“I need to leave for Asgard.” She made to move around him, but he stepped in her path.
“You can’t leave yet,” he said forcefully.
“Like Hel I can’t.” She tried to leave, but he stepped in her way again. She flashed him a warning, a death threat on the tip of her tongue that she would follow through on this time.
“I swear to the dead gods, Prince, if you don’t get out of my way rightnow I’ll—”
“King Ragnvald requested another audience.”
“Ragnvald can suck my dick.”
Despite himself and the situation around them, the prince laughed. “What I wouldn’t give to see you tell him that.”
“I’m sure I can make that happen. Too bad I won’t be granting that audience.”
“It’s not a request, General.” His voice was serious now, and she could see he was set on this course. Maybe she could use this opportunity to wipe out half the Idavoll royal family and be done with it. The thought should’ve been more enticing.
“Please, let me go check for Helle.”
“I already did. She’s fine. She and Njord are safe.” Relief overwhelmed her so much that she didn’t protest again when he insisted they head back to the council tent. As soon as she stepped through the entrance, she regretted it immediately.
They sat around the council table in almost the same arrangement she’d been greeted with earlier that afternoon. With one exception.
The prince pulled up short, staring at the healer. “What is the meaning of this?”
Solveig sensed the surprise and anger that coated his tongue, feeling it wash over her. Her gaze snapped to his face, reading the genuine shock at seeing Laeknir, not Latham, beside his grandfather.
“Sit down, lad,” the King of Hel barked at him.
The prince didn’t move. “What’s going on?”
If Solveig didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn he wasn’t aware of Laeknir’s involvement. But she did know better.
Ragnvald laughed without humour. “You are not privy to the workings of the gods. Now sit down.”
The prince moved slowly to his seat and sat, clearing his face of emotions.
“Westley, whatever is the matter?” his mother whispered. He just shook his head. Conflict swirled under her skin, her resolve faltering at the unexpected turn of events. The prince was not reacting how she expected, and a niggling feeling at the back of her mind would not go away.
“His cock is what’s wrong with him. He’s got it so far up this witch’s cunt he can’t see straight,” Ragnvald said harshly.
Westley dove towards his grandfather, but before he could get there, his father blocked his path, holding him back and forcing him to sit. The prince seethed. Solveig was beyond hearing any of it as she stared at Laeknir.
“Father, maybe it would be best to—” Erik started, but Ragnvald put up his hand.
“You may be the Prince of War, Westley, but you have no mind for power. Information and knowledge are key. I will not grant that power to anyone who cannot separate their two heads from each other.”
The prince stared hard at his grandfather as if he’d truly never understood how cruel the king could be. Solveig vibrated with barely restrained emotion beside him.
“How could you do this?” she asked, ignoring the family unravelling around her, her voice cracking.
Laeknir sat on Ragnvald’s right side, his eyes pleading, though for what she didn’t know. When he said nothing, she reached for her hammer, heart aching, ready to take matters into her own hands.
Two guards gripped her arms before she could act, and she was forcefully shoved into the chair across from the old healer. The prince held the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“I understand you are in a bit of a hurry, but I couldn’t let you leave just yet, not after you saw my dear friend with me,” Ragnvald said, patting Laeknir on the shoulder.
“You’re not going to kill me?” Solveig asked plainly. The prince stiffened.
