Chapter 32
Westley and Brenna walked the halls, poking their heads into all the unlocked rooms down each wing of the palace.
No one had seen Viggo or Noren since last night, and they were not in their rooms. Westley was becoming increasingly agitated, barrelling through the corridors.
If they didn’t find them, the party would have to go on without them. Westley had half a mind to give up and leave. The sooner he was gone, the sooner he’d be able to reunite with Solveig in Idavoll.
“So, she knows who we are?” Brenna asked, continuing their earlier conversation as they made their way down yet another hallway.
“She does,” Westley said stiffly.
“And she forgives us?”
“Forgive might be a strong word, but she’s a general. She understands.”
“How big of her,” Brenna muttered.
Westley turned at her tone. “You think she lies?”
“I think she’s the daughter of the Asgardian queens.”
“Queens who have agreed to help our people, despite what my family has done. They’ve already sent aid.”
“She’s Vanir,” Brenna said, clearly trying to find anything against Solveig.
Westley stopped. Though he understood her prejudice, hearing it out loud made him ashamed he’d once thought the same way. “I’ve lived with them. They are not the barbarians we expected them to be, Brenna,” he scolded.
“Maybe, but after everything we did to her, you can’t possibly think she’d willingly help us?”
“You don’t know her.”
“And you do?” she accused with a raise of her brow.
“Not as well as I’d wish to. But I do fully respect her, and that should be enough for you to trust her as well.”
She stepped forward and slid a hand down his arm. His magic recoiled at the unwanted touch. “Well, regardless, I’m glad we will have some time alone, without her, on the journey to Midgard.”
He pushed her off in clear dismissal. “If not for the queens’ orders, I would be joining her in Alfheim.”
Hurt crossed Brenna’s features. Though he’d enjoyed their time together, it had never been serious between them.
And he had found his mate. But he would not disclose that information until Solveig knew. Which meant he planned to never speak a word of it to anyone.
Instead, he swallowed his guilt and did not further the conversation.
Apparently, she was not content to let it drop because as he turned away, she gripped his arm again. He hissed, instinctively exposing his canines to her in warning. She backed off in surprise.
“You no longer wish for me to touch you?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
Westley turned away before she could ask why and continued looking for Viggo and Noren. Brenna followed quietly behind like a wounded animal.
As far as he was concerned, they’d never been in love, had never made promises—he owed her nothing. The nights they’d spent together were before they had captured Solveig, and certainly not enough to warrant this reaction. He hadn’t been with anyone since then.
Was he a fool to miss the signs of her attachment?
Regardless, he’d always been clear with the females he bedded—he had no heart. Turned out that wasn’t quite true. His heart beat only for a Vanir witch. No one else.
Brenna was looking on the other side of the hall when her gasp and glass-plinking laugh came from a few doors down.
“Get us out of here!” came Viggo’s roar.
Westley hurried down the hallway and stopped short in the doorway. A laugh burst out of him at the sight, lifting his sunken spirits.
Noren and Viggo lay side by side, sprawled out on a bed, naked to the world. Their hands and feet were blue in colour, the ropes around them cutting off their circulation.
“Don’t just stand there, untie us!” Noren yelled, his face red and splotchy.
Westley quickly began untying the knots, having difficulty getting purchase of the ropes through fits of laughter. They were trickier than he expected, but he managed to free them, one at a time.
Given the scent in the room, he had an idea of what had happened.
“Let me guess. Gerrie?”
“That witch is going to pay for this,” Noren said, cradling his wrists in his hands, wincing as the blood flow returned.
“You let her string you up?” Brenna said, still laughing by the door.
“She tricked us! Put us under a spell!” Viggo cried in relief as his ties came undone. The males quickly scrambled off the bed and found their clothes.
“Was the spell called wine and sex?” Westley asked with a laugh.
“No,” they answered in unison.
“Don’t bother getting fully dressed, you’ll need to change into travel clothes. We’re leaving for Midgard immediately.”
“On whose orders?” Noren, skepticism mixing with his anger.
“On your future queen’s,” Westley answered, warning clear in his tone.
