Chapter 69 Solveig
Solveig had taken a risk when she invited the prince to stay in her tent. But knowing he was there to find a traitor in their midst gave her the idea.
Her shieldmaidens wouldn’t be able to get as close to him as she could, so she gambled with her life, assuming he could be trying to get close to her as well, and invited him to stay.
It didn’t hurt that she slept better than she had in months.
She didn’t want to admit how long she’d waited up for him that first night before falling into a fitful sleep, alone.
When she woke in the early hours of the morning, he was there, passed out on his stomach in the bed she had prepared for him as far from her own as the tent would allow.
His enormous body took up the majority of the small space, limbs hanging off the ends. She’d smiled to herself, filled with satisfaction and a few other emotions she refused to acknowledge, and had fallen back into an easy sleep.
He’d slept there every night for the past two weeks.
He hadn’t moved in any of his belongings, and they had an unspoken rule to never speak of their arrangement.
During the night, when her nightmares were particularly bad, she woke to find him in her bed, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. They never spoke of that either.
Their training sessions grew more and more electric, especially on days they could hear the screams of their prisoner echoing through the camp, reaching them all the way in her training ring. The screams mingled in Solveig’s soul with memories of her own.
The prince met her blow for blow on those days.
Even with his aggressive fighting style, he knew how to calm her.
A quick touch of their skin, their magic aligning, steadied her breathing as her magic raced.
Their bodies moved instinctively with one another, and their sparring became a choreographed dance.
Then there were the other dreams—the ones that left her sweating for a completely different reason. After the nightmares brought him into her bed, her dreams took on another form in which his gloriously naked body covered hers.
One night, she dreamt they were in her room in Asgard, the curtains fluttering in the breeze that blew through the wide expanse of open wall.
The space opened up to a view of the cliffside of her homeland, cool air caressing her heated skin.
Soft sheets lay in a pile at their feet, their bodies moving together, her head thrown back in pleasure.
The cool of his magic mixed with her energy, both in the dream and in her bed, setting their bodies ablaze with need, her blood thrumming with desire. His calloused hands trailed the insides of her thighs, his rough beard scraping along her sensitive centre.
Her cries of pleasure had woken them both.
They breathed heavily, staring at each other in the dark, lust and secrets filling the space between them. She didn’t know who fell back to sleep first, but she woke before he did and ran to Gerrie’s empty tent to sit in a cold bath.
Archery lessons were excruciating. The prince insisted on being as close to her as possible. Their unspoken communication left her mind open to him and he did the same. She couldn’t get the scent of him out of her head and the feel of him off her body, making those dreams that much more vivid.
He was everywhere, seeping into the makeup of her very being.
Two days before they were scheduled to leave for Asgard, she jolted out of the complacency she’d let herself fall into.
She was in his arms, her back pressed to his front, his lips grazing her ear. Her eyes were blindfolded as she let her other senses guide her arrows. A chill descended her spine as his hand skimmed the skin at her hip just under the hem of her shirt.
Instead of heeding her instinct to step away from him, she leaned back, arching into him. His breath hitched as his fingertips dug into her flesh, pulling her closer, his soft exhale tickled her neck.
His hands tightened on her, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be pressed against the nearest tree, she and the prince tearing each other’s clothes off. She wanted to taste him. She wanted him to devour her. But more than that, she wanted him. All of him.
The desire, the thoughts scared her into complete shutdown. She pulled away abruptly, throwing her walls back up and shutting him out. Almost immediately, the prince spun her in his arms and yanked off the blindfold.
Alarm was plastered across his face. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Solveig answered without emotion.
“Why did you . . .” His voice trailed off as he tried to read her, but she kept her emotions locked down. His brows furrowed.
“We leave in two days.”
“I know,” he said, confused eyes searching hers.
“There is much to be done,” she said stiffly, taking several steps away from him. His now empty arms dropped to his sides. “Thank you for the training. I have found it to be most helpful.”
“Why are you being so formal?”
Was it just her, or did hurt flash through his eyes? She didn’t care. Couldn’t care.
“Laeknir suggested I get an early start because of the storms. He practically begged me to leave last week.”
“He’s worried about you. But that doesn’t mean we have to stop training this instant. What happened?”
There was no answer she could give him that would explain her conflicting emotions. “I think it best we focus on the upcoming journey.”
He took a step towards her. “Solveig.”
“It’s for the best, Prince. This”—she gestured between the two of them, her tone relaxing—“whatever this is, can’t continue.”
“Like Hel it can’t,” he growled, stepping closer but she backed away, shaking her head.
