Chapter 11 #2
“They’ve succeeded,” Lena replied, looking at the awed faces in the crowd as the domed metal and glass head of the submergible surged through the water to present itself.
The first dragon-ship docked. Two of the ship’s crews wore the blue regimentals of the Swedish military, with gold tasseled epaulets. Every one of them was as tall as Will. They moved with a militant efficiency and stood sharply to attention as a trio of officers appeared on the foredeck.
The final ship trailed with disdainful ease into the docks, edging just a little away from the Swedish vessels. Scarred and grizzled sailors manned the rails, glaring at the crowd. Thick wolf pelts trailed over their shoulders and most of them were heavily bearded.
The Norwegian clans.
Behind her the sound of metal boots rang on the cobbles. A carriage wheeled into the square, gleaming with mother-of-pearl inlay, coming to a halt directly before the platform. The Imperial metaljackets created a path, ceremonial rifles slung over their armor-plated shoulders.
The prince consort leaped out in all his elegant glory and the crowd cheered.
Lena didn’t know where to look. The world was a conflagration of color as the fireworks went mad.
The prince consort opened the carriage door and handed the petite human queen out onto the quay.
Behind them the Scandinavians were lining up, an enormous man in a scarlet coat leading them.
He stood inches above Will even, and the chiseled contours of his cheeks were softened only by a full mouth.
Will flinched beside her at each explosion above, his nostrils flaring. Of course. This was all so new to him.
She tugged at his sleeve. “I assume that man is the leader of the Swedish delegation. Count Stefan Hallestr?m of Sk?ld. They call him the War Hammer. Even the Norwegian clans step lightly around him and they’re not afraid of anything.”
Lazy amber eyes considered her. He was relaxing, which was precisely what she’d intended.
“The Norwegians are…tricky,” she replied.
“Officially, the Storting was disbanded and they bend knee to the Swedish Court now. In the capital, most have adapted to the new ways; however, in the old country they’re rather more traditional.
” She eyed the band of Norwegians scowling on the docks.
“The man in front is Magnus Ragnarsson, the Fenrir of the Raven Clan. He might wear an eye patch and be older than you and me combined, but he’s considered crafty and his men are murderously loyal.
To his right is his son, Eric.” Her eyes widened slightly.
She’d heard reports he was handsome, but as the blond warrior smiled, half the ladies in attendance stopped breathing.
Fans fluttered like an entire swarm of butterflies.
“Don’t be fooled by his charm. You don’t rise through clan ranks without killing someone along the way.
The higher they stand, the more blood they’ve shed.
And he’s slated to take over his father’s role one day. ”
Silence greeted this statement. She looked up and found Will watching her through dangerously narrowed eyes. “What?”
“I don’t think I need be concerned ’bout his charm.”
Heat rose through her throat and cheeks. She fanned herself rapidly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You sighed.”
“I did not.”
“It seems you have a dangerous weakness for verwulfen men.”
“I assure you I do not.” Still, she couldn’t stop her curious gaze from sliding back to the golden figure on the docks, with his silver-leaf chain mail and the heavy ax at his belt. She’d once accused Will of being a barbarian, but here was one in the flesh.
A Norse god at the least.
A fanfare sounded and the ranks of Norwegians parted to allow someone through. The verwulfen had won the battle; everyone was craning their necks to see who deserved such a fanfare.
A young woman stepped through the clans.
“Oh,” Lena murmured.
A hush fell over the crowd. It was well-deserved.
Not only was the woman tall and shapely, with a well-formed bosom, but she had the kind of face that could stun a ballroom to silence.
A cascade of loose blond waves fell to her waist and a gold circlet sat upon her brow.
She wore nothing more than a simple white dress, with a rakish wolf skin thrown over one shoulder, yet she had no need of more.
Gold and gems would only have gone unnoticed in the wake of her pillowy lips and glorious bone structure.
“Jaysus.” Will arched a brow.
A hot little spark burned inside her gut. Lena stepped on his foot and put all her miniscule weight into it. “Shut your mouth before you choke on something,” she snapped. “She’s not that pretty.”
Aware that he was still watching her, she looked around. The heat of his gaze lingered on her skin and she found herself fanning rather more rapidly.
