I see,” was all he said before walking back into the camp.
Solveig watched his retreating form, the wind carrying his scent to her. She breathed in deeply and ignored the deep part of her soul that flinched. Tearing her gaze away from him, she focused back on the couple. A smile crept across Trella’s narrow face.
“Lath! We did it!” she said quite loudly, throwing her arms around his neck.
With Latham’s face buried in Trella’s hair, Solveig couldn’t see his reaction. When Trella practically climbed Latham’s body, wrapping her legs around him, she decided it was time to leave. He backed her into a tree and started kissing her ferociously. She didn’t want to see him dry hump the twat.
She quietly backed away, Trella’s obnoxious moans assaulting her ears as she crept towards the side entrance and made her way back to her tent.
Gerrie was going to lose her mind when she found out what Latham had done.