She supposed he was right; Sven had left with little more than disgruntled and vague threats. No war had been declared, but that did not reassure her. She suspected that Sven would be speaking with the petty Kings and ensuring that no one traded grain with Thrudheim. Why declare war, when he could weaken them with starvation?
Soon, Agnar would realise that they could not survive by ignoring Sven and she would unfortunately have to deal with repairing the alliance. A partnership that Agnar had so recklessly cast aside. The prospect of grovelling to Sven filled her with melancholy and she went back to eating her meal in silence.
* * *
After Nattmal was finished, she played dice with Brenna and Astra, then they practised their needlework, embroidering ribbons together. The kind that Astra wore in her hair. Several times she noticed Agnar staring at her from where he sat drinking ale with his second, Vali. It reminded her of the way he’d stared at her mouth, with a fascinated sort of longing. She wondered if her earlier thoughts about his attraction to her were not as fanciful as she’d first thought.
Why hadn’t he taken her, then?
Was it more than the superstition of bedding her in Heimdall’s bed? Did he truly think himself ugly with his scars? Was he giving her time to grow accustomed to him? It seemed a foolish thought for a man in the prime of his life…but not impossible.
The chief seamstress came into the hall, a sapphire banner draped over her arm. She went to speak with Agnar who immediately gestured towards Skadi.
‘Yes, Gunhild?’ she asked as the woman approached.
Gunhild dipped respectfully. ‘The King would like your approval of the new Thrudheim banner.’
Skadi raised a brow at that supposed display of respect by Agnar. ‘Show me, then.’
Gunhild carefully rolled out the banner. It was the same Thrudheim blue background as before, but instead of the strip of white down its centre, there was a black wolf’s head.
She sighed. It was ugly, but not quite as bad as she’d thought it would be. At least the blue remained and there was no clashing red. Still, it felt wrong to change it, these had been the colours of Thrudheim since the very first King. Why should it change now, when it had not changed under Heimdall?
You are my Queen, not my hostage.His earlier words came to mind and she wondered if she should at least try to accept him. Even if only in the short term.Choose your battles, Skadi,her father’s voice reminded her firmly.
After a moment of consideration, she gave her instruction. ‘I do not like the black. Make the wolf’s head white.’
The seamstress rolled up the banner and with a nervous look headed back to Agnar. Skadi sat back and watched him, wondering what he would make of her command. She had relented, if only a small amount, but she wondered if he would see it as that, or judge it as another defiance.
Would he deny her?
As he listened to the seamstress speak, his eyes shifted to meet hers, and Skadi raised a brow in question. He then nodded at the seamstress, approving her suggestion, and a glow of triumph warmed deep in her belly.
He had agreed to keep both her family colours and she had agreed to use his symbol. Could this bode well for them in the future? Or, was she going mad to even hope for peace with her previous husband’s killer?
She shifted uncomfortably at the thought and returned to staring at her needlework.
Should she not wish to avenge Heimdall, the father of her child?
Except, a lot of what Agnar had said sounded genuine. She had known Heimdall twenty years, he had been obsessed with raiding and the hopes of entering Valhalla. She imagined he would crawl for his weapon, even in the last moments of his life…and that Agnar, who despite hating him, would still offer him an honourable death because of it.
She sighed miserably, snapping the thread of her embroidery by accident. What if Agnar was claiming an interest in her kingdom and manipulating her emotions, all so that he could overrule her in the future?
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been easily misled.
* * *
She went to bed early that night and took one of Gudrun’s sleeping draughts that she kept in her medicine chest. She wanted to ensure a deeper sleep than the one she’d had the night before and also hoped to avoid any awkward conversations with Agnar. Or, any further discussion about when and where he would bed her.
By the time Agnar entered the King’s chamber, her eyelids were so heavy she could barely keep them open and she barely noticed the shift of the mattress as he lay down beside her.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, she woke up later than usual, the exhaustion and sleeping draught from the night before having knocked her out.
Groggily, she turned on to her side, slightly disorientated to find herself in the King’s chamber. It took her a moment to remember where she was and why. Then she noticed Agnar fully dressed on a nearby stool, sharpening his blade on a whetstone, and she bolted upright with a startled gasp.
His eyes lifted from the shiny blade to her face and he asked mildly, ‘Are you well?’
