Westley was pretty sure that despite her distance and the volume of Noren’s voice, Solveig still heard him.
“Why doesn’t he shorten your name properly?” Solveig asked as they began to spar.
“That’s such a random question. Is there a correct way to shorten a name?”
She shrugged. “Isn’t it kind of pointless to keep thetsound?”
Their swords clanged a few times before he responded.
“My siblings are all named after the points on a compass. North, my eldest sister, likes to joke that she’s the only perfect child because my parents didn’t add any extra letters to her namesake direction. That, andshe’s the firstborn and a compass always points north,” he said with an eye roll.
“So you have three siblings,” she said, though given her station, she already knew.
Westley didn’t answer right away, his heart beating harder as he relived the horrible memories, reminding him of the constant throb of pain in his chest. He debated what to tell her and decided on the bare bones of the truth. “I have two living sisters, North and Easta. Souther was my elder brother. He died in the war.”
“The war that keeps on taking,” Solveig replied quietly. The absence of an apology was comforting to Westley. He hated when people apologized for his loss.
“That it does.”
That was all they said for quite some time. With only the occasional instruction or correction, they trained in a secret-filled silence.
Tension grew between them as their bodies clashed together. Their weapons the only thing separating them as the wind picked up and the air became electric. The forest darkened around them, blocking them off from the world as if they were the only two left.
Westley could tell something was on Solveig’s mind. He sensed it in her increasingly strong strikes. She was getting better at keeping her emotions in check, but with each clash of sword, each dodge, strike, and blow, her energy became more frantic, her emotions flashing across her face and through her heart.
Anger. Regret. Fear. Confusion. Desire.
Westley experienced them all—could actuallyfeelthem in his soul as their tempo climbed. His own convoluted emotions coursed through his veins, his desire taking centre stage as they locked eyes, and the pull of their magic was nearly irresistible.
This female’s hold on him only grew as he learned her. How she moved, how she thought. Her actions constantly surprised and delighted him. She infuriated him to no end with her strange bouts of vulnerability and the way she cut herself off from him without warning. He ached to break down every one of her walls. To tell her every secret and worship her. It made him fall for her.
The thought pulled him up short and he froze mid-swing. Her answering strike would’ve blocked his harsh blow, but because he froze, she knocked the sword right out of his hand.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, scanning his face.
He could only shake his head.
“Prince?”
He was glad, at that moment, that she didn’t say his name. If she had, he would’ve fallen to his knees before her.
“It’s nothing.” He tilted his face up to the sky and noted the low position of the sun. They’d lost track of time. “Let’s call it a day.”
She only nodded, stark curiosity written all over her beautiful face. Westley couldn’t meet her eyes. They packed up their things and walked back to camp. He was about to part ways without a goodbye when she spoke, halting him in place.
“I assembled a second bed in my tent. Feel free to use it,” she said before walking away.
He stood there stunned. She wanted him to share her tent. Not her bed, but still. Was it for his benefit or hers? He had no idea. He couldn’t use it.
He wouldn’t.
Solveighadtakenarisk when she invited the prince to stay in her tent. But knowing he was there to find a traitor in their midst gave her the idea.
Her shieldmaidens wouldn’t be able to get as close to him as she could, so she gambled with her life, assuming he could be trying to get close to her as well, and invited him to stay.
It didn’t hurt that she slept better than she had in months. She didn’t want to admit how long she’d waited up for him that first night before falling into a fitful sleep, alone. When she woke in the early hours of the morning, he was there, passed out on his stomach in the bed she had prepared for him as far from her own as the tent would allow.
His enormous body took up the majority of the small space, limbs hanging off the ends. She’d smiled to herself, filled with satisfaction and a few other emotions she refused to acknowledge, and had fallen back into an easy sleep.
