Thatfirstweekafterthe initial interrogation of John Davis was a blur.
Solveig started each day with a hard run through the forest trying to outpace her nightmares. After her run, she leaned against that same wall of the dungeon and listened to the mortal’s every scream. The shadows she tried to keep at bay lingered on the fringes of her mind, a constant presence threatening to pull her under.
Though she never stepped inside, she had to acknowledge it in some way. To pay a price for allowing this to happen by being a witness to his pain.
She warred with herself over the right course of action. While she listened to his screams, she wanted to break John out of the Vault and get him to safety, to the point where after a particularly gruesome nightmare, she made a plan and almost carried it through. Almost.
The rational side of her won that fight.
This was war, and John was another casualty, just like her. Her nightmares intensified, and she took her fears and failures out on the prince during their afternoon training sessions.
For the first two days it was just the two of them. On the third, Noren came to, as he put it, “make sure you don’t obliterate my prince.”
But the prince never complained about her vigour. He met her blow for blow and began teaching her the finer details of using a bow and arrow. With nothing else to do, she put everything into mastering it.
By the end of the week, the prince had offered himself as a moving target. It was more fun than she wanted to admit. She shot arrows at the shield he carried while he ran through the trees, his Fae speed making him nearly impossible to catch.
Nearly, but not quite. She managed to sink quite a few arrows, some of them even landing exactly where she intended.
One particularly trying afternoon, the prince had irritated her so much by insisting that the Riddari would wipe the floor with the Southern Wilds that she shot two arrows in quick succession. She aimed one at that stupid smirk on his face and the other at his ankle. He caught the first with his hand in mid-air, but the second met its mark and he stumbled to the ground.
“What the fuck was that for?” he yelled as he yanked the arrow protruding from the tendon behind his heel. It had managed to slice cleanly through his ankle, and from the cry the prince made, it hurt like a bitch to take out. The sound was satisfying.
“I missed,” Solveig said with a shrug.
“Yeah, and I’m one of your mothers in disguise,” he muttered under his breath, limping over to sit down on a tree stump. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“You’ve had worse—stop whining. And you deserved it.”
“You know I’m going to get you back for this, right?” he said as he stood, limping to stand right in front of her.
She stepped closer to him, anger and magic colliding, creating a perfect storm of desire in her blood. “Excuse me, but that wasmegetting back atyoufor being an asshole.”
“Maybe if you weren’t such a vicious witch I wouldn’t have to be an asshole,” he said as he towered over her.
She jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’m a delight.” The harsh tone of her voice contradicted her statement. “You just bring out the worst in me.”
He grabbed her wrist before she could poke him again. “Yes, such a delight. Shooting arrows through people who are trying to help you.”
“Like you’re doing it out of the goodness of your heart,” she scoffed.
His grip on her wrist tightened to near pain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re getting just as much out of this training as I am. Or do you not remember the double swords you could only wield like a faeling before this week?”
Her chest heaved as she tried to wrench her hand away from him, but he would not let go, instead, pulling her closer.
“Wielding a bow and arrow is a much more useful skill than double swords. Which, to be clear, I could do before we started,” he threw back in her face.
“Like Hel you could. How about we fight face to face and we’ll see who wins. Me with two swords, you with your precious bow and arrow.”
He stepped even closer, their bodies almost completely flush.
“Is that a challenge, General?” he sneered.
“Do you want it to be, Prince?” she hissed.
“Shrew.”
