Chapter 66 Solveig/Westley
She walked straight out of the dungeon and emptied her stomach into the bushes.
Her whole body shook, a cold sweat breaking over her skin as she continued to vomit. A warm hand landed tentatively on her exposed back and rubbed slow circles as she heaved. She didn’t have it in her to feel embarrassed.
Hel, she didn’t have anything in her at that moment—it was all in the bushes at her feet.
Her breathing slowed and her stomach calmed as she braced her hands on her knees. The warm hand trailed up and down her spine in a soothing motion, and for just one moment, she let herself feel.
What would it be like to allow the prince to comfort her? If there was no war, no sides, no dissent among the races, she wouldn’t resist his pull. There wouldn’t be a reason to.
She would stand and he would wrap his strong arms around her and envelop her in his scent of salty sea and trees. She would nuzzle her face into his chest and he’d whisper consoling words to her.
It was all there in her mind—her life without war. Peaceful coexistence within the realms, her prince by her side as they trained their people. She’d never told anyone of this particular dream, but in a perfect world, she would instruct younglings to wield magic.
The prince had only recently appeared in this fantasy.
Tears pricked her eyes as the want pained her heart, but she blinked the moisture away, pushing the feelings down. They were of no use to her. Reality was not made for hopes and dreams.
Wishing was for those who knew nothing of the world—those who had not confronted the darkness that laughed in the face of fantasies. Wishing only led to heartbreak.
And she had work to do. She thought of Booth in that cave and wondered for the thousandth time if he had died.
She hoped he hadn’t so she could kill him and take her time doing it. She’d take three delicious months for it, given the chance. Like she told John, she was just another monster. The thought of her guards, Stick and Thick, Water, and Fear sent a shudder through her body.
When Solveig had first thought of her revenge, she’d wanted them strung up side by side so she could deal with them simultaneously. But that was proving to be more difficult than she anticipated, conflict raging through her as dreams and reality warred in her soul.
Like he could sense the shifting direction of her thoughts, the prince’s hand on her back stilled. She came back to the present.
“Where’d you go just now?” he asked softly.
“Oh, just murder and revenge,” Solveig replied as she stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The prince’s hand fell to his side and he flexed his fingers. Her back still thrummed where he’d touched her.
“Ah, the usual. I hope I’m not on that list.”
“Your Highness, you’re right at the very top,” she said sweetly through a smile that did not reach her eyes.
“That is genuinely a terrifying thought, General.” His stare burned into her, making her squirm. The last few minutes caught up with her as her cheeks started to redden.
“I doubt it considering you just witnessed me fall to pieces. I can’t be that terrifying to you anymore.” She was dangerously close to being even more vulnerable in front of this Fae. She had to pull herself together.
“Are you kidding? Do you know how much strength it takes to vomit in such a high quantity?” He nudged her with his elbow and she let out a small chuckle. “Seriously, it inspired plenty of fear.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way—actually, forget that. Please take this the wrong way if you need to, but I’m going to go to my tent to pretend today never happened.”
“Ouch. I do plan on taking that the wrong way.” He clutched his heart.
“Suit yourself. See you tomorrow, Prince.”
“Try not to shoot me, okay?”
She waved at him, calling out, “No promises,” as she walked away.
His deep chuckle raised goosebumps all over her flesh.
When she arrived at her tent, she realized he had distracted her from her spiral into the darkness, pulling her out of her rising panic. But without his infuriating smirk and strong, warm hands, Solveig’s mind was free to ruminate over every thought and feeling she’d had that day.
The darkness welcomed her home.
Every time the door to the dining hall opened, Westley automatically looked up, small beats of hope quaking his heart and disappearing just as quickly when Solveig did not enter.
He was not subtle at all.
Conalle and Noren caught on to his glances and began exaggerating the craning of their necks, slumping in disappointment every time the door opened. Westley shoved Noren off the bench and his drunk ass tumbled right to the floor with a loud thump.
“She arranged to have her dinner brought to her tent tonight,” Conalle finally told him. Westley was a bit shocked by the strength of his disappointment.
Conalle clapped him on the shoulder, and Westley brushed his hand off as Noren climbed back on the bench and whispered loudly to him.
“She’s off-limits, West. You know you can’t have her.”
“Get your nasty breath out of my face,” Westley said. “I know.”
“I don’t see why there would be a problem! She’s sexy, you’re sexy, your sexy times would be very sexy,” Conalle said, throwing his arm around Westley’s shoulders.
“Your drunk asses need to get to bed,” Westley said, helping his friends to their feet. They stumbled out of the dining hall.
The stars bright against the dark sky greeted them. Storm clouds rolled in like they did most nights. He’d never stayed anywhere that rained this much. It was coming on fast—they’d be caught in a downpour if they didn’t hurry to their tents.
They stumbled through camp and Westley dumped his friends on their cots, both practically snoring before their bodies hit the piles of blankets.
He was walking to his tent when a bright flash of lightning struck the forest. The clap of thunder that followed was louder than anything he’d ever heard. Almost immediately, his heart clenched as Solveig’s screams wracked his mind. Horrifying, terrified screams.
After the briefest moment of hesitation, he took off running.
Every night he tried to ignore the feel of her nightmares, but tonight was unlike anything he’d encountered before.
Her eyes had been haunted when she walked off that afternoon.
Westley didn’t pause at the tent entrance this time.
He cut through the ties, using the spares to resecure the opening once he was inside.
Solveig’s screams coursed through him and he quickly removed his overcoat.
Much like the first time he’d come to her—although this time he wasn’t soaking wet—he leaned over her and tried to wake her. She was drowning in the depths of her nightmare, and he could not rescue her. No matter how loud he yelled or how hard he shook her.
So he did the only thing he could think of.
Westley kicked off his boots and slid under the furs, wrapping his body around hers. She was cold and clammy, thrashing wildly as he held her to him. The shadows of the tent pressed in on them with every wild cry.
He stroked her arms and hair as he cradled her, whispering softly, anything that he thought might comfort. He didn’t know if she could hear him in this state, but after a few moments, she stopped fighting and her screams settled into whimpers.
His heart shattered at the sound and beads of moisture stung his eyes.
As he held her close, her heart rate steadied and her tears eventually dried.
His own fell into her damp hair. Her breathing softened, deepening.
He kept up his soothing touches and calming words as she drifted off into a soundless sleep.
He promised himself he would leave. But Solveig’s warming presence changed his desires.
The way her body fit perfectly against his calmed his restlessness, and for once, the rightness of it didn’t bother him. Closing his eyes, he resolved to soak up a few calm moments with her, knowing deep down he couldn’t stay.
His last thoughts were of Solveig, her smile, her tears, the smell of the storm outside mixing with her electric scent as he succumbed to sleep.