Magic surged under her skin and a spark of light flared between her cheek and his palm, an invisible thread joining them before her magic shocked them apart. Neither spoke for a while until a thought occurred to Solveig.
“Is Njord okay?” she asked, voice laced with worry.
“It hurts to hear you’re more worried about a horse than about me. What if I’d been wounded? You didn’t even ask,” he said in mock outrage.
The horse must be fine if he was joking around.
“If you were wounded you obviously wouldn’t be capable of holding me up, you ass.”
“If Helle would let me, I’d throw you off this horse right now, you ungrateful witch.”
A genuine smile spread across her face and she leaned over to pat Helle’s neck again. The prince’s body shook with his laughter. She tried not to think of what else she could feel with him sharing her saddle. There was not enough space for both of them.
His strong legs cradled her hips and thighs, each of the muscles presenting as he expertly guided Helle through the forest. The movements of his hips rocked against hers with the sway of her horse climbing over tree roots and rocks.
The arm, his arm, she felt upon waking had not moved. Someone had removed her armour, and the prince’s was gone as well. She assumed it was in a saddlebag somewhere.
His large hand curled up and around her rib cage. Every once in a while, his thumb stroked her in a slow, thoughtful movement. She tried not to think about how her body was reacting and failed miserably. Unarmoured and weakened from her injury, she expected to feel vulnerable and exposed. She didn’t. Quite the opposite.
Despite him making light of the situation, he could easily kill her right now. She didn’t know what it meant that she knew he wouldn’t. She was ... safe.
With his heart beating against her back and his slow steady breaths that caressed her neck, there were other feelings she had instead.
“To answer your question”—the prince’s words jolted her from her thoughts of his body against hers—“Njord is perfectly fine. Noren is leading him a few horses up.” He gestured ahead of them, bringing his chest more fully against her back, the arm around her waist pulling her just the tiniest bit closer.
She didn’t think they could get closer in the already too small saddle, but somehow he managed.
Looking ahead, riding on Njord, was a mortal man with blond hair, and from his profile she could see his beard covering almost his whole face.
“The Lionhead,” she whispered. “We got him.”
“Your arrow took him down and your guards captured him.”
“At least this mission wasn’t a total disaster.” At least she hadn’t been a total disaster is what she really meant.
“I hope it was worth it,” the prince said darkly. She shifted so she could see his face, surprised at his sudden change of tone. He was staringdaggers at the back of Latham’s head. That’s when she beheld the size of their party.
“How many?” she whispered, not sure she was ready for the answer.
The prince tilted his chin down, their faces close. His eyes were a swirl of outrage and mourning. “Sixty-five Vanir and thirty-seven Fae.”
One hundred and two soldiers. Which meant only forty had survived. All for the price of one mortal. Rage brewed in Solveig’s blood and she tried to nudge Helle forward, but the prince pulled on the reins, attempting to hold the strong-willed horse and rider back.
Neither were happy about it.
“Think clearly, General. If you go barging in there headfirst—and wounded, I might add—he’ll find a way to ban you from the Southern Wilds entirely, and you won’t be able to help your people at all.”
Solveig hated that he was right. Latham would take advantage of the fact that she couldn’t hold her weapon, let alone herself, right now. Bastard.
“So I just sit here and do nothing?” she hissed, redirecting her anger.
“For now. Then I’m sure that beautiful brain of yours will come up with the perfect revenge scheme.”
Solveig stiffened in her seat. Revenge. She’d been plotting revenge on the Fae who had captured her, though with everything going on at camp, it had taken a back seat.
Even with the distractions, she was making very little headway. So far, Booth had been the only one who’d suffered. Soon, though ... she let that thought trail off as she leaned back against the prince.
Revenge on Latham was certainly an intriguing thought. If someone had told her a year ago that she would have a reason to even think about harming Latham, she would’ve laughed in their face.