“This was North’s idea?” Noren asked, not bothering to do up the buttons on his pants as they made their way down the corridor and up the stairs to their rooms. “Does Easta agree?”
“North and Easta both agree that that is where we are supposed to be.”
“So the queens gave the order,” Viggo stated, not fazed in the slightest.
“The queens held a council with North and Easta. Do not be shortsighted. This plan goes beyond Asgard versus Idavoll. The realms are in danger,” he told Noren.
Westley and Brenna waited in uncomfortable silence for Noren and Viggo to change, their earlier argument lingering in the air between them.
Brenna cleared her throat. “You’ve changed.”
There was no use denying it. Even he didn’t recognize himself anymore. His thoughts drifted back to Solveig, knowing she was the reason.
He couldn’t be upset about it though. He may not recognize himself, but he was lighter than he’d been in decades, even with the turmoil of unravelling his beliefs. Even if it turned out that everything he’d been taught was a lie, he could deal with that knowing Solveig existed.
After another beat of silence, Brenna said in a small voice, “You could have told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That we were over.”
“Brenna, we were never together.” When she made a face at him, he rolled his eyes, a habit he was picking up from Solveig. “You know what I mean. You knew I didn’t want anything but friendship from you.”
Her lips wobbled. “And my body.”
“Which you freely agreed to,” he reminded her. His tone came out more scolding than he’d intended. He was being a dick, but he couldn’t help it. She’d known the arrangement. If she’d been unhappy with it, she should’ve said something.
“And you feel nothing more for me?”
How many times did he have to tell her? “No, I don’t. I’ve never felt that way for you.”
Brenna shook her head. “She won’t choose you, if it comes down to it. You know that, right?”
The words made his heart clench, because she spoke the truth. “I do.”
“If you know that, why go to such lengths for her?”
The words were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to shout that she was his mate. But he couldn’t.
That had to stay locked inside. Solveig needed to make that choice for herself, without pressure from him. He would live with the consequences of whatever she felt was right for her and her people.
He was saved from having to answer when Noren and Viggo appeared, still haggard from their rough night.
What was once funny a moment ago no longer held humour for him as they made their way down to the stables.
“There you are. I thought you’d tried to pack yourself in Solveig’s trunk,” North teased upon seeing him emerge from the palace. Westley prayed for patience.
He loved his sisters but had rarely spent this much time with them outside their home since he’d moved out.
“That reminds me, Solveig asked me to give you this.” Easta took a small, folded letter out of her satchel.
It was an effort to school his features. His heart took off, galloping away from him. He didn’t need them to see how excited he was about a damn letter, giving them more fodder to taunt him with.
“Thank you,” he said with what he hoped was an unaffected smile.
Westley walked into the stables to read in private, ripping open the seal as quickly as possible without shredding the paper within.
Prince,
You may think I am infallible, and during our time together, you have known me to be stubborn to an extreme.
But I must admit something to you. I am a coward.
I cannot face you while telling you this, so instead, I am hiding behind a letter.
My purpose in going to Alfheim is not so simple.
I am to be wed in an arranged marriage with an Elven to unite our people.
It is not my wish, but I must do as my queens ask of me.
They have their reasons, and I trust that they are not only for the good of Asgard but for all realms.
There can be no mistaking that we share a connection, and it pains me more than you know to sever it now, before we even truly had a chance to begin.
I cannot, in good conscience, marry another when I have the taste of you on my lips and the feel of you in my heart.
You are a prince, leader of your own army.
I know you will understand that duty must come first.
Forever your captive,
S.
Westley held the letter tightly in his grasp, nearly ripping the thick parchment as he read the words again and again until he could recite them from memory. Every painful word.
North called his name impatiently and he shoved the letter into his vest pocket, keeping it close to his breaking heart.
His magic, his bond, roared at the news but he buried it, stiffly striding out of the stables to mount Njord.
“Let’s go,” he whispered to his steed, ignoring the questioning looks sent his way.
Njord took off, racing towards the front gates as they opened for him, leading him away from Asgard—away from his soul and into the scorching sun, where the heat burned the tears from his face.