Perfect.
Erik stumbles face-first into the snow as I drag him out, cursing in three different languages. Some warrior. Confused, he blinks up at me as I crack through the ice with my fist.
I haul him up by his jacket, his eyes widening as he spots the trough."What are you—?"
The question dies in his throat as the splash echoes across the courtyard as his drunk ass hits the water. His thrashing sends waves over the sides as he flails like a landed fish. When he finally finds his footing, he looks like a drowned rat, silver hair plastered to his face, clothes soaked through.
"Son of a bitch!" Erik's usual elegant vocabulary dissolves into sailor's curses as he spits water. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Water streams down his face as he tries to muster his dignity. "That was entirely unnecessary."
"Was it?" I lean against the trough, watching him shiver. "Because from where I'm standing, you needed a wake-up call. Now get your ass out of there before your balls freeze off. Though at this rate, it doesn't seem like you're using them anyway."
The crunch of footsteps on snow draws my attention from Erik's pathetic form. Dani's eyes widen as she takes in the scene—Erik half-drowned in the trough, me standing over himlike a disapproving parent. Her gaze locks with mine, a silent question in those honey depths.
I give a slight shake of my head, jaw tight. Her face falls, realization dawning like a fucking sunrise. She knows. And from how her shoulders slump, she knows exactly how bad this is.
"I'm gonna go find Bryn." The words come out in a rush, her voice strained. She spins on her heel, long, brown hair flying as she sprints across the courtyard.
Erik slips beneath the icy water again, this time voluntarily. "Just end my misery now, brother." His words bubble up through the freezing water, all pretense of dignity finally abandoned. "I hear drowning is relatively peaceful."
"Keep dreaming, asshole." I reach into the trough, hauling him up by his soaked jacket. He hangs limp in my grip; all the fight drained out of him. "You don't get to take the easy way out, brother. Not while I'm still breathing."
He doesn't respond; he just stares at the ground like it holds all the secrets. Fuck. I've never seen him like this—not in all our centuries together. It's like watching a part of him die right in front of me.
I tighten my grip on his jacket, shaking him until his eyes meet mine. "Listen to me, Erik. This isn't over. You hear me? We'll figure this out. But first, we need to get you dried off and sobered up. Can't have you facing the entire royal palaces like this."
He blinks slowly like he's processing my words through a haze. Then, with a nod so slight I almost miss it, he straightens his spine. It's a far cry from his usual composed self, but it's a start.
Danica
46
My boots echo through the longhouse like angry drumbeats as I search for Bryn. The whole "avoiding your mate" routine? Yeah, that's getting old really fast. I've seen how she looks at Erik when she thinks no one's watching—like he's water in the desert and she's dying of thirst.
Bryn's stubborn denial of the bond isn't just reckless—it's a death sentence for Erik. I can't lose him, not like this.
I need to talk some sense into her, woman to woman.
Time for some sisterly intervention before her stubborn ass gets them both killed.
I reach her door and knock, the sound echoing through the hall. "Bryn? You in there, sweetie?"
Silence. I press my ear to the door, straining to hear any sign of life. Soft sobs filter through the wood, each one a dagger to my heart. I knock again, more urgently this time. "Bryn, please. Let me in."
I try the handle, but it's locked tight. Of course, it is. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me, Bryn. Open up."
"Just go away, Dani." Her voice is muffled, but the pain in it is clear as day.
"Not happening. We're having this conversation whether you like it or not." More silence, punctuated by hitching breaths. "Bryn, I swear to god—"
Screw this noise. I step back, eyeing the door like it's my nemesis—enough of this bullshit. I'm not about to let Bryn ruin her life and Erik's in one fell swoop. I take a deep breath, channeling all my frustration, and kick the door.
The wood splinters under my boot, the hinges giving way with a metallic shriek. The door swings open, slamming against the wall with a deafening bang. And what I see on the other side stops my heart cold.
"Oh god, Bryn... no." My feet slip in the growing pool of blood as I rush to her crumpled form. My hands scramble for anything—clothes, sheets, towels—to stop the bleeding. "What have you done?"
Bryn curls into herself, a broken goddess amidst a sea of crimson and ebony. Her severed wing lies lifeless on the floor—a mangled mess of bone, blood, and once-pristine black feathers. The jagged edge where she hacked it off weeps dark blood, the flesh raw and torn. Broken shafts of obsidian feathers scatter the floor like shattered pieces of midnight.
"What use is a one-winged Valkyrie?" Her anguished cry rips through the room, each word dripping with despair. "I'm nothing now—a broken warrior, a liability!"
