Chapter 14
Westley escaped into the forest, unable to shake the onslaught of Hoenir’s cottage. He was irritated with himself for being so irked.
It wasn’t as though anything bad had happened to him, but he hadn’t been expecting . . . that.
And then Solveig had to go and tease him, fight with him, until his hard-on was throbbing painfully in his trousers. He needed relief, but there was no way to do so quietly. His thoughts trailed back to her scent—it had fogged his brain when he smelled the change in her.
Goddess save him, he would’ve taken her right there, even with Noren’s and Conalle’s presence. They could watch him worship every inch of her body.
He shook his head. The images of sinking deep inside her as he fucked her against a tree were not helping. Dropping to his knees, feeling the bite of the snow, he took off his gloves and buried his hands in the ice-cold drift, letting the frigid temperature calm the maelstrom within him.
Snow crunched beneath heavy footsteps—Noren was making his presence known.
“What the fuck happened?” his friend asked.
“Solveig gets under my skin, I can’t—”
He was saved from having to finish that sentence when Noren interrupted him. “No, not the witch. Back there, with that weird-ass male?”
Even he didn’t know what to make of it all. There was something bigger going on, something Solveig was prevented from speaking of, held back by some kind of magical gag. And Hoenir was unlike any being he’d ever met before, almost ethereal in a way.
“Hoenir, he . . . has access to his magic.”
“Okay, so what? He tortured you?”
“In a way.” Westley really didn’t want to tell him, but Noren would never let it drop.
Standing, he squared his shoulders, mustering as much dignity as he could. “His magic turns people into animals. He told me Solveig loves to fly and asks to be an owl, soaring through the night.
“What he did not tell me was that it takes some time to actually learn how to fly before he turned me into a pigeon and threw me out the window. I lost track of how many animals he made me into. All. Night. Long.”
Ire rose again as he relived the worst of it, telling Noren how Hoenir turned him into a bug and then Hoenir turned himself into a sparrow and ate him. Vivid memories of the male’s digestive tract made him shudder.
“He shit you out?” Noren managed to say before bursting into a laugh so loud, birds took flight from the nearby trees. Westley glared, resisting the urge to punch him.
It had been awful and Noren wouldn’t stop laughing. So much for solidarity.
“I’m sorry, West, that’s horrible but also hilarious,” Noren said, slapping him on the shoulder. Westley shoved him off. “Oh come on, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t be laughing your ass off if that had happened to me.”
“Let’s just go.”
The two made their way back to Conalle and Solveig, who seemed to be having a serious conversation, sobering Noren up immediately.
“What are you two plotting?” Noren asked.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Solveig said, giving Conalle a pointed look. “If we hurry, we can make it to Asgard in two days.”
The rest of their journey was uneventful as they left the frigid temperatures of Idavoll behind and forged ahead into the blazing heat of Asgard. They only stopped a few more times to rest and strip off their winter clothing.
Solveig turned her face to greet the warm sun as Thrudheim, the City of the Gods, came into view. Waves crashed high onto the cliff’s edge, spraying them with salty mist as they approached. Solveig’s magic sang with the wind swirling her hair. Thrudheim was welcoming her return.
She led them to the gates of the sandstone and quartzite palace, the stronghold that appeared to grow from the beaches and cliffsides of the same warm colour.
A flaming arrow whizzed through the sky and landed an inch ahead of Helle’s hooves.
“Who goes there?” a guard called.
“It is I, Solveig Tordottir, ward of Queens Koa and Aelfsi,” Solveig announced in a strong voice.
Almost immediately, the gates groaned open, guards pouring out to greet her as she entered. The weight of Solveig’s role as daughter to the Asgardian queens slipped over her, nodding to the bowed heads as she passed through.
Their small party of four was led into Thrudheim, which remained unchanged even after all her years of absence. The palace courtyard opened up, busy with soldiers and commoners alike bustling about their duties.
When Solveig dismounted Helle, the guards did not relax their defensive position, ushering her and Conalle to the side as armed soldiers surrounded the prince and Noren.
“By order of the queens, surrender yourselves,” the head guard ordered.
Solveig? Westley caught her eye with a quirk of his brow.
Did you expect special treatment, Prince?
He nodded once in understanding as the two forest Fae raised their hands. The guards began removing their weapons. Westley stood stock-still as the guard searched his person, giving the hidden dagger in his boot a disapproving scowl.
“Do you have any more?” she asked. Was it just Solveig or did the guard sound sultry?
“I have one tucked inside my tunic,” he challenged, arms still raised. The guard went to reach inside Westley’s shirt when Solveig stepped forward.
“Step away,” Solveig ordered the guard, who regarded her with surprise. “I’ll do it.” Her tone was clipped, and she saw Westley struggle to hide a smile.
Jealous, witch?
She doesn’t need to be rooting around your shirt. I know exactly where both daggers are. She raised a reprimanding brow, scolding him for lying.
Westley didn’t hide his smile this time as Solveig slipped her hand into his shirt, holding his gaze. She felt him clench as her cold fingertips grazed his stomach. The corner of Solveig’s mouth turned up when she caressed his soft skin, reaching around his abdomen.
Gripping the hilt of a dagger, she may have accidentally dragged the tip across his stomach as she slowly brought it out. Small beads of blood trickled from the superficial cut. Westley’s eyes darkened as he held her stare, the only reaction he showed.
Her hand left the warmth of his clothing and a hint of surprise crossed his features before he could school them.
You didn’t take the other one. It was not a question.
Just in case, was all she said before shutting down her mental walls. She handed the dagger to the guard and took a step back, giving herself space.
Footsteps from the stone corridor to their left tore her attention away from the prince as a streak of dark skin and a bare head emerged from the tunnel. Solveig stood frozen with shock when the figure came barrelling towards her, arms opening wide.
The embrace was so powerful and Solveig’s knees so weak with relief that the two females crumpled to the ground.
Gerrie.