Chapter 45
Solveig replayed the images of Latham betraying them all.
Again.
Over and over, she used the hatred, disgust, and hurt to fuel her magic.
Because of the venom still in her system, her magic was slow to replenish, and she needed to be able to help the prince if he called for her again.
Judging by the underlying current of worry running through her, he wouldn’t ask, knowing she was low.
Long after the audience and everyone else had gone, Solveig sat on the edge of the darkened stage. It was peaceful, the haunting empty space lit only by the moon. She inhaled the cool air and watched as her exhale puffed out in front of her.
Steffen had bested her. The choice was clear—if she didn’t choose him as her husband, Alfheim would be slighted. She had to fulfill her promise.
Her body recoiled at the thought of choosing Steffen, like biting into a bitter fruit. Only focusing on other emotions kept her on this path. The path that led to her saving Asgard and all of fucking Yggdrasil for that matter.
Right and wrong seemed murky to her now. For the first time in her long life, what she knew to be right and what she felt to be right were at odds. She wished Sten’s magic wasn’t failing him. He had yet to weigh in and still hadn’t spoken from his Sight since Asgard.
If he would only look at her with those wide eyes, she would feel better about the path she’d chosen.
Solveig stiffened as footsteps churned the still air.
Queen Eir appeared from behind the stage curtain.
The only bit of surprise Solveig allowed was a raise of her brow.
The queen came to sit beside her, crossing her feet as they hung over the side of the stage.
The night syphoned the robes of any pale colour they might hold.
“Steffen,” she said simply. Solveig nodded.
The queen turned her contemplative face to the moon. Solveig wanted to ask if she was happy or disappointed with this outcome.
“Would you really have chosen a farmer over my son?” she asked, jarring Solveig out of her musings.
“If that farmer had been a formidable opponent, yes, I would’ve considered it.”
“Why?”
Solveig thought for a moment before she spoke. “If I am to have a partner, I need to be able to trust that he can hold his own. My life is one of war and power. I need someone who will fight beside me, not cower behind me.”
The Elven queen appraised her. “Wouldn’t you rather have someone who was born to lead? To rule? A farmer would not have been prepared for such a life.”
“Why would I need that?”
“To rule Asgard with you,” Queen Eir said, like the answer was obvious.
“I was never meant to rule Asgard, nor have I ever wanted to.” She hoped her quick refusal to acknowledge her status in Asgard wouldn’t raise any alarms.
“Didn’t Koa and Aelfsi send you here to find their next king?”
“They sent me for a husband to help join our two realms. With my Vanir heritage and the Elven of my choosing, we will create a Fae. The queens mean to make my offspring their heir, knowing I never wanted the throne.”
“And you believe Steffen is the right partner for you?”
The question was loaded, packed with skepticism. Solveig couldn’t answer. Her hands were tied. She didn’t want to lie, but the truth wouldn’t help either of them. Still, the queen would likely detect any deception on her tongue.
“To be quite blunt with you, Your Majesty—”
“Please, Solveig, we have known each other long enough, and you are about to become my daughter-in-law.” The queen’s words were so at odds with the intense way she was staring at Solveig, as if parsing out her feelings.
“Very well. I never thought I would marry, so the concept of finding a husband is foreign to me.” It was as honest as she could be, and the queen seemed to accept this answer.
A moment stretched between them, both females lost in their thoughts. It was not uncomfortable, but the stillness wouldn’t last. It never did.
It was the queen who broke the silence first.
“If I may impart some wisdom.” Eir paused to look at Solveig, who gave a slight nod for her to continue.
“A marriage is what you make of it. I have seen many enter marriages of arrangement, of politics. In those situations, the couples have thrived because they had one goal in mind, and it was achieved the moment the ceremony was performed. Marriages of love are difficult—there is more to gain, but there is also more to lose. I believe you are choosing wisely.”
“Thank you,” Solveig said, appreciating the support. Eir got to her feet but hesitated before leaving.
“One more thing,” she said, looking down on Solveig. The moonlight caught in the queen’s hair, casting a ghostly white glow across her face, accentuating her age, shrouding the other half in shadow. “If your heart already belongs to another, do not choose my son.”
Solveig took the threat in stride. “My heart belongs to Asgard, to Vanaheim, and to my people. This is what is best for them.”
The queen only nodded, not looking at all convinced. She walked away, her silver gown trailing behind her like a strip of stolen moonlight.
Solveig’s magic hissed and curled under her skin, angry at gods knew what—probably that she had used too much. She couldn’t be upset with herself though. It had been to save the prince. To save their budding alliance with Idavoll.
Like her thoughts conjured him, he requested access to her mind.
Feeling better? he asked.
My magic is almost fully replenished.
You sound sad.
Her body reacted strangely to his observation. She shoved it down.
Are you okay? she asked, changing the subject.
We escaped by the skin of our teeth. We couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.
He was being oddly formal. Stilted in his language.
You’re welcome. What else could she say?
We’re on our way to Idavoll, he supplied.
Her heart rate picked up at the prospect of seeing him again. Not even a month had passed since their parting. Which was both too long and not long enough.
We leave in a few days as well.
He paused, and almost like he regretted the words as soon as they left him, he asked, With your new betrothed?
Yes, Steffen will be joining us.
He couldn’t hide the effort it took to restrain his reaction. Solveig tried not to delight in his struggle.
Steffen? he asked as if it pained him to say the name.
He bested me.
How the Hel did he manage that?
His other emotions, which Solveig did not want to name, were replaced with pure rage. She didn’t know how to answer, not wanting to tell him about the snake until she knew who put it there.
I was wounded, she told him reluctantly, knowing he wouldn’t drop it. The sound of silence was deafening in her mind, and she rolled her eyes. You’re so dramatic.
Wounded how? he gritted out.
Nothing to worry about, I’m fine.
Show me, he growled. He was inadvertently refuelling her magic with his anger, giving her enough strength to shove him out.
No, I don’t think I will. She slammed her mental walls down on him before he could ask more questions.
She couldn’t do this anymore—couldn’t let him in. She built her walls thick and strong so he wouldn’t be able to get through.
Her marriage to Steffen served two purposes. To unite Alfheim and Asgard, and to create an heir. Once that was done, she and Steffen would live in peace, without the flooding of emotions that accompanied a love match.
I’m so fucking in love with you I can’t breathe when I’m not with you.
His words on the beach held firm in her mind, refusing to budge—they were a part of her now. He loved her. And that was the kind of love that started wars and destroyed realms. She could not afford to let that happen.
Solveig returned to the palace, a fresh wave of resolve washing over her. Steffen would be her husband, and after they reunited in Idavoll, she would never see Westley again.
She couldn’t.