Chapter 35
When Solveig crossed the border from Asgard into Alfheim, she took a deep inhale of the autumn air.
Alfheim was a beautiful place—the perfect blend of spring, summer, and autumn.
Without a winter, they were able to reap the finest harvests of any realm.
Their luscious fruit trees filled the air with a sweet aroma. As they passed one particularly recognizable fruit, Solveig turned a wicked grin on Gerrie, unable to contain the chuckle that escaped her lips, her first feeling of levity since leaving Asgard.
Gerrie furrowed her brow as if to say don’t you dare, which made Solveig laugh harder.
“What’s so funny?” Conalle asked, glancing from Solveig to Gerrie.
“Nothing,” Gerrie said quickly.
Conalle lowered his voice. “Is it the fruit? They do remind you of penises, don’t they? You know not to touch them? They have a poisonous coating.”
That made Solveig laugh harder, and she had to dodge the dagger that came flying at her head.
“No assassination attempts on my future bride, please,” Vali said from behind.
“You mean my bride?” Steffen called.
This was beginning to grate on Solveig’s nerves.
For a week the brothers had bickered, and she was tired of it. She swung off Helle and stomped over to Vali and Steffen, who dismounted their own horses in surprise.
“What’s wrong?” Steffen asked.
“What’s wrong is you two think you can fight over me like elflings squabbling over a toy. If you’re going to fight anyone, it’s going to be me. Whoever I deem the best opponent will get my hand in marriage.”
“Really?” Vali said, eyes lighting at the challenge. Sometimes Solveig swore he had a little Vanir in him. Usually, the Elven folk were averse to violence, hence their reluctance to go to war.
“Really,” she confirmed. Vali and Steffen traded appraising looks. “But it won’t be just the two of you,” Solveig clarified.
“Pardon?” Steffen asked, turning to her.
“I’m going to issue a challenge to all of Alfheim,” she said. She’d formed the plan during their journey. “I must find someone I deem worthy, and you two are not the only eligible bachelors in the realm.”
Vali and Steffen deflated a little before Solveig turned and walked back to Helle. If she was going to have to do this, then she would make the most of it.
The only way to get Alfheim on their side was to give them something worth fighting for. To rouse them to action would be difficult, but a grand wedding, especially to a warrior like her, would likely do the trick.
Elven loved weddings.
Solveig mounted Helle and refused to pay attention to her companions. Her shieldmaiden’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and the lord was positively beaming.
Gerrie and Conalle were a bad influence.
Sten had been silent the entire trip, his energy restless and fidgety. It put Solveig on edge.
But Vali and Steffen were finally quiet, and the rest of their journey was blissfully uneventful. She had yet to feel any trace of the prince and she tried not to let herself dwell on it.
She needed to focus on what she was about to do.
When they arrived at the palace, weary from their travels, Solveig was more than a little grumpy.
Even the usually welcome sight of the towering white columns with their green roofs, willow trees jutting from the stone, could not distract her from her desire to get to bed.
They crossed over one of the many bridges that led to the palace, framed by wilting weeping trees blowing in the soft wind, rustling the air around them.
Solveig was barely able to keep her eyes open to enjoy the waterfalls or the red and orange leaves that painted the palace in a fiery glow of autumn.
Queen Eir descended the front stairs, regal as Solveig had always known her to be, not betraying a drop of emotion as her four sons returned home. Solveig could see why her Vanir ancestors were drawn to the Elven race, their opposites in almost every way.
The Elven were attuned to nature, ethereal in both demeanour and emotion.
Whereas the Vanir were impassioned and wild, ruled more by their emotions than their genetics. There were, of course, anomalies when it came to the Elven, but even Vali and Steffen had backed down when she’d issued her challenge.
She noted the differences between their races and the Fae. The prince would never—Solveig stopped that train of thought immediately. Comparison would do her no good.
“Welcome, Princess Solveig. It is good to have you here,” Queen Eir said, bowing her head.
“Thank you for your generosity, Your Majesty,” Solveig replied, giving the queen a full bow at the waist.
“You are weary. I will have your lady’s maid show you to your rooms.”
“You have my gratitude,” Solveig said, relieved.
Winding staircases took them deeper into the palace as they made their way to their rooms.
Solveig immediately missed her rooms in Asgard. The wide expanse of open wall had helped her feel safe and free.
The room they’d given her was spacious, decorated with ivory, grey, and beige tapestries. It could be considered cozy, but a suffocating feeling enveloped her. There was no colour, no way to escape the stuffy confinement.
She opened her trunk and began to dress in her nightclothes, her mind in another realm, when a blast of power coursed through her. The feel of it was unlike her own electric energy but rather cool and forceful.
It washed over her, dousing her. What was he doing that required so much power? Before she could stop herself, she reached out to him, her magic joining with his. She felt his surprise, his secret delight before he could hide it.
Are you okay? she asked tentatively.
I’m alright. We just boarded the ship to Midgard.
His magic must have reacted to being on the seas, and launching the ship would have used a great portion of that, especially without access to his full power.
Have a safe journey, she thought, beginning to shut the wall between them, but not before sending what energy she had to spare. When she was satisfied he’d have enough, her magic fought against the retreat, unwilling to separate from his.
More than that, her own wants and needs made it difficult to pull away.
Thank you.
She sat on her bed, sinking into the billowing silver covers. She relished the feel of the last tendril of his magic leaving her, a whisper of a caress so soft she didn’t know if she imagined it.