Chapter twelve
Arik
The healer had come and gone, confirming that this did indeed appear to be a menstrual cycle, though she was unable to tell us anything useful about how long it might last or how frequently it would return.
I held Eisa late into the morning as she dozed fitfully, a thought nagging at my mind the entire time as I listened to Eisa’s even breaths.
I remembered where I had seen Sigrid’s necklace before.
It had occurred to me the previous night as I caressed Eisa’s scar, before I’d woken to her covered in blood, and I’d understandably been too distracted to think much of it since waking.
I cursed myself for not remembering sooner. For not remembering when I was right there drinking fucking tea in front of her fireplace.
I needed to speak to my mother again.
Baldur rumbled irritably, his voice apologetic as if he were as loath to leave his mate as I. It’s Sigurd. You are needed.
I watched Eisa a moment longer, her dark lashes fanning out against her pale cheeks in sleep. I’m needed here.
She sleeps, Baldur reasoned. Idunn will watch over her. We will be only a thought away.
I clenched my jaw. The sight of the bedsheets soaked in red would haunt me for a good long time. For a frantic moment, I had thought I would lose her. That somehow in the night, someone had entered our room without my knowing to steal her from me.
Baldur, as always, sensed my emotion. She is safe.
For now. I gave him a mental scratch over a brow ridge to temper the irritation in my voice. Leaving Eisa felt nearly impossible, as if something needy and possessive had awoken in me.
You were already needy and possessive, Baldur pointed out.
I shook my head. This felt like more. Did I do this to her?
You think making love somehow brought on her cycle? Baldur asked wryly. Your manhood does not possess that sort of magic, I fear.
Because you have so much experience with such things, I snapped irritably.
Eisa stirred, and I clenched my jaw, realizing I’d been shouting across the mental bridge.
I continued in a quieter hiss, I’d wager you know as much as I do.
Less, actually, since dragons don’t seem to have such bodily needs.
The concept of childbearing makes little sense to me, but I do not think this is your fault. Baldur shrugged his great wings in my mind, his voice laced with amusement. It is gratifying to see you so anxious for our mate.
You did this to me. I ignored his chuckle as I carefully extricated my arm from beneath my mate, pressing a kiss to her cheek as I dragged myself from her side.
I was wearing only the leather trousers I’d pulled on to spare Branka from my nudity, and it took several minutes to find the shirt I’d discarded the night before.
When Eisa had her mouth on me.
I banished the thought from my mind—now was really not the time.
I was perfectly rational before you brought her into our lives.
Rational and miserable, Baldur agreed, as I saw him curling protectively around Idunn in my mind’s eye as she slept. You are welcome.
I rolled my eyes as I slipped from the room, expecting to find Jorgen and Branka waiting for me.
They were not alone.
“What are you doing here?” My words were flat as I stopped dead before the door and pulled it closed behind me. It shut too loudly, but there was nothing to be done about it, and I had no intention of letting my brother get past it.
Or me.
“I hear your woman is unwell,” Edvard drawled, his dark hair falling over his brow as he sat sprawled in one of the plush armchairs by the fire.
He was dressed in the clothes I remembered him preferring—finely tailored black velvet with gold brocade. He was always the more refined prince when compared to me, bearded and tattooed and unkempt. It was no wonder my father had named Edvard as his heir and sent me to Ironholm.
Jorgen and Branka stood with their arms crossed against the opposite wall as if waiting for him to strike, and their matching scowls would have been amusing if my brother’s presence didn’t put me on high alert.
“She’s fine.” I crossed my arms in a mirror of Jorgen and Branka and leaned against the doorframe. Edvard had some nerve showing up here after throwing such vile words at my mate yesterday, but he always had more bravado than sense. “Why are you here?”
“I thought all of you drage were immune to common illness,” Edvard drawled, purposely avoiding my question. His eyes met mine, the same steely gray as my father’s, shifting to a darker brown in the firelight. “Perks of bonding a dragon, no?”
I swallowed a snarl. I was in no mood to play, nor to be polite, and Edvard fucking knew it.
Easy, Baldur growled as I ground my teeth. He’s trying to bait you.
It’s fucking working.
Baldur snorted impatiently. Do not let it.
Slowly, I relaxed a breath and unlocked my jaw. “What do you want?”
He shrugged, rising fluidly from the armchair. “Father wants you.”
“Father can rot in Helheim.”
