Chapter 17
The queens ordered aid to the remaining members of the Southern Wilds for the duration of their journey to Asgard. They were expected to arrive in a few days, and Solveig wanted to make sure they reached the palace safely.
Their next meeting was spent going over all the details of the last few months, specifically interrogating how their letters had been interfered with. Laeknir was the most obvious answer, but something didn’t sit right with Solveig. Like a forgotten memory tugging on the fringes of her mind.
Despite all Laeknir had done, he had tried to get her to leave early. The missive requesting her return to Asgard had clearly been a forgery, and yet, if she had left for Asgard earlier, who knows what would have happened.
Maybe he had been trying to cover his tracks and had hoped she’d be well on her way, keeping his cover intact.
She thought it over again and again, wishing she had one of the false letters she’d received.
And then it clicked.
“That bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
“What did I do now?” Gerrie asked, her mouth full of food. Solveig rolled her eyes.
“Trella,” she clarified. Solveig kept coming back to the moment she’d found the witch in her tent, sifting through her letters. It must not have been the first time. Perhaps she’d managed to sneak stationery out in previous visits. “She must’ve forged your handwriting,” she explained.
“That bitch,” Gerrie agreed.
“When they arrive, we’ll have to question her.” Aelfsi sounded joyful at the prospect. “Until then, we must plan the ball.” Her smile matched her wife’s.
There was no arguing with them—if they wanted a ball, then a ball there would be.
Over the next few days, her mothers poked and prodded her, getting measurements for her gown, taking stock of all the ways Solveig had changed since she last saw them. Their questions seemed pointless and vague at first until Solveig identified a familiar thread. It all led back to the prince.
They seemed oddly interested where he was concerned, and there was only so much Solveig could take.
“Do you need me here for this?” she asked as they started excitedly discussing food and guests.
“Not at all,” Aelfsi said, barely sparing her a glance.
“May I go release the prisoners?” Not that she minded picturing the Fae squirming in the dungeon, but it would probably not do well to enrage a new ally.
Her mothers stopped talking to stare, assessing. Koa narrowed her eyes. “I do not think it wise, Solveig, to trust them.”
“I think it’s less wise not to see this as an opportunity to show trust. To rebuild the bonds that you have strived for,” Solveig countered.
Aelfsi quirked a brow. “You have no other motives?”
Again, there was an undercurrent to her mother’s question. A nagging feeling told Solveig she didn’t want to know their schemes.
“While they may deserve to remain in the dungeon, it would be better to place them where we can watch them. See if they can earn our trust, and when they betray us, we’ll be ready,” Solveig reasoned.
“When they betray us? You expect them to?” Koa asked.
“I’m not sure what to expect, if I’m being honest.” Solveig put her head in her hands.
There was a long pause. “Very well, you may go release them. I would like Noren in the rooms across from Gerrie, and the prince can stay in the suite next to yours.”
Solveig stared at them. “You want me to keep an eye on him?”
“It should be easy, since his eye is already on you,” Koa said with a knowing look.
“Do you have a problem with that arrangement?” Aelfsi asked, lifting her teacup to her lips.
Solveig shook her head. Meddlesome mothers.
“Very well. I’ll retrieve the prisoners.”
Westley lay on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the inside of his cell. What could be taking so long? Noren’s loud snoring rattled the bars of the neighbouring cell. How his friend could sleep anywhere was a mystery to him.
Days had passed and he’d seen Conalle only once, the day they’d arrived. None but the guards who delivered food and took away their waste buckets had been down to visit them.
His mind wandered back to the courtyard. He’d met the queens before but had never felt the effect of their full attention. During their visits to Idavoll, or his parents’ visits to Asgard, he’d always remained in the background.
As third in line for the throne with no desire to rule, he wasn’t of much consequence to them.
Not anymore, it seemed. He’d forced himself into their line of sight.
