Chapter 59
Westley’s head whipped in the direction of the horrific sound of someone choking. For a moment, no one moved. Everyone was frozen with shock. The king and queen, his parents, coughed, wheezing and gasping for air.
Everything happened all at once.
His parents clutched their throats, their eyes wide with panic.
The highborn families jumped up in terror and fled the room, spitting out their wine in the process.
Guards began shouting orders. Servants were captured.
North and Easta got to their parents just in time to break their falls as they tumbled from their chairs.
Westley dropped his goblet, uncaring as it shattered, splashing red wine and broken glass everywhere. Solveig was right on his heels, cursing that ridiculous dress behind him as they hurried to his parents.
Easta cradled their mother’s head in her lap, tears rolling down her cheeks as Alvida looked up at her. Westley couldn’t hear what Easta was muttering, but shock crossed their mother’s face as she struggled to breathe.
North bent over their father, his hand gripping his eldest daughter’s so firmly her tanned skin turned white with the pressure. She stroked their father’s hair, and when he gasped Alvida’s name, she adjusted him so he could lie beside his mate.
Erik and Alvida gazed at each other as they choked on their dying breaths.
Their last wheezes echoed through the hall, now empty save for their own companions.
The King and Queen of Idavoll were dead.
Westley’s parents were dead.
He stood frozen between their bodies, North and Easta slumped on the floor at his feet. Odd expressions passed over their faces as they stared between their mother and father. His sisters had comforted their parents through their last moments.
Comforted them but had not tried to help them.
Westley furrowed his brow as North met his stare. She slowly got to her feet, the weight of the crown now settling onto her shoulders. Easta came to stand a step behind her, resolve in every rigid line of her body.
“You . . . You killed them,” he whispered, shocked that the words even left his mouth.
“I did not,” North replied simply, and Westley’s gaze snapped to Easta.
“As our laws dictate, no murderer of the crown can ever sit upon the throne. I did what needed to be done,” his second eldest sister said calmly, no remorse on her face, only sadness.
“And you didn’t think to tell me about it?”
“West,” Solveig said, “they didn’t want to put this on you—you who have had to carry out their horrible orders for centuries.”
He removed his hand from hers and turned to look at his mate.
“Did you know?” he asked, frightened of her answer.
“I didn’t know for sure, but I assumed it would happen while we were here.”
He backed away, and even the hurt that flashed through her eyes, that struck straight to his heart, wasn’t enough to pull him back.
“How could you?” He wasn’t even sure which of the three females he was asking.
“Cool it, Westley. She didn’t know we were going to do it today,” North said, waving him off like he had no right to be upset. Westley paid his traitorous sisters no mind. He’d deal with them later.
“But you knew they were to die? If it wasn’t them, would it have been you?” he asked Solveig. He didn’t know whether to be angry or sad or betrayed.
“If my queens had ordered it, yes,” Solveig said firmly.
Westley sucked in a deep breath, dropping to his knees, his head sagging. He heard the room clear out, Easta speaking to a very upset Noren. There would only be this moment of peace before Idavoll learned of the death of their king and queen.
It would be a new realm by morning, with North set to take the throne.
His eyes pricked with tears, for his parents who had raised him, for the villains Ragnvald had made of them.
He let the tears fall as Solveig knelt beside him, her hands coming to brace his face.
Guilt washed over him, his own guilt, as he flinched away from his mate.
But she didn’t balk this time. Instead, she held him as he allowed his conflicting emotions to flow to her.
The strength of her magic wove into him, curling around him, protecting and comforting. He placed his own hands over hers and held her there. She pressed her forehead to his.
“I’m sorry,” she said, so low only he could hear.
She sat with him while he cried, pulling him into her chest as he wept like a youngling. Until the grief bled into anger and he leapt up. Solveig handed him dishes to smash—first plates, then glasses, as many things as he could get his hands on.
And when he sliced his hand open, she was there to heal it.
“You didn’t say anything,” he whispered to her as he slumped against a wall, spent from unleashing so much emotion.
“I had nothing concrete to say about it,” Solveig said, voice soft. “And I was a little preoccupied with the whole ‘plot to get Solveig and Westley to mate’ and its fallout.”
Would their duty always come between them? She may not have known it was happening today, but she’d been aware of her mothers’ plans.
Westley stared at her face, the sharp angles shadowed by the dying light of the room. Her auburn hair had fallen from its updo, stray strands curling around her face and neck. Those copper eyes held so much—fear and apprehension still lingered, but there was more too.
Hope and strength.
Goddess, he loved her. Her eyes softened. He must have projected his feelings onto her, but he didn’t care. She was his mate, and he didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her, especially how he felt.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. And those words from her mouth didn’t sit right. He had much more to atone for than she did. This was a drop in the bucket compared to his crimes against her.
“Solveig—”
“No, let me apologize.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
She laughed sadly. “Your every feeling is coming through the bond. But let me tell you something, please.”
Had she ever said please before? He didn’t think so. He nodded for her to continue.
“I do not have free rein to hurt you just because you have hurt me. Not in the way that this happened. Making you wait to mate is one thing, but this is outside of our bond.”
“Would you have told me, when we were settled?”
She didn’t speak right away, which made his heart constrict. “I will from now on,” she promised.
It was all he could ask of her. This, between them, was still so new. They had to figure out how to work with each other.
Westley reached out and twirled a soft curl of her hair around his finger, letting his knuckles graze the scar on her cheek. His anger flared again—at Booth for everything he’d done to her, and at himself for everything he sat by and let the bastard do. Solveig leaned into his touch.
Come on, let’s go up to bed and I’ll let you help me take this gods awful dress off.
He chuckled and nodded. She helped pull him to his feet, but he couldn’t leave his parents there, open-eyed and cold. Giving her hand a squeeze, he let go to kneel on the cold stone floor. He closed his father’s eyes and then his mother’s before singing the death prayer.
His low bass voice carried through the dining hall, filling its cold corners.
“I forgive you,” he whispered to his parents before rising and making his way over to Solveig. She stood quietly watching him, tears rolling down her cheeks. He wiped one away with his thumb, and she smiled sadly.
“You truly are my perfect match,” he whispered to her, leaning into her strength.
“I did beat you that one time,” she teased.
He laughed lightly then looked at her seriously.
“The world is not so black and white as I used to think. You see that—you see that my parents were your enemies, but they were also good people who loved me and my siblings. Both things are true,” he said sadly.
Solveig wrapped her arms around his waist and after a moment, his arms curled around hers. He buried his face in her hair and let the fresh wave of tears soak into the coppery strands.