“West, where did all this blood come from?” she said, her hands searching for wounds that weren’t there.
“It’s not mine, Mother. I’m fine.”
“Alvida, leave him alone. He’s seen centuries of war,” his father said as he approached them.
“You cannot tell me not to worry about my babe, Erik. If I want to fuss over him, I will.” She proceeded to poke and prod him like he was in his early decades. His cheeks grew hot as he caught Solveig’s eye. He smiled shyly, but nothing in her stony face changed as she rose from the table. Westley stepped into her path as she made for the exit.
“Get out of my way, Prince,” she whispered, so low his parents would have to strain to listen, even with Fae hearing.
He tried to make eye contact with her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She stepped around him but could not escape his parents that easily.
“Excuse me, Solv ... General Tordottir?” his mother’s soft voice called out to her. Solveig took a deep breath before facing them.
Westley tensed as his father came to stand beside his mother. They appeared so weak in comparison to Solveig’s hard stance and unforgiving eyes. Not to mention she was still covered in dirt and blood. So much blood.
“Queen Alvida. King Erik.” Solveig gave his parents a small bow, which they returned, much to his surprise.
“We are glad to see you well,” his mother continued.
“We should’ve known Koa and Aelfsi would appoint you as their war general and not tell anyone. We had no idea that you would grow up to be so ... fearsome,” his father said, appraising her bloodied leathers. A small smile played on the edge of Solveig’s lips, and Westley unclenched his jaw at her sincerity.
“I think that was the point. Hiding in plain sight,” Solveig said calmly. Her voice was steady, but her body language was still standoffish.
“You know each other?” Westley asked his parents, his brows raised.
“We do. You were away in training whenever the queens brought their special daughter to Idavoll for political visits. We’ve met her a few times throughout her centuries,” his mother said, offering Solveig another small smile. This was the first he was hearing of it.
“Although she was a polite courtier during those visits,” his father added, and Westley couldn’t stop the snort that burst from him.
“Westley!” his mother censured.
He finally caught Solveig’s gaze as she gave him a hard stare.
“My apologies, Mother, it’s ... a little hard to picture the general as a courtier.”
Amusement filled his tone and he wished she would soften, just a little. But she did not joke with him. His parents glanced between him and Solveig. He wondered if they could feel the tension crackling in the air.
He needed to speak with Solveig alone. He was about to pull her aside when his father spoke.
“General Tordottir, I apologize for my father’s behaviour. He’s an old male, set in his ways. In his heart, he believes what he’s doing is right, as does Idavoll,” his father tried to explain. Any goodwill Solveig had been feeling towards his parents vanished in an instant.
“Any male—or female, for that matter—in power who rules with an iron fist and a stubborn heart is a danger to everything we hold dear. It is almost worse to sit by and condone such behaviour, explaining it away with platitudes. Keep your apologies, King Erik. I have no need of them. If you’ll excuse me.” She did not wait this time before exiting the tent. Westley made to go after her.
“Westley, where are you going?” his mother called.
“Give me a moment to speak with her, I’ll be back.” But his father clamped a hand on his arm.
“It’s no use, son. She’s not fighting the same battle we are.”
He stared at his parents. “And what battle are we fighting, exactly?”
“The same one we’ve been fighting our whole lives,” his mother said. “The Fae in Idavoll are the rightful rulers of Asgard and the Trifold, as you know. Asgardian Fae have taken the power the gods meant for us, and they are corrupting the world with their immorality. We need to save the world from itself.”
His mother’s voice was so gentle that he almost didn’t register how the words he’d heard his entire life settled uneasily in his stomach, mingling with the lies of his grandfather.
“Are we not allied to fight against the mortals to regain our freedom? Is that not what Asgard wants?”
“Asgard wants only power, not peace. They rule without the blessing of the gods,” his father answered gravely.
