Chapter 67 Solveig
Slowly rising to consciousness, feeling well rested and peaceful, Solveig revelled in the comfort of being at home. She must’ve still been dreaming, because she was warm and protected.
It was a relief to wake up in this dream when the lingering effects of her latest night terror remained at the fringes of her memory. It was strange—she usually woke up when it was as bad as she remembered.
She vaguely recalled a feeling of safety surrounding her, pulling her out of her nightmare from Hel and placing her in this dream.
Nestling deeper into her soft bed and hard pillow, she enjoyed the rise and fall of deep breathing. Solveig inhaled the smell of the sea and the rain from last night as the heavy covers tightened around her, pulling her farther into the bed.
Her leg was draped across the hard pillow, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. With her body settled in all the right places, she didn’t want to wake up quite yet.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling this safe and wanted to soak it in for a little while longer. Her magic had other ideas, though, because it coursed through her, urging her to wake.
With a heavy sigh, she dragged herself into consciousness but was confused to find her sense of safety and peace remained. She was almost sure she was awake now, and yet her pillow still held her tightly.
Wait.
Solveig’s eyes flew open as she took in the large—thankfully fully clothed—male she was completely draped over.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Jumping out of bed, she reached for her closest dagger and brandished it in front of her, still disoriented from sleep.
“AHHHHHH!” The prince’s battle cry pierced her ears as he copied her movements, bursting out of a deep sleep, weapon in hand, to mirror her fighting stance on the other side of the bed.
He looked dishevelled and a little unhinged. His dark green eyes flitted around the tent scanning for the danger that had woken him until they landed on her, still standing with her dagger poised in front of her.
His stance didn’t relax as his eyes slowly dragged from her face to the oversized shirt she wore and down to her bare legs.
He took in the length of tanned skin and taut muscles lined with scars, his jaw clenching as his gaze slowly moved back to her face, lingering a little too long at the tops of her thighs and her peaked breasts before meeting her eyes.
He braced himself when he found her face flushed and nostrils flared.
“What the fuck?” she hissed. The prince lowered his weapon and, with an exaggerated slowness, raised his hands in front of him.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, surprising her with sincerity.
“So, what, you thought you could sneak into my bed in the middle of the night and then leave before I found out?!” she shouted.
“No!” he yelled. Then said more softly, “No, Solveig. You were screaming in your sleep. It was so much worse than all the other nights and I just—I wanted to help. I came to wake you, like last time. You wouldn’t wake up.
I didn’t know what else to do so I held you until you settled.
I was going to leave but I accidentally fell asleep.
” His voice softened, not with pity but with apology.
Solveig did not let down her guard. “What do you mean, ‘all the other nights’?” she asked quietly. The prince hesitated, and when she glared harder, he raised his hands higher.
“Since that first night when I was able to wake you . . . I hear you every night.”
“Every night,” Solveig muttered to herself, not meaning to say it out loud. The prince nodded.
“I didn’t want to overstep or impose, so I tried to ignore it. I figured you didn’t want me barging in here.”
“You thought right.”
“But then last night, it was worse. So much worse. I couldn’t just let you suffer.”
His words stabbed her insides and she tried to hide her reaction, placing a cold mask over her emotions as she finally lowered her dagger and stood tall.
The action pulled the hem of her shirt higher on her thighs and the prince’s eyes briefly flash down at the movement. To his credit, he didn’t linger a second time. He lowered his hands.
“I have a Sound Stone,” she said.
“I assumed.”
“You can hear me anyway.” It was not a question.
“So it would seem.”
Solveig slumped down on the furs, all feeling of safety having vanished the instant she jumped out of bed.
For a moment, she yearned to go back to where they’d been a few minutes ago. It had been so real, so right. But it wasn’t and they couldn’t.
She rubbed her face with her hands as she tried to compartmentalize her emotions. When that didn’t work, she shoved them down and cut herself off from them completely.
Well, she tried to.
When she turned back to the prince, he was still standing there, looking unsure of what to do.
He ran a hand through his hair, causing the hemline of his shirt to rise, giving her a glimpse of those delicious muscles he’d worked so hard for.
She gripped her hands tightly in her lap as warmth pooled low in her core.
“I guess I’ll just . . . go,” the prince said awkwardly, his body tensing. Shit. He could probably scent the change in her emotions. He grabbed his coat from the chair by the bed and swiftly made his way out.
“Thank you,” Solveig whispered just as he disappeared through the entrance of her tent. She didn’t know if he’d heard her.
She dropped back onto her bed, now cold from the lack of body heat, laying there for a moment before pulling herself together.
She needed to move, so she stripped off her shirt and began searching for her running clothes.
She had just grabbed her favourite black pants and top when her tent flap opened, the prince barging back inside.
“Solveig, I have to tell—” His voice trailed off when he laid eyes on her in only the panties she’d slept in, her breasts bare, full and peaked.
