“That’s not fair,” one of the males muttered under his breath. Solveig eyed him, slowly placing her mug on the table as the hall quieted.
From her corner where she sat lazily with her back against the wall, her legs straddling the bench, she could see the whole room. She leaned forward.
“What would you consider a fair consequence?” she asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the male who had spoken.
Another Fae answered. “Since their complaint was not with the others, it would’ve been more fitting to fight against you instead. That way they would’ve had a chance. Of course they would lose to better trained Fae, even if those Fae were female.”
Conalle shook his head and gave the male’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The male seemed confused at the gesture. Solveig grinned.
“How long have you been a trained soldier?” she asked him, cocking her head.
“Three decades.”
“And you think this is long enough to be posted as a lord’s guard in a Vanir camp?”
“Yes. I was hand selected by Lord Conalle.”
“I’m regretting that choice now,” Conalle muttered under his breath.
“Why does Lord Conalle need a guard in my camp?” Solveig continued, ignoring Conalle’s remark.
“Well ... We know things are ... unsettled here, so ...” he stuttered, losing his courage at the gleam in her eye.
“And if the situation became more volatile, you’d be able to protect him?” She kept her tone conversational, her body language relaxed.
“Yes.”
She raised a brow. “Against every Vanir here?”
He paused before answering, but still, he nodded. Foolish youngling.
“I suppose since the unsettling you speak of has to do with me, if I became a danger to your lord, you would have to step in, correct?”
He nodded again, this time breaking eye contact and looking around at his companions. None jumped in to save him.
“And you think, because I’m Vanir and you are Fae, that you would be able to stop me?”
He swallowed and his nod came slower this time. “You don’t have your magic,” he said with a shaky voice.
“Neither do you,” she baited.
“Yes, but . . . as Fae we still have . . . I mean, physically we’re . . .”
“Stronger? Faster?” Solveig helped him.
“Well ... yes,” he said, his eyes still scanning the room for support.
“Care to test that theory?” Solveig leaned back again, drinking from her mug. It was not an official challenge, but the male had backed himself into a corner and wouldn’t be able to say no. His swallow was audible, and it took everything in her not to smile again.
“Yes. I mean, I wouldn’t be alone—there are many of us.” Those around him shifted in their seats, uncomfortable with the unwanted attention.
“Very well.”
The male exhaled with relief, but it didn’t last. Solveig lifted her mug to her mouth and downed the contents. She placed it back on the table, stood up, and made her way to the door. Her hand was on the handle when she turned, raising her brows.
“Are you coming or not?” Without waiting for an answer, she left the dining hall.
She counted her steps as she walked away, making it to fifteen before she heard the door open, footsteps following her. Gerrie was at her side within seconds.
