“Subtle,” the prince muttered.
“Effective,” she retorted as John sputtered back to consciousness.
His glazed eyes rolled in his head, but Solveig gently placed her hands on his cheeks so he could focus on her. Solveig took in his deep welts and dark bruises. One of his arms was burned, and his hands were missing fingernails.
She swallowed the bile that threatened to make an appearance. There was no blood, he was protected by the same magic as the others in his village. Though just because he couldn’t bleed, didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pain. And he was clearly in a lot of pain.
“You’ll bruise my pride,” he wheezed. “Do I look that bad?”
“Worse,” she told him. He tried to laugh but doubled over. Solveig’s hands flew to his chest to catch him before he buckled completely. She could feel at least two broken ribs.
“Someone get him some pants and a blanket,” she ordered no one in particular, but two guards ran off to do her bidding.
“I knew you still had power around here,” John whispered.
“Only because they know they’ll lose their dicks if they don’t listen.”
“Well, ain’t that somethin’.”
Solveig waited until the guards returned with the items she requested and John was sitting in a chair, clothed and wrapped in a large blanket. He had trouble bringing the cup of water to his lips, and before Solveig could help him, the prince was there supporting John’s arm as he lifted the drink.
When he was done, Solveig brought a chair to sit in front of him. Just like that, it was like the first day he arrived. Except now he was covered in wounds and could barely sit upright.
“I heard you asked for me,” Solveig started.
“That I did. I want to ask you a question. Actually, two, if that’s alright,” he said slowly.
“Ask away.”
“If we were to ally, what would that look like for my people?” he mumbled. Solveig barely caught the words.
“I’m not entirely sure, John,” she said honestly. “The Trifold—the realms—will want vengeance, so I cannot promise that the entirety of your race will be safe. Some will perish—others will suffer fates not unlike your own.”
John tried to nod in understanding, but a wince crossed his face. “I thought as much.” He was silent for a long time.
“Your other question?” Solveig asked.
“Well, it’s changed a bit given the very honest answer you just gave me. Which I do appreciate. It’s more of a favour.”
“Go on.” Solveig would not promise anything until she heard his request.
“These idiots don’t know the first thing aboutextracting information.”
Solveig’s stomach plummeted and the bile stung her throat again, dreading the question that would follow.
When he didn’t speak again, she said slowly, “That’s not a request.”
“I’d like you to take over my questioning.”
“No.”
Solveig jolted at the prince’s deep voice close behind her. That one word held so much force. She didn’t need to face him to know he was baring his teeth at the mortal.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I wasn’t asking you,” John said politely.
“I don’t care if you were asking the fucking gods. The answer is no,” the prince spat back.
“Can Solveig not answer for herself?” the mortal asked, still calm. It was impressive given the hostility rolling off the prince. A weaker being would have cowered.
