Chapter 23
Westley stood in the grand ballroom after making his entrance.
Like most balls, royals and leaders of each realm entered one group at a time, taking the time to show off in the spotlight. Solveig liked to call the Fae peacocks, but really, the term suited all royals.
Since Westley’s family had not arrived yet—in fact, none of the realms’ representatives had arrived—he was introduced first. Alone, he descended the stairs, feeling incredibly foolish with all eyes on him.
Noren waited at the bottom of the stairs, snickering. Westley wanted to punch him.
They nursed their drinks at the far corner of the hall, watching the citizens of Asgard drink and be merry. Mortals not only worked as servers but also enjoyed the party as guests, dressed in their best attire.
It was not just lords and ladies in attendance but commoners in their finery as well.
Westley’s throat bobbed, finding it difficult to swallow. His gut told him something was off—no place could be this perfect.
He had to find some flaw in Asgard, some hidden secret that revealed all of what he saw as rotten. If there wasn’t, then he’d devoted four hundred and eighty-one years to the wrong Fae, regardless of where he was born.
His stomach churned as he thought of the atrocities he’d committed against Asgard, the cities he’d flooded in the name of the gods.
How many innocents had given their lives for no other purpose than Idavoll—Ragnvald—coveting more power?
The doors at the top of the stairs opened and a trumpet blared, announcing the arrival of the Giants.
“Introducing Their Majesties King Tyrell Haraldson and Queen Consort Hulda Griddottir of Jotunheim, and their son, His Royal Highness Prince Maddock Tyrellson with his betrothed, Lady Noma Frodedottir.”
Westley’s brows shot up—he hadn’t been aware that Maddock was betrothed.
The Giant royals entered, nodding at the modest applause they received as they descended the stairs. They were dressed in the colours of their lands, icy blues and cold indigos, washing out their already pale skin.
When the four reached the base of the stairs, their attendants fanned out around them, fluffing their gowns and capes. Even for Giants, they stood quite a bit taller than usual, rising head and shoulders above the tallest Fae in attendance.
Westley took a peek at their shoes, and sure enough, they wore heeled boots and raised platforms. He had to hide his smile.
The Giants were quite sensitive about their shrinking height. Even Maddock was a couple inches shorter than his father.
They didn’t have much time to fritter about because the trumpet sounded again and the doors opened to allow the next group to enter. The Light Elven came through the doors next and Westley’s teasing smile turned genuine.
“Introducing Her Majesty Queen Eir Revnadottir of Alfheim and her sons, Their Royal Highnesses Prince Vali Eirson, Prince Steffen, Prince Henny, and Prince Bo.”
Queen Eir descended, followed by her sons—the four brothers Westley had known growing up. He made his way to the front, excitement bubbling up like he was a faeling who knew trouble was right around the corner.
It had been an age since he’d been in their company, and he was surprised none of them were married or betrothed yet. The four eternal bachelors of Alfheim.
The white and silver clothing of the Elven complemented the marble staircase as they gracefully descended, looking much more at home in Asgard than the Jotunheim royals.
Vali noticed him first, his smile turning wicked and dark eyes twinkling.
His long blond hair hung loosely down his back, twists pulling the strands away from his face to showcase his high, pointed ears.
He was glad they had accepted Koa and Aelfsi’s invitation. This party would be a great deal more exciting with the Elven brothers in attendance.
“West!” Vali exclaimed, coming towards him. They gripped forearms in greeting and Westley beamed at his old friend.
“How long has it been?”
“Too long,” Steffen said, coming to stand beside his eldest brother.
“Your mother looks well,” Westley said, inclining his head.
“She always does. That old crone just keeps on living—ow!” Henny flinched as a delicate pale hand cuffed the back of his head.
“Your Majesty,” Westley said, bowing low to Queen Eir. A smile danced on the Queen of Alfheim’s lips as she took him in.
“Prince Westley, it is good to see you. Try not to destroy any palaces today, please, we haven’t enjoyed a good party for aeons. I’d hate to see it ruined.” She gave him a knowing look and Westley smiled sheepishly, heat prickling his neck.
“Yes, Your Majesty, I think I can manage that,” he replied with another bow.
Queen Eir glided off to greet guests and Bo snickered behind his hand. Henny punched him.
“You could have warned me she was right behind me,” he said to his youngest brother.
“What fun would that be?” Bo replied.
“So tell us, West, what have you been up to as of late? We’ve not heard a tale from Aegir in some time,” Vali said. Westley cringed at the nickname that once made him so proud.
“Aegir is getting old and has slowed his conquests,” Westley explained, trying to laugh it off.
“What a shame. From the moment we walked in I knew we’d have no chance with any females with all their attention on you,” Steffen muttered, only half joking.
“It’s the muscles,” Vali remarked with a smile. “We Elven are cursed with too much beauty and the Fae get all the brute strength.”