“You’re jealous? I thought this were only a game?”
The fan slowed. She looked up into the burning intensity of his gaze.
The words were lightly said, but the look on his face was anything but.
“I’m not. Look at her all you want. I don’t care.
But my intention is to make you appear somewhat more than a gaping rookery-bred bumpkin, is it not? You want to impress them?”
Whilst she wanted to alienate them.
Her grip on the fan tightened as the bite of guilt filled her. “Don’t stare at me,” she whispered.
“You’re still the most beautiful woman I ever clapped eyes on.”
A pitter-patter in her chest. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
He shrugged. As if it meant nothing to him.
Whilst it meant the world to her.
A thousand meaningless compliments had tumbled from blue blood lips over her time at court. Words meant to charm and seduce. But Will never said anything he didn’t mean. Something in her chest warmed.
Then she deflated. If he knew she intended to destroy the treaty, he’d be furious.
There would be no more smiles her way, no more compliments.
Will would hate her. Lena’s fingers curled around the fan, a rash of heat springing into her eyes.
She looked away swiftly, swallowing hard.
He could never know. Winning the Scandinavian’s support was not as important as Charlie’s life.
“You know a great deal about ’em,” Will said, as the prince consort stepped forward and nodded at the Swedish ambassador. The formal words of greeting were exchanged, along with rather a lot of edged smiles and shaken hands.
The ambassador bowed before the queen, the curve of his back deeper than what he’d offered the prince consort. He had to know who truly ruled Britain; this was an insult, one of the first of many, no doubt.
Perhaps her task would not be so difficult after all?
“I was curious.” And she’d needed to know who her targets would be. Again an uneasy churn of guilt turned her stomach.
“This Magnus,” he murmured. “He’s in charge of the Norwegians?”
She wouldn’t deny him the information she’d spent hours gossiping to achieve.
“There are only five remaining clans left in Norway. Magnus rules one, but for this delegation he speaks with their voices. The true source of power in Norway is Valdemar Einarsson, the jarl of all the clans.” Another stolen glance at the young woman bowing to the queen.
“She must be his daughter, the Lady Astrid.”
“What happens once they all finish bowin’ and scrapin’?”
“We retire to the Ivory Tower and the welcoming ball begins.”
A slight hint of unease in his eyes.
“Yes, Will. Dancing,” she said, relishing the moment. “Now we see if you’ve retained any of my lessons.”
***
Light glittered. The official state ballroom walls bore mirror after mirror, the edges scrolled with gilt and interspersed with elegant paintings. Will paused at the top of the red carpeted stairs as his name and Lena’s were announced.
Hundreds of faces turned his way. Blue bloods, verwulfen, and human alike.
A brief scan of the crowd revealed the Norwegians gathered in the corner, expressions wary and considering.
The Fenrir locked gazes with him, his black eye patch distinctly out of odds here in this gleaming paradise.
Fur bristled on his shoulders and his iron-gray beard spoke of the weight of years.
Will felt as if he’d been weighed and measured by that single eye.
Not a man he’d like to cross.
“Come,” Lena whispered, tugging at his sleeve.
Why the devil had he agreed to this? Feeling hunted, he stalked down the stairs beside her.
The next hour was a whirl of teeth-grinding social niceties and false smiles as Lena introduced him to members of the Echelon.
Hard looks slapped his back and he saw more than a few blue bloods exchange glances.
The looks were easy enough to interpret.
What the hell was he doing here? What game was the Council up to?
Lights. Music. Laughter. So bright and glittering, dozens of gaslit chandeliers casting heat across the room. Nostrils flaring, he intercepted a glass of champagne from a drone’s tray and handed it to Lena. She served as his only anchor in this world he didn’t understand and didn’t want to.
It suited her. She laughed and tapped her friends on the shoulders with her folded fan, constantly keeping him involved in the conversation when he’d prefer to have just stood at her shoulder and scowled.
This entire evening was effortless for her.
Even the blue bloods danced to her tune, kept in place with a coquettish smile and a drawled witticism.
He wanted to smash them in the face for each smile they earned.
“I need air,” he growled in her ear.
“Not yet.” She took one look at his face and nodded thoughtfully. “Come. Dance with me.”
Only for her would he endure such torture.