“I don’t disagree,” Edvard drawled. “Especially with the shit he is planning. But we both serve at his pleasure.”
I frowned. Edvard had always thought himself to be far wiser than my father when it came to politics, and he was probably right. The king was a battering ram where Edvard was a finely honed blade.
“I don’t have fucking time for this,” I growled, scrubbing a hand over my face. I needed to talk to my mother and get back to my mate.
But I also needed to know what in the hells my father was up to.
“Fucking gods take me,” I muttered. “What shit is he planning?”
Edvard smirked as he pushed his hands into his pockets.
“I’ll let him explain. Maybe then you’ll see that we have similar interests for once.” He strode toward the door, but looked back once he reached the threshold. “Coming?”
“A moment.”
Edvard rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. I didn’t take my eyes off him until he’d closed the door to the sitting room behind him.
“How long was he out here?”
“Perhaps ten minutes.” Jorgen’s posture relaxed a fraction from its defensive pose, but I could tell he was still on edge.
Perhaps because Sigurd could sense my anger through Baldur, and his instinct was to shield his mate.
He raised an inquiring brow as he regarded me.
“He wouldn’t leave without speaking to you. ”
“Then you should have thrown him from the window,” I growled, easing my back against the solid wood of the door as I felt the adrenaline rush out of me. “He deserves nothing less than defenestration.”
Jorgen barked a wry laugh. “I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders, thanks.”
“I second that.” Branka had moved to the table, where the remains of a breakfast tray sat, and she offered me what looked to be a half-eaten slice of toast on a delicate floral plate. “You should eat something.”
I shook my head as I pushed off from the door, wishing I could somehow be in two places at once. “Apparently, I need to see the king. And I need you two to stay here and watch over Eisa.”
Branka frowned. “Is she still asleep?”
“For now. Jorgen?”
“With my life, Dragehersker.” Jorgen’s face was uncharacteristically solemn as he clapped his fist to his chest. “No one will enter but Branka or me. Probably Branka, to be honest, since I—er—rather doubt I can be of much help.”
I nodded, amused by the red flush creeping up his neck as I turned back to Branka. I didn’t know her as well as I ought to, but I hoped she could feel my sincerity as I regarded her. “Thank you. I’m glad she has you.”
She smiled warmly back as she shrugged. “I am a rather excellent friend.”
“So humble, too,” Jorgen quipped. Branka threw the piece of toast at him, and he caught it neatly between his teeth. He cast me a critical look as I moved toward the door to follow my brother. “Should you maybe change?”
I raised a brow and glanced down at myself, grunting as I realized my feet were bare. “I don’t want to wake Eisa. Loan me your boots?”
“Do you maybe want to—oh, I don’t know,” Jorgen drawled as he sat and unlaced his boots. “Go armed?”
I caught the heavy boots as he tossed them to me and shoved my feet into them. His feet were just smaller than mine, and the toes pinched uncomfortably.
“I am armed.” I patted my chest, feeling Baldur stir inside me. “I have a dragon, remember?”
Jorgen rolled his eyes and unlaced his leather vest. “Take this too then.” He tossed me the jerkin, which was also just on this side of too small. “Just in case someone has a mind to stab your unguarded back.”
I grunted as I pulled the jerkin on, certain I looked ridiculous in the too small garments, but feeling slightly more protected. I nodded toward the room where my mate still slept. “Reach out with Sigurd when she wakes.”
“Can’t she just tell you herself?” Jorgen quipped, crossing his arms and looking slightly put out. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, by the way.”
I shrugged, grinning. “You didn’t ask.”
Jorgen spluttered in indignation, but he was cut off by his mate.
“Men.” Branka sounded aggrieved as she forced a piece of toast into my hand. I hadn’t even noticed she was preparing it. She pushed me toward the door. “Go. We’ll be fine. Don’t get stabbed.”
It was such a Revna thing to do and say that I almost laughed. I should definitely have Baldur reach out to Kindra today.
Done, Baldur agreed, his presence growing slightly distant as he reached out to our friend.
Edvard looked irritated when I finally opened the door and emerged into the hall. “About time.”
“Should I be touched that you waited for me?” The guards who had been posted at our door were shuffling nervously in the presence of their prince, and I felt them breathe a sigh of relief as we made our way down the hallway.
Edvard clenched his jaw. “We need to be united in this meeting.”
I grunted, unwilling to show my hand. Edvard knew that there was very little—possibly nothing, actually—that could make me stand on the same side of father’s table as him.