“How dare you speak to me in this manner. I am your rightful king, and you will treat me as such!”
Solveig stood abruptly, all traces of politeness vanishing from her face. She braced her hands on the table as she leaned towards Westley’s grandfather.
“I am the daughter of the Queens of Asgard. I bow to noking.” She spat the word back in his face.
Ragnvald reached out his hand to strike her, but Westley jumped from his seat and pulled Solveig back. He tried to ignore how quickly she jerked out of his grasp, once again putting distance between them.
“Grandfather, please.”
“You think with your cock, boy. Too much like your father.” Ragnvald sighed and sat back in his seat, plucking a grape off the tray in front of him like the outburst hadn’t happened at all. “It’s a pity, General. I was hoping you would be amenable.”
“I am not amenable to traitors of the crown.”
“I am the crown.” Rage flickered in his eyes again. “Seems we will have to disagree on that front. Let’s put that aside, shall we?” He gestured for Solveig to return to her seat, but she stood where she was. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “We are on the same side.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Maybe not all sides, I acquiesce, but against the mortals we can agree, I think.” Westley bristled at the bald-faced lie.
For the first time in his life, he let his doubt linger, not forcing it away.
Silence filled the room as Solveig continued to stare down his grandfather, calculating. Westley tried to hide his surprise as Solveig slowly lowered herself back into her chair.
“I am not after the mortals,” she said coldly.
“They are after you.”
“I don’t blame them for it.”
“Such mercy in one so young.”
“I have seen over three centuries of blood and warfare.”
Ragnvald waved a dismissive hand, and Westley watched Solveig’s own clench into a fist under the table. He desperately wanted to reach out and take it.
“That’s nothing compared to my two millennia ruling Hel. You are young—you will learn that true power resides in death.” He said this like he was imparting great wisdom. “What are you after then, witch?”
“Magic,” she said, like it was obvious.
“Ah yes, our elusive magic. But it was the mortals who stole it from us.”
Solveig inclined her head at him.
“You do not agree? Pray tell, why ever not.”
“I have my theories.”
Ragnvald waited, but Solveig did not elaborate.
“Very well. You have made your allegiances very clear. Westley.” His grandfather’s sudden address straightened his back.
“Yes, Grandfather?” he asked slowly.
“Pack whatever belongings survived this egregious attack. You will be returning to Idavoll with your parents,” he said as he stood. “Oh, and General Tordottir, it was so lovely to meet you. Please do give Koa and Aelfsi my regards and best wishes.”
Ragnvald made his way to the entrance of the tent with a sardonic smile. “And tell them I will be seeing them very soon,” he said ominously, waiting for a response.
But Solveig stayed seated, eyes cold and mouth set in a firm line. The king’s nostrils flared before he swished his grand cloak and exited the tent. Westley let out the breath he’d been holding as his mother came to his side, embracing him.
