Andrea’s brows knit. “Then why are you here crying yourself sick, and why is he there doing the same? Ketill said he looked like a lost dog.”
Wren wrapped both hands around her mug, inhaling the steam to try to clear her raw throat. “He’s miserable too?”
Andrea nodded slowly. “Of course he is. You’re his mate—his fated one. How do you think he feels?”
Wren stared into her tea. The liquid rippled as her hands shook. “I don’t want him to be miserable. But it can’t work. We’re too different. I don’t fit in his world.”
Andrea exhaled, long and thoughtful. “Humans and trolls don’t naturally fit, no. But they can. Look at Ketill and me. He lives here with me and the kids. He works with the village children. He learned how to be in our world because he wanted to. Gunnar can do the same.”
“That’s not what Gryla said.”
The temperature seemed to drop at the name. Andrea snorted. “Ah. Gryla. Let me guess—she told you that you needed to be bigger, tougher, stronger to survive as a troll’s mate?”
Wren swallowed. “Something like that.”
Andrea rolled her eyes so hard it was nearly audible. “You have to ignore seventy-five percent of what Gryla says. Maybe eighty. She means well, but she’s centuries old and runs entirely on instinct and outdated traditions. When she met me, she asked what we were ‘doing about the children.’”
Wren’s head snapped up. “She thought you’d just… get rid of them?”
Andrea laughed. “No, she genuinely believed my ex would want them more. She didn’t realize he’d drop them like hot coals once he found a new life. Gryla’s heart is huge, but her mouth is unfiltered. What she thinks does not outweigh what your troll thinks. So—did Gunnar agree with her?”
“How can I ignore her?” Wren shot up from her chair, pacing the small kitchen, arms wrapped tight around herself. “She wasn’t wrong. I’m a foster kid from Massachusetts. I’m an artist.I’m not built like some—some Nordic battle-wife. I can’t be what she wants.”
Andrea lifted a brow. “I’m a teacher from Minnesota. I’m not exactly built to be queen of trolls either. But what did Gunnar say? That’s the important part.”
Wren stopped, staring blankly at the wall. Her thoughts had been a hurricane since yesterday—so much noise she couldn’t separate memory from panic.
“I… I don’t remember.”
Andrea’s expression softened. She reached across the table, capturing Wren’s hand warmly. “Honey. Don’t you think that matters? You’re with Gunnar—not Gryla.”
Wren’s throat tightened. “But she could convince him to reject me.”
Andrea shook her head. “You really don’t understand troll brothers. Gryla can’t persuade them to do anything they don’t want to do. If Gunnar chose you, that’s it. Gryla’s approval has zero impact on that. And trust me, she’d be devastated to know she scared you away. She truly does love deeply. She just matches like a battering ram.” A wry smile. “Who do you think trapped you in the storm to shove you two together?”
“Kind of a warped way to show love,” Wren muttered.
“Maybe. But she’s a troll queen. They don’t do ‘normal.’ She adores my kids and they adore her. You just met her on a dramatic day. And Wren—” Andrea squeezed her hand again. “I really think you need to talk to Gunnar before it’s too late.”
Wren’s breath hitched. “Too late? What do you mean?”
Andrea hesitated, weighing each word. “You’re his fated mate. And you rejected him.”
Wren’s heart stopped.
Andrea continued quietly, “Trolls go insane when that happens. And when they sense they’re losing their mind, theywalk into the sunlight and turn to stone rather than endanger anyone.”
Wren froze.
Ice shot through her veins, rooting her in place.
What had she done?
Chapter
Ten
Gunnar considered not returning to his cave at all. Simply standing there among the rocks and letting the sun rise over him. But loose ends tangled at the back of his mind like snagged threads. His family didn’t deserve to face the aftermath of his absence. So he trudged through the deep, wind-carved snow his mother had summoned, each step sinking him deeper into the weight of what he’d lost. By the time he reached the mouth of his cave, the sun had just crested the ridge, its light licking his exposed skin with burning needles.