“Gods! What the Hel, Prince!” she said as he abruptly spun around.
“I’m s-sorry!” he stammered. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Solveig quickly threw on her pants and band and stomped around, still barefoot, to stand in front of him. She pushed him as hard as she could. Though she was strong, he barely moved.
“Learn. To. Knock.” She punctuated each word with a shove.
He recovered from his embarrassment quickly. “You know, you don’t have to push me towards the bed—all you have to do is ask and I’ll gladly get back in with you,” he teased with a coy smile. Solveig tried very hard to keep her eyes away from the obvious bulge in his loose grey pants.
She let out a frustrated growl. But that wasn’t good enough. So she punched him in the face. The crack of bone was satisfying as the prince grunted with pain. She shook her fist out. His face was hard, but it was worth it.
“I deserved that,” he mumbled as he adjusted his nose back into place with another crunch. He used his shirt to wipe the blood off his face.
“You deserve more. Maybe I’ll shoot a few more arrows through your body today. I wonder if you’d recover if I shot one through your head. You know, just to see if you have a brain hiding somewhere in your thick skull.”
“Admit it—you’d miss me if I was gone.”
“I don’t think ‘miss’ is the right word.”
Another staring contest. They were beginning to get quite good at it.
Solveig cracked first this time. “What do you want, Prince?” she asked, every word ringing with exasperation.
“It was nothing,” he said quietly. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you still up for training today?” he asked as if it was an afterthought.
“If I get to shoot arrows at you and kick your ass, Hel yes.” Her heart was still beating out of her chest, but she gave him a small smile. “Now leave, please.”
“You said please. I didn’t even know you had manners.”
“Ha ha. It will probably kill you to know how polite I can be when we get to Asgard.”
“I can hardly picture it.”
A pause.
“Get out.”
A smile lit up his face. “Ah, that’s more like it.”
When he left this time, Solveig waited a few moments, just in case he came back. She wasn’t sure if she was hoping he would or wouldn’t. When he didn’t, she took a deep breath, praying to the useless gods and goddesses. Then she went for a very long run to clear her mind.
Solveig came back from her run to three figures standing outside her tent. Inside, she could hear the sound of her bath being filled. She hoped it would still be hot by the time her shieldmaidens finished delivering whatever news they had for her.
By the look on Veda’s face, it wouldn’t be. She groaned inwardly and made her way towards them, sweat trickling down her back.
“Veda, Idunn, Signe.” She nodded to the three females who stood stoically waiting for her.
“General Tordottir.” They nodded back, fists placed over their hearts. It was no use correcting them. These three females had been her shieldmaidens for two centuries, and they were as loyal to her as ever. For that, she was grateful.
“What news?”
Even though there was no one within earshot, the Fae’s heightened senses were a concern. Veda motioned for Solveig to enter the tent, and the three females followed.
Once they were inside, they traded pleasantries until the staff finished preparing Solveig’s bath. When they were alone, Veda jumped right in.
“The name Booth was more difficult to track down than we anticipated. We apologize for the delay.”
Solveig waved a hand in dismissal. “Not to worry. Were you able to find something?”
The three traded glances and Solveig braced herself, waiting for the bad news.
“Yes. Booth indeed hailed from Idavoll, but as you suspected, his Fae heritage was not Elven and Vanir. He was Elven and Giant. Jotunheim claims him.”
Solveig’s mind only caught one word. “Was?” she whispered.
Idunn nodded, eyes knowing. “Yes, General. He did not survive long after your escape. He’s dead.”
“How did he die?” Solveig asked.
“We’re not sure. From what we were able to gather, he was punished for allowing you to escape,” Veda answered.
“Punished how?”
“With the Blood Eagle.”
Her world spun. Though she was momentarily relieved, her magic seethed, slithering through her, searching for a way out.
She wanted revenge. More revenge. Her magic purred at the viciousness of the punishment, her vision swirling with the memory of the one time she had witnessed the brutal form of torture.
The traitor’s spine and ribs had been carved from his body, lungs ripped out and splayed across his back. With the Fae’s healing abilities, the body tried desperately to repair itself, but it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to his painful death.
Booth did not deserve to die so quickly, even if it had taken hours or days. He deserved months, years of suffering.
She would’ve had him strung up by his entrails for the rest of his godsdamned life if she’d had it her way.
“There’s more,” Idunn informed her.
“I would hope so,” Solveig said, more sharply than she had intended.
“Booth Gunnarson was Fae born to a Giant mother. His Elven parentage is unknown. He was a bastard, born of an affair with—and this is the good news, or bad depending on your outlook—the Queen of Jotunheim.” Veda’s eyes were wide and insinuating while Solveig internalized this information.
“If Booth’s mother was the queen, then that makes him . . .”
“Maddock’s half-brother.”