Chapter 85
Westley trailed after Solveig as she drifted like a wraith from the cottage.
Though it was reassuring to finally have directions, dread moved through his body. As War Prince of the Riddari, heir of Idavoll, he thought he’d been prepared for everything.
But if his life so far with Solveig taught him anything, it was that nothing was ever what it seemed. Everyone around them had their own version of what they thought the world should look like.
Once, even he had believed in a different version than he saw now. The one he and Solveig both wanted.
With his faith in the gods destroyed, he didn’t know what to believe in anymore.
He couldn’t believe in anything but Solveig and the way he felt for her and his people. It was no longer possible for him to turn a blind eye to the falsehoods he’d grown up believing.
History was written, told by the victors, but truth was a matter of perspective. The writers were incentivised to tell the story that suited their own beliefs, the side they were on.
How would this story be told? It would depend on how the war ended. And surely it would differ from his perspective, than that of his people now under the influence of Ragnvald.
And if they lost, if Ragnvald won, what would the books say about him and Solveig? Would they say she deceived him? Would they disown him? Would his name even appear? They could very well write him out of existence.
And if they won, if Solveig led them to victory, the stories would paint Ragnvald as the evil king who tried to take over the world but destroyed it instead. Maybe that was what he’d turned into, but Westley’s memories of his grandfather contradicted the male he was now.
Was it all a lie? What is truth if not memories and perspective? For something to be true, it must provoke no doubt, from any side, Westley decided.
And there were some truths that could never be known.
He looked at Solveig—took in her copper hair braided down her back, swaying across her black leathers as she climbed over rocks, silent and strong.
A truth no one could argue, a fundamental principle—his heart belonged to her.
When they reached the bottom of a long descent through black crystals and obsidian rocks, Westley grabbed her hand and turned her around. A silent question sparked in her eyes, and he did not hesitate to pull her towards him.
He brushed a strand of hair off her face.
“General,” he said, voice stern.
“Prince,” she replied, matching his tone, some life returning to her face.
“I’ve been thinking . . .” he trailed off.
“Oh no,” she muttered, her eyes dancing with amusement.
“We really don’t know how many days we’ve been here,” he started, squeezing her hands in his.
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s true.”
“And though our bond wouldn’t be completed, since Hel has no magic—or very little magic . . .” he amended.
Solveig raised her brow. “Is that what you’re getting at? Here? In the middle of Helheim?” she asked, gauging how serious he was. He was dead serious, and by the way her scent was changing, he knew he may have a chance.
“I’m only half serious, mostly because when I’ve imagined this”—he took a step closer—“we were never in Hel.”
“You’ve thought about this, have you?”
“Solveig, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve imagined your skin against mine,” he whispered to her. “And if you told me you haven’t thought about it, I would call you a filthy liar.”
Her voice lowered. “Of course I’ve thought about it.”
Energy sparked between them as they stood with their bodies pressed together.
“That still doesn’t change the fact that we are in Hel, and in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of comfortable places around us.
” She gestured to the rocky landscape surrounding them.
Jagged back crystals jutted from the ground, the barren wasteland of Hel as dead as the souls it captured.
“It’s not ideal, but all I need is a rock to hold you up against. It may help us take our mind off everything going on.”
That must have been the wrong thing to say, because she took a step back.
“You want to mate because we’re suffering? To distract yourself?”
He wished she would’ve yelled, not used this calm, violent tone.
“Fuck. No, Solveig, that’s not what I meant.” He scrunched his brow, trying to figure out a better way to say this. He was messing it all up.
Then she laughed. “I know, I was just teasing you.”
He growled and without warning, launched himself towards her, tackling her to the ground. “I loathe you,” he snarled in her ear.
“No, you don’t,” she hissed right back. He stretched her arms above her head, knowing she was letting him pin her down. She wasn’t even struggling.
“No, I don’t,” he agreed. “I also don’t want to bed you right in the open here.”
He pushed his hips into her so she could feel how much he wanted to anyway. She pressed her own hips up and he groaned.
“Fuck, Solveig, I need you.” All traces of teasing vanished. “I need you. I need to feel you alive and warm. I want to banish those shadows in your eyes, fill them with joy instead.” He loosened his grip on her hands and threaded his fingers through hers.
She looked at him sadly. “I know, West, I need that too. Being here—”
“I know. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“How many people are here because of me? My people, the Southern Wilds, Laeknir.” Her voice cracked on his name and Westley bent down to press a soft kiss to her lips.
“This is not your fault.”
She shook her head. “Isn’t it? I was their general and yet here they are, their souls trapped in this awful place. This is not what Hel is supposed to be.”
“We’re going to fix it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have you,” he said simply.
His body ignited when she allowed him to hold her up.
“I am not enough to fix a broken world,” she said into his chest.
“Not alone, but you’re not alone. Our people are working to help you right now, and you cannot give up.”
Solveig sighed and closed her eyes. “I won’t give up.”
He took in the long column of her throat and ran his nose along it, earning a shudder from his mate beneath him. Her scent drove him wild.
The storm of her blood, her emotions was a promise to his soul. He placed a trail of kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. Then he sighed and lifted himself up, her furrowed brow making him smile.
“Let’s keep going,” he said, helping her to her feet.