“You have a duty to your people and so do I.”
“We have the same goal. We both want to restore magic.”
“No, we don’t. You’re here to infiltrate my people and find a traitor among us. Not when your advisors, friends even, think it’s me.”
“I know it’s not you.”
“You can’t know that.”
“But I know you,” he insisted.
“You don’t,” she said firmly. She caught the pain that crossed his face that time.
“I do,” he whispered. “I—”
He was cut off by a shout in the forest. They both looked up to see Sten stumble into the clearing.
“There you are, General, I’ve been looking everywhere for you—” He stopped when he noticed the prince standing behind her. “I’ll just find you later.”
“That’s okay, Sten. The prince was just leaving.”
“Actually, no, I wasn’t.”
Sten eyed the prince nervously before turning his full attention to Solveig. But before he could say anything, she waved a hand to the prince.
“You can’t take a hint, can you? Off you go, Your Highness. I’m sure there are better things you could be doing with your time than annoying me.”
“Not at the moment.” He leaned casually against a tree, bracing his hands in his pockets.
“I was trying to be polite,” Solveig said, narrowing her eyes at him as he laughed without humour. “Maybe that was too subtle for you. You’re dismissed, Prince.”
He folded his arms in response. And he called her stubborn.
Sten interrupted before their bickering went on. “It’s okay, General Tordottir, I-I just wanted to relay a message to you . . . from . . . from our mutual friends.” He was so shifty there was no way the prince wasn’t seeing through his act.
“And?”
“They want you to know that trust can be repaired when it matters most.” It looked like there was more Sten wanted to say, but with the prince hovering, he couldn’t go on. With a peek in the prince’s direction, Solveig guessed that Sten had not been cryptic enough, interest clear all over his face.
Sten was pacing and pretended to twist his ankle. The prince didn’t move as Solveig bent down to help the young male up. Sten whispered quickly in her ear, “Three . . . three betrayals. One ends in death, one in Valhalla, and the other in Hel.”
Solveig helped him to his feet and then he raised his voice, surprising her by speaking directly to the prince, his eyes losing more of their colour.
“Not all is as it seems.”
The prince froze, realization and horror written plainly on his face. Sten stepped on his perfectly fine foot and walked away.
Three betrayals. One ends in death, one in Valhalla, and the other in Hel.
Solveig had never heard a more direct prophecy. She assumed that one of the betrayals was Latham. Although, did the prophecy mean new betrayals or betrayals that had already happened? She couldn’t bring herself to dwell on the fact that Gerrie was gone—what had happened to her?
Before she could contemplate who the others could be, the prince interrupted her thoughts.
“A Vanir Seer visited the castle when I was a faeling, just before I reached maturity,” he said, gazing off into the distance as he spoke. “She was only there for a few days and was always staring at me. I thought it was creepy, to say the least. One day I’d had enough.
“I confronted her and asked what the Hel she was looking at. Her eyes drained of colour, becoming white as snow. All she said was, ‘A hungry wolf is destined to wage a desperate battle. Not all is as it seems.’ Then she walked away. At the dinner table that evening, my father was livid that the Seer they’d invited into their home never delivered a prophecy.
She quietly packed her bags and left Idavoll without telling anyone. ”
The prince turned his gaze on her, his eyes refocusing on the present. “I never told him that she spoke to me. I’ve never told anyone.”
A cold sweat broke out over Solveig’s body.
In all the recorded prophecies of history, never had two Seers used the same phrasing, even if they were prophesying about the same point in time.
There was always a difference in the language used.
Solveig wondered how many unrecorded prophecies were delivered word for word to match another, if there were any at all.
Not all is as it seems.
They stared at each other. Solveig didn’t know what to say. Clearly, he’d figured out that Sten was a Seer with access to his magic. What the prince made of the words he’d spoken, she had no idea. He finally uncrossed his arms and stood up to his full height, walking towards her.
When she backed up a step, he hesitated, slowing his pace. He stood so close to her, their bodies not quite touching. A muscle feathered in his jaw as he struggled for words.
“Solveig,” he breathed, his scent washing over her, “I am that desperate wolf. I have raged a desperate battle. My hunger to save my people has been all-encompassing. Nothing matters more than saving my realm—than liberating them. I would have done anything . . . I have done horrendous things to wage this battle.”
He stared down at her with such intensity, such pain that she ached to reach for him. She couldn’t, though. Her body was rooted to the spot.
“We all do terrible things in war,” she whispered.
He shook his head, breaking eye contact. “Solveig, I have to tell you . . .”
BOOM.