The doors opened and the trumpet blew again, halting their conversation. Svartalfheim was one of the only realms to adopt the mortal system of government and had begun electing their leaders.
Chancellor Gloi Ginnarrdottir arrived without her family, accompanied only by her husband. Westley was not sure why they’d left their two daughters at home—his sisters would be disappointed.
He bowed as they passed. Though it was not their custom anymore, the Dwarven knew that the other realms still held to their traditions. Chancellor Gloi greeted the monarchs of the realms, except for the Giants.
Their lands bordered each other, but Jotunheim and Svartalfheim had never seen eye to eye.
With each realm’s entrance, Westley grew more antsy. His family would be here soon and he wasn’t sure how to greet his parents. They had not left things on the best of terms, and after ignoring their letters and requests to bring Solveig to Idavoll, he was unsure of their reception.
He didn’t want the other realms noticing the cracks in Idavoll’s armour but had no idea how to face them, feeling as he did about his home.
Like his thoughts summoned them, the doors opened yet again, and in walked his parents. Noren jabbed him harder in the ribs than was required, like he couldn’t see his family right in front of them.
Asshole.
“Introducing Their Majesties King Erik Ragnvaldson and Queen Consort Alvida Vedottir of Idavoll, and Their Royal Highnesses, Princess North Erikdottir and Princess Easta.”
His parents found him immediately standing with the four Alfheim princes. Westley decided on the spot to pay them no mind, instead turning his attention to his sisters.
North and Easta were dressed in the green of Idavoll—North in a deep emerald gown with long bell sleeves and a skirt that puffed out around her, swishing as she walked.
Easta wore a dark forest-green silk gown that hung off her shapely curves.
The sisters’ olive skin gleamed in the white marble room, the contrast of the rich colours making them stand out against the cool hues of the other realms.
Westley was so glad to see them.
He bowed briefly to his parents without meeting their eyes, his heart flipping in his chest. Indecision was new to him and he wasn’t sure how best to handle it. Holding his mother’s hand as she descended the last step left his skin feeling clammy before he turned to embrace his sisters.
“Little brother,” North said affectionately, reaching her arms around his waist as he hugged her head to his chest. She tried to pull away when he enveloped her, but his arms were like a cage, locking her there. “Ah, you’re going to wreck my hair!” she exclaimed.
He held on for one more second before releasing her, her hands flying up to adjust the crown he’d knocked askew. “Menace,” she whispered with a smile.
“Don’t you dare,” Easta admonished with her finger pointing at his chest before he pulled her into a tight hug as well. She held her head back from him though, making him chuckle.
“Westley.” His father’s voice came from behind.
Easta gave him a look, rolling her eyes where their father couldn’t see. It was an effort to keep from responding with a smirk. He turned to greet his parents.
“Mother, Father,” he said with a bow but made no move to embrace them. His mother frowned, looking hurt, but said nothing.
“We have not heard from you. Have you been getting our letters?” His father was looking for any excuse to blame Asgard for tampering with their correspondence.
“Yes, Father, I’ve received your letters.”
“I see,” he replied, furrowing his brow. He took in Westley’s outfit and stiffened.
Westley wore no green, no colours of his home save for the emerald ring that marked him as an heir of Idavoll. His black jacket was trimmed in inky threads, highlighting the gold circlet crown on his head.
The onyx shirt he wore beneath opened just enough to show the tattoo on his chest, an immodest choice by Idavoll standards. Black pants tapered into his dress boots.
Asgard’s dark fashion made him look like an imposing Asgardian royal instead of the Forest Fae heir he was.
His parents shared a look and then turned their backs on him as one. North sighed.
“I guess that could’ve gone worse,” she said under her breath.
“There was no bloodshed,” Easta chimed in, beaming at Noren as he bowed to her.
“I’m shocked they spoke to you at all,” North added.
“Oh please,” Easta said, turning to her sister, “and miss the chance to publicly snub him?”
“Fair point, though with the Alfheim princes here, one can’t be sure anyone was even looking at us,” North said with a smile, craning her neck around Westley’s body to take a peek at the Elven brothers.
“True,” Easta said with a sigh, peering around Westley’s other side. “I wonder how many of them I can get to bed tonight.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Westley gripped the top of his sisters’ arms, dragging them away from the Elven. They laughed as they let him march them over to the food table. “Eat,” he ordered.
They’d just made a long journey and his parents wouldn’t allow food in the carriage.
“This is not what I want to fill my mouth with,” Easta mumbled as she bit into a piece of fruit.
“You’re ridiculous,” Westley said with a huff as North and Noren laughed. He knew it was all in jest. Both sisters were mated, though their stories were quite different. He watched as they spoke animatedly with each other. Even Noren joined in, looking lighter than he had in weeks.
Before they could torture him further, the doors opened and Westley’s magic purred, curling up his spine, sending a hurricane of energy through his whole body. His head snapped towards the top of the stairs.
She was here.