Aelfsi’s haughty expression and Koa’s piercing gaze sent shivers down his spine, filling him with dread and disappointment.
If he was ever going to get on their good side—for the sake of Idavoll, of course—he had his work cut out for him.
He meant what he’d said to Noren. He had to get to the truth, and he knew it lay somewhere in these walls—he just had to get out of this fucking prison cell first.
Footsteps sounded on the stone steps leading to the dungeon, jerking Noren awake. He scrambled to his feet, disoriented by sleep. Westley didn’t bother—he knew by the tread and lack of magic that it wasn’t Solveig.
Conalle rounded the corner, a frown on his face.
“What’s the matter? Are they letting us out?” Noren asked eagerly.
“I’m not sure,” the lord told them, coming to stand between their cells. Conalle’s brow remained uncharacteristically furrowed.
“What is it?” Westley inquired from his uncomfortable position on the floor.
“The queens are scheming. They keep sending me away,” he said quietly.
“That’s nothing new, monarchs are always scheming,” Noren said, deflating.
“I guess you’re right.”
“So, are we headed for execution or staying here to rot?” Westley asked.
“No idea, though I doubt Solveig will let them execute you,” he told them.
“They are the queens of Asgard. Solveig doesn’t dictate what they do,” Noren scoffed.
“You underestimate the kind of power she wields,” Conalle reprimanded.
“She doesn’t even have full access to her magic.”
“I wasn’t speaking of her magic,” Conalle said with a censuring look.
Conalle continued. “You’ve only ever known her as your captive, as a person healing from a grave injury to her soul. You haven’t seen her as she was meant to be.”
Westley dared a glance at Noren and was surprised to see his friend’s discomfort. He’d not expected him to care about the harm they’d caused Solveig. Maybe Noren was coming around after all.
He swallowed, squirming uncomfortably. He’d seen glimpses of the person Conalle described. He knew her reputation, knew her power. The illustrious War General of the Southern Wilds was legendary, cowering at nothing and no one. The epitome of fearlessness.
Shame and regret warred within him as one of those responsible for stifling her. He swore to himself he would help ignite her again, ignite the spark he’d witnessed so she could burn unendingly.
Finally, Westley’s magic surged and he jumped to his feet, straining to hear her coming down the stairs. But her footsteps were too light. He couldn’t make them out.
She appeared around the corner without warning.
Gone were her leathers and travelling clothes.
Instead she was dressed in tight cotton pants, boots that hugged her calves up to her knees, and a deep burgundy shirt layered with a supple leather bodice laced loosely in the front, cinching her waist. The sleeves billowed off her shoulders, tapering at her wrists.
Her hair was freshly washed, hanging in loose auburn waves down her back.
The sight took Westley’s breath away—he barely recognized her. Conalle chuckled and Westley snapped his jaw shut.
Look who cleans up nicely, he thought.
Solveig dragged her gaze down the length of his body and back to his face, taking in his ratty travel clothes and what he assumed was a mess of unkempt hair. His beard was itchy.
Wish I could say the same about you.
“Alright, Fae, the queens have made their decision,” Solveig said out loud. “You’re being released and placed in comfortable rooms, but be aware—you’ll have guards posted outside your doors who will follow you wherever you go. Trust must be earned.”
“Sounds fair,” said Conalle, though Noren looked less than thrilled. It was more than Westley had dared hope for.
Solveig extended her hand to one of the guards, who gave her the keys without question. She unlocked Noren’s cell first. Westley rolled his eyes as she took her sweet time in front of his cell, sifting through the ridiculous number of keys one at a time.
Admit it, you like seeing me behind bars.
I can think of more fun ways to have you chained up, Prince.
Westley choked on his next words, not expecting that kind of response. She smirked as she finally swung his door open.
Leaving the confined space, he stretched his limbs and took a deep breath, as if the air was somehow cleaner in the dungeon hall. Conalle excused himself, saying the queens would need his assistance.
With what, Westley didn